Creamer

 Dylan noticed an estate sale while he was out walking this morning. He had to go to work, so I went myself. The house is a rambling old Victorian pile across from the Indian convenience store. And it was full of treasures. First estate sale I've gone to for over a year and a half, every one masked, likely most of us vaccinated. It was such a return to normal.

I found this silver-plated creamer/lidded pitcher. The bottom stamped Statler Hotel, the # in the box indicates when it was made, so 1953. Which city is a mystery, the one in Los Angeles probably the most likely. I spent some time removing tarnish, aluminum foil, baking soda, boiling water. 

A bit of upholstery fabric, and a narrow shovel (not shown.) $14 all told. Going back tomorrow with both of us. I'm mindful of our uncertain future income. Although part of me is a little afraid I will be working so soon I won't get a chance to take a breath. Then I worry about getting work at all. 

 I did dream that the arrogant aide kept touching my arm, I kept shoving him away, until I started shouting for him to get away from me. He started to crumble and cry, and I kept swearing at him. He said "Well, I guess I won't be working here Monday!" and I said, no, I wouldn't be here Monday. 

We will finish signing up for Obamacare and Unemployment tomorrow. I start seriously looking for a job on Monday. The fog remains, but it is thinning out a bit. 

Moot

 Turned in my badge and cleared out my locker and cubby. E, the office manager stayed with me*, told me she was pissed about the whole thing, and gave me a long warm hug. P, who is the only staff there longer than me, was teary eyed along with me. J from SP came and hugged me so long I was a little afraid for her. So, I got to say a few goodbyes, and that will do. I have phone numbers and will need references, and who knows I might have a gathering here when I'm bringing in income again. Who knows?

I kept assuring them I was ok, I would do fine, maybe a bad thing for a good thing. Felt like they were more bothered than me. It's all sad and hard, but it was the right time, even if not a graceful exit. I've done worse with more witnesses. Fell on my face, fell on my wrist and broke it.  I mean, maybe I do need to be out of there before I wind up with a concussion or worse. 

My OR shoes really are very comfortable, it's more noticeable on wood floors... . I kept my cloth hats, for now anyway. I may give them away once I know what I'll be doing. 

I let the nurse who was going to cover a shift for me in May know, since she would be expecting the paperwork this Friday. She was amazingly supportive, which doesn't surprize me. Most nurses really are this way, which is why the other kind are so shocking. 

She pointedly didn't ask, but I told her why anyway. Let others learn from me. I don't see any point in keeping it secret, even as it shines a harsh light on me. I put it thusly:

Some of it was my own physical pain, I thought I could make it to 62 and retire. More was investigating me because I pushed a hand away while turning a patient prone, and the person with the hand saw it as a slap, and it all rather snowballed. My own inability to use my words in a situation with so much going on, and a person lacking situational awareness, bad combo. I decided to take it as an opportunity to do less physical work, not be analyzed for my ‘behavior’ again (taught by old OR nurses, that early training really sticks) and take a little unemployment insurance that I have never used in 40 years of work.

I wonder when I'll find out the oblivious, arrogant aide has gotten fired, if I were to bet I'd say within the month. I expect I'll hear. Irrelevant, of course, moot. Always best to let Fate mete out retribution, never jostle her arm. 

*Which is probably policy, but it protects me as much as them, so I accepted it without comment. 

Mourn

 The past two years have been increasingly difficult both physically and mentally.  And my ability to care for my patients is not at the level I would want to be. 

I was burning out, broke my wrist, my mother died, my beloved cat died.  I had to return to work before my wrist was sufficiently healed.  My illness in December of '19 was Covid, part of the reason I dropped to 30 hours. Which helped, but I never fully recovered.  I was in a lot of pain most of the time, my vision issues mean I am no longer safe scrubbing, my wrists stop me from doing chest compressions for CPR. 

My CPTSD, always a lingering issue, was worsened by several difficult co-workers. I returned to my EMDR therapist, went on anti-anxiety medication, used a Bi-tapp machine, and made a lot of progress. I believe I made as much progress as possible, and most of the time I'm on top of it. 

