this is not a complaint. just a statement.

my back hurt when i helped, twice, with our 518 pounds patient a few nights ago. the six of us, to place the bedpan underneath her, and the six of us to take it out and clean her.

in all honesty, i do not hate morbidly obese patients. i have two very specific feelings everytime i help them or take care of them myself. the first is sadness, the second is fear, never hatred. sadness because i cannot imagine how these patients live their lives productively and independently. fear because what if i continue to fail in my weight loss efforts, never lose that extra 40 pounds, and i end up being one of them, dependent and embarassed, because of my weight?

she was pleasant and very appreciative, but as we wipe our sweat after helping her, words were not needed to express her shame. as she thanked us profusely, looking away embarassed, i just wanted to hug her.

i am not being overly dramatic. i don’t know why i am not immuned from falling into one of my ponder moments everytime i encounter patients like her, considering i see them quite often. i think it makes my job harder, that i always go home feeling heavy after a shift like that, and it doesn’t make matters easier when i finally notice that my back hurts.

so much for work. this is not supposed to be a post of whine.

anyway, last saturday, i turned 39. when i was a teenager, i thought of people who were 39 as people who were really really ancient and were supposed to be displayed in a museum. well, look who’s talking now.

my coworkers thought i was being sarcastic when they greeted me and i answered: “one more year and my life will begin!” i don’t know if i am repressing depressive thoughts because i am growing old, but i do look forward to turning 40 next year just to see if that old line “life begins at 40″ is true.  they said my optimism is sickening because i am happily ignoring the fact that that line is totally untrue, and the real deal is “it’s all downhill from 40″.

i don’t know, i’ve always been a “the glass is half full” kind of gal. which reminds me…sincere thanks to those who expressed positive comments on my fictional stories. in my dream i am a writer. too bad i always wake up :)

okay, i’m off to have a massage, pamper my old creaking bones, rejuvenate my battered body. you’ll agree with me when i say i totally deserve it, right?