I may have just spelled my title wrong, but I don't want to worry about it at the moment. Anyway, I thought I'd share the latest red tape in the medical field: One of the Homeland Security mandates is that all hospitals in the U.S. have the same code "colors," like "Code Blue" for a patient in cardiac/respiratory arrest (probably a well-known code for anyone who watches medical TV shows). I suppose it makes sense, since that way you don't need to wonder which color means which emergency if you work in another hospital, but I don't even want to think about how much of my hard-earned money went to people who sat in a room and thought up different color codes for emergencies. I always thought I could mismanage my money far more effectively than the government can. But I digress...
So one day, I was running a lab test, and while waiting for it to finish, I looked at the brightly-colored poster with all of the standard codes on it. My eyes strayed to "Code Yellow," which means a bomb threat in medical-ese. I read through the standard advice, like, "keep the caller on the line as long as possible," "call security/police," "get as much detail as you can," "don't go near any suspicious packages," and "fill out the bomb threat reporting form..."
Bomb threat form? We actually have a bomb threat form somewhere in our facility?? Where is it? In the Bomb Threat Reporting Form file?? I considered casually asking my boss where the bomb threat forms were kept, but decided that might invite more trouble than I wanted.
I am more than willing to help out in times of emergency. But if someone does call my place of employment and informs me that there is a bomb planted someplace on the premises, the last thing I will be worrying about is which form I have to fill out.
And in the I Truly Feel Like a Number department, remember my bout with pneumonia? It wasn't enough that I didn't have enough sick time to cover the whole event, I discovered (or, more accurately, re-discovered, since I had read the policy and then filed it under "Idiotic Policies to be Ignored" in my mind) that even though I had a documented serious illness that almost landed me in the hospital, the documentation didn't matter. What mattered was the number of days that I was out of work. Each day that I was out of work for one serious illness counted as a separate unexcused absence (even for a documented medical condition). Never mind that I was hardly strong enough to make myself a meal, much less go into work and be effective. Apparently it also didn't matter that if I had been able to drag myself into work, I could have infected my patients--who are, by and large, suffering from a number of chronic illnesses and are also extremely frail.
The frustrating part of this is not so much that I am cocncerned about being disciplined (or, in the jargon, "written up"). My concern is that my employer has instituted a policy that discourages people with legitimate illnesses from staying home from work. If I, as a reasonably healthy, reasonably young woman can be incapacitated for close to a week with pneumonia, what does the administration think will happen to the patients who are much more frail than I am if I drag myself into work and expose them to whatever illnesses they have?
Oh, wait a minute. I think I just came up with an oxymoron: Administration thinks. Anyway, if I end up needing another job, I can just picture the interview: "Why did you leave your last job?" "Well, I was fired because I didn't fill out the bomb threat form and I stayed home from work because I had a potentially life-threatening illness." Sad, isn't it?
I have just about decided to dump the pursuit of my MBA. Although the school I have attended is an excellent one, I really think this world has more than enough managers and administrators, and far too few actual leaders.
Okay, rant over.
The sigline that I have on one of my favorite websites sums my current attitude up quite perfectly: "Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it's been." --Grateful Dead
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
More stuck songs and a confession
The last couple of days, I've had these really annoying sappy love songs from the 70's or 80's going through my head. It's as if a drawer in my mind labelled "Songs I Couldn't Stand Even When I was Heartbroken and Thinking in Cliches" popped open and all these songs scattered around my brain. One of the songs is by some forgotten artist or band, and the refrain, "I need you now, more than I can say, I need you now..." is going through my head incessantly. Picture some tenor/borderline whiner with the prerequisite strings and orchestral stuff in the background. Yesterday it was some song by the group "Air Supply," and I mercifully can't remember how that one went. Although it did remind me of a comedian who commented, "If you get beat up at an Air Supply concert, you probably deserve it."
Anyway, I was in the shower today and inexplicably, Beethoven's Fifth started going through my head. Not the original version. The horrid, disco version from the 1970's that probably had poor Ludwig rolling over in his grave.
Which brings me to the eternal question once again: Why the heck do people get songs stuck in their heads? Since I am now working with a neuropsychologist, maybe I'll ask her about this. Maybe I'll get an answer. Maybe I'll get a prescription. But it can't hurt to ask.
Anyway, I also have a confession: Sometimes, when I am driving (preferably in the dark) and that Celine Dion song from The Titanic comes on the radio, I like to sing along with it at the top of my lungs. Not that I particularly like the song, but it's fun to sing along with.
There, I've confessed. I feel much better now.
Anyway, I was in the shower today and inexplicably, Beethoven's Fifth started going through my head. Not the original version. The horrid, disco version from the 1970's that probably had poor Ludwig rolling over in his grave.
Which brings me to the eternal question once again: Why the heck do people get songs stuck in their heads? Since I am now working with a neuropsychologist, maybe I'll ask her about this. Maybe I'll get an answer. Maybe I'll get a prescription. But it can't hurt to ask.
Anyway, I also have a confession: Sometimes, when I am driving (preferably in the dark) and that Celine Dion song from The Titanic comes on the radio, I like to sing along with it at the top of my lungs. Not that I particularly like the song, but it's fun to sing along with.
There, I've confessed. I feel much better now.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Advice Martha Stewart Forgot to Give
1. If you are about 5'3" tall, and weigh around 130 pounds, and you decide that you really, really hate the old oak bookcase that has been serving as an entertainment center in your living room, you might want to plan ahead before moving it into the basement.
Specifically, you may want to take into consideration that a) the bookcase weighs twice as much as you do, and b) there is a turn at the end of your basement stairs, and there is no way that a bookcase that size will make the turn without being dismantled. If you fail to heed these precautions, don't be surprised if you are stuck with a bookcase stuck halfway down your basement stairs until your ever-patient father can rescue you with a variety of saws and a sledgehammer.
2. If a friend gives you a really good bottle of wine, and you have a glass, then you have another glass (repeat as needed), it might not be the best time for you to decide, "I think I'll paint the trim in my meditation room."
At least I got most of the paint cleaned up, but the bookcase is still wedged in the stairwell.
Specifically, you may want to take into consideration that a) the bookcase weighs twice as much as you do, and b) there is a turn at the end of your basement stairs, and there is no way that a bookcase that size will make the turn without being dismantled. If you fail to heed these precautions, don't be surprised if you are stuck with a bookcase stuck halfway down your basement stairs until your ever-patient father can rescue you with a variety of saws and a sledgehammer.
2. If a friend gives you a really good bottle of wine, and you have a glass, then you have another glass (repeat as needed), it might not be the best time for you to decide, "I think I'll paint the trim in my meditation room."
At least I got most of the paint cleaned up, but the bookcase is still wedged in the stairwell.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Another, erm...stimulating topic
Some of my (two or three) readers know that I finally managed to get transferred out of the ICU where I was working, and now I am working in a clinic, where the staff members are much, much nicer, and everyone seems relatively normal. Of course I still have my share of eccentric patients, but I wouldn't know what do do if I didn't.
Anyone who has been to a doctor's office probably knows that the office is inundated with drug reps, trying to get the docs to prescribe their meds, and often bringing samples. They often bring food, too, so my grocery bills have gone down significantly since I started working at this clinic. Anyway...
The staff received a warning from our boss that area clinics were being robbed for their drugs, and we were not to take samples of certain medications from the drug reps. Now, the reader may be thinking that our clinic stocks OxyContin, Vicodin, or other types of narcotics, but no. We neither stock controlled medications, nor are the thieves after these drugs. The thieves, apparently, have been stealing what in the medical community are known as phosphodiesterase inhibitors.
Cialis, Viagra, and Levitra are apparently the latest favorite drugs to steal. Yep, those drugs with the cute commercials of older men and women getting romantic, or men talking about their "ED." For anyone who has been living under a rock for the last couple of years, "ED" stands for erectile dysfunction. If you still don't know what I'm talking about, you're probably too young to be reading my blog.
So of course my warped mind had a field day with this information. I figured that the suspects would probably be easy to spot, depending on when they took the drugs. I also wondered how a thief that stole drugs for impotence would fare in jail. How do you explain to your big, burly cellmates that you were stealing a drug for those who, erm, can't, ummm, perform properly?? I don't think the "I was doing it for a friend" excuse would work either.
Of course, I couldn't help but think of the courtroom drama that could be made out of this. "The defendant rigidly maintains his innocence," "the prosecutor was impotent during the closing arguments," well, use your imagination. I wonder if I should email the CSI people.
I have to admit, though, that as I worked late yesterday, and was the only one left in the office, I began to wonder about crazed, impotent men trying to break down the front door to our clinic to steal the Levitra. I figure if you have come to a point in your life in which you feel the urge (ahem) to steal drugs for impotence, you are probably 1. desperate, 2. crazy or 3. both. In any case, I would not want to be caught alone in the clinic with someone like that.
So if for some reason my boss stumbles onto this blog, I apologize for not turning all the lights off. I couldn't find the last light switch, and I started thinking about how I was alone in the clinic, or was I?....You can take the higher electric bill out of my next paycheck.
Anyone who has been to a doctor's office probably knows that the office is inundated with drug reps, trying to get the docs to prescribe their meds, and often bringing samples. They often bring food, too, so my grocery bills have gone down significantly since I started working at this clinic. Anyway...
The staff received a warning from our boss that area clinics were being robbed for their drugs, and we were not to take samples of certain medications from the drug reps. Now, the reader may be thinking that our clinic stocks OxyContin, Vicodin, or other types of narcotics, but no. We neither stock controlled medications, nor are the thieves after these drugs. The thieves, apparently, have been stealing what in the medical community are known as phosphodiesterase inhibitors.
Cialis, Viagra, and Levitra are apparently the latest favorite drugs to steal. Yep, those drugs with the cute commercials of older men and women getting romantic, or men talking about their "ED." For anyone who has been living under a rock for the last couple of years, "ED" stands for erectile dysfunction. If you still don't know what I'm talking about, you're probably too young to be reading my blog.
So of course my warped mind had a field day with this information. I figured that the suspects would probably be easy to spot, depending on when they took the drugs. I also wondered how a thief that stole drugs for impotence would fare in jail. How do you explain to your big, burly cellmates that you were stealing a drug for those who, erm, can't, ummm, perform properly?? I don't think the "I was doing it for a friend" excuse would work either.
Of course, I couldn't help but think of the courtroom drama that could be made out of this. "The defendant rigidly maintains his innocence," "the prosecutor was impotent during the closing arguments," well, use your imagination. I wonder if I should email the CSI people.
I have to admit, though, that as I worked late yesterday, and was the only one left in the office, I began to wonder about crazed, impotent men trying to break down the front door to our clinic to steal the Levitra. I figure if you have come to a point in your life in which you feel the urge (ahem) to steal drugs for impotence, you are probably 1. desperate, 2. crazy or 3. both. In any case, I would not want to be caught alone in the clinic with someone like that.
So if for some reason my boss stumbles onto this blog, I apologize for not turning all the lights off. I couldn't find the last light switch, and I started thinking about how I was alone in the clinic, or was I?....You can take the higher electric bill out of my next paycheck.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Newsflash
If you don't know it, a Lean Cuisine frozen meal just doesn't taste right if you really want a roast beef meal from Arby's. Yes, I do love junk food, especially when I am sick for some reason.
A few years ago, I had a boss who was delighted that I didn't mind going to junk-food restaurants with him. My predecessors had all been health junkies, and he probably had some sort of fast food about four of the five workdays. He didn't know that every time I saw him with something fried, I secretly prayed that his wife made him dinners of nothing but brown rice and vegetables, and lots of red wine to lower his cholesterol. Anyway...
My boss and I frequently had meetings in somewhat distant cities, so if our schedules were the same, we would sometimes eat lunch together. Hence his relief that I would not limit my diet to what is only good for me. The first time this happened, we got out of a meeting around noon, and he asked rather sheepishly, "Would you mind going to this pizza place I know for lunch?" I said (of course), "Not at all. I love pizza." He looked at me like I had just landed there from another planet: "You eat pizza?!"
On another occasion, I was working with an intern who was studying public health, and we got into this conversation (she was also a health food junkie):
Intern: Willow, did you know there's a new food pyramid out?
Willow: Really--where did you find it? Send me the link.
Boss walks into the room: What's a food pyramid?
Willow: Don't worry about it. It's nothing you want to know about.
Boss: I think I've just been insulted.
In other news, I have been using Quicken 2007 to update my bank accounts. It worked fine for awhile, then suddenly stopped "talking" to the bank. Because on a normal day, I don't have much time to spend figuring out what went wrong with my software, I let the problem go for awhile. Anyway, last night I tried to fix it, and ended up somehow locking myself out of my own bank account. Now I have no idea what's going on with my accounts unless I either 1: start doing my banking the old fashioned way again or 2: call someone at the bank, tell them what an idiot I was, and try to remember which secret answer to which secret question I have for that bank to identify myself to the bank as the lawful owner of the money (and debt, heh). And since the Quicken website is about as much help as the clues in The DaVinci Code, I've gotten no help from them either.
A few years ago, I had a boss who was delighted that I didn't mind going to junk-food restaurants with him. My predecessors had all been health junkies, and he probably had some sort of fast food about four of the five workdays. He didn't know that every time I saw him with something fried, I secretly prayed that his wife made him dinners of nothing but brown rice and vegetables, and lots of red wine to lower his cholesterol. Anyway...
My boss and I frequently had meetings in somewhat distant cities, so if our schedules were the same, we would sometimes eat lunch together. Hence his relief that I would not limit my diet to what is only good for me. The first time this happened, we got out of a meeting around noon, and he asked rather sheepishly, "Would you mind going to this pizza place I know for lunch?" I said (of course), "Not at all. I love pizza." He looked at me like I had just landed there from another planet: "You eat pizza?!"
On another occasion, I was working with an intern who was studying public health, and we got into this conversation (she was also a health food junkie):
Intern: Willow, did you know there's a new food pyramid out?
Willow: Really--where did you find it? Send me the link.
Boss walks into the room: What's a food pyramid?
Willow: Don't worry about it. It's nothing you want to know about.
Boss: I think I've just been insulted.
In other news, I have been using Quicken 2007 to update my bank accounts. It worked fine for awhile, then suddenly stopped "talking" to the bank. Because on a normal day, I don't have much time to spend figuring out what went wrong with my software, I let the problem go for awhile. Anyway, last night I tried to fix it, and ended up somehow locking myself out of my own bank account. Now I have no idea what's going on with my accounts unless I either 1: start doing my banking the old fashioned way again or 2: call someone at the bank, tell them what an idiot I was, and try to remember which secret answer to which secret question I have for that bank to identify myself to the bank as the lawful owner of the money (and debt, heh). And since the Quicken website is about as much help as the clues in The DaVinci Code, I've gotten no help from them either.
Oh, for criminy's sake!!!
I have no idea who Criminy is and why I would be saying anything for his (or her) sake, but that is the phrase that has been going through my head in the last few hours.
I thought I was getting over this cold/flu thing that I had, but as evening neared, I developed this suspicious-sounding cough and my temperature shot back up. Since I have basically been a lifelong asthmatic, I decided it was time for me to visit the local "Urgent Care" center (of course, as my symptoms became more suspicious, it was later in the day, and thus impossible to make an appointment with my regular doctor).
Luckily, the urgent care center that I visit in these times of medical inconveniences was not very busy tonight. So I got right in, and saw the doctor (who looked like he was about half my age, but I digress...), who immediately ordered chest X-rays and Motrin, since my temp had shot up once again.
