The End of the Greatest Generation....

It’s the stuff that great stories are made of, really. Something that “Old Hollywood” would have turned into ablockbuster starring the latest heartthrob movie hero. But it didn’t happen. It was a secret….

War and politics are inextricably intertwined and always have been. In this case, even revealing the story, nearly seventy years after it happened was not without consequences, or threats of such. Politically speaking, you could say we supported “the wrong side”….

It was 1944. WWII bombing strikes against the oil refineries in Romania increased as the Western Allies tried to bring Hitler to his knees. In the course of the bombing, many American airmen were shot down behind enemy lines. Crews parachuted to the ground, not knowing who might “greet” them when they got there…

In an OSS office in the US, a plan was hatched to rescue the downed airmen. Code-named the Halyard Mission, or Operation Halyard, it was a plan of huge proportions: sneak operatives into Yugoslavia, behind enemy lines, locate the airmen, build an air strip, and send C-47s in to rescue them.

Nearly 500 of them….

In other offices, in the United States and England, political maneuvering was taking place. The leader of the Yugoslavian resistance movement, Gen. Draza Mihailovich, was on the wrong side of the political machine, refusing to support the communist faction that was fighting the Italians and the Nazi’s. Trying to get support for Operation Halyard ran afoul of Winston Churchill, who had switched his allegiance to the communist faction.

With fierce determination, and unrelenting perseverance, OSS officer George Vujnovich, the son of Serbian immigrants, worked tirelessly to push the planned operation to fruition. Finally, in August of 1944, the first operatives parachuted into Yugoslavia.

On the orders of Gen. Mihailovich, the Chetnik resistance fighters had been hiding and protecting the growing number of downed American airmen, moving them frequently to avoid discovery by the Nazi army.

Incredibly, they were also able to build a crude landing strip, long enough for C-47s to land. And on several nights in August, 1944, and September of the same year, American C-47s, protected by P-51s, landed, loaded, and carried a total of 500 downed airmen to freedom.

Political queasiness kept the mission secret for years after the war. Those involved in the rescue went back to their daily lives as best they could. And then, in October of 2010, George Vujnovich received his much-deserved Bronze Star.

Frail, pale, and wheelchair-bound, the 95-year-old hero was humbled by the ceremony. Looking straight at the photographers, his medal pinned to his lapel, his demeanor was resolute. He did his job, that's all...

And just one week ago today, this American hero died. Another member of the Greatest Generation has left us….

Cali

Beep, Beep!

I’ve had my Toyota Prius for two years now….  I still like it, too. I had to learn to drive it, though.  No, it’s not stick shift or anything else difficult to learn.  The problem is it’s quiet.  Too quiet.  Moving at less than 15 mph, it’s on electric power and, well, electric power doesn’t make any noise….

In 2009, the National Highway Transportation and Safety Administration found that EVs and HEV’s (electric vehicles and hybrid electric vehicles like the Prius) were twice as likely to be involved in a pedestrian-related crash as traditional vehicles.  Of course, it was a small test but the handwriting is on the wall: by 2015, 1.5 million electric vehicles are predicted to be on the nation’s highways. http://www.foxbusiness.com/personal-finance/2011/09/07/what-should-electric-car-sound-like/

So, they want to do something to prevent pedestrian injuries. 

I know what they mean: moving through a parking lot—in stealth mode—can be dangerous.  I have to remember that, even though I can see the people walking in front of me, they cannot hear me.  Moving at approximately 5-10 miles an hour, my little Prius doesn’t make any sound…

So, what to do?  I guess I could roll down the windows and play my Queen CD:  I am sure that “We will, we will ROCK YOU!”  would garner their attention.  Or would it?   Considering how my car vibrates at a stoplight, thanks to the car or truck behind me playing “music” loudly, I wonder if anything I played would be loud enough to be heard.

And what if it was raining?  Or freezing cold?  How can I be expected to roll down my windows and get drenched just to protect a pedestrian?  No, that’s probably not the answer…

And then, there are the folks with their ear buds in their ears…..but I talked about that in another blog.  The consequences of tuning out the world around us can have very dangerous, fatal consequences.

