hard

I'm watching AJ play in her bouncer right now. She is really growing up fast. Once we got to 3 months, things just took off with her developmentally. Now she can sit up by herself (of course surrounded by mommy or daddy or pillows). She's experimenting with cantaloupe in this cool little mesh pouch that prevents choking. She's happy and interactive. This is a very fun age. I -kind- of think she's the cutest baby of all time. But I know my perspective is a little skewed.

I went back to work 1-2 days per week at the state nursing home when AJ was about 10 weeks old. They really needed someone full-time though, so after a month or two, they hired a full-time RD who had been working up the street at the mental health hospital. Soooooo since I knew her boss, I emailed her to see if they were hiring part time. Lucky me! They were! So I trained the new RD for a week or two, then started at my new job the next week. It was such a smooth transition all the way around. Definitely the most confident I've ever been going into a new job. I feel like I know what I'm doing.

BUT. This new job is HARD. And when I say HARD, I mean HARD. The way their medical records are set up, I basically have to sort through everything to find the nutrition-information I need. (I'm sure I'll get better at it). But right now, I feel like I get slapped in the face over and over again 10 times a day with tragedy.

I work on the acute unit for people in mental health crises.

Raped. Molested as a kid. On drugs since they were 13. Alcoholic parents. 3rd admission to the facility. First child at age 15. Alcohol-> marijuana->cocaine->meth->mojo. Mental health issues since they were young. No work history. No education. No support. No solid relationships.

IT'S SO HARD. It feels like I'm too emotional to handle it. It's like when I pour over their chart, I'm reliving all the pain and hardship and tragedy they've been through. And it breaks me.

Where are you God? Where are you in their circumstances? In their pain? In their loss? In their... ...crazy? Where are you?

In some ways, this is harder for me to manage than the physical poverty I've seen. There's something about a poverty of spirit that is... so.... heart-wrenching.

On Thursday a girl asked, "Am I fixable? I don't think I'm fixable." (She drinks a 5th of vodka a day). The lady responded that yes, of course she was. But as soon as the patient left, she said, "She's not fixable. You can't fix that."

God, where are you?

It's so hard.