I still believed that he would come back to my room and say that I had a bit of bronchitis, prescribe me some antibiotics and a cough syrup, and let me go on my way. I was actually so sure of this that I called my new boss to let her know that I may have developed bronchitis, but I would try to make it in by tomorrow afternoon. No such luck.
The doc, after telling me that I had a "mild lower-lobe infiltrate," ie. pneumonia, almost immediately told me that 1: if my symptoms don't clear up in a couple of days, I should go to a hospital, and 2: I was not destined to go to work tomorrow (or rather, today, since it's past midnight).
Of course, since I have been a lifelong asthmatic and the doc presumably knew about the effects of illness on the respiratory tract (major inflammation and irritation), he prescribed, along with the antibiotic, prednisone. This medication, which brings my breathing problems under control in a matter of hours, is also a steroid derivative (forgive me, I am rather simplifying this at the moment).
What this all means is that while taking the antibiotic, I will be very tired, but the prednisone should make up for this tiredness as whenever I take it I feel more than a bit high, and want to bounce off the walls, so to speak.
Anyway, for anyone reading this blog, I hope that you don't come down with what I have, and if you do, I hope it doesn't keep you up at night making silly blog entries as it has done for me.
Sniffelingly yours,
Willow
I thought I was getting over this cold/flu thing that I had, but as evening neared, I developed this suspicious-sounding cough and my temperature shot back up. Since I have basically been a lifelong asthmatic, I decided it was time for me to visit the local "Urgent Care" center (of course, as my symptoms became more suspicious, it was later in the day, and thus impossible to make an appointment with my regular doctor).
Luckily, the urgent care center that I visit in these times of medical inconveniences was not very busy tonight. So I got right in, and saw the doctor (who looked like he was about half my age, but I digress...), who immediately ordered chest X-rays and Motrin, since my temp had shot up once again.
I still believed that he would come back to my room and say that I had a bit of bronchitis, prescribe me some antibiotics and a cough syrup, and let me go on my way. I was actually so sure of this that I called my new boss to let her know that I may have developed bronchitis, but I would try to make it in by tomorrow afternoon. No such luck.
The doc, after telling me that I had a "mild lower-lobe infiltrate," ie. pneumonia, almost immediately told me that 1: if my symptoms don't clear up in a couple of days, I should go to a hospital, and 2: I was not destined to go to work tomorrow (or rather, today, since it's past midnight).
Of course, since I have been a lifelong asthmatic and the doc presumably knew about the effects of illness on the respiratory tract (major inflammation and irritation), he prescribed, along with the antibiotic, prednisone. This medication, which brings my breathing problems under control in a matter of hours, is also a steroid derivative (forgive me, I am rather simplifying this at the moment).
What this all means is that while taking the antibiotic, I will be very tired, but the prednisone should make up for this tiredness as whenever I take it I feel more than a bit high, and want to bounce off the walls, so to speak.
Anyway, for anyone reading this blog, I hope that you don't come down with what I have, and if you do, I hope it doesn't keep you up at night making silly blog entries as it has done for me.
Sniffelingly yours,
Willow
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Fever and other strange occurrances
For the first time in quite awhile, I have become terribly sick with what I am guessing is some strain of influenza. The really bad symptoms, like fever, terrible aches and pains, congestion, cough, etc. lasted only a day, making me really glad that I got my flu shot. Anyway, I thought I'd share some of my fever-ridden, cold-medicine-driven dreams.
I was called back to work in the ICU (as if!!!!). The guy I had been dating and who dumped me so maliciously was in a room with a patient, trying to start an IV. He'd just been unsuccessful, and I came in and offered to help. The guy (we'll call him Gollum, so I don't have to use his real name. Anyway, Gollum's close enough, heh) skeptically said I could help. Gollum, for the time that I knew him, truly viewed himself as God's gift to the medical community. But I digress...
Anyway, back to the dream. The patient for some reason had veins outside of his body. I got the equipment to start the IV, and Gollum and I got into this weird, third-party argument:
Gollum: So what's been going on?
Willow: Well, I have this friend who was totally in love with this guy, and then he dumped her without explanation.
Gollum: Well, maybe she just dumped him and doesn't want to admit it.
Willow (more heated): Well, that wouldn't take into consideration the five or so times she tried to apologize, without her even knowing what she did wrong, and he completely ignored her!
The dream got a bit blurry here, but I do remember a scene in which I said something like, "Denial is more than a river in Egypt," and Gollum didn't "get it."
Then the dream morphed into this scene in which I was at home in my living room and I found a two-headed earthworm in the middle of my floor. I picked it up and put it outside, wondering how a worm had gotten into my house. Yes, I know, Freudians and probably therapists in general would have a field day with this. Go ahead.
My final dream scene, possibly as an apology from my unconscious, was of me looking happily out of the window of my new house at Lake Superior in northern Michigan.
Anyway, for those of you who may be wondering, there is only ONE CURE for flu, cold, and similar viruses: Pizza with pepperoni and hot peppers, heavy on the pepperoni, from your favorite pizza establishment.
I was called back to work in the ICU (as if!!!!). The guy I had been dating and who dumped me so maliciously was in a room with a patient, trying to start an IV. He'd just been unsuccessful, and I came in and offered to help. The guy (we'll call him Gollum, so I don't have to use his real name. Anyway, Gollum's close enough, heh) skeptically said I could help. Gollum, for the time that I knew him, truly viewed himself as God's gift to the medical community. But I digress...
Anyway, back to the dream. The patient for some reason had veins outside of his body. I got the equipment to start the IV, and Gollum and I got into this weird, third-party argument:
Gollum: So what's been going on?
Willow: Well, I have this friend who was totally in love with this guy, and then he dumped her without explanation.
Gollum: Well, maybe she just dumped him and doesn't want to admit it.
Willow (more heated): Well, that wouldn't take into consideration the five or so times she tried to apologize, without her even knowing what she did wrong, and he completely ignored her!
The dream got a bit blurry here, but I do remember a scene in which I said something like, "Denial is more than a river in Egypt," and Gollum didn't "get it."
Then the dream morphed into this scene in which I was at home in my living room and I found a two-headed earthworm in the middle of my floor. I picked it up and put it outside, wondering how a worm had gotten into my house. Yes, I know, Freudians and probably therapists in general would have a field day with this. Go ahead.
My final dream scene, possibly as an apology from my unconscious, was of me looking happily out of the window of my new house at Lake Superior in northern Michigan.
Anyway, for those of you who may be wondering, there is only ONE CURE for flu, cold, and similar viruses: Pizza with pepperoni and hot peppers, heavy on the pepperoni, from your favorite pizza establishment.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
I went to a conference on aging. To be more exact, I went to a conference on how to treat elders with memory problems, and how to avoid becoming an elder with memory problems yourself.
One of the topics was on sleep patterns, and how they change as we age. The physician giving the talk spoke about "sleep hygiene," which is basically "how to get to sleep if you have insomnia 101." This doctor said that the bedroom should be used only for two things. One of them was sleep, and as the doctor said, the other one also begins with an "S." And to think that I thought the kitchen table was for the other "S." Silly me.
But seriously, I couldn't imagine only using my bedroom for sleep. I usually read before I go to sleep because it relaxes me. I don't like the television in the bedroom because I think the sound and light interfere with sleep. But I am obviously in the minority here, if my hospital experience is any measure. Most people in the hospital keep their TVs on 24/7. Sometimes after work I don't even put on the radio after work, because of all of the beeping monitors, ringing telephones, and blaring of televisions all night long. Ick. But I digress...
Anyway, there was another person at this conference who spoke about nutrition and aging, and by the end of the lecture, I wondered if it would be ever safe to eat again. She not only advocated for eating all organic food, she said that the only vitamins that we should be taking are "pharmaceutical grade" vitamins, available, of course, for a price, from certain physician-run formularies.
During lunch, I spoke with the other people at my table and we decided that if we followed this doctor's recommendations, the only food items that would be safe to eat would be organic red wine and potato chips. I'm okay with that, as long as I can have the occasional dose of chocolate.
It was interesting to listen to these people who are definitely leaders in their fields, talking about ways to prevent excessive aging if you only followed their rules. The doctor who advocated "pharmaceutical grade" dietary supplements also said that if we use microwaves, all the nutrients in our food would be lost. She also advocated for the reduction of caffeine in the diet. As I said to my colleagues, "I can't imagine getting through graduate school without caffeine and a microwave oven."
I guess the thing that bothered me about this particular nutritional talk was that for most people that I see in my career, the goals that the doctor advocated would be unattainable. Many of the elders that I have encountered in my career have had at least deficits in their mobility, if not multiple health problems. Often, they also live in either subsidized housing for low-income individuals, or live in their own homes, and continue there on limited incomes. They also have very limited transportation options. Unfortunately, one of the disadvantages of living in the Mitten is that our state has relied too heavily on the "power" of the automotive industry, and never developed a viable public transit system. So those patients who either cannot drive because of deficits, or who cannot afford to own a car or pay for regular cab service, are at a monumental disadvantage.
To tell these people, who already are either very ill or living at poverty levels (or both) to eat only organic foods and do away with their microwaves (and possibly their Meals on Wheels, which may be the only balanced meals that they receive), is laughable, in a sad sort of way.
One of the topics was on sleep patterns, and how they change as we age. The physician giving the talk spoke about "sleep hygiene," which is basically "how to get to sleep if you have insomnia 101." This doctor said that the bedroom should be used only for two things. One of them was sleep, and as the doctor said, the other one also begins with an "S." And to think that I thought the kitchen table was for the other "S." Silly me.
But seriously, I couldn't imagine only using my bedroom for sleep. I usually read before I go to sleep because it relaxes me. I don't like the television in the bedroom because I think the sound and light interfere with sleep. But I am obviously in the minority here, if my hospital experience is any measure. Most people in the hospital keep their TVs on 24/7. Sometimes after work I don't even put on the radio after work, because of all of the beeping monitors, ringing telephones, and blaring of televisions all night long. Ick. But I digress...
Anyway, there was another person at this conference who spoke about nutrition and aging, and by the end of the lecture, I wondered if it would be ever safe to eat again. She not only advocated for eating all organic food, she said that the only vitamins that we should be taking are "pharmaceutical grade" vitamins, available, of course, for a price, from certain physician-run formularies.
During lunch, I spoke with the other people at my table and we decided that if we followed this doctor's recommendations, the only food items that would be safe to eat would be organic red wine and potato chips. I'm okay with that, as long as I can have the occasional dose of chocolate.
It was interesting to listen to these people who are definitely leaders in their fields, talking about ways to prevent excessive aging if you only followed their rules. The doctor who advocated "pharmaceutical grade" dietary supplements also said that if we use microwaves, all the nutrients in our food would be lost. She also advocated for the reduction of caffeine in the diet. As I said to my colleagues, "I can't imagine getting through graduate school without caffeine and a microwave oven."
I guess the thing that bothered me about this particular nutritional talk was that for most people that I see in my career, the goals that the doctor advocated would be unattainable. Many of the elders that I have encountered in my career have had at least deficits in their mobility, if not multiple health problems. Often, they also live in either subsidized housing for low-income individuals, or live in their own homes, and continue there on limited incomes. They also have very limited transportation options. Unfortunately, one of the disadvantages of living in the Mitten is that our state has relied too heavily on the "power" of the automotive industry, and never developed a viable public transit system. So those patients who either cannot drive because of deficits, or who cannot afford to own a car or pay for regular cab service, are at a monumental disadvantage.
To tell these people, who already are either very ill or living at poverty levels (or both) to eat only organic foods and do away with their microwaves (and possibly their Meals on Wheels, which may be the only balanced meals that they receive), is laughable, in a sad sort of way.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
So now I know...
Thanks for the link, Agatestone! To think of all the aptitude/personality/intelligence/other b*llsh*t tests in my life and career, and this was all I needed to know.
I will let the (occasional) reader guess whether I decided to give up either sex or the Internet. And for anyone who knew me in my younger days, no, I have never owned a lightsaber. But I still have sort of a thing for Luke Skywalker.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Pandemic?
Yesterday I attended a conference on "The Coming Pandemic" at the local medical school. It was interesting, a bit nerve racking in some parts, but all in all, I am not convinced that we are headed for a horrific, 1918-like pandemic any time soon.
There were some sobering facts to consider. First of all, the virus strain that epidemiologists are worried about is the "bird flu" virus: H5N1 for the medically inclined. The epidemiologist at the conference said that this strain has been mutating regularly, and is one amino acid away from making it easily transmissible from human to human. Right now, it is basically endemic in the chicken and migratory bird population, and I think he also said it had spread to fish, but he didn't specify which fish.
Another cause for concern is that since the virus is in migratory birds, and migratory birds go all over the world (the epidemiologist had a picture of the routes they took--for the really scared, it looked like the only place that they didn't visit was Antarctica), it is possible that the birds themselves can spread the virus to humans.
But don't go vegetarian yet--the doc assured us that the virus does not survive in well-cooked foods. But the areas that had cases of H5N1 also have some interesting cuisine, like duck's blood pudding. Ick!!!!!
One of the presenters asked how many people in the audience have a week's supply of water stored up in case of emergency. I was surprised at how many people raised their hands. I haven't been one to store up rations for an emergency, although I do have a full set of camping equipment that includes a sleeping bag that will keep me warm in weather down to -20f, and two water purifiers. I also have hunting equipment so I guess if anything really hit the proverbial fan, I could just go up north and live off the land.
But since I am a highly trained RN living in a large metropolitan area, and since I also am on my state's Volunteer Registry (meaning that I can be called to help out in a large-scale disaster) I always figured that if something really bad happened, I'd be out in the field anyway.
But I think what makes me a bit skeptical about the likelihood of a pandemic is the amount of knowledge that we have, and the availability of technology to disseminate the knowledge. I mean, H5N1 was discovered on the other side of the world, and scientists in the U.S. have been studying it for years. Although the ease of world travel can increase the spread of a virus, I think our knowledge of prevention and containment can mitigate its effects.
But of course, I had all of these thoughts before reading Agatestone's account of her co-workers coming into work and spreading their colds around.
If anyone is interested in learning more, the CDC has a website: http://www.pandemicflu.gov/. For some reason, I can't get the "insert link" function on my blog. Oh, well.
By the way, there have been two more pandemics in our recent history: one in 1957, one in 1968. The number of people who died from these pandemics decreased dramatically each time.
Disclaimer: If there are any inaccuracies in the information provided above, I apologize. This conference did not include any information like Power-Point slides, that we could take home for reference, so I am relying on my memory here. I suspect that we didn't have any take-home references because the information in this field is still developing.
There were some sobering facts to consider. First of all, the virus strain that epidemiologists are worried about is the "bird flu" virus: H5N1 for the medically inclined. The epidemiologist at the conference said that this strain has been mutating regularly, and is one amino acid away from making it easily transmissible from human to human. Right now, it is basically endemic in the chicken and migratory bird population, and I think he also said it had spread to fish, but he didn't specify which fish.
Another cause for concern is that since the virus is in migratory birds, and migratory birds go all over the world (the epidemiologist had a picture of the routes they took--for the really scared, it looked like the only place that they didn't visit was Antarctica), it is possible that the birds themselves can spread the virus to humans.
But don't go vegetarian yet--the doc assured us that the virus does not survive in well-cooked foods. But the areas that had cases of H5N1 also have some interesting cuisine, like duck's blood pudding. Ick!!!!!
One of the presenters asked how many people in the audience have a week's supply of water stored up in case of emergency. I was surprised at how many people raised their hands. I haven't been one to store up rations for an emergency, although I do have a full set of camping equipment that includes a sleeping bag that will keep me warm in weather down to -20f, and two water purifiers. I also have hunting equipment so I guess if anything really hit the proverbial fan, I could just go up north and live off the land.
