Today

The heat of the day is wearing thin and the sun is going down.  I have soft music on and fresh coffee at hand.  There is a lot on my mind, a portion of which is sad to the point of heartbreaking and frustrating to the point of rage.  Indulging in a healthy bout of self-pity is always gratifying ... for a little while.  Watching the evening breeze move through my trees out back, another sequence of images moves through my mind.  An old friend is struggling with the discovery of an insidious little mass that will change her life.  Others have lost their homes, jobs, long-term security.  A precious few have lost parents, brothers, spouses ... children.  Loved ones who struggle with burdens I cannot help them bear.  Friendships disintegrated, fellowships foundered and all economic signs point to ever increasing hardship.  It's exhausting and really quite soul-crushing if you think about it.

With Celtic music playing counterpoint to the songs of the birds outside I look just across the room.  Humming along with the music is my little piece of immortality.  In her denim skirt, pink headband and mirrored shades she sits on a bench.  Feet swinging, she is the picture of industry as she builds a small empire out of Play-Doh, attended by her toy dinosaurs.  She is perfectly content to be right in this moment, in her home with her family.  There is no heartache for her that cannot be cured with some affection, or perhaps something sweet.  There is no worry that cannot be soothed with a handhold or hug.  The emotional tribulations that swirl in tangible streams in and around the house move over her, leaving her untouched and secure in the knowledge that she is loved and safe, her life is today and today is good.

Turns out that she's right - today is good.  Today there was sunshine and breezes to help cull the heat.  Today there was good music on the radio, and better friends to catch up with over lunch.  Today there is a roof over my head, and a job I still love.  Today my friends are here, or they are healing.  Today there were stupid dogs who raided an empty garbage can, and not-so-stupid cats who hogged the bed with their whole five pound selves.  Today there is a vibrant yellow dandelion behind my ear, picked by my child who thinks it's as beautiful as I am to him.  Today there is the scent of grass, crushed by sneakers worn by laughing children running through the yard.  Today there is a full pot on the stove, with a meal I can afford to feed my family.

As Today goes to its rest, the eternal mantra of "this too shall pass" whispers through the pines out back - for both the good days and the bad.  In order to miss something, you have to have noticed it was there in the first place.

Today is good.

Tomorrow will be here when it gets here.

"If I should have a daughter -"

This is the transcript of the spoken word poem by Sarah Kay. 

If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's gonna call me Point B, because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.

And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands, so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, "Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."

And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming, I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried.

"And, baby," I'll tell her, don't keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him." But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix.

Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix. But that's what the rain boots are for. Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.

I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me. That there'll be days like this. ♫ There'll be days like this, my momma said. ♫

When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's swept away.

You will put the wind in windsome, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more." Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. And always apologize when you've done something wrong. But don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing.

And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat ...

you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

City of Ghosts

In the bygone era of life without GPS or smart phones (or cell phones for that matter), one actually had to learn how to navigate the streets and find your way from point A to B in an efficient fashion.  This was done by begging for permission to drive, becoming best friends with one Mr. Hagstrom , and purchasing one very precious commodity - a little red book that was the Newark Cross Street Guide.

With these tools in your arsenal you could set off on a nightly safari through the wilds of Newark, touring the skeletal remains of a city that was still mostly in shambles from the riots of twenty years earlier.  The crumbling architecture jutting up in the darkness like the dessicated carcass of a half-devoured creature.  In a landscape that was vastly different without the power of sunlight to chase away the beasties, there were hazards both human and non - all victims of time or apathy.

Night after night you set out again and the streets begin to look familiar to you, details that were once alien to you begin to weave together to define a place, an area, a city.  The cobblestoned sections on Jelliff grumble beneath your tires, where once shod horses moved smartly over.  You learn which has a short light, where the blind corner is, how to find *&($^& Synott Place on the first shot via one way streets.

You learn that you can take Broadway all the way to Clifton (the city not the street) if you so chose, that MLK is a party dress for High Street and that Irvine Turner Boulevard is just a pretentious moniker for good old Belmont. Tracing the wards like the swirls of a fingerprint the city and all its unique facets begins to imprint itself into your memory, it becomes your friend.  Knowing the streets takes you where you need to go, true - but it also can take out of where you should not be.  Understanding how to get on and off the highways that girdle the city can mean the difference between 5 minutes and 25 minutes.

