"He said I wanna see you again, but I'm stuck in colder weather. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Can I call you then? She said, You're a ramblin man. You ain't ever gonna change. You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leavin'." ~Zac Brown Band
12 years of working in the ER can make you jaded. You see the continuum of humanity from best to worst, young to old, birth to death. I knew this going in. I made a secret promise to myself that I would not allow myself to be jaded. My documentation would remain pristine. I would base all of my care on evidence-based research, and I would find a way to care for every soul that walked in the door regardless of their shortcomings. However, despite a nasty case of idealism, 12 years is a long time, and you can't imagine the atrocities that humans endure outside of everyone else's perfect microcosm. The average burnout rate for the emergency room nurse is anywhere from 5-7 years at which point, they retire to the PACU, post-anesthesia care unit. I made it to 12 years and realized that it was just a matter of time.
The long road to pessimism begins with a lot of people lying to you for drugs. It's too many mothers neglecting their children for boyfriends who don't care. It's too many elderly found on their living room floors after three days, dehydrated, malnourished and smelling of urine because they couldn't get up and no one visited them. Then there are the drunks who insist on peeing on the floor, right in front of you. It's a hundred stories of the worst possible example of humanity and you simply cannot believe that not only is the person in front of you the worst human story you've ever heard, there's one worse waiting in the emergency room waiting room. After awhile, you wake up and realize that you are, in fact, jaded.
Soon gallows humor is the only way to get through a shift. You begin to judge and point your finger and guilt everyone around you into making better choices. And they buy it because their lives are so immeasurably awful.
Quitting is not an option because by quitting, you essentially quit humanity. You quit the people. People that need you so much, even THEY don't know how much. Obviously, when you are not there, the ER continues on. You're not there, but SOMEBODY is, and your turn is coming back around soon enough. You go home, hug your kids, kiss your husband, and revel in the beauty that surrounds you, at least that's what you should do. Unfortunately, these stories eat away at you and it's hard to be happy knowing there's an element out there struggling for survival.
I used to fight my own internal battle. Who am I to change someone's stripes? Who am I to pass judgment on another because essentially, that is what I am doing by disapproving of their life choices and asking them to make different ones. Would my suggestions lead them to a better path? Possibly. Or, I'm just some spoiled, white bitch in my ivory tower and I really should just shut the fuck up. (Yes, I've been told that more times than I can count). That doesn't trigger my touchy-feely sense. You can take the high road all you want but inside, you stop giving a shit. You stop wanting to help. Soon you join the ranks of the miserable, and stop holding people to a higher standard because you're too bitter to see them achieve it.
My story is unique in that I did not retire peacefully to the PACU. Instead, I got Cancer. That fixed my attitude right quick. I repented my jadedness. I was given help and kindness while I fought my battle and not once was I judged for a poor choice. Okay, I didn't make that many poor choices, but sometimes a chocolate eclair just begged me to eat it because I might not be around much longer to enjoy that particularly evil sidestep. Yeah, I'm a rebel.
I swore that I would not return to being jaded. I realized that my days working in the ER are over because as an older person, my patience has worn thin. The potential for jaded is much higher, and I don't want my cancer fight to be for nothing, because if anything good came out of getting cancer, it was my appreciation for human life. All human life, including anyone and everyone who was willing to accept my love. My help. My kindness. My "human-ness."
I didn't plan to have that thrown back in my face. Again.
I've experienced some major disappointments this summer. I swear my heart was in the right place. I was reaching out. Reconnecting. Making amends for being "a fucking bitch" (because I sort of was, although I claim teenage ignorance and stupidity to SOME extent. I have since repented.). I've dedicated myself to my husband and my children serving our family the best way I know how, which is marginal at best. I nurtured my friendships and built many new ones. I opened myself to different ways of living, other people's politics and religion. I devoted myself to a the "sport" of mixed martial arts and gave my trust and respect to ANYONE with the nerve to step on the mat with me, and I brought as much positive energy as I could muster.
Recent events have disappointed me beyond belief. There's a lesson in the events of my summer and I'm pretty sure it's a lesson, I learned long ago but for some reason, the universe feels compelled to keep teaching it. Maybe it's not my lesson, but I keep getting sucked into the same lesson, and the pain of it is felt nonetheless.
