Before I continue with any further posts, I need to address the issue of confidentiality as it relates to purpose. Whenever someone is mentioned by name, whether it be an employee or someone for whom we provide care, I will not be using his or her real name. I will assign a name that is in no way related to the person in order to maintain privacy and confidentiality.
In addition to discretion, I also intend to maintain dignity and respect for everyone involved. That's why I will not share any stories that may be embarrassing for anyone (except maybe for me) and will tread lightly when it comes to the negative aspects of my job. For instance, there will be discussions of things such as adult briefs, bodily functions, and yes, even criminal behavior, but only in the general sense; I will never assign these topics to a specific person even though names are changed.
Why even bother telling these stories if I have to go through all of this, one might ask? Simple. One of the best means by which you can maintain your own mental health while working in the field is having the ability to share some of your experiences. Many people don't understand what this line of work entails and more often than not I feel as though I am beating my head against a wall trying to get the people the same rights and privileges that you and I take for granted. Unfortunately, many of those who don't know what this is like are the ones who make budgetary and legislative decisions directly affecting the disabled population. It seems that the general consensus among them is that "we need to keep the developmentally disabled from dying" instead of "we need to make sure that they are living." It is for this reason that I tell the stories.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
How it all started
People often ask me how I got into this line of work; honestly, it was on a whim. In 1998, I was working fulltime at a bank, when I decided I wanted to go back to college. Banking hours weren’t conducive to a full time school schedule, so I started looking for second-shift work. Sure, I could’ve put in for a transfer to the proof department downtown (they work evenings), resigning myself to verifying and completing teller transactions until my eyes bled. As enticing as it sounded, I decided to see what else was out there.
As I scanned the classifieds, I saw many ads for “direct care workers—2nd shift” so I decided I would see what it was all about. The pay seemed decent (at least in Oakland County) and the hours were right so I called and Debbie, who managed the residential care facility, asked me to come in for an interview.
When I arrived for the interview the next day, I was surprised by just how “residential” the place was. The two-story white house sat at the end of a long, curved driveway. It had large windows with green shutters and a porch that ran the length of the front of the house. As I walked to the front door, I could smell the flowering shrubs that framed the well kept lawn. “This might not be too bad,” I thought to myself.
Debbie gave me a quick tour of the classically decorated house, which ended in the kitchen. She asked me to fill out the application that was sitting on the table and excused herself because she had to return some phone calls. As I worked on the application, I could faintly hear her talking in the other room, but didn’t pay attention to what she was saying until her voice became noticeably louder.
“Yeah, Danny went after Karen with a knife again last night,” Debbie said. “Someone left the silverware cabinet unlocked again.”
I set the pen down.
“No, he didn’t stab her but he did push her down the stairs. She’s all right, just a sprain and a few bruises. If this keeps up though, someone is going to end up in the hospital or dead.”
I picked the pen back up. My intention was to complete the application but I instead scribbled “sorry” at the top of the application and hurried out the door. This almost discouraged me from going to my next interview with a different company (the company that hired me and I am still employed with to this day), but I always try something twice before I decide I don’t like it.
As I scanned the classifieds, I saw many ads for “direct care workers—2nd shift” so I decided I would see what it was all about. The pay seemed decent (at least in Oakland County) and the hours were right so I called and Debbie, who managed the residential care facility, asked me to come in for an interview.
When I arrived for the interview the next day, I was surprised by just how “residential” the place was. The two-story white house sat at the end of a long, curved driveway. It had large windows with green shutters and a porch that ran the length of the front of the house. As I walked to the front door, I could smell the flowering shrubs that framed the well kept lawn. “This might not be too bad,” I thought to myself.
Debbie gave me a quick tour of the classically decorated house, which ended in the kitchen. She asked me to fill out the application that was sitting on the table and excused herself because she had to return some phone calls. As I worked on the application, I could faintly hear her talking in the other room, but didn’t pay attention to what she was saying until her voice became noticeably louder.
“Yeah, Danny went after Karen with a knife again last night,” Debbie said. “Someone left the silverware cabinet unlocked again.”
I set the pen down.
