“The best way to garden is to put on a wide-brimmed straw hat and some old clothes. And, with a hoe in one hand and a cold drink in the other, tell somebody else where to dig.” Marina Schinz
Michelle Obama has nothing on Mr. Clark. He’s been planning his kitchen garden since late November, when he brought home a copy of Grier’s Almanac he found for free somewhere, and began reading it aloud.
Mr. Clark is nothing, if not an optimist, so he sees his recent period of unemployment as (among other things) an opportunity to “do some things I’ve always wanted to do, but never had the time for…” Apparently, growing his own Victory Garden is one of those things.
He started by planting rye grass in my garden plot. Now actively planting grass in the garden goes against every thought I’ve ever had about gardening, but apparently rye grass actually improves the soil, so filling your garden with it during the off season is a good thing. Imagine my horror, watching, as a thick blanket of bright green shoots gradually took over the very garden bed I’ve battled to keep grass out of for years.
Next came the seed starting. Mr. Clark found a bunch of old seed starter trays in the back shed and painstakingly filled them with some potting soil (also discovered in the back shed). Then, he bought some seeds (I wouldn’t let him use the ancient seed packs he found in the back shed…), planted them, and in no time, had transformed his home office into a verdant nursery for baby plants.
As seedlings often do, though, they got leggy before it was time to put them out. (That is one of the many reasons I’m a plant girt – as in go to the store and buy a few already grown plants, when it is time to put them out…) But, cheery outlook never to waver, Mr. Clark thinned and watered and tended his leggy little buddies until it was near time to put them out.
In the process of turning the rye grass under, my own personal Mr. Green Jeans strained a knee ligament so badly he had to use a cane for a week or so…But, he did get the soil turned and was so excited about that, he jumped the gun a little and put the seedlings out just before that second-to-last cold snap.
“But the almanac said it was time to put them outside!” was his woeful cry. Plan B, plant seeds in the ground, which is what Mr. Clark did, just before that last cold snap.
“Let’s just wait and buy some plants,” has been my stance all along. But, unemployment also fosters thrift, and Mr. Clark’s position is, “that’s just too expensive…Do you have any idea how cheap seeds are, and how many of them come in each pack?”
So far, Mr. Clark’s radish crop is looking pretty good. I can’t say the same for the English peas, basil, and mixed greens. But, there’s hope…after all, it’s been pretty cold up until this week.
Given my lack of enthusiasm about his efforts so far, Mr. Clark was excited to read aloud every word of a recent USA Today article that stated the average home garden (not sure of the size...) costs about $75 to plant, and yields around $600 worth of food.
“$600 worth of food!” he cried. “I’m going to get some more seeds!”
His current plans include planting beans, cucumbers and zucchini from seeds. He has consented to the purchase of tomato and pepper plants. He’s also really excited about finding a white eggplant plant, like the one he read about in the almanac.
“Bloom where you are planted,” has been a favorite saying (and goal) of mine since we moved to the South, some 20 years ago. And, I have to give Mr. Clark credit for being way better at that than I will probably ever be. He accepts new experiences and challenges with enthusiasm, and tries ever so diligently to turn any lemons life hands him into lemonade.
I don’t know if his Victory Garden will yield anywhere near $600 worth of food, but it sure is inspiring – watching him hack away at it, ever the optimist, believing in the grand potential of each tiny seed, rather than opting for the boring, expensive surety of the already-grown plant.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Thanks, Monster!
“A monster cannot survive in an environment of gratitude.” - Hawaiian healing wisdom
A good friend e-mailed me the other day - her husband has been laid off. Another “old guy” information specialist joins the ranks Mr. Clark has been among now, for the past 10 months…At my daughter’s job, they just laid off two of the six women who work there…The wife of one of my son’s good friends was let go last month…And, so it continues - the downward spiral of our economy and the upward spiral of unemployment…
Let me tell you, month after month of unemployment will wear you down…The bills pile up, the reserves dwindle…Mr. Clark continues to apply for jobs and work his network, to little or no avail…Some contract work has thankfully, recently come in, but the toll of month after month of worry, doubt, fear, anger and discouragement is a large one.
Finally, something has to give - either reality or attitude-wise - because if it doesn’t, everyone in the house will go crazy. I hit my wall a few weeks ago, and what triggered it (in addition to an ever-increasing depression, punctuated by fits of anger, and an overwhelming sense of worry about the future…) was a column I read in the Athens Banner Herald.
