Decisions

Ok, so this is a strange one. I "found" the person who changed my dad. And I want to talk to him, but I'm not sure why, or even what I would say.

Here's the background. When I was a year old, my father was a police officer in Royal Oak and was hit by a drunk driver while my father was directing traffic at an accident site. My dad was severely injured and spent 38 days in the hospital, and has never been the same since. The person this hit him recieved a $75 fine and a 30 days suspended license.

Through the years, he has written my dad. He is in AA (and still appears to be from what I can google) and he seemed to be genuinely remorseful over what happened.

But I want to meet him.
Talk to him.
Find out who he is.
How he feels.

I don't hate him, and I don't want to cause him pain, but I do want to know what his spin on things is.

I'm not sure what I would say to him, or even how to approach him. I tried this back in the 90s. He was working the AA help line and I talked to him on the phone, although now I can not tell you what I said or what he said.

Why do I want to do this? Should I? Does he own me this? Do I have a right to ask?

Cold Indifference

My heart aches today.

The buzz on the streets is about a photograph that was printed on page One of the Detroit News yesterday (01/29/2009) of a presumably homeless man frozen in ice at the bottom of an elevator shaft. All that can be seen are his feet; blue jeans, clean white socks, and black shoes with worn soles but new laces. The buzz is a debate about the appropriateness of the photograph being published. That is NOT THE ISSUE HERE!!!!

A man died. He has been laying at the bottom of an elevator shaft for perhaps a month per some reports, and all people can talk about was whether it was ok to print the picture. Everyone weighing in (including me) are sitting at our COMPUTERS, in our WARM homes/offices, most likely with full bellies and too many clothes in the closet debating on whether the media went to far. The sad reality is there was something like this to go too far with.

A man died. Some have said he had no respect for himself (as evidenced by his homelessness?) He was homeless, probably a druggie or alcoholic. They don't know this! Are they saying this to make themselves feel better? Perhaps he was an out of work or under employed man who was looking for scrap metal to sell. Maybe he was an urban spelunker (I have many friends who are) and he took a tumble down this elevator shaft. It doesn't matter what his background is, HE DIED.

I cry. I want to help. What can I do? The crying is out of frustration. What CAN I do? I struggle to keep myself and my son afloat. I help out my friends when I can. But, damn it, something has to be done.

Some have criticized the other homeless who have been "living" in this building (I say it's more like surviving than living) for not calling the police. One man says the body has been there over a month. Why didn't they call? If the building gets boarded up, where will they go? Yep, sounds callous, sounds cold. Would I call, absolutely! But I have a warm house to go home to. If I was fighting every day to stay alive, to have a roof over my head, no matter how dilapidated it may be, I may just let things be and hope to see the morning.

I want to go help them, round them all up and feed them chicken noodle soup. I want to give them socks and shoes and clothes, a warm bed and a smile. I know some homeless choose to live like that, but I know many do not.

A 67 year old man man was found in Sumpter Township frozen in his truck. He had been living in it as his utilities had been turned off in his home. His dogs were dead as well from starvation or the cold. No Photos.

A 93 year old man in Bay City was found frozen to death after the power company put a power limiter on his home. No Pictures.

All cold weather related tragedies. All made the news. But this story makes a buzz. Because of a picture. Do I think it's in poor taste to print photographs of people who have died? I guess that depends. THIS photograph got people taking at least. Thawed some hearts and minds. This man can not be identified by the photograph (even the other people living in the building said as much) but the photograph sure made it real.

My heart aches this morning. What can I do? What can WE do?

Best Birthday gift EVER!

I got it from my brother today... I sit here at my computer crying my eyes out. It is the most amazing thing. It is a hand written note on a simple piece of computer paper. it says...
"Just letting you know how much I care about you. I know life has been more than tough on you lately, but I am so proud of the way you handle everything. In addition to being a great mother to your son, you're a wonderful sister to your brother. The words on this disc are not mine "originally" nor in copyright, but in all other ways they are exactly my words. I love you, Sis. Steve"

The enclosed cd had one song on it. A song I had never heard of before but will never forget.

