experience dealing with social workers, determined that only those freshly out of school and in their first placement wear an I’m ready to change the world expression. The rest—underpaid, overworked, and drowning in red tape—look like the woman who stood in the doorway of Katie’s hospital room.
I appreciated that she allowed me to finish reading Where the Wild Things Are before she cleared her throat. Content in the knowledge that Max had made it home to sleep in his own bed, I joined the woman in the hallway.
She clutched the clipboard she held as though it were a shield that wielded magical bureaucratical protection. “I’m sorry to interrupt your visit with your niece, Miss Lee. I’m Stacy Kiernan, the hospital’s patient liaison.”
She stuck out her hand.
I wondered whether she’d remembered we’d met before. Twice over the past couple of days in fact.
I shook her hand. Just like the other two times, it was warm and firm. She made sure to make eye contact. I’m guessing that’s Social Worker 101—make a connection, create a rapport.
“We’ve met before, Ms. Kiernan.”
“Oh good, you remember that.”
“Yup.” I’d lost my mind, not my memory.
“Some people don’t. For some, all this,” she waved her arms as though encompassing the entire building, “is too much.”
“Uh huh.”
“Perhaps we could sit down?” Without waiting for a response, she hurried toward a “guest” area at the end of the hall. The whole place was littered with impromptu waiting spots, clusters of two or three chairs tossed into every available corner. Since patients were only allowed two visitors at a time, family members spent shifts rotating from bedside to “guest” areas in a macabre game of musical chairs.
When we were both settled in chairs facing one another, Stacy Kiernan slid the glasses on top of her head down onto her nose. She looked down at her clipboard, making a show of reading the papers attached to it.
She didn’t fool me for a second. I knew that she was stalling for time, putting off the inevitable. She was the bearer of bad news.
I didn’t know exactly what the bad news was, but I was ready for it. I had been since the moment I’d seen her standing in Katie’s doorway.
I wanted to tell her that it was okay. I wished I could tell her to just spit it out. I wasn’t going to collapse, or cry, or freak out. I’ve heard it all before: Your father’s been arrested for murder. Your mother needs help. Darlene’s body has been found. Marlene’s left a note, she’s run away. There’s been an accident. Katie’s in a coma. I’m as accustomed to receiving bad news as some ridiculously lucky people are to yell “BINGO!” on a weekly basis.
I couldn’t tell her all that, though. I would have sounded crazy. So instead I just waited, watching as she adjusted her glasses. She and Katie were currently in a dead heat when it came to scintillating conversation.
Finally, unable to bear the uncomfortable silence for another second longer, I blurted, “You’re kicking her to the curb, aren’t you?”
Stacy Kiernan reared back as though the very idea was offensive, as though she’d never considered doing such a thing, like that wasn’t the exact reason we were sitting there.
“I . . . I. . . .” she stuttered.
I literally had to sit on my hands to keep from saluting her and saying, “Aye, aye, Captain!” Instead I fixed an expectant stare on her.
She couldn’t meet my eyes. “Well, I would . . . I wouldn’t have . . . I’m sorry, but the insurance . . .”
She seemed incapable of stringing a complete sentence together.
I took pity on the unfortunate woman. It must really suck to have to tell people their loved ones are getting booted from the best care facility because of astronomical medical bills. “It’s okay. Can I get you a cup of water or something?”
Her gaze skittered in my direction. Poor thing was still waiting for me to blow up at
I appreciated that she allowed me to finish reading Where the Wild Things Are before she cleared her throat. Content in the knowledge that Max had made it home to sleep in his own bed, I joined the woman in the hallway.
She clutched the clipboard she held as though it were a shield that wielded magical bureaucratical protection. “I’m sorry to interrupt your visit with your niece, Miss Lee. I’m Stacy Kiernan, the hospital’s patient liaison.”
She stuck out her hand.
I wondered whether she’d remembered we’d met before. Twice over the past couple of days in fact.
I shook her hand. Just like the other two times, it was warm and firm. She made sure to make eye contact. I’m guessing that’s Social Worker 101—make a connection, create a rapport.
“We’ve met before, Ms. Kiernan.”
“Oh good, you remember that.”
“Yup.” I’d lost my mind, not my memory.
“Some people don’t. For some, all this,” she waved her arms as though encompassing the entire building, “is too much.”
“Uh huh.”
“Perhaps we could sit down?” Without waiting for a response, she hurried toward a “guest” area at the end of the hall. The whole place was littered with impromptu waiting spots, clusters of two or three chairs tossed into every available corner. Since patients were only allowed two visitors at a time, family members spent shifts rotating from bedside to “guest” areas in a macabre game of musical chairs.
When we were both settled in chairs facing one another, Stacy Kiernan slid the glasses on top of her head down onto her nose. She looked down at her clipboard, making a show of reading the papers attached to it.
She didn’t fool me for a second. I knew that she was stalling for time, putting off the inevitable. She was the bearer of bad news.
I didn’t know exactly what the bad news was, but I was ready for it. I had been since the moment I’d seen her standing in Katie’s doorway.
I wanted to tell her that it was okay. I wished I could tell her to just spit it out. I wasn’t going to collapse, or cry, or freak out. I’ve heard it all before: Your father’s been arrested for murder. Your mother needs help. Darlene’s body has been found. Marlene’s left a note, she’s run away. There’s been an accident. Katie’s in a coma. I’m as accustomed to receiving bad news as some ridiculously lucky people are to yell “BINGO!” on a weekly basis.
I couldn’t tell her all that, though. I would have sounded crazy. So instead I just waited, watching as she adjusted her glasses. She and Katie were currently in a dead heat when it came to scintillating conversation.
Finally, unable to bear the uncomfortable silence for another second longer, I blurted, “You’re kicking her to the curb, aren’t you?”
Stacy Kiernan reared back as though the very idea was offensive, as though she’d never considered doing such a thing, like that wasn’t the exact reason we were sitting there.
“I . . . I. . . .” she stuttered.
I literally had to sit on my hands to keep from saluting her and saying, “Aye, aye, Captain!” Instead I fixed an expectant stare on her.
She couldn’t meet my eyes. “Well, I would . . . I wouldn’t have . . . I’m sorry, but the insurance . . .”
She seemed incapable of stringing a complete sentence together.
I took pity on the unfortunate woman. It must really suck to have to tell people their loved ones are getting booted from the best care facility because of astronomical medical bills. “It’s okay. Can I get you a cup of water or something?”
Her gaze skittered in my direction. Poor thing was still waiting for me to blow up at
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