NO WHINING.

I am sitting in my office at home tying to put into words what I am feeling at the moment. Frustration, perhaps above all.

A week ago Friday I got news that the volunteer coordinator from Toronto Hospice had left her job. I am truly sorry to see Tracy go. She is a kind and sweet lady and she was trying very hard to help me get some worth while experience. I recognized that Tracy leaving was an opportunity I could not ignore and so I left a message with DM the Executive Director of Toronto Hospice.

DM and I spoke a week ago Monday and she told me she was delighted with my work as a volunteer and with all the help I have been providing at the office. She told me that because the volunteer coordinator position had been turned over quickly twice in a row she (and the staff) felt strongly that they were concerned the volunteers were not left with a sense of insecurity. They wanted the next person to fill the role to be a graduate of a program and/or to have experience volunteer management in a hospice environment.

In other words, I was not going to be considered for the job.

I can’t fault DM for her logic regarding the posting. She is being a responsible Executive Director.

We spoke about how the environment of Hospice care has changed from a grass-roots at-home kind of thing to a more “professional” environment. Toronto Hospice is a far step away from the sixty friends who got together to help Margaret Frazer die at home in 1984.

I understand the need for professionalism and standards of care, but I can’t help but wonder when people like me, eager, willing to learn, ethical, passionate and compassionate are squeezed out over cookie cutter graduates if that is a good thing.

Adding to my foul mood was my night with Mrs K.

She can’t speak and has taken to “mouthing” at her care givers and expecting us to lip read to understand her. She is impatient and irritable when we do not understand her. We have a letter board that we use to try and communicate with her but she frequently refuses to use it. Last night she was talking to me about a bunch of really important stuff. I could not understand a word she was mouthing and she kept getting irritated at me for not understanding. Finally I cracked and started to cry. I had to walk out of the room to compose my self.

I am a sobbing wreck as I re-read passages from “Menya and end of life story” When Menya consented to go in to the palliative care ward at St Michaels hospital it seemed that her dieing process became so much more peaceful. In the final days of her life there is so much grace and love it makes me weep every time I read it. Being on Mrs K’s care team is much different. Every shift with Mrs K is a struggle. She fights her nurses, her care team, the inevitability of her death. I want to be understanding, respectful of her choice, even though it is one I would never make.

At one point during our conversation last night Mrs K said she wanted to go home. “you want to go home?” I repeated back at her. “What would you say?” she snapped/mouthed at me.

“About what?” I asked

“This. Everything.” She said.

I told her would have nothing to say as I would not have allowed my self to be in her position. If I had ALS I would have refused a respirator. She seemed to consider this briefly and told me that she “never agreed” to the respirator. I know that’s not true. But its interesting that she might be changing her mind.

I am looking over what I have just written and I am feeling much less melancholy than I was when I started. It has been a lousy couple of days.

But: NO WHINING. NO “WHY ME?”

If Toronto Hospice wants a certificate I’ll go out and get one. I’ll sign up for the “fundamentals of Volunteer management” course that Humber college is offering.

And now I will head out to the gym and run the rest of my ill humour into submission.