It was by Tom Camp; the title was “Gratitude in the recession.” In the column, he talks about visiting Hawaii, in particular some native healers of the Lomilomi tradition. One healer spoke about how “a monster cannot survive in an environment of gratitude.” The monster the healer was referring to was a tumor. Columnist Camp added fear to the list of other monsters we face, and he’s right.
Camp goes on to talk about how “fear blocks gratitude,” and how fear gets in the way of awareness of the grace that goes on all around us all the time – the simple acts of kindness and small offers of generosity.
“A mind stuck on anxiety about the future misses the wonder of the present moment,” he said, and something about that – and the notion of actually being able to take control over the monsters dominating my life - really hit home.
Here I was, coming down to the kitchen every morning, bringing a cloud of black worried negativity with me - so anxious about the future, and so tired from another night of bad dreams or tormented non-sleep, that I couldn’t even taste my coffee or hear the birds singing outside.
I was angry that my world was falling apart, and there seemed to be no end in sight. I was demoralized because (at least by the look of Athens or Atlanta traffic) everyone but Mr. Clark has a job. I was snapping at people at work and losing my temper way too often. The coldness permeating my heart was making those around me shiver…My monsters were alive and well, and I was the one feeding them.
I had let my house, my mind and my attitude become an all-you-can-eat buffet of negativity for any monster that wanted to stop by…And, while the monsters of fear, worry and unemployment were thriving, Mr. Clark and I had slowly begun to die…
The Lomilomi healers made it clear. It was time for a radical environment adjustment, and there was no one to kill the monsters in my life with gratitude and kindness except me.
So, I began to look for ways to be grateful, rather than angry. And, it turns out, once the monsters have been put on notice (and a diet), being thankful is not all that hard. Even the unemployment has brought us blessings.
Mr. Clark used to travel all the time, and it’s been nice to have him settle into the place he’s always called home, but never spent much time at. I used to do most of the shopping, cooking, cleaning and bill-paying. Since Mr. Clark has taken over these things, we eat better, cheaper, and what finances we have are in much better order. (I still keep a tidier house…)
We used to harbor the delusion that jobs with nice salaries and benefits were guaranteed, which led us to overspend and use credit cards too much. Now that those days are over, our lives are simpler and more under control.
“An environment of gratitude fosters generosity and resiliency,” Mr. Camp wrote, and it’s that word “resilient” I really like. Things could get much worse than they are now – indeed, they might. But, remembering to be aware and thankful for what we do have will certainly help keep those monsters of fear, worry, anger and negativity at bay…And, that will most surely allow us to be more resilient with whatever the future brings.
A good friend e-mailed me the other day - her husband has been laid off. Another “old guy” information specialist joins the ranks Mr. Clark has been among now, for the past 10 months…At my daughter’s job, they just laid off two of the six women who work there…The wife of one of my son’s good friends was let go last month…And, so it continues - the downward spiral of our economy and the upward spiral of unemployment…
Let me tell you, month after month of unemployment will wear you down…The bills pile up, the reserves dwindle…Mr. Clark continues to apply for jobs and work his network, to little or no avail…Some contract work has thankfully, recently come in, but the toll of month after month of worry, doubt, fear, anger and discouragement is a large one.
Finally, something has to give - either reality or attitude-wise - because if it doesn’t, everyone in the house will go crazy. I hit my wall a few weeks ago, and what triggered it (in addition to an ever-increasing depression, punctuated by fits of anger, and an overwhelming sense of worry about the future…) was a column I read in the Athens Banner Herald.
It was by Tom Camp; the title was “Gratitude in the recession.” In the column, he talks about visiting Hawaii, in particular some native healers of the Lomilomi tradition. One healer spoke about how “a monster cannot survive in an environment of gratitude.” The monster the healer was referring to was a tumor. Columnist Camp added fear to the list of other monsters we face, and he’s right.
Camp goes on to talk about how “fear blocks gratitude,” and how fear gets in the way of awareness of the grace that goes on all around us all the time – the simple acts of kindness and small offers of generosity.
“A mind stuck on anxiety about the future misses the wonder of the present moment,” he said, and something about that – and the notion of actually being able to take control over the monsters dominating my life - really hit home.
Here I was, coming down to the kitchen every morning, bringing a cloud of black worried negativity with me - so anxious about the future, and so tired from another night of bad dreams or tormented non-sleep, that I couldn’t even taste my coffee or hear the birds singing outside.
