Looking For Rainbows..

It’s about to happen again. It always does at this time of year. I start thinking about where I have been and where I am going. Who I was and what I have become.

I take inventory: what worthwhile things have I accomplished? What mistakes have I made? What have I learned? Where have I been and how did I survive it?

Thoughts wander back in time:

Little girls, twirling in their party dresses. Ruffles, puffy sleeves, lace and bows. Mary Janes in black patent leather, or just plain white. White socks with lace on the edges. Braids, or piggy tails, or a big fluffy bow in their hair. 

Innately feminine, even at such a young age. Smiles are still filled with baby teeth; no toothless grins yet. Big, bright eyes and chubby cheeks with a natural, rosy glow. Giggles abound and so do shrieks.

Gathered around the table, as wiggly as always, squirming to see what is going on. Sitting still, as mothers chide them, kicking their legs under the brightly-colored tablecloth. Little pink cups, filled with candy-covered almonds, all in pretty pastels. 

Those silly “blowers” that squawk when they blow on them, and unfurl their pink and white harlequin pattern for all to see. Each squawk answered with a squeal, and then another squawk….and so it goes.

Packages, with festive bows. Long before the “gift bag” was born. In pinks and yellows and greens and patterns, all enticing their young recipient to open them. Hidden inside the lovely wrap? Such things as coloring books and crayons, paper dolls and jump ropes. Magical gifts for a magical time in life. 

I know how very lucky I am. The tangible evidence is overwhelming: born into a family that had a home, a car, both parents, a job, and close-knit relatives. There was a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, and food on the table.

Always.

And the intangibles were there, too: loving parents, an opportunity to get an education, an inheritance of intelligence and a love for history, art, travel and books. A creative spirit and the encouragement necessary to express one’s creativity. A sense of adventure and a lifetime love of looking up at the stars….

I wonder how it is that I got from there to here. What forces were at work? Why did things turn out the way they did? Why did I turn out the way I did?

And then it comes back to me: that intangible, innate sense of positivity. It has always been with me, since those very early days. I think it is there because I was surrounded by parents and family who loved me and told me so….

No matter how hard I fall, or how much it hurts, I always seem to bounce back. Regardless of the circumstances, I am going to look on the bright side. If it’s pouring rain, I will be looking for the rainbow. 

Or the mail truck. I have been waiting, trying to be patient, for a package to arrive. It sort of did, today. I wasn’t home and the mailman left me a note: I can pick my package up at the post office on Tuesday. But I want it Monday. 

And so, I chased the mailman all over Podunk. I stopped twice and talked to a mailman and each time, it was not the one I needed. Whoever said “the third time is the charm” knew what he was talking about: the third mailman had my package!

I have my package now. And on Monday morning, when excitement and curiosity get the best of me, I will open it carefully, savoring everything the box holds for me, and I will hear the sweet message that has been sent with it:

Happy Birthday!

And it will be……

Eddie and the Cruisers

Lindy jumped when she heard the phone ring. She had been sitting there for nearly two hours, correcting papers. As she heard his voice say “hi, it’s me”, she felt her heart migrate from her chest to her throat.

“Please, don’t hang up” he urged, as Lindy felt herself begin to shake all over. “Okay” was all she could manage to say. It had been two months since they decided to part, two heartbreaking months of self-pity, recriminations, soul-searching introspection, and tears that made her body convulse.

“I want to talk to you, Lindy! I need to tell you some things…..can you come over?” He sounded concerned; whatever he wanted to discuss was very important to him. “When?” was all that came out of her mouth. “Now, if you possibly can!” he sounded very concerned, and whatever it was, there was a sense of urgency in his voice.

The last two and a half years flashed through her mind. They met when he came to talk about his granddaughter; she was failing Lindy’s class. They talked for almost an hour that day, the air was charged with particles of magic. 

His name is Edward, and that is what he likes to be called. Lindy saw him as an Eddie, as in Eddie and the Cruisers. Although Edward was dressed conservatively when they met, Lindy could immediately picture him in jeans and a tee-shirt, hair slicked back, looking every bit the “cruiser” himself.

It took him almost a month to ask her for a date. He sent a note to school with his granddaughter. Lindy had to laugh: that was so, so high school! And she loved it! They went out that very same night, and the next five nights in a row, too. There was definitely some chemistry there, no doubt about that!

