Sharp Dressed Man?

Boy, there's just no shortage of song titles to rip off.  And I love it...

It was very warm today.  My day started out with three consecutive pickups of women whom I had to strap down on the gurney tight and stand on one end to make it through the tight hallways.  By my third one it was getting hot and I was feeling strained from the physical exertion getting these bodies out of their houses.  To top it off, the a/c in the small van stopped working, so I was sweatin' like a slave today.

The first stop was a luxury high-rise condo with a nine foot concert grand piano in the lobby.  I don't remember the last time I saw one of those in person.  If not for the fast removal I would've played something for sure.  The woman's daughter said I was the best-dressed driver she'd ever seen.  That was nice.  At the second house the hospice worker was a domineering bitch but the family was nice and their pet pug was fun too.

At the third house, the grandson slammed the door in my face initially because he thought I was a solicitor.  Ding dong..."I don't want anything, we're very busy," he said.  SLAM!  Ding dong...No, no, I'm from the mortuary.  "I don't want anything from the mortuary."  No, I'm here to pick up Mrs. So-and-so.  I'm the driver.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be here so soon."  Grieving people are, understandably, easily distracted.  This one was, apparently, by my dashing sense of fashion.

The owner of the our funeral home has been checking to see if I come to work on time, calling annoyingly often to check my status, and as of yesterday making me wear a necktie all the time (Other than wearing it in front of families--out of respect--I hate wearing a tie, especially on a hot day.  I've worn ties in many other jobs and I'm just over it).  Generally just busting my balls.

After sweating all morning I decided to take my tie off while doing paperwork before lunch.  Of course he sees this and says my name with a necktie hand gesture.  Still sweating I explained the situation, reassuring him that I'm not willfully disobeying him.  Hopefully the a/c will be fixed soon.

After lunch I was busy again, picking up several bodies at MEO and a hospital.  I could have taken Blue Lightning with its ice-cold a/c, but the small van really suits local runs better.  I found myself enjoying the 40 degree temperature inside the coolers after boxing up the bodies.  The smell inside the coolers is getting fainter by the week.

I did pick up one greenie from MEO today.  It was dark green, unfrozen, and covered in a sheet and doused with bleach to mask the horrendous stench.  So now it smells like rotten flesh with bleach.  I still have difficulty trying to wrap an ID tag around the ankle of such bodies.  But the employees there are so cool and supportive I chopped my way through it.

Handle With Care

This morning I went to remove an old woman from a nursing home.  She had died in bed, whether she drowned in her own blackish vomit is unknown.  It was a big, lively facility, dozens of physical therapists working with the elderly, walking, exercising, etc.  The old lady had two roommates, still in bed.  While I drew the sectional curtains to hide the removal, one roommate hid under her blanket as if frightened, and the other looked blankly into space as if she's numb to it all.

Having been a driver for a nursing home before, I almost felt like I worked here, and it felt strange to be the one to remove those who spent their last days.  Working with elderly requires a lot of patience, and I respect those who work with them, cleaning, dressing, feeding them.  For some residents that's the only interaction they get.  It still astounds me how many seniors go unvisited by their families, even over Christmas.

Second removal was a pickup at a large corporate cemetery, with a warehouse-like storage/prep room.  Their refrigerator looks like a warehouse of bodies, no boxes but just sheets covering them.  They do everything there;  funerals, burials, cremations, mausoleums.  The only drawback is they're much more expensive, so my guess is the family decided to save a few bucks by having us cremate their loved one.

First thing I saw walking in was an infant getting prepped (clothes, make-up).  That was sad.  There is always at least one make-up artist working, applying make-up to all those to be viewed.  I wonder what that job is like.  I got my body, checked the tag away we went.

A few days ago an elderly man died and came in to be embalmed at our funeral home.  Two days later his wife died and also came in to be embalmed, and they were both in the prep room on separate tables.  Me and the new guy (Arranger is his title) packed the couple into shipping crates, to be flown out of town tonight.  No ice was needed since they were embalmed.

Their bodies looked clean, so I can only imagine how they died.  Perhaps the wife "died of a broken heart", like they always say?  Our embalmer told me once that elderly people often "hang on" until they see their loved ones before letting go, so I wonder if she did the same.  I dropped them off at the airport together, and presumably they'll be buried alongside each other in another part of the country.

Death Patrol

This morning I drove to a fairly prestigious university hospital to transfer two bodies to its sister facility.  Information desk alerted Admissions that I was there to sign off on them and I went in, passing by a few people who were already waiting.  A man said to me with an attitude, "Uh, we're waiting here."  I told him that I'm from the mortuary and I just need to sign one item, and the man said, "Oh," and never made eye contact with me again, even as I said have a nice day as I left.

I met the friendly security guard who helped me the first time I came here weeks ago.  He was still friendly.  I then drove across town to the other facility and dropped off the bodies there.  The security there was also helpful, which I appreciate.

Last Friday, however, a different security guard there made an impression on me.  I delivered one body and this guy--with a cop mustache and a cop strut--escorted me to the morgue, opened the big steel door, then walked away to "watch the hall", which I thought was odd considering we're in the basement of a hospital.  I brought in the body from the van and this guy didn't even want to look, much less help.