I was angry that my world was falling apart, and there seemed to be no end in sight. I was demoralized because (at least by the look of Athens or Atlanta traffic) everyone but Mr. Clark has a job. I was snapping at people at work and losing my temper way too often. The coldness permeating my heart was making those around me shiver…My monsters were alive and well, and I was the one feeding them.
I had let my house, my mind and my attitude become an all-you-can-eat buffet of negativity for any monster that wanted to stop by…And, while the monsters of fear, worry and unemployment were thriving, Mr. Clark and I had slowly begun to die…
The Lomilomi healers made it clear. It was time for a radical environment adjustment, and there was no one to kill the monsters in my life with gratitude and kindness except me.
So, I began to look for ways to be grateful, rather than angry. And, it turns out, once the monsters have been put on notice (and a diet), being thankful is not all that hard. Even the unemployment has brought us blessings.
Mr. Clark used to travel all the time, and it’s been nice to have him settle into the place he’s always called home, but never spent much time at. I used to do most of the shopping, cooking, cleaning and bill-paying. Since Mr. Clark has taken over these things, we eat better, cheaper, and what finances we have are in much better order. (I still keep a tidier house…)
We used to harbor the delusion that jobs with nice salaries and benefits were guaranteed, which led us to overspend and use credit cards too much. Now that those days are over, our lives are simpler and more under control.
“An environment of gratitude fosters generosity and resiliency,” Mr. Camp wrote, and it’s that word “resilient” I really like. Things could get much worse than they are now – indeed, they might. But, remembering to be aware and thankful for what we do have will certainly help keep those monsters of fear, worry, anger and negativity at bay…And, that will most surely allow us to be more resilient with whatever the future brings.
R U an Idiot?
Driving home from Athens on 316 last Friday afternoon, I was traveling in a pod of speeders, all going slightly over 70 mph, sticking together in a group so that, maybe “the other guy will get the ticket.”
Most of the drivers appeared to be UGA students, going home to Gwinnett, Cobb, Fulton, and other counties for the weekend. Young men in ball caps driving 4-wheel-drive pick-up trucks, SUVs or Jeeps…Young women, sunroofs open, hair blowing in the wind, driving sporty little cars or sporty little SUVs…The common theme was the UGA and Bulldog paraphernalia all over the vehicle.
The other common theme – and, this theme included me - was that we were all doing something else while we were driving - talking on a cell, fiddling with the radio, texting…This while traveling at high speeds, performing an elaborate ballet of lane changes, passing and tail-gating, vying amongst ourselves for who would “get there” first and fastest. This, folks, is very dangerous.
According to an article in the February, 2009 issue of Oprah magazine, entitled “Text at Your Own Risk,” 77% of the respondents to a recent survey said they’d texted while driving. 16% had texted during a funeral (Lord have mercy) and 11 % admitted to texting “during a romantic interlude.” Good Lord! As a society, what have we come to?
In this same article, a neuroscientist named Rene Marois, PhD, was quoted as saying, “The human brain has a crippling inability to do two things at once,” despite our brains using some “100 billion neurons to process information at rates as high as 1,000 times a second.” The article went on to state that a recent British study found texting while driving “slows reaction time more than being drunk or high.”
And, there we all were, sailing down 316 at speeds of 70-75 mph, happily texting away, as if this behavior is sustainable. I can say, based on 5 years experience as an ER social worker, this behavior is not sustainable. Wrecks happen, and when they do, way too many of them are devastating. So, what form of lunacy has me participating in this particular form of road idiocy? Based on my “5 years experience as an ER social worker,” I should know better.
Along the same lines, but a little lighter and more amusing, I listened to an NPR podcast the other day. It was “WNYC on Demand” - “Radio Lab” was the show. The topic was “Choice,” and, like the article in Oprah, it made our minds sound pretty feeble.
They were talking about memory tests conducted by a psychologist named Miller in the 1950’s and they referred to the “Magic # 7, plus or minus 2.” Apparently, the average human mind can only hold 7 digits, plus or minus 2, which is why all of our significant numbers like social security, birth date and phone numbers, are around 7 digits, plus or minus 2.
According to Dr. Miller’s research, the brain is anatomically organized into two systems – the rational brain and the emotional brain. These two brain systems are often at war, but the thing that really pushes them over the edge is a tough choice. Rational brain can pretty much hold its own until it has too much to handle, which in the case of our brains, is something as minor as trying to remember 7 digits while making a choice.
