Things to keep in mind...

...while at work.

I am, as has been previously stated, a physical therapist. Currently, I work in the realm of acute care--that is, the hospital setting. I see many different people for relatively short durations. In the hospital, patients do not tend to stay under my care for weeks at a time. Those who do are generally very sick, but also are the patients that I automatically become closer to, as I experience their struggles, their pain, and hopefully, their eventual recovery with them and with their families. But I usually see most patients only for a very few days, before they move on to a less "acute" level of care. And many times, I will only ever have one encounter with a patient.

I have a quotation from Mother Teresa posted on my desk at work, to remind me to imitate her example to see Jesus in each person she served:

"Let us bring peace into the world by love and compassion,

by respecting life, the most beautiful gift of God. Let us love each person

- the unborn, the young, the old, the sick and the poor -

with the same love with which God loves each one of us,

a tender and personal love."

With the volume of people that I see in a given month--even in a given week, the temptation is there to "check them off" my list and move on without making a personal human connection with them. There is the temptation to get my part of the business of their care complete so that I can move on to the next floor, to the next patient, to the next order of business.

At the same time, part of what I love about my job is the opportunity I have to make connections with many different people. Some of those connections are more easily made than others. Some of the challenging ones energize me to try harder, while others discourage me.

Easier Connection: A mother of six children, whose youngest at 3 years old is lying in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, breathing with the help of a ventilator through an endotracheal tube, barely conscious from all of the sedation meds he's being given so he doesn't "extubate" himself. As I percuss my cupped hands on his chest wall to loosen the patches of pneumonia in his lungs, Mom and I chat. I ask her about her other children and we talk about the happy times of big families. She tells stories about this little one in front of me and I feel the love of this mother toward her entire family.

Challenging Connection: A teenager who last month was a track star, a violin and piano player, the one in the family and at school that "everybody loved." Due to what the physicians think might be viral encephalitis, she is now bed-bound with arms that become stiff, legs that move without her will, and a half-awake expression on her face as her mouth and eyebrows twitch. But we've been working with her, and last week, she definitely made eye contact with me. Definitely tried to raise her hand toward mine when I asked for a "high five." Definitely tried to move those twitching lips into a smile when her mom started teasing her. And it motivates me to work harder, to think creatively, in order to help this person recover her body--her current prison--to its prior role of self-expression and the actuality of her soul.

Discouraging Connection: Another teenager. They don't know what is wrong, but her foot hurts. She is being transferred to the Psych floor to manage her anxiety, her pain, her outbursts of anger. I feel for her, and I want her to know that I'm here to help her. But the pain is so bad, she does not want to try to move. I want her to know I see her pain, but I also want her to know the real dangers of keeping her leg so protected, and in that position in the bed. She hears but does not listen. I remind myself that her foul language is not directed at me, that her mind is as sick as her body. But I'm discouraged as I sit and document in her chart that I did nothing for her today.

That is when more of Mother Teresa's healing words give me encouragement:

"At the hour of death, when we come face to face with God

. . . we will be judged on love . . .

on how much love we have put into our actions . . .

and not how much we have done.

We cannot see Christ to express our love for Him,

but we can see our neighbor

and do for her/him what we would do for Christ."

Life comes at you fast...

We're already experiencing a bursting household, with the dog taking up most of the territory in the kitchen/living room area, and the cat romping everywhere at all times of day and night, from the dog's half of the house into our bedroom, sharing our bed--yes, sometimes even our pillows--with us!

Now we are preparing to make room for another little being, this one the most precious among us. It's such a mystery: that this little one exists inside of me, yet apart from me; that 30 years after I am given the gift of birth, my firstborn will receive the same gift; that the cycle of life is inevitable, yet still so exciting every time another opportunity for that cycle arises.

Please keep us all in your prayers.

Just Married!

Just Married!
Originally uploaded by ~Sephora~

It will be 4 weeks on Saturday; with the official one-month anniversary on Monday!

The couple that gave us our cat invited us over for some wine last Sunday. They married later in life, and their advise to us was to celebrate the monthly anniversaries. "Not anything too grand, or fancy--it can just be a toast before dinner."

We decided that was a great idea.

So our first one is this Monday!

Less than 2 weeks!

I leave for Colorado on Friday, and then a week from Saturday is the wedding!
Please keep us in your prayers.

I'm okay

...even though someone has decided to hold my phone hostage. Grrrr.

The story goes as follows.

Colin and I are trying to find a place for him to move into at the beginning of June. One woman and I have been calling and emailing back and forth for about a week and a half now, trying to coordinate a time when she can show us her condo.

At lunch today, I decide to check my messages--just to make sure that tonight is finally the night that we can go check out her place.
Lo and behold, my phone is not in its usual spot, which is the side pocket of my backpack. The outside pocket of my backpack. Where it might have easily fallen out.
"But then again," I optimistically think, "I may have just left it in my car at the Park'n Ride."

