On the Fence

Here is a well articulated and fair article about palliative/terminal sedation. This was a genuine and frightening surprise to me during my first clinical rotation and it continues to be one of those ethical dilemmas with which, inside, I can make no headway. It is probably the number one reason why I have shied away from hospice nursing which I originally suspected to be my calling. My hands and heart don't want to carry the weight. Conscience or cowardice? You decide.

Holy Holy

Happy Birthday, Bonnie.

Thank You.

Cryopreservation

What surprises can be found in the freezer of a home of a 10-year-old boy?

Riget

The Kingdom.
The best hospital-based television drama ever, ever, EVER.

If You Listen to Me...

"THE EDITORS of this publication asked me to compile a list. They asked that I not be too esoteric, and I will try. . . . However, as most people are coming to realize, we as individuals are finding greater connections to smaller things; things smaller in scope and more specific to our tangible and imagined communities. I find that the music that transports me often has a community of admirers bound together only by the love of that music. When I take a look at the dominant music news and discover that, essentially, Bruce Springsteen = Radiohead = Yeah Yeah Yeahs = Madonna = Arcade Fire = Bat for Lashes, it compels me to turn away from the lot."

Read on for recommendations.
However, I believe the message here to be... find your own.

Understanding the Dead

Without memory, there can be no revenge. Lest we forget. Remember me. To you from failing hands we throw. Cries of the thirsty ghosts.


Nothing is more difficult than to understand the dead, I've found; but nothing is more dangerous than to ignore them.

Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

The Spanish Lesson

Applying to new graduate programs is always a challenge. What to say about my past work experience: how much is enough, how much is too much? Amongst all of the queries about clinical experience and life before nursing is the inevitable question: do you speak a second language? The honest answer -- though I had a few years of ASL and can communicate (whatever that means) and some French (not super useful here in California) -- is a resounding NO.

A fellow MEPN, wondering how the hell I got into the program being monolingual said, "You don't even speak a few words of Spanish? " NO. I can fake it, but why would I want to do that when we're talking about a someone's health?

Anyway, The Partner decided that I should have a working knowledge of Spanish to make patients feel like I am, at the very least, trying to communicate. Fair enough. Tonight he began compiling the "Dirty Dozen" words and phrases, as it were. Phrases such as, "How do you feel?", "Are you cold?", "Are you hungry?", "Do you want water?", "Where are you from?".

Listing off possible phrases as we drive through the Mission, from somewhere in the backseat The Kid chimes in: "Are you a virgin?"

Yeah, that one should come in handy. Thanks.

"Paid As Any Other Sickness"

That's right, institutional insurance plan for students, scholars, researchers and dependents. Yes, it is, in fact, a medical school. Read it and weep.

Thanksgiving Message, From Our House to Yours

So I Let Go Now...

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I thought I should follow the lead of many wonderful fellow bloggers and give thanks.

In the face of this year which, to be honest, has not been one of my favorites, I am thankful for love.

I am not only thankful for the love that I have been given, but for the love that I have witnessed and for the love that has been taken away.

I am thankful for the serenity in my home and the always honest and thoughtful criticality, humor and humanity of those who share it.

I am thankful for all of the year's circumstances that have served to remind me of who I am and who I want to be.

I am thankful for losses perhaps more than I am thankful for accomplishments. Dispossession continues to remind me of the importance hope.

Above all else, hope is the one thing for which I give the deepest thanks.

Wicker Man

Wow, what a great movie. An ethnographic account of paganism and the movie from which Burning Man was born, apparently.

During one ritualistic scene full of phallic representation (and the like) by way of the Maypole, The Kid says, "Pole dancing!"


"Um....noooo....not exactly," I say.
"Oh... Polish dancing!"
Okay. Close enough.

Bongwater & Blood

That guy next door is up on his roof smoking out again.
Have I mentioned him before?
One of these days he's going to fall and break something.
Bongwater and blood everywhere.

M A K E

If I had an ounce of artistic ability, I would do this.
Some of my favorites include 1/06/09: Anti-fingerboarding signs; 1/31/09: Rifle wrapped in yarn; 1/05/09: A Scene from the fictitious horror film, "Honey Bear, Sweet Honey Bear"; 2/16/09: horse; and of course 1/13/09: Lyrics Poster / The Smiths.
*Image from Laser Bread via flickr

For My Heart's a Boat in Tow

The Kid is pretty amazing... evidenced in this rendering of the human heart which he placed amongst my study materials as an illustrative reference. Check it out.

Happy Birthday, Erin J.

Invisible Costume

The Kid was so pissed this Halloween when no one knew who his costume was supposed to represent. What? Hasn't every other ten-year-old wanted to dress up as Claude Rains in the 1933 version of The Invisible Man?

Every time someone asked, "And what are you supposed to be?"
He just stared ahead blankly as if to say, "What is wrong with you people?"

Just a Body

The Kid is ten. Driving home from school last night we had this conversation: "See that dot on their license plate?" he asks, pointing to the car in front of us, "it means that guy's a donor."
"A what? Organ donor? No, they don't put it on your license plate. Someone needing a kidney might run you off the road... they put the dot on your driver's license."


"Oh... Are you a donor?"
"Yes, of course."
"What part of your body?"
"The whole thing."
"Well, that's good. They might as well take it all and help someone else. You won't be needing any of it anymore."
"Does it bother you?"
With some disdain, "No, mom... It's just a body."

WE CARE Solar

If you want to take a position on child birth, consider this. If you want to talk about injustice and what it means to work for women, imagine. If you want to take on a women's rights issue, this is it:

"Maternal mortality worldwide accounts for more than half a million deaths a year...that's the same as one woman dying every minute of every day, and that's an outrage. That should never be happening."
Laura E. Stachel MD, MPH, Founder of WE CARE Solar.

WE CARE Solar "reduces maternal mortality in developing regions by providing health workers with reliable lighting, blood bank refrigeration and mobile communication using solar electricity."

This organization needs, and deserves, your support.

Dweebs and Assholes

Yesterday, after a very pleasant telephone conversation with my former PI (read:boss) who happens to be a successful MD, I related part of our conversation to The Partner.

"So, the Doc said to me, 'I don't like to hang out with other docs. They're all dweebs and assholes'."

After having sat through a very painful weekly Ob/Gyn Grand Rounds that very morning, lead by a particularly unbearable female doc, I remarked, "It's true. Even the women are assholes." The Partner smartly decided that this would be the title of my upcoming tome on feminism:

"Even the Women Are Assholes: The Unthinkable Thoughts of a Feminist."

Illustration credit, obviously, goes to the late, great Kurt Vonnegut.

Song to the Siren

Now from his breast into his eyes the ache of longing mounted, and he wept at last, his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms, longed for as the sun warmed earth is longed for by a swimmer spent in rough water where his ship went down under Poseidon's blows, gale winds and tons of sea. Few men can keep alive through a big surf to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind: and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband, her white arms round him pressed as though forever.

- Homer, The Odyssey