eats shoots and leaves

Missing Things

2010-09-28T21:26:00.002-04:00

I tend to get a little homesick in the fall. I think it's because some of my favorite small town childhood memories were wrapped up in fall activities - high school football, the fall play, the day off of school and carnie extravaganza that is the Apple Festival. I also have a very vivid memory of walking the few blocks home from school after a Girl Scout meeting or something in the twilight and saw our home's kitchen light blazing and feeling warm and loved and happy. The last time I was in my hometown in the fall my sweet nephew was still an infant and now he's sounding out words, so it's been some time. My mom was getting ready to move south in a few months and I remember coming home from spending an hour or so at the Apple Fest for lunch and feeling nothing but glad that I wouldn't have to come back there on a regular basis as it was, frankly, a sad place. I don't want it back, but I miss it.

Over the last several months I have, essentially, started my life over. Sounds dramatic, I know, but that's how I roll. I've committed to healthy(ish) eating and regular exercise. I've gotten girly and like things like facials, regular salon appointments and cute dresses. I've gotten to the final business-y stages of a divorce. I'm planning a move in a month to a lovely rental home with an actual washer/dryer and more space than 1 person and a little cat need. I am, for the first time in a very long time, happy. It's wonderful and genuine. Of course there are bad days when I feel like I may not be able to take the next breath, but somehow I do and life moves on.

But... I miss things. I miss Five Guys burgers and the free time I had when I wasn't lacing up the sneakers every day. I miss the extra money I had before I started covering up the gray every 8- 10 weeks. I miss being married. A lot. I miss not having so much to think about. I'm going to miss my neighborhood and routine. I kind of miss the complacency.

I absolutely don't want these things back. My everyday mood and energy and work life and relationships are healthier than they've ever been and I wouldn't trade that for anything. But I miss things. Can't help it. It's a feeling I don't really know what to do with other than acknowledge it and put it away. I suppose if I got rid of it completely I'd miss it.

This lovely image is from here

Obama Made Me Do It

2010-06-20T16:01:00.002-04:00

As part of the Better Speech and Hearing Month festivities, our usual weekly continuing education sessions get transformed in to fun, social, team building things. We've had a "book swap" in the past that operates like a Christmas gift exchange where you bring in 2 wrapped books, draw numbers, then pick a book or "steal" one that has already been opened. Some years it's a windfall, some years it stinks. This year was a good one, and I stole this book from someone based on the person who brought it in (I like what she reads) and when describing the book she said that Obama had read it. I'm simple enough to think that's cool.

I can't really describe what it's about (it's a little obtuse), but I know I liked it and was really moved by the last quarter of it or so. The writing is lovely and clever. I wonder what else Obama would recommend...

I miss it already

2010-05-24T21:25:00.003-04:00

Everyone who has a blog and watched Lost is writing about it today - I want to but haven't processed it yet. It was glorious but reminded me of when Six Feet Under ended and I was such a disaster over it that this many years later I still can't hear the song that plays in the final scene without coming undone. I need a little emotional room to be able to noodle it all, but it was so.... ahhhhhh.

Inspiration

2010-05-10T21:13:00.003-04:00

Six weeks ago A. and I were getting facials and thoroughly enjoying our lives.

The next week her dad was diagnosed with cancer and 5 weeks later he was gone.

His memorial service today was attended by at least 400 people, and the theme of the remembrances was the generosity and hospitality of this man who laughed loudest at his own jokes and lived to see people be happy and comfortable. During the sermon, the priest even briefly wore the Viking helmet that anyone on their maiden voyage on his floating raft was asked to don. It was all about loving life.

Our office essentially closed up shop so people could attend the service, except for the few who were willing to stay and worked really hard so others could go. As a group we've sent flowers, organized meals, and donated leave time. We've cried with and for A., and our physicians called in favors and greased wheels to make her dad's medical care go as smoothly as something like that can possibly go.

As I looked at my friends huddled up at the back of the church after the service it was hard not to love life. I'm fortunate enough to know really good people - kind, generous people who laugh at their own jokes and only want other people to be happy. The majority of us had worn the Viking helmet at some point. I'm inspired to be better because of these people, and am thankful for the life of this man who inspired them. It was a very good day.

A New Leaf

2010-04-29T21:28:00.002-04:00

My dad was always "turning over a new leaf".

When I realized I had to figure myself out and pull myself out of the dumps, I tried turning over the Jim Carrey movie inspired leaf of saying yes to any offer extended unless there was a financial (or legal) reason not to do so.

It's been a good exercise in bravery and getting over myself.

So tonight, I took up my friend K.'s offer to do this. I learned there are alternate uses for bingo halls, and that I have absolutely no ability to booty pop. I can't wait to go back.

It's a Small World After All

2010-04-23T20:44:00.003-04:00

For the most part, Facebook is annoying. I don't care that you're doing your laundry, and I really don't care what you're having for dinner. I'm sure you don't care that I got a parking ticket (and yes, I'm aware that this is sort of an ironic statement to be made by a girl who writes a blog about nothing - I justify it by telling myself this is really a journal that happens to have public access). Sure, it's fun to see what people are up to but I spend more time being annoyed by spelling and grammar errors (vs. typos, mind you) and right-wing rants.

But sometimes...

I've been reading this book. It lets me check off a non-fiction book from my annual goal, but more importantly, it's riveting. I mean completely, totally riveting. I've been surprised by some of the little connections I've made to the life of one of the killers - he lived in Ohio briefly in the town that my high school nemesis transferred from and one of his relatives was a prominent Jewish leader in Columbus and I have very vivid memories of seeing an Anne Frank display at the center named for him as a pre-teen (and by vivid memories I mean that I remember that I was wearing fake fingernails and the grease from the Pizza Hut pizza we stopped for made the glue break down...and maybe a little about the actual display).

The author chose not to use any photos or other images in the text even though they are widely available, but instead linked them in his website. When I got to the website, there was a Facebook link. Now I'm "friends" with the author, and that means that I know he's currently in LA thinking he won't win a book award for which he's been nominated.

I'm also "friends" with 3 of the guys in a favorite band and know the front man was nervous before taping the George Lopez show and was looking to his wife and baby to comfort him.

My longtime friend from Ohio M. was "tagged" in a photo album with my much more recent friend P. from here in NoVa. They don't know each other at all but had a common link through a friend of P.'s who had M.'s picture when she sent in a headshot for an audition for a student film. Weirrrrrd.

One of the many reasons I liked living in Nashville was the likelihood of running into a celebrity in an unexpected place (like Elvis Costello in line in front of me at Tower Records) - it made it feel like a small town. I love these things that make it feel like a small world.

The Last Year of My Mid-30s

2010-04-18T14:34:00.002-04:00

So it begins.

Now that I am in my 36th year, I have a nice new hair color, opportunities to do indulgent things for my skin, good wine, a blood sugar spike from the amazing cake that showed up at work, and earrings that jingle in the wind. I spent time with people I love (crammed into 1 taxi at one point) and talked to more people I love and have had a lovely, lazy weekend. Thanks to all who made this possible.

A Holy Day

2010-04-04T18:22:00.010-04:00

The last time I didn't go to church on Easter, it was 1998 and I was in DC for an externship that was wrapping up a few weeks later. I spent the morning hiking around Great Falls with my friends/landlords-at-the-time J. and R., and had chicken fajitas for dinner. It was a really nice day, but not holy.

There have been Easter Sundays that I did go to church and still didn't have a holy day (the first Easter I was married I insisted we have ham but didn't plan ahead for it and ended up with a 13 pounder... I'd wanted it because that was the Geitz family Easter tradition but when I called home later that day they were all eating fried chicken).

I went to a Maundy Thursday service on the invitation of J. (who, since 1998 has gotten divorced and has been kind enough to become my divorce mentor) - it was Anglican and very foreign. I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on (oh, kneel? Ok. Um, those people are putting their lips on the communion cup...do I have to?) to really get anything out of it. I went to the Good Friday chapel service at the National Cathedral, and while beautiful and moving as always, it doesn't change from year to year so it's easy to kind of go through the motions (though the motions involve amazing, amazing music).

I had no plans to go to church this morning, as I haven't looked/found one to be mine. I thought if I could get myself out of bed that I might go into town to see the cherry blossoms, but I wasn't going to set an alarm. I woke up around 6:45 and thought, well, it's probably too late to get near the park so maybe I shouldn't go. Then I read a Facebook post that said "Why do you look for the living among the dead?", and I thought, "yes, that's right... I am not dead so go out among the living".

So, I took my cup of coffee for a walk around the Tidal Basin (and even found parking on the mall!). It was certainly not too late, though the crowds were already heavy, as was the trash from the day before. It was a beautiful, beautiful morning though, and it was easy to see signs of the resurrection everywhere - from the blossoms to the families to the wedding couples taking pictures among the blooms. There was even a moment when, walking from the FDR memorial towards the Lincoln, the crowds thinned and I was alone with my coffee and my thoughts and my God. It was definitely a holy day.

A few of the views...

Hmmm...homeland security concerns about the Smoke Monster?

Comp Days

2010-03-28T19:01:00.003-04:00

There is some discussion upcoming at work about who should have to work Saturdays, or more specifically, who should be exempt from working Saturdays.

Currently it only comes up every 6 - 7 weeks in the rotation of our staff, and everyone is in the mix including all of the outpatient team (though only inpatients are seen on a Saturday), both managers, and our "flexi-pool", which is primarily people who had babies and didn't come back full-time. It's not a hard day as all you do is see patients (so no meetings, email, phone calls, etc) and you leave when your schedule is done, and in return you get an 8 hour comp day. Lately, though, a few of people who have been working for a long time are thinking about asking to be relieved from their place in the rotation for a number of reasons - it makes a long week, you get enough leave that you don't really need the comp time, older bodies have a harder time doing the more physical work (anyone over 40 is on the outpatient team except for the inpatient manager), etc.

I'd be more than happy to NOT work Saturdays. I like my down time and I have lots of paid days off, so the only reason to do it is because it's part of the way we work. But, I don't really think that using an age cut-off is the way to go as young pregnant women are working them, and young hungover women are work them, and young women who are less efficient because they haven't done the job very long are work them. I'm hoping that if there is a change in policy they base on it on length of service as an incentive plan (may I suggest 12 years?). I usually try to get out of mine by offering it up to anyone who may be looking for extra comp days, and usually someone takes them. A few weeks ago I couldn't find a taker though, so I spent a rainy Saturday hanging out with people who needed a little practice on things and requested my comp day for this past Friday.

It was so, so, so worth every second I spent on that Saturday fixing the talk.

My newly pregnant friend A. and I spent Friday driving to her sister's family place in a ski resort area outside of Charlottesville, VA. We left around 11 and chattered away for a couple of hours until we stopped for wine tasting and lunch at Barboursville winery, which is definitely my favorite in the area. After tasting 15 wines in their cozy tasting room we had a big fat lunch in their restaurant (lobster stew, frittata, hazelnut caramel tart), closing the place down. We stopped at one other winery down the road and bought chocolate wine and did a minor car repair.

We drove the rest of the way to the resort, getting to her family's completely charming home around 5:30. A. "took to her bed" and I watched basketball and worked a crossword. We went for burgers. We went to bed early.

The next day we ate a comically large breakfast then headed to the resort's spa. A. has been my driving force for all things luxury - she forced my 1st pedicure by leaving me a gift certificate before running away from the beach last year, and this time she booked us facials without telling me. I can't even explain how amazing an experience it was - totally indulgent but a life changer. We joined up again kind of greasy-haired and stole some Splenda from the lounge for our morning coffee before heading out for a long walk in the cool sun around the resort's lake. After a pizza and a lonnnnnng nap, our other friends who DID have to work on Saturday rolled in for dinner and drinks and conversation. We caught up on all kinds of things, work and non-work, and continued on through another fat leisurely breakfast this morning before heading back to NoVa in plenty of time for things like groceries and laundry.

Even though I'm getting up there compared to my younger colleagues, if working the occasional Saturday opens the door for long luxurious weekends, I'll do it. And I won't even complain.

Much.

Law and Order

2010-03-10T18:17:00.003-05:00

So today was the first meeting with the lawyer.

A few years ago when I thought I might buy a house (ha), I signed up for a benefit for legal services through work. They pointed me to a firm, the only one that handles uncontested divorce, so I took a deep breath and set an appointment. I googled the attorney and found very little other than his bio on the firm website (but deduced that I may feel like I could be the guy's mother). I didn't sleep that well last night, wondered what I should wear, agonized over what I thought the guy would make of my paltry finances. I was over an hour early so that I wouldn't be late and enjoyed a tour of Fairfax.

He was 15 minutes late - no biggie. He winked a few times - no biggie. He made reference to the fact that it "sucked" for him that I was using a subscriber plan - kind of a biggie. But, he answered questions and explained the process in detail. He said he would draw up our agreement not this week, and probably not next week because of his "queue" (said with a wink), and once that's done and signed we're looking at about a 2 month time frame. If I had questions I could email him ('cause he has an iPhone - wink). 15 minutes later I was out the door.

So there's that done.

I am constantly learning through this process - every new experience teaches me something about how to be a better me, and today I learned a little bit about how important it is to make a good first impression as a professional when you have someone trusting that you will help them. That's really a huge responsibility.

Liturgy

2010-03-02T19:29:00.003-05:00

I was spending some time knitting with M. and S. last week, and in the process of teaching S. to knit on double-point needles (NOT my strong suit), M. told S. to pull the connecting stitch "tight, tight, tight". Each time S. needed to do that she said to herself "tight, tight, tight".

One of my favorite friends had a license place that said "Box TTR", which is a type of turn in the OSU Marching Band but also what she would say to herself to perform it accurately.

When I was an inpatient therapist, one of the physiatrists, a wonderful Iranian woman, would start her part of a family conference by saying "As you know, you have had a stroke". It always made me kinda smile.

My high school history teacher would end every class on Fridays by saying "If you can't be good, you better be careful", in response to which at least half of the class would mumble "And if you can't be careful, name it after me".

As a part of Grand Assembly during my Rainbow days, they would do a memorial service for any member who had passed on during the year. It was always moving but not very personal, until the person in charge, the Worthy Advisor, would say "I can not say, I will not say, that they are dead". They almost always got choked up, and so did our 13 year-old selves.

One of my favorite ways to participate in the leadership of the church was to be the liturgist - the one in the service who writes the prayers, announces, explains, and transitions each component of the worship service up until the sermon. The words might have changed slightly from time to time and liturgist to liturgist, but the theology was always the same and was a way to connect to those who have come before and those who will come after.

It's become painfully clear that words that signal actions, emotions, or transitions by their content and repeat-ability are necessary. My husband and I are going to end our marriage, so it's time to tell not just the close circle of friends who have known the whole process but not-so-close friends, other people in our individual and collective communities, and customer service reps. It is awkward by its nature, though I am committed to trying not make others feel uncomfortable with it. I need liturgy for this.

It's hard for me to say "divorce" - it sounds scandalous. It's not. I need a way to say it that doesn't make someone say "oh, I'm so sorry" as their first reaction. Now I'm stumbling all over the place but have been opting for "we're ending our marriage", but that almost sounds too trivial, like ending a cell phone contract. I want my words, when discussing it, to reflect that it is a transition, and while very, very sad, life-will-surely-go-on-so-please-don't-say-I'm-so-sorry-or-cringe. Argh.

Ooooo.... Cliff Notes. Awesome.

Remember Me?

2010-02-18T21:05:00.004-05:00

I've been working with a beautiful young girl who had everything going for her - enrolled in a prestigious university, a world traveler as a teenager, talented in a million ways - until she got sick and everything changed. She has bravely fought her way back and recently was in a situation where she was trying to talk herself into doing something that would have been easy for her pre-injury but very scary for her post-injury. She needed to take a risk and had almost decided not to do it when she said to herself, "Remember who you are".

When she told me that I got teary, and not just because I was in the exact same situation a week before and I chickened out. This is such a fundamental truth - we were designed to be brave, beautiful, happy people, and when we're not behaving that way we are not bad people, we have simply forgotten who we are. We deserve happiness and though miserable things may happen the person we were created to be is still in there.

I'm ready to remember who I am.

The art is from the beautiful, lonely work of Edward Hopper.

Digging Out

2010-02-13T14:50:00.003-05:00

Those who were fortunate enough to not have to go to work all week (and there were lots of them) are digging out today and EVERYONE is going to the grocery. I would so love a fresh fruit or vegetable, but it's not gonna happen today. Is it possible to get scurvy in a week?

Deja Vu All Over Again

2010-02-09T20:54:00.004-05:00

Snowmegeddon? I don't get it - 'snow' sounds nothing like 'arm'. Stormegddon, maybe.

In a nod to one of my favorite movies, I kind of liked Kaiser Snowze.

Today's is the most fitting - Snoverkill.

It's snowing again, as much as another 10 plus inches. I spent as much time yesterday driving to and from doing speech therapy than I did actually doing therapy. In trying to dig out on Sunday I didn't have a shovel but I had a plan - turns out shovels are better than good ideas. People are showing their true colors in all of this, and I'm wishing DC had adopted Boston's policy of being able to "save" a parking space with lounge chairs or whatever for 2 days after the snowfall.

I have had power the whole time despite flickering, I met a nice chatty neighbor who didn't say a word but just started shoveling me a "drive way", and I'm not one of the ones tagged to spend the night at the hospital tonight to guarantee that the inpatients have an uninterrupted experience. Lost is on (really, writers, new characters in the last season?). I have more than enough to eat and even a little wine left over.

Let it snow.

So That Happened

2010-02-06T17:53:00.007-05:00

It's finally tapering off.

See You Monday

2010-02-05T20:42:00.006-05:00

So it may be snowing 30 inches between now and this time tomorrow with 35 mph winds. This is how the DC area has responded:

1. Area schools closed today, even though it really didn't snowy until much later in the afternoon.

2. What I have affectionately called the Russian Safeway grocery store for it's long lines and empty shelves for years (vs. the Not-So-Safeway) lived up to it's moniker - at 9:30 last night there was literally no meat in the store other than bacon, sausage, and a sad lonely package of bratwurst. This was after a local store, which has 350 shopping carts, had lines of people just waiting to get carts.

3. 2 of my colleagues who apparently won the unlucky lottery were told to pack a bag and stay the night at the hospital to be sure that they were there to do speech therapy tomorrow - because that's so stinking critical.

4. I watched the DC news anchors sit and read Tweets about whether or not the roads were slick. Seriously.

I'm kind of loving it though - this is snow like I've never seen and apparently we're still 2 hours away from the "heavy snow". I have stuff for pancakes in the morning, 2 knitting projects, a mission to see as many Oscar nominees as possible (Inglorious Basterds is already knocked off the list), and Lost to catch up on. Oh, and Wuthering Heights (still). If the power stays on - life will be cozy and sweet. If it doesn't, the kitty and I will still be just fine.

The pictures are at 3:30pm and 7:30 pm from outside my apartment window. More to follow.

A Friday Bright Spot

2010-01-16T16:38:00.003-05:00

One of the many things we worry about for people with aphasia is social isolation - if you have a significant language impairment it is difficult to engage in a personal conversation, understand a television program, order your own coffee, read for entertainment, and sometimes even talk about something beyond basic human needs. As you can imagine, it can limit a person's desire to engage in communication if you know it's going to be a struggle and frankly pretty boring, and you can end up living in a bubble.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of stepping in to a well establish treatment group when my colleague was away - this group is made up of men and women of different ages, races, and backgrounds, but they are united by their aphasia. On average, they could produce 2 - 3 words to get a message out and need to really concentrate to understand each other. They use other ways to communicate, like writing and pointing to things in pictures, to communicate so their are always tools on the table for their access. I had an activity planned if they needed it, but when I opened up the group by saying "Is there anything on your minds today?" one of the men wrote H-A-T-I and we were off and running.

Through lots of ways to get it out, each person shared that they were horrified by the events in Haiti and even though our country had seen devastation from Hurricane Katrina, we can't even imagine the hell that is Haiti right now. They did everything right - they tried to talk and when it failed they tried something else. They asked questions of each other. They clarified points for each other. The communication was so complex and meaningful, and then the most amazing thing happened.