After transferring the body onto a table, I asked him if he wanted to check the ID tag on the wrist.  "No, that's okay, I don't need to check, " he replied.  I said I can pull the arm out, you wouldn't need to touch it.  As I unzipped the bag, the guy raised his voice, "Sir!  SIR!!!  I will not check the body!  That is not my job and frankly, how would I know this is who you say it is?  It's just a tag.  You can tag anyone whatever name you want, so how could I really know who it is anyway?"

What?!?!  You're a security guard at a fucking hospital and you can't deal with a dead body?  Go back to the mall, you fucking pansy.

Incidentally, at another time at the same hospital, a security guard bigger than a refrigerator was also scared to look into the morgue.  I mean he was so big, as I walked behind him I felt sorry for his shoes;  he was that big.  And yet when it came to dead bodies, he wanted none of it;  a total pussycat in a sumo wrestler's body.

It's interesting to see hospital employee's reactions walking down the hallways with a covered dead body.  Doctors generally look like they don't give a shit, nurses generally have a look of understanding, and other employees (housekeepers, various clerks, etc.) often have a distinct look of discomfort walking by, some downright frightened by the sight of a cold, dead body rolling toward them.  Sometimes I wink at people when they pull their eyes off the deceased to glance at me.  I wish I could record their reactions, possibly with me having a deranged look on my face to incite a greater reaction.  Now that would make some good YouTube.

Otherwise, it was a typical Monday, the office now very crowded with employees and the stand-in manager barking like a chihuahua.  I made some pickups at MEO and Naval hospital.  That place is huge.

One removal last Friday stands out, though.  An elderly man died in ICU ward with his wife by his side.  When I arrived she was still weeping, hours after her husband's death.  After laying a yellow rose next to his head on the gurney, she asked if she can walk with me and the body to the van.  Again, how do you decline such a request?  When we got in the elevator, she told me the story:

"He was the best husband in the world.  We were married for 30 years, you know.  You see my watch? (stuck at 1:20) That's when he died.  He asked me to go get him a soda and I tried to hurry and hit my watch in the elevator and when I came back, he was gone.  The nurses told me that he didn't want me to see him die so he held on until I left the room.  That's the kind of man he was."

She kept talking and I kept listening.  Oddly enough, the elevator we were in opened on the wrong floor and made another trip up and down the floors before letting us out at ground level.  "See?  He doesn't want to leave the hospital," she said.  I loaded the body into the van and told the lady we're going to take good care of her husband, that we'll even cremate the flower she picked with his body if she'd like.  "Oh, that would be wonderful, " she said, now turning to her late husband, "Goodbye deary, you're going to go for one final ride."

After shutting the door, I told her I read a poem titled "Goodbye Isn't Forever" the night before, and that maybe we'll all see each other again someday.  That seemed to soothe her somewhat.  She then stood by the back entrance watching her husband ride off one last time.

This & That

Today I drove six bodies to the crematory and just drove a lot, not picking up any new bodies.  Drove across Riverside to Cathedral City then back running errands.

I helped the crematory guy take an old lady out of a box and into a soft casket, which is a thin, stackable casket made of low grade particle board wrapped in a grey mesh-type material.  It looks like one of those styrofoam ice chests you buy at the supermarket.  Her torso was green and the smell of decomposition was enough to make the crematory guy put on a mask, though I thought it was tolerable.

I also saw him open up the cremator halfway to stir the remaning bones for complete disintegration.  Seeing bones that are still intact burning is just what you would think:  Awesome.

At the end of the day I brought a body back to the funeral home.  About one out of 20 bodies comes back for one reason or another, then usually go back to the crematory after a few days.  Reasons for bringing back a body are due to families changing their minds on a viewing, embalming, to go with another mortuary, and/or to donate organs to private companies who, in return, pay for the cremation of the remains.

These companies are big business, selling organs to hospitals, medical schools, research labs.  I imagine they are more popular right now since a free cremation is so attractive to many families.  Preparing a body for donation is unique.  The body is left unembalmed, obviously, then packed into a shipping crate made of wood and cardboard along with 10 ice packs to keep the body cold during transport.  We then drive the crate to the airport and drop it off with an airline.  Next time you fly, consider that there are maybe 10 dead bodies right under your feet.

I forgot to mention I drove the company hearse last Friday.  I was wondering when I'd get to drive this thing.  Granted, it was just to get it washed and filled up with gas, it was still cool.  1980's Cadillac Fleetwood in dark blue.  It is big, heavy, and extremely (dead?) quiet inside;  it's a Cadillac.  It just dawned on me why a local hospital calls its morgue "The Cadillac Room".  I think a hearse would make a fine cross-country vehicle.  Just put an air mattress back there and you're good to go.

