This entry has been a long time coming. Possibly the most difficult one to date. I've resisted this topic because it's ugly, but I've come to realize that I'm not helping anyone who walks this path if I'm not honest about this, so here goes...
One of the most difficult aspects of your significant other's cancer is that you can no longer argue like normal, healthy couples. That may sound ludicrous, but when you've been on the roller coaster this long, you're bound to have patches of pseudo-normalcy, and like any normal couple issues will arise that require a good clearing of the air.
I will warn you.... if you go there, there be dragons.
First. You will NEVER win an argument again. Ever. You won't. And even if you do, the victory only opens the flood gates of Guilt and drowns you, your victory and any ground you thought you gained. Now, that's not really winning. Is it.
Even sensing that fact, you will succumb to the frustration of your partner getting on your nerves. This only happens during periods of relative calm between storms. They almost appear to be their old selves, and that combined with all you endured during the storms....well, you get the idea. I don't have to explain how arguments get started. Once started, you are so screwed.
No matter how justified you are, you are bitching at a Cancer Patient. They don't even have to pull the cancer card; it is the big silent elephant in the room. If they do pull the cancer card, you should admit defeat instantly and stop pissing into the wind. This is where you should stop digging. I, however, have a very long fuse that ignites a Number Ten can of Whoop Ass. Once I pull the can opener, there's no going back. (Wow. That was a horribly mixed metaphor.) I must stand my ground and call foul because I'm all about staying on point and attacking the problem not my partner. Right. Good luck with that approach. By the time he drops the “Well I am Sooooo sorry I got cancer and ruined YOUR life.” I realize I'm fighting with both hands tied behind my back. From the sheer frustration of not being able to smack the shit out of him I am awash in tears.
No matter how nicely I try to explain my position he feels attacked and takes cover behind Cancer. One more reason to hate this insidious disease. I've learned that I can't even complain about the cancer. Cancer is like a very evil mother-in-law. She may be ruining your life but you can't say shit about it because it's HIS mother.
All of this because he appears to be getting back to normal, so for the last three weeks I've been asking him to help with Christmas preparations. Why? Because I'm an idiot. Then I get frustrated because I feel like I'm being ignored, and when I try to get him to focus on the problem.... well, it degenerates quickly.
Maybe it would help if I could always remember that appearances are illusions, “normal” is a memory, and he lives constantly in the grip of cancer. It is present in his every waking moment. I struggle with this. If I cater to that victim mindset, I'm enabling it. I work so hard not to treat him like a patient so that he won't become one. I'm starting to feel like it would be easier just to give in and let him be a patient, the same as it's easier to give in to a child's demands rather teach the lesson. Maybe I need to take care of things and expect nothing from him, even when he has good days and energy for other things.
If you think it helps to have others to vent to rather than argue with your mate—from my experience it doesn't. Oh sure, it's kept me from slitting my wrists, but complaining about Rich to ANYONE just makes me feel horrible, petty and disloyal. Usually I end the vent by totally defending him against every one of my complaints so what in the hell did I accomplish?! Seriously. How despicable do you have to be to complain about how your spouse is dealing with cancer.?!? I told you this wasn't going to be pretty.
So I spent most of yesterday crying. Surprisingly easy despite 20mg of lexapro daily. I'm angry and hurt and I despise myself for being a bitch.
But he showed me!! I got home from work this evening and found he had decorated the tree. By himself. That cut like a knife—the end of a fourteen year tradition. On the upside, the living room looks like a tornado blew through so I have to put all the containers away and clean. That's what I call penance. I should be able to get a lot done since he's not talking to me.
Thought for Today:
Q. How is Cancer like a vacuum cleaner, a dog, and a fan?????
A. It sucks, it bites, it blows.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Fumbling towards Ecstasy
There are two kinds of people in the world. (I love that opener) Those who crumble in a crisis, and those who conquer the crisis and wait for the dust to settle to crumble in private.
I fall into the “crumble later” category. Not by choice, but by training. The “up side” of having alcoholic parents. (There IS a bright side to Everything)
Now that we're emerging from the dark hole of sepsis, with hope in sight and smiles on doctors' faces, the trauma of the crisis is replaying in flashes of pain in the dark cloud at the back of my neck. I SO empathize with soldiers suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You feel that it would be easier to be back in Hell because it's familiar and you know how to handle it, and you're so well trained you barely have to think. Returning to “normal” is hard because Normal is only the void of crisis, an empty hole of illusion that you don't know how to fill.
You struggle to deal with the broken part of you that can no longer embrace “normal”. While everyone around you is congratulating you on having returned to Normal. They don't have to listen to Dobby's cousin bouncing around in my van, reminding me that “ you're not done yet, that was just that, and then we'll be there, and the mountain behind us is not the mountain in front of us, do you smell something burning?.. do you...? can you? ….. will you?.... “
And what the fuck is wrong with me that I can't be fearlessly happy? Hmmm. I'm thinking it's because Rich has a drain tube from his liver, stitched in place, that his body is trying to reject resulting in a flaming red area of pain with a stitch that is screaming to bust loose. He can't sleep for more than 90 minutes at a time, so he's suffering from serious sleep deprivation. The demonic torso-doubling abdominal pains have lessened just enough to tease him.
And don't I feel awful that I offended people who didn't give a shit about what I was dealing with until they thought I had something to say about them.
The worst part of this is that I've gone through it without my best friend. Lately I've been trying to talk to Rich about it. What it was like in my car on the fast train to hell. He doesn't remember the first three weeks he was in the hospital, and after that nothing is really clear until after his second surgery in September. When I try to tell him what happened he's okay until I start telling him what it felt like for ME. Then he shuts down and changes the subject. No matter how carefully I tell him that it's not his fault I just need him to know, it's just too painful for him so I stop.
If it weren't for Christy and Lynn—between the two of them I had a shoulder every day—I would have lost my god damned mind. Not to mention the wonderful support from Chris and Alicia, Joe and Carrie, and so many others. At the risk of sounding horribly ungrateful, collectively they don't fill Rich's place.
I work passionately to be in the moment. It's difficult since I had to give up my dogs. They always knew what time it is...... “It's RIGHT NOW!!” I struggle to be in the NOW with the cloud at the back of my neck. I work constantly to be grateful for where we are, and nurture my faith in each step forward. It would be easier with Richard at my side, but he's somewhere else right now. I do focus on the miracles. I'm just … fumbling towards ecstasy.
TIP of The DAY; If you tell the Emporer he has no clothes, he may get really, really pissy.
I fall into the “crumble later” category. Not by choice, but by training. The “up side” of having alcoholic parents. (There IS a bright side to Everything)
Now that we're emerging from the dark hole of sepsis, with hope in sight and smiles on doctors' faces, the trauma of the crisis is replaying in flashes of pain in the dark cloud at the back of my neck. I SO empathize with soldiers suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You feel that it would be easier to be back in Hell because it's familiar and you know how to handle it, and you're so well trained you barely have to think. Returning to “normal” is hard because Normal is only the void of crisis, an empty hole of illusion that you don't know how to fill.
You struggle to deal with the broken part of you that can no longer embrace “normal”. While everyone around you is congratulating you on having returned to Normal. They don't have to listen to Dobby's cousin bouncing around in my van, reminding me that “ you're not done yet, that was just that, and then we'll be there, and the mountain behind us is not the mountain in front of us, do you smell something burning?.. do you...? can you? ….. will you?.... “
And what the fuck is wrong with me that I can't be fearlessly happy? Hmmm. I'm thinking it's because Rich has a drain tube from his liver, stitched in place, that his body is trying to reject resulting in a flaming red area of pain with a stitch that is screaming to bust loose. He can't sleep for more than 90 minutes at a time, so he's suffering from serious sleep deprivation. The demonic torso-doubling abdominal pains have lessened just enough to tease him.
And don't I feel awful that I offended people who didn't give a shit about what I was dealing with until they thought I had something to say about them.
The worst part of this is that I've gone through it without my best friend. Lately I've been trying to talk to Rich about it. What it was like in my car on the fast train to hell. He doesn't remember the first three weeks he was in the hospital, and after that nothing is really clear until after his second surgery in September. When I try to tell him what happened he's okay until I start telling him what it felt like for ME. Then he shuts down and changes the subject. No matter how carefully I tell him that it's not his fault I just need him to know, it's just too painful for him so I stop.
If it weren't for Christy and Lynn—between the two of them I had a shoulder every day—I would have lost my god damned mind. Not to mention the wonderful support from Chris and Alicia, Joe and Carrie, and so many others. At the risk of sounding horribly ungrateful, collectively they don't fill Rich's place.
I work passionately to be in the moment. It's difficult since I had to give up my dogs. They always knew what time it is...... “It's RIGHT NOW!!” I struggle to be in the NOW with the cloud at the back of my neck. I work constantly to be grateful for where we are, and nurture my faith in each step forward. It would be easier with Richard at my side, but he's somewhere else right now. I do focus on the miracles. I'm just … fumbling towards ecstasy.
TIP of The DAY; If you tell the Emporer he has no clothes, he may get really, really pissy.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
I'm BACK!!
I haven't forgotten my blog, it's just been a rough couple of weeks. I can deal with quite a bit but Rich's suffering I don't handle too well, and it's always worse because he never complains.
He's had a return of the horrible waves of abdominal pain due to surgical adhesion. The pain is sharp, sudden and doubles him over. They last anywhere from 15 to 90 seconds. He's had as many as two dozen a day. The pain meds don't help. He suffered this way last year after surgery and eventually the pains lessened and finally disappeared. It's hard to remember that when in the midst of it though. The past couple of days have been an improvement so I'm hopeful we're past the worst of it.
He's still got the drain tube and it appears that it will have to come out gradually—just a few inches at a time so the channel can heal behind it. The doctor will have to restitch the tube in place each time. Rich saw the surgeon and Dr McGee last week. They were both VERY happy with Rich's current condition and how far he's progressed. They shake their heads and tell him how amazed they are, but no one asks us what we're doing. I find that interesting. More on that later.
I started a new job. I resisted because I wanted to focus on Rich's care. But about a week after I quit Con Fun Med, Rich began a startling improvement. Except for the stomach pains, he was almost his old self—more energy, much better spirits. He says it's because I was no longer bringing home all that negative energy. So when the offer came (from someone who follows my blog!) there was no reason not to accept.
The doctor is very nice and easy to work with. I get to do IV's, INRs, patient education; he encourages my input, he says “please” and “thank you”!!!!
...Holy anal probe, Batman! It's like I'm a nurse again!! He talks to his staff like we're co-workers, not peons. When you ask him a question, you get the feeling that he's really pleased you asked and he's happy to answer. Lunch is catered every day and we all sit and eat together like a Real Family. I work within the office policies and protocols to the full extent of my license and no one can quite understand why I'm so happy to be at work. AND...it's a WAY better commute.
Rich keeps saying he can't get over the transformation in me. My friends say I look ten years younger. It's amazing what not feeling like a whipped dog can do for you. I knew I'd made the right decision on my second day there.... The doctor was seeing a patient who had been verbally abusive to the front desk person and the Medical Assistant the last time he left the office. The doctor met with the patient for a few minutes and then called the two staff members in so the patient could apologize to them face to face. That was the condition on which the patient could remain in the practice, as well as respectful treatment of staff in the future. I nearly wept.
So we're hanging in there. The voices still meet every morning and evening in the van. They comment on the change in me too. They're talking like they're not miserable being stuck with me. It's almost scary to feel this good.
I've got to stop pinching myself.
He's had a return of the horrible waves of abdominal pain due to surgical adhesion. The pain is sharp, sudden and doubles him over. They last anywhere from 15 to 90 seconds. He's had as many as two dozen a day. The pain meds don't help. He suffered this way last year after surgery and eventually the pains lessened and finally disappeared. It's hard to remember that when in the midst of it though. The past couple of days have been an improvement so I'm hopeful we're past the worst of it.
He's still got the drain tube and it appears that it will have to come out gradually—just a few inches at a time so the channel can heal behind it. The doctor will have to restitch the tube in place each time. Rich saw the surgeon and Dr McGee last week. They were both VERY happy with Rich's current condition and how far he's progressed. They shake their heads and tell him how amazed they are, but no one asks us what we're doing. I find that interesting. More on that later.
I started a new job. I resisted because I wanted to focus on Rich's care. But about a week after I quit Con Fun Med, Rich began a startling improvement. Except for the stomach pains, he was almost his old self—more energy, much better spirits. He says it's because I was no longer bringing home all that negative energy. So when the offer came (from someone who follows my blog!) there was no reason not to accept.
The doctor is very nice and easy to work with. I get to do IV's, INRs, patient education; he encourages my input, he says “please” and “thank you”!!!!
...Holy anal probe, Batman! It's like I'm a nurse again!! He talks to his staff like we're co-workers, not peons. When you ask him a question, you get the feeling that he's really pleased you asked and he's happy to answer. Lunch is catered every day and we all sit and eat together like a Real Family. I work within the office policies and protocols to the full extent of my license and no one can quite understand why I'm so happy to be at work. AND...it's a WAY better commute.
Rich keeps saying he can't get over the transformation in me. My friends say I look ten years younger. It's amazing what not feeling like a whipped dog can do for you. I knew I'd made the right decision on my second day there.... The doctor was seeing a patient who had been verbally abusive to the front desk person and the Medical Assistant the last time he left the office. The doctor met with the patient for a few minutes and then called the two staff members in so the patient could apologize to them face to face. That was the condition on which the patient could remain in the practice, as well as respectful treatment of staff in the future. I nearly wept.
So we're hanging in there. The voices still meet every morning and evening in the van. They comment on the change in me too. They're talking like they're not miserable being stuck with me. It's almost scary to feel this good.
I've got to stop pinching myself.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
Yesterday we went to the grocery store for our Thanksgiving feast. The place was packed. Midday on a Monday!! And everyone's carts were full for their upcoming feasts. The selection of fresh produce, frozen turkeys and massive amounts of trimmings were a sight to behold. Despite the crowd it was a lovely experience. Made even better by the fact that Rich has graduated from the riding cart with the flag to pushing/leaning on the cart. He still wanders a bit but by the time we completed the produce section I realized that he moves at one speed in his own direction so I can scurry off to fetch items and return them to the cart.
The excursion went so well that I was only mildly perturbed by the fact that they did not carry the kitchen twine necessary for trussing the turkey. Seriously. DVDs, Dom Perignon and auto parts, but no kitchen twine necessary for trussing the turkey.
So I ran into Bed, Bath and Beyond while Rich waited in the car and the place was a mob scene. Thankfully the kitchen twine was right up front with the rest of the turkey accoutrements, and I found the shortest line out of six with only three people ahead of me.
Driving home we passed seven restaurants, and all of their parking lots were at least ¾ full. And then I realized that all the parking lots of all the stores were just as full. In fact, we couldn't find an empty handicapped spot at the grocery store.
My point? Hot damn the economy must have rebounded while I was lost in the fog of Rich's excursion into the land of the Hedge Hog People. Nice. I was worried there for awhile.
Today we went for a drive to get Rich out of the house. We dropped off all the recycling stuff at the center, and I attempted to open savings accounts for the three grand babies. Only to learn that a social security NUMBER is not enough. Ohio banking law requires a photo copy of the SSN card. Really? I can accomplish an amazing amount of shit on line without the actual card, as long as I have the number. Stuff like that just makes my head hurt.
So then we just headed south and enjoyed the beautiful day and our car time. When we got home I discovered that the stars had perfectly aligned resulting in magic. On my front doorstep was a box from QVC and one from HSN. On the SAME day! Woo-Hooo! My Christmas shopping is done with delivery to my door, free shipping and easy flex pays. Life is good.
Thankfully my husband thinks everything I do is either brilliant or adorably quirky. But he does like to tease me, and he's getting far too much mileage from my new found shopping technique. I clearly explained to Rich that this is all his fault.
Number One...he has a wife that hates to go out shopping.
Number Two...he spent 26 days in the hospital which left me channel surfing at 3 am, and as I previously explained, shopping channels are the only safe channels to sleep through. This was how I discovered shopping from the comfort of my couch.
Number Three...”ask not what your country can do for you....ask what you can do for your country.” So I am all about doing my part to stimulate the economy.
Number Four.... if Rich is going to leave me unattended for extended periods of time, I WILL get into trouble so therefore, ergo, ipso facto....
“You have no one to blame but yourself, my dear.”
Then we opened the mail. The hospital bill alone for Rich's 26 day hospitalization was $147,680. For the six day hospitalization the bill was $33,400. That does not count all the bills for all the CAT scans, doctors, treatments, surgeries, home nursing service, ER, radiation, or the $600 bill for the ambulance ride. We are doing our part to aid in the economic stimulus.
At the rate we're going, I won't be surprised if we get a Christmas card from the Obamas.
The excursion went so well that I was only mildly perturbed by the fact that they did not carry the kitchen twine necessary for trussing the turkey. Seriously. DVDs, Dom Perignon and auto parts, but no kitchen twine necessary for trussing the turkey.
So I ran into Bed, Bath and Beyond while Rich waited in the car and the place was a mob scene. Thankfully the kitchen twine was right up front with the rest of the turkey accoutrements, and I found the shortest line out of six with only three people ahead of me.
Driving home we passed seven restaurants, and all of their parking lots were at least ¾ full. And then I realized that all the parking lots of all the stores were just as full. In fact, we couldn't find an empty handicapped spot at the grocery store.
My point? Hot damn the economy must have rebounded while I was lost in the fog of Rich's excursion into the land of the Hedge Hog People. Nice. I was worried there for awhile.
Today we went for a drive to get Rich out of the house. We dropped off all the recycling stuff at the center, and I attempted to open savings accounts for the three grand babies. Only to learn that a social security NUMBER is not enough. Ohio banking law requires a photo copy of the SSN card. Really? I can accomplish an amazing amount of shit on line without the actual card, as long as I have the number. Stuff like that just makes my head hurt.
So then we just headed south and enjoyed the beautiful day and our car time. When we got home I discovered that the stars had perfectly aligned resulting in magic. On my front doorstep was a box from QVC and one from HSN. On the SAME day! Woo-Hooo! My Christmas shopping is done with delivery to my door, free shipping and easy flex pays. Life is good.
