The First Day

I've taken a job as a caretaker at the local animal shelter. Long story. 
Someone quit on my first day, leaving just me (a total newbie) and one other person there to do what is usually done by four people. As is my custom, I was too nervous to eat before my TEN HOUR SHIFT so I went in at 7:00am with an empty belly and a huge bruise on my leg from where one of the dogs had bitten me a week earlier during my working interview. This will be fine.

I'll tell you that I came home marinated in slobber, poop, blood, and something of a taffy-like consistency.

Didn't ask what it was. 
I was initially thrilled to be wearing scrubs for this new job. People look smart in scrubs. I see now that it is a kindness to your wardrobe. I only bought two sets of scrubs thinking of them more as a school uniform that I'd wear a few times before washing. That is absolutely incorrect. They also act as an incubator of sorts, so when you're outside in the sun being walked by a hound as tall and heavy as you are, you can really feel the sweat trickling down your back and into your waistband. 

The morning is the more accurate portrayal of a typical day. The animals need breakfast, a trip outside, fresh water, etc. I helped lasso pups to take out, sterilized kennels whose residents couldn't hold it until morning. I cuddled some puppies, was glared at by the dog that bit me, and was head-butted into a cinderblock wall by an excitable pitbull. I packed bags for "doggy day out" volunteers, wheeled around a hotel-sized laundry cart, collected breakfast dishes, and was monitored by a dog named Aurora who they told me not to look directly at, and definitely don't try to pet her. I sat in on the daily "rounds" where the caretakers report on the ailments of residents to the staff veterinarians. The dog crew had nothing to report on but the cat staff had a number of cases of diarrhea and someone with swollen testicles. Then I went home for lunch and sat on the floor until it was time to go back. I thought my scrubs were gross then... just you wait.

After lunch, that one person left/quit and the shelter opened up to the public. The person training me had to go do "meet and greets" with people wanting to adopt animals, so I was left alone to tend to the behind the scenes chaos. Goodbye easy first day activities. I was in the back working out where things are kept when the day went awry. The post-op animals needed to go outside, one at a time for safety reasons. "But don't tend to Bella. She can be dicey." Bus Bus leaped five foot jumps over and over while I tried to get a leash around his neck. "Make sure you double leash him. He'll get away." I was just leaving when the veterinarian came in. "I'm so sorry, when you're done, there's a mess in the clinic."

Bus Bus bounded through the sunlight with me staggering around behind him. I came back hot and panting and made my way to the clinic. A stray had been dropped off and he did a big nervous job in his cell and then danced in it and smeared it up the walls and between the metals bars of his door. The smell was awful. Four other strays were waiting in cells in the same tiny room. One was an enormous bellowing hound dog who crooned wildly the whole time I was scrubbing poop out of the divots in the concrete walls. Then someone came over the walkie talkie. "Can we have someone from dog staff come to Intake?" I scrambled past the guinea pigs and a rat named Atticus to help relocate a puppy with missing chunks of fur. I finally went back to the post-op dogs. Llyod was ready for his outing, but Johhny Cash had slipped out of his cone of shame. "We need a large collar for a dog that was just dropped off." "Bo pooped in his kennel." "Can you grab some clean towels?" "Can you get someone ready for a doggy day out?" I ran around for hours in all different directions. The were dogs barking, kittens sleeping, Aurora steadily watching me, potential adopters asking me questions I didn't know the answers to. At one point I looked over and there was a cat dangling from the ceiling and another scaling the wall. 

The poo-painting stray created another masterpiece in his cell (someone else cleaned it for me) around the time to start the dinner feedings. "Olive is on a special food for her kidneys. Slate will eat too fast and barf so he needs a slow feeder. Ricardo gets wet food as does Lynn. Everyone else gets scoops based on weight, ok? Oh, and give Jasper some chicken. And don't feed Bella or Aurora. I'll do them." After dinner they go back outside and that's the portion of the day where I walked a dozen dogs who have never walked on leashes before. Cat staff watched through the windows of the air-conditioned Cat Corner as a different dog dragged me to the front door every ten minutes or so. I had one dog left, the giant bellowing hound. "I wouldn't walk him if I was you," the intake manager said. I found the girl "training" me and told her what the manager said. "Why?"

