On Death and Dying

I hate that I've become that person who blogs too much about her job, but today I have to. Twice before I've had a patient die on my time. Once I was lucky and lunch interfered with me wrapping up the leftovers. The next time, I braved it alone, foolishly procrastinating until rigor mortis had kicked in, and had to spend half an hour preying the poor stiff wouldn't wake up and grab me, not dead at all but irritated that I'd disrupted his sleep. Today, three patients... a third of my case load... lay desperatly ill and dying. One had been assigned a one to one sitter to keep from pulling out vital tubes and wiring. One spent the day in silence, eyes rolled back, barely breathing until, suprizingly, my goodbye at the end of shift wasn't his last. One passed. Whatever that means.

This time a nurse as sweet as an angel helped me clean and prepare the body. She spoke his name through the silence, explaining to him what we were about to do as if he could hear. As if. I half chuckled and started a sentence with her name before I realized she was right. In the short minutes that followed, she taught me that while it is never as hard again as the first time, it never gets easy. Nor should it, because fear and grief are natures way of showing respect. She taught me how to let go. And when I discovered my hand patting his back, and laughed at myself for it, she taught me that too was ok.

Two good ideas and one very bad one...

Afognak, despite it's odd name and the even odder charachters that inhibit it, may quite possibly be my favorite place on Earth. Amazingly beautiful, cozy and comforting... a weekend there gives even my mamas homemade chicken soup a run for it's money.
While there, I thought up a handy invention that consists of...well, basically a toilet paper roll holder that can spin a line on to a reel while you use the john. The ultimate multitasker. I dreamt up the newest kinky pain; getting your man to have a jellyfish sting you just before your happy ending. And I decided to go into the woods armed with a gun I am most likely too scared to use in search of a kodiak brown bear in a place I was all but guaranteed to find one; the salmon river.
Well, I made it home safe so it must not have been that stupid. Cheers to good friends, great times, and interesting ideas!

Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

So I found a flimsy paper back copy of a childhood favorite in the hospital lobby last week and I stole it. You remember the one where food and beverage products take the world by storm. How fabulous would it be if eggs and bacon snowed down every morning? Or if during your afternoon jog, fresh juice poured down from the sky? Dehydration and hunger would be a thing of the past. Imagine a life without arguing over whose turn it is to cook, or what's on the menu...we'd all just grab a plate and let the skies determine what's for dinner. Of course, it would get messy. And you might have to start worrying a bit more seriously about a death by giant pancake. But it'd sure keep things interesting. Maybe we'd stop seeking a thrill out of starting fires beneath pointless disagreements, participating in petty misdemeanors, and smoking crack and instead be amused by the weather.

My goodness, I may have just found a cure for malnutrition, world hunger, domestic violence, drug abuse, crime, and...dare I say it, war.
Or maybe I should lay off the LSD.

I'll Cry If I Want To...

The whole past week at work has been nothing but poop. Literally. Diarreah, constipation, prune juice and laxitives. A girl can take only so much. The breaking point was not the snippety grandma who bossed me in a voice sweeter than suger as I placed her in bed for the thirteenth time. BEFORE LUNCH! I did not lose it as I wiped the elderly mans bum, applied cream, and looked down... at the brown stain ON MY ARM! And when I caught a brick shaped loaf halfway through clean up out the back door of a man my Dad's age, I held back thinking only briefly that this must be how a doctor feels during a vaginal birth. But when I lifted the leg of a paraplegic upon request of a coworker and "pulled the trigger" so to speak on a loose steamy pile that was large enough to have been accumulating there all week, I laughed. Loudly. It was oh so inappropriate but try as I might I could not stop. It felt good, and was apparently contagious because everyone in the room was rolling before long. As silence fell and we made our escape, I had nothing left to say. Except; "the next time you throw a poop party, don't invite me."

Time and Place

I met a man who is charming and sweet, hilarious and fun. He makes me smile more than usual, which is saying a lot. We share a certain chemistry that I hadn't the foggiest idea existed until a short time ago. He is exactly who I want my son to grow into. Smart, polite, witty, hardworking, good looking.