One of the guys had really been struggling to follow the conversation despite a very slow rate and lots of written key words for reinforcement. When I asked him directly what he thought about all this, he talked about how his heart was broken for them (well, he said "that lady" but we knew what he meant) and then he reached out and grabbed the hands of the other patients and led them in a prayer. It was so moving - his prayer was littered with difficult utterances but we knew what he meant and surely God did too. This was really a lovely thing to do, but my favorite part of it was despite the fact that I was sitting beside him, I wasn't included in this circle of prayer. He didn't reach for my hand, he reached for the person sitting on the other side of me who was walking his walk.

So, so cool.

Photo is from the movie "The Bubble Boy". It says Moops!

New Habits

2010-01-12T20:02:00.005-05:00

I'm still kicking around my 2010 resolutions (or "commitments" as someone recently suggested they be called) but one I'm firm about is a change in my reading selections. Last year I borrowed a goal from my mom and set out to read at least 6 non-fiction books, which is something I haven't done since text books in grad school. I've always associated non-fiction with stuffy historical records of an individual's life that would read more like an obituary than a narrative ("born on a mountaintop in Tennessee..." and so on) or cornball self-help books. I want to be entertained and moved and don't always want to learn something. Unless cookbooks count I just don't read non-fiction.

But I watch the Daily Show and Colbert Report and when they interview authors about their non-fiction books I think, "Now that's not boring - I can read that". I also know that I have huge gaps in my fund of knowledge regarding the workings of the world at large, so I thought Mom's goal would be a great toe in the water.

I read Joe Torre's book and learned I couldn't care less about the Yankees. As previously mentioned I read Beautiful Boy and Tweak, which I think gave me a different kind of empathy for the complexities of addiction and definitely made the show Intervention a little less entertaining. I read a fun book by the former NY Times restaurant critic describing how different her dining experiences were when in various disguises versus her notable self, and learned that any book read while standing in a swimming pool on vacation is a good one. I read a story of a boy soldier and felt lucky to grow up in a small, safe town where the worst threat to safety was gossip. I listened to Blink and had a hmmmmm thought bubble over my head the whole time. I did sneak in one biography, if you can call it that, as I read about the meteoric rise of my favorite TV ninny Sandra Lee and learned that not only is she truly nuts she is even more of a loon than I could have guessed (on one page she wrote "we all had a good laugh at my sassiness" then a few pages later quoted Nietzsche). Despite my best intentions I did not get to the anchor of my stack, Team of Rivals, though I was re-inspired recently when on the Simpsons Moe said "now that's some good Doris" as he perused it at a bookstore. I loved everything I read for different reasons and will keep at it (suggestions are welcomed).

So this year I'm resolving/committing to reading at least 6 of the books I know by name and/or author but have never read. I started Wuthering Heights, which I bought in October when the cover art caught my eye. It's, um, something. But just as one of the many reasons I like traditional worship is the tie to all the saints who have worshiped or will worship in the same day, there is something special about these books. I'm looking forward to meeting them.

The image is, again, from The Onion.

Now is Now

2009-12-12T18:29:00.003-05:00

On the recommendation of friends, I read the book Beautiful Boy, and now am reading it's companion, Tweak.

Beautiful Boy is written by a father whose son grew up addicted to crystal meth with a cycle of relapses, lies, and distrust. Tweak is the son's story. It is hard hard hard to read as he describes the irrational thinking of his inner addict and the depths to which he fell and the hopelessness of trying to recover. In a conversation with his sponsor, who has become the cornerstone of his life, the sponsor tells Nic "now is now", in an effort to help him understand that you can't change the past and can't just wish for the future, but that you have to just be in the moment and accept what it is. And enjoy it.

Yes, yes, yes.

I worry so much about the mistakes of the past and how they may have so negatively impacted the goals I had for my life. I've been feeling there are things I will never have, and will never do. I've been feeling that certain aspects of my work are unchangeable and difficult. I've been sick and so very tired, and that makes it easy to wallow in the junk.

But when I read this chapter it made we teary as I looked around at my lovely Christmas tree, the wine glass set out for Dinner Club tomorrow night, my cat all fluffed up from the chill in the air, and the receipt from my car repair that was $600 cheaper than I was anticipating. Today was a very, very good day. This moment is a very, very good moment. Now is now, and now is good. That's all I can do.

Cranky

2009-11-06T19:56:00.004-05:00

I am, as my freshman roommate would say, fussy.

So, these are things that are making me laugh - I offer them in a selfish attempt to shake my mood.

1. The Office episode with Prison Mike and Andy singing Rainbow Connection to Pam with Pig Latin sprinkled in.

2. This, and the fact that my sister and I have chatted about it via Facebook with an aside comment from one of long lost SLP friends...

3. The Sookie Stackhouse books from Charlaine Harris - Sookie is being courted by a werewolf, tiger shape shifter, and no fewer than 2 vampires. Good times.

4. The fact that the Tuesday night trivia team had 2 new members who are ridiculously smart and we still ended up as 1st place losers and proud owners of 30 free chicken wings next week. I guess just because you can save the world from terror threats while explaining quarks doesn't mean you know that "hoi paloi" is a Greek phrase.

5. Some Girl Scout troops sell their cookies in November but the housekeepers at work ate mine. Better them than me, in the long run.

6. I spent a day earlier in the week being told by more than one patient that I am not only a horrible therapist but a horrible person only to have a lovely session with someone later in the week in which a patient, in the midst of working on a math problem, told me she liked my nail color and was it the same as what's on my toes (she has some attentional issues)then was told by another patient at the close of an hour-long session "You're a very good person", then followed up with "Who are you again?".

I feel a little better. Thanks for indulging me.

Norming

2009-10-14T21:26:00.002-04:00

So maybe I have Bruce Tuckerman to blame to for the cone of semi-silence within which my class has been operating.

In 1965 Mr. T. invented the stages of group dynamics -- "forming" where the group starts to get to know each other, "storming" where there is jockeying for leadership positions, "norming" where the group essentially finds its stride, and "performing" where the group starts actually doing what it came together to do (apparently several years later he added "adjourning" - must have been a slow moving group).

Yes, I know it's more accurate to say he described them rather then invented them, but that seems to somehow absolve him of responsibility. No no no.

The first week of class we did basic intros. This is me, this is you, this is what we're going to talk about. No, we won't have class the night before Thanksgiving, thanks for asking. Forming, check.

Commence storming.

Subsequent weeks started the review of why adults sometimes need communication systems other than speech, and how to figure out what that system should be. I'd review a Power Point slide and hear the "click click click" of notetaking on a lap top and not much else. Thoughts? No? Okay, moving on.

As the 2nd and 3rd weeks went buy I tried to bribe them into interaction with by forcing them to do interactive things (here, collobrate the eye gaze system for each other; hey, let's have a relay race to see which team can construct a sentence on a speech generating device using a switch.... whee!). I get a questions that have the undertone of "are you for real?". Other than that - crickets.

Weeks 4 and 5 come and go with a f e w talkers - a couple who have immediate concerns based on what they're doing in their clinical practicum and maybe, just maybe, a few who are starting to find all this stuff interesting. They have to talk to each other to present brief research projects and they mostly seem to be listening. A fun conversation about how icky trach care can be. A
few more questions emerge from new talkers. Hmmm.... maybe we're getting somewhere.

And then, tonight, boom. EVERYONE either asked a question, answered a question, or shared a thought. Woot. I think we're norming.

It's sooooo much more fun than the other junk.

Membership has its...

2009-10-08T21:36:00.003-04:00

When doctors are permitted to see patients in a given hospital, they "have privileges" there.

In the past few weeks I have:

-- heard a person with ALS say "I have hope now" when shown that even though they can no longer move their hands or arms that they can still surf the internet

-- hung out with someone who has the same disease the Elephant Man had, and helped figure out some strategies for him to successfully interview for the job position he wants instead of the job position he has

-- seen someone who had a stroke several months ago realize that he didn't need therapy as much as he needed people to talk to

-- gotten the good news that a former patient who was fired from his job because of his speech impairment, now, over a year later, has a job offer in hand

-- watched graduate students start to put the pieces together that what we do is actually pretty cool and is so much more than working with autistic kids (though that is certainly noble work)

-- had colleagues in my office in tears, laughing hysterically over the things our patients do and say, and thinking through big professional changes

-- breathed a sigh of relief that a long-time patient is 4 short hours away from returning to work full-time

-- comforted a colleague I was observing when her patient told her that her fly was down, and it was

-- met a woman who listed "alpaca farming" as her primary leisure activity

-- heard someone from Columbus, Ohio sound like they were from the West Indies because of their stroke

-- talked with doctors, lawyers, judges, auto mechanics, housewives, office managers, people with fancy homes in Potomac and people with no homes at all

For all the days I want to put my pencil down and walk away from it all, most of the time I have a crazy, wonderful job.

Clearly I too have privileges.

Motivation

2009-09-27T21:07:00.002-04:00

Looking for inspiration to get myself going on some stuff for class... You Tube is not helping...

INTJ

2009-09-27T16:41:00.002-04:00

Guess what I have in common with Ayn Rand, Rudy Guiliani, and Chevy Chase. Guess. Come on, guess.

Fine, I'll just tell you.

We share the same Myers-Briggs personality profile, which is, according to its authors, 75% accurate. Wikipedia describes it thusly:

I – Introversion preferred to Extraversion: INTJs tend to be quiet and reserved. They generally prefer interacting with a few close friends rather than a wide circle of acquaintances, and they expend energy in social situations (whereas extraverts gain energy).

N – iNtuition preferred to Sensing: INTJs tend to be more abstract than concrete. They focus their attention on the big picture rather than the details and on future possibilities rather than immediate realities.

T – Thinking preferred to Feeling: INTJs tend to value objective criteria above personal preference. When making decisions they generally give more weight to logic than to social considerations.

J – Judgment preferred to Perception: INTJs tend to plan their activities and make decisions early. They derive a sense of control through predictability, which to perceptive types may seem limiting.

I never really put much stock in this, but I was feeling every inch of my type last weekend during an end-of-season beach trip with 5/6ths of the girls from Dinner Club. We spent almost all of our time together in group conversation, hanging out on a deck wtih books or knitting on our laps, cocktails in hand, chatting about anything and nothing (though after several bottles of wine one night the conversation would have been deemed offensive in a NFL locker room).

From previous bigger group weekends at my friend's place on a ski resort I knew I had a tendancy to remove myself from the core group at times, even if just for a few minutes to clean up the kitchen or flip through a magazine. But I noticed I was really tired at the end of the first day, and would feel truly relaxed only in the times when a group of 3 would go shoe shopping, or a group of 2 would go on a beer run, or everyone was taking a mid-afternoon nap except for one other person.

I love these women, each of them, and there were moments where I was cognizant of the fact that I was so happy to be a part of this as I know it's a rare and special thing to have good women friends. I'm just wired the way I'm wired, and I can feel myself burning energy to stay involved in a group conversation.

It makes me think that professionally it would help to know the cognitive functioning style of our patients, as I can't imagine that these basic tendancies change post injury. The whole point of communication is to enter into exchanges that connect you to someone - to meet a basic need, draw someone close to you, exchange information. Successful communication is a spiritual process, in my humble opinion, and if it is a situation that fits our profile, then it feeds us and gives us energy that we continue to shower back onto those around us. I wonder how often we press patients into communication situations that don't feed them because we're using our own models of what feels good.

There definitely seems to be something to this personality style business. My sister recently took the test and in four letters explained the reasons we wanted to kill each other for the majority of our teenage years under the same roof - ESFP, the exact opposite of INTJ. Nature, not nurture.

Fallout

2009-09-13T16:58:00.004-04:00

On September 11th this year, many of my "friends" updated their Facebook status to describe what they remember from that day eight years ago, as in "WP, who was in the capitol that day, remembers", or "RR: I was in my dorm room asleep when a friend called to tell me to turn on the TV. 'What channel?' I asked. 'It doesn't matter' he said." Many people said where they were when they first heard the news, others wondered what we'd learned in the time that has followed. Others just looked forward to the OSU game on Saturday.

I remember being on the unit when I overheard someone say a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. The medical resident standing beside me said, "I've been in that place, it's a fortress. That building isn't coming down". At that point most assumed it was an accident. Patient care went on.

I stopped by the TV in the atrium just in time to see the 2nd plane crash, confirming this was no accident. But patient care went on.

Then my long time supervisor and friend, J., saw me in the hall and said, "Did you hear they hit the Pentagon?". "Who is they?" I said. "Terrorists. They're coming for the Capitol". But patient care went on.

There was a brief time where I thought I was personally in danger. Silly now looking back on it, but powerful in the moment.

Patient care that day involved business as usual for our inpatients, who for the most part didn't have the awareness to understand what was going on given their injuries, and prepping for the admissions from the acute care hospital as they were sending anyone who was medically stable over to us to make room for burn or other trauma victims from the Pentagon scene. They never came, as people either survived unscathed or were incinerated on the spot (a friend who worked the recovery later told me that they found people still sitting at their desks doing whatever it was they were doing on impact, only they were no longer people but piles of ash).

Where I work is in the northwest quadrant of the city, and to get to Virginia you have to go over a bridge leaving the city unless you want to go into Maryland and around. We were hearing that people had simply walked home in order to evacuate downtown DC before they knew all the planes had been grounded, and there were rumors flying that there were no open roads into VA. After the single longest day of my life, it was finally time to go home but no one knew how to do it. One of the guys in the Rehab Engineering department went first and called within 10 minutes of leaving to say that roads were not only open, they were wide open.

I made my way home and didn't see a single other car on the road for the whole trip, which was the most disturbing part of it all to me as this route was usually a traffic snarled nightmare. As I came out of the 3rd St. tunnel to merge on to 395 I could see the smoke plume from the smoldering Pentagon, and as I drove by it alone on the freeway, expecting at any moment to get stopped by military police or the National Guard or the Secret Service or something, I could see the giant hole that used to be a wing of a building and people who loved their country. It was horrifying.

When I got home, pictures had been knocked off the wall from the impact of the plane hitting many miles away.

It was simply a surreal day, and these things I remember.

But what I remember more strongly and spend more time thinking about is the fallout.

Today's sermon was about Noah, which is what got me thinking about this. Noah, the first winemaker, after being back on dry land got drunk and took off all his clothes in what was likely a response to the total devastation he had witnessed. This lead to the cursing of his son who found him, which lead to a whole mess of hurt.

I worked with a man a month later who after years of controlling his drinking had fallen off the wagon when his friends were killed at the Pentagon, and crashed down a flight of stairs in a drunken stupor. The hospital's international program which housed primarily people from Arab countries immediately shut down, and some relationships that were really meaningful for me were lost.

But just as the story of Noah is really a story of love, there were so many amazing acts of love the day of and the days that followed all of this awfulness. Having a moment, even if only a moment, where you feel like the world is probably ending as you know it makes subtlety seem ridiculous. Strangers all over the world gave money, and blood, and time to help people they'd never met before in places they'd only seen on TV. I took risks and told people I loved them, and I meant it, just because I thought they should know. There was no such thing as small talk - every exchange was meaningful for awhile.

But just like patient care, life went on.

Though God promised to never again destroy the earth there is no guarantee that some other force won't. As horrific as that day was, I'm thankful to have at least one time a year that reminds me of how rich love can be when boldly professed and shown to friends, family, and strangers.

The image, the antithesis of the warm-fuzzy feeling of cute animals on the ark, depicts the destruction that Noah saw from his view high and dry in the ark. I can't find the artist's reference, but thanks to J. for mentioning it this morning in the sermon. It would surely drive a man to drink.

Labor Day

2009-09-07T16:14:00.003-04:00

I've spent this Labor Day weekend laboring Saturday and today (I was surprised when I walked into a patient room and they said, "What are you doing here today? Don't you have today off?" - it would have been a good sign but they actually thought it was Christmas..ah well).

I did get to see a few movies (Extract to satisfy my Jason Bateman crush and Cold Souls, with more on that later), watched Mad Men, finished one book (Absurdistan by Gerry Shytengart) and started another (the first of the books that True Blood is based on, beginning my scheduled run of vampire lit). I took a pass at the fantasy roster for Sunday, posted my class lecture for Wednesday, and almost worked the crossword. I ripped out my knitting, again (I'm switching back to a baby blanket to save my sanity). I was a nosy neighbor (more on that soon too). I chased the cat to trim her nails. I made a bad decision when something unusual was leaning up against my car and feel kind of bad about it. I got to spend a few minutes with people I really like who have moved away. I didn't clean the kitchen.

I am done laboring for the day and am looking forward to dinner with K. I also spent a lot of time giggling over this website, so I thought I'd share it with you. Now I'm going to take a nap in honor of all those still laboring.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

2009-09-04T18:36:00.003-04:00

From my years of watching Law and Order, I've learned that lawyers shouldn't ask witnesses questions they don't already know the answers to in a courtroom. Therapy rooms may hold the same rule.

In working with someone who easily names an item when he can see it but can't think of the words nearly as quickly when there is nothing to look at, I had asked him to write out examples of 3 things in a given category, like NFL quaterbacks, fruits that are red, and movies you like.

The quarterbacks were the easiest, the fruits took some nudging. He started the movie category with "westerns", which while not what I was expecting still fit the category and was a perfectly good answer. And he spelled it right, which had been a struggle on the other words. The second type of movie he wrote was "love", and he made a joke about it being easier to like them than to argue it with the Mrs.

He thought for awhile on the third example before he started - a - d (pause). Ah, adventure, I think. Swashbuckling pirate movies. Ben Hur. Awesome. u - r (pause). No problem, just spelling it wrong.

t.

He looked up and smiled at me. Oh no.

"I think you spelled that wrong, change the 'r'."

l.

That's what I get for asking.

Silly Bus

2009-08-31T20:50:00.002-04:00

After much pulling of hair and gnashing of teeth, I'm ready for the first day of school.

The department moved my class from the spring semester to the fall semester so I was concerned that the coursework this group didn't have already would require a serious re-thinking of the syllabus, so I moved the lectures and assignments all around, then panicked and moved them all back. Last spring the class was off for the inauguration, spring break, plus the day they wanted off before their comps, but this semester runs straight through (though I bet they are going to negotiate not having class the day before Thanksgiving, which is just fine with me), so I added a couple of things that we'll probably never get to but at least I can say I tried. I spiced up the verbs on the course objectives - no more "demonstrating", we're "analyzing" and "applying" and "integrating". Watch out.

I so want to look like I know what I'm doing... and yet today I got:

1 email asking if there was, um, a text book and if so what was it and where could they find it? Oh yeah, a textbook. I probably should have let them know what it is.

2 emails asking if I knew where the class was going to be held as the website says "see administrator". I have no idea who the administrator is.

Nothing like inspiring confidence before you even get in the door.

I did, however, wash my car this weekend - this ain't my first rodeo, son.

Boo Brain Tumors

2009-08-26T17:55:00.004-04:00

Two of my all-time favorite therapy experiences were with people with brain tumors.

The first was many years ago now when a world reknown scientist was admitted for rehabilitation following surgery. His primary goal was to work the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle, so it was fate that we were paired together. We spent an hour a day looking for ways to focus his thinking so that he could do simple things like sort his mail and complicated things like peer review scholarly articles. He became weakened by his chemotherapy and daily radiation (I was with him the first time he ran his hand over his head and came away with a handful of hair) and while we as his therapy team wondered why he didn't just go eat cheeseburgers and visit the ocean we honored his fight. He became very ill while in rehab and was transferred acute care for what were to be his final days; I visited him and sat with his wife who was completely shocked that this time had come. Even though there was no indication he could hear or see what was happening around him, she insisted that the History channel play in the background.

