Out of My Discomfort Zone

As I type this, I am awaiting a phone call from a potential employer. I am being seriously considered for a full-time hospice position in a town about 30 miles away. What shall I hope for? I’m not sure I can commit to a new job, a daily commute, or a new town. Conversely, can I turn down a job that would help steer my career in the direction I’ve always been curious about?  Although I no longer consider myself Catholic, or traditionally religious for that matter, I still have a sense that tells me to “let go and let god”. Or let fate, destiny, karma, or something larger than myself intervene. This job found me; does that mean I have an obligation to it, like the abandoned kitten on my doorstep earlier this summer, parched?

Longitude and I would not be together now if we hadn’t just relaxed, let go of expectation, and waited for our relationship to play out. In the beginning, it was sex and talking to the wee hours of the morning. Our separate daily lives slowly merged until moving in together was an evolution, not a choice. Neither one of us struggled with commitment, because we didn’t have to. We only promised to love each other fairly, and always be willing to give our relationship the chance it deserves, the chance we gave it over six years ago.

Why is it then, that I now feel the need to play out every potential consequence of every decision, instead of just letting life happen? Has age taken away this ability? Or having a child? We have not headed back to Illinois because things didn’t fall into place, yet. I have made peace with that, and I suppose I will make peace with whatever the outcome this day will bring. I just wish I were at peace now, in the waiting, like before.

Safety Goggles

So I feel like I need to blog. I have had a lot on my mind since my first entry. In fact there are several points I wish to cover. The problem is, getting them written down. I feel so discouraged. Not that writing things down is a waste of time because I know it will make me feel better to get it out but I am worried I might infect some of our soon to be loyal readers and take away what hope and drive they may have with life.

Drifting is a good way to describe my mind set because I feel like my brain is hopelessly drifting aimlessly around in my skull. Some days I do not even feel attached to my body, as I have to negotiate with it to do what I tell it to do. I guess detached is another way to describe how I feel. I know I am a part of society. I interact with people, go shopping, kept an Ice Rink running, meet people, listen, and do my best to feel a part of this experiment we call life but when it comes down to it, I feel detached. I cannot seem to be happy and content with life like most folks. I am jealous of those people who can just go to their repetitive mindless jobs and after work crack open a beer and be happy with life. I cannot. I have tried my best not to care about the big picture of life but I always fail. I was hoping having a disgustingly cute daughter would fill that void I always feel but even she does not. No matter what I try, I can occupy my time and be temporally happy and proud of my life but in the back of my drifting mind, I still wonder what the point of this exercise is.

People always say “a means to an end” when they need to justify why they are doing what they are doing. Many cases it is making a short-term sacrifice to accelerate obtaining a long-term goal. I have no problem coming up with the ‘means’ but it is the ‘end’ that eludes me. I do not know what my ‘end’ is. I know several things I would like to do with my life but none of them would constitute an end. Even my wildest dreams of opening up an Alpaca Ranch or an Outdoor Adventure Camp are great to think about and would be great if I accomplished, but they would just be means of passing time. Even if I won the lotto and could do whatever I wanted to, I know I would still be searching for my end. Is life all about an end goal? Why is it so important? Is it what we are to do with our lives to feel like fulfilled humans? Is it to have a dream out there to shoot for to tell yourself ‘someday things will be better’ while you slave along day to day?

This next part might infuriate some out there. Please keep an open mind:

Other than the group of people who can have a beer at the end of the day and be happy there is one other group of individuals I am jealous of. They are the Religious. I do not care what you believe or to what extent of your faith you believe, I am jealous. I know many strongly religious folks and many strongly atheist folks. I have tried to get into organized religion but I cannot. I have discussed this with many of my atheist friends and several agree with me. I have talked to many of my religious friends and they have tried to help me. I wish I could believe in organized religion. If I did I bet it would bring that sense purpose I lack and fill that void in my life. I want to believe. I even tried to fake it for a while to see if it started to come on its own. It did not.

I think we are all born with goggles over our eyes. These safety goggles are there to protect our minds. They filter out all those bad things in the world we all wish would just not be. They allow us to filter out what we do not want to see or admit and allow us to only see what is easy and healthy for the mind to digest. These safety goggles are there to allow us to accept things as they are told to us and not question them in. They allow us to believe and see the world through a different filter. They are kind of like beer goggles. When you have beer goggles on, you see the world in a new way. Ugly becomes pretty, stupid things become fun, things seem easier and the world seems better. The same goes for the safety goggles issued at birth. They help you to see the good in everything, trust people, and feel like a valuable, integrated member of society. They focus on puppies and rainbows but filter out things like what is in dog food and the fact that you are causing the pollution that obscures rainbows these days. They allow you to accept things on faith, be okay with answers that are given to you buy those with authority no matter how far-fetched it may seem and be content with everyday life. 

My problem is must have lost my set on safety goggles at some point in my childhood. I remember being happy as a child. I remember being hopeful and ambitious about life. I also remember thinking this religious thing seeming like it was a crock of shit (I went to a Catholic grade school for 8 years). I remember even as a kid watching the other children seem to get pleasure and happiness out of religion bit I never did. I kind of felt like I was the last kid waiting on the bench to get picked for the religious team. I guess they had enough players because I never got in. Early on I realized I was different from everyone else, so I decided to play along and observe to see if I could figure out why. I never did. What I did realize is how sheltered many people are about so many things and how they will do anything to stay that way. I think they must still have on their safety goggles on. Part of me wants to tear them of to show the world I see to others but the other part of me wants to let them stay blissfully ignorant to the real world and let them enjoy life.