Thankfully my husband thinks everything I do is either brilliant or adorably quirky. But he does like to tease me, and he's getting far too much mileage from my new found shopping technique. I clearly explained to Rich that this is all his fault.
Number One...he has a wife that hates to go out shopping.
Number Two...he spent 26 days in the hospital which left me channel surfing at 3 am, and as I previously explained, shopping channels are the only safe channels to sleep through. This was how I discovered shopping from the comfort of my couch.
Number Three...”ask not what your country can do for you....ask what you can do for your country.” So I am all about doing my part to stimulate the economy.
Number Four.... if Rich is going to leave me unattended for extended periods of time, I WILL get into trouble so therefore, ergo, ipso facto....
“You have no one to blame but yourself, my dear.”
Then we opened the mail. The hospital bill alone for Rich's 26 day hospitalization was $147,680. For the six day hospitalization the bill was $33,400. That does not count all the bills for all the CAT scans, doctors, treatments, surgeries, home nursing service, ER, radiation, or the $600 bill for the ambulance ride. We are doing our part to aid in the economic stimulus.
At the rate we're going, I won't be surprised if we get a Christmas card from the Obamas.
I didn't Start the Fire
On the off chance that my departure from Con-Fun-Med seemed a bit harsh on my part, I decided to post my resignation letter....
On October 8th, 2010 I completed 12 weeks of FMLA due to my husband's 26 day hospitalization for sepsis, and 7 day hospitalization for surgery on September 19th. On the advice and request of his doctors, I applied for four weeks of unpaid personal leave so that I could care for him and assist in his recuperation. That was denied and I returned to work on October 11th.
I appreciate the many efforts my fellow nurses have made to assist me in my recent difficulties. Unfortunately, the random days/half days I have been given since returning to work have been less than 24 hours notice and have not coincided with scheduled medical appointments.
I have always been very proud to be an employee of CMGA and grateful for the experience I have gained in my three years at Con-Fed Med. I have done my best to be a positive, contributing member of this team for patient care, the residency program, and the implementation of electronic medical records.
Since returning to work I have made every attempt to balance the demands of a full time work schedule and my husband's physical and emotional needs and medical transportation. His current condition is such that I must now choose between this job and his best interest. Therefore, it is with deep regret that I tender my resignation, effective at end of my shift today.
I work hard at NOT burning bridges, so I want to point out that writing about the fire does not make me the one who started it.
Believe me, I could throw gasoline on that fire....far beyond relating the pompous behavior of fragile egos... the numerous times nurses have been reprimanded because “there were no tissues in the exam room”, or an unopened alcohol pad was left on the counter, or no band-aids or antibiotic ointment in the drawer. Doctors have left expensive dopplers in the room with patients which then grew legs and checked out with the patient, but god help a nurse if the previous patient cleans out the bandaid/antibiotic supply in the room and we don't check and replace supplies between each patient. Hmmmm that would significantly slow down the rooming of patients. I have been told more than once “You don't need to talk to the patient, just get 'em ready, I want to be out of her by 4:30” Then what fun when the patient complains to the doctor that “your nurse is NOT very friendly!!”
I have never seen a single office protocol implemented where a nurse was asked for input beforehand. After it's dumped on us and we try to explain what's wrong or offer a better way....we're just whiners and complainers. Then when it doesn't work (as we tried to explain) it's our fault it didn't work because we're whiners and complainers. Yum!!
So when I hear the words “team” and “family” and all the fuzzy, feel-good words meant to inspire, I just want to throw up on someone's shoes. Here's my bottom line. I'll clean the toilets, or wash the windows if that's what needs to be done, just don't talk to me like I'm STUPID. I believe that is a reasonable expectation. Let's just be open with the fact that I'm a lesser human being in your opinion and leave it at that. Trust me. I won't cry myself to sleep.
Then the nurses and office staff spend 2-1/2 hours in a meeting one morning in October so that Human Resource experts can explain to us how to be more user friendly. It seemed like a good idea, despite the fact that only one doctor was present and when I asked if doctors would be receiving the same training at some point in time it was obvious I had just stepped on my proverbial dick. The responding collective gasp, followed by the big silence created a vacuum in the room that caused a piercing sensation in my inner ears.
Wait. It gets better....
When the HR Expert informed us that our “go-to person” in the office for all problems, abuse and difficulties is the same person who is the main cause of all the problems in the office, a significant number of my brain cells exploded, resulting in a red blur coating my eyeballs and I thought, “wow, this is how rose colored glasses work!!” Then the undamaged brain cells just shut down because I didn't have a sharpened pencil to stick in my eye to stop the pain.
SERIOUSLY?! You have just admitted to everyone present that you have NO CLUE as to what the real problem is, AND you spent zero effort to find out.
Nice
I spent the remaining two hours of this meeting in the mental exercise of calculating 2.5 hours times the mean hourly rate of pay of those present, times the number of people being paid to swallow 2.5 hours of bullshit. Sadly I gained no comfort in the knowledge of what this exercise in futility was costing. The cumulative detrimental effect on moral......priceless. The HR expert could have spent the seven minutes walking with us back to our office to get all the input necessary.
I'm not sure I can explain my position in a way that makes clear sense. I don't go to work to socialize with friends, but I do want to be a contributing member of a strong, productive Team. I'm perfectly content to do my best and contribute to “the mission”, however humble my contribution. All I ask in return is basic human respect and a clear set of rules that synchronize with the party line. If you want to be my superior, then you need to perform accordingly. Working for graduates of the Dogbert School of Management just wears you down.
Holy Unemployed, Batman.... what are the chances I'll ever work again?! Luckily, I spent 15 plus years as an office manager in private industry (where you have to be productive and cost effective) before I went to nursing school. Apparently, all I need now is a lobotomy and I can return to that profession within the medical community.
I may be describing the Flames, but I didn't start the fire that burned this bridge.
On October 8th, 2010 I completed 12 weeks of FMLA due to my husband's 26 day hospitalization for sepsis, and 7 day hospitalization for surgery on September 19th. On the advice and request of his doctors, I applied for four weeks of unpaid personal leave so that I could care for him and assist in his recuperation. That was denied and I returned to work on October 11th.
I appreciate the many efforts my fellow nurses have made to assist me in my recent difficulties. Unfortunately, the random days/half days I have been given since returning to work have been less than 24 hours notice and have not coincided with scheduled medical appointments.
I have always been very proud to be an employee of CMGA and grateful for the experience I have gained in my three years at Con-Fed Med. I have done my best to be a positive, contributing member of this team for patient care, the residency program, and the implementation of electronic medical records.
Since returning to work I have made every attempt to balance the demands of a full time work schedule and my husband's physical and emotional needs and medical transportation. His current condition is such that I must now choose between this job and his best interest. Therefore, it is with deep regret that I tender my resignation, effective at end of my shift today.
I work hard at NOT burning bridges, so I want to point out that writing about the fire does not make me the one who started it.
Believe me, I could throw gasoline on that fire....far beyond relating the pompous behavior of fragile egos... the numerous times nurses have been reprimanded because “there were no tissues in the exam room”, or an unopened alcohol pad was left on the counter, or no band-aids or antibiotic ointment in the drawer. Doctors have left expensive dopplers in the room with patients which then grew legs and checked out with the patient, but god help a nurse if the previous patient cleans out the bandaid/antibiotic supply in the room and we don't check and replace supplies between each patient. Hmmmm that would significantly slow down the rooming of patients. I have been told more than once “You don't need to talk to the patient, just get 'em ready, I want to be out of her by 4:30” Then what fun when the patient complains to the doctor that “your nurse is NOT very friendly!!”
I have never seen a single office protocol implemented where a nurse was asked for input beforehand. After it's dumped on us and we try to explain what's wrong or offer a better way....we're just whiners and complainers. Then when it doesn't work (as we tried to explain) it's our fault it didn't work because we're whiners and complainers. Yum!!
So when I hear the words “team” and “family” and all the fuzzy, feel-good words meant to inspire, I just want to throw up on someone's shoes. Here's my bottom line. I'll clean the toilets, or wash the windows if that's what needs to be done, just don't talk to me like I'm STUPID. I believe that is a reasonable expectation. Let's just be open with the fact that I'm a lesser human being in your opinion and leave it at that. Trust me. I won't cry myself to sleep.
Then the nurses and office staff spend 2-1/2 hours in a meeting one morning in October so that Human Resource experts can explain to us how to be more user friendly. It seemed like a good idea, despite the fact that only one doctor was present and when I asked if doctors would be receiving the same training at some point in time it was obvious I had just stepped on my proverbial dick. The responding collective gasp, followed by the big silence created a vacuum in the room that caused a piercing sensation in my inner ears.
Wait. It gets better....
When the HR Expert informed us that our “go-to person” in the office for all problems, abuse and difficulties is the same person who is the main cause of all the problems in the office, a significant number of my brain cells exploded, resulting in a red blur coating my eyeballs and I thought, “wow, this is how rose colored glasses work!!” Then the undamaged brain cells just shut down because I didn't have a sharpened pencil to stick in my eye to stop the pain.
SERIOUSLY?! You have just admitted to everyone present that you have NO CLUE as to what the real problem is, AND you spent zero effort to find out.
Nice
I spent the remaining two hours of this meeting in the mental exercise of calculating 2.5 hours times the mean hourly rate of pay of those present, times the number of people being paid to swallow 2.5 hours of bullshit. Sadly I gained no comfort in the knowledge of what this exercise in futility was costing. The cumulative detrimental effect on moral......priceless. The HR expert could have spent the seven minutes walking with us back to our office to get all the input necessary.
I'm not sure I can explain my position in a way that makes clear sense. I don't go to work to socialize with friends, but I do want to be a contributing member of a strong, productive Team. I'm perfectly content to do my best and contribute to “the mission”, however humble my contribution. All I ask in return is basic human respect and a clear set of rules that synchronize with the party line. If you want to be my superior, then you need to perform accordingly. Working for graduates of the Dogbert School of Management just wears you down.
Holy Unemployed, Batman.... what are the chances I'll ever work again?! Luckily, I spent 15 plus years as an office manager in private industry (where you have to be productive and cost effective) before I went to nursing school. Apparently, all I need now is a lobotomy and I can return to that profession within the medical community.
I may be describing the Flames, but I didn't start the fire that burned this bridge.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Good-bye Mr Wizard
I just have to share this with you....
Thirty minutes after I gave my 8 hour notice I was called into the Director's office. I suspect, without humility, that the sole purpose was to make sure I was not going to “go postal” on them. I sensed the tension in the air when I entered the Sanctum Sanctorum. He closed the door and we took our seats at the round table. I was WAY too content in my mismatched socks and more mismatched earrings. My grin was a bit too wide and my body language far too relaxed.
The FIRST thing out of his mouth was.....
“I just want you to know that there are no hard feelings about your leaving like this.”
I distinctly remember cocking my head to one side like a puppy who is a bit confused by the conflict between words, tone and body language. Dude. Your words say you're in control, but everything else smells of fear. Eeeewh.
I said: “Wow, I am so relieved. “
Basically I was in a sacred place. If Abbey from NCIS and Forrest Gump had a baby.... it was ME.
He didn't seem to know what to say next so I thanked him profusely for my three years of experience at Con-Fun-Med. He asked what my plans were. Still I was smelling fear like he needed assurance that my plans did not involve anger, retribution or a vendetta. I calmly, with a BIG dumb smile explained that we would exhaust our savings and then we could sell the house if “needs be, and live on Love.”
I wanted to offer that I was totally open to someone raffling off a BMW for us, but wasn't holding my breath.
No...that would be overkill and smack of resentment. You can't sell sarcasm with a big, dumb, Forrest Gump grin. Besides. I felt a bit sorry for him. I don't think he understands Kharma.
We chatted for a few seconds more about nothing though I do remember him saying he would be happy for me to come back to work “when all of this is over...” and then I was SO done and rose in a gesture of being the one in power to end the conversation. He seemed most incredibly relieved. In that split second of both of us standing before moving to the door I was overcome and well.... I just couldn't help myself.
I was possessed by the voices in my head and Miss Ornery stepped forward. Hands on my hips I leaned down like he was six inches shorter than me (he isn't) and with a most delicisous grin I said... “Okay, you....come here and give me a hug.”
It was a lovely, delicious hug like Michael Corleone gave his brother Fredo.
Seriously? It doesn't get any better than that. When you can leave hell and bid farewell to the minions in such fashion.... you walk on air. The angels were singing. It was only 08:45 in the morning of my very last day in HELL and there was no way to go but UP. Hot Damn it just doesn't get any better. Oh wait...
A job where I can be a real nurse and contribute my skills and caring without cowering like a dog before the egos of fragile doctors. Hmmmm. I'm on the lookout for THAT.
Thirty minutes after I gave my 8 hour notice I was called into the Director's office. I suspect, without humility, that the sole purpose was to make sure I was not going to “go postal” on them. I sensed the tension in the air when I entered the Sanctum Sanctorum. He closed the door and we took our seats at the round table. I was WAY too content in my mismatched socks and more mismatched earrings. My grin was a bit too wide and my body language far too relaxed.
The FIRST thing out of his mouth was.....
“I just want you to know that there are no hard feelings about your leaving like this.”
I distinctly remember cocking my head to one side like a puppy who is a bit confused by the conflict between words, tone and body language. Dude. Your words say you're in control, but everything else smells of fear. Eeeewh.
I said: “Wow, I am so relieved. “
Basically I was in a sacred place. If Abbey from NCIS and Forrest Gump had a baby.... it was ME.
He didn't seem to know what to say next so I thanked him profusely for my three years of experience at Con-Fun-Med. He asked what my plans were. Still I was smelling fear like he needed assurance that my plans did not involve anger, retribution or a vendetta. I calmly, with a BIG dumb smile explained that we would exhaust our savings and then we could sell the house if “needs be, and live on Love.”
I wanted to offer that I was totally open to someone raffling off a BMW for us, but wasn't holding my breath.
No...that would be overkill and smack of resentment. You can't sell sarcasm with a big, dumb, Forrest Gump grin. Besides. I felt a bit sorry for him. I don't think he understands Kharma.
We chatted for a few seconds more about nothing though I do remember him saying he would be happy for me to come back to work “when all of this is over...” and then I was SO done and rose in a gesture of being the one in power to end the conversation. He seemed most incredibly relieved. In that split second of both of us standing before moving to the door I was overcome and well.... I just couldn't help myself.
I was possessed by the voices in my head and Miss Ornery stepped forward. Hands on my hips I leaned down like he was six inches shorter than me (he isn't) and with a most delicisous grin I said... “Okay, you....come here and give me a hug.”
It was a lovely, delicious hug like Michael Corleone gave his brother Fredo.
Seriously? It doesn't get any better than that. When you can leave hell and bid farewell to the minions in such fashion.... you walk on air. The angels were singing. It was only 08:45 in the morning of my very last day in HELL and there was no way to go but UP. Hot Damn it just doesn't get any better. Oh wait...
A job where I can be a real nurse and contribute my skills and caring without cowering like a dog before the egos of fragile doctors. Hmmmm. I'm on the lookout for THAT.
Con-Fun-Med
I want to tell you how wonderful it is to have finished my time in hell at the Consortium of Funtime Medicine. But my mother always said, “if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.”
How stupid is that?! If everyone followed THAT rule there would be no warnings on medications, tobacco products or ladders. Pah-LEEZ!
If anything deserves a warning label it is the Consortium of Funtime Medicine. Postal workers have less risk of mental/emotional meltdown than a caring, cognizant being trying to function within the parameters of Con-Fun-Med.
I WILL say that I've never been one to bitch about a situation without offering ideas for improvement. I offered that positive energy for many, many moons before I realized that I was trying to teach a pig to sing—I'm frustrated, the pig gets cranky and the results are less than pleasing.
Some people like to talk about what they would do if they won the lottery. A handful of us caring, cognizant beings liked to talk about what we'd do if we could overhaul the Con-Fun-Med. Edited down to it's best, it goes like this....
First we'd hire a director with balls. Whether in the form of gonads or ovaries—got's ta have balls. Why? Because I don't care where you work or what your mission statement is, there needs to be rules. Society in general and human nature particularly needs rules. So you need someone in charge who can enforce rules. And if there are different sets of rules for each and every person in the group, well, you're just fucking with disaster. More on that later.
Second, I would have one person in charge of the residency program and a different person in charge of patient care. Why? Because there is a MAJOR conflict between the two which results in harm to both.
Third, I would hire a liaison between the Residency Director and the Clinical Director, and the three would have equal power. A triumvirate if you will. Why? Because there needs to be a tie breaker, and when you're dealing with doctors, any single ego can create a gravitational pull that can create a Black Hole which will eventually result in the phenomenon exemplified by the Con-Fun-Med.
Next....I would I hire an office manager. Why? Because a teaching practice of 22 doctors, 9 nurses, 5 medical secretaries and 5 office staff really could use an office manager to organize the nuts and bolts of running an office. If nothing else, someone who knows how to order office supplies. Just a thought.
The rest of the staff, with minor exceptions is good to go.
Next I would implement Rules. My Rules may seem ridiculous, obvious and not worth mentioning, but trust me. At Con-Fun-Med, they need to be mentioned.
Rule #1. No one shall speak to a co-worker in any manner less than respectful. This includes doctors. Regardless of your name, title, tax bracket, letters following your name, you WILL speak to co-workers with the same tone and respect that you expect from them, and that you would use with patients/customers.
Rule #2. If drug companies are catering lunch for Con-Fun-Med....they are catering for ALL employees. There is no “back of the bus”, “scraps from the table” mentality. If We're a family, then we will behave as a family. Which means everyone is welcome at the table and gossip and backstabbing will occur covertly and heaven help you if you're caught at it.
Rule # 3. Your job will be defined for you and if you are unwilling or unable to perform your duties then appropriate action will be taken up to and including termination. This includes showing up to work sober, doing your job and not dumping YOUR responsibilities on co-workers. Regardless of your title or sense of entitlement.
Rule #3, Paragraph A.... Nurses are not responsible for diagnosing, prescribing meds and/or correcting the med list. Office staff is not responsible for divining what tests doctors want done. Only the office manager, if one is ever hired, is responsible for office supplies, equipment, work flow, protecting staff from abuse and all things related to the workings of an office. At least that's what the HR folks told us.