Family Guy

This morning I went to a house for a removal.  A man in his fifties with a large family.  There must have been at least 20 people in the small house, relatives and all.  There were people crying everywhere.  I told a man outside that there's no rush, I'll just wait in the van.  After a while, a woman came to me and said they were ready, but when I went inside were still a lot of people in the bedroom where the man laid, all crying.  I met the man's wife, gave my condolences and she signed the release form, or first call sheet, as it's called in the industry.

I waited again in the van.  Neighbors asked me if I'm from the Coroner, what time did the man die, etc.  After a while I went back in, and most of the family were in the living room, some still crying.  I went into the room to assess.  A few of the men offered to help.  After closing the door I explained to them that we were going to use the stretcher, roll him on his side, slide the plastic under him, etc.  I also told people in the living room to go to another room if they didn't want to see their loved one come out covered on a stretcher.  After setting up the gurney outside and unfolding the stretcher, everyone came in--again--to say goodbye, and the crying ensued yet again.  Someone asked me, "Please, could you give us a few more minutes?"  How do you say no to that?  I told them take all the time they needed as I exited the crowded room.

By now I was wondering how many hours I was going to be at this house.  If not for the overwhelming sadness I sense from these people I might have chuckled a bit at this situation.  I went back in after a while, saw LA Dodgers gear on a chair beside the bed and told the men I'm a fan too.  I also told them that this man is lucky to be at home with his loving family.  Blood poured from the man's mouth when we rolled him over but that didn't bother me.  The man's young son, in his late teens, was also helping.  I thought he was very brave, wiping his tears on his shirt sleeve as he helped lift his father out of the house.

After loading the gurney into the van, the family lined up at the rear of the van to say their final, final goodbye.  They touched his covered head and some started crying again.  I saw that the teen son wanted to say his last goodbye so I nodded for him to do so.  After saying my parting words, I got in the van and started driving slowly down the street.  I looked in the rear view mirror at the family slowly walking back into the house.

Funeral starts with F-U-N

On Saturday I woke up unusually early and the owner called at the right time.  An elderly woman died early in the morning and I was on my way to make a few extra bucks.  At the nursing home, the son came up to me as I talked to the charge nurse.  Families often approach me, I guess the necktie and a gurney are a dead giveaway.  We went into the room and I told him and his wife the usual, that they may not want to see his mother get wrapped up, so they left the facility with their sons.

I loaded the body into the van and just as I was about to go back, the owner called.  There was another body close to the funeral home that I could pick up also.  Might as well, it's easy money.  The next nursing home was not as nice as the first.  Hallways were dingy, the service elevator took forever, and the nurse took even longer to find the discharge sheet.  The woman who died was over 100 years old.  Holy cow, I know I won't live that long.  Although dead, she looked better than many 70 year-olds.  I drove back to the funeral home, boxed them up, and just past noon I was on my way to enjoying the rest of my weekend.

Today I was happy to drive to the crematory and escape the Monday morning office chaos.  Cold rain was on and off.  Driving back, I had to stop by a Starbucks for coffee.  I was tired, so I took a ten minute nap in the parking lot.  I remember the temp driver (who wasn't at work today) telling me last week that sometimes when you're tired, the best thing to do is pull off the road and close your eyes for a bit.  Good advise, I felt much better afterwards.

There were two new employees who started today.  One is supposedly the new office manager and the other a former paramedic, whose title I forget at the moment.  Both are men, the latter being friendlier than the former.  Now the office is really cramped.  We'll see who quits first, as I don't think both will be around for too long.

Life is a highway

My mother is ashamed of me.

To say she is disappointed or overly concerned would be sugarcoating it.  For whatever reason, she vehemently disapproves of me in this line of work.  When I first told her what I started doing she flipped out, yelling and screaming, begging me to stop and do something else.  Had I anticipated such a response I would have lied about my job.  Looking back I should have.

I imagine my work would not come up in a lunch conversation with her mom-friends ("My son just got promoted to director at his bank/firm/company.  What about your boy?"  "Oh, you know, he's still into his music thing...say this salad is delicious!").  I started to wonder if people were just being polite about my job when really they detested knowing such a person.

Truthfully, I had my own prejudices against people in this business.  Like, something has to be a little off about you to do this, right?  You must get some deviant pleasure from handling dead people, otherwise how could you do it for so long?

Where, when and how I got these notions is unclear.  To be sure, my mother is a kind, loving parent and an admirably hardworking person.  But she is quite superstitious, and apparently she believes that being exposed to dead people will affect me in the worst of ways, defiling me to the dark side.  Who knows, maybe she's right.

But I've learned a long time ago not to follow others' advise, however foolish it may be.  I would rather have my mother's consent than not, but as long as I find the work interesting I'll continue to do it.  Everything is still a wonder, and when I have nothing to write on this blog I'll consider changing jobs.

Today I drove Blue Lightning with the dubs all day, driving fast all over town and getting stares everywhere I went.  It handles so well on those low-profile tires, and with the strong V8 motor I surprised a lot of sucka-MC racers today, with this song running through my head.  Who knew you can haul ass while hauling ass?