The other was 2 years ago last week - a young man who threw up after taking his law school finals and was in surgery for a brain tumor resection 12 hours later. He was smart as a whip, had a love of electronic music and his fiance, and was frustrated by his inability to think of the exact right word for something. He and his fiance decided to move up their wedding date so that she would have the right to medical information and decision making - and he still came to speech therapy on his wedding day. When he didn't show up one day I was worried - the next day his mother came over from the acute care hospital to tell me he had died earlier that day. As we stood awkwardly in the waiting room she grabbed me and said "How am I ever going to get over this?". No one expected him to die so soon - he went to the ER with a headache and they found the tumor had grown aggressively, and when they cut it out it swelled and killed him.

I can't help but think of these two in hearing the news of Ted Kennedy's death. I went to the funerals of both of these men and was sorry I had only known them in the context of their illness when hearing the stories of their lives told by the people who knew them best. The media has jumped to discuss the faults of the senator and people are quick to make jokes, but at the end of the day, it's an extraordinary life lived.

The picture is an anonymous brain from here.

As I Recall...

2009-08-25T19:58:00.003-04:00

I'm working with someone who is known for being the guy that nobody in school liked - he was the guy that pulled into the parking lot on the day of a test in law school, took the book out of the trunk and unwrapped it an hour before the exam, then aced it. He doesn't know how to actively learn, he just always did it without effort, and this is a big part of his self-identity. Now he has some subtle changes in his brain that have equalled big changes in how he has to live his very busy, high powered life. We spend a lot of time talking about the process not just of learning but of recalling things, and trying to find tricks that work for him (so far writing in different colors based on type of note and outrageous associations do, repetition and chunking doesn't). It's just such a funny thing, this brain of ours; it will deliver a little tendril connected to a thought but sometimes that's all you get. If you're lucky, the tendrils braid together enough to get you to a specific concept.

Tuesday night is usually spent at a pub quiz at an Irish bar in Old Town. It's a fun couple of hours over a half-price burger and it's taught me quite a bit about the process of remembering things. In trying to remember the name of the building where John Lennon was shot, I could get "The Something-That's-A-State-That's-Got-A-Lot-Of-Space". I finally got to The Dakota. In trying to remember the name of a movie based on the plot I could ID everyone that was in it, the author of the book and another book he'd written (and his Law and Order TV credit), and that it was a one-word title that had something to do with being tired. It was Sleepers. One of my trusty teammates was trying to remember the name of a book that he could see vividly sitting on his parents' bookshelf -he had a rich memory of it but couldn't pull The Day of the Jackal, but when it came up again a few weeks later worded in a totally different way he rocked it.

I was thinking of this when talking with another patient who often has the experience of knowing the idea he wants but not the word for it, and unfortunately his tendrils often lead him to the wrong word (example: he's thinking saxophone and says clarinet - yes, but no). He was talking about what a quirky problem it was and told a story about a friend of his who was trying to remember the name of a movie - the guy kept saying, "You know, it's a one-word title and it's got the deaf chick in it. It's just one word." It was Children of a Lesser God.

Thanks to www.nataliedee.com for the cute comic.

Amazing Things

2009-08-23T21:24:00.003-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about community, friendship, love, intimacy, blah blah blah.

When I was in Chicago last fall, my friends and I were seated at the bar of a tapas restaurant having dinner and drinks when a couple who were waiting for a table upstairs asked if they could squeeze on the end of our banquette while they were waiting. They were a gorgeous couple - both startlingly attractive, beautifully dressed, and clearly smitten with each other. Of course we welcomed them to our little space and offered them some of our olives while they waited. We chatted with them about Chicago and DC as they were natives and we were not, and they told us they were out to celebrate his birthday. We sang to him. He got up to either go to the bar or the restroom, I don't remember, when she said, "I just want to thank you all for being so nice to us - I've had cancer and this is the first night I've gone out with a wig on. I've been terrified about it." Almost completely in unison we all said, "You're gorgeous". We all immediately loved her for this disclosure and felt like we'd known her forever. There were hugs and kisses all around when their table was ready and they left us.

An elder of the church is available after the worship service if anyone needs/wants private one-on-one prayer. I went up to pray for my co-worker when we thought her husband was actively dying, and the elder was a woman I'd known casually for years and always really liked though didn't know well. I told her what was going on and we quietly prayed together. When she closed the prayer, I thanked her and as I was getting up said, "How are you?". She burst into tears - I mean full on nose running messy crying. She was completely overwhelmed by her busy life and was just needing someone to be nice to her that didn't want something from her. We prayed for her, and now when I see her and we touch base it feels like it's on a totally different level.

This week I was lucky enough to spend a few days at the beach in Delaware as a last-minute mini-vacation. I wasn't loving the idea of this crowded, public beach after having been spoiled by the Cluster Duck and the serenity therein but it's really close (and the CD was occupied). I wasn't on the beach for more than 45 minutes when there were chatters among the crowd that indicated something was going on in the water. Dolphins, I thought. Nice, but no big deal. When what people were talking about came in to view it was evident it was no dolphin, but a whale having lunch a few hundred yards off the shore. It swam back and forth, jumped out of the water, and generally did its whale thing. It was, as people often say, completely magical. But what struck me as even more spiritual was the hundreds of people along the beach who had stopped and were experiencing this amazing thing together. Hearing total strangers around me say "I've never seen anything like that in my life" was an immediate connection to my little brain that was thinking the same thing.

You can't force community or intimacy, it happens organically when you open yourself to people around you in a genuine way. At some point I'm thinking you have to take a chance and put yourself out there and hope that the person/people who are there either by choice or by luck are willing and/or able to connect with you and catch you. Amazing shared experiences aren't always whales, sometimes it's tears or dumb jokes or compassion or empathy. So why isn't this easy?

Perception

2009-08-15T17:53:00.002-04:00

Today was the first Saturday I've worked since the new electronic medical record system went live.

Gone are the days of physically reviewing a medical record, sifting through the orders, writing a note in the chart to say that I'd started an eval, handwriting the eval, jotting a quick note to the primary therapist to tell her how the patient did, and writing a simple code and number on a graphics sheet that matches the paper bill. Now we carry funny little laptops about that "autorun" templates and magically drop our bills. It's weird.

I'd gotten pretty good at getting a lot written during an eval or a treatment session without it interfering with the patient care - when the patient was engaged in something, reading something, or simply looking away I'd be scribbling in the details to fill in the blanks. As soon as the patient was done I could just look up and stop writing. I didn't need a table top. Now I've got this awkward little computer to tap on, and frankly, there just simply isn't enough time in the day to not be documenting on what I can during the treatment session.

The biggest concern I have is not how inefficient I've become but what the presence of that little computer may do to the patient's treatment experience. Paper charts are a long standing expectation of a patient in a medical setting, but the electronic version of the same activity marks a new era that may make the bulk of the population that I see uncomfortable.

The current culture of multitasking with our electronics and blurred lines between work and personal tasks is seeping into areas that were once held sacred. My church has recently been having an internal struggle with using the word "church" vs. "community", a word the "unchurched" may find more appealing and comfortable, and whether or not offering coffee before worship that can be taken in to the sanctuary is an act of hospitality or pandering to those who can't be bothered to wait an hour before their caffeine fix. In talking about this I was telling my mom that I often bring my cup of coffee with me into my 8:00 a.m. appointment if I haven't finished it yet if I ask the patient's comfort with it, and in her opinion it implied that I wasn't paying full attention. But I am, I said. But it wouldn't look like it, she said. Hmmm. But I want to finish my coffee and I usually have a thousand things to do from 7:30 - 8:00 and don't always get to it. Convenience for me, please.

I did a couple of evaluations and a couple of treatment sessions with my little puter today, and for the first few I pulled up a table and tapped away during the session. In the afternoon, though, the sweet thing that I was evaluating was confused and needed someone sitting close to her talking softly, and the next one was a lady with a seizure-riddled brain who kept trying to take my computer and everything else in reach, including using an alcohol wipe like a pepper packet and trying to sprinkle it over the table top. My group of 5 who were trying to play bingo and not succeeding had me sweating. No time for typing.

At the end of the day, it always comes down to what the patient needs vs. what I need to not have an extra couple of hours for documentation tacked on to my day - my need for convenience shouldn't get in the way with establishing rapport and trust. It's going to take some creativity and careful planning to have time to get it all done, especially when the electronic record goes live for the outpatient network (just in time for the holidays...awesome).

The good news, for those who share my mom's opinion, is that I can't carry both my laptop and a cup of coffee with all the other stuff I have at any given moment.

The image is from here.

From the Files of "Things They Never Told Us in Grad School"

2009-08-09T20:32:00.004-04:00

Recently I did an evaluation with a new patient - I could hear him and his girlfriend arguing fairly loudly in the waiting room while filling out the registration paperwork and grimaced when the front desk person brought the completed chart into my office, my signal to get started, and said, "Good luck".

He had had a tough life and was rough around the edges, as was his companion. He had a fluent type of aphasia, which means that words come without struggle and sound like they should make sense but they don't (i.e. very little content though normal sounding syntax and rhythm, vs. a non-fluent aphasia where the content is high but the structure of sentence isn't there). These folks often also have significant difficulty understanding spoken language, so my first order of business was getting his mile-a-minute girlfriend to s l o w d o w n.

In the first session I did what I could to educate her about her boyfriend's aphasia, assuring her that it is a real problem and that he's not just ignoring her. As they came back for further sessions, she delighted in the small things that were improving but based on the questions she asked still was struggling to understand this aphasia business (which is okay, as I am too).

She asks a lot of questions, which I love, and it always makes me giggle a little to myself because she starts every question with "Hey Brooke" even though I'm sitting across the table from her.

This week, we were near the end of our time when she says, "Hey Brooke, let me ask you something".

"Ok, go ahead".

"Why is that he can't say anything about anything but when he wants sex it comes out just fine?"

"Um, well... we're kind of hard wired for things that go on autopilot, like counting, saying the days of the week, or cursing..."

"So he can say it cause he likes it so much?"

"Um..." (turning purple). I looked to him and kinda shrugged.

Then he says the only thing that's been clear all day - "The stroke didn't affect everything".

For those keeping score at home...

2009-08-03T20:19:00.002-04:00

it was round 32 that ruined me.

I'm better for having done... I'm better for having done it... I'm better for having done it...

A Work In Progress

2009-08-02T18:22:00.005-04:00

When I saw the pattern for a knitting project called "Shipwreck", I really liked it. It was pretty, beachy, and not at all grandma-ish for a shawl. I had a lot of vacation time at the end of May/early June, so I made a journey back to see Ms. Yummy and picked up the yarn for it. I should have been suspicious when the print out of the actual pattern was 8 pages.

I had images of having it almost done by the time I left the Cluster Duck, maybe even leaving it as a thank you gift for M., whose home I had commandeered for the week. So after starting in on the Firefly sweet tea vodka at 10:45 (a.m.) on the first good beach day and things only going downhill from there, I needed a day out of the sun the following day and thought, aha, here I go.

I had to look at a website to try to figure out how to cast on. For a long time. Then I tried -- 9 little delicate stitches in slippery sock yarn over skinny little double-point needles. They fell out. I tried again. They fell out. I tried again. They fell out. I made a noise. My friend, who was reading on the sofa nursing her own sunburn, said, "How's it going?" and I groaned. I tried again. They fell out. Repeat for 2 hours. That's right. 2 hours. I put it away.

I picked it up a few nights later after my friend had gone home and tried it again. They fell out. I tried again. They fell out. Repeat for another hour. Back in the bag, but still feeling optimistic that this is not going to be too hard for me, it's not. Idiots can knit. So can I.

So home from the beach with another week off and I tried again. And they fell off. I put it away.

One night a few weeks later I picked it up again, and to my surprise, the first nine stitches actually stayed on and allowed themselves to be worked through a round of knitting. I was stunned. Then one of the needles twisted and I couldn't tell which end was up. Rip them out, try again. Stubborn little stitches have no interest in staying on the needles now, little brats. I put it away.

A few weeks later, not only did the little impish stitches decide to stay put, they allowed themselves to be knitted in not just one round but several, maybe even five. Then the cat woke up and tried to see what was what, and in jumping up on the ottoman knocked one of the needles out. I put it away.

A few weeks later, the stitches went on. They stayed on. They went through several rounds and I was feeling pretty good about myself. I had made it through the first several rounds and was ready to start a patterned stitch, but at the end of the first round of the pattern I knew I'd made a mistake that I couldn't see and therefore couldn't fix. I put it away.

Then last night, the moon must have been in the right house and the solar flares doing whatever it is they do, because it worked. When I went to bed last night I was 25 rounds in. Perfect little stitches doing exactly what they were supposed to do. I worked on it again this afternoon and seem to have picked up an extra stitch somewhere but I'm going to act like I didn't. Right now it looks like a miniature version of one of the little hats that Muslim men wear.

Would anyone like to lay the line for the over-under bets of when I'll rip it out again?

This lovely pattern is from the very cool knitty.com.

Blueberries are Better For You

2009-07-29T20:03:00.003-04:00

One day in March (maybe April, can't really remember), I was taking a bath before I needed to be somewhere and had my cell phone on the edge of the sink to help me keep an eye on the time. The cat, in her insatiable efforts to scratch her little chin, knocked it into the tub. Plunk.

I'd been meaning to upgrade anyway, so I went to the Verizon store with my drippy old phone (when they took the battery out water ran over the counter, and I could tell from the saleswoman's smirk that she didn't believe it had landed in the tub) and took a tentative step forward in the technological universe - I bought a Blackberry. I have clear lines between my work life and life life, so I didn't link my work email to it (there are no outpatient SLP emergencies after hours or on days off, I'm fairly confident) but did link home email. It took me exactly an hour to become dependant on it.

When I email someone I expect an immediate response. When I text someone, I expect an immediate response. I check blogs, news feeds, my bank account, and the weather with an urgency that is a little embarrassing. I read emails I never did before - the Borders rewards, the Amazon recommendations, the Travelzoo deals. I have no reason to be so connected. It's ridiculous.

It is nice to be able to look up the If Elvis Were My Landlord sketch from The Kids in the Hall away from home, though...

The image is from here, but I'm betting the original is from The Onion.

Sunday

2009-07-26T15:00:00.003-04:00

Work is nuts. Last week over my two long days I was scheduled with 25 patients. I've just started supervision of a fantastic clinical fellow but it means thinking for 2 people for awhile. I've been working a lot of Saturdays for the extra cash. I am tired.

So, today I skipped church in favor of watching a friend make a cameo on HGTV (her friends had their kitchen re-done on one of those "fix up your mess of a house before you sell it" shows and she was an open house participant - a good nosey one too as she looked in the cupboards and the oven) then had a leisurely French lunch with my friend A. Now I'm watching Law & Order and trying to decide if I should read or work the crossword puzzle next. The apartment is cool, the cat is snuggly.

I am so thankful to have a job, but I am also thankful to have time when I don't have to show up to it.

Pardon the obvious artistic reference: it's from here.

Maybe It Says More About My Nerdiness...

2009-06-26T19:28:00.002-04:00

"Isn't it awful?"

"Can you believe it?"

"I'm totally in mourning".

No, it isn't. Yes, I can. Really?

I had a Michael Jackson poster. He was wearing a yellow sweater. It's the only poster I remember having that wasn't a picture of REM torn out of Sassy magazine or the placard of a Broadway show.

One of the only father-daughter memories I have involved a day in Columbus buying stereo speakers, a fancy lunch at the Brown Derby (the salad bowls were chilled - impressed the hell out of me), and the purchase of Thriller. It was conspiratorial and exciting. It was on tape.

I was concerned about him when his hair caught on fire - I was at Nan's house when I first heard the news.

The conversation around the lunch table today (with people who were all at least a little younger than me) was mourning the loss "our generation's first icon". Hmmm.

The Michael Jackson that lived to the right of my bed has been gone a very long time, so I just can't muster up a personal sense of sadness about his passing that is any greater than that of any other celebrity. While I appreciate MJ's musical talent and influence (PYT is a pretty bad ass song), I've heard his death compared to such shocks as Princess Diana, JFK, and my favorite, 9/11 (via Twitter from Chad "Ocho Cinco" Johnson). I suppose it's a mark of time passing - when someone who helped shape your childhood dies suddenly and young it must connect you a little with your own mortality. I dunno. I was more upset when Kurt Vonnegut died.

It seems like Mr. Jackson's life is shockingly similar to that of Mike Tyson and others who have been surrounded in their childhood by those who recognized their talent and ate it up. They end up adults with no capacity to keep their stuff together, and their greatness gets tainted by it. That's what's sad to me.

The Loss of Nameless Things

2009-06-18T15:27:00.002-04:00

I stumbled on an episode of Independent Lens online that was Bill Rose's documentary The Loss of Nameless Things (it's available in its entirety on hulu).

It's about Oakley Hall III, a visionary playwright and artistic director who founded a theater company in upstate NY in the 70s. They all lived in the woods, did a lot of drugs, and thought creative thoughts. Oakley was the center of the universe. He drove outrageous productions of Streetcar Named Desire and obscure French comedies. His triumph was a production of Frankenstein that was, by all accounts, terrifying. His potential was overwhelming to those who knew him - dizzying.

Then he went drinking one night with a relative stranger who had been hanging around the camp. Only two people know what happened that night, and one can't remember. By his own volition, an accident, or the hand of this stranger, Oakley fell from a bridge.

He survived but was disfigured. And brain injured. He'd become the stitched together Frankenstein's monster he'd used only a few years early to make his mark in the creative community.

In the weeks that follow, Oakley's friends and family struggle to get to know this new person who lives among them - the one who doesn't always recognize people, wanders when unattended, and doesn't make sense when he talks. At the same time, they mourn the creative force that seems to be gone forever.

The filmmaker said he originally set out to delve into the accident itself - who was this stranger, what were the possible scenarios, was there more to the story? But, upon hearing of this transformation of Oakley, the story became about how a creative community responds to one of its own when the lifeforce is muted.

Once you finally get to hear and see Oakley in something other than photographs, it's clear that there is no happy ending to this story, no deus ex machina that tidies everything up in the end. His friends clearly talk about 2 different Oakleys. They love the new one, the kinder, gentler Oakley, but they can't help but miss and wonder about what might have been.

Exactly. That's why brain injury, for lack of a better word, stinks.

20 Questions

2009-06-15T22:00:00.003-04:00

I have a lot of questions lately. A lot of questions. Like big life kind of questions.

No one has answers. It's annoying. I know it's because there are no answers, no right or wrong, just two sides of one big sloppy coin.

Sometimes the hardest part is even formulating the questions - knowing what to ask.

I've been working with a couple of patients for quite awhile now, and they are so similar in their presentation that they are frequently paired during their sessions. They both have aphasia, and it's been fun to watch them progress from not being able to say anything that was recognizable to being able to have a simple conversation. Their personalities are both enormous, and even when they struggle to find words they are both still excellent communicators. This week, I had them play 20 Questions to work on both formulating and responding to questions.

I wrote the names of several famous people on index cards -- JFK, Oprah, Michael Jordan. After we did a few practice rounds with my modeling, we were off and running.

JFK took awhile, but they finally figured it out after a lengthy discussion of the meaning of the word "recent".

The next round was Ray Charles -- I knew the answer because I had written it on the card an hour earlier, but to give the other patient more time to think I acted like I hadn't figured it out yet. We had it narrowed down to a male singer who was dead and blind. The guy holding the card, after doing a pretty spot on imitation of Mr. Charles, got frustrated and said, "Seriously? Ok,here's the problem -- you [looking at the other patient] don't know enough musicians, and you [looking at me] don't know enough black people". Awesome.

Then it was my turn to be the one holding the card, and therefore answering the 20 questions. We were getting close to the end of the hour, so I decided to help them out and give a few hints along the way.

Patient 1 : Is it a man?
Answer: Yes, but not a real man.

Patient 1: You mean like he plays a woman?
Answer: No, he's not a real person. He's a fictional character.

Now remember that both of these folks have difficulty understanding what they hear, and that's a pretty abstract concept.

Patient 1: Is he on TV?
Answer: Well, yes, you can see him on TV sometimes, but remember, it's not a real man.

Patient 1: (crickets)

Patient 2 (who I thought wasn't listening): Is it Ru Paul?
Answer: Um, no.