But since I am a highly trained RN living in a large metropolitan area, and since I also am on my state's Volunteer Registry (meaning that I can be called to help out in a large-scale disaster) I always figured that if something really bad happened, I'd be out in the field anyway.
But I think what makes me a bit skeptical about the likelihood of a pandemic is the amount of knowledge that we have, and the availability of technology to disseminate the knowledge. I mean, H5N1 was discovered on the other side of the world, and scientists in the U.S. have been studying it for years. Although the ease of world travel can increase the spread of a virus, I think our knowledge of prevention and containment can mitigate its effects.
But of course, I had all of these thoughts before reading Agatestone's account of her co-workers coming into work and spreading their colds around.
If anyone is interested in learning more, the CDC has a website: http://www.pandemicflu.gov/. For some reason, I can't get the "insert link" function on my blog. Oh, well.
By the way, there have been two more pandemics in our recent history: one in 1957, one in 1968. The number of people who died from these pandemics decreased dramatically each time.
Disclaimer: If there are any inaccuracies in the information provided above, I apologize. This conference did not include any information like Power-Point slides, that we could take home for reference, so I am relying on my memory here. I suspect that we didn't have any take-home references because the information in this field is still developing.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
The Journey of Forgiveness
In the last couple of years, I have been brought face-to-face with the cruelties that we can do to one another. I believe I have mentioned this before: I am not talking about the Bin Ladins of the world, I am talking about what we can do to each other every day in the course of our lives.
I am really not sure what the lesson here is for me. I remember a physician I worked with who behaved very cruelly to those who worked for him, but also to his patients. I tried to stop him. I reported his actions to the administrator. Unfortunately, the administrator (who is no longer in that position, btw) was afraid of confrontation so she never held this physician accountable for his actions.
I also have recounted the unjustified cruel treatment that I suffered at the hands of ICU nurses who basically had their "clique," to which I did not belong. And then of course, last but not least is the man who so cruelly hurt me by inexplicably leaving me, and then (as I found out yesterday), informed me that I had left him, conveniently forgetting the number of times I attempted to apologize to him.
So today I am wondering about forgiveness. Is it possible for me to forgive these people who hurt me so badly? I actually didn't realize how much I was hurt by my experiences in the ICU until I took a job at a clinic, and found that I was regularly having panic attacks and wanting to cry, because I was afraid that I would be threatened and/or falsely accused of something again.
I was raised in a Christian home, and although my beliefs have changed from being strictly Christian, I still consider myself a follower of Christ. As such, I believe that we are all sacred children of the Creator. So it is very difficult for me to reconcile these beliefs with the experiences that I have had lately.
I remember speaking to my mentor about the physician. I was thinking of the story of The Good Samaritan. I told him that if I came across the cruel physician lying beaten at the side of the road (or any of the wantonly cruel and cowardly people that I have encountered lately), it would be difficult for me to decide to stop and help. My mentor assured me that I would do the right thing in such a situation, but just the thought that I could hesitate to help someone who I believed to be cruel and unethical really made me think.
What if I can't, or don't want to, forgive these people for what they have done? Sometimes I think that forgiving someone is like condoning what they did, and I certainly do not want to condone the cruel behavior that I have encountered lately.
But I also know that forgiveness is far more than complicity. I realize that forgiveness does not include condoning evil or cruelty. Rather, it is knowing that I can be whoever I want to be in the face of it, and I can learn to rise above it and not be at the effect of it. This is a very difficult process, and part of the process involves being willing to look at ways in which I have hurt people, as well as accepting the fact that there will be, at least in the near future, people who will be dishonest, self-serving and cruel. And if I truly think I can't forgive someone, I can turn the situation over to Creator, and say that at this point in my life, I am unable to do what Christ has taught. Maybe I will forgive at some point in the future, when the pain has healed some more, and I am able to gather up what I have learned from those situations and grow wiser for the lessons.
I am somehow comforted by the fact that the things I have done in the last couple of years that invited so much pain into my life were done out of love: for my patients, for the people in the community that I worked with, and for the man who in the end, walked away.
I will end this post with excerpts from one of my favorite Biblical passages:
"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away...So faith, hope, love abide, but the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13, 1-8,13
I am really not sure what the lesson here is for me. I remember a physician I worked with who behaved very cruelly to those who worked for him, but also to his patients. I tried to stop him. I reported his actions to the administrator. Unfortunately, the administrator (who is no longer in that position, btw) was afraid of confrontation so she never held this physician accountable for his actions.
I also have recounted the unjustified cruel treatment that I suffered at the hands of ICU nurses who basically had their "clique," to which I did not belong. And then of course, last but not least is the man who so cruelly hurt me by inexplicably leaving me, and then (as I found out yesterday), informed me that I had left him, conveniently forgetting the number of times I attempted to apologize to him.
So today I am wondering about forgiveness. Is it possible for me to forgive these people who hurt me so badly? I actually didn't realize how much I was hurt by my experiences in the ICU until I took a job at a clinic, and found that I was regularly having panic attacks and wanting to cry, because I was afraid that I would be threatened and/or falsely accused of something again.
I was raised in a Christian home, and although my beliefs have changed from being strictly Christian, I still consider myself a follower of Christ. As such, I believe that we are all sacred children of the Creator. So it is very difficult for me to reconcile these beliefs with the experiences that I have had lately.
I remember speaking to my mentor about the physician. I was thinking of the story of The Good Samaritan. I told him that if I came across the cruel physician lying beaten at the side of the road (or any of the wantonly cruel and cowardly people that I have encountered lately), it would be difficult for me to decide to stop and help. My mentor assured me that I would do the right thing in such a situation, but just the thought that I could hesitate to help someone who I believed to be cruel and unethical really made me think.
What if I can't, or don't want to, forgive these people for what they have done? Sometimes I think that forgiving someone is like condoning what they did, and I certainly do not want to condone the cruel behavior that I have encountered lately.
But I also know that forgiveness is far more than complicity. I realize that forgiveness does not include condoning evil or cruelty. Rather, it is knowing that I can be whoever I want to be in the face of it, and I can learn to rise above it and not be at the effect of it. This is a very difficult process, and part of the process involves being willing to look at ways in which I have hurt people, as well as accepting the fact that there will be, at least in the near future, people who will be dishonest, self-serving and cruel. And if I truly think I can't forgive someone, I can turn the situation over to Creator, and say that at this point in my life, I am unable to do what Christ has taught. Maybe I will forgive at some point in the future, when the pain has healed some more, and I am able to gather up what I have learned from those situations and grow wiser for the lessons.
I am somehow comforted by the fact that the things I have done in the last couple of years that invited so much pain into my life were done out of love: for my patients, for the people in the community that I worked with, and for the man who in the end, walked away.
I will end this post with excerpts from one of my favorite Biblical passages:
"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away...So faith, hope, love abide, but the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13, 1-8,13
Friday, September 28, 2007
Heartbreak
I suppose I could have come up with a less cliched title than "heartbreak," but that is the only thing that comes to mind at the moment. I have made references in my blogs to a man who I thought unceremoniously dumped me. I received an email from him, sent to everyone in his mailbox (apparently he didn't bother to delete my email from his address book) that indicated he was moving to Florida, and he would forward information on his new whereabouts to anyone who was interested.
I was shocked and upset when I read this email. I replied to it, asking whether he seriously wanted to stay in contact with me or was this some sort of sick joke on his part, and then I decided to call him. I was sick of this inclusion/ignore thing he had going on.
So I was in the middle of leaving a message requesting that he either contact me to tell me what I had done to alienate him (I truly valued his friendship, even if we could not have a viable long-distance relationship that was beyond friendship), or to remove my information from his address book.
To my surprise, he called back. He told me that I had been the one to end the relationship, saying that I had told him not to bother with it anymore. I had only told him not to bother with walking me to my car, as I was really angry with him at the time. He apparently took this to mean that he should not bother with any part of the relationship, that it was over. I reminded him of the times that I had attempted to apologize to him (that were ignored), and said that I had friends all over the world, and distance didn't mean anything to me as far as friends were concerned. I was in the middle of saying, "I'm sorry I'm not perfect, but..." when I got that electronic message that I had been disconnected.
A bit later I called him back, and basically left a message telling him how much I cared about him, and I have friends all over the world, and it didn't matter to me whether he was living near to me, in another state, or even in another country--I would still care about him. Of course, he didn't answer the telephone, and I left him a message with little hope that he would take the time to listen to it.
My pain about this situation goes far beyond the hurt of losing someone who I love. I have lived 42 years on this planet, and I still can't understand why people--ordinarily caring people--can be so callous. So if the person who I thought I knew, and still care about reads this, I hope you are able to accept the love that I am sending you. I love you as a friend, and as another being who struggles with all of the joy and sorrow on this planet.
Namaste, Willow
I was shocked and upset when I read this email. I replied to it, asking whether he seriously wanted to stay in contact with me or was this some sort of sick joke on his part, and then I decided to call him. I was sick of this inclusion/ignore thing he had going on.
So I was in the middle of leaving a message requesting that he either contact me to tell me what I had done to alienate him (I truly valued his friendship, even if we could not have a viable long-distance relationship that was beyond friendship), or to remove my information from his address book.
To my surprise, he called back. He told me that I had been the one to end the relationship, saying that I had told him not to bother with it anymore. I had only told him not to bother with walking me to my car, as I was really angry with him at the time. He apparently took this to mean that he should not bother with any part of the relationship, that it was over. I reminded him of the times that I had attempted to apologize to him (that were ignored), and said that I had friends all over the world, and distance didn't mean anything to me as far as friends were concerned. I was in the middle of saying, "I'm sorry I'm not perfect, but..." when I got that electronic message that I had been disconnected.
A bit later I called him back, and basically left a message telling him how much I cared about him, and I have friends all over the world, and it didn't matter to me whether he was living near to me, in another state, or even in another country--I would still care about him. Of course, he didn't answer the telephone, and I left him a message with little hope that he would take the time to listen to it.
My pain about this situation goes far beyond the hurt of losing someone who I love. I have lived 42 years on this planet, and I still can't understand why people--ordinarily caring people--can be so callous. So if the person who I thought I knew, and still care about reads this, I hope you are able to accept the love that I am sending you. I love you as a friend, and as another being who struggles with all of the joy and sorrow on this planet.
Namaste, Willow
Monday, September 24, 2007
"Serving Suggestion" and other strange topics
The other day, while I was cleaning house, my mind wandered off into its usual strange places. I started thinking about the dinners in my freezer (graduate school staple food), and noticed that the covers have the fine print, "Serving Suggestion." As if we are so gullible that we would believe that a little package of frozen dinner would come straight out of the box with a beautiful bowl, cutlery, etc. I supposed someone had believed it, hence the fine print.
Anyway, I started wondering about this. What if I joined one of those online dating services like "Match.com," and found a picture of some twenty-something gorgeous blond, put her in my profile, and added the disclaimer "serving suggestion?" Of course, I have a feeling that most people wouldn't get it. Not that I have any immediate plans to try an online dating service. A couple of years ago, I tried "eHarmony," and was inundated with so many creeps and weirdos that I actually went back to my personality profile to make sure I hadn't filled it out wrong. I told them to get my info the h*ll out of their database after a couple of months. My creep homing beacon works just find without help, thank you very much.
In other subjects, I have noticed a couple of rather strange adverts for medications. The first one that I noticed was a medication for restless leg syndrome (I don't remember the name of the medication). One of the warnings was that patients should call their doctors if they experienced sudden urges to gamble or strong sexual urges while taking this medication.
The other ad was for a sleeping pill, that came with the warning that the patient should contact his/her doctor immediately if they were driving, walking, or doing any other activities in their sleep. If they made it safely back to bed, how would they know what they were doing in their sleep anyway (unless they had a spouse/partner who noticed the patient taking the car out for a drive, going for long walks, or baking bread in their sleep).
It's a strange world we live in, isn't it?
Anyway, I started wondering about this. What if I joined one of those online dating services like "Match.com," and found a picture of some twenty-something gorgeous blond, put her in my profile, and added the disclaimer "serving suggestion?" Of course, I have a feeling that most people wouldn't get it. Not that I have any immediate plans to try an online dating service. A couple of years ago, I tried "eHarmony," and was inundated with so many creeps and weirdos that I actually went back to my personality profile to make sure I hadn't filled it out wrong. I told them to get my info the h*ll out of their database after a couple of months. My creep homing beacon works just find without help, thank you very much.
In other subjects, I have noticed a couple of rather strange adverts for medications. The first one that I noticed was a medication for restless leg syndrome (I don't remember the name of the medication). One of the warnings was that patients should call their doctors if they experienced sudden urges to gamble or strong sexual urges while taking this medication.
The other ad was for a sleeping pill, that came with the warning that the patient should contact his/her doctor immediately if they were driving, walking, or doing any other activities in their sleep. If they made it safely back to bed, how would they know what they were doing in their sleep anyway (unless they had a spouse/partner who noticed the patient taking the car out for a drive, going for long walks, or baking bread in their sleep).
It's a strange world we live in, isn't it?
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Bleh--A Movie Review
I did something that I have never done in my life last night: I walked out of a movie because it was that bad. I am part of a group of people who get together almost weekly to see movies, plays, or whatever else looks good. I have missed their get-togethers many times because of work/school obligations, but I was free last night, and decided to see the Movie Of the Week with them. Well...
I had seen a few trailers for this movie: Eastern Promises. I didn't pay much attention to what it was all about; it just looked like another action movie to me. I thought, well, action movie, I love those, Viggo Mortenson has a part in it, he's a good actor and fairly good looking, how bad could it be??
Well, I found out. The movie, or at least the part of it that I saw, was focused on the Russian mob. Now, I have to admit that it might have been at least a decent movie, but anyone who knows my movie preferences will know that I will never knowingly go to a movie about the mob, mafia, or whatever they are calling themselves these days. I have never seen any of the Godfather movies, and if my television accidentally ends up on the channel that is playing reruns of The Sopranos, I will quickly switch the station or shut the TV off. I don't care how good the movie is. I think there is enough injustice, pain and violence in this world that I don't need to waste my time watching anything that focuses on a group of people who make breaking the law and viciously killing people their main business in life.
Anyway, for my $8.50 (or whatever the cost is--The Movie Group goes to a restaurant that has a dinner/movie special), I got to see people's throats being slashed, a mob guy (played by Viggo Mortenson, BTW) cutting off a dead guy's fingers and pulling out his (the dead guy's, not Viggo's) teeth so he wouldn't be identified, graphic sex with a member of the boss's "stable" as a rite of passage, more throats being slashed...you get the idea.
The pacing was also rather slow, so I vacillated between wanting to throw up and wanting to go to sleep. Also, Viggo's wardrobe was (unintentionally, I assume) hilarious. Black trenchcoat, black suit, black sunglasses...he might have just worn a big sign that said, "Hey! I'm in the Russian Mafia!"
If anyone is actually reading this (heh) and is wondering why I can love action flicks but hate mob movies, it's because in general, action movies have either a ridiculous plot or some good guy who saves the day at the end. I go to movies to see fiction, not another reminder of the many ways that we can be vicious to one another.
Since I work in a large hospital that sees quite a bit of traffic from area prisons, one might wonder why I would find mob movies so objectionable. But most of the prisoners that I met in the course of my career were basically people who had made bad decisions and/or were addicted to drugs or alcohol. If any of them cut off fingers for a living, they weren't telling me about it.
I remember one guy who confided in me that he had quit drinking the last time he was in jail. I "high-fived" and congratulated him. Gotta celebrate those small triumphs in people's lives when they don't have much to look forward to. Anyway, I'll take my crack dealers, jailbirds, wacky homeless people, etc. over calculating mobsters any day.
