Monday, January 9, 2017

As time stood still in the shadows
of the profoundness of the day
The core of my insidious soul
Silently screamed out with abandon to repay

Yet my soundless, inexpressible weeping
Of misconstrued recourse 
Could not be properly deciphered as authenticity 
Resulting in blurred discourse 

My heart is full of genuineness and empathy 
But often misperceived and misrepresented.
Being misunderstood is now customary
As my intent is regularly misrepresented.

Desire to reveal this infallibility presses my anguished spirit
To roar so deafeningly loud
So to exonerate the falsification of my character 
To be freed from under this colorless cloud

To be released from the looks of disgust 
Liberated from the eye rolls and cumbersome sighs
To be believed is my one true wish
Disinprisoned from this deception of fabricated disguise 

To be known as outgoing yet cautious 
Rambunctious yet refrained 
Noticed that I am gratified yet grateful
That I am scrappy yet restrained

To be found uniquely fascinating and especially silly
to know that I have a curious courage and peculiar persistence 
Appreciated for my resolute loyalty and faithful forgiveness 
To learn about my certain creativeness and bat crazy brilliance 

As time stood still in the shadows 
Of the profoundness of the day 
The supplication of my languished soul
Verbalized it's intense inclination it needed to say.

Michelle "Scrappy Girl"
1/6/17

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Looney-Goonie

The choice i had made
Was quite so strange
So i focused on how
How i might make a change

I sat there alone
I sat there, just me
Only to realize
I wanted to be free

Too peculiar to decide
Too ridiculous to view
But seriously needing
Something fun to do

But all i did was to
Think
Think
Think
And that wasn't helping not
One little bit

And then something clicked
Like an epiphany of rocks
That hit my head
I required socks!

My toes were curiously numb
My feet abnormally cold
How could i leave with empty shoes?
Oh how that would be bold!

So i went to my room
And dug through my drawer
Oh yes, there they are
Camo socks. Score!!!

So my choice formally perplexing
Now seemed so elementary
Once i deciphered my choice
It was remarkably complementary

So next time you feel anxious or blue
Just sit down, only you
Think a lot, and right on que
You may find your answer or a clue!

12-12-15
Boredom break

Sunday, November 22, 2015

"Not Just": A poem to burned out nurses

Not Just

I am not just your patient
I am a person too
Fake nods of your head
Makes me feel unworthy of you

Sometimes your tone says that
My thoughts are mostly meaningless
Then I ponder why I share
As they are regarded as pointless

As a patient I often feel helpless
Your snarky remarks indicate I am inadequate when what I really require
Is an authentic advocate

Your "yes, honey"s as you walk away
Along with the exasperation in your voice
Show me my words are a nuisance
And my verbal expressions are just noise

Dependence on someone else for healthcare
Is often difficult for me
Consequently being labeled as uncooperative  and non-compliant
So without any predilection,  thats who you will always see

I am not just a patient
I am a person too
I am not who you think i am
If you only knew

Friday, November 7, 2014

A Patient's Perspective

A Patient’s Perspective

Introduction
I am writing this in “blog” type format to help effectively communicate how one patient saw things from “the other side,” during a 4 day admission in November and an 8 day admission in September to Good Samaritan Medical Center Unit 2C. I will be writing both negative (complaints) and positive (compliments) perceptions about incidents, level of care and those who went above and beyond their call of duty. I think that in writing my perspective about all these people I am learning that respect goes a long way – on behalf of the patient to nurse/doctor and the nurse/doctor to patient.
Chapter One: Mary B
Chapter Two: Amy
                                                Chapter  Three: Karen
Chapter 4: Carolyn
Chapter 5: Charlene
Chapter 6: Maggie
Chapter 7: Sam
Chapter 8: Dr. P
Chapter 9: Julianne
Chapter 10: Dr.K

A Patient’s Perspective #1:
2C Mary B:          Sneaky, impatient, manipulative, capable, competent, experienced, untrustworthy, poor-judgment, lack of insight or refusal to try, condescending, provided only adequate care, accessible, indifferent, unhappy.

It was a Tuesday, it was my birthday, Mary B was assigned to be my first shift nurse. I had only slept one stinking hour when suddenly Mary, a couple of lab people to draw blood and the nursing assistant were all in my room demanding something from me. I need to stick you again for blood even though we were here two hours ago…I need to get your blood sugar and vitals right now!....You need to wake up…you need to eat….you need to take your medications…etc…. I truly have ADHD and this was just too overwhelming at such an early hour for me. I am not exactly a morning person either. Everyone got aggravated with my slow response time and I ended up completely shutting down and no one got what they wanted from me at that particular time. 
I cried intermittently during her whole shift, yet not once did she ask me why. Throughout the morning, (after taking my adhd meds and drinking coffee), I calmed down and was able to focus and everyone eventually got what they needed from me. 
Even though I woke up cranky, I thought I was respectful to her. I thought she didn’t have a problem with me. I thought wrong!  I found out what she really thought of me and her opinion of the shift and my actions during it, when she gave report to my 2nd shift nurse, right outside my door. FYI: I am not old, stupid or deaf! She must have forgot.
I found her unprofessionalism surprising coming from such an experienced, competent, adequate nurse whom is capable of extraordinary care (that I didn’t receive). What she told and how she gave report was astoundingly beguiling and remarkably misleading as she decidedly exaggerated the course of the day and her interpretation of my behavior. I found her mendacious words very hurtful. I got quite upset. My heart stung as I was dismayed that my next nurse was getting such a misconstrued picture of me. I felt dejected, humiliated, disappointed and alone. I will never be able to trust her again.


From a Patient’s Perspective: Report should be given in private. Nurses should stick to facts and not pass-along opinions.


A Patient’s Perspective #2:
2C Amy:               Patient, professional, understanding, respectful, attentive, dedicated, supportive, newcomer, learning, genuine, smart, empathetic, thoughtful, calm,  perceptive.