Rule #4...If the Triumvirate is going to Preach Teamwork, then they must exemplify Teamwork. That means that every member of the team is valuable and deserving of respect.
Ah yes....that is My dream world. That is what I spent three years striving for, praying for, working for. Then one day you realize that it's time to stop taking your bucket to a dry well.
What was the turning point? Little by little, bit by bit... like water over rock.... Maybe it was the week I returned to to work from FMLA after begging and being denied four weeks of unpaid leave because Rich's doctor's felt it was critical to his care.... I came back and discovered we were all struggling to find work because things had become that slow..... No....wait......... perhaps it was that magical email that went out to ALL 3,000+ employees of this major medical center of which Con-Fun-Med is a part... A precious email detailing the horrible plight of a resident battling cancer and the plight of his family. In this email was a plea to buy raffle tickets for a BMW being raffled off to raise funds for this doctor and his family.
I felt slapped in the face. Not because someone was coming to the aid of this resident and his family, but because I was denied four weeks of unpaid leave to take care of my husband with stage four pancreatic cancer who needed additional care because the Infectious Disease Idiot in charge had run my FMLA into the ground while he “practiced medicine.”
But shame on me. I now realize that I should be giving thanks that in the entire employee population of one of the top 50 medical centers in the US, there is only one employee who is suffering at a level that warrants raffling off a BMW. I now feel WAY better about my situation. When Rich is now doubled over in pain I calmly remind him that if things were REALLY bad, someone at CMGA would have stepped up and raffled off a Schwinn bicycle for us. So suck it up, dude, we're good.
Hell is behind me. Everyday it is covered with another layer of dust in my memory. Yesterday I got a card from the residents I worked with. I will put it in my Sacred Scrapbook, because it is a special treasure to me.
So this post is dedicated to the following...
To Jill Sutton for being the sweetness I found at Con-Fun-Med; Kami Rodgers for being someone I would ALWAYS want on my team; Judy Hinkle and Judy McKinney for the constant kindness they showed me.
To Dr Lear for being the one person at Con-Fun-Med who totally got my sense of humor and for showing me that working with a doctor could be a positive experience and not just an exercise in masochism.
To the residents... Dr. Robert Belluso who got me through my first year at Con-Fun-Med in spite of Wasif; to Dr. Margaret Mercado who saved my brother from a 22 pound tumor and was always so very kind to me; to Dr Pierre Dalumpines who made me laugh when I most needed it; to Dr Asjad Ali and Dr Javaria Asif and Dr Jeffery Peiffer who always displayed tender respect to me; to Dr Lauren Burns who delivered my first granddaughter; to Dr JoAnne Francisco and Dr Adrienne Hester and Dr Nina Thalody for their wonderful, warm, gentle energy that comforted me on SO MANY occasions;
to Dr Kelli Peiffer who continues to do more for me than I can ever express;
and especially for Dr Brad Everly for being my soul mate in hell, my son from another mother, providing chocolate, coffee and hugs in unlimited supply. And the beautiful card.
Wonderful doctors all. I LOVE you guys. I am so proud to have been a part of your residency and I pray you will never forget me. In a good way.
As Richard Bach said.... “when you love someone, there's no such place as far away....”
How stupid is that?! If everyone followed THAT rule there would be no warnings on medications, tobacco products or ladders. Pah-LEEZ!
If anything deserves a warning label it is the Consortium of Funtime Medicine. Postal workers have less risk of mental/emotional meltdown than a caring, cognizant being trying to function within the parameters of Con-Fun-Med.
I WILL say that I've never been one to bitch about a situation without offering ideas for improvement. I offered that positive energy for many, many moons before I realized that I was trying to teach a pig to sing—I'm frustrated, the pig gets cranky and the results are less than pleasing.
Some people like to talk about what they would do if they won the lottery. A handful of us caring, cognizant beings liked to talk about what we'd do if we could overhaul the Con-Fun-Med. Edited down to it's best, it goes like this....
First we'd hire a director with balls. Whether in the form of gonads or ovaries—got's ta have balls. Why? Because I don't care where you work or what your mission statement is, there needs to be rules. Society in general and human nature particularly needs rules. So you need someone in charge who can enforce rules. And if there are different sets of rules for each and every person in the group, well, you're just fucking with disaster. More on that later.
Second, I would have one person in charge of the residency program and a different person in charge of patient care. Why? Because there is a MAJOR conflict between the two which results in harm to both.
Third, I would hire a liaison between the Residency Director and the Clinical Director, and the three would have equal power. A triumvirate if you will. Why? Because there needs to be a tie breaker, and when you're dealing with doctors, any single ego can create a gravitational pull that can create a Black Hole which will eventually result in the phenomenon exemplified by the Con-Fun-Med.
Next....I would I hire an office manager. Why? Because a teaching practice of 22 doctors, 9 nurses, 5 medical secretaries and 5 office staff really could use an office manager to organize the nuts and bolts of running an office. If nothing else, someone who knows how to order office supplies. Just a thought.
The rest of the staff, with minor exceptions is good to go.
Next I would implement Rules. My Rules may seem ridiculous, obvious and not worth mentioning, but trust me. At Con-Fun-Med, they need to be mentioned.
Rule #1. No one shall speak to a co-worker in any manner less than respectful. This includes doctors. Regardless of your name, title, tax bracket, letters following your name, you WILL speak to co-workers with the same tone and respect that you expect from them, and that you would use with patients/customers.
Rule #2. If drug companies are catering lunch for Con-Fun-Med....they are catering for ALL employees. There is no “back of the bus”, “scraps from the table” mentality. If We're a family, then we will behave as a family. Which means everyone is welcome at the table and gossip and backstabbing will occur covertly and heaven help you if you're caught at it.
Rule # 3. Your job will be defined for you and if you are unwilling or unable to perform your duties then appropriate action will be taken up to and including termination. This includes showing up to work sober, doing your job and not dumping YOUR responsibilities on co-workers. Regardless of your title or sense of entitlement.
Rule #3, Paragraph A.... Nurses are not responsible for diagnosing, prescribing meds and/or correcting the med list. Office staff is not responsible for divining what tests doctors want done. Only the office manager, if one is ever hired, is responsible for office supplies, equipment, work flow, protecting staff from abuse and all things related to the workings of an office. At least that's what the HR folks told us.
Rule #4...If the Triumvirate is going to Preach Teamwork, then they must exemplify Teamwork. That means that every member of the team is valuable and deserving of respect.
Ah yes....that is My dream world. That is what I spent three years striving for, praying for, working for. Then one day you realize that it's time to stop taking your bucket to a dry well.
What was the turning point? Little by little, bit by bit... like water over rock.... Maybe it was the week I returned to to work from FMLA after begging and being denied four weeks of unpaid leave because Rich's doctor's felt it was critical to his care.... I came back and discovered we were all struggling to find work because things had become that slow..... No....wait......... perhaps it was that magical email that went out to ALL 3,000+ employees of this major medical center of which Con-Fun-Med is a part... A precious email detailing the horrible plight of a resident battling cancer and the plight of his family. In this email was a plea to buy raffle tickets for a BMW being raffled off to raise funds for this doctor and his family.
I felt slapped in the face. Not because someone was coming to the aid of this resident and his family, but because I was denied four weeks of unpaid leave to take care of my husband with stage four pancreatic cancer who needed additional care because the Infectious Disease Idiot in charge had run my FMLA into the ground while he “practiced medicine.”
But shame on me. I now realize that I should be giving thanks that in the entire employee population of one of the top 50 medical centers in the US, there is only one employee who is suffering at a level that warrants raffling off a BMW. I now feel WAY better about my situation. When Rich is now doubled over in pain I calmly remind him that if things were REALLY bad, someone at CMGA would have stepped up and raffled off a Schwinn bicycle for us. So suck it up, dude, we're good.
Hell is behind me. Everyday it is covered with another layer of dust in my memory. Yesterday I got a card from the residents I worked with. I will put it in my Sacred Scrapbook, because it is a special treasure to me.
So this post is dedicated to the following...
To Jill Sutton for being the sweetness I found at Con-Fun-Med; Kami Rodgers for being someone I would ALWAYS want on my team; Judy Hinkle and Judy McKinney for the constant kindness they showed me.
To Dr Lear for being the one person at Con-Fun-Med who totally got my sense of humor and for showing me that working with a doctor could be a positive experience and not just an exercise in masochism.
To the residents... Dr. Robert Belluso who got me through my first year at Con-Fun-Med in spite of Wasif; to Dr. Margaret Mercado who saved my brother from a 22 pound tumor and was always so very kind to me; to Dr Pierre Dalumpines who made me laugh when I most needed it; to Dr Asjad Ali and Dr Javaria Asif and Dr Jeffery Peiffer who always displayed tender respect to me; to Dr Lauren Burns who delivered my first granddaughter; to Dr JoAnne Francisco and Dr Adrienne Hester and Dr Nina Thalody for their wonderful, warm, gentle energy that comforted me on SO MANY occasions;
to Dr Kelli Peiffer who continues to do more for me than I can ever express;
and especially for Dr Brad Everly for being my soul mate in hell, my son from another mother, providing chocolate, coffee and hugs in unlimited supply. And the beautiful card.
Wonderful doctors all. I LOVE you guys. I am so proud to have been a part of your residency and I pray you will never forget me. In a good way.
As Richard Bach said.... “when you love someone, there's no such place as far away....”
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
One Giant Leap
I quit my job today. Actually, it was yesterday. It's a quarter to three in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm not worried, not troubled. I'm just awake. Maybe I just don't want this incredibly perfect day to end.
I won't boar you with the details of quitting. Suffice it to say that if you have spent three years and one month in Hell, you can pretty much imagine my last day. Luckily I had no delusions of how my resignation would be accepted. It was as if I had scripted the entire day and everyone played their roles perfectly as expected.
The handful of people that I respect and have enjoyed working with seemed genuinely disappointed at my leaving. And I would be genuinely happy if our paths crossed again. The rest....? Well, that was just good, clean fun.
Your last day in Hell is when your Force Field and Evil Deflectors are at their optimum strength and luminosity. It is astounding. It is the closest the average Joe will ever come to experiencing the joy of making the winning touchdown in the Superbowl, winning the lottery AND receiving an Academy Award for Best Actor all in one day.
I would like to say that my decision to quit this job and take care of Rich was soley for Rich's benefit, but truthfully, I REALLY WANTED OUT OF HELL. The fact that Rich needs me just provided the courage and resolve.
Wow. I've never quit a job without another job to go to. Interesting....
One of the things that made my day especially delicious was that I gave 8 hours notice, resulting in the shock and awe effect. That was not my intention, just a side benefit. It also eliminates that last two weeks of awkward and antsy.
It was a strange day, with a herd of butterflies in my stomach occasionally distracted by interactions with pockets of kindness in a sea of stupidity. One Attending and a few Residents had something to say to me. A few of the Office Staff as well. The other nurses responded as if I had told them I would be calling off tomorrow because I didn't feel well. Again, I had no delusions, and therefore, no disappointments. If anything, all my suspicions were confirmed.
Every week a drug rep caters lunch. There is always an amazing amount of food, but unless you're a doctor or medical student, you must wait a full half hour after they have grazed before you are allowed to remove some morsels from the table. So when I hear the director talk about how we at the Consortium for Funtime Medicine are a “family”.....? What?. Am I stupid?
It has been 37 months of walking on the eggshells of doctors' egos. Take your basic office situation, only instead of one boss, there are 22. Some First year residents hit the floor running with a sense of entitlement and hubris. What they can't take out on their higher-ups, they dump on the nurses. By their third year residents are so battered, bruised and burnt out that they're almost more work than the newbies. But at least you can understand where they're coming from. The real problem is the Attendings, or about half of them.
The rules don't apply to Attendings. If I documented patient care the way these doctors do, I never would have graduated nursing school, and I would have been written up repeatedly at every job. Here's a tip...if your doctor's office calls you because your doctor wants to know what meds he/she has prescribed for you. ...get a new doctor.
Ask me how many times I have had to call a patient because their urine test was positive for a bladder infection and the doctor wants to know if they want to be treated. Every time I have to resist the urge to message back to the doctor......”No thanks, Patients prefers to pee with pain.”.... brain cells die.
Our office began electronic medical records in Jan 2010. Doctors who don't like the system simply do not use it, which means they do just enough to transfer the work to someone else. They are “too busy and important” to learn. (Yes, that WAS a direct quote) For Attendings, if it's something they don't want to deal with it is simply an S.E.P. = Someone Else's Problem. Many residents quickly learn this technique and happily employ it. The SEP trickles down until it reaches a nurse. We are not licensed to diagnose, order tests, or prescribe meds. But we take the heat for all of it and clean up the messes and then apologize to the patient for them. All while the doctor talks to us like we're stupid and resents every time we catch their errors.
Generally there is one nurse rooming patients for two doctors, while juggling phone calls, looking up results and handling her own nurse visits. There are five rooms for each nurse. Doctors will become downright abusive if she is not rooming patients quickly enough. I have been told “you don't need to talk to the patient, just get 'em ready.” Right. Then you'll get called on the carpet when the patient complains that you were rude or curt. How many times have I bit my tongue with the desire to look at the doctor and ask “is that stethascope around your neck a fashion statement or do you know how to get a set of vitals?”
If we talked to the patients the way the doctors talk to us, we'd be fired. If we talked to the doctors the way they talk to us we'd be drawn and quartered. They are the center of the Universe, and being that close to the Center of the Universe, the gravitational pull has permanently damaged my inner ears.
Imagine, if you can, being audited, and when the results are not to your liking you simply reject them. Seriously. A nurse is assigned to periodically and systematically audit doctors' charts. It is objective and very clear cut, black and white, period. It is the closest thing medicine has to accounting. But if the doctor doesn't get the perfect rating she feels she deserves she simply rejects the audit. How cool is THAT?!
Please do not delude yourself into believing that Obama (or any politician) can reform healthcare. They are not big or bad enough to strike fear into the hearts of these gods of medicine. Unless and until nurses have any measure of power, and consumers take responsibility, sickcare will continue as always.
So these were the thoughts playing through my head as I sat at my desk and worked on getting insurance approval for Viagra prescriptions because if you're a 36 year old morbidly obese patient who can't work because your back hurts, I'm all about getting the state's welfare system to pay for your erections. As I sat on hold I questioned if I was doing the right thing by terminating my employment with the Consortium of Funtime Medicine.... My next task made everything clear....
The pharmacy had called earlier in the day because the patient was ordered simvastatin AND Crestor and they wanted clarification because the patient should not be on both. I had sent the message to the doctor with a Please clarify and a “thankyou”. The doctor messaged back....”Call patient and ask her what she's taking.” Seriously? Apparently you misunderstood the question.... I messaged back....”Patient was seen Nov 11, and med list confirmed by doctor, including both meds in question, pharmacy requesting clarification.”
The Attending (who saw this 73 yr old patient on Nov 11 and checked off her med list) messaged back the following...
“I SAID call the patient and ask her what meds she takes. Tell her to read the labels on the med bottles to you. If you can't do that, schedule an appointment for patient to see me to discuss her meds.”
I read that three times. Each time my heart got a bit happier, a bit lighter. I heard laughter and realized it was me. I reassigned the message to the main work list at 16:58 and thought “fuck you, bitch”.
If you saw Braveheart, you'll recall the climactic scene where William Wallace lies drawn, about to be quartered and rather than “confess” and receive a merciful death he screams “FREEDOM!!”
That's how I felt walking to my car.
I won't boar you with the details of quitting. Suffice it to say that if you have spent three years and one month in Hell, you can pretty much imagine my last day. Luckily I had no delusions of how my resignation would be accepted. It was as if I had scripted the entire day and everyone played their roles perfectly as expected.
The handful of people that I respect and have enjoyed working with seemed genuinely disappointed at my leaving. And I would be genuinely happy if our paths crossed again. The rest....? Well, that was just good, clean fun.
Your last day in Hell is when your Force Field and Evil Deflectors are at their optimum strength and luminosity. It is astounding. It is the closest the average Joe will ever come to experiencing the joy of making the winning touchdown in the Superbowl, winning the lottery AND receiving an Academy Award for Best Actor all in one day.
I would like to say that my decision to quit this job and take care of Rich was soley for Rich's benefit, but truthfully, I REALLY WANTED OUT OF HELL. The fact that Rich needs me just provided the courage and resolve.
Wow. I've never quit a job without another job to go to. Interesting....
One of the things that made my day especially delicious was that I gave 8 hours notice, resulting in the shock and awe effect. That was not my intention, just a side benefit. It also eliminates that last two weeks of awkward and antsy.
It was a strange day, with a herd of butterflies in my stomach occasionally distracted by interactions with pockets of kindness in a sea of stupidity. One Attending and a few Residents had something to say to me. A few of the Office Staff as well. The other nurses responded as if I had told them I would be calling off tomorrow because I didn't feel well. Again, I had no delusions, and therefore, no disappointments. If anything, all my suspicions were confirmed.
Every week a drug rep caters lunch. There is always an amazing amount of food, but unless you're a doctor or medical student, you must wait a full half hour after they have grazed before you are allowed to remove some morsels from the table. So when I hear the director talk about how we at the Consortium for Funtime Medicine are a “family”.....? What?. Am I stupid?
It has been 37 months of walking on the eggshells of doctors' egos. Take your basic office situation, only instead of one boss, there are 22. Some First year residents hit the floor running with a sense of entitlement and hubris. What they can't take out on their higher-ups, they dump on the nurses. By their third year residents are so battered, bruised and burnt out that they're almost more work than the newbies. But at least you can understand where they're coming from. The real problem is the Attendings, or about half of them.
The rules don't apply to Attendings. If I documented patient care the way these doctors do, I never would have graduated nursing school, and I would have been written up repeatedly at every job. Here's a tip...if your doctor's office calls you because your doctor wants to know what meds he/she has prescribed for you. ...get a new doctor.
Ask me how many times I have had to call a patient because their urine test was positive for a bladder infection and the doctor wants to know if they want to be treated. Every time I have to resist the urge to message back to the doctor......”No thanks, Patients prefers to pee with pain.”.... brain cells die.