I decide to call my phone and listen to my voicemail.

But when I call, someone answers. Sort of. At first, all I hear is talking in the background, "What do I do? What, man?"

"Hello?" I say.

"Mumble, mumble, [incoherent things being said]," and it sounds like they're outdoors.

"Hello?" I repeat.

"Hello," replies a voice.

"Hey, there; this is my phone," I say.

"Oh yeah? Well how much do you want for it?"

"What? Where are you?" I ask.

"Well, where are you?" comes the reply. By now it sounds like the voice of a young-to-middle-aged African American man. I see a lot of men working construction at the hospital everyday. Maybe one of them found my phone and picked it up for me.

"I'm at work. At the hospital," I reply.

"Well, let's talk money," I hear him say.

"ExCUSE me?" I'm incredulous. "This is my phone!!" I tell him. For some reason, I feel like repeating this information is a reasonable argument. Don't ask me why I think that.

"Yep, and I know where you are, but you don't know where I am," he says. "How about ten?"

"What??!" I still can't believe what I'm hearing.

"Ten bucks, you'll get your phone back."

"No way."

"Well, then you can't get your phone," he says.

"I'll just disconnect it, then," I tell him.

"Okay! I guess you can hang up now."

So I hang up. Disgusted. And I immediately call Colin and ask him to disconnect my phone. Then I ask him to call my mom at work and tell her I've not been kidnapped (because I can only imagine what the guy might have said to her if she decided to call me today). Then I email the lady we're going to meet this evening, and give her Colin's number to confirm our appointment.

Then I kick myself for not doing any number of other things in order to get my phone back from the jerk. I mean, we have Hospital Police here. They could be there when I "meet" the guy to retrieve my phone from him. But Colin doesn't want me to re-negotiate with him.

My phone was being stupid anyway.

But it has all my phone numbers on it.

So if you get a chance, send me an email with your phone number. Cause unless you're living at my parent's house, I don't know it by heart.

Bottom line, though, is I'm okay. Even though you can't reach me by phone anymore. Grrrr.

Awwww, making eyes...

Awwww, making eyes...
Originally uploaded by ~Sephora~

Behold, our new responsibility: Caomhan.
His father is a boxer, his mother a black lab.
And he is just the cutest thing ever.
Until I go to work and rub the no-water sanitizing solution on my hands before and after each patient. Ooooh, the burning in those little raw scratches, so fun-lovingly left by my puppy's needle teeth and batting paws!
We can't help but love him...

Awareness, prayer

A friend of mine who is in school to be an anesthesiologist is now "getting flak" from her professors who, before her acceptance into the program, stated it would be fine for her to decline--on moral grounds--any participation in procedures such as tubal ligations, abortions, etc.

The medical world is a dangerous arena. When you're surrounded by a lopsided environment, you start to walk funny. I notice attitudes, comments, and behaviors that pander to the culture of death almost everyday. On days I do not notice it, I worry that I have not been on guard.

It is so important to hold fast to Truth, especially the basic fundamentals of natural law. One danger is complacency, but even worse, there is a real danger of becoming infected by the culture in which you're immersed.

Since the problem exists perhaps even more blatantly in the scientific community, Colin and I fully appreciate the blessing we've been given in finding a solid, orthodox, actively pro-life parish in our diocese.

Read this article, written by one of the geniuses (literally) who graduated from my alma mater--even more a genius because he is able to unveil the Truth in simple terms, bringing those lopsided images into focus.

And pray.

Pray for our Church leaders; pray for our legislators.

The Proposal

or, ...



How My Coffee Got Cold



Between Mass and our parish picnic on Sunday, October 14th, we went to pick up some lemonade for our picnic contribution. We also stopped to buy a coffee for me, due to my slight headache--which Colin always assumes is caffeine withdrawal, for some reason... :)



Upon returning to the church grounds, there was still about a 30-minute wait until the picnic was to begin. Colin suggested we go into the church and say the Rosary. There is an icon of Our Lady of Czestahowa inside (my favorite image of Our Lady, as she is the patroness of Poland under this title) so he had a grand scheme going.



However, having just purchased a coffee, and wanting to enjoy it warm, I declined the idea of going inside the church, and suggested we go to the outdoor statue of the Sacred Heart and do it there on the benches. That way, I could bring my coffee with me.



"The church is the better place to pray," Colin dutifully reminded me. Feeling the beginnings of guilt and self-accusations of heathenism coming on, I acquiesced and asked if we could put my coffee in his car. After I did so and he locked it up, he glanced up and saw the peaceful, quiet, outdoor Sacred Heart Shrine that I'd been referring to, and said, "Oh, yeah! We can just go there. There are probably a lot of people in the church right now, anyway."



