hollynewton09

Letter to our youth

Please keep your head high while your heart is low. Your spirit — stirring, broken. I understand what it’s like to mend pieces back together again.To make something Whole. I know it has been hard to see what you’re seeing. Hearing — Feeling. The hate. Grief, anger, confusion, violence, fear, death — outside. I can imagine what is going on… inside.

You my dears are the Golden Thread. It may not feel this way, but there is a reason for your Being. Here. Now. I don’t want to tell you these moments will make you stronger. Maybe not at first — The World needs a new perception of strength. As you sew this New Earth — with your Love. Vision. Action. Kindness. As we unthread. Because, what we created is losing Life — Breath.

You are here to ask the questions. How did we get to where we are? Why? And what do I imagine? It will not be easy, but you were made for this, even in all your broken houses — the talking heads. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you are about to Become. Transform. YOU ARE The MEDICINE. It will take time. Rest when you need to. Take a day off school.(yes, homeschool) Take care of your Self. And please, see the beauty still. Tell the world your truth — call out that which doesn’t sit, right and left. Continue to un-label this life. This or that. Invite everyone to take a seat at your table.

Walk with your head high even when your heart is low.

From August

I sit here in the high Desert of Northern New Mexico. It is August, this I know. Three days after a Full moon in Aquarius, a pandemic and revolution wage on. A divisiveness seeps into American Culture like no other. Today I feel the emotion rage; like the marvelous storm I had pleasure to bear witness to, only days ago. I want to smash my coffee cup against the adobe wall. Let the brown water dissolve this divide, creating a new story, on the smooth mud surface. I’ve lately come to recognize that it’s not about getting it together. That a flying cup across the room, may just be the bridge to freedom. Being cracked wide open as the desert just did, after her perfect storm. A symphony that happens once in 20 years leaving deep grooves, splitting the desert floor wide open; new channels in the making, like the shape of my throat that longs to release her song. To share. Exhale. And clear the tears from her heart that have lived there, hers and theirs for so long. Strong and Dignified, the newly formed cracks say today, “I have you.” May you speak, in all shapes and forms so that others may surrender to the mystery. The wildness. The power. The magic medicine of a desert flower and perfect storm. ⁣

Knowledge

My best knowledge has come from being in the world. From my patients the past twenty years. From community, villages, cities other than the one I was born. Beyond the walls of North America and within. However, mostly from “outsiders.”

I’ve been educated by children. Yes, children. Ironically, I feel the West needs to grow up. I’ve been nourished by different colors, points of view; families full and rich with love. Ritual. My schooling came beyond states of emergency and from facing my own fears. Lessons mostly arrived from Mother Nature. I’ve learned from others’ dream, sorrows, and overwhelming generosity. Dancing, celebrating, eating together regardless of our complexities. And just because — We are Human. Humans with tremendous capacity for intimacy, respect and joy.

Yes, books are beautiful and bountiful and just plain orgasmic, sometimes. But not a thing has made me more FULL and knowing than direct communion with that, that I AM. And sometimes that is an old gas station for yours and my, viewing pleasure.

Resuscitation -Take I-

In these most unprecedented times, the public has been swarmed with a range of portraits/narratives into a medical system that has been quite frankly, working in the closet for years. I don’t think there’s ever been a moment where we’ve had more of a closeup, inside the walls of our hospitals. This closeup though, needs further attention. First and foremost, may we observe lightly as well as think deeply and more objectively into the lens we are viewing from outside the walls. Things are never as what they appear to be….we know this. We live in such a time of glossy and or fake news/entertainment, agenda driven squares and quite frankly, an ever evolving lack of self authority and responsibility.

In order for us to transcend — renew a sense of responsibility in our Care systems, I think we must begin to storytell. We need stories from deep within the hearts of medical providers. We need the tragic and the beautiful. The moments we have been touched by our patients, when we have learned something from them, and moments we’ve realized, mistakes were made. We need the stories of birth and of death and how we can accommodate both transitions better. We need to hear humans over machines; hearts over minds, at times and the stories that are impacting our environment as well as the health of the providers/patients within these walls.