“No, he didn’t stab her but he did push her down the stairs. She’s all right, just a sprain and a few bruises. If this keeps up though, someone is going to end up in the hospital or dead.”
I picked the pen back up. My intention was to complete the application but I instead scribbled “sorry” at the top of the application and hurried out the door. This almost discouraged me from going to my next interview with a different company (the company that hired me and I am still employed with to this day), but I always try something twice before I decide I don’t like it.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Adulthood
Let’s talk about what I can’t talk about. The first question people usually ask when they find out I work in an adult foster care facility (aka group home) is, “do you have to change diapers?” My answer now is always “no.” Because, you see, diapers are for babies and we take care of adults and adults wear disposable briefs. I know this may sound like it’s not a big deal, but it has to do with dignity and dignity is a big deal. All too often people who live in group homes are viewed as children and the resulting mentality is that they should be treated as such. While some of them may admittedly have childlike qualities, this does not negate the fact that they are adults and should be afforded the same considerations as other adults.
Time for a story. Many years back, there was a major controversy over crayons and coloring books in our corporation. Administration felt that crayons and coloring books were not age appropriate for our people and urged us to do away with them in the homes. The problem was that many of the people enjoyed coloring and it was an activity in which they chose to participate. I’ve personally known many adults over the years who enjoyed coloring and simply asked my supervisor at the time if she was going to take their coloring books away too. My question was not well received and I have since developed better communication skills, but I got my point across. The discussion escalated to the level of heated argument, culminating with my request for a clear definition and list of age appropriate activities. Once I received the list, I promised I would gladly remove the coloring paraphernalia from the home; a list never appeared and we are still coloring to this day.
Time for a story. Many years back, there was a major controversy over crayons and coloring books in our corporation. Administration felt that crayons and coloring books were not age appropriate for our people and urged us to do away with them in the homes. The problem was that many of the people enjoyed coloring and it was an activity in which they chose to participate. I’ve personally known many adults over the years who enjoyed coloring and simply asked my supervisor at the time if she was going to take their coloring books away too. My question was not well received and I have since developed better communication skills, but I got my point across. The discussion escalated to the level of heated argument, culminating with my request for a clear definition and list of age appropriate activities. Once I received the list, I promised I would gladly remove the coloring paraphernalia from the home; a list never appeared and we are still coloring to this day.
Greetings and Salutations...
Working in the field of Human Services can definitely take a toll on someone, but it can be worth it. I should know—I’ve been doing it for the last 12 years as a manager of an adult foster care facility for developmentally disabled adults. I’m not going to lie, I started down this path on a whim, and here I am still today. I have lots of stories I could tell, but can’t tell many of them due to the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, or as it is more affectionately know—HIPAA. This legislation was enacted to protect the personal information of those receiving health and human services, but it created some significant difficulties for providing services which I will discuss at a later date. For now, I will just say that this presents a unique challenge for my discussions of my experiences working in the field.
I am not allowed to share any identifying information of the individuals receiving services, nor would I want to violate their privacy in such a manner. However, since they are a significant part of my day, I can’t help but want to talk about them. I want to talk about how wonderful they are, how they have a way of turning a bad day around, and how others would be fortunate to know them the way I do. What I am able to talk about in detail are the trials and tribulations of navigating the nonprofit sector and all the bureaucracies that entails. It may sound boring (and sometimes it is) but there are times when you literally stop and say to yourself, “What the..., did that really just happen?”
With that being said, hopefully this blog will provide an interesting glimpse into a world often overlooked by mainstream society.
I am not allowed to share any identifying information of the individuals receiving services, nor would I want to violate their privacy in such a manner. However, since they are a significant part of my day, I can’t help but want to talk about them. I want to talk about how wonderful they are, how they have a way of turning a bad day around, and how others would be fortunate to know them the way I do. What I am able to talk about in detail are the trials and tribulations of navigating the nonprofit sector and all the bureaucracies that entails. It may sound boring (and sometimes it is) but there are times when you literally stop and say to yourself, “What the..., did that really just happen?”
With that being said, hopefully this blog will provide an interesting glimpse into a world often overlooked by mainstream society.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