Our office began electronic medical records in Jan 2010. Doctors who don't like the system simply do not use it, which means they do just enough to transfer the work to someone else. They are “too busy and important” to learn. (Yes, that WAS a direct quote) For Attendings, if it's something they don't want to deal with it is simply an S.E.P. = Someone Else's Problem. Many residents quickly learn this technique and happily employ it. The SEP trickles down until it reaches a nurse. We are not licensed to diagnose, order tests, or prescribe meds. But we take the heat for all of it and clean up the messes and then apologize to the patient for them. All while the doctor talks to us like we're stupid and resents every time we catch their errors.
Generally there is one nurse rooming patients for two doctors, while juggling phone calls, looking up results and handling her own nurse visits. There are five rooms for each nurse. Doctors will become downright abusive if she is not rooming patients quickly enough. I have been told “you don't need to talk to the patient, just get 'em ready.” Right. Then you'll get called on the carpet when the patient complains that you were rude or curt. How many times have I bit my tongue with the desire to look at the doctor and ask “is that stethascope around your neck a fashion statement or do you know how to get a set of vitals?”
If we talked to the patients the way the doctors talk to us, we'd be fired. If we talked to the doctors the way they talk to us we'd be drawn and quartered. They are the center of the Universe, and being that close to the Center of the Universe, the gravitational pull has permanently damaged my inner ears.
Imagine, if you can, being audited, and when the results are not to your liking you simply reject them. Seriously. A nurse is assigned to periodically and systematically audit doctors' charts. It is objective and very clear cut, black and white, period. It is the closest thing medicine has to accounting. But if the doctor doesn't get the perfect rating she feels she deserves she simply rejects the audit. How cool is THAT?!
Please do not delude yourself into believing that Obama (or any politician) can reform healthcare. They are not big or bad enough to strike fear into the hearts of these gods of medicine. Unless and until nurses have any measure of power, and consumers take responsibility, sickcare will continue as always.
So these were the thoughts playing through my head as I sat at my desk and worked on getting insurance approval for Viagra prescriptions because if you're a 36 year old morbidly obese patient who can't work because your back hurts, I'm all about getting the state's welfare system to pay for your erections. As I sat on hold I questioned if I was doing the right thing by terminating my employment with the Consortium of Funtime Medicine.... My next task made everything clear....
The pharmacy had called earlier in the day because the patient was ordered simvastatin AND Crestor and they wanted clarification because the patient should not be on both. I had sent the message to the doctor with a Please clarify and a “thankyou”. The doctor messaged back....”Call patient and ask her what she's taking.” Seriously? Apparently you misunderstood the question.... I messaged back....”Patient was seen Nov 11, and med list confirmed by doctor, including both meds in question, pharmacy requesting clarification.”
The Attending (who saw this 73 yr old patient on Nov 11 and checked off her med list) messaged back the following...
“I SAID call the patient and ask her what meds she takes. Tell her to read the labels on the med bottles to you. If you can't do that, schedule an appointment for patient to see me to discuss her meds.”
I read that three times. Each time my heart got a bit happier, a bit lighter. I heard laughter and realized it was me. I reassigned the message to the main work list at 16:58 and thought “fuck you, bitch”.
If you saw Braveheart, you'll recall the climactic scene where William Wallace lies drawn, about to be quartered and rather than “confess” and receive a merciful death he screams “FREEDOM!!”
That's how I felt walking to my car.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Dear Baby
Last year, in the midst of Rich's chemo and radiation we learned that all three of my sons were expecting their first child. I was painfully aware of how fragile life is. I knew that if something unexpected were to happen to me, I wanted my grandchildren to know me--in my own words. So I wrote this letter to them...
Dear Baby
Welcome to Planet Earth
It’s cold in winter and hot in summer, so you’ll want to dress appropriately.
It’s very crowded here, so good manners are extremely helpful. When in doubt—its more important to be Kind than Right.
From Birth to toilet training you will go through approximately 6,000 disposable diapers. Going forward, please be more Green.
Your parents are very smart, lovely people and I highly recommend them to you, but you’re new here and you didn’t come with a manual.
They’re going to teach you our language, which is surprisingly easy until you have to start writing it down. And you’re going to teach them your language which is Crying. Eventually it will all come together for all concerned.
Basically, there are two sets of Rules …
We have People Rules and Earth Rules. In the beginning you’re mostly learning the Earth Rules—eating, sleeping, pooping and peeing. You’ll be great at it, and by the time you become an expert at those, you’ll start discovering the rest of the Earth Rules. Next you’re going to spend a lot of energy working out the Gravity and Inertia rules. Roll with it. Luckily you’re designed to endure the lessons being built low to the ground and pretty pliable. Mom and Dad will assist with the Boo-Boos. They also have amazing ways to protect you through this learning curve, even when you think you don’t need the help. Those are just the two main Earth Rules. There are a bazillion more and they are mostly really fun to discover. I especially like dragonflies and flowers. You’ll have your own favorites. One of the best is that the Sun sets every day and rises every morning. That means that every day you can count on Tomorrow. What a great rule. Every tomorrow is a fresh start. You know it will come, but you don’t know exactly what it will bring. And no matter how bad today is, you know you’re going to get a tomorrow. I call that Hope.
The People Rules are way more complicated, less certain, but necessary because of that “crowded” thing I mentioned. Take heart. There are a few basic ones that never fail…kindness, sharing, “please” and “thank-you”, personal hygiene, and “doing unto others as you would have them do unto you”. (I like that one). One of the keys is to follow the rules even when others don’t. It makes a difference. Trust me. Even if you don’t see the difference it makes, it still does. I think your parents have really got you covered on all of the above, but I’d like to clue you in on Parents.
First of all, they Love you above all else.
(NOTE: and for the record, if I ever hear that in a moment of anger you say to them “I didn’t ASK to be born!”—you and I will have issues that I will be happy to clarify.)
Really. And nothing will change that no matter how hard you challenge it. It’s just a fact you must accept and the wiser you are, the more quickly you will embrace and accept it. (This will make more sense after puberty.) For the first few years your parents will be the smartest two beings on the planet. Then you’ll reach about twelve or thirteen and they may at times appear to be total idiot losers. This is the time when remembering that it is more important for you to be kind than right is of the most value. If You are half smart and Very Lucky, your parents won’t suffer this period.
Puberty is better as a memory than as an experience. Everyone goes through it so try not to get discouraged. The biggest obstacle to it is the impatience of all concerned. Try to keep a sense of humor. It’s mother nature’s way of transitioning us from total dependence to total independence, and to really make it challenging she throws in a whopping dose of hormones.
But like all things this will change—another Big Planet Rule—Change. (more on that later). Take heart. The most amazing thing will happen when you reach your twenties. Your parents will once again become amazingly smart. Whew. You can take credit for that if you like.
I don’t think there is anything I can tell you about school that your parents would approve of. Except this: Be nice, pay attention and follow the rules. Some people think you’ll need the piece of paper they give you at the end of it. Especially if you want to go on to college, and the paperwork you get at the end of that is even more “valuable.” Some of the very brightest people who ever visited here never had a formal education, but it sure wasn’t easy for them. You’ll have to be twice as sharp and twice as tough if you want to by-pass the ‘formal education’ route. For some reason our society and most people in general are very impressed by the letters that follow your name. It’s not a bad thing so long as you are not impressed by the letters at the end of your name. Just think of them as special tickets to enter the places you want to go. Not completely necessary but pretty convenient. Lest you be caught up in their importance, always remember that Moses, Jesus, Mohammed and Buddha managed quite well without them.
In my humble opinion, the best education is the one you carve out for yourself. This requires that you read. Read, read, read. (If I could only recommend one book to you it would be “Illusions” by Richard Bach.) Explore with a passion. Listen. Contemplate. Then read some more. Never be afraid to take a step back and reconsider your position. My mother used to say…”don’t believe anything you hear and only half of what you read.” (I think she stole that quote from someone else). It’s not bad advice tho, and in today’s age of technology I would add, “be wary of what you see.”
Try not to think in absolutes—good or bad, black or white. Few things are that simple, and you’ll miss out on all the colors and shades.
Which leads my thoughts to Religion. I am quite certain there is nothing I can tell you about this that your parents would approve of. But I feel I must, so very carefully I will share this… Don’t confuse God with Religion. Religion is man made. God just Is. Religion is a box that man makes to try and fit God into. This leads to war. I’m not saying religion is bad—only what people do with it. Religion should not be a club that you use to beat other people over the head with. Think of your relationship with God as just as special as your relationship with your spouse—you don’t need to blab it all over. And don’t confuse religion with faith and spirituality. “Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell. Spirituality is for those who have already been there.” I don’t know who said that but it rings true for me. I am NOT saying to dismiss and avoid religion, only keep it in perspective. Every religion is a wonderful suggestion for the Path to God, but No one can facilitate your relationship with God better than you and God.
Time. Some will argue it’s an Earth Rule, others think it’s more of a People Rule. I think it’s both. Either way you have to work with it. It seems to me that there is Big Time (Earth Rule) and Little Time (People Rule). Little Time is the straight lines between event A and event B. Watches and clocks are very useful for this and help maintain order and convenience for everyone involved. Big Time is circles, like ripples on a pond--some big, some small, but very fluid. These are the circles that measure your life, whether it’s a small circle like a day, or a larger one like a year. Some days you focus on the straight line and you travel from event to event until you arrive at your destination. Some days you focus on the circle where you stand in the center and watch it all move around you and the focus becomes the journey rather than the destination. With practice you can learn to experience Time as both a line and a circle at the same time. With skill you can manipulate them both. I believe this is an instinct we’re born with but we lose it in the effort to master gravity and inertia. I feel I must warn you that Time speeds up with age. When you are nine, the first 24 days of December move at a snails pace. When you reach your fifties entire seasons pass in the blink of an eye. Someone probably told me this when I was young but I failed to grasp it. Now I find it’s true.
Space. Can’t really help you with this one. You’ll have to explore it on your own and consult the experts for more in depth analysis. But be advised that people can be very particular about “their” space. Some require more space than others, some guard their space more than others, and some can be downright prickly about it. This is one of those areas where good manners are very helpful. Sometimes you must tread cautiously. Always tread politely.
Okay. Change—a function of Time. It’s going to happen, just like tomorrow. So there’s no point in being afraid or resistant. It really is easiest just to go with the flow and always look for ways to make the best of it. Totally possible. It’s kind of like weather. You can enjoy the rain, or hate the rain. The choice is yours. So you might as well enjoy it because the Rain doesn’t care. And there’s always tomorrow… You cannot force change you can only facilitate it. And life will be simpler if you remember that you cannot change another person, you can only change yourself.
Mistakes…. They will happen, with or without you, but usually with your help. Just remember that NO mistake is more important than how you recover from it. This is where laughter Really helps.
Since we all make mistakes, there’s going to be somebody else on the other side of the mistake. Even when there’s no mistake involved there will be times when you’ll just not be happy with the way things are going. Which leads me to “Fair”.
Life isn’t Fair. Fair is a festival with food and music that is usually happening somewhere else—a nice place to visit but after awhile it would get boring to live there. I mean, no matter how great the Circus is, somebody has to clean up the elephant poop. So given that Life isn’t Fair, I have one very important Personal Rule about this-—NO Whining. It IS , however, entirely appropriate to have the occasional Pity Party, provided no else must attend and bring a gift. Think of a Pity Party as a very special occasion that should only happen once or twice a year and only for very good reason.
The good news is that while Life isn’t Fair, it does demand Balance. Balance is an Earth Rule that ranks right up there with Gravity and Inertia. The pendulum must swing. On rare, special occasions there is immediate correction of imbalance (“unfairness”) and when you get to witness it, it is truly delightful. Mostly tho, balance can take a long time (so life doesn’t seem fair). Right now, in 2010, there’s so much talk in this country about “illegal immigrants”—people who just come to this land uninvited, refusing to speak the language, changing our culture, consuming resources while contributing little more than over-crowding, crime and general discord. I assure you that 400-500 years ago the people of this land were having the same discussions. It just wasn’t in English. So what they suffered from our ancestors then, we are suffering now. I think that’s what is meant in the Bible by….”the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons.” I call this Balance.
Basically, life is easier (and more enjoyable) if you accept the Rules. And you do get to make your own Personal Rules. Mine are:
#1. Show Up. That means make your very best effort to arrive where you’re supposed to be (on time!) and be 100% present once you get there.
#2. Know when to Leave. ..whether it’s a party, a job, a relationship or a situation. This will prevent a lot of mistakes on your part, especially in your teen years.
#3. No Whining. You may think it feels good at the time, and unfortunately it does seem to get results in the short run, but it is truly ugly and very annoying to others.
#4. Always, always, always trust your intuition, while remembering that in your first couple of decades it’s pretty raw and developing. But the older you get, and the more you use it, the stronger and more dependable it becomes.
Those are just a few of mine, and certainly not ones you have to adopt for yourself.
Your thoughts, opinions and beliefs are your own and you’re entitled to them. But trying to impose them on others is merely your ego running amuck. I implore you to never use this line on your parents unless you are at least 27 years old. And should you ever find yourself desperately needing to say it out loud to anyone, say it nicely.
I’m not the best person to comment on people because I’m not a “people person”, but I do try. I have discovered that if I dislike someone, it is helpful to stop and ask myself if what I dislike about them is something I don’t want to admit about myself (present or lacking). Also remember that not everyone is going to like you, and the ones who like you today may not like you tomorrow, so conserve your energy and direct it wisely. The people who are the center of you universe in high school won’t remember your name just a few years down the road, unless of course you become famous, and other people shouldn’t be the reason you become famous. It’s easier if you just be nice to everyone, and I do mean everyone. (You never know what form the Divine might take.) Even if they don’t deserve or appreciate it, your efforts build your character and reputation and those two things you carry with you always and they are priceless.
It’s good to have friends, but always remember that you are your Number 1 BFF. Because no matter how many people come and go, you have to live with you forever. (that’s a long time)
There are assholes. There just are and I wish I had a cure, but I don’t. But having endured so much exposure, I can tell you this…They are no match for you if you keep your wits about you. A little trick I’ve learned—always face an asshole with calm, assertive energy. Be peaceful and mindful that you do not own their behavior. Adopt a total inner energy that you are merely observing a bug dancing a jig. In pink underwear. Once they sense they cannot create anger in you and suck the energy, they will go off in search of easier victims. Why? Because no one can disrespect you without your consent.
(NOTE: For audio/visual supplement watch “Forrest Gump”.)
Your best tool in dealing with assholes is Silence.
The common denominator in your experiences with people (and all of Life really) is You. You will find what you seek. If you look for the negative, you’ll find it. I recommend you focus on the positive. You can always find it even if you have to look really hard, and it’s always worth the effort. You decide. I hope you choose to be positive. Being negative just makes you miserable and annoys the people around you.
You attract what you project. Some people think “seeing is believing”. I think “believing is seeing.” And I have way too many trinkets in my bag of magick to share with you on this point.
So tread carefully when it comes to judging others. You don't know the path that brought them to where they are. If you’re going to assume anything, assume that they are doing the best they know how and accept the free lesson on how not to behave.
It’s always okay to be scared. It happens and it’s a helpful little mechanism in your brain that keeps you from doing really stupid things. The trick is this. You control the fear, the fear does not control you.
It’s okay to want things. Humans would never progress if they didn’t want more than what they have. The trick is this. You define your wants, don’t let your wants define you. This is a real balancing act. Progress vs contentment. Good luck. Maybe this will help… It’s more important to want what you Have, than to have what you Want. Our world is littered with landfills containing zillions of items that were wanted for mere seconds, and nature has not yet evolved an organism that can consume all that plastic.
You have a place here on Earth. Everyone does. It will be up to you to define and create your place and your impact. You will create and leave an impact on everything and everyone you touch. The size of that impact doesn’t matter as much as the flavor of it. You don’t need to focus on that fact every waking minute, but I ask you to think about it regularly and often. Maybe at the end of each day just before you remember tomorrow.
So who am I to be telling you all of this? I am your grandmother. Hereafter known as “D-G” (stands for Daddy Grandma) I have no rights or responsibilities here whatsoever, save those that you and your parents give me. I’m hoping to earn every one of them. I’m pretty ragged around the edges, I have earned every one of my wrinkles, gray hairs, bumps, bruises and lasting scars. I work everyday to make them mean something, sometimes with success. I continue to make mistakes, I’m just quicker to recover (I’d like to think)
I bring to you a genetic background that I am shamefully proud of. Much Irish, with a heaping dollop of Cherokee—so many stories to share (if you like), best told on a rainy day, curled up together in a blanket with tea and scones. But I am just a small piece of the puzzle that is now You.
You have so much to discover, experience, explore and accomplish. If the sky falls on my head tomorrow and I am not hear to boar you with my stories, just know that I loved you before you were born. I loved you when your father was in my belly, when you were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye and a smile on your mamma’s lips.
All I ask of you is this… Please don’t be an asshole (except in fleeting moments we all have in learning that can’t be helped). Never give up hope—there’s always tomorrow, Now is Not Forever.
Always know that no matter how badly I do, I’ll do my best. I’ll always give you what I know, but the bottom line is… I could be wrong.
Dear Baby
Welcome to Planet Earth
It’s cold in winter and hot in summer, so you’ll want to dress appropriately.
It’s very crowded here, so good manners are extremely helpful. When in doubt—its more important to be Kind than Right.
From Birth to toilet training you will go through approximately 6,000 disposable diapers. Going forward, please be more Green.
Your parents are very smart, lovely people and I highly recommend them to you, but you’re new here and you didn’t come with a manual.
They’re going to teach you our language, which is surprisingly easy until you have to start writing it down. And you’re going to teach them your language which is Crying. Eventually it will all come together for all concerned.
Basically, there are two sets of Rules …
We have People Rules and Earth Rules. In the beginning you’re mostly learning the Earth Rules—eating, sleeping, pooping and peeing. You’ll be great at it, and by the time you become an expert at those, you’ll start discovering the rest of the Earth Rules. Next you’re going to spend a lot of energy working out the Gravity and Inertia rules. Roll with it. Luckily you’re designed to endure the lessons being built low to the ground and pretty pliable. Mom and Dad will assist with the Boo-Boos. They also have amazing ways to protect you through this learning curve, even when you think you don’t need the help. Those are just the two main Earth Rules. There are a bazillion more and they are mostly really fun to discover. I especially like dragonflies and flowers. You’ll have your own favorites. One of the best is that the Sun sets every day and rises every morning. That means that every day you can count on Tomorrow. What a great rule. Every tomorrow is a fresh start. You know it will come, but you don’t know exactly what it will bring. And no matter how bad today is, you know you’re going to get a tomorrow. I call that Hope.
