Cougar Suit Christmas

It's Christmas Eve and I am preparing to load the car and spend the evening with my family. I will be wearing a fleece cheetah print onsie...we decided to have a pajama party this year. For 31 years, I have carefully picked out my Christmas Eve attire, and every year I have changed into comfortable clothes as soon as possible. We stuff ourselves with food and suddenly the nice skirt, dress, slacks, etc are more like medieval corsets trying to squeeze the last bit of substance from abdomen. So, why not just start the evening right? Hideous onsie PJs?

Another thing I have noticed today is that our Christmas tree appears to have vomited. There are piles of "things" wrapped in festive holiday paper coming from every part of our tree. It's unbelievable and a little disconcerting. Christmas is different than it was years ago. I can honestly say that there is not much that I want. I don't need or desire gifts. But, I do enjoy getting gifts for others. I like my rule: most gifts should be items that the person has no idea they want or need. It frustrates me when I get "stuck" on someone and can't decide on a good gift. The back up plan is always a gift card, but even then I hate buying obvious gift cards so I search for unique cards. Ultimately, I really just like spending the evening with my family. I enjoy the environment now that all of my siblings and cousins are adults, and so far there aren't any little babies crawling around. I like my cousins and brothers and all of the significant others that come along.

Christmas also makes me more pensive than usual. Weighing heavy on my mind today is one of lives' biggest quandaries. Why was I chosen to live a comfortable life? Why do I have Christmas tree vomit in my living room? A warm house? Spoiled dogs? A great family? People who love me? More "things" that I need? America's freedom? Freedom from a Burka? The list is long. I'm grateful for sure, but I could have just as easily been born to a young single mother in an African village without clean drinking water.

So, whatever the reason for my luck, I am so thankful. Now I am going to proudly wear my cougar suit out for a relaxing eve with my favorite people.

Death in an Elevator

I spend a lot of time in elevators. I should use the stairs more often but sometimes I just want to lean on the elavator wall and "rest" for just a moment. Observing the behavior of others is entertaining, and clearly not everyone has been taught appropriate elevator etiquette. It really is more fun than people watching in the airport, which is not as accessible as it was before 9/11.

Today, I was sure that I met my killer in the M.O.B (medical office bldg) elevator. It was a man about 6 feet tall and 200 pounds. I became aware of his presense in the parking garage and for some reason I made a mental note to watch him. I guess my sympathetic nervous system kicked in and I was ready for "fight or flight". There was no obvious reason that my neurons should start firing. He was rather ragged but not in a dirty way. He wore leather and carried a bag with a skull drawn in silver puff paint. His hair was short and had the beginnings of a full beard. All in all, nothing obviously out of the ordinary. Yet, he concerned me.

I normally try to choose my elevator wisely, always looking for the one with the least amount of fellow riders. Today was my lucky day, I got on an empty elevator and prepared for 7 floors of shut eye. But, with only a few inches left before the door closed completely a hand shot through the space and a gruff voice yelled, "hold the door". I didn't hold the door, I rarely do. He made it in anyways. It was the man from the garage. A sort of 6th sense swept over me and I was convinced that I was going to die at the hands of this man. Obviously, I wasn't killed. The man didn't even look at me.

I don't think that I am a paranoid person. I am always VERY aware of my surroundings but I think that is just because I am street smart. I see a lot of shit in my job and at my hospital that has desensitized me to some terrible things. So, why was I filled with paranoia today? Perhaps it is because I have spent the last 4 days reading crime/mystery novels and watching conspiracy type movies?

Radiation Beak

It has been more than 48 hours since I developed a classified super power! It is different than I expected. I was convinced that I would go about my conventional daily routine with nothing more than the occasional memory that I was now different. Of course, I planned on spending my at home time in quarantine so as not to wreak havoc on the functioning thyroids of my family members, dogs included. However, I did not expect to feel guilty with possibly tainting those poor souls who happened to enter my 3 foot force field of gamma rays. So I took my special pill and ran a few errands. I found myself purposefully catching my reflection in mirrors and glass , as if I would suddenly see a neon glow around my body. Most unforeseen was the strong amount of guilt I began to experience. Did I now possess a super power that was capable of sabotaging the health of others? Was I walking biological warfare? I didn't deliberate about this idea long, rather I went immediately home and into quarantine. I even turned a blind eye to the jumping and yipping of my excited dogs.

