medicine – Medicinal Conversations

Current mood

We think we’re gaining health…when we lost the health a long time ago. Just had a chat with my friend in South Africa; around all things weird, currently. It does not matter if you’re here or there – our world is going through a transformation. Most of us blindly unaware however, to the madness. The Control. The power. The wealth transfer. The poverty. And yes, to the dying. The later, I’d say we were never good with – I speak from a person in the Modern Health system – but does not get labeled by it. I know that letters beside my name, mean shit. The place I work means shit. As in, one is neither better than the other. We are alluded into thinking; if I work for this company or that…then, well then, it’s going to get me somewhere or somehow I will be a better person. This is communal narcissism.

I fully recognize my place in the industry, as a Nurse, is one of practical purposes, momentarily, and truly why I joined forces many moons ago. Yet I was also deluded — I, as many do, went into Medicine not as a business but as a place where we tend and care to those suffering. Well, I’ve realized most of us were suffering. And then we became exploited. I’m not going to spread the gospel on our healthcare system. I’m presently in a position to not give a shit about what former friends, current friends, colleagues, think about our supposed heroic Western Medical Model. Or our supposed Science Heroes. If we truly cared we would not be in a state of Dis-ease. And Disease. Companies would not be pushing junk food down our throats. Drug companies would share vaccine “recipes” to the world. We would not all be on social media — high and mighty chanting from soap boxes. My friend in Cambodia would not be worrying about her community, currently, in fear of starving to death, because of Covid restrictions. My other dear friend, in her 60’s, in the States, wouldn’t have been in a cabin without proper plumbing, all winter long. There would have been water in Mississippi and Louisiana after a freak snow storm. More than a month out, humans, in the deep South were without Water!! Water people.

We are more interested in sending People to Mars. This is fucked up. We are more interested in Pop stars. This is fucked up. We are more interested in fitting in and something so called normal. We are not normal. We are not healthy. The first thing my friend said was “do you see how unhealthy people have gotten over the last year and a half?” Yes. Yes. Because we haven’t been in a state of health — which I said at the beginning of this post. And now, we’ve been in fear. Our bodies are in shock. We have lost control. We haven’t been able to save lives. We have not been touched. We have not had ceremony – around life and death. We are zooming. Fidgeting. Putting guns to our heads – and others. Heads. We were addicted to violence, a long time ago, whether in action or speech. We are addicted to salt. Fat. sugar. Power. Belonging.

Yet, we do not know what it’s truly like to Belong. Most importantly to ourselves. Our first home. Our Body. Our Breath. Our Spirit. We do not know what it truly feels like to feel good here. Safe here. In love, here. This primal relationship to Self and truly feeling in our own Personal Power. With freedom to make our own choices. Sometimes we need to go it alone – in order to discover “The Health.” It’s a journey all right. I don’t know. I want to tell everyone to practice Yoga, take some shrooms, or have pleasurable, frightening experiences often. Or experiences outside our borders. But I don’t know. I don’t know. And it’s not my place to tell others what they :should: be doing. I am just here on this crazy planet with the rest of you – In deep honor and gratitude for all its quirks and quirkiness. In its dis-ease and Health. But first and foremost with Responsibility to Self. If we do not tend compassionately to our Selves – well, everything we do and think is compulsory and disingenuous.

Peace,

Sensitivity

Sensitivity – otherwise known as feeling deeply – I take the cake, as I know many others do. And I feel it has grown, as I’ve been traveling solo, now, since late 2019. First to distant lands — where life didn’t feel so, in your face; ie capitalism. – of course, I was not working then, and had space to just be. To go where the rivers guided me. There was something, to non Western society, that I cannot put my finger on exactly…but it kinda reminds me of the places I’ve voyaged, now, in the deep South. Places off the grid, so to speak. Where folks don’t walk on eggshells because, well, their shells have been cracked enough. Where kindness is the very rhythm, of people’s hearts – especially in black, impoverished and what some would still name, “redneck” communities. Where I have stopped and talked at a car wash (a whole other kinda car wash — like being in your own driveway with friends) and neighborhood bbq benefits (funny day) of love and crime and all things in between. A drink, offered at no charge, just as on dirt roads in Egypt. These are the exchanges of life, that are deeply felt — I think, because they’re meaningful; honest. Maybe when others have had to learn to *get by,* have gone through hardships, are uncared for by humans in power seats, the capacity for empathy, community(neighborly) and happiness expands.(I know this is a Both/And) I also know that banners, signs and black boxes are beautiful/symbolic — but, I’m not sure if they are so impactful. Truthfully, we sometimes think we know others, before we’ve had a chance to have an encounter. We assume, as well, we know what they want and need before asking the simple and inconvenient questions. I have tears now, feeling into, the way we have treated and are treating one other – The way we take on life and the humans in it, as if there is something to conquer/divide. Currently. The shaming. Punishment. Pretending. I do not not think it’s so much a system’s overhaul that we need, but an emotional one. A capacity to see, hear, leave our bubble. To stop for awhile, sit on a bucket. Elsewhere – and say, “So tell me.”

