"Thank You For Being Nice To Me"

"Thank your for being nice to me." Every so often, really often actually, a patient of mine will say this to me. Hearing this makes me really sad, and pretty damn angry. You see, that means that along the way, my patient has had an encounter with one or more EMS crews, my colleagues, who were not kind, or worse.

Emergency Medical Services. That's the industry I work in, as a Paramedic. There's a saying, it's cliche, but so true:

The call is rarely an emergency. It is sometimes medical. But we always provide a service. 

I think that last sentence is oft forgotten, hazy in a fog of yet another blue faced junkie, a perfectly healthy, ambulatory young adult with a fever that they haven't treated at home, a lonely Nana who has a hangnail... for the past three weeks, it's endless. This post however is not about the burnout, or the overuse of the 911 system, that can wait for another day. 

My point here is this: Each person we interface with deserves our empathy, and our compassion. Each one deserves to be treated as we would wish to be treated. Why? Because we are all part of one human family. Because being kind and empathetic is not actually for the other person, it is for our own humanity. Because we are in service to these people. All of them. I challenge you, in EMS and in life, to be love, be kind, be human. The energy you put out will return to you.

 "Be kind whenever possible.  It is always possible." ~ 14th Dalai Lama

Dumb and Lucky

"She made some comment about being thirsty at the end of school. It was right when it was really hot. Then the wounds that took a while to heal. And the insomnia... And I didn't know she had actually lost weight until they weighed her at the er. Each thing could be explained alone, and none was so glaring. But put it all together... I had an actual conversation with Rich musing that sometimes I thought she might be diabetic, but then put it off until her physical. I'm just so glad she wasn't in dka. I'd feel so guilty then. Now I just feel dumb and lucky."

This was a conversation with my friend C, written last night. This post will not be eloquent, or cogent. I'm too raw for that.

Isabella has diabetes. My daughter is a diabetic. MY DAUGHTER HAS A CHRONIC DISEASE. IT WILL NOT GO AWAY. IT MIGHT EVEN KILL HER. And I had an inkling, a hunch, and I ignored it. I wrote it off. I am a fucking paramedic and I didn't see it. My baby was sick. I did not see it.

I took Isabella to have an infected finger drained Sunday morning. In the evening she ran a temp so we went back to our local ER as per discharge instructions. They did a urine dip just o rule out a UTI. It came back. Our focus then changed. Massive amounts of glucose in her piss. A finger stick. 438. Fuck fuck fuck. There's no other real reason. An IV, labs,. Some good news, no DKA yet, only slightly elevated creatinine, her kidneys were not yet in a bad way. Transfer to boston, drive to MGH in the middle of the night because GOD DAMMIT I will not be that medically unnecessary BLS transfer at 1 am. Pedi ER, insulin, IV fluids, tears creeping up when she isn't' looking. Admission. Specialists. So many doctors. I give our history just like she was my patient, they call me on it. Time to be a mommy.

We met our team. Dr McGill is sweet and kind, reassuring. First round of education so we can go home. I give my girl her insulin. It feels unreal. I haven't slept. Rich went home, Kat came to be a ride home and the rock that she is. I pick up all of our medicine and syringes, we are discharged. Home. 38 hours. No sleep.

"I'll never feel like a normal kid again."
"I can't believe I have to do this for the rest of my life."

Me neither.

She is amazing, my girl. The next day she did her own finger stick in the morning, and by evening had done her own insulin injections. She's taking this and running with it. New normal. We will find it.

Let's talk for a moment about insurance and gratitude. Before insurance a month supply of insulin, both kinds, and the test strips and syringes, all the bells and whistles... TWO THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS. After...Two Hundred and Thirty. Gratitude.

HOLY SHIT. Isabella is diabetic. It sounds so strange. She tells everyone she meets, strangers. I ask her if she's trying it out, to see how sounds. She nods.

I blinked. Life changed.

Having children means knowing real fear.

My child is hurt. She will not die. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. But she is hurt. Being hurt. And there is nothing I can do to protect her. I never knew fear like this. The fear that my child might cease to draw breath before I do. The fear that I can not help.

There is no creature more wretched, more tortured, than a mother unable to protect her child. Fear me.

Returning

How things have changed in six months, and my, how they are still the same.