Ride the lightning

This morning the lead driver and I picked up an old lady from her swanky beachside condo with a million dollar view.  I wouldn't mind retiring there, that's for sure.  On our way there we stopped by a corporate cemetary/funeral home.  All the female employees had black-dyed hair to match their black outfits.  I thought that was odd...

After that, I made a solo pick up at a house where an old man died on the floor of his bedroom after tying on one shoe.  The police was there, and they said I should take with me whatever is on him.  This man didn't smell as bad as the death breath lady, but smell of urine was strong in the room.  He was big, and with no stretcher, I lifted him onto the collapsed gurney using a towel from the bathroom with an officer lifting his legs.

Then I picked up another lady from a hospital I've never been to.  This one was pretty ghetto, you can tell by the basement and restrooms.  The body was still in the room, so I went up the elevator, signed papers with the charge nurse.  Nursing staff anywhere are predominantly women, and they're usually very nice.  Some even flirt with me.  I took the gurney into the room then closed the door.  I'm comfortable being alone in a room with a body now.  The body was in a bag, so I opened it up to check her ID.  She had a strong smell of iodine or something other that I've never smelled before.  I zipped up the bag, loaded onto the gurney, went down the elevator and drove back to the funeral home.

Here comes the sun

Today I felt a little sick when I woke up, like a mild cold.  Office manager said a family was here for a quick viewing, which is basically covering the body with a sheet and exposing the face for the family.  The body, though, had come back from the MEO and was in a body bag, which was not a good sign.  In addition to sutures all up and down, there was a lot of blood in the bag, like someone poured in a gallon of cranberry juice into it.  I did my best to be neat.  His eyes and mouth were open, as the manager pointed out, so we raised his head and used a small piece of styrofoam block under the chin to keep his mouth shut, then wrapped a towel around his head to hide the unsightly details.  As for the eyes, I've seen the embalmer use caps with small, spiked ridges to put under the eyelids to keep them closed.  So I did this, and the manager said to me, "I think I'm going to throw up."  She was kidding, of course, but I knew how she felt.  Not exactly the best way to start your day.  Amazing how far I've come in two months...

Coolers were full which meant a drive to the crematory.  It was difficult to load bodies since I felt weak and slightly dizzy, but I managed.  A lot of 200+lbs. bodies today.  After loading, an office assistant, a very nice older lady with bubbly personality, told me they needed a body to be held until further notice, not taken up to the crematory.  But the body was the first one I loaded and was at the bottom;  I would have to unload all of the boxes to take this one out.  Shit.  I was tired, and frankly a little agitated from everyone running around like headless chickens all morning.  So instead of loading twice, I called the other funeral home and asked if there is a viewing for this body today.  No.  Okay, I'll just drive up with it and bring it back at the end of the day.

Feeling weak, I wondered if I should have stayed in bed.  With no clean dress shirts, I reluctantly wore my black dress shirt today.  I have so far avoided wearing all black on this job, but this shirt was just going to waste and today was a good day as any.  I think I look good in black, so what the hell.

Just before leaving, the manager told me there will be a news crew at the crematory, and if they see me they'll probably interview me.  Great--of all the days--they have to be there when I'm dressed like a Satanic cult reject and feeling like shit on top of that?  The whole drive up I was thinking about what to say, or perhaps decline comment altogether. I imagined them asking me how I like this job and I'd reply with a straight face, "It's a dead man's party.  Who could ask for more?"

That would've been awesome, but when I arrived, the crematory guy said they'd already left after grilling him (no pun intended) with questions for an hour.  He said they asked odd questions, like are you married, have kids, how long have you been doing this, do you get sad over some bodies, etc.  In essence, we agreed they simply wanted to know how in the world could anyone in their right mind do this work.

Driving back to the funeral home, I relaxed and didn't push it like I usually do, I was too tired to amp up the focus level.  I turned off the radio for a while and enjoyed the wind and engine noise, watched people drive by, tried to find the optimum hand position on the steering wheel to avoid hand cramps.  The orange hue on the rocky mountains seemed nicer thanks to the extra hour of daylight.

Black Friday

My condolences to all those affected by nature's fury in Japan.  The rescue crews will no doubt dig up some gruesome scenes in the coming days and weeks.  I heard bodies decomposing in water are absolutely the worst to find.  I hope the survivors recover quickly and families' sufferings be short.

Anyway...

I picked up my first solo on-call removal last night around 9 o'clock.  A 91 year-old lady who passed away at home with her daughter by her side.  I had some trouble finding the house due to darkness.  Upon entering the house, the daughter asked me how I am going to take her mother away by myself.  Don't worry ma'am--I'm very strong, I reassured her, without even thinking about what I'm saying.  I told her she is welcome to watch but it may be difficult to her, so she went into the den while I did my work.

A stretcher was needed for the tight hallway but how will I really do this by myself?  Luckily the stretcher has wheels on one end just for this situation.  After wrapping up the 100 lb. woman and strapping her down tight, I unfolded the wheels down and lifted the head end at a 45 degree angle to make a turn into the hallway.  But she started to slide down, so I put the stretcher back on the bed and retightened the straps and tried again.  I collapsed the gurney in the kitchen, put the feet end of the stretcher onto the gurney then lifted the head end onto it, to avoid lifting the entire weight and killing my back.  It's true what they say, dead people are much heavier than live ones, hence the term "dead weight".  My logic still can't understand why this is so, maybe it's just mental, but the sensation is undeniable.