I am gamma beak! (Beak?? you just have to know me) I haven't detected an unusual glowing but I keep looking! I am expecting my tears or saliva to light up like a yellow glow stick. Radiation is a peculiar medical treatment, in that I don't feel any different, but I have 10 days of rules to follow in order to limit radiation exposure to others. Eventually, I might get a sore throat, which I will welcome. It will do more to convince me that I didn't actually swallow a sugar pill. 48 hours and counting in quarantine. It has made me think, mostly about solitary confinement as a form of torture or punishment. 

I recently watched a documentary on solitary confinement in prisons and I was left with a sense of disgust. I couldn't believe that human beings were put into a dark room, alone, with NO human contact for years! We are social creatures from birth. We require interactions with other humans to develop normally. Studies performed with monkeys have shown us that social isolation following birth can cause a state of shock characterized by autistic like behaviors: clutching oneself and rocking. Brain EEGs (the test where a bunch of electrodes are hooked up to your head) have shown diffuse slowing after just one week in solitary confinement. This can be likened to the type of slowing seen on EEGs of people who have delirium. In fact, the brain of a man held in solitary confinement has been compared to one that has suffered traumatic brain injury. Solitary confinement can be devastating to one's ability to regulate emotions.  Prisoners have reported "losing their minds", hallucinations, intense aversion to sounds, obsessive compulsive behaviors, and panic. Studies have shown that up to 90% of men held in solitary confinement develop irrational anger. Even more horrifying was the realization that many of these men (yes, almost all are men) are released from prison, into the free world, immediately after spending countless years in solitary confinement. Upon release, they are frequently unable to organize their lives, appropriately interact with others and it is almost guaranteed that they will end up back in prison and solitary. Sadly, America LOVES solitary confinement and previous attempts to regulate this practice have failed. Torture is clearly legal in America!

Obviously my quarantine is nothing like solitary confinement, but even 2 days away from people and my dogs has made me tired and sad. Only one more full day and I will be free....mostly. 

How To Use and Elevator

How to use an elevator:
1. Push the up or down arrow ONCE...repeatedly pushing the button does not make the elevator come faster. It also does not help to push an already lit up button.
2. Wait patiently
3. Move to the side an allow people from inside the elevator to exit
4. Calmly walk into the elevator and push the button for your floor ONCE
5. Stand quietly and wait for your floor
6. Repushing your floor number at each stop does not make the process faster
7. Exit the elevator onto your floor

Common elevator courtesies:
1. If you can walk and the stairs are next to the elevator and you are just going up or down one floor, you should probably take the stairs.
2. Smoking before entering the elevator makes asthmatics wheeze and others want to vomit
3. Perfume gives everyone a headache
4. Control you kids
5. Do not hold the elevator for your family that is still unloading from the car. Just wait.

The elevator is the cause of so many daily frustrations. It makes me angry.

Life Changes

Life can change in the blink of an eye. This isn't a new thought but it has never meant as much to me as it does now. While 2011 hasn't been terrible, it certainly hasn't been smooth sailing. I have learned a lot about human behavior and response to difficulty. I have responded to situations in far different ways than I would have ever expected. I have been inspired by the way other people have responded to their own trials. Throughout my life I have found comfort in the words my parents used to alleviate my childhood anxiety, "God doesn't give you things you can't handle". I'm sure those weren't the exact words but you get the point. So, of course I believed that I was safe from serious illness or trauma..."NO way could I handle cancer or major surgery..." But then again I was pretty sure that I would slip into a very deep depression, necessitating a feeding tube for nutritional needs, when Paisley died. I somehow managed to grieve the loss of my soul dog while maintaining my adult duties, which included eating.