Divorce is a long, ugly, painful process. I am still getting divorced. It is a soul-sucking process. Some days I wake up and marvel that there is still any light in my being. But then I think that fire is a purifying element. I am walking through hell, and will emerge stronger, distilled, free. Even this, as awful as it is, is better than what I was living in for years.

But I don't want this space to only be tears and woe. I am multifaceted, and there is much joy and beauty in my daily life. So I will still post about food and knitting and yoga and school (I am finally back in school - my life on my terms!!) and kids and politics and triumphantly crow from this soapbox.

So pull up a chair, let's brew a pot of tea and chat. Welcome back.

Forgiveness, Love, Truth

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

~ Mary Oliver

Finding Yoga Everywhere

Some thoughts on my June 'challenge'... last month my sister, who is 12 years my elder, finally got to walk across a stage and accept her Associates degree. It has been a long twenty-five years coming for her to experience that, the walk. Through abusive relationships, drug addictions, undiagnosed bipolar disorder, my sister has clawed, fought, slugged her way to this point. And I am so very very proud that she kept at it. When so many others wouldn't bother at this point, she is continuing on, working now towards her BA. It is her commitment that inspired me to bring discipline back into my life.

I feel often that I float through on life with little intention, lacking a clear focus. So rather than focus on the BIG things, I wanted to create daily habits, little things, that will be the fertile ground for the seeds of bigger things to grow from.

Today I finish my yoga practice at 11 pm. Just 5 Surya Namaskar A's, and Savasana. In a way I felt I had already done my practice while I cooked dinner. If yoga is truly the yoking of mind, body and spirit, risotto is yoga. The act and art of standing patiently, mindfully, coaxing and nursing along these little pearls to release their starch is a practice in its own right. As I stood over my stove, linking breath and the movement of my wooden spoon, setting an intention of love, knowing the steamed greens and ricotta added would create my son's favorite dish, this was yoga. It was lovely. But my mat time is mine alone. So I need that too.

In time I'd like to add more structure to the yoga challenge, Ashtanga 3 times weekly, 3 days to play and explore edges in a freer form. But first June, to develop the daily habit of creating space to breathe.

I thought I'd share the recipe for this dish. My cousin Selene gave it to my mother, and she shared it with me. Bridger can not get enough. Be sure to use best quality whole milk ricotta, fresh, not the supermarket kind (I make mine - stupid easy, and SO GOOD), and season to taste as you go. Once you are adding liquids, stir very frequently, it's what makes risotto so creamy.

Ricotta alla Selene

Steam 5-6 cups of greens - spinach, chard, kale, whatever you have. Puree.

Simmer 5 cups stock of your choice (chicken, veg, beef) in a saucepan. Melt 1 tbsp butter in 1 tbsp olive oil in a large saute pan over med-low heat. Add 3 cloves minced garlic and 2 medium diced onion, and sweat until translucent. Do not brown. Add 1.5 cups Arborio rice, and stir to coat, toast for 1 minute. Deglaze with a generous splash of sherry, or white wine, stirring frequently. As rice soaks up liquid, and starts to thicken, add a ladleful of the stock. Stir until it is absorbed. Continue adding stock by the ladleful as it is taken up by the rice, stirring frequently. To add all the liquid should take 25 or so minutes. As you near the last ladleful, add the greens, stir to combine. When rice is al dente, or just softer, add 1 cup of ricotta, and stir well to combine. Add freshly grated parmesan to taste. Heaven. A little bit of my mother's Italy in my kitchen.

If I ever need a reminder of why I love my husband, make me read this post...

I never saw myself as the 'marrying type'. Growing up I didn't fantasize about my wedding, or envision my life as a married woman. I have always been fiercely independent, not wanting to rely on anyone but myself. After Isabella was born, I dated a little, but as she morphed into a toddler, I found myself being really comfortable with the idea of it just being me and her, together always. I didn't need a man, didn't want one. Just thought I'd have a 'friend' around, so as to not always have to rely on a BOB. And then I met Rob. And found myself wanting to share my life with him.

