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

A Place of Wellness...I am home

I felt like a criminal this morning, like I got something over on 'The system!'  I will be waking up more naturally now that I work in the County!  I can't tell you how happy the dog is with a long morning walk :)

 

This is the view outside my office!  Nature is generous to the point of extravagance!  

One walk outside and the soul is steadied

This is my desk: PLEASE NOTE - Esperanza (my plant), Good Energy (my Himalayan Salt Shard - counteracts the energy of the machines and is a little hearth in my heart :)  

When we have a busy day the Dr. tells me to 'Crank that lamp up!'  Compliance is easy here...

This is what I get to sit in!!! Ergonomic and no fatigue!  

These peeps get me and I get them!

Gratitude to tears folks!

It's no longer what I have to do...It's what I get to do :)

  Namaste

Sirens

"Let the night teach us what we are, and the day what we should be"

-Thomas Tryon, 1691

This was last night.  I went outside because I heard the blaring of sirens everywhere.  If I could imagine a plane crash and the response it would get, that would have been it, I'm sure.  Turns out it was a north-east time of year structure fire.  Most likely a caked chimney, usually always the case.  

The last few days for me have been surreal.  We aren't even at the Full Moon yet (that would be tomorrow) and strange feelings, thoughts, and tears have taken hold of me.  On the outside all is well.  On the inside I am a screaming raging mess.  I have papers due, and laundry, the house is a mess, and there's laundry, bills to be paid, still laundry, health insurance to aquire, did I mention the frigen laundry?  My mother died around now (the body remembers) My dad needs surgery (Fuck is really all I can muster for that at present time) and it's all starting to swirl.  

I left a company that brought me safety, and ultimately bad energy.  I was being forced to sit suicide patients. Those that know me know I spent most of my child and young adult hood dealing with this suicide business and it is my one Achilles heel.  It was the proverbial razor blade that broke the artery of compliance.  No more.  I believe in Socrates;  He taught the simple concept 'Know Thyself.'  And I have come to know myself, I have laughed at myself, been angry with myself, been terrified of myself, but always certain of myself in ways that count (insert thank you for fearless warrior genes here).  I said good-bye.  It's always the people we will miss.  When you spend hours upon hours side by side with other souls your energy begins to dance with them.  That energy was good, it was the dance floor that went tragically wrong.

I loaded up my locker and like the poet Thomas Gray; 'took one last lingering look behind.'  But only one.  I left early, made a getaway amid tears and friendship-Thankfully I've always known when to exit a party.  I felt as though, if I didn't make it down the elevator, I would surely suffocate.  I took the stairs.  I did so with the understanding that next time I showed my mug here (if I ever did) I would be but a guest.  No longer privy to 'secret passages', employee elevators, donuts in the break-room, or staff toilets and never ending twisted jokes about the humanity that holds us all at gunpoint. 

The front lobby doors opened.  The whoosh of outside air was a drink of water after a desert hike.  I crossed the road and the pavement welcomed me.  It wasn't until I saw my little car, my somewhat borrowed car, that the tears started. 

I was leaving a place that had granted me stability, taught me work ethic, taught me that I could live through 16 hour days and wake up and do it again and again.  None of this was lost on me.  I walked away from all of that.  I strapped my huge bag on my back and walked again like a hobo a bit further down this road called life.  The bag is always huge because I find comfort in books.  My Advanced Directive reads: Die in a Library.

With the river to my back, I looked at the sky.  It was brilliant.  Like a paintbrush slashed pink and orange all over a growing inkyness.  I sucked my breath in and realized...actually said out loud "all of my big moments I go alone."  It is the hand I've been dealt.  God won't give you things you can't handle, but I've wondered many times if his assessment of my abilities is a hell of a lot higher than it should be. 

That moment left me with an emotional hangover that lasted a good two days.  I find myself with much compassion for people that retire. The story of my great grandfather took on new meaning "He retired on a Friday, and by Monday he dropped dead."  Yeah, got it now.   You cannot help but feel loss.  But with great loss most times comes a greater gain.  A bad day for the ego is usually a great day for the soul.  Sucks but True.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday off.  No holidays, no weekends.  Out in time to make dinner.  A place of wellness set in teeming meadows 15 minutes from my home.  Good people untouched by corporate bullshit.  

Two young men that still need their mother and hopefully always will have been waiting 5 years for this.  

Last night the sirens screamed terror in our town.  Last night my 16 year old wanted to go out at 10:30pm in a car packed with teenagers, into a black night on twisting turning roads.  My gut quietly said no, so my mouth followed.  I told him it was one night - not the rest of his life.  I also told him had he had his license I may have said yes because he is responsible and I know this.  But I wasn't placing his life in someone else's hands.  Not last night.  The gut is always right.  He accepted this answer because it was the raw truth.  

So sirens blared, my son was pissed but getting over it, my little one wanted to shoot the shit because I haven't seen him.  We talked of video games, typhoons, report cards, and his thoughts.   And the moon kept watch over all of it.

Nothing out of the ordinary really, except it was Friday...and I was home, where I needed to be.

I've lost, I've mourned, it's done. I'm moving on. I am hopeful once again.

Namaste