Notes from a Traveling Nurse

Last week, while on call, I cared for my first NICU babies.(in my Career) Honesty, when I arrived on the unit with my colleague,(Scrub Tech) as many babies are too sick to be transported to the OR, I thought I might lose it. Like faint — at first. It was hotter than the NM desert in July compared to the arctic air of the OR rooms. After arriving back into my body — sometimes when I get anxious, I can leave it, I felt I would lose it again — as in tears. And then, as a Health care provider does so well, we shift from emotion to focus; tending to the now, to the baby and everyone caring for this tiny 3 day old human attached to nonhuman things. Things that drip and beep and breathe — yes, do the breathing via a tube, for a child less fortunate to wail and breathe big breaths of life after exiting her young mother’s womb, too soon.

I have to be honest, I was overwhelmed by the size of the NICU here in this small city of Louisiana. 40 beds, to be precise and all but maybe 2, were occupied. It made me think about the dynamics of the community I currently reside in. Dynamics as in the demographics here — including education, wealth inequality, and crime. There are quite interesting familial patterns, I’ve come to learn about, through discussions with both Police Force and Health Care workers. Crime is very high — Domestic Violence being in the top 5(in the U.S.) here in Northern LA. Many kids have turned to the streets, and well, we know where this goes from here. Very young Mothers, being just one effect — a small outcome that turns into much larger and cyclical social outcomes.

We are all well aware that violence in our society is at an all time high, though many prefer to avert their eyes, cast judgement whether to the left or to the right. I mean this year(2021 is just a continuum, my friends) has been like one big dodge ball game, shit spinning in a fan — have been my two analogies — where everyone is either extremely reactive or have their heads in their asses. The latter don’t want shit hitting them in the face…but in reality they don’t recognize, they too, can be shitty human beings — yes, this goes for the Woke as F***, Yay Science and Trumpists fans too. It is a community, whether young or old, rich or poor, black or white, red or blue that holds us together. Unfortunately we’re like those little babies right now, on life support, attached to nonhuman things — waiting to be loved. Unified. Again.

To vaccinate or not to vaccinate.

I wholeheartedly respect my colleagues in Medicine, Nursing, Science and otherwise — As do I Humanity and its Health. But to claim one who chooses not to be vaccinated(whether in the Health field or not) disrespectful and or an antagonist (un comrade like) is to gaslight and manipulate these humans. Humans whose stories, health history, experience one may not know. A body, so complex, diverse and interconnected to all that is in our environment. Diverse and interrelated to all that, which is within.

I’m not here to campaign for or against.(refer to post on vaccine reflections) Nor am I here to provide Data, Science Articles, etc. We have enough(and maybe not enough, currently) of this. And trust me, one will find the data and the contrary data, always — If one searches deep enough. We will also find the vice beneath the virtue. We all hold wickedness, something we’ve all forgotten.

For me I hope to sustain my values of curiosity, listening, observing, the beauty of “all kinds” in my heart and in these spaces. I can truthfully say, “I don’t know” and be very okay with this stance. It’s a place that allows wiggle room, change of heart, different perspective, different science, slowing down. Waiting. It invites in Faith. It invites Mystery. It invites in Life and Death. I know there has been great suffering and loss this year. I did not bear witness to the scenes my friends and family can testify to, in cities such as New York, Chicago, Seattle, Miami, LA. But the feelings/the energy is palpable and recognizable — worldwide.

I do trust my choice(at this time) not to be vaccinated. I know that sometimes “doing good” can be more destructive. We only need to look at our yesterdays, to see this. Maybe applying our oxygen masks before assisting the other, is the choice for, The Vaccine and maybe it’s the choice, against. I will sit in neither virtue right now.

