It's been very busy at work, and with the holidays and all I haven't found time to blog. But I'm back, with much to write about, hence the title that describes my blogging style while paying tribute to Whitney Houston with my favorite ballad from her. RIP.
The other night I had a disturbing dream. I guess I would qualify it as a nightmare. I was working at a funeral home, unlike the one I am at now, and they were discovering body parts dangling from chains in the walls and ceilings. Many chains, many skulls. Some were cobwebbed but some were much fresher. The police had come by. I was walking up the stairs past all the chains and it looked like a horror movie set. Just as I got upstairs, the ceiling cracked open and down came another chain. This one was still bloody and the red skull had eyes in them, like it was just killed. This freaked the hell out of me. I then woke up and couldn't go back to sleep.
I tried to analyze why I had a scary dream. I rarely have bad dreams, at least not bad enough to remember vividly. I wonder if the bars I went to with friends last night had anything to do with it. Some bars just have a bad vibe, and although I have visited these bars before my gut feeling last night was strongly negative. I kept wondering why that was. Was it the odd looks on people's faces or just my own mood? Perhaps both.
Anyway...
Anyway...
I went to the nursing home I used to drive for to pick up an on lady who had passed. This was my second time back on this job, but the first time was late at night so I didn't see anyone I knew. But this time was in the late morning, a busy time for a nursing home. I said hello to everyone I worked with and it was nice to see them, except for this one nasty bitch who doesn't do much of anything. I went to say hello to an old lady I used to drive around town while blasting the classical music. She looked the same and she was happy to see me and we chatted briefly about the nice drives we've had. I visited another patient, a young quadriplegic woman with a real zest for life and we chatted also. It was nice to be back.
Pulling in the gurney into the decedent's room, I realized the roommate was also another woman I've driven around. She was bedridden and recovering from a physical setback. I was saddened to see her in this state. We talked a bit but she was tired so I went back to the task. The dead old lady was rather heavy. Leaving through the back exit of the facility I ran into more people I knew. The look on their faces was something.
There have been many suicide cases coming through the prep room. Couple of high profile murder-suicides also, but I won't go into details as that may give away where I work.
At least a couple of cases were gunshot suicides in the chest. One guy blew half his head off with a large caliber handgun. The hole on his head was absolutely massive. An embalmer stitched him up and his head looked like a giant softball. This stitching style is called Baseball Stitch, since the technique is identical to that of making a baseball. I made the gesture of grabbing his head and throwing a curveball to which the old ex-pro baseball player embalmer found amusing.
Last month I drove to central California to pick up a case from a sister mortuary. The drive took six hours each way but I loved it, I wouldn't mind doing long hauls everyday. The embalmers up there were even older than the oldtimers in our crew. I mean they looked like 80+ years old. And they do things slowly, not like us who are accustomed to doing things quickly.
One day at ME they brought out a giant blue body bag on a table. I thought this couldn't be a body, but it was. 450lb. and then some. It was absolutely huge. Seeing another driver load it into his van was surreal. I asked if this was the biggest body they'd seen. Everyone said they've seen bigger, like a 750lb. body a while back. I hope I don't get assignments like that.
On another night call, the Asst. and I went to a house where an old lady died. Inside, the place was like a little castle, with marble floor and fancy paintings and sculptures. The family was Sicilian and some elder family members looked as if they stepped off the set of The Sopranos. Preparing to move the body down the stairs, the Asst. and I agreed that we better not drop this one no matter what, just in case these people have ties to the mob. That may be a blatant stereotype but why take chances? We've never dropped anyone but we were extra careful with this one.
Still another night, another old lady passed in her house in a nice inland area. This was by far the nicest house I've ever made a scoop in, and considering the many nice houses in this part of state that's really saying something. Twin staircases, marble all around, a very expensive acoustic/electric piano, chandelier, and sculptures even bigger then the other house. The obviously affluent son, who seemed distant, was eager to get this over with. Just then his uber-hott trophy wife came in, in heels and a sexy black cocktail dress. We both stared at her a little too long, seeing her crying her eyes out over her mother in-law.
"Oh God!" she kept crying, balling uncontrollably. "I've been drinking vodka since that was her favorite drink." We saw her grab her giant glass of vodka and take another swig, her ample chest rising as she stopped to take a breath.
Well, that explains it. I've seen people get hammered when their loved one pass away. In fact, on the very first night call the Asst. and I did everyone was drinking tequila and beer, getting absolutely shit-faced. And this broad was already lit up. But what can we say?
We moved the old lady off her super-king sized bed and carried her in our arms down the marble stairs to the gurney. The WILF started crying hysterically so we just went outside and waited. After a while we decided to leave, but as soon as I turned on the van, both came outside. The son walked up to me on the driver's side and shook my hand and thanked us. You're welcome sir. Then his wife shook my hand and held it for a while, staring at me. That was awkward, with her husband watching and all. On the way back, the Asst. asked me what if the wife was there all alone. I replied that I was thinking the same thing...
Lately we've picked up several old men off the floor of their homes, dying suddenly from heart attacks and what not. One old man fell as he stood up from the toilet, another lying in the middle of the kitchen, and yet another next to his bed. It's almost always men who seem to die suddenly like this.
Tonight the Asst. and I went to a nursing home after a house call. On the way up in the elevator he got another call about another pick up--in the same nursing home. We call this the Daily Double. He said he's done a Daily Triple only one time.
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