But over time, I realize that there will always be gaps, and some people will intentionally push me, and I cannot reliably manage to not react.  Not when there are a lot of things happening and a patient's safety is involved. When I was taught the OR, pushing a hand away, rapping knuckles with an instrument, moving another person that was standing in the way in the midst of a trauma or positioning, was normal practice, not read as violent at all. I was taught to not take it personally and to learn from it.  In the moment, I don't know that I can completely abandon this early training. I realize it is no longer the norm, but I also know that when my words fail, I will put my hand out. 

I can cash out my PTO and will be allowed to apply for unemployment insurance I can leave with a modicum of grace. 

I will be looking for work, but not today.  Today I mourn. 

Pipe

 Yesterday I dug out a pipe buried near the hedge in the front garden/meadow.  And another L-shaped bit of metal.  Today I went for another pipe, that had what looked like the bit of an old sprinkler head. That one was connected, 18" down to a horizontal pipe, and I don't think I'm ever getting that out. Not connected to anything anymore, but too much and too deep to dig out by hand.  I'm trying to imagine making it Art, I have some ideas. But it is so near the sidewalk, it has to be durable and cemented in place, or it will disappear immediately. 

I raked out the leaves from the narrow space between the garages, 3/4 filled the yard waste bin. Too much flaking paint to compost it here. Let the city use it for mulch. 

Everything coming up, more or less. I have to remind myself how early it still is. And keep hoping for more rain. I think the two rose bushes are going to put on quite the show this year. The raspberries in back are getting a bit leafy, the blackberry in front is showing some color in the stem. 

Our next door neighbors will be staying in the house for the next four years, renting from the current owners and previous neighbors.  I'm glad to have this lovely couple and their two dogs for the next few years. Old neighbors I will miss, but the house was too small for them with two kids and family visiting often.  And the current neighbors... park better. 

Reading John Pavlovitz, and finding so much comfort.  He's one of those who lives his faith, and although I don't share the belief, I respect those who dig down and really work at it. Like Biden, who genuinely cares and strives to do his duty. 

I also vacuumed and mopped and shopped yesterday.  There is a comfort in a simple sense of accomplishment. Today we replaced the old plug assembly that wouldn't hold a plug.  As I suspected, one of the wires was screwed in the wrong way - which was the case for another one in this house. Whomever wired them up was either not paying attention, or had no clue what they were doing. The wire needs to go on so that the screw pulls it in the same direction. Seems obvious, but apparently not so much. 

Mantle

Early morning cat

Sprawled, curled, settled on my belly

Waiting for head rub. 

She'd been there for hours, and made a mrrrping squeak as I stirred. Patiently glued to me until I woke enough to pull my hands out and cup her face in my palms.  Zeppo also appeared, or at least made his presence audibly known, by my hip. One hand had to pass between them, to lay on his haunches. 

I tried to read Pale Horse, Pale Rider - because it was in part about the 1918 flu epidemic.  I found the misogyny and emotional toxicity of the family unbearable. I was much more tolerant of disfunction and despairing endings when I was young, but even then I couldn't read Dickens for instance, or any of the Bronte sisters. I wonder if what I always considered my reading cowardice, my inability to chew my way through classic literature, to actually be the lack of joy and humor there. Not enough to draw me through the density of the words, past the hopelessly awful lives of the women therein. 

I need a bit of joy in my reading, with a bit of hope at the end. 

Eleanor exploring the mantle. Not for the first time, but it's not terribly common. Zeppo tried it out the next day.  He's a very cautious creature, not a confident jumper. There is a screen on these, so I may need to open these windows when it warms up a bit more. It's 36˚F this morning. 

Something innate about that, reinforced by experience. I was a cautious and fearful child, but how much of that was because my parents added to my fear? Gave me reason to be afraid? Disinclined to throw myself into anything? Nowadays it's because I know how fragile I have become, how easily I could break another bone and lose our stability. None of this is new, but it all feels so much more immediate.  I don't want to wrap the world in cotton and keep it away from danger, but I feel all the risks so keenly. 

And I am helpless to stop the damage. 

Every day that I work, it has been profoundly irritating to my sore back. So for the last week or so I've been wearing my corset as a back brace under the scrubs. Makes a huge difference, I think I tend to slump after about 6 hours, this keeps my posture better so I don't hurt so much after 10 hours. 