I had seen a few trailers for this movie: Eastern Promises. I didn't pay much attention to what it was all about; it just looked like another action movie to me. I thought, well, action movie, I love those, Viggo Mortenson has a part in it, he's a good actor and fairly good looking, how bad could it be??
Well, I found out. The movie, or at least the part of it that I saw, was focused on the Russian mob. Now, I have to admit that it might have been at least a decent movie, but anyone who knows my movie preferences will know that I will never knowingly go to a movie about the mob, mafia, or whatever they are calling themselves these days. I have never seen any of the Godfather movies, and if my television accidentally ends up on the channel that is playing reruns of The Sopranos, I will quickly switch the station or shut the TV off. I don't care how good the movie is. I think there is enough injustice, pain and violence in this world that I don't need to waste my time watching anything that focuses on a group of people who make breaking the law and viciously killing people their main business in life.
Anyway, for my $8.50 (or whatever the cost is--The Movie Group goes to a restaurant that has a dinner/movie special), I got to see people's throats being slashed, a mob guy (played by Viggo Mortenson, BTW) cutting off a dead guy's fingers and pulling out his (the dead guy's, not Viggo's) teeth so he wouldn't be identified, graphic sex with a member of the boss's "stable" as a rite of passage, more throats being slashed...you get the idea.
The pacing was also rather slow, so I vacillated between wanting to throw up and wanting to go to sleep. Also, Viggo's wardrobe was (unintentionally, I assume) hilarious. Black trenchcoat, black suit, black sunglasses...he might have just worn a big sign that said, "Hey! I'm in the Russian Mafia!"
If anyone is actually reading this (heh) and is wondering why I can love action flicks but hate mob movies, it's because in general, action movies have either a ridiculous plot or some good guy who saves the day at the end. I go to movies to see fiction, not another reminder of the many ways that we can be vicious to one another.
Since I work in a large hospital that sees quite a bit of traffic from area prisons, one might wonder why I would find mob movies so objectionable. But most of the prisoners that I met in the course of my career were basically people who had made bad decisions and/or were addicted to drugs or alcohol. If any of them cut off fingers for a living, they weren't telling me about it.
I remember one guy who confided in me that he had quit drinking the last time he was in jail. I "high-fived" and congratulated him. Gotta celebrate those small triumphs in people's lives when they don't have much to look forward to. Anyway, I'll take my crack dealers, jailbirds, wacky homeless people, etc. over calculating mobsters any day.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
In Commemoration September 11, 2001
Sometimes it seems as though it happened in another lifetime. Sometimes it seems as though it happened yesterday. Strangely enough, it was the tragic events of 9/11/01 that inspired me to write creatively again. I had been journaling, and writing for classes and work, but I suddenly needed an outlet for all of the confusion and pain that I was feeling after the attacks, and in dealing with the emotional impact of the response of the United States.
Today, it almost seems as though reports of Americans dying in Iraq or Afghanistan, or terrorist threats, are as commonplace as the weather report. I am not anti military--I admire and pray for those who see it as their mission to try to make the Middle East, or the world in general, a safer place for all of us.
But I don't believe that the final answer to our problems will be military. The taking down of one dictator has never stopped another from taking power at some other time or place in the world. I believe that as human beings, we need to evolve as individuals, and as a race, before dictators, terrorist attacks, and wars stop. I don't think I'll see that in my lifetime, but will continue visualizing humanity living as one with each other, our planet, and all of her creatures. I would rather plant the seeds of lasting peace, knowing that they may grow at some time beyond my sight and being, than assume that war and strife and violence will always be the way of the human race.
I have decided to share a poem that I wrote back then. I have gained in skill and experience since writing this fledgling poem, but I still feel that the emotions that it came out of are genuine.
Prayer for the Homeland
Today, I feel anger twist
through me like flames
shooting through
the ruin of buildings
and lives
destroyed by
our own hands
turned against us.
But when I pray,
I pray for compassion.
I can shut my eyes and
still hear the screams.
I can smell the smoke
and feel the anguish
of thousands of innocents.
But when I pray,
I pray for understanding.
I want to spill blood
as surely as it has fallen
on my own homeland.
I want to beat my plowshare
back into a sword
and draw it against
this evil.
But when I pray,
I pray for peace.
And from those who are wiser (and better writers):
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.” J.R.R. Tolkien in Lord of the Rings
Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi
Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
Where there is hatred let me sow love,
Where there is injury let me sow pardon,
Where there is doubt let me sow faith,
Where there is despair let me give hope,
Where there is darkness let me give light,
Where there is sadness let me give joy.
O Divine Master, grant that
I may not try to be comforted but to comfort,
Not try to be understood but to understand,
Not try to be loved but to love.
Because it is in giving that we receive,
It is in forgiving that we are forgiven,
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
The Final Analysis
"People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered; ...Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; ...Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies; ...Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; ...Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; ...Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; ...Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; ...Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; ...Give the world the best you've got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; It was never between you and them anyway."
Adapted from Mother Teresa enlarged and framed sign, hung in the front lobby of her Nirmala Shishu Bhavan, the children’s home in Calcutta.
Praying for Peace,
Willow
Monday, September 10, 2007
Love, and other misadventures
Okay, I will confess: Earlier in the year, I fell completely, madly in love with someone. The kind of love that had me dreamily staring off into space, writing bad poetry, and listening to sappy love songs on the radio. Unfortunately, this relationship ended suddenly and mysteriously. Basically, the man with whom I was in love with walked out of my life without explanation. We'd had what I would have considered a minor argument, but something must have really gotten to him, as that was the last I saw of him, other than a polite "hello" if we ran into each other.
At first I thought he was just angry with me, although I still have no idea what I did or said to set him off so badly. So I emailed, and left a voicemail, with apologies--for whatever it was that I did, requesting that he a least call and tell me what I did wrong so that I could make amends. But I heard nothing back, ever. I had to conclude that whatever minor thing had happened between us, he had either gotten some mysterious "emotional button" pushed and never wanted to see me again, or he was just a plain creep, or a bit of both.
So I spent at least a month dealing with the heartbreak, writing bad poetry, listening to more sappy songs, etc. My friends cheered me up with elaborate plots for revenge (none of which I carried out, although at one point I had an urge to sneak down to his car when he was at work and spray-paint "unmarked police car" on the passenger side of his car, where he would presumably not see it. But this, or anything else my friends and I cooked up, were just ways of blowing off steam and getting me to see some humor in the midst of my heartbreak. I only go on about this because I wouldn't want any chance blog reader to think I would actually do anything malicious to someone just because he broke up with me).
Anyway, time passed, and my inevitable optimism helped heal my pain and confusion over this experience. I have to admit, though, that when I went for an MRI of my back the other day, and was being asked if I had any metal objects in my body, I almost said that I think someone implanted a "creep homing beacon" somewhere on my body and I still hadn't been able to find it. But anyway...
Several blog ideas have been rolling around in my brain about this breakup. So I decided to share my lighter look at Things Willow Could Have Said To A Man To Completely and Immediately Alienate Him:
"I'm thinking of starting a call-girl business. Can I use you as a reference?"
"Oh, did I mention that strange disease I picked up while on a safari in Africa? Don't worry, the boils only last a couple of months. But you might want to think of taking some time off work, or seeking out a plastic surgeon."
"I've decided to try and get into the Guinness Book of World Records for longest armpit hair." (Yech, this one makes me want to break up with myself!)
"I'm actually a man trapped in the body of a woman."
"Let's get matching body piercings." (Okay, this one might get me into more trouble than I want...)
"Let's meet in the morgue for a romantic tryst next time we're at work together."
"By the way, here's the 17-page questionnaire that my father requires that all of my boyfriends fill out. He'll be calling to meet with you next week" (This one is probably most amusing if you know Dad).
">Okay, I was trying for ten, somewhat like David Letterman's Top Ten, but I'm stuck here and need to go get breakfast, so here is The Number One Thing Willow Could Say To A Man to Completely And Immediately Alienate Him:
"You know, I think Dubya is really hot!
At first I thought he was just angry with me, although I still have no idea what I did or said to set him off so badly. So I emailed, and left a voicemail, with apologies--for whatever it was that I did, requesting that he a least call and tell me what I did wrong so that I could make amends. But I heard nothing back, ever. I had to conclude that whatever minor thing had happened between us, he had either gotten some mysterious "emotional button" pushed and never wanted to see me again, or he was just a plain creep, or a bit of both.
So I spent at least a month dealing with the heartbreak, writing bad poetry, listening to more sappy songs, etc. My friends cheered me up with elaborate plots for revenge (none of which I carried out, although at one point I had an urge to sneak down to his car when he was at work and spray-paint "unmarked police car" on the passenger side of his car, where he would presumably not see it. But this, or anything else my friends and I cooked up, were just ways of blowing off steam and getting me to see some humor in the midst of my heartbreak. I only go on about this because I wouldn't want any chance blog reader to think I would actually do anything malicious to someone just because he broke up with me).
Anyway, time passed, and my inevitable optimism helped heal my pain and confusion over this experience. I have to admit, though, that when I went for an MRI of my back the other day, and was being asked if I had any metal objects in my body, I almost said that I think someone implanted a "creep homing beacon" somewhere on my body and I still hadn't been able to find it. But anyway...
Several blog ideas have been rolling around in my brain about this breakup. So I decided to share my lighter look at Things Willow Could Have Said To A Man To Completely and Immediately Alienate Him:
"I'm thinking of starting a call-girl business. Can I use you as a reference?"
"Oh, did I mention that strange disease I picked up while on a safari in Africa? Don't worry, the boils only last a couple of months. But you might want to think of taking some time off work, or seeking out a plastic surgeon."
"I've decided to try and get into the Guinness Book of World Records for longest armpit hair." (Yech, this one makes me want to break up with myself!)
"I'm actually a man trapped in the body of a woman."
"Let's get matching body piercings." (Okay, this one might get me into more trouble than I want...)
"Let's meet in the morgue for a romantic tryst next time we're at work together."
"By the way, here's the 17-page questionnaire that my father requires that all of my boyfriends fill out. He'll be calling to meet with you next week" (This one is probably most amusing if you know Dad).
">Okay, I was trying for ten, somewhat like David Letterman's Top Ten, but I'm stuck here and need to go get breakfast, so here is The Number One Thing Willow Could Say To A Man to Completely And Immediately Alienate Him:
"You know, I think Dubya is really hot!
Sunday, September 2, 2007
"Understanding Human Relations"
I was browsing others' blogs, and came across one person who had listed one of her interests as "understanding human relations." Since I am in one of my "hermit" modes, it caused me to wonder how much progress this blogger had made in this understanding.
Basically when I go into a "hermit" mode, it means that I want to control any contact with other humans. For example my phones are turned off, and I am sequestered in my bedroom with a good mystery novel. Although I pleaded a back injury to get out of a couple of Labor Day weekend engagements, I probably could have gone if I had really wanted to.
Hermit modes strike me from time to time (as I would think they strike many writers, who may want to spend uninterrupted time writing), but this one is different. I really haven't felt like either writing or revising any of my works in progress. I believe this intentional isolation was brought on by complete and utter emotional, spiritual, and physical exhaustion.
I have alluded to some of my difficulties with my nursing position in previous blogs, but I think I'll just tell it like it is, so to speak. About six months ago, I was told that I wasn't a "good fit" for the ICU, and was basically told to resign, "or else." I was also accused of taking a narcotic medication on the job, an accusation that could not only put my job in jeopardy, it could put my license and therefore my livelihood in jeopardy. If the accusation had not been so serious, I probably would have laughed--not only had I never taken any narcotic medications in my life, but I am very sensitive to medications--I don't even take a Motrin while working because it would make me too sleepy.
Being the stubborn person that I am, I didn't resign. Instead, I consulted with an attorney, and on his advice, requested a copy of my personnel file--which had nothing incriminating in it.
Anyway, the rules of this hospital are that you have to stay in one position for a year before you can transfer out, so I had several months of waiting until I could find a better position. The trouble is, I loved what I was doing. ICU nursing was fascinating to me--I never knew what I was going to encounter when I walked through the doors on any given night.
During this time, I experienced almost daily nightmares because of this situation. I literally didn't know from one day to the next whether I would have a job. My grad school grades plummeted, and to be honest, I have basically been living off junk food and ice cream-if I eat at all. But the more I worked, the more I received feedback that I was really doing a good job--I basically didn't fit into the "clique" of nurses that had worked there for years. And to think I thought I'd left that sh*t back in junior high school. Go figure.
So when I saw this phrase about "understanding human relations," it got me thinking about a conversation that I had with one of my spiritual teachers. I explained that it's almost easier for me to understand the zealot who would crash an airplane into the World Trade Center, than it is for me to understand the everyday meanness and maliciousness that I have encountered over the past several months. My spiritual teacher said that I had happened upon one of the great mysteries of the universe.
My line of thinking goes: a zealot not only has been indoctrinated with some sort of belief system that he or she thinks is the path to Heaven, and that he or she is doing the right thing. The zealot also is not usually personally acquainted with his victims. But people that spend days and/or nights together, why would they want to spread malicious rumors about someone who they know and will presumably be working with for some time?? I find this disturbing especially in the realm of ICU nursing--patients can get worse very suddenly, and you need to know that your teammates have your back in a crisis.
Anyway, I have rambled on enough about this. The good news is that I finally have found a different position in the hospital, thank goodness.
Basically when I go into a "hermit" mode, it means that I want to control any contact with other humans. For example my phones are turned off, and I am sequestered in my bedroom with a good mystery novel. Although I pleaded a back injury to get out of a couple of Labor Day weekend engagements, I probably could have gone if I had really wanted to.
Hermit modes strike me from time to time (as I would think they strike many writers, who may want to spend uninterrupted time writing), but this one is different. I really haven't felt like either writing or revising any of my works in progress. I believe this intentional isolation was brought on by complete and utter emotional, spiritual, and physical exhaustion.
I have alluded to some of my difficulties with my nursing position in previous blogs, but I think I'll just tell it like it is, so to speak. About six months ago, I was told that I wasn't a "good fit" for the ICU, and was basically told to resign, "or else." I was also accused of taking a narcotic medication on the job, an accusation that could not only put my job in jeopardy, it could put my license and therefore my livelihood in jeopardy. If the accusation had not been so serious, I probably would have laughed--not only had I never taken any narcotic medications in my life, but I am very sensitive to medications--I don't even take a Motrin while working because it would make me too sleepy.
Being the stubborn person that I am, I didn't resign. Instead, I consulted with an attorney, and on his advice, requested a copy of my personnel file--which had nothing incriminating in it.
Anyway, the rules of this hospital are that you have to stay in one position for a year before you can transfer out, so I had several months of waiting until I could find a better position. The trouble is, I loved what I was doing. ICU nursing was fascinating to me--I never knew what I was going to encounter when I walked through the doors on any given night.
During this time, I experienced almost daily nightmares because of this situation. I literally didn't know from one day to the next whether I would have a job. My grad school grades plummeted, and to be honest, I have basically been living off junk food and ice cream-if I eat at all. But the more I worked, the more I received feedback that I was really doing a good job--I basically didn't fit into the "clique" of nurses that had worked there for years. And to think I thought I'd left that sh*t back in junior high school. Go figure.
So when I saw this phrase about "understanding human relations," it got me thinking about a conversation that I had with one of my spiritual teachers. I explained that it's almost easier for me to understand the zealot who would crash an airplane into the World Trade Center, than it is for me to understand the everyday meanness and maliciousness that I have encountered over the past several months. My spiritual teacher said that I had happened upon one of the great mysteries of the universe.