As they got to know each other better, Lindy learned that Edward had been through a hideous divorce. He lost everything he ever thought about having, and then some. Lindy tried to understand but, her own divorce was so very mellow that she had trouble relating. She had been alone for almost 10 years when they met.

With time, they became very close. Their time together was wonderful, Lindy thought. They spent evenings and long weekends together; they went to movies, and concerts. They shopped for groceries and took turns cooking for each other. Their relationship seemed so perfect.

The breakup came as a surprise to both of them. Lindy took all the blame for making it happen: she is due to retire at the end of the semester and wanted to make plans to spend more time together. “More time together” as in marriage. Edward balked: he was terrified of another rancorous divorce, and losing everything he had built up since the last one. He told her he needed more time. Alone. 

The ensuing two months were hell for Lindy. She imagined Edward, smiling, as he “wined and dined” some other woman. She cried non-stop at times. She stopped eating. She felt her world had ended.

Now, he is on the phone. Oh, God! What should I do? Lindy thought about him almost constantly but, she had not imagined that this phone call would happen. “Yes” she heard herself say to him, “I can come over now.” She picked up her purse and headed out the door.

“Floor it!” Jimmy screamed. “Before they notice we’re gone!” As if by command, Bobby floored the accelerator pedal and the truck lunged forward, heading out of the parking lot. Inside the convenience store, the clerk was calling the police: “two teenagers just stole a 12-pack of beer! They’re headed east on State Street!” “Faster!” Jimmy screamed. And Bobby looked down at the accelerator. 

CRASH!! The sound of breaking glass and twisting metal resonated throughout the intersection. 

Witnesses rushed to see if anybody was alive; one called 911. A truck was sitting sideways in the intersection, the entire front end pleated into the driver’s side of the little Honda. A young girl screamed: “oh God, that’s my English teacher!”

Three lives brought together accidentally. Three lives lost in an instant.

"Life is too short to wake up in the morning with regrets,

So love the people who treat you right,

Forget about the ones who don’t,

And believe that everything happens for a reason.

If you’re given a chance---take it.

If it changes your life---let it."

(Author unknown)

The Chair....

As I pulled up in front of the shop, Janalee was staring at something on the sidewalk. I got out of the car and walked up next to her: it was a chair.

Janalee’s booth in the antiques’ shop was always the most marvelous place in the whole store. She had a keen eye for arranging things in an enticing fashion and the “things” were fascinating: anything French, anything gold, anything glamorous, and well, anything. 

Other dealers’ booths were quite ordinary, including mine. Janalee could sell anything. She had a cement garden fountain filled with things she accidentally broke, such as dishes, flowerpots and all sorts of ceramic knickknacks……the amazing part? She actually sold the broken things!

So I was quite surprised to see her staring intently at such an ordinary chair. Made of wood, with a slatted back and seat, the paint was peeling off and it leaned rakishly to one side. As I was standing next to her, trying to figure out what she was thinking about, she spoke: “why don’t you take it home?” And I looked at her blankly.

“You have such imagination and you make ordinary things sparkle. Why don’t you take it home?” She was smiling at me and gesturing toward the humble chair. I didn’t know what to say….the Queen of Shabby Chic and all things glamorous was complimenting me? She Who Could Sell A Broken Dish was uninspired by this lowly chair?

I looked again at the chair and thought of something: I had just lost a flowering bush in the front yard to the new sewer line that had to be placed. It seemed like such a crime, too: to spend five thousand dollars for something that was buried underneath the front lawn? Truly a crime! And then to lose a beautiful flowering bush in the process? Another crime.

And so, I gave Janalee three dollars and lugged the chair home with me. No matter how I tried, it would not sit up straight in the front flower bed. I knew the drill: I have two bamboo chairs “planted” in a flower bed in the backyard. I got them from another antiques’ dealer who was going to throw them away just because the seats were gone. My nandinas didn’t care: they welcomed the addition to the flower bed. And the ivy? Climbed all over them!

After repeated tries, and a couple of stepping stones, I was able to get the chair to sit upright. It creaked when I moved it, as if to tell me that it was tired and tired of being moved. I chose to ignore its complaints because I knew that, in the end, it would be a happy chair.

