Part of my job is to help audit the Division of Child & Family Services for quality. We do this by selecting random cases, reviewing the documentation, and interviewing families involved in Utah's child welfare system. We work in pairs, generally with a certified reviewer leading the interviews and a partner. The partner often is a community member or someone from another state who is trying to establish the same type of system in their state.
My partner was a young woman who has been married for three years. She was very petite and could pass for a young high school student. She works for a local non-profit agency. I also learned that her husband is a seminary teacher in the town they live in. It is always interesting to be pushed into a partnership with someone you have never met before. But it requires the ability to disclose personal information. My partner was the first to disclose information that may have been uncomfortable.
It turns out that my partner and her husband live at the mortuary in their town! I asked her if they are renting an apartment there and she said, "No. We actually live in the mortuary." So I asked her how that came to be. She told me she was told that some mortuaries allow you to live there for free if you will agree to be on call for one week each month. I said, "On call for what?" To which she responded, "to pick up bodies."
I burst into uncontrolled laughing! I explained that I imagined a CSI character from television. This character seems to always be wearing white pants with stiletto heels and traipsing around dead bodies on the beach! I just could not picture my partner, who was so tiny, as one who would show up at a crime scene to "pick up the body." Even now, the thought makes me smile. Turns out my partner and her husband were on call this week, so if they received a call, she may have to excuse herself. No problem, I thought.
We were assigned to review a case involving an eight-year-old boy, who is the oldest son of a 25-year-old woman. She has never married but has three sons. She is currently living in a 5th wheel trailer that is parked on her father's farm after kicking her boyfriend out. I receive information in advance and knew that we were scheduled to meet with the grandmother also while at the farm. The grandmother also lived on the farm, in another trailer on the property. A great grandma also lived on the property.
The allegations included concern of non-supervision of the children and environmental neglect as the children were filthy. The allegations were driven by the fact that the eight year old had made a comment interpreted as suicidal. I pictured our day being spent in these fifth wheel trailers, without air conditioning, and the aroma of farm animals wafting through the open windows.
Turned out grandpa lived in the family house, separated from the trailers by the horse corral. His house had a swamp cooler, which was loud, but we were able to have three interviews in the same home.
The grandma led us into the house. The home smelled of dog hair, but that was to be expected. One dog let out a deep WOOF! and I paused when I heard it. The dog was HUGE! As in could-have-been-a-small-pony huge! (I do not particularly like dogs that bark or appear to be able to eat me)
At the end of two days, we had interviewed the mother, the child, the grandmother, the grandfather (they were divorced but friendly to each other), the caseworker, and the school counselor. We scored the case and after eating lunch, returned to the caseworker's office to inform her of how we saw the case, and what she could expect on her scoring. While we were discussing this, I became aware of an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. As the certified reviewer, I am leading the discussion and my partner is silent. As I am trying to concentrate on the direction of the discussion, I am also trying to ignore the pressure building in my stomach.
Without further warning, I moved from an anxiety level of 3 to a full panic attack rated at 7+. I stood and turned to my partner and stated in fact that she would continue while I excused myself to use the restroom. I then asked the supervisor, who was also in the office to direct me to the restroom.
My partner was a young woman who has been married for three years. She was very petite and could pass for a young high school student. She works for a local non-profit agency. I also learned that her husband is a seminary teacher in the town they live in. It is always interesting to be pushed into a partnership with someone you have never met before. But it requires the ability to disclose personal information. My partner was the first to disclose information that may have been uncomfortable.
It turns out that my partner and her husband live at the mortuary in their town! I asked her if they are renting an apartment there and she said, "No. We actually live in the mortuary." So I asked her how that came to be. She told me she was told that some mortuaries allow you to live there for free if you will agree to be on call for one week each month. I said, "On call for what?" To which she responded, "to pick up bodies."
I burst into uncontrolled laughing! I explained that I imagined a CSI character from television. This character seems to always be wearing white pants with stiletto heels and traipsing around dead bodies on the beach! I just could not picture my partner, who was so tiny, as one who would show up at a crime scene to "pick up the body." Even now, the thought makes me smile. Turns out my partner and her husband were on call this week, so if they received a call, she may have to excuse herself. No problem, I thought.
We were assigned to review a case involving an eight-year-old boy, who is the oldest son of a 25-year-old woman. She has never married but has three sons. She is currently living in a 5th wheel trailer that is parked on her father's farm after kicking her boyfriend out. I receive information in advance and knew that we were scheduled to meet with the grandmother also while at the farm. The grandmother also lived on the farm, in another trailer on the property. A great grandma also lived on the property.
The allegations included concern of non-supervision of the children and environmental neglect as the children were filthy. The allegations were driven by the fact that the eight year old had made a comment interpreted as suicidal. I pictured our day being spent in these fifth wheel trailers, without air conditioning, and the aroma of farm animals wafting through the open windows.