My line of thinking goes: a zealot not only has been indoctrinated with some sort of belief system that he or she thinks is the path to Heaven, and that he or she is doing the right thing. The zealot also is not usually personally acquainted with his victims. But people that spend days and/or nights together, why would they want to spread malicious rumors about someone who they know and will presumably be working with for some time?? I find this disturbing especially in the realm of ICU nursing--patients can get worse very suddenly, and you need to know that your teammates have your back in a crisis.
Anyway, I have rambled on enough about this. The good news is that I finally have found a different position in the hospital, thank goodness.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Snapshot from the ICU
Well, work seems to be straightening out a bit (or at least none of the rumors spread about me have made it back to me, heh), and my at one time promising love life has apparently crashed and burned. I am considering giving up on relationships and buying a dog but that is another story (and one that should probably include my cats' opinions as well). Anyway....
The setting:
Two o'clock in the morning, in the cardiac ICU of a large metropolitan hospital. The telephone has been ringing and ringing, but there is no one to answer it: there is no unit clerk and the nurses (all three) are in their patients' rooms. A consulting neurologist sits at the desk, finishing up his notes.
Willow comes out of a room in which she has been trying to care for an elderly patient who has been trying equally hard to bite her. She sees the neurologist, looking a bit confused, reaching for the telephone. "Don't worry about it, I'll get it," says Willow.
The voice on the other end, from a nurse on another unit, is irritated. "Why don't you people ever answer your phone?!" Willow replies, "Because we're all in our rooms helping our patients." After a short conversation, Willow hangs up the phone and mutters under her breath, "Don't ask me stupid questions at two a.m.!"
To which the neurologist replies, "Welcome to my world."
Hey, if you can't have a sense of humor in the ICU where can you have it?
And yes, in a large teaching hospital, it is possible that consults are done in the middle of the night. So if you are in the unfortunate situation of being in a cardiac ICU, and the cardiologist can't find anything wrong with your heart, you may find yourself awakened by someone in the middle of the night who starts testing your hand grips and asking you strange questions like, "What is your name?" "When were you born?" Take it from me, it's best to answer truthfully, lest you be diagnosed with some weird neurological condition.
The setting:
Two o'clock in the morning, in the cardiac ICU of a large metropolitan hospital. The telephone has been ringing and ringing, but there is no one to answer it: there is no unit clerk and the nurses (all three) are in their patients' rooms. A consulting neurologist sits at the desk, finishing up his notes.
Willow comes out of a room in which she has been trying to care for an elderly patient who has been trying equally hard to bite her. She sees the neurologist, looking a bit confused, reaching for the telephone. "Don't worry about it, I'll get it," says Willow.
The voice on the other end, from a nurse on another unit, is irritated. "Why don't you people ever answer your phone?!" Willow replies, "Because we're all in our rooms helping our patients." After a short conversation, Willow hangs up the phone and mutters under her breath, "Don't ask me stupid questions at two a.m.!"
To which the neurologist replies, "Welcome to my world."
Hey, if you can't have a sense of humor in the ICU where can you have it?
And yes, in a large teaching hospital, it is possible that consults are done in the middle of the night. So if you are in the unfortunate situation of being in a cardiac ICU, and the cardiologist can't find anything wrong with your heart, you may find yourself awakened by someone in the middle of the night who starts testing your hand grips and asking you strange questions like, "What is your name?" "When were you born?" Take it from me, it's best to answer truthfully, lest you be diagnosed with some weird neurological condition.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Well, this was interesting...
I hope this comes out. Jimmyjames, who always seems to find interesting flotsam on the Information Highway, had a quiz entitled "Which Tarot Card are You?"
Here is my result:
I have always had a bit of a Jungian inclination to my philosophy, and I have for a long time considered Tarot cards to hold many of the gifts and wisdom of the collective unconscious. I have known people who have really taken the literal meaning of Tarot cards (as well as other spiritual teachings) a bit too seriously. However, I find that they are one of the tools that I use for becoming closer to Creator, as well as for developing insight into my own spiritual progress.
That's probably more than you wanted to know about me, but, well, it's my blog. Heh.
Willow
Here is my result:
You are The High Priestess
Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.
The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
I have always had a bit of a Jungian inclination to my philosophy, and I have for a long time considered Tarot cards to hold many of the gifts and wisdom of the collective unconscious. I have known people who have really taken the literal meaning of Tarot cards (as well as other spiritual teachings) a bit too seriously. However, I find that they are one of the tools that I use for becoming closer to Creator, as well as for developing insight into my own spiritual progress.
That's probably more than you wanted to know about me, but, well, it's my blog. Heh.
Willow
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Sometimes I prefer animals....
Note: I wrote this several months ago, before legal compost really began hitting the proverbial fan. But I find that it is just as relevant today as it was when I first wrote it.
I have had several very disappointing encounters at work lately. One involved another nurse filing a report on me that was basically a work of fiction. Other incidents were the unrelenting rudeness of other staff members. I became very discouraged, and almost quit (although it's nice to have a way to pay the bills), or at least started to look for something else I could do in nursing. I've been in this profession for going on 14 years, and I have encountered rudeness, bad treatment, and "back stabbing" for want of a better term, periodically throughout my nursing career. I have had several people, at several different places try in one way or another to get me into trouble. All I really want to do is take care of my patients, in the best way that I know how.
But after my shift, the more ferocious, "she-wolf" part of me began to surface (those of you who know me as the liberal, "give peace a chance" type person don't usually see this side of me). I decided that leaving nursing because of one more person's bad behavior would be like condoning it, and making myself wrong for trying to be honest and decent. I am certainly not perfect--there have been days when I was under stress and lashed out at someone, but I truly try to bring a peaceful energy to what can be a chaotic environment.
But anyway, as I got home the other night, and my two cats greeted me, I realized that one of the reasons that I am such an animal lover is that animals are pretty much not deceptive. Certainly they have some irritating behaviors at times--Sam constantly tries to get outside, especially when I am bringing in groceries, and Rosie sneaks into the bathroom to drink out of the toilet (yuck), but animals are honest in a way that many of us humans (we humans?? Oh, well, you get the idea) are not. Animals are authentic in who they are, and after a week like I had with this nurse's report on me, it was wonderful to come home and know that my two cats would greet me, ask for food, play, sit on my lap, and hog the bed when I went to sleep.
I have had several very disappointing encounters at work lately. One involved another nurse filing a report on me that was basically a work of fiction. Other incidents were the unrelenting rudeness of other staff members. I became very discouraged, and almost quit (although it's nice to have a way to pay the bills), or at least started to look for something else I could do in nursing. I've been in this profession for going on 14 years, and I have encountered rudeness, bad treatment, and "back stabbing" for want of a better term, periodically throughout my nursing career. I have had several people, at several different places try in one way or another to get me into trouble. All I really want to do is take care of my patients, in the best way that I know how.
But after my shift, the more ferocious, "she-wolf" part of me began to surface (those of you who know me as the liberal, "give peace a chance" type person don't usually see this side of me). I decided that leaving nursing because of one more person's bad behavior would be like condoning it, and making myself wrong for trying to be honest and decent. I am certainly not perfect--there have been days when I was under stress and lashed out at someone, but I truly try to bring a peaceful energy to what can be a chaotic environment.
But anyway, as I got home the other night, and my two cats greeted me, I realized that one of the reasons that I am such an animal lover is that animals are pretty much not deceptive. Certainly they have some irritating behaviors at times--Sam constantly tries to get outside, especially when I am bringing in groceries, and Rosie sneaks into the bathroom to drink out of the toilet (yuck), but animals are honest in a way that many of us humans (we humans?? Oh, well, you get the idea) are not. Animals are authentic in who they are, and after a week like I had with this nurse's report on me, it was wonderful to come home and know that my two cats would greet me, ask for food, play, sit on my lap, and hog the bed when I went to sleep.
Well, I'm back
For some masochistic reason, I am using the endquote from J.R.R. Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" series for my title.
It has been a rather horrendous couple of months. I really don't want to go into details, but the short story is that 1. I am embroiled in what may turn out to be a legal battle with my employer, 2. I think I have met the love of my life, but he wants to move far away from the Mitten, as early as July, and 3. I have had some mystery medical symptoms, which although they do not seem particularly life threatening, they are certainly getting in the way of my general lifestyle.
I did a Native American-style Vision Quest a couple of years ago, and the image and personality of Frodo appeared many times during my Quest. So, since I really don't want to go into detail about some of the "real life" problems that I have had, I will share with you a 'persona poem' about Frodo after he returns to the Shire.
For those of you who don't know, a persona poem is written in the voice of some other individual, whether it is someone you know from "real life," or a fictional character. I posted this poem at Poetry-Free-For-All during National Poetry Writing Month (another reason that I have been absent lately--I have been trying to keep up with the poem-a-day pace of the NaPoWriMo while simultaneously finishing graduate school).
Frodo's Homecoming
It has only been a year since
I last slept in this bed. Now
the soft sheets beneath my
back and legs are foreign.
It was not the nights
sleeping on rock and ash
or the days without comfort
that removed me from this land.
Trees bloom again.
Water flows and roses grow
out of the bare soil,
slowly healing the wounds of the earth.
The sounds of joy replace
the forced silence of oppression:
Weddings, music, and laughter fill the air,
but only jangle against my ears
like the discordant sounds of strife
that I grew so used to hearing.
Now
as my arm goes cold
and the burning in my chest
keeps me pacing through my silent house,
I think of that night long ago
when my last ancestor bid me farewell
and disappeared,
innocent of his dark bequest.
On some days, when the wind is warm from the West
I can walk to the top of the knoll and stand quite still,
I can faintly perceive the scent
of the sea as it drifts inland, and for a few moments,
I shut my eyes
and feel some echo of relief.
I want to make some changes to this poem, but I decided to post it in its most "raw" form.
Peace, Willow
It has been a rather horrendous couple of months. I really don't want to go into details, but the short story is that 1. I am embroiled in what may turn out to be a legal battle with my employer, 2. I think I have met the love of my life, but he wants to move far away from the Mitten, as early as July, and 3. I have had some mystery medical symptoms, which although they do not seem particularly life threatening, they are certainly getting in the way of my general lifestyle.
I did a Native American-style Vision Quest a couple of years ago, and the image and personality of Frodo appeared many times during my Quest. So, since I really don't want to go into detail about some of the "real life" problems that I have had, I will share with you a 'persona poem' about Frodo after he returns to the Shire.
For those of you who don't know, a persona poem is written in the voice of some other individual, whether it is someone you know from "real life," or a fictional character. I posted this poem at Poetry-Free-For-All during National Poetry Writing Month (another reason that I have been absent lately--I have been trying to keep up with the poem-a-day pace of the NaPoWriMo while simultaneously finishing graduate school).
Frodo's Homecoming
It has only been a year since
I last slept in this bed. Now
the soft sheets beneath my
back and legs are foreign.
It was not the nights
sleeping on rock and ash
or the days without comfort
that removed me from this land.
Trees bloom again.
Water flows and roses grow
out of the bare soil,
slowly healing the wounds of the earth.
The sounds of joy replace
the forced silence of oppression:
Weddings, music, and laughter fill the air,
but only jangle against my ears
like the discordant sounds of strife
that I grew so used to hearing.
Now
as my arm goes cold
and the burning in my chest
keeps me pacing through my silent house,
I think of that night long ago
when my last ancestor bid me farewell
and disappeared,
innocent of his dark bequest.
On some days, when the wind is warm from the West
I can walk to the top of the knoll and stand quite still,
I can faintly perceive the scent
of the sea as it drifts inland, and for a few moments,
I shut my eyes
and feel some echo of relief.
I want to make some changes to this poem, but I decided to post it in its most "raw" form.
Peace, Willow
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Making Trouble
I thought I'd better post here before my few readers decided that I'd been captured by the aliens or something. I just haven't had much to say lately, at least on my blog. Yesterday I started a "tempest in a teapot" so to speak, on the poetry website that I frequent by suggesting that some of the newbies were treated badly by the veteran members of the site. It went well for the most part (other than the fact that many of the responses that I received went along the lines of "you are entitled to your wrong opinion), but there was one response that really irritated me.
One individual suggested that much of the problem with education these days is that teachers, parents, etc. are so afraid to damage a child's self-esteem that they don't set boundaries or expectations of them. I replied that I am certainly not someone who believes in saving a child's (or an adult's) self-esteem at the expense of learning, or the truth. I also mentioned that my viewpoint may be a bit skewed because of my experiences working with Native American people, many of whom had either been forced to go to U.S. sponsored boarding schools. I also mentioned that my view was similarly affected by the number of people who I have worked with who live in abject poverty, and that the "cycle of poverty" is much more than a cliche: if the parents don't care about learning, the child already has an uphill battle, so to speak. Sheesh, I can't keep cliches out of my post...oh, well, it's early.
Anyway, this poster replied that he didn't see what Native American boarding schools had to do with posting on a poetry board. Now, I am wondering what part of "my viewpoint may be skewed by my experiences" she didn't understand. I just replied that I was sorry, I must not be expressing myself correctly, and left it at that.
But all in all, it was a disappointing experience. I really don't think learning has to be made painful and I don't believe that beginners should be ridiculed for their attempts at poetry--it's hard enough to find that the poem that has been hanging on Uncle Joe and Aunt May's refrigerator is actually without literary merit. I did have a couple of people send me private messages indicating that they thought I was correct in my opinion. They didn't post this publicly. I guess they didn't want to get into "trouble," something that I just don't have any fears about, expecially when it comes to advocating for people who I think are being treated unfairly.
Certainly in the scheme of things, people who (in my opinion) misbehave on a poetry board are not going to end the world. But I just wish some of the people there would treat newcomers with a bit more tact. And anyone who has seen me deal with a situation in which I think a patient is not being treated well knows that I have no fear of letting my voice be heard. Well, that's about it for now, I have to get ready to go to work--it snowed last night, which means that the drivers in my corner of the world will be driving like fools. :)
One individual suggested that much of the problem with education these days is that teachers, parents, etc. are so afraid to damage a child's self-esteem that they don't set boundaries or expectations of them. I replied that I am certainly not someone who believes in saving a child's (or an adult's) self-esteem at the expense of learning, or the truth. I also mentioned that my viewpoint may be a bit skewed because of my experiences working with Native American people, many of whom had either been forced to go to U.S. sponsored boarding schools. I also mentioned that my view was similarly affected by the number of people who I have worked with who live in abject poverty, and that the "cycle of poverty" is much more than a cliche: if the parents don't care about learning, the child already has an uphill battle, so to speak. Sheesh, I can't keep cliches out of my post...oh, well, it's early.
Anyway, this poster replied that he didn't see what Native American boarding schools had to do with posting on a poetry board. Now, I am wondering what part of "my viewpoint may be skewed by my experiences" she didn't understand. I just replied that I was sorry, I must not be expressing myself correctly, and left it at that.
But all in all, it was a disappointing experience. I really don't think learning has to be made painful and I don't believe that beginners should be ridiculed for their attempts at poetry--it's hard enough to find that the poem that has been hanging on Uncle Joe and Aunt May's refrigerator is actually without literary merit. I did have a couple of people send me private messages indicating that they thought I was correct in my opinion. They didn't post this publicly. I guess they didn't want to get into "trouble," something that I just don't have any fears about, expecially when it comes to advocating for people who I think are being treated unfairly.