Everyone has a line. They draw a line in the sand that implies, "cross this, and all bets are off. By crossing this line, you have compromised everything you stand for." What do I stand for? I stand for women and kids, nomadic river guides, families, Wild and Scenic Rivers, and people making the best choices they can so as not to find themselves in an ER begging for opiates and telling their nurse how nothing is their fault. It's not easy. Sometimes the choices we are given seem impossible. Often, the right choice is the most painful one. I had the best of intentions to share my heart, open it up and invite everyone in. For the most part, I was successful. I made some great friendships that deepen and grow everyday. I reconnected with some old friends from long ago. They have since brought new members into the fold. Husbands, wives, children and more friends. One of my friend's daughters danced "for Breast Cancer" in my name. I met her at my 30th High School reunion. These new connections have been meaningful and amazing to the point where I come to expect it. Allowing yourself to trust and give almost blindly is a choice. Being afraid to be hurt is a lot like being afraid cancer will come back. You just can't focus on that and sometimes you have to live your life with your heart and hope that it will be all okay. Recently, I walked away from something where my presence alone would only degrade and destroy the experience of another. I didn't want to, and I'm not accustomed to walking away from anything but I couldn't see a way through that would make it a positive experience for all. Certainly, it was a choice based on fear and involved people who are tentative to take an incalculable risk. (As I write this, I realize, that this perhaps, is my lesson.) I had another similar experience where the people weren't afraid to open up. They took a huge risk and the result was a new friendship for me and amazing friendships for my girls. I am glad I took this risk and I am so happy that despite a painful choice for me, I didn't cross my line. The two experiences hold each other in sharp relief.
Funny, when you draw a line, it tends to be in your face as if the universe is challenging you to cross it. It's as if the universe is testing me. "What circumstances WILL make you cross that line?"
Without throwing a person under the bus publicly, I will say that I have a "friend". And this "friend" has recently disappointed me immeasurably. He has crossed my line and as the light is shed on this act of betrayal, I have learned that he has crossed it over and over with no expectation of consequence throughout our friendship. I hold him to a higher standard as I do all of my friends largely because when you hold your friends to high standards, they tend to meet them. Instead, I've been lied to, while in the service of others, and I have indirectly contributed to the demise of a paradigm that we all worked so hard to create. Essentially, I am burnt. I have felt this awful feeling before. It is that same jaded feeling I had when I worked in the ER. Suddenly, I have no desire to open my heart to anyone anymore. I have the inexorable desire to retreat to within and protect my own. Now, I am faced with another choice. Stay and fight, or walk away. If I stay, I perpetuate the lie, and cross my line. If I walk away, I fix nothing and the status quo remains as it does in the previous example. Neither choice feels good. One choice maintains my integrity but the other supports those not directly involved. When do you stand on your soapbox and when do you prioritize the positive? And why the hell do I repeatedly have to be presented with this fucked up scenario? Clearly, this is a case of same shit, different day which leads me to believe I didn't really nail it the first time.
Admittedly, it's easy to be jaded. We expect the worst from others and close our hearts off to an amazing life because generally, the things that have the biggest payback are the ones that carry the highest risk. However, when we give our hearts freely, openly and take that ultimate risk, we are occasionally punished with pain, betrayal, and sadness, and it hurts. For awhile. I've taken this risk plenty of times and good things happened. I've gotten a pink sign with my name on it held by a beautiful 16 year-old girl, a kiss from a 5 year-old, a new dance move, a scissors take-down, a Mt. biking buddy, a guy to play guitar with whenever I go home, a friend who fixes my heart when it's broken and a husband who brings me coffee every morning. Yes, I've had my heart crushed a couple of times and perhaps the pain of not being 100% successful pleads to my competitive nature. "Win some you lose some" (never a philosophy I subscribed to. I prefer Win all, lose nothing, but I'm unrealistic like that). I don't want to get cancer again to fix my "jaded" problem. I'm really trying to find the balance. I'm trying to give people a chance to be good and awesome and true and keep them in my heart without letting them lay waste to it. I'm working on forgiveness, and the delicate balance of forgiving someone but letting them know that their choice is incompatible with my "line." I continue to be a work in progress and while hope is not a strategy, it's a tool. Good things lie ahead and they are unfolding every minute. I know they are there. I refuse to be jaded. I refuse to turn my back on humanity and I refuse to be put in the impossible situation of having to choose between the two.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Monday, October 5, 2015
Girl in a Country Song
"I'm. a. red. neck. woman. I ain't no high class broad. Just a product of my raisin'. I say hell yeah and yee haw! And I keep my Christmas lights on on my front porch all year long. And I know all the words to every Old Bocephus song. So here's to all my sisters out there, keepin it country. Lemme get a big hell yeah, from the redneck girls like me....." ~Gretchen Wilson
Nothing says redneck like shooting raccoons out of a tree. Not that I care what anyone thinks anymore at my age, but I've tried to avoid the housecoat and curlers in the front yard and listening to country western songs because it's just never been my thing really. I've caved to the new country songs because the lyrics are just too funny to pass up. I mean let's face it. How can you not get sucked in to a song that goes,
It's just too good too pass up and I end up talking with a southern drawl with my kids who think my country girl impressions are hilarious.