Sister - Dave Matthews Band

Passing time with you in mind
It’s another quiet night
Feel the ground against my back
CountING stars against the black

Think about another day
Wishing I was far away
Wherever I dreamed I was
You were there with me

(Chorus)
Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, keep me

I hope you always know it’s true
I would never make it through
You could make the sun go DARK
Just by walking away

Playing like we used to play
Like it would never go away
I feel you beating in my chest
I’d be dead without

(Chorus)
Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, you keep me


I hope you always know it’s true
I would never make it through
You could make the heavens fall
Just by walking away

(Chorus)
Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, you keep me

Apathetic

ap·a·thet·ic [ap-uh-thet-ik]
1. having or showing little or no emotion: apathetic behavior.
2. not interested or concerned; indifferent or unresponsive: an apathetic audience.

Yep, that about sums it up.

Crying

There is so much going on in my life right now. I find I am spending a lot of time crying... but when I am at work, I keep it together. When I am at work my mind and my focus is on my patients. I can put my bull shit aside for 12 hours to do something that really matters. It is my escape from my own personal pity party.

Tonight, however, I cried.

There is a patient on our floor who is here for alcohol detox. He has been 2 weeks without a drink, so he is in the clear medically. Any chance of withdrawl symptoms (which he had severely) are over. This issue now is, he has been pickling his emotions for the past 21 years... now he has to cope.

I work at a VA hospital, so, I work with veterans. There isn't a greater patient population out there in my opinion. I love the patients I care for, they have unique characteristics and special needs. This fella tonight is dealing with PTSD issues that he has been drinking away for 21 years. He was under attack, hiding under his bed, screaming, yelling, fighting. He broke through several different kinds of restraints. Thought he was in the jungle. Saw the helicopters, watched his buddies walk through trip wires. He described this clearly, so clearly that I could almost see it myself. Now, he was not my patient, but I try to help out when I can.

We got him back to bed, call the house doctor and tried to calm him down. I finally ended up sitting at his bedside, holding his hand, repeating over and over again "You are in the hospital, you are safe. I am a nurse and I will not allow anything bad to happen to you. Let us help you." He would calm down, close his eyes for 2 minutes, then he would startle in panic and it would begin all over again. I did this for over 2 hours while the doctors debated on the best course of action and the meds finally kicked in.

I sat in this dark, quiet room with a man I had never met before holding his hand and reassuring him he was safe... and I cried. I cried for the pain he was feeling that we could not relieve. If someone is in physical pain, I can give them a multitude of drugs to make it go away. There was nothing I could do to help this man's pain but hold his hand. I felt helpless, impotent.

He is sleeping now, I am glad. Sleep at least brings a slight reprieve from his demons. I love these patients. I love them because they remind me that I am human, that my petty issues are issues, but not the end of the world. Maybe I'm all cried out for today. Maybe I can smile today instead of cry. Maybe my perspective has been changed.

Songs

So, I haven't blogged in like, forever. Forgive me.

I'm sitting here at work, 3:30am, thinking about all the songs I used to sing in the car with my grandparents. We sang basically to keep my mind off the fact that I was car sick. I only got car sick when I drove with my grandparents. I never understood why. In retrospect, it was because my grandfather knew 2 speeds. Stop and Go. No gradual accelleration it was stomp on the gasa then stomp on the brake... but I digress.

Songs...

there were many... See if any of these ring a bell...


I know a little Pussy, Her coat is silver grey,
She Lives Down in the Meadow, Not very far away,
She'll always be a pussy, she'll never be a cat,
'cause she's a pussy willow, now what do you think of that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Harlem Goat, was feeling fine,
Ate three red shirts, right off the line.
I grabbed a stick, gave him a wack,
and tied him to, the railroad track.
The whistle blew, the train drew nigh,
the Harlem goat, was doomed to die.
He gave three grunts, in awful pain,
Coughed up the shirts, and flagged the train.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It ain't gonna rain no more, no more,
it ain't gonna rain no more,
How in the heck can I wash my neck,
if it ain't gonna rain no more.

A peanut sat on a railroad track,
his heart was all a flutter.
The 9:15 came rolling by,
Toot Toot, peanutbutter.

Oh, It ain't gonna rain no more, no more,
it ain't gonna rain no more,
How in the hell can the old folks tell
that it ain't gonna rain no more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Said a thousand legged worm, as he gave a little squirm,
"has anybody seen that leg of mine?
If it can't be found, I'll have to hop around,
on the other nine hundred and ninty nine."