I keep hoping I am wrong about life and it has meaning. I keep hoping someday I will find an extra pair of safety glasses to cover my mind with. I keep hoping that I will discover my ‘end’ which makes the ‘means’ worth it. I have even thought about becoming and alcoholic to keep a pair of beer goggles on fulltime but I know that would not solve anything. Would a fresh new pair of safety goggles even solve anything?

Reaping what we sow?

Standing over the crumpled, nearly lifeless body, I mourn. Dark purple face a stain against the white sterile tile background. Neck wrenched: a ghastly site. 

I met Charlene only hours beforehand. Her body fails her, speech was never mastered. Her brain began drowning shortly after birth. Her fifty second year of life finds her almost completely paralyzed. I had spent 20 minutes of the morning letting a can of baby formula-like syrup drain through the tube to her stomach.

Not an hour later: I need the nurse, STAT!

Charlene is fine. Nothing to show for falling out of bed but a bruise over her left eye. She smiles. Perhaps her severe brain damage has blessed her with a failed memory, as well.

Each Nurse's Aide has fifteen or so residents to care for. Most of them require help to meet every human need. This is not legal. Chronic understaffing has caused one death and countless severe falls in the "Nursing Home" I've been assigned to in just a few weeks' time. I believe this place should be renamed: "Survival of the Fittest Home for America's Most Vulnerable". "The Place where We, Patriotic Americans, Leave Our Loved Ones to Suffer Until They Die".

I am a great Nurse. But I am responsible for thirty five residents and for filling out stacks of paperwork. I only have eight hours to be with them.

Pre-election, I heard another Nurse say that maybe Americans are getting what they deserve. I ask why, and he describes the facility's policy for drugs that are no longer needed. After a resident's discharge or death, there are scores of pills unused, sealed, untouched. They are put into piles, until two nurses have the time to do what's appropriately titled a "waste". The piles of prescription and over the counter drugs are dumped into the toilet, and with the occasional flush, thousands of dollars of medication ends up in our water. The RN signs his name and writes "wasted" on the inventory card. Just one card full of sealed pills contains a brand name drug that I happen to take. I know that they are $6 a pill, $3 with so-called good insurance. I know that this is the policy of at least two large facilities in this area, and would venture to guess there are thousands more, nationwide, using this practice.

When we treat our elderly and our resources with such insolence, can we expect one leader to pull us out of crises? I'm starting to believe that we don't deserve to be saved. I do not mourn an unknown woman, fallen to the floor. I mourn the core of my country, and the dignity of humanity.

Should I refine my search? Oregon? Illinois? Another country? Another planet?

Mark Doty, metaphor, and shameless imitation

After I read this post, I decided that if I were standing in an airport in Illinois, waiting to get on a flight to Oregon, I would say the bird wants to go home. But, I think, if I were in Oregon waiting to fly to the Midwest, I would say the same thing. What have I done to myself? I now have two places I will always consider home. I may also say the bird wants to get out and build a nest, if she ever makes her way to the other side of the glass.

**********

Before falling asleep last night, Longitude asked me why I was having a sad day. I said that I feel like I’m floundering. We then had a long discussion about it, using a fish-out-of-water metaphor. I feel like I’m a fish flopping on a sidewalk, a few feet away from a murky creek of runoff water in a residential neighborhood. I’m hoping that I will flop my way to the creek, which leads to a nicer creek, which leads to a river where it’s easier to breathe, which leads to the wide ocean. I don’t know how to get to the ocean, or even where it is, so as soon as I find water I’ll just swim downstream.

A few months ago, I had talked to a nurse recruiter about a hospice nurse job. After talking with him, the one I was applying for did not seem to be a good fit. He described another one that sounded perfect, but was sorry to say that they only get openings for it once or twice a year. I never expected to hear from him again. Last night, he sent an email saying that he would like for me to apply before they put an ad in the paper. I’m calling him today. Swimming downstream.

Too Lazy to Bottlefeed

It’s been over three months, I’m back to work full-time, and I’m still breastfeeding the Dinosaur. One of the downfalls of being a nurse is you learn all of the benefits of breastfeeding, and the dangers of formula feeding. Enfamil might as well be poison according to healthcare professionals. This knowledge lead to guilt, which lead me to the decision to at least give it a try. My original goal was to make it six months and see what happened after that.

I actually don’t think that bonding had anything to do with breastfeeding. Truth be told, I really didn’t like her much more than I like anyone else’s kid for at least a month. It wasn’t until three months that I got to the point where I can’t get enough of her and think everything she does is cute. I bet I would still love her even if I were sticking a bottle in her mouth every four hours.

Yet, I’m still doing it. My pump broke right as I returned to work. I figured that would be the beginning of the end. Transition to formula, only nurse at night for convenience, and be done completely in a month. After a few bottles of formula, I am totally recommitted. We are spending over $300 on a state of the art pump with rechargeable battery. Ava has been transported to my place of employment once during an eight-hour shift to get us by until it arrives. Two ounces of the formula feedings end up coming back out the top of the baby, and the other two ounces come out the bottom, rivaling the smell of the explosive cat diarrhea incident of ’07.

Nighttime feedings are so easy I hardly even remember them. One of us brings her to bed and place her somewhere in the vicinity of my nipple, and some time later I wake up with a full and sleeping baby next to me and return it to the cage. When we go places, there’s no packing of bottles and wondering where we will warm the formula, how long it can go unrefrigerated, or how much we might need. I don’t understand why people say that formula feeders are too lazy to breastfeed. Those women must be made of steel!