I usually make it a point to live life to the fullest because well, I had cancer. AND, you never know who's gonna throw you under a bus. Life is too short for just one music genre. Although....I have spent the last umpteen weeks feeling sorry for myself. Why? because I chose to. Life is about choice and if you choose to sit on your ass and be a speed bump, well, you might as well own it. I only have myself to blame, and if I choose to be a speed bump, well dammit, I'm gonna be a damn good one. Sometimes you just have to go to the bottom of the barrel before you can bubble up to the top. I think part of my angst was related to the fact that all good things come to an end, including summer. Having spent the summer of 2015 on the Pro Leisure Tour, there is a certain depression that accompanies reality and responsibility. My kids are back to school with an insane soccer schedule. My oldest daughter has thrown Middle School volleyball into the mix just to make me completely insane as if her "A.P" Algebra class and volunteering for the school field trip isn't enough. In the meantime, I picked up a job at a local Physical Therapy clinic to help out a friend. My husband is back on the road and life has settled back into it's degree of "normalcy" if you can ever call our life normal. And I picked up a distraction over the summer that creeps into my psyche from time to time and railroads my productivity.
Last night, the hubs and I had some conversation time. 3 raccoons were treed in our front yard at the ungodly hour of bedtime causing our cats to meow incessantly and the dog to be a hyperactive nightmare. Nobody was going to get any sleep with these three hooligans so close to the watering hole. Chalk it up to the fact that our kids keep forgetting to feed our animals in the morning because we are running out the door to get to school since everyone's alarm is set to a different time zone and nobody's internal clock is set to anything. Given the opportunity, we'd all sleep until 3, and every morning it's a scramble to not be last in the car. But I digress....
So no shit, there we were, getting our California redneck on by shooting raccoons out of a tree in the dark (because you just can't make this shit up). I tell my husband I'm depressed due to the fact that I can no longer conform to a society of ignorance, a bunch of caddy bitches who insist on dress coding my daughters for EVERY possible infraction, and a bunch of soccer idiots who insist on scheduling 2 and 3 games in a day on the weekends because no one else has anything better to do with their weekend with their ski boat inconveniently placed in storage.
My husband asks me to point a flashlight up in the tree. I am pessimistic that my husband is going to hit anything in the dark.
"How depressed are you?" he asks.
"Depressed enough to give your mother custody," I chide.
He fires a round into the darkness.
"That bad?"
"Yep, the Pro Leisure Tour ruined me."
Another round. He thinks he hit one. I am skeptical.
"Then don't come off," he says.
"Whaddya mean?" I ask.
"Stay on tour. Plan some trips around the soccer schedule. Fall is the best time of the year anyway."
I am flabbergasted by this revelation. Really? I can keep playing? I hadn't really thought of extending the tour but it sounded great to me.
POP! He fires another round into the darkness. Suddenly, we hear branches breaking and finally, THUD! A raccoon hits the deck. I am astounded. My husband beams with pride.
Now for all you animal lovers, don't get all righteous on me about raccoons. They are vicious. There is a serious overpopulation of them in our area, being near a river and they wreak havoc on garbage cans, feeding bowls and small animals. We have had an unbelievable epidemic of raccoons. We've tried trapping and relocating and it seems like they always find their way back to our house, hole up under our porch and terrorize anything bigger than a small dog. Raccoons, possums and skunks all fighting for real estate at our house puts the chaos into an already chaotic life. I don't need a screechfest everynight because all the forest critters are vying for the best sleeping spot. Fewer raccoons will not result in extinction and a quick death is best anyway rather than dying a slow death of starvation and forest fire smoke . If there were enough foxes and coyotes to take care of the problem, I'd be reluctant to shoot them out of a tree, but even the foxes and the coyotes are afraid of the raccoons. They are a menace.
5 more rounds into the darkness and still nothing. Instead, the remaining two scramble for higher branches. I'm really thinking these raccoons are not coming out of this tree tonight.
"So where's your next destination?" my husband asks.