It was Santa Claus.

How amazing is this picture? I love that the career options are fashion designer or model and that boys make the best partners. I guess it's all about how you ask the question.

10 Years and a Blink of an Eye

2009-05-12T19:16:00.002-04:00

The clip below features one of the first people with a brain injury I'd ever seen live and upclose. I remember thinking, "wow".

But it's been 10 years and this is where she is today... and is speaking at the Length of Service dinner next week where I'll get my 10 year pin (kind of like AA). The whole thing is pretty inspiring.

View more news videos at: http://www.nbcwashington.com/video.

Law and Order: Special Worship Unit

2009-04-15T22:27:00.005-04:00

I had a vacation last week.

I spent several days in SC with my family, which was wonderful. My nephew is 3 today, and he's all about superheroes and cars and telling Mom "no". My mom and sister make me feel loved and special. Everyone needs weeks when they hang out, talk, make cookies, play cards, and sleep in.

Because I needed to be back in DC for class mid-week, my trip was abbreviated but it gave me a few days of staycation.

I spent one day of it being a tourist with my good friend D. (of the Barry Manilow outing), a teacher who also had the week off and could hang out in the middle of the day.

We spent the morning daring to find parking on the National Mall, didn't find any, then saw an exhibit of illuminations from old manuscripts, choral books, and Bibles at the National Gallery of Art. It was the perfect thing to do on Maundy Thursday -- the pieces were a mix of really striking intricate scenes and shockingly Monty Pythony sleeping guards at the tomb, etc. D. and I were the problem children of the exhibit -- the security guy told us on 2 separate occasions to back up from the walls and to pipe down. How nerdy is it to get in trouble at a museum looking at pieces of old Bibles?

We then went to see a photography exhibit of black and white images from various aspects of American life. Really cool, and no hassle from the guards (I guess the school groups there were more of a distraction).

We went to lunch at a wine-focused place near the Verizon Center, and 2 hours and $110 later we had eaten 9 different meats, 3 cheeses, some salad, some soup, and 5 different kinds of wine. The next natural thing to do was...

go to the Museum of Crime and Punishment. Yes, there is such a thing. You even have to pay to go in, unlike most of the museums in our nation's capital. It was seriously goofy fun -- celebrity mug shots, medieval torture devices, an electric chair, a shooting range, an interpretive legend of prison tattoos, dishes from the home of the mob boss busted during the big family meeting of all of the major players, get-to-know-your-serial-killer posters, and a prison cell complete with escape tunnel. The wine helped.

We ended our day with dessert for dinner and one more cocktail, where I found out my alma mater had made the Frozen Four college hockey tournament (they went on to the finals but lost in heart breaker). We lost, then found, the parking garage ticket.

Then we went to church.

Maundy Thursday is the time to remember the last meal, the first communion. In looking back over our day, it seemed like a day of decadence -- food, wine, friendship, reflection, giggling loud enough to be annoying to other museum goers. But as the music was playing in the worship service and I was thinking about sacrifice and how profoundly sad I have been for what feels like so long now, the feeling of being rested, loved, and fed became pervasive. I suppose we need to be fed in different ways at different times -- sometimes playing with Spiderman figurines on the floor, sometimes just being together, sometimes bread and wine, sometimes waffle banana splits and Spanish coffee, sometimes taking pictures of your friend in a pillory.

Thanks to Mom, Sister, Nephew, and D. for helping me remember this.

The photo is the aftermath of our lunch at Proof on G St. in DC.

So....

2009-03-16T20:26:00.003-04:00

Just when I think I've heard it all, I actually said this sentence today to a grown man who meant it quite seriously:

No, you may not call me Brookie-poo.

Lenten Vision

2009-03-09T19:52:00.004-04:00

J. preached her head off on Sunday -- it was International Women's Day and J., an amazing preacher anyway, went to a place that was just overwhelming. She posted her sermon, in its entirety, on her blog. I encourage you to read it, all of it, but for now just know that it was the kind of Lenten message that feels so far removed from Easter, and was meant to shock and awe in a way that has nothing to do with Bush and everything to do with how we do, or don't, treat each other as children of God.

I wasn't thinking about this at all today when I got home from work and happily threw on some tennis shoes to get out and enjoy this 65 degree day. I had the Shuffle in full effect while taking a leisurely walk to pick up some fruit at the Teeter, and was smiling when "Dancing in the Moonlight" came on after "Jump Around" (such is my iPod). I was feeling completely, blissfully, happy. Relaxed. Worry free.

I came around the corner of the shopping center and the door of the drug store opened ahead of me. A man came out carrying a small bag and started to walk ahead of me in the same direction I was going. I paid no attention. Then he started striking himself in the head. Hard. I paid attention. I slowed down to give this a little distance. He hit himself with heel of his left hand on the temple with the force of a punch over and over again. He kept walking and sat down on a bench in front of the Chipotle.

Chipotle was hopping... a line almost out the door, the smell of grilled meat streaming out. I was just about in front of this man when he sat down so I didn't get to see his face. He seemed a million miles removed from all of the delicous burritos going on around him and the suddenly ridiculous 70s tunes in my ears, completely alone in a crowd. Every word from Sunday's message came crashing back to me.

I went on to the store (the bag boy asked if my water was water-water or vodka-water, which made me laugh and wonder what vodka-water was and where I could get some). When I came out the man was still on the bench, and I realized I had a choice -- I could walk past and make no eye contact, or I could stop and at least ask if he was ok. I slowed down when I got near him and when he looked up, all I could think of to say was the ever-so-comfortable "would you like an orange? I just bought them". He blinked. I blinked.

He put his hand out. I gave him an orange.

I don't know if he was hitting himself to make something stop talking to him or if he'd just said something completely inappropriate to the drug store clerk, or just because its how his illness manifests, but I kind of hope that he's less likely to do it with fruit in his hand. Lent is hard, but self-inflicted punches are harder.

The image is called "Alone in a Crowd" and is from here.

Yes, but no.

2009-02-19T19:06:00.004-05:00

One of my all time favorite people with aphasia, when yourve close to figuring out what he's talking about but haven't quite gotten it, will give you the oh-so-helpful feedback "yes, but no". It tends to mean keep guessing, but stay in the ballpark. It would help, of course, if he talked about easily predicted things like the stimulus package or dinner last night, but I have a distinct memory of him trying to explain the concept of Burning Man to me just a few weeks after his stroke. Such is the brain of a lawyer, I suppose, who when he couldn't write his own name took his printed schedule and marked it with "stet" after a therapist had adjusted, then put back, a therapy appointment.

I've been having several Yes but No moments lately.

Being on a campus again has been a hoot. So many things are similiar to my experience more than 10 years ago, but so much is drastically differnt, partly from the world we live in now and partly from being on a campus that is so intergrated with the city life of DC. They still do chalk blitzes on the sidewalks for upcoming campus events, even in the face of so many other new ways to instantly communicate. Girls still smoke to stay skinny. Math buildings are still filled with nerds. But now students tap on laptops during class, and instantly look up anything that they have a question about (last night's rabbit trails included fallen arches and HSP, which is either a neurological disorder or a highly sensitive person). They are smart -- so much smarter than I ever was at that level of experience. They challenge the norm. Yes, but no.

We have new staff, again, to stop some of the bleeding of a few months ago and to cover maternity leaves. Someone else left and came right back. The new guys seem great - bright, creative, energetic, but once someone new comes in your organization is forever different. Yes, but no.

I think the whole A Rod steriod issue is a non-story. Who cares, and even more so, who should be surprised? Everyone was juicing those years ago, and he has a reputation for being a bit of cheater. I just wish he would say what he did, or stop talking. He said in an interview yesterday several times that he "felt poorly" about what he had done... this would indicate for the grammarians among us that his capacity for feeling operates in a sub-par fashion. That may be exactly what he meant. Yes, but no.

I spent Saturday morning a few weekends ago with two people I'd never met before picking up furniture from people who are getting new stuff or have just moved, etc. and taking it directly to people who need it. Most of the deliveries were in my immediate neighborhood, two to the next apartment complex over. Now I am the first to admit that I have a bit of an addiction to the A&E show Intervention -- it's an hour-long reality show about one person's addiction, the impact it has on their family and friends, and ends in an intervention that usually results in the person getting treatment. Sometimes they stay in and get sober, sometimes they don't (including a couple where the person died not long after the filming). I thought this show really exposed how awful addiction can be -- scary and destructive. Then I helped carry a sofa into an apartment just beside mine where addiction was living in full force. I had no idea what it really looked like. Not at all. Yes, but no.

I'm feeling better but still not anywhere close to right. Yes, but no.

This tshirt, the perfect homage to my friend with aphasia, is from here: www.monster-munch.com

Bad Blogger

2009-01-28T20:57:00.003-05:00

It's been two weeks since my last confession... I mean blog post. Eh, same thing.

I have frankly been wallowing in my own junk and embracing it, with a deadline of February 2nd to turn myself around. I am fine, healthy, sheltered, fed, but have been l-a-z-y and have chosen to spend any non-work time in a state of general malaise. I'm ready to get over myself.

Here's what I've been up to, though, such as it is:

Movies: Milk, The Wrestler, Grand Torino, The Reader, Frost/Nixon. Dinner club Friday night is a tribute to the Oscars -- every dish is to be associated with/inspired by one of the nominees. I'm thinking hot chocolate with Ghiradelli chocolate (and booze) as an after-dinner drink for Milk. Oh, I also caught some Al Pacinos -- Righteous Kill and Scarface. Meh.

Knitting: the basic baby blanket for M. is creeping along.

Obamamania: after deciding not to rent out my digs for the week of hoo-ha that was teh inauguration, I spent January 20th with my friends all wearing housepants and slippers having brunch and watching the festivities -- all toasty warm.

Class prep: I'm not whining, I swear, but it's hard to pull a class together from scratch. I don't know what I'm doing, so I end up re-writing the text book in slide format, then edit like nuts and end up on tangents. It's a fun process, I'm really enjoying it, but will probably enjoy it more should I be fortunate enough to do it again and have one under my belt to figure out what was really worth discussing/playing with and what wasn't. Oh, I've been so lazy that it took me a solid 10 days to wash the penis off my car.

Walking a fine friendship line: K's baby is here and gorgeous, but he hasn't taken well to feeding and K. has struggled with the "you-must-breastfeed-your-baby-or-raise-a-moron" propaganda. She also feels overwhelmed and really, really tired which makes her overwhelmed and really, really tired. She is trying to be calm and cool but it's not working, though it is markedly better since her decision to go with formula. I want to be the friend to her that she's been to me in my recent mess, and I'm trying to be both available but unobtrusive, even though I know that what she really needs is for someone to plant themselves on her couch with her son while she goes to take a long shower and nap, even though she'd never say she needs it.

Lost: 'nough said.

My period of sloth is winding down, and I'm ready to get back into life. Hopefully more interesting things to follow...

First Day of School

2009-01-14T21:24:00.003-05:00

There are many days when I feel, professionally, like a bit of a fraud. There is just no way to know everything -- the brain is so complex and people are so complex and communication is so complex, and on any given day I'm expected to know at least slightly more about the resolution of problems with voice, speech, thinking, reading, writing, memory, and swallowing than the people who have them. It's hard to feel like an expert in anything.

That being said, last night I started teaching a class to graduate students in speech at a local prestigious university. That indicates that I know a subject, in this case, augmentative and alternative communication, enough to discuss it for 15 weeks. These poor girls are paying for what they think I know. Hmmm...

This is an amazing opportunity for me. It will force me to learn things that I don't know about this area (namely, the pediatric end of it), prompt me to do the background research I've been meaning to do for a number of years now, and teach me a little something about this millennial generation my boss goes on and on about. It will also give me a chance to figure out whether or not I like academia on this end of it, as I've kicked around the idea of a PhD off and on since graduate school. I want to do this well.

I prepped carefully, put together course requirements that hopefully seemed fair but not too taxing so as to be annoying, read the text book. I tried to be relevant in my planning. One thought would lead to another to another, and it was becoming both fun and a confirmation of the fact that maybe I do know a little something about this after all. Huh, I think. I'm a pro. I can do this.

So Tuesday comes and I choose my clothes carefully, to look professional. I pack up my laptop, to look professional. I leave my Tuesday gig in Mitchellville, Maryland to scoot downtown, feeling very adult and cosmopolitan. I find an amazing parking spot -- right on campus, across the street from where the class is and in front of a very hip little campus bar. I parallel park on the first try on the opposite side of the street - not my strong suit, so a victory. I am ready, and feeling like a professional speech rock star. Bring it.

I get out of the car and step up to the parking meter. I look up to confirm that I'm paying the right meter for my parking spot when I see it.

On my first day as a new faculty at a major metropolitan university, I have parked my money metal Saturn under a street lamp smack in the middle of campus with not one but two giant penises etched out in the dirt of my big back windshield. While my car was parked at the Mitchellville site, someone took the time to create this masterpiece and had the artistic vision to include big hairs on the testicles.

Eval Only

2009-01-05T19:19:00.003-05:00

It's never a good sign when the Occupational Therapist who did an evaluation on a new patient just before my appointment time with the same patient says, "They really don't want to do the speech appointment -- they don't think they need it". It either means they really don't need it or they need it badly but don't understand that the SLP domain isn't just the sound of speech, but also all of the language and cognitive skills that drive what we talk about. Either way, these patients tend to give me crap, as if it's my fault that their doctor sent them in.

I was not excited when the OT grabbed me before my 4:00 eval and gave me this message. I introduced myself and when we got into the treatment room, I told him he could take his coat off if he'd like, to which he replied, "No, I won't be here that long. I don't need to be here, I talk fine". Super. I calmly explained that if he felt confident that all was the same after his stroke that I would just do a cursory eval so that I could tell his doctor I asked all the questions he was expecting me to ask, and he could be on his way. We started. He interrupted me at one point and said, "You seriously get paid for this?". I was not loving him.

In an effort to make this awkward situation slightly less awkward, while I was jotting a few notes to myself I asked him why he moved out of DC into the 'burbs, which he had mentioned earlier.

"Well, I'll tell you. I'm from the streets -- I grew up on the streets, selling drugs, the whole thing. One day 12 years ago, I was on the street and I saw this girl I'd sold crack to, and the wind blew a little and her shirt came up some. I could see she was pregnant -- I didn't know she had been 'cause she always wore big clothes. I told everyone on the street, 'Don't mess with her and DON'T sell her anything -- if you do, you'll have to answer to me'. Now on December 24th, I was on the street sellin' and she walked up to me, and said, 'Hey Three Feet' (my nickname is Three Feet). I said, 'I thought you were pregnant' and she said, all in one sentence, 'I had a miscarriage can I get a fifty?'. That day I told my boys I was out, I gave up the life and got the hell out of there. I moved in with a friend, got a real job, met a good woman... now I know what home means, I know what it is to have a remote control in your hand, a Twinkie in the other, and a Law & Order marathon on TV. "

I was blown away, and weeping. He didn't need speech therapy.

Let's All Go To the Movies

2009-01-04T14:47:00.003-05:00

This is one of my favorite times of the year -- the holidays are pleasant memories and people are still in pretty good moods, the weather is crisp, and the playoffs are on. The best part of it is the Oscar push -- the studios release their best pictures just before the end of the year and flood the theaters with really, really good stories. I try to see 'em all before the Oscars so that I can cheer or boo appropriately. I have a lot to do in the next 6 weeks.

I've gotten a decent start with Slumdog Millionaire, Doubt, and Milk. So far, Slumdog Millionaire is my hands down favorite -- it is completely beautiful in its gut-wrenchingness. I genuinely think it's one of the best movies I've ever seen, and I never want to see it again -- I'm sure I would come undone. Doubt was a subtle story with tremendous acting that resulted in an excellent movie -- careful, well thought-out, and one that you want to talk about with anyone who has seen it (do you think he did it?!?). Milk was compelling -- Harvey Milk was clearly an original with a vision that life can be different, if you're willing to make it so. Sean Penn was completely convincing -- it's hard to forget that big actors are big actors and believe that they are really someone else in these roles, but he succeeded in this one. I've been glad to see all of them, and look forward to getting to Frost/Nixon, Valkyrie, The Reader, and when in the neighborhood, Reservation Road and The Wrestler.

Everything seems to have taken on a different meaning for me as I go through this time in my life, and while I spend a lot of time trying not to think about big important things, I'm so glad to have this list of someone else's stories to get swallowed up in and to give me a structured way to think big thoughts, instead of the irrational coo-coo ways that I tend to implement when left to my own devices.

Who will win? Who cares. If you've seen something great, I'd like to hear about it.

And now for something completely different...

2008-12-29T19:04:00.002-05:00

I spent my holiday week (plus) casually shopping, eating cookies, playing with superhero bobble heads, reading, sleeping, and generally enjoying my family. It was a very good time, and I was ready to go back to work, which is always a good sign.

Today was a frosting-induced buzz kill.

7:30: Check email -- M.'s sweet dog, Peanut, died last week. It was good death for a great big doggie who had a long, happy life, but I know M. is sad and H. will need therapy.

9:00: Man in mid-40's -- "Excuse me for crying... I just have this brain tumor and I know it's going to kill me... I don't know what to tell my kids".

10:00: Man in mid-40's -- so close to returning to driving 3 years after his stroke was told by his neurologist that no, he wasn't going to be medically cleared to drive for another year as he'd recently had a seizure. (On the good side of the coin, when asked about his holiday he produced the multi-word sentence "Mac computer [his son's name] I got it", which has been a therapy goal for over a year).

11:00 Pair of men in their 50s, both professional type As who both had strokes and are angry about it -- both feel that the medical profession can only guess what's gone on and what will go on (true) so why trust it? Sigh.

12:00: Chat with parents of one of the gentlemen in the 11:00 pairing - they are concerned his quick anger trigger is him faking it and using it as an excuse to be difficult. Double sigh.

12:50: Check phone messages -- new hospice guy died. Nuts -- was looking forward to getting to know him.

1:00: One of 2 scheduled patients come -- the fact that the other didn't worried me, she's having real difficulty getting the support she needs from her family, including getting her to and from therapy.

2:00: breathe, type like the wind to finish the reports lingering from the week before I was off

3:00: Woman in her early 60s had just come from seeing her physiatrist (one of our own). This MD read the letter I sent with her explaining why I thought this woman was ready to go back to work (she's doing great, her boss is flexible, she can retire if it's just not working out) and that therapy was wrapping up, then said, "No, you don't need to rush back to work, and besides, I want you to have a neuropsychological eval first". The next available eval time is April. You've got to be kidding.

Advent is over but it definitely feels like I'm still waiting for something.

Code Switching

2008-12-16T20:27:00.003-05:00

People who have aphasia often have difficulty with language fundamentals (e.g. that a "cup" equals "c-u-p" equals the thing made out of paper that you drink with), but even as that improves they also have difficulty with the "extras" of language... the subtleties, niceties, and ability to code switch, or talk to your mother differently than you talk to your girlfriend and your girlfriend differently than you talk to your boss.

I had a really amazing conversation today with someone who is living this.

I've written about her before -- I've known her for over a year now and have seen her grow from someone who couldn't read or write a single word and struggled to pull a sentence together to someone who can read and send an email and tell a pretty good story. She is a young woman who had a bleed in her brain from a strange medical problem that she'll have for ever, but is well managed. She's a hoot.

She was telling me that she was at a bar a few nights ago where some friends and friends-of-friends were gathering. She was talking to the wife of one of her husband's friends, with whom she's never really gotten along. This woman was going on and on about how hard her life was with her busy career and her spoiled kids and the taxes on the boat and all that still had to be done before Christmas could come, etc. etc. She turned to my friend and asked her if she had finished her Christmas shopping, and my friend surprised herself by spewing out a stream of "you've got to be kidding me every day is Christmas after what we've been through maybe you never got the f'ing message that I can't read or write anymore because my head blew up you think you've got it tough go look at how people live in other countries where you don't have clean water and have to pee in a hole". The woman blinked at her and said, "Excuse me, it looks like we're ready to leave" then walked across the bar and stayed for another two hours.