Amy was my first nurse upon my 2nd admission in November. She was new to the hospital/unit and she didn’t know me or anything about my September admission. She was a clean slate for me. I asked her if she drew the short straw when it came to my admission, she didn’t understand my comment and that was a good thing. Aside from my sugar crashing several times that night, it was uneventful and my behavior stayed under control. She had no reason to believe I was a difficult patient. Two things about Amy stood out for me.
The first thing that I observed was that it was not below her to ask for help. I really respected that. My health problems were complicated and unique and she would request assistance or a second opinion. I liked that about her. She knew her limitations and scope of experience and instead of being arrogant and undertaking something that could have harmed me, she unpretentiously let a more experienced nurse (Karen) take care of my pressing needs, who also knew me and my medical history.  Even though Amy was a “rookie” to the hospital, I was never afraid to have her as my nurse because I ascertained that she would ask for support if needed.
The second thing that captured my attention was her compassion. She was perceptive enough the 2nd night to notice that I was miserably quiet and repetitively attempting to avoid her. She asked me what was weighing so heavily on my mind and I told her that I had overheard report given outside my door. She immediately understood distress.  I expressed my thoughts and feelings about it and she agreed with me. I told her that she spoke quietly and I did not hear her response. She said she didn’t really respond to Mary’s complaints and was a bit confused as Mary was describing a different patient that Amy had met the night before.  So Amy ASKED me about each accusation Mary alleged and after illuminating her on what happened and what I was thinking and feeling during the shift Amy found my explanations more logical than Mary’s opinions and she didn’t hold anything Mary said against me.  Mary B never asked me the question “why?”, so it felt edifying when Amy showed that she was curious about my situation and cared that I was upset it. After talking to Amy and straightening out the misconceived report I was able to let that go and not stress or be anxious about it again

From a Patient’s Perspective: Just asking a patient what is upsetting them makes all the difference in the world.







A Patient’s Perspective #3:
2C Karen:             Competent, knowledgeable, smart, respectful, kind, strict, direct, funny, friendly,
                         compassionate, attentive, insightful, practical, logical, resourceful, selfless, dedicated.

I am not easily impressed. It takes a lot. But what does impress me is when I can easily recognize (and appreciate) unsolicited acts of kindness. Karen has managed to impress me on more than one occasion and if you knew me – you would know – that says a lot! On November 4th (my birthday), if I was having an issue, whether blood pressure, blood sugar, medication, behavioral, or blown IVs – she was right there for me. Oh – did I mention she wasn’t even my assigned nurse that night? Not only did she have her own patients to take care of, she made sure I was taken care of too. I was having a particularly emotional day and after 3 blown IVs, countless blood sugar finger pricks, 2 unsuccessful blood draws, 7 successful blood draws and FIVE unsuccessful IV attempts (those hurt btw) in less than the 30 hours I had been at Good Sam, I was wearing very thin. My arms, hands and fingers were swollen, battered and bruised.  So when that last (3rd) vein blew, I just broke down. Karen took the extra effort and compassionately and successfully picked up my broken soul. And because of the looming shift change – she could have easily passed me off to the next shift, but she didn’t. She took care of her own patients first and then, as promised, she came back to me. She took my invisible, hiding, virtually nonexistent veins as a challenge – despite the IV Specialists proclamation that I had no more places for an IV and he took my LAST viable one.  But Karen used her relentless determination, experience, and intelligence and found a tiny little thumb vein.  I was skeptical at first, but the outcome = success! J The woman is brilliant. She wrapped, braced, and taped the IV so that it would feel comfortable for me without me bending or pulling at it, essentially eliminating and definitely significantly reducing the chance of me accidently damaging the line (on a side note – this thumb iv of hers – lasted until I was discharged 3 days later). Before giving report she attended to all my blown and swollen veins. THEN not only did she make sure all my physical and medical needs were met, on her way out the door as she was going home for the night, she stopped at my door to say good night, making sure I was ok. Amazing. Not many nurses would even think to check on me after their grueling, challenging shift was over, never mind actually taking the time, that extra minute and a half to stop and say “Good night – see you tomorrow!”


From a Patient’s Perspective: Nurses like Karen deserve recognition and a raise!




A Patient’s Perspective #4:
2C Carolyn:         Awesome, nurturing, protective, caring, patient, witty, amicable, dedicated, hard-working, genuine, funny, amusing, perceptive, insightful

3rd shift is especially difficult for me. Hospitals at night are creepily quiet enough that you can hear all sorts of strange and unfamiliar noises and I can’t seem to filter out any of them. I hear them all! I also have trouble sleeping at night – probably because I have been in a hospital bed resting all day (not a normal activity for me) so even after taking medications for sleep, I am not even close to falling asleep, regardless of how tired I get.  I just toss and turn to no avail.  And in this eerie stillness you call 3rd shift, it sometimes gets a little lonely and I get a little anxious as the hours of darkness seem to tick ever so slowly.
Carolyn, for three out of the four nights I was admitted, had enough insight to recognize my plight and the willingness (that is key) to do something about it. So instead of standing in the hallway or sitting behind the nurses station to do whatever nurses do – she would bring her computer into my room to do her work so that I didn’t have to be alone. She would listen to my endless chatter (really listened because she would remember what I said that next night – quoting me nearly word for word :-0) or would just be there so I could rest. 
The first night I was there, I was very restless and worried about my blood sugars dropping too low. She selflessly took her break in my room! I felt special (in a good way). Carolyn makes me feel safe. I can’t say that about too many people. I can acknowledge that I was extremely fortunate to have her as my 3rd shift nurse my first 3 nights. 3rd shift nurses, anywhere, who possess awesomeness like Carolyn are rare.
From a Patient’s Perspective: Just a little extra attention goes a long way. 3rd shift needs more people like Carolyn who realize just because it is dark out and most patients are sleeping, there are some of us that still benefit from a little extra time spent with a caring nurse who can ease a lot of night time anxiety.


A Patient’s Perspective #5:
2C Charlene:      Mean, neglectful, holds grudges, judgmental, sanctimonious, emotional, inattentive, uncaring, inconsiderate.