I'm thinking somewhere warm. Texas? Grand Canyon? Moab? Zion? But it might be nice to depart the drought for a bit. Seattle? BC? There's also the issue of funding. I used my grocery budget to fund a couple of trips, and the Rogue adventures took their toll in food, gas, and Dutch Brothers coffee drinks. I need to settle at home for a bit to catch up on finances. However, I'm pretty stoked on the possibilities and the fact that the husband threw it out there makes it that much sweeter.
BAM! More branches breaking, wood pieces coming down into my eye while I'm looking up with the flashlight trying to get a glimpse of beady yellow eyes staring down at me. Suddenly, I can't see and i'm afraid a dead, bloody raccoon is going to land on my head. I run for cover. Sure enough, here comes Rocky. He hits an outdoor table and does a triple lindy onto the deck. He's dead. One remains and I am seriously impressed with not only my husband's aim but the learning curve on reloading. He shaved minutes off of his usual time.
I ponder my options. So many options for volunteering, projects, travel, visiting friends and once again, I'm overwhelmed.
POP! The third raccoon is hit but decides he's outta there. He heads down the trunk of the tree. Marek reloads and shoots him again. The raccoon waddles toward the wilderness at the edge of our property and disappears into the dark. I am flabbergasted. 3 raccoons out of the mix. What's next?
Well, first, our cats are going to live another day and get a good night sleep.
I realize that there's so much ahead that I didn't even realize that I never really left the Pro Leisure Tour. My kids are engrossed in soccer which means I get to go to sunny Visalia, CA one weekend in October. <read sarcasm> But then there is Phoenix, where my dashing husband will display his talents at his company's big blowout event. A friend is getting married in Santiago, Chile and given the earthquakes and flooding, I'm fairly certain that will be anything but dull. We return for State Cup Championships and San Francisco Ski Balls just long enough to pack for Mexico before Thanksgiving, San Diego for Thanksgiving and a Premier level tournament and before you know it, I'm back in Park City giving a lecture to a bunch of basketball players, with my OTHER best friend from High School.
So much life ahead. My depression fades away nicely and I am back to being myself. Next stop: Retail Therapy!
Nothing says redneck like shooting raccoons out of a tree. Not that I care what anyone thinks anymore at my age, but I've tried to avoid the housecoat and curlers in the front yard and listening to country western songs because it's just never been my thing really. I've caved to the new country songs because the lyrics are just too funny to pass up. I mean let's face it. How can you not get sucked in to a song that goes,
"Son of a gun she's fun to handle, and she packs a punch like a roman candle. She's a pack of black cats in a red paper wrapper, My little darlin' is a fire cracker......"~Josh Turner
or
"I could go for a tipsy tailgate kiss, Baby tast the moonshinin' off of your lips, I wanna see that want ya smile, Still got me hooded been hooked for awhile. If you got a bottle you ain't opened yet, And an empty spot beside ya in ya bed, If you got some room for a little regret, Let me know girl I've already left...." ~Cole Swindell
It's just too good too pass up and I end up talking with a southern drawl with my kids who think my country girl impressions are hilarious.
I usually make it a point to live life to the fullest because well, I had cancer. AND, you never know who's gonna throw you under a bus. Life is too short for just one music genre. Although....I have spent the last umpteen weeks feeling sorry for myself. Why? because I chose to. Life is about choice and if you choose to sit on your ass and be a speed bump, well, you might as well own it. I only have myself to blame, and if I choose to be a speed bump, well dammit, I'm gonna be a damn good one. Sometimes you just have to go to the bottom of the barrel before you can bubble up to the top. I think part of my angst was related to the fact that all good things come to an end, including summer. Having spent the summer of 2015 on the Pro Leisure Tour, there is a certain depression that accompanies reality and responsibility. My kids are back to school with an insane soccer schedule. My oldest daughter has thrown Middle School volleyball into the mix just to make me completely insane as if her "A.P" Algebra class and volunteering for the school field trip isn't enough. In the meantime, I picked up a job at a local Physical Therapy clinic to help out a friend. My husband is back on the road and life has settled back into it's degree of "normalcy" if you can ever call our life normal. And I picked up a distraction over the summer that creeps into my psyche from time to time and railroads my productivity.
Last night, the hubs and I had some conversation time. 3 raccoons were treed in our front yard at the ungodly hour of bedtime causing our cats to meow incessantly and the dog to be a hyperactive nightmare. Nobody was going to get any sleep with these three hooligans so close to the watering hole. Chalk it up to the fact that our kids keep forgetting to feed our animals in the morning because we are running out the door to get to school since everyone's alarm is set to a different time zone and nobody's internal clock is set to anything. Given the opportunity, we'd all sleep until 3, and every morning it's a scramble to not be last in the car. But I digress....