And yet, I met him at the hospital. My place of employment. Fraternizing with a patient. Just weeks after a breakup that most likely should never have occured. What's more, he lives out of state and makes just a few short trips to Alaska each year for his amazingly cool and well paid career.

With a move on the horizon and tears fresh on my cheeks, I'm not quite ready for anything serious. Especially not a long distance fling with a guy I could potentially lose my job over. But why not a new friend and the opportunity to learn more? I'm interested.

innuendo or inflection

Robert Frost had the same birthday as Gregory Corso. Louie Armstrong was born on the same day that Giusseppe Verde died. Some things are connected by sense or seriality, innuendo or inflection.

I do not know which to prefer
the beauty of inflections
or the beauty of innuendos
The black bird whistling
or just after.

My Best Friend

The following is an excerpt written for me by my best friend. I stole it from her blog Rebeccaisfabulous.

"I met Jen when we were placed together in student housing at the University of Alaska Anchorage.
Our other two roomates were athletes: one was the gymnastics co-captain, the other was the freshman cross-country star. Jen and I were decidedly un-athletic, and though all 4 of us got along, we two forged a friendship that has has lasted years.
She was in the audience at every performance I gave. I was there with ice cream when Dave left for Seattle. She and I scored the two highest grades in our American History class (aced!), despite skipping quite a few classes.
And she was there when I had to drop out of school to provide for an unexpected pregnancy. I was there to load boxes and move furniture when she finally left her ex. She was there when I found out I had PPD. I was one of the first who knew her son had a hole in his heart.
She has been around longer than my husband has. She knows my moods and understands the swings. She is brilliant and hilarious and crazy and silly and ambitious and fun and I am so very proud of her.
Happy 25th, Jen, my Gweinveire vanAlvinslavin. Here's to the next quarter century together."

In response I'd like to say; Miss Becca I have been more happy, had more fun, and felt more whole in the four years since we met than in the whole twenty odd years that were the rest of my life. The only thing I'd like to change about our friendship is having met you sooner. I love you more than I ever imagined it possible to love anyone. I love your slightly sarcastic sense of humor and the sweet laughter it coaxes out of you. I love your cool composure and your rare fiery outbursts. I love your patience, your gentleness, and your compassion. I love your ability to truly listen and then give honest advice. I love you for hating Dave or at least all the terrible things he did that hurt me. I love you for always being there, and for always being you. I love that, Kindergarten aside (haha), I learned everything important about life from you. You have taught me how to be a friend, and then how to be a good one. You taught me how to be a girl, and then a woman. You teach me every day how to be a mother, and in an odd way what it means to be a daughter. You made me learn who I am...and how to be happy with it. And if I am "brilliant and hilarious and crazy and silly and ambitious and fun," it's all because of you. I owe you a very lot. And I'm so glad you're proud of me, because I'm bursting at the seams with pride over everything that even resembles you. You know how I hate a one-way street. And Becca, please know...Florida or no Florida, wherever you are I'll be. In a heart beat. You'd have to do more than move across the entire country to get rid of me! I told you before and still it's true; I can't imagine my life without you. But the most important thing you've taught me, and perhaps the reason I love you the most is that I'll never have to.

Recca Roo, I love you. Here's to so much more than the next quarter century.

Hope

I just got back a few hours ago from another fabulous trip. I never get over how beautiful it is out there; so calm and relaxing. I never tire of watching the boys run wild in all of their adorable ruggedness. I never get bored listening to the family tell stories or joke amongst each other. I never saw anything as sweet as Jamie and Brian. Or Sarah and Cody. Or Hayden and Luke. I never met anyone like Joelene who mothers and worries and loves over us all; big and small. I never miss an opportunity to grab Lukes bum while he's cooking, hold his hand while we're walking, or kiss him while he's smiling. And today as I watched the clock blur hours into seconds I realized I never wanted to leave.

Paper Or Plastic?

So for several days now I've been mulling over the idea of how things look on paper. Not things, really. People. I don't mean paper dolls people. I'm referring to real people on paper. How they look. Now I'm beating a dead horse. The point is, does it matter?