"So, can I get my coffee, then?" I asked. He started laughing and shaking his head (while backing away from the car) and so I decided that I was being nudged to give up my coffee while we prayed the Rosary.



We sat on one of the benches and prayed the Luminous Mysteries. It was a beautiful day; we were shaded by overhanging branches that moved softly in the light breeze. There was only the occasional shout in the distance of the parish kids running around on the large church lawn.



After we were finished, Colin started telling me that he had spoken to my Dad a few weeks beforehand, and that both my mother AND my dad had given him their blessing. I responded by asking when and how and where this all took place, and he gave me a few cryptic responses. Then I realized that I was trying to draw information from him that would ruin any potential surprise effect of a proposal in the future. At the same time, I realized that he had brought it up in the first place!



"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked, accusingly.
He smiled and leaned back, saying, "Because I finally got the ring!" I saw then that he was leaning back so that he could put his hand in the front pocket of his pants. My hands went to my mouth and I started tearing up.


"Oh, ...my God!" I said as he pulled his hand out to reveal the ring, so little between his thumb and forefinger.



I didn't cry beyond the first few tears of shock, because he's so funny: As he took my hand and slid the ring on my finger, he remarked, "I hope today is a good day to get engaged!"



I didn't know what to say, except, "Of course it is!" as I gave him a big hug.



We talked for a little while--and then it was time for the picnic.



Since he was pretty hungry, Colin requested that we go to the picnic, and call our parents later. I reluctantly agreed, but told him we still needed to stop by his car:



I needed to grab my coffee!

Engaged....

And peacefully happy.

Thank you for your prayers!

A Better Monday

Prayers are answered, and weekends have a way of ironing things out....

When I came into work this morning, I saw that the young man with C.F. that was just re-admitted last week after a long hospital stay was discharged again quickly--over the weekend.

And Jimmy? I went to see him this morning. His eyes were open; he was extubated! He's still physically in the ICU, but only because there are no available beds in the Step-Down Unit. I walked in while his nurse, "Mark" was doing his morning assessment. Mark asked Jimmy, "Are you hurting anywhere?"

Jimmy laughed and said, "I won't be when you let go of my wrist!" Apparently, Mark hit a bruised spot when he was feeling for Jimmy's pulse.
Mark replied what I was thinking, "Wow! It's good to see you smiling, that's for sure!"

*****************************************

And this afternoon, I saw another patient of mine with C.F. that's in the ICU, who's been wasting away because of a failing lung transplant and needs to get into good enough shape for a re-do. He actually was able to get into a sitting position in the chair next to his bed! It was a Max Assist transfer (meaning, he did, at most, 25% of the work and I did the rest) from the bed to the chair, but he did it!

It WAS a good Monday.

Suffering and Courage

"Are you going to--oh my gosh, what's the matter?" Ginger, one of the ICU nurses, interrupted her own question with a look of worried concern.

I'd had my head down as I was looking over my patient's chart. I thought I'd gotten the last of my tears out in the nurse's break room a few minutes earlier. But as I looked over the chart and glanced over into "Jimmy's" room, I couldn't stop more from shooting from my eyes. Jimmy has been my patient for the past month. He's been Ginger's patient since 7 o'clock this morning, when she arrived for work.

Jimmy is barely in his 20's and has cystic fibrosis. He happens to be a really sweet Catholic kid who doesn't show much distress on his face when he's struggling to breathe. "I guess I'm just used to it," he told me once during an exercise walk around the hospital hallways. I always have to ask him directly if he wants to change anything we're doing in physical therapy. If I don't, he doesn't complain.
All the nurses love him. All the hospital visitors from the local parish love him.
But the fact that he's a sweet kid is beside the point.

The point is that his breathing has been getting more labored, and that despite increasing breathing treatments and physical therapy interventions, he's been needing more and more supplemental oxygen over the past few months. But he was getting better. The Pulmonary Team was going to discharge him from the hospital earlier this week, but he opted to stay "until I get my transplant."
His status on the lung transplant list is "active" -- meaning, he's waiting for the phone call that notifies him when matching lungs are available. "Good" lungs are not abundant. Organ donors, even with the same blood type and tissue type, don't always have healthy organs when they pass away. "Dry runs" are the rule, not the exception--a dry run being, when a patient is all prepped and ready in the O.R., only to find out that the long-awaited lungs are "bad."

Last night, a Rapid Response was called to Jimmy's room up on the Pulmonary floor of the hospital. A Rapid Response is a hospital-wide overhead page that calls for immediate medical intervention by a specialized on-call team. Jimmy's oxygen saturation was dropping. That is, there was not a sufficient amount of oxygen being carried through his body by his blood. This sometimes happens to people when the inner walls of the lungs become so congested or fibrotic, that no matter how much oxygen is sent in, there is too much of a barrier between that oxygen and the blood that is trying to pick it up on its way through.