Now I will likely be faced with  the subjects of my worst nightmares. Since learning of the hole in my heart I have done what any dedicated nurse practitioner and knowledge seeker would do. I have read EVERYTHING about congenital heart defects. That right there is a shocking thing by itself. I have a congenital heart defect...it sounds strange. I know all about the 3 types of ASDs and the associated defects. I know why people aren't always diagnosed in childhood. I know the difference between PFOs and PDAs and VSDs and ToF and PS and PVR and Mustard procedures and OHS etc. I know that there are only 2 ACHD clinics in AZ. I know that ACHD stands for adult congenital heart defect. I know about shunts and pressures.  I am also beginning to believe that I might not have any idea what "normal" is related to cardiac health. Things that I thought were totally normal or possibly related to high anxiety are actually more likely caused by this damn hole in my heart. Seriously, it is not normal to feel your heart beating ALL of the time?!

Unfortunately, it is the things that I don't yet know keeping me awake at night. Wednesday can't come soon enough! I can't wait to have a moderately invasive and highly uncomfortable (if I am not properly sedated) test completed so that my cardiologist can tell me exactly what kind of hole I have, how big it is, where it is located, and how it will need to be fixed.  No matter what, I just want it fixed NOW. I want to move past this detour in my life and recover. I am excited and full of optimism that if I no longer have a hole in my heart I just might turn into a VERY active person. With 6 pack abs and the ability to run a half marathon even though I hate running! Maybe I will develop a love for pounding the pavement. How cool would it be if I were able to hike without fear of quitting early or embarrassing myself with a slow pace? I have just accepted in life that I wasn't blessed with amazing athletic ability. For the most part I have payed attention to my fitness throughout life but was always perplexed with the disconnect between my effort put forth and objective measures of physical fitness. So the constant "what if I need open heart surgery to repair my heart" question that is circling in my head is tempered with my hopes of becoming an amazing sheet of muscle!

ASD PFO VSD BBC

I have a tendency to obsess! My mind can get stuck, moving in rapid circles trying to analyze and conceptualize one subject. This is especially true for health related topics. My job plays into this weakness, or possibly strength I have been given. Give me an obscure clinical picture and I will not only look for possible zebras but also for the unicorns. Horses are boring. More all-consuming and detrimental to my overall well-being is my own health, or rather threats of health decline. Basically, I have a hole in my heart. It has been years, actually more than a decade, since I have had vague cardiac symptoms. Cardiac workups were all relatively normal and it was all blamed on anxiety. "You are just sensitive to catecholamines." Great! I have since accepted that and lived with it. Normal for me is fast heart rate, awareness of every heart beat, shortness of breath with minimal activity and a general sense of being more tired than others. But I have done a good job of ignoring and compensating and living. But now I have learned that there really is a problem...a congenital heart defect...a hole...I don't know exactly what kind or how big this hole is yet. I need another test first. I have earned the most amazing opportunity to have a long probe shoved down my esophagus to get a good look at my heart. I am sure this will feel awesome! (sarcasm) Actually, I really shouldn't feel anything or be aware of anything with the right mix of sedatives. The looming question is, "How will it need to be repaired?" I have found peace with a cath lab repair but am a bit leery of an open heart repair. So I am hoping, praying, and crossing my fingers for cath lab repair. Open heart will take an influx of strength, trust and faith...and probably some daily anxiolytics prior to surgery. My mom and Hez will probably need some too! So hope for a PFO, accept the liklihood of an ASD but hope for ostium secondum asd, doubt the vsd and come on BBC-Your show, "Luther", is way too short! 10 episodes in 2 seasons? You have sucked me in and I am obsessed. Now you make me wait for season 3. mean.

How do I communicate "moron"?