I'm begining to realize that yes, to me it does. Not sure why. I'm not particularly judemental or discriminitory. I try hard not to hold a grudge. But for some reason, I find myself placing significant importance on the life resume's people hold. At least some people. The important ones.

Where do they work? What do they drive? With or without a license? Are they insured? Who are their friends? How do they live? Rent or own? Habits, hobbies, and hang outs? Morals? Do they abide by the law or run with the rebels? What it comes down to in the end is good or bad?

At this moment I hate myself for being so black and white. I miss reveling in shades of beautiful grey. I miss my deep philisophical side. I miss ignorance is bliss. After all...who am I to judge?

I am terribly unaccomplished. No degree. No shiny car. No fabulous house. No high stakes salary. No husband, despite the child. It's been years since I took myself on a vacation, and without government assistance my bills would never get paid. I can barely afford my low income life.

And yet I have a handul of the best friends on Earth. A car all paid off that consistantly starts. Food in the fridge. A little boy whose smile is worth more to me than gold. And while I do on occassion bend the rules by having a bit too much fun, I believe in good deeds, kind acts and keeping my butt outta prison.

So what matters? About me? What about other people?

In todays broken world, how do we judge ourselves and eachother? By how we look on paper? Or who we are in plastic. You know, the barbie and Ken dolls we act like in front of other people. Because Im not sure which version is more real.

What do Boys Want?

Childhood. It's a funny thing. Adults don't realize how kids think, how much they listen, or how literally they interpret what's been said. I was raised by a bunch of adults who talked a lot about sex for a bunch of adults who dont believe in talking about sex. They loved to "beat aound the bush", which is a funny saying in and of itself. But anyway, at five the saying "why buy a cow when you can get the milk for free meant nothing at all too me. Jiberish. I mean, I like a little cuppa milk now and then...maybe a little on my cereal. But who needs a whole cow? Who even has the grass to feed one through the winter? Not me. It wasn't until I was nearly fourteen that I figured out what that meant. They were joking, seriously, about a man not wanting to marry you if you'd put out anyway. What the #%$* is that? Is that all women are worth?

According to my Dad, whose version of the sex talk went either "keep it in your pants" or "boys only want one thing" or some combination of the two, in rotating order...yes. That is all we're worth. As an adult, the thought often occurs to me to ask him where my mom fits in to all that. I certainly hope she's worth more to him than her creamy center. She better be, or the days of "I have a headache" are going to be awful hard on him. I'm guessing he only meant young, unmarried boys, but at eleven, fourteen, even now...who can be sure? When do those boys become anything but?

All I know is, I'm tired of thinking sex is all I have to offer a man. I can cook and clean, too! I jest, but seriously. I have big brains and I know how to use them. I'm compassionate and kind. I'm relatively humorous. Cant a guy love me for that? And can't any love we make, in or out of marriage be more than just getting in to my pants? I'd like to think a guy would be lucky to marry me, wether or not he'd already taken me bed.

Is the grass really greener?

Of all the things I don't understand in this world, I am most perplexed by the "grass is greener" syndrome. Ok, men...but that's another story. Why do we always want what we can't have? Case in point; all the women I know who had boys wanted the opposite and vise versa. Except Miss Becca, who desperately wanted a girl so therefore assumed she'd have a boy. She had girl, which naturally I had wanted. My little Amelia.

Yesterday Becca wrote about how, despite original desires, we end up with just what we need. As usual, she's right. While she rolls on tights and plays with pigtails I throw on jeans and go. While her daughter pushes dolly around the house in the stroller, my son tries to dismantle the lamp. Oh, and the living room. For he is a fire ball of energy, constantly on the move. Rough and tumble, that one. Turns the whole world into his personal jungle gym, and every moment brings the opportunity to explore a new adventure.

If I weren't so exhausted trying to be a single working mom, the same could be said of me. In fact, my boy reminds me so much of myself it's uncanny. He looks like me; same hair, same smile. Same wicked little grin and matching dimples. But that's only the beginning. He's strong yet gentle. Pure and simple. Forever forgiving. The worlds best snuggler. Happy, hyper and wholesome. He is his Mama's boy.