My friend wanted my professional opinion on why she did that. I told her it might be because she was mad and that she doesn't have the access to flexing her language around to say something in a diplomatic way. She thought about it, then thought of ten other examples of how that's a problem for her. She can't tell a white lie. She can't be nice on the telephone 'cause she's working so hard to keep her thoughts together. She can't make a gentle request and feels like she nags her husband. She used to be funny, now she can't crack a joke.

We talked long and hard about the fact that this isn't a sign of getting worse, it's progress to the point that she doesn't have to worry about the little junk as much so she's noticing the more contextual issues. We talked about ways to practice. She understood but was visibly upset. She's trying to let go of the old her and accept the new one, but is mourning herself.

As our conversation (and our hour) was wrapping up, she said to me, completely straight faced, "You know, this is mind blowing. No pun intended".

That was it. I had to take my glasses off to wipe my eyes from the mix of laughing hysterically and crying.

This not so subtle picture is from here.

2008-12-14T21:33:00.002-05:00

Dinner Club hosted a baby shower today for the first of our own to go down this road.

It was a lovely affair -- no detail was overlooked. As our friend isn't crafty, there was a table set up to make her scrap book so all she has to do is slap in photos. The linens were perfectly white, everyone ate from real china with real silver. The dessert "tower" of strawberries, coconut cupcakes, and lemon bars was a spectacle. My contribution, a centerpiece of cookies made to look like her husband's "uniform" of a blue shirt and khaki pants (he wears it every day as he tries to keep the number of variables in his life to a minumum) shoved on lollipop sticks and poking out of a brown paper lunch sack, made both her mom and his mom laugh. She received darling things, as new moms do. It was a room of love, joy, and friendship, and K. looked adorable in her little 60s style dress, even as she desperately tried to sit with knees together.

I am so happy for K. -- she tried for this baby for over a year and is going to be an amazing mother, the kind who startles you by the ease with she takes to it. I have to admit, thought, that I have a hard time pushing down the little part of me that wants to compare where I thought I would be in my life, where I am, and where my friends are in their lives. I thought I would be where K. is by now, and I'm not.

I had this fleeting thought and looked around room and immediately felt like a jerk. One of the DC girls had in vitro twice and is on Chinese herbs and other non-traditional methods for fertility. One of my bosses wants a cat but her husband is deathly allergic -- she also wanted kids but couldn't get him to agree to it so she's looking at 50 with just the two of them (and no pets). One guest had just come from a memorial service for her neighbor, a woman in her late 30s with three young kids who died from an aggressive cancer over the span of just a few months.

I have to keep remembering that no one is exactly where they thought they would be, and if they say they are, they are probably lying or fooling themselves. Respect the little piece of you that keeps the vision, and enjoy whereever you are while you're there. And eat lemon bars.

A New Motivation

2008-12-11T22:38:00.002-05:00

I have been thinking about "quitting" my volunteer spot with hospice.

The last person I was assigned to visit was on her 2nd hospice admission and said she wanted someone to read to her, but when I would go to visit she would either toss me out or I couldn't find her. And as messed up as this sounds, I never felt like she was dying (anymore than any of us are, I suppose) and irrationally it bugged me, like she was milking the system. I was not a good volunteer to this woman -- I made selfish decisions with my time and often chose to do anything else than do this. Guilt is not something that I need more of in my life. She was discharged at the end of October, and in talking with the volunteer coordinator (an amazing human being)the words "I'm out" were almost out of my mouth but never quite made it.

I met a new person today -- he is actively dying. He is a young guy spending every day in a nursing facility for the last eight months while multiple sclerosis breaks down his body. We talked about jazz and the Redskins. I instantly liked him.

My previous experiences have been with elderly ladies who either couldn't hear, couldn't see, or couldn't think clearly. The only time I've spent with a man was the son of my first lady who was shockingly mentally unstable and kept multiple TVs tuned into the news in every room, had every ink pen he'd ever owned, and occasionally wore a dress over his clothes like a robe.

I think this experience will be a life changer, and may be just what I need to get myself out of my own selfish funk. And while I think this is going to be a tough one, I'm so glad I didn't quit.

My Friday Night

2008-12-07T14:42:00.003-05:00

I spent Friday night at A.'s house, drinking a lot of wine with her and her husband. Here's how we spent our time:

Ack... okay, I can't get the video to embed successfully, so instead, try this.

And the old favorite:

It's the woo-woooo. It was a very good night.

Here We Go Again

2008-12-04T16:01:00.003-05:00

I had the same conversation at work today with four different people, none of whom were communication impaired patients. I only worked four hours today.

I was particularly chilly this a.m. so I put on a warm fuzzy sweater that is kind of long and closes at the neck like a trench coat -- one side button on the right and one big decorative button on the left. The decorative button was the reason I liked the sweater in the first place, but sometime last year the button fell off when I was picking something up from a tile floor, and broke. The sweater has to be closed somehow, so I dug around my jewelry box and found a pin that I think I bought at The Limited in the early 90s... I distinctly remembering it in high school. It looks like a bar with a bunch of rings on it. No diamonds, no shape of a flower, nothing flashy. I'm not trying to make a statement, just trying to close a sweater.

All four of my conversations went like this:

Person 1 - 4: I like your sweater.

Me: Thanks.

Person 1 - 4: What's that, a brooch?

Sure, I put on my brooch right after I put on my dungarees and pick up my pocketbook.

People around me know who know what's going on with me and my husband have been really great, for the most part. Most of them have simply said kind things and offered a cup of coffee or a phone call if I'd like them. When I've taken them up on it, for the most part, they have listened, asked insightful questions, agreed that things were sad, and generally made me feel loved and cared for by their time and concern. For the most part.

I've spent some time with a few people where I feel like I'm having the same conversation over and over again. A couple of people who have had a tough period of struggling with their spouses have wanted me to understand that no one is happy all the time and that marriage is hard. I've been told , "I know exactly how you feel".

I had coffee with someone recently who wanted to know what was going on, so I told her. She listened patiently for a few mintues then went on to tell me about the fact that every marriage has ups and downs, no one's perfect, and she and her husband have had times when they are close to each other and times when they're not. Marriage is hard.

I really appreciate the fact that people are concerned for me and they are reaching out. I so appreciate it. I have felt closer to more people than I have ever in my life, as I tend to be a fairly private person. It is a wonderful thing to see your friends spring into action when you're hurting, and I also understand that people don't know what to say about all this. I don't know either, and I don't expect anyone else to, so if people say weird things then I typically just appreciate the fact that they are trying. But it is very easy to say something that trivializes all this, and it is surely not trivial.

This whole experience has been a million life lessons, and while I don't think we have a god that puts people into situations that are difficult just to teach them things, I do think there is much to be learned. I will be a better friend after and within all of this -- a better listener, quicker to act, a different sense of gravity for whatever the person is going through. I'm so thankful for this, and for all of those who have put themselves out there to say the perfect thing and the opposite of the pefect thing.

It's All in Your Head

2008-12-01T19:40:00.003-05:00

Several weeks ago, I met a woman who was by far the most frustrated client I'd ever seen. She'd had a stroke several months earlier but hadn't been getting speech therapy since she'd left the hospital, and not only couldn't talk, she could make any sound other than sort of a growl. She didn't have any physical limitations so she could get her basic needs met, but she clearly had a lot to say that wasn't being communicated in any modality.

There was a lot to her picture, but I thought it was somewhat evident that she had severe apraxia, meaning she couldn't get her mouth to do what the brain was directing it to do. And she'd been like this for months.

I didn't see her again for almost a month, and then she came back in on a day I was working last week. She able to repeat anything I said. If I asked her to do something with her mouth, she did it without difficulty. She was popping out single words left and right to kind of string together a message (e.g. "sister" "book" "tomorrow" to indicate that she would pick up a communication book we'd asked her sister to order the next day). She'd only had 2 other therapy sessions. She simply didn't fit the rules.

Usually if you tell someone with apraxia to stop doing something, they do it even more -- not because they don't want to do what you're telling them to do, it's just the way their body responds to a volitional movement. If I told her stop doing something, she stopped. If I prompted her to add a word or two on to her single word response she could do it, and then do it again. It was too easy. Things just didn't add up.

She is not faking. She's not. What I think happened was that she had a change in her brain, she initially had incredible trouble talking, and she got knocked off track. And all of the stress and strain in her very difficult life settled into her talking, and she couldn't let go of it.

Some people have low back pain when they are stressed, even if they don't realize it. Some people have shoulder tension. Some people develop/maintain communication problems. The brain is something, isn't it?

I do this, but usually under physical strain. I have developed hives when crazy sick from a sinus infection that I thought would never end, and came very close to throwing up when I twisted my ankle on the tennis court. Apparently, that's not all.

I knew I've been stressed lately in a way I've never been before, though it's been staying at bay, more or less. This past weekend my nose blew up -- I mean blisters all over the place. Swollen, itchy, painful and weird. Now I'm a scabby mess but things are on the mend. I suppose it could have been the Chicago wind and dry airplane air, but I think I hit a point where there was nothing left and the junk around my heart boiled over. Yuck.

The treatment for psychogenic communication disorders is convincing the client that they have control over the problem. I'll work on that -- it might be true for noses too.

The image shows the relationship between stress and strain. I wonder at which point the nose blows up...

Like New York Only Cleaner

2008-11-24T20:26:00.003-05:00

I spent the weekend plus a few days in Chicago for the American Speech and Hearing Association (ASHA) annual conference -- I was there to present a poster, which is sort of like a speech pathology science fair, but these trips usually turn into several days of attending as much as a brain (and bottom) can tolerate then spending the rest of the time eating, drinking, and sightseeing. This trip was no exception.

I left on Wednesday morning to go to work then to stay with my friend and travel companion M., who lives much closer to BWI airport than I do for an early flight. In my recent state of the blues, I've had some cognitive decline and left my driver's license in the pocket of the pants I had on the night before in the laundry basket in my Alexandria apartment -- fortunately M.'s husband is the safety police and had insisted that we be at the airport 2 hours earlier and I caught it at 5:30 a.m. to be on a flight at 8:00. I live an hour from M.'s and an hour from the airport. It was close, but thanks to M. dragging my luggage around I made the flight (and set new landspeed records).

The rest of the trip seemed pretty tame after the initial hubbub. Chicago was really beautiful -- the architecture is amazing. We stayed in a modernized older hotel, and hung out in the Michigan Ave. area, all up and down it. We ate really good pizza (twice), had one very long night of cocktails and tapas (all of us were pushed over the edge when the hospital VP randomly rolled into the same bar we were in and bought us a round -- it was hugs and kisses all around as he called D. "Danielle", which is decidedly not her name, though he is somewhat known for this and has called everyone something else at some point with highlights of "Impala" for "Inbal" and "Jerusalem" for "Nazareth", frequently calling our husbands more than one name in the same conversation), got a late start in sightseeing as windy and hungover don't mesh well, stood in Millennium Park where Obama gave his address, and had the serendipity of being at the right place at the right time for a very fun, crowded Christmas-y parade on the Magnificent Mile.

The conference itself was hit or miss, as it tends to be. Our poster went smoothly, no hard questions and a visit from a bigwig in the industry, but some of the things I attended were frustratingly basic or didn't match the description in the program. I did get to hear an excellent talk from the guy I picked up at the wrong hotel in the spring for our conference, and learned a little something about how adults with traumatic brain injury do better remembering to do given tasks when they are prompted by a PDA or other electronic device vs. paper calendars (which is the most commonly used approach). I ran into several local colleagues and a few from far away places and got caught up on the latest SLP dirt (it's a very small world). I even had beers with a woman I wouldn't mind working for some day.

It's been hard for me to get up for doing almost anything lately, so I wasn't thrilled about taking this trip, but as soon as I got there the energy of a new place took over and I was loving it. I really want to go back to Chicago soon -- so much to see and do, without all of the interruptions from learnin'.

I was also very glad to be home, though, even if my first night back in my own bed was filled with crazy mashed up dreams that in two different circumstances mixed work people and scenarios with people and scenarios from The Shield. I woke up giggling and ready to get back to work.

House Hunters

2008-11-17T19:41:00.003-05:00

I've gotten into a blog called "Awful Announcing" -- among other sports media related things (including maps of what football games are being shown in each state on Sundays), the writer does a live feed of various events (the ones from the World Series are v. funny).

I've been obsessed with House Hunters on HGTV for the "are you serious?" factor -- these people say the dumbest things and I end up rooting for them to go plunging backwards off the deck or carried off by wild natives into the woods rather than finding a nice place to upgrade their lives.

With all due respect to Awful Announcing, here's a live feed of House Hunters:

A couple from Long Island are looking to return to Long Island from Manhattan after recently marrying (she had to sell her big willie in Texas). They are so Long Island. It's clear farm living is the life for her, while New York is where he'd rather stay.

Him: Here's a 4th floor walk-up for $800,000.
Her: I'm not walking up for $800,00.

1st house
Her (to the realtor): Is it always so windy here?
--as if the ultimate decision on the home would come down to the atmospheric conditions outside

Him (staring at a vineyard): I notice there's a vineyard.
Realator: Yeah.

2nd
Her: The only downfall is that I wish there were more room for washing and drying (there is a room with a washer and dryer - -how much room does she need?).

Her in the bedroom: There isn't enough room to face the bed this way -- that's not good feng shui, and you know what would happen in here with bad feng shui - nothing.

Him: (silent)

3rd house
Her: It reminds me of New England (it's a New England style home)

Realtor: Wait 'til you see the interior - it follows through on the inside. (!)

Him: (silent)

Time to think.
She wore some variation long skirt and short jacket for all three houses.
Oooo, commercial for Rock Band 2... must get xbox...
Prune commercial -- guess who watches HGTV?
UPS commercial -- wonder if they have tape?

Recap:
1 -- high price but being on a vineyard "would be spectacular"
2 -- she likes the front porch, he's concerned it's close to the road (it's not)
3 -- she likes the patio bricks, the commute is far
All of them get "it's a pretty house". I hope whatever house they pick spontaneously bursts into flames.

Verdict:
The spendy house on the vineyard. They paid the asking price, saying it's worth it to live on a vineyard, as if they'll have some hand (or foot) in the stomping of the grapes.

6 months later:
She likes the kitchen so people can come help her, the bedroom is nice, but their favorite room is the hors d'oeuvres room -- that's all they use it for.
Next year they'll be growing her herbs (woo-hoo).
The farm stands are different than Manhattan. No kidding.
She's wearing a kimono and a turtleneck.

I gotta get off of this show.

Live from the Basement of the Science Building

2008-11-14T21:53:00.002-05:00

I am a techno-beast.

I am, as we speak, on the couch in housepants. I figured it out - downloaded software from a work 'puter, burned a CD, brought it home, popped it in, gnashed teeth, pulled hair, called the new 'puter unkind names, now here I am.

I sacrificed my dinner of Tombstone pizza to do it, but I am officially online at home. Suck it, Motorola.

I'm Back

2008-11-13T17:33:00.003-05:00

Okay, the new 'puter is here (like it?), but am noodling through new internet access methods.

I couldn't find the software to install the old cable modem so I am taking my new laptop on its maiden voyage to Starbucks, just a few hours out of its box, to grab some wi-fi time and download the the software I need for home. I feel like a 7th grader afraid that I'm going to blow up the Commodore if I can't figure out how to put in the giant floppy disk correctly -- I don't (well, didn't) know how to get onto a wi-fi system, I'm not sure exactly where the files I downloaded ended up and am hopeful that the computer will just know what to do when I get home later and plug the thing in again.

I really hate not knowing what I'm doing, but it seems to be the theme of my life these days. I've felt like a grown up for the first time in my life this week.

I think I'm going to like the new but different version of online life, though-- the coffee is really good on a cold rainy evening, Van Morrison is on the Starbucks channel, and there is a man with the most amazing toupee just a few seats away, so if I did bang up the software download and I can't sit on the couch in my jammies and do this, I'll surely survive.

A Digital Hiatus

2008-11-11T17:50:00.002-05:00

I'm living so old world, downright Amish - no home 'puter, just the work one with a wicked firewall. The new laptop is on the way (its mouse arrived ahead of it yesterday) so hopefully in the next few days I'll be back up and running. For now, if you need me (or just want to say hi), call me.

Community

2008-11-07T07:27:00.004-05:00

I have had a perfect week in South Carolina with my mother, sister, and her family. The weather has been foul, as it frequently seems to be when I'm here, the Redskins lost, Mom had a flat that needed mending, but my nephew, already 2 1/2, and the simple routine of family have been an ideal band-aid for a broken heart.

We went shopping for new jammies, had pillow fights on the floor, saw elephants and petted llamas, acted out Wii boxing matches, crashed a lot of toy cars, and played on the swings. My mom and sister have listened to my stories and laughed at my dumb jokes. There have been meals at home, at restaurants, and at parties. There has been plenty of beer, wine, and ice cream.

On the last day I worked last week, I came into my office to find a gift bag on my office chair -- my sweet friend/colleague K. had put together a "first night home alone" kit that included random things with a note explaining why each one was included -- trashy magazines for passing the time, tissues for crying, nail polish for getting pretty, cat treats for bribing the cat to snuggle, chocolate because it makes things better, and Starburst for remembering happier times (she and I spent a rainy afternoon in Florida seeing how many Starburst we could reasonably chew at one time -- the answer = a measely 2).

My pastor has been blogging her frustrations with the mainline church over the past several days, using the church's 6pm emerging worship service as an example of essentially a more meaningful, relevant way to do things as this group is far more in community with each other -- they don't just see each other on Sundays and call it done. The worship is inconsequential but the Monday night burgers are where "church" really happens in this community.

As a Mainliner who is interested in remaining a Mainliner, I can safely say that my community includes those I worship with on Sunday mornings, but the things I've learned through traditional practices in an institutional church have equipped me to love and be loved in my own family and in those other circles I would call family too. My dinner club, bocce team, hospice volunteers, and even my patients are my community. I have learned to see God's hand in these and so many other relationships that I'm okay if I don't have a weekly dinner with other people I worship with on Sundays. Weekly worship is absolutely consequential for me, as I need the discipline of time set aside to ask for forgiveness, be assured of that forgiveness, hear scripture explained by someone who has been trained to bring it into a context, and pray for all kinds of things.

There is more than one way to "do church", and certainly more than one way to be in community with others. People seem to find their way into whatever version of community works for them, and if they can't/won't/don't, maybe that's really the role of the mainline church -- to match someone with people who will pick them up when they need it and lift them up no matter what.

Things Will Never Be the Same

2008-11-05T07:58:00.003-05:00

As I watched the electoral numbers pile up in Obama's column last night, it became clear that this was actually going to happen. One underexperienced man with multiple strikes against him told a tired country that things could be different, and we believed him. I have to say that I whole-heartedly drank the Kool-Aid -- Obama has an energy and intensity that excites me, and I listened to what he said and found his hope contagious. He is a politician, I know that, but today it feels much much bigger than that.

When I left Virginia Saturday morning to spend a week in South Carolina, I did so knowing that things in my life would never be the same. My husband and I have decided to live apart, and Friday night was the last night we would spend together in a home that we shared. The night was nothing particularly romantic, in fact it was an average, ordinary night with a run to Taco Bell and a scary movie on the couch, and lots and lots of tears. But when Saturday morning came and it was clear that this was actually going to happen, my heart broke all over again and I had 8 hours alone in the car to convince myself that that things could be different,and that even though I don't know what different will look like, I have hope.

Today is a new day in a new world, and the good news is tomorrow will be too, and the day after that, and the day after that. There is good reason to hope.

City People Don't Know Farm Animals, or Manners

2008-10-31T18:13:00.004-04:00

Halloween is one of my favorite days to go to work. It's always fun to hear what people with (and even more so, without) brain injuries have to say about costumes.

