Two Women Blogging

Military Time ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 04:01:00 +0000

In the past two months, I have spoken to men who flew battle missions over Berlin, landed at Omaha Beach, served on Iwo Jima, and marched from Strasbourg to the Eastern Front.

He's on the ship again, said one patient's daughter. He keeps saying "Let me shoot them, Mikey. Let me take the gun. They're gonna blow our heads off if we don't". Her brother stood with his back to us so we wouldn't see him cry. He never talked about the war.

Yesterday I stood at a bedside in a nursing home with a patient's son. I thought I was ready, he said, but I guess you never are. I'll be OK. We learn from our fathers how to go on. I asked him what he learned and he smiled. My father was a lieutenant colonel and a football coach. I learned that you suited up and marched onto the field of battle. That's how I ended up in Vietnam. My mother was so worried the whole time I was gone. I've spent the last 40 years trying to make it up to her.

They were soldiers once, and young.

I am grateful to those who serve, and will continue to work for a world in which they don't come home wounded.

This One's For MPJ ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 02:28:00 +0000

The First Death ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 09:22:00 +0000

You always remember your first.

In elementary school, Joanna was one of the popular girls. She was never a Queen Bee, but she was fun and pretty and in the thick of whatever was going on, at least until fifth grade. Sometime that year she disappeared. I was not one of the popular girls, and I didn't know where she was until I heard my parents talking one night and realized she was in the hospital in New York City being treated for cancer.

In the fall of sixth grade, Joey came back to school looking smaller and thinner, especially in comparison to our blossoming classmates. Her curly hair was gone, replaced by a wig, and it seemed her popular friends had vanished, too. She'd kept up with some of her schoolwork while she was ill but found herself struggling with a full load of classes and homework, and one of the teachers suggested that we study together. By October, we were spending afternoons together at her house and Friday evenings in front of the TV in my den. Joey introduced me to bowling (I even had my own ball) and soap operas. She fit right in to my small group of friends with our card games and Scrabble tournaments. She rarely talked about her illness, and never let on if she was bothered the change in her social status from the cheerleader set to the nerd girls.

Joey loved to sew; she hung out in the home ec room the way I hung out in the theater. She wrote funny doggerel for her friends, and always had to choose the perfect birthday card. You could spend all day in the card store while she compared and contrasted and considered. She was the only kid I knew who had her own color TV in her room (a gift from someone during her convalescence) and a canopy bed. She was also the only teenage girl I knew who loved to watch golf on TV.

We started high school, and still did our homework together. Joey's parents took us to the Rainbow Room for lunch for our sixteenth birhdays, which were a week apart. We talked about everything - school, our parents, college plans, boys, music, movies - except the obvious: while the rest of us were getting taller and developing into women, Joey still looked 10 or 11, and still wore a wig. She watched golf on TV because she longed to play but her vision and coordination had been permanently damaged. She had crushes on boys but never once had a date. Even so, when my Friday nights changed from TV with Joey to dates with John, she offered me advice and never complained. She came to every show and every choir concert I was in, and we picked out fabric for her sewing projects together.

And then in the spring of our junior year, the cancer came back. That summer and fall I planned and wrote and submitted my college applications, did volunteer work at the local hospital, took my SATs and achievement tests, and visited Joey as she grew weaker and sleepier. I didn't have to ask what was happening. I could see she was dying. I do remember asking my mother what I should do, and she said "Just keep being her friend". So I did. I told her what was happening in school, and who was breaking up with whom, and how rehearsals were going for the fall musical. I sat in her room and watch "One Life To Live" and "All My Children" and ate her mother's homemade beef soup. John picked me up after those visits and held me as I cried in his car.

At school, shows and plays and labs and lectures went on. Eventually, my classmates stopped asking me when Joey would come back. I edited the yearbook and made sure the pictures of her were flattering. In December, I woke up early one morning to find my parents standing in my room looking down at me, and I knew. We were 17.

Joey and I never acknowledged her illness or impending death. I don't know if she found meaning in her journey, or knew peace. We talked a lot about God and religion - Joey was my first close non-Jewish friend - and I know she would have loved that final church service, full of sunlight and music and flowers. Joey told me once that she was sure I'd make to medical school and become a doctor, and she was confident that I would be the kind of doctor she'd want taking care of her. If I am, it's partly because she taught me that people who are dying are also still living, and that sometimes the best thing we can do is simply be who we were are to them for as long as we can. I never doubted my ability to be present for death and dying; if I could do it for Joey, who was as close to me as a sister, I could do it professionally for people I barely knew. I am not grateful that Joey died; I am still angry, 30 years later, at the loss. I am grateful for her loving friendship, and the lessons learned.

