the first two days shadowing an experienced
transportation person. Harry looked to be older than most of the patients he
pushed around the hospital. He was a short cheerful man who didn’t seem to mind
that he was missing almost all his teeth. The patients all seemed to know and
like him. He was friendly and outgoing and always seemed to be just familiar
enough with the patient’s health problems to have a light conversation. I
thought he was a good role model for the position.
Wednesday morning I began my real working life as a human.
Technically I already was living as a human but when I reported to the hospital
I would be having an impact on the lives of people I came in contact with. I
would be a part of the human world that was spinning by each day.
The first few days I didn’t do much and I had the feeling I
was being observed. It was ironic. The observer was being observed. When I
clocked in on the Monday morning of my second week, things were different. I
was told by my supervisor Connie that I would be given “ongoing” assignments
each week and random assignments as they came in.
My first ongoing assignment was for Mondays, Wednesdays and
Fridays. I would be transporting a patient to and from the cancer transfusion
wing. Marie was quiet and pleasant considering she had difficulty breathing and
felt sick almost all the time. Marie had been battling cancer in the lymph
nodes for about two years. She had just turned 84 years old. I attempted to
slowly make small talk with Marie but on the second week she just made hand
gestures to let me know she didn’t want to talk. I understood and just smiled
quietly as I pushed Marie to and from her appointments. Marie didn’t seem to
care about life enough to talk about it. It was a sad situation but I was
determined not to let it affect me too much. I transported Marie back and forth
to the transfusion wing for two months before she finally passed away. I felt
relieved that she was no longer in pain or discomfort.
Although I knew that all the pain and suffering that humans
endured near the end of life was unnecessary, I thought I was adjusting to it
and accepting it well. Coming from a culture where end of life comfort and
assistance was as common and normal as sleeping, I knew I had to strive not to
get too emotionally invested in each person I watched suffer and die. I handled
it well for the first few months. Again I wondered if I was being observed. It
wasn’t until my fourth month that I began getting assignments in the pediatric
and young adult sections of the hospital.
The first assignment that really began to eat away at me was
Eli Bartlett. Eli was a 21 year old diagnosed with a soft tissue cancer first
appearing in his legs and then spreading throughout his body. Eli seemed
fearless as he joked about his illness but I knew that he was drifting in and
out of pain each time I heard him unconsciously moaning. It was if a sudden
sharp pain was stabbing him somewhere. I suspected it was his legs. It was the
third time I brought Eli back to his room from the infusion wing that he showed
me pictures from before he got sick. He was playing the drums in a rock band.
He looked so completely different wearing a sleeveless shirt, with his tattooed
muscular arms holding his drum sticks straight up in the air. He looked happy
and invincible with his jet black shoulder length hair and bluish streaks
running through it.
Eli wasn’t that much younger than me. On my hospital
paperwork it said I was 28. The CIPE program had some kind of complicated
calculation to estimate our Earth age based on our Ranjisi age. On Ranjisi I
was 54. I guess we were lucky living on Ranjisan. Not only did we live longer
but due to the much lower gravitational pull, we appeared to age much more
slowly. On Earth, I looked to be around 28 years old.
Eli seemed to take a liking to me the first day I met him.
Although I didn’t have any tattoos or piercings, he must have sensed that I
liked punk
transportation person. Harry looked to be older than most of the patients he
pushed around the hospital. He was a short cheerful man who didn’t seem to mind
that he was missing almost all his teeth. The patients all seemed to know and
like him. He was friendly and outgoing and always seemed to be just familiar
enough with the patient’s health problems to have a light conversation. I
thought he was a good role model for the position.
Wednesday morning I began my real working life as a human.
Technically I already was living as a human but when I reported to the hospital
I would be having an impact on the lives of people I came in contact with. I
would be a part of the human world that was spinning by each day.
The first few days I didn’t do much and I had the feeling I
was being observed. It was ironic. The observer was being observed. When I
clocked in on the Monday morning of my second week, things were different. I
was told by my supervisor Connie that I would be given “ongoing” assignments
each week and random assignments as they came in.
My first ongoing assignment was for Mondays, Wednesdays and
Fridays. I would be transporting a patient to and from the cancer transfusion
wing. Marie was quiet and pleasant considering she had difficulty breathing and
felt sick almost all the time. Marie had been battling cancer in the lymph
nodes for about two years. She had just turned 84 years old. I attempted to
slowly make small talk with Marie but on the second week she just made hand
gestures to let me know she didn’t want to talk. I understood and just smiled
quietly as I pushed Marie to and from her appointments. Marie didn’t seem to
care about life enough to talk about it. It was a sad situation but I was
determined not to let it affect me too much. I transported Marie back and forth
to the transfusion wing for two months before she finally passed away. I felt
relieved that she was no longer in pain or discomfort.
Although I knew that all the pain and suffering that humans
endured near the end of life was unnecessary, I thought I was adjusting to it
and accepting it well. Coming from a culture where end of life comfort and
assistance was as common and normal as sleeping, I knew I had to strive not to
get too emotionally invested in each person I watched suffer and die. I handled
it well for the first few months. Again I wondered if I was being observed. It
wasn’t until my fourth month that I began getting assignments in the pediatric
and young adult sections of the hospital.
The first assignment that really began to eat away at me was
Eli Bartlett. Eli was a 21 year old diagnosed with a soft tissue cancer first
appearing in his legs and then spreading throughout his body. Eli seemed
fearless as he joked about his illness but I knew that he was drifting in and
out of pain each time I heard him unconsciously moaning. It was if a sudden
sharp pain was stabbing him somewhere. I suspected it was his legs. It was the
third time I brought Eli back to his room from the infusion wing that he showed
me pictures from before he got sick. He was playing the drums in a rock band.
He looked so completely different wearing a sleeveless shirt, with his tattooed
muscular arms holding his drum sticks straight up in the air. He looked happy
and invincible with his jet black shoulder length hair and bluish streaks
running through it.
Eli wasn’t that much younger than me. On my hospital
paperwork it said I was 28. The CIPE program had some kind of complicated
calculation to estimate our Earth age based on our Ranjisi age. On Ranjisi I
was 54. I guess we were lucky living on Ranjisan. Not only did we live longer
but due to the much lower gravitational pull, we appeared to age much more
slowly. On Earth, I looked to be around 28 years old.
Eli seemed to take a liking to me the first day I met him.
Although I didn’t have any tattoos or piercings, he must have sensed that I
liked punk
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