Moonwort volunteered behind the compost for years. I spread the seeds repeatedly, but this year they finally decided to spread.
Dylan tested positive last Saturday. I finally tested positive as well. He got anti-virals. I won't because I don't have any risk factors. I've been symptomatic all week, still had 3 negative tests. Went to work Friday on the instructions of Employee Health - stayed double masked and stayed completely away from patients and kept my distance from staff.
Will not go to the big community garden's plant sale today, which is sad.
I'm supremely annoyed with my immune system.
Started the awful cough on Thursday, but that seems to be over now. Just the fatigue and malaise with lingering congestion now.
I just hope I didn't pass this on to anyone.
To reiterate, I'm fully vaccinated and boosted.
Dylan's birthday is Tuesday, and I feel most awful about not being able to get him out with friends to celebrate.
Bugger.
A couple of years ago our AC went out, the guy who came to fix it advised us to start saving for a new system. We did, but life took some unhelpful turns, and that stash is not really impressive. A couple of weeks ago we got a letter. We qualify for several governmental programs to replace the HVAC, a more efficient system, rebates, and a 72 month interest free loan. After due diligence to assure ourselves that it is not a scam, we are getting this done... today. The total price is about what we were advised it would be, and since it was going to have to happen - better planned ahead. Rather than as an emergency on a holiday weekend.*
I've been thinking about the coal furnace I grew up with. Real coal in my snow people's eyes babeee! I knew how to rattle the damper and stoke the furnace, and never wondered why my winter boogers were black. They changed to a gas stove when I was in my teens, because the price of coal doubled from one year to the next. Sadly, we will not be converting from natural gas to electric, but at least it will be more efficient.
And last week we were browsing a local kitchen supply store - lots of gear, it's oddly fun. And spotted a portable induction stovetop. Which started another whole conversation about conversion away from gas†. We looked at tabletop convection ovens, aka air fryers. And how we cook. And how we never liked the oven we were left with by the previous owners. It takes 20 minutes to heat the oven, for instance. We looked at convection ovens/induction stovetops - which were not only expensive - but according to the guy at Lowes - almost impossible to find yet. So, we floated our idea of just the two small components - which he assured us made good sense.
Now, it's just a matter of getting rid of the old gas stove.
And the steep learning curve as we figure out new ways to cook.
The house is in a bit of an uproar, which feels like preparing to move, and I'm finding it not unpleasant. It's been a while since I've packed up all we own, this is comparatively nothing. Doors open to mild weather as the guys tromp in and out. Not entirely sure what to do with myself, but it's also an excuse to do nothing on my day off. Which... is not a bad thing really.
*Which is when these things always happen.
†Gas stoves/ovens degrade indoor air quality. Since we already have it bad enough with our inversions all winter, this is critical.
Zeppo: Oh, look!
The garden continues to bloom, fade, bloom, not looking impressive for photos yet. Everything coming up amid the mud, though.
Spent a long time yesterday removing sutures from the fingers of a guy who got caught up in Table Saw Season. He had no pain tolerance, so I pulled out every old nurse trick, lots of talking, listening, checking. They were not easy to remove, being all encrusted, over 20 in the end. His wife distracted and talked to him throughout - not always sweetly - but effectively. He was an old-style misogynist, not cruel or extreme, just offhand and stereotypical for a guy his age. I kept working, telling him what I was doing, gentle but unflinching. At the end - he checked, which I invited, and I had missed one. Once that was out, he checked again - very thoroughly - which I again encouraged. That time it was good.
They left with thanks for the time I took, and the care. Apparently he'd gotten stitches out last week for a different surgery from the total joint resident, and were -- a bit difficult. So I stepped in on Friday to mollify. And because the clinic nurse was running the clinic, and the MDs can write their own damn orders in a pinch, I was the least essential person there. And the LPN was not paid enough, and being my grey-haired-obviously-senior self, I had the gravitas to make them think I was the best qualified.
I like being able to come in as the Experienced One, even if I'm not actually, but I damn well look the part. They feel reassured, and that's half the battle so often. They do pay me enough to deal with this sort of thing.
You know how I was taught to take out stitches? I was in OJT for the Army, they showed me the tray of instruments, and said "Go take out those stitches." So, I did.
CLEARING
A year ago my life tipped over. And I despaired and grieved, but walked away. And struggled and wailed and gnashed my teeth. I also endured and persevered, and accepted all the help on offer, and there was so much from so many people with kind hearts and good advice.
It feels a lifetime ago, now.
I've learned so much.
I've healed so much.
