Be the Change

On paper, there was no good decision. 

Every choice that lay in front of Tara either led to someone getting violent, someone being further abused, or someone getting fired. None of the choices resulted in actual resolution, and as she realized this the familiar knot filled her stomach, threatening the preexisting ulcer that flared up when stress graced her with its presence. 

Sitting amid the stacks of superfluous case files and overly pedantic training manuals, Tara slowly sank into her chair, hoping to disappear as seamlessly as her ability to actually help her clients. Tomorrow marked month 3 at her shiny new job with her fancy degree, which she had proudly framed and hung next to her desk. Today marked the day that she became unequivocally  aware of the futility of being a social worker. 

I have to find a better solution, that’s what I am trained to do, she thought frantically to herself. Some kind of loophole, compromise, mitigation technique, anything to make this work where no one gets burned…. She impatiently clicked on the computer and dug through the company policy folders, praying for an idea. She then scoured the web, certain that someone, somewhere had already encountered this and had come out the other side clean.

Nothing. 

A sudden, sharp rap broke her concentration, and she looked up to see the receptionist knocking on her already open door. 

“Knock knock!” the receptionist chirped brightly. “If you’re not too busy, would you be able to call Ms. Johnson back? She said there’s something wrong with her power bill, and they are going to shut it off in 2 hours.”

Tara gaped at her with a blank expression, uncertain as to which face to wear in order to hide her aggravation, surprise, and anxiety in one fell swoop. A few seconds later, and her brain managed to plaster a smile on her face, and a calm voice emanated from her vocal chords.

“Sure, no problem!”

As soon as the receptionist was out of sight, Tara’s face fell back into its now-familiar form of overwhelming angst and secondary trauma. She sighed deeply before picking up the phone and dialing out. 

“Ms. Johnson? It’s Tara, I heard about the power company. Did they just call you and tell you they were going to shut it off? Oh….you’ve known about this for two weeks, and haven’t paid the electric for 2 months….why didn’t you call me sooner? Didn’t want to bother me, how sweet of you…uh huh…Okay, so all they need is a signed letter from a doctor faxed to them in the next two hours stating medical necessity for the power, and that will take care of it? No problem, I’ll get right on it. Uh-huh, you too! Buh-bye!”

Tara hung up the phone and sprang into action, immediately calling the doctor in charge of Ms. Johnson’s care. After receiving an earful from said doctor about the importance of not waiting until the last minute for such important documents, he begrudgingly agreed to sign off on a letter, but only if Tara wrote it up and emailed it to him in the next 10 minutes. 

In her head, Tara thought of the many unsavory responses she would like to give, then settled on feeding the “savior doctor complex” by thanking him profusely for his incredible efforts to care for the patient. She then whipped out the letter template she had in place for such events, filled in Ms. Johnson’s information, and sent it to the doctor for signing. 

Back to bigger problems, she thought as she mentally shifted to her original case. She made a list of the options: 

1. Place Mr. Davis in a nursing home, where he would receive adequate care, but his family would lose all of his social security income and therefore be evicted and homeless. 
2. Do nothing and allow Mr. Davis to be neglected in his current environment, possibly escalating into an abusive situation (not really an option).
3. See if it would be possible to increase staff presence in the home to relieve caregiver stress (also not actually an option). 
4. See if…

Another rap at the door brought Tara back into her dimly lit office, once again face-to-face with the receptionist. 

“Hey! Dr. Lindt called and said that the email didn’t go through, so you need to fax the letter, and ASAP before he leaves. He’s got a flight to Hawaii in the morning, and wants to be well-rested. Oh! And the nurse called to say that we are getting an emergency admission, so she will need your help with the admissions paperwork, so that she can get done on time.”

It felt as though Tara’s body was attempting to turn itself inside out in an effort to escape the ever growing apprehension building within. The receptionist’s sing-song countenance remained unchanged, her wide eyes blinking in Morse code: Did you get that? Stop. Can I go now? Stop.

Once more Tara’s body betrayed her and communicated an air of control, which was completely unfounded. 

“I’m on it!”

At an inhuman pace, Tara printed and faxed the letter to the doctor while simultaneously preparing the admission paperwork, while also getting the cover sheet ready to send to the power company, while fielding an unexpected phone call from an overly needy but non-emergency client, while faxing the received letter to the power company, while calling the power company to confirm receipt while calling Ms. Johnson to relay the status (because she’s already called in 3 more times), while calling the nurse to find out that the admission decided to go with another hospice group, while finally getting back to the unsolved problem of what to do with Mr. Davis, while…

“What are you doing?”

Leanna, the lead social worker sauntered into the office, lackadaisically munching on her third bag of peanut M&Ms for the day. She reached for the Diet Coke on her desk. 

“It’s like 4:50P.M., and we are done in 10 minutes. Why are you running around like a crazy person on Speed?”

Tara paused long enough to notice the whirlwind of paperwork splattered across her own desk, the quickened pace of her heart, and the disheveled appearance of her hair, which had been wind-whipped from her running back and forth to the fax machine. 

“Oh, not much,” she breathed smoothly, trying to act as casual as possible. “Just tying up a few loose ends for the weekend. And I think I came to a conclusion on what to do with Mr. Davis.”

“Yeah?” Leanna’s disinterest could not be more apparent, but Tara continued sharing.

“Yeah. I think placement is the best option. After all, he is my client, and he needs to be somewhere where his care needs can be met.”

Leanna emptied the last of the bag of M&Ms into her mouth, unmoved and unimpressed. “So that’s what Mr. Davis wants?”

Tara’s insides began to sink again. “What?”

“Mr. Davis, he’s alert and oriented, right? Able to make decisions? Then he has to choose where he lives,” Leanna stated, devoid of emotion. “Aaaaand from what I understand, that old man wants to stay planted right there in the family home.”

The aggravation from the day’s events bubbled to the surface, and Tara fought diligently to keep it from popping. “But he’s not safe there.”

“Of course not! But it’s his choice, so why are you killing yourself over it?” Leanna drained her Diet Coke and threw the bottle at the trash bin, missing it by a foot. “As long as you document that you offered placement and he declined, then your ass is covered.”

Tears found their way to the corners of Tara’s eyes. “But I didn’t actually help him.”

Leanna smiled a weary smile. “Welcome to social work, kid.” She then turned around, pointed to the clock which now read 5:00PM, and turned out the lights as she walked out the door. 

Tara stood for a moment in the darkness, her bag of expressions on the floor along with her jaw. She could not seem to take her eyes away from the $100,000 piece of paper hanging on the wall with her name on it that read, 

Changing the world, one person at a time.