After getting it to sit upright—finally—I headed off to the nursery. I had already purchased a bush to replace the one the plumbers killed but it was quite small and didn’t nearly fill up the space where the other bush had been. I also planted a small nandina because I love their feathery leaves. It too, was very small. 

By the time I got home from the nursery, the chair was starting to feel better about its fate: it was standing tall and proud in the empty place under the guest bedroom windows. It was still rickety, and the paint was still peeling but, in the shade of the big ash trees, it looked content.

I brought home a “color bowl” from the nursery: preplanted with marigolds, pansies, and alyssum in white and purple. I ceremoniously placed the color bowl on the seat of the chair. My intention was to discourage anyone from sitting in Chair…..but the effect was more than I bargained for: Chair looked positively regal with its crown of flowers!

For the next five years, Chair got a new color bowl each spring. Looking every bit the Royal Guardian of my front lawn, Chair presided over Easter egg hunts, family photos, and football, soccer and baseball games. Standing ever straight and tall, Chair proved to be worthy of the three dollars I spent.

And now, this year, Chair is leaning precariously to the right. The stepping stones that righted it previously are still in place. I fussed with it for a few minutes today and then realized what the problem is: the bushes I planted have grown and they are trying to push Chair out of the way.

And so, it’s time for Chair to move again, but not to worry. It’s going in the backyard, in an empty spot along the back fence where I need to plant some things to fill in the space. In the meantime, Chair will have pride of place—again.

And a new color bowl, of course..

The Places I Have Been......

I was sitting in the restaurant in my hotel today, having lunch. The people at the next table were speaking Spanish. I guess they felt safe talking about Nikki’s pregnancy, and what would happen if Socorro found out about it. After all, the woman at the next table was a blue-eyed blonde (me).

As I looked around this posh hotel, and listened to Nikki’s woes, I thought about Jose. I mentioned my “adventures” with Jose to someone last week, and he thought it sounded interesting. I think it was but, I was there.

Back in the “old days” when I first worked in home health, we had to go out at night to see patients. The powers that be called it “on call”; the staff who took call referred to it as “forced overtime.” Regardless of the label chosen, the outcome was the same: we were out at night for at least two hours, every time we took call. And call was mandatory.

I called Jose at about 4:00 pm. He was a man of few words, cautious and aloof on the phone. I told him I was coming out to see him to start his IV, and teach his caregiver to do the IV antibiotic administration, and daily wound care for his abdomen. He wanted to know how long it would take: I told him about 2 hours. 

Then I asked for directions to his home. He gave me general directions to his apartment complex and told me I would be “met” at the parking lot entrance. He wanted to know how soon I would be coming and I told him I would be there in a couple of hours. He did not like that answer and told me to be there in “no more than one hour.” 

I picked up wound care supplies from the storeroom; went to the infusion pharmacy to pick up the IV supplies; and I was headed out of town in less than 45 minutes. As I arrived at the apartment complex, I was greeted by a group of men in their early twenties; five of them standing there, waiting for me. The spokesman, Rico, motioned toward a parking spot for me. There was a car parked there already but, one of the young men ran ahead and moved it out of the spot. After I pulled in, he parked his car diagonally behind me. I guess I wasn’t going anywhere without them knowing about it,huh?

I told myself that I was glad to have the help: I had a box of IV supplies, an IV pole, an IV pump, a bag of wound care supplies, and my nursing bag to carry. I began handing things to each of the young men, except Rico: you don’t hand something to “the leader”. As I followed Rico toward the apartment complex, the other young men surrounded me. Anyone who tried to harm me would have to get through my “bodyguards” first!

Rico knocked a special knock on the apartment door. To my surprise, the door was answered by a world-weary young “man” of two. As the “man” took me around the corner to his daddy’s room, the gang disappeared from in front of the apartment. 

In the bedroom, I was greeted by Jose; he flashed the one and only smile I ever saw from him. And then it was gone. His “wife” was attending to his every need. She must have been all of seventeen. She was a good little mommy, and obviously adored Jose. I found out very soon that she was also very bright and a quick learner.