Joey died just before our final yearbook deadline, and we were able to add in a special dedication page with her picture. I chose the accompanying quotation by taking out the copy of Bartlett's that Joey gave me for Christmas one year and looking up "laughter". This one suited her best.

We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blessed. - William Butler Yeats

Where Did The Weekend Go? ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 02:16:00 +0000

Seems like it hasn't really been two whole days since I last went to work, but it's Sunday evening already.

I feel like I didn't get anything done, but I know the dishes are done and the groceries are purchased and meals planned for the week. Eve now owns a winter coat, snow boots and ski pants (which will probably ensure we have no snow at all). I have a nice new pair of slippers and two new pairs of shoes, including an amazingly comfortable pair of gray suede clogs that are officially my new go-to shoes. Sam is slowly recovering from his cold. We've made headway on planning our anniversary party (more on that later). The bills are paid.

Hmm. Perhaps that list explains why I don't feel like I really had a weekend.

I am grateful for quiet Sunday nights.

Hot Buttered Rum ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:41:00 +0000

I am grateful that we had some hot buttered rum mix (brown sugar creamed with butter and spices) left in the freezer from last winter.

Good for what ails you. Or at least what ails me.

Good night.

Who Can Resist This? ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:36:00 +0000

Certainly not me.

(swiped from Renee)

With Minutes to Spare ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 04:56:00 +0000

I have just three minutes to get my daily post up.

I am grateful that we had hot buttered rum mix in the freezer (labeled, of course, Adult Cold Medicine).

Number 27 ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 01:46:00 +0000

All day yesterday I was a little anxious. Not about my actual life - everything's fine there, except that Sam has a bad cold - but about the Yankees. Could Andy Pettite pitch well on three days rest? Who would be the bridge to Mariano? Would Ryan Howard finally start hitting? Would Pedro look great again?

Turns out the answers are: Yes, at least well enough; Chamberlain and Marte; no; and hell, no. Last night the Yankees won their 27th World Series - and the first one Eve got to witness. I woke her up when Mariano took the mound for the top of the 9th. He's the best that ever lived, I said. Watch history. She curled up with her pink fuzzy blanket around her shoulders, over her Derek Jeter shirt, and watched intently as Rivera got one out, then walked a batter, then retired the next two on ground balls. Big grin, eyes wide open. Token arguing about staying up to watch the interviews, and then back to bed.

A new tradition for me. Until last night, every World Series win I watched was followed immediately by a phone call from my father. They did it again, he'd say, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Around dinnertime last night I realized that I wasn't just anxious about the depleted Yankee bullpen. I was also under a wave of grief: a Yankees World Series that I wouldn't share with the man who taught me to love the Yankees. A World Series I would watch alone.

But even before I got Eve out of bed, I wasn't alone. This was my first World Series with Facebook, and I discovered a universe of Yankee fans and Yankee haters in the comments on my status updates. And after it was all over, when I was getting ready for bed, I looked down at my cellphone and there was a text message from my assistant in the old practice: GO YANKS! WE DID IT! Not alone at all. I am grateful for my friends.

Last night the Yankees won their first World Series in the new Yankee Stadium. The names change, but the balls keep flying over the fences. Last night I watched my first World Series with my daughter, and without my father. This is joy. This is grief. This is tradition. This is family.

In Which My Faith in Humanity is Renewed ~by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:59:00 +0000

I often drive through Starbucks in the morning on my way to work (yeah, yeah, yeah, corporate coffee, self-indulgent, expensive, I know, but I like it. So there). Mmm, decaf vanilla latte. And maybe a piece of lemon loaf.

This little luxury is facilitated by the fact that Starbucks takes VISA, so even if don't have cash I can still have my treat. Yesterday they were crowded and slow and someone called me while I was waiting for my coffee to be handed through the window, so I was juggling the card and the coffee and the phone. I ended up with my purse open and my wallet on the seat as I drove off. When I stopped for gas last evening en route home, I couldn't find my VISA card. Not in the car. Not stuck somewhere else in my purse. Not in the wrong slot in my wallet.

Damn.

Got home, got sucked into the busy-ness of the evening and everything that needed to be done that Sam couldn't do because he was ill. Forgot about the card until I pulled into Starbucks this morning. Couldn't hurt to ask, could it?

The barista behind the window lit up. Yes! they had my card. She'd tried to call me back yesterday and even had the next person in line honk at me. She was so relieved! that I'd come back. Did I mind waiting just a minute while the store managed opened the safe? Of course no. I pulled into a parking spot and sipped my peppermint mocha (yeah, yeah, yeah, but I like it) and she came out and handed me my card - and thanked me.

I am grateful for honest baristas and conscientious managers, and even that I was too distracted last night to cancel the card.

Things I Could Do Without ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 03:38:00 +0000

The illustration at the top of Eve's reading calendar for November

and the conversation I overheard between Sam and Eve after she hung this on the refrigerator.