I recently dicussed communication styles with friends over Postino's bruchetta and wine. The managers in the group have taken classes on identifying how different employees communicate. Apparently this ensures that everything runs smoothly by providing every employee with an effective voice. BUT, my question was, "How do I communicate moron"? I understand that some people are assertive while others are passive. Some people like to analyze data and some like to create. But what about the rest of the population (I'd say about 98% of adults) who do not have the brain capacity to even entertain such high level communicaton skills? It is possible that I have a skewed sample, thus believe that most people are idiots. It scares me. IS America becoming dumber? Less able to interact in the real-life, non-virtual world? I am impressed at the number of blank stares I get in the course of one day. At times I feel self-conscious and doubtful of my abilities to effectively communicate. How can so many people have difficulty understanding simple instructions and/or explanations. Why do I walk around with the same song in my head everyday? "Only stupid people are breeding..." Is the stupidy a result of poor education, language barriers, apathy or legitimately low IQs? Whatever the cause, I need to develop a better coping mechanism to deal with the morons of the world. It is stupid that stupid people have enough power to make me so angry in my day to day life.

Entitlement and the Decline of America

Entitlement is to blame for the rapid decline of the Great US of A. Entitled people expect and demand privileges. The have a delusional belief that they are superior to others. They enjoy manipulation and controlling people and situations. We are a nation where narcissism extends far beyond the DSM and into the core of our infrastructure. What happened to reciprocity? The Golden Rule? If you come to my aid I will repay you in some way or at a minimum I will thank you over and over. With entitlement there is demise of reciprocity. There is no sense of repayment, rather entitled people simply expect others to meet their needs. In health care, it is evident that entitlement and narcissism control the system.

"I am very busy. I am in the emergency department because I am very sick. I demand to be treated immediately. And I expect the Cadillac of all work-ups. Yes, I want a stat MRI of my back. Yes, my pain has been present for 2 years, that's why I must have a stat MRI. You won't order an MRI? I need to speak to the hospital manager. The hospital president. I will call my lawyer. I will absolutely not wait overnight for the MRI. I am leaving. You will be sorry."

This is not a far-fetched situation. It happens every day. In health care alone, Americans are demanding more and more. The health care industry enables this behavior. Heaven forbid a patient leave unhappy. Enter in the customer service push in emergency medicine. You wonder why the use of percocet and other opioid pain killers has increased exponentially over the past 10 years. Everyone wants them and providers dare not say no, because management will be notified that the patient is not adequately being treated. It's a losing battle. We have developed a system that cannot sustain itself, which is obvious.

There are so many social realms in which entitlement has taken the throne. It is all the same. Without reciprocity our society will crumble. We will lose.

Anarchy

I loathe the word "commentary". The definition can be either positive or negative, but I almost always associate this word with the negative. Criticism or Critique. My patients typically do not enjoy the "running commentary" on their thoughts provided by exasperating auditory hallucinations. I do not appreciate commentary regarding my commentary.

I also do not take well to being told, "You shouldn't..." First, and most obvious is the fact that I do not like being told what to or not to do. Ask my parents! They will confirm this. I don't view this as a completely faulty personality trait. I think it has actually gotten me to where I am now, both personally and professionally. I also just find it condescending. It's not really worth your breathe to tell me that I shouldn't do something because I can probably rattle on forever about everything I do that I shouldn't.

I shouldn't:
1. Cuss: I do. A lot. I try to censor when necessary.
2. Sleep In: I hate mornings. I hate my alarm clock. I am not naturally set to rise early. I like the night.
3. Hate Myself: I don't actually hate myself, but I certainly find it hard to love myself. I am "should" love my body, but I don't. I am embarrassed by the shape it has taken.
4. Eat Processed Sugar: I try not to, but I do. I can justify it by mixing sugary goods like peanut butter cups with frozen yogurt. The yogurt is "healthy".
5. Judge: I silently judge everyone. It's not always bad.
6. Lie: Sometimes I do. I'm not a good "big" liar, but a little white lie here and there doesn't seem problematic to me.
7. Break Rules: I LOVE to break rules! I believe in the philosophy that one should not ask for permission, rather ask for forgiveness. Rule breakers make history and create revolutions.
8. Be Late: No matter how hard I try to be on time I am usually a few minutes late. Unless my life or some other life depends on my timeliness I will likely be a bit late.
9. Hold Grudges: I have a hard time forgetting. I might bring up prior lapses in judgment, stupidity, or thoughtlessness from years ago, if we fight again.
10. Put "Real" Trash in the Recycle Bin: I'm sorry! Sometimes, I don't want to exert the energy to mentally sort out what can and cannot go in the blue bin.

