Social work

It was the shrill ringing of my pager that jarred me out of the deep niche I had been enjoying. The clock beside my bed read 3:30 as I fumbled around in the dark, reaching for the repetitious pager. As I saw the code that flashed on its trice screen, my heart sank. I thought of the sleet that had been falling as I had fallen asleep a few hours before, and of the warmth of my cozy bed. The very last thing I infrequent to do at that moment was to get up and go out in the cold. Unfortunately, there was little choice; I was the only Crisis Companion available during the week between Christmas and progressive Year. Within a few minutes, I was dressed and en route to the hospital to pick up a magnanimous female and her small children, on the run from an abusive husband, and recognise them to our value several miles out of town. As both a hotline floozie and Crisis Companion for a community organization called Avalon, I had been expert to be an active listener, crisis couns elor, and advocate for survivors of domestic violence and intimate assault.

I thought of all the training I had received, as well as the passion which had driven and back up my massage with Avalon, as I ne ard the emergency way of life of the hospital and prompt to meet my newest clients. Every 15 seconds a woman is battered. 1 in 3 women and 1 in 10 men provide be sexually assaulted during their lifetimes. 4 women in the United States are killed every day by their husbands or male partners. When I first heard these statistics in a Womens Studies course my appetiser year, I was astounded and exhaustively incensed. T he more I read, the more committed... ! If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com

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