S: That's a pretty sexist drawing.

E: What's sexist about that?

S: Well, the woman is serving the men, as if getting dinner ready was all her responsibility.

E: So? She's pretty.

_____

I need a drink.

At Long Last ~by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 01:46:00 +0000

Tomorrow they will remove the carpet from our stairs and upstairs hallway.

You have no idea how much I hate this carpet. It was worn when we moved in, 8 years ago. It is now stained, ripped and smelly (Nature's Miracle can only do so much). We're not carpet lovers to start with, and even if we were, this carpet needs to go.

And with the departure of the carpet, the placement of the cabinets in the bathroom and the progression of grouting, we may - perhaps - we hope - see the beginning of the end of this renovation. 14 weeks and counting, but maybe approaching completion.

There is (of course) a fully loaded bookcase in the upstairs hallway that needs to be packed up before tomorrow. I have to do this myself because Sam is ill. I don't even mind - that's how much I hate this carpet.

Tomorrow when I come home there will be a roll of off-white carpeting in the dumpster in the driveway.

Happy dance!

How Time Flies ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 00:30:00 +0000

I am grateful that Eve can get herself ready for bed.

I keep telling myself this so I won't grow too nostalgic for the days when she was a cuddly toddler who crawled in my lap for bedtime reading, but who also needed to be supervised every second she was in the bathroom. Independence is good. Right? Right?

And Now For Something Completely Different ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 00:07:00 +0000

No, not that.

This.

Sleepy ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 02:38:00 +0000

The time change really walloped me this year, probably because I've been staying up so late watching baseball (which should be played in the afternoon, really, especially on weekends. Grrr).

So at 9:40 PM Standard Time, it's been dark for four hours and my eyes are closing as I sit and stare at the computer. The Yankees have coughed up the lead and I may not make it to see if they can come back and win.

I am grateful for TiVo, which allows me to leave the TV on ESPN, fast-forward through the football (and basketball and soccer and who knows what-all) and watch all the baseball recaps while I get dressed.

Good night.

Mad Scientist ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 01:18:00 +0000

I am grateful that my husband has a sense of humor and knows how to use power tools.

My Three Sweet Cubs ~ by Tigermom

noreply@blogger.com (Tigermom) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 20:25:00 +0000

Happy Halloween everyone.

Gotta help supervise costume putting on.

Then load up the candy.

A Rich, Full Day ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 02:47:00 +0000

Wake up, watch ESPN recap of the Yankees game last night. They still won. Life is good.

Eat breakfast, appreciate the cup of coffee Sam pours for me.

Forget to take the coffee with me, appreciate Sam again for bringing it out to the car when I swing by after dropping Eve at school.

Make it to work in time to hear the night shift sign out, meet the visiting PA student, see the patient who arrived last night, see the other patients, write most of those notes.

Spend 20 minutes on the phone doing volunteer work for my favorite professional organization, recruiting someone to step into my leadership position.

Go do a nursing home visit, get back in time to debrief with the PA student.

Sit down to do some overdue charting on home patients, discover the entire electronic system is down. That's not helpful.

Have lunch with the nursing staff and hear what everyone is doing for Halloween. Lots of vampires and goblins and one or two plain ol' ghosts.

Evaluate and write orders for the first new admission of the day. Arrange for two more patients to be admitted. Try to get the EMR up again - no dice.

Take some time for a chat on the phone with an old friend.

Manage to get the EMR open for about five minutes, not long enough to actually do any charting.

Review a chart for which we're being denied payment. Find no clear reason why Medicare shouldn't pay us. Try to figure out something polite and coherent to write, since GIVE US OUR MONEY, YOU IDIOTS doesn't seem quite appropriate.

Wonder what happened to the patient who was supposed to be picked up at 2:30 at the hospital, four miles away, and who has not arrived at 3:15.

Go to team meeting, hoping I can leave right afterwards to be home in time for Eve's Trick or Treat party at 5:00. Give up on that idea when the 2:30 patient arrives at 4:15.

See the new patient, talk to three of her seven children, write orders, write a note. Manage to get my hospital EMail open and write a signout note to my partner. Call Sam at 5:10 to say I'm leaving; arrive home at 5:35 to find six giggling fourth graders in various costumes on the swing set. Also find two other moms, who were expected, in the kitchen drinking wine. Find another mom, not expected, and teenaged daughter in the living room. Ask Sam who they are; he doesn't know. Turns out someone decided to hang around after bringing her daughter. Invite her in to join the rest of us in the kitchen. Say "of course!" when she asks if her niece can join the party (as niece is dropped off in front of the house). Pour myself a glass of wine and add a pizza to the order.