As I was teaching Maria how to do the IV infusion, Jose kept hurrying me along: “she understands, keep going” he would prod. Thank goodness Maria was learning quickly! I was also thankful that I was able to start his IV on the first attempt; I‘m not sure he would have let me try again.

I went through the wound care teaching, too. And Jose prodded me to hurry with that, too. He was impatient with me and I did not know why. I was doing my best to teach them what they needed to know, in terms they could understand; I needed to be sure they could do it safely and correctly after I left.

When I was finished with the teaching, I asked Maria if she had any questions. Before she could answer, Jose said: “no, she’ll do fine. You need to leave now!” He picked up his cell phone and made a call. In an instant, I heard the same special knock, and the “little man” went out to answer the door.

As I left the apartment complex parking lot, Rico was in front of me, on a motorcycle. The rest of the young men were behind me, in a car. They took me through the south side of town, out the back road, and stayed with me until I was back on a familiar highway. It was nearly dark.

It wasn’t until I got home, and read the newspaper, that I understood Jose. Two young men were arraigned that same day on murder, and attempted murder charges. They were in jail. Two young men who had also been involved in the gang war were dead. Jose was badly wounded and will never walk again. The police were still looking for two other suspects in the multiple murders: one was named Rico.

I never saw Jose, or Rico, again. The powers that be decided it was too dangerous to send a nurse out there…..I was told to close the case.

Angels...

I lost another patient today. It is always hard for me. I have never gotten used to losing my patients. He was no longer my patient: he had been in the hospital and was discharged to a skilled nursing facility with hospice care. 

He was special to me. I know, all my patients are special to me but, he was different. He and his wife have known me since I was a little girl. They knew my parents, too. In fact, he and his wife were one of the two couples recruited to be youth group leaders for our junior high youth group at my church. 

My best friend and I wanted to be in the church youth group, too. We asked the high school group, all six of them, to include us in their activities. Not surprisingly, they laughed at us. So, we went to our parish priest and asked for permission to start our own group, just for junior high school students.

Thinking he could discourage us, he said “yes” but added caveats: we had to have not one but two adult couples to be our group leaders; we had to attend the worship service held each Sunday evening at 7, and we had to average at least 20 kids per meeting in order to be allowed to continue after our “trial period” of one month.

And, while the high school group got to use the basement “recreation room” in the Parish Hall, we were relegated to the kindergarten room, complete with little people furniture! 

Angels...

Well, not discouraged one iota, my friend and I proceeded to “invite” two of the most charismatic, outgoing, fun couples in our church to be our youth group leaders. We were too young and too enthusiastic to realize just how lucky we were that both couples agreed to be our leaders, including my patient and his wife.

This dear, sweet man who died today, and his lovely wife, were instrumental in getting quite a few of his junior high school ball players to join our group: he coached Little League and Babe Ruth League.

Before we were through, my girlfriend and I had found the group leaders, a generous “patron” who donated both a regulation pool table and a cool jukebox, and we averaged 40 to 50 kids a week at our meetings during our “trial period”. Not only did we get to continue our group, we got to use the basement and the high school kids, all 6 of them, got to use another classroom.

I don’t think we did anything that was particularly remarkable. I think our enthusiasm and our belief in ourselves served us well. A lot of that enthusiasm and drive to be successful came from those wonderful people who served as our leaders and guided us.

So, it was quite hard this morning, when his wife called me and gave me the news. I had lost touch with them in the last several years and I cannot believe that finding them again, and caring for them as their home health nurse, was some sort of coincidence.

Not at all.

For the last year, I have had the privilege of spending time with them, each week, caring for their wounds and getting close to them again. It is delightful to listen to their unique, Texas drawl as they share their thoughts with me. I always laughed when we were talking about something and he would start singing a song. He had a very nice voice and that, combined with the twinkle in his eye, made for an enchanting rendition of whatever he chose to sing.

And now he is gone. 

I am sad for his wife and son, and the rest of the family. And I feel sorry for myself, too. There are so few people left in my life who knew my parents, and they both knew them and liked them. And they treated me like the daughter they never had.

I was talking to a friend this morning, telling her of my sadness, and she reminded me that, just like my daddy, my patient is not gone. He is just on another plane…in another time and space. His work here was finished and he was needed elsewhere. I have to love him enough to let him go. And I realized, too, that I have been blessed by knowing him and finding him again, after so many years. 

