A war of sorts

Last weekend we had the distinct pleasure of hosting many of the MICU nurses from back in Tracy's ICU days for a reunion of sorts. For anyone who has ever heard Tracy tell stories from the ICU, you know that a get-together means some serious laughter. If you aren't in health care or seen a loved one in the hospital you would never believe half of the stories they tell. And you definitely wouldn't believe that we think they're HILARIOUS.

The more I think about it, the more it seems like these amazing women (and Vin) have been through a war of sorts together. They have seen humans, sometimes they're own or their closest friends' family members, at their sickest, most undignified time. They have seen people deteriorate with and without grace, people reduced to their most powerless, their most helpless; people faced with no good options; people without control of their mind and/or body; people reduced to organic systems. For most of us it is something we only see when a close family member is sick or dying. For them, it's an every day (or every night) ocurrence.

When they get together and tell these stories and laugh until they pull a back muscle (no seriously, Tracy did) my theory is that they start to heal pieces of themselves that have been damaged from having to see humans at their sickest. There is something about health care that's hard to name and even harder to compensate: an emotional expenditure that noone can pay you for in money. But, somehow, you feel richer than Bill Gates when you can allow the comedy that is life come through the little pieces that are broken and know without a doubt that all of these people that you've fought the good fight with are your friends.

Knowing they are there and undersand something undescribable inside each other's souls is worth more than anything monetary.

Flipping out

The last two days contained 2 of the more surreal experiences of my life:

Thursday, a woman came to the clinic and delivered a baby approximately 14 minutes after her arrival. I stood outside the door of the exam room, gloved at the "cracked open" emergency cart trying to mentally preen my infant CPR skills just in case the midwife and 2 pediatricians were wrong about the baby's status. 7 1/2 lb baby girl came flipping-out into the world in the most natural way, without any complications and without any monitoring or medical intervention. My directive came from the nurse midwife, "Don't you dare call 9-1-1 until this baby is born." And then it was my task to keep the EMTs at bay until they had delivered the placenta as well. It went against all my modern, western training as a nurse and administrator to let this process happen without releasing a pack of emergency-medical-hounds who might have added turmoil and a false sense of security to an otherwise serene event.

Then yesterday, as I was driving down the highway (In the passing lane) I noticed a car in the distance appearing to bounce toward me in the median. As I got closer, I realized it wasn't bouncing as much as flipping or rolling (6-10 times) side over side and when the blue sedan ended up breech, wheels spinning in the air, I slowed down to a stop- deep on the shoulder of the road. Looking to the car, maybe 25 yards back, it had lost all it's windows and had broken into thousands of 8-10 inch chunks of plastic and metal: Possessions and wreckage scattered for what seemed like the length of a football field. I didn't see anyone in the car and didn't know if I should get out until I stopped looking behind me and I glanced casually to the left. There was the driver. He was lying peacefully on his back- as if sunbathing on the ice- with one shoe on, no coat, in a t-shirt and jeans.

Gulp.

I didn't see blood, but I was sure this guy was dead. By then the motion and noises of the commuting world which had seemed muted in slow-mo, picked up back into real-time mode. Several people from the north and south bound lanes had also stopped. Two were already on cell phones, I got out and approached the driver, hesitantly. Someone shouted to keep him warm and these random dudes produced sleeping bags and heavy blankets from their vehicles. I identified myself as a nurse and got close enough to find the driver talking- groggy, but aware of who and where he was, muttering that his car was really "messed up." I was kneeling at his head, two lanes of traffic zipping past on either side of us, staring clearly at the gas-scented nightmare that was now his car and almost laughed out loud when one of the other bystanders told him, "Don't worry about your car, your car is fine, man." Your car is fine, Man... You can bring it home tonight (well most of it) in a hefty bag.