I don't miss the OR, or the pain, or the people who caused me grief. I did not have to waste all that knowledge base laid on over two decades of experience.
I can deal with the ones who blame me for their own choices, because they are my job. But I also get so many who try, and appreciate, and help.
I'm catching on.
I'm being paid enough.
I work with good people doing their best.
Last year, I needed not to assume it would be better.
But godsdamnit, it sure is.
A few months ago one of my schedulers called me to the reception desk for a frustrated patient. He'd been pushed between the ED and podiatry, was blatantly called a drunk, and was getting the runaround. He'd fractured his ankle, showed me the (rather dramatic and very clear) x-ray on his phone. I got my ortho docs involved, took him in the wheelchair down his PCP, and everyone made it happen so he got his surgery.
I knew from the start that getting him the right treatment had to be done, and that the guy was going to be a pain and never thankful for any of it. Not in an over the top way, never outright assholish, but he was in recovery from alcohol abuse, in the halfway house on the VA campus, so he was starting from a long way back. What we refer to as squirrely.
And sure enough, he never made any of it easy. But (unlike the podiatrist) everyone in my department treated him with appropriate care and dignity. His name came up for follow up this week. I hope he's doing well.
This is what we are there for. To take care of people, irrespective of their cooperation or appreciation. We rain upon the just and the unjust. Nothing they do should ever make us less kind, less compassionate, less helpful. Certainly, because it is easier, we do go out of our way more for the ones who are cooperative and appreciative. Put the one who is contentious and prepared to the front of the line, into the slot vacated by the one who failed to be ready or flaked out.
If someone is pouring out tea, the one holding the teacup right side up will get more tea than the one who flipped it upside down and starts screaming it's not fair. My job is pouring it out, not holding their cup in the correct orientation.
As long as I remember, I've had a foam pillow. Latex or whatever manufactured substance to make foam. Memory foam for many years now. And it does support my wonky neck. But recently, as we look to remove the degrading and eventually disposed of plastics in our lives, I looked up what natural fibers are best for night sweating and still supportive.
Wool pillows are a thing. Did a bit of research, and although certainly not cheap, they are comparable to our stained and starting to smell artificial pillows. Last night was the first try, and I'm very happy about the results. Dylan is still asleep, so I'm guessing it's a Yes from him as well. (He has his own pillow issues that these will hopefully address.)
They are different, and after a lifetime of the other sort, it did take a bit of adjustment. I've used feather and other fluffy but not supportive pillows. The kind you have to roll up to get under the neck, in hotels, and in the Army. But these have a lot more heft, they don't just collapse when I put my head on them. My face didn't sweat, my eyes weren't being squished from the side.
And they arrived in paper and cardboard, without any plastic bags or excess packaging or padding.
I'm considering the last third or quarter (depending) of my life as a time to spend a bit more for life-stuff that will last to the end. A robe that will last 30 years will likely be the last one I'll need. Spend a bit more now, while we can, and get it to finish out the day. Winds up being less expensive per. And I can just repair good stuff, when plastic breaks or degrades, there is nothing to be done for it.
See: Vimes Boot Theory
Not trying to be morbid, but this is the phase of life I'm entering. For now, I'm making decent money, when I retire, it may be a bit thinner. And I'm still buying green bananas.
Crown Imperial, Fritillaria imperialis. A few weeks and the blooms will be gone. As all crowns should be.
“Whoever had created humanity had left in a major design flaw. It was its tendency to bend at the knees.” -T. Pratchett
Winter dead soul
When I lived with constant pain
Wisdom blooms in spring.
Came across one of the old bits about wealthy/celebrities in their mansions whining about the horror of having to stay in their lavish homes during lock down. Of course, along with everyone else at first, I thought "poor babies!"
But I have another thought.
McMansion Hell discusses the issue of mansions as being aspirational. Oh! The parties they will have! So many friends! And how essentially unlivable these houses are. Less houses than Event Centers, Convention spaces, Hotel lobbies. They are a gilded hell created by people with more money than sense. To have to live in them without respite, really is awful. They are blandly tasteful, cold, drafty, echoey. Good for photos and as stage sets, but not at all as homes.
Not that I feel pity for them. Not at all. But their complaints are genuine. They have build themselves a nest of wire.
No one wonders why living in a cramped, cheap apartment is awful when you can't leave. But they have no choice. We lived in such places most of our adult lives, we sympathized with all those staring at eggshell painted walls and beige carpeting for months at a time. Or worse, or with horrible landlords who would not keep the places livable.