The People Rules are way more complicated, less certain, but necessary because of that “crowded” thing I mentioned. Take heart. There are a few basic ones that never fail…kindness, sharing, “please” and “thank-you”, personal hygiene, and “doing unto others as you would have them do unto you”. (I like that one). One of the keys is to follow the rules even when others don’t. It makes a difference. Trust me. Even if you don’t see the difference it makes, it still does. I think your parents have really got you covered on all of the above, but I’d like to clue you in on Parents.
First of all, they Love you above all else.
(NOTE: and for the record, if I ever hear that in a moment of anger you say to them “I didn’t ASK to be born!”—you and I will have issues that I will be happy to clarify.)
Really. And nothing will change that no matter how hard you challenge it. It’s just a fact you must accept and the wiser you are, the more quickly you will embrace and accept it. (This will make more sense after puberty.) For the first few years your parents will be the smartest two beings on the planet. Then you’ll reach about twelve or thirteen and they may at times appear to be total idiot losers. This is the time when remembering that it is more important for you to be kind than right is of the most value. If You are half smart and Very Lucky, your parents won’t suffer this period.
Puberty is better as a memory than as an experience. Everyone goes through it so try not to get discouraged. The biggest obstacle to it is the impatience of all concerned. Try to keep a sense of humor. It’s mother nature’s way of transitioning us from total dependence to total independence, and to really make it challenging she throws in a whopping dose of hormones.
But like all things this will change—another Big Planet Rule—Change. (more on that later). Take heart. The most amazing thing will happen when you reach your twenties. Your parents will once again become amazingly smart. Whew. You can take credit for that if you like.
I don’t think there is anything I can tell you about school that your parents would approve of. Except this: Be nice, pay attention and follow the rules. Some people think you’ll need the piece of paper they give you at the end of it. Especially if you want to go on to college, and the paperwork you get at the end of that is even more “valuable.” Some of the very brightest people who ever visited here never had a formal education, but it sure wasn’t easy for them. You’ll have to be twice as sharp and twice as tough if you want to by-pass the ‘formal education’ route. For some reason our society and most people in general are very impressed by the letters that follow your name. It’s not a bad thing so long as you are not impressed by the letters at the end of your name. Just think of them as special tickets to enter the places you want to go. Not completely necessary but pretty convenient. Lest you be caught up in their importance, always remember that Moses, Jesus, Mohammed and Buddha managed quite well without them.
In my humble opinion, the best education is the one you carve out for yourself. This requires that you read. Read, read, read. (If I could only recommend one book to you it would be “Illusions” by Richard Bach.) Explore with a passion. Listen. Contemplate. Then read some more. Never be afraid to take a step back and reconsider your position. My mother used to say…”don’t believe anything you hear and only half of what you read.” (I think she stole that quote from someone else). It’s not bad advice tho, and in today’s age of technology I would add, “be wary of what you see.”
Try not to think in absolutes—good or bad, black or white. Few things are that simple, and you’ll miss out on all the colors and shades.
Which leads my thoughts to Religion. I am quite certain there is nothing I can tell you about this that your parents would approve of. But I feel I must, so very carefully I will share this… Don’t confuse God with Religion. Religion is man made. God just Is. Religion is a box that man makes to try and fit God into. This leads to war. I’m not saying religion is bad—only what people do with it. Religion should not be a club that you use to beat other people over the head with. Think of your relationship with God as just as special as your relationship with your spouse—you don’t need to blab it all over. And don’t confuse religion with faith and spirituality. “Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell. Spirituality is for those who have already been there.” I don’t know who said that but it rings true for me. I am NOT saying to dismiss and avoid religion, only keep it in perspective. Every religion is a wonderful suggestion for the Path to God, but No one can facilitate your relationship with God better than you and God.
Time. Some will argue it’s an Earth Rule, others think it’s more of a People Rule. I think it’s both. Either way you have to work with it. It seems to me that there is Big Time (Earth Rule) and Little Time (People Rule). Little Time is the straight lines between event A and event B. Watches and clocks are very useful for this and help maintain order and convenience for everyone involved. Big Time is circles, like ripples on a pond--some big, some small, but very fluid. These are the circles that measure your life, whether it’s a small circle like a day, or a larger one like a year. Some days you focus on the straight line and you travel from event to event until you arrive at your destination. Some days you focus on the circle where you stand in the center and watch it all move around you and the focus becomes the journey rather than the destination. With practice you can learn to experience Time as both a line and a circle at the same time. With skill you can manipulate them both. I believe this is an instinct we’re born with but we lose it in the effort to master gravity and inertia. I feel I must warn you that Time speeds up with age. When you are nine, the first 24 days of December move at a snails pace. When you reach your fifties entire seasons pass in the blink of an eye. Someone probably told me this when I was young but I failed to grasp it. Now I find it’s true.
Space. Can’t really help you with this one. You’ll have to explore it on your own and consult the experts for more in depth analysis. But be advised that people can be very particular about “their” space. Some require more space than others, some guard their space more than others, and some can be downright prickly about it. This is one of those areas where good manners are very helpful. Sometimes you must tread cautiously. Always tread politely.
Okay. Change—a function of Time. It’s going to happen, just like tomorrow. So there’s no point in being afraid or resistant. It really is easiest just to go with the flow and always look for ways to make the best of it. Totally possible. It’s kind of like weather. You can enjoy the rain, or hate the rain. The choice is yours. So you might as well enjoy it because the Rain doesn’t care. And there’s always tomorrow… You cannot force change you can only facilitate it. And life will be simpler if you remember that you cannot change another person, you can only change yourself.
Mistakes…. They will happen, with or without you, but usually with your help. Just remember that NO mistake is more important than how you recover from it. This is where laughter Really helps.
Since we all make mistakes, there’s going to be somebody else on the other side of the mistake. Even when there’s no mistake involved there will be times when you’ll just not be happy with the way things are going. Which leads me to “Fair”.
Life isn’t Fair. Fair is a festival with food and music that is usually happening somewhere else—a nice place to visit but after awhile it would get boring to live there. I mean, no matter how great the Circus is, somebody has to clean up the elephant poop. So given that Life isn’t Fair, I have one very important Personal Rule about this-—NO Whining. It IS , however, entirely appropriate to have the occasional Pity Party, provided no else must attend and bring a gift. Think of a Pity Party as a very special occasion that should only happen once or twice a year and only for very good reason.
The good news is that while Life isn’t Fair, it does demand Balance. Balance is an Earth Rule that ranks right up there with Gravity and Inertia. The pendulum must swing. On rare, special occasions there is immediate correction of imbalance (“unfairness”) and when you get to witness it, it is truly delightful. Mostly tho, balance can take a long time (so life doesn’t seem fair). Right now, in 2010, there’s so much talk in this country about “illegal immigrants”—people who just come to this land uninvited, refusing to speak the language, changing our culture, consuming resources while contributing little more than over-crowding, crime and general discord. I assure you that 400-500 years ago the people of this land were having the same discussions. It just wasn’t in English. So what they suffered from our ancestors then, we are suffering now. I think that’s what is meant in the Bible by….”the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons.” I call this Balance.
Basically, life is easier (and more enjoyable) if you accept the Rules. And you do get to make your own Personal Rules. Mine are:
#1. Show Up. That means make your very best effort to arrive where you’re supposed to be (on time!) and be 100% present once you get there.
#2. Know when to Leave. ..whether it’s a party, a job, a relationship or a situation. This will prevent a lot of mistakes on your part, especially in your teen years.
#3. No Whining. You may think it feels good at the time, and unfortunately it does seem to get results in the short run, but it is truly ugly and very annoying to others.
#4. Always, always, always trust your intuition, while remembering that in your first couple of decades it’s pretty raw and developing. But the older you get, and the more you use it, the stronger and more dependable it becomes.
Those are just a few of mine, and certainly not ones you have to adopt for yourself.
Your thoughts, opinions and beliefs are your own and you’re entitled to them. But trying to impose them on others is merely your ego running amuck. I implore you to never use this line on your parents unless you are at least 27 years old. And should you ever find yourself desperately needing to say it out loud to anyone, say it nicely.
I’m not the best person to comment on people because I’m not a “people person”, but I do try. I have discovered that if I dislike someone, it is helpful to stop and ask myself if what I dislike about them is something I don’t want to admit about myself (present or lacking). Also remember that not everyone is going to like you, and the ones who like you today may not like you tomorrow, so conserve your energy and direct it wisely. The people who are the center of you universe in high school won’t remember your name just a few years down the road, unless of course you become famous, and other people shouldn’t be the reason you become famous. It’s easier if you just be nice to everyone, and I do mean everyone. (You never know what form the Divine might take.) Even if they don’t deserve or appreciate it, your efforts build your character and reputation and those two things you carry with you always and they are priceless.
It’s good to have friends, but always remember that you are your Number 1 BFF. Because no matter how many people come and go, you have to live with you forever. (that’s a long time)
There are assholes. There just are and I wish I had a cure, but I don’t. But having endured so much exposure, I can tell you this…They are no match for you if you keep your wits about you. A little trick I’ve learned—always face an asshole with calm, assertive energy. Be peaceful and mindful that you do not own their behavior. Adopt a total inner energy that you are merely observing a bug dancing a jig. In pink underwear. Once they sense they cannot create anger in you and suck the energy, they will go off in search of easier victims. Why? Because no one can disrespect you without your consent.
(NOTE: For audio/visual supplement watch “Forrest Gump”.)
Your best tool in dealing with assholes is Silence.
The common denominator in your experiences with people (and all of Life really) is You. You will find what you seek. If you look for the negative, you’ll find it. I recommend you focus on the positive. You can always find it even if you have to look really hard, and it’s always worth the effort. You decide. I hope you choose to be positive. Being negative just makes you miserable and annoys the people around you.
You attract what you project. Some people think “seeing is believing”. I think “believing is seeing.” And I have way too many trinkets in my bag of magick to share with you on this point.
So tread carefully when it comes to judging others. You don't know the path that brought them to where they are. If you’re going to assume anything, assume that they are doing the best they know how and accept the free lesson on how not to behave.
It’s always okay to be scared. It happens and it’s a helpful little mechanism in your brain that keeps you from doing really stupid things. The trick is this. You control the fear, the fear does not control you.
It’s okay to want things. Humans would never progress if they didn’t want more than what they have. The trick is this. You define your wants, don’t let your wants define you. This is a real balancing act. Progress vs contentment. Good luck. Maybe this will help… It’s more important to want what you Have, than to have what you Want. Our world is littered with landfills containing zillions of items that were wanted for mere seconds, and nature has not yet evolved an organism that can consume all that plastic.
You have a place here on Earth. Everyone does. It will be up to you to define and create your place and your impact. You will create and leave an impact on everything and everyone you touch. The size of that impact doesn’t matter as much as the flavor of it. You don’t need to focus on that fact every waking minute, but I ask you to think about it regularly and often. Maybe at the end of each day just before you remember tomorrow.
So who am I to be telling you all of this? I am your grandmother. Hereafter known as “D-G” (stands for Daddy Grandma) I have no rights or responsibilities here whatsoever, save those that you and your parents give me. I’m hoping to earn every one of them. I’m pretty ragged around the edges, I have earned every one of my wrinkles, gray hairs, bumps, bruises and lasting scars. I work everyday to make them mean something, sometimes with success. I continue to make mistakes, I’m just quicker to recover (I’d like to think)
I bring to you a genetic background that I am shamefully proud of. Much Irish, with a heaping dollop of Cherokee—so many stories to share (if you like), best told on a rainy day, curled up together in a blanket with tea and scones. But I am just a small piece of the puzzle that is now You.
You have so much to discover, experience, explore and accomplish. If the sky falls on my head tomorrow and I am not hear to boar you with my stories, just know that I loved you before you were born. I loved you when your father was in my belly, when you were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye and a smile on your mamma’s lips.
All I ask of you is this… Please don’t be an asshole (except in fleeting moments we all have in learning that can’t be helped). Never give up hope—there’s always tomorrow, Now is Not Forever.
Always know that no matter how badly I do, I’ll do my best. I’ll always give you what I know, but the bottom line is… I could be wrong.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
FAQ # 1
I can't believe I've reached a point in this blog where I'm addressing FAQs.
FAQ #1. Does Rich read the blog?
A: I have offered the blog to him several times. At first he couldn't read the blog because his vision was severely compromised as he was coming out of the sepsis. Then he was really tired and couldn't focus mentally. Little by little he started getting feedback from people who let him know how much they were enjoying the blog. Rich would nod and offer his standard response on knowing how wonderful I am. I offer the blog as an open book to him, and he politely declines. He doesn't need to explain.
Rich has been VERY supportive of my blog since before he remembers being supportive of the blog. We occasionally discuss the blog in passing as in I keep him updated on the limited responses I get and he reinforces how glad he is that having the blog is helpful to me.
Occasionally he will comment on a funny incident with “you'll have fun blogging THIS”. Or “Wow, that is so good, it's too bad you can't BLOG that!”
I sense his reluctance to read it as a matter of respect to me. I think he views reading my blog like reading my journal and he doesn't want to invade that sacred space. I remind him that the blog is ON THE INTERNET. But really, at this point, that's like having it IN THE ETHER. I'm fairly anonymous at this point, and it's not like anyone really cares.
I think he fears that if I know he's reading it that I will censure my writing and he really wants me to “LET 'er FLY”
Also, I think deep down he's afraid to know how all of this has affected me. Patients can feel tremendous guilt for the hardships their condition causes others. He remembers very little of the worst of this ordeal. His memory begins approximately 15 days into his hospitalization. He has NO memory of the ambulance ride, the ER, Comfort Care, talking to the doctor and requesting treatment, the PICU, the MICU, central lines being placed; no awareness of the battles I fought, the gut wrenching fear, the insanity of his care. He remembers one day waking up in a regular room and a few days later he came home.
He has been struggling so hard to get back to me that he has no energy at this point to reminisce on the struggle. Mainly I think it's very hard for him to contemplate how difficult this has been for me. He can deal with his own pain and suffering, he just can't deal with mine. Isn't that how it is when you love someone?
On some OTC (other than conscious) level I probably do write more freely knowing Rich is not reading it. Consciously I just write. If he ever reads the blog I hope he understands and/or forgives me.
I try very hard to be honest in my blog even when I'm way less than proud of my thoughts, words or actions. I want other mates of cancer patients to benefit. Everything “out there” focuses on the patient, and I want to bring something to the table for those of us who care for patients we love. At the same time I want to respect Rich's privacy. Then I worry that the blog is too much about me, and I have to remind myself that this blog is for all of the people out there who share my role.
You learn quickly that it is ALL about the patient. For every twenty people who ask you how your mate is doing, ONE will ask how YOU are doing. All of the health care providers are focused on the patient. While they will find the time to convey orders to you, they have neither the time or concern for your questions, needs or fears. If you're a “people person” there are groups to join. I'm not a “people person”, so I'm trying to be the support I would like to have.
Rich gets that. He understands that this blog is not about him. It's about our journey and it's intended to help other people on the same path. He's says he's proud of me and what I'm doing. He says, “let 'er fly...”
I get that he doesn't want or need to read it. I don't have the time or money for therapy and Rich understands that I have claimed this as my personal form of therapy. The fact that it's being projected into the ether means precious little considering current feedback and following.
At this point in time this blog is an open book that Rich has not yet explored. We're both content with the current understanding.
Next question....
FAQ #1. Does Rich read the blog?
A: I have offered the blog to him several times. At first he couldn't read the blog because his vision was severely compromised as he was coming out of the sepsis. Then he was really tired and couldn't focus mentally. Little by little he started getting feedback from people who let him know how much they were enjoying the blog. Rich would nod and offer his standard response on knowing how wonderful I am. I offer the blog as an open book to him, and he politely declines. He doesn't need to explain.
Rich has been VERY supportive of my blog since before he remembers being supportive of the blog. We occasionally discuss the blog in passing as in I keep him updated on the limited responses I get and he reinforces how glad he is that having the blog is helpful to me.
Occasionally he will comment on a funny incident with “you'll have fun blogging THIS”. Or “Wow, that is so good, it's too bad you can't BLOG that!”
I sense his reluctance to read it as a matter of respect to me. I think he views reading my blog like reading my journal and he doesn't want to invade that sacred space. I remind him that the blog is ON THE INTERNET. But really, at this point, that's like having it IN THE ETHER. I'm fairly anonymous at this point, and it's not like anyone really cares.
I think he fears that if I know he's reading it that I will censure my writing and he really wants me to “LET 'er FLY”
Also, I think deep down he's afraid to know how all of this has affected me. Patients can feel tremendous guilt for the hardships their condition causes others. He remembers very little of the worst of this ordeal. His memory begins approximately 15 days into his hospitalization. He has NO memory of the ambulance ride, the ER, Comfort Care, talking to the doctor and requesting treatment, the PICU, the MICU, central lines being placed; no awareness of the battles I fought, the gut wrenching fear, the insanity of his care. He remembers one day waking up in a regular room and a few days later he came home.
He has been struggling so hard to get back to me that he has no energy at this point to reminisce on the struggle. Mainly I think it's very hard for him to contemplate how difficult this has been for me. He can deal with his own pain and suffering, he just can't deal with mine. Isn't that how it is when you love someone?
On some OTC (other than conscious) level I probably do write more freely knowing Rich is not reading it. Consciously I just write. If he ever reads the blog I hope he understands and/or forgives me.
I try very hard to be honest in my blog even when I'm way less than proud of my thoughts, words or actions. I want other mates of cancer patients to benefit. Everything “out there” focuses on the patient, and I want to bring something to the table for those of us who care for patients we love. At the same time I want to respect Rich's privacy. Then I worry that the blog is too much about me, and I have to remind myself that this blog is for all of the people out there who share my role.