3rd shift is especially difficult for me, and I think more so now, after having Charlene as my nurse. Charlene was the one that actually was my first nurse when I was admitted in the wee hours of the shadowy morning during my September admission, and I thought she was very nice at that time. She was pleasant and accommodating, and when my sugars surprisingly crashed to 22 (as I seemed to be fully alert) she promptly took care of the problem without panic and helped me raise my blood sugars back to the normal range. But that was before she discovered from rumors or distant observation that I was a “difficult patient.”
Six days later I was having a restless evening and a particular difficult time. The assistant was giving me a hard time and we had a small altercation as Charlene was coming on to the shift. Maggie was my 2nd shift nurse and we talked about who was coming on to 3rd shift and I even had REQUESTED Charlene, as she was good to me that first night. I had been waiting until 3rd shift to take my last sleep med (it makes me faint if I get up during the night so I wait until the last minute to take it). With the assistant, Kayla, stressing me out, I also asked for an Ativan to calm me down, Maggie came over to me and said that she couldn’t give me the Ativan because the shift had changed but she said she would pass my medication requests to Charlene and after report I would get them, so she asked me if I could wait until 11:20ish for my meds, and I said that yes I could wait. I went back into my room and waited. And waited. And waited. I also felt asthmatic and needed her to call respiratory to come up to give me a breathing treatment. She came into the room around 12:15ish and took my roommate and quickly and clandestinely moved her to another room. I was confused on what was going on and when I asked her why my roommate was moving she never answered me. I never had the chance to ask her for my meds and tell her I was struggling to breathe. I THOUGHT after moving my roommate for unknown reasons, she was going to come back and give me my medications. She did not. I was beginning to panic. I felt scared, disheartened, abandoned and alone as I clutched to my pillow.  It was getting undeniably late. I got noticeably distressed and despondent. I pressed the red button at least 5 times between 11:30 and 12:45 but nobody came, I was rejected by the whole staff. 
I finally called respiratory myself. Apparently this is not common practice. Usually professionally competent nurses call for the patients because they are cognizant that the person under their care is in need of medical assistance. I was quite distraught by the time respiratory came up; I told him that I had been submissively waiting for Charlene all night! He didn’t even have to listen to my lungs as he could hear the wheezing in my voice as I spoke to him. Nevertheless he did listen to my lungs and couldn’t hear any air moving in my lower lungs. He asked me why I waited so long; that I should have had a breathing treatment hours before. I told him I had been anticipating my nurse’s presence since shift change, but she never came. This considerably pissed off the respiratory guy. After giving me my breathing treatment he expressed his distress to my neglectful nurse and told her I needed that treatment sooner and that I was waiting on my meds and that no one was answering my call button. She FINALLY came in with my medications at 1:25am but only because there was a witness. I honestly believe she would have NEVER come in to my room if he hadn’t conveyed his concerns. When I asked her why she hadn’t come in to give me my meds she said that it was because I was acting up earlier and I didn’t deserve any attention. After giving me my meds she never came back that night. About 45 minutes later as I was falling asleep my heart starting racing, Kayla actually answered my call light and took my vitals. My blood pressure was ok but I was running a low grade temp and my heart rate was 153! Earlier that night I had two EKGS so I was concerned about my heart rate being so high. Kayla told Charlene, but Charlene never reported it to the doctor nor did she pass it along in report. Nor was Kayla allowed to check my vitals again that night. During my November admission, every evening I begged my second shift nurse NOT to let Charlene have me again. I was afraid, and pretty confident that she would still be holding onto that grudge. I was fearful that if something happened during the night, I wouldn’t get any help. Again.

From a Patient’s Perspective: Nurses need to take care of ALL their patients regardless of if they like them or not. Nurses like Charlene should be fired.


A Patient’s Perspective #6:
2C Maggie:          Passionate, patient, productive, professional, funny, understanding, respectful, informative, dedicated, thorough, reliable, supportive, genuine, advocator.

This is my second stint and adventure to 2C in the past 3 months. Maggie was not one of my assigned nurses this last November admission, however, when I was admitted in September she was my 2nd shift nurse on many occasions. During my admission in September, while waiting on my sugars to stabilize and awaiting results from testing, my behavior was – let’s say – less than acceptable. I was a difficult patient and a patient having a difficult time. Security was called on me 4 times and most nurses did not want to take me on.  And on one occasion, a nurse, Marie, got so flustered with me that she literally quit taking care of me. She left my room and never returned. So Maggie (and Karen) stepped up to the plate and took me on. When people engage in acts of kindness when they don’t have to – it leaves a lasting impression on me. Not only did Maggie “just” take care of my medical needs, she did it with unprecedented kindheartedness and thoughtfulness. I instantly liked her.
Maggie often wears her heart on her sleeve. I’ve seen it. It is an exceptionally marvelous, compassionate heart.  When others were getting ruffled and frustrated with me because they couldn’t or wouldn’t understand me or what I needed, Maggie treated me with respect, listened to my words, saw my true heart and always, always walked into my room with a smile. I am not exactly sure how she did it, but Maggie tamed me. She kept me under control. My behavior improved on her shifts, though not perfect, I was at the very least copacetic. The longer I was there, the more restless I grew and my need to wander became harder to control so we had an agreement that I could walk around and leave my room but I had to at least stay in her peripheral view and never leave the unit. This seemed to work for us.
A particular issue arose with my first discharge date, where the doctor had left and I had a myriad of questions revolving my discharge plans. Maggie called the doctor and she let me talk to him on the phone but that just made things worse for me. I was still nervous about leaving without a plan. With much trepidation I began to pack waiting for Maggie to return with my discharge papers to sign. Then Maggie, an angel of God that night, came back in, and unbeknownst to me had been advocating for me all the while I was stressing out. My discharge was ultimately postponed, and I was assigned a new doctor with promises of him meeting with me the next day to discuss my discharge and figuring out a plan together. My tense muscles suddenly relaxed. I was so overwhelmed by Maggie’s genuine concern and care for me that I (this hardly ever happens) I was rendered speechless. She let me hug her.  I ended up staying 3 more nights while having tests done and Maggie never wavered in her reverential approach and if she ever got exasperated with me or my actions, she never showed it.
I honestly felt and still feel that Maggie sincerely likes me, but not just as a patient but as a person, an individual. She could always make me smile and if I started pushing boundaries with my behavior, she would gently, patiently, compassionately redirect me and I always accepted her redirection because I genuinely like and respect her.


From a Patient’s Perspective: Other nurses should model Maggie’s approach in dealing with difficult patients.



A Patient’s Perspective #7:
2C/B Float Sam:                Calm, intelligent, motivated, observant, kind, sensitive, curious, courteous, gentle, insightful, bright, attentive, determined, resourceful, efficacious, good listener, considerate, respectful.

After waking up to pandemonium the previous day, my 2nd morning I was pleasantly surprised to wake up to a ray of sunshine. My nurse was calm and never demanded anything from me. I was automatically cooperative and compliant with anything she asked. She kept me composed. Not once did I cry on her shift. She made sure all my needs were met by the disinterested, medically useless doctor I had acquired. I am telling you – nurses are on the front lines. My doctor had no interest in diagnosing or even having an opinion about my medical status. The doctor had consulted my endocrinologist and she let her call the shots without any data. But Sam made sure I had everything I needed from that doctor for not just her shift but all the others too.
Sam was also a floater. She just had floated over to 2C and seemed to like it there. I am not sure how she was with her other patient’s but she spent quality time with me. When she was in my room, she was focused on my needs, never distracted, never rushed. She quickly learned my preferences and respected them. She figured out I wasn’t a morning person and let me sleep. She knew I thought about everything all the time and let herself be a sounding board for me.  She had my shower ready for me before I asked. She learned that I was going to bed really late and passed on to my 2nd shift nurse to give me my meds early the night before discharge. She would automatically come in with a fresh diet ginger ale (I don’t like warm drinks – but I don’t think I actually told her that) without me asking. Because I had a negative experience with my first shift nurse my first day, I worried about who would be my nurse the next morning, and every day at the end of her shift Sam would say “If they need someone to float over here again, I will definitely volunteer to come back.” To me, that was saying, she got along with the other nurses on the unit, she felt comfortable there AND she wanted to be my nurse again the next day. WANTED TO. If I was such an abominable, pertinacious patient, she wouldn’t have offered to come back 3 days in a row!
I also have this really cool contraption called a CGM (continuous glucose monitor). I wear a transmitter that is connected to a sensor that sits just under my skin, and that transmitter sends this cute little receiver my blood sugar levels from the sensor every 5 minutes. Not one nurse I had knew about CGMs, how they worked etc. Even I hadn’t had the device very long, and was having difficulties with the sensor insertion process. Even though most of my nurses used the CGM as a tool (as I could tell them when my sugars were crashing or if they were remaining stable), they were still all just learning. On November 4th, my day from Hell, not only did my veins shut down or blow up – my sensor fell off me. I was just walking across the room and it fell off. I was too tired to focus on replacing the sensor correctly. But the next morning, Sam, who was intrigued and fascinated with this fun little device, sat down with me, watched the tutorial on my tablet and helped me (it takes two hands and two thumbs and I had an IV in my thumb so this made it impossible for me to do it by myself) insert the sensor. It’s a process. I was impressed by Sam’s willingness to learn something new.  I actually taught her something that day.

