The Beginning

At 30 years old, I found myself in a place I swore I would never go. I was NOT going to be a caregiver. I was not going to be a nurse, I was not going to work with the elderly, I was not going to deal with death, dying, or the stress of it all. My mother has worked in Nursing homes since she left nursing school 35 years ago and I grew up with the stories and the smells of it.

I went to art school. I'm not to shabby with a camera or a paintbrush. I worked in graphic design and hated it. Loathed it in fact.
So much so that when the cultural revolution of the clinton years ended any everyone with no real talent was laid off (including myself) I took the sage advice of my inner loathing and changed careers to massage therapy.

While techinally this is a caregiving career, it had nothing to do with what I had feared since childhood: death.

As, you may have figured though the interweaving of the fates I have found myself working as a massage therapist at the hospice department of the local hospital. Not only are my clients elderly, and diseased and dying... they have less than six months to live.

A writer friend of mine insisted that I write about my expiereces for my own edification and for others enjoyment. So I thought I would try it. Be warned. I have trouble spelling many words, but it isn't for lack of trying.