In a classic, and often repeated study, Dr. Miller gave subjects a number to remember - some had only 2 digits, others had as many as 7. The subjects received the number in Room #1. They were to memorize it, go to Room #2, and recite it. Easy enough, right? But, on the way to Room #2, a twist occurred.
The study subjects were approached by a friendly young woman offering them either a “big, fat, juicy slice of chocolate cake,” or a “nice, healthy bowl of fruit salad” as a reward for taking part in the study.
It turns out, in an overwhelming number of cases, the people charged with remembering as many as 7 digits chose the chocolate cake, while those whose task was to remember only 2 or 3 digits chose the fruit plate.
Why? Because as Dr. Miller, and numerous others after him have found, it only takes 6 or 7 digits to mess up rational thinking in the human brain. Rational mind knows that fruit is better for you than chocolate cake – less carbs, less sugar, all in all much more healthy, and in general, a way better choice. But, if rational mind is kept busy remembering 7 or so digits, emotional mind can take over, and basically scream, “We want chocolate cake!”
What this all has to do with a pod of texting traffic traveling way too fast last Friday afternoon on 316? I’m not sure, except to say that we all, too often, fall to the temptation to do too much. It robs us of the pleasure of living moment to moment. It robs us of the safety of simply driving (even if it is too fast…) It robs us of the ability to choose the fruit plate over the chocolate cake…Don’t get me wrong. I’m a big fan of chocolate cake, but maybe even it is best enjoyed without cell phone to text on in hand...
Most of the drivers appeared to be UGA students, going home to Gwinnett, Cobb, Fulton, and other counties for the weekend. Young men in ball caps driving 4-wheel-drive pick-up trucks, SUVs or Jeeps…Young women, sunroofs open, hair blowing in the wind, driving sporty little cars or sporty little SUVs…The common theme was the UGA and Bulldog paraphernalia all over the vehicle.
The other common theme – and, this theme included me - was that we were all doing something else while we were driving - talking on a cell, fiddling with the radio, texting…This while traveling at high speeds, performing an elaborate ballet of lane changes, passing and tail-gating, vying amongst ourselves for who would “get there” first and fastest. This, folks, is very dangerous.
According to an article in the February, 2009 issue of Oprah magazine, entitled “Text at Your Own Risk,” 77% of the respondents to a recent survey said they’d texted while driving. 16% had texted during a funeral (Lord have mercy) and 11 % admitted to texting “during a romantic interlude.” Good Lord! As a society, what have we come to?
In this same article, a neuroscientist named Rene Marois, PhD, was quoted as saying, “The human brain has a crippling inability to do two things at once,” despite our brains using some “100 billion neurons to process information at rates as high as 1,000 times a second.” The article went on to state that a recent British study found texting while driving “slows reaction time more than being drunk or high.”
And, there we all were, sailing down 316 at speeds of 70-75 mph, happily texting away, as if this behavior is sustainable. I can say, based on 5 years experience as an ER social worker, this behavior is not sustainable. Wrecks happen, and when they do, way too many of them are devastating. So, what form of lunacy has me participating in this particular form of road idiocy? Based on my “5 years experience as an ER social worker,” I should know better.
Along the same lines, but a little lighter and more amusing, I listened to an NPR podcast the other day. It was “WNYC on Demand” - “Radio Lab” was the show. The topic was “Choice,” and, like the article in Oprah, it made our minds sound pretty feeble.
They were talking about memory tests conducted by a psychologist named Miller in the 1950’s and they referred to the “Magic # 7, plus or minus 2.” Apparently, the average human mind can only hold 7 digits, plus or minus 2, which is why all of our significant numbers like social security, birth date and phone numbers, are around 7 digits, plus or minus 2.
According to Dr. Miller’s research, the brain is anatomically organized into two systems – the rational brain and the emotional brain. These two brain systems are often at war, but the thing that really pushes them over the edge is a tough choice. Rational brain can pretty much hold its own until it has too much to handle, which in the case of our brains, is something as minor as trying to remember 7 digits while making a choice.
In a classic, and often repeated study, Dr. Miller gave subjects a number to remember - some had only 2 digits, others had as many as 7. The subjects received the number in Room #1. They were to memorize it, go to Room #2, and recite it. Easy enough, right? But, on the way to Room #2, a twist occurred.
The study subjects were approached by a friendly young woman offering them either a “big, fat, juicy slice of chocolate cake,” or a “nice, healthy bowl of fruit salad” as a reward for taking part in the study.
It turns out, in an overwhelming number of cases, the people charged with remembering as many as 7 digits chose the chocolate cake, while those whose task was to remember only 2 or 3 digits chose the fruit plate.