You learn quickly that it is ALL about the patient. For every twenty people who ask you how your mate is doing, ONE will ask how YOU are doing. All of the health care providers are focused on the patient. While they will find the time to convey orders to you, they have neither the time or concern for your questions, needs or fears. If you're a “people person” there are groups to join. I'm not a “people person”, so I'm trying to be the support I would like to have.
Rich gets that. He understands that this blog is not about him. It's about our journey and it's intended to help other people on the same path. He's says he's proud of me and what I'm doing. He says, “let 'er fly...”
I get that he doesn't want or need to read it. I don't have the time or money for therapy and Rich understands that I have claimed this as my personal form of therapy. The fact that it's being projected into the ether means precious little considering current feedback and following.
At this point in time this blog is an open book that Rich has not yet explored. We're both content with the current understanding.
Next question....
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Happy Anniversary, love
Today is our fourteenth anniversary. I don't know what the 14th Anniversary signifies. I know it's not paper, silver or gold. In our world every anniversary is dinner at Prime, (fka Anthe's in Portage Lakes).
For the past three years we used to meet there every Friday night when I got off work to celebrate the weekend. Since his near death experience, we've been there once for lunch on his insistence. He was in the midst of that week of hallucinating and doesn't remember being there.
We've always been treated like royalty there, so you can imagine the loving care we've received since Rich's diagnoses. Cindy, JoAnne and Tina have made many wonderful gestures, from cards to special strawberry milkshakes. Since new management, its gotten even better. It's like being at Cheers with amazing food.
JoAnne was thrilled to see us and seat us and just the hint of Rich's chills had her seating us with Rich directly in front of the fireplace. Rich was basking in the warmth, smiling. I was opposite him, well right of the fire place, peeling down to my tee shirt and praying for a respite from hot flashes. We felt almost normal.
The food and service was perfect as always (I swear I have no financial stake in this place and I receive no reimbursement for this blog).
I worked really hard to steer the conversation in the direction of a normal, happy anniversary, and Rich seemed happy to follow my lead. But it's not helpful to ignore the ever-present elephant in the room, and so I gave the devil his due. After we marveled at our wonderful fourteen years and touched on the winding path we've traveled, I asked him if he thought cancer had changed us. He said he was really glad I had asked. He didn't have a ready answer. I think he was just relieved that I could talk about it in a way that makes it less important than everything else we have.
After serious discussion we determined that cancer has had less impact than one would expect. It hasn't made us love each other more. That happens every day regardless for fourteen plus years. It hasn't made us stop taking each other for granted. We've never done that. We have always said Please and thank you to each other, we've always treated each other with the same respect and courtesy we would give to a stranger or visiting dignitary. It hasn't improved our communication. We've always been like “two old women over tea”. We have always talked and chatted about everything from the mundane to politics to current events, the metaphysical, our dreams, our hopes, our fears. We've always been Best Friends.
Cancer has not enhanced or diminished any facet of US. It simply has become a new facet of no greater size or importance in our hearts, though granted it is a bit time-consuming and physically draining.
TMI Alert!!! I'll try to be sensitive and genteel. At the same time, I feel a responsibility to be honest for those who may be struggling with this situation. Because no one in the medical profession will address this aspect of your ordeal. Your sex life will come to a screeching halt with dust swirling, skid marks and a deafening explosion in the back of your brain. Fortunately you won't notice any of this until the dust settles and miles and months down the road you are able to take a breath, sip coffee with pleasure rather than desperation and out of nowhere you are aware that the last time you made love was the last time. I vividly remember that moment. It was last week.
Someone at work wanted to take my picture—despite my argument that such an act would not be appreciated by my witness protection program. To get me to smile she said, “think of sex”. I felt I had been slapped in the face. Up until that point I had not thought of sex. Being told to think of sex, I suddenly heard the screeching halt, the explosion in the back of my brain, and the dust swirled about me.
Fear not—I will not go into details of my personal relationship with Rich anymore than I will discuss my personal relationship with my Creator. I will simply state that like any truly loving relationship, our love was properly and completely translated into the physical up until July 7, 2010.
When the physical changes, the heart finds new ways to translate expression. Simple touch—a hand to a cheek, cuddling on the couch, holding hands....kinder, softer words. Focusing on day to day survival pretty much strangles one's libido. (Which leaves me pretty much confused by the starving in India procreating)
Being a man, Rich has a much harder time dealing with our current limitations. He feels he is disappointing me. I'm grateful he's alive. I keep trying to convince him that making love has very little to do with orgasms. I don't think men get that. I keep telling him that “this” isn't happening to him—it's happening to US—no blame, no harm, no foul. I'll be honest. I very much miss that aspect of our relationship, but I miss it for Both of us, not just me. Without Rich's desire, I have no desire. I am now totally content with each day that he feels better, his smile, his laugh.
If he doesn't get with the program soon I plan on spending three hours contemplating the beauty of his left knee. After extensive kissing, carressing, and adoration of his left knee I predict he will reach total exacerbation at which time I will loudly announce.... “What are you saying?!?! It's only a Body Part? Hmmm.... Too much focus on a mere Body Part? Gee. How will we, as a loving couple, survive without due attention to this Body Part?” Knowing Rich I won't get past the second line before I get a smack upside my Jethro Gibbs haircut.
It's important to TALK about this with your mate. It's important to talk down all those scary words, expectations, feelings and fears. Your mate's imaginings are far worse than the reality. It's like anaerobic organisms. They thrive in the lack of oxygen. Expose such things to oxygen and they wither and die. Expose your fears to discussion and the two of you together can conquer the threats, freeing up more energy to fight the cancer. That's the insidious evil of cancer. It paralyses you with fear and silence so you can't fight.
I've found that the best approach for us is rather than asking Rich to tell me how he feels, I tell him that I need my best friend (him) to listen to how I feel. Since women are better verbally, this approach works really well. I use “I” statements instead of “You” statements. I think he feels less threatened with this and then he opens up and we can really talk.
Today is our anniversary. Fourteen wonderful years. The longest honeymoon I could have imagined. We had a lovely dinner in our tradition. We had a lovely talk and we laughed and celebrated all we've been blessed with and all we've survived. To consider that the “last time” was indeed The LAST Time, seems very inconsequential to me. As long as I can look in his eyes and see how much he loves me... I'm fine.
For the past three years we used to meet there every Friday night when I got off work to celebrate the weekend. Since his near death experience, we've been there once for lunch on his insistence. He was in the midst of that week of hallucinating and doesn't remember being there.
We've always been treated like royalty there, so you can imagine the loving care we've received since Rich's diagnoses. Cindy, JoAnne and Tina have made many wonderful gestures, from cards to special strawberry milkshakes. Since new management, its gotten even better. It's like being at Cheers with amazing food.
JoAnne was thrilled to see us and seat us and just the hint of Rich's chills had her seating us with Rich directly in front of the fireplace. Rich was basking in the warmth, smiling. I was opposite him, well right of the fire place, peeling down to my tee shirt and praying for a respite from hot flashes. We felt almost normal.
The food and service was perfect as always (I swear I have no financial stake in this place and I receive no reimbursement for this blog).
I worked really hard to steer the conversation in the direction of a normal, happy anniversary, and Rich seemed happy to follow my lead. But it's not helpful to ignore the ever-present elephant in the room, and so I gave the devil his due. After we marveled at our wonderful fourteen years and touched on the winding path we've traveled, I asked him if he thought cancer had changed us. He said he was really glad I had asked. He didn't have a ready answer. I think he was just relieved that I could talk about it in a way that makes it less important than everything else we have.
After serious discussion we determined that cancer has had less impact than one would expect. It hasn't made us love each other more. That happens every day regardless for fourteen plus years. It hasn't made us stop taking each other for granted. We've never done that. We have always said Please and thank you to each other, we've always treated each other with the same respect and courtesy we would give to a stranger or visiting dignitary. It hasn't improved our communication. We've always been like “two old women over tea”. We have always talked and chatted about everything from the mundane to politics to current events, the metaphysical, our dreams, our hopes, our fears. We've always been Best Friends.
Cancer has not enhanced or diminished any facet of US. It simply has become a new facet of no greater size or importance in our hearts, though granted it is a bit time-consuming and physically draining.
TMI Alert!!! I'll try to be sensitive and genteel. At the same time, I feel a responsibility to be honest for those who may be struggling with this situation. Because no one in the medical profession will address this aspect of your ordeal. Your sex life will come to a screeching halt with dust swirling, skid marks and a deafening explosion in the back of your brain. Fortunately you won't notice any of this until the dust settles and miles and months down the road you are able to take a breath, sip coffee with pleasure rather than desperation and out of nowhere you are aware that the last time you made love was the last time. I vividly remember that moment. It was last week.
Someone at work wanted to take my picture—despite my argument that such an act would not be appreciated by my witness protection program. To get me to smile she said, “think of sex”. I felt I had been slapped in the face. Up until that point I had not thought of sex. Being told to think of sex, I suddenly heard the screeching halt, the explosion in the back of my brain, and the dust swirled about me.
Fear not—I will not go into details of my personal relationship with Rich anymore than I will discuss my personal relationship with my Creator. I will simply state that like any truly loving relationship, our love was properly and completely translated into the physical up until July 7, 2010.
When the physical changes, the heart finds new ways to translate expression. Simple touch—a hand to a cheek, cuddling on the couch, holding hands....kinder, softer words. Focusing on day to day survival pretty much strangles one's libido. (Which leaves me pretty much confused by the starving in India procreating)
Being a man, Rich has a much harder time dealing with our current limitations. He feels he is disappointing me. I'm grateful he's alive. I keep trying to convince him that making love has very little to do with orgasms. I don't think men get that. I keep telling him that “this” isn't happening to him—it's happening to US—no blame, no harm, no foul. I'll be honest. I very much miss that aspect of our relationship, but I miss it for Both of us, not just me. Without Rich's desire, I have no desire. I am now totally content with each day that he feels better, his smile, his laugh.
If he doesn't get with the program soon I plan on spending three hours contemplating the beauty of his left knee. After extensive kissing, carressing, and adoration of his left knee I predict he will reach total exacerbation at which time I will loudly announce.... “What are you saying?!?! It's only a Body Part? Hmmm.... Too much focus on a mere Body Part? Gee. How will we, as a loving couple, survive without due attention to this Body Part?” Knowing Rich I won't get past the second line before I get a smack upside my Jethro Gibbs haircut.
It's important to TALK about this with your mate. It's important to talk down all those scary words, expectations, feelings and fears. Your mate's imaginings are far worse than the reality. It's like anaerobic organisms. They thrive in the lack of oxygen. Expose such things to oxygen and they wither and die. Expose your fears to discussion and the two of you together can conquer the threats, freeing up more energy to fight the cancer. That's the insidious evil of cancer. It paralyses you with fear and silence so you can't fight.
I've found that the best approach for us is rather than asking Rich to tell me how he feels, I tell him that I need my best friend (him) to listen to how I feel. Since women are better verbally, this approach works really well. I use “I” statements instead of “You” statements. I think he feels less threatened with this and then he opens up and we can really talk.
Today is our anniversary. Fourteen wonderful years. The longest honeymoon I could have imagined. We had a lovely dinner in our tradition. We had a lovely talk and we laughed and celebrated all we've been blessed with and all we've survived. To consider that the “last time” was indeed The LAST Time, seems very inconsequential to me. As long as I can look in his eyes and see how much he loves me... I'm fine.
Another Long week
It's been a long week. Life is getting in the way of my blog. I'll bring you up to speed.
It may have been a good thing that I was denied my request for four weeks of unpaid personal leave in order to get Rich back up to speed. Why? Because I would not have wanted to miss what's happening there at work, and I probably wouldn't believe it if they told me.
There are two of us in the nurse triage office. We handle incoming calls, which are fairly high volume, prescription requests from a recorded line and all the fax requests from pharmacies, insurance companies, etc. We have to write each request as “an encounter” in the electronic medical record system, send it to the doctor for approval and then process it after the doctor responds. We have over twenty doctors ranging from Attendings to first year residents. A large number of these messages have to be handled three, four times depending on the doctor's experience and expertise. I'm trying to paint a picture with as few words as possible.
Up until I went on FMLA, our worklist hovered between 50 and 100 items at all times, the phone never stopped ringing, and there were always messages on the prescription line, or our individual voice mails, waiting to be addressed.
In the past week, the well has dried up. Our work list has been maintained at zero to five items for over a week. The phone barely rings, and even on Monday and Friday (when we are usually swamped with Rx refill requests), I could process them all in twenty minutes. Last Friday I cleaned the office. We now beg each other for work, and are close to fighting over tasks on the worklist. Apparently it is equally slow out on the modules where nurses are rooming patients for the doctors because they are now taking items off of our worklist to fill the empty spaces in their day.
We have never been this slow the day after Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve, and certainly not for over a week straight. I've lost count of how many days and half-days they have given me to stay at home. Unfortunately, they're gifted to me the afternoon before so I can't schedule any of his appointments. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying...
Einstein was right. The less busy you are, the slower the day goes.
I now have more time to ponder cloud formations and study the tree in front of our office window.
On Tuesday I dropped my cell phone in the toilet. It's complicated. I was standing next to the toilet (before using it!) and decided to investigate the needle like sensation at the base of my left shoulder blade, and in the course of trying to get my hand contorted to the task, my phone JUMPED out of my scrub jacket pocket and went for a swim. I retrieved it in a flash, pulled off the back, removed the battery and started drying it as best I could. I left it apart to air dry all day. On Wednesday afternoon, because I was given Wednesday afternoon off, I went to my cellular provider. After several attempts they were able to retrieve NOTHING. I have a new cell phone, which always entails a learning curve, and 95% of my contacts are lost because I had not gotten around to writing them down. Before you ask, I had purchased the drowned phone years ago before any of the providers offered Backup.
I took the whole thing well. Rich was in shock tinged with fear at how well I took the whole thing. I actually went to the mall without whining. Rich sat on the bench nearby as I stood at the keoske and chose my new phone with a speed that made the salesman's head spin. I did it all with grace and smiles.
Without effort I was immediately reconciled to the loss of contacts. If the Universe wants you to stay in touch, those people will call you. I barely gave a thought to the loss of all the photos, even of my grandbabies... Rich has all those in his phone too, he can forward them to you.
The only pain I felt was the loss of my ringtone. Years ago when I was working nights, I spent one entire rainy afternoon off searching for and finally obtaining the most perfect ringtone...... “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Since that day, EVERY time my cell rings, for a split second I think ...WoooHooo! My Ride is HERE!! and I'm sublimely happy. Now? I just don't think I have the energy to go on that ringtone quest again.
Thursday night I learned yet again to NEVER EVER EVER let my guard down. How embarrassing that I needed THAT refresher course. I thought I finally had a situation in place that would solve the current situation of caring for Rich and keeping my sanity, but that fell through and instead of being mentally prepared for anything, I was devastated. I should have known better than to count on anything that hasn't happened yet. Worse yet, someone totally innocent who was just trying to help me was devastated by the ugly turn of events every bit as much as I was.
Friday night my brother and his mate came down to console me. Alicia brought her tools and gave me a haircut that I love, so I now have the Jethro Gibbs look going again (except mine is shorter). I just have to remember that the haircut does NOT bestow the right to whap people up the backside of the head when they demonstrate Stupid. Just as well since I get too many opportunities and not enough time.
Summing up... I am back to square one...living in Hell with nothing to fall back on but Plan B, which is reorienting myself to living in Hell and finding ways to make it fun and happy. The whole cell phone thing. But gosh darn, life is good because I get an extra hour of sleep this weekend. And I don't have to go in Monday unless they call me at 08:00 because someone called off. I have nothing to bitch about.
It may have been a good thing that I was denied my request for four weeks of unpaid personal leave in order to get Rich back up to speed. Why? Because I would not have wanted to miss what's happening there at work, and I probably wouldn't believe it if they told me.
There are two of us in the nurse triage office. We handle incoming calls, which are fairly high volume, prescription requests from a recorded line and all the fax requests from pharmacies, insurance companies, etc. We have to write each request as “an encounter” in the electronic medical record system, send it to the doctor for approval and then process it after the doctor responds. We have over twenty doctors ranging from Attendings to first year residents. A large number of these messages have to be handled three, four times depending on the doctor's experience and expertise. I'm trying to paint a picture with as few words as possible.
Up until I went on FMLA, our worklist hovered between 50 and 100 items at all times, the phone never stopped ringing, and there were always messages on the prescription line, or our individual voice mails, waiting to be addressed.
In the past week, the well has dried up. Our work list has been maintained at zero to five items for over a week. The phone barely rings, and even on Monday and Friday (when we are usually swamped with Rx refill requests), I could process them all in twenty minutes. Last Friday I cleaned the office. We now beg each other for work, and are close to fighting over tasks on the worklist. Apparently it is equally slow out on the modules where nurses are rooming patients for the doctors because they are now taking items off of our worklist to fill the empty spaces in their day.
We have never been this slow the day after Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve, and certainly not for over a week straight. I've lost count of how many days and half-days they have given me to stay at home. Unfortunately, they're gifted to me the afternoon before so I can't schedule any of his appointments. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying...
Einstein was right. The less busy you are, the slower the day goes.
I now have more time to ponder cloud formations and study the tree in front of our office window.
On Tuesday I dropped my cell phone in the toilet. It's complicated. I was standing next to the toilet (before using it!) and decided to investigate the needle like sensation at the base of my left shoulder blade, and in the course of trying to get my hand contorted to the task, my phone JUMPED out of my scrub jacket pocket and went for a swim. I retrieved it in a flash, pulled off the back, removed the battery and started drying it as best I could. I left it apart to air dry all day. On Wednesday afternoon, because I was given Wednesday afternoon off, I went to my cellular provider. After several attempts they were able to retrieve NOTHING. I have a new cell phone, which always entails a learning curve, and 95% of my contacts are lost because I had not gotten around to writing them down. Before you ask, I had purchased the drowned phone years ago before any of the providers offered Backup.
I took the whole thing well. Rich was in shock tinged with fear at how well I took the whole thing. I actually went to the mall without whining. Rich sat on the bench nearby as I stood at the keoske and chose my new phone with a speed that made the salesman's head spin. I did it all with grace and smiles.
Without effort I was immediately reconciled to the loss of contacts. If the Universe wants you to stay in touch, those people will call you. I barely gave a thought to the loss of all the photos, even of my grandbabies... Rich has all those in his phone too, he can forward them to you.
