supercallousedfragilemysticplaugedbyhalitosis

Stress

2011-06-15T10:12:00.002-04:00

I remember in my General Psych class that Mr. Barclay told us that stress comes in many forms. There are positive events that cause stress and negative events that cause stress. While some are easier to deal with than others, stress is stress. Here is my stress...

My son is leaving for the summer after an incredible trying school year. I love this kid more than life itself. I am very fortunate as he is a really good kid. He doesn't stay out past curfew, rarely talks back, does his chores when I remind him to, attends school, is kind to me and to others, and is a very caring person. I am proud of him in so many ways. I like the person he is. The issue is that he does his homework (most of it anyway) but he does not turn it in. I don't understand that. We are trying to get to the bottom of this issue, and in the last 2 weeks of school he really picked up the ball and did what needed to be done to salvage most of the school year, but I've gotta ask, "What's the deal with the homework?"

He is leaving on Friday for the summer with the Ex. I'm gonna miss him like wildfire, yet I am also looking forward to a few months of not having to be accountable to anyone but myself. If I decide to not eat dinner until 10pm, I can. If I decide to stay out until 1 in the morning, I don't have to check in. No groceries in the house? No problem. I hate when he is gone, but I relish the time as well. Weird.

I am buying a house! My first house. It is in the exact location I wanted, and it is perfect for Edward and I. It needs some work, but that work is going to keep me busy this summer, so maybe I won't miss the kid so much. I always end up in a bit of a funk when he is gone if I have too much time on my hands. This summer, time on my hands is not going to be an issue. I am really excited about the house. Picking out flooring and paint colors and planning on where to put the furniture, etc is so much fun. I say that now... Wait til I get that paint roller in my hands. My tune might change. This is a good, positive move for me. But still stressful.

School is also in full swing. I tend to complain about it a lot, but I know I am dreading the ending of it. A year from now I will have my degree. But then what will I do with my time? I will be Angela Marie Christensen, RN, BSN, OCN(R), MBA, MHA - Guess I will spend my extra time writing all those initials after my name :-)

On the guy front - Who knows what is happening there. I get through the day, have many friends to support me, but that elusive partner is still at large. There is a potential partner out there, but we are in such different places. For now, I have a friend. STRESS!!!

My heart is doing this strange pitter pattering. My Dr doesn't seem too worried, but he is sending me to a specialist. He thinks I have a hereditary condition (that no one else in my family seems to have)... But time will tell. More silly stress.

Good things in my world, but they sure are stressful. That's ok. It means I am living!

A Huge Colossal Ruse

2011-04-15T13:59:00.003-04:00

I like to pretend that you fooled us all and ran away to Kensington Market and that you are living there, eating chocolate covered croissants and frequenting the HotBox. I like to imagine that our tears were all a part of a sick and twisted hoax perpetrated by you. I would forgive you the years of pain if it meant that I got just one more moment with you. I hope that one day I will get a mysterious text with nothing more than the word "Hey". I want to return to Toronto and hang out in St Lawrence Market looking for you by the pea meal stand. I will position myself between that shop and the little store that sells butter tarts. Surely you will show up one day. Did you ever beat the tar out of that old Russian furrier on Spadina above the Bombshelter? Please go to the Jave Cafe and have a brie and avocado sammich and a pitcher of sangria and think of me. Take a picture of a Banksey and email it to me. Go see Anna's burlesque show. Watch out for the killer squirrels. Wax your dreads, shake hands with the rastas, buy me a pretzel loaf from Cob's Breads. Damn it, Jeffrey... you can not be gone. I miss you so much. Some days I can tolerate your absence. Today is not one of them. I miss you like hell fire. You prayed for an angel, now I pray for someone who can love me like you did. Send me that person. I can not have you, but you can send me who I should have. You get to pick him. Pick well. IMU ILU TYFBME

NaNoWriMo

2010-11-05T19:00:00.002-04:00

So, I am doing it. Sure, we are only 5 days in, but so far I am keeping on task and writing a fairly decent story. Now, I have to tell you, it is difficult because I am getting the words on the page, but I am not editing. Sure, I hit spell check on occasion, but I am not going back and agonizing on the choice of words, on changing something I wrote to foreshadow some idea that comes to me in a moment. I am writing, and when the month of November is over, I will go back and look at it and make the adjustments that I need to make to make it a GOOD story. Right now it is just decent.

I am not use to writing this way. Quantity over quality is not something I am use to doing. It is as much of a challenge as just spitting the words out there. I have all kinds of cool ideas for this story that I am writing. I hesitate to call it a novel, tho that is what NaNoWriMo calls it. Right now it is just a series of words and a story that is growing. It has a life of it's own. I know generally where it is heading, because, well, because I wrote the ending first. ;-)

I am putting off returning to school to complete this challenge. At first I thought that was crazy. I could do both. Um, no frigging way! So, it would make more sense for me to drop NaNoWriMo and start classses; that would be the responsible thing to do. But when would I have this opportunity again? Sure, next November you say, but I will still be in school then, so... The November after that? Nope. I'm doing this and school can wait til January. I'm kinda enjoying a break from the books anyhow. It would be nice to defer my loans again (yes, the real reason everyone goes back to school) but I can make those payments for another 2 months.

So, NaNoWriMo, I am committed to you and I will complete the challenge with something that someone may wish to read some day. I'm not delusional enough to think I will publish it in a book type form, but maybe I will plop it on the web somewhere and bored housewives and students who should be studying may wander by and chose to read it. Kinda like whoever wanders by here and reads this silly drivel I spit out of my head here.

NaNoWriMo

2010-11-02T16:40:00.002-04:00

Yup, I'm doing it!

Say it!

2010-10-21T13:04:00.003-04:00

I am thinking back on the people that were a huge part of my life and for one reason or another are no longer in my world. Anyone that knows me is aware that I am somewhat guarded and I do not tend to let people into my heart easily, but once I do, they are allowed to take up residency and live there til the end of time. Here's to you, my friends that have left my daily life, but not my heart.

Mom - I know few women who can honestly say that their mother was their best friend. You were my confidant and my cheerleader. You listened without judgement and supported me, even when you knew I was making a mistake. We could "just be" with each other. You taught me how to be a lady, gave me the ideal role model to become a mother and always told me that there wasn't anything I couldn't do if I set my mind to it. Your unrelenting belief in me, as a person, has made me the incredibly loving, loyal and supportive human being that I am today. I honor you with every friendship I make. I hope one day to be half the woman that you were. Your strength in the face of adversity has always made me proud. I would give up 5 years of my life to have one more cup of tea with you. I remain your "Lemonade Girl".

Jeffrey - You were my colorist. In a very dark period of my life, when all the beauty had gone out of living, you brought the brilliant reds, somber blues and verdant greens back to my eyes. We were marvelous friends, but also more than friends. When we met, we just clicked. Sure, it was a strange and labored relationship with complications galore, but you were a support of my life and I of yours. I loved you, and I love your family. I miss you and I miss them. Your smile could light up a room. You view of the world was always a little askew, which was your charm. You were taken from me way too soon, but I was blessed with your light and you saved me from a black and white existence. "Hey" Jeffrey... "Hey".

Chose - Yes, it sounds strange that I would include you here. Our relationship was "professional" but you touched my heart as no other patient ever did. I was at your side through diagnosis, surgery, recovery, rehabilitation, acceptance and your passing from this plane and I was honored to be by your side in your final moments. You were a lesson in grieving. Nurses try so hard to keep that professional detachment, but you, my friend, weaseled your way into my heart. I loved getting to know you, to hear your stories, and to aid in your care. I was honored with your friendship and will always feel blessed to be a part of your days. You had a very difficult life, your last days were lonely and I hope that I was able to ease a bit of that loneliness. Thank you for the lessons you taught me and for your tender presence. You will always be my "beacon of hope".

Bob, Rory, Seth and Ben - My comrades. We did the impossible. With no rule book, no guidance other than our hearts and no experience we made a difference in the lives of so many in a short 36 hour period. You were a part of my physical world for two weeks or less, but you will live in my heart until I cease to exist. We did something good. We truly made a difference in this world. It was not something we HAD to do, it was something we chose to do and our world became so much more vibrant for the experiences we shared. So few people really get the opportunity to make such a huge impact in so many people's lives. Gentlemen, I take my hat off to you, tell you now, in front of God and everyone that I love you and I feel absolutely blessed that Mother Nature's wrath brought us together. Our paths may never physically cross again, but you all have a piece of real estate in my heart.

No one ever reads my blog, so I have no idea why I am talking to this imaginary audience. Perhaps I put this in type as I send it mentally out to the universe and hope that others will hear my plea. The relationships that you cultivate and nurture are what make you rich. Your success is measured in the lives that you touch and the lives that touch yours. Cars and houses, trips and jewelry mean nothing in the end. How you impact another's heart is what makes you wealthy. Tell the people that reside in your heart how they make you richer.

Live Your Passion

2010-10-01T13:40:00.002-04:00

Every day when I drive home from work I pass the same guy. He stands on the side of the road in front of a cell phone store with a sign and hollars and yells at people to try to entice them to come in and sign up for HIS cell service. It use to annoy me. I felt like I was being accosted everytime I drove by him. I avoided eye contact while talking on my iPhone. I generally tried to imagine he was not there.

After a few weeks, I started to feel sorry for this guy. His job was to stand on a busy street and hollar at the top of his lungs to get people to come to the storefront where he was employed. I started to smile at him as I drove by. Yesterday when I was sitting at the light, 1 car length ahead of where he was standing I could hear what he was saying. Among the "Come on in here, it's only $40 a month" and n"no hidden fees, $40 unlimited" He also was saying things like "You got yourself a pretty car there, Mister" and "Hello, Little Lady, you've got a beautiful tiara" to the child in the grocery-getter behind me. Hmmm.

Today, heading home for lunch, I pulled up next to him and again, gave him a shy little anemic smile. And like an auctioneer rambling on while toting his wares, he threw in a "And there's my pretty lady that smiles at me every day, Bless you, Darlin". Wow!

How many compliments has he handed out over the past months? How many people saw him as an annoyance? I viewed him like I view the people that run up to your car when you are stopped by the service drive and wash your windshield without your permission and then expect you to hand them a few bucks. this guy really was trying to spread some joy in the world while trying to make an honest buck. I like him. I'm gonna name him Clyde. Is his name Clyde? I have no idea, but he will always be Clyde in my mind.

Coming back from lunch I pondered further on Clyde and his outlook on life. For me, it would be hell standing on the side of a busy street holding a sign and hollaring myself horse day after day smelling exhaust fumes and being seen as a nuisance. But he was making the best of his world. Making a smile on a face or two every day, bringing some pocket change home and doing the job he was being paid to do with 100% of all he had to give.

We should all be so lucky. We should all commit ourselves 100% to the things that we do. I have often said, "You spend 1/3 of your life at work, ya better have a job that you love, or you will be miserable 1/3 of the time." It was so hard to leave the VA, but I was spending 1/3 of my time+ being miserable. My new job has a few downfalls, but all in all I am happy with were I am, the hours I hold and the money I make and like Clyde, I can make a difference in a few people's lives every day.

I have often told my son that I don't care what he does for a living when he grows up, as long as he is happy doing it. And by and large, that is the truth. While I want him to go to college, and have a good paying job with benefits, in the end the important thing is that he enjoys what he does and he does it well. The money is nice, and not having to worry about where it's gonna come from when the rent is due does easy the stress of the rest of your life, but it isn't everything.

Clyde, keep hollaring at the cars as they rush from hither and yon, keep talking to princesses in minivans and sheepish office workers rushing to lunch. Sell a few phones and give a few smiles. Enjoy what you do and you'll never work a day in your life!

If you can't say anything nice...

2010-05-29T03:00:00.002-04:00

I looked back over my blog as I am want to do, and I realized that in 2009 I blogger 2 maybe 3 times total. Was this because I had no profound thoughts to dump out of my brain that entire year? NO! It is because I always try to live by the wise words of my mother. "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." 2009 was a difficult year for me. The divorce was not a pleasant experience (are they ever) and I was in very dark places in my mind most of the year. I think I did a good job of hiding it, but was that really the right decision? Well, another mom-ism was "Don't cry over spilled milk" so I won't spend too much time thinking that thought.

2010 has been a very interesting year so far. I am coming into my own. I am feeling like ME and kinda enjoying that. Sure, I come second to my boy (That will never change) but otherwise, I am at the top of that totem pole. FUN! It's a nice view from up here.

In the beginning of May I had my ovaries removed. It was something I thought long and hard about and am glad that I did it. Sure, hot flashes suck, but the nightmares I have saved myself from are well worth the strange internal boiling sensation that creeps up on me like a knife wielding shadow in a B rated horror flick. The only real issue I have with my decision to have my ovaries removed is that I will no longer be able to have any children. Sure, Edward is 14, I have said for the past several years that I would rather eat arsenic dipped razor blades than go back to diapers and car seats, but when a friend has a new little one, or I run across a cute little outfit at the local super store, or a friend mentions that a baby might be nice... my uterus (which is still intact, thank you very much) cries. I cry a little bit too. I often pride myself in the fact that there isn't anything I can't do. (Again, thanks Mom... You always told me that, and I guess I still believe it) but have another child is not something I can do. :/

2010 is going to be a year of changes. Changes in my health, in my creditworthiness (Damn FICO scores), changes in my attitude and perspective. So, today, May 29, 2010 I make the following declarations...

I will continue the positive health changes I have started. I've lost 48 pounds since October, another 48 by this October...
I will save a bit more, and eat out a bit less. I am still going to splurge on travel and little things for me because, damn it, I work hard and I am worth it.
I am just that good, and I deserve the best. I will demand the respect I deserve and will only tolerate so much bull shit before I walk the other way. You have been warned.
I will see myself as a priority and that my happiness matters.
I will ask for what I want and make an informed decision when I am told that I will or will not get what I want.
I will complete projects that I have started and take pride in their completion.

Ok, well, that's a start. And again, I will try to be a more faithful blogger. But I still find that if I can't say anything nice...

Work and Play

2010-02-19T13:26:00.002-05:00

I need to find the balance. I need to learn that I can go and do by myself. There are so many things that I lose out on because I don't want to "go alone." Is this something all people experience when they are newly divorced? I have been a part of an US for so long that I am not sure how to function as a me. Do people who are single just sit home with the TV and their cats or do they go out to a bar to see friends perform all by themselves on a Friday evening? In reinventing me, I have to learn how to be a me and not a we.

I a kinda dreading this summer. Edward will be gone, Jeffrey is gone forever... What will I do with my time? I need to find a balance. I know I will be working all summer; I intentionally did not take any vacation time in "prime time" because I didn't want to sit home alone for a week while my son was north of the 45th parallel. So work will occupy half of my time. But the fact that I work 14 days a month is great when I have him around be cause I can spend half of my time with him. But with him gone, what am I going to do with my free time. I want to play, I want to go and do and see. Will I be doing that alone? Perhaps. Most likely.

Ana went to California for a week by herself and saw and did the things she wanted to do. I can not at this point imagine that I would ever be capable of doing that. I toy with the idea of going to Florida alone for a few days, but I would so rather have someone go with me. Even if all we do is sit by the pool and drink and relax... I just want someone to be a partner in crime. Does that mean I am weak? Does that mean I am destine to repeat past relationship mistakes? Maybe I should be alone.

But where is the balance? How will I become true to me? Do "normal" people go to the movies by themselves? Out to lunch? To a bar just to be among people and not necessarily to pick up someone to take home? I don't know how to be ME. I only know how to be 1/2 of a we.