After loading and saying my parting words, driving back to the funeral home and boxing up the body, it took a total of two hours for this pick up.  Hope to trim it down to an hour in the future.  I still feel a bit spooked about being in the funeral home alone at night, but after almost two months I feel much more comfortable about it.

How do you want to die?

Today I drove up to the crematory with the temp driver.  Talking to him, he is a humble man who does this during the day and drives big rigs at another job at night--until 2 am.  He said he does not have a day off ever.  I didn't ask him why he needs to work so much.  Maybe he has illness in the family or he's an ex-convict trying to get back on his feet.  In any case I respect him more now.  I drove going there and he drove coming back since I was tired.  He's a good, safe driver, much more relaxed than me on the return trip.  I even took a nap.  He was telling me about this one time in Colorado, he saw from behind a motorcyclist get decapitated when an oncoming truck got too close to the double yellow line and hit the motorcyclist's head just as he leaned into a curve over the same line.  Clean off.  Just a freakish occurrence, the temp said.  At least it was quick, I said.  And another time when he pulled a guy out of a burning car and the guy--on fire and panicked--started running away from those trying to help him.  Eventually he was tackled and the fire put out, but he was burned all over really bad.  I said that's awesome, you saved another person's life.  And he replied, "You know, you're only the second person I've told this to.  First was my wife."

Since on-call driver's dismissal, the owner asked if I would be interested in doing some on-calls in the evenings and weekends.  I said sure, I could use the extra money.  He called the other night around 9 pm;  I was sound asleep.  He called last night at the same time;  I was in a movie theater about to watch "Take Me Home Tonight" and didn't want to be the doucheturd who talks on his phone as the movie starts, so I missed that one too.  The movie was so-so.  He called again tonight just as I ordered my food and beer at a restaurant with a friend;  I picked up to let him know I was not blowing him off, but I couldn't do this one either.  I wonder if he'll call later just as I'm to step in the shower.  Probably.

It's common for funeral directors to have to pick up the phone at any time of the night when someone calls regarding their loved one's passing.  The owner mentioned to me when I first started that he would love to find someone to handle the calls at night so he can get a full night's sleep for a change.

I did a couple of home removals yesterday.  When I'm ripe and old, I hope to die like these people, at home surrounded by a loving family, in the comfort of my own bed.  Most imminent deaths of elderly at home have a (relatively) nice, warm vibe to me.  It's sad of course, with many crying and all, but compared to most deaths I've seen, we'd be lucky to die this way.  Most of us will die in an accident or on the operating table, with no one around to tell you it's okay or how much they love you.

I'm really tired so I'll end this one short.  Hope to see something interesting tomorrow before the weekend.

Another one bites the dust

Our on-call driver got fired today.  It wasn't for any one thing, but from what I gather it was several things over time and the last straw was him damaging the crematory van and trying to pass it off like someone else did it.  Not cool.  He came in to turn in his keys and receive his final check and before he left he had to have the last word, "Oh yeah?  Well working at this funeral home was a mistake!"  He then stormed out the door and presumably he won't come back.  I say presumably, because the lead driver who was forced to be an office manager (after the last one quit, who happened to be the g/f of the on-call guy...ooh the drama!) also had a loud conversation with the owner and stormed out last month...only to come back to work two days later.  So I won't say how I feel about the guy to my coworkers just yet.  But it's all good here!

The on-call guy was a weird one.  He was a thin, dark-haired (or at least what was left of it) Italian with a weaselly face, the kind that would be typecast as a petty thief.  My guess is upper forty-something living out his second youth.  He told me when we first met that he was a dance instructor as well as a musician.  Great, I thought, since I play music myself.  A braggart, he said he could eat lunch while driving a van full of bodies, and how smells didn't affect him at all.  His job was to do home pickups, mostly at nights and weekends.  He talked loud like he was hard of hearing, but really I think he just doesn't listen to others and probably loves the sound of his own voice.  The other night we went on our second two-man job and he was just being obnoxious, and I suspected that he was on meth or coke because nobody is that obnoxious unless they're on something.  I remember going home after that thinking what a prick, hope not to work with this asshole again.  I checked out his "music" on YouTube because he made such a fuss about it, and I am relieved to report that I was thoroughly, completely unimpressed.

A month ago he and I went on our first two-man job.  Jobs that require two drivers are usually for someone who is very heavy and/or if there are stairs involved.  This was a police call, which meant the police found the body after someone became concerned.  We arrived at a nice condo in a nice part of town, found the patrol car and met the officer at the door.  The good looking lady cop said the body was upstairs in her bed, doctor had already stopped by to declare death as natural and was clear to remove.  Even before going upstairs, the on-call guy saw the narrow, turning staircase and asked me, "Did we bring the stretcher?"  No, I said.  "That's what I was afraid of.  That's okay, we'll just have to improvise.  Let's go see what we have up there."