I opted out this year, but here were some highlights:

K. is 7 months pregnant -- she put 3 dots on her belly to make it a bowling ball (her husband's idea). Very cute, right? She looked adorable. She was told by a nurse that her baby was going to be cursed because of her pagan-ism, and the attending physician asked if the dots represented the egg cells separating then when told it was a bowling ball stuck his fingers and thumb on her at every opportunity. Yuck.

A. wore a cow costume -- she does it every year. It's a head-to-toe white with black spots, udders, headband with horns and ears extravaganza. The patient guesses at what she was included a fairy and a rabbit. The best was our favorite housekeeper,E, who has an obsession with women's toes and carries obscene amounts of cash on him that he's happy to show anyone, had this conversation with A.:

E: What are you?
A: E, I've worn this costume for 8 years. You seriously don't know?
E: You're a leopard.
A: E, I have udders.
E: Oh, a pig then.

A few years ago, just after the Red Sox won the World Series, J. dressed up like the Curse of the Bambino, only broken. He had on baseball stuff but wrapped his head in gauze, blacked his eye, and had his arm in a sling. It was extremely clever. While sitting at lunch with a table full of NRH staff, some in costume, some not, the Junior League ladies were delivering small pumpkins to the patients and brought one over for J. and wished him a speedy recovery.

At least I can say that no two days are ever the same. Happy Halloween!

Seriously?

2008-10-27T19:13:00.003-04:00

I was sitting in traffic that only a rainy fall evening can create tonight, staring at the other tail lights creeping their way over the drawbridge that makes up the Beltway/95 to the south, when I heard audio on the radio from a few days ago of Joe McCain, John's brother, making a 911 call from essentially the same place that I was sitting.

He called 911 to see if they knew why traffic on the damn bridge wasn't moving on one side but was on the other. When the dispatcher said, incredulously but politely, "You called 911 to complain about the traffic?", Mr. McCain said "F%*k you" and hung up.

He then called back to complain about the fact that he'd been "read the riot act" by the previous dispatcher. The current one said, "You called 911 to complain about the traffic?". Tee hee.

I've been in some hellacious traffic jams and some hellacious hurries, but I wouldn't call any of those things an emergency. Joe the Driver would.

Reformation Sunday

2008-10-26T21:53:00.003-04:00

Today marks the day in the life of a church where we commemorate Martin Luther posting his list of 95 things he didn't like about the church on it's door. We read Luther's words, sang his songs, and even appreciated his bobble-head.

The guest pastor was good -- really good. Her message was essentially that everyday Christ asks us "Who do you say I am?", and that our answer decides if today will be a day of reformation. Huh. Scary.

She hadn't even sat down when I heard a lady behind me say, "That was a really good message. I wish J. would preach more like that -- I get so frustrated with her". Our pastor has been aggressively educating us and preparing us for a new way to do church -- a reformation for the post modern era. We are kicking and screaming.

Last week I went to a Bible study that was formed by a group of 20 somethings who attend the church's evening service, where there is no structured standing up and sitting down and the word "grapple" and the phrase "let's unpack this" are in heavy rotation. Once I realized that these would be all new people and a whole new way of doing things for me, I was kind of excited, as this style of worship and community seems to be the way we're being encouraged to go.

The meal each week will be a "poverty level meal" with a donation of whatever you would have spent for dinner, with extra money being donated to a food program. The approach that the group decided to take was to use Jewish commentary to study Matthew, to better understand the context of the material. These were all people who have service professions or have done international relief work.

In the course of conversation, a few of them made fun of old people in a pretty unkind way. It was a small thing, but it both bugged me and confused me.

There were no bag pipes today, as there often are on Reformation Sunday, and no one made a special effort to wear plaid. No one squeezed in a list of theses on the offering slip. I don't think that anyone even stayed after the service for private prayer, as the Redskins played at 1:00. But there is no doubt that we are in need of reform, that I am in need of reform.

Meet Virginia

2008-10-22T13:01:00.004-04:00

Nancy Pfotenhauer, advisor to John McCain, said recently that while Northern Virginia (aka the DC suburbs) is becoming increasingly democratic, the rest of the state -- the real Virginia-- is more receptive to the McCain message. Sarah Palin sees the small town, hard working Americans as the real America -- they are full of kind, good, patriotic citizens (all of this prompted John Stewart to ask "what the p-f@#k?").

I'm off today (and the next two days, hurrah) and spent the morning watching HBO's The Laramie Project, which I saw in play-form in May. It's the story of Matthew Sheppard's murder in Laramie, Wyoming and is a very powerful project, as all of the dialogue is taken directly from interviews with townspeople. The over-riding sentiment is that this crime is not "who we are" as a town. But it was. That was the real Laramie, just as it could have been the real North Dakota, Nebraska, or yes, even the real Virginia. Several years ago now a high school boy here in Alexandria was assulted and left for dead by kids his own age in the town square. People are people, no matter where they are standing.

There is no better or worse here -- farmers aren't better than corporate executives, college chancellors aren't better than small town librarians, sheet rock hangers aren't better than migrant farm workers. Those who are gay aren't better than those who are straight, and those who "don't agree with that lifestyle" are no better than the ones with whom they don't agree.

What makes someone real is their own experience, whatever it may be. So many of the patients I see, in an attempt to get some perspective on their own new disablities, will look at someone else and say, you know, this could be worse -- there are lots of people who can't even (walk, talk, think, etc). I, probably inappropriately according to counseling etiquette, discourage them from this sentiment -- it minimizes their own experience. Sure, other people may have more difficulty with a certain task, but you never signed up for the problems you are having, and grieving that loss is important.

I drive an SUV instead of a tractor and get my coffee at Starbucks instead of the local diner, but I am a real Virginian. I have the same heartaches and worries and joys as those who live 5 hours from here -- they may take different forms, but they are mine, and they are valid.

The picture is from here, and is not at all the real Virginia but is Cape May, NJ.

A New Normal

2008-10-14T18:31:00.002-04:00

I've been feeling like I'm living someone else's life lately. Or maybe more accurately, that I'm still plugging along in my own life but someone told me an amazing story and I said "huh, that's something", but the story is actually about me.

I'll skip the details and be thankful for the good things, including my health, but it's got me thinking.

This must be a little of what people who are injured and/or ill experience. You see or hear things happen to other people and you thank someone or something that it's not you, then one day it is you.

No one plans to be in a car accident, or have a stroke, or go in to the hospital because they think they have a stomach flu but are told they actually have pancreatic cancer. Suddenly someone else's story takes over their own. But if I've learned nothing in the last 10 years, I know that with enough time and effort there can be a new normal. It's often drastically different than the old one, but still a sense of predictability and balance you can call normal.

Just when I was at the height of feeling overwhelmed by my own sudden shift, one of my favorite patients brought me a chicken sandwich he picked up on the way in to his appointment, because it was close to lunch time and he thought I might have been too busy to eat (he was right). He ordered it himself -- it was the first time he'd ordered anything on his own at a restaurant in over two years. It took crazy courage for him to do it, as his talking is sometimes very difficult to understand, especially for a fast food worker with beeping fry machines and a serious hurry. But he put himself out there because he wants to be able to do these things again.

He's working on his new normal.

So can I.

The equation above is what gives a normal bell curve, or at least I think it does... hopefully it's not nuclear secrets.

At Least No One Winked at the Camera

2008-10-07T22:43:00.004-04:00

So apparently every issue is difficult and important. Not new info. Guess whoever wins the presidency will have to take lunch at their desk, come in on Saturdays, etc.

As a speech therapist I was so distracted by both Brokaw and McCain that I could scarcely concentrate on exactly what was being said.

When you throw in McCain's T-rex arms, I spent more time wondering if he could clap his hands over his head than I did pondering his "buy up all the houses" plan.

Come on, November. Let's end this.

Let's Face It

2008-10-06T19:11:00.003-04:00

A lady came in for an evaluation of her speech after having had a stroke several years ago. She sounded pretty good to me, but in getting some background information she mentioned her "dementia" several times. A lot of people call word finding problems or slight memory issues, like forgetting where you put your car keys "dementia" but don't really mean it. Part of the reason she wanted to come for speech therapy when she never had before was that she was afraid she was going to lose ground. The third time she said it, I said:

Me: "Who told you you have dementia?"

Her: "No one, I saw it written in my medical record in 2006."

Me: (thinking of Elaine's diagnosis of "difficult") "What did it say?"

Her: "It was just written there -- it was abbreviated as D-M-two. That must be the kind of have."

Me: "Do you have sugar trouble?"

Her: "Yes, but I don't need to take medication for it."

Me: "Let's call your doctor, but DM2 is usually short hand for diabetes, not dementia".

Her: (crying) "You're kidding me. I might not have dementia? I guess I should have asked someone earlier."

She carried around 2 years of waiting for the axe to drop because she had never asked her doctor about a diagnosis that just the very idea of was greatly impacting her life. She said she "went into denial and just didn't want to know".

I get that. I very much have a head-in-the-sand part of my make-up. I remember reading a book several years ago (the first of the uber-girly Shopaholic series) and thinking, "Yea! Someone else does it too!" when then protagonist dropped her credit card bills unopened in a drawer because she knew she couldn't pay them. My mom has told me that as a little one I would cover my ears and say "Don't tell me that!".

I'm starting to see, in big ways and small, that John Mayer's advice of say what you need to say is more than just catchy, even if your hands are shaking and your faith is broken.

I don't know where this picture is originally from, but I found it here.

A City of Motherly Love

2008-10-05T21:26:00.002-04:00

Mom left to go back to South Carolina this afternoon after a week of visiting. We shopped a lot, ate a lot, saw some interesting things (including, um, modern art), and toured around Philadelphia. We also watched a lot of football, saw a movie, and generally hung out. While it was good to be off from work for a week, it was even better to have ample time to just be together. I needed to be a bit mothered this week -- thanks, Mom. Come back soon.

A New Nemesis

2008-09-27T15:46:00.003-04:00

I have a new man in my life -- and I loathe him. If I were to be in the same room with him, I would surely hurl sharp objects his direction. He is cruel. He makes puns that aren't funny. He is way smarter than me.

Sometimes he is kind, and I only need to spend an hour with him over a cup of coffee. Most of the time, though, he is sadistic and drags out our relationship over several days. Every time he gets under my skin, I tell myself, just walk away. Go read Date Lab, you'll feel better. But I can't. Even during Project Runway I feel drawn to him, just for a few minutes, even though I know it's going to be a bad experience.

It didn't used to be like this -- he's new around the DC area. Those who came before him were much pithier, bolder. Now, I can't even say his name without balling up my fist and sneering.

Merl. Ooooo, that Merl.

Same time next week?

The picture is Nemesis & Tyche, Athenian amphora C 5th B.C., Antikensammlung, Berlin

2008-09-23T19:22:00.004-04:00

I woke up at 6:30 Sunday because my cat was being noisy. While this happens most days, her noise is usually chatter. What I heard in my dreams that led me to actually wake up was the sound of scratching and the little grunting noise she makes when she's trying to get under the covers but I'm cocooned.

When I looked around to try to let her under the blankets, I didn't see her on the bed. I put my head down and tried to go back to sleep when the scratching/grunting resumed. Concerned that she was having some sort of kitty ailment, I got out of bed and looked around for her. She wasn't in the bathroom trying to tunnel back to her native Thailand through her litter box -- she was by the bottom dresser drawer. She was cold and wanted to get into the drawer, where she finds things quite cozy, and had systematically started pulling out the things that live in that draw to make herself some room. She was sitting in a pile of swimsuits and my socks.

Monday morning I went out to my car to find the interior a mess -- I was part of a crime spree in the neighborhood and had been broken into. The good news is I must have somehow left the car unlocked (!) as there was no broken glass. The better news was that I didn't have anything of much value in the car. Here's what they got:

a cell phone charger
about four bucks in quarters
a broken iPod cable

Here's what they left behind:

my work ID tag and keys
the owner's manual
a handful of CDs
2 camping chairs
a pediatric achievement test I've been driving around for months
2 parking tickets
my lucky roll of packing tape from the UPS store, even though they found it in my secret hiding place (maybe they read my blog :)

I lost nothing of value and got off easy compared to the 2 other cars that had windows broken out, but I hate the thought of somebody rifling through my stuff.

And finally, on the way home today, I was happily puttering along in my own lane through a construction zone with those temporary barrier things on the left shoulder when the semi that had been beside me got confused over the lane he was supposed to be in (in fairness, there are old lines and new lines from a lane shift and in a sun glare it's a little hard to tell what's what) and came on over in to mine. Fortunately, the person on my left saw what was happening and slowed down quickly enough to give me room to come into the left lane vs. into the side of the semi.

I'm going to take an Unsatisfactory in Sharing this week. I've had enough, world. Stay out of my stuff.

Justice for All

2008-09-18T16:09:00.003-04:00

I'm stealing a blog theme today from one that I read every now and again -- a recent post mulled over a quote that made me do a little fist pump.

Public intellectual (how does one get that job title?) Cornel West said this: Justice is what love looks like in public.

Exactly, exactly, exactly.

I've been working with someone for several months now who is having significant difficulty getting past dreaded "why" questions -- why did this happen to me? Why not someone else? Why do I need to (fill in cognitive strategy) when I never had to before? This is a scary brain-space to be in -- she wants to move forward but just can't.

She was the only adult to intervene in a fight among angry, disturbed children. Without hesitation, she jumped in and she got hurt while others looked on. Her life is completely different now -- all of her relationships are strained, her only safe place outside of the house is coming to therapy, she doesn't trust her doctors (or me, to an extent), she has behaviors that she can say "I can't believe I did this" but she can't stop herself.

She's been on my mind this week because she was going to court. The original punishment didn't sit well with her -- the girl was to write 500 times that she wouldn't do it again and be evaluated by a psychologist. The girl wrote it 300 times and was evaluated but didn't go for continuing services. So she is taking her back to court and going through the emotional rollcoaster of telling her story in front of her attacker in order to see justice -- not time in juvenile detention but court mandated counseling so that the girl can get the help that she truly needs. Love in public. She said, "I hope this is what will help me move on, knowing that something good is coming from it."

I think I've always had a sense of parity rather than justice, and I suppose the difference is the love. I once ambushed my sister and punched her in the stomach when I found out I had to be a part of the dopey living Christmas scenes at church but she didn't. I felt better (she didn't) but not much love in that action. I get so wrapped up in the things that I don't have that I forget to consider those who have so much less and so many more problems.

I admire those who work for justice in big ways and small ways. My mom is a personal hero -- she works everyday to get medical things paid for for people who need them. There is absolutely love in that action. I'm lucky enough to have a few others, too, who see restoration of a wrong as the right thing to do not because they personally benefit from it, but because it is the right thing to do. Justice is love in public, even if knuckleheads like me aren't always looking.

Bocc-erific

2008-09-16T21:08:00.004-04:00

Because life at a hospital always has room to get weirder, we've put together an SLP team for the 3rd annual fall bocce tournament in the garden. This is the biggest and best of the 3 so far, with an awesome handmade trophy and money in the actual hospital budget for 2 new sets of balls and specifically designed pallinos. The maintenance crew mows out a court in the open lawn. It's a trip.

The team name was tough. We're up against the Mari-bocce band, the Money Changers (a team from accounting, of course), and the Dictators (people who, um, dictate), and a couple of others. My vote was for either Speech Pathobocce (say it out loud, it's fun) or Ed Boch, but was outvoted in favor of The Uvulas (a hanging ball, sort of bocce related plus has the crude creepy factor we like so bad) -- we're trying to think of an appropriate adjective (Fighting? Swinging?). We even have our own motto -- Uvulas! F*#@ yeah!. Classy classy classy women we are.

Our first outing we played ourselves as our opponents were too scared to show -- the highlight of the outing was one of our team members making it work in heels and pearls. Our second match up was a looooong point-at-a-time battle royale with the Bocce-cellis. I know I have a competitive streak, but I was seriously getting bothered by the thought of losing to a team who literally has never won a game in the previous two seasons. Uvulas prevailed, f*#@ yeah.

Tomorrow we're up against the Money Changers -- another undefeated team. Someone must fall.

A Perfect Storm

2008-09-12T22:20:00.004-04:00

Dinner Club is at my place tomorrow night.

This equals a perfect storm of cleaning -- my good friends and my mom are going to be in my home over the next few weeks. While neither would give my housekeeping skills the white glove treatment, I decided earlier this week I have lived too long being neat but not clean and took this as good reason to seriously scrub some stuff. I have wiped down baseboards, scrubbed bathroom walls, rearranged the junk in my kitchen cabinets, and dusted every surface visible. Things are gleaming, at least until the cat throws up on the rug at about 6:59 tomorrow evening.

DC tomorrow night is a restaurant theme -- everyone was to pick a drink, app, or dessert from a favorite restaurant, while my contribution is gnocchi inspired by this amazing place(from what I hear, our menu will consist of beer and cheese soup, ceviche, an Asian salad of some sort, gnocchi and a molten chocolate raspberry cake -- how very rainbow coalition). But I had a perfect storm of social junk and busy work life -- I left work tonight with a friend to hit a happy hour that turned into happy night including dinner in a fun private-y area of a restaurant with some other friends. I have to work tomorrow. Bottom line -- I am half in the bag at 10:30 and still need to make gnocchi.

Lastly, while this week has been a weird enough week for big stuff, this morning I read on my good childhood friend's blog that she is, after getting divorced and moving to L.A. about a year ago, pregnant. A jaw dropper.

OSU's season is on the line tomorrow night. Don't tell me what happens until I can watch the tape of the game after all of the wine is gone tomorrow night. Sunday, I'm sleeping. Long and frequently.

Have a great weekend!

Has anyone seen this?

2008-09-10T20:37:00.001-04:00

If so, can we please talk about it?!?

Doom and Gloom

2008-09-09T18:43:00.002-04:00

I'm feeling a little knocked around today.

One of the most sacred parts of my job to me is coordinating and performing evaluations for people who have ALS to get them matched up with communication devices that will allow them to stay connected with the world as their body turns against them. I recently coordinated one for a lovely woman who was doing everything she could, along with her amazingly strong husband, to do this gracefully. I heard today that she died this weekend at home from choking on her food. How terrifying.

I've been working with a gentleman for a couple of months on the clarity of his speech -- he told me today that he had been fired last week after trying to return to work (for two whole days). His supervisor couldn't understand him, and he wasn't able to perform his "essential job duties" including interacting with the public.

I made a grown man cry today by accidentally set him up to do something that was too hard for him. Ouch.

I did have to laugh though, when one of my clients today, who is living a pretty darn good life running a multi-million dollar company in spite of a severe communication impairment, looked at me after a long discussion/demonstration about prepositions and said sweetly and plainly, "I'm doomed."

I'm so thankful for the good things in my life. I'm going to go count them.

Home with Hannah

2008-09-06T16:15:00.002-04:00

After spending a lazy day watching 3 Ohio football teams play (whew for OSU and awww to Miami), I dumped this goofy blog of mine for August posts (the month, not the adjective) into a Wordle.

It's a very fun little program -- it takes any text and makes a word cloud from it, like the one above, with more frequently used words ending up in bigger font. On Flickr, there were several Wordles using the speeches of Palin, McCain, and Obama -- in McCain's "country" and "government" come out pretty large while "peace" is a tiny little spec, Palin has a huge "America" and "McCain" with very small "citizens" and "serve", and Obama's shows his sense of urgency with big "time", "moment", and "years" along with the typical "America" and of course, "change". Interesting, eh?

It makes me giggle to see how people find this silly blog -- typically it's by a picture that I've linked (who knew Sheep in the Big City was such a popular photo?), but occasionally someone is Google-ing a series of words that leads them here. My former favorite was "blueberry vodka Barry Manilow", but it was replaced last week by "crackers sardines rap DC". I don't know if it's weirder that someone is searching those things or that it lands them here.

Hope everyone is safe and dry, wherever you are.

Wordle.net by Jonathan Feinberg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Villains and Heroes: An Addendum

2008-09-03T19:55:00.004-04:00

This was one of those days when I feel like jerk for worrying about my own stuff, so let me amend a previous post.

Villain = anything that makes shrapnel

Heroes = these guys

The picture is of recent NRH Victory Award winners and is from Sen. Tim Johnson's website.