And now, there’s another Angel in Heaven, watching over me…..

Time....

I never have enough. As I head out the door in the morning, I have big plans for my day. I have a list of things I want to accomplish, and a timeframe, and a hopeful attitude. When I get home in the evening, I still have a list, a timeframe, and a hopeful attitude.

Maybe tomorrow…

I got some of those things ticked off my list today: I deposited my income tax returns, I took my prescription in to the pharmacy, and I got my car washed. I know I should probably wash my car myself but, when?

I don’t have time…

My friends have learned to deal with my inability to commit to a timeframe on the weekends. When asked when I want to go somewhere or do something, my answer is likely to be “when I get there….” I spend my work day setting up appointments and then trying to keep them.

Most of my patients are very forgiving if I am late for my appointment. And I usually try to call them if I am going to be more than a half hour late. It isn’t just me being overly compulsive about time: my documentation is time sensitive and so is the “Daily Activity Log” that I have to fill out.

I remember when I was the Operating Room Charge Nurse. The surgeon might call me into the room and tell me what was going on with the patient and ask me to go out to the Surgical Waiting Room and talk to the family. And I told them exactly what the surgeon told me to tell them. Invariably, a family member would say that the surgeon “said it would only take an hour and a half and it’s been two hours!” And invariably, I would ask, sincerely, if they would like me to go tell the surgeon to “hurry up!”

Some things cannot be hurried. They have to happen in their own sweet time. It is hard to be patient sometimes, too. Really, I don’t have time to be patient. I guess I need to make time to be more patient. It’s one of those things that I cannot change; I just have to accept it.

I remember as a child, sitting at the supper table and listening to my parents talk about how “time flies” and I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I mean, I understood the words but, really, time didn’t move very fast at all. The week before my birthday, or Christmas, was about a month long. And summer? Lasted forever.

Time should be more fair. I have always thought that the ride in Disneyland should last as long as the wait in line. I think that is only fair. Of course, I would want a minimum time, too, because I have actually not had to wait in line very long at all in Disneyland. Sometimes. Other times, I have waited an hour to get on a ride that lasts no more than 5 minutes….

That reminds me: remember “E” tickets at Disneyland? Boy, that was a long time ago, huh?

But then, I have to wonder what my days would be like without time. It might be a nightmare: “I’ll be there when the sun is right over your house” That probably wouldn’t work, would it? 

No, it seems to me that I will have to make a truce with my watch. And the clock in my car. And the bottom, right-hand corner of my computer screen. And the microwave oven, and the coffee pot, and the clock on the wall in the kitchen. I think I might be outnumbered so, a truce is definitely a good idea.

I would sit down and figure out what I am doing that is wasting so much time and keeping me from doing the important things in my life but, you guessed it:

I don’t have time…..

The Lady With the Lamp...

May 12th is the anniversary of the birth of Florence Nightingale. By my calculations, she would be 189 years old, if she were still living. She is known as the woman who put “nursing,” as a profession, on the map. Her participation in the care of British soldiers wounded in the Crimean War is well documented. 

What is not as well known is that she was also a statistician. She collected data on mortality and morbidity during the Crimean War and presented her statistics in the form of a graphic representation, something that was unheard of at that time. As she tried to make changes in the way hospitals were run, her opponents came to the table prepared to win arguments with her based on her sex, and left with a new-found respect for the science of statistics.

During the Crimean War, Florence became known as “the lady with the lamp” as she moved from patient to patient, ministering to the sick and wounded soldiers. Proudly, the nursing profession has adopted the lamp as the icon to represent who we are and what we do.

In over thirty years of professional nursing practice, I have never lost the sense of pride in saying that I am a registered nurse, nor have I lost the sense of humility concomitant with the daunting task I face each and every day. 

Since May 6th to May 12th is the annual celebration of Nurses’ Week, I looked up the pledge I made so many years ago. I thought I would share it with you:

Florence Nightingale Pledge

"I solemnly pledge myself before God and in the presence of this assembly: 

To pass my life in purity and to practice my profession faithfully; 

I will abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous and will not take or knowingly administer any harmful drug; 

I will do all in my power to maintain and elevate the standard of my profession and will hold in confidence all personal matters committed to my keeping and all family affairs coming to my knowledge in the practice of my calling; 

With loyalty will I endeavor to aid the physician in his work and devote myself to the welfare of those committed to my care." 