Driving down ITB there were no pretty townhouses in manicured layouts, just a scarred ward pockmarked with empty lots and debris - overlooking a slight valley which harbored a row of high-rise public housing which epitomized everything negative about life in the inner-city.  A menacing row of darkened structures that harbored any number of grievances both from violence or poverty.  Most of the time you stick to the high ground, sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.  However if you're called then so you must, and you make the turn off of ITB and head down into the valley of darkness.  You did this via Montgomery Street.  Only ... Montgomery Street didn't have a street sign for a decade or two.

No matter, for we all heard the same thing when we started out.  Wide-eyed, clutching our little red books and trying to pay attention the guys would say - "Just make a left at the old Krueger Brewery."  There, sitting on the corner like a weary sentinel overlooking the ruins of a war-torn nation were the crumbling remains of a massive brick structure.  Partial walls valiantly standing at attention even with their metal vasculature torn out and cruelly exposed to the elements.  Paneless windows staring opaquely out across the empty lots, lifeless and broken.  Doors tottering on broken hinges and bricks randomly tumbling down like broken teeth.  There, nestled in among the obscenity of of a city decimated by hate and poverty was lonely vestige of a city that once thrived, teeming with opportunity for all comers and a functioning economy and unique cultural fabric.

Night after night I made the left turn, glancing at the silent hulking mass as I would sigh and try to steel myself for whatever I would be confronted with just a few blocks further.  It became a familiar site, a friendly vista and mental touchstone - because eventually I could say "I know who you are.  I know what you were, and so do other guys out here."  That sentiment just didn't apply to the sad ruins of an old building, but to an entire city as well.

Eventually the "renaissance" arrived at good old Belmont Avenue and the city decided that it would no longer harbor the creaking corpse of a century gone-by.  With much fanfare they announced that the brewery must go - they defiled her even more than time did, filling the crevices with explosives meant to bring her down.  Wearing a shiny hard hat and playing to the media the plunger was pushed ... and much in line with the history of this city the brewery thumbed its nose at them, refusing to fall without a fight.  Eventually it lost the fight and with a shuddering groan and the shrieking of twisted metal it gave way to the Newark of the next century, forgotten and alone - all evidence of it now is completely gone, shiny townhouses and a pretty little street sign mark where this behemoth from Newark's past once stood.

The old must give way to the new, it's a cycle of renewal this city cannot afford to be without.  Yet with a history as rich as this one has, it would be tragic for it to be lost without even acknowledging its once vibrant life.  Watching the fabric of the city and the landscape change has been a unique, exciting and sometimes sad experience.

For nobody knows this city better than those of us who trace its fingerprint day after day, night after night.

"I know who you are.  I know what you were, and I'm not the only one."

Happy Halloween - Don't forget the Dead

There are a few heralds to Autumn – the geese fly south in graceful Vs across the afternoon sky, the leaves turn glorious shades of red, yellow and orange, the grass is crunchy with frost in the morning and suddenly the smell of cloves or wood smoke becomes intoxicating.  In more mundane terms, it means that Pumpkin Lattes at Dunkin Donuts go back on the menu, apple cider is available at your favorite orchard and Christmas tree displays sprout with riotous abandon in every commercial nook and cranny.

Christmas trees … when the air conditioners were humming just a few short week ago.

There has been a growing outcry about the commercialization of the major holidays, how they are losing so much traditional and spiritual significance because we’ve placed such emphasis on the material aspect of them.  Yet every year is the same, and it feels like there is little done to stem the tide.  We will spend the next few months choking to death on advertisements meant to lure our children into wanting things, instead of wanting time.  Time with family, time with friends, time with loved ones - for no other purpose than celebrating a part of the great cycle that turns slowly on its wheel until it stops for each of us, and then those chances are gone.

Halloween is no different.

Halloween is suffering the same slow death secondary to commercial gluttony.  Please do not get me wrong on this, I absolutely love the fact that it has risen in popularity.  That for many people it is their hands-down favorite holiday, that they’ve turned to this to expend their energy for their own personal joy.  I know that that will mean that this holiday will retain significance for you and your family.  It will be tied in your memory to good things.  But this shift in culture always comes at a price and with each year I see some of the beauty inherent to Halloween slip away, buried under an avalanche of brightly wrapped candy and a deluge of horror icons.

All Hallow’s Eve represents a thinning of the veil between worlds, it has been viewed for centuries as a brief span of time when there is an overlap between the spirits and living – but it is more than that.  It is the Celtic New Year, it’s correlation with death is only in part due to the deceased and the remainder is symbolic for the death of another year.  It is a holdover when agriculture dictated the survival of a people.  The earth grows cold and sleeps until spring, the growing cycle is over.  The harvest begins along the culling of the livestock to support a people through the long cold dark.  It is thanking the land and praying for a future.  It is a time to put away the negative from your year and prepare to move forward, clean and ready for new life to come again in the spring.  You cannot embrace Life and ignore Death, they are what defines each other.

