The days are getting shorter and colder, frost every morning now.  There was fog at the dog park this morning when I took the dogs for their run; the fog burned off as the sun rose.

I worked Monday and Tuesday.  My manager called me on the weekend to come in on Monday for a specific patient who had asked for me and I said sure.  The poor young woman ended up in Emerg on Sunday and never did make it in, although I'm not sure that would have changed the outcome.  She has had many appointments to have a central line put in and each time she has cancelled.  The first time I had her, we managed to get her on the table, everything set up, and then when the doc was ready to start, she changed her mind.   She has done this over and over again with everything, including her chemo.  

I knew when I first met her that her personality and mental health challenges would prevent her getting the care she needs, and now, she is palliative.  She's only 39 years old and she's dying, in part because she can't deal with everything.  I understand but I feel so bad for her too.

Yesterday I had a boy really, 24 years old, with inoperable pancreatic cancer.  WTF!  That just kills me.

So this morning I took the dogs out and later today I will make pumpkin shaped cookies for Jack.  Halloween is tomorrow and he's excited about it.

Otherwise not much going on.  I'm meeting a friend on Sunday whose world has fallen apart.  We're going for a long walk in the river valley and I'll listen.  I'm much better at listening than when I was a young woman, back then I had all the answers:)

I saw this somewhere in the past few days and thought it explained so much about the differences between He Who Shall Not Be Named and Harris.

I planted big red two years ago and he/she is living up to their name.  I love red leaves in the fall and we don't get a lot of them here, so I planted a sugar maple and we are both happy with the decision (me and the tree).

I worked three days last week and I was reminded how much I love my patients and how long an eight hour day on your feet is.  The last day, I only worked for six hours and that was much more doable.  More new patients, fewer old patients.  One of my young coworkers told me that she was having a hard time right now because a lot of her favorite patients were dying.  It seems to come in waves but I've learned not to become so attached to my patients.

I did find out this week though, that one of my favorite, old patients just died a couple of weeks ago.  He was literally the poster child for immunotherapy treatment of lung cancer and lived for 12 years with stage 4 lung cancer.  He was funny, rude, and irreverent, and only three years older than me.  I can't believe he's dead and it caught me off guard.

A new patient came in on Monday for a central line; he is a Titanic historian and collector, and has amassed quite the collection from the sounds of it.  He talked through the whole procedure (he's a talker, the kind that keeps talking as you back out of the room) but he's also so lovely and interesting, you don't back out of the room.  He told me he's terminal, and he is.  We both cried a little and I told him to enjoy everyday as much as possible.  I think he will.

There were lots of other patients.  A family doctor with pancreatic cancer.  An old politician with breast cancer. Young men with testicular cancer and one patient who learned how to say "fuck off" in Cantonese from one of my coworkers (that was a surprise and I have a new language that I can swear in now).  It's hard work and I love it.

Jack went to see his psychologist today.  He wanted to know why we were going there and I said, "Well, bad things have happened to you.  Bad things happen to everyone in life, but they happened to you when you were young.  The talking doctor just helps you learn to deal with that stuff."  Jack likes his psychologist, he's got lots of toys in his office.

We chatted about what was going on with Jack and the future.  When Jack had to run to the bathroom, the psychologist said, "Do you think he needs to be assessed for ADHD?"  Ya think?  

We told him that not only do we want Jack assessed, so does the school.  The psychologist's office will do the assessment for us, which is good, and for a lot less than other parents have told me it cost them.  Jack has also been added to my hubby's Blue Cross as of November 1st, as a dependent, so the cost should be completely covered and even if it isn't, it's less than we thought. Yay!

We went out to Elk Island National Park this afternoon for a walk.  It was cool and sunny.  A perfect October day.  Jack had a lot of fun, hunting for zombies (from Minecraft) and avoiding huge mounds of buffalo poop.  He also spent time making swords and digging for coal (also Minecraft).  He ate like a horse and fell asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.  He's doing well.  His life is predictable and stable right now.  We have become his parents.

I worked yesterday and it was busy, even with seven nurses on the floor (normal is four).  As always, I love interacting with my patients, they truly are amazing people.  

I recognized one of the names on the list of patients yesterday.  It's not a common name and I wondered if I knew him.  When I called his name and he stood up, I said, "I know you.", he looked so much like his father.  He looked surprised but when I explained that Brenda (his sister) and I were best friends when we were teens, he vaguely remembered.  He was older than me and Brenda, by nine years so he wasn't home much, and was married probably a year after Brenda and I became friends.  Brenda had three older brothers and what I remember most is that when they had supper, those boys had a plate of potatoes and veg, and then another plate with meat.  They also had the tiniest house, a two bedroom house with six kids.  They had built three bedrooms in the basement and always had a boarder as well.  After the two oldest boys married, Brenda's parents built an addition on the house, a kitchen, which I'm guessing her mom must have loved.