A woman about 50 years old and close to 200 lbs. died in her sleep.  Died approximately three days prior, in bed.  She was laying on her side in her nightie and sheer underwear.  Blood had settled down, so she was purple-ish on a third of her body.  The body was cold.  I've read that forensics can determine a fairly precise time of death based on the body temperature.  It's been a couple of days for sure.  On her night stand was a lamp and framed picture of who I presume was her adult daughter.  Master bathroom had no door, it was one of those contemporary condos.  In the corner of the bedroom was an electronic keyboard with sheet music on a stand, much like my own set up at home.

Since we had no stretcher to slide under her, we needed to lift her off the bed onto the gurney that we barely managed to get into the small bedroom.  I had the head end, and as we rotated her onto her back to reveal her pillow-smooshed face, the decomposing air from her lungs, sinus and mouth expelled and hit my nose like a Mike Tyson uppercut.  I immediately staggered back, shocked, feeling like throwing up for the first time on this job.  I went into the bathroom to catch my breath and recenter myself.  Being my first time on this type of removal I did not expect an odor this strong.  It was different from decomposed bodies, like halitosis x 1000.  A thousand Tic-Tacs would not have helped.  The death breath filled the room and I had to inhale through my mouth.

"You alright?  Do you need to leave the room?" the guy asked.  I'm good, I'll be okay, I just need a second.  I can do this, I told myself.  That's been my mantra in this job, a sort of fear-conquering exercise that will make me tougher somehow, or at least I hope so.

Alright, back to work, I have a job to do.  We wrestled the body onto the gurney, wrapped her up and strapped her down extra tight, as the on-call guy explained why:  "Gotta make it tight as we can, because the only way we're going to get her downstairs is to stand her up and take her down one step at a time.  I'll hold her up from the rear and you take her feet down nice and slow."  So we collapsed the gurney, stood her up like King Tut and inched our way downstairs.  And there I was, bent over, ass out, holding the gurney bottom, followed by a dead woman wrapped in white standing straight up, coming down one stair at a time, with another guy propping her up, barking directions.  Must've been quite a sight.  Watching us come down, the young officer said to us, "I don't know how you guys do this."

Driving back to the funeral home, I could not shake that smell out of my head.  I can still remember it now, and it's been a month.  The on-call guy was yakking the whole way back, yadda this, yadda that.  Do you ever shut up?  But that night was memorable and funny in a strange way, so that's how I'll try to remember him.

Just another day at the office...

Today was a mellow day.  Lead guy called in sick, so our temp driver--a former trucker in his fifties who is not the brightest cat I've met, but he's nice and works hard so I like him--took a party of 11 to the crematory in the rain.  Nobody died this morning so I just moped around the office, took out the trash, swept some water off the ground, mopped the prep room.  General shit that office ladies don't want to do.  By 11 o'clock I was already stir crazy;  I wanted to be on the road with my music!  Luckily there were some urns to deliver to our sister office and another funeral home who contracts us to cremate their decedents.  But that was a quick trip so I was right back at the office twiddling my thumbs.

Our office manager--a young Russian girl from the other office who is filling in since the last one quit--asked me, "Have you ever cut hair off a body before?"  I said no, but I'll try.  A fax request came in from the other office;  a family requested a handful of hair off their granny's head.  Okay, sure, whatever.  I found an urn bag and went downstairs, pulled out granny's box, opened it up and pulled away the plastic around her head.  She was old, like 70 or 80, very frail.  She died with her eyes and mouth open, which surely would have bothered me a month ago, but I've seen a few of these so I was okay.  The request was hair from the top of the head, two to three inches in diameter.  This lady had a head full of short white hair, but not enough for two to three inches.  With paper cutting scissors, I grabbed as much hair as I could and started chopping off granny's hair.  Staying close to the scalp, I snipped and snipped until her dome was buzzed.  She looked like that character from Rocky Horror Picture Show, what's his name again?  I wanted to cut off all of her hair to even everything out, but the manager said no, that was enough.  We'll deliver the hair tomorrow.

There was another time at the crematory when a family wanted us to look for a lost hearing aid in their granny's box.  The crematory guy was busy so he asked me to look for the hearing aid.  So I pulled the box, opened the lid, pulled away the plastic and started looking, around and even under the body.  Nothing.  I told him I didn't see anything and he said, "Did you check the ears?"  Yikes, no.  So I went back (with gloves on of course) and stuck my fingers in granny's ears to see if they were inside her ears.  I had to dig pretty deep to make sure.  I learned old people have large ear holes.  I said there was nothing, do you want me to check her diapers, since that's the only place I haven't looked?  Thankfully he said no.

We get strange last requests sometimes.  There was one guy who wanted--through his will--a life-sized cardboard cutout of NASCAR superstar Dale Earnhardt, Jr. to be cremated along with his body.  Not just in the box, but he wanted the cutout on top of the box so the crematory guy will see it burn.  This cutout was leaning on the wall at the crematory for a few weeks, and one time walking by Dale Jr. scared the hell out of me, just standing there in his red racing suit and that stupid Wrangler jeans smirk on his face.  Motherfucker.  I asked the crematory guy when this thing will finally be burned, and all he did was roll his eyes and shake his head.

