Happy birthday Will!Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
blog soup
am blogging soundtrack: Ingrid Michaelson's Girls and Boys am blogging moods: selfish and content am blogging attire: xl pink pj pants am blogging sustenance: super fat CM blueberry muffin and super tasty Mighty Leaf Organic Breakfast
It totally figures that the first morning in forever that I have the undeniable right to sleep in, my internal alarm clock went off just a little before 530. Damn Circadian rhythms.
Good news: I'm a rebel and I just turned over and went right back to sleep. 2 hours later . . .
So, as might have been gleaned from last night's post, I am well on my way to being a home owner. The house is beautiful and obviously meant to be mine. It was built in 1929, has a rock hard foundation, a few original galvanized steel pipes mixed in with updates, stunning hard wood floors, and a real (ie creepy) attic. I'm in love:)
Confession: I love singing Karaoke to The Way I Am and think I'll start trying harder to learn it on my mom's baritone ukulele.
Today my favorite patient is set to go home on Hospice. Yesterday I told him and his wife goodbye since I wasn't going to be there this morning. I told them it had been an honor to care for him and they told me it had been their blessing. Tears all around. They wished me luck with my young man and as I was leaving the room Mr Dignity added this with wet and shiny eyes: Does he cry? Never trust a man who doesn't have the ability to cry. You deserve better than that.
FYI: It turns out that the word anything isn't quite as empty as I thought.
Just a little bit of random everything thrown into a big copper pot.
Happy Monday:)
It totally figures that the first morning in forever that I have the undeniable right to sleep in, my internal alarm clock went off just a little before 530. Damn Circadian rhythms.
Good news: I'm a rebel and I just turned over and went right back to sleep. 2 hours later . . .
So, as might have been gleaned from last night's post, I am well on my way to being a home owner. The house is beautiful and obviously meant to be mine. It was built in 1929, has a rock hard foundation, a few original galvanized steel pipes mixed in with updates, stunning hard wood floors, and a real (ie creepy) attic. I'm in love:)
Confession: I love singing Karaoke to The Way I Am and think I'll start trying harder to learn it on my mom's baritone ukulele.
Today my favorite patient is set to go home on Hospice. Yesterday I told him and his wife goodbye since I wasn't going to be there this morning. I told them it had been an honor to care for him and they told me it had been their blessing. Tears all around. They wished me luck with my young man and as I was leaving the room Mr Dignity added this with wet and shiny eyes: Does he cry? Never trust a man who doesn't have the ability to cry. You deserve better than that.
FYI: It turns out that the word anything isn't quite as empty as I thought.
Just a little bit of random everything thrown into a big copper pot.
Happy Monday:)
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
full like a baked potato
Today was a happy day.
Considering I woke up at 520 to be at work by six and saw 27 not-always-the-most-appreciative patients, that's saying a lot.
A nap post work. Arrival of Clayton. The gift of a book. Sunshine. Vintage clothing shopping for upcoming themed Supper Club. Truffle cheese bread and a beer at Eno's. Really decent latte at a new coffee shop in my hood. Nap number two. Brief and unsuccessful, but still somehow satisfying, social attempt at the Belmont. A plan B that led us to Central Market and delicious hummus. A full belly, a sweet boy, and the promise of a good night's sleep.
Yep. Pretty happy day.
It's just that they've been in sort of short supply lately. So I thought I'd better document it for posterity sake. I know. It's only a snapshot. But the thing is, this one might actually be frame-worthy.
Considering I woke up at 520 to be at work by six and saw 27 not-always-the-most-appreciative patients, that's saying a lot.
A nap post work. Arrival of Clayton. The gift of a book. Sunshine. Vintage clothing shopping for upcoming themed Supper Club. Truffle cheese bread and a beer at Eno's. Really decent latte at a new coffee shop in my hood. Nap number two. Brief and unsuccessful, but still somehow satisfying, social attempt at the Belmont. A plan B that led us to Central Market and delicious hummus. A full belly, a sweet boy, and the promise of a good night's sleep.