Villains and Heroes

2008-09-02T19:20:00.005-04:00

I've been waiting many moons for tonight's season premiere of The Shield, which is on my short list of truly great TV (along with Deadwood, Six Feet Under, and Flight of the Conchords... oh, and Newhart). It is archetypal in its greatness -- the main characters are essentially dirty cops who do unspeakable things, but you root for them and grieve with them in their own demise.

There are surely two sides to every story.

The Sarah Palin thing is confusing me. The Washington Post ran an article they actually called "Governor Mom" that marveled at how one woman could have it all -- even the challenges of a 17 year-old pregnant daughter and special needs baby, bravely discreetly nursing her youngest during meetings with important people. One of her first moves as governor was to kick out the mansion's cook, saying that she would do the family's cooking and the kids were old enough to make their own sandwiches. She supports abstinence programs and is staunchly against abortion but is for executing convicted criminals. As mayor, she hired lobbyists to get earmarked money to the point that for each person in her little town there were $1000 federal dollars, then joined with McCain who is against such a practice. One blog I read today summed it up that because she was able to run for this esteemed position without being chastised by her own party or society at large, she seemed to be benefiting from all of the things that she has railed against. Not fair. Does the GOP think so little of women voters that they think we will be so "wow-ed" by her girly-walking-Jean Nate'-ad-from-the-70s that we will flock to the McCain ticket instead of voting for the man?

And the final straw -- on an ESPN "end of summer/year in sports" montage, after a long series of clips about Michael Phelps, Tiger falling to his knees, and Kevin Garnett screaming "Anything is possible" to show the greatness and goodness of competitive athletics, the series of bad guy clips of anyone who tried to get out of a contract this year was sprinkled with random clips of OSU, both the team and "the Vest", with random voice-overs saying "they just get on my nerves". Call 'em what you want based on their back-to-back championship embarrassments, but they are the good guys. Here's hoping Beanie's foot is on ice tonight.

East Side to the West Side

2008-08-29T20:23:00.008-04:00

Wednesday night, Mr. Ramirez (and the rest of the Dodgers) came here.

Some of us were very happy to see him, even if he should really be here.

More of us were not.

He didn't do much in the first several innings.

He strolled into the outfield, looked a little bit bored, and even answered the guy who heckled him.

In the Nats tradition of the 4th inning President's race, Teddy, who NEVER wins (he often gets distracted -- I think that's why I love him), came out with a huge head start over Abe and George. He was rocking the blue skull cap and dreds. It was amazing.

Halfway through the race, he just stopped. The announcer said, "You know, it just looks like he doesn't want to be here". When Teddy turned and walked back the way he came instead of towards the finish line, the announcer said, "Well, that's just Teddy being Teddy." I almost choked on my half-smoke.

ManRam didn't do much in the 5th. Or the 6th. Or the 7th. Then in the 8th he hit a rope to the leftfield bleachers. I was seat number 16.

I spent the 9th glad that this imprint wasn't imbedded in my hand. Or my forehead.

I heart Manny.

Sunday Dinner

2008-08-26T19:19:00.004-04:00

Church is one of those places where people of all ages gather with a common focus. It's one of the things I love about a structured church -- I've learned incredible things from sitting in "the parlor Bible study" that has run for ever and has an average age of 70, I would guess. No one has ever discredited my own experiences or thoughts because I just haven't seen enough to know what I'm talking about. They don't complain (out loud or to me) when I make the coffee too strong. These people are cut from a different cloth, and to me it feels as soft and cozy and my old Raggedy Ann bankie. There are moments, though, when things just get weird.

This Sunday I dined at the Officers Club of a local military base on the invitation of a nonagenarian with a motley crue of 9 others from the congregation. No occasion was given in the invitation, though I suspected this gathering was either called to discuss concerns about the direction of the church or to announce said nonagenarian as the GOP VP candidate. I was wrong -- it was a "thank you" brunch for those who Mr. Non and his wife felt had been contributing(= singing in the choir, sitting beside Mr. Non in services, prepping the coffee and cookie plates every week, etc). Three of us young pups were in our 30s -- everyone else, well, weren't and haven't been in some time.

The whole adventure is for another post (we almost had to smuggle someone in who forgot her ID since she refuses to carry ID on Sundays -- IDK why, people kept kind of wandering off between the parking lot and building, the people watching was pretty spectac, etc), but for now, let me just tell you that I can scarcely think of a time when I've been in a more uncomfortable social scenario for an extended period of time.

The room was very formal in a wedding-reception-hall-circa-1988 kind of way. There was a friend of Mr. Non playing the piano along with an upright bassist -- standards, of course. The buffet had all the standards, including a whole salmon, head and all. I was a big fan of all of these things. I love a little chintz -- the Grandma Veda in me.

For the first half hour, NO ONE SPOKE. People said a few words here or there about the food as they got up and returned from the buffet, but there was no conversation going on. None. In my head, I'm screaming at myself -- ask a question! Treat it like a therapy group! Say something! Seriously! But instead, I plugged away at my omelet and listened to the sound of knives scraping plates. I sipped my champagne, I tried to make eye contact to engage someone in something, but nothing happened. Scrape, scrape. No one else seemed to mind. Finally out of sheer desperation I turned to my dear friend M. beside me and said the very pithy, insightful "Man, I sweat like a pig when I drink champagne." Lead balloon.

Eventually Mrs. Non played the dutiful hostess and asked random questions or made obvious statements (my favorite was "They have a pool here", apropos of nothing). People finally started to chat about the church sound system, how good Korean food is, and the safe haven of all conversation, how bad the Redskins had played on Saturday night. T w o h o u r s l a t e r, Mr. Non pushed back from his chair and stood up to leave.

I've said it many times and I'll say it again -- I wish I could be that girl who can talk to anyone at anytime. I am not. But in this scenario, I think my limitations had a lot to do with the age gap that equalled a muddled surface level of common ground.

As the election season goes in to full swing this week with the democratic convention, the virtues of youth and of experience that comes with age with be even more front and center, not just nationally but in my own DC backyard as mayor-for-life Marion Barry fights to keep his position on the council for Ward 8 against 20-somethings, and even Cloris Leachman flexes her experiences against the youngest Dancing with the Stars contestant ever. There is common ground, I've seen it. I find it everyday with people I have no other connection to besides sitting in a room together with a common focus. I just couldn't do it on Sunday over lunch at Fort Awkward.

2008-08-18T20:17:00.002-04:00

On the way home tonight, I heard a radio bit that was comparing a list of John McCain's top 10 songs on his iPod to Barak Obama's top 10.

They diverged along the expected stereotypical lines of age and background -- Barak is a fan of Kanye's Touch the Sky, groovy jazz, some Bruce, and the Fugees, while McCain is more into As Time Goes By from Casablanca, not one but two ABBA songs,the Beach Boys, and a poorly named song for this aging candidate called Should We Make It Through December. They overlap only at Frank (where all universes seem to overlap). I'm fascinated by what's in anybody's iPod, but I wonder what this says about our candidates that's worth considering?

I'm trying to imagine if potential clients were to use my iPod as criterion for choosing me as their speech therapist. I have fewer singer-songwriter types and cool-bands-that-only-people-who-listen-to-a-given-radio-station-have-heard-of than my sister (I thought of you when I heard Poi Dog Pondering yesterday) but more than most of my friends, a smattering of show tunes, 80s pop and punk, more hip hop than I should freely admit to, a growing amount of ska and fusion-y G. Love kind of music, everything that Train and the Indigo Girls have put out, and a few How To Speak French podcasts that I haven't listened to yet. The only videos I have on there are favorite comedians, a little SNL, and a random Pirates of the Caribbean movie. One might assume that I'm a little, um, behind the times. Or a lesbian. Or a pot smoker. In my personal opinion, there is not a thing wrong with being any of those things, as I know perfectly good speech therapists who are some and/or all of them. I just don't know that my iPod speaks to my ability to lead a client through a cueing hierarchy or a swallowing study.

I'm sure each candidate thought carefully about what their song choices put forth about their personality -- they are sweet, inspirational, upbeat, and/or nostalgic. I'm sure no one would actually decide a vote based on these songs, but they do underscore the differences between them. Maybe people would actually re-consider their vote if one of them had listed something that really did speak to their potential leadership, such as:

You Dropped a Bomb on Me -- The Gap Band (a Rob A joke)
Superstitious -- Stevie Wonder
Can't Make Up My Mind -- John Gorka
Highway to Hell -- AC/DC
Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw -- Jimmy Buffett
Bombs over Baghdad -- Outkast
Tell Me Lies -- Fleetwood Mac
I Used to Love Her -- GNR
Oops I Did It Again -- Britney Spears
Buttons -- Pussycat Dolls
Armageddon It -- Def Leppard

Alas, they played it safe.

The image is from here.

TMI

2008-08-16T20:36:00.003-04:00

I went camping last weekend, which is one of my favorite ways to spend a Saturday. It is total glamour camping (glamping) -- there is nothing so profane as "hiking in" and the hardest work done is lugging the cooler full of beer and pork products for breakfast from the car. It was a really great day as the weather was sunny and mild, and the blue gill were actually hungry even for my novice spinner bait.

The camp site is a mown lawn along a river that is carefully maintained with several fire pits that stretch the length of the property from the farm house up to the fence for the cow pasture. It is a lovely reward for driving just a few hours, and is a whopping $12 a night. The only challenge is avoiding getting into a conversation with the owner of the property. She is as sweet as a peach, but is an over-sharer. It's awkward at best, downright stomach churning at worst. We affectionately call her "Polyps".

Within the first 30 seconds of any face-to-face conversation with Polyps, her medical history comes out. She's a cancer survivor, has only 8 inches of colon, and has anal polyps.

I've known this since the first time I visited her farm several years ago but heard it from a friend who had arranged the trip -- she actually got sucked into going into the house. It was no surprise when I got the same story later that summer. This time around, though she didn't remember ever meeting me, she was sweet enough to bring down some tomatoes from her garden when I was cooking breakfast, but then ruined it with "I thought you might like these -- I can't eat 'em, 'cause I only have about 8 inches of colon and they hurt my bottom something awful." Thanks. She then went on to talk about her mother's blood disease that killed her and the fact that the guy at the other end of the campsite was a regular and seemed to be with a woman far to young for him. She used spicy language about a woman who she had to throw off of her campsite last year for being "on drugs" and running up and down the road in the middle of the night and the same for a group of women who were nude sunbathing in the cow pasture. She had barely taken a breath.

I don't know what it is in a person that makes them do this -- just spill anything they have in their heads to whoever they are talking to at the moment. I'm not a big talker anyway and have an especially hard time with small talk (I have to plan ahead to think of things to ask people about -- a trick I learned from my patients with aphasia). I would rather have a fork in the eye than talk about my colon with strangers. I was actually thinking I would have to quit my job when it was my turn to have the norovirus a few years ago and threw up on Whoa Eddie, the guy who makes the sandwiches at work who had the bad luck of restocking the refrigerator on the unit when I came bursting in projectile vomiting (he sweetly rubbed my back and said "It's okay Miss Jennifer").

I really don't get those who just give too much information. I do, however, appreciate those who do for my viewing pleasure in shows like this one. I want you all to promise me that if I'm saying something you don't want to hear that you will tell me, as I never want someone to secretly be thinking what I think when talking to Polyps, which is "eeewww!" while smiling and nodding politely. Deal?

The photo is from here -- a cover shot of a publication by surfers demanding better public health signage at the beaches. I don't know that I really want to know what's in the water.

Olympic Dreams

2008-08-12T21:17:00.003-04:00

I really like the summer Olympics -- the sports are a little weirder than some of the winter games, the athletes look more athletic (probably because they're barely dressed), and there seem to be more events that are related to just how amazing the human body can be versus how well someone can use a piece of equipment. These, so far, have been really fun to watch.

Michael Phelps winning his 2nd gold medal was the last thing I watched last night before heading to bed. I slept like a rock after a really busy day, and somewhere between the 2nd and 3rd firing of my snooze alarm my subconscious combined two of my favorite things to give me an Olympic dream of my own.

I was in a swim meet, of course. Tim Gunn, of "make it work" and now "holla at your boy" fame, was the announcer. I forget why, but I got side tracked on my way to my heat, but Tim being the gem of a guy that he is told me not to worry, I could just swim in the next one. So I took my place at my lane marker at the edge of the lake (!) where the meet was being held, and thought "just get out quickly". I noticed that no one else was lining up, that it was just me. "Okay, I can do this", I thought. "Just me against me. No pressure". The gun fires (or Gunn, I'm not sure) and off I go, immediately diving over my lane marker into the neighboring lane. "Damn, there goes the race", I thought.

The dream ended abruptly there, as I had another one of those many moments in my life when I'm glad no one was looking. I'm 100% sure I woke myself because I actually started doing the freestyle stroke with my right arm.

The picture is from a website for the Total Immersion swimming program,http://www.totalimmersion.co.uk/01Workshops_and_Camps--Freestyle_Workshops.html. The caption says, and I'm not kidding, "Swim better than you ever dreamed possible."

Hospitality

2008-08-07T16:41:00.003-04:00

My workplace has, over the years, developed a strong culture of hospitality. As I mentioned many moons ago, we are a "first name" organization, our signage is meant to be straightforward and intuitive, and there is an expectation that you not only offer directions if someone looks puzzled but you physically escort them wherever they may be going. We are a business, but we know that if you are comfortable in our house you will have a better experience with us, even though you probably don't really want to be there. While it makes for a great work environment, it sets one up for almost constant disappointment in other business-related exchanges.

Yesterday after work I stopped by a UPS Store in the busy Shirlington area of Arlington. I was lugging an awkward 3x3 box that weighed about 20 pounds full of computer-based augmentative communication equipment to send back to the vendor through a rental program at work. We order these devices for evaluations with people with ALS, MS, primary progressive aphasia, etc. about once a month, but typically they come in sort of a big suitcase thing that just clips shut (and rolls -- hurrah), but this batch came in the smaller packaging.

It was hot out, it took 10 minutes to find parking, and this box was weird to carry. It was also open -- the top of the box hadn't been re-sealed with packing tape, 'cause I don't keep any at my office. I'm no serial killer.

I roll in all disheveled and find no customers but 2 employees, both with their heads down tapping away on computers, with one other guy doing the same thing in the visible back room. I plop the box on the counter and no one looks up.

me: (throat clear)

mousy manager-type lady (without looking up from her nuclear secrets): What do you need?

me: I just need to tape this up and put the return sticker on it (thinking rather proudly, "I'm the easiest costumer ever").

mm-tlwlufhrns: We sell tape.

me: You can't just slap a piece of tape on it?

mm-tlwlufhrns: No.

me: Grrrr. I'll be back.

So of course I didn't bring any money, bank card, etc. with me. It never for a second occurred to me that they wouldn't do that given the price you pay for shipping and the fact that it was about $.03 worth of tape required to do the job. My thought bubble on the way out to the car, which is not close by, is full of #$%^ and *&@#!, trying to rationalize that I wasn't asking for a box and packing peanuts and all that junk, just a lousy piece of tape. Now I have to buy a stupid whole roll of tape I don't want. Maybe I'll tape their door shut with it, or tape my money to the counter. Car, money, walk back looking sour. Open door, grab first roll of tape, stand by the box on the counter while a new customer makes photocopies.

mm-tlwlufhrns: (pointing behind me) You should get that kind, it's cheaper.

me: (imagining leaping across the counter and literally biting her) No, thank you.

mm-tlwlufhrns: Oh, you want this kind?

me: I wouldn't say that.

Transaction follows and she still hasn't made eye contact with me -- $5.13 for my shiny new roll of tape. I start to tape the top of the box shut and have the main strip in place along the seam of the box, but I can't rip the tape from the roll.

me (and I'm not proud of this): Do you have a pair of scissors, or do I need to buy those too?

copy guy: (stifled laugh)

The new copy customer is now finished and comes to pay for his 4 copies or whatever he was doing while I'm finishing up my now overblown use of tape, as I have not only taped it up the middle but on each end and 3 up the middle.

Mm-tl who has now looked away from her nuclear secrets to collect some money from Copy Guy rings up the copy fee: It's $.52 but just round it down to $.50.

Seriously? Was this a kindness to Copy Guy or total laziness on her part so she wouldn't actually have to count to ten to make change? My guess is the latter, and now I'm ready to tape her head to the copy machine.

I walk out with my new roll of tape and leave it in a little cubby under the cup holders of my car, thinking that in some weird twist of fate in the future it might just save my life and I'll write a letter to thank this woman.

My response should have been to show her incredible graciousness and kindness instead of the overt animosity that I did -- I imagine there is some kind of corporate "no taping" policy that this woman was bound to (pun intended), as really, where would one draw the line? One box? Three? I can see how it could crush a multi-million dollar business. Even if it wasn't a policy and was just her decision to be a pain, I should have modeled the desired behavior versus perpetuating her attitude that being hospitable simply isn't worth it, that the public isn't worth it.

But I didn't. Maybe next month I'll tape a love note to mm-tlwlufhns to the box.

The picture is from mariericci.com and is a symbol of hospitality, which was clearly not hanging over the UPS store yesterday. Several years ago there was a patient whose girlfriend had this symbol tattooed just below her bellybutton, I suppose as a sign of welcome :)

Rooting for the Home Team

2008-08-06T17:37:00.003-04:00

Warning: whining ahead.

This Sunday, after kissing the nephew goodbye (which is sad enough in its own right), I went to church. Last week after worship, the congregation met informally to talk with the staff about the idea of change, continuing to bang the drum that we can't "do church" the way we've always "done church" and expect to survive -- people today aren't joiners, they aren't drawn to institutions, they connect virtually before they connect in real time. Scary words, though I can certainly acknowledge that they are true.

This week marked the end of Vacation Bible School and the service was being run by The Director of Discipleship Ministries (I think that's his title anyway) who is young and progressive and sometimes more out there than I'm comfortable with just yet. The week had clearly been successful with lots of kids learning lots of lessons, and the structure of the service was extremely unstructured to sort of show what the kids had experienced, so we're talking projection screens, freestanding speakers with equalizers, slide shows, and iMac films. Even though this was a special day for a special occasion, it was, I think, a glimpse of the future for our church and it was painful. I needed quiet, and time to pray, and time to ask for forgiveness. I felt like I was visiting in a place I've been to almost weekly for 10 years. It wasn't bad, it was just foreign.

Later that day, in an effort to feel better, I went to watch the Reds play the Nationals in the new DC ballpark (as an aside, Ben's Chili Bowl is worth the trip to DC all on its own). Growing up, the Reds were the home team. We'd make the two plus hour trip to Cincinnati to watch them play, we'd watch them on TV fairly regularly, we knew the players' names. These days, let's be honest, the Reds are a hard team to root for from a distance. I didn't exactly expect Dave Concepcion to come to the plate, but I thought I'd still feel some sense of familiarity. Zippy. In fact, I kept forgetting who I was rooting for as the Nationals are the team of my home.

I keep telling myself I'm okay with change, that it's a good thing in the long run. I believe that in so many ways. I don't want everything to stay the same -- how boring. I'm just wishing it weren't everything at once -- work is crazy, home is crazy, church is crazy, even friendships are crazy as the first of the Dinner Club babies is due this winter. I don't have any answer when people ask "What's new?", so maybe it's just the threat of change that is getting me.

Maybe I just need to root for the Red Sox.

Whew

2008-07-30T19:34:00.003-04:00

Just three short months after the original due date, my colleague and I submitted our draft of a case study/book chapter to the editor. It really wasn't that bad once it got started, but spring fever, team members quitting to move to Canada, etc. mucked up our ability to actually get started. I hate being late for anything, and I really hate not finishing something, so I'm relieved as all get out to have this off of my plate. There will be more to come in re-writes and such, but for now I'm in the clear to enjoy a visit from my sister and her family this weekend (anticipated activities include dinosaurs in 3D and real life, butterflies, and Muppets).