After my lunch at 7-11 it was still quiet so I resorted to deleting old text messages off my phone.  Seeing me on my phone, the other office lady (a total diva who has been there for years, who likes to bake tasty treats in the convection oven...only for herself) had me sort some papers.  I've done this crap before and it still sucks.  Please, please let me drive somewhere.  Then, finally, someone died.  An old lady weighing 140 lbs., no stairs and her son was willing to help.  I got this, no problem.  Drove there solo, putting on my necktie en route.  I said my condolences and assessed the situation.  A stretcher was going to be needed for the tight hallways and the son was going to hold the stretcher low and I high, to negotiate the hallways.  Slap the ID tag on her wrist, check for jewelry and pacemaker, slide the plastic and stretcher under her, wrap her up, tie her down tight, and here we go.  I need to do more push ups, because lifting her upper body over my head was more difficult than I thought.  But I'm not about to wimp out in front of a grieving family so I lifted with a straight face, brought her down on the gurney, strapped her in, loaded her into the van, said my condolences again, and left like a true professional.

What's that smell?

Today was more of the same, driving out to the desert to pick up an elderly man who apparently died in his home.  He was really thin and his stomach turned color to light green from mild decomposition.  He didn't smell, or at least not enough to bother me.  The Coroner's Office guy said when the weather gets warm, they find more decomposed elderly persons who just pass away at home alone.  He also told me that I haven't seen anything yet, stick around and I'll see much more.  Can't wait...

I remember Day One on this job.  I showed up in a dress shirt and black pants with a tie in my bag in case I have to talk to families.  The funeral home is set in a small Victorian style two-story house;  the chapel and prep room downstairs and office upstairs.  I remember seeing the coolers in the backyard from upstairs window and it was like a repeating shot out of a horror movie.  The office assistant with an ample chest (who has since quit after her Navy husband knocked her up just before being deployed for the next 8 months) gave me the tour, walking by the casket in the chapel, prep room where they embalm, dress and apply make-up on bodies, and finally inside the coolers.  Boxes sized 6 x 2 x 1.5 ft with names on them, in racks.  The thing that struck me the most was the smell.  It wasn't a stench, not like BO, not decomp.  It was nothing like I've smelled before, mixed with damp cardboard smell.  Later in the morning we went over the employee handbook, signing this & that, typical company policy, and I was thinking to myself, "Easy enough first day, guess I won't see anything exciting today."

The owner told me to take my lunch so I went to Jack in the Box nearby and ate some tacos and a burger, thinking what a boring first day this is.  When I got back to the office the owner and the lead driver, both long-time veterans in this industry, were loading the boxes from the cooler into the old van.  I helped out, learning how to use the lift, which itself weighs about 500 lbs., slowly loading the van with bodies.  After loading 10, the owner said to me, "I wanted to go up the crematory with you but I have a chiropractor appointment.  Do you think you can drive this up there by yourself?"  I didn't want to show weakness on my first day so I said yes, no problem.  "Good.  They'll print out directions for you upstairs.  Oh and by the way, the van sways a bit when fully loaded, so don't go too fast."

Umm...okay...no problem...

At this point I was thinking about what I just ate and what I'll be smelling for the next two hours.  I started to worry...

I hit the road and I couldn't believe that I'm already driving a full load by myself.  As soon as I got on the freeway I learned what the owner meant:  This van is a total piece of shit that feels like it's going to topple over and spill dead people along with me all over the freeway.  That would definitely make the 10 o'clock news in this town.  I feel I can drive any motor vehicle but I could tell this was going to be tough.  My equilibrium was going haywire from the sensations in the van not matching what my eyes were seeing.  If the smell didn't make me puke the motion sickness will, I thought.  I kept telling myself that I'm just driving, it's only a big deal in my mind, let's take some nice deep breaths.  That and what the hell kind of job have I gotten myself into!!!  I slowed to 55-60 mph (old people driving speed) and kept telling myself that I'm in control of this situation, I can do this.

I should add that I had stopped smoking cigarettes a week prior to this, after almost 20 years.  I don't remember the last time going on a long drive alone without smoking.  A cig at this moment in the van would have helped, distracted me from the smell, and a certain comfort in a habit I've had for so long.  If I had any on me I would have lit one up.  But I didn't and though it was tempting to pull off the road and buy a pack, I fought through it with aid from peppermint gum that I now always have on me.

It was a long drive.  I kept looking in the rear view mirror to see if any lids moved, maybe a hand sticking up.  I thought what would I do if some ghost or apparition sat in the passenger seat and wanted to talk to me.  Would I crash?  And if I lived, who would believe me?  Thoughts were racing, as was my heart.  Looking at people in other cars, I thought only if they knew what I was transporting...