I am hoping (and have been told) that this summer will be a perfect balance of work and play. Running on the treadmill and then eating a sundae. I am hoping that is true. But I don;t know how to be that person. I have always been a go go go person; working either for money or for the people I care about. I have decided that I don't want to be a caregiver outside of work. When people come into my life with health issues, it kinda scares me now. I don't wanna be Mamma or Nurse. I want to be Angela. So, while I don't want to put people out of my life because of their physical ailments, I do find that if they are sickly, I get a little freaked out. I have been a caregiver for so long, and now it is my profession, I want someone healthy, independent, vibrant in my world.

How do I find this balance? Is it even possible? Do I fly to lands far away solo, and live the day? Or stay home with the cats and Law and Order reruns? Will that special someone show up and play with me? Is that even what is best for me right now? Balance. I need to find the balance.

THAT'S why I work here!

2010-02-17T05:31:00.000-05:00

I was wandering the halls, trying hard to stay awake. I ran into a veteran who had obviously just come in out of the cold. We started making small talk. He told me he was here for an opthamology appointment. I remarked on how the opthy clinic didn't open for another 2 1/2 hours and and with a sly grin he said "Yeah, I don't like to be late."

Continuing with the small talk he asked me if I was a nurse or a doctor or something and I told him I was a nurse on the 5th floor. He enquired if that was a surgical unit and I told him I worked the medical oncology unit. He paused for a moment then as he wandered off he said spryly, "Well, then I hope I never see you again." Made me chuckle and he laughed good naturedly as he sauntered off.

THAT'S why I work here. I love these patients.

Transitioning

2010-02-15T02:23:00.003-05:00

I am a new person. 2010 is my year to decide who I am and where I am going. It is a bit frightening and a bit exhilarating all at the same time. I get to reinvent ME.

So, now I look at living the moment for what it is. Who will I include into the new me? I am finding it difficult to discover that sometimes the people I want in my life are also transitioning, but are in a different phase of that process. I am free to do and be whatever I want, and others are not there yet, but I find I want them in my life. So perhaps part of this lesson will be patience. Part of this lesson will be to discover that I can't always have what I want.

That is hard for me. I have always been someone that saw what she wanted and moved heaven and earth to get it. I can fix things. I can make things happen. But I am finding that this isn't always true and that frustrates me.

It is kind of fun to meet new people; people that never knew me as Angela Wieske. People that only know me as Angela Christensen. Obviously they know that I was married and have a child. I am too open with who I am and where I came from to not let that be known. But to be identified as only Angela Christensen is great! I like feeling like me again instead of 1/2 of an US.

I think I've decided that I will never be married again. I do not need societies approval of any relationship I chose to enter. IF the day comes that I do chose to legally be bound to another, I will certainly keep my name. I like Angela Christensen. Good name. Good person.

I am one hell of a woman; a fierce friend and loyal companion. Some things about me will never change as it is just a part of my personal makeup. It is because of how I was raised that I am the way I am. But some things may change.

Changes:
I will no longer be a doormat
I will ask for what I want
I will surround myself with people that see ME
I will be loyal to myself then to others
I will take priority

Transitioning... 2010, here I come!

Preparing to Deploy (?)

2010-01-23T03:58:00.002-05:00

An earthquake hit and decimated Haiti. The aftershocks were as bad as most earthquakes. I am a DEMPS volunteer with the VA, and I am preparing to deploy. It is an exciting time, and a frightening time.

I loved my time in Louisiana, I felt I really made a difference for once in my life. I have always strived to help others in their time of need, and my time in Louisiana changed how I looked at the world. I returned from that 2 weeks a different woman. I needed more. I no longer felt fulfilled in my work. I had see and done things that changed my very being.

Now I am preparing to go to Haiti. Conditions there are far worse than Louisiana ever dreamed. I am not sure if I will be chosen to go, but I continue to process all my paperwork, get my VA Travel Card, Government passport and get my shots, just in case. I am afraid to go for many reasons. My life here is just starting anew and I am not sure if now is the time to change my perspective once again. I fear that when I return I will have the same shift in perspective that caused me to seek different employment back in 2005. I worry that I can not handle what I will see in Haiti. I worry about my health and safety. I worry that if I do not go, that I will not be the person I am suppose to be. So I prepare, and if I am chosen, I will go and I will be a different person, good or bad. I can not NOT go. If I am chosen it is my path. When I told Edward I was going to Louisiana and asked him how he felt about that he said "You have to go mom, it's what you do." So here I am again, doing what I do.

I have intentionally chosen not to follow the news every hour to hear what is happening in Haiti like I did for Louisiana with the hurricanes. I want to live the moment, I want to be focused here until I am called there. I feel the need to assist when my brothers and sisters on this planet need assistance the most. I am a damn good nurse and I know I can make a difference. So I leave it in the hands of the universe. Take me there if that is my path. I am yours to command. I guess this is how some people feel when they are called by "God" to do "His" work. I will go if the universe sees fit. I will jump all the hoops like I did after Katrina and Rita and if the planets are aligned, I will make a difference.

So long 2009

2009-12-31T20:49:00.003-05:00

I have not blogged in a long long time. Not because I had nothing to say, but that I had nothing remotely positive to say. 2009 has not been a stellar year for me. It has been a year full of pain and strife, changes and challenges, sadness and tears.

I am Angela Marie Chirstensen again. Officially on December 3, 2009 my marriage was over. I look at that event sadly. Not because my Ex is no longer in my life, that is kind of a relief, but because I failed at marriage. I think it is sad that I feel this way, but I have learned a long time ago that feelings are not right or wrong, they just are. If I stop telling myself I am suppose to feel a specific way about a specific event, I find peace quicker.

Jeffrey passed away a month before my divorce was final. This has been a great loss in my life. I think I feel more pain over not having him in my life on a daily basis than my sadness over my failed marriage. He was my confidant and my friend. He is the type of friend that only comes along a few times in a life time, and that is if you are lucky.

I am adjusting to having to share my son, another thing about 2009 that has been difficult.

There are no eloquent words, no fancy weaving of nouns and verbs to say what I think about 2009. I am glad it is over. On to a brighter 2010.

Decisions

2009-08-13T04:29:00.002-04:00

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

2009-01-30T03:57:00.003-05:00

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!

2009-01-07T16:23:00.002-05:00

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

2008-10-20T03:43:00.001-04:00

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

2008-10-01T04:31:00.003-04:00

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

2008-06-20T03:27:00.002-04:00

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

2007-09-25T22:16:00.000-04:00

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.

(Not) Going Away Party

2007-06-27T03:36:00.000-04:00

I discharged a patient yesterday who will always live in my heart. He is young (57 years old) and he has cancer. Not a little cancer, a BIG cancer. It has invaded his entire abdomen so much so that he has no peristalsis (movement) in his intestinal tract. He is going home to die a not so pleasant death. He literally will die because he can not remove waste from his body. He has 10 days to live at most. His pain is under control and he has all his mental faculties... for now. He is in denial, but he is going home to do anything he can.

So, I got to thinking about what I would want to do if I was told I had 10 days to live. Sounds like a morbid way to think, but really, if you knew you only had 10 more days to do whatever it was you needed/wanted to do, how would you spend your time?

I would want all my friends to come visit. No sad faces; smiles and laughter; playing cards and music. I would want my friends to pray for me, light candles for me, touch me, hold me, speak to The Divine in whatever way they feel is appropriate. Let my Jewish, Muslin, Buddhist, Christian, Pagan, Agnostic, Atheist, Confused friends come and ask The Divine to smile on me as I transition from this plane. Reiki please. Just touch me, hold me, let me feel you near.

I would want to be tattooed. Everyone contact your favorite tattoo artist and have them come over and play on this canvas. Limited time offer, but you can put whatever you think is fitting on me while I am still here. I would like to FEEL life while I still had the chance.

I feel no need to bungee jump, sky dive or travel the world. My world is people. Bring 'em on. I would like all my musician friends to play me a song, I would like all my freaky friends to do their freaky best to entertain me. Blow fire in my bedroom, walk into my house on stilts, toss pretty balls into the air.

Oh, and food! Please remember to bring Ben and Jerry Pistachio Pistachio ice cream, lots of good dark chocolate and salt and vinegar potato chips. I want a Guinness (just one), and loads of cream soda.

Watch Bugs Bunny with me, laugh at Rabbit Season "I'm a fiddeler crab, it's fiddeler crab season, shoot me!" with me. Just BE with me. Crawl in my bed (I'll be in bed, it's the coziest place I know, gotta love 1000 count sheets and down mattress pads) and snuggle in next to me.

I look at this fictional 10 days and realize I have few regrets in my life. All the people I would want around me are in my life. There is no long lost person I would need to connect with again. I am at peace with the peeps in my life. I don't have anyplace that I need to go or anything I need to see. I am content... If I had 10 days to live, I would want it filled with my friends and family. You know who you are.

Now, as long as I am on this morbid path, once I do pass from this existence... NO FUNERAL HOME! There is no more depressing place in the world than a building built for this purpose. Donate what ya can, cremate what's left over, then have one hell of a party. Everyone get together in a park and do what we just did the last 10 days. Watch Bugs cavort with Fiddling Hillbillies "Left hand over and right foot under, both join hands and run like thunder", listen to all my incredibly talented musical friends play their favorite songs, play with fire, watch the show. Laugh and smile, hug and hold each other.

Take my ashes and give them to anyone who wants them. I'd like to still physically be with the people I love. A cool little locket or a miscellaneous "crack vial" of my earthly remains can be yours, free! Take the rest of my ashes and go, do, see. Drop little bits of me all over the planet. For crying out loud, no crying out loud! Now I know I get sad when someone I care about dies, but I want you to LAUGH and remember the Joy... remember the silly things that made up me. Sure, you can cry a bit, but please smile for me.

To be clear, I'm not planning this anytime soon, but I'm not distressed about the prospect either. While my heart is breaking for my patient I sent home to die, I am glad it provided me the opportunity to look at how I would use this precious time... it is nice to realize that I have no regrets and that I would enjoy every minute with the people I love and be content knowing my life was complete. I feel blessed.

So now I have this crazy thought... I might take 10 days off and live this... Why wait? Wanna come to my not going away party? What would your going away party be like? Please leave me a comment and let me know if you'd be there, and what you would like to have done if this were you. I am a student of people. I 'd love to know how your brain works...

Family

2007-06-12T02:07:00.000-04:00

I have an interesting family.

Well, let me rephrase that, I have several interesting families.

I was born into the Christensen Family. Mom, Dad, brother and I for many years. Grandparents and aunts/uncles/cousins occasionally fit into that "family" as well, but mostly it was the 4 of us.

The Brother got married.

Then I married into another family... The Wieske Family.

Damn, there are a lot of them!

But when I think about family, it is not just the people I am legally related to by blood or marriage. I have a HUGE family of friends who are the people I have CHOSEN to be in my life. Yep, I got to pick my family.

There is my family of friends... People I talk to every day. The ones that know, just by looking at me, that something is no quite right. The ones that can see through my "I'm great" and know that I'm not. The ones I call when I have a flat tire, a flat hair day or I am flat busted. Some I don't speak to on a daily basis, some I haven't talked to in years, but when we meet up again, it is as if it was yesterday that we were calling each other on our BS and keeping each other real.

There are my family of musical folks... This past weekend at the Nor Eastr Art and Music Festival in Mio, MI, I had the pleasure of spending tons of time with my musical family. They offer a hug, a song from their heart, and smile and a wave. A shout out from the stage, and invite to dinner. Family.

One of my friends who happens to be gay considers me more his family that his blood kin. I am the one that is there. Who says blood ties are always thicker than water.

If you're reading this and you think I might be talking about you, I probably am. Welcome to my family.

Bob was right!

2007-04-19T04:43:00.000-04:00

Seger that is...
"Feel like a number. I'm not a number."

There are the easy ones.
Age... 35
Date of Birth.. 01/07/1972 (heck I already told you how old I was)
Address... Well that one is not so easy for me. I have 2.
Social Security number
Drivers License number
License Plate number
Phone number
Home
Work
Cell
Fax
Pager
Passwords, Dang passwords.. SO many. 4 at work, various ones for email and various other log ins
Then there are the customer numbers, ya know, those silly little tags that clutter up your key chain
Medical Record Number
Tax ID number
Nursing License number (ok, not everyone has one of those, but you might have something along those lines)
Then you should know these numbers...
Cholesterol
Blood Pressure
PSA (fellas)
Date of your last menstrual period (ladies)
I know I am missing a ton of them, but we are all numbers.

I remember getting my first pager, it was so people could find me. Damn, sometimes I wish I could hide from them now. Cell phones make us never out of reach. Good? Bad?

Don't get me wrong, sometimes you need to be found, followed, kept track of. When I was pregnant and on bed rest, Paul had a pager so I could call him when the important things happened... like the TV imploding, or um, me going into labor. But I also remember having an alpha numeric pager that gave me moment by moment updates on OJ cruising down the freeway in a white Bronco. A pager alerted us to when to speed very fast to Wisconsin so Paul could get his transplant. I was glad to be a number that night.

I get phone calls every day for the Unger family who used to have my phone number. Guess they didn't pay their bills very well. There goes their credit score. AH ANOTHER NUMBER!

Just filed my taxes, more numbers. AGI? Exemptions? Gross? Net? Return? And if you electronic file, your electronic filing signature number.

Favorite track on your new CD. Track 4 for me.

Where do you rank in you friend's MySpace top 24? I rank #1 on at least one (thanks Paul, finally, after the McKinney Washtub Two and I nagged ya.)

Favorite sports team's ranking?
Key pad entry numbers.
Box o' hair color number.
Page number of your favorite passage in your favorite book.
Passage number in the Bible that touches your heart.

Numbers, there is no escaping them.

"I take my card and I stand in line
To make a buck I work overtime
Dear sir letters keep coming in the mail
I work my back till its racked with pain
The boss cant even recall my name
I show up late and I'm docked
It never fails
I feel like just another
Spoke in a great big wheel
Like a tiny blade of grass
In a great big field
To workers I'm just another drone
To ma bell I'm just another phone
I'm just another statistic on a sheet
To teachers I'm just another child
To IRS I'm just another file
I'm just another consensus on the street
Gonna cruise out of this city
Head down to the sea
Gonna shout out at the ocean
Hey its me
And I feel like a number
Feel like a number
Feel like a stranger
A stranger in this land
I feel like a number
I'm not a number
I'm not a number
Dammit I'm a man
I said I'm a man"

Mumma Dear

2007-03-19T03:56:00.000-04:00

Recently I wrote about my father, my daddy. Lately, my mom has been on my mind.

I called her Mumma Dear. Yeah, I called her Mom too, and when we worked together, I even called her Marie, but when it was just her and I, she was Mumma Dear.

If I turn out to be half the person my mother was, I will be a happy woman. She was the kindest, most loving individual I have ever met. She really loved people, treated them with respect, and in return was well respected. She loved people that didn't deserve it, she supported her friends with every ounce of her being and she sacrificed everything for anyone who resided in her heart. She was the bravest woman I have known.

She was my best friend, and while she has been gone almost 7 years, there are still moments every day that I want to call her. She always knew just what to say. She always knew the trivial answers to every day questions, and while she was a teetotaler, she knew her booze. You didn't want to go against her in Trivial Pursuit. She'd smoke ya every time.

She lived with poise and grace. I am still absolutely amazed at how she held her head high in face of adverse events. She was a strong woman with an infant and a 6 year old when my father was very seriously injured in the line of duty as a police officer. She did what needed to be done, she held us all together. She held her head high through 2 battles with cancer, always with a smile. That brilliant smile.

At http://www.alpena.cc.mi.us/facets/Issues/2004/NonFictioin/wieske_mother.htm you can read about her last moments, but keep in mind, she was so much more than this. She lived with her disease. She wasn't dying of ovarian cancer, she was living with it. Amazing lady!