Send giggling girls (and older sister and cousin of guest) off to trick-or-treat with the other moms when it becomes the clear the pizza order will take longer than expected. Feed them pizza when it arrives and send them back out again. Swallow my response when one mom says "of course, we won't let them eat any candy until we get back so you can check it all first". Clean up paper goods and party detritus while they're gone. Send guests home, allow Eve to eat whatever candy she wants without checking it, and get ready to go to 60s Halloween Dance Party featuring our drumming teacher's band. Eve changes from a vampire to a hippie, Sam puts on a long wig, I slip a set of love beads over the work clothes I haven't had time to change and we're off.

Arrive at the party to discover that, technically, they don't allow anyone under 21 into the building. Wink and nod when they tell Eve she's 21 tonight. Dance with Sam and sing alone while Eve pretends not to know who we are. Bring her home at 10:00 and tuck her into bed.

Do the dishes, clean up the rest of the party debris, realize I haven't written my gratitude post for the day. Think back over everything that happened today and realize I am grateful that there is nothing scheduled for tomorrow.

Say goodnight.

Gratitude ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 00:08:00 +0000

I am grateful for thoughtful, generous colleagues.

Gratitude ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 02:11:00 +0000

I am grateful for recliners, laptops and hi-def TVs.

(now if I can only watch the the Yankees come back from the 2-0 deficit...)

Phew ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 11:07:00 +0000

This morning Eve has a bit of a cough and a scratchy throat. No fever. Slept all night and is going to school.

No fever = no flu.

At least so far....and for that I am grateful.

Uh-oh ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 23:42:00 +0000

Tonight we went out for pizza - one of Eve's favorite foods. She had a big snack at aftercare, and said she wasn't that hungry, so we only ordered one slice for her.

She took one bite, put it down, and said "my stomach hurts". Looked kind of punky. Just sat there and sipped her soda while Sam and I ate our dinners, and then came home and went droopily upstairs to watch TV.

No fever, no nausea, no cough, but sudden onset of symptoms has Mommy worried about H1N1, which is rampant around here. Tomorrow Sam is supposed to leave the house at 6:30 for a meeting two hours away. I have two home visits, a meeting, and a resident joining me, plus one patient who came in tonight and hasn't yet been seen and one scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning.

This is the part of parenting that (so far) I hate the most, the part where I feel irritated with my kid because she had the temerity to get sick and foul up my schedule. That's not how I want to respond to Eve, ever. And maybe she's not really sick; maybe she just had too many cheese crackers and too much apple juice this afternoon. We'll see, and we'll manage, but evenings like this always remind me that, as Tigermom says, it's all a house of cards that could come crashing down around us any second.

I am grateful that Eve is as healthy as she is, and that we live in a time when my biggest worry about a sick kid is that I'll have to miss work.

Gratitude ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 23:09:00 +0000

I am grateful that Sam lets me borrow his computer when I am so tired that I leave mine at work.

I've decided not to drive back and get my laptop, but to accept this as an opportunity to take a night off (well, after I'm done with this) and crawl into bed with a book.

Conversations with Families ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 18:15:00 +0000

When we came in last evening, there was a flutist playing in the lobby.

Yes. She comes about once a month. We love to have musicians at the Hospice when we can.

Any musicians?

Why do you ask?

Well, we're part of a steel drum band. My son used to play with us, too, before he got so sick. Would it be OK if we came and played for him?

I don't see why not. How many pieces?

Usually 12, but we can cut it down to 10.

Could you play outside? Your son's room opens on to our back patio. If the weather is good, we can open the French doors and you can be right outside, just feet from his bed.

Sure, we can play outside. You'd really let us do that?

We would be honored to have you. Just tell us when you want to play. I'll make sure it's OK with the staff, and if you come when I'm off this weekend, I'll come in to hear you.
___

And that's why I went to work on a Sunday, to hear a steel drum band play for one of their own. They played everything from Amazing Grace and Jesus Lives to My Girl, Matilda and an Elvis medley. Eve and Sam came with me. We sat on a bench in the back garden and soaked up the sunshine, and the music, and the grief, and the love.

I am deeply grateful for the gifts of my work.

Here's a steel drum sample to brighten your Sunday.

Saturday Gratitude ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 12:54:00 +0000

I am grateful that I am not on call.

We Did The Mash ~ by Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Jay) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 01:11:00 +0000

Tonight was the Haunted Hop at Eve's school. Picture a gym full of costumed elementary-school students and their parents, fueled by soda, cupcakes, hot dogs and pizza. Lots of vampires, cheerleaders, princesses, zombie cheerleaders, pirates, and Michael Jacksons, along with the occasional mummy or ghost. Lots of screaming. Lots of running.

Eve is dressing as a Vampiress (her locution) this year. Discovery of the night: plastic fangs a) hurt and b) make it hard to eat cupcakes.

I am grateful that the Haunted Hop comes but once a year, and is now over.