I was grateful every day stuck inside that we found House the Home, and weren't in some tiny apartment. This place was fine for a long day-to-day, comfortable, livable. The company helped of course. Dylan and cats are all I could want, more than I could have hoped for.
Gratitude with every breath.
The barrels are also finally connected with tubing, so both will fill, given enough rain.
How can I forget
That I am dust and unto
Dust I shall return?
Yesterday I missed the wordle, just bad luck choosing letters. So when I got home, Dylan tried it, and got it in two. I watched him with absolute delight as he put in the correct word, made my day. I also got one in two this past week. Strangely, it was both nice, and a bit of a disappointment to get it so easily - much more satisfying to get it in 4 or 5.
It was also a day that felt like a lot of progress, I had a lot to do, and accomplished pretty much what I'd hoped to. Figured out a snarl that I hadn't even seen before, that will make the re-organization of clinic designations a lot more effective. Sounds boring, but it's really an essential piece to keep the right patients getting the right care in good time. It took this long for me to understand the process sufficiently to correct it.
Of course I worry for the world. But it also feels like a tipping point. The time to lance the boil, amputate the limb, the infection has declared itself, and there is no question about the next, drastic, steps that need to be taken. Nothing will be the same, after.
People demand to know why the side that is trying to do good is "so bad at messaging!" There are at least two reasons for this. Good people do not think like evil people, and assume that most people are good and doing the best they can. Good people trust that everyone else is just trying to do the best they can with what they have. This is an essential part of what makes up good people.
The second major problem is that good people don't have the power of fear and anger to crush the other side. If they did, they wouldn't be good anymore. Humans respond more to violence and fear because those are immediate threats - it's a core Survive-right-now instinct. Good things can be safely ignored. Immediate threats have to be put in the center and fought or run from in a way that chronic threats do not. All our stories are about monsters and violence, fear and loss - because that is when we need stories the most. Malignity comes in many forms, we must be able to see it and fight it. And that is obsessive and addictive, all that rage, all that horror, and it's easy for evil people to misdirect us, send us after the wrong enemy.
Beneficence is... well, boring. It always looks pretty much the same. That it feels better, allows us to think and find joy - means it's much harder to talk about, harder to share. Because Good isn't the opposite of Evil. Good is a balance of forces. Evil is the extremes of violence and submission, both but without stability.
It's why I will never write a decent novel, I keep taking the conflict out of it. I want to soothe, and make every character's life better, just as I do in my everyday. I genuinely do not get angry anymore, not like I used to. I had my father's rage in me, for so long, but it's run out now. I feel the sadness, the frustration, the fear, but it doesn't turn into anger anymore. Burned out that circuit, apparently.
I have no time machine, I can't go back and un-mistake. I have to take it from here and make the best I can of it. Learn the lesson and proceed to work the problem. Press the error into my brain, find a way to avoid it in the future, and move on.
It doesn't make for a compelling story. Makes for a better life, though.
Yes, that is a heating vent behind Zeppo's left shoulder.
My brain is starting to show the effects of learning so many new things. I'm starting to see the patterns, and notice when it's wrong. One of my colleagues has been effusive in her praise for my picking up on, and continuing to pick at, an anomaly. Specifically because the mistake made would have been a blow to patient care if not caught early. I still think her handling of it had more effect, but I let the positive reinforcement work on me.
I'm finding ways to double check that make sense to me.
Got four surgeries scheduled yesterday. I'll get another one or two tomorrow, and possibly catch up on the waitlist a bit by next week. Booked out to May for shoulders, and into April for hands. We need another couple of surgeons, our new hand surgeon starts this month. And our new shoulder surgeon should be here by fall. Until then, we make do.
Gods, we need Universal Health Care. But within that, we also need specific Veteran care, because they are a particular population with their own peculiar needs. Lots of substance abuse, lots of homelessness and unstable home lives, lots of mental health issues - and not all combat related PTSD. The VA is actually equipped to deal with in, in a way that non-VA hospitals are not. We keep surgical patients as long as they need, when other hospitals would send them home that day or the next day. None of our patients will ever lose their house because of a hospital bill. Most of our Vets really appreciate how they are cared for here.
Of course some don't - mostly because they want something that isn't what they need. Patients who seem to think surgery is magic and will take away all their pain. The ones who think our top notch shoulder surgeon doesn't know what he is talking about when he says that further surgery would be a phenomenally bad idea. The grumpy guy who blames everyone else for him not checking his mail or calling before driving in from Podunk, UT. I suspect they are what would once have been called malingerers. One in every platoon, I think I know what they were like in Basic.