From a Patient’s Perspective: Never underestimate the power of a floating nurse. Letting patients teach the nurse something, as Sam did, can be assuredly empowering. Indicating to the patient that they WANT to come back to work with you the next day undeniably will make that patient feel significant.


A Patient’s Perspective #8:
Hospitalist Dr. Prabhakara:           Indifferent, disinterested, medically mediocre, nice, friendly, warm, cordial, unmotivated, limited, unknowledgeable, disadvantageous, forgetful, avoider.

I am fortuitously relieved that my sugars had stopped crashing as low as they had been and were manageable by the “Wednesday Hospitalist Change.”  Reflecting back, I was unbelievably providential to have had Sam, Karen and Carolyn who knew how to take care of me, because if I had any other nurses, the doctor probably wouldn’t have known what to do.  I realize that I could have had a worse doctor, but I also know that I could have had better. This one, was just indifferent. One of the first things she told me was that she had never seen a case like mine, that it was very unique and that she was going to consult with my best-in-the-state endocrinologist, Dr. Patti, from Joslin. I respect the fact she was willing to consult with an outside doctor, however, she let Dr. Patti dictate my course of treatment IN the hospital without seeing any data or talking or examining me. Dr. Patti didn’t know she was my hospitalist too.
After Dr. Prabhakara talked to Dr. Patti, she came in to my room and parroted everything that Dr. Patti told her. She repeated herself several times. I can still repeat exactly word for word what she told me. But then later she could not remember what she told me (probably because they weren’t her thoughts or words).  She was always pleasant and never upset me, but I never felt that she had answered any of my questions any time she left my room.  I got the feeling that not only was she unknowledgeable about post gastric bypass hypoglycemia, she didn’t really want to know. She reflected all my questions with the answer “ask Dr. Patti when you see her Friday.”  But even worse was when I asked her about why my blood pressure was crazy out of whack – she still couldn’t answer – and told me to – wait for it – ask my PCP. Did she not know ANYTHING? I hardly believe that.  What was especially exasperating was that she was more focused on getting me to Joslin because “Dr. Patti made time for you in her busy schedule” to see me, that she disregarded my health, the instability of my sugars and would have discharged me regardless of what my blood sugars were because Dr. Patti was so gracious to give me that appointment. Nobody asked me if I even wanted to drive all the way into Boston on a Friday morning after being in the hospital for 4 days. But my question to her was, what if my blood sugar is 45 on Friday morning? I can’t drive to the appointment then can I? Then what? So instead of figuring out WHY my sugars were so variable and why my labs were so off when I came in so that I don’t end up coming back in a week…she passed me off to someone else.


From a Patient’s Perspective: You can have the best bedside manner, even smiling while talking to your patients but if  there is nothing behind the tender expression but pure indifference…it makes your patient feel very vulnerable and inconsequential.

  
A Patient’s Perspective #9:
2C Social Worker, Julianne:          Professional, respectful, helpful, supportive, perceptive, praiseful, insightful, encouraging, empowering.

Social workers at the hospital have a tough job. They need to know ALL the patients on the unit and have to make sure they have all the services they require in place before they are discharged. The girl has a lot of paperwork and makes a lot of phone calls during the day before she even can spend time with the patients she is finding services for. 
I met Julianne during my September admission when security was called on me 4 times (I only really deserved the call once) and was seen by the hospital psychiatrist, Dr. Redinger, twice. Julianne had her hands full with my constant restlessness and unacceptable behavior and really, she didn’t know what to do with me. My interactions with her were limited but the time she did spend with me were respectfully reassuring.
However, it was my November admission that made me want to write about her, mainly because it was her suggestion and encouragement to write. So it is her fault you are reading this right now. J
During my 2nd admission, I had very few behavioral issues, I was a model patient in comparison to my 1st admission.  One reason was an epiphany of sorts and some very therapeutic advice from my prescribing doctor. Another was that I do well with consistency and being admitted back to the same unit with nurses I already knew, helped. And I also stopped taking a medication that could have aided in my agitation and started a medication that keeps me calm. I even asked the doctor to add a dose so that I stayed calm all day for everyone.  But my attitude had changed and as my treatment toward the staff became more respectful, they reciprocated that respect. It also helped that I had the best nurses most of my 2nd admission.
After about 2 days of being admitted several of the nurses noticed the behavior change and mentioned it to me. Julianne also detected the change. I am not exactly sure how she knew – what she had heard – but the fact she came to me and told me she had heard about and noticed positive changes meant a lot to me.
  It had been suggested that I talk to “the unit manager” Arlene, about what happened with Mary B. I had thought I should write my thoughts down before talking to her. Then because Karen had impressed me so much that same day, I thought maybe I should tell her a compliment with the complaint. THEN my thoughts just flowed off my fingers onto paper, and I started writing. I wrote in detail, about Karen first. I let Julianne read it. She was impressed with my writing and thought writing was therapeutic for me and encouraged me to keep writing. That was around 1pm. I sat in my bed and kept writing and writing and writing until nearly 9pm. This is never happens. I never stay in one spot that long, but by 9pm I had written four patient perspectives.  And Julianne was right, it was therapeutic for me. AND Karen had it easy that night, because I stayed still for so many hours. The next day I wanted Julianne to see the monster she created. I kinda made her read all four. She was a little reluctant seeing that I had written so many pages but the whole time she read my stuff she kept saying “wow” and when she got to the end she was disappointed there wasn’t anymore!!! She told me that she looked forward to reading the end of each person’s page to read my “patient’s perspective.” Julianne complimented my thoughts and writing and again, someone from 2C had empowered me.