There wasn't anything my mom couldn't do. One year at Thanksgiving all the guys were out hunting and a storm came through and wiped out all the power. Mom, ever the inventive one, took the turkey out to the barn and sparked up the barbecue and finished it there; started the propane in the travel trailer to finish the green bean casserole and potatoes. When the guys got back they were absolutely astonished that dinner with all the trimmings was ready. I wasn't surprised, that was just who my mom was.

While she wouldn't have said shit if she had a mouth full (one of my dad's pet phrases) she didn't take any guff either. I remember once that a customer at the car dealership where we both worked was being rather foul mouthed and belligerent with my mom about something that was absolutely not her fault, and not under her control. She held her head proudly and let him vent, but when the f bomb came flying out she adamantly stated, "Mr Bazanna, you do not have the right to use that language around me." He was shocked, flustered, and embarrassed. He apologized profusely, cleaned up his act, and a few days later returned with flowers for this classy lady. Pretty cool.

She could cook like nobodys business. She loved her husband and her kids with all her might. We ALWAYS came first. I would give just about anything to spend just 10 minutes with her drinking tea and laughing. I realize now that I have spent 1/5 of my life with out her. How have I managed, how have I survived? Here's how... she raised me right. She taught me what I needed to know, how to act, and how to treat people. It wasn't formal lessons, not intentional, but by just being the person she was, I learned how to be a woman. I hope she knows I am trying to live up to her standard.

For those of you that knew my Mumma Dear, you know what I say doesn't even scratch the surface. For those of you that never had the honor to be in her world, I wish you all your own Mumma Dear. Someone, be it your biological mother, an aunt or just a family friend; I hope you all will think back fondly on some female presence in your life that showed you how to live with grace. I know she made me who I am. I'm trying Mumma Dear. I hope one day you can be proud of who I become.

LIVING with dignity

2007-03-02T02:56:00.000-05:00

If you read back in my blog (Waaaaaaay back, like the first few entries) I went on about Terri Shivo and her right to die with dignity. I still firmly beleive everything I said back then. It is part of who I am...

In the last few days however, I have been thinking along another plane. While everyone should have the right to die with their dignity intact, everyone should also be allowed to LIVE with dignity.

Case in point... I rode the elevator with a woman yesterday who was pushing an empty wheelchair. She was frantic to get out of that elevator, announcing to everyone that her friend shouldn't be walking such long distances and she was coming to her rescue with this wheelchair. As she got off the elevator and almost ran people down trying to get to her friend, her friend was merrily mosying along the corridor, doing just fine, thank you. When speedy wheelchair lady met up with her friend, there was a loving yet terse discussion. It included the phrases "I don't need no damn wheel chair" and " If I get too tired and fall down, it's my own damn fault." Huzzah for you, Lady. Live your life. Walk that long hallway if you want. Refuse the ride if you want. She was living her life with the dignity that her well meaning friend was trying to take from her.

I remember taking my mom to Florida a few months before she died. We had a long walk from gate to gate in the Atlanta airport (HUGE!) and not a lot of time to get from point A to point B. I talked her into letting me give her a ride in a wheelchair for a few reasons...

1. to save her strength for the days ahead while we visited with her folks.
2. so we could carry all the carry on items we had between us (pre 9/11 you could take a small herd of goats on a plane with you as long as you could haul them all with ya)
3. because she was sick. She had ovarian cancer, her feet were swollen to unnatural sizes, and she was tired.

She relented and allowed me to push her through the busy airport but put her foot down about our arrival in Ft. Myers. "They WILL NOT see me in a wheel chair." she said rather sternly (as stern as my mom could be). OK, I could go along with that. She walked through that airport at a brisk pace, and then realised she needed to slow down. She didn't want to be huffing and puffing when we met them in baggage claim. She chose to sit down for a few minutes when I conveniently noticed a bathroom and claimed I needed to pee (anyone who knows me at all knows I could go DAYS without peeing). I farted around in there as long as I reasonably could (Pun intended; Mom would be proud) and we were off again, at a slower pace, to the baggage claim area. She walking into that cavernous room with her head held high, her brilliant smile sparkling on her face and her dignity intact. Huzzah!

I have the sweetest little old man for a patient tonight. He is a 76 year old Greek man, barely 5 feet tall and with a sly smile. He is bleeding from somewhere, but the doctors can seem to pinpoint the exact place. He is frustrated, frightened and just plain tired of all the poking and prodding. He told the Doctors he wants to go home and eat ravioli (Greek guy eating Italian). They tell him he could go home and eat ravioli but he will continue to bleed and may die. "But, I'd die with a full belly, right? What's so bad about that?" Yeah Doc, what's so bad about that? Give him his dignity back. Forget your garden hoses that you want to put in places where no flowers have ever grown, this man wants ravioli and he wants his dignity back.

I remember a man, face mis-shapen from multiple cancer surgeries practicing over and over and over again the phrase "Her mother and I". When the preacher asked "Who gives this woman to be married to this man today", he wanted to say it loud and proud. He did it, everyone else cried, but for that day, he lived with dignity. I miss my sister-in-law's father very much. He was a very kind and brave man. I imagine him and my son doing some wild things together. I will never forget hearing him repeat endlessly "Her mother and I". Not an easy task through your tear let alone when you only have 20% of your tongue.

Let them live with dignity! It's hard, we mean well, but we take it away from them when we insist on them taking a ride, when we won't give up looking for answers when all they want is ravioli, when they struggle to say 4 easy words. Rejoice in their achievements, their independence. Let them LIVE!

Silly Momma

2007-03-01T03:53:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I can be a silly girl.

Tonight, driving into work, is a perfect example.

I got to thinking about home, ya know, where the heart is... My son's got strep throat. I wanted nothing more in this world than to turn the car around, drive 250 miles north and buy him a Popsicle. I'm his MOM. That's my job! I'm suppose to take care of my boy when he's sick. Instead, here I am 250 miles away, driving to a building where I will take care of other people's people and not my boy, who needs his momma.

I called Rebecca, my dear friend/S-I-L to be and asked her through silly momma tears if she would do me a favor and go to the store and buy Popsicles for Edward and take them to him and tell him they are from his Mom. I could hardly speak; poor Rebecca must have thought I'd finally blown my cork. He needs Popsicles damn it, and if I can't get them for him, I'll move mountains to make sure he has them.

(Here's a funny note... when you spell check popsicle, corpuscle come up as an option. Too funny!)

Playing Hooky

2007-02-05T03:26:00.000-05:00

I went home this weekend; north to Alpena. Not sure if that really feels like home, but if home is where my heart is, my heart is in my chest, and my chest was in Alpena, so I was home. (lame, ok, give me a break, it's 3:30am)

Edward got up Friday morning, like every other school day, did his morning thing (not sure what that is, Paul takes care of those duties) and as Paul was taking Edward's buddy Steven to school (he stayed with us for a week) He told Edward to come see me and left with Steven.

We went to breakfast. Edward hung a large spoon on his chin and ate well over a pound of bacon.

We went to St Vincent DePaul's and Edward got a red beret which he didn't take off for the rest of the weekend.

Salvation Army = 2 shirts and a sweater

Walmart = Legos

Mall = Book from Waldens, left ear piercing, soda and 15 minutes in a vibrating chair.

Lunch at Wendys

A Donut from Aunt Becky's office

The rest of the afternoon was spent putting together Legos and watching movies, playing video games and paling around.

Fun stuff.

I'm not the type of mom to do this. Yea, I've taken him out of school to go downstate, or on vacation, but never just to buddy around with me for the day. It was fun, but I still felt guilty.

My guilt be damned, the kid had fun with MOM. And some days, that's all that matters.

Comments

2007-01-28T18:00:00.000-05:00

So, my blog is open to ALL PEOPLE to comment on!

If you read this, tell me what you think. Yeah, I write for me, but I also crave feedback.

COMMENT!

please

Guilty Pleasure

2007-01-19T01:17:00.000-05:00

We all have them... Guilty pleasures.

I have several.

Yours may be 80's pop music, or reality TV shows, or even something as silly as a morning wake up ritual.

Guilty pleasures are things that you really really enjoy, but are ashamed to 'fess up to.

Here are mine (I'm 'fessing up)

I love reading over old correspondence. Old e-mails, old letters, even re-reading my own blog. I have a box of notes in the basement of my home in Alpena from Junior High School. Really! Well, maybe. Hubby was given permission to be clear out the basement, he may have tossed them by now. I archive all my e-mail correspondence with my friends and family. I love going back and re-reading what was going on in our lives. Some of the major events seem so trivial now, but they were terribly important at the time. It helps me keep perspective.

I love good chocolate. Now, we're not talking a Hershey's bar here; I'm talking GOOD chocolate. It all started with Dove chocolate. Dove really is perhaps the best readily available chocolate on the market. But now... I've moved it up a notch. I love dark chocolate. 70% cocoa or higher. I've been known to spend $5.00+ on a 3 ounce bar. I've also been known to take months to eat it. I have one bar of ghirdelli chocolate that I have been working on since the end of November. It's about 2/3 gone. I savor it. Relish every taste. Just a little bite will take care of my need. But it must be good chocolate.

I have more guilty pleasures but I am unwilling to humiliate myself by revealing them here quite yet. (Tone Loc) Stay tuned.

Clarification - I am not a whore

2007-01-19T00:47:00.000-05:00

So, there seems to need to be a little clarification...

In one of my recent posts, I mentioned several men in my life...

They are..
The Husband - Paul
The Fiance - Michael
The Boyfriend - Matthew
The Cabana Boy - Bradley
The Yet to be Titled - Jeffrey

I am not a whore.

These are the important male friends in my life. Their titles are jokes in many ways.

The Fiance prefers his partners to have different plumbing than what I possess, if you get my drift. The people in Alpena seemed to think we were an item. Their assumptions made this title applicable. I'm good cover for the homophobic majority in this little po-dunk town.

The Boyfriend is married and lives in Denver. He is an Ex. (see other blog listing from August 2005 titled "Flames") but when he came to visit, he was innocently referred to as "my boyfriend" by my slightly confused son, who saw nothing wrong with his mom having a boyfriend, even though his teacher was aghast.

The Cabana Boy is living in Metro Detroit or the UP or somewhere else, I haven't seen him in ages. Purely a physical attraction. He's super tall and super skinny. Just how I like my men. Oh, and he has a brain! He doesn't even know he's been titled My Cabana Boy, but everyone else in my life knows that is his title.

The Yet to be Titled - Jeffrey; well, he is my good friend. I've had a lot of fun with him and his kids over the past several weeks. He makes me smile, even when I don't want to. He's taught me a lot, and makes Photoshop make sense, even to a lame-o like me.

I am not a whore. I title my friends. So, I'm strange, but not a whore.

Get over yourselves.

Daddy

2007-01-12T00:46:00.000-05:00

I took my father to have a cataract removed today. In the grand scheme of things, this was a walk in the park. My dad has survived through several traumatic brain injuries, having both knees replace, both shoulders replace (one of them twice) and a myriad of other medical adventures. Cataract? A piece of cake.

He didn't have instructions on how to get to where we were going. Didn't even have the phone number to the hospital with him. I called around, found out where we were suppose to be, and we got there. As I was making my calls, he was smiling. When I got done, he just looked at me and said "I love you." I'm like my mom, I can get anything done. I can find any information. I make things happen, and he appreciates that in me. He showed me that with just those 3 words. He didn't need to say anymore. I knew.

The promise of anesthesia made it so he couldn't drive himself, so I took him for his procedure. I worked the night before; sleepy sleepy girl. Dad drove to the hospital, and I napped a bit. We got there and signed in. Wait to be registered. I sat down next to him, and he put his right arm out, and I just nestled into his shoulder. I instantly became a 9 year old girl again. I remember sitting on the glider on our enclosed porch in my Holly Hobby nightgown, snuggling into my father's shoulder as a thunderstorm rumbled though. I was afraid of thunder storms, and Daddy made me feel safe. Told me about the angels bowling in heaven. The thunder booms weren't as frightening then. Here I am, a 35 year old woman, I am there to support my father, and with something as simple as his arm around my shoulder and my head on his chest, I am instantly transformed into that little girl again.

I listened to his heart beat. Slow... 54 beats per minute. The nurse in me is a bit concerned about his bradycardic rate, but he is without his coffee this morning, and perhaps my lying against his chest is just as calming for him as it is for me. I can feel the boniness of his shoulder. All the surgeries he has had there has caused muscle atrophy, and while it is comforting, it is also a little sad to think of the loss of function. This is his good shoulder. I think how hard it would have been for him to raise his left arm like this, and am glad that I chose to sit on his right side.

I lean forward a bit, thinking that others might think it strange that a grown woman might be snuggling into this old man's arms. Do they think we are a dirty old man and his young second wife? Girlfriend? Why should I care? It's me and my Daddy. But I do care, and I sit forward.

My father then starts to rub my back. Not a slow soft patting, but really digging in, using his fingers to work the tight muscles in my neck and shoulder. I almost fall asleep. It feels so good. It is such a loving gesture. I almost cry. But if I cry, he will cry, and I don't want to make him cry in public. 10 minutes of this... oh heaven!

They call his name, he can't hear them, but I do, and we go to the registration window. I make sure he has heard what they say to him, repeat what they tell him, ask him the questions over again, because he can't hear them. He hears me, I make sure of it.

Then off to another room to wait. As we sit there, we engage in idle chat about TV, politics, nothing and everything, and I see him massaging his right hand. Now I really fight back the tears. That wonderful back rub he gave me was at a price. His arthritis in his hands is so bad. He doesn't let it show. Very stoic man. He is in constant pain, all over his body. His hands ache every day, but he took the time and the pain, to make me feel good. That's love!

The surgery went off without a hitch. i drove my father back to my brother's house, and went on my way. Back to my apartment, back to my bed. But today, for just a few minutes in a drafty waiting room, I was a little girl again, and my Daddy was my Daddy. I would give up sleep for a week to have that feeling again. I love you too, Daddy.

A new idea

2007-01-04T03:12:00.000-05:00

So, I want to write. I have a burning desire to write. NOTHING COMES OUT?

so...

Here I go playing with words.

I cruised down the alphabet typing the first word that came into my mind. What does my choice of words mean? I'm not sure. I'm not sure I want to know. Some shrink out there could have a field day with it though.

Here they are...

Absolution
Benediction
Contentment
Dedication
Enlightenment
Fastidiousness
Grasping
Happy
Insecure
Justified
Kind
Lonely
Money
Naughty
Openminded
Popular
Quiet
Restless
Somnolent
Ticked-off
Underfed
Vestments
Wholesome
X? What the hell is X even in the alphabet for
Yawn
Zip

Sleep...

2007-01-04T02:20:00.000-05:00

or lack there of.

I go from one extreme to the other. Either I have absolutely no problems sleeping, or I can't sleep for beans. There is no middle ground.

Sometimes I can rest my head on a pillow and be out for 7 hours. Sleep is so blissful then.

Lately however, this has not been the case. I fall asleep ok, but 60-90 minutes later I am wide awake. I toss and turn, get up, check email, eat something, take a bath, lay back down, fall asleep, wake up 15 minutes later, toss turn, repeat.

Why?

I know my room down here isn't as dark as my cave at home, (gonna remedy that soon). Is that it? Perhaps my lack of satisfaction with my new contract? Missing my family? Hormones? (How do you make a hormone?) Too much time on my hands?

Gotta get into a pattern, gotta start getting good sleep. I know I turn into a major crab ass when I am tired. At least my family will be spared that, as they are in Alpena and I am here.

Someone gift me with a conveniently sized 2x4 for my upcoming 35th ::sigh:: birthday.