Zeppo thinking about getting up on the sill that Eleanor usually monopolizes at night. She gets up on the chest and noses behind the shade confidently. Zeppo is thinking about maybe trying it one day, because he realllllly wants to look out there too. 

Poor cat, so easily frightened. I get it. All I can do is step back and be patient, with both of us. 

Masks

 Just got my result for the Covid study, and it looks like yes indeed, I did have it a year ago December. Well, that was the last time I was sick, and I was OHSOsick. We are both vaccinated as well.  And will keep wearing masks, because they are less cumbersome than a sandwichboard with my vaccine record printed in 36 point font. 

I had a job once wearing a sandwich board, and it was miserable. Masks are fine.

One thing I've noticed the last few months.  Patients coming out of anesthesia used to always pull their O2 masks off, repeatedly.  But not so much anymore.  It's a really marked change. I think it's because they are used to having something on their face, so it doesn't bother them so much. 

My red tulips are blooming this week. 

And Eleanor is fluffily sunning. 

Pest

 Beverly Cleary made me laugh so much as a kid.  RIP. 

The usual yoyo weather of March continues.  Work still very tiring, takes everything I have every day to keep up.  The garden slowly blooming in ripples of color and troughs of green. Everything small, a bit sparse, but welcome. 

More dental work done, on both of us. No results back on our covid study participation, hoping for a letter either Friday or Monday. 

Keeping a wary eye on the news. I remember just out of high school hearing about how corporations were so big no government would be able to contain them, international crime more dangerous than avowed terrorists. And now all the vultures coming home to roost. 

Dylan found a new author, and I've read her second book with great pleasure. Starting the first one today.  Well, that's the way it is when I rely on library books, I'm used to it. Who Is Vera Kelly? by Rosalie Knecht.

Colorful

 I've been looking for a red wind breaker/raincoat for many years.  I'd pretty much given up, not wanting the odd reds or bright pinks I could find. Then a catalogue came, and there was the same style I used to have, the example in a bright clear green. I really was going to go for the navy blue, having decided I'd never find the right red ever again.  I don't wear green usually, the green kept saying "you know, I'm a very pretty green..." So, I thought what the hell. 

Got it home, wore it out. Then I realized. 

It's the same green as the House, Monet's Garden. 

I feel a bit silly. I still like it, and it's good to have more color in my life. I just wish I'd realized it sooner. 

Not big on matchy-matchy generally.  I'm sure House doesn't mind. So that's alright then. 

Hyacinth

 One hyacinth given as a housewarming, 

is now five hyacinths. 

Each unique. 

Duvet

 Enjoying my duvet for a change. Probably due to the sunbeam.

Usually they prefer Dylan's, probably because it is an extra warm one, and they do love sitting on him.  Eleanor took to it immediately. Zeppo still a bit freaked out by the fluffiness. He seems to prefer hard surfaces to overly soft ones. 

So loving this bedding style. Both warm enough, cool enough, no weight on my feet to cause spasms, no waking each other up by pulling covers off each other. 

We've been watching Richard Osman's House of Games, and one of the prizes is often a duvet set. I'd sort of heard about this before, and this spurred me to do a little research. SO glad I did.  

Zeppo seems to be seeking me out just to be petted this week. Came up while I was eating dinner and curled in beside me, again an hour later for a belly rub, and again when we went to bed - and I scritched the back of his neck for a long time. 

Awaiting more apparent garden progress, but it's been a bit slow with colder weather.

Knuckled

 

Rascal

 Oh, March.  You rascal. 

Potentia

They took our blood and

Spittle. Antibody search. 

Two more data points.
 

Study

 A letter marked to Resident doesn't always get opened. It took a moment to register that we were randomly chosen to answer a survey on the troubles of the past year, and give our spit and blood to be tested. I would have volunteered in the vaccine studies, except that they didn't want health care workers - just in case. We go in Saturday, and give our data points. 

 Wearing masks. 

I'm really glad to be part of this. 

Lilac

 It rained well here last evening, I caught the last few drops as I drove home. The garden is pleasantly damp and happy.  More and more little early purple flowers are showing their heads. I put down lentils, red lentils in a bag from the grocery store, for nitrogen and pretty wee flowers. And they are wee, and very pretty. 

