Young ambitions

My son Michael took this....he said he loves photography....I believe the boy is onto something

Some Kid from Brooklyn

I had written this a while ago, but was unable to post it (read STUCK)  then today 1/21/2014 I was driving home in a snow storm and the person on the other end of the phone said – You haven’t written in a while, don’t let anything keep you.  So here ya go, I dug it out…dusted it off.  This one’s for you Dad

I attended a wonderful Christmas party for a small country hospital that went belly-up a little more than a year ago.  They are keeping the tradition of getting together every year and it is a wonderful tradition if I do say so myself.   The staff had become a family of sorts.  A family of circumstance.  You cannot work with people at twelve hour clips and not become close.  Everyone has branched out and gone their separate ways, but I believe we all have been missing one another.  This became even more evident after the shin-dig when many of us stayed in the lobby and surrounding areas until the restaurant staff were literally vacuuming around us and turning off the lights.

I was a newcomer to the organization but became some adopted little soul, and for that I will always be grateful.  When the little country hospital slowed to a halt some of us were offered positions at the larger sister hospital.  I can only describe the entire process as a new orphan going to live with a rich step mother.  We will simply file this under NOT THE SAME, and leave it at that.

One thing that struck me the night of the party was that a few people had made their way over to me to say hello.  And a few of them revealed that they are blog readers of mine.  I was pleased but shocked to say the least but the biggest surprise of all was a man that came up to me and said “I wish you wrote everyday”  By God so do I!  Rarely at a loss for words I stuttered a bit and managed a heartfelt thank you.  He said he found it inspirational, clinked my wine glass with his and told me to keep writing.

My favorite comment of the evening was from a supervisor I had gotten quite close to; S.P.  She said “I love it and I get it!”  I believe she is just as insane as I am, God I have missed her.

I haven’t written in a while and I know the reason why.  I have been moved to, but have been stuck with a few things.  But yesterday I was let out of work early and came home to grab some ‘me’ time which has found me being contemplative to tears at times and firm but fearful.  I was sitting looking over a current read when I received a text message from a dear friend.  “The name of your blog escapes me, I want to read it – what is it again?”  Yes, I thought, it’s time…

I will explain the stuck part and share myself with you and maybe it won’t seem so looming.  For writing has always been a therapy of mine, since I took pencil to paper in Mrs. Doran’s 1^st grade class…I will be basic with part of it, because it is somewhat private.  Not MY private but the person involved.  You see as anyone who knows me knows that it’s when you don’t hear from me that the shit storm has hit.  Lately, I am drenched…read on…

Someone close to me had gone into for a routine procedure, one that wouldn’t be offered to someone his age in a year’s time, he would be ‘old’.  They found ‘a mass.’  What a suckbag thing to hear…Mass.  So they scheduled him for a surgery.  A somewhat ‘routine’ surgery – as if slicing through flesh and re-routing the inner sanctum of the human body has ever garnered a place in ‘normal’ but so be it.  I, too, can sugar coat disaster… I was married once…

So in he went and out he came….hours later because it was a bit more involved….a lot bigger than they thought…wrapped around some stuff (sounds fun)  this all came with the speech that ‘all looked well’ (REALLY?) and of course there would be a waiting period (read excruciating) for tests to come back to see whether it’s the big ‘C’ and you need ‘treatment’ (read more excruciating)  or you will be ok, have a nice Thanksgiving. 

I could’ve and did cry for my little Scottish chap.  And for myself.  We had buried his wife this time of year…  (Really, God?  Really?? This couldn’t have waited until…say spring?  Maybe never???)   So there we were gripped with wait.  I’m sure for him it was magnified tenfold.  I prayed hard and kept that stiff upper lip.  I switched jobs and changed my life for the better and now I was looking at the unthinkable.  My last link to the ‘old guard’ the ‘original seven’ as my cousin Robert puts it.  (There are six sisters and with him it equals seven…eight if you count the brother in Scotland that died shortly after childbirth)  I went from pleading with God to unloading  on him like a drunken sailor.  From peace to anger in 3 seconds flat – O the red headed temper.  My kids were bewildered and I struggled with how little control we really have when it all comes down to it.