2006

2006-12-31T02:02:00.000-05:00

2 hours into the last day of 2006. I am at work; a new contract, a new hospital. I realize so much has changed in 2006. 365 days ago I never would have imagined I would live apart from my family. I guess DH's brothers and sisters have an issue with this. Like I don't? Could anyone really think I would want to be away from them for so long? It is a means to an end. Pay off some bills. Make some decisions. Money makes those decisions easier sometimes. I am providing for my boyz; insurance, money, security. I am doing my duty. Does it suck? YES! Is it necessary? For now. Money doesn't buy the important things.

I have made some dear friends down here south of the 45th parallel. They have made living here bearable. I am not sure what I would do without their loving support. I miss my dear friend Catherine from the VA. I wish I could have stuck her in my bag and taken her with me to my new assignment. From the sounds of it, she wouldn't mind moving on. Jeffrey can always help me find my smile when I misplace it, and he and his kids have been great fun this past week when Edward was down with me. I have a husband, a fiance, a boyfriend and a cabana boy (where is Bradley anyhow?) what is Jeffrey going to be? New relationships at work are blooming, if I can every figure out what they are saying. All of these people are completely disconnected from my life in Alpena.

I have noticed that I am no longer calling Alpena "home." It doesn't feel like home anymore. I feel like I am visiting when I go there. I am, aren't I? I don't feel like I have a home. Alpena is someplace I visit, my apartment in Clawson is someplace to rest my head, my home from my youth is so changed by my brother and sister-in-law's decorating it doesn't seem to fit either. A girl without a country, a woman without a home. Home is where the heart is? Home is where you hang your hat? My heart is in my chest, and I don't wear hats. SGW sings "Everybody needs a homeland / just a place where you can hang your hat / a place to raise your children / everybody needs homeland... My grandfather told me / a long time ago / that a man without ground / is like a man with no soul... The place that I live / I'm just borrowing for now / someday I'll have me an address / and I'll make it somehow." I feel like a man with no soul.

I have 2 distinctly separate lives. North of the 45th I am a wife, a mom, a daughter, a friend. I am the responsible one that thinks of others before herself, does what needs to be done without complaining (much) and makes all the plans and lives in cluttered chaos. South of the 45th I am a single woman who dreams of her life back home, who is a bit wilder than she would ever allow in Alpena (half naked cooking?), who is accountable to herself and her employer only, and who always makes her bed and has been known to vacuum twice a day just to have something to do. When DH and son come down, I get all flustered. They mess with my space. I love having them here and spending time with them, but they leave their shoes all over and stuff is everywhere.

Is it worth it? The money is good (great!) and the benefits cover what we need covered. Do I chuck it all (after June 1st when my lease is up) and go back north of the 45th, work in a job that pays the bills (not as well, but we have managed to this point) but that I hate, that offers me no chance of growth and career development but allows me to be with my boyz? Money ISN'T everything. Do I pack them up and move them here? Is that fair to Edward? To Paul? Paul's game to move, Edward not so much, but he'd roll with it. My Dad? Yikes, don't want to go there now. Can they fit into my life south of the 45th? That scared me most. I am a different person here, can I blend those two lives?

I've never lived alone. I've never had this kind of independence, and I kinda like it. Sure, I get lonely. Very lonely. My new found friends have lives of their own. They can't hang on the couch and watch movies with me, can't come over and play games on a Wednesday evening, can't drop everything like I can just to keep me amused. I have nothing to do in the long hours between work and work. If I were with my boyz, I would have that filled. I need that. But I also would miss the unusual freedom I have here. The relationships I have formed here would change. I don't want them to. I want my cake and eat it too. Come on Rebecca, let's get that communal living thing off the ground. I need that! I want it all!

Well, this is a bummer of a post. I didn't intent it to be. I intended to make this a overview of 2006 (year in review) but it all has been about the last 4 and a half months. I can't even remember what else happened in 2006. 2005 gave me Katrina/Louisiana. I hold that close in my heart, but the first 8 months of 2006 are nonexistent in my heart right now. Strange. Help me remember those months. Something had to happen there other than severe job dissatisfaction at RCRH which prompted this move and all this angst. Rebecca and Steve hooked up, Paul got a job. All these things seem like information I got in a holiday card. They are not a part of my life. Paul has a job, new people in his life, and I know virtually nothing about it/them. And he likewise. 12 years ago when we said "I do" this is not where I thought we would be. But is it ok?

Louisiana E-mails

2006-12-09T04:36:00.000-05:00

I realized there was no place on the net where my e-mails from Louisiana were posted anymore. I refer to them often, but there is no place to reference them to, so here they are. Seems like an eternity ago that these events took place. Seems like a different person that was there. It WAS a different person that was there; no one could have experienced that and not changed on some level.

Excuse the typos, the sappiness, the informality of the writing (they were simple e-mail correspondence home to my boyz) and the other randomness of these posts. Skip them if you want. I put them here for me more than anything else. I don't want to loose this time. I don't want to misplace these memories.

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

10/01/2005

Good Morning Darling,
Please pass this e-mail along to anyone who is interested, but please include a copy to Cindy Myers so she can take a copy up to work. I think hers is the only employee at RCRH who I have in the address book. Also, please let people know they can e-mail me at http://myrealbox.com/w?OR.EU.Z9MGFug.EBREw.CxIN6RQE.J+hadraina@myrealbox.com . I am not sure how often I will be able to check my e-mail, but I was fortunate enough to have access this morning, and I hear that this opportunity does come up on occasion. My time is limited, so please excuse any spelling mistakes, as I will not be able to review this before sending. I am currently at Camp Phoenix in Baton Rouge, LA. Camp Phoenix is located in a school for the visually impaired, so the computer I am typing on is one made accessible for the visually impaired and the font I am typing in is like 120pt. (So now you know why I will not be able to proof read it. It is just one or two words on the screen at a time, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. :-)

It has been a whirlwind last 24 hours. Mike drove me from Alpena to Flint airport, I flew from there to Detroit Metro and then on to New Orleans. The airport there is on limited function, no restaurants open, only one gift show, etc. But it was open, there was air conditioning (Thank God) and I only had to wait for 3 hours for my shuttle to FEMA Tent City in Baton Rouge.

New Orleans was something to see. I started off taking pic, but had to stop. I think it was a shock/awe thing. There was just too much to see. Too much to process. Buildings that look like cut away doll houses, because the sides of them were just gone. Huge trees snapped like match sticks. Water lines on buildings up past entrance doors. I can not imagine the destruction here immediately after the hurricane. They have cleaned up so much. There were piles of wood to be burned, acres of it. They are waiting for the next promise of a storm, will burn before hand and let Mother Nature be kind and keep it in check.

Tent city is amazing. We have showers, laundry, cell phone charging stations, a rec tent complete with big screen TV (Bigger than Denise and Casey's) and AC in the tents. Our tent sleeps around 300 people. I was so exhausted I slept like a rock.

We had Prime Rib for dinner last night and eggs and ham for breakfast. The food has been great, but MRE's are on tap for my permanent assignment center. S'ok, great weight loss plan I hear. Don't make me allow it to sound cushy, it is far from that. But it is much better than I anticipated. Remember however, mom always called me her "lemonade girl." When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I guess I am kinda like that.

I need to go as they need the computer. Please keep up the prayers and good thoughts. So many here need your love and if you send it my way, I have it to give to them 3 fold. Kiss my Edward and let him know how proud I am that he is taking such good care of you.

Love from LA,
Angela

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

10/03/2005

Hello Dear,

02:30 and all is well. I have been assigned as the night team leader here at the Lafayette Special Needs Shelter. It is an amazing place. There is a DMAT* team here from Rhode Island. They are running an ER here in the Heymann Performing Arts Center. All evacuees (not refugees thank you) are triaged through them first, then if they do not have a suitable place to go and no pressing medical needs they are sent to the shelter at the Cajondome where there are 3000+ Rita evacuees currently. If they have a significant medical need, they stay with us. We have a respiratory section where we have oxygen dependent patients and patients who need frequent respiratory treatments, a transition area where people may stay for a day or two just until they are over an acute illness or can find other shelter, and an area for those that are more ill; mostly chronic illnesses, strokes, amputees, and those of advanced age. We have 4 patients with Cerebral Palsy aged 2 - 36. Every age, race, and nationality is here. What a lesson in cultural diversity!

Also an experience has been the food. At Camp Port Allen (aka FEMA Tent City in Baton Rouge)the food was amazing! Prime Rib and lasagna. Great stuff. Here, our food is catered by the local jail. Yummmmm? Today we ate this, um, stuff. It was some kind of mystery meat in a spicy brown gravy. Found out AFTER lunch that it was GIZZARDS. Um, Yum? What an experience.

I did a transfer seminar with the nurses here, most of who are ICU/ Critical Care nurses and their patient's never get out of bed. The DMAT* guys got involved too and learned a lot, and were very appreciative. I sure wish I had wore one of my rings down here though, they all think I am single and wanna "go out after our shift." Well, what can I say, with the over-the-back transfer I learned at RCRH* there is plenty of butt grabbing going on, and well, you get real friendly. :-P

The patient's can take showers in a trailer out behind the Performing Arts Center. It's a really neat area, and kept spotlessly clean by a crew that has that as their sole duty. They are completely scrubbed after each shower. I had one patient that wanted a shower so badly, but could not get up the stairs to get into the shower trailer. They came to me looking for advised on how to get her up the stairs, and I came up with a different solution. I took her into one of the one hole bathrooms here at the Heymann, sat her on the throne, and poored a basin of warm water over her, scrubbed her up from head to toe, including shampoo, and doused her again to remove the soap. Problem solved, and no stairs. Think outside the box folks. This little lady has now become my best friend, and everywhere I go she tells everyone I ran her through the car wash. She has kissed me twice, and I had to promise to let her "buy me lunch one day." Let's see what's on the menu tomorrow. :-)

I feel so honored to be able to share in these folks lives. They are so warm and loving, all of the folks at FEMA*, DMAT*, PHS* and LSS* have been so respectful and supportive to us 16 nurses from across the nation. It has been a great experience. I think I am getting more out of this than the evacuees

.I love you, Darling. Take good care of my Boo Bear. Dad should be home today if he didn't make it back last night. All my fellas give each other a hug for me. I love and miss you all so much, and I am so glad you support me in my craziness and need to fly half way across the country to help others. You accept me for who I am, and know this is what I do, and I appreciate you for allowing me to be here. I LOVE YOU!

Angela
P.S. Please feel free to pass this on to others. It's the only way I can keep in touch.
************ Alphabet Soup Explanation Area ************
DMAT = Disaster Medical Action Team
FEMA = Federal Emergency Management Agency
PHS = Public Health Services
LSS = Louisiana Social Services
RCRH = Rogers City Rehabilitation Hospital (but you knew that)

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

10/07/2005

Hi Babe,

I'm gonna dazzle you with my new military jargon, and bore you with details, but I need to get this out, and I want you all to know my story. Gonna be a long one, please continue to pass them on. I so appreciate the responses I have been getting forwarded to me. It gives a big smile to my day to know there is love coming this way from all over the country.

The last 36 hours have shown me just how much a little love can mean. I was sent on a special deployment Tuesday night. We got word of a situation in Rosepine, LA that needed attention, and I was chosen, along with one of my fellow nurses to go with our IC (Incident Commander), Captain (Dr.) Rory Laughery to assess the situation. We left the Lafayette Special Needs Shelter (from now on referred to as the SNS) and went to Camp Phoenix (Command Central) in Baton Rouge at 22:00. We had a 06:15 meeting to attend about the "Rosepine situation." It was hard to leave the SNS, as we had all become very comfortable here with our roles, our co-workers and our patients, but the need in Rosepine seemed great, and our skills could best be used there, so we went.

I had slept, because I was planning on working from 19:00 - 07:00 so I wasn't tired, and once we arrived at Camp Phoenix, found out where we would be billeted (um, military for leaving our stuff and sleeping) I found a washer and dryer that wasn't in use. WooHoo! Taking advantage of the situation, I washed and dried all I had, and nodded off for 40 winks. A security guard came around, told me of a conference room on the 2nd floor of the building I was in and that it had a couch I could crash on. I had decided not to go to my billeting area, because it was 03:00 and everyone in the area was sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb them for a short nap. Never one to look a gift couch in the mouth, I headed up the stairs, and promptly sacked out. 30 minutes later, I heard a noise, and found a big ol' admiral wandering out of this room off the conference room. I had wandered into his personal quarters and sacked out on his couch. Oops!!! He was kind, told me to stay "as you were" but I was now wide awake from embarrassment and slinked off to the mess for some cold coffee and a few minutes with CNN.

The meeting was all of 5 minutes (typical military, make people move around in the middle of the night and sleep in a strange area for 5 minutes of gab. Take a peek at a map of LA, you will see that I left Lafayette, traveled East 1.5 hours for a 5 minute meeting just to travel West, through Lafayette, 3 hours to Rosepine.) On the plus side, our assignment was going to be a challenge and the drive gave us time to talk and plan.

Now, I will describe our assignment, share it with you and all those on our e-mail list, but I ask you all to keep it to yourselves. It is a sad story at times and could be a media nightmare and hurt (and exploit) many. We did a good thing, and I want this story to be known, but I don't want those involved hurt.

There is a nursing home in Lake Charles, LA that had to evacuate all it's residents due to a mandatory evacuation order before Hurricane Rita hit. These 135 nursing home residents were evacuated to an elementary school in Rosepine, LA. Most of their staff quit when the evacuation order came in, as they had to take care of their families and themselves. I am not saying this is was the correct thing to do; when you chose a health care profession, you make a commitment not to abandon those in your care. I know I would not have left my charges high and dry, I would have stayed to care for them, but everyone has to make their own decisions in life, and then live with them. So, regardless of whether they did "the right thing" or not, many quit, and left these residents with inadequate caregivers. Many of the staff that didn't just quit put in their 2 week notice the day the evacuation order came through. The end of this 2 weeks was yesterday at 14:00.

We arrived at the elementary school to find these residents housed in 2 rooms and a gymnasium. They were sleeping on mattresses on the floors. Only 10 were in beds, and that was because they could not be layed flat or had very severe wounds. Patients with MRSA (an antibacterial reisitant bacteria) were in the middle of the room, with no isolation precautions or even standard precautions of gloves and hand washing. The mattresses were so close together, that they needed to be slided apart to get close enough to the resident to perform any care. Changing diapers had to occur with caregivers kneeling at the bedside. There were just not enough people to care for these folks.

Our plan had been to assess the situation individually (there were 5 of us) and then get together in 15 minutes for a planning meeting and get approval from central command to assist at this location. The best laid plans of mice and men...

We were overwhelmed. There was a group of volunteer health care providers from George Washington University that hugged us as we walked in the door, gave a quick rambling report on the most critical patients and were out the door in 30 minutes. Our IC called Central Command, mobilized troops, and we jumped in with both feet.

A bit more about the conditions there. These folks had been here in these conditions for 14 days at this point, and a mobile shower unit had not been moved in until day 13. The staff that was here were doing the best with the resources they had, but only so many hands allows only so much care to occur. The toileting facilities were appalling, and I chose not to describe them, as they may turn a reader off from finishing this email. I may post them to my blog at some point, but I can't even go there now. We had 2 nurses that took it upon themselves to scrub the bathrooms with bleach within the first hour of their arrival, and EVERYONE was thankful for their unselfishness in this absolutely necessary task.