"I don't know. She just said she thinks I shouldn't. What does she know, I wonder?"
The girl thought for a second, "Well, you're going to find out," and then she shoved a second leash in my hand. I suited up the Laura-sized dog and made a point of controlling him as we walked past the intake manager to the door. She was going to think I chose to defy her. 

Once outside, the dog flew me like a kite, like a bit of lint stuck to his back foot. I found that I could overpower him if put all my weight low to the ground so I squat-walked, occasionally grabbing onto small trees to help stop his momentum. My toes crammed into the tips of my new supportive shoes. My black scrubs held onto to every ounce of sunlight. I had managed to eat a small lunch and most of a banana but the hunger was really setting in. I'd had no time to be nervous (great) but also no time to eat much or even drink water. "Just another hour or so until five," I told myself. 

"We're definitely not getting out of here at five today," my trainer blurted as she ran past me in the hallway. "Hey Laura?" someone said, "We need a hand in WAGs." I had to go to the back and look at the layout map to figure out what wags was. Then I watched a stray pup get blood drawn, vaccinated, and microchipped. "I'll be glad to train you in these minor medical things if you're interested," the veterinarian told me. I smiled politely and withheld my queasiness. I threw a few pretzels into my mouth as I helped Bowser and Peaches into the main yard. I kept getting locked out and would have to run around the complex to the front door. Someone had pooped a hug soft poo in the side yard. I tried to pick it up but really just smeared it around. Back inside, two cats were fighting and another was wandering loose in the main thoroughfare.

By about 5:30 everyone had had dinner and been outside for the last time that day. I stood in the hallway between the cat area and the kennels, panting, my hands on my knees. The perfectly coifed and dry cat staff were filing out, getting their things, saying goodbye for the day and clocking out. I waited for my "trainer" to make sure we were done. That's when she came busting out of the dog area, found the manager and said, "That was the worst day ever. I never want to do that again." I hadn't even paid much attention to what she had been doing all day. I felt alarmed about such a confrontation until I realized that she and the manager are good pals. "We were totally understaffed!" Then she looked at me and said, "I've never had a day like this before. This is not normal." I kept waiting for her to tell the manager what an outstanding job I had done, that really, she couldn't have done it without me, but she never did. 

Brett laughed when I came through the door at the end of the day, and snapped this horrendous and entirely accurate photo. What you can't see are the claw marks and fresh bruises scattered all over my thighs and ankles.

I suppose it's nice to know that I've already had the worst possible day available to me, barring the physical injuries that everyone on staff seems to have endured. I got home a little before six, completely filthy with vibrating muscles and a growling stomach. I took a shower, contemplated burning my scrubs, and fought to stay awake until 8:45.

Now, on to day two.

The Kindergarten Catalyst

The biggest thing to happen of late is little Livvy starting Kindergarten. She was excited about it and wandered right on into the school, so the only thing to report on is that Ellen had a collection of meltdowns leading up to the day, and a final blowout after dropping her off. But now it's all just part of life. I'll admit to going through photos of baby Liv and then comparing them to current day Liv, and it's an wild and confusing thing to look back on. How does that just happen?

First birthday to first day of school.

I'll also admit to being very worried about whether or not she and Nick will morph into nervous, anxious little squirts. Liv nearly dispelled my concern about this for her with the way she pranced into a new school ready to follow the rules and delight all who pass her. I was not this way on my first day of school (all seventeen of them) and neither was Ellen, who I believe had to be wrestled out of the car on her first day of Kindergarten. Ellen and I both go on to develop anxiety of different brands. Hers; high in quantity but of a manageable magnitude. Mine: typically low in volume but of nearly unbearable intensity.  

I'm worried about this because my own panicy anxiety has been especially bad for that last three months or so, and it is deeply distressing. I also keep hearing about the increasing anxiety of younger folks that has been brought on by a collection of woes: social media, academic and extracurricular expectations, and a climate based fear due to the ongoing degradation of natural environments around the planet. Apparently young folks are very worried about their futures, and not just the "what will I be kind" but the "will there be clean drinking water" kind. I wasn't smart enough to have worries beyond my immediate surroundings when I was young, so the positive here, is that today's youth are much more plugged in and aware. That will probably be used for good, right?

But that's not really my point. I don't want Nick or Liv doomed to a life of debilitating fear but I don't know how you prevent that. And I would think that Ellen and I would be able to pick up on whether or not their "first day jitters" are the benign kind or the truly devastating kind, but I also know that adults miss things sometimes (because of course a kid doesn't want to go to school) and that there isn't a lot you can do about a kid that feels unnecessarily nervous about something. (Also, I'm not excluding Lee in parental ability to identify or empathize with an anxious kid. I'm just not familiar with his experience.) 
I thought back on being anxious in school or church or some other establishment that forced me to participate in things that didn't feel right, and short of being released from participation, I don't know what any adult could have done to make me feel better. Certainly they all tried, because they are lovely caring people. "Don't worry Laura, it's not a big deal." "Oh everyone thinks it's fun, you'll love it too." "It's just a short while. Over before you know it." But none of that ever calmed the internal storm, because it didn't matter what other people felt. I wasn't having the same experience. 

It may have helped for someone to spend the time (a lot of time) explaining all the details to me, so that I could understand what I was being thrown into. I like details. Kids aren't given a lot of information - they're just sent off into new buildings with eerie strangers until their parents comeback to get them. The kid is left to wonder what they will be doing in there. What's the flow of the day? How many people? Will there be any breaks? Should I bring food? What do I need to know before I go? Do we know who the instructor is? Are they kind? Will I get hurt? Can I leave if I need to? While I understand that there are lots of people (extraverts) who wouldn't be completely burdened by not knowing these things, I know that there are plenty like me that don't feel safe unless they understand what to expect. 

I see this in myself even as an adult. For example, I loved volunteering at the pet shelter. The people are nice. The animals are fun. I'm glad to help out. But every month they send an email to the volunteers, trying to recruit us for events around town. Adoption events, puppy yoga, fundraisers, etc. And I'd probably be glad to help - but they don't give you any details about it. How many animals will you be in charge of? Would I be the only person? Is it inside or outside? How long is the event? I have questions about food and schedules and the venues and the paperwork, and while I could call the shelter and get that information, it's easier to just not volunteer. 

The fun part of this is talking to Dad (and often Brett) about these things. They would have no questions about what they've signed up for. They would just show up on the day in whatever clothes they felt like wearing, with nothing but a wallet and keys in their pocket, and they wouldn't have an ounce of worry or concern on them. What is that? Dad could then find out he was underdressed, wouldn't be provided any food for eight hours, and was supposed to bring trash bags or something, and he'd just say, "Oh. Oops. How can I fix it?" Can you imagine? I've thought about it, and I'd be willing to pay a six figure sum to have that disposition.
In case you're also like Dad and don't understand any other possible reactions; Mom (for example) and I would be embarrassed as well as riddled with guilt about getting things wrong. We'd feel like idiotic burdens. We've inconvenienced everyone. They have to cover for our failure. We'd also be worried about our blood sugar getting too low and becoming woozy - which isn't the end of the world but then other people would have to stop what they were doing to care for us, and that's highly pride wounding, embarrassing, and inconvenient. Everyone will hate us. We should just go home.  

Yes, this is people pleasing - and it's a safety mechanism. We learn to do it at a young age to keep out of trouble. Not everyone is afflicted with it and it can range in severity but the point to take away is, it's an effort to stay safe. A therapist will tell you that it goes back to our tribal/nomadic days where not being amenable could mean exile (which would be death) or, something like having a visible meltdown episode would make people think you were possessed which would scare them, so they'd kill you. So, people pleasing is one of the first things we learn. I guess some of us have a harder time shaking it off. 

People pleasing, a one-off bad experience, a single unmet need; these are just three of hundreds of things that can cause an anxiety disorder.

How do you spare someone from such a life sentence?