Hop around, hop around on the other nine hundred and ninty nine,
if it can't be found I'll have to hop around
on the other nine hundred and ninty nine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The littlest worm
You ever saw,
got stuck inside,
my soda straw.

He said to me,
"don't take a sip,
for if you do,
I'll surely slip."

I took a sip,
and he went down,
right through my pipes,
he must have drowned.

He was my pal,
he was my friend,
but now he's gone,
this is the end.

The moral of,
this little tale,
if you see a worm,
please don't inhale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

L - O - Double L - I - P - O - P spells loppipop.
It's the very bestest kind of candy,
the man who made it must be dandy,
L - O - Double L - I - P - O - P you see,
it's a lick on a stick gauranteed to make you sick,
and it's lollipop for me.

I LOVE PITA's

I'm sore.
My Feet ache.
My calves are burning.
My back is tight.
I have a headace.
Also, I smell something feirce. Now I don't mean my nose detects a strange odor. I mean I am exuding a funky smell; the smell of too many hospital odors.

It's been a tough 6 days. 12 hours shifts, on my feet. Running, running, running. I love being a nurse, but by day 6, all you can think is "There's no place like... anywhere but here!"

PITA's - Not the yummy frizbee like bread things that transfer hummus into my wattering mouth. Hospital PITA's.

Hospitals are places full of acronyms...
CVA = Cerebral Vascular Accident
TIA = Transient Ischemic Attack
SOB = Short of Breath (replaced now by DOE = Dyspnic on Exerction, as many patients didn't like being called a SOB)
TKA = Total Knee Arthroplasty

Then there are the ones that are UN-official
FOS = Full of Shit or in polite terms, constipated
GOMER = Get Out Of My Emergency Room, hurrying a patient out or transfering them to another facility so they are someone elses problem
CTD = Circling The Drain
TOTL = To Old To Live
PITA = Pain In The Ass

I LOVE PITA's. Yep, some days they get ya down, but when you can crack one, there is nothing like the feeling of making that connection. Today was a day full of PITA's. I'm tired, cranky, sore and looking forward to a long stretch off. I started my day dreading the PITA's, but ended up driving home with a smile on my face thinking about them.

Mr A, Mr B ad Mr C are all Vietnam Era Vets. I love working at the Vetran's hospital. I like working with men. Don't get me wrong, women can be ok, I even have some friends that are women, but by and large, they are some of the most whiney, needy patients on the planet. "Can I have a box of Tissues, oh, and a blanket, and a pain pill, and would you turn my light out, and would you move my TV closer, and can I have a snack and..." But never all at once. Nope, this list of requests (all reasonable, I admit) comes with 5 different trips down that long hallway in response to that blinking light outside the door. Men, now, they will put on the light, and when you ask over the speaker what they need, they will tell you, "Oh, I'm bleeding a lot. When you get a minute could you come check it out?" I love men as patients!

OK, back To Mr A. He had a CVA post CABG (which we call cabbage) CVA post CABG = Cerebral Vascular Accident (Stroke) post Coranary Artery Bypass Graft (heart bypass). He has given up. Doesn't try, is very depressed and is on the call light for every little thing. When you see that you have Mr A as your patient, you give a big sigh. He's just a lot of work, and a lot of heavy work. He can't move himself, so we have to use a lift system (imagine a crane hooked into the ceiling used to move people about), and he wants to get up and go back to bed every 30 minutes. It gets exhausting. Did I tell you he had given up? Oh yeah, wouldn't do anything for himself. Well today, we got him up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down, and I was tired. Got him into his wheelchair for the 4th time in 3 hours (literally) and I gave him a little pep talk. Told him he could decide if he was going to work in therapy to get stronger and do things for himself, or he could let everyone do everything for him forever and never be any dfferent than he is today. Simple words, some may think it was kinda harsh, but ya know what... He stayed in his chair for 3 hours, went outside to enjoy the sunny day for the frst time in 4 weeks, and went back to bed with a smile on his face and actually said thank you. Those little things mean the world to a nurse. We don't want or need flowers or candy; just tell us you appreciate what we have done, and try to make yourself better. That makes us smile.