I could go on, but I should stop.

Paisley

She is breathing noisily on my arm. I can feel her breathe; hot and wet. It is faster than it has been in the prior 7 years. It keeps me awake. Worried. On edge. But when it slows and becomes more quiet I am also awake. I have joked in the past that I must have some form of autism, because I really do like my dogs better than most people! I'm pretty sure I have always been a bit extreme on dog spoiling...she has a car seat! But, I always assumed that Paisley Star would live her full life span of 18+ years. I have gained acceptance of the fact that I will never have a rug in my home until I am approximately 40 something years old. That is just one of many sacrifices I have made out of love for my dog. Now, I am just hoping for one day more and then another and another etc. I come home each day with a slight pang in my chest for fear that she won't be alive. She has this way of looking at me that makes me believe that I am the most important person in the world. She depends on me entirely and in return she gives me all the love that her 11 pound body can give. I have to credit her with getting me through some of the toughest times in my life. She listens without passing judgment. She never gives advise when advise is not needed (well, actually she never does). She never interrupts and never interjects her opinions. She just cuddles and gives a few licks here and there. I can't stand the thought of losing her to a terrible disease. I have done everything to give her the absolute best chance at survival and nothing seems to be working. I'm not giving up hope!! But, I'm also not naive to the facts. If love itself can cure, Paisley should be making a full recovery soon. I love love love this dog. (some of you may think I am crazy, but that is OK)

jej-men-t-l

Judgmental: [jej-men-t-l] adjective: characterized by a tendency to judge harshly. My name is Dawn, and I am sometimes judgmental. I am powerless over this trait and have come to realize that there is a higher power who can restore my compassion. I will turn my life over to that power, admit that I am wrong and make amends etc etc. I am kidding...kind-of. I do judge people, I believe it is natural. There are so many times that I consciously tell myself, "Dawn, do not judge this person". At least not until I have gathered adequate evidence to support my judgment. :) There is a purpose to my rambling.

For all who read this blog...anyone other than my mom? I have an exercise to share. Imagine you are 25 years old (I know it's been a while mother) You grew up in a dysfunctional family, like many people do. Your dad was gone or drunk and your mom stayed in bed much of the time. Somehow you made it through high school and went to college. You moved across the country to do better for yourself and got a job. Not a great job, but a steady Ok paying job. You lose contact with your family back home. Your mom calls but she burdens you with her problems. You begin to notice a decrease in your energy and you realize that you have called in to work over 5 times last year. You get a written warning about your attendance. Your friends aren't calling much and it occurs to you that you have been pretty flaky about spending time with them. It must have been at least a month since you last attended a happy hour...no wait! It's been 3 months and 2 weeks since you last went to happy hour. You remember the exact night, because you left early, you were tired and frankly you just wanted to be home. Alone. Time passes, your apartment is disorganized with a curious odor. You've lost weight. Your reflection is not you, rather it is a diminutive version of you clothed in crumpled pieces of fabric with a despondent expression worn across your sallow face. You don't go to work that day. Or the next or the next. You actually do nothing. Until, with one final iota of hope you call your old friend for help. She doesn't answer. You compile a collection of every pill you can find in your now dilapidated apartment, grab a bottle of wine, and swallow swallow swallow.