Halloween represents a time to acknowledge and honor your dead – your ancestors, your loved ones who are either newly or long-departed.  The grandmother who taught you to sew, your father and his strength, your friend for the love they gave you while they were here.  Because it is in remembering that we grant them immortality, that we incorporate what they were into what we are and what we want our children to become.

Most of all the “traditions” you see or hear about on Halloween derive from this concept, to remember the dead.  The costumes, the pranks, the gifts of treats, apples, pumpkins, they are all meant to tie us back to those that came before.  To protect us from those who would wish us ill and grant for us a safe winter.  Take a look at how the UK still celebrates Halloween, spectacular bonfires and family traditions handed down for generations – they look to us and shake their heads.

In all the spectacular orange glitter, so much of that gets lost.  The irony is that there are still many Christian families who view Halloween as a Pagan holiday and choose not to celebrate or participate in any way.  That is their right and I might agree, except that the average Halloween in the U.S. it is not afforded any spiritual significance and is thus more of a cultural holiday than a religious one.  So they are protesting something without substance.

It is supposed to be fun, and spooky and a night marked with laughter and shrieks of fear and delight.  It is a dark, delicious celebration of life and death.  It is not just about how much candy one will get, or who has the best decorations.  There is a layer beneath the masks and candlelight that I would hate to see lost forever.

I’m not trying to be a great crusader or change anyone’s mind about anything.  Celebrate however you see fit, because in celebrating at least the day is marked and you get enjoyment out of it – this is often more than enough.  Make your own traditions, ones that will carry to your friends and family and give you your own immortality some day.

But perhaps at some point, when you hear the happy laughter of children scurrying from door to door, or that tendril of wood smoke and dead leaves reaches your indrawn breath, you can take just a minute to acknowledge the lives that came before you.  The mélange of history and souls that resulted in who you are today – just acknowledge that some of those souls may still be around you.  In fact they likely are this night.

After all … it is Halloween.


Better out than in.

I do not normally do this, but this irritated me very much and since I know that I have pretty much no recourse save maintaining my own personal standard, at least I can get this out of my system.  Who this applies to does not matter; it can be applied in some portion to anybody anywhere anytime.  If this scenario is not familiar to you, well then I am very glad to hear this.  And if you are reading this and are taken aback and say “I would never do this” … well, I bet you somebody who has or does. 

I have plenty of friends here that are volunteer providers – I can safely say that this does not apply to any of you, so please accept this as a generalization, consider the reasons behind it, and remember that according to Forest Gump, professional is as professional does – being paid has nothing to do with it.

And do not think that I am being “holier than thou,” there are just as many slackers on the paid end of the fence.  It doesn’t matter what your affiliation, it’s the profession, the vocation that you’re representing every time you walk onto a scene.  Don’t just do your job, do it well.

Dear Random First Aid Squad Crew:

I do hope that I am directing this to the correct person or people, after all – it was hard to tell what (if any) your affiliation or level of training was, seeing as how you all walked into the apartment in T-shirts and jeans.

I am truly sorry that this little old lady had some pain which woke her up in the wee hours and frightened her, resulting in a call to 911 at zero-dark-thirty hours.  Believe me when I sincerely say I can empathize with being pulled from the comfort of a warm bed and summoned out into the chill rainy night.  However I would like to respectfully request that in future, you refrain from saying just how much you don’t want to be there right now, and just how much you would rather be back in bed … especially after my partner and I just spent the ten minutes we were there before you reassuring the nice lady that she is not bothering us by calling 911 in her time of need.

Curiosity leads me to ask if there was anything going on outside of the apartment, because it became a little awkward when most of you stepped outside to continue your conversations – leaving the one young gentleman as the only one inside to manage the patient move and the stretcher … including lifting it.  He was helpful and did the best he could to work with us; apparently he had not read the guidebook yet.

In trying to complete my documentation I’ll admit I’m a little baffled.  I’m not quite certain at what point the patient condition deteriorated so rapidly that you felt the need to barrel down the wet back roads at upwards of 65 mph (more than double the posted speed limit for most of the ride), on what was initially a routine transport to a local hospital.  What I do know however, is that my partner, the patient and your crewmember were all in the back of that truck.  Perhaps you have yet to see the end of that particular ABC Afterschool Special, but I can tell you that it ends very badly and usually with bagpipes.