Funny thing, I always pictured myself with a boy. And single. Probably more a self fulfilled prophecy than something deeply insightful. Even funnier; I always wanted a girl because I thought she'd be so sweet. Now I can't imagine a kid sweeter than Hayden, who grabs both my cheeks to get my attention before planting a big smack right on my lips. "MMM-bah! Hayden kisses melt my heart.

So, for now I'll leave the dresses, bows and pinkness to Rebecca. She's good with those things. As for me? I'm gonna slip on an old pair of jeans and go.

So what do you do when it's easy?

I always thought the third time was a charm. Whether or not it's foolish to believe in that type of thing, I got over it. On to guy four; here's to making it to my list of Mr seriouses'. Unless the first one doesn't count. Which I can come up with several very good reasons as to why he shouldn't, such as I was under age and he was a child molester. But hey, on a positive note, that would mean this is my third and it could be a charm and I can go on writing this without the subtle cynic that sometimes sits on my shoulder. Except that we're still so new, I'd hate to jinx us. No pressure.

It's just that, we've been hanging out for a bit now. If I was forced to sum it up in three words, I'd say fun, mellow, and steady. A far cry from Mr Psycho, Mr Selfish, and Mr sainara. I keep waiting for that feeling; you know the one you tell to shut up because staying along for the ride seems easier than trusting your instincts which scream "Run! Fast and far and into the opposite direction!" I'd recognize that. I'd know how to handle that.

But this. This is all new for me. I have spent the last year or so getting friendly with myself and I actually enjoy being alone. I don't need some new guy to step up to the plate. But it's nice that he does. I'm pretty sure I can handle it. So I'll accept this change as good and relax into the easiness. He doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

Oh Lord give me strength to see through the Erythrom...

Oh my, my. Pink eye. I try consistantly to see the world through rose colored glasses, but this is ridiculous! Three days I've spent trying not to smile in fear of looking stoned. It's distracting. I have faith it'll clear up so I can go back to making money. Who knew the ole job would kick you out for oddly colored eyeballs...?
As for faith, I've been thinking about mine lately. I'm a christian. At least a mediocre one. Still learning, and always growing...but I believe. In something. In God, I think? In the ten commandments, for sure. In the Golden Rule. I want to believe in heaven and hell. It's depressing not too. What happens to us when we die, if all that is untrue?
My friends are a religious variety pack. I have a Luke-warm humanist, pun intended. A couple of Wicans. A karma-nite. I even work with a Muslim. Sorting out my beliefs among so many can be a bit daunting. I guess ignorance is bliss. Little beknowest to you, I consider myself a fairly intelligent person. Im not Einstein or anything, but Im no average joe. I am a bright candle on this earth shaped cake, and this little light of mine...I'm gonna let it shine. So I'll make it my personal mission to become more wordly about religion. So, if anyone has a little knowledge that could come in handy, please feel free to share.

One Little Thing...

My favorite peice of jewelry is one I haven't yet been given. It represents so much more than a promise; it symbolizes a man whose genuinely good heart wins me over by loving me unconditionally, caring for my son as his own, being forever respectful to other people, never lifting so much as his voice ...let alone a fist, and always being able to inspire laughter deep in my soul. I would cherish his ring, his love, and his heart.

Fear Less

This evening, I wept as I read the following words which, for almost a year have been stashed away in a folder of old feelings. I came upon them by mere happenstance, and am shocked to discover how overwhelming they still are, after nearly a year of lying low.