Turned out grandpa lived in the family house, separated from the trailers by the horse corral. His house had a swamp cooler, which was loud, but we were able to have three interviews in the same home.
The grandma led us into the house. The home smelled of dog hair, but that was to be expected. One dog let out a deep WOOF! and I paused when I heard it. The dog was HUGE! As in could-have-been-a-small-pony huge! (I do not particularly like dogs that bark or appear to be able to eat me)
At the end of two days, we had interviewed the mother, the child, the grandmother, the grandfather (they were divorced but friendly to each other), the caseworker, and the school counselor. We scored the case and after eating lunch, returned to the caseworker's office to inform her of how we saw the case, and what she could expect on her scoring. While we were discussing this, I became aware of an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. As the certified reviewer, I am leading the discussion and my partner is silent. As I am trying to concentrate on the direction of the discussion, I am also trying to ignore the pressure building in my stomach.
Without further warning, I moved from an anxiety level of 3 to a full panic attack rated at 7+. I stood and turned to my partner and stated in fact that she would continue while I excused myself to use the restroom. I then asked the supervisor, who was also in the office to direct me to the restroom.
It is a good thing it was nearby. My bowels refused to fight any longer and my heart rate increased. I was now hyperventilating, and sweating. Hello! I am in the middle of a QCR! Not an ideal setting to be caught "with my pants down" so to speak. I reminded myself that this would be over very soon.
When I left the stall and saw myself in the mirror, it looked like I had just run a 5-mile race. I splashed my face, took a deep breath, and returned to the caseworker's office.
When I entered the office, I apologized for my exit and then turned to my partner who told me what they discussed and where she was at in terms of our score sheet. I picked right up from there. Smooth move, don't ya think? Yea, I can live through this.
Within ten minutes, the feeling returned. Oh brother! How do you gracefully excuse yourself a second time! I knew I was in the office with two Licensed Clinical Social Workers. I apologized a second time and asked no one in particular to just explain panic disorder and I would be in the restroom. Then I left the room. (My partner later told me her response was that we had not discussed panic disorder! She had no idea what I was talking about, but the supervisor helped her out by explaining that I was the one with panic disorder and was having a panic attack. She said I had made a good exit because I had stated that I had nothing further and said if my partner needed to say anything more, I would be in the restroom. Then I just said something about panic disorder. LOL)
Again, my bowels complained of the stress of a panic attack. I was sweating but maintained my concentration on breathing deeply. Someone asked if I was all right and I assured them that I was and thanks. (panic level 8)
When I left the restroom, my partner was just exiting the caseworker's office. I was able to say thank you to the worker and her supervisor and then we left to a final meeting where we report our scoring.
Of all times to panic! In the middle of something, I am in control of! Not in a fifth wheeler on a farm! In an office, with a window! Not in a farm house with Godzilla the Dog! In an office with two LCSWs!
By the way, during our final meeting, my partner received a text from her husband. A body was being flown in from out of state and they would need to pick it up at the airport. So...life goes on eh?
When I left the stall and saw myself in the mirror, it looked like I had just run a 5-mile race. I splashed my face, took a deep breath, and returned to the caseworker's office.
When I entered the office, I apologized for my exit and then turned to my partner who told me what they discussed and where she was at in terms of our score sheet. I picked right up from there. Smooth move, don't ya think? Yea, I can live through this.
Within ten minutes, the feeling returned. Oh brother! How do you gracefully excuse yourself a second time! I knew I was in the office with two Licensed Clinical Social Workers. I apologized a second time and asked no one in particular to just explain panic disorder and I would be in the restroom. Then I left the room. (My partner later told me her response was that we had not discussed panic disorder! She had no idea what I was talking about, but the supervisor helped her out by explaining that I was the one with panic disorder and was having a panic attack. She said I had made a good exit because I had stated that I had nothing further and said if my partner needed to say anything more, I would be in the restroom. Then I just said something about panic disorder. LOL)
Again, my bowels complained of the stress of a panic attack. I was sweating but maintained my concentration on breathing deeply. Someone asked if I was all right and I assured them that I was and thanks. (panic level 8)
When I left the restroom, my partner was just exiting the caseworker's office. I was able to say thank you to the worker and her supervisor and then we left to a final meeting where we report our scoring.
Of all times to panic! In the middle of something, I am in control of! Not in a fifth wheeler on a farm! In an office, with a window! Not in a farm house with Godzilla the Dog! In an office with two LCSWs!
By the way, during our final meeting, my partner received a text from her husband. A body was being flown in from out of state and they would need to pick it up at the airport. So...life goes on eh?
I just dont see how you do it.
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