Tag: medicinewoman

#44

Tis the day. I was born. But being born is something I’m used to…again and again. And with birth there is death; also quite familiar with death. I was never baptized. Kinda consider myself lucky — As I have gotten to choose who and what does the baptizing in my many new beginnings. Transitions. I never belonged to the church; also pretty lucky. Those that carry on confessing to a white man, well, I was on to that BS before you could say hallelujah. Anyway what a digression, I wanted to speak on what I’ve learned, mostly between 43 and 44. 

I’ve learned that things aren’t as scary as we make them out to be in our head. And now, yes, things are actually kinda scary and it’s not in our heads. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s truly a shake down and break down(personally and collectively) I have learned more love for humans across the aisle and continents. I looked into the eyes of many strangers on my travels and witnessed myself — Love returned. A belonging. I learned that I can do it!! I never set out to prove that — but it sure feels good to climb mountains both literally and not. Btw, I went down a mountain the other day with a man — came up solo. A woman and a Mountain; oh there’s so much more to this. I cannot explain the profound exhilaration at its peak, tears and laughter at once. I imagine it’s the collective feelings of a woman’s soul. Giving birth to something — another Being, her voice, her business, art // HERSELF.  

This year, for me, I’ve learned blood is not thicker than water. I’ve learned that not only Spirit has me/holds me/carries me, but my chosen family as well. As I write this it’s like cupid has a thousand arrows in me. I have been love struck by so many beautiful humans — on my many trips around the sun. But this year, now in the arc of our planet’s awakening, I am, to the moon, grateful for the container(a small set) of women on my stage. I am thankful for the deep inquiry, the conversation — the reciprocity. The healing. The “how do we charter these waters?” Together. 

“Tits up” (who knows where this comes from?) Oh and…..Life is Fucking short!

Holly

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.

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.