I made it to the crematory in a semi-rural town and met the young guy who works there, all by himself most of the time.  My first impression was that he seemed nice, like nothing would scare him.  He opened up a box to check things one last time before cremating it and that's when I saw an old lady, dressed and done up up close.  She looked like she's just sleeping, maybe she'll wake up, but no, she's dead, as the guy said again. I unloaded the bodies and put them into a cooler much bigger than the one at the funeral home, and that same smell was there too.  Later on in this job, all morgue coolers smell like this.  The lead driver, a mature man five years from retiring age, told me later that it's the refrigerant, not the bodies.  I'm still not sure whether to believe him or not, maybe he just said that to put me at ease.

The crematory guy packed up some ashes into boxes and I drove them back to the funeral home.  The van handled much better empty and I even enjoyed some music on the radio.  Somebody asked how it went and I replied, "Oh, pretty good.  It was fun."

No Photos Allowed

I am an avid amateur photographer.  My Canon pocket camera and I have many great memories.  I enjoy putting up pictures to complement my stories, but unfortunately I cannot take pics on this job.  Not that I would anyway because I have respect for the deceased and their families, but sometimes a picture can say it all.  I guess I'll just have to step up my descriptive writing skills.

Drove to the crematory again and kept driving to Indio and Palm Springs to pick up two more bodies.  You couldn't pay me enough to live in the desert.  No way.  One was a middle aged 300 lb. woman that I needed help loading into the van and the other was an older man that was sutured all over his body from bone/organ harvesting.  His face was covered so my guess is his eyes or some other parts were also removed.  I did not peek at his face.  Holding an arm without bones feels like a cuttlefish but not as firm or slimy.  Dead people have ugly hands.  I can now hold a hand of a dead person without feeling too weird, but as one who pays attention to hands I've yet to see an elegant pair of hands on the dead.  Some women have long, pointy fingernails that I still find disturbing when they're attached to cold, gnarled fingers.

I enjoy the challenge of guiding the high-mileage, stripped out van with shot suspension, taking the right lines in a curve, reading the traffic.  This van needs lots of steering input in order to keep it straight.  I drove my sporty Honda after work tonight and it feels like a video game in comparison.  Jay Leno said once, "It's more fun to drive a slow car fast than a fast car fast."  Makes sense.  Rest assured, though,  my usual speed is 60 to 70 in the van.  I have a nickname for it even:  Old Faithful.

The dead don't complain much

I drove a gang of dead people to the crematory today.  Haven't done that in a couple of weeks so I enjoyed the drive inland for an hour and a half.  I stopped by 7-11 before getting on the freeway to refill my Super Big Gulp cup for 99 cents with Coke.  I've been wasting 75 cents buying new Super Big Gulps all this time!  Listening to the radio, flipping through all my favorite stations, taking in the rocky scenery, sipping on my Coke.  The drive seems shorter now that I know it so well.

One of the boxes today read "MRSA".  As I understand most pathogens die off soon after the host dies, which is somewhat ironic, so I hope it's the same with MRSA.  I should ask my doctor friend about this.  I've had two shots of Hepatitis B vaccine since I started this job, the third and final shot comes in six months.  Hep B virus, as I understand, lives in body fluids and can survive long after death, so it makes sense in this profession to get vaccinated.

After dropping off the bodies I was instructed to visit a couple of hospitals further inland and bring two more bodies back to the crematory.  The first hospital I have been to before so I knew where to park, who to go see so it was a quick stop.  Every hospital has different procedures, but generally the mortuary vehicle parks in the loading dock, takes release forms to PBX or Nurse Staffing, then they call security who will escort you or meet you at the morgue in the hospital basement, far out of sight of the public.  Taking a gurney through the main entrance is a big no-no.

The second hospital, like most hospitals, was huge with different buildings on a big plot of land.  But by now I know to look for the shipping/receiving sign.  But I didn't see it so I followed the emergency sign, as most hospitals' docks are close to the emergency area.  Why this is I don't know yet.  I circled this enormous complex and did not see a dock.  How can this be?  While wondering whether I should make another circle I spotted a FedEx truck and decided to follow it, and, voila, it lead me straight to the dock, hidden away on the side of the main building.  I found PBX and they called security and the guard told me the morgue is in the other dock, so he rode with me in my van with a body already in it to the other dock, completely hidden from view.  Security guard was a strong ex-military man, but the body I was picking up weighed almost 300 lbs. so he called for backup and the three of us transferred the body onto my gurney.  It only took 30 minutes for this pickup which I consider pretty good for a place I've never been to.

Drove back to the crematory and boxed up the bodies.  There were about 10 urns to come back and the family of a woman I picked up last week wanted a viewing so I brought her back to the funeral home also.  A nice long day of driving and some overtime as well.  Driving to the crematory is much less stress than driving local runs, although I hope to mix it up to keep things interesting.

Some people see driving as a chore but for me driving is the easiest thing next to doing nothing (granted I'm one of those people who can spend endless hours playing Gran Turismo.  In fact I would love to be a race car driver, I believe I'm that good).  It's very therapeutic, you can't help but think things over on those long drives.  And you get to choose what music to listen to.  And you get paid for it.  And these passengers never complain.