Jimmy ended up being transferred to the ICU, where he was intubated. This means that a tube was sent through his mouth down his airway, to deliver oxygen to his lungs from a ventilator. The ventilator does the work of breathing for him, so that he does not have to use up his energy on an activity that we do without thinking. He won't become exhausted trying to get enough oxygen, and the Respiratory Therapists can monitor how much flow of oxygen he needs. Because people are not naturally designed to have machines "breathe" for them, it's a scary, agitating condition to be in. So people who are intubated are generally also sedated.

When people with cystic fibrosis are intubated, it is a serious event. It is not done lightly. Their lungs are already in sub-optimal health, so the chances of recovering breathing function with their own lungs is slim. It is difficult enough for people with healthy lungs (who need to be intubated temporarily because of other injuries) to wean off the ventilator, nevermind those with diseased lungs. For people like Jimmy, their primary hope is for transplant: for "good" lungs to become available sooner rather than later.

One of the Physical Therapy Technicians paged me while I was sitting in my team's meeting at 8:30 this morning, to tell me that Jimmy was intubated in the ICU. Upon reading the text message on my pager, I turned and whispered to Allison, our Pulmonary Senior Therapist, that I "hate pulmonary" (my current team assignment); then I completely lost control and had to excuse myself to the restroom to let myself cry for several minutes. When I arrived at the ICU 45 minutes later, I stood with clenched teeth and prayers to my guardian angel for strength, while I stood with the medical students, the interns, and the residents, and listened to the Chief Pulmonary resident on rounds give her report of Jimmy's status to her attending physician. I tried to numb my mind to much of what she said, "desatting into the 70's on non-rebreather mask ...tachycardic in the 150's ... PCO2 of 109 ... chest x-ray films ... worse ... hopefully he'll move up on the transplant list ...".
After I clarified with them that they did want us to continue chest PT (manual percussion on the patient's chest and back to help physically shake excess mucous from the walls of the lungs) I retreated to the nurse's break room for another semi-breakdown while I prepared my note for his medical chart.

And then I was standing outside his room, listening to the "click"s and "sigh"s of the ventilator, and hoping he was sedated enough that he wouldn't open his eyes and see my red ones looking back at him.

"Are you okay?" Ginger asked. "What is it?"

I motioned to Jimmy's room.

"Do you know him?" she asked.

"He's been my patient for the past month," I squeaked. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not handling this well today."

"We all have days like that," she assured me. "I hope yours gets better."

I thanked her, wrote my note, and left.

Another patient of mine with C.F. just moved to the ICU earlier this week from the floor. He is a staunch Christian and has been refusing to be put on the lung transplant list for years: he's waiting for a miracle. Yesterday he was lying in bed with his eyes closed, an oxygen mask on his face, his heart racing. His wife was reading to him from the New Testament. As I reviewed his medical chart outside his room, I heard her strong, steady voice read the story of the man born blind that Jesus cured on the Sabbath, and the Pharisees summoned his parents to ask if he really had been born blind.
Then I entered the room and reviewed the plan with her for continued chest PT treatment. I know the team is considering intubating him--but since he is not on the transplant list, that would mean he would be intubated ...indefinitely...? I hope he gets his miracle.

Last week, one of the young women with C.F. that I have as a patient experienced the "dry run." I had stopped into her room that morning, had congratulated her on "getting" some lungs, and had promised to pray for her that night as she went down to the O.R. The next morning, she was still on the floor. In that case, it was bad news that she was still on the floor. "The lungs were bad" was all I heard.

This morning, I looked up a patient in the computer, and saw another patient with a similar name listed one row beneath --and this other patient is one that I know: a young man with C.F. that just left the hospital this past week after several weeks' stay and a hard fight back to his prior level of health. I walked by his room this afternoon, saw that he was on the phone, and waved. He smiled and gave me a shrug.
I'm sure he'll be on my schedule tomorrow.

Thankfully, when I opened my email this evening, I received the timely encouragement of a message that Dad sent today to all of his children:

"We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance (produces) character; and character (produces) hope. And hope does not disappoint us." (Rom. 5:2-5)

and

"Courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "'I will try again tomorrow.'"

"We all have days like that," Ginger told me today.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.

Hard at Work!

What I look like these days (minus the sitting down part, most of the time!)



Patient quotation of the week (after I hung that patient's Foley bag on the side of his bed so that the catheter wouldn't pull uncomfortably on him):
"Why, yer smarter'n a wood dog!"

