Sightings

Indeed.

He both craved the familiarity of a private personal domestic space and loathed the idea of being fettered by permanence or possession.

-Tom Robbins, Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates

Peaceful Emergencies

“Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart”. -Anonymous

My current flatmate has a magnet with that quote stuck to her fridge. I see it every morning as I prepare my breakfast. It was always just a passing line that I only half read before rushing out the door to the hospital.

Yesterday, I was in the emergency department. There were several sick babies crying, call bells singing, monitor alarms binging. I was assessing a 1 month old with RSV who looked quite dehydrated and unwell. We had called in the anesthetist to attempt an I.V insertion, he was getting another needle for a second jab while I held my fingers in a circular tourniquet on the baby’s little arm. The patient coughed and sputtered while the lab tech fished for culture bottles and Dr. J tapped his little hand. I had been nervously and awkwardly assisting in the operating theater all day but here in the ED I felt like I’d walked into a familiar river which was gently carrying me along. I felt comfortable, at peace, even. The quote appeared in my mind and took on a different meaning. Yes. Sometimes familiar chaos can be calming.

Now to develop that calm in unfamiliar chaos.

A Pet Food Aisle Moment of Clarity

So there I am standing in the pet food aisle, pondering ways to put off heading home to my dark and empty house on this cold and windy Friday night. 

I could go to the gym but my gear is at home. Movie? It’s only 1800h. I could go out and have a beach walk, it’s pitch black.

I realize that I have been standing there for a while and that I have no pets.

I look into the basket on my arm, it contains one large coffee mug and a hot water bottle.

I wish I was still on my hospital rotations because that way I could just go and do a round on the team’s patients. Then I catch the fact that I just wished I could go into the hospital and round on patients that I have no responsibility for.

I sense fear creeping into my thoughts. Is this what lies ahead for me if I stay on the surgical path? Is this what will happen when I have no life outside the hospital? That my evening plans on a Friday night will include stopping at Dunnes for a coffee mug and a water bottle before heading home to work on my research project and possibly watch a rerun of Parks and Recreation?

Should I drop this basket and get on the next flight back to Canada, get married, and start having babies? Is this the last chance before the sliding-door moment goes into the ‘no life’ story versus the ‘well rounded and happily fulfilled in all ways’ story?

And I actively decide that I will not feel sorry for myself. Not feel forlorn. Not with all these gifts and blessings.

I then feel forlorn and sorry for myself.

I walk into my dark house, set down my nearly comical collection of things from the grocery store: plain yogurt, chocolate milk, hot water bottle, mug, vanilla candle. 

My phone buzzes with a text from M.C.

Yesterday I discovered an abdominal mass on one of my patients in GP so I sent him into M.C’s surgical clinic on an urgent referral. The text tells me, “CT found a large colonic mass and renal mass, likely mets, biopsy, might need Rt hemicolectomy and nephrectomy. Well done you!” I feel a little chuffed (for picking it up) and sad for the patient at the same time. Amazing how egos find their way, even into devastating news for patients. 

Last night when I was falling asleep I had been questioning my assessment and my decision to ask M.C’s secretary to fit the patient into an already bursting outpatient clinic. She did it as a favor to me with the warning, “if this patient isn’t sick, consider this your one and only urgent referral”. Suppose that would count as sick. 

It’s late now. The house is still quiet. I am just off the phone with my mother who is also feeling lonely and out of touch with the world. The pair of us.

The wind is causing the doors on my closet to rattle and the windows to shake. I suppose it is just going to be one of those stormy nights.

Perspective

I was going to write a snarky little post on this tiny space, but when I opened my main page the MSF tumblr I follow was there. I read statements by MSF workers, scrolled through photos, and saw patient accounts from various areas of conflict around this big world.

Suddenly I felt very small and very, very, lucky for all the ‘problems’ in my life. A little dose of perspective this Sunday morning.

Life is Beautiful

Today was a ‘happy to be alive’ day. It started off with marinating jerk-chicken and bad instant coffee, which soon progressed to a hot bowl of soup and a venture into the hills of Killarney.

Despite the howling winds and driving rain our legs took us to the top of Torc mountain where a little chocolate was eaten and a few more layers of clothing were applied.

And then it was hot port, peat fire, and wind-whipped ruddy faces. Returning to my warm kitchen with muddied, tired feet to find my lovely friends and roommate ready to start dinner and fizzy wine cocktails. Spiced roasted chicken, nice salad, crusty bread, French red, and more French red flowed with conversations about everything from Sam Bush’s mandolin playing to Thatcherism.

Able bodied, fed, friended, warm, and dry with a big soft white bed to throw myself on…there are so many things to be thankful for. Life is beautiful. No matter what, I must remember that. So very beautiful, indeed.

Maybe Tobie Should Never Become a Parent

Tobie: Did you ever get those little cartons of milk at school?

Me: Yep.

Tobie: Yeah, we got one everyday. I wonder if they still do that.

Me: Doubt it, these days every kid has a food allergy and reason not to do phys. ed.

Tobie: What a bunch of assholes.