Realized that the war against the hedge has gone too far.  My neighbor cut it down, on my behalf, a year or so ago, and two or three of the main trunks were well dead. I dug them out, from among the rampant morning glories, and the gap was large and sad. Went to the garden center down the street, found a lilac bush, and with his permission, planted it along the boundary of our properties. 

The Hedge does flower, and it's not a pleasant aroma at all. Lilac will smell better. 

I thought about putting in a tall pampas grass, but this will, I think, be better. 

Pie

 Ok, well, I have been gardening.  Lots of raking up the dead stuff and finding the life beneath. 

These irises are tiny, maybe 6". Hopeful little things.

  

And these two are a solid force for treats. 

Happy π day.  Ok, that's all I got right now. I will be back, though. 

Vaccine

May we all do the Vaccine Dance together soon. 

Feet

 There is a ceremony in the catholic church, to emulate the acts of the prophet J, where the pope washes the feet of the poor and prisoners. It is an act of service and humility. 

Our president is a good, and sincere catholic. He knelt to avoid blocking the faces of the people behind him in this photo. 

I'm not catholic, nor a christian. I can't even commit to atheism, sticking with the unprovable floating of agnosticism. But I also wash feet, often. Especially on days that I work with foot & ankle surgeons. Some jobs foster service. Some jobs, well, maybe they need to be reminded. 

Traditional

 This week off work, as is traditional.  Nothing I must do means a tendency to stop altogether. I get moody, even despondent. I'd planned on gardening, but it's too cold, the soil is not ready.  I read news, and struggle to stay focused. 

This is Zeppo being affectionate and skittish. He loves having his tail gently pulled. 

So, I took on projects, to feel at least a bit of a sense of accomplishment.

Vacuumed out all the cat fur from the cold air return vents. Filled the vacuum canister three times. 

Cleared the toilet paper rolls, shredded and composted them. Cleaned this hidden closet in the bathroom, the bottom section. 

Cleaned and organized the pantry (hall closet) with labels. Getting rid of too much pasta and crackers and olive oil, and rolls of aluminum foil, either to friends or food bank. Keeping the six cans of spray oil because it will eventually get used. 

Yesterday I cleaned out the dishwasher screen and the bits in the bottom - wonder where the fur came from.  Badly needed, no photos. Ran a rinse cycle with vinegar after a long soak as well.

And the duvets. We both slept so well last night.  One more use for the inheritance. I still have enough left for good tea when ever I feel like ordering it, for years to come. 

Eleanor especially approved. They both snuggled in between us all night. 

Again

 I will try again. It's never a matter of how many mistakes we make, it's that we always correct them once more. 

Tomorrow I start my sixth decade, and although I know it does not make me very old, it is certainly the first step. I'm a baby-granny, as it were. Ok, I kinda hate that word, but I'll let it sit there anyway. 

Writing is important to me, but there are times when it needs to settle and germinate underground. Even I don't know what it's doing down there right now. Fighting fear with numbness is familiar to me, and that is what I have been doing. Hope does not come naturally, I learned early on not to trust it. 

And I've gone down the reddit rabbit hole, which both soothes and drains me in near equal measure. I am also on read-only-tweeter, which is easier to switch off. Still, I need to keep an eye on it all, even if I cannot change it, I want to know what might fall on me. On us. That is pretty much all I've been reading. I've tried a few novels, but aside from Pratchett in small doses, I can't seem to get stuck in. 

Watching Richard Osman's House of Games lately.  One of the prizes is a duvet set, which we've been peripherally aware of as a thing before, but never looked into. I did some research, checked the balance on my inheritance, and found a good 50%off sale locally.  We shall try this, since bedding has always been a frustrating issue for us. An experiment. We shall see. So far, I like them (twin duvets,  one each.)

Used henna on my hair, which - last batch - only tinted my hair a bit.  This batch went clown-orange, and I'm trying to add enough blue dye to at least tone it down until it eventually fades. Bother. Bugger. 

Cats are well, they love when we read in bed early, they come in and flop on us to get massages and belly rubs.  They like the blanket on the table, which keeps them from too much interference with our games of Codenames.  Even when we are not there. I think the heating vent and humidifier placement make it even more attractive to them. 