So no shit, there we were, getting our California redneck on by shooting raccoons out of a tree in the dark (because you just can't make this shit up). I tell my husband I'm depressed due to the fact that I can no longer conform to a society of ignorance, a bunch of caddy bitches who insist on dress coding my daughters for EVERY possible infraction, and a bunch of soccer idiots who insist on scheduling 2 and 3 games in a day on the weekends because no one else has anything better to do with their weekend with their ski boat inconveniently placed in storage.
My husband asks me to point a flashlight up in the tree. I am pessimistic that my husband is going to hit anything in the dark.
"How depressed are you?" he asks.
"Depressed enough to give your mother custody," I chide.
He fires a round into the darkness.
"That bad?"
"Yep, the Pro Leisure Tour ruined me."
Another round. He thinks he hit one. I am skeptical.
"Then don't come off," he says.
"Whaddya mean?" I ask.
"Stay on tour. Plan some trips around the soccer schedule. Fall is the best time of the year anyway."
I am flabbergasted by this revelation. Really? I can keep playing? I hadn't really thought of extending the tour but it sounded great to me.
POP! He fires another round into the darkness. Suddenly, we hear branches breaking and finally, THUD! A raccoon hits the deck. I am astounded. My husband beams with pride.
Now for all you animal lovers, don't get all righteous on me about raccoons. They are vicious. There is a serious overpopulation of them in our area, being near a river and they wreak havoc on garbage cans, feeding bowls and small animals. We have had an unbelievable epidemic of raccoons. We've tried trapping and relocating and it seems like they always find their way back to our house, hole up under our porch and terrorize anything bigger than a small dog. Raccoons, possums and skunks all fighting for real estate at our house puts the chaos into an already chaotic life. I don't need a screechfest everynight because all the forest critters are vying for the best sleeping spot. Fewer raccoons will not result in extinction and a quick death is best anyway rather than dying a slow death of starvation and forest fire smoke . If there were enough foxes and coyotes to take care of the problem, I'd be reluctant to shoot them out of a tree, but even the foxes and the coyotes are afraid of the raccoons. They are a menace.
5 more rounds into the darkness and still nothing. Instead, the remaining two scramble for higher branches. I'm really thinking these raccoons are not coming out of this tree tonight.
"So where's your next destination?" my husband asks.
I'm thinking somewhere warm. Texas? Grand Canyon? Moab? Zion? But it might be nice to depart the drought for a bit. Seattle? BC? There's also the issue of funding. I used my grocery budget to fund a couple of trips, and the Rogue adventures took their toll in food, gas, and Dutch Brothers coffee drinks. I need to settle at home for a bit to catch up on finances. However, I'm pretty stoked on the possibilities and the fact that the husband threw it out there makes it that much sweeter.
BAM! More branches breaking, wood pieces coming down into my eye while I'm looking up with the flashlight trying to get a glimpse of beady yellow eyes staring down at me. Suddenly, I can't see and i'm afraid a dead, bloody raccoon is going to land on my head. I run for cover. Sure enough, here comes Rocky. He hits an outdoor table and does a triple lindy onto the deck. He's dead. One remains and I am seriously impressed with not only my husband's aim but the learning curve on reloading. He shaved minutes off of his usual time.
I ponder my options. So many options for volunteering, projects, travel, visiting friends and once again, I'm overwhelmed.
POP! The third raccoon is hit but decides he's outta there. He heads down the trunk of the tree. Marek reloads and shoots him again. The raccoon waddles toward the wilderness at the edge of our property and disappears into the dark. I am flabbergasted. 3 raccoons out of the mix. What's next?
Well, first, our cats are going to live another day and get a good night sleep.
I realize that there's so much ahead that I didn't even realize that I never really left the Pro Leisure Tour. My kids are engrossed in soccer which means I get to go to sunny Visalia, CA one weekend in October. <read sarcasm> But then there is Phoenix, where my dashing husband will display his talents at his company's big blowout event. A friend is getting married in Santiago, Chile and given the earthquakes and flooding, I'm fairly certain that will be anything but dull. We return for State Cup Championships and San Francisco Ski Balls just long enough to pack for Mexico before Thanksgiving, San Diego for Thanksgiving and a Premier level tournament and before you know it, I'm back in Park City giving a lecture to a bunch of basketball players, with my OTHER best friend from High School.
So much life ahead. My depression fades away nicely and I am back to being myself. Next stop: Retail Therapy!
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