Lonely doesn't begin to cover it
I'm scared. Of lots of things really; the dark when I'm walking alone through it, failing at something new, anything to do with change, losing things I care about, not being in control of my life. Right now, all those things are happening to me at once. Tomorrow, I have to carry my baby into a sterile room, empty of everything including love, lay him on the table, and leave without him. I don't think I can, but I have to. I know that lonlely doesn't begin to cover the emptiness that will take his place. I miss him already! I never want him be so far away that he cant' see me whenever he wants to, so far that I can't hear him laugh or cry. So far that I can't touch him at all. I never want a tear to fall from his beautiful eyes that I can't kiss away. But I know that, as scared as I might be, I have to believe...to have faith...everything will be okay. Everything is happening now for a reason. I trust in that. And I trust that, when my baby needs me more than he ever has, and I can't be there with him...God will be. When I should be able to hold his little hand and kiss his little lips and rub his little nose against mine, God will reach down from heaven and give him an even more special touch. God is gonna wrap his mighty hand around Haydens tiny heart and let the doctors here heal it. And that means everything. In the end, isn't that worth facing fear?

April 25th of last year, my whole world lay in the crummy hand of cards I was hours away from laying on the table. Seems like yesterday, and yet...when I brought my little miracle in for his one year photos and upon removal of his shirt the photographer asked if he'd had some operation...it took me a moment to remember.

Of course, yes. He has. I have by no means forgotten. But Haydens dimples, his devilish laughter, and his double chin no longer remind me of how small and frail he once was. If anything, he seems more than ever bound and determined to prove that nothing can stop him.
Hell, these days I'd settle for slowing him down. I guess that's expecting a lot from a kid who wanted to wrestle two days after open heart surgery. Some things never change.

Still, with time, most things do. These days, I worry over bumped heads and temper tantrums instead of weight gain and test results. Maybe on the rare occassion that he sleeps too long my brain assumes the worst, but I no longer fear daily that my baby might not get the chance to grow up. Nothing like an early near death experience to mellow out the high strung.

I listed a handful of fears in the beginning of last years blog that barely tipped the iceberg of the ones hidden in my heart. Yet even that number seems small considering I can't even begin to count the number of "fear not's" written in the bible. Which leads me to the belief that God wishes us to be unafraid. To claim myself fearless would be nothing less than a lie, but I try harder each day to fear less.

I'm Not Sorry!

So last nights wine fest got me thinking, why do I feel so guilty? And for the sake of sweet Jesus, is it a coincidence that just yesterday I changed my song to Buckcherry? I am not sorry!I haven't done anything wrong! Lately. Ok, nothing horrendously, disasterously wrong. And if I had, aren't we all entitled to the occassional delicacy better known as sin? Why do I have the feeling I've used mine all up and must be forever punished now in exchange? God doesn't work like that. And neither do I. I'm a christian. I pride myself in my ability to forgive. To forget, blindly even, on most occasions. I dish out kind words of encouragement to anyone I meet on the street with a spoon too heavy for most to carry. And I do so with a smile. You'd think I could spare a little for myself. I'm relatively sure I have plenty a critics out there without adding my name to the list. And if I've hurt you, well you probably hurt me first. Looks like were even. So, instead of listing all thirty billion things I've been carrying for years on my back like a hypocritical martyr and burning the list symbolically (if not originally) I write this. Good riddance guilt! So long heavy load and accomplissing hunch back. Farewell unspoken apologies. I am so not sorry!

Advice to a friend

You can borrow my kid if itll make you feel more accomplished. LOL. But seriously girl, sometimes when you finally get the life you always longed for, you realize its not everything you imagined. Everyday is full of blessings (some more disguised than others) and anti blessings. You just have to decide what part of today youre gonna pay attention to. No guy...as I am still learning (slowly) can make your problems go away and "complete you" as the song goes. Its a lie, theyve force fed it to us since birth, we have to kick the shit out of that weasly fucker before it can spawn little evil lie babies to make the cycle even more deadly! I too want the whole soccer mom thing. But I dont believe its gonna fall into my lap like a pile of cinnimon scented peaches and cream. And if MR Wonderful never comes calling, I'll get to travel alone and with my son, eat tubs of ice cream watching chick flicks, and hog the entire bed. Imagine never having to clean up after a man. No more pubes and piss on the toilet. No more beard shavings all over the sink. And if some sweet, slightly nerdy guy comes along who makes me laugh (even if he cant sweep my fat ass off my feet) than maybe Ill let him hang around for awhile. If we get to my dream of being married (happily) for 50 years, or if we don't...I'll live and die along with the rest of ya.