So, with 100 different brands of electric vehicles, or hybrid electric vehicles, projected to be available in 2012, I think something has to be done.   Even if I am paying close attention to the pedestrians in front of me, nothing says that someone can’t dart out in front of me in a split second.  Too quickly for me to brake and avoid hitting them….

Now, the question is: what noise will these electric cars make?  Of course, we all know the sound that a truck makes when backing up.  And the sound of sirens.  Some of them “chirp” when the turn signals are on.  Or whirr…or whatever. There has been a suggestion that EVs could sound like an engine revving, but that seems a little aggressive to me.

What sort of computer-generated noise would “announce” to pedestrians that an EV is behind them?  What noise wouldn’t become so mundane that people chose to ignore it?  Perhaps that doesn’t matter.  Perhaps all that matters is that EVs tried to warn them….

Maybe with some sort of external, weather-proof  speaker….and a little imagination….

Cali

Home....

I was talking to a friend about the places I've been. No, not to visit, or vacation, but the places my work takes me.

For the first twenty-five years of my career, I worked in a hospital or clinic setting. My patients came to me. I climbed the same stairs, hung my coat on the same rack, walked the same halls, and did things my way.

And now, for nine years this week, I have been driving all over the county, seeing patients where they live. It's truly been an eye-opener.

In the hospital, we don't give a thought to where the patient comes from, or where he is going to when he is released. We only seem to think in terms of the pseudo-environment we have created. We think nothing about the cleanliness of our surroundings, or the ready availability of help and supplies.

Seeing a patient in his own environment, as a guest in his home, is much better, to me. It's real. It's the way things are. And whatever I want to teach him to do has to work in his space and in his time frames. And, since many patients do not live alone, the plan of care has to take others into account.

My “interpreter” if I need one, is on my cell phone. I call the number, tell them what language I need, then put the phone on speaker and place it on the table in front of me where we can all hear the interpreter. I know better than to use a young family member to interpret: they seem to have their own agenda and only tell their parents what they want them to know....

I tend to dress casually but professionally. Slacks, shirt and nursing jacket usually. Comfortable shoes are a must, and, if there are dead cockroaches on the floor, no open-toed shoes or sandals.....Don't ask, it really happened....

I guess what happens is, as a nurse, I give up control of the patient. In the hospital, they have their labs drawn at 5 in the morning. Breakfast is between 7:30 and 8. Medications are at 9. And so on, through the day.

In the home, I am a guest. The patient doesn't have to do what I say. All I can do is try to educate them on the benefits of doing what I suggest. Just this past week, I was doing diabetic teaching with a male patient in his fifties. He is not happy about what he has to give up, or eat in much smaller portions.

The teaching materials I use don't say that patients can't eat certain things. The lists say “eat less of these” or “eat more of these.” That seems to be a little more palatable, I think. And the portions aren't written in ounces: they are “golf ball” size, or as big as a “deck of cards” or a “fist”.....works better.

Knowing that, as soon as I leave, the patient is going to do whatever he pleases, I know that I have to make a case for doing what I think is best for him. If he does it, great, if not, well, it's his health that's going to suffer.

Dealing with patients in their own homes is so much more rewarding. Patients are more relaxed and comfortable in their familiar surroundings. They eat the foods that they usually do, instead of hospital food. Their families can come visit whenever they like, not when the hospital says it's okay.

Looking at the benefits to the patient makes the surroundings more tolerable. I have had to sit on the floor to do wound care, as it was the only option. I have sweltered in the heat in the late afternoon on a hot summer day, starting an IV and giving medications to a young child. Only when his father came home from work was the air conditioning turned on....

I have cared for a newborn in the dead of winter, too. The mother and two sisters were huddled together in a bedroom, with the baby, trying to keep warm. The heater in their apartment was broken and it wasn't going to be fixed any time soon. I talked about it when I got back to the office and our Director gave me the little heater she was using in her office. I took it back to the family.