I celebrated by going toy shopping -- trucks from Cars for the little guy to crash on the kitchen floor and chase the cat around with, and the grown ups got a Dance Dance Revolution mat. We plied my brother-in-law with enough wine to actually sing Beyonce during their visit last year, so I'm hoping this year we can get him to bust a move, perhaps while singing Beyonce.

Wrapping up something like this is kind of like the shower after you've been to the gym for the first time in a long while -- you feel really good and wonder why you didn't do it sooner.

Working Saturdays

2008-07-27T08:49:00.003-04:00

I don't like working Saturdays. I only have to do it about every 6 weeks and I try to get rid of it by giving my day to someone who needs the comp time, but it was my turn yesterday. It would be a fun day if it weren't on a Saturday -- there are no meetings, things are quiet, you get to see therapists that had babies years ago who don't work regularly, etc. It's quick -- as soon as you see the patients on your schedule you go home. There are a lot of pros to working Saturdays, and most of the time I get over myself and enjoy it once I get there, but I just wasn't having it this week.

The morning went smoothly -- an evaluation with a 80-something guy who looked 60 and definitely didn't need treatment, another eval with a guy who was 60 something but looked 80 and definitely did need treatment, 2 treatment sessions with very sweet patients, and a 3rd eval with a lovely young woman who had a very nasty thing happen to her brain but is improving tremendously. Then it was lunch time, and I got a report written from Friday. That was good.

I only had 2 things to do in the afternoon before I could go home -- transport patients to the 3 speech groups that were running at 1:30 and then run one of the groups for an hour. Then I could go home.

Patient transport is like herding cats -- no one wants to leave their room early so it's a lot of checking in on people to make sure they're up or getting up in their wheelchairs, or tagging the therapist who is working with the patient to bring them to the group when they are done, etc. It tends to be 20 minutes of running around with no results and then 10 minutes of chaos. Yesterday was no exception.

My group was one that used to be called "reality orientation group" -- it is essentially for people who need to spend an hour figuring out where they are and what happened to them, usually by accessing a notebook or some other external aid. The therapist who runs the group during the week left me a note and a package of pencils that said "Try having them interview each other and write down their answers -- this group is fun!". Okay, I like fun.

I should have realized that this plan might not work when I went to pick up the 4th of 4 patients in their room and he said "Oh great, you're here." I got very excited thinking he was following his schedule and looking forward to group -- I explained who I was and where we were going and he tried to "opt out" of the session but that he still needed my services. He took the paper that had all of the patient names for transport and my pen from me, and said he had been waiting for me to show up so he could get "this damn thing notarized". Uh-oh.

Group proceeded as best it could, with two patients interviewing each other while the other two did the same. The only glitches were:

--they didn't know the answers to their own questions past their names, so if one person gave an answer and everyone else heard it, it became their answer as well. As an example, I knew that one person was in the hospital from a fall from a horse, one had a construction accident, one had an anoxic event, and one had a stroke. By the time that question had been answered out loud by everyone, they had all fallen from horses.

--one guy couldn't write very quickly so when he tried to abbreviate he couldn't remember what the abbreviation meant. He wrote "retired acc" for his partner who was a retired accountant but when he was telling the group what he learned, he looked back at his notes and said "He's retired, on his ass".

--no one was willing to believe it was a Saturday. The notary man kept asking why he hadn't heard church music "from this compound" this morning. When I said, "Today is Saturday" in my best calm therapist voice for the 10th time as I pointed to both a calendar and a newspaper, he said "Do you mean to tell me the entire Episcopalian church doesn't know that today is Sunday? You're crazy."

-- and my favorite moment, when everyone in the room realized the wheels had come off, after one gentleman had said "this is fun, but I have no idea what we're doing", the notary guy said "You know, it's like we've all been hit in the head or something".

Yes, or something. I haven't laughed that hard while doing my job so miserably in a long time (particularly after Wednesday's debacle). I was pretty glad to be working this Saturday.

This picture, called Time Sensitive, is by Martina Nehrling, was on display at a U Chicago art history conference called "Confusion: Disorientation and Synthesis".

Freestyling

2008-07-23T19:23:00.004-04:00

As Jehmaine says in my favorite gangsta rap battle (see the link to the right), "Sometimes when I freestyle, I lose confidence." He says this right after starting his freestyle, off the top of his dome, by looking behind him, seeing a mural of a cityscape, and saying "There's a picture of New York, there's a picture of New York, there's a big fat crazy picture of New York".

I freestyled today. I lost confidence. I would have loved to have a big fat crazy picture of New York to inspire me.

Our research department was hosting 3 lovely Israeli visitors today from Sheba Medical Center in Tel Aviv. They connected with us via my colleague (and neighbor both at work and in real life) D. when he traveled to Israel several months ago as an invited speaker at a conference for telerehabilitation, which is a way of providing traditional therapeutic interventions remotely via computer. Its a very exciting area -- the technology is improving daily and the options for implementation are enumerable.

D. and my speech colleague A. have worked on several teleSLP projects over the past 10 years, and have developed a platform to interact with a patient over the computer so that the clinician can see the patient, the patient can see the clinician, and you can both share a document that serves as a treatment material. The visitors came, all this way, to see this in action yesterday and today. They have research dollars to spend and want to throw some our way to help them develop their own protocols using the same technology (but with Hebrew materials, of course).

I was brought in on this project because A. isn't going to be able to travel this fall, and the plan is for D. to bring a clinician with him to Israel when he goes in a few months to help get them set up and running. I think I was tagged because, as I mentioned, I live just across the hall from D., I have some research in my past, and I like computers. Easy enough.

The project meeting started yesterday and was to be 2 days of meetings, slide presentations for overviews of where telerehab has come from and is going, time for brain storming the Israeli projects, and most importantly patient demonstrations using this paradigm. Two different patients, both whom I've seen for a long time and know well, were already scheduled with me so I figured I could just do a tele-session for demonstration vs. trying to reschedule them to another day. Both patients were willing, particularly as the session was not going to be billed to their insurance (telerehab isn't a covered service in most states or by Medicare, though we're working on changing that). I'd never used the computer platform before, which was supposed to be a good example to our visitors to get a feel for the intuitive, user-friendliness of the interface. D. gave me a few articles to read to get me up to speed, but 10 years of research is not easily digestible.

I couldn't attend yesterday's meetings and missed dinner out with them as I was at another building outside of DC until after dinnertime, so by the time I got met them this morning, D. and A. and the three visitors were old and dear friends, and knew all about each other's institutions and practices. I barely know what day it is.

My first patient session goes okay -- I sort of figure out how things work, as it is pretty intuitive, though I found myself saying really dumb things like, "are you ready?" before almost every task, and a very cheery "okay!" in response. Oh, did I mention the visitors are sitting about 6 inches from me so they can see and hear what I'm doing? Taking notes?

The second patient session goes, as you might imagine, horribly. The patient is a wonderful guy who makes phonemic errors in his speech, meaning that his brain sends him the sounds out of sequence. It's difficult to understand if you are face to face but not impossible by any means, but today I just couldn't do it. I tried to talk him through a writing exercise and he tanked. I tried to work on his listening by using a website with audio files, but didn't realize it couldn't be done in a way that both he and I could hear the material. I couldn't even type correctly. It was good evidence that maybe this method of service delivery isn't for everyone, but as the visitors were talking with each other in Hebrew, I was fairly certain they were saying this method was not for me.

I would love to be one of those people who is comfortable in any and all social situations, always has the right level of energy, and always seems like they meant to do that. If I didn't know before that I was not one of those people, today underlined it. And put it in bold print. And italics, all of which is more than I was able to do today.

I definitely take comfort in the memory of a picture A. brought into work one year. She is my daily model of all things pragmatically smooth and comfortable, but this picture was from the year she moved from out of state and no one at her new school liked her -- she is gorgeous now but this picture was of a girl with braces and short curly red hair wearing a pop-a-bead necklace. It was just a few weeks before this picture was taken and just a few days into life at her new school with all new kids when she tried to stop herself from sneezing and, well, you know.

My freestyling today was not so great, but at least I maintained bodily functions. There's something to be said for that.

This big fat crazy picture of New York is from www.destination360.com

Um... wow.

2008-07-19T07:40:00.002-04:00

The Dark Knight was... wow. I mean, Heath Ledger was so...and then there was the the thing with the semi...and the jail -- it was so... wow. Maggie Gyllenhaal was a much better Rachel, and the whole thing was...wow.

The theater was a mob scene -- there were actually cops along side the line when the theater doors opened so that people were more likely to be peaceable. The nerd watching pre-game was priceless, including a girl wearing a catwoman ears headband who was no catwoman. Even the trailers were first rate, including the new Bond flick, a new one from the Coen brothers with Clooney and Pitt, and quick glimpse at the 2009 Terminator. People actually applauded after the trailer for The Watchmen, which is apparently a graphic novel legend, so the nerds were lapping it up.

The movie itself was exactly what it should have been -- very dark, very sleek, and just really really good. Heath Ledger deserves what ever awards he gets, and would even if he hadn't died earlier this year. Christian Bale was appropriately complex without being over the top (well, too over the top, I suppose). Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine were perfect. Anthony Michael Hall (of 80s teen-angst movie fame) has a spot in it and looks a mess, which is a statement on all of our fleeting youth I suppose, but he was good too. It was well worth the three year wait.

I'm looking forward to seeing it again once the huge lines die down in IMAX (did I mention in an earlier post that I freely align myself with the nerds?). It was just so... wow.

Things Are Looking Up

2008-07-17T17:28:00.004-04:00

This week has not been a good one. But it's almost over, and things are seeming a bit rosier as the day goes on.

After a 3 month process of procrastination, I sat down with a colleague today over a 2-beer lunch to get our book chapter going. It's just a 10 page case study write up based on information we've already organized and presented, but both of us treated it like the plague. When I tried to back out of it with a no-excuses-we-just-couldn't-possibly-get-to-it-until-the-end-of-July approach, the editor's response was "Great -- we just switched publishers and the whole project is delayed. We can wait on you". Not the response we had hoped for, since we were both having visceral reactions to sitting down in front of the computer. But, thanks to the outrageous hospitality (and Blue Moon on tap) at Busboys and Poets, where it looks like you have to have a lap top to get in the place, we'll have it wrapped up in no time. Whew.

My colleague and star of this week's episode of Speech is going away for the weekend with her ailing husband to watch their daughter play in an Ultimate Frisbee Tournament.

The weather for Saturday is supposed to be 94 with a 10% chance of late afternoon showers -- the perfect day for the 3rd annual Dinner Club aboard The Viking, a floating deck with a small outboard motor for tooling around the man-made lake at A.'s parents' house (more on that later). Needless to say, it is always a very, very good time.

Project Runway is back.

My apartment is actually kind of clean.

At the time of this writing, my cat is doing the thing where she runs between the bedroom and the living room at top speed while growling, stopping only to hop up on the kitchen table to check on the people in the pictures on the wall (I'm convinced she thinks they are windows -- she puts a paw up and peers over the edge of the frame). I love it when she's like this. Once while visiting my mom and the cat-cousins, for no reason that humans could be aware of she ran past my family seated around the dinner table at top speed carrying my mom's bath mat in her teeth.

And, finally, just 26 hours until my ticketed viewing time for The Dark Night.

The picture is from a courtyard in Siena, Italy and is from here.

Next time, on "Speech"...

2008-07-16T19:13:00.005-04:00

The pastor of my church has said for years that she could make it big with a scripted TV show taken from the real things she's seen as a small church pastor in a metropolitan area, including Bibles being hurled at people's heads, bizarre staffing decisions, and the random assortment of people that come through the door. It would be called, of course, "Church", and be steamier than the Sopranos.

I'm thinking about my own version of this in the world of a large speech-language pathology department at a small, quirky hospital. Episodes might include these true nuggets:

A girl who gets dressed in the dark shows up to work thinking she had put on leggings under a long shirt (back when this was the thing to do). She had in fact put on stockings, thereby showing up to work not wearing pants.

The doctors' band, Feels So Good, plays on while the hospital readies for a rare DC hurricane, prompting one person to say to her friends at lunch "It's like we're on the Titanic".
A newly hired therapist frequently comes in late, claiming that she needed to take her boyfriend across town. All of the female co-workers agreed that "driving Dick" seemed like a perfectly good reason to be late.
A man with a lifetime of drugs in him is wheeled over the bridge from the acute care hospital sitting straight up on the stretcher warning people to get out of his way by singing "No Parking On the Dance Floor" at the top of his lungs (beep beep, ahhhhh, beep beep).
A therapist compares how things are at work over the 4th of July with a friend who helps keep an eye on foreign threats against the US. His week: "I was on CNN to discuss nuclear blah blah blah". Her week: "We had a hot dog eating contest."
Another man with a lifetime of drugs in him is standing up from his wheelchair with one foot in a basin of water with a plastic bag tied like a do-rag on his head, a Mars bar in one hand and bag of Crab Chips in the other, and a beardful of both. The response of the therapist who walks in on him: "You're a disaster."
A case manager injures her hand in a fall when she trips over the giant foam shoes she is wearing as part of the organization's mascot costume during a new team member orientation session, comically landing with one shoe twisted about like Joe Theismann.
A housekeeper is overheard calling an Archbishop of a far away country "Chuck" as they pass in the hallway.
A therapist falls and breaks both of her front teeth at the hospital Christmas party during a tipsy dance move gone wrong, prompting the case managers to post "the speechies" on the list for restraints at the next Monday's team conference, and a friend to make the comment some time later "I put that on the list with September 11th as things that I just can't believe really happened".

And new, on this week's episode:

A close family of therapists rally around a teammate when she learns her husband has pancreatic cancer and only a few months to live.
A newly hired therapist (seriously -- she worked for 2 weeks) drops a resignation letter in her boss's mailbox at 5:00 on Friday saying not only is she quitting, she's leaving the country. The new catch phrase becomes "I'm so stressed I could move to Canada".

I hate myself for saying this...

2008-07-12T13:27:00.003-04:00

I like French films, and documentaries, and old classics. I promise that at times I have the intellect of a normal functioning, educated adult. I swear.

But, this movie is really, really funny.

2008-07-10T14:37:00.003-04:00

I was lucky enough to spend the 4th of July weekend at the beach with very generous and very good friends. One early morning on the deck with the smell of a recent brush fire still strong in the air, M. and I had a very interesting conversation about the Buddhist concepts of wisdom and knowledge (and this, friends, is why I love the beach -- other conversations over the course of the weekend included whether you could live with someone who had a "hair sweater").

I think of M. as one of my more zen friends anyway, but one of her clients at a stroke recovery center in Virginia gave her a book to read, written by a monk in the format of a lecture including the Q and A that followed, to explain his views on things. She was just getting into it and as a lifelong Catholic who thinks of her religion more as a set of practices and hoops to jump through it was fascinating to listen to her twirl these ideas around in her head and apply them to her own patterns of behavior.

She likes to be on the go, watches very little tv, and loves to be in constant conversation. Her husband literally watches 6 tv shows at once and grew up in a house where no one ate dinner together so the idea of conversation for the sake of conversation is a strange one. She likes everyone, and, as he says, he likes no one.

She was trying to use her new Buddhist ideas to do a root cause analysis of why she responded to things as she did -- why she would get frustrated, or irked, or tired when things weren't matching up right. She was chewing on the idea that knowing yourself reduced the arguments about taking out the trash that are never really about taking out the trash, but are about feeling neglected or put upon, and was thinking that maybe this was really the path to God.

It's a scary thing to try to get to know yourself, I suppose, and figure out why you react the way that you do to a given situation. I know that I get angry when I don't understand something and that I avoid a of a lot of things out of fear of doing something stupid, though I don't really know where that comes from. Professional help has suggested that I don't have an internal cheerleader and need it from other people to feel valued. All good to know, but I don't know what to do with it.

I'm all for not arguing with people over what seems like little stuff because you can't recognize/verbalize what the real problem is, and I am trying to learn to take John Mayer's redundant advise and say what I need to say. I'm not sure what exactly the path to God is but I'm thinking it has something to do with trying to bring about heaven on earth. Maybe adding this introspective ability to predict your own responses and even modify them before they come to into actuality is another way to try to do this.

I'm looking forward to having some time to think more about this in the next couple of months as my work life and spiritual life link up in a tactile way -- I think I'm going to get to go to Israel in September for a few days of telerehabilitation work and a few days of travel. While it will be more than weird to be touring Jerusalem with the guy that works across the hall from me (for both of us, I'm sure), I'm excited to see what if any impact this visit will have on thinking big thoughts as well as thinking meaningful little ones.

Any recommended pre-trip reading tips are appreciated.

The picture is from here: http://www.outerbankshome.com/nags%20head%20ocean%20front.JPG. Easy to see how it inspires both brainless and powerful conversation.

What are you laughing at?

2008-07-02T09:08:00.003-04:00

Recently I've been thinking about how people manage to get out of bed in the morning, much less function, much less laugh, when their life is turned upside down.

One of the many bad things that can happen to a brain is the rupture of an AVM. AVMs are nasty business -- it stands for arterio-venous malformation, which basically means a tangle of blood vessels in the brain that are naturally structurally weaker because they are a tangle vs. the nice smooth highways that our brains are supposed to contain. They give out sometimes and dump blood into places in the brain where blood is most definitely not supposed to be, and there's not much room in there for extra, so the rest of the brain can get sort of smooshed around. AVMs just are - we could all be walking around with them right now, versus a stroke that's caused by high blood pressure, diabetes, or the like which are easily measured and monitored. As an aside -- famous AVMs include those of Senator Tim Johnson and Nate Fisher, a character from the amazingly good show Six Feet Under.

I've met a lot of people with this problem and one particular guy comes to mind. He was living a typical, happy existence -- working hard at his job, spending time with his family, playing pick-up basketball with his boys on the weekend. He was, unfortunately, doing all of this with an AVM that ruptured and left him unable to make sounds on purpose, use one of his arms, walk, read, parent his child, send an email, go the bathroom on his own, follow a tv show, etc. etc. He's my age - in another life I can see being really good friends with him and his wife -- actually, that's not true, they are both way too cool for me. He got measurably better every day -- I knew what his favorite movie was and where he was born because he drew me pictures until I figured it out, he could call to his wife from another room, and ask his son if he needed to go potty. But he was a realist-- he knew he was in the proverbial hurt locker and it was going to be a long tough road out.

The amazing thing was you could hear him laugh all over the building. It sounded like a guy who just cracked a joke to his buddy while watching the big game at a local bar - it was loud, genuine, and absolutely devilish.

My boyfriend my senior year in high school was the oldest of three brothers. His father died of a heart attack in their home by the front door when he was very young, and his brothers even younger. Several years later, his middle brother was cleaning a hunting rifle in their house when it discharged, shooting and killing his youngest brother, who was no more than 10, in their home by the front door. His mother, a woman of tremendous faith and the picture of servant leadership, is still the single biggest influence on my own faith story even though I haven't seen her in more than 10 years, simply because she not only found a way to put shoes on every day and comb her hair, but a year or so after I'd seen her at her son's funeral, I passed her in the car and she was laughing. Out loud. Like something was really, really funny. I was amazed -- it just didn't occur to me that any moment wouldn't be filled with such grief that it was paralyzing.

I am prone to fits of giggles, mostly at inappropriate times (like this Sunday in church when one of the ushers bobbled just a bit when walking the offering plates up the aisle -- she didn't fall but just idea of it set me off). I hope that wherever that lives in my brain and my soul would survive whatever disasters may be in my future.

Make someone laugh today.

Here's the source for the picture: http://www.nowgasm.com/Maitreya_Laughing_Buddha.htm

Homage to my stack

2008-06-25T17:13:00.005-04:00

The only thing I like better than reading a good book is shopping for books. I like walking into a book store with an idea of what I want -- I keep an eye on the NY Times bestseller list, I talk to friends and family about what they're reading, I try to pull in the occasional book I should have read long before now. I also like aimlessly wandering around waiting for something to grab me.

The only thing I like better than shopping for books is shopping for books with a gift card. Free books = heaven (and yes, I understand the concept of libraries but I want to own my books so if