The good Samaritan who I'll call MacGyver (one of those that had located an army surplus supply store in his trunk to keep the driver guy warm) said, "don't worry, I'll find it" when the injured man started mumbling about his backpack and cell phone. And then MacGyver proceeded to crawl all in and around this guys cracked up car until he brought back a back pack... "I found your cell phone, and your ipod, and anything that looked valuable... they're all in your back pack right here..." (WHO IS THIS DUDE? I couldn't help but wonder.) When the police and ambulance finally got through the traffic to get to us, I was starting to panic about how stable the driver seemed to be. He could move his legs a little but we told him to stay still. He said he "felt like shit," without mentioning any specific pain, but that seemed like a good sign too. I wanted to get the hell out of there before he went into shock or some internal injury caused him to arrest. I wanted to leave believing that he would somehow (ridiculously) be discharged from the hospital that afternoon with only bumps and bruises. That your entire car could fall to pieces around you, but your body could somehow be laid lightly in the snow as if plucked out by an angel.

That was how I wanted to leave this experience- and quickly after the ambulance arrived, I did- learning that:
1) If it looks like a bouncing car, it might not be your eyes playing tricks on you
2) They really make cars so much safer these days
3) Sometimes you just get insanely lucky
4) It's not a myth- there are these rough & tumble, thick-necked MacGyver types who roam the earth displaying quick-thinking, generousities that can baffle the mind.
5) Maybe I should travel with a little less crap in my car, so that in the event of a potentially fatal accident, an Eyewitness won't drive away like I did thinking, "Wow, she had a lot of crap in her car... I doubt she'll ever see most of that stuff again..."

Life in the fast lane

I think we as a society should put more emphasis on good driving mores. Certain stupidities become downright dangerous in icy conditions. Particularly, I'd like to teach the world this lesson:

If you are in the passing lane, you should be passing SOMETHING!

Every once in a while (while driving in the passing lane) a driver should ask themselves: Have I passed anything lately? Are there cars up ahead that I will pass soon? Are there cars passing me? Are there cars lined up behind me that would pass me if I moved out of the passing lane?

Too often it seems that drivers feel the passing lane is for a citizens' enforcement of the speed limit... or imposing their own version of a "15-mile above-the-limit limit" This causes me (and many others) to have to pass on the right, in the slow lane, in order to get back in the passing lane. I was taught that it is illegal to pass on the right (on a 2 lane road, at least) but I think it should be illegal to STAY in the PASSING LANE and force others to pass you.

In wintery conditions, ONE car should move over; as opposed to several needing to veer around Mr. or Mrs. "I decide how fast the entire world will drive in the snow and ice... can't you see my knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel because I'm too terrified or incompetent to move over and drive my Q-tip speed in the NON-PASSING LANE!!!"

Please, fellow citizens, pass this message on: There is no shame in driving slow, just get the hell out of my the way.

Luggage breakthrough!

I forgot to mention about the trip...
I am bringing a Knapsack on my back...
NOTHING ELSE!!!
I am a notorious OVER-packer, and I am making the leap,
carrying on my little Ziploc with hair gel, tooth paste, hand cream and deodorant...
And only the things that will fit in one Knapsack!
Not a knapsack AND a purse, or
a knapsack AND a "carry-on..."
JUST. ONE. BAG.
Hooray for me!
(This is a serious feat.)

Flying South

I'm off to sunny Florida.
Gram's in Naples for the winter.
So Web and Mac and I are headed to the peninsula of political nightmares for a brief visit.
I haven't been there in a few years, and I'm excited for the travel time with my sister and her freakishly cute 10 and 1/2 month old. The only downside is katy's staying up north.

God knows what we will be able to do in a 3.5 day visit, but we'll get to hug Gram a lot, and swim a little, I'm sure, and I'll get to not go to work and crawl around on the floor with the babester.
(Last week, Mac and I played a 25 minute game of peek-a-boo... it just wasn't boring for either of us.)

Ode to NY & Friends

I just wanted to say that we spent two weekends away in January and they were fantastically fun. When Anne came east to look at grad schools we went into the city to see (finally meet- in my case) her sister and visit Hadi. Kt, Anne, and Hadi met when they were tiny teens and sent to a geek camp an ivy league summer program. Of all the geeks students there, they met and found each other, fell into friendship and love, and spent the next several years getting to really know each other through letters. They attended 3 different nerd consortiums prestigious east coast universities but still only met with each other a handful of times. They have cultivated the enviable familiarity of friends that grew up down the street from one another without ever having the benefit of geographic proximity. We had amazing food, all kinds of conversation and at least one inappropriate sword fight in an upscale sex-toy store.