From a Patient’s Perspective: Letting a previously difficult patient know that you have observed a positive change in them really does makes the patient feel good. Noticing a patient’s strength then encouraging them to use it can be extremely empowering.

A Patient’s Perspective #10:
Hospitalist Dr. Katavolos:              intelligent, approachable, accessible, accommodating, informative, educated, experienced, thorough, revealing, honest, candid, effective communicator, unpretentious, humble, respectful.
I had the principled privilege of having Dr. Katavolos the last few days of my September admission. He did not, would not, discharge me until I felt like all my questions and ailments were answered. He ran test after test. I have to say, the man is thorough. No rock left unturned. He entertained all my questions as redundant or ridiculous as they may have been. He never indicated impatience with me, never lectured me on reports of my behavior, and he eagerly anticipated my endless lists of questions and comments. He never seemed rushed as I interrogated him day after day while still giving me his valuable time to process all his responses to my insecurities. What impressed me the most is that he responded ALL my uncertainties, until I was convinced, equipped, prepared and just plain ready for discharge. That alone calmed me.  
When I was admitted in November I was eventually assigned to Dr. K again. I only had the opportunity to be under his care for one day before it became “Wednesday Hospitalist Change Day,” and I ended up with a new doctor. But even that one encounter that we had – was enlightening. I had requested, received and read my medical records from my September admission and there were two little inaccuracies in his discharge summary/notes that I wanted to clear up. When I hesitantly approached him with the first one, he happily explained to me, without a condensing note in his confident voice, why he had to record a diagnosis (that he now knows was wrong). He made sense, his explanation seemed reliable. I believed him anyways. THEN he said the unexpected. He said he would go back and CHANGE the diagnosis based on the new information I had given him. Yeah, my mouth is still on the ground. 
The second discrepancy was minor, but was substantially significant to me, and as soon as I started to mention it, he already identified what he wrote as atypical and said “you know – I thought there was something missing from that equation – but I had to base my discharge summary on what your nurse had told me.” After logically explaining to him the REAL situation, he thought what I said made a lot more sense, and he also said he would change that on my medical records too. Amazing. Not only did he remember what he wrote and knew what EXACTLY what I was talking about, he was willing to modify my records not to satisfy or placate me (because I didn’t even ask or expect him to) but for the sake of making things right. My biggest compunction is that I didn’t get to have him as my doctor but only one day during my November admission.

From a Patient’s Perspective: Making sure your patients get the answers they need to ease anxieties can be fantastically enabling in the healing process. Admitting there were mistakes made and then offering to FIX them, like Dr. Katavolos, should be in the doctor’s handbook.









Tuesday, November 26, 2013

The Coat Rack

The Coat Rack

I was made from a special wood the boy found in his junior high shop class. I was made from old church beams that had been cast aside for the children to learn to build things from. Out of all the wood in the shop, my boy chose me. He spent hours and hours and days and days perfecting me. He sanded me down, put a fresh coat of shiny finish on me, added glimmering black metal hooks that he spray painted himself and called me his “Masterpiece.”

He was proud of me since the moment he created me. He claimed coats pile up on dining room chairs and get put away only when dinner guests actually need to sit. They had a coat closet—two, in fact—but after a long day at work or school, no one liked messing with hangers. A pileup of coats and jackets near the front door was never a welcoming sight. His house lacked a proper foyer or entryway, as many do, so finding a spot to store their stuff was a challenge. He told his parents that his Coat Rack was a vital accessory in their home. His family agreed and was delighted with his work and gladly placed me out where everyone could use me the way I was intended.

Each season, each year brought with it is share of memories. Fall was my favorite. Especially since summer was over they needed a focal place to hang their coats and hoodies.  The New England weather was so unpredictable that my new family came to me often, taking down their lightweight coats and sweatshirts as fast as they hung them up. Over the years and seasons, I watched my boy grow from a boys coat into a man size. When winter came, I stood strong with my former church beams and drilled in black hooks. I could take the pressure of the families heavy winter coats, thick snow pants and sometimes upside down snow boots. I withstood the cold and could weather any storm.  Spring allowed me some relief. The lightweight coats, rain jackets and umbrellas served an important role for me. No one in my family ever got wet! Then summer came and sometimes I got lonely. There were a few lone hoodies that rested on my hooks for late night campfires and marshmallow roasting, but I was mostly empty during the summer months, resting up for winter I suppose. I was always glad when fall came back around again.

The boy that so thoughtfully built me, who grew into a man, brought me with him to his new house, with his new family. But one day there was a significant event in the house and I accidently got knocked over and broken into several pieces. The man thought I could be fixed but it was not the right time to repair me so he carefully gathered up all my broken pieces then took me down to his shop in the basement. He cautiously laid all my pieces together to not lose any parts, then went away for what seemed like a long time. I waited in the basement with, a broken bike who needed a new chain, busted Barbie cars, cracked consoles, damaged dinosaurs, mangled match cars, tacky tape, and pulverized picture frames. We all waited and waited for the man to restore us back to our original usefulness.


Just as I thought I was going to gather cobwebs, the man had another plan, because finally the man came to put me back together! As he was humming along to a familiar tune, he mentioned that he had been looking for just the right glue to use that will hold me back together forever. He spent hours and hours and days and days refining me again. He sanded me down, put a fresh coat of shiny finish on me, repainted my glimmering black metal hooks and this time said proudly with love in his eyes, "You've always been my Masterpiece.” When I was refurbished to his satisfaction I was again placed out where everyone could use me for the purpose I was intended and I was an essential part of their home for generations to come. 

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Final goodbyes, airports and a Bulgarian Baba

July 19, 2011: The last few hours in Bulgaria

My day began before the creek of dawn listening to my friend’s alarm clock beep softly but incessantly. As I lay unrested from my sleep, the dread of being on a plane all day loomed above me. I lay motionless not wanting to leave Bulgaria. But the thought of travel was not what was paralyzing me. It was the loss of a group of people that I had come to know and trust, knowing that we all were going our separate ways, back to our separate lives. I had met some of the most intriguing, kind, loving, inspiring people on this journey and I did not want it to end. Life in the last four years had left me worn, suspicious, and distrustful of people, in general. This group of individuals, showed me that not all souls are cold, that there is some good in this world and there are truly some amazing, Godly people with astoundingly benevolent hearts.

As I wearily began to dress and gather my already- packed- the- night- before luggage, tears stung my eyes as I knew I was leaving Bulgaria a changed person. My heart had been opened and a call to serve slowly crept into my innermost thoughts. I had forgotten the pureness of doing things for others, the reward in bringing happiness to someone else, the confidence that came with being obedient to God. But it was easy to serve while on a “mission” trip. That was the purpose of the trip, to serve others. My apprehension lay with what I was to do when I got home. As we were packing the van and heading out to the airport, a twinge of fear shot down my spine as I thought about home. I had to trust that God had a plan and wait until it was revealed. I had to have a kind of patience that I was not used to. Mariah, a team member whose wise words I had often found solace in, told me one day “that’s blind faith, my friend.”