We chatted and caught up and I told him what wonderful people his parents were; they were always kind to me and always welcomed me.  Their house was always a safe place when I was a teen.  I could breathe there, and have fun there.  He even took a photo of me and him and sent it to his sister.  It's a small world.

Not much else going on.  I was talking to my neighbor across the street, whose children go to Jack's school.  My neighbor's oldest has ADHD and autism and she was telling me about something called heavy work.  I had never heard the term, so I looked it up.  Basically, it's about proprioceptive input, which helps calm and organize the brain, and helps calm the body down as well.  Proprioception is the sense that lets us perceive the location and movements of our body parts.  When I looked at the some of the activities, I realized that many of them are already activities that Jack does, on his own.  Perhaps he realizes that he feels better afterwards.  

This morning while Jack was supposed to be getting dressed for school, he was walking around and around my kitchen island, talking and talking, while I did the dishes.  Oh, and he was buck naked.  I leave him when he's like this, he's trying to discharge what probably feels like too much energy.  I also got him to do some pushups.  He wants "abs" and wanted to know if pushups would give him abs.  I assured him they would.  Eventually he got dressed and I took him to school.  

I lifted weights for years, from my twenties to my forties, completely unaware that it was probably helping to calm my body and my mind.  I've always walked and found that so helpful for calming my mind.  I continue to carry heavy things, despite my age, and now I know why.  It helps.  Turns out I'm not to old to learn knew things:)

 

The week in photos.  It was a good week, peaceful.  The dog park, early one morning.

It's been three years since Jack was taken into foster care and came to live with us.  He was so little.  I'm so thankful for the people who called the police and stood up for this little guy.

Hubby and I are in the process of cutting down a large tree that is dying from black knot fungus.  The tree needs to be removed and then burned to stop the spread of the spores.  The tree was big and it's taking some time.

I made a cake yesterday and bought Jack a costume for Halloween. I wasn't sure if he would want to dress up as The Flash but he loved it.  He's always showing us how fast he can run.  "Nana, Nana, watch me run!"  "Nana, Nana, time me, how fast I can run!"

I made a chocolate cake yesterday and when I was making the icing, he wanted to help as well, so he did and then licked the beaters clean.

A once lovely echinacea flower, looking worn out.

I forget where I read this but I liked it, a lot.  

 

Still life with a five year old.  My counter always has toys on it, waiting to be put away.

It's Thanksgiving here this weekend.  I made a pumpkin pie out of the pumpkin I grew this summer.  Way too much work.  Next year I'll just buy a can of pumpkin:)

 My walk with Charlie this morning.  The wind blew all night and lots of the trees are bare now.

I had my covid and flu vaccinations on Friday while I was at work.  I've felt kind of crappy all weekend.  Yay.  At least it's only the vaccinations and not the diseases.  Katie was not impressed with me though.  I did not meet expectations.

On the upside, I spoke to my middle daughter last night for an hour on the phone.  That always makes me feel good.

I had a very strange dream last night.  I dreamed that I was on a ship and there was a killer on board, slitting people's throats.  It went on for some time and all I remember is that there was so much blood, and I had to triage who I could help, because I couldn't help everybody.  I remember staunching the bleeding of a woman whose carotid artery was cut.  I wasn't afraid for my own life though, which seems odd, just those around me.  Was this about hurricanes and wars and fires?  

I was reading about natural disasters this morning, as one does, especially when there is another hurricane heading for Florida again.  I wondered if people become less materialistic or more materialistic if they lose everything.  Not surprisingly, people have been studying this, especially with the increase of natural disasters.

One study found that people who are forced to confront their own mortality, tend to become more materialistic, while those who experienced gratitude, tended to become less materialistic.  This seems like quite a muddy result.  Where the people who were forced to confront their own mortality, afraid of death?  Were they younger?  Did they already highly value material goods before they lost everything?  

And were the people who experienced gratitude after a natural disaster already like that before they lost everything?  Were they older?  Did they care about material wealth prior to losing everything?  Had they accepted their own mortality?

So many questions but not really any good answers.

Hubby last night was telling me what would happen in our house if there was a hurricane heading our way.  He said that Jack and I, and the animals would be heading out.  I asked about him, he wasn't sure about that.  He plays a vital role in keeping the diagnostic imaging machines running and would be useful in a natural disaster.  I have no desire to die, but would send Jack with his grandma, and I would stay behind to allow a younger nurse, with children, to leave.  

Thankfully we don't have to contend with hurricanes in northern Alberta but forest fires are a real threat.  The world is getting worse, natural disasters are increasing in size and intensity, and it seems like it will just be a matter of time before all of us will have to deal with loss and our own mortality. 

