I was out for a walk the other morning before work when I got a phone call from Katie's caregiver.  He rarely calls so I was worried when I answered.  I could hear Katie fussing in the background so I got even more worried.  Turns out he was just calling to let me know that he had gotten Katie's table for her wheelchair fixed and that the bill was $300.  He wanted me to know and had forgotten to email me.  I was relieved.

When I went to say goodbye, I asked him to say hi to Katie for me and to tell her that I love her.  Katie hates phones and won't have anything to do with them.  I overheard him passing along my message and then I heard her blow me a kiss.  She's never done that.  Of course I started crying as soon as I hung up the phone.  She surprises me still and I'm thankful for that.  So often it seems as if I don't really matter to her and then she does something surprising. 

I love this photo of her, down at Fort Edmonton park.  She's running, not in her wheelchair and that's how I like to see her. 

I continue to work on my stoicism with some success.  I'm getting better at standing back and asking if I have any control over "this", whatever "this" may be.  It's getting easier.  Less fatigue at the end of the day.  Less bitching and complaining, from me.  My coworkers remain unchanged but my reaction to them has changed, which is all I really have any control over.

Winter is settling in here.  The temperatures have dropped.  We had some snow the other day which brought the city to a virtual standstill.  Only a little snow and everyone forgets how to drive apparently.  One of our young nurses was two hours late for her shift and came in just vibrating.  I told her that it was ok.  She had no control over it.  Let it go.  The days are getting so short now.  Dark for the drive to work and dark for the drive home.  Sigh.  I miss the light.

A few weeks ago I was listening to Tapestry on CBC radio and one of the interviews was with a philosophy professor,  Massimo Pigliucci.  The interview struck a chord with me and I looked into it a bit more.  I came across a handbook, "Live Like A Stoic For A Week" and I thought I'd give it a shot.  I tried a bit.  Did a little meditating.  Thought about myself in the grand scheme of things. 

Then I got shingles and  I fell down and hit my head but I still tried to remember one key concept, the question I need to ask myself always, "Is this in my control?"  And if the answer is no, to let it go.

So far, not so bad.  I work with a couple of nurses who would not win any nurse of the year awards.  One is oblivious and lazy, while the other is rude and a drama queen.  Neither one are exactly competent.  They push all my buttons and I usually lose it on them about once a year.  I'm tired of having my buttons pushed. 

Last week, even though I felt like death warmed over, I asked the question, "Is this in my control?"  And if it wasn't, and it usually isn't, then I let go of it.  That's pretty good for me.  When I feel like crap my patience for bullshit is very low. 

This week I feel like a human being again.  My head is still a little scrambled from hitting it but not too bad.  Although I did ask a friend about her pretzels, instead of her shingles this morning. 

Most of all though I'm trying to remember to stand back and ask myself that question and then move on.  I also try to remember that in the history of the earth, my life has about as much significance as a squirrel or a thistle for that matter.  So when things are bugging me, I think about the squirrel and the thistle.  Sounds like an English pub to me but it makes me feel better.  Then I ask myself, "Is this in my control?"

At least I know I'm not alone.  Turns out the Greeks where thinking about this kind of stuff five thousand years ago.  It's kind of comforting.

When I rolled over to get out of bed this morning the whole world started spinning.  I have vertigo, benign paroxysmal positional vertigo, which means it comes and goes and it isn't going to kill me, unless I fall down the stairs.  Sometimes it's mild, sometimes it's stomach turning.  This morning I walked out to the kitchen like a toddler, unsure of my footing.  I sat down and my stomach started churning.  I tried the Epley Maneuver, three times and the vertigo improved only slightly.  Finally I gave up and lay down. 

The big guy went to work without me and I dreamed of a very nice doctor who came and helped me with my vertigo.  He was an older man, so kind and tender it was lovely.  I felt so safe, the kind of safe you feel when you're a kid and your mum can still give you that feeling.  I'm still a little dizzy but I can walk now without hanging onto walls which is nice. 

I went to see my doctor the other day to try and figure out why I'm so tired all the time.  We talked about life, work, stress, exercise.  She's a lovely woman who actually listens and doesn't rush you.  She suggested I figure out a way to work less and told me to relax more.  I don't relax.  I do.  I go.  I always have a list of things that that need to be done.  The big guy laughs at me because of my lists.  Maybe I need to let go of my lists. 

For so many years I took care of Katie.  Then I took care of my mum.  Now I'm taking care of my patients.  I'm not good at taking care of myself.  So today my poor body made me lie down, slowed me down.  Time to find a better balance for myself.

I'm stiff and sore today.  Yesterday there was a Code Blue in the parkade and we're the closest department to the parkade.  I ran faster than I knew I could.  The man was at the far end of the parkade and thankfully he was only dizzy and fell down, not dead.  My boss was the third person to arrive.  He asked how I got there so fast and I thought, but this is my job.  This is what I do.  I care about my patients.  They mean something to me.  I remember their names.  I remember their tattoos.  I remember their faces.  This is what I do.