So we waited.  And the news came back great.  But something wasn’t quite right, and I knew it.  He wasn’t himself.  I could hear it in his voice.  There was a breathlessness to him.  He wasn’t bouncing back, and I could sense that.  Oh he was telling me each day was a bit better, but this is a man that would exhaust us on a Disney trip and he was 10 years older than any of my friends’ fathers.  This was a man that had his chest cracked open for a quadruple bypass years ago and walked out healthier than he had been for most of what I remembered from childhood. 

I talked with people (remember I work in medical which is a blessing and a sin for some things you just don’t want to know when applied to those close to you) and they always went in the same direction…’He’s no spring chicken…’  I know that but he’s young for his age.  I just couldn’t buy it.  Then I thought… ya know maybe he’s ready?  Maybe he misses his wife and everyone else…that list on the ‘other side’ is growing, maybe he’s feeling it’s his time?  Nah.  He’s not ready to leave this party – that I know.

So it came with little surprise Thanksgiving morning when the call came in from my brother John.  It was a bit early.  I was doing ‘the dinner’ and my dad had spent the night alone…in the AM he called John to come and get him; to take him in.  My boys were standing in front of me when I got that call.  Blue eyes a bit wider than usual.  “Ok ok,” I said, “I’ll meet you there.”  I hung up the phone and slammed something on the counter swearing in Brooklyn come Jersey…because that always seems to help…

I had just put the turkey in. 

“You boys have to cook this, you will baste it every 30 minutes…just do this this and this.” 

“Mom, I can’t do that.” 

 “If you can build a frigen computer love, you can baste a bird.”

The ER.  For once I didn’t want to be able to read the monitors, or hear the underlying rushed tones in the nurses voices, the compassionate doc that was being quite firm that the care needed to start NOW.  I didn’t want to sense the polite chatter and forced lightness in their voices.  Because I know enough to know it all points to SERIOUS.  The enegy starts sucking you into a vortex and then there’s the  unsuspecting victim in the bed, in their own fear, they are oblivious to the gravity – they just feel like shit.  But you know.  And this time it’s personal.

Without going into much detail all I can say is that one point I instinctively picked up my bag and coat, figuring we would be asked to leave…the monitors started jumping all over… and the room started filling up with staff.   He had come that close to a cardiac event.

But nurses are nurses; Gods hands in action.  And the orchestra of work and dance ensued.  Fluids, positioning, blood, sign this, fluids, we need this, we’re gonna do this, this and that, the team is here and it’s now… ok?  It has to be, so yes, ok.

He was whisked off.  It would be a while.  John stayed ,I ran home to the kids.  If I pass from this life tomorrow; they know how to make turkey.  All was well.  I filled their bellies and the three of us returned to the hospital to wait.  And wait.  And wait. 

He came out.  His nurse on that unit was Linda.  A Blessed Saint.  Please God let Linda win the Mega Millions – or at the very least have a happy life.

My first view was of him totally coherent, laughing with Linda.  Thank you God and I promise I will try to curb my drunken sailor language, even though, I know you understand.

The next day, I arrived and he was sitting in a chair.  There he is, I thought, that’s the guy I know.

Healing has been a bit slow…delicate places and all…slicing and rerouting is necessary, but always will be unnatural.  He seems good.  He and the boys want to go see the Hobbit – that’s what I gauge recovery on – wanting to be with your people and business as usual.  The movies have always held a special charm for us – ever since I was little with pony tails.  And when they dim the theater lights and roll the previews I am that little girl again, sitting with my dad, with my children next to me.  Yes folks you can have magic for a $6.oo ticket before 12 noon on a Saturday...

I’m crying now thinking about it, but here there it is - I finally set it down, and in a way it's ‘out there’ instead of laying heavy on my soul… Life is a bunch of gifts and near misses I think.  Who knows how much time any of us have?  Please let’s try to enjoy all of it.  We’ve got more movies to see…

Namaste