You momentarily gain awareness and hear the laughing, mocking voices of who you believe to be the ambulance crew. You are restrained. It doesn't matter. You have no desire to move. You drift away again...until you are being stripped naked by at least 4 or 5 different people. They are kind of rough and laughing. In the distance you hear somebody say in a disgusted voice "We have another psych in 216." Somebody else "Too bad they didn't succeed" "Should've done a better job" "Probably another druggie" Your tears begin to cascade down your pale, slightly emaciated face. Then you realize everyone can see you. You realize that you are being displayed in the middle of a busy nursing zone hallway, wearing only a gown and with your new security buddy at your side. Then you hear..."I'm with psychiatry, why are you in the ER?"

Judgment. My patients are always being judged. They are seen as less than deserving of care in the health care arena. The are relegated to hallways and denied their dignity. It must be their faults for getting so "messed up". "If only they wanted to get better". I fight constantly for just a morsel of respect from staff. And I am met with resistance as if my patients have no right receiving health care. I am challenged by people who think it is perfectly acceptable for me to ask a person extremely personal questions in the hallway, because "psych patients aren't really sick and rooms are only for sick people". They are frequently disregarded as "just psych". They are ignored for hours. I recently found a patient who had been in the ER for over 15 hours waiting for me to clear him/her. I walked in and saw a critically ill person, frothing at the mouth. Hello! Somebody pay attention to this! This "psych" patient went to ICU.

They are judged every day of their lives. Judged by people who have no idea what their life story is. Judged by people who might also be just shy of an all-consuming mental illness that will wreak havoc in their lives. So, yes I judge too, but I make a concerted effort every day to hold my judgment, at least until I can gather the facts. Even then, I remind myself that a mentally healthy person does not self harm for attention. Not all drug addicts come from bad families. Not all felons are dangerous. Mostly, I try to remember that most people deserve respectful care when in the hospital. I said most, not all, because there are some people that really are just bad people and have provided me with enough evidence to justify judgment!

Lastly, to anyone out there who is quick to judge the mentally ill, remember the average age of onset for severe mental illness (bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, major depressive disorder etc.) is up to age 35. And major depressive disorder spikes again later in life. You never know when it might be you lying in that hallway.

Okayyyy????

I was in the grocery store today and was hit in the calf by a cart. A young sounding voice said, "I'm sorry hun". I turned around and saw a very young, probably teen, mom standing there with her young son. In my head I thought, "Why is this really young girl calling me hun?" It did not seem appropriate since I was clearly her elder. Then, I thought about how patients must feel to constantly be called hun, sweetie, sweetheart, hunny, etc. by nurses who are often much younger. Okayyyy hun? Do you see what I am saying? Nurses are taught NOT to be paternalistic. They are taught to value their patients' autonomy, but it is not long after graduation where "I need you to take your medication sweetheart, Okayyyyy?" is ingrained in their daily dialogue. If I am ever a patient and my 22 year-old nurse calls me hun, I will likely bite her, and pretend I am delirious!

Changes

My little brother is gone. Ok, that sounds very dramatic. He's actually in Baltimore, where he has relocated for a job. I didn't think I would miss him...that much. And, I don't even miss him yet; He's only been gone a day. But, I am sad, more than I thought I would be. It seems like the first step in the scattering of my family, that I always knew would occur. Except, I always thought I would be the one to leave. Instead, it is my baby brother and his wife, who I adore. And, it seems so far...the other side of the country. 4 1/2 hours by plane plus the 2 or 3 hour time difference (depending on the time of year). Not the easiest weekend jaunt. It's actually the same distance in hours as it is to my parents' place in Alpine, and I know how hard it is to do a weekend trip up there even with no time change. I think more than anything, I realize that I have taken the close vicinity of my family for granted. My siblings and I have lived within 5 miles of each other for years, and I rarely saw them outside of holiday functions. And now it is too late and that makes me sad. Dan and Gio are also trying to get out of Phoenix, as far as I know anyway. They have been tossing around the idea of leaving the country. What happened to the days when families stayed near each other? Even with minimal face to face visits it is nice to know my entire family is a short drive away. I'm grieving the loss of that...it hurts more than I imagined.