I absolutely understand the premise and motivations behind the volunteer system, most if not all of the fellow providers started in this field on a volunteer agency, myself included.  I appreciate that there are people out there who are still willing to give the true gift of their time and attention back to their communities.  However the reality remains that just showing up only gets you points on a Glasgow Coma Scale and does very little to actually help the people you’re claiming to serve.

If you are not up for it, if you do not feel like getting out of bed, if your personal issues are going to prevent you from being 100% there for the patient when they need you – then please use the option that I do not have, stay home.

Believe me, I won’t hold it against you.


Just Keep Swimming ...

I am a big FISH fan, and I don't necessarily mean the ones with fins and scales (though they are tasty). If you're not familiar with the "FISH!" principles, here's the excerpt from Wikipedia.

On a visit to Seattle, Christensen observed how animated and happy the employees at Seattle's Pike Place Fish Market were in their work. They filled orders by flinging fish to each other, inciting laughter from the customers and compliments about their throwing/catching abilities, or commiseration if they missed. Employees would often invite customers to join the fun. The Pike Place employees gave their complete attention to each of their customers and ensured each had an enjoyable visit.
Christensen realized that not only were the workers making a routine errand fun for themselves and their customers, they also were selling tons of fish. He constructed the FISH! Philosophy from his observations of Pike Place employees, arriving at four key concepts:

• Play
• Make Their Day
• Be There (Often referred to as "Be Present" - This is more to do with giving your full attention to a task or individual.)
• CHOOSE YOUR ATTITUDE

You can pick up the book for a buck or two used, it's a short easy read and is the key to what's become a huge business model for teamwork and morale building. I really recommend it, especially if you're personally feeling down about your job.

I often hear these days how "Work isn't fun anymore." That it isn't like the old days, you can't pull pranks anymore, you can't joke with anyone anymore, everything is about the negative. I have to counter that with - is it really? Or is it perhaps ... just you?

You choose to be there, even if your circumstances dictate that for the time being you must work at a particular place, your just showing up is a choice. And if you must be there, then why not have some control over how your day is going to be? Don't get me wrong, I do not have rose-colored glasses and I did not drink the Kool Aid. I know full well both the good and the bad of the places I work. But again, if I must be there then there's no sense keeping it negative and making myself more miserable than circumstances dictate. Negative people are not only toxic, they're contagious.

Choose your attitude.   How you decide to approach your job will dictate your work environment, period. You're tired of having shitty days at work? Then find something to laugh about, lighten up, spend a few minutes being all about someone else - when they feel better you will too. If you can't change your work circumstances then step up and control your work environment.

I work several doubles a month and at my age it really kind of sucks. Yet even though I was wrung out and sweaty and already beat, I had a really good night last night. Yes, I went on jobs where stupidity was rampant and yes there was the same bullshit drama that goes on - but it was still a good night. Because the four of us on last night came to work because we had to, but enjoyed it because we wanted to. With the business of shift change over, the salsa music went on, Corinne and Lauren made dinner, we talked about memories from 9/11, finding humor in the scars. Then we watched bad movies in the dark like a bad episode of "Mystery Science Theater 3000."

I'm home, and I'm still tired - but I don't feel that soul-crushing drain of when you're unhappy about what you do. Laugh, play, choose the way you're going to work - don't let someone else dictate how you should think. It will make you a better partner and a better clinician.

And before anyone even says it - yes I was not working somewhere where posting is enforced and you are cut off from the rest of the tour for a good chunk of the shift. I am very aware of what that has done to shred what was a powerful and exceptional dynamic. However the principle remains the same, it's just on a smaller scale. You can only control what happens in the back of your ambulance, don't let anyone take that away from you. If you have to come to work then you pick how you feel about it, I can't do that for you.

One of the oldest adages is "Laughter is the best medicine." Well considering that giving medicine is pretty much what we're supposed to be doing, then perhaps we as a profession are long overdue for some self-administration.

So thank you Corinne, not only for the meaty goodness but for being the undefeated champion at "Name That Hymn." And thank you Bill for remembering how to dance to Cuban Pete and making us watch Broadway musical numbers every week. And thank you Lauren for the smashed potatoes, putting up with all our teasing and freely admitting when you don't get the joke. See you all next week, same bat time, same bat channel. I think next week's theme should be "Eddie and The Cruisers."

I'll get off my rambling soap box now. I know I'm not shiny happy all the time, but choosing to find the fun in what I do certainly does help. We work with some remarkable people and getting to know them is half the fun.