The only pain I felt was the loss of my ringtone. Years ago when I was working nights, I spent one entire rainy afternoon off searching for and finally obtaining the most perfect ringtone...... “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Since that day, EVERY time my cell rings, for a split second I think ...WoooHooo! My Ride is HERE!! and I'm sublimely happy. Now? I just don't think I have the energy to go on that ringtone quest again.
Thursday night I learned yet again to NEVER EVER EVER let my guard down. How embarrassing that I needed THAT refresher course. I thought I finally had a situation in place that would solve the current situation of caring for Rich and keeping my sanity, but that fell through and instead of being mentally prepared for anything, I was devastated. I should have known better than to count on anything that hasn't happened yet. Worse yet, someone totally innocent who was just trying to help me was devastated by the ugly turn of events every bit as much as I was.
Friday night my brother and his mate came down to console me. Alicia brought her tools and gave me a haircut that I love, so I now have the Jethro Gibbs look going again (except mine is shorter). I just have to remember that the haircut does NOT bestow the right to whap people up the backside of the head when they demonstrate Stupid. Just as well since I get too many opportunities and not enough time.
Summing up... I am back to square one...living in Hell with nothing to fall back on but Plan B, which is reorienting myself to living in Hell and finding ways to make it fun and happy. The whole cell phone thing. But gosh darn, life is good because I get an extra hour of sleep this weekend. And I don't have to go in Monday unless they call me at 08:00 because someone called off. I have nothing to bitch about.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Walking the Line
When will I ever learn? One of the many important lessons you learn with cancer is that you take each day as it comes with no expectations for tomorrow. You cling to that on bad days; you tend to forget it on good days.
Rich has had a few good days in a row. I forgot the lesson. Reality hit hard on Sunday. As a nurse I have seen pain—real, imagined, dramatic, subdued, and artfully acted. For the first time in over a year he experienced the return of the stomach pain that grips him hard, fast and doubles him over. I can deal with a lot, but watching Rich suffer grinds me up. Pain meds don't work for this—there's no warning, it's intense, and by the time oral meds get into the system, he's on his third or fourth attack. Even then it doesn't help anymore than tylenol would help labor pains. After a dozen or so of these episodes, he's pretty wiped out. Then he gets frustrated because it feels to him like the cancer is winning. Then he gets depressed because the daily struggle is now ramped out of control, and what if this is our new room in hell with no way out?
The first one took us both by unhappy surprise. We were both devastated, we said nothing. I hold onto him and try to breathe him through it. You want to believe it's a fluke. Then they kept coming. He endures them in silence and I respond in kind. After each one we recover and try to make light of it in our usual way of “showing no fear”. By mid afternoon flip quips fell to the wayside and we focused on silent comfort.
I would like to scream that this IS SO NOT FAIR!!!
But I resist stating the obvious because “FAIR” is a festival with food and music that is happening somewhere else, and I am SO not there at the Fair.
One would think that this far into the journey (Oct 31, 2010 was Day 600) I would know better than to drop my guard. There's a fine line between optimism and resignation; hope and reality; faith and stupidity; Today and Tomorrow... I feel that I am constantly walking that fine line and the winds never stop blowing against me. Do I surrender to what Rich wants or do I insist on what he needs? Do I surrender all decisions to his doctors or do I listen to my gut? Every battle I face challenges the line between being his wife and being his nurse.
If I think about any of this too long and hard I accomplish nothing and crave a nap.
So, okay, yesterday sucked. And today was Monday and I had to leave him and go back to work. He asked me to call off, for no other reason than he misses me and wanted me with him. I suspect he was afraid he'd face another day like yesterday and was hoping for comfort. I had to remind him that we can't do anything to risk my employment, and at this point, calling off for any reason would result in a write-up.
These are the days when that 45 minute commute is so mentally and emotionally exhausting that the Voices carry on without me and by the time I pull into my parking place I don't quite understand how I got there. I walk from my car to my work space trying to orient myself to where I am and where I'm going, while calculating how much effort over how many hours will get me to the end of the day.
I just have to put a smile on my face, keep putting one foot in front of the other and walk the line.
Rich has had a few good days in a row. I forgot the lesson. Reality hit hard on Sunday. As a nurse I have seen pain—real, imagined, dramatic, subdued, and artfully acted. For the first time in over a year he experienced the return of the stomach pain that grips him hard, fast and doubles him over. I can deal with a lot, but watching Rich suffer grinds me up. Pain meds don't work for this—there's no warning, it's intense, and by the time oral meds get into the system, he's on his third or fourth attack. Even then it doesn't help anymore than tylenol would help labor pains. After a dozen or so of these episodes, he's pretty wiped out. Then he gets frustrated because it feels to him like the cancer is winning. Then he gets depressed because the daily struggle is now ramped out of control, and what if this is our new room in hell with no way out?
The first one took us both by unhappy surprise. We were both devastated, we said nothing. I hold onto him and try to breathe him through it. You want to believe it's a fluke. Then they kept coming. He endures them in silence and I respond in kind. After each one we recover and try to make light of it in our usual way of “showing no fear”. By mid afternoon flip quips fell to the wayside and we focused on silent comfort.
I would like to scream that this IS SO NOT FAIR!!!
But I resist stating the obvious because “FAIR” is a festival with food and music that is happening somewhere else, and I am SO not there at the Fair.
One would think that this far into the journey (Oct 31, 2010 was Day 600) I would know better than to drop my guard. There's a fine line between optimism and resignation; hope and reality; faith and stupidity; Today and Tomorrow... I feel that I am constantly walking that fine line and the winds never stop blowing against me. Do I surrender to what Rich wants or do I insist on what he needs? Do I surrender all decisions to his doctors or do I listen to my gut? Every battle I face challenges the line between being his wife and being his nurse.
If I think about any of this too long and hard I accomplish nothing and crave a nap.
So, okay, yesterday sucked. And today was Monday and I had to leave him and go back to work. He asked me to call off, for no other reason than he misses me and wanted me with him. I suspect he was afraid he'd face another day like yesterday and was hoping for comfort. I had to remind him that we can't do anything to risk my employment, and at this point, calling off for any reason would result in a write-up.
These are the days when that 45 minute commute is so mentally and emotionally exhausting that the Voices carry on without me and by the time I pull into my parking place I don't quite understand how I got there. I walk from my car to my work space trying to orient myself to where I am and where I'm going, while calculating how much effort over how many hours will get me to the end of the day.
I just have to put a smile on my face, keep putting one foot in front of the other and walk the line.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Important Addendum
RE: Dealing with Telemarketers...
There's something really important I forgot to mention
for the one that's my All Time Favorite
After you pull that one off, wait at least two to three weeks before using it again. What will happen is your victim will decide this would be a really cool trick to pull on a co-worker, and have them call your number. If they get the same treatment it sets off a train reaction and your phone number is now the hottest game in town. I learned this the hard way. My phone rang non-stop for two days because I made the mistake of playing this one twice in a row.
You will get a couple of calls right after the "Breach in Sector Five" routine, but if you play them differently, your original victim just gets a second whammy--wondering what the hell really happened.
And now for your Tip of the Day:
Let go of the idea that socks have to match and you will gain 27 minutes a week, an additional 13 minutes for every two more people you launder for. Consider it a fashion statement.
I seldom wear matching earrings (I've usually lost one of the pair). If someone asks me why my earrings (or socks) don't match, I tell them "because that's not how I lose them." and when they look confused by the response I ask... "well, if YOUR spouse died, would you want to jump in the grave with them?"
When people announce to me that my earrings (or socks) don't match, my response is a confidential whisper...
"I know. That's why I have to keep them apart."
There's something really important I forgot to mention
for the one that's my All Time Favorite
After you pull that one off, wait at least two to three weeks before using it again. What will happen is your victim will decide this would be a really cool trick to pull on a co-worker, and have them call your number. If they get the same treatment it sets off a train reaction and your phone number is now the hottest game in town. I learned this the hard way. My phone rang non-stop for two days because I made the mistake of playing this one twice in a row.
You will get a couple of calls right after the "Breach in Sector Five" routine, but if you play them differently, your original victim just gets a second whammy--wondering what the hell really happened.
And now for your Tip of the Day:
Let go of the idea that socks have to match and you will gain 27 minutes a week, an additional 13 minutes for every two more people you launder for. Consider it a fashion statement.
I seldom wear matching earrings (I've usually lost one of the pair). If someone asks me why my earrings (or socks) don't match, I tell them "because that's not how I lose them." and when they look confused by the response I ask... "well, if YOUR spouse died, would you want to jump in the grave with them?"
When people announce to me that my earrings (or socks) don't match, my response is a confidential whisper...
"I know. That's why I have to keep them apart."
Thursday, October 28, 2010
On a lighter note...
I've made enough oblique remarks about my history with telemarketers that I've gotten a few requests to elaborate. I'm not proud of my antics, but I didn't call the telemarketers, they called me so I call that fair game.
First I need to distinguish between telemarketers and political surveyors. If it's a political survey, I will spend quite some time because those people are fairly good at making me believe they're paying attention to what I'm saying. I don't experience that very often so I'm all over that. I know that's not the reality, but Disneyland isn't reality either, it just makes you feel good.
I do have a few personal rules when it comes to dealing with telemarketers:
Rule #1. Never be rude to them. No matter what. It's just bad kharma, it will come back to you threefold, and it disrupts the Chi in your home.
Rule #2. Never hang up on a telemarketer for the same reason as Rule #1—no matter how gently you do it, it's still rude. There are other options that are way more fun or you can simply ask them to hold on, lay the phone down, put a pillow over it and come back to it awhile later when it's making that annoying off the hook noise.
Rule #3. No matter what they're selling, never tell them you're blind. All printed material comes in Braille. Even if they're selling windows and siding don't say “it doesn't matter, I'm blind” Trust me, windows and siding come in Braille too.
Keeping those rules in mind, your creative options are UNLIMITED. I consider these tactics to be a public service. The longer I keep the telemarketer on the line, the fewer calls he/she can make during their shift to other victims.
The first and simplest approach is the BC: You recognize that the caller is a telemarketer, and suddenly you have a Bad Connection. Just keep saying “Hello? Hello? Are you there? I can't hear you! Are you there? “ I recommend you continue this loop until they hang up. For reasons I cannot explain, I feel it's important that the telemarketer hangs up before I do. On some level I suspect it is a cosmic joke.
If you want some fun, I recommend GTWG: You've answered the phone and realize there's a telemarketer on the other end. You must Greet Them With Gusto. Nearly bursting with happiness to hear from them you gush:
“Oh my gosh, HOW ARE YOU?!?! How wonderful to hear from You!!! How Long has it been?!?!” You may want to practice this out loud before you try it, because you've GOT to sell it. If you do, they are totally stunned. Seriously, do you think they have EVER gotten such an opening response in their telemarketing career?! Not unless they've called me. Now they have to recover from their brain tilt. Even if they're really good and recover quickly, as soon as they start their schpeel, you interrupt with “HOW'S THE FAMILY? DO YOU STILL HEAR FROM THAT COUSIN OF YOURS....OH WHAT WAS HER NAME, YOU KNOW, THE ONE WITH THE GEORGOUS BLUE EYES AND THE HAIR ON HER UPPER LIP.....GOSH DARN, WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER HER NAME...” I can almost guarantee that they hung up a nano-second after the word LIP.
If I'm in a hurry, I simply say in a theatrical whisper “I'm sorry, but the police are here and they want me to keep this line open.” I hear them hang up quite gingerly.
On some level my next tactic may be evil, but recently it has become very cathartic for me and I rationalize it by claiming I've earned the right. When the telemarketer asks for Rich I respond with,
“I'm sorry, right now he's in the process of dying.”
I get a perverse pleasure from the silence, for being able to respond to the caller in a way I cannot respond to the stupid questions I must field with acquaintances. Human nature being what it is, they fumble to fill that silence. I can FEEL how badly they want to hang up but a shred of human decency prevents them.
I quickly cut them off with.... “Oh no, it's okay. We're ALL dying. For him it's just more of a job than a hobby.”
Admittedly I've only done it three times. The first was not my fault—it was a really bad day and one of the Voices took over for me. The second time the caller was just too damn obnoxious with my attempts to be polite. The third time … I don't know, it was just too damn easy, it was a moment. Maybe I have a form of Turrett's. So okay, maybe I've earned the right to burn in hell. Thank goodness I have a reservation for a good table near the stage.
I promise that the more you screw with these people, the more fun it is. After awhile you become increasingly creative. If they're selling siding, I request an outrageous color—chartreuse and magenta work well, of course I want both, like horizontal intermittent stripes. When they tell me I'll have to paint those colors myself I tell them I'm a double amputee. If I'm dealing with a professional and don't have a good comeback for their Uber Sales Technique, I simply change the subject, like “Do you sell carpeting to match the siding? No? Maybe you should think about expanding into that area.” OR, "how do you think this will look with a thatched roof?" OR "can I stucco over it?"
You get the idea. Basically I just keep talking like Tammy Faye Baker until they want to end the call worse than I do.
Now for my ALL TIME FAVORITE—so good it gives me shivers: I answer the phone, the telemarketer identifies himself and my immediate, urgent response goes like this...
“Oh, my god, how did you GET this number?!” I then hold the phone slightly away from my mouth and shout “Jim, quick! Plug in these coordinates. We have a breach in sector five!” I then return to my caller with... “Okay, I need you to remain calm, we'll have a unit there in just a few minutes. We'll try to make contact with them before they arrive, but don't be alarmed if they enter with guns drawn. Just stay on the line with me we'll get you through this.” I then take a deep breath and begin speaking to them in a voice that suggests they are four years old and have just poopied their pants. “Now, while we're waiting why don't you tell me a little about yourself...what's your favorite color?...”
Usually they hang up in a panic about the time I take my deep breath. A few times I've gotten to know enough about them I could almost feel guilty. Once, the call lasted 18 minutes, he gave me his social security number and I finally got exhausted and ended with the assurance that the onboard computer had determined this was a false alarm and we could all step down, “sorry for the inconvenience.”
Unfortunately, my opportunities have fallen off sharply. Rich is convinced that I'm the main reason telemarketing is becoming computerized. Bummer! Never fear, I'm working on a way to start F@#$ing with the computer calls.
I've been doing this for years and it's just good, clean fun. Since Rich has been homebound, he's starting to get with the program. Previously he just stared at me in awe as I played with telemarketers, shook his head and chuckled. Now Rich's favorite is the people selling supplemental insurance. He allows them to do their entire routine and when they conclude by asking if he has any questions he responds with “Well, yes...I have stage four pancreatic cancer. Will that be a problem?” There is usually a brief pause, then CLICK.
His other favorite is the calls he gets for cruise packages. Again he encourages their entire sales pitch and when they go for the close, Rich has just one question. “So does the ship have facilities so I can continue my chemo and radiation?” As they mumble and stumble Rich tries to rescue them with...”well if I die before the departure date, can I will my passage to someone else?” I'm a bad influence. Rich is way nicer than me. He has to be feeling really pissed to pull this one off and then afterwards he feels guilty.
Not me, baby. YOU called ME. You want to step into My world? Bring it. I do not pay a monthly fee for telecommunications so you can make a commission on sales. I can't stop you from calling and interrupting my sleep, serenity, or pleasant activity, but I sure can claim a measure of satisfaction. Forget the “Do Not Call List”. What a joke. Be BOLD. Reclaim the phone service you pay for and
have fun doing it!!
First I need to distinguish between telemarketers and political surveyors. If it's a political survey, I will spend quite some time because those people are fairly good at making me believe they're paying attention to what I'm saying. I don't experience that very often so I'm all over that. I know that's not the reality, but Disneyland isn't reality either, it just makes you feel good.
I do have a few personal rules when it comes to dealing with telemarketers:
Rule #1. Never be rude to them. No matter what. It's just bad kharma, it will come back to you threefold, and it disrupts the Chi in your home.
Rule #2. Never hang up on a telemarketer for the same reason as Rule #1—no matter how gently you do it, it's still rude. There are other options that are way more fun or you can simply ask them to hold on, lay the phone down, put a pillow over it and come back to it awhile later when it's making that annoying off the hook noise.
Rule #3. No matter what they're selling, never tell them you're blind. All printed material comes in Braille. Even if they're selling windows and siding don't say “it doesn't matter, I'm blind” Trust me, windows and siding come in Braille too.
Keeping those rules in mind, your creative options are UNLIMITED. I consider these tactics to be a public service. The longer I keep the telemarketer on the line, the fewer calls he/she can make during their shift to other victims.
The first and simplest approach is the BC: You recognize that the caller is a telemarketer, and suddenly you have a Bad Connection. Just keep saying “Hello? Hello? Are you there? I can't hear you! Are you there? “ I recommend you continue this loop until they hang up. For reasons I cannot explain, I feel it's important that the telemarketer hangs up before I do. On some level I suspect it is a cosmic joke.
If you want some fun, I recommend GTWG: You've answered the phone and realize there's a telemarketer on the other end. You must Greet Them With Gusto. Nearly bursting with happiness to hear from them you gush:
“Oh my gosh, HOW ARE YOU?!?! How wonderful to hear from You!!! How Long has it been?!?!” You may want to practice this out loud before you try it, because you've GOT to sell it. If you do, they are totally stunned. Seriously, do you think they have EVER gotten such an opening response in their telemarketing career?! Not unless they've called me. Now they have to recover from their brain tilt. Even if they're really good and recover quickly, as soon as they start their schpeel, you interrupt with “HOW'S THE FAMILY? DO YOU STILL HEAR FROM THAT COUSIN OF YOURS....OH WHAT WAS HER NAME, YOU KNOW, THE ONE WITH THE GEORGOUS BLUE EYES AND THE HAIR ON HER UPPER LIP.....GOSH DARN, WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER HER NAME...” I can almost guarantee that they hung up a nano-second after the word LIP.
If I'm in a hurry, I simply say in a theatrical whisper “I'm sorry, but the police are here and they want me to keep this line open.” I hear them hang up quite gingerly.
On some level my next tactic may be evil, but recently it has become very cathartic for me and I rationalize it by claiming I've earned the right. When the telemarketer asks for Rich I respond with,
“I'm sorry, right now he's in the process of dying.”