-----------
My itinerary consisted of two flights; one from Sofia to Frankfurt Germany, then the next from Germany to Boston. Most of the team was on the Sofia to Germany flight, which provided me with much comfort. But I was alone on the Germany to Boston flight and I could not hide my anxiety of flying so long and so far completely by myself. Prior to boarding the first flight I vocalized that I was a little nervous about the second flight and coming back through customs. The team reassured me that I was going to be fine and explained to me what happens in customs. Just as I was feeling a little more confident, we were called to board the Germany flight, however, as I was handing my ticket to the flight attendant, I was pulled to the side. Dread dropped to my stomach. Was there something wrong with my passport or my ticket? Did they want me to take another flight? My heart began to flutter. The flight attendant noticed the streak of horror that had come across my face. She put her hands on my shoulder and said in a soft, soothing voice, “Nothing is wrong, don’t worry. But can you do us a favor?” She paused a moment and pointed to an older Bulgarian lady wearing a light pink suit sitting near the gate. “This woman does not speak English and is nervous about finding her connecting flight to Boston. You are on that flight with her; could you help her find her way?”

Now, out of everyone on our team, I knew the least amount of Bulgarian and honestly, I was the least qualified to be taking care of a Bulgarian Baba (Grandmother). The flight attendant spoke to her in Bulgarian to tell her to follow me; to trust me. What were they thinking? I was worried about myself getting to Boston never mind two of us. We sat together on the plane and she was already having difficulty communicating as the flight attendants on the plane only spoke English and German. Tom, a team member, had printed out a sheet of useful phrases that proved very useful to me with my Baba. I had also borrowed a Bulgarian book from Mike, another team member, to write down several travel type words. I was trying ever so hard to communicate with her. I haphazardly asked her as I was pointing, if she wanted Ka-fe with za-har and mlyako (coffee with sugar and milk) and she replied “da” meaning yes. Yay! Success.

After landing in Frankfurt Germany, I soon found out why my Bulgarian Baba was so concerned about reaching the connecting flight to Boston. The airport was very confusing, even for someone who can read the English/German signs. I was thankful I was still with some of my team, as they helped guide the way and made sure I did not lose my Baba. We exited the plane outside, boarded a bus, then walked, and walked, then went up and down escalators, then took a train, then walked some more, then had to go through security all over again, then finally walked to our gates.
My layover was 5 ½ hours, so I stuck with the remaining team members until each of their flights took off. They seemed to think it was funny that I was in charge of my Bulgarian lady, telling me that God’s fingers were all over it. All I could do was roll my eyes. Silly God. After everyone left I still had a few hours before the Boston flight took off. I left my Bulgarian Baba alone, looking at a magazine, to do some shopping and buy some coffee. However, when I came back she was not sitting where I had left her. Oh no! I lost her already! Panic spread through my bones. Where did she go? Maybe she just went to the bathroom. I sat down and waited near where I had left her. As a million and one things were running through my head I noticed a commotion across the room at a nearby gate. It was Baba! She was trying to get on another plane! They were trying to explain to her that was not her flight…they were calling over to our gate seeking support. I jumped up and ran to her, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her to back to our gate. I pointed to the sign that said Boston, hoping she understood that was where she was going. I took her ticket and showed her the time…I kept saying 13:10, ees-hod (gate) 55. Dombre? It was much later that I realized I was telling her the time and numbers in ENGLISH so that was why she looked so puzzled when I kept repeating it to no avail. Ugh.
Finally around 12:25 a nice flight attendant came to get Baba, the rest of the elderly and the hard to board people. But my Baba wouldn’t budge unless I got up to go with her…She kept pointing and motioning for me to come. Finally the airline attendant agreed for me to go with her. My seat was not even close to hers. I found my seat first then caught back up with her to help her find her seat. She gave me a big hug and mumbled something in Bulgarian that sounded something like “see you in Boston.” The flight itself was just brutal for me. It was a daytime flight and it was full of annoying children and crying babies. My seat was also 3 rows behind the front bathroom and nearly everyone that passed my seat bumped into it. I plugged in my headphones to my ipad, took 3mgs of Ativian and drifted in and out of consciousness the whole 8 hours. However, I was fully awake and conscious as the lovely woman beside me puked as we were getting ready to land.

Even though my “job” was to help the Baba to the connecting flight in Germany, I still felt responsible for her. I wanted to make sure she got to her family. I waited and waited and waited for her to get off the plane and when she finally saw me her face lit up. I was glad I waited for her. We walked to customs together, but we had to go in separate lines. I guided her to the blue line, for visitors, as I went in the red line for residents. My line went fairly fast. I wondered how she was going to answer her questions, not being able to speak our language. Security would not let me wait in customs for her, so I waited at the bottom of the escalator for my pink Baba. She finally came down looking disheveled from her long flight and confusing customs line. I said, with my best Bulgarian impersonation “se-po-bo-cha-va ba-gazal” She seemed a little baffled as I had tried to say baggage claim…so I tried again…”koo-for” (suitcase) she said ok in Bulgarian and we were off to baggage claim. While we were waiting for our luggage, a nice, cute drug sniffing dog decides he wants to see what was inside of my carry on. I had to empty the contents of the bag to show the nice officer that I had no drugs or foods in my bag. Ugh. Soon we both had all our things and we were off to find her family. As we entered the waiting area, her grandson ran to her and gave her a big hug. My Bulgarian friend, with my blind assistance, had found her family. I was full of satisfaction and joyful happiness that I had completed my “job” with success. Her grandson thanked me profusely as she was telling him how I helped her. I just smiled, as they did not realize that she had helped me more.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Give this world to Jesus






As I reflect upon this past week, I have an explosion of feelings and emotions that are bursting within me. Before embarking upon this adventure I lived a typical life of work, friends and self gratification, I was breathing but was i alive? Today, i feel a spiritual transformation that is growing inside me that simultaneously brings me joy and sorrow. The orphans of Bulgaria are in my heart, in my soul and it's something that I can't let go.

The morning before heading to Dobrich, the older children's orphanage, I sat on the balcony humbled before God. I randomly opened my bible to Ecclesiastes chapter one, and when I got to the end of the chapter, verse 18, it said "for with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief." I didn't fully understand what this verse was supposed to mean, actually, I thought it sounded like a line from Spiderman.
But as I experienced the week, I began to understand; my eyes were gradually opened to the heartache of being an orphan. As an american, I had become desensitized to suffering. Suffering. I chose to ignore it. I chose to look the other way. I chose to be ignorant. I can no longer ignore it, i am no longer ignorant. I have the wisdom and the knowledge, and I feel much sorrow. The orphans of Bulgaria are in my heart, in my soul and it's something that I can't let go.