Recently he got in a Facebook shit fest with a woman who insisted as the wife, she is automatically, always RIGHT. That got Rob going, and at one point in the exchange, he wrote this about our marriage:

I thought the JOP at our wedding said it very well; it's not about who is up and who is down, nothing to do with being even. That's impossible. So the best way to surpass the notion that one spousal partner is in a stronger position is to think that way. Financial earning power has nothing to do with this balance either, because if a marriage is going to work both partners contribute something meaningful that goes beyond money. I make more money than Mira at the moment, but she raises our children most of the time and cleans my underwear. And she works weekends to get our ski passes, to which I also contribute by raising the children while she works. So what she does, even though it doesn't bring actual money in, has tremendous value. I think the bottom line is that both partners work together to become greater than the sum of their parts in a successful marriage. And eventually I suspect that once the kids are in school Mira will probably earn more than me because she's ambitious and smart and has boobs and in my profession even the really good engineers top out at around 100k-125k. I have no problem with that because like I said, it's not about keeping it even.

I so needed to hear that. There are times when I feel like my time, my work, is less valued because there is little to no monetary value attached to it. To know that my partner values our life machinery, and what we both put in to make it work was exactly the balm I needed. And the bewbs comment was Rob's snark :) But really, his comment showed me how my husband truly lives our vows, day to day. It was a gentle, loving reminder for me to have that same faith. In the months after our wedding, I often felt like being married was like walking through the world in a hug, silently supported in love. I had forgotten that feeling, and his words brought it back for me.

From our vows:

Will you love and respect her, be honest with her always, and work by her side to achieve the things you both value and dream of, so you can genuinely share your lives together?

...my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.

I will love you through good times and bad times, through joy and through sorrow. I will be understanding, and trust in you completely. Together we will face all of life's experiences and share one another's dreams and goals. I promise I will be your equal partner in a loving, honest relationship.

Squee...

Firsts

Bye Mom! Off she went. To school. For the first time. Wow.

Deep breath. Morning went well, we got to the bus stop on time, Isabella was only a little nervous. I had labeled her lunch box and backpack, as ordered. Very sternly reminded her to be sure she remembered her lunch box. Went to Theo's house, and before 10:30 had a call from the school. Nearly shat myself. She didn't remember if she should take the bus home or not. Love 5. Breathing again, but missing her. Wondering if she was ok, had she traded out all of her lunch yet. Were the other kids nice to her. Was she having fun, or bored.

Made it home from sitting with time to spare, drove down to the bus stop, as we needed to go straight to the Y for ballet. She walks off the bus, big smile - Mommy! My lunch box leaked (all over her pants). She put a full, opened box of chocolate soy milk sideways in the box, as, no doubt, she talked through lunch and didn't finish it in time. This is learning. I ask, sweetie, where is your sweatshirt? thinking it would be in her backpack. Don't you know the one thing I didn't label... was still on the bus. She burst into tears. More learning.

But overall, good day! She has a few friends from pre-k in her class, and a girl she's met at the local playground too. I was left with feeling that sending her to school is more work than having her at home, and more homework for me - the pile of papers (pto fundraisers, waivers etc) to wade through before dinner made me feel sorry for whatever forest got hacked down to print it all. And now we do this all again tomorrow.

I do feel like such a babe in the woods with this school thing. Rob and I are the youngest parents on our street by, oh, a good 10 years. Makes me feel like a freshman at the senior prom, for sure. And I missed her.

She lost her first tooth on Saturday.

Now Isabella is a modern girl. She asked my parents where the toothfairy lives. When they were unable to provide a satisfactory answer, she says 'ok, let's google it, or look it up on wikipedia'. Teh interwebz seems to think (with some Grandpa censoring here) that the toothfairy lives in a castle in the sky, and uses the teeth she collects to do additions on the structure. Ok. The Boxford toothfairy seems to think that 10 bucks a tooth is reasonable - we contracted with her for a 5$ special for the first tooth, and there after a more recession-worthy 1 dollar.

Little man will be a year old in 6 days. Unreal, a year ago there was no longer any space in my body for any sunshine to be blown anywhere. I just wanted to not be pregnant anymore. Amazing what a year does... for all of us.

Such a sun-shiny boy he is. When I'm around. Definitely in the 'stranger anxiety' phase. He's getting ever-closer to walking - tonight he put 3 steps together.

Sometimes I feel like my heart pours out into the outer reaches of my aura. Like the love that these two magical beings has created within me is at once inside every cell, and outside because there is just not enough room. While pregnant with Bridger I worried that I wouldn't love him as much as Isabella, or that there wouldn't be enough for both of them. I'm not sure where the well is, but it never runs dry. It's both serene and terrifying, soothing and painful. But I love it. They are my heart.