Labor Day Vacation

Apparently, we went to the best beach in the country this past weekend! You need to take an hour-long ferry just to reach the island (after a 5-hour drive!) but the ferry ride is enjoyable. Apparently, on our ride back to the island after Mass on Sunday evening, the people near the front of the ferry (Colin included) were treated to dolphins playing and swimming right along in front of the boat for a few minutes!

It was a lovely weekend, away from the cares and worries of work, hanging out with Colin and our friend Patrick and his parents.

The beach was gorgeous, the sun was shining, and the water was warm.
There was even a short nature trail (about 3/4 of a mile long) that Colin and I spent much of Sunday exploring for birds, bugs, and butterflies!

Click on my Flickr badge at the right for pictures.... As always, Colin's shutterfly picture share (coming soon to family) has much more beautiful images!

Surreal...

...chatting online, late at night, with a friend in Kyrgyzstan, while she enjoys the sunshine of tomorrow.

Weird and wonderful, this day and age's extensive technology!

So Many Stories...

Question: So why haven't I posted any?

Answer:
Number One,
My roommate and I still don't have internet, and the few times during the week I go to Colin's house (where there IS internet), it's because we plan to eat dinner there (which means I have to organize and then carry a load of ingredients, some cooking dishes, and sometimes some pages of recipes over to his house).

I don't go to his house until I've cooled off from my bikeride home from work and taken a shower. Then the cooking itself takes some time--usually he walks in his door around the time it's ready, between 9 and 9:30pm. After we eat, I generally take a nap on his futon, or check through my blogroll to see what's happening with friends and family members.

When he is done with his nightly "bug patrol" --literally, he goes outside with his flashlight and camera to check out the critters that have gathered around his outdoor lantern, his plants, and his cement wall-- he wakes me up and I am ready to go home. And ready to crash there. Because I have to wake up at 6am and bike to work for 7am.


Number Two,
My stories are probably going to need a lot of background information. There are always stories, everyday, from working with my patients that I think may really be the "you had to be there" or "you have to understand the context" events. ...And because I've spoken the language for the past three years, and now have gradually become comfortable with how things work and what is expected of me, I don't even know how much background information is too much--and how much can just get picked up by the reader along the way.

Some examples of my situational tidbits...
...The really sweet little man in his 70's with the chest tube due to a collapsed lung and a broken leg in a full cast who cannot tolerate "walking" more than 12 feet total with a rolling walker, tells his nurse that he thinks crutches would be better. "I just want to hop around," he tells her. That in itself is kind of funny.
...But then the fact that when his nurse pages me, she and I decide to actually toss him the bone, just because it will motivate him to get up one more time that day--I show up with crutches, try to tell him it takes MORE balance and energy to use them than it takes to use the rolling walker, but he is adamant. So I grab his nurse, and she and I practically have to carry him while he "uses" them for about 6 feet before he decides to give in and "forget these crutches!"
The lengths to which we will go to get people up and moving...


...The man who gets admitted because of "altered mental status" (AMS) who asks me what color I think everything in the room is, asks me if I see the bubbles going up and down the wall, then shows me his hospital bracelet and says it's made of lamb's wool. Then he says that his doctor told him earlier that when the patient sees me, that means he's "passed on." After I try to console him by telling him that he is in the hospital and that we're taking care of him and that he's getting better, I decide that maybe I'm upsetting him and this is how it's being manifested. As I exit the room, the phlebotomist enters, and smirks as she whispers to me, "See you later, angel!"
...The patient's nurse is concerned that the man is starting to talk about more than just colors and bubbles, so she notifies the primary physician. Who fails to understand why talking about death may be of more concern than talking about bubbles....


...Praising people for coughing up sputum is one of the most difficult aspects of my job. Especially now that I'll be rotating to the "pulmonary" sub-team of my "Neuro-Cardio-Pulmonary" team this week, where coughing up sputum is generally a primary goal! I don't mind a lot of things that I thought I would mind. But when that junk comes out--whether I hear it gurgling in the throat or see it shooting out of a tracheostomy--I have to really control myself to avoid visibly cringing.
"Great!" I coo with dramatic enthusiasm. "Better out than in!" or "Keep it up!" or "Nice job!"
Blech.
Almost as bad is asking them to describe the color, thickness, and amount they coughed up when I wasn't there to see it. My imagination is a little too vivid.


...Sometimes it's hard for people to feel comfortable when they hear me say that I'm going to be the one to help them get out of bed. I'm often challenged with skeptical responses: "You?" or "You sure you can handle it by yourself?" or "I think it may take more than one person." It's great to show them that my technique--not my strength--plus whatever they can contribute themselves, is effective for the job at hand. I'm learning how to gain their trust sooner, though, with statements such as "one thing at a time," and "we'll sit at the edge of the bed first and see how you feel," and "we won't do anything until both of us are ready," etc.
One larger patient's husband got a kick out of me helping his wife into the chair a few different times. On one occasion, her nurse paged me because she and another nurse were having a difficult time helping this woman back into bed. So I went back to the room to give the nurses some tips as well as some physical assistance, and was greeted by the patient's husband, "Here comes the little crane for the big load!"