Two days ago we had a woman come in by transport from a small town.  She was in horrific pain and vomiting.  We got her pain and vomiting under control and she had her MRI.  She has leptomeningeal disease;  it's a rare complication of cancer in which the cancer spreads to the meninges of the brain.  I've only seen it once before but it is memorable, the symptoms, how the patient presents.  It's also terminal.  I sat in the control room while she had her MRI, watching the O2 sat monitor.  The tech showed me the tumor in her brain, the leptomeningeal disease, the part of her skull that had been eaten through by the tumor and I wept. My poor lady is dying much more quickly than her family and friends realized.  Her husband is trying to get his crops in before the snow hits.  My lady was admitted and then came down again yesterday for an emergency central line insertion.  I stayed late to help.  It won't make a difference but both my lady and her family need some hope.  They can't let go yet.  I can understand that.  Acceptance comes at different times and in different forms for everyone.  She's four years younger than me.

The weather has cooled here.  It truly feels like fall.  Two days ago I walked in the river valley, admiring the fall colors, the yellow of the poplar leaves standing out so beautifully against the blue, blue sky.  And then last night the wind came up and the temperatures dropped and most of the tress now stand naked, ready for winter and their long sleep. 

And me?  I don't know.  I'm older and wiser, a little.  I keep my mouth closed more than I used to and listen more.  I still feel so deeply the pain of others that it wrecks me some days.  I'm still trying to understand suffering, still trying to accept suffering I guess. 

 

 

We had a lovely weekend in Jasper with my cousin and her husband.  On the drive to Jasper though I had a huge meltdown beside the Pembina river.  The big guy gave me my birthday gift early and I'll probably never use it so I asked him if he would mind if I returned it.  He got huffy and then I got mad and started crying.  It went downhill from there. 

 

I don't like receiving gifts.  I am often disappointed which sounds so awful and self centered.  I remember being a kid at Christmas time and I often felt disappointed on Christmas morning.  Except for one year.  Our dog was sick that year and needed an operation.  My parents told us that we wouldn't be getting gifts because they couldn't afford the operation and Christmas gifts.  I was ok with that.  And then on Christmas morning there was a brand new Easy Bake Oven under the tree for me.  It was the best gift ever.  Not only because it was what I wanted but because it was such a surprise.  I expected nothing. 

 

And that's where my disappointment comes in, right behind my expectations.  Except there's more and I can feel it just outside of my consciousness but can't quite grasp it.  I don't like telling people what to get me or what I want because that feels fake and uncomfortable.  And to be honest I pretty much have all that I want already.  Expectations always bite me in the ass.  The gap between how I want the world to be and how the world really is. 

 

The big guy let me have a good cry and then told me that I was a wonderful person.  I didn't feel that way.  I've pretty much always felt like the difficult, prickly, hard to get along with person.  Turns out we had a lovely weekend.  It was probably the nicest holiday I've had a long time.  I had a chance to get to know my cousin much better and really get to know her husband who happens to be a very down to earth, warm, funny, kind man. 

 

The strange thing is, I love giving gifts.  So why am I such an ungrateful gift recipient?

 

 

 

The big guy and I ordered new bedroom furniture last fall and it arrived this past week.  Mission style, hand made, beautiful.  My old set was the original set I had;  it was the one my ex-husband and I picked out just before we were married.  When I say my ex-husband and I picked it out, I mean he picked it out and I agreed.  That's how he built consensus.  Anyway, he picked it out and I had never liked it.  Now I have the bedroom suite I always wanted and I love it.

In the process of moving everything in and out of the bedroom I came across many old bits and pieces of writing and mail that I had tucked away and saved over the years.  One was a letter from my ex-husband going over our marriage.  I reread it and then tore it up and threw it away.  I'm done with him.  In his letter he told me how afraid he was of me and my anger and how he felt bullied by me.  To be fair I was often angry.  I was overwhelmed, sad, depressed and isolated with three children, one of those children with a severe disability.  It's strange because my takeaway from my marriage is that I was mentally abused by my ex.  Two sides to every story.

This past year I have gotten rid of everything that my ex-husband picked out for the house.  The dishes he picked out, the cutlery, the bedroom suite;  there is nothing of him left in my life, other than my children and that feels good. 

I can still remember the first time we visited a divorce mediator together and he spent about thirty minutes arguing about the date of our separation.  He was arguing about one day.  When that was all done he was very happy and said we had come to a consensus.  In reality, I had said, I don't care.  What difference does it make?  He beat the point to death, by himself.  At that point the lawyer turned to me and asked me if I had been abused.  She wanted to know before we continued.  Everything with my ex-husband felt like, beaten to death.  I felt beaten to death by the time I was done.  I had nothing left and he wonders why I left. 

Going over the old letters stirred up my grief again.  Grief is a funny thing.  It gets smaller but it never really goes away.  It's also easy to stir up and when it resurfaces it can feel fresh and painful all over again.  I am so thankful I had the strength to leave him.

I am also thankful that I met a lovely man ,the big guy.  He's kind and compassionate.  He's also fierce and loyal.  He calls me on my bullshit and he accepts me as I am, tears and all.  He makes me laugh and I make him laugh.  He hugs me everyday.  He knows me and I know him.  Who knew I would find such a love so late in life. 

 

 

 

Holidays.  Some of the big guys photos.

 

Blue Heron

Dog in Port Renfrew, waiting for his owner.

Waves on Ucluelet beach.

Starfish.

Me looking for shells and whatnot.