Recently, I have listened to many perplexed and anxious medical minds and bodies on the forefront. And we perhaps, have an even more bewildered and scared mass of bodies waiting outside, to be seen by these insides. My hope is we resuscitate a culture that’s too often boot straps and boxing gloves. That we become alive and healthy again through truths, stories and broader perspectives of what it means to be a human in health care. The good, bad and the ugly. Hey, and if you want to do a dance at times, dance. I guess just looking into the intention, within that celebration. Because remember, the outside is always looking in, fortunately and unfortunately with a more scrutinous eye. At the end of the day may we all be Ambassadors for something larger than ourselves.

Nurse Me

Well here it goes. The Nurse me. If we want to speak of “battles” then I have a battle wound or two. These wounds are more akin to tears(holes, breaks) in my heart. It’s ironic, as my inner compass showed me Medicine for a reason. But it appeared to me,(through my body/my health)in almost my 20th year of service that the way of the West, the way of New York; powering through, the way of metrics, evaluation, speed, waste, and profits no longer met my inner standards/values of what Medicine means to me. In my heart.

I worked and pushed through a lot of disempowerment in my hospital days. The only thing bringing me back from these edges was not a boss that says “If people aren’t happy, they can leave.” It was the immense humility to connect and be present, make more comfortable, to see; to see another through a most vulnerable time. Through the gifts of what medicine, at its roots, also entails. Yet these gifts, and I will name them, are the Femine values and virtues/the intangible/the unmeasurable,unquantifiable parts to the whole, that often go unrecognized. It is the gift of selflessness; as a human being on their deathbed that says. “Give a piece of me to another, please,” and they donate an organ. It is the Nurse that shows up to work countless hours to send money home to their families. It is the Caretaker that comes to work sick, because there lies in these systems, lots of trickery, guilt and shame. It is a system that, in the current conditions, looks so unified on the outside. But the truth is, it’s broken.

This is not meant to drag the current resilience, bravery and light by which we view the Health Care system off the stage. I only write this to cast some shade…because there’s always a shadow. I admit, I felt betrayed as I walked out of the locker room after eight years of service to a place I brought heart, soul, light and wisdom to. But I am also so proud of who I’ve become in the process. I know that we each are our own Medicine following our own heart’s Lub,Dub. And I was definitely one, to march to the beat of my own drum, always. I guess I no longer felt part of the beat.

Loss and Light

I wept for all the loss tonight.

And all those hearts,

Thirsty, to make sense of it all.

It started to rain then, cool drops

Falling, on warm desert sand.

One seemingly dark cloud,

Hugging, my mud brick shelter.

I beheld the sun’s descent

Surrendering, to the mouth

Of mountains, like paintings.

A bird with grey wings,

Perched on a juniper;

In her company,

We witnessed an ascent of angels.

I will be intimate tonight,

With both loss and light.

Are We Really at War?

With much respect for those on the health care lines, always, including the patients, I bow to you. I also want to take a moment and express my concern around the “war” language blooming in these deeply strange and ambivalent times. To go to “war” on something that “doesn’t want to fight with you,” is a narrative, after deep thought, that I’d like to see retire. – The Saving lives as a Battle – The War on Drugs – The War on Poverty- When we use terminology such as battle, fight, kill what are we communicating to the layperson? To the sick? To the vulnerable? To ourselves? Do we call it a “fight,” to perhaps soothe our very own fear of mortality, stroke our egos; ease our pains?

Our health isn’t an absence of illness whether acute or chronic. It’s neither an absence of virus, trauma, tumors, infection or mental affliction. These pieces, either one or/and the other that may visit us one day or already do, are parts of our WHOLE health. Just as poverty and drug addiction are pieces and reflections of a society and its health at large. We don’t need to battle it. We need to understand it from a holistic lens; to view the bigger canvas. We need to treat a human being undergoing surgery, as a whole being, not as parts to a car. Even treatment from a microscopic realm includes vast geography. These parts of me , you, society are not intentionally trying to battle us. So why wage a war?

I ask, “Is there an alternative expression for War?” I don’t know, but I think it’s time to grow out of hostile acts, upon the Other and most importantly, our Selves.

Are We Human Or Are We Heroes?

