I can be a huge ass, ask anyone who knows me in person. I am sarcastic with a ton of gallows humor to add to who I am. I tend to swear, and often that filter is tough for me to maintain. I am pretty sure that some folks find me a tad rough around the edges, yes, even my family.

I am reasonably sure that I have had at least 2 friendships end because of my directness. Sometimes I am proud of this (since I tended to be more passive/aggressive), sometimes I worry. I once had an excellent friend tell me that I am an acquired taste.

I would say that comes from my time in the Army and then later working with the Fire Service and EMS. Both of those professions involve a good deal of adrenaline. They also tend to see a significant amount of traumas to others as well as themselves.

Nurses are no stranger to trauma, as well as extended hours caring for patients in diverse environments. While it may seem to be a more sedate world than Fire, EMS, or the Army, it is a more constant level of attention to potentially critically ill patients. In the field, we saw patients for the most about 45 minutes. Often in a nursing unit, you care for a patient for 12 hours 3 days in a row. Not a short stabilizing encounter.

So why the hell am I in this business? Doesn’t the above sound like someone who shouldn’t be in my line of work? On the surface, there are people who I assume are saying that I am in the wrong line of work. This is not true in the least.

Trauma itself defines the ability to empathize. My exposure to multiple traumas gave me an empathy that is often very intense at the moment. I am not the only empathetic person. Still, my trauma and my experience have shown me why I need to empathetic and how that should look (Somewhat). How one shows empathy is a large amount of work.

I realized this when I started working with the homeless team. First off, homelessness can be solved. As a society, we do not have the will or the desire to do it. I mean, if we did things like this, Jeff Bezos or the living Koch brother might not be able to afford another new jet. Both have an amount of money they will never spend in a lifetime. I am all for success, but there is a much larger issue with this level of income disparity.

I want to talk about Wayne. I found Wayne and his girlfriend at the time living along the Jordan River here in Salt Lake. They had managed to pitch a tent, off the trail in some bushes to avoid any real detection. It was on an odd walk through camps that I saw their tent and wandered over.

Wayne was a typical young vet who was dismayed with a wartime army and thought it would be an excellent time to get out of the Army. See many folks tire of the military. In recent years many of my friends have left simply because of non-stop deployments in hostile areas. Wayne thought the grass would be greener if he were a civilian. Nope, he quickly got hit with the harsh reality that no magical job or money was waiting on him outside the Army. Honestly, he didn’t put forth a ton of effort to find work. Well, no money, you get evicted. As I sat there with his girlfriend and his 2 dogs in the snow, I was ready to be inside. I suggested that when they finished packing that I bring them in and look at his record to determine if he was eligible for our service. They were moving camp anyway and packed. I had a government car that didn’t allow dogs, so I threw a blanket down and brought them all to my office. Wayne was eligible, and I started the paperwork quickly. Realize that even with some effort, this does not just happen in 15 minutes. It would be 2-3 more weeks of thankfully a little nicer weather before a storm hit, the same day that Wayne found out he could move into his apartment, but not till the next day. Shit, I thought, I have them all geared up to move and then, yeah.

I am not a rich guy, and this violated all principles, but I paid for a hotel room for one night so they could stay warm, and they moved in. On December 23rd, I helped them move in donated furniture so they could have Christmas indoors.
Why the fuck did I bother? When I looked at Wayne, I saw the person I could have become. When I left the service, I was educated, had a job, and was pretty much able to transition. I struggled like hell, though, and there were many moments I was days to hours away from homelessness. I really fought the demons that the Army had left me, I fought the fact that I could not adjust to being a civilian after 15 years, I fought myself. No one gave a fuck about my transition from military to civilian life except my old friend/1SG. He made sure that I was at least set up to transition and knew resources. Wayne had no such luck.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t feel sorry for Wayne. He had his circumstances that brought homelessness. For the first time in my job, I realized that I had some sound advice to give him and that helping hand. I realized that maybe my experience would help anticipate some things and be prepared for possible answers to questions. Other than the motel, I never gave Wayne, or anyone else for that matter, money. I helped them find assistance, helped Wayne get his dogs checked at a low-cost vet. Helped him connect with homeless dog services, that fed his pups. He had a real shot.

His girlfriend was his downfall. She got into meth (so did Wayne because she started). The last time I saw him, he still had his apartment. She had left. He lost one dog due to legal issues, and his other dog was fostered out. He was broken worse than when we first met. We sat and talked while he was in the hospital for almost 4 hours (like we did when I was working with him on staying housed). He was the same young guy that thought he had the world by the tail and lost. Only now he knew, and I did too.

I left homeless about 6 months later, and I see Wayne from time to time. He is an inpatient from time to time when he is unable to keep those meth demons at bay.
It pains me because I understand, I do care (but I can’t rescue…big mistake). My life and my career are helping people acquire the tools and the skills they need to remain healthy. It is any provider’s responsibility.

That’s why a foul mouth horse’s ass can do the job I do and care as I do

Be the kind of person your mother and your dog think you are.