Then the very next weekend, we went to Lissa and Farz's house outside the city for a parrrr-tay. We got to see Ally and Lorne and a ton of L and F's friends that feel (from the once or twice a year reunions) like our friends too. Katy went to Smith with most of these amazing women; and the ones that date men usually bring round just about the most fantastic dudes you'd want to drink Masala Chai with. (Side bar: due to their Smith-centric view of the world, or my singularly fabulousness, or perhaps the amount of drink that must be consumed during college- that makes one forget your housemates- there is always an assumption that I went to Smith too... But I like to bat my eyes and mention my state school credentials, and you can't believe how a Smithie will get a rebellious sparkle in her eye.)

Anyway, it is nice to travel near or far to realize how people so different from you can be so much the same. It is also brilliant to hang out with your wife's closest friends and realize that they have become some of your closest friends too.

They exemplify my favorite kind of friends- They love you for who you are- not who you've been, or who you might become. They are sharp, smart, witty and gay (no, no, not that...) They are the friends you might speak to every day for a week, or not speak to for 2 years without ever becoming fearful the relationship is in danger... never once considering that frequency of contact might be a relative factor in depth of connection. With them, I've learned to better embrace change; to grow and succeed, but also be happy right where I am; and to face the world with bright enthusiasm.

I forgot to tell you...

I went blonde again:

The neighbors' secret pain

While we love our street and the feel of our neighborhood, our neighbors on either side are bizarre and quirky...

I know what many readers are thinking... YOU would dare call someone ELSE QUIRKY?!? And yes, that's my point- I can not relate to these people at all.

It might be the 175 year age difference to the east, but on the western boarder of our property, there are several differences of opinion:
Opinion 1) How much smoking is healthy?
Us: not much
Them: 1-2 cigarettes per minute around the clock

Opinion 2) How many cars does a 2-driver driveway need?
Us: 1-3
Them: 3-5

Opinion 3) How much time should homeowners spend on lawn care?
Us: as little as possible
Them: every waking moment (special care is taken to utilize the earliest waking moments- 7 to 10am in the summer)

Opinion 4) How many pets are you home long enough to care for?
Us: zero to 0.4 (which rounds down to zero)
Them: 3-6... they are home for most parts of every day

Opinion 5) How much yapping of your animals is acceptable?
Us: tiny amounts, especially the animals should not bark incessantly without any understanding of property law. NOTE TO DOGS: It's okay for us to go out into our back yard. It is hard not to scream "I'll get you my pretty" when dogs that weigh approximately the same as an economy-sized can of tuna don't understand that we are allowed to be on our side of their fence.
Them: This question makes no sense to them... all amounts of yapping are acceptable.

Opinion 6) How long should Christmas lights adorn the house?
Them: Dec 15th until Jan 6th. No more, no less.
Us: At least until there's a respectable amount of snowfall, or until spring, whichever comes first... or until, well, I'm not sure we even have an opinion on this...

I think we cause them way more emotional distress than they cause us.

The weather

It finally got cold 1.25 months into "winter," but still, no white stuff worth discussing.

For about a week in early January, I would wake up every morning, go into the bathroom, and naughtily scream, "IT'S SNOWING!!!" Due to my morning voice and the fact that it was my first intonation of the day, I was just barely able to achieve the goal of an acceptable impersonation a grade school refugee who has just relocated to CT from a landlocked, dusty village on the equator.

And every morning for 4 days, [what can i say, the woman is very trusting] kt would jump out of bed and reply, "IT IS?!?" I would answer quietly, "I don't know, could you check?"

I meant "snowing" as a state-of-mind... I wasn't exactly looking out the window before making the proclamation. And by the way, it was still dark... How was I to know (from my perch on the toilet) if there was any snow out there or not? This whole ritual was seemingly as fun for her as it was for me, until on day five, I shouted, "IT'S SNOWING!" and she sleepily replied, "(beeeeeeep)k you."

But last night it did snow... There's actual snow on the ground. There will have to be scraping of cars and probably some small efforts at shoveling... It's nothing to get excited about- unless you've perfected the vocal enthusiasm of an 8 year old Brazilian refugee.