By 16:00 we had amassed a team of 10 firefighter/basic EMT's, 9 nurses, 4 doctors (family practice, cytopathologist, neurosurgeon, and geriatric psychiatrist) 1 dentist, 1 social worker and 1 pharmacist. 26 pairs of hands, and 26 hearts of gold. We all agreed that we needed to get these people OUT OF HERE, and that we could not affect this change until morning. This meant we had to get through the night. Our IC called Command Central, mentioned the words "media disaster" and informed them that if a camera crew showed up there, it would be all over the news. That was all that needed to be said, and we were promised 2 buses and 22 ambulances by 09:00. Now to get through the night.

We all took turns, working until we were falling over. I got a little nap, but awoke to a 2 inch long "Palmeto Bug" (read cockroach) crawling up my arm. Sleeping in 2 hours shift, we all were on butt wiping duty. Firefighters that had never wiped any butt other than their own were on their knees getting it done. The doctors and pharmacist, social workers and nurses were all side by side, not looking at rank, title or degree and caring for these residents. There was no ego here, this was all about love. We gave every ounce of love we had to these folks on the floor, to the staff that stuck it out and to each other. The respect in the room for our fellow human beings was palpable. No one was any better than the other. Scratch that, the residents were the top dog, the main focus, and everyone did what needed to be done.

At 06:00 we started getting folks into their wheelchairs. The moment they were off of their mattress, someone was stripping the bed of the food and fluid stained linens, and someone else was hauling the mattress out to an awaiting semi trailer. All of the patient belongings (and this was a meager stash) were loaded up, along with the few supplies the nursing home had managed to bring with them. At 09:00 the first bus was there, as promised. We met again briefly to finalize logistics, tell each other how much we appreciated each other's help, and regroup. Our firefighters loaded all the folks we could on the buses, leaving only the most critical and most ill patients for the ambulances. The ones that could walk needed assistance making it up the stairs of the buses, the ones that could not walk were carried. One little firecracker goosed one of our firefighters and gave me a huge exaggerated wink. I'm still not sure if he knows this little tweak wasn't an accident, but those of us that saw her sly little eye know the truth.

I traveled on the first bus back to Lake Charles. The evacuation order had just been lifted at 06:00, and the roads were barely passable at times. The ride went smoothly at first, but some of the residents in all the hubbub and confusion thought they were going to be shipped off somewhere else and started to panic. One little lady up front near me started to cry, and all I could do was stand in the aisle and hold her while she cried. She was inconsolable, and my holding her did nothing but make me feel better. I tell you now, I cried with her the rest of that trip. Once we arrived at the nursing home, she didn't want to get off the bus. "If you leave me here by myself I'll die, I can't take care of myself alone" was what she kept repeating, and we could not convince her she was home. Once we managed to get her off the bus, our geriatric psychiatrist sat with her and ended up having to medicate her, because she was so upset. By the time we left, she was sleeping. I can only hope that when she wakes up she knows she's safe at home.

Many of the residents were concerned about getting off the bus. Once I realized they still had not seen a familiar face, I went inside, brought a care assistant onto the bus, and things went much more smoothly. The care assistant would say "Hi Anna Banana!" or "There's my Sweetheart, Elsie" and their faces would light up at the sound of a familiar voice, the sight of a familiar name, and the loving teasing of someone whom they knew.

The unloading of the buses went smoothly. No one was hurt at all, not even a bump or scrape. They got into the home, saw their favorite staff member; be it maintence, care assistant or dietary; hugs and laughter all around. There's no place like home.

We all cheered as the last lady was carried off the bus. She started to cry. They were all home, they were all safe. She wasn't the only one crying. I saw big macho firefighters wiping the "sweat out of their eyes."

It was fun to walk through the halls of the nursing home and hear the residents saying "I'm not in the right wheelchair." and "When is lunch?" They were back in their environment, and all was well, except this minor change in routine. The adapted back so well.

Less than 27 hours after we arrived in Rosepine, LA we had come together as a team, loved a group of vulnerable folks and relocated this group to a safe environment. The nursing home was a pristine place. No smell, bright colors and personal items everywhere. They were home.

I have never experienced anything like this and hope I never have to again. It was the most demanding thing both physically and emotionally, I have ever done, AND the most rewarding. It was the worst and best experience in my life.

As we left the nursing home, we stopped at a local volunteer fire department to get directions. One of the evacuees staying in the Lafayette SNS had been trying to find out about his home. He just wanted to know if it was still standing. He had called FEMA, the police, the fire department, but they were all too busy to make individual home checks (understandably so. I have pictures I will share when I get home.) We got the directions and drove to his home. It is still standing, not even a limb on the roof. The wires are down, and he will not have electricity for several weeks, but his home is there. Bob, one of my co-horts, took pictures of this fellow's house, and we were off to Lafayette. When we got the the SNS, Bob downloaded the pictures from his camera into his laptop computer, and went to get Lee. They sat down at the table across from us (me, the IC, and a few other top brass) and Lee hollered "That's my house!" He was so excited, we all "wiped the sweat from our eyes" as he told us about his house and how proud he was of it. It's just a little lime green Cajun shack, but it is his castle, and it's still standing. As he got up from the table, he gave Bob the biggest hug, and both he and Bob shared a tear. The little things mean a lot.

Here's the message. LOVE WORKS MIRACLES! Love got 134 people off the floor and into their home without a scratch. Love got 26 medical folks to forget their job descriptions and do what needed to be done. Love gave a cute little ol' Cajun man the first solid nights sleep in over 2 weeks. Love one another and anything can happen.

With all my love,
Angela

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

10/09/2005

Hi Y'all,

I find it so interesting that those of us that live north of the Mason-Dixon line have picked up this greeting. It sure is funny to hear a mid-western accent and a y'all in the same breath.

More interesting events. Makes me know, once again, that I was meant to be here.

One of our evacuees went missing the other day. He had gone to an appointment at the VA clinic at 09:00 and was finished with his evaluation at 14:30. His family arrived here at the SNS around 15:00, and we could not locate him. We were not sure if he got on a shuttle to the Cajun dome (the general shelter in the area that has held over 3,500 hurricane survivors at its most populous moments) or if he just wandered off. Willie was a bit confused on a good day, and could have ended up just about anywhere.

Someone thought they had seen him get on the shuttle to the Cajun dome, so we sent several of the shelter volunteers and the sheriff and city police there to look for him. We had a positive sighting of him sitting on the grass outside of the Cajun dome; so all efforts were focused on that area.

By 18:00, we still had not found Willie. We had people staking out the chow lines at the Cajun dome, figuring since he was diabetic; he most likely would think to get food. Seth and Ben, two of the firefighters who had been with me in Rosepine and had experience looking for lost folks, volunteered to go looking as well, but since they did not know what he looked like, I tagged along for a positive ID. Our description was a 6'2" 180" African American man with graying hair. There are more than a few folks wandering around this area with that description.

Seth and Ben thought we should go back to the location we last knew for sure he was, and that was the VA Clinic. We headed that direction and brain stormed on the way. They asked if he had any specific likes. They had once found a lady who had wandered off at an ice cream shop, because her family told them that she just loved ice cream.

All I knew about Willie was that he had a syncopal episode (had passed out) in a convience store, had been taken to the ER via EMS, and then had ended up in our shelter until his family could come from Alabama to pick him up. We decided to circle the VA clinic, and then check all the convience stores between the clinic and the Cajun dome. We were 2 blocks away from the VA Clinic, and I looked to my left and said, "Pull in, that's him!"

Willie was just standing outside a convience store, cane in hand, looking around. We pulled up to him and I approached saying, "Well, Hi Willie, we've been looking for you." Bewildered, he said "hi," just responding to someone knowing his name. I asked him if he remembered me from the special needs shelter and he said, "Oh, um, sure, I remember you," but I know he didn't. I asked him if he had eaten, and a polite "No, Ma'am" was the response. I told him I had a hot meal waiting for him back at the shelter, and he gladly hopped into the van with us.

Less than 10 minutes after we left the shelter looking for Willie, we had him in the van and on his way to a safe haven. I worry about Willie, as the potential for exploitation is so great. He would have gone with anyone who knew is name. We have things in the works to get someone appointed a guardian for him; I just hope he is safe until then. When he left yesterday with his brother and niece I felt good knowing I was meant to find Willie. Even if I had not had the experience at Rosepine, my time here in Louisiana would have been worth all the fuss and bother, because I helped find Willie.

I have decided a life government work is not for me. Things have been so disorganized, changing on a moments notice, and sometimes changing without anyone being aware of what the plan is. Sometimes the plan hasn't even being thought out. The hypocrisy in command is difficult to deal with at times. I had thought I might like to extend my deployment, but I know now I need to get home to my fellas, and need to be done with the PHS and it's bureaucracy for the time being. I am glad to have had this experience, and will volunteer again, some other time, but I am ready to be home with my boys, seeing the leaves change color in Northern Michigan and sleeping in my bed.

I miss you, Paul. There were many times yesterday I wanted to call you, but had little good to say. Yesterday was a day full of bureaucratic bullshit and morale was low for most of us. Hug my Boo-Bear and get my pillows fluffed. I'll be home before you know it. Looking forward to seeing you on kidney day.

All my Love,
Angela

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

10/11/2005

Morning Darlin' Boys,

We are in the process of shutting down the Lafayette SNS. When we arrived just over a week ago, there were over 50 displaced hurricane survivors housed here. Many from Rita, a few from Katrina, some affected by both. All needing a safe haven, but needing a little more than most.

We have taken care of kids from age 12-26 with cerebral palsy, dialysis patients, amputees, many with severe confusion/dementia/alzheimers, some who just could not get around. At this moment all but 4 of them are relocated. Many to their homes, or the homes of their friends and family, but some to nursing homes and even a few to inpatient rehabilitation facilities (I'm proud to say.)

I have learned so much down here.

We went to New Orleans yesterday to check out our remaining folks living quarters. One of the areas we went in to was an education all in itself. Describing it as a rough neighborhood would be charitable at best. We all stayed in a large group and soon discovered that while this highrise was intact and most of the units undisturbed, our evacuee would not be able to move back in for several months. The stench was unreal (more about that in a bit) and the insurance company needed to come in and inspect before they would open the doors. But the electricity was on.

A nearby party store had the entire side of it blown out, and curiosity got the best of us. We approached the owner to ask how the damage occurred, how the wind could have done such damage. He told us he had very little damage from Katrina, the damage to his building was caused by someone driving a forklift into the side of the building. They then took everything, including the safe and cash-register, and he pointed to the remains of these items in the street across the parking lot.

We then headed to the other side of town to check out another residence. We were stopped by New Orleans police about 1 mile from their home. We were told that area of town was closed, was not habitable and would not be for several months "if ever". Saddened that we could not get to this residence, we turned around and went on the look for Burbon Street.

We took pictures of the x's on the houses. The x's tell a huge story. Once a home was searched, the searchers would spray paint a huge X on the front, with the date, who did the searching and home many survivors were found inside alive, how many dead and if any pets were recovered. WE all cheered at the X with 9-12 as a date, TXR (Texas Recovery) near the x, 0 and 0 for found inside. The cheers were for the next words on the wall. "Recovered, 1 cat, 3 fish. Search Petfinders.com" Let's get these families complete again. I thought of Lee and Doug and the conversation we had recently about the hurricane Doug rode out with his pooch because he was not allowed to take him with him when ordered to evacuate. Families are more than just people.

Traffic was extremely congested. Military vehicles, construction vehicles and other utility trucks filled the narrow streets of New Orleans. Refridgerators were everywhere, duct taped shut with warnings written on them. It seems everyone decided to throw out their fridges instead of attempting to clean them out, and I can not say I blame them. The stench I mentioned earlier was of mold and mud but also rotten food. There were a few restaurants that had been inspected along Burbon Street and were allowed to open, but I have to tell you, the smell would have prevented me from eating at any of them. We did kind of get used to the odor in the 45 minutes we were on Burbon Street, but it was so offensive, dinner was not on my mind.

We stopped at a shop on Burbon Street and charged in en-mass. They had t-shirts that said "Katrina Disaster Rescue Team" on them, and we bought out the store. I also got my fellas t-shirts from the Big Easy, and Mardi Gras beads to pass out at work. This little Cajun shop keeper and his wife were in hog heaven and must have cleared over $1,000.00 in just 1/2 hour. We did our part to boost the economy in New Orleans.

When we got back to the Heymann Center, we wandered around our empty shelter, relocated our things to the patient care area, and got ready for dinner. The Heymann Performing Arts Center is getting ready to reopen to the public for their shows. The Full Monty is playing here by the end of the month and they need their practice space. We have moved our bunks out of the lobby, balcony and hallways of the auditorium, and are now living on the other side of the shelter where just days ago we had many displaced hurricane survivors. We joke that we now are partaking in the whole evacuee experience, but that could not be further from the truth. We all have homes to go back to, we all know where our friends and family are living, and we all know that by Saturday morning, we will all be eating pancakes with our families and washing the last of the LA grime from our hair. We could never understand the hurivcane survivor experience, and Thank God for that.

I went to dinner last night with our new Incident Commander and 2 other nurses. We went to a delightful restaurant called Prejean's and ate the most incredible Cajun food. I had Crawfish enchiladas and a shrimp and asparagus salad. Oh My Goodness! Better food could not be found. I bought the restaurant's cookbook, so beward. Spicy Cajun food coming your way!

Let me share with you what I have learned...

Disasters bring out the worst in some people.
Disasters bring out the best in some people.

Cajun food can be absolutely inedible (gizzards)
Cajun food can be a culinary delight (last night)

Austere conditions by FEMA's standards can include showers and electricity.

NutriaRats are not good eating (no matter what the local government tries to tell you)NutriaRats are interesting to look at (See a beaver and possum combined with HUGE orange teeth; don't worry, I have pictures)

Never believe what you are told by a government organization until 5 minutes after it happened, and even then, believe it when it you can not see any different outcome.

Military life is NOT for me, I like more structure in my life (ironic)

I am the most fortunate woman in the world to have you guys in my life. You have supported me, allowed me to follow my heart and help others and you both support me in my everyday as well. You can not know how much this fact has become clear to me in the last several days. You guys are amazing and I love you so for your unselfishness in letting me be me.

I'll see you soon, and miss you much!

Love from LA,
Angela

Moved, Again

2006-12-05T03:09:00.000-05:00

From Canton to Clawson.

I have never been so happy to move.

The place in Canton was ok, better than the hotel room in Ann Arbor, but Clawson; it's like old home week. I know were things are. I remember eating at that place, skipping class at that place, getting my prom dress drycleaned at that place, Uncle Art living down there, taking dance lessons there, going roller skating there, kissing a boy behind that building on a cool february evening after play practice. Things look familure. I know where I am. I know where I am going.

I'm a mile and a half from my in-laws, and just under 2 miles from my brothers. I'm walking distance to my old high school. I remember delivering pizza's in the apartment complex I live in. I wonder if I ever delivered to someone in this actual unit?

If I have to be so far away from home, it's nice to be in my hometown. I have lived north of the 45th parallel for over 11 years now, but this is still my 'hood. I lived here, I grew up here, I laughed, cried, played hookie, smiked cigarettes, fell in and out and in and out and in love here.

Can't wait to go to Thomas Video, Flip Side Records, Lim's Chinese Restaurant, Delmar's Restaurant, Good Food Company, Anita's Kitchen, THE OAKLAND MALL (I lived there for several years I believe). But I miss the Abby Theater, The Washington Theater, La Fondu, Sherman's, Joe's Army/Navy, and many other places that are gone that I have yet to discover.

I feel more at home in this area than in Alpena. A move in my future? Well, actually, I have already moved, haven't I. Perhaps a move in my family's future (That means you too, Dad)

Must write

2006-11-12T22:22:00.000-05:00

I come up with all these great things to blog about but never sit down and get it done. I need to start to take time to let my creativity out again. I've been holding it in. Sharing it only with myself.