And I love that I have that experience, that commonality, that urge to yell "Airborn!" when something is dropped and breaks.
If you know, you know. If you don't - it's not really possible to explain. The experience, the feeling of it.
And now, this work, this duty. It's sort of the same, first wallowing and nearly drowning, and finally floating in it. Like marching with 32 women and making hardly a sound.
This was part of why I went all out yesterday, but this result is better than expected.
Yes, my back does hurt, but not as badly as after any random day in the OR, so... yeah. I laid cardboard under a layer of sand, and it's supposed to rain tonight and tomorrow. Sometime next week, I'll add compost. And then plant beets, parsley, lentils. I'm looking at Oryzopsis hymenoides, Indian Ricegrass, as a native well suited to this space.
It already feels better back there.
My week living at my own pace, quiet and slow, is coming to an end. I know there is a lot of work waiting for me, that I will need to hit the ground running in the morning. Lots to do, and it's a clinic day, but... I'm ready. It'll be fine, and I will return with energy and the will to learn again.
My thoughts are with Ukraine, of course. The world is changing in ways we cannot predict. The past steps back, and the future is unformed. We do not know.
My own life is nothing like what I imagined when I was small and straining to see how it would all turn out. Turned out, and beyond, and keeps on turning.
Finding out new stuff every day.
I really did plan on doing more cleaning and sorting this week. But my brain voted, and it's on break. I've been reading trifles and fluff only, and staying in my pjs past 10AM.
We got tarts from a very nice little bakery, lemon cream, and an almond cream. So expensive, so worth it. Shared on with a friend who stopped by after work. She dished the dirt on the current situation of the old OR, and I am beyond relieved that I don't work there anymore.
Have not gotten called about anything for work from my colleague - so if anything came up, it wasn't so bad she had to text me. Of course, she could handle anything that came up, that was never a worry. I know I've left her some loose ends, because I'm not quite to the point of tying them all up first time. And I was more than willing to answer if anything came up that I'd messed up that badly. So, yeah, very relieved.
Dim Sum with more friends today, and a long conversation about nothing much. Well, and the situation in Ukraine. I chose to hope. Not because it's objectively accurate, but because it makes it possible to keep going. And we must keep going.
Seeing the usual Saturday friends tomorrow, as well. We got together last Monday to play Fuse and Crew. And eat.
It's been a week full of friends, rest, cats, good food and idleness.
Feeling not bad at all for 60.
Most of the time, I hate receiving gifts. As a child, I had to be effusive in my thanks for anything given to me, or there would be punishment. I had to put on a big smile and gush about how wonderful the thing was, and it made me so uncomfortable - it was acting, and it was lying. So much so that when I genuinely DID love a present, it looked like I didn't - because when they really did find a real Gift - my real reaction was quiet and overwhelmed.
When pushed about a gift, what did I want? What about this? Or this? I struggled to answer, because to say, No, not that, no not quite, I sounded greedy. I didn't really want anything at all.
It happened this past week at work, they wanted to buy me lunch. Decided on pizza. Asked me what pizza I like. Well, I like pizza dough from Trader Joes, and mild salsa, and their shredded Mexican cheese... Other than that, I don't much like commercial pizza. They put garlic in their sauce, often a lot of it. They opted for The Pie - a local place that has been very popular for decades. I ate there once, and did not like thin crust, crispy pizza, did not like their sauce - I've figured out since that I have a garlic intolerance (that is getting worse over time.) I've had a bite or two since when it's been ordered for work lunches, and it's still not to my taste. I told them to just get it for themselves, I will maybe have a slice, and I appreciate the thought (which - I do.)
When they brought it in, I asked Don how much garlic he thought was in it.
"Oh, lots! Everytime I have this, my wife can smell it on my breath."
I got out my own lunch, said "I'd love to eat with you." And meant it. The whole thing of eating food they bought for me put me into a silent panic attack, while they were out of the cubicle.
They wished me a Happy Birthday, then wished each other a Happy Birthday, and I added Merry Un-Birthdays to the chorus. I tried to mention my own weirdness with food, my mother's yoyo dieting, and apologized for being "funny about food." I hope they knew I appreciated their intention. And that they don't try to do any more gifts.
Don asked me if my birthday was the next day. I said no, not until the next week. Then volunteered my age - so that he knew it wasn't about that. I don't mind a bit of teasing, especially since they are clearly all so kind. I think they realized they'd pushed just a bit too far for me.