Why? Because as Dr. Miller, and numerous others after him have found, it only takes 6 or 7 digits to mess up rational thinking in the human brain. Rational mind knows that fruit is better for you than chocolate cake – less carbs, less sugar, all in all much more healthy, and in general, a way better choice. But, if rational mind is kept busy remembering 7 or so digits, emotional mind can take over, and basically scream, “We want chocolate cake!”
What this all has to do with a pod of texting traffic traveling way too fast last Friday afternoon on 316? I’m not sure, except to say that we all, too often, fall to the temptation to do too much. It robs us of the pleasure of living moment to moment. It robs us of the safety of simply driving (even if it is too fast…) It robs us of the ability to choose the fruit plate over the chocolate cake…Don’t get me wrong. I’m a big fan of chocolate cake, but maybe even it is best enjoyed without cell phone to text on in hand...
More from the ER
It was another busy night in the ER – not crazy busy, like it was during flu season, but busy enough to make the hours fly by. Last night was sick kid night, with way too many treatment rooms occupied by sad, red-cheeked or pale-faced, feverish, vomiting or dehydrated, tearful, fearful, injured or just feeling really crummy children.
There was the little girl with the broken arm – a fall off her playset – so brave and strong, smiling at staff and her worried parents, as the x-ray machines and doctors and nurses came and went… Several tiny ones with fevers came in – little babies, so new to this world that it’s hard to remember any human is ever that small…The vomiting toddlers, all flush-cheeked and sweaty - angry, scared and unwilling to let any of strangers in scrubs come anywhere near. That’s the age for stranger danger, and boy! do their parents have a hard time of it, listening to their wailing near hysteria, as IV lines are established, and fluids, shots and medicine are given…
One particularly sad story involved an 11-year-old boy who got hit by a car while playing at a friend’s house. The boys were riding bikes, just after dark. They weren’t wearing helmets, lights or reflective clothing. A car hit one of them from behind…I didn’t hear exactly how the accident occurred, but I know the boy suffered a severe head injury and had to be transferred to Scottish Rite in Atlanta.
Heartbreakingly brave, tired and so alone, was the new mother of twin girls – less than two weeks old. One of the twins was vomiting and had bad diarrhea; the other was fine. Two tiny pink bundles, beautiful, long fingers, pursed lips - so fragile, so precious, so well-dressed, so young…The mom looked very tired. She said she hadn’t had any sleep in three days, and was “pretty much doing this alone,” tears welling up in her eyes. Apparently, the dad cut out shortly before the twins were born and her family lives far away…
There was a brave, perky, precocious little Hispanic girl who needed stitches in her hand. Even though the hospital provides interpreters, she insisted on talking to the doctor and nurses herself, saying “I can speak English by myself.”
There was the very worried mother an autistic girl, summoned by her daughter’s teacher after the child had a seizure at pre-school. Mom arrived at the ER 10 minutes before the ambulance, and she was kicking herself for not going to the child’s school instead.
“They told me to come to the hospital, but I should’ve gone there instead,” she said, starting to cry. “I should be with her…She shouldn’t have ride with strangers alone…”
The next ambulance brought a little girl with diabetes who had stopped eating earlier in the week, so her blood sugar was all messed up. Her mother was also worried and very tired-looking. She became tearful – this time happy tears – when the doctor told her the girl was sick with an easily treatable infection and the antibiotics should have her eating again in no time.
I had to do a CPS (Child Protective Services) report on a little boy who suffered a badly broken arm after “falling off his mother’s bed.” The mother seemed attentive and the child was clearly “high energy.” But, the severity of the injury did not match the story, so the Department of Family and Children’s Services will have to check into it…That little boy rode off to Egleston, in Atlanta, laughing, and yelling, and using his good arm to shoot his little foam-shooting ice cream cone (an ER freebie) at everyone he encountered as his gurney rolled down the hall to the ambulance bay.
All so precious, all so frail, all so sick or injured when they arrive…many, thankfully, so many, so much better when they leave…It makes us happy to see a little one who came in really sick leave, smiling, waving, saying, “Bye-bye!”…It makes us sad to see a tiny one flown out on a helicopter, surrounded by fancy equipment and nurses in flight suits…We are infuriated by the abuse we see…And, deeply affected by the occasional, but devastating infant or child death…
My “baby” turns 26 this week. And, while I am so proud of the young woman she has become, my memories of her growing up remain quite vivid. We were well-blessed, in that she only had one trip to the ER, after a fall off a three foot wall, when she was two.