Mr. B is afraid of needles, so much so that he has refused to take his insulin for the past 3 years and he has all kinds of major problems due to high blood sugar levels, including a horrible infection in his shoulder that could take his life. Imagine a 250# strapping ex-marine who stared down danger on a daily basis in the jungles of Viet Nam. He looked at death and risked his life day after day and was willing to face it again, just for fear of a needle. This infection must be treated with IV antibiotics, but IV's mean needles, and he can't make himself do it. I went in and talked to him, let him voice his concerns and discussed the pros and cons of IV therapy as well as the concequences he may face if he did not undergo IV therapy. He laid in his bed, shaking as I prepared the IV supplies. I talked to him, reassured him, talked him through the entire procedure and before you know it, the IV was in, he was getting the medication he needed and he actually smiled. None of the other nurses on the floor could beleive I had talked him into it. He had hollered, kicked, yelled and swore at anyone who came near him with a needle for the past week. I took 45 minutes (precious time in the nusing world) to let him know I appreciated his fears. That's all he needed. He wasn't even my patient today, but he needed the therapy, and I'm pretty good at starting IV's.

Mr. C has been with me for awhile. I took care of him on the surgical floor when he was first diagnosed with rectal cancer that had metastisized to his liver and kidneys. He was a mean SOB (SOB in the usual sense, not medical lingo). Yelled at nurses, threw things and was just plain nasty. The nurses would draw straws to see who had to take care of him that night. He was in pain, physically and mentally. While he was in the hospital, his wife filed for divorce, this made him even more angry. Angry at his wife, the nurses, the doctors, the cancer. We moved him down to the Exended Care Center, and I would occasionally see him in the hallways in his wheelchair.
"Hey Angela, my wife is leaving me."
"I'm sorry to hear that Mr. C. You look good today, your color has much improved. It's nice to see you out and about in the hallways."
Now that I am working in the Extended Care Center, I see him daily. At first we exchanged pleasantries in the halway. He was actually pleasant. Sure, he still had his owly moments, but by and large, he was polite which was a huge improvement. Over the past week, we have begun talking. He has heard about my life in Alpena, and how I am excited to get to go home for an extended period this week. I have heard about his outing with his (now) ex-wife and how they are trying to be friends. He told me a story about hs college days, and how he got his nickname of "Beacon" Nice story, but not relevent to this tale I am telling. It's his story, you find him and ask him yourself. Yesterday he got some news on his prognosis and it isn't good. 1 in 5 chance that he will survive.
"I don't feel like I am dying," he told me.
I told him 2 things that my Mumma Dear told me;
1.) "No one put an expiration date on your foot, no one can tell you when my time is up." and
2.) "You can be dying of cancer or you can be living with cancer. You choose."
He smiled at me and thanked me for giving him something to think about.
This is the PITA that threw a bedpan at me a few months back?
The other day we were talking about cheese. OK, I have no idea how we got on the topic of cheese, but he LOVES cheese, and I had just picked up this incredible cheddar with chives in it. I brought him in a slice. It made his day. Cheese? Who woulda thunk?
Today was a bad day for Mr. C. He didn't get out of bed. Didn't eat a thing. I kept peeking in the door at him, but he appeared to be sleeping so I didn't disturb him. After dinner tonight some people stopped in to see him and I asked him if he felt like company. He didn't, but got up anyhow to talk to them. He had obviously been crying all day. His eyes were swollen and he looked haggered. I told him I had been looking in on him all day (he wasn't my patient today either) and that I was concerned. I let him know he was in my thoughts. He squeezed my hand. I smiled. While he was talking to his company in another room, I found a picture on the internet of a dove and the words "Beacon of Hope" Hope is what he needed today. I printed it off and left it on his bed. He hadn't returned by the time I left for the day, and while I admit I went looking for him, I'm kinda glad I didn't find him. I hope he will see it and know I am thinking about him. I hope he will see it and know that "Beacon has hope" still. He needed a little hope today.

Nursing isn't all about starting IV's and transfering people and passing out medications. As a matter of fact, that is the least of my duties. I LOVE PITA's because when you can crack them, when you can make them see that someone cares, even when they think that no one in the world gves a rat's ass about them, that is the day that I go home, peel off my stinking scrubs, grab an ibuprofen or 4 for my aches and pains, slip into a bubble bath to wash away the stench and soreness and I smile, knowing that I made a difference. PITA's give me purpose.