Needed

I'd been asked what six things I couldn't do without. (One of those forum lists, nevermind.) A very difficult question for someone who knows how little she needs. Of course, I took it literally, "things" not being people. Stuff, in short. And what I've considered to be a Good Day.

When I was going to basic, October, November and into December, in New Jersey, I had very clear criteria for a Good Day, and what I needed. Warm, fed, out of the wind. Having a plastic, covered cup to keep water in (as advised) was very helpful. To have a bit of water in my locker at night, so that in the dry heated air I didn't have to walk down the hall to the water cooler. And, although I learned to down Motrin (800 mg) with just two swallows from the spout, it was easier with a gulp from a cup. KP was a long, hard day, but then they all were. Still, starting at 0330, it was longer than most. The compensation was that I was warm all day, ate well, and pretty much when I wanted to, and got to the toilet whenever I felt the need. Those three conditions made for a version of easy, compared to most other days out in the cold wind, often hungry, and holding it in until allowed.

I lived out of my locker, very little of it my own. Clothes not adequate to the weather. Although I did have boots that fit, thanks to my Drill telling us to make sure they fit when they were issued. So, I took the sizing of the boots with all the seriousness I did if I were buying them. And I have had to be careful of my shoes since before I remember being fitted for shoes. I know I was irritating the woman at the boot station, but my Drill allowed it, and I stayed politely insistent. They weren't warm, and the green wool socks itched, but neither did they pinch or rub.

Hidden in my locker from the last private, a copy of a Tarzan novel. I longed to read, but I never could choke that one down.

When I left the ex, I left with a suitcase and my Army issue, knowing I escaped with my life in hand. That I would be able to salvage one carload later was not in my mind at the time. I could live with a few clothes, and the items that weren't mine to keep. Funny, the stuff I missed later were some of the photos, recipes, and a record that wasn't mine, (but only I listened to it) that I could never find again. A Carmina Burana on period instruments, played as it probably was during the Crusades, from a French group. Not the Orf version. Very raucous and genuine.

When D and I spent a christmas unable to get to a meal, the necessity of a meal on holidays became very important.

When I worked in a trauma hospital OR, a Good Day was when everyone got out alive. A death in surgery is unexpected, and bitterly unwelcome. A patient with a traumatic injury requiring immediate transport up to the OR is not a good bet. OR nurses are usually not trained in hospice, and get very irrational about death in their department. The cardiac team got a few a year. The transplant team lost one every time we had a procurement, but that got rationalized as happening, technically, before they got to us. Still, the moment when the heart is taken, and the anesthesiologist turns off his machine and leaves, is jolting. I always wanted to ask them to just stay there to make us feel better. There isn't anything else for them to do, but it always felt wrong. Two of mine were lost to septic shock, also not unexpected. I cried a little for each one, and those were bad days.

These days, a Good Day means enough time with D, little pain, and some periods without pain at all, getting lunch relief, a few moments of quiet.

So, this is the list I came to.


Good solid shoes.
Clean, working toilet and some privacy.
A good meal and time to eat it.
A hot shower.
Something to read.
Hot tea.