Certainly in the scheme of things, people who (in my opinion) misbehave on a poetry board are not going to end the world. But I just wish some of the people there would treat newcomers with a bit more tact. And anyone who has seen me deal with a situation in which I think a patient is not being treated well knows that I have no fear of letting my voice be heard. Well, that's about it for now, I have to get ready to go to work--it snowed last night, which means that the drivers in my corner of the world will be driving like fools. :)
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I haven't been blogging much lately--my days off have been filled with not much more than resting up for the next day at work, and I had a medical misadventure that had me out of commission, so to speak for a few more days. Happily, though, I am feeling much less depressed now that the days are lengthening and my other medical issue, a severe bout of asthma has also resolved.
But my rather sedentary, isolated home life of the last couple of months has allowed me time for a great deal of reflection. Not surprisingly, the inspiration for some of my reflection came from one of my patients. I had been taking care of a man for a couple of days, and we'd had a little time to talk about more than just how he was feeling and his medical progress. One day, he said to me out of the blue, "You're a loner, like me, aren't you?"
It really took me by surprise. First of all, I didn't think of him as a loner. He was extremely outgoing, and often even the nurses who weren't taking care of him at the time, but who had taken care of him in the past, would stop in and say hello. But also, it made me think about whether or not I really am a "loner," and what that might mean if I am. I had another friend who set me up on a date with a guy last year, and she described him to me as being "a loner, like you."
Now, at the time, I was working for Indian Health Service, and many of the people I got to know who were of primarily Native American descent were extremely family and community-oriented. It was not unusual for the staff members to get together regularly, and extended families often stayed close. My family is basically scattered from the Eastern Seaboard all the way across the Midwest, and I do not regularly see many of them. I am also an only child, a phenomenon that seems to some people (especially those like the friend mentioned above, who has something like 14 siblings) to be the equation of being from another planet. And since I am finishing a Master's degree, my social engagements are not exactly plentiful. I am looking forward to next fall when I will be done and don't have to say, "No, I cannot join you, I have homework/a test/a project, etc."
But looking back on my life, I can see where the designation of "loner" comes from. As an only child, I didn't have brothers and sisters to socialize with, although I was lucky to grow up in a neighborhood with many children my age so I had plenty of friends. But still, I remember going to kindergarten and feeling a bit overwhelmed with all of the people there. I also couldn't understand why some of the other kids cried when their parents dropped them off. Actually, I was rather impatient with them. Didn't they know Mom (in those days it was usually Mom) was coming back to pick them up? What was all of the fuss about?
Unfortunately, as a child, and even as an adolescent, I was one of those kids who was periodically bullied by others. The attacks, as well as the people involved, changed through the years, and some were made by people who had initially been my "friends." I think these experiences drove me to have an inherent distrust of people for quite some time in my life. One of the really damaging things about having "friends" who turn on you is that it becomes hard to trust someone who claims to be a friend.
But I don't want to make this about self-pity regarding my childhood. I have grown far from that place, and I have a life that I enjoy, and many friends. But I think that the combination of being an only child and being very withdrawn when I was growing up has made me less dependent on others for my happiness, and more comfortable with "alone self" (if that makes any sense) than someone who had different experiences growing up. I vividly remember an argument that I had with my now ex-husband in which I snapped at him, "I don't need you!" He said something like, "Well, that's obvious; that's part of the problem." One of the fundamental problems in our relationship was that he wanted to be the center of my universe, and I am not cut out to be that kind of person.
But maybe there is something to this "loner" persona I seem to have. Maybe my life experiences have made me more emotionally independent than the average person, and maybe that comes off as being somewhat separated from others. I don't know, and I am finding it to be difficult to put this concept into words.
I also went to Summer Camp for many years as a child (even worked there one summer), and the experience instilled in me a love for the outdoors, especially the Northern outdoors. I was so passionate about outdoor living and camping that I dreamed about growing up and "living off the land," like Grizzly Adams, if anyone remembers that old 70's show.
Although I never did make it out West to stake out my homestead, I still love the outdoors and go camping whenever I have a chance. There is just something about lying outside, looking up at the stars, and being able to see the entire Milky Way in all of its glory. But I also love to share that experience with others.
Well, it's time to get ready for work. I hope this post makes some bit of sense!
But my rather sedentary, isolated home life of the last couple of months has allowed me time for a great deal of reflection. Not surprisingly, the inspiration for some of my reflection came from one of my patients. I had been taking care of a man for a couple of days, and we'd had a little time to talk about more than just how he was feeling and his medical progress. One day, he said to me out of the blue, "You're a loner, like me, aren't you?"
It really took me by surprise. First of all, I didn't think of him as a loner. He was extremely outgoing, and often even the nurses who weren't taking care of him at the time, but who had taken care of him in the past, would stop in and say hello. But also, it made me think about whether or not I really am a "loner," and what that might mean if I am. I had another friend who set me up on a date with a guy last year, and she described him to me as being "a loner, like you."
Now, at the time, I was working for Indian Health Service, and many of the people I got to know who were of primarily Native American descent were extremely family and community-oriented. It was not unusual for the staff members to get together regularly, and extended families often stayed close. My family is basically scattered from the Eastern Seaboard all the way across the Midwest, and I do not regularly see many of them. I am also an only child, a phenomenon that seems to some people (especially those like the friend mentioned above, who has something like 14 siblings) to be the equation of being from another planet. And since I am finishing a Master's degree, my social engagements are not exactly plentiful. I am looking forward to next fall when I will be done and don't have to say, "No, I cannot join you, I have homework/a test/a project, etc."
But looking back on my life, I can see where the designation of "loner" comes from. As an only child, I didn't have brothers and sisters to socialize with, although I was lucky to grow up in a neighborhood with many children my age so I had plenty of friends. But still, I remember going to kindergarten and feeling a bit overwhelmed with all of the people there. I also couldn't understand why some of the other kids cried when their parents dropped them off. Actually, I was rather impatient with them. Didn't they know Mom (in those days it was usually Mom) was coming back to pick them up? What was all of the fuss about?
Unfortunately, as a child, and even as an adolescent, I was one of those kids who was periodically bullied by others. The attacks, as well as the people involved, changed through the years, and some were made by people who had initially been my "friends." I think these experiences drove me to have an inherent distrust of people for quite some time in my life. One of the really damaging things about having "friends" who turn on you is that it becomes hard to trust someone who claims to be a friend.
But I don't want to make this about self-pity regarding my childhood. I have grown far from that place, and I have a life that I enjoy, and many friends. But I think that the combination of being an only child and being very withdrawn when I was growing up has made me less dependent on others for my happiness, and more comfortable with "alone self" (if that makes any sense) than someone who had different experiences growing up. I vividly remember an argument that I had with my now ex-husband in which I snapped at him, "I don't need you!" He said something like, "Well, that's obvious; that's part of the problem." One of the fundamental problems in our relationship was that he wanted to be the center of my universe, and I am not cut out to be that kind of person.
But maybe there is something to this "loner" persona I seem to have. Maybe my life experiences have made me more emotionally independent than the average person, and maybe that comes off as being somewhat separated from others. I don't know, and I am finding it to be difficult to put this concept into words.
I also went to Summer Camp for many years as a child (even worked there one summer), and the experience instilled in me a love for the outdoors, especially the Northern outdoors. I was so passionate about outdoor living and camping that I dreamed about growing up and "living off the land," like Grizzly Adams, if anyone remembers that old 70's show.
Although I never did make it out West to stake out my homestead, I still love the outdoors and go camping whenever I have a chance. There is just something about lying outside, looking up at the stars, and being able to see the entire Milky Way in all of its glory. But I also love to share that experience with others.
Well, it's time to get ready for work. I hope this post makes some bit of sense!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
At least it isn't Frodo
Okay, this is getting a bit weird. I was talking to one of my patients over the weekend, and he said he thought I looked like Wynona Ryder. This was even more odd to me than looking like Jodie Foster or Frodo, but I just smiled and told him that I hadn't robbed any clothing stores lately. I told him about the other patient thinking I looked like Jodie Foster, and he saw a resemblance, too.
So when I had some time, I told one of my friends on the unit about my supposed resemblance to these two women, and she agreed that I resembled both of them! When I went home, there was a Jodie Foster movie on so I watched part of it (Anna and the King). I decided that we may have the same sort of face shape. But I still don't get Wynona Ryder. Other than the fact that we're both white, I really can't see a resemblance.
But at least I haven't had anyone telling me I look like a hobbit.
So when I had some time, I told one of my friends on the unit about my supposed resemblance to these two women, and she agreed that I resembled both of them! When I went home, there was a Jodie Foster movie on so I watched part of it (Anna and the King). I decided that we may have the same sort of face shape. But I still don't get Wynona Ryder. Other than the fact that we're both white, I really can't see a resemblance.
But at least I haven't had anyone telling me I look like a hobbit.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Love Poems Generator
The poetry site that I frequent had this link, and I thought it might be fun to include it here. A little late for Valentine's day, but I had a good laugh out of it:
http://links2love.com/poem_generator.htm
For some reason, I can't use the "insert link" function here, so if you are interested in visiting the site, you'll need to cut and paste. Sorry about that! Anyway, the only caveat is that the site has an annoying number of "popups," but it is still great fun.
Here is what I came up with:
Your skin glows like the pummelo, blossoms languid as the orchid in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your clarinet voice and leaps like a coyote at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great screech owl wing.
I am comforted by your thong panties that I carry into the twilight of rockbeams and hold next to my hand.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of honey.
As my thigh falls from my stockings , it reminds me of your kitchen table .
In the quiet, I listen for the last scream of the day.
My heated toes leaps to my sweater. I wait in the moonlight for your secret chair so that we may arch as one, toes to toes, in search of the magnificient red and mystical lips of love.
http://links2love.com/poem_generator.htm
For some reason, I can't use the "insert link" function here, so if you are interested in visiting the site, you'll need to cut and paste. Sorry about that! Anyway, the only caveat is that the site has an annoying number of "popups," but it is still great fun.
Here is what I came up with:
Your skin glows like the pummelo, blossoms languid as the orchid in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your clarinet voice and leaps like a coyote at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great screech owl wing.
I am comforted by your thong panties that I carry into the twilight of rockbeams and hold next to my hand.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of honey.
As my thigh falls from my stockings , it reminds me of your kitchen table .
In the quiet, I listen for the last scream of the day.
My heated toes leaps to my sweater. I wait in the moonlight for your secret chair so that we may arch as one, toes to toes, in search of the magnificient red and mystical lips of love.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Silly shows: A Nursing Rant
Disclaimer: Even though I base my stories on my experiences as a nurse, any resemblance of my nursing stories to real individuals is purely coincidental.
Well, Agatestone asked me (probably with good reason), what my fascination with The A-Team was. So I decided that it was about time to write more extensively about my profession. No, I'm not a soldier of fortune. Nor am I a fugitive (I haven't done anything to raise the government's ire...lately. Heh). Anyway, I am (as some of you reading this already know), a registered nurse. What people may not know about me is that about 100 years ago, I was a film student. I think I saw just about every art film, and "great" film, that there was to be seen during that time. I saw "Citizen Kane" so many times for different classes that the mere mention of it usually has me running from the room. I won't take you down the long and arduous path that led me to nursing school, that is irrelevant to this post.
Anyway, for awhile, I was quite a bit of a film snob: I usually refused to see any film that wasn't supposed to be "great" in some way. I can't say much about televsion back in those days, I didn't have one until about my last year in school. I still remember the time when my housemates and I pooled our scarce funds to get cable and we all watched "MTV" for the first time. For the most part, we found the commercials to be more fascinating than the videos. But I digress...
I noticed, around my third year of nursing school, that I spent what little spare time I had watching silly television shows, and if a film was nominated for an Academy Award, I generally wanted to skip it. Last weekend, my reason for this switch in my taste really came home to me.
I had a new patient who had been transferred to the ICU from another floor. I had maybe one blissful hour that day in which I could do my normal nursing stuff like assessments and medication administration, and then this transferred patient "crashed:" became extremely unstable medically. I spent most of the rest of my shift in that one patient's room with a team of doctors, trying to keep the patient alive (we succeeded, by the way).
On top of the efforts spent keeping this patient alive, I was continually frustrated by the fact that there were things that we needed such as "stat" medications and crucial equipment that were missing from our unit. Sometimes I felt like I was taking care of the patient; at other times, I felt like I was on a surreal scavenger hunt. I ended up working overtime that day, and I had basically worked for 14 hours with no food, and not even time to get a drink of water. But the nurse who had the patient after I did made sure she spent time pointing out everything that I had done wrong that day (none of which were life-threatening or crucial for the patient at the time).
So this is probably a good time to introduce anyone who is still reading this to a not-very-well-kept secret in nursing: Nurses eat their young. It's such a widespread phenomenon that it's basically a cliche in the business. I am obviously not a new nurse, but I am new to the specialty of ICU nursing, so I am, unfortunately, subjected to this sort of "hazing" process.
There have been other times in my career that other nurses have intentionally tried to get me into trouble, and assorted other nastiness, and sometimes I have faced basic open hostility from other nurses. It never fails to amaze me how we can be in a healing profession, and treat each other so horribly. Of course, not all nurses are like this. I have many colleagues who are more than willing to help out and work as a team. But the number of times I have spent dealing with the kind of behavior that I have described above makes me feel like sometimes I can't trust anyone that I am working with. And that is sad, because every one of us in the profession face the sort of life-and-death situations that I have been talking about, and every one of us has been new, either in nursing, or in a certain specialty.
So if you have managed to hang in with me here this far, you will probably already have guessed why I like to watch shows like The A-Team: they have nothing to do with the reality of nursing, dying patients, nasty co-workers, etc. Although I do enjoy good films and television shows, I have sort of a collection of "therapy" films and shows that take me as far from the world of my profession as possible. Other favorites are "Night Court" and "MacGuyver" reruns when I can find them, "The Mummy" and "The Mummy Returns," "Twister," "Leaving Normal," and "Men in Black." It's great to sit down and either laugh my butt off or be transported to a place that has absolutely nothing to do with reality, and doesn't require more decision-making power from me than which button to push on the remote.
So what did I do after that terribly long day with the unstable patient? I watched "Overboard" with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell for about the millionth time. Laughed my butt off, too.
Well, Agatestone asked me (probably with good reason), what my fascination with The A-Team was. So I decided that it was about time to write more extensively about my profession. No, I'm not a soldier of fortune. Nor am I a fugitive (I haven't done anything to raise the government's ire...lately. Heh). Anyway, I am (as some of you reading this already know), a registered nurse. What people may not know about me is that about 100 years ago, I was a film student. I think I saw just about every art film, and "great" film, that there was to be seen during that time. I saw "Citizen Kane" so many times for different classes that the mere mention of it usually has me running from the room. I won't take you down the long and arduous path that led me to nursing school, that is irrelevant to this post.
Anyway, for awhile, I was quite a bit of a film snob: I usually refused to see any film that wasn't supposed to be "great" in some way. I can't say much about televsion back in those days, I didn't have one until about my last year in school. I still remember the time when my housemates and I pooled our scarce funds to get cable and we all watched "MTV" for the first time. For the most part, we found the commercials to be more fascinating than the videos. But I digress...
I noticed, around my third year of nursing school, that I spent what little spare time I had watching silly television shows, and if a film was nominated for an Academy Award, I generally wanted to skip it. Last weekend, my reason for this switch in my taste really came home to me.
I had a new patient who had been transferred to the ICU from another floor. I had maybe one blissful hour that day in which I could do my normal nursing stuff like assessments and medication administration, and then this transferred patient "crashed:" became extremely unstable medically. I spent most of the rest of my shift in that one patient's room with a team of doctors, trying to keep the patient alive (we succeeded, by the way).
