Another week of surprises

It's Sunday night, just doing laundry, sipping Irish whiskey while listening to Eric Clapton.  I'm a big fan.

Earlier today my cell phone rang with "private" on the caller ID.  I knew that it was the owner of the funeral home who was calling me to see if I can do an on-call home pickup of someone who just died.  As a friend of mine said recently, "Grim Reaper doesn't take a day off."  Indeed.  But work was the last thing on my mind after waking up at 2 pm and drinking coffee and surfing the Internet.  So I didn't answer, despite the flat pay would be quite equitable compared to my usual hourly pay.  After five minutes, I decided why not, it's easy money, I'm in and out, and go on about my day.  I called the office and the weekend receptionist said that he already got someone else for the job.  Oh well, at least I can stay in my T-shirt and underwear and continue doing nothing which is just fine with me on a Sunday.

My schedule is Monday through Friday morning to afternoon.  I've had plenty of jobs with odd hours and this is nice, not to mention slightly better pay than most driver jobs that don't require special licenses.  You might ask why I took this sort of job in the first place.  Well, I needed a job.  So I browsed through Craig's List and applied to this job figuring it wouldn't hurt to apply.  After two interviews I got it, and much to my delight the funeral home is only a mile away from my home.  After they offered me the job I had to really ask myself whether I could do a job like this.  I decided that people die, get boxed up and cremated whether I see it or not.  All in all I figured it would be an interesting job, as a big fear of mine is being stuck in a boring ass job, staring at the clock every single day.  Ugh.  That fear outweighed my fear of looking at dead people in the face, and I figured I can quit if it became too much to bear.

I think most professional drivers like the freedom in their jobs, being out on the road, away from office drama, no asshole manager looking over your shoulder.  If I feel tired I'll stop by Starbucks.  A big plus for me is getting to listen to the radio and singing my heart out in the van.  If the dead can hear I think they would approve of my singing.  I worked as a driver for a nursing home last year and in a way it helped me prepare for this job.  Please, no jokes.  I've seen an elderly man who lived in the nursing home I worked at come in on a body bag my first week at the funeral home.  That was surreal.  But I didn't feel sad for him, he was in his nineties and I recall his son visiting him almost daily.  He lived a long life, we should all be so lucky.

I try to walk to work.  Get some exercise, see and smell the neighborhood, it's nice.  Walking home after a long day of driving is refreshing;  the last thing a driver wants to do is to drive home, being stuck in traffic, etc.  For lunch, if I'm at the funeral home, this is my routine:  Go to 7-11, buy a Super Big Gulp and a chili dog or two, eat it right outside the store like a hobo, stroll back sipping on my big Cadillac-sized soda.  Sometimes I get the blood-red Hawaiian Punch.  Usually after lunch it's time to go pick up bodies at the MEO, and in the first couple of weeks I was concerned about puking up my lunch if I see something really disgusting, but now I feel comfortable eating anything, except for maybe spaghetti with meatballs.  But if it's good I think I can eat it just fine.

Most bodies go through an autopsy at the MEO.  Most have a Y incision on their torsos, and if they are donors their legs also get sliced open to harvest (that's the official term) bones, in addition to skin from the back as well as internal organs.  I have a lot of respect for those who cut up humans all day.  The bodies get sutured up just like baseball gloves, quickly with no regard to aesthetics, just to prevent leakages.  Last Friday an autopsy assistant brought one out to me saying, "This one is juicy, " which meant there's a lot of blood and fluid in the body bag.  I have to be careful when transferring the body from the table to my gurney as body bags tear quite easily.  You would think they would be a lot tougher than a trash bag, but they're only marginally stronger.  People at the MEO are very nice, I figure since they see all sorts of dead people they have a broader perspective on life.  So far from what I've seen, my conclusion is that living and dying is not up to us:  We all can go at any time, we are not in control as we want to believe.

A twenty-one year old girl was killed in a car accident and the embalmer reconstructed her head and face which was crushed.  I saw the girl after the embalmer's work and I thought what a pretty girl, and what a shame for her to die so young.  I imagine her parents must be devastated with grief.  Apparently her car jumped over the center divider and hit another car head-on.  And just like that, another life extinguished.

A middle-aged man got embalmed at the funeral home and I helped the office manager dress the guy in clothes that his family sent, to prepare him for his viewing.  They sent clothes that really don't fit him anymore, so we cut the seams in the back to make them fit.  But there was another problem:  Embalming fluid started to leak from his twisted, boneless legs through the sutures.  So we put him into a big plastic unitard and then we dressed him.  Problem solved.  We then used a Hoyer lift to drop him into the rental casket in the chapel, adjusted the clothes, closed the lid, then it was time for my lunch...

Hello!

My first blog!  I started driving for a mortuary/funeral home over a month ago in a coastal city in Southern California.  I’ll probably disclose the city as I get more comfortable with this blog thing.

In just a month I’ve already seen a lot, more than most people ever will.  Everyone dies, some young, many old, from illness, accidents, etc.  My job entails going to pick up the deceased from homes, hospitals, Medical Examiner Office, Coroner Office, other funeral homes, crematory.  I have to check the body and put the ID tag on the wrist or ankle of the dead person.  From still-warm bodies to dark-green decomposed, I have to bear whatever smell and bag the body, bring it to the mortuary, wrap it in a cardboard box, put it in the refrigerator (or cooler as they call it), then load 8 to 10 boxes into a van and drive over one hour to the crematory where they will be cremated, then bring the ashes back.

Lately I have been the lead driver, making home and MEO pickups.  I wanted to start this blog as I started this job but I wanted a clever blog title.  Forward a month, I didn’t want to delay any longer so here it is.  I also felt that this job was way too serious to discuss on places like Facebook.

The other day I picked up my first suicide victim from along with his suicide note in his diary.  I think suicide is the most pussy thing to do, but if I had this guy’s problems maybe I’d consider it too.

Last week I made a house call, a 250lb+ woman who died face down behind the front door in a lower middle class neighborhood.  I had to drag her by her ankles to make enough room to roll her over.  Her face smeared blood on the floor as I dragged her.  The sad part was her young daughter who tried to be brave and help out, but when she saw the blood she ran out crying, “I can’t do this!”  My heart goes out to her.  I rolled her over onto a plastic bag on top of a hand gurney and wrapped her up.  I had to get another plastic bag since one wasn’t enough to cover her up completely.  A neighbor girl and the woman’s brother lifted the feet end while I lifted the heavy end to get her onto the wheeled gurney.  She was freakin’ heavy, just about the limit of what I can lift.  But we managed, I loaded her into the van, said my condolences to the family and left.

Once in a while I pick up a decomposed body from the MEO or CO.  While I’ve gotten more used to seeing dead people, I’ve not gotten used to smelling the foul ones.  It’s bad, there’s no other way to describe it.  No fart or grease trap can equal this smell.  Some stink despite being frozen stiff.  And sitting in a cargo van with them is not easy, even with windows rolled down and A/C blasting.  Yes, I still have to open the body bag and wrap a tag around the wrist or ankle.  sometimes the skin slides off…totally gross.

I’ll post as often as I can, as I recall more situations I encountered.  Everyday I go to work wondering what I’ll see.  So far it has been quite an experience, and for that I’m grateful.