Another patient looked at me in wonderment after I helped him stand a few times near the edge of his bed. He said,"Wow, little lady! You're strong for bein' so small! You must work out or somethin'!"

I try to tell these patients that they do more than they think, that it's my body position and the gait belt I use that makes it possible, ...but it's a fun part of my job, nonetheless.



So these are the kinds of stories that fill my days. I suspect that this at least gives a flavor of the environment I'm in all the time.

When I get internet at my house, I may be able to post them more regularly. That is, on the days that I cook dinner in my own kitchen!

Baggage Delivered!

Having my bag again means, of course, that I have my pictures from the wedding!
The first thing I noticed about Miranda (this is the first time I actually met her) was her big, beautiful smile. It flashed across her face continuously, and brightened everything around her.

Please notice the color of Brian's tie... :)

A post of numbered items...

Happy news:

#1. My car is fixed, the problems being not-so-serious. I know this because the car mechanic paged me at work and when I called him back, he told me what the problems were:
"[amidst car mechanic language]-blah-blah new gas cap blah-blah new plugs blah-blah new wires..." and then he stopped.

So I responded, "All that doesn't sound too serious to me--or am I just very naive?" To which he replied, "No, it's really not serious."

So I said, "Please proceed and fix my car."

Then I paid with my debit card, which was a happy moment, because there is money in my bank account :) :) :)

#2. Because of my set of four wheels, I can now travel the 6 miles to Colin's house, where my computer resides, and update my blog--without having to leave right after dinner in order to bike the 6 miles back to my house before I am completely exhausted!
(Actually, Colin has been making that trek since my car has been out of commission: he's been riding his bike to my place for dinner, then biking the 6 miles home--because he's always going to be in better shape than me, and also because he's just wonderful like that! Either way, my computer has not been accessible to me.)

So now I may give an update of the very recent West Coast Wedding experience I had.
Hereafter, I shall more easily give updates of life as a physical therapist in acute care--there are already, and will always be, stories in that vein!!

But now, for the wedding....

The ceremony took place in a beautiful spot, on a bluff overlooking a bay north of San Francisco within Point Reyes National Seashore. And the reception was fun--it was at a nearby Inn, where they had yummy food and swing-dancing :). I mingled with the best (worst?) of the Harvard / Yale / Berkley / Stanford crunchy people. Please be proud of me, for mingling is not my thing. But I was alone and decided to force myself to be a little more extroverted!

The nice thing about those peeps is that they're always so friendly and sincere. (It's the things that they're sincere about that make them a little wacky; things that are not-so-fundamentally-important to the good of society). It's funny to me how they intellectualize everything and take it all so seriously.... But anyway, I had fun. The best part was the swing dance that I had with Brian. And Portia's in-laws out there, with whom I stayed for the weekend, were exceptionally wonderful to me.

Otherwise, the entire affair might have been called a disaster...

1. The trip began Friday night, flying out of Raleigh, NC. I missed my connecting flight in Atlanta and spent the night in the airport. I can sleep anywhere, but with the airconditioning on and no one around, it was SO COLD! Every once in a while I would wake up shivering, so I'd walk around the airport a while and then find a bench (sometimes the same bench as before) that I thought might be far away from both the vents and the loud overhead televisions. At about 5:30am, when the airport started coming alive again, I got up and treated myself to a cup of Starbucks, partially just so that I could cradle it in my cold hands and press it to my chest!

2. So I got into San Francisco on Saturday morning. (At least I made it in time for the wedding, which was at 2pm!) But by the time I got my baggage and was driven to Portia's in-law's house, I had about 10 minutes before I had to leave to get to the site of the ceremony. (The baggage alone took about 30minutes to collect after I got off the airplane.) So ... no shower, after a full day of work on Friday and an night spend in Atlanta's airport!

***Here, insert Portia's brother-in-law and father-in-law kindly retrieving me from the airport, then her mother-in-law feeding me a sandwich and graciously driving me 40minutes to the wedding, because I "must be so tired," and so that I would be sure not to get lost along the way.

***Also here, insert beautiful wedding afternoon and evening, where I finally met the woman that Brian has been raving about for the past 10 years***
(despite the fact that their wedding website and invitation said "casual" since it was in the park, and I was almost the only woman there who was not in a cute dress... Oh, well. Brian didn't seem to care!)