On top of the efforts spent keeping this patient alive, I was continually frustrated by the fact that there were things that we needed such as "stat" medications and crucial equipment that were missing from our unit. Sometimes I felt like I was taking care of the patient; at other times, I felt like I was on a surreal scavenger hunt. I ended up working overtime that day, and I had basically worked for 14 hours with no food, and not even time to get a drink of water. But the nurse who had the patient after I did made sure she spent time pointing out everything that I had done wrong that day (none of which were life-threatening or crucial for the patient at the time).
So this is probably a good time to introduce anyone who is still reading this to a not-very-well-kept secret in nursing: Nurses eat their young. It's such a widespread phenomenon that it's basically a cliche in the business. I am obviously not a new nurse, but I am new to the specialty of ICU nursing, so I am, unfortunately, subjected to this sort of "hazing" process.
There have been other times in my career that other nurses have intentionally tried to get me into trouble, and assorted other nastiness, and sometimes I have faced basic open hostility from other nurses. It never fails to amaze me how we can be in a healing profession, and treat each other so horribly. Of course, not all nurses are like this. I have many colleagues who are more than willing to help out and work as a team. But the number of times I have spent dealing with the kind of behavior that I have described above makes me feel like sometimes I can't trust anyone that I am working with. And that is sad, because every one of us in the profession face the sort of life-and-death situations that I have been talking about, and every one of us has been new, either in nursing, or in a certain specialty.
So if you have managed to hang in with me here this far, you will probably already have guessed why I like to watch shows like The A-Team: they have nothing to do with the reality of nursing, dying patients, nasty co-workers, etc. Although I do enjoy good films and television shows, I have sort of a collection of "therapy" films and shows that take me as far from the world of my profession as possible. Other favorites are "Night Court" and "MacGuyver" reruns when I can find them, "The Mummy" and "The Mummy Returns," "Twister," "Leaving Normal," and "Men in Black." It's great to sit down and either laugh my butt off or be transported to a place that has absolutely nothing to do with reality, and doesn't require more decision-making power from me than which button to push on the remote.
So what did I do after that terribly long day with the unstable patient? I watched "Overboard" with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell for about the millionth time. Laughed my butt off, too.
Myths of Depression
Okay, so I have been a bit "quiet" the last few days, or whatever the blog version of "quiet" is. Here it is: I suffer from depression. Actually, "suffer" isn't really the correct word. Some days, "depression" is just a word that I write on a medical history form. On other days, it's this horrible feeling that takes over my life and sends me crawling into bed with the covers over my head.
I have tried to explain to people what this feels like, and I have not been able to adequately put words to the feeling, so here is the closest that I can come to describing it: For those of you who have read/seen Lord of the Rings, think "Frodo on Mt. Doom." For those of you for whom this reference is meaningless, think about running a marathon, or working at an intensely-physically-exhausting job for about 12 hours. Now imagine how you might feel after that. Got it? Okay, now imagine feeling like that all of the time, no matter what you do or how much rest you have had. Now try to live your life accompanied by this feeling (and I am not even going into the emotional symptoms here).
But I am not posting this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me, or to worry about me. Far from it: I have dealt with this disorder for more than 20 years now, and I have built up both medical and social supports for when it gets really bad. I like to tell people about it because despite all of the information that is out there about depression, many people still have a warped view of it, what it is, and how it needs to be treated.
I once had an information sheet that had "50 worst things to say to people who are depressed." I have since found a net site that has both worst and best things to say to someone who is depressed: http://thewellspring.com/Journal/JWT/worstbestdepressed.html
Although my close friends are very understanding, I have still endured some of the more ridiculous and uninformed reactions that are listed at this site. One of the most irritating things that happened to me was when a well-meaning college roommate gave me this religious magazine that had an article in it about how depression is a sign that you have sinned against God. Sheesh. I am already deeply depressed, and someone gives me this thing on how I have somehow offended the Almighty. That'll cheer me right up.
Anyway, some other reactions that I have received have been: "You just need to push yourself harder" (this was from a physician when I first started experiencing the symptoms and had no idea what was going on), "you need vitamins," and "take an aspirin and go to bed" (from family members) and various versions of "stop dwelling on it and you'll feel better."
But the truth is that depression can be a life-threatening condition. I lost a friend to it in 2004, and believe me, I can still hear the voice of another friend delivering the news, I can see the office where I was working at the time, and I can still feel the gut-punched shock that lasted for weeks. It's been three years, and I still have trouble talking about it, and there are still things that I associate with my friend that can trigger my grieving as if it happened yesterday. As time goes on, they are fewer and farther apart, but losing a friend to suicide has probably been the most heartbreaking event in my life, and the healing process has been long and painful for me.
The political activist in me really wants to spread the word on this. Unfortunately, even though we may have all kinds of advertising on what depression is, and which pill you can take for it, there are still many misconceptions in the general public as well as the medical profession about what depression is, and what it is not. Once, when I was taking a physical for a job at a hospital, the phyisican came and spoke to me about being depressed and whether or not it would affect my job. I explained the usual: I have had it for many years, I work closely with a psychiatrist and a therapist, etc. etc. The guy still wanted me to get a note from my psychiatrist assuring the hospital that it was okay for me to work there. The ironic thing about this is that my medical history also listed a back injury from a car accident a couple of years ago, and the doctor didn't even ask about that. Luckily, the injury was not serious and was well-healed, but for all the doctor cared to find out, I could have limped into the occupational health office and been on lifting restrictions. Anyone who is even remotely familiar with the nursing profession knows how important it is to remain in at least decent physical shape.
Of course, it was also ironic that I needed a note from my doctor to assure the hospital that I wasn't too crazy to work in a busy metropolitan ER.
I have tried to explain to people what this feels like, and I have not been able to adequately put words to the feeling, so here is the closest that I can come to describing it: For those of you who have read/seen Lord of the Rings, think "Frodo on Mt. Doom." For those of you for whom this reference is meaningless, think about running a marathon, or working at an intensely-physically-exhausting job for about 12 hours. Now imagine how you might feel after that. Got it? Okay, now imagine feeling like that all of the time, no matter what you do or how much rest you have had. Now try to live your life accompanied by this feeling (and I am not even going into the emotional symptoms here).
But I am not posting this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me, or to worry about me. Far from it: I have dealt with this disorder for more than 20 years now, and I have built up both medical and social supports for when it gets really bad. I like to tell people about it because despite all of the information that is out there about depression, many people still have a warped view of it, what it is, and how it needs to be treated.
I once had an information sheet that had "50 worst things to say to people who are depressed." I have since found a net site that has both worst and best things to say to someone who is depressed: http://thewellspring.com/Journal/JWT/worstbestdepressed.html
Although my close friends are very understanding, I have still endured some of the more ridiculous and uninformed reactions that are listed at this site. One of the most irritating things that happened to me was when a well-meaning college roommate gave me this religious magazine that had an article in it about how depression is a sign that you have sinned against God. Sheesh. I am already deeply depressed, and someone gives me this thing on how I have somehow offended the Almighty. That'll cheer me right up.
Anyway, some other reactions that I have received have been: "You just need to push yourself harder" (this was from a physician when I first started experiencing the symptoms and had no idea what was going on), "you need vitamins," and "take an aspirin and go to bed" (from family members) and various versions of "stop dwelling on it and you'll feel better."
But the truth is that depression can be a life-threatening condition. I lost a friend to it in 2004, and believe me, I can still hear the voice of another friend delivering the news, I can see the office where I was working at the time, and I can still feel the gut-punched shock that lasted for weeks. It's been three years, and I still have trouble talking about it, and there are still things that I associate with my friend that can trigger my grieving as if it happened yesterday. As time goes on, they are fewer and farther apart, but losing a friend to suicide has probably been the most heartbreaking event in my life, and the healing process has been long and painful for me.
The political activist in me really wants to spread the word on this. Unfortunately, even though we may have all kinds of advertising on what depression is, and which pill you can take for it, there are still many misconceptions in the general public as well as the medical profession about what depression is, and what it is not. Once, when I was taking a physical for a job at a hospital, the phyisican came and spoke to me about being depressed and whether or not it would affect my job. I explained the usual: I have had it for many years, I work closely with a psychiatrist and a therapist, etc. etc. The guy still wanted me to get a note from my psychiatrist assuring the hospital that it was okay for me to work there. The ironic thing about this is that my medical history also listed a back injury from a car accident a couple of years ago, and the doctor didn't even ask about that. Luckily, the injury was not serious and was well-healed, but for all the doctor cared to find out, I could have limped into the occupational health office and been on lifting restrictions. Anyone who is even remotely familiar with the nursing profession knows how important it is to remain in at least decent physical shape.
Of course, it was also ironic that I needed a note from my doctor to assure the hospital that I wasn't too crazy to work in a busy metropolitan ER.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
I haven't been doing much lately--I had to cancel plans to go to a concert because of a health issue--but I have certainly had quite a series of odd dreams. I have had everything from missing-defibrillator dreams to a dream in which I was visited by a friend of mine (who is dead), and we sat in her living room as water poured in and acted like a surf at our feet. Then there was the dream in which I moved to Colorado, and my mother and little brother (I don't have a little brother, btw) decided to move in with me. Dad wasn't in that dream. Sorry Dad!
But my most jarring dream was one in which I participated in an exorcism. I mean that I was the person who brought the evil spirit out of the person who was possessed.
This was exceedingly odd and disturbing to me, as I find the concept of "Satan" and "ultimate evil" to be very frightning. I am not necessarily afraid of evil or what evil (or evil spirits) can do to me. It's more like the concept of evil, or doing great harm, is frightening to me. For example, when the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001, I didn't feel fear for myself. I felt fear at the idea that there could be so much hate in a person (in this case persons) that they would commit such a monstrous crime against innocent people. It took me months to feel "normal" again, partly because it was necessary to redefine "normal" in my life.
In the last couple of years in my life, I have had to face some very tough times. For instance, the friend who I referred to earlier died by her own hand. I have had other losses as well, and several health challenges. More significantly, I have experienced the apathetic, unethical, and even harmful behavior of others in various situations in my life. Suddenly evil is more than a concept, or a word in a news story.
In addition to that, I have begun to explore my own anger and aggression. I began to take self defense classes, and am currently enrolled in a Karate class. This has enabled me to have more confidence in facing those around me who are acting badly, so to speak. It isn't that I will become aggressive at the first sign of an insult. But my classes, and my own exploration of anger (or as one of my spiritual teachers puts it: spiritual rage) have freed me to feel more confident to face the darker aspects of life on this planet without so much fear.
There is also a correlation between facing the not-so-nice parts of myself and not being afraid to see those aspects of other people. We all have the potential to be either Gandhi or Hitler. Some of us lean to one or another side of that spectrum; most of us fall in the middle somewhere. But to me, in this world in which there is so much war and hate, it is important to face evil without fear, and acknowledge it, whether it be a potential in my own consiousness, or a reality faced in someone else.
My spiritual teacher had this to say about spiritual rage and anger: Anger is the emotion that you get, for instance, when you accidentally pound your thumb with a hammer. Spiritual rage is more like a call to action: it occurs when you see injustice or evil, and you vow to put an end to it.
So maybe that is the meaning of my dream. If I am able to face evil, or darkness, or whatever you want to call it, both within and without, I am much more empowered to find a way to stop it, or (as an exorcism implies to me) to heal the effects of it.
I am hoping this makes some sense. I have a hard time putting these concepts into words.
But my most jarring dream was one in which I participated in an exorcism. I mean that I was the person who brought the evil spirit out of the person who was possessed.
This was exceedingly odd and disturbing to me, as I find the concept of "Satan" and "ultimate evil" to be very frightning. I am not necessarily afraid of evil or what evil (or evil spirits) can do to me. It's more like the concept of evil, or doing great harm, is frightening to me. For example, when the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001, I didn't feel fear for myself. I felt fear at the idea that there could be so much hate in a person (in this case persons) that they would commit such a monstrous crime against innocent people. It took me months to feel "normal" again, partly because it was necessary to redefine "normal" in my life.
In the last couple of years in my life, I have had to face some very tough times. For instance, the friend who I referred to earlier died by her own hand. I have had other losses as well, and several health challenges. More significantly, I have experienced the apathetic, unethical, and even harmful behavior of others in various situations in my life. Suddenly evil is more than a concept, or a word in a news story.
In addition to that, I have begun to explore my own anger and aggression. I began to take self defense classes, and am currently enrolled in a Karate class. This has enabled me to have more confidence in facing those around me who are acting badly, so to speak. It isn't that I will become aggressive at the first sign of an insult. But my classes, and my own exploration of anger (or as one of my spiritual teachers puts it: spiritual rage) have freed me to feel more confident to face the darker aspects of life on this planet without so much fear.
There is also a correlation between facing the not-so-nice parts of myself and not being afraid to see those aspects of other people. We all have the potential to be either Gandhi or Hitler. Some of us lean to one or another side of that spectrum; most of us fall in the middle somewhere. But to me, in this world in which there is so much war and hate, it is important to face evil without fear, and acknowledge it, whether it be a potential in my own consiousness, or a reality faced in someone else.
My spiritual teacher had this to say about spiritual rage and anger: Anger is the emotion that you get, for instance, when you accidentally pound your thumb with a hammer. Spiritual rage is more like a call to action: it occurs when you see injustice or evil, and you vow to put an end to it.
So maybe that is the meaning of my dream. If I am able to face evil, or darkness, or whatever you want to call it, both within and without, I am much more empowered to find a way to stop it, or (as an exorcism implies to me) to heal the effects of it.
I am hoping this makes some sense. I have a hard time putting these concepts into words.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The advantages of living alone
Well, it's almost 1:00 pm, and I am sitting at my computer wearing the following: a flannel nightshirt with a "candy heart" pattern on it (those little hearts with sayings that you can buy around Valentine's Day), some light cotton PJ bottoms that I picked up at a "Walgreens" for about five bucks, red slippers, and a thick black robe over the whole thing. My hair is sticking up and somewhat reminiscent of Einstein's. I am sipping coffee and trying to decide whether I will have breakfast or lunch.
I started to think about how nice it is to live alone sometimes. It isn't that I don't want a man in my life, but moments like today's, devoid of anything but relaxation and whatever I want to do, are precious. I have mentioned before that I am trying to slow down my "Type A" personality. As I sit here, I still have my list of things to do and the voice that says "what if someone comes to your door, you'd better get dressed," going through my mind. But I have managed to relegate them to the status of background noise for now.
My splendid outfit did backfire one day, though. I was working midnights, and had only just awakened and staggered out to my living room. The UPS man happened to be coming up the walk with my coffee delivery. Still in my hazy state, I opened the door for him and then realized what I was wearing and what I must look like. I just said, "I'm sorry, I work midnights and I just got up." The trouble was, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous. I have some gorgeous man coming right to my front door and I greet him in my weird, unmatched PJ's with Einstein hair. Oh well. Hopefully he wasn't my soul-mate. :)
I started to think about how nice it is to live alone sometimes. It isn't that I don't want a man in my life, but moments like today's, devoid of anything but relaxation and whatever I want to do, are precious. I have mentioned before that I am trying to slow down my "Type A" personality. As I sit here, I still have my list of things to do and the voice that says "what if someone comes to your door, you'd better get dressed," going through my mind. But I have managed to relegate them to the status of background noise for now.
My splendid outfit did backfire one day, though. I was working midnights, and had only just awakened and staggered out to my living room. The UPS man happened to be coming up the walk with my coffee delivery. Still in my hazy state, I opened the door for him and then realized what I was wearing and what I must look like. I just said, "I'm sorry, I work midnights and I just got up." The trouble was, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous. I have some gorgeous man coming right to my front door and I greet him in my weird, unmatched PJ's with Einstein hair. Oh well. Hopefully he wasn't my soul-mate. :)
Friday, February 2, 2007
Imbolc
Well, for those of you who are familiar with Celtic beliefs, today, February 2nd, is known as "Imbolc." There are many stories that describe the cycles (seasons) that the Earth goes through. In this particular tradition, Imbolc is the time when the Earth begins to awaken from her sleep. The Goddess has gone from child, to maiden to mother, to crone, (symbolizing the cycles of the Earth) and begins the cycle again at Imbolc as the child. Brigid is the Celtic Goddess of Imbolc, and she represents the "child" aspect of Goddess, or of the Earth.