I still remember the sight of her tiny, briefly lifeless-looking body, lying at the foot of that brick wall. I remember how her short and so very precious life flashed through my mind, as I scooped her up and called 911. I remember the joy I felt when she came to a few moments later, and the relief I felt when the ambulance arrived….Her fall turned out to be nothing, but it felt like a lot that day…
That’s the thing the ER teaches me every shift – and, challenges me to remember every day – life is so fleeting and full of unexpected accidents and illnesses. Every day that passes calamity-free is a good day, no matter what else is going on.
There was the little girl with the broken arm – a fall off her playset – so brave and strong, smiling at staff and her worried parents, as the x-ray machines and doctors and nurses came and went… Several tiny ones with fevers came in – little babies, so new to this world that it’s hard to remember any human is ever that small…The vomiting toddlers, all flush-cheeked and sweaty - angry, scared and unwilling to let any of strangers in scrubs come anywhere near. That’s the age for stranger danger, and boy! do their parents have a hard time of it, listening to their wailing near hysteria, as IV lines are established, and fluids, shots and medicine are given…
One particularly sad story involved an 11-year-old boy who got hit by a car while playing at a friend’s house. The boys were riding bikes, just after dark. They weren’t wearing helmets, lights or reflective clothing. A car hit one of them from behind…I didn’t hear exactly how the accident occurred, but I know the boy suffered a severe head injury and had to be transferred to Scottish Rite in Atlanta.
Heartbreakingly brave, tired and so alone, was the new mother of twin girls – less than two weeks old. One of the twins was vomiting and had bad diarrhea; the other was fine. Two tiny pink bundles, beautiful, long fingers, pursed lips - so fragile, so precious, so well-dressed, so young…The mom looked very tired. She said she hadn’t had any sleep in three days, and was “pretty much doing this alone,” tears welling up in her eyes. Apparently, the dad cut out shortly before the twins were born and her family lives far away…
There was a brave, perky, precocious little Hispanic girl who needed stitches in her hand. Even though the hospital provides interpreters, she insisted on talking to the doctor and nurses herself, saying “I can speak English by myself.”
There was the very worried mother an autistic girl, summoned by her daughter’s teacher after the child had a seizure at pre-school. Mom arrived at the ER 10 minutes before the ambulance, and she was kicking herself for not going to the child’s school instead.
“They told me to come to the hospital, but I should’ve gone there instead,” she said, starting to cry. “I should be with her…She shouldn’t have ride with strangers alone…”
The next ambulance brought a little girl with diabetes who had stopped eating earlier in the week, so her blood sugar was all messed up. Her mother was also worried and very tired-looking. She became tearful – this time happy tears – when the doctor told her the girl was sick with an easily treatable infection and the antibiotics should have her eating again in no time.
I had to do a CPS (Child Protective Services) report on a little boy who suffered a badly broken arm after “falling off his mother’s bed.” The mother seemed attentive and the child was clearly “high energy.” But, the severity of the injury did not match the story, so the Department of Family and Children’s Services will have to check into it…That little boy rode off to Egleston, in Atlanta, laughing, and yelling, and using his good arm to shoot his little foam-shooting ice cream cone (an ER freebie) at everyone he encountered as his gurney rolled down the hall to the ambulance bay.
All so precious, all so frail, all so sick or injured when they arrive…many, thankfully, so many, so much better when they leave…It makes us happy to see a little one who came in really sick leave, smiling, waving, saying, “Bye-bye!”…It makes us sad to see a tiny one flown out on a helicopter, surrounded by fancy equipment and nurses in flight suits…We are infuriated by the abuse we see…And, deeply affected by the occasional, but devastating infant or child death…
My “baby” turns 26 this week. And, while I am so proud of the young woman she has become, my memories of her growing up remain quite vivid. We were well-blessed, in that she only had one trip to the ER, after a fall off a three foot wall, when she was two.
I still remember the sight of her tiny, briefly lifeless-looking body, lying at the foot of that brick wall. I remember how her short and so very precious life flashed through my mind, as I scooped her up and called 911. I remember the joy I felt when she came to a few moments later, and the relief I felt when the ambulance arrived….Her fall turned out to be nothing, but it felt like a lot that day…
That’s the thing the ER teaches me every shift – and, challenges me to remember every day – life is so fleeting and full of unexpected accidents and illnesses. Every day that passes calamity-free is a good day, no matter what else is going on.
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