I get a perverse pleasure from the silence, for being able to respond to the caller in a way I cannot respond to the stupid questions I must field with acquaintances. Human nature being what it is, they fumble to fill that silence. I can FEEL how badly they want to hang up but a shred of human decency prevents them.
I quickly cut them off with.... “Oh no, it's okay. We're ALL dying. For him it's just more of a job than a hobby.”
Admittedly I've only done it three times. The first was not my fault—it was a really bad day and one of the Voices took over for me. The second time the caller was just too damn obnoxious with my attempts to be polite. The third time … I don't know, it was just too damn easy, it was a moment. Maybe I have a form of Turrett's. So okay, maybe I've earned the right to burn in hell. Thank goodness I have a reservation for a good table near the stage.
I promise that the more you screw with these people, the more fun it is. After awhile you become increasingly creative. If they're selling siding, I request an outrageous color—chartreuse and magenta work well, of course I want both, like horizontal intermittent stripes. When they tell me I'll have to paint those colors myself I tell them I'm a double amputee. If I'm dealing with a professional and don't have a good comeback for their Uber Sales Technique, I simply change the subject, like “Do you sell carpeting to match the siding? No? Maybe you should think about expanding into that area.” OR, "how do you think this will look with a thatched roof?" OR "can I stucco over it?"
You get the idea. Basically I just keep talking like Tammy Faye Baker until they want to end the call worse than I do.
Now for my ALL TIME FAVORITE—so good it gives me shivers: I answer the phone, the telemarketer identifies himself and my immediate, urgent response goes like this...
“Oh, my god, how did you GET this number?!” I then hold the phone slightly away from my mouth and shout “Jim, quick! Plug in these coordinates. We have a breach in sector five!” I then return to my caller with... “Okay, I need you to remain calm, we'll have a unit there in just a few minutes. We'll try to make contact with them before they arrive, but don't be alarmed if they enter with guns drawn. Just stay on the line with me we'll get you through this.” I then take a deep breath and begin speaking to them in a voice that suggests they are four years old and have just poopied their pants. “Now, while we're waiting why don't you tell me a little about yourself...what's your favorite color?...”
Usually they hang up in a panic about the time I take my deep breath. A few times I've gotten to know enough about them I could almost feel guilty. Once, the call lasted 18 minutes, he gave me his social security number and I finally got exhausted and ended with the assurance that the onboard computer had determined this was a false alarm and we could all step down, “sorry for the inconvenience.”
Unfortunately, my opportunities have fallen off sharply. Rich is convinced that I'm the main reason telemarketing is becoming computerized. Bummer! Never fear, I'm working on a way to start F@#$ing with the computer calls.
I've been doing this for years and it's just good, clean fun. Since Rich has been homebound, he's starting to get with the program. Previously he just stared at me in awe as I played with telemarketers, shook his head and chuckled. Now Rich's favorite is the people selling supplemental insurance. He allows them to do their entire routine and when they conclude by asking if he has any questions he responds with “Well, yes...I have stage four pancreatic cancer. Will that be a problem?” There is usually a brief pause, then CLICK.
His other favorite is the calls he gets for cruise packages. Again he encourages their entire sales pitch and when they go for the close, Rich has just one question. “So does the ship have facilities so I can continue my chemo and radiation?” As they mumble and stumble Rich tries to rescue them with...”well if I die before the departure date, can I will my passage to someone else?” I'm a bad influence. Rich is way nicer than me. He has to be feeling really pissed to pull this one off and then afterwards he feels guilty.
Not me, baby. YOU called ME. You want to step into My world? Bring it. I do not pay a monthly fee for telecommunications so you can make a commission on sales. I can't stop you from calling and interrupting my sleep, serenity, or pleasant activity, but I sure can claim a measure of satisfaction. Forget the “Do Not Call List”. What a joke. Be BOLD. Reclaim the phone service you pay for and
have fun doing it!!
Faith talking, faith walking
Lately I've been questioning my Faith. Not the source and focus of my faith but the practice of my faith. How strong is my faith really? How deep? It's difficult to measure such a thing since it's not constant, fluctuating day to day, sometimes moment to moment. But on the whole, looking on it over the course of the past 19 months, or the past 50 years, is my Faith as strong as it should be? As strong as I'd like it to be?
Of course my response is an immediate “YES!”. I say that with conviction, and what I feel is far stronger than anything I can express in words. Lately I've been questioning my Faith because I'm not entirely certain that my actions match my words and feelings. I've been moving forward with Rich's cancer on the absolute faith that we have some good years left to us here. Everyday is anchored by the steadfast belief that we will win this battle. I make sure everyone knows how sure I am of this, especially Rich.
Reality is that I'm all talk. (That absolutely sucks to admit.) I have not been moving forward in this battle as an act of faith. I have been swept up into a freight train that carries me full speed down the track helplessly. I do what I do because there's nothing else I can do, and I refuse to let go. That's not faith, that's just stubborn. I've come to the realization that since the day Rich was diagnosed I have prayed like hell, but I have not committed one single act of Faith, and that's the impotent bottom line.
My upbringing was strongly rooted in the Judeo-Christian bible. It was a good foundation. So when I think of faith, I think in biblical proportions—willing to sacrifice your own child, raising the dead, oil that burns for eight days, manna from heaven, mustard seeds moving mountains... that's what I'm talkin' about.
(like I said, it's a long commute and I'm not the only voice in the car.)
My dad liked the saying about what to do if your boat's in troubled waters....”Pray for rescue and row like hell.” That's been my mod us operand i. But that's not an act of faith, that's just common sense laced with desperation.
Jah-zeesus! Get to the point already!
My point is this, if I really have faith would I have gone back to work as ordered and left my invalid husband home alone to fend for himself when he can barely walk and refuses any help but mine? Or, would I have politely declined and stayed where I was needed, having faith that just like the sparrow, my needs would have been seen to? Such a financial miracle is pretty unlikely since I've heard that you have to buy a lottery ticket in order to win, and since I don't, THAT reduces my odds considerably.
I have to keep reminding myself that faith and miracles by definition have nothing to do with the odds.
Okay. Forget the miraculous windfall that keeps our financial boat afloat. Shouldn't I have chosen my husband's health and happiness over maintaining property? Put that simply I'm feeling quite pond-scummish. Wouldn't such a choice be an act of faith that no matter what happened, we would survive it somehow because no matter what we lost materially, we would have each other?
I should have made that act of faith, the giant leap into the unknown without safety or certainty. I should have had the Faith of a mustard seed, I should have believed I am as important as a sparrow. I should have done the right thing because it was the right thing to do, and had the faith that we would survive. Instead I did the safe thing. I'm not sure Safe can co-exist with Acts of Faith.
Lately I'm battling with this new awareness that my faith is just talk, but the voices are a rough crowd. There is one that argues for my efforts to do the best I can, but that's the frustrated lawyer of the group and he'll argue just for the sake of argument.
I haven't done the best I can if there's more I could do if I only had the courage to act on faith. Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is; harder still to admit it when you do know. I do think Faith is like Love—it's more powerful as a verb than a noun.
I'm beginning to think I will never again be reconciled to my faith until I walk my talk.
Of course my response is an immediate “YES!”. I say that with conviction, and what I feel is far stronger than anything I can express in words. Lately I've been questioning my Faith because I'm not entirely certain that my actions match my words and feelings. I've been moving forward with Rich's cancer on the absolute faith that we have some good years left to us here. Everyday is anchored by the steadfast belief that we will win this battle. I make sure everyone knows how sure I am of this, especially Rich.
Reality is that I'm all talk. (That absolutely sucks to admit.) I have not been moving forward in this battle as an act of faith. I have been swept up into a freight train that carries me full speed down the track helplessly. I do what I do because there's nothing else I can do, and I refuse to let go. That's not faith, that's just stubborn. I've come to the realization that since the day Rich was diagnosed I have prayed like hell, but I have not committed one single act of Faith, and that's the impotent bottom line.
My upbringing was strongly rooted in the Judeo-Christian bible. It was a good foundation. So when I think of faith, I think in biblical proportions—willing to sacrifice your own child, raising the dead, oil that burns for eight days, manna from heaven, mustard seeds moving mountains... that's what I'm talkin' about.
(like I said, it's a long commute and I'm not the only voice in the car.)
My dad liked the saying about what to do if your boat's in troubled waters....”Pray for rescue and row like hell.” That's been my mod us operand i. But that's not an act of faith, that's just common sense laced with desperation.
Jah-zeesus! Get to the point already!
My point is this, if I really have faith would I have gone back to work as ordered and left my invalid husband home alone to fend for himself when he can barely walk and refuses any help but mine? Or, would I have politely declined and stayed where I was needed, having faith that just like the sparrow, my needs would have been seen to? Such a financial miracle is pretty unlikely since I've heard that you have to buy a lottery ticket in order to win, and since I don't, THAT reduces my odds considerably.
I have to keep reminding myself that faith and miracles by definition have nothing to do with the odds.
Okay. Forget the miraculous windfall that keeps our financial boat afloat. Shouldn't I have chosen my husband's health and happiness over maintaining property? Put that simply I'm feeling quite pond-scummish. Wouldn't such a choice be an act of faith that no matter what happened, we would survive it somehow because no matter what we lost materially, we would have each other?
I should have made that act of faith, the giant leap into the unknown without safety or certainty. I should have had the Faith of a mustard seed, I should have believed I am as important as a sparrow. I should have done the right thing because it was the right thing to do, and had the faith that we would survive. Instead I did the safe thing. I'm not sure Safe can co-exist with Acts of Faith.
Lately I'm battling with this new awareness that my faith is just talk, but the voices are a rough crowd. There is one that argues for my efforts to do the best I can, but that's the frustrated lawyer of the group and he'll argue just for the sake of argument.
I haven't done the best I can if there's more I could do if I only had the courage to act on faith. Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is; harder still to admit it when you do know. I do think Faith is like Love—it's more powerful as a verb than a noun.
I'm beginning to think I will never again be reconciled to my faith until I walk my talk.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A small request
If you are following this blog and find it in any way meaningful, Please subscribe to it. I promise I won't contact you (I wouldn't know how), bug you, stalk you, or ask for money.
If you find this worth your time, please share it with others and encourage them to subscribe.
If you have a comment or critique, please post it in the comment section at the bottom of the posting. If you feel the need to correct my grammar or spelling, please keep in mind that I'm operating under sleep deprivation and sometimes I let the Voices take over. Normally I'm meticulous about such things, but I'm working in a time crunch lately.
My request is not about my ego--he went on vacation quite some time ago and I'm not looking for his return any time soon.
One of the Voices has this crazy idea that this blog could turn into something of real value. She has been fueled in this dream by outside sources. The rest of us have decided to humor her because she is the cheerleader of the group and this dream distracts her from her pom-poms. We've been advised that a real show of interest could make that happen.
For reasons that I can't explain right now I've had to keep a very low profile with this blog. I'm not trying to be mysterious or hide anything. Hopefully the day will come that I can post a profile.
Many many thanks to all of you who take the time to read this blog. I hope my ravings and musings help people--either to realize they're not alone or grateful they're not me. I think there are lots of people out there who don't like to join groups anymore than I do so this blog has been a way of reaching out to other Loners who may be struggling with Life.
More postings on the way, and I hope they get better.
Thank you ALL !!!
If you find this worth your time, please share it with others and encourage them to subscribe.
If you have a comment or critique, please post it in the comment section at the bottom of the posting. If you feel the need to correct my grammar or spelling, please keep in mind that I'm operating under sleep deprivation and sometimes I let the Voices take over. Normally I'm meticulous about such things, but I'm working in a time crunch lately.
My request is not about my ego--he went on vacation quite some time ago and I'm not looking for his return any time soon.
One of the Voices has this crazy idea that this blog could turn into something of real value. She has been fueled in this dream by outside sources. The rest of us have decided to humor her because she is the cheerleader of the group and this dream distracts her from her pom-poms. We've been advised that a real show of interest could make that happen.
For reasons that I can't explain right now I've had to keep a very low profile with this blog. I'm not trying to be mysterious or hide anything. Hopefully the day will come that I can post a profile.
Many many thanks to all of you who take the time to read this blog. I hope my ravings and musings help people--either to realize they're not alone or grateful they're not me. I think there are lots of people out there who don't like to join groups anymore than I do so this blog has been a way of reaching out to other Loners who may be struggling with Life.
More postings on the way, and I hope they get better.
Thank you ALL !!!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I see the Moon, and the Moon sees me
Friday morning around 6 am I was driving to work and the moon was lovely. It was low on the horizon, but still above the trees. It was silvery, irredescent and definitely perfect. It gave me such a feeling of comfort, like a loving mother wrapping her arms around me. I felt lighter, like She was lifting a bit of the weight off my shoulders. Feeling Her shine on me, my constant, persistant hope became more joyful and less sheer determination. I smiled as She smiled on me...
Saturday night I took Rich to the annual Clam Bake that our friends host. For weeks it was touch and go as to whether he would be able to attend. I didn't push, I just waited. Silently. When the time came he wanted to go.
It was a lovely, balmy evening. Rich was struggling, but he was managing. Just as I hoped, he blossomed in the company of people who love and care about him. I was so proud of him I had to walk away to keep from getting weepy. And I wanted to give him space without his caretaker hovering about him. Like always, he laughed and joked and put everyone at ease despite his 70 lb weight loss since last year's clam bake. He managed being outside where everyone was gathered for nearly half an hour, but then he was tired and cold (despite the warm evening) so he went inside.
Christy lit the fireplace for him and tucked a blanket around him (in his three layers of clothes) and he sat there alone for awhile, insisting that I go outside and visit with friends. It was so warm in the family room where he sat that I was miserable after ten minutes. I kept coming back to check on him and bring him food every 15 minutes or so. After my third trip in I saw that he had drawn a crowd. People would come in, comment on how uncomfortably warm it was and then sit down next to him and lose track of time. He has that effect on people. There was a magician that somehow made Rich his cohort as he entertained the people that gathered, came and went. Rich ate tremendous amounts of wonderful food. He laughed and interacted with the people around him. I think he forgot for awhile that he was any different from the year before, or the people around him. For a very special chunk of Time, Rich was Rich again.
The next day he was still holding on to the gift of the night before. Throughout the day he told me again and again...”boy I had fun last night.”
Monday we decided he was ready to attempt to drive—just a short trip, someone with him. It was mid-morning (which means low traffic), I loaded the van full of the recycle containers and we headed up the road to drop the stuff off. Rich started smiling as we pulled out of the garage. He pulled out of the driveway and he was nearly giggling. Before we reached the end of our street he was laughing. Rich had not driven a vehicle since July 14th. All the way to the recycle station he grinned, every now and then a chuckle, punctuated by “this feels so strange”... “wow, I can't believe how this feels”.... “boy does this feel different!” ...”I'm driving again!”
Santa does not need to bring me anything for Christmas.
Today, Rich saw his surgeon. I'm sorry I missed it. I would have liked to be at an office visit that was good news. Dr A was THRILLED with the results of the last surgery to repair the liver abcess. The last CAT scan showed that his efforts were successful, the fatty tissue he used to fill the void has taken hold and is accomplishing the task, shrinking the pocket as intended. None of the remaining tumors in his liver and pancreas have gotten any larger. We're back in the fight.
I went outside this evening to talk to the Moon. (I've talked to her often all my life.) The sky was dark; she hadn't risen yet. Hopefully I'll see her in the morning. I want to tell her how much life has changed since Friday morning when she hugged me and made me smile.
God Bless the Moon, and God bless me.
Saturday night I took Rich to the annual Clam Bake that our friends host. For weeks it was touch and go as to whether he would be able to attend. I didn't push, I just waited. Silently. When the time came he wanted to go.
It was a lovely, balmy evening. Rich was struggling, but he was managing. Just as I hoped, he blossomed in the company of people who love and care about him. I was so proud of him I had to walk away to keep from getting weepy. And I wanted to give him space without his caretaker hovering about him. Like always, he laughed and joked and put everyone at ease despite his 70 lb weight loss since last year's clam bake. He managed being outside where everyone was gathered for nearly half an hour, but then he was tired and cold (despite the warm evening) so he went inside.
Christy lit the fireplace for him and tucked a blanket around him (in his three layers of clothes) and he sat there alone for awhile, insisting that I go outside and visit with friends. It was so warm in the family room where he sat that I was miserable after ten minutes. I kept coming back to check on him and bring him food every 15 minutes or so. After my third trip in I saw that he had drawn a crowd. People would come in, comment on how uncomfortably warm it was and then sit down next to him and lose track of time. He has that effect on people. There was a magician that somehow made Rich his cohort as he entertained the people that gathered, came and went. Rich ate tremendous amounts of wonderful food. He laughed and interacted with the people around him. I think he forgot for awhile that he was any different from the year before, or the people around him. For a very special chunk of Time, Rich was Rich again.
The next day he was still holding on to the gift of the night before. Throughout the day he told me again and again...”boy I had fun last night.”
Monday we decided he was ready to attempt to drive—just a short trip, someone with him. It was mid-morning (which means low traffic), I loaded the van full of the recycle containers and we headed up the road to drop the stuff off. Rich started smiling as we pulled out of the garage. He pulled out of the driveway and he was nearly giggling. Before we reached the end of our street he was laughing. Rich had not driven a vehicle since July 14th. All the way to the recycle station he grinned, every now and then a chuckle, punctuated by “this feels so strange”... “wow, I can't believe how this feels”.... “boy does this feel different!” ...”I'm driving again!”
Santa does not need to bring me anything for Christmas.
Today, Rich saw his surgeon. I'm sorry I missed it. I would have liked to be at an office visit that was good news. Dr A was THRILLED with the results of the last surgery to repair the liver abcess. The last CAT scan showed that his efforts were successful, the fatty tissue he used to fill the void has taken hold and is accomplishing the task, shrinking the pocket as intended. None of the remaining tumors in his liver and pancreas have gotten any larger. We're back in the fight.
I went outside this evening to talk to the Moon. (I've talked to her often all my life.) The sky was dark; she hadn't risen yet. Hopefully I'll see her in the morning. I want to tell her how much life has changed since Friday morning when she hugged me and made me smile.
God Bless the Moon, and God bless me.
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