My second shift starts in fortyfive minutes. The ones with dimentia could be called the reason I got into this business. That and the fairly simple job requirements. When I was getting out of the Army a fairly grey~area opportunity was presented to me. I was looking to secure my future and point my life in the right direction. The guy next to me in the mandatoy class we all had to go theough to end our contacts told me about his wife. I hadnt met her but her story had inspired my corrupt and eager mind. This woman* laura* had gotten into hospice care. For those of you unfamiliar with the field* generally hospice deals with terminally ill and very elderly patients. At that point which was about two years into her contract* she had been left a several thousand dollars* a BMW* and a the bedroom two bathroom HOUSE on the emerald coast. It was mindblowing. So manyu families just give up near the end and the one the patient cares about is the one who seems to care. I dont know Lauras motives. Nobody goes into this soul wrenching practice hoping to make some easy money. Nobody but me.

Every Day I put on my plain white uniform and go to work as a sort of bouncer. I dont work at a ritzy night club or private security. The government signs my checks. I dont kick rich kids out of bars. I am often tasked to make sure our clients DONT leave. Hired muscle and a pretty face.

Fouty two minutes. I might not have time to get to the gas station to take my morning redbull dosage. This is going to be a long day. This is how they fuck you. Wednsday morning I make plans for the weekend. I was going to go from sterio shop to electronics shop comparing prices. All I want is two ten inch speakers and the required amp to install in my shitty little car. Music has long been my relief. afternoon comes and the next schedule is up on the board. *weekend warrior shift* is a smaller section near the bottom. Nobody ants this shift. A double that starts on friday and goes till saturday afternoon. They say its random but even that isnt much of a consolation. Why cant we just cycle through the staff like a normal office.

Time to find my shoes. Have you ever heard of those werewolf stories where a normal man leads a normal life until the full moon. Those stories are real. I work with dimentia patients. Most of these poor souls are over sixty years old. Tonight is a full moon and these sweet old ladies turn rabid. You wouldnt believe the things they will say and do to persue their mislead goals. This one guy ~ Mr. Richards. Every shift I go into his room and he asks about his mother. The man Is nearing seventy. Common sense says he has no living parents. I dont know for sure because Ive never really had an easy way to look it up but I know his mother is dead. He doesnt necessarily think he is a young man but he wholeheartedly things his mother is coming to visit. You might think its curel or wrong to lie to a patient that depends on you for truth and compassion.

*Is mom on her way over*

^Mister Richards you know shes visiting Salt Lake City^

I tell him sometimes several times a day. I dont know why I started this specific lie. Ive never been to Salt Lake City and I dont really know anything about it but its a location that many associate with a far enough away vacaition spot that a lot of annoying questions are averted. Its in Utah I think. Dont judge bcause you dont know. My first few months with him were traumatic for both of us. Every day he would ask when his mother is coming to visit him in the hospital. He genuinely believes that he is not in a longterm care facility but a treatment hospital. I can understand how without context he might think that. We wear white scrubs. There are nurses and the like walking around with clipboards every other day. His condition is brutal and common. Every day he would ask. Every day I would tell him where he is and that his mother is not coming because she isnt around anymore. I would watch as the tears swell up in his eyes and watch his old heart just break. Every damn day. That sort of thing gets to a man. You just dont feel right ripping away his reality. Taking his mother away from him every day.

Something I have yet to mention is that Mr. Richards is THE Jason Richards* father of fish hatcheries in north America. Ive read his book. In the space of fifteen years he and his partner moved more than forty percent of the three major fish consumed in north America to their own private hatcheries. It might not sound exciting to you because fish isnt a huge part of the average American life. TO me this could be early retirement. It is important to point out that I didnt pick him. I was going to casually apply my method to whichever unforunate grandmas or grandpas I happen to get paired with. I just happen to be the luckiest motherfucker at Cedar Hills.

My roommate also works here* a bouncer like me. With a basic EMT certification theres only so much you can do as far as providing medical care. Even that may be an exaggeration. I can only administer medications already perscribed to a patient and a glorified synopsis of my job includes cleaning up accidental bowel movements and placing our clients back in their beds when they fall out. Ther LOVE falling. We ordered a bunch of these new mats back in january when the budget was more lax that now don the traditional fall zone beside patients beds. It is the source of some controversey in our wing because we have to report falls. New paperwork every night* but a fall consists of more than two and a half feet. The beds are close enough to the mats that their slides out of the bed no longer count as a fall.