This is my message — I understand the implications of the Pandemic/economic tragedy and perhaps more dismal days ahead. I don’t know exactly what this trajectory looks like, but I know it’s important we take care of ourselves. Self Care is not Selfish. Please reach out to loved ones. If you have a trusting relationship with a Doctor, or another Healer of sorts, it’d be a great time to connect and have a discussion, not only on the vaccine but your Whole Health. If you do not understand your medications you are taking, well, now is the time. If you do not fully understand your disease processes/comorbidities — now is the time. If your MD claims to be your gatekeeper and feels the need not to be transparent and informative/sensitive to your health and needs — the time is now, to get a new Doctor. The time is now — To know thyself.

**And I know there are many that do not want to hear of Philosophy, Poetry and Faith right now. But this is what I bring to the table along with my love of Science.**

Memos of a Current Travel Nurse -Louisiana-

I arrived in LA with this feeling of going backward. Then I thought: One person’s backward is another person’s forward. And maybe there really is no backward, only a continuum. Backward was something created by those on the upper rungs. Those from the moment the watch was invented, setting the timelines for us from Birth to Death.(though Death was never discussed) Many that are drinking the kool-aide, are yet to see the costs. Rather, we bought into the dream, like wide eyed kids playing with Barbie and Ken; bodies pale — until 1980. Shaped like no man or woman, in reality is — until one could buy the plastic with the dream. For most, climbing the rungs was and is the drive to live; Bandaids and Barbie Doll Houses, covering over, the holes in our hearts.

Almost a year into a Pandemic, we’re witnessing what is beneath the bandages. I have experienced images this year of not recovery, but surgery. Bandaids are no longer working — it’s a heart transplant that is underway. And transplants take time, steadiness and a team of beating hearts. One must be comfortable with a little mess and know when to take the right next steps. Maybe with our new hearts we’ll realize there is so much Love to go around. Perhaps in our next Global crisis we will recognize the importance of community, for Richer or Poorer. Black or White. Red or Blue. Looking at blood we know not what belongs to who.

With our new hearts in recovery may we renew our relationship with Mother Nature — knowing our health depends on it. Lastly, as we exit the hospital may we feel a sense of aliveness, compassion, and humility and offer these qualities to all those on our path…whether straight, curvy, backward, forward or on the continuum.

May we dare to dream our own dreams – Be well,

Pilgrimage

It’s so strange really, the insult, threat and even surprise we feel, when someone prays different, loves different, talks different, looks different — Chooses, different. The intolerance we hold in our hearts, when God speaks 6,500 languages. She probably doesn’t give a shit if we pray or don’t pray, as many that pray, only pretend. *Transaction* The word that comes to mind.

Those that truly pray, are intimately woven with *Reverence* The word that comes to heart. Smiling eyes of a stranger. Counting ten baby toes on a first born — Oh, the holiness of toes. It’s a kneel in the dirt. Fists sometimes pounding a pillow, for all that has seemed and seems unfair. It is screaming for something or someone lost. By the millions. It is to meet a new lover, a new friend and whisper, “I care.” It is to hold a sign that says, ”Enough is Enough.” It is remembering old friends and all they taught us. Showed us — and to let them know, they are part of the threads, back to our own Holiness.

Prayer is to know that all is Holy, all the time. And really, that there is no time — only the time that is passing before we too, become the dirt, we once kneeled in. The mountain we once climbed. The petals on a flower that we picked, asking, “Does he love me? Love me not.” Knowing the answer isn’t part of the prayer. That’s just it. Prayer is a humble surrender to the uncertain. The dark shadows in a forest, on a sunny day. It is not being over or under someone. It is my ten toes and your ten toes, if we’re lucky enough to have our feet, not blown off by war. On a Pilgrimage – Together – Sharing Beauty.

To the White Folk,

To those that think people are coming to your homes to loot you, harm you and Goddess only knows what else is in your heads…you’re not that special. Maybe herein lies the problem and is the root of why we stand so divided, still. It’s not really, just about guns after all. It’s about the man behind the gun. It’s the man that thinks he’s God rather than feels the love of all things Godly in his heart. The man that say’s “I worked for this,” and vows to claim authority over any other that doesn’t work/think as he does — forget sharing/reciprocity. It’s the man that listens literally to the external — no questions. No curiosity. It is the man that builds his fence so high as to prove something, uses all capital letters and exclamation points. No pause. Not a soft semicolon. It is the man that says — Don’t be so sensitive. Don’t cry. Buck up. This man likes to speak in extremes. It keeps his blood pumping. The flag waving.