Living in the Metro Detroit area has made me a bit of an introvert. I'm enjoying the isolation. I have never lived alone. I went from my parents home to sharing a home with my husband, and I initially found living alone to be frightening and isolating. Now I relish the quiet, the space of my own, but I still am keeping everything to myself. Even on phone calls home, the talk is trivial. I have processed the thoughts in my brain, and find no need to let them out.

Gonna try to blog regularly. TRY. All I can do is try. I am going to start a new blog for stories of the patients that have touched my heart. I NEED to get that out, but not here. It doesn't feel appropriate for here.

4 new blogs after this quick service announcement

2006-05-20T16:33:00.000-04:00

I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t feel like I can string two words together that make sense. I have tried writing for the last two months, and everything seems to come out like I am babbling. So, why am I not blogging? I don’t feel like I am making sense.

Could it be the weather? Some Seasonal Affective Disorder type thing? Is it my dread over going to work? Every day I have to go in to work, I literally make myself ill. Is my brain just not making the connections it use to? Does this mean I should go back to school, and stimulate myself again? I like to think that I make myself learn in the every day, but maybe not?

So much I have wanted to blog/write about, but I feel I can not do my thoughts justice by pounding them out on the keyboard. The words just don’t flow.

Deal with my poor use of the English language. Maybe I can write my way through this.

Gifts in the pages of books

2006-05-20T16:30:00.001-04:00

I have found many gifts in the pages of a book.

Green Eggs and Ham gave me the love of reading. Being able to read by myself was such a joy. I learned to read that book by listening to it on cassette, turning the pages when the musical “tink” sounded, and putting the sound I was hearing together with the text I was reading until, after many many repetitions, I knew that “I am Sam, Sam I am” was what those words meant. Words meant something. Amazing.

I learned to be a friend by reading a book called, Balcony People. I read this book back in my original Amway days (yep, I fell for Amway not once, but twice) It’s funny, because I have re-read this book, not in an Amway sense, but as a free thinking adult, and the lesson I have always attributed to this book is not what this book is about at all. Does this really matter? What I took from it on the first run through has made me the friend I am. One that stands in the balcony of my friends and cheers them on. Knowing when to be quiet, and when to cheer louder. Again, this is not at all what this book is about, but it is what I made it about.

Another book that gave a huge gift to me is The Physician by Noah Gordon. This book gave me an acceptance of my religious beliefs. Growing up, I was a very firm Christian. Matter of fact, I couldn’t wait to turn 16 so I could get my driver’s license so I could drive myself to church on Wednesdays and Sundays. Someone challenged my blind acceptance to the faith I had so heartily swallowed as a child. I will always thank him for that. My beliefs have become very eclectic, but that Baptist upbringing still nagged at some spot in my brain that I was wrong, going to hell, blah, blah, blah. While the book The Physician is not about religion per se, the main character in this story pretends to be Jewish to get an education, and when he confesses to his best friend that he is not Jewish, his friend feels so betrayed. Upon thinking about this situation, his friend goes from feeling betrayed to fearing for his friend’s soul, to acceptance of his friend’s differing path. He sees the after life and describes his understanding of things by describing “The Here After” as an island, and there are many bridges that span from this world to the next, and everyone can get there, they just take a different bridge. I could now accept that everyone can have a different path. I can have a different path. What a gift I found in the pages of that book.

The greatest gift I have found in the pages of a book, literally were between the pages of a book. Recently my husband, son and I went to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. After seeing this movie, I thought it might be fun to read the series again, so I picked up the first book. I had read it when it first came out, in the late 90’s. Now, I am a purest when it comes to book. I treat them with respect, unable to underline a text book, or mare a page. I certainly would never bend a page over as a book mark. This being so, I use all kinds of things for bookmarks. Sometimes it’s a bank receipt, and insert from a magazine, a Kleenex or a gum wrapper. I opened Harry Potter and the Sourcer’s Stone and found the bookmark I had left there, and I cried. It was a picture, just a snapshot. It was from my wedding reception, and it was a picture of my mom and me. Smiles as bright as the sun, looking so much alike, looking so much like friends. She looks good, healthy; not like in my wedding pictures (we were married in August, but did not hold our reception until November). I used this bookmark for the entire Harry Potter series, propping my Mom up so I could glance at her as I read. The greatest gift I ever got from a book was not in the words, but in between the pages, and it was a present I left for myself. A memory, a smile, a warm loving feeling from my mom.

Kitchen Remodeling

2006-05-20T16:30:00.000-04:00

I want it over with!

We are remodeling the kitchen. AHHHHH! I am so ready for it to be done. We removed part of the wall between the kitchen and the dining room, replaced the sliding glass door and window. New wood laminate floor, new cupboards, new countertop, new dishwasher, textured the walls, new ceiling. New new new. But damn, I want it to be over. I never thought I would bitch about having to eat out all the time. I just want to cook again. It is going to be gorgeous when it is done, just getting there.

Multiples of 4

2006-05-20T16:29:00.000-04:00

I am bit nervous. There is this 4 year thing going on. Let’s see… 16 years ago my husband got clean. Major change. 12 years ago, we got married. Major change. 8 years ago, Paul had a kidney transplant. Major Change. 4 years ago, Paul had a pancreas transplant. Major change. What’s in the cards for this year?

I’m liking our boring life. No major catastrophes. No major going ons. Life is just coasting right now, and I am ok with that.

I look at my brother-in-law and my friend who are in the mushy gushy throws of a budding relationship. They coo and giggle. I remember those stomach flipping days when a kiss could make you fly. I remember those days fondly, and smile when I know they are experiencing these butterfly moments, but I am so glad that it's not me. Don’t get me wrong, Paul can still make my heart skip with a tender kiss, but these are special moments, not the every day. I like that we are comfortable with each other. We are out of the “gotta shave my legs” days, and into the “oops, sorry I burped” days. We are comfortable with each other. I am so glad he is my friend, my lover, my husband and ultimate partner. I could not imagine walking through each day without him. But walking is ok. We don’t have to run. Does this make sense?

I just don’t want the 4 year thing. I like coasting. Can’t we just coast through 2006? Please?

Religion and a 10 year old

2006-05-20T16:28:00.000-04:00

Edward is invited to a birthday party this weekend. It is being held at a local church. I have no problem with this, but I don’t want him to have a problem being there. We have raised a very liberal child. We have introduced him to many many religions. My hope is one day he will pick the path that sings to his soul.

His cousin asked him if he believed in God. He said he did not. Duane was aghast and told him he was going to H – E – Double Hockey Sticks. Edward replied, “How can I go to hell, when I don’t believe such a place exists?” My heart swelled. What a kid.

Now he is a self proclaimed Buddist/Driud. I’m not sure why he has labeled himself such, but hey. The issue is he is going to this party at a Christian church with children who are Christians. I don’t want him to have to defend himself, or get made fun of. We talked about respecting other’s beliefs. We asked him what he would say if someone asked if he believed in God. His response… “Which one?” ::SMIRK:: That’s my kid.

He mentions Loki, Thor, Zeus, Bumba (the vomiting god, one of his favorites). So, while not wanting him to disrespect his beliefs, I want him to be comfortable around his friends and respectful of their beliefs. It is sad that I feel they would not respect his. But I want to arm him with the tools necessary to survive in a largely Christian society. Am I wrong to encourage him to “go with the flow?” I did tell him I am not discounting his beliefs, nor do I want him to feel he needs to be ashamed of who he is, but that I also don’t want to see him hurt. Sheesh, how come they don’t go over this stuff in the parent handbook. Oh wait, that’s right, there is no parent handbook. I just hope I do ok by him. I am proud of him being unique. And he is comfortable in that uniqueness. When we call him weird (come on, what 10 year old doesn’t deserve to be called weird once and awhile) he says “Thank you” with a smile and wanders off. He considers it a compliment. What a kid!

Excuses...

2006-04-21T14:03:00.000-04:00

So, I had a hang nail, and it hurt to type.
That's why I didn't blog...

I was working so many hours, I didn't have any time to myself.
That's why I didn't blog...

When I wasn't working, I wanted to spend time with my kid.
That's why I didn't blog...

My dad had surgery (again) and I was busy making his bed.
That's why I didn't blog...

I had too much to write, and didn't know where to begin.
That's why I didn't blog...

Someone broke my spellcheck and I didn't want to put you trough reading my mispellleid Blug.
That's why I didn't blog...

It was snowing out, and I was worried the internet connection would go down causing all my thoughts to go off into the ether.
That's why I didn't blog...

The sun was shining and who wants to sit at a keyboard when it is so beautiful outside.
That's why I didn't blog...

I got a new GPS and have been out geocaching.
That's why I didn't blog...

My lazy ass didn't sit down and do it.
That IS why I didn't blog.

So, I'll try better.
But coming up with all these excuses sure was fun.

Thankful

2006-02-04T12:55:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I will warn you now; this may be an overly sappy post. I'm going on 3 hours sleep, achieved 1 hour at a time, and I am a bit emotional, but here goes.

Paul and I went to a funeral this morning. Doreen was a friend of our, actually, more of an acquaintance. She had some severe lung disease and needed a double lung transplant. Unfortunately for her, she was not to receive this "gift of life."

At the funeral where Reverend Clive Dickens spoke, I got to thinking about how easily this could have been for Paul. How without the "gifts" given to him, I could be the person in the front pew. We have been so fortunate. I held Paul's hand and cried. Not for Doreen, oddly enough, but for what could have been for us. Doreen was a dear person, but I really didn’t know her well. Our common bond was her need for a transplant. We maybe saw her 10 times in her life, but we still felt for her, and her need.

Reverend Dickens is an amazing speaker. When he "preaches” he speaks to you, not in the "preachy minister tone" but like he is having a conversation with you. His funeral service is a local legend, and many have spoken about Clive's story before. His mother died when he was 3, his father when he was 10 and the Aunt that raised him from there died when he was 16. His 12 year old daughter died tragically on the way home from school one day, and Reverend Dickens shares this with the mourners. At first I thought "how self serving, sharing his grief when others are so acutely feeling their sorrow" but when he talks about the thousands of monarch butterflies that found their way to his yard on the eve of his daughter's funeral and how he knows that was God's way of telling him there was a reason to go on, a hereafter and that he will be with his family again. When he chokes up saying he knows he will go to heaven one day and say "Hello Momma, Hello Papa." It makes me want to believe it too.

So today I cried at a funeral, but the tears were one of thanks for Shelly and our little 7 year old donor, who still remains un-named. They were for the family's pain, and for Reverend Dickens tale, and for myself, because I do not believe that I will get to say "Hello Momma" some day. It would be nice, but I don't see that as truth. But most of all, I am thankful for the day today is, and that my husband is healthy and happy (usually) and that he was there to hold my hand as I cried.

Postal Presents

2006-01-06T20:19:00.000-05:00

I got the nicest package in the mail today. I love getting packages in the mail, perhaps which is why I also like to send them. In my daily travels I will run across something that I think a friend of mine would like, and pick it up. When I get a collection of stuff, I mail it out. The package I got today was so special.

Denise sent me a package. Included in the package was a home made Christmas card and some delightful book marks. Also a Coffee Queen Tiara (you have to see it to appreciate it), some super charged coffee and some yummy smelling soap. She also included some tasty treats including her absolutely incredible gingersnap/molasses cookie and some candies. She sent black walnut chips, and I don't know if she knew this, but they were my grandfather's favorite. I am sure she picked them up at the candy store in Bay City, and I wonder if I had mentioned them and their significance when we visited this shop together. You see, Denise is the kind of person who would remember a little thing like that.

The most amazing thing in the box; this package of treasures she put together thinking of me, was Isabelle's ashes. The fact that Denise would share with me the remains of her dear friend (an English Bull Mastiff) touched me so. Denise loved Isabelle and they went through so much together. Many changes, challenges and life events were shared by these friends, and the fact that Denise would honor me with some of Isabelle's remains touched me in a way that I can not put to words. I cried, not for Isabelle and her passing; all those tears have been shed for me, but I cried for the honor of being entrusted with my dear friends memories.

So, all the goodies and fun things this package contained were great, but the love that Denise sent me in a little wooden heart shaped box can never be topped.

What am I thankful for?

2005-11-26T10:38:00.000-05:00

I know, its hokie, but every year at this time I follow the ol' cliché and think/list what I am thankful for. It's like a ritual for me. Giving me time to reflect on the year and on my life and look at the positives. Some days we can get bogged down in what we wish we could change (and what we are in the process of changing), but this week is for being thankful for what I have.

I am thankful for my husband, who supports me no matter what, knows his crazy wife will do crazy things and can be unreasonable in her desires to do it all. He helps me and guides me to do it all.

I am thankful for my son who accepts me as his mom, who understands when I am not the perfect parent, and who is a pretty darn good kid in spite of our occasional failings as leaders in his life.

I am thankful for my father who has always told me that there isn't anything in this world I can't do. He has always supported me, loved me and guided me, and while I acknowledge, like Edward's parents, he is/was not perfect, but he did a damn fine job of raising me and my brother, and continues to be there for us, and also to be our friend.

I am thankful for my brother, who is my inspiration. I have always looked up to him, and admired his drive. He is a go getter and does what he sets out to do. I hope to one day be half as good a nurse as he is.

I am thankful for my friends who I can call on at any moment, day or night. I am very blessed with some incredible people in my world and know that the universe has smiled on me when these incredible people were put in my path to walk beside me.

I am thankful that I have a roof over my head, have the few meager items that I can call mine, and know I am secure in my environment. Whenever I start to feel lacking materialistically, God throws something in my way to make me realize how fortunate I am. Katrina and Rita did that this year.

Speaking of hurricanes... I am thankful that I had the opportunity to go to Louisiana to effect a change in the lives of those affected by Mother Nature's wrath. I could use my skills to help my fellow man. If that is not a gift from God, I don't know what is.

I am thankful that there are others out there that felt as I did, and also volunteered their time to help out in Louisiana. I have made friends with people I so admire. Bob, Rory, Seth and Ben will forever have a very special place in my heart. I have been blessed with a few short days of their lives, and my life is all the more richer for having occupied the same space with these incredible people. I learned from them all, I respect and admire them, and smile at the love that they gave to the world.

I find in reviewing what I have just written that the things I am thankful for aren't "things" for the most part, but people. I have always known that people are the most important part of my life. I hope they know that. I'm glad I do.

One last thanksgiving thought to note... Just like last year, this year the turkey took far less time to cook than I thought. Note to self... A 16# fresh turkey can cook in my electric roaster in 90 minutes. Well, I guess I am also thankful for electronic blogs. Next year perhaps I will remember to check this post before putting the bird on the fire. I know my guests will be thankful for that.

Ka-Boom!

2005-11-06T23:13:00.000-05:00

I blew up at my kid today.

I am a stern, but loving mom. My son has a healthy fear of my authority, but knows I love him. Tonight I scared myself, and him too.

I asked him to change the sheets on his bed and he had a bit of a challenge with it. No problem, I helped, but then I found what was under his mattress. A bottle of his father's special order butterscotch rootbeer. Not a big deal. It could have been a bottle of real beer had we had some in the house, but the fact that he snuck it made me upset. I called his dad to see the evidence, and let him deal with it. Moments later, I was called back to his room. Not only was the empty rootbeer bottle there, there was my husband's foot long dager he bought for renaissance festival garb, 2 of my bras and a game boy that we did not buy for him.

My blood pressure rose, he told us he didn't know how that stuff got there. A bold face lie, right to my face. Not a flinch. I went nuts. I spanked him (which has only happened a few times in his life and not since he has been "grown up") I called him a thief and told him he was lying to me, and I would not tolerate liers in my house. I threatened, I yelled and I felt like shit as my kid cried.