Oh, and Happy Wednesday:)

 

 

Jack is growing like a weed.  That's his strider bike that I bought for him when he was three years old, I think.  I was shocked to see how small it was, or how tall he was, now.  The poor guy was sick on Friday, fever off and on, vomiting, and just general feeling crappy.  He said his body hurt.  He's fine now but didn't want to go to daycare this morning because it's now OSC (out of school care) and he doesn't like it.  He doesn't like one of the teachers there, and to be honest it's noisy and chaotic, although maybe it's not like that all the time.  There are a lot of transitions in OSC, kids coming and going in the mornings and the afternoons, which makes it look very chaotic.  Jack is like me and doesn't do well with chaos.

I took Charlie out for a walk this morning, and then afterwards took Heidi out.  The weather here is still lovely and the trees are not yet done their fall fashion show.

We're in the process of cutting down a large tree, with black knot fungus.  Hubby climbs the ladder and cuts down the limbs, while I chop them into pieces small enough to burn.  I don't mind doing it and I have become something of an expert on starting fires and keeping them going.

I finished reading "Remarkably Bright Creatures" and cried, again, even though I knew the ending.  Another part of the book caught my attention.  Tova made a mistake, she destroyed something that meant a lot to another person, and she was determined to "make it right".  Tova doesn't argue or excuse her behavior; she made a mistake and accepted that it had caused pain to another person.  Then she figured out how to "make it right".  It reminded me of AA and their 12 step program.  Part of that progam requires people to make amends, to "make it right".  I don't see many examples of the alcoholics that I know, or most people for that matter, making amends.  Have you ever made amends to someone?  Has anyone every made amends to you?  

Otherwise not much going on.  I'm focusing on the good and not the bad, and feel much better as a result.  Of course the sunshine helps.

I'm rereading "Remarkably Bright Creatures" by Shelby Van Pelt for my book club.  One of the lines near the beginning of the book caught my attention and resonated with me.  "Tova has always felt more than a bit of empathy for the sharks, with their never-ending laps around the tank.  She understands what it means to never be able to stop moving, lest you find yourself unable to breathe."  When I read that, I felt it.

I'm retired now.  I don't have to go to work four days a week.  I can relax, but I can't relax.  I try to relax and I am getting a little better, but I push myself all day long.  This morning I started making tomato sauce at 6:30am, while Jack watched TV.  I took the dogs, one at a time, for long, hard walks.  I did laundry, shopped for groceries and then had some lunch.  It's afternoon now, almost time to pick up Jack and I'm tired.

I keep moving, stay busy because why?  I'm the same at work, just keep going, don't sit down.  Is it a Protestant thing?  A Calvinist thing?  That I'm only worthy if I work and produce something?  Did I miss out on Catholic and Jewish guilt, only to be sadled with a Protestant work ethic?

I've never really thought about it before.  Is it a Protestant work ethic or is it ADHD?  All I know is that I have a hard time sitting still and because I'm a judgy type of person, I think less of people who are able to relax and sit and enjoy life.  Sigh.  

It never ends, does it?  This looking in the mirror at oneself.  Oh, and I judge myself for being judgy too.  

People (I mean myself) are weird.  I'm weird.  Probably not any weirder than anyone else, but still weird.  

There's nothing wrong with me, other than I seem to have lost my get up and go.  Nothing interests me right now and I'm even having a hard time reading blogs or leaving comments.  

My sister in law is visiting right now and I took Jack over to visit her at my niece's place.  My niece doesn't have children, she has cats, hence the fish head shaped cat bed.

The trees continue on their yearly ritual of changing colours.  I walk the dogs.  I worked last Friday and we had a gentleman with a severe allergic reaction.  A code was called but no compressions were needed.  Sadly it will be this gentleman's last CT scan because it showed the tumour had collapsed the right upper lobe of his lung and was pressing on his SVC.  The doc talked to him and the patient now was days to weeks, and not months.  So my heart broke at little.  And then I had a thirty-nine year old man with metastatic rectal cancer; I don't realize how hard my job was, until I go back there.  The grief is overwhelming sometimes.

I went to see "Come From Away" with three friends on Saturday night.  I can't say enough good things about it.  It made me laugh and it made me cry.  My ex-husband was flying on 9/11 and I remember the terror I felt, the terror so many felt, that day.  We didn't know what was happening, or what else would happen.  The musical was about the planes that were forced to land in Gander, Newfoundland on 9/11 because American airspace was closed.  It was the stories of the people on the planes and the stories of the people in Gander who took strangers into their homes.  Turns out my sister in law, my niece and her boyfriend were sitting not far from us, but none of us knew that.

The hurricane and the aftermath have gotten to me as well.  It's not bad enough that people have died, or lost everything, or been cut off from the rest of the world, trump has to make it even worse by spewing lies.  He is an evil, vile man.  I'm tired of his shit, beyond tired.