3. The morning after the wedding, beginning at about 4:30am, I felt sick to my stomach. "Crazy," I thought. "I had 3 glasses of wine all night. Maybe I'm just super-dehydrated because of the airplane trip and everything." But after emptying said stomach's contents into the toilet bowl several times, my body continued to try to empty that-which-was-not-there until about 7:30am.

***Here, insert Portia's compassionate mother-in-law giving me a homeopathic remedy for my sickness, then going out early that Sunday morning to buy cans of gingerale and a box of saltines.***

***Also here, insert that I recovered, for the most part, by about 8:45am, so Portia's mother-in-law said that it was probably food poisoning. So much for "yummy food."...I hope more of the wedding party didn't get sick!

4. My already late-night connecting flight back to Raleigh from Atlanta was delayed, so that Colin had to come to the airport to pick me up at 1am instead of at midnight, late between Sunday and Monday!

5. Half of the delayed flight's passengers' baggage was not there when we arrived in Raleigh; the line into the Delta customer service closet was so long, it wound around the baggage claim belt. When I got to the front of the line, all they needed was my address, phone number, and bag tag number so that they could gie me a "file reference number." They said my bag would be delievered the next day. ...I arrived home around 3am.

6. It's now Wednesday, and I still do not have my bag. Mom is praying to St. Anthony (and so am I!) but it might be gone for a while... meaning, "forever"...

7. May I add that my bag is really small, and the only reason I didn't carry it on the plane was because I didn't have any plastic baggies to accommodate the "liquids" policy they have now. --I almost carried it on anyway, especially after waiting 30minutes in San Francisco for said bag to appear on the baggage belt on Saturday morning!!
But guess what I told Portia Sunday morning over the phone? "I don't want to risk carrying it on without any plastic baggies, and sending it through security, hoping they don't open my bag (something she suggested) because I don't want to risk having all of my make-up confiscated." Looks like a lot more than that is "confiscated" now!

Believe it or not, despite all of these mini-"adventures," it was worth the trip!

So that's my most recent story of what's happening here. The only other thing that I'm excited about these days is that I've been picking up evening shifts... Where I don't do anything except remain in the hospital building so that there's a therapist "supervisor" here while our techs do some evening treatments! I get comp time for this--which is time accrued for later use, ...meaning that I can take eventually take time from that bank to have some days off.

I literally sit at work, writing emails and taking care of business. (Last night I signed up for dental and vision benefits, then I ordered a thank-you gift for Portia's in-laws...). And I get comp time for doing this. I will never understand why my colleagues think I'm burning myself out, volunteering to fill the evening shift holes! They look at me with concern--"are you okay?"
I suppose I'd feel different if Colin didn't work until 9pm anyway. I certainly wouldn't like to do it if I had a family waiting at home for me. But for now, ...this is leisure compared to PT school!!

...Too bad Blogger is not one of the hospital-approved internet sites!

Q & A

Q: What do you do when one of your best friends from high school is getting married in California during a transitional time in your life when you have no cash, no time off, and cannot even afford to go to cousins' weddings on the same (East) coast that you're living on?

A: All things being equal, you sadly check the "regretfully declines" box and put the reply card in the mail, then exchange emails with said friend, informing him of your disappointing rsvp that is on the way.


Q: So what happens when that same friend sends an email back, offering what he calls a Friend Fellowship, whereby his parents have offered to pay for your airline ticket, since he really wants you at his wedding, and furthermore, the ticket will be from Friday night to Sunday afternoon so that you don't have to miss work?

A: All things being equal, you call your sister in California to see whether her extended family may be able to assist with the rest of the pragmatic logisticals--transport, accommodations, etc--and then, when assured of your family "in"-ness, you accept the generous offer, realizing that at this point, there's really no other choice.


In other words, I'm headed to northern Cali the weekend of July 28th to attend Brian's wedding.
It truly marvels me how God keeps allowing this rare friendship to continue.

Time to be Tagged!

Mrs. Bear has tagged me for a fun little meme. And since I don't have to be studying with every spare minute anymore (I love this!) here we go!

A picture of now, between past and future.

1. a. Describe your outfit. Hand-me-down (from my younger sister Alvie) orange and white striped blouse with orange embroidered flowers along the front buttons, TAC grab-box khaki shorts that still fit in summertime, black and orange teevas, orangy-brown bead earrings.

b. What associations does the main color evoke? Orange. Since it's kind of a light peachy orange, and the fabric is also really light, this orange says cool and breezy.

c. Is there a memory associated with that outfit (or part of
it)? I bought these teevas right before my memorable first-and-last annual Utah river trip with EC. They have seen plenty of wear, but still are so sturdy and super-comfortable. The shorts have been worn for many summer hikes since I grabbed them in May of 2001. And the shirt just reminds me of my sister everytime I put it on!