Slow Moving Nudity and Lettuce

I have many reoccurring dreams. Frequently, I dream that I am suddenly naked and can only move in slow motion despite an enormous amount of effort. Of course I have Googled the secret meaning of my dreams and this is the message being sent to me via the unique electroencephalogram changes indicative of sleep: I am feeling powerless, frustrated, and anxious. My life is so hard that I am practically immobilized by stress. I am suddenly naked because I feel vulnerable and shameful. It is likely that I am also afraid of being discovered for what I really am. I am afraid of judgment and ridicule. Fortunately, in my dreams nobody seems to notice or care that I am naked, so according to my Google search, my fears of vulnerability and exposure are unfounded. Thank God!

A more recent reoccurring dream involves me chewing on lettuce. I was shocked to find "lettuce" in the dream dictionary. Apparently, I am either lacking in spiritual nourishment or real "vitamin type" nourishment. Or, it could mean that I am seeking the approval of someone...The fact that I am chewing means I am sorting things out (I could have guessed that). I wish this dream would stop, because my jaw hurts in the morning and my mouth guard has a hole!

I have my own ideas regarding my reoccurring dreams. I am naked and moving slowly because, yes I am afraid of judgment. I am afraid of criticism and imperfection. I'm not sure about the whole idea that I am afraid my true self will be identified. Although, Hez might think differently :) I suppose I'm not good at deep verbal expression, I hold things in, I toss ideas around in my head for a ridiculous amount of time. Hey! Maybe that is why I am chewing on lettuce? But, I don't think I am harboring a strongly rooted alter ego. An even more simple explanation for my nudity in dreams is that I find clothes confining, yet I am less than thrilled with the idea of my body being exposed. Why can't I move as I am standing naked in my dreams? Masochistic punishment? Or maybe, I should use it as motivation to sculpt my body so that I am not ashamed. Bring it on Bodyrock.tv!

Thank you housing crash and recession

I'd like to take a moment and truly thank the housing crash and recession. Now, I might sound a bit of kilter, but I am serious. Of course, my heart goes out to those that lost a lot, if not everything, because of this economy. However, I am blessed to be young and lucky. I am not the only one who has been impacted positively by this recession. For the first 2 years of the housing market crash I watched the carnage around me, disconnected from the reality of so many others. Our house on Catalina stayed afloat. At first we sailed high above the rising waters of negative equity, then we began to slowly sink but we did not sink...until this previous year. I have now become a homeowner with absolutely NO equity in my home. I am surrounded by kindred souls. Of course, I have weighed my options...walk away? short sale? rental property? But, what I have learned is patience. I have learned that we don't NEED a bigger, fancier, more perfectly located house just because we can. I have become content with what we have. We became more creative...What can we do to make this house, that we can't sell, our home? Rather than leaving and moving on to a higher mortgage payment we have molded the space of the house into OUR space. We have designed our bathroom specifically for us. We designed the yard for US. Everything we put into our house is for US with no concern over pleasing a future buyer, because the truth is, it might take over 10 years for us to even try selling to break even. And that's OK, because we get to design our environment with FULL knowledge that we will never remake the money.

This recession has also taught me that planning for the future is crucial. I don't look at the dollar in the same way anymore. I consider my spending more carefully and I have become evermore motivated to save and save and save because I know I won't have social security to depend on when I'm 65. And credit cards!! I hate them and will not use them unless I can pay them off immediately. It is so clear to me now, that I can't afford to pay interest because that interest payment could be going to my retirement. There is no doubt in my mind that tragedy can strike and I can be homeless in a matter of months, unless I pay attention to my financial habits. When the economy was growing in leaps and bounds I never stopped to think about losing it all. Now, even with an amazing career, which I am so blessed to have, I am aware that it could all be lost in the blink of an eye.

So, economy thank you for making me stay put for a while, for forcing me to be creative in the space I have, for making me save money and never use credit cards. Most of all, thank you for showing me how blessed I am in my life.

Exorcisms etc.