He did tell me the truth. He knows taking the rootbeer was wrong but "he was thirsty" (he did acknowledge that he has never been for want of something to drink.) He did admit that he took my bras because he was curious as to what they felt like (he has a cruch on a girl in his school who is an early bloomer.) He admitted that he took his father's dager, waved it around a few times in his room then tucked it under his mattress because he couldn't get it back where it came from without being caught. And the game boy he bought from a classmate last year for $2.00. It was broken and didn't have any games with it so I'm not sure why he wanted it in the first place. I asked if there was anything else he wanted to fess up about since he was coming clean, and he admitted he had my husband's epee in his closet as well.

I still feel like shit. I said some terrible things. I hit him. I HIT HIM. What the hell is wrong with me. I know he wasn't abused, I didn't wail on him it was much more of an emotional hurt than anything, but I hit my child in anger and I am ashamed. I cried. He knows I feel bad about losing my temper, because I told him I was wrong. I told him I lost my temper and that is no excuse for my behavior. I feel horrible still.

I told him I love him. I held him for over 1/2 hour. He kissed me, said he loves me and he forgives me, and he is sorry he did what he did.

I still feel like shit.

We gutted his room. Packed everything up in garbage bags and boxes and they are all in the guest room. We will go through them in the weeks to come. We were going to do this anyhow, he has outgrown so many of his toys, he wants to give them away to kids less fortunate. His room is spotless, vacuumed and rearranged. I'll help him figure out what to keep and what can go. I just hope I can heal from what I did. I feel horrible.

I remember so clearly the arguments I had with my father growing up. Some of them still hurt. But he never hit me. I hit my child. I may never forgive myself for this. I hope some day Edward can. He says he does, but I can't believe him yet. How can he forgive me when I can't forgive myself?

Back from Louisiana

2005-10-23T12:41:00.000-04:00

Ok, ok. I'll blog again. Been in reintegration overload. Time to get back to business.

Life has been hectic since I got home. Starting with the coming home... My husband and "the Girliez" and a Home Depot hijacked friend redid my livingroom while I was gone. They moved out the wood stove, expanded the stage to cover the entire front of the room, painted the wall, put in a sky light and 2 ceiling fans. Wow! I jaw dropped. Now I'm really itching for the new carpet, but my 2 weeks of "unpaid leave" have left the bank book a little light. Soon enough.

I'm having some "reintegration pains" being back in "civilian life." I find I cry at in-opportune moments, and almost daily on my way home from work. My work here seems so much less important, and I struggle with accepting my job as fullfilling. I am finding I am angry with my co-workers who blast FEMA at every turn and who praise the local medical team that self deployed, avoiding the "governmental red tape" and who look at what I did as "the easy way out." I don't see them helping, "the easy way" or any way. Some didn't even donate to our dress down day to benefit the huricane victims because it didn't occur in their own backyard. I'm tired of telling the same stories over and over again, and while I know he means well, I'm tired of my dad telling me how proud he is. I did this not for me. This was not an ego thing. This was an opportunity to care for my fellow brothers and sisters on this planet. I don't want accolades, but I do want people to be mindful of the blessings in their lives.

I find I am keeping way too busy, maybe to avoid thinking, feeling... I find I have not contacted anyone I was with in Louisiana (except Bob and Rory who were with me in the thick of it) as I feel they can't understand where I am right now. Bob and Rory, Ben and Seth are the only ones that can know what that was like. I spend too much time looking at the pictures, organizing them, arranging them, cropping them, reliving them. Like gawking at an accident scene.

I look at the fall leaves differently. They seem so remarkable this year. So vibrant. I appreciate the little things. I cried with a demented lady at work the other night. She was so confused and disoriented, reminding me of the little lady on the bus to LCCC who was sure she was being abandoned.

I am not a crier. It's just not the type of person I am. I feel like an emotional mess, but am letting my feelings occur. They obviously need to get out. Suppress them, and I'm heading for an ulcer.

My husband and son have been very loving. They are giving me my space I need when I need it, and holding my hand when I let them. I never thought this would be such an impact on my life.

I'm ok, really. Just surprised. I think I am dealing ok. But I feel weak.

Strange?

So, it's good to be home. I missed everyone so, but my heart is timesharing in Louisiana with the people I did and didn't help.

Dining Room ReDo

2005-09-22T16:22:00.000-04:00

We are redoing the dining room. I can't call it remodeling, it's a re-doing. New carpet, new paint (celestial blue) new outlets (they makes such a big change), and moving furniture around. Makes it feel so special. Silly how just a little change can make such a big difference.

Kinda like life. A little change can make a big difference. Just a change of perspective can make a day bright and sunny versus dark and cloudy. Sometimes when life is giving you a grey, gloomy day, you need to shift positions to see the sunshine.

Step the the left, step to the right, take a step back or make a wild leap forward, but when gloominess sets in, MOVE, CHANGE, GROW!

I'm moving, letting things change. I'm smiling in the sun!

My Bicycle

2005-09-01T17:58:00.000-04:00

I did it. I bought a bicycle. When I was a kid, I rode my bike everywhere. Sometime around the time I got my first car I never seemed to have the time to bike around town anymore.

When we were in Bay City recently, I got the opportunity to ride my friend Casey's bike. What a cool bike. The pedals are set a bit forward so it is a more natural leg movement, and the handlebars are a bit higher, so no back strain. Only one problem, my ass hurt from sitting on the seat. Resigned to never finding a bike I could ride again, I went home to Alpena, with a sore bum and my heart a bit heavy.

Well, today I stopped in the bike shop looking for a recumbant bike, ya know, those bench seats that you almost lay down in to ride. Like biking on a sofa. Jerry, the gem at the bike shop said, "Try this one" same bike as Casey's, but a girls bike in a cool girlie color (lavendar suede to be exact). I told Jerry, "I like this bike but it hurts my, um, tailbone." He fixed that for me with a new seat. I call it the butt hole seat, it has a hole in the middle for your tail bone to sit in and it takes all the pressure off of the lower spine. I told Jerry I would give him half now if he would hold the bike for me, and I would be back on the 9th with the remainder to pick up the bike. No problem.

I picked up my kid from school, told him of my new purchase and asked him if he wanted to see it. "SURE!" We pulled into the bike shop, I waved to Jerry and told him I just stopped by to show off my new toy. Without a moments hesitation Jerry said, "You need to take that bike home today." I told him I would like nothing more, but just couldn't squeeze out the remaining money until next payday. He said no problem, as long as I came back on the 9th, and didn't come up with an excuse like the waterheater went out or some such nonsense. Wow. I was floored. This guy was willing to let me skate out paying half for this bike taking on blind faith that I would return in a week. He said "There a only a few precious days until the snow flies, and you need to go for a ride with that young man." Only in Alpena.

I insisted on giving him a post dated check, just to make me feel better about the whole transaction, and I know how time can get away from me sometimes. We rushed home and went for a bike ride. Just me and the kid, talking about school, bikes, dogs, birds, legos, and pickles. You had to be there.

Actually, I'm glad you weren't. It was a great time, just him and I and our bikes.

Flames

2005-08-16T20:29:00.000-04:00

I read an article some time ago about the dangers of contacting an ex. It's so easy to do in today's connected world. I "googled" my Ex and found him in 0.32 seconds (per Google's calculations). We e-mailed, chatted on the phone and met again in person. We had many conversations about times past, and events that had transpired in the 7 years we had been out of touch. It was a great walk down memory lane and my heart lept at times. We did the "what if's" and the "did you ever think of me's" and the, "hmmm, should we go there again's", and I saw the danger.

But I have to say, spending time with the Ex made me realize how lucky I am to have who I have now. I like who I am now. I am me, with my husband. I was someone different entirely around the Ex. I said what he wanted me to say, acted how he wanted me to act, cow-towed to his every expectation. Ick.

With Hubby, I am me; a strong, opinionated woman who likes herself, who is true to the person she was raised to be.

The Ex has been and seen and done things I would have loved to have experienced. Hubby and I have been less able to do these things for monetary, health and other practical reasons, but I wouldn't trade a minute with Hubby for the world.

Hubby likes people. He is empathetic and cares for others. The Ex thinks of himself first and all others after if, and only if, it works out ok in his world.

Hubby takes care of me, and I take care of him. The Ex is very self centered. Hubby is a part of the world as a whole, The Ex it the world in its entirety (in his mind).

Ladies, find that old flame, but be careful not to get burned. You will be playing with fire, but in my experience, dowsing that flame allowed me to see my world so much more brightly. I have the most amazing man in my life and no other, even the idealized Ex, could make me happier.

The new matriach

2005-08-10T02:12:00.000-04:00

2nd night in a row, and I can't sleep. This is how this blogging thing started for me, so while I'm waiting for my sleep aid to kick in, I'll work further on the last 6 weeks.

I have become the eldest female in my family. The only female.

My grandmother died July 1, 2006.

She was in hospice, she had cancer. We knew this was coming, but not this quickly. It was a blessing really. She was home, in her own environment. She was alone, which is not the most comforting thought for me, but she was able to be alone, which is comforting. She went out like Elvis, on the throne. This would mortify her. If she knew that everyone knew that she died while sitting on the crapper... oh lord.

My realtionship with my grandmother was interesting on a good day, horrible on a bad day, and lately there were more bad days then good. She was mentally unstable and oddly again, that gives me comfort.

On the good days she would send me emails telling me she was proud of me; proud of my becoming a nurse. She would shower me with expensive gifts befitting a queen and words of praise that meant more to me than the gifts. On the bad days she would call me lair, and demand that my mother's love for her was greater than my mother's love for me. Simple words can hurt so much.

I went to Florida to help my uncle and brother get her affairs in order. We are all that's left of her family now. We found documents and pictures that made us smile. We found shopping lists from 1968, ration books from the war, newspaper articles from the 80's on the evils of the entire Bush clan. If you had a greesy cat, she had an article cut out for you on what to feed it to keep if from being so greesy (really) and she had 93 boxes of jello.

We packed up all the food items that were unopened and took them to a local food pantry. They were so excited and happy to have the donations. People don't give as much in the warm months in Florida, as so many of the snow birds are in their northern habitats.

We found birth and death records going back to my great great grandparents, immigration papers, baptismal records, divorce decrees (which shocked us all). Found a newspaper clipping from my mother's engagement to someone other than my father. That sparked an interesting dinner conversation with my uncle, and showed me my mom's first real broken heart.

Pictures, pictures, pictures of trips to England, Belgium, Canada, Mexico, cruises, and just shenanigans around the trailer park where they lived. Pictures of people I can not name, and will never be able to name as that information went to the grave with her.

I got to see my 1,000 cranes again. She had them proudly displayed in her dining room. The sample papers were in the bedroom and she had asked the hospice nurse to help her fold one. The folks at hospice told me how much she loved me, and how fondly she talked of me. That was odd. Who was this woman they had met and cared for? She hadn't said a kind thing about me to anyone else for over a year.

Her death could have been a long protracted time of illness, but instead, she went on the can. Quick and common, one grunt and it's over.

My feelings were (and are) all over the map. My grandmother passed on. I feel sorrow, but she has been dead to me for years really. Anytime I would open myself to her, she would treat me kindly for a few months, then slam me down again, and hurt me all over. No one could ever tell me why, and like those nameless photos, I'll never know, she took that infomation to the grave.

And from the grave, she slammed the door in my face one final time. The will she and my grandfather drafted in October 2001, after my mom's passing, but before my grandfather's passing read... "We selectively and intentionally make no provision for the lineal descendents of our deceased daughter..." Ouch again. Not only did she write my brother and I out of the will (the only grandchildren) she wrote our children off as well. A slap from the beyond.

It's not the money. All I ever wanted from this woman was love. I loved her. I told her this every time we communicated. She never returned it.

Reverend Anderson said some beautiful things at her funeral, things I am trying to do. He told us to remember the good times, and not the hurtful things we mortals say to each other. Let those words go, and keep the memories alive that bring joy to our heart. So, here is my attempt.

I remember rootbeer floats served in flower pots.
I remember her letting me plant corn in my grandfather's flower bed.
I remember toys under the kitchen sink. No chemicals here, just toys for her grandkids.
I remember being covered up with a "kiki" when we'd snooze on the "davenport."
I remember an inexhaustive supply of spearmint leaves.
I remember making Christmas cookies with her and my mom.
I remember politically incorrect jokes told in all innocence to a Czechoslovakian waiter.
I remember her playing The Entertainer on the organ.
I remember sleeping in "The Blue Room" and feeling like a princess.
Most of all I remember her laugh. So child like and free. A giggle really. I'll miss that.

Dorothy, your pain is over, you are free of this earthly shell.

Perhaps too, my pain can begin to heal.

B9, it's not just a bingo call anymore

2005-08-09T18:03:00.000-04:00

I know I have a history. A genetic history. I think about it daily, saddly, and I know I have to take action to be responsible to my family and friends, and to myself.

I am losing weight, that helps. I have yearly checks and mamograms. I am having all unnecessary girlie parts taken to the cleaners and have investigated natural alternatives to HRT. I do all this so I can be here for those I love, and I do all this for me.

When I had my mamogram this year, I thought nothing of it. A little squeeze in their machine, and it's all over. Whew, done for another year. Then they called. "We want to get another picture. There is a density we want to evaluate. Could just be tissue piled up on itself. Don't worry, but come in tomorrow." Ok, I think. No sweat.

They take the pictures, this time a bit tighter, a bit squishier, and the wait.
"Well, we'd like to send you for an ultrasound."
When?
"Right now."
Um, ok.

Now I wait with nerves on fire. I need the results. Mom had breast cancer at 41, Grandma was older, but still, strike 2 on the old familial genetic tree. My 2nd cousin, Terry, died at 29 from metastatic breast cancer. ::gulp:: (she was so vain that she would not have surgery to remove the cancer because without a breast she felt she would not be a woman. She left behind 2 children under the age of 10. So sad.) I call my Doctor's office. I have connections there. The official reports reads...

"2cm x 1cm density in the right breast. Due to extensive family history, surgical biopsy is recommended to exclude the low likelyhood of a neoplasm."

That's it in a nutshell.

Low Likelyhood

I can breath again. Thank god, because now, just hours after I get this report of cautiously optomistic news, I find out my grandmother has passed on in Florida, and I need to concentrate my efforts on other matters.

To Florida, then Wisconsin, then home. I make an appointment with the local surgeon and they get me in right away. I was able to stop thinking about it while the chaos of my travels was occuring, now that I have a surgery date, I get nervous. Ah well.

My Doc doesn't do needle biopsies and for that I am glad. She does a total lumpectomy. Saves you the hassle of looking at the same spot year after year. And as I remember my father saying so eloquently once about my mother's cancer, "Can't we just take it all? I'm a woodworker, and if there is a knot in a board, I cut it out." Yep, we cut out the knot in this plank.

The worst part of the whole surgery thing was the IV. I have crappy veins. The needle isolation, piece of cake. The anestetic, well, lets say the surgery staff thought it was grand. They put me out while they numbed the area then they let me wake up (my wish, by the way). Versed is the drug of choice and it is an amnesiac. I had them giggling in the OR when I asked for the 5th time, "So, when will I get the pathology report?" and for the 6th time, "Hey, what was that stuff you gave me?" meaning the anestetic. I guess I liked it.

I asked the Doc once more in recovery when I would hear about the pathology report, and she told me Thursday or Friday. She said she would call if it was cancerous, but her office staff would call if everythingwas ok. Hmmm.

Left the hospital on Tuesday afternoon, had dinner with my father, brother, husband, son and niece, then home to sleep. Back to work the next day.