The collaboration and solidarity I and we have been observing in these times, is a powerful testament to the impact Medicine and our Health Care system has on our communities and individuals. I do however question many responses, mainly from a humanistic perspective. I am curious about this very virus and what will soon be revealed, or not. More recently, I’m perplexed with the “hero” archetype. My concern with heroes, especially in medicine is, “Who are we when we don’t save the day?” Save a life. Make a mistake. Die on the line or for that matter, commit suicide. And the latter is not a new scenario as, “Doctors are far more likely than the general population to die by suicide.” (NPR.org 2018)

Pursuing the art of medicine to be another’s hero never sat well with me. Have I been a participant in the betterment of one’s illness, acute or chronic? Yes. A guide, so to speak, that has used her knowledge and skills to the best of her abilities, or so I can only hope? Yes. Have I educated, hung treatments, lead codes, witnessed miracles such as birth and passages of death? Yes. Have I felt a surge of energy and enthusiasm around a crisis? Yes. Have I felt proud? Yes. More potently however, I have been humbled. Humbled by the bravery of my patients and their loved ones. To go to a hospital in need of help is a bold and vulnerable act. Likewise, to be in service to those in need requires courage and vulnerability. This relationship involves a great deal of trust. And on occasion, the recipient of our best care doesn’t make it to see another day.

I have been both witness to and in the patient role in my days. I request no one be my Hero, only to use their scientific minds wisely and with flexibility. To listen. To hear and see not only with their heads. To apply the principles of Hippocrates and to perhaps reflect on a new Health Care Ethos. A humane ethos that has not only patient’s wellness at heart but providers as well. A slowing down versus powering through. A dismantling of Saintly Doctors and one of the most recent(disturbing) narratives, “Murderous” Nurses. I end with the question. Are we Human or are we Heroes? Perhaps we tend to our own personal Hero’s journey, as we unknot our capes and sit at the bedside; taking a glimpse at the insurmountable beauty and mystery before us. Another Human. Another You.

Nurses Week

What are my thoughts on this Nurses Week, 8 months after retiring(for now) my mask and OR Bouffant? Welp, I will first say how sad, exhausted, and yet exhilarated I felt, leaving the so called “prestigious” institution I worked with(in hindsight, FOR) for eight years of my journey. I kissed the OR floor on my last day//The amount of humility and grace I experienced in service (side note: I was never a hero and in my humble and honest reflection around heroism– something doesn’t fundamentally sit right about an aim to be another’s hero) to the brave/vulnerable souls that entered our hospital doors in need of medicine, of care and compassion, need of surgery, of recovery, of trust, to have their voices heard; unfortunately the later being Co-Opted with our diverted attention, the fast, faster faster and more, more more movement of Health Care. And what we are witnessing currently among all the bravado and accolades, is not only the stifling of patient voices(as many are too fearful to show up in the hospital now) but those voices of our very own Health Care providers. Yes, it is true, our humans of medicine, especially nurses; speaking up against injustices has its price. (And this is not new)

My second thought around this week is the gut feeling there is so much PTSD about to surface and many inside the sterile walls perhaps already displaying symptoms without realizing it. Our hospital systems, for the most part, are not and have not been designed to be in service to those in the arena of Care, ie counseling, education, mental health and grievance support and as we presently bare witness to–Protection and Safety. Providers, like patients have become another number/another body. And after tagging and bagging those so called bodies, it’s “Back to work.” Even if you’ve just been to you very own family funeral. With so much more to say, I end this piece with my expression of love for all the Medicine Women and Medicine Men I am fortunate to know. Those that show up to work not looking for freebies and thank you’s as much as they are looking to be recognized as HUMAN.

The Salve

Yesterday I felt a grief down in my bones. A feeling, like something is missing. Something that can’t be reached through a screen. Even beauty or God, for that matter. That feeling; it’s more of a salve than a prescription. It’s a connection. My skin resting in a hug. Hand holding hand. It’s checking vitals. Not with a cold device between your heart and mine. Rather vitals as, “what is vital to you dear human?”

It is warm sand again, between my toes. Sharing a gin in a small back room where all mouths are poets’ mouths. It is the company of a healer not just my own healing company. The company of little ones, old ones and even homeless ones. There was this one man in silver rings, wearing black, always. Summer and winter under the scaffolding on Howard Street, our eyes would meet. We would bow our heads in honor. I wonder how he’s doing presently…as he is God too. Also beauty.

That feeling; that salve I so viscerally want to taste. It is Humanness. The sweet and sacred collective. The community. The planet, yours and theirs. May we be brought home soon dear ones, minus the masks we once(and always) wore.