I personally have seen the rifles at the door. I was called a beggar and a bitch myself. Yes, I hear you #AOC. And this was from the mouths of one of my own Brothers and White Father. I share this because what’s personal, absolutely, is collective. We are a World Family. It’s time to get on board. It doesn’t mean things will be perfect nor will we see the change we want to see in a fortnight. Being a World Family doesn’t mean you need a passport — but we damn well better care for lands and the people of that land we lay our feet on. Being in this world means to see some Divine spark in the eyes of others and if it’s not there, to say — How come? I’m listening. How have I contributed/or not? Being in this World Family means to know that The Divine wants everyone to feel Joy. Freedom. This is our natural state. In my humble opinion, this really is the work between White Men/Women. How many White humans have you been in the presence of, that truly know ecstasy? Ritual? Joy? Unity? Familial/Friendly Love and bonds not built on shame?

Being alive today, this year, in this world means we are witnessing our failed framework — a system of hierarchy; a world designed by and for White Men. It is a world where painful truths were not taught. History, romantically portrayed. Guns equate to heros. Heroes equate to dominance. Winners/Losers. White/Black. Rich/Poor. Man/Woman. To be here today is to be traumatized by War. War literally. War figuratively — Between us or them, red or blue, capable vs not. Dear White folk, we’ve got work to do — Healing and Recovery to do. It would be so easy, soothing, like your mouth to your mother’s milk to maintain normalcy. The thing is, that’s our normal. Not Humanity’s normal. We are a World Family.

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.

Ode to Medicine

Our hospitals aren’t built for “what will you do for me? Us? Same as politics –They’re stories from the same book — I remember smelling the hierarchy in the air within a week, and wanting to quit my job that first year. “Holly, you can’t quit now, give it three years,” said a New York, New York BF of mine — if we could even call him that — I stayed nine years and seven years respectively, with said men. Both men. We cannot deny Medicine lies in bed with the Man, after all.

A year and a bit ago, before packing my bags, I went on an interview with another NYC hospital.( to some this is repeated information) But what I did not tell you is, the women I sat across from in a windowless, cluttered, shoe box office with, told me to come back with “real questions.” I was taken aback at the time. Today, I laugh. They weren’t ready for me. As most our structures aren’t ready for us — to rip the band-aids off. Tear the statues down. Humans who finally have the heart to ask, “what have you got?” What will you do? How do you care? Tell me about your culture. Your values. Your leadership. No, they weren’t expecting me to pull an orange journal out of my bag filled with curiosity. My values. Agency.

Wahe Jio, I sit here on my front porch, in the middle of nothingness. With a life to be filled anew, with essentials, imagination, power(not one upMAN-ship) creativity. Relationship. Right relationship. With service — eyes reformed. There being no us and them, actually.

Just Love Actually. That is the Medicine.

Our lives and Medicine

I woke up missing the sense of community today, of the Operating room corridors I once ran up and down and from room to room in search of supplies. Though I never felt our medical system had their shit together,(Hey, — This is healthcare in America — and yet we are so privileged) I was at least getting some good exercise. I miss the soft(older the better) and smelly scrubs….yes, there’s something to the scent of a new med student or resident excited and nervous all at once to make their very first cut or suture fleshes of skin, back together again. I know. I know. Oh, and I can actually smell those bovie plumes now. Ya know, that instrument that dissects and controls bleeding in one magical wand. I miss the characters mostly. I don’t know if there’s another structure in the world, at least in an urban place like NYC, that houses the most dynamic, quirky, nerdy, fresh, caring, striving, hardworking, risk taking, humans all in one place. From across all walks of life — Politically, socially, economically — unified(and sometimes not) to take care of other human beings. It’s quite miraculous actually. Such a complex system, that each and everyone one of us walking this planet cannot, and will not escape being a participant of. Well, I digress. For some, the choice becomes this or that. My health or supper on the table. My health or the roof over my head. The health of my child or the health of my mother.

There should never be an OR; only an AND — in Our Lives and Medicine.