I think my patient needs an exorcism! I don't know how I feel about exorcisms, except that I have always been extremely disturbed by the thought. I have never watched the movie "The Exorcist" because I believe in good and evil. I believe in God and Satan. Therefore, movies with demonic possessions give me nightmares and create a hypervigilence in me to never accidentally allow myself to be possessed. I can't explain exactly why I believe my patient needs an exorcism. I can't put my finger on what is really wrong with her. I've diagnosed schizophrenia, but her symptoms are so bizarre and chilling. In her eyes I see a type of evil that can't be explained. Yet, I also see a terrified and tragic young girl who will cry the occasional tear. (not tears of blood thank God) Zyprexa or an exorcism? I really don't know.

Yoga Moves, Bites, and Villains

To summarize my week in words can never pay due respect to the insanity (no pun intended) of the last 5 days. There are numerous reasons why I love my job, but decidedly two of the top reasons are that it is NEVER expected and NEVER the same. There is no black and white; no algorithms; no expectations; and no preparation. People always ask me how I can do what I do. How can I not?! How many of you close your eyes and see the Hamburgler speaking in a Jack Nicholson voice? I bet you have never even thought of the possibility. My patient did. She was not crazy. By the way, I use the term "crazy" with no disrespect. In this case, for an unknown reason, her TBI (traumatic brain injury) generated visions of a small villain who stole hamburgers. He disappeared when she opened her eyes and was generally not a bother to her. I reassured she was not crazy, we laughed, and the consult was done. Can anyone explain this phenomenon? I doubt it.

Now picture this: A small-framed, young female who is unable to use her legs due to a previous spinal injury. Psychotic...REALLY psychotic...somehow falling in a controlled manner from her bed to the floor. But wait....she is doing a handstand with her legs crossed above her. See this website for a better visual http://www.yogini.jp/monkey/item_43.html So, while in this position she manages to quickly "walk" down the hall, pull the fire alarm, and bite 2 nurses. Moments later she is cross legged in bed and singing. I can't make this up.

How could I ever do another job?

Babcia

I was going through a drawer of things, which is something that I try to do several times a year. I don't want to ever run the risk of starring in Hoarders! In fact, for me, clutter and "things" can derail a perfectly good mood. I believe in Feng Shui even though I know very little about the ancient Chinese system of aesthetics. I have to believe that Feng Shui is what guides the minimalists of the world. I doubt that Feng Shui would approve of junk drawers, no matter how balanced, or nick-nacks collecting dust. But, I have gone way off subject. The point is that I was cleaning out a drawer, which led to cleaning out an armoire. I came across a small gift that was given to me by my Babcia (grandma) for my 1st college graduation. Almost immediately tears blurred my eyes as I was overwhelmed with thoughts of my Babcia. I remembered how she smelled and how the skin on her hands felt. She had soft hands with crooked knuckles that she attributed to a short stint as a non-believer of Western medicine. Simply by holding the small statue I experienced years of time spent with my Babcia. I was taken back to her house that she lived in before moving in with my aunt. I remembered the quails and the way she had certain things rigged to make her small stature less of a hindrance. I could remember every detail of her house.

I put the statue back in the armoire. I took it back out. Put in the "get rid of" bag. Took it out of the "get rid of" back. For some reason I had a terribly hard time getting rid of the small statue because I felt like I was getting rid of a piece of my Babcia. Ultimately, the statue made into the recycle bin. I don't know if it can really be recycled but it felt better than the "get rid of" bag. I know that my Babcia is not part of the statue but it is so difficult to part with anything that reminds me of her. But, the truth is that there is nothing that will ever blur my memory of her. I have carefully chosen a few items that were once hers, or gifts from her, to keep. I will never part with her ruby ring that she gave me. I wear it on days when I need extra strength or just want to feel her extra near, but I know that even without the ring she will never be far from my thoughts. Things are ultimately just things but my memory and love for my Babcia will never disappear.

Much time has passed since my last post...I still am not ready to write again. I have a lot to say but I can't put thoughts into words right now. Soon though.