I pray that there will be a day, for these children, that there will be no more sorrow, no more pain, no more tears, no more fears. My heart cries for their future. My soul aches for their misfortune. This world is overflowing with poverty, abuse and suffering, all I know to do is to give this world to Jesus. I don't really know where this road is going, and where I am going with this new knowledge, but I know what I am going to put one foot in front of the other and walk through the doors that God opens. The orphans of Bulgaria are in my heart, in my soul and it's something that I can't let go.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Reality Check

The reality of my experiences, here in Bulgaria, are finally setting in. My mind is plagued with thoughts and sentiments as I process through the veracity of how these children live. Why? Why would God let these children live in such conditions? And why did God feel the need to show me? The unfairness of this world is weighing heavily on my heart. From the too good to be true Varna orphanage to the hopelessness for the children of Dobrich to the joy and happiness at Kaspchican I have been able to harness my emotions. Today, however, after walking the dark and dreary hallways of the Shumen baby home my feelings could not be controlled.

As we toured the dilapidated building that smelled of must and lead paint I could not help to notice the lack of color and music. Sadness exuberated from every crevice. How these children yearned for the human touch…I wondered how often they actually received it. As my team followed the nurse, she stopped at each room giving a small explanation of the children; I soon realized that that every child on that wing had a moderate to severe special need. The third window we stopped at left a haunting impression on me. This room contained three small children; one was lying motionless in the corner of the toyless room. Another small boy stood across the room screaming with no regard from staff. But the third child caught my eye then stared at me behind her chilling, emotionless eyes for just a few moments before she began to repeatedly bang her head against the metal slats that protected the glass door to their room. This continued for what seemed like hours as a sense of helplessness washed over me like a giant wave from the Black Sea. Her beautiful, precious face contained bruises from her countless episodes of self-injurious behavior. Her age could not any have been older than three years, but her soul was old and weary. I suspect that she has already spent the majority of her life in the cold, blank world of Shumen orphanage. My eyes began to tear as I attempted to hold back the overwhelming grief i felt for these children.

As I sit and write tonight, I try to sort through my impressions of each orphanage I have visited. I have witnessed hope, despondency, happiness, and bleakness. I pray to God to reveal why I am here and why He has sent me to witness the despair, of the Bul
garian orphans.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Aloneness

I am so exhausted i can not sleep

too many heartaches I've had to keep

In my restless dreams i am alone

my past has made my heart of stone

my cries are silent but my own

turned into screams as they have grown

i am a firefly with no light

staggering and fighting the dark night

Surrounded by strangers, i thought were friends

my independence seems to vanish in the end

This sadness just won't leave me alone

I wish i could go back home

But things just can not remain the same

I have not played life, its game

The world outside is enormously tall

I hide behind a rainbow's wall

I will bear the unsparing pain

As i run against the cold, hard rain

I am so weary i can not sleep

But I promised myself i would not weep!



Michelle Dubois


July 17, 2009

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

A Growing Silence

A Growing Silence

Pouring rain
Pounding a wordless melody

Starving children
Crying a soundless scream

Dying mothers
Fighting a secret surrender

Weary fathers
Carrying a speechless burden

Restless dreams
Following an unspoken hope

Growing silence
Conceding a voiceless acceptance

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


The air was heavy as the sun reflected brightly off the white, canvass tent covered yard. A hint of summer had crawled onto the porch as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of my face. It was Lonny’s wedding day. He sat anxiously on the porch swing, phone to his ear, chatting away about the days events, watching his bride prepare for the big day. I relaxed in the old, country rocking chair wondering if my presence reminded him of my mother. I contemplated if he had second thoughts., or if he wondered what my mother would think or say about his new wife. Would she be happy for him? Would she approve? Would she think Pam was a suitable replacement? Or would she hate Pam? Would she be angry at his choice?


Florence, a middle-aged go getter interrupted my thoughts. I placed my coffee mug on the wooden railing of the porch and ran off to assist in decorating. Twelve tables, 120 chairs, 3 tents, 100 or so pink and purple orchids, and bridal tool everywhere. My sister, so sweet, so innocent was in the middle of it all. Florence, had wrapped some white netting and a pink plastic flower in her hair. Nicole pretended that she was the bride. She practiced walking down the aisle with a wide grin and a spring in her step. She seemed so happy, so content so accepted. She adored Pam and was more than excited to be in the wedding. As I stretched out table cloths, arranged chairs and captured pre-wedding moments on film, I watched Lonny’s new bride-to-be scuttle back and forth between the tents and the house. How unplanned, how unprepared, how chaotic she felt. Her sister, Pat, was by her side calming her nerves, assuring her that things will turn out ok. This, in fact, was Pam’s seventh marriage, her seventh wedding, the seventh person she will promise death do she part. Would she stay by his side that long? Would she love him forever? Her movements were so edged, so purposeful. Her tanned body and sun bleached hair blended into the picturesque Florida backdrop. Her rugged outer appearance camouflaged her fears, broken dreams and insecurities. She seemed to gather strength from Lonny and him from her.


The day pressed on with food deliveries, kegs, grills, daiquiri machines, more food, the hairdresser, and the arrival of the officiator of the ceremony, Lee Alcorn. I had met Mr. Alcorn prior to this day, as he was Nicole’s middle-school special education teacher for 4 years. But this day he came in faded jeans and a loose fitting blue dress shirt. He adorned a brown necklace that matched his weathered sandals. His long dark, curly hair emanated from his head like a dazzling waterfall in the desert. He had finesse, charisma and just enough cowboy in him to hypnotize the woman and lull the men.


As the ceremony began I watched my little sister stroll down the wedding aisle, walking so eloquently on the fresh hay and white rose petals. My eyes began to well up. How mature she looked in her long pink, flowered dress and panty-hose. It did not seem like it had been 17 years since the day she was born. How far she had come in those years, how she had grown into a beautiful young woman. My heart was bursting with pride. My mother would be so proud, if only she could she see her daughter now. When my sister turned to look back at the door I shifted my camera too. Pam flowed from the house that my mother and Lonny had built from scratch. She looked so damn joyful. Lonny stood on the gazebo beaming in his own happiness. I forced my feelings of resentment back down into the crevices of my soul. This was their day, and I was truly happy for them. I would NOT think about my mother. But that was impossible, she was everywhere; in the house, in the yard, in the room where I slept. Over half the people at the wedding I had just seen 17 months prior at my mother’s funeral. Despite my efforts she was still there. I blinked tears away, I refused to cry. I continued to video tape the vows. Mr. Alcorn pressed forward regardless of the audio malfunctions. Lonny and Pam exchanged rings and Nicole prematurely yelled, “Now kiss the bride!” Everyone laughed and Mr. Alcorn simply responded to her with, “we are getting to that, Nicole.” And that they did. They kissed and was pronounced husband and wife as the song, “Married for Money” carried them into the crowd.


