Er, so.  I’m back.  Hi. 

I’ve got loads of things to talk about that people who read this blog might actually care about, but that’s just not going to happen today.  Please accept my deep and not-remotely-sincere apologies.

(Oh, btw, no one worry – trip was fine.  Details to come in later post(s).)

I got off the plane Tuesday night, stayed with my mother in her “I’m stupidly wealthy so I like to rent sick lofts in the city for the fuck of it” apartment, got awesome Indian food on her dollar, and then came home yesterday.

Got myself cleaned up, unpacked a bit, did laundry, and headed to work last night.

As some of you might know, I work providing direct care in a group home. There are two women in residence – Leslie and Kay – and I work exclusively in that home, with just those two ladies.  I am there four nights a week – it’s  basically my second home.

I checked on my girls around midnight, turned on the baby monitor we keep for Kay (she has a profound seizure disorder, so we listen in on her during the night via the monitors because going into her room disturbs her and it’s hard for her to get back to sleep sometimes) and settled in for the night. I thought about what I was going to make the girls for breakfast.  It was a quiet night.

At 6:30 in the morning, I woke Leslie, helped her dress and make her bed and talked to her about which staff was coming in and what she was doing today.  She was unusually chatty because I had been on vacation and she had lots of questions for me.  At 6:50, I went into Kay’s room and discovered her body.

When I touched her, she was cold.  When I shook her, she was stiff.  When I turned on the lights, I could see the pooled blood in her skin.  I know enough about rigor mortis and postmortem lividity to know she had been dead for hours.  I checked for a pulse anyway, out of instinct, I suppose.  I mean, there was no question she had expired… 

But still. 

I was almost appalled when the 911 dispatcher asked me if I knew CPR and if I’d like to try to resuscitate her.  But, of course, he couldn’t see what I was looking at. I tried to be clearer.  I told him she was cold and stiff and waxy. I said I could see the blood had pooled in her face.  It was fairly gruesome.

He asked again if I wanted to try CPR.

I declined, saying this time, “She is obviously deceased,” and I declined his offer to stay on the phone with me until first responders arrived, telling him I had phone calls to make.  I did.  Many.

I’m still worried about declining to attempt CPR.  Of course I’m certified – I have to be for my job – but I knew we are not legally allowed to decline things like ambulance transport for the people we support.  So was it all right that I declined? I felt better when the paramedics got there because one of them took a half-second look at Kay and said into his radio it was an obvious DOA…

But still.

I made the phone calls I had to make, and I spent most of today writing incident reports and a detailed chronological description of what happened, answering the questions of the local police, the state police, and the people from the office of the medical examiner.

And worrying about my job. 

Everyone – from my manager to my program director to our supervising nurse to the paramedics to the police – told me I did everything right, and in the right order.  I was commended on my level head, my ability to be completely cool during a crisis, my attentiveness, my cooperation, my job skills, everything…

But still.

There will be an investigation.   It’s state-mandated in these cases. I’m confident nothing bad will come of it, and I’m at peace with how I performed my job.  I’m guessing Kay just had a heart attack in her sleep.  Her monitor was quiet, her bedding was tucked neatly around her when I went into her room. There was no blood, no vomit, not a thing out of place.  She wasn’t ill or behaving oddly and had, in fact, had a full physical and seen her neurologist on Tuesday.  I know all six staff members – including myself – did not miss ANYTHING.

But… Still.

I just can’t be 100% comfortable walking into a shift at my job –  to care for these women – with them both being fine, and walk out with one of them dead.  On my watch.  My fucking watch.

I guess my feelings come down to this: Guilty, but not responsible.