I Couldn’t Handle the Case
I am an intake coordinator at a community mental health center. One day, I had to meet face-to-face with a woman who was wanting services. She desperately needed them. She was hoarding multiple properties and sleeping in her car at a fast-food restaurant.
Her children wanted to help but she couldn’t let go of the items. It was difficult to politely ignore the strong odor coming from her, but I did. She’s explaining how her life got this way. It was largely because she had to undergo treatment for cancer 10 years ago. My heart stopped for a moment.
See, my mother had passed quite recently and very quickly with the same kind of cancer, after having been cancer-free for five years. I started to tear up. She thought it was so compassionate of me to listen to her story and work on getting her help.
After she left, I couldn’t hold it in. I sobbed. The office staff teared up and they told me I was so professional and kind. I got a few hugs and I went to my car to process. But here’s the ugly truth: I wasn’t so much sad for the lady as I was angry that she survived her cancer and my mother didn’t.
That she lives her life in squalor while my mom perished just when she reached the happiest, most stable chapter of her life. My therapist heard all about it.
We’ve worked it out in our department to try to avoid cases that would be triggering if possible. My colleague will take the cancer ones for me. Story credit: Reddit / elusivemoniker