The reception was a blur. Frog legs, gator tail, chicken, a hog in a china box, potato salad, chef salad, hot salad, macaroni salad, pasta salad, cole slaw, baked beans and two wedding cakes. I sat with Tom, Alice and Corrine, wonderful people that have stood by Lonny’s side through the good, the bad and the ugly; compellingly intelligent, warm, professional people who I have always respected and admired. I always felt empowered to embrace the world after talking with them. There were so many people there that I had met at some point in my mom’s 16 years of marriage to Lonny. They seemed to remember me if I did not recognize them.


Later that night, after all the guests were gone, I sat under the tent with Pam, Pat and the crickets, reflecting upon the day. Pat and I with a margarita and Pam wither a beer laughed and giggled about life, love and men. After the bugs ran us to the house we broke into an unmolested pie and drove Lonny to their bedroom. Pam, filled with exhaustion, sugar, beer, strawberry daiquiri, and champagne dropped the wedding cake on the floor. We laughed until we nearly peed our pants. The cake was not destroyed, it landed upright in the box, so all was well with the world.


Now it is time for Lonny, Pam and Nicole to move forward, to not constantly look back. It is time for a new tomorrow with new adventures with old friends, to reflect on the good memories, while making new ones. It is time to leave the past, honor the dead, to mend broken hearts and to embrace the future with fervent anticipation. It is time.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Leaves, Pumpkins and Scarecrows…



"I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house.
So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air.”
- Nathaniel Hawthorne


The luxury of living in New England, America’s idyllic region, is that you have the privilege of experiencing four distinct seasons. It is now fall and I am engulfed in nature’s beauty. The cool, crisp air interlaced with the brilliant colorations of the changing leaves adjoined with the acoustic sound of autumn offers an aroma that is simply spectacular.


Despite the fact I grew up in New England I had forgotten how marvelous, festive and cozy fall can be. Even though Georgia eventually experiences fall-like weather and celebrates Halloween, it never seems as if the two were connected. I had missed out on observing the leaves turn from vibrant summer green to subtle flecks of gold to entirely red and orange. I also found it curious that, here in NE, the pumpkins, scarecrows and other seasonal decorations undeniably match nature’s pictorial backdrop. With leaves, pumpkins and scarecrows I have rediscovered my heritage and unearthed an intense emotion of contentment. The picturesque ponds, the falling foliage, the serenity of a waterfall; each scene, suffused with color and light, brought me a moment of private discovery and awakened a sense of home.

Friday, August 1, 2008

PAIN, SWEAT AND PACKING

PAIN, SWEAT AND PACKING

Oh you didn’t know that those three words are synonymous? Well, they are; I know this for a fact…

Sometime this summer I came to a crossroad in my life. I had interviewed for two jobs; one in Massachusetts and one in Clayton County, GA. Despite the lack of confidence in myself and the unyielding doom that had been hovering over me for the past year and a half, I was offered both jobs. Now what was I to do? I had to weigh the pros and cons. The Clayton county job was teaching gifted students, in a school that was over flowing with technology, a higher salary, and opportunities for leadership. It seemed like a perfect fit. The job in Massachusetts would get me out of the classroom, offered a higher hourly salary, and I could use my degree but in a completely innovative and atypical way. This job was different and offered a challenge. But it also would mean I would have to move to Massachusetts. Moving to MA would mean I would be surrounded by family and I would not be alone anymore. Moving to MA would mean I would have to sell my house, and inevitably lose money on it. Moving to MA would mean that would not be teaching. Moving to MA would mean I would have to pack up my whole house. Moving to MA would mean that I would be around family for the holidays. Taking the MA job would mean I would lose health insurance for 3 months…After much prayer and contemplation I irrevocably came to the supposition that I NEEDED to be around my family. I needed a change. I needed a new start. This decision did not come without anguish….


I chose one of the leading realtors in the county; however, she was not the warm and fuzzy type at all. She insisted on continually illuminating me on the dismal amount of home sales in the past twelve months. As informative as she was, my brain was beginning to gyrate with angst at all the minor yet imperative tasks that needed attention BEFORE she would show my house. How was I going to get all that done in just a few days? She had someone that could assist me, but it was going impede upon my diminishing savings account. I thanked God the day she left on vacation.


4 days before my moving day, I was eagerly sorting through my valued possessions and endlessly packing my belongings, when somehow, some way, a book shelf, with a TV on it, came tumbling and crashing down on top of me. I was proud that I had fortuitously sold my 19 inch older-than-dirt TV on e-bay and I did not want to renege on the transaction. So, when I saw my e-bay r
atings fly off the shelf I automatically put my arms out to catch the shelf, the TV, and all its possessions. Needless to say, I consequently ended up jammed under shelf with my arm pinned under the TV, BUT the TV did not smash and shatter like I had envisioned happening. My arm is now black and blue from the middle of my arm to my knuckles, but I still have a 100% positive rating on e-bay!

I always wanted to know the formula for choosing a choosing a moving day. It seems as if each time I have planned to move, I have picked the wrong day. As with this move, the day I picked was defectively
 chosen yet again. This time I picked the hottest day of the year. Not only was I lifting, carrying and moving with a bruised and battered arm, sweat was dripping into my eyes and fogging up my glasses so that I could not see a thing. My friend Michael came down and helped me make a Salvation Army run and to deliver my furniture to another friend. The heat was unbearable, intolerable and quite agonizing to say the least. The next morning I had to give my uncle, a born and raised Yankee, bless his heart, a sweat towel to sponge the perspiration from his brow. Now he copiously understands the term “Georgia heat.”

Because of the immensity of the heat I resolved to wear shorts on moving day. This 
is not a customary practice for me. I was not familiar with this piece of clothing and did not realize that the pockets were not very deep when I placed my beloved red, juke cell phone in my back pocket. During one of my much needed heat breaks I went to the bathroom and as I was peeling my shorts off my sticky, sweaty body my cell phone decided it wanted to cool off and proceeded to jump into the cold, sparkling water of the toilet bowl. What my juke did not realize was that electronics and water are not a very compatible. I am now thanking God for insurance.

Complications, inconveniences and nuisances set aside I feel like I made the proper determination at the crossroad that presented itself this summer. I look forward to fighting with my relatives, the challenges of a new occupation, and meeting my future husband (because he obviously does not live in Georgia). With pain, sweat and packing….my new adventure begins.