2. a. Are you listening to music? Yes. I'm at Colin's lab (because he has about an hour of work to do) and I put the Celtic station on his computer's yahoo "launchcast" radio.

b. Was this intentional? I intentionally put on music because I knew I didn't have to study, and it doesn't bother him over where he's doing his experiments. I like the Celtic station--it's everything from calming music to Irish pop, and this is a unique opportunity to hear things I can't hear on the local radio.

c. What does the music make you remember? It doesn't necessarily make me remember anything, until a question like this makes me think about it, then it becomes a stream of consciousness memory. I suppose the classical Celtic music with its wind instrumentals makes me think of rolling hills, which I see whenever I go on cross-country road trips, which makes me remember the green summer I spent in Kentucky, which makes me think of my former Clinical Instructor who just had a baby in March, which makes me remember that I have a lot of phone calls and letters to catch up on now, including that patient up in Massachusetts, and the Smilllies up there--oh, shoot I never sent Tess that peanut butter cookie recipe....etc.

3. a. Describe the objects within arm's reach. Hmmm... I'm at Colin's desk, so ...lots of scientific papers. For example, here is an excerpt from a paragraph I just looked down and started reading: "For analysis of meianocyte differentiation, dorsal neural plate explants were isolated from somite stage 10 quail embryos as described for equivalent chick explants."
huuuhhh??
Also, my laptop is right here; I brought it in order to post pictures from it online. Then my sunglasses, car keys, and cell phone, a few half-full water bottles, scissors, batteries, a stapler, cell diagrams taped to the wall above the desk, a box of envelopes, a contact lens case (Colin puts in his contacts whenever he goes over to the gym to play basketball), and speakers that are emitting Celtic sounds!

b. Choose one object and tell where you acquired it. My laptop was issued to me when I started PT school, and I effectively "bought" it by completing the program, so now I get to keep it! IF I had failed out or dropped out, I would have been required to buy it with real money. So there was another incentive to work hard and finish my degree!

c. On the whole, are the objects new (memory blanks) or old (memory filled)? Since most of these objects are not mine, and since I cannot understand most of what surrounds me right now (there are tons of papers piled up) then I would have to conclude that they are definitely memory (and mind!) blanks.

4. a. What room are you in? I am in the cubby where Colin's desk is, in Dr. Majesky's Lab, on the eighth floor of the MBRB (Medical BioResearch Building) on the campus of UNC.

b. To what extent is it yours? Not at all. And no, thank you!

c. What kind of memories will you have in the future of this room? Someday I hope to be in this cubby, helping Colin pack up all of his belongings, because he will be graduated and moving on to greater things! Until then, I will continue to drop in while everyone is working, occasionally sharing in their ice-cream breaks or non-work related conversations. He works with some of the sweetest people--I would never have thought that some of these Asian women were researchers; they're so kind and quick to smile. Not at all the high-powered, stressed, super-concentrated atmosphere I pictured.

4. What were you doing before starting this post, and what would you like to do next? I was updating my blog and Flickr account with some recent pictures before I started this post. Next, I will change my clothes so that I'm wearing a long skirt, and Colin and I will head off to Sunday (evening) Mass.

So now I will tag Portia (because I got to her before Nutmeg!), EC (since I still haven't been able to connect to her in the past month or so!), and Alvie (because maybe--just maybe--this will get a new post out of her?)

At home in NC

This past week, I've been working on starting a new job, as well as moving into a new house:

Heather and I will be renting the main part of the house. Below us, through that small door to the far right of the driveway, there is a small single apartment, which will be occupied by another young woman, a dental student. She hasn't moved in yet, or even seen the place, but I'm sure things will work out just fine. Dental school is tough--she probably won't be making a lot of noise!!
Through the other door on the left side of the driveway is the basement, with a washer, dryer, and plenty of storage space. My bedroom is directly above the driveway.
One thing I love about this house--aside from the quiet and safety of the neighborhood--is all of the natural light that comes in during the day.

Below is a picture of the living room that faces the back of the house. You can only see about half of it in this shot, but the windows continue along the entire back wall there.


And here is my room, small but with a lot of natural light, and surrounded by trees filled with birds that wake me up at dawn! There's also a nice breeze that gets going in there, since the windows slide open to make a whole vertical half of them open.

The hospital is about a 3-mile bike ride which is mostly uphill (which means that it's mostly downhill after a long day of work!). And Colin lives about 3 miles from the hospital in the opposite direction, so we're about 6 miles apart now. That works out okay: he can make the downhill ride to my place for dinner after work, and my bike rack has become a permanent fixture on my car so that I can then give him a ride home later on.

I get my own desk at work, which I find very exciting! It's also a lot of fun to introduce myself to people as a physical therapist. Wow. Crazy.

And so life in the real world begins.