Teradži, Novembro 26, 2008

Do you have a plan. I ask myself this all the time when I have nothing else to think about. I can remain in this line of work for only so long and having some sort of plan for the future is essential. More often than not I tend to focus on moderate term goals rather than long term future goals. Paying down those obnoxious debts before this time next year, where do I plan on living once said obnoxious debts are paid out and I can move someplace other than here, what sort of domicile do I plan on living in once I get wherever it is that I am going. The usual things that people tend to think about when they are beginning to draw close to their thirties. Though as of late I have been starting to wonder about the distant future and what I plan on doing for income. For the time being I am thinking that I might pursue the noble but almost certainly underappreciated position of nursing assistant. Dealing with human bodies as I do has certainly armed me well for a future in bathing and feeding the less than healthsome members of the human race.

But that is not the plan I am writing about.

Do you have a plan. This is what the nurse asked me when I was admitted to the Good Samaritan emergency room on the fourteenth of November around seven in the evening. She was an older woman and more than a little bit severe in her appearance, as they always seem to be, and she was not asking about payments on debts or the charms of various American cities or even domiciles and future career plans. She was asking about my suicide plan. I had no real response to give her as I was still in an unstable mental state and not all that aware of what was going on. It should have been obvious in any case as I had checked myself into the hospital and filled out several forms all asking me the same questions. I stared at the ground and thought about the weight of the boots on my feet.

The older woman asked me a second time and this time I managed to murmur an embarassed yes under my breath. She nodded and then asked me if I had ever had any surgical procedures performed before. I let her know about the transgendered status thing as well as the related surgical procedures which I had undergone. As usual this was the point when the medical professional asked me if I was anatomically correct for your standard model woman. The question was followed up with the same question repeated multiple times as though the clear answers I was giving were somehow confusing or misleading. It was the same old medical bullshit dance but this time the tempo had changed.

Once the intake questions were finished the older woman led me into the bathroom. I was told to disrobe and then put on one of those awful hospital gowns that always seem so hideous. Those gowns always make me so envious of the hospital scrubs that everyone else is wearing. I also had to pee in a cup despite my hand shaking too much to hold the damn cup steady and such. I persevered however and was then led to the room where I would wait and wait and wait for about six or seven hours. During the wait I was told that my blood would be taken and who should then walk in but the hottest phlebotomist I have ever seen. I know that it was a serious situation but, even in that desperate and depressed state, the thoughts in my head jumped straight to the hot and wet. But the distraction provided through his muscular arms and charming smile was much needed and his bedside manner did a whole lot to keep the spirits up whilst I sat otherwise alone for hours at a time.

Hottie McBloodsucker set down about six vials of different sizes for the blood drawing. I would like to say that I squirmed but back when I was in highschool I had terrible acne and the medications I took to treat it required a blood test each week. Add to that the regular estrogen injections I used to endure from week to week and I can say with some assurance that I do not cringe before needles. But the sweet man knew what I was in for and so he treated me with kindness all the same. I just want you to lay back and relax. I am just going to stick it in you and it is going to hurt but if we can get past that part everything else is going to be fine. Just close your eyes and let go and remember to breathe. Well he may have been treating me with a little bit more than kindness but I was not going to complain. Later he would dance around a bit and wrestle with several towels in dramatic fashion right outside the door to my room. He smiled when he heard me laugh, even if I was soft about it.

I so should have caught his digits.

Some time later the behavioral expert arrived to speak with me. This was relieving because I had been sitting in that small hospital room for hours just waiting for her arrival. Though it was also a little bit sad since she interrupted the security guard man who had been singing at his post which just happened to be a few feet from the door to the room. I was teasing him about his pitch when the old and pleasant looking woman came inside. She closed the door behind her and we set about talking over the various emotions which had landed me in the hospital that evening. For the most part we kept the discussion focused on a friend of mine who was no longer speaking with me after I went all kinds of batshit during a hard breakdown which had been a long time coming. No the breakdown was not related to my profession and do not get any ideas otherwise.

Afterward the behavioral expert told me to call someone to pick me up from the hospital. I did not have the number for any person in particular as I had left my phone in my car outside. But then again I knew where any number of dear friends could be found, and so I called the one number which I knew I could get through directory service. I called the Seven Year Itch and I think it must have been the first time that I was actually pleased to hear the voice of the grumped up old manager man who runs the place. I told him that it was me and that I was in the hospital and that I needed to speak with Dahlia on the immediate. He told me in an unconcerned voice that he would have her call me back at some point later in the evening, and all of a sudden I was not so pleased to be hearing his voice. But lucky for me Dahlia called back just a few minutes later and when I told her what was up she left for the hospital as quick as she could.

Dahlia is one of of the newer dancers down at the Seven and although she and I have not known each other for very long we became fast friends from the start. She is a total heavy metal rock-the-fuck-out chick who is maybe sometimes mistaken for a goth, and I have to admit that I was kind of astounded the first time I saw her in the club. She has been picking up everything involved in stripping real fast and few people believe her when she says that she is new to exotic dancing. She and I had been hanging out a few times a week during the few weeks before the hospital and so she knew that something was wrong, and like all the other dancers at the Seven she knows what I do for a living. There was some trust fast developing in our relationship so she was the person I decided to call.

Not long after the phone call both Dahlia and one of the bouncers appeared. I had to tell the nurse that they were both friends of mine before they would be let inside. When they did at last come inside, poor Dahlia was in tears and good old Mississippi was wrapping his arms around my head. Mississippi of course is one of the finest bouncers I have ever met, and a real southern charmer to boot. He is tough and mean in all the right ways and a good time in all the best ways. To be honest I was damn surprised to see him there. He asked me what I was thinking and sure enough I wound up crying right along with Dahlia and blubbered like a depressed fool for a good long time. During that time Mississippi lectured me and Dahlia kept hugging me over and over again, and after the two of them spoke with the behavioral expert we all left the hospital. I wound up spending the night at the casa de Dahlia with Mississippi sandwiched between the two of us, and when morning came and her roommate jumped onto the bed there were more than a few questions about what had gone on that evening. Nothing sexual had happened between the three of us, of course, that would have been awkward and beyond strange, but something amazing sure had: For the first time in a long time I had been given hope for the future, and now all I need is a plan.