Did you ever have one of those days?

Well, did you ever have one of those days? You know, where nothing goes quite as you planned it? I had one of those days today but, in a good way. It’s hard not to plan your day when you are going to spend it visiting patients. I had all my phone calls made by 9:30 this morning.

First stop: a little girl, age 6, with a very serious seizure disorder. I usually access her port, which has been surgically implanted in her chest, and flush it. Not today, I just did it a couple of weeks ago. Today’s visit is for “paperwork”, a general assessment, and recertification for 60 more days of home health services. 

When she gets “a drink” (I flush her port), we do it on the living room floor: mom, patient, nurse and little brother. Since it was just paperwork today, we sat at the breakfast bar. Went through the usual routine: take vital signs on little brother (he’s 5), then sister, then mom. It is a “contest”: who has the highest SaO2 reading, who has the highest temperature, and who has the highest heart rate. The winner gets a “treat” out of nursey’s bag. Little brother won today and he chose a pad of sticky notes.

The pleasant surprise here today was: no seizure activity. Once, we had to call 911 because of the severity of her seizure. Since the paramedics can’t access a central line, they held her down while I stuck the needle through her skin and into the port, providing a lifeline for her. I have seen a lot in thirty years’ of nursing but, nothing before or since has scared me as much as this sweet baby’s seizures! 

The second patient is one I picked up from another nurse who is on vacation. I saw this patient on Tuesday and drew labs on her. It was 2 days early for the lab draw order but, I was concerned that I might not be able to get back out again this week to draw the lab. Good thing I did it Tuesday, she had a critical lab value that required immediate medication adjustment. 

I was back today to see if the medication adjustment had fixed the problem. Short answer: no, it didn’t. More labs were drawn, more critical values, further medication adjustment by the physician. Not following orders can sometimes be a good thing………and the MD did cover me for what I did Tuesday. Phew!

More fun at the third patient’s home: somehow, starting just after I arrived at his house, all calls to the home health agency were being forwarded to my cell phone. I was sitting with this patient, doing medication teaching, and my phone just kept ringing. The patient was laughing: “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” playing over and over again….Finally, I got a phone call from my friend, Lisa, from Hospice---she laughed at my request but she did call the hospital operator and ask her to quit calling me! Then the operator called: after giving her one of the “internal” phone numbers at the agency (my boss’ office number, ha ha ha!), the calls stopped just as mysteriously as they had started. 

The last patient of my day is a stroke victim; he was unable to speak for several years but, in the last 2-3 years, he has regained the ability to speak---with a vengeance! I always warn nursing students who may be spending the day with me, not to be too surprised by anything he says. I usually can count on being told to “go to hell” and “kiss my ass”. I usually pass on the invitations……….Today’s visit ended with our usual exchange: “Can I come see you next week?” “NO!” “When can I come see you again?” “NEVER!” Today I couldn’t resist: “I love you!” And then the surprise: “I love you, too!”

The last bit of fun occurred at the end of my day. I went to the Home Infusion Pharmacy, which is also the Employee Pharmacy, to pick up the rest of my prescription. I got 30 pills for my blood pressure on Monday afternoon, with the promise that the rest of the 3-month supply would be ready Tuesday. Imagine their surprise when I came in on Thursday! Apparently, they had some sort of “pool” going on: guessing when I would pick up my meds…….Carolyn chose 17 days, Linda chose 22 days, and Ray, well, he refused to guess: “she’s too unpredictable!”

I love going into the infusion pharmacy: usually it’s to pick up meds or supplies for my patients. I know everybody there and I have a knack for bringing work to a standstill while I am there. Go figure! I guess it’s because I like to tease: everybody in the pharmacy now knows Tim, the pharmacist, as “Shorty” a nickname I gave him. What else would you call a guy who is 7 feet tall? 

Well, now that I know they are betting on when I will pick up my medications, I think I want to get in on the action………not sure what to guess though. I AM unpredictable!

Hope you had as much fun today as I did!