Brigid is also considered the deity of poetry, smithcraft, and the hearth. According to John Matthews in "Drinking from the Sacred Well: Personal Voyages of Discovery with the Celtic Saints," there was a "real" Brigid who lived in Ireland, and was known, among other things, for forming one of the first "double" monastaries in Kildare. Men and women had separate quarters, but they came together in common worship. Brigid lived approx. 452-524 A.D., during a time when men dominated education and religion. So she was truly a groundbreaker during her time. Matthews states that Brigid's "compassionate nature, her openness to other kinds of belief, and above all, the burning passion of her spirituality make her one of the most important characters of the Celtic world...Her story is about offering the entire harvest of a life lived to the full, of a love expressed for every part of creation" (p.57).
So anyway, some of my ancestors may have been Celtic, and since I am a writer and sometimes consider myself a poet, I thought it would be nice to sit down and creatively write today. The trouble is, my mind is a complete blank.
Maybe it's one of those midwinter blues things or something. Let's see, I'm getting over a bad cold, I worked overtime on the weekend, I'm in a feud with my therapist and am presently not speaking to him, and there is absolutely NO chocolate in the house. I was invited to a movie next weekend, but I will be working (again--ugh), and I have had no interesting or even fruit-filled dreams.
Hmmmm....maybe it's the chocolate. I need chocolate before I can create. Is there a patron saint for chocolate???? Or I should probably say, "matron" saint for chocolate. If not, there should be, and she should probably manifest in the form of a woman with raging PMS, with a candy bar in one hand and a bag of potato chips in the other. Not that I would know anything about that.
Anyway, I had to leave to do some errands (like filling my car up before the temperature drops to zero), and I started feeling strange about this Imbolc thing. After all, I don't know much about ancient Celtic beliefs, but I was inspired by a description of Imbolc in my calendar that challenged the reader to "declare who you are...name and claim your spiritual path..." and further asks, "What are your spiritual goals for the coming year? What is stirring inside you that seeks to grow, and how will you nurture this growth?" (From We'Moon 2007 calendar, quoted from "Women's Rites, Women's Mysteries by Ruth Barrett, c 2004). For those of you who are editors and English majors, forgive the clumsy citation. I have no idea how to cite a quote from a calendar.
Anyway, back to Brigid and Imbolc...though I can certainly feel inspired to meditate on my spiritual goals and personal growth, I just can't connect that to a deity or belief system that I am not that familiar with. Maybe it's like borrowing a neighbor's tools without permission or something, or maybe it's some other form of breach of spiritual etiquette.
But I have really not been up for much spiritual work lately anyway. In the last three years, I have been on three Vision Quests, numerous sweatlodges, meditated, prayed, participated in other sacred ceremonies, and I am wondering if I am just tired. It isn't that I have lost my spiritual beliefs, it's just that I have applied myself to them with my usual "Type A," "hundred-mile an hour" fervor, and I have become tired of that aspect of my personality, in many ways. So my house isn't perfectly clean, I don't eat all "good for you," organic/health foods, and I like to spend the afternoon just lying on the couch with a good book, as opposed to "getting something done."
So maybe my spiritual goal for this year will be to lighten up and stop worrying so much about my karma, my aura, my effect on the planet, my mind/body/spirit connection, etc., and just slow down and enjoy life for awhile.
I'd say, "and with that, I am going out for a beer," but it's too dang cold out. I did, however, satisfy my craving for chocolate. And salt. And junk food.
Brigid is also considered the deity of poetry, smithcraft, and the hearth. According to John Matthews in "Drinking from the Sacred Well: Personal Voyages of Discovery with the Celtic Saints," there was a "real" Brigid who lived in Ireland, and was known, among other things, for forming one of the first "double" monastaries in Kildare. Men and women had separate quarters, but they came together in common worship. Brigid lived approx. 452-524 A.D., during a time when men dominated education and religion. So she was truly a groundbreaker during her time. Matthews states that Brigid's "compassionate nature, her openness to other kinds of belief, and above all, the burning passion of her spirituality make her one of the most important characters of the Celtic world...Her story is about offering the entire harvest of a life lived to the full, of a love expressed for every part of creation" (p.57).
So anyway, some of my ancestors may have been Celtic, and since I am a writer and sometimes consider myself a poet, I thought it would be nice to sit down and creatively write today. The trouble is, my mind is a complete blank.
Maybe it's one of those midwinter blues things or something. Let's see, I'm getting over a bad cold, I worked overtime on the weekend, I'm in a feud with my therapist and am presently not speaking to him, and there is absolutely NO chocolate in the house. I was invited to a movie next weekend, but I will be working (again--ugh), and I have had no interesting or even fruit-filled dreams.
Hmmmm....maybe it's the chocolate. I need chocolate before I can create. Is there a patron saint for chocolate???? Or I should probably say, "matron" saint for chocolate. If not, there should be, and she should probably manifest in the form of a woman with raging PMS, with a candy bar in one hand and a bag of potato chips in the other. Not that I would know anything about that.
Anyway, I had to leave to do some errands (like filling my car up before the temperature drops to zero), and I started feeling strange about this Imbolc thing. After all, I don't know much about ancient Celtic beliefs, but I was inspired by a description of Imbolc in my calendar that challenged the reader to "declare who you are...name and claim your spiritual path..." and further asks, "What are your spiritual goals for the coming year? What is stirring inside you that seeks to grow, and how will you nurture this growth?" (From We'Moon 2007 calendar, quoted from "Women's Rites, Women's Mysteries by Ruth Barrett, c 2004). For those of you who are editors and English majors, forgive the clumsy citation. I have no idea how to cite a quote from a calendar.
Anyway, back to Brigid and Imbolc...though I can certainly feel inspired to meditate on my spiritual goals and personal growth, I just can't connect that to a deity or belief system that I am not that familiar with. Maybe it's like borrowing a neighbor's tools without permission or something, or maybe it's some other form of breach of spiritual etiquette.
But I have really not been up for much spiritual work lately anyway. In the last three years, I have been on three Vision Quests, numerous sweatlodges, meditated, prayed, participated in other sacred ceremonies, and I am wondering if I am just tired. It isn't that I have lost my spiritual beliefs, it's just that I have applied myself to them with my usual "Type A," "hundred-mile an hour" fervor, and I have become tired of that aspect of my personality, in many ways. So my house isn't perfectly clean, I don't eat all "good for you," organic/health foods, and I like to spend the afternoon just lying on the couch with a good book, as opposed to "getting something done."
So maybe my spiritual goal for this year will be to lighten up and stop worrying so much about my karma, my aura, my effect on the planet, my mind/body/spirit connection, etc., and just slow down and enjoy life for awhile.
I'd say, "and with that, I am going out for a beer," but it's too dang cold out. I did, however, satisfy my craving for chocolate. And salt. And junk food.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Odd dreams and odd thoughts
I had a dream a couple of weeks ago in which I had finally met and fallen in love with my "soul-mate," and he felt the same way. We were spending time together and in the dream we were ecstatically happy. Then I woke up, still divorced, still without a Saturday night date, and no soul-mate in sight. I was terribly disappointed, but I did think it was better than the dream in which one of my patients went "Code Blue,"* and I went to get the crash cart* and found that the defibrillator* was missing--one of those ICU nurse neurotic dreams, I suppose.
* For the medically unaware:
Code Blue: when a patient's heart stops
Crash cart: the thing that holds all of the emergency medications and equipment
Defibrillator: the thingy with the paddles that restarts a patient's heart.
Anyway, two nights ago, I dreamed that I was lying on my back on a hillside in a beautiful forest, in a passionate embrace with this man. Once again, I was so happy in my dream, believing that I had found the perfect man for me. I woke up to find one of my cats sleeping on my chest. That wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind in my dreams!!
Anyone reading this must wonder if I am unhappy or lonely. Far from it. But I have commented before on the difficulty in finding someone compatible. And since I work in a rather unique urban environment, my usual joke is that the men who flirt with me are usually either homeless, over eighty years old, or have prison records.*
*Not the staff members, the patients. Just thought I should clear that up.
Anyway, I am really not sure what these dreams meant, other than to frustrate me. :) I certainly don't believe in the concept of "soul-mates," I think that belief is antithetical to the concept of free will. I just can't believe that the Creator would plan everything out that way before we are all born: okay, Jack goes with Mary, Steve goes with Sue, etc.
But I am starting to wonder if I do have a soul mate and he accidentally got stuck on Iceland or something. Hm. I thought I would have more to say about this but that's about it.
* For the medically unaware:
Code Blue: when a patient's heart stops
Crash cart: the thing that holds all of the emergency medications and equipment
Defibrillator: the thingy with the paddles that restarts a patient's heart.
Anyway, two nights ago, I dreamed that I was lying on my back on a hillside in a beautiful forest, in a passionate embrace with this man. Once again, I was so happy in my dream, believing that I had found the perfect man for me. I woke up to find one of my cats sleeping on my chest. That wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind in my dreams!!
Anyone reading this must wonder if I am unhappy or lonely. Far from it. But I have commented before on the difficulty in finding someone compatible. And since I work in a rather unique urban environment, my usual joke is that the men who flirt with me are usually either homeless, over eighty years old, or have prison records.*
*Not the staff members, the patients. Just thought I should clear that up.
Anyway, I am really not sure what these dreams meant, other than to frustrate me. :) I certainly don't believe in the concept of "soul-mates," I think that belief is antithetical to the concept of free will. I just can't believe that the Creator would plan everything out that way before we are all born: okay, Jack goes with Mary, Steve goes with Sue, etc.
But I am starting to wonder if I do have a soul mate and he accidentally got stuck on Iceland or something. Hm. I thought I would have more to say about this but that's about it.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Lost neighbors
I am lucky to live in one of those "everyone knows everyone" types of neighborhoods. Many of my neighbors have lived here for 50+ years, and raised their children here. Others are here still raising their kids, so it's a nice mix of people. Anyway, I ran into my next-door neighbor last night, as I was shovelling snow. Since we hadn't seen each other in awhile, we started talking.
He mentioned a house a little down the street from me, and asked if I had noticed the furniture piled outside. I'd noticed it just after Christmas, and assumed that whoever lived there had gotten a new living room set or something, and was throwing the old stuff away (this was one of the few close neighbors that I have that I don't at least know by sight or first name).
Anyway, my neighbor told me what happened: the people who had lived there had gotten evicted for not paying their property taxes, and someone else had bought the house for the unpaid tax money. My neighbor said that the family had a "heap of cats" and now one (at least) of the cats is running loose in the neighborhood. Luckily for the cat, another neighbor has taken to feeding the cat and putting out a little shelter for him.
My next-door neighbor also said that there had been someone in the house who had been bedridden for quite some time, and family members had been taking care of her. Since I used to work as a community health nurse, as well as a housing advocate, I can be pretty sure that in this case, the local Protective Services would have been contacted, and at least the bedridden woman would have shelter.
But it really saddened me to know that this had happened, and I'd had no idea about it. When I was a housing advocate, the tax laws changed in The Mitten, and many people were suddenly faced with paying extra taxes. I took calls for months from people who needed help with their taxes. Some of the people had just been careless with their money and were suddenly in a panic. But others--too many others--were people who were struggling through life in some way: with a disability, with working multiple jobs just to put food on the table, with gargantuan medical bills, etc.
Even the people in the local counties that I worked with were overwhelmed. As one county treasurer put it, "We do NOT want to become landowners!" Everyone who was involved in this worked very hard to help people to keep their homes. Since I am now living in a much more populated county that I had been in at the time, I can only guess that the people here couldn't have received the kind of individualized attention that some of the people that I'd worked with had received. But still a part of me wonders if I could have helped this family had I known what was happening. I know I can't save everyone, but it really bothers me that this happened right down the street from me.
And of course the wider issue, to me, is: how many others are facing the loss of their homes, or electricity/gas shutoff, or hunger, because they can't pay their bills? I know that there area houses for sale, not only in my own little area, but all across the Mitten. I also know that many of these homes have been on the market for months, even over a year, and the "for sale" signs are still there. This in combination with all of the layoffs and "downsizing" really make me wonder how many people out there are in a desperate situation.
I am lucky to be a registered nurse, as the forcasted demand for nurses is only going to increase in the coming years. But I can't help thinking about all of the other people, many who are highly educated (especially in the engineering and tech fields) who are suddenly looking for work. I certainly don't know what the answer to all of this is, since much of the work industry in this area is changing and I don't think it will improve in the short term, but sometimes it just makes me feel helpless...
...and thankful for what I have: a nice home, good friends, healthy parents and relatives, and a little money in the bank.
He mentioned a house a little down the street from me, and asked if I had noticed the furniture piled outside. I'd noticed it just after Christmas, and assumed that whoever lived there had gotten a new living room set or something, and was throwing the old stuff away (this was one of the few close neighbors that I have that I don't at least know by sight or first name).
Anyway, my neighbor told me what happened: the people who had lived there had gotten evicted for not paying their property taxes, and someone else had bought the house for the unpaid tax money. My neighbor said that the family had a "heap of cats" and now one (at least) of the cats is running loose in the neighborhood. Luckily for the cat, another neighbor has taken to feeding the cat and putting out a little shelter for him.
My next-door neighbor also said that there had been someone in the house who had been bedridden for quite some time, and family members had been taking care of her. Since I used to work as a community health nurse, as well as a housing advocate, I can be pretty sure that in this case, the local Protective Services would have been contacted, and at least the bedridden woman would have shelter.
But it really saddened me to know that this had happened, and I'd had no idea about it. When I was a housing advocate, the tax laws changed in The Mitten, and many people were suddenly faced with paying extra taxes. I took calls for months from people who needed help with their taxes. Some of the people had just been careless with their money and were suddenly in a panic. But others--too many others--were people who were struggling through life in some way: with a disability, with working multiple jobs just to put food on the table, with gargantuan medical bills, etc.
Even the people in the local counties that I worked with were overwhelmed. As one county treasurer put it, "We do NOT want to become landowners!" Everyone who was involved in this worked very hard to help people to keep their homes. Since I am now living in a much more populated county that I had been in at the time, I can only guess that the people here couldn't have received the kind of individualized attention that some of the people that I'd worked with had received. But still a part of me wonders if I could have helped this family had I known what was happening. I know I can't save everyone, but it really bothers me that this happened right down the street from me.
And of course the wider issue, to me, is: how many others are facing the loss of their homes, or electricity/gas shutoff, or hunger, because they can't pay their bills? I know that there area houses for sale, not only in my own little area, but all across the Mitten. I also know that many of these homes have been on the market for months, even over a year, and the "for sale" signs are still there. This in combination with all of the layoffs and "downsizing" really make me wonder how many people out there are in a desperate situation.
I am lucky to be a registered nurse, as the forcasted demand for nurses is only going to increase in the coming years. But I can't help thinking about all of the other people, many who are highly educated (especially in the engineering and tech fields) who are suddenly looking for work. I certainly don't know what the answer to all of this is, since much of the work industry in this area is changing and I don't think it will improve in the short term, but sometimes it just makes me feel helpless...
...and thankful for what I have: a nice home, good friends, healthy parents and relatives, and a little money in the bank.
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