I got a card from Dylan's parents. It had a metal bookmark with a penguin charm. They know I read, they know I like penguins as a sort of totem. But I have never used non-disposable bookmarks because I lose or break them, usually on the first book. For the past decade or so, I've used the flat silicone tip protectors that come in a lot of surgical devices, they slightly stick to the pages without holding it open too far. I have scores of them collected, I fiddle with them while I read.
They apparently got the perfect little gift for me. But it really shows that they don't know me, and now I have a bit more clutter, made in China, that I will never use. And I have to thank them, which I will. Inside I'm thinking, "thank you for making me uncomfortable, stared at and yet unseen." I'd much prefer not to get anything at all. I'd rather be actually not seen, at all.
This is why I go to such lengths not to be at work on my birthday, to avoid the worst of the well-meaning, guilt-inducing, awful-feeling attention.
It's not my birthday. It's not today. It's not my birthday so why do you lunge out at me?
This is what we are fighting and what we are fighting for. Damn the confederacy, damn the slaveowners, damn them all.
Well, you see, the last vestiges of the henna I put on last year, and hated, were seriously bugging me.
I cut it to shoulder length a couple of weeks ago. And Sunday I cut off more. I may go get the back trimmed up at the barber shop, if they will do it for a reasonable price.
I have been thinking about just buzzing it all off, but letting it grow out after is an enormous pain in the butt, and I'm not really up for a year of shaggy hair.
It's actually chin length. Most of the stained hair is no longer.
I think my vitamin D levels are back in normal range, I have new hair growth, and I'm getting my energy back. Or maybe I'm just recovering from years of burn-out.
It also occurred to me this week that my Social Security will be higher when I retire, because I'll be both full time and better paid at that point, than if I'd stayed in the OR working 30 hours a week for a lower wage. Going through that last April was one of the hardest things I've done in a long time, but I'm glad I was able to work through it and emerge out the other side. Well disguised blessing.
My team went to lunch yesterday, my colleague insisted on paying for my lunch - I had a very nice half sandwich (which was plenty and tasty), and I covered the tip for the table. Which went over well for the two NPs who had worked as waitstaff. It just happened that I was the only one with cash on me.
Yesterday was nuts, so many different, often complex problems. Thankfully everyone was around, and there was a lot of group participation. There was also a lot of patient EMOTION!! Seriously, one guy sent several (secure, MyHealthEVet) messages with many, many exclamation points. Every patient had a serious grip on the wrong end of the stick, and very upset about it. Spent a long time on the phone calming people down. Couldn't get a lot of what I planned to do even started until about 2:30, and was dealing with one last problem at 5:15. Well, they pay me until 5:30, so fair enough.
I've been doing wordle, and love it. Love doing exactly ONE a day. It reminds me of playing Mastermind with my friend Anna in 6-8th grades. Our teacher had the game, and we were allowed a portion of each day to play various games. Anna and I spent a lot of time with Mastermind. Wordle is the same idea, but with words.
Zeppo had a mat on his back haunch. Not sure how that happened. I secured him, to his displeasure but he didn't skedaddle, and cut it off. There didn't seem to be a scab indicating an injury, just matted fur. He's not got long fur, but it is fairly coarse. Maybe he slept funny? Got his claws trimmed at the same time. He doesn't seem to mind that. And once I have him, he kinda freezes - it's not relaxed, he certainly does not purr, but he doesn't struggle either. Mostly, he hates the idea of being picked up. There is certainly a story there, and we can but speculate.
"Deep in the wintry parts of our minds, we are hardy stock and know that there is no such thing as a work-free transformation. We know that we will have to burn to the ground in one way or another, and then sit right in the ashes of who we once thought we were and go on from there."
- Clarissa Pinkola Estés
A volcanic mess.
I watch the Tongan volcano news with a geological impassivity.
I have to cancel surgeries, and listen to people who have suffered, and deliver them more disappointment.
If I let this all tear at my heart, I could not go on. I try to let it pass through me, but some always sticks.
I can't remember the name of the book Pete recommended, about the sailor and the bird and all the other animals that wind up on his boat journey. He's told me again, before, so I hesitate to ask again.
And last night I dreamt we were still living in an apartment, or at least also in an apartment.
Good New Year to all.
We've been enjoying Reservation Dogs this week. I love shows and stories that force me to abandon my cultural assumptions. Bury Me Standing and Atanarjuat The Fast Runner are two more. And this video about the issues of Black Hair.
I've got my own issues around
I Got Tears in my Ears from lying on my back in my bed while I cry over you, might be this year's theme song. Rabbits and ears and tears.
