md – Medicinal Conversations

Three Texan Women. Three Dogs. And I. One Bathroom.

Two nights ago I sat on the edge of a bathtub, in Oak Cliff TX; (Dallas County) the second stop on my journey to Louisiana from New Mexico. A beautiful white dog with one eye crouched under my legs as three Texan Women and two more dogs took up floor and toilet space. (Not quite socially distanced — but you can probably imagine a Texan bathroom next to a NYC bathroom) The three women and I — A Pisces, Virgo, Leo and Libra (not sure about the dogs’ signs:) were riding out a Tornado. And not just a warning. Something Texans are used to; there was even a siren from downtown Dallas to sound its incoming. Also why do we say “Ride out a storm?” Why not Sit? Crouch? Run? Lol.

So much to say about these women and how they all happened to be/land or live on the current premises and how we gathered in one bathroom that unified us. The gift for me was this: this was my Thanksgiving. Two nights early — minus the food, a table, a familiar face, friends, family. Yet, I made another family, on this stormy night; two of which are now penpals. (I’ll speak on penpals later) Each of the women were around my Mother’s age with the exception of one and all have roughly, the same number of ex husbands.:) Currently all sans Husbands, including myself, as you know.

We spoke of everything under the sun, besides who we voted for. We spoke of my adventures since leaving NYC, fourteen months ago; Egypt really catching their ears. Southern women and their parents, beauty “ideals,” depression, addiction, The Covid 15, (that’s the extra weight) were topics also touched upon. We spoke about Texan old money and Texan new money and the current migration trend around the U.S. of A. We confirmed I must come back for cooking lessons with Claudine, who studied at Paris’s, Le Cordon Bleu at the age of 49. We all agreed, number’s do not matter. But damn, good food does!

To our surprise, it was an hour and a half later when we stood up and exited that lovely bathroom, me returning to my bungalow(airbnb) sans Three Texan women and Three dogs. Just I. What a Day of Thanks.

P.S. The 🌪️ touched down around 15 miles from us.

ONWard — A Travel Nurse(who doesn’t like labels) in the U.S. of A.

Welp, my journey has begun, and part of me wants to turn around and go back to the Mountains. 5 hours on the road today — Got pulled over for going 95 in a 75 about 2.5 hours in.(still in NM) I was so enveloped in a podcast, “This Jungian Life,” with three analysts, discussing dreams followed by the topic, America’s “Wall.” Or is it Trump’s Wall? Oh and I only got a warning. On that speeding thing. Was this White Privilege or a Nurse/Cop thing?? I’m going to answer, “Both.” You’re free to chime in. Also, I really should write in, to this podcast, about some of the dreams I’ve been having…if you haven’t heard.

Speaking of Trump, I’m in Texas now — and apparently the slogan still goes, “Don’t mess with Texas.” Yikes! I will not and I kinda want to — mess with Texas. Though it got dark and I cannot drive so hot after the sun goes down. Anyone else have this problem?? So I went to the supermarket, settled for beer and got the fuck out of there. I just couldn’t. And I don’t really drink beer anymore. The market was like DisneyLand and one of the biggest stores I’ve been in. EVER. Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. A bit. But there are no bits here in Amarillo.

Masks worn inside = 70%. Worn properly = 50%.

Now remember, I’m coming from Ojo Caliente, a population of not even 600 people. Not thousand. Not million. People — Just People. (These past 7 months) Oh, Ojo. I have to remind myself that this journey is not to compare. It is to BE. In witness. In curiosity. To ask, “what does it mean to be you?” Oh and also, to make a paycheck and have thirty five days off in between Nurse contracts, if I so desire. Desire — Cannot forget desire.

Ok, I’ll have a beer along with my Chipotle and chill in my airbnb,(joking, already sipping #2. Travel expenses get reimbursed, btw, so I picked a good one. Who am I kidding, I would pick a good one either way, as the interior/environment is a value of mine. There are lots of plants here and super cool chairs.(I’m into chairs) I’ll wear my already 20 yr old birkenstocks into the ground before compromising on the “home.” What about you? Shoes or chairs?

On Medicine

As I look back, I think I’ve seen one Doctor cry; a Surgeon. Thank the Surgery Gods, I felt more human in his presence; in an industry creating robots out of living, breathing, dying bodies. He was unaware, a thick green curtain separating our hearts, me witnessing his pain/sorrow. I guess the two go hand in scalpel — Pain. Sorrow.

They say in Medicine one must protect oneself; not just with masks, gloves, and gowns and things. There’s a different kind of armour, invisible to the naked and goggled eyes. Doesn’t cost a thing and is actually made, right here in America. It’s a shell. Like a turtle wears. We go there when we’re blue, when we’ve lost a patient, can’t save a patient, look in the eyes of our patient, with news we feel unfair to tell. And perhaps we’re pressed for time. In and out. Right? A timer on our tool belt says, the Practitioner has 15 minutes. And what about time? Especially, the time your patient(though I think they’re called clients now) thought he/she still had. The I love you’s. The changing of winter to spring and summer to fall. All things beautiful, funny and sad — Things time cannot tell.

Maybe we also go inside this shell, well, when we’re ashamed — We didn’t have the time and space to sit with that person. Whether colleague, friend, or patient. We go there, to have a bottle of beer or two. To numb out. Forget all things messy. After all, we wouldn’t want the public, a so-called superior, or a client to find, we’re sometimes messy.

On the contrary. Medicine. It’s messy. Messy as hell.

And while we’re on contraries; those shells, they do come at cost. I think they come at a cost of sharing our human-ness. The mess in the human. The something other than our pride and influence we boast to tell. It’s a deeper thing, inside that shell. Filled with other stories, we don’t dare to share. Less palatable. More Human.

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.

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.