I have been in homes that were “mansions,” too. Homes where there were all the things I needed to comfortably do my work. Homes where the air conditioning, or heater, worked just fine. Clean homes, friendly homes. Welcoming homes.

Homes with practically no furniture in them. And homes with practically no room to walk because there was so much “stuff” everywhere. Homes where there was music playing. Homes that were deathly quiet. Homes with dogs, or cats, or canaries. Homes full of people and life.

Homes that needed cleaning. Homes that were immaculate. Homes that should be condemned and knocked down. Homes without running water, or flooring....

All of them, big or small, clean or dirty, hot or cold, have one thing in common: there is someone there who needs nursing care. Someone who is ill, and suffering, and doesn't know what to do. Someone else who is trying to care for that person, and is unsure of herself, and scared about what is going to happen.

Yes, there have been places that I was afraid to go, or didn't want to go back to. And people who were rude and angry and unwilling to learn what needed to be taught. I respect that. I offer to keep coming and teach them, or stop coming and let them be. They choose, and I respect their wishes. And yes, breathe a sigh of relief after I leave......what I do doesn't work for everyone, and that's okay, too.

It's been nine years this week. Nine years of finding homes in the dark. Wondering what I was going to see when I got inside the home. Being “escorted” to the patient's apartment by his fellow gang members. Calling for an ambulance when the patient needed it. Taking home oranges, or peaches, or apples or whatever the family wanted to give me in thanks for my care.

Learning, growing, sharing, reaching out, and being rewarded, every day, by the people and places I have been. In their homes.....

Seeing Stars....

I have felt adrift recently. What I have always held as true has been questioned. What I have known to be positive has been viewed as negative. My world, in some ways, has been upside down.

A life-time work ethic has been tested: seven and a half months of not working, fighting to get back to work, and finally, success. I have always defined myself by what I “do” and, for more than seven months, I did nothing. Or so it seems.

As a young child, I learned about celestial navigation: journeys guided by the sun, moon and stars at night. I have heard stories of Norse ancestors, sailors, who used the stars to find their way on a seemingly never-ending ocean. I have heard the names of those navigational stars. I have seen them in the night sky.

Life is full of navigational stars. They are individual for each one of us. And yet, many are the same. We have our values, our principles, and our sense of right and wrong. Those are navigational stars, to me.

We have our home towns, our familiar places, where we know all the navigational stars by heart. We aren't even aware of them when they guide us. Yet, we get where we need to be with their help.

Sailors have difficulty navigating by the stars in a storm. Clouds can make it difficult to see our stars. In the clouds I have encountered lately, the stars were mostly obliterated. I couldn't “check” my path, or verify my “position” when I couldn't see the stars.

I have been very busy for the past three days: I went to the doctor, got cleared to go back to work, and worked Thursday and Friday. I did what I have been doing for all these years: taking care of patients, and it felt good. My stars were out in full force, guiding me each step of the way.

I remember, as a child, asking Daddy: “what if the stars are wrong?” And I remember his answer: “the stars are never wrong. You have to trust them.”

And I do.....again.

Choices....

I just got an email from a friend. She was responding to something I sent to her. I had to smile as I read her words: she and I are truly on the same wavelength.

She was the first friend I made here on social network site on which I am member. She encouraged me to join some groups and see what site was all about. Funny, I “talk” to her more on Facebook now. She spends a great deal more time over there than here. She's a Scrabble nut....

When I started a new blog, on a different venue, she was one of the first to read it and comment. In fact, I think she has sent me an email comment on each one so far. That's saying a lot: it's a daily blog of thoughts and observations....

Another friend, whom I saw yesterday, also commented on the blog. She reads it and shares it with her mother, almost daily. And my niece reads it, too, and shares it with her mother.

It's a little bit scary, having so many friends and family members who read what I have to say each day. It's a responsibility, of sorts. If they're going to take the time to “read me,” I need to try to make my words worth their effort, I think.

My blog today was about taking each day as it comes and savoring it for what it is: today. I also said:

Today is today. Cold, gray, and not exactly bright and hopeful. But it is a day. The only day I have, right now. And it's mine to do with as I choose.