Yep. Pretty happy day.
It's just that they've been in sort of short supply lately. So I thought I'd better document it for posterity sake. I know. It's only a snapshot. But the thing is, this one might actually be frame-worthy.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
touched
Earlier this week I was asked to see a patient in the preop holding area. His orthopedic surgeon was planning on taking him to the OR for a very extensive resection of his left femur. The anesthesiologist was nervous because he hadn't been cleared for surgery by anyone and he had some new EKG findings - won't bore you with the details. Long preamble short, they needed me to clear him.
The background story on this patient is that within the last month he was diagnosed with a chondrosarcoma (cartilage/bone tumor) in his left leg - hence the need for this resection. Just last week he was found to have ridiculous numbers of mets to his lungs. At the same time, they found out that he had multiple pulmonary emboli (blood clots in the lung) requiring high dose/long term blood thinners. Did I mention that he's a previous cancer survivor? Or that he happens to be one of the nicest men I've ever met in my life?
I went through the necessary steps to clear him for surgery and with each interaction grew more and more attached to him. Right before he went into surgery he thanked me for my "conscientious and compassionate care." He asked me if I was married and had a family of my own. When I told him that I wasn't married but did have someone special in my life, he told me to "tell him that he's a lucky man." And, of course, I did:)
He made it through surgery like a champ. His surgeon and I butted heads about what to do with his blood thinners - he wanted to decrease the dose significantly in an effort to minimize the postop bleeding risk and I was super hesitant to do so as it wouldn't be adequate treatment for his PEs. We finally agreed on full dose anti coagulation with a very short acting medication. We reasoned that if the undesirable happened, we'd turn it off and go from there.
Why is that those undesirable events always happen to the least deserving people?
Today we had a long, and very emotional, talk about our options. We came up with a less than ideal plan in an effort to save his leg. And we talked about his life and what he had left of it. As I was leaving the room he stopped me and asked, "How did your young man respond to me saying that he had himself a really good deal?" I assured him that it was well-received and he had adamantly agreed. With a simple, "Good" he closed his eyes and I left the room.
I won't ever forget this true gentleman and the dignity with which it is evident he has lived his life. Or the dignity with which he has started the process of leaving it.
The background story on this patient is that within the last month he was diagnosed with a chondrosarcoma (cartilage/bone tumor) in his left leg - hence the need for this resection. Just last week he was found to have ridiculous numbers of mets to his lungs. At the same time, they found out that he had multiple pulmonary emboli (blood clots in the lung) requiring high dose/long term blood thinners. Did I mention that he's a previous cancer survivor? Or that he happens to be one of the nicest men I've ever met in my life?
I went through the necessary steps to clear him for surgery and with each interaction grew more and more attached to him. Right before he went into surgery he thanked me for my "conscientious and compassionate care." He asked me if I was married and had a family of my own. When I told him that I wasn't married but did have someone special in my life, he told me to "tell him that he's a lucky man." And, of course, I did:)
He made it through surgery like a champ. His surgeon and I butted heads about what to do with his blood thinners - he wanted to decrease the dose significantly in an effort to minimize the postop bleeding risk and I was super hesitant to do so as it wouldn't be adequate treatment for his PEs. We finally agreed on full dose anti coagulation with a very short acting medication. We reasoned that if the undesirable happened, we'd turn it off and go from there.
Why is that those undesirable events always happen to the least deserving people?
Today we had a long, and very emotional, talk about our options. We came up with a less than ideal plan in an effort to save his leg. And we talked about his life and what he had left of it. As I was leaving the room he stopped me and asked, "How did your young man respond to me saying that he had himself a really good deal?" I assured him that it was well-received and he had adamantly agreed. With a simple, "Good" he closed his eyes and I left the room.
I won't ever forget this true gentleman and the dignity with which it is evident he has lived his life. Or the dignity with which he has started the process of leaving it.
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