As I was getting ready for work, the phone rang. Paul brought me the phone... "Doctor's office" ::gulp::
"Hi this is Dr. ____ nurse."
Yeah!!!
"I'm calling with your pathology report. Everything was ok. It is benign."

B9
Not just for bingo anymore.

So, now I'm bruised, and have what hubby affectionately called "the amazing technicolor boob" but I am relieved. I have done my duty to my family and myself. I have these mamograms to look for this crap, so I can get it taken care of at the soonest opportunity. It's still scary as hell, but I made it through round 1, and can face round 2 if that time ever occurs.

I'm Baaaaack

2005-08-09T17:53:00.000-04:00

A dear friend gently reminded me that I should be blogging. Life has been extremely hectic, and she's right. So, here I go.

Not sure where to begin but with a synopsis of the last 6 weeks or so.

Had my mamogram
Got called in for more pictures and an ultrasound
Friday July 1, found out I needed a biopsy at 17:20
Same day, found out my grandmother died in Florida at 20:30
Friends moved away :(
Flew to Floriday Sunday July 3
Funeral Tuesday July 5
Back to Detroit Thursday July 7
Drive to Chicago Sunday July 10
To Wisconsin for F/U appt at UW for Paul
Home and to work
Lumpectomy Aug 2
Good results August 3

Hmmm, been busy.

I will blog these items seperately over the days to come.

actually, I'll start now...

The Kid and I

2005-05-09T17:11:00.000-04:00

Paul is downstate visiting his mending mom for the week, I am off work secondary to a sparkling case of shingles, so, it's just the kid and I til late Friday. I'm looking forward to it. We have some interesting conversations; like tonight over pizza...

"So, Mom, when you write something directly out of a book, that's copywriting, right?"
"Um, not exactly, that would be plagerism"
"But you copy it and write it, right."
"Well, right."

So, we discussed plagerism, what it was, when using someone elses words verbatim is acceptable and how to give the original writer credit. I bit more advanced then his 4th grade mind needed, but he got it, (I think)

We tried to call Denise, but no answer. She would be able to explain plagerism much better than I. Some day I will spark that conversation.

A walk in the old 'hood

2005-05-03T16:45:00.000-04:00

Last time I was in Royal Oak I got to experience a rare event; my brother and I got to talk. Just talk. His wife and child were gone for the night and we got to be brother and sister again, just us. We took a virtual walk down our childhood block and remembered all the people that lived there and shared little stories about them. It was such a delightful conversation, we were gabbing until almost midnight and didn't realize the time. I wish I lived closer to my brother. I miss these sibling chats.

Is there a Nurse in the woods?

2005-04-29T10:04:00.000-04:00

I spent the day yesterday being a professional victim. I helped the nursing program at ACC with mock triage situations. Was fun. I had an MI, was dangerously hypoglycemic, drunk, and really really OCD all in one day. Fun stuff.

After playing in the wet damp air all day with these nursing neophytes, I went home, took another long hot bath (still need to grout, but didn't obscess about my thighs) and then went to my son's school for Paragon Night. He is attending an Arts Academy-charter school- and once a month they do a presentation in front of all their classmates and their families. My son was a red coat and got shot by the revolutionaries then sang a rousting rendition of "Yankee Doodle". I've never been so proud. He is absolutely blossoming at this new school. Yeah!!

Dad took Edward home for the night and Paul and I went to a play with friends. All and all a great day, today however, I feel like I have been hit with a Mack truck. Too much cold weather yesterday. Ick

Prune

2005-04-27T23:07:00.000-04:00

I'm a fucking prune!

I just jumped out of the tub after a 90 minute soak. I sat in the rust tinged water, staring at my fat stubbly thighs, noticing how the grout is seperating from the tub and crying for 90 minutes. I'm crying for me.

Perhaps the coolest person that has ever come into my life is leaving. I'm so happy for her, it is what she wanted, it is what she needed to continue to grow. It will make her hubby happy, it is a positive thing. But I cry for me. I don't want her to go. Selfish fucking boohoo for me.

I'm stuck in this god forsaken fucking little town making less than I'm worth and hanging out for sheer familial responsibility. I tell others I love the small town feel, the no rush hour traffic, the ability to park close to any entrance. I think it's a lie. What I like about this kind of living is the wonderful people that have come into my life, and god-damn-it, if they aren't flying the coop. Poor fucking me.

Damn it, Denise, I want so badly to jump up and down in joy for you, but my heart is breaking. I know the distance in miles will leave a distance in our hearts; it always does, so I cry for me. Poor fucking boo hoo me.

So, I'm a prune, and now I'm off to bed. Tomorrow I'll face Denise, smile and tell her how happy I am for her, and really mean it. I know there are many more nights of tears for me (ME) not her. I am feeling sorry for myself; happy for her, sorry for me. What a fucking whiney ass prune I am.

Denise will wow them at Delta as she has us here in little po-dunk Alpena. Many more will get to know her and admire her as I do, as so many do. She's gonna do great things in her new position, it's just who she is. Go get 'em girl, just remember to drop this flabby stubbly thighed, grout needing, rusty tub owning, sniveling prune an e-mail on occasion.

April Showers

2005-04-25T08:59:00.000-04:00

It's snowing. (?) (!) I don't get it? Well, I guess if I don't like it, I can move. Michigan weather. Who knows?

I'm heading home tomorrow. It will be nice to be home. My own computer, my own bed, my own hubby and kid. Ah, be it ever so humble...

MIL cried a bit today. Fear of the unknown. Heading to the Dr. to find out what's next. She has been very strong, I was waiting for a cry.

Slept crappy. I need my bed.

Disjointed thoughts this AM. Deal with it.

Falling off the Blogging Wagon

2005-04-23T17:07:00.000-04:00

Alright, so I fell off the blogging wagon. I started off gangbusters and then fizzled. So, I start again, blah blah blahing to my hearts content. Wheee!

I am in the Detroit area staying at my in-laws. MIL got out of rehab on Wednesday and is settling in nicely at home. She is getting around adequately and is not in too much pain. Yeah! My father in law on the other hand is a big pain. Any time MIL asks him to do something she can't do, he gives her the business about it. I know it is just playful bitching but EVERYTIME she asks he gripes sighs and complains. I'd have popped him in the nose by now. Warning to DH, if this every happens to us, "Yes, Dear" will get you a lot farther than "Why don't you get up and get it yourself?"

It is snowing. It was 86 degrees on Tuesday and today it snows. Fricking Michigan weather.

Alright, so not the most exciting blog on the planet today, but a restart...

The Tax Man Cometh and Forms, Forms, Forms

2005-04-05T09:42:00.000-04:00

Well, I finally did it. Why did I wait so long? I filed our taxes today. Online. Again. We have been filing online since 2000, and I love it. So easy, quick money returned directly to your bank account, and no line at the post office. I usually file as soon as we get all the forms, this year I dallied. I was affraid we'd have to pay. Nope. Almost 2G back. Sweet!

I'm also trying to collect all my medical receipts for the last year. Yuck. I put 1G in my flex spending account, and now I have to justify getting it out. I am sure we spent way more than $1,000.00 in medical expenses last year, but I have to PROVE that we did. ::sigh::

Oma's Crash

2005-04-03T08:16:00.000-04:00

I woke up at 1600 yesterday (hey, I work nights) and my husband informed me that his mom had been in a car accident. We were not getting any answers from family in the area (non-medical folks) so I said "We're going." Jump in the car and 230 miles later (in less than 4 hours) we are in Madison Heights on our way up to the ICU. We had been told all she had was a broken wrist and ankle. So why the ICU bed? Turns our she also has a pelvic fracture and chest contusions from the airbag. The Docs are concerned about cardiac contusions, and her advanced age has them a bit cautious as well. Ma's 75, but she acts 50. I forget about her "advanced age".

Seems she ran a red light. Not sure of all the details, but the car is totaled. Someone called from the accident site to inform my BIL of the accident, and he was able to get there before the ambulance took her away. Thank you, who every you are.

A Day with the Kid

2005-04-01T17:28:00.000-05:00

Took the boy to the Dr. today (Nurse Practitioner actually). All good, no illnesses, just a school physical. New allergy meds, new epi-pens, then to lunch, shopping, haircut for the boy and home to unload melting ice cream bars.

I sure love my kid. He is just a joy to be around. His word of the day... manical, as in manical laugh. Funny child.

A Pooped Pope, a Found Man, and a Crappy Egotistical Podiatrist

2005-03-31T19:24:00.000-05:00

My heart breaks to see the pontif as a puppet. He is propped up at a window, waving his arms in the air. He has advanced parkinsons, a trach, a feeding tube, is unable to speak or eat, yet he waves to the croud. We would not make a guide dog continue to service his sightless master in a shape like that, yet we allow this highly revered religious leader to be used (you read that correctly, USED) as a puppet for the roman catholic church. Shame, shame.

They found Terry Smalley. Terry was an excentric 44 year old man who disappeared this winter after renting a video at the local Family Video and stopping at Jimmie Garrant's Party Store. It is good there is closure for his family. And Terry lived his life on his terms. He went to the movie store and party store and died. Not sure how yet, but no long drawn out madness. His family suffered all this time, but he did not. There is a merciful god somewhere.

My husband's foot doctor called me tonight and was yelling at me because I upset his staff. WTF is that about? His nurse called here to make sure my husband understood his post-surgical instructions and to inform us that, oops, he is not a PPO provider and we will need to get a referal from our primary care physician or be responsible for the bill. I mentioned that I was concerned that my husband, who is immunocompromised, was not premedicated with antibiotics. Dr. Crackpot called me tonight saying that he knows what he is doing, and who am I to question his knowledge. Who am I? I am the wife of a man who could lose his foot if this physician doesn't mind his P's & Q's. I'm the one who will have to deal with the bills for the prostetics and rehabilitation if my husband needs to have his foot amputated. We didn't go through all these transplants to have DH foot amputated for lack of a day or two premedication. That's who I am. And I'm sorry if your staff got upset. I'm the one who is upset about the fact that this insurance SNAFU was missed by his office for 2 months!!! 2 Months!!! F*CK him!

Rejoicing over a death

2005-03-31T14:38:00.000-05:00

I am sure blogs across the globe are ringing out in joy or sadness over the passing of Terri Schiavo. Rest in piece little lady. Your story could have been mine. I can relate to the fat girl story the family has released. I know that pain. But unlike Terri Schiavo, my family knows my wishes. I have always been abundantly clear on that point. DO NOT keep me alive if I have no chance of a meaningful recovery. I don't want to live in a warehouse for the next x-decades taking up oxygen and being an obligation for those that love me.

I think about my mom, gone almost 5 years now, and I feel GUILT that I don't visit her grave. Why? She is not there. It is just a small spot of real estate. She's with me more than in that park with other pine boxes in cement cases. I must say, I love the cemetary she is at. It's beautiful and natural, but it is not where she is. She is in my heart and in the heart of all that knew her. So, I don't want to feel obligated to go visit her grave, and I don't want others to visit me in a home, where I can not interact, where I am not longer me. Pull the plug/tube, whatever, just don't do that to yourselves. You won't be doing it to me. I'll be gone. Let me as a vivacious, active, obsessive compulsive, overacheiving, loving person who DOES STUFF be the me you remember.

Thank you Terri for making this conversation occur in our country. And to those of you that have not yet made you wishes clear, ON PAPER, get the form from your local hospital... they all have them... and FILL IT OUT AND GIVE IT TO PEOPLE. Your spouse/partner, parents, siblings, children, DOCTOR, LAWYER. Make sure everyone knows your wishes, or Terri's story will have been in vane.

Vacation??

2005-03-30T10:58:00.000-05:00

This weekend was "Spring Break" and it felt like spring break. We went to the Detroit area and it was springy. We still have a foot or more of snow on all surfaces at home. It was nice to run around in shirt sleeves again. Gave us some hope.

We had to uniform shop for our son. He is starting at a new school after the break and they have a uniform policy. I am a bit ambivilant about this. Uniforms at an arts academy? Express yourself by being the same? Anyhow, we found the shirts and slacks that are required and his new adventure in school will begin soon. He is excited as are we all.

My neice is transitioning up into a preschool/daycare with older kids again. Perhaps she will be a bit less aggressive being a younger child in the group. I am kinda proud of her tenacity. She is a little thing and I think her "take no crap from anyone" attitude may be her saving grace in years to come.

It was great to see my MIL and FIL. I realize how much I miss them when I get to spend some time with them.

My damned gall bladder decided to act up on the car ride home and I had to have DH pull over to the nearest emergency room. Not a pleasant feeling. I am the one who is suppose to be healthy. I just wanted some attention. My gallbladder and I have had a talk. No more of that crap for at least a year. I'm not dealing with this now. I think we are in agreement.

When we were in the Detroit area we stayed at a motel. We usually stay with family, but I wanted to make it a vacation type thing. Well, the yahoo who made the reservation for me made it for the day before and they charged me for it. ::Grrrrr:: and the pool was closed the first day we were there for "repairs" ::Grrrrr: and when they did open it, the water was warm, but the room air surrounding it was as temperate as our guestroom and they insisted that it was 80 degrees. Bullshit! ::Grrrr:: To top it off, on Sunday they called our room to see if we needed towels because there would be no maid service. What??? On Easter Sunday? Nice to give your employees a day off, but all of them?? ::Grrrr:: Oh Yeah, and while their web site and business cards both tote free high speed internet access, that is not in all rooms. ::Grrrr:: Won't be staying there again.

I'm up to well over 600 cranes folded now. The little 4cm x 4cm ones. I'm sending them to my grandmother in hopes that she finds some forgiveness and peace in her heart. I'm also sending her the gold necklace she gave me when I graduated highschool. Perhaps it will allow her to find peace.

Boring blog, I know. But I needed to dump, and well, it's my *(%^%$&(&^T blog, right. No-one else may even read it. :-P

A Beginning

2005-03-24T16:00:00.000-05:00

Ok, here I go.

To Blog... Web Log... An interesting concept. Perhaps it will cure my insomnia. I work Midnights 3 days a week, and struggle to sleep like the rest of the planet on the days in-between. I find myself awakening at 3am (my workday lunch time) and can't seem to get to sleep again. Why? My brain won't shut off.

One night not too long ago it was a never ending thought cycle about adoption. My husband and I have one child. One that wasn't ever suppose to be possible. We feel fortunate and blessed to have this incredible child in our lives, but always wanted another. 3am, here I am looking up pictures of special needs children available for adoption in the state. I sit at my computer and cry. I want to help them all. Then... I look at their profiles and their behavioral problems, horrible past experiences and the ever present "This child would do best in a home where s/he is the only child" and I realize I don't want those problems. My son is not the scholar I would like him to be, but he is a really great kid. Obeys his parents, has good manners and doesn't set the house on fire. I hate the fact that I look past these children with problems so quickly. One child is enough when you have the best, and perhaps one day, someone who is better equipt to help these kids will come along, but I would be doing them a dis-service. My patience is thin with the fairly angelic child I currently house.

Another morning, 3am... Terri Schiavo. I am sure, to my very core, that if this woman could possibly be aware of what is going on around her, that her heart would be breaking. If she had taken 1/2 uncomfortable hour to think about her mortality, none of this would be occuring. All it would have taken was to complete an advanced directives form. No one wants to think about some unforseen disaster, but all it takes is 1/2 hour and all these court battles and tears would not have been needed. So... I look online for the "Five Wishes" form (Legal in most stated as a "Living Will") and find a copy in Adobe format, but you can't print it. BUT... You can purchase it for $5.00. WHAT!!! I'm outraged. So here I am, 3am, planning on copying a "Five Wishes" form and sending a copy to all my family and friends so they can spend 1/2 hour of discomfort to save their family from days/weeks/months/years of battles.

Another 3am... They keep coming...