I choose to be happy. I choose to look around me and find the joy in today. I choose to be grateful for the people in my life, the work that I do, and the life that I lead. I choose to be thankful that, when I go shopping, there is a hand holding mine. Someone to help me choose the groceries and then carry them in the house. Someone to talk to when I have nothing to say.

And my friend's response added the rest:

”Oh yes yes yes.....A mentor told me some years ago.....to take the tasks that I begrudge be it laundry, cleaning, just what ever & change it to "I get to......do that!!!”

And so it is.....so many things I get to do. So many days I have done my best. So many more things I want to do. So many joys still left to experience....

And Tomorrow is another day.

Living in the Moment...

As I sit here, collecting my thoughts, I look up and see the most beautiful sight: dappled sunlight on the wall in front of me. It's beautiful. The reds and greens illuminated by gentle golden light.

The picture on my new calendar is a view of a centuries-old city on a Greek isle. Whitewashed buildings with bright blue or yellow roofs. Touches of orange dot the hillside in the picture. Was it always that bright? Or did the sunlight emphasize the colors?

It's that time of year: the sunset happens quickly. I have to hurry, or I will miss it. I could be at the seashore, sitting in a chair, sipping iced tea and watching the sun go down. Or on that Greek isle, watching the sun melt into the ocean.

But no, I'm here, at home, noticing something that is too often taken for granted. The gorgeous show put on by the sun, most evenings of the year. No cover charge, no minimum. No reservations needed. No planning ahead. No dressing up for the occasion. Just a remembering: that it is happening and that it is more spectacular and worthy of watching than anything else that is going on.

Well maybe, the birth of a baby. That might be worth missing the sunset....

Ah, there's always tomorrow night. Or is there? I have been without my sunshine for several days now, and without the sunset, too, obviously. Will there be sunshine tomorrow? I certainly hope so. But, just in case.....

I'm off to watch the sunset right now. Right here. In the moment...

Paper or Plastic?

I just got back from the grocery store. Not the big one, with aisle after aisle of tempting products. No, I went to the little one, on the corner, just blocks from me.

I have shopped there for forty years. I used to be able to say that I could shop there in a coma and still find what I needed. Not anymore: a few years ago, they started moving things around. They had so much fun doing it that they have never stopped.

Just ONE TIME, I suggested that they put a sign where stuff used to be, with the aisle number of where it is now..... They did it. And every row had, like, a million signs directing people to other parts of the store. That was more confusing to everybody, including me.

I didn't really need much today. I went to Super Target on Monday and then Costco. I just needed a couple of things to go with the meal that's been in the crock pot since early this morning. I didn't even spend fifteen dollars, grand total.

But that's not what impressed me in the store. And yes, it IS sad that a quick trip to the grocery store was the highlight of my day, but that's life. Life in Podunk.

What impressed me were the people who work there. The turnover at that store is amazing. Well, mostly because they employ young people, and young people go away to college, I guess. And then, there's Marilyn: she's been there for about a century. Back when, she was one of the “young people” and Reba was the centenarian. And now, since Reba's retired, Marilyn's the “fixture” in the store.

I like Marilyn, she's nice. And she talks to herself. Or maybe she's talking to the groceries. In either case, she says the name of the item, the price per pound, and the total. Nobody else does that. I don't even remember Reba doing that....

But that's not what impressed me, either. It was two of the young people: Samantha and Ephraim. Samantha was the checker and E (as they call him) was rushing around, helping customers.

Samantha has a shortened left arm, but no left hand. Judging from the stump, it is a birth defect and not an injury. I have a friend who has a young daughter with the same defect and I have sent her in to meet Samantha, which they did. The four-year-old got to meet someone just like her, and that was good.

And then, there's E. I don't know what happened in his case, but part of his left shoulder and his entire left arm and hand are missing. It doesn't seem to slow him down one bit. Nor does it keep him from smiling.

He's the reason why I don't need signs posted all over the store anymore: he always asks if I am looking for something and, if I am, he knows exactly where it is. He is more outgoing than Samantha, but they are both good employees.

And inspiring...