Listened to a radio program about ex-mormons who take psychedelics.  Remembered when I was a kid, all the church talk of saints and visions, and I prayed NOT to be one of them. I figured it would terrify me, and I prayed to be spared.  I think this was a wise choice, all in all. 

Valentine

 

Zeppo keeps his eye on me. 

 "At the end of an age, the denizens of the age still profess to believe that they can understand themselves by the theory of the age, yet they behave as if they did not believe it. The surest sign that an age is coming to an end is the paradoxical movement of the most sensitive souls of the age, the artists and writers first, then the youth, in a direction exactly opposite to the direction laid down by the theory of the age." 

The Message in the Bottle: How Queer Man Is, How Queer Language Is, and What One Has to Do with the Other

I have felt this, the sense that the old and hateful structures are being thrown away by so many, while others desperately cling to them and scream that they are eternal and can never change. But the weight of change is inevitable and leaking through everywhere. And it's not just young people,  many of us have been pushing for a long time. Some of the young people are entitled and wealthy and holding to their father's twisted values and inflated status with fervent hatred. 

Change is happening, we have reached a tipping point, any battles won by the old guard are symbolic and transient.  The will be there, but irrelevant and overwhelmed. 

I woke up this morning with a sense that everything had changed. Rain fell all day yesterday, unusual here - our rain may be heavy, but it is rarely so persistent. Perhaps once or twice a year to get a lingering rain. Turned to snow overnight, but nothing serious, enough to sweep not to shovel. Moisture for our drought, last year was terribly dry.  I'd left the garden last fall, the sunflower stalks left to stand - which pleased the LBBs (little brown birds).  This week, I cut them down and raked up for composting all the old leaves and twigs, well most of them. 

Soaking coriander to plant, despite the snow, it's not all that cold, and cold weather seeds will be fine, or at least worth the risk. 

Love to all, and on this day especially. 

Circus

 However disappointing that the fantasy vindication did not happen, the truth has been clearly shown, the evil masters exposed, and life will go on. Their words will hang about their necks like dead albatrosses, rotting and weighing them down.  They tried for a circus, and failed with their distraction, while giving a vital bit of testimony into the record. 

I keep thinking of Grant's pursuit of Lee, the Overland Campaign, drawing him into engagement after engagement, usually failing to win any battle but the last, and finally destroying the confederate army and winning the war.  It's not how many times you fall, but how many times you get up again.

Love will emerge, good people will change the game, we will go on. 

I cleaned around and under the fridge and stove, largely in an attempt to get all the glass shards from an early morning fumble. My hands and wrists are not adept nor strong anymore, and it's nothing much I can change. The fracture changed the right, an ulnar compression on the left. I can no longer perform chest compressions, and had to get an ADA exception for that work requirement. 

CPR is not a frequent part of my job, I've only performed it once, 20+ years ago,  and was replaced quickly by a young man with significantly more natural upper body strength.  And I cannot count how many codes I've worked over the years. I can still do airway management, after all. I do the drugs, I get the supplies, I get the people, call the ICU, check blood, document, bring the crash cart... this is what a code looks like in the OR. I haven't actually even SEEN chest compressions performed all that often in that situation, since defibrillation and pacing are much more effective, as are treating the underlying cause. The few times we've had to resort to chest compressions, the patients never made it. 

And that is the thing so often omitted from CPR training, how rarely it actually works. And even when it works, survival rates after are... abysmal. Getting the heart going again usually doesn't fix what made it stop. 

The exceptions being young people who have an external reason, drowning, a blow to the chest, electric shock. They can often be saved.  They are not in my OR. I am not a hazard. 

So, I clean, and hold fast.  I chose to hope. 

Trial

 

So.  I watched the trial yesterday, and it's a pleasure to watch professionals running a tight job. So competent and thorough. No fictional, dramatized procedural could be more compelling than the real one I experienced yesterday. 

I keep mixing my metaphors, brick walls and nets to catch all the fish and sea monsters and sheep and goats and covert wolves and making them show their hands. The guilty squirm and squeal and wriggle, or try to hide behind nonchalance and boredom and arrogant privilege, knowing they can walk away. Maybe, maybe not so much. 

My own words are subsumed still.  

I have not forgotten, only put this place in my pocket.