A third party custody case where it appears that the child’s father and grandfather are the same individual. The child has serious medical issues which are correctable, but the mother apparently prefers to suck on her crack pipe…or possibly the cock of her registered sex offender boyfriend…or possibly multiple other men in exchange for crack. No money for diapers, food, or medicine. Mother can barely afford her crack. Child is 2 years old and weighs 19 pounds. Research indicates the law will not allow me to just take the mother out behind the barn and shoot her in the head.
A domestic violence situation where the woman was hit in the face with what the police report identifies as a Bufford Pusser style “Walking Tall” stick. Apparently her soon to be ex-husband and his father both beat the woman in front of her 1 year old child. The law here also fails to authorize me to go drag both assholes out behind the barn for summary execution.
I’m a tough guy. Hardnosed. Cynical. Gun-slinging, asskicking litigator. I deal with this shit all the goddamn time. But it extracts a heavy price sometimes. Like today. It’s not even noon yet, and I need a drink. Or an injection of heroin. Or pretty much anything else that will make the world go away for at least a little while.
Yeah…I chose to do what I do. This shit comes with the territory. But fuck…sometimes it just builds up to the point that…hell, I don’t even know how to finish that statement
I’m tired. Not just physically. Emotionally. Metaphysically. Overwhelmed. Burned out. I want to just walk away. And keep walking. Walk so far that I find someplace where there is no child abuse, no domestic violence, no other sick, soul-draining shit that I have to deal with. To a place that doesn’t fucking exist.
But even if such a place existed, I can’t go there. I do what I do because it’s my job. And it’s who I am. It’s just not really much fun to be me sometimes.
I am sorry Oakminster. Some of my students are the children of the evil human beings can do to each other. Sometimes there are days when it is sad, but I at least get to see the kids that overcome.
Public Defender here… I feel your pain. There are days when I love my job, and then there are days where I just can’t take any more of the craziness. I have a two-day jury trial next week: Daughter lies cheats and steals to get Mom and Dad to move here from Hong Kong and give her all their life savings. Daughter blows it all. Daughter proceeds to spend the next five years treating them like the scum of the earth (multiple adult protective services calls and follow-ups… no action taken). Father finally snaps, walks downstairs in the middle of the night, and proceeds to beat the shit out of his grandson with a dumbell. He didn’t kill the kid, but it was pretty close. Lovely…
Not everybody can do it, Oakie. Had a job in the child protection dept. for a while, and it damn near did me in.
Time to move on? Maybe. Destroying yourself to help others is noble, sure. But if you wreck yourself you won’t be able to help, then your sacrifice becomes futile and self-destructive. I met some incredibly strong people there, with a temperament of stainless steel, and may the Goddess bless them and keep them close to Her bountiful bosom all the days of their lives, amen.
But not everybody is like that, I imagine very few of us are. Step aside, no blame. Perhaps the next person to sit there will be one of those rare wonders, perhaps not. But if this is really what you are thinking, then you will just be adding another victim to the pile, yourself. And that is a net loss. Do what you can, forgive yourself for what you can’t.
Part of the problem is that there is no one else. My office serves 10 rural counties. In those 10 counties, per the 2000 census, are about 55K people that would qualify for representation under the applicable poverty guidelines. After recent budget woes, to serve those 55K (more now, but don’t have 2010 census figures yet), I have…one secretary, and me. I do have the ability to farm some stuff out to pro bono volunteers, but they mostly will only take clean, uncontested stuff. A will, no fault divorce, emancipation, adoption…nobody wants to take on the wife beaters or worse for free.
If I did walk away…or drop dead for that matter…this office just wouldn’t have an attorney for months, until someone could be found willing to deal with this type of stuff for a salary that’s about half to two thirds what they could make in private practice. Even then, for what we can pay, we’d probably get some puppy lawyer right out of law school, ink still drying on their license, who will likely leave after a year or two—just about the time I get them trained up enough to actually be useful.
I wish the judge could say, “Your economic situation creates a situation where the state must provide legal representation. Believe me, I’m trying. However, so far I’m unable to find anyone willing to spend five minutes in the same room with you, let alone represent you”.
I attend to the legitimate medical needs of convicted felons. Many of which have medical wants, which they perceive as needs. Usually to have their narcotic opiate medications continued. My failure to do so is a violation of their constitutional right to be free of pain, evidence that I’m an incompetent quack, and a reason for them to complain to the Warden, the Governor, the Medical Examining Board, their lawyers, their former doctors who have been supplying their drugs to them for years, and their mother (dodging calls from my patients mothers is a fulltime hobby.) This gets wearing after a while, in and of itself. Getting abuse from such sterling citizens on a regular basis is less than fun. Lots less.
Then it gets worse. I go the distance for certain appropriate cases, to see if their complaints of pain might have some hint of legitimacy. Which means I often review their pre-sentencing investigation reports.
Normally I avoid looking into my patients’ crime histories, as it doesn’t contribute to their care, and might only make it harder for me to do my job. But for a patient claiming a chronic pain disorder, these histories are relevant. So I frequently discover just why they’re in prison. And while that often involves repeated drug crimes (which will rule out using opiates for chronic non-malignant pain), it also often reveals rather unsavory behavior which is hard to get out of my mind.
I find my patients committing the same sort of crimes your clients are involved in, Oakminster. And then I have to do my duty to my patient.
And thank…er…the void I guess…it’s Friday. Two glorious days of football, World of Warcraft, and maybe a couple of those BBQ sammidges from the place up the road with some beers.
But I’ll be back at work on Monday. Those windmills ain’t gonna tilt at themselves.
While the mother does have her priorities screwed up, her father has probably been diddling her forever, which does tend to skew a person’s priorities. It’s a pity that she didn’t give that child up for adoption, and ask for a tubal. Her father probably needs to be taken out behind the barn and shot even more than she does. When did he start screwing her? When she was still a child, or did he wait until she was actually a teen?
The more I see of humans, the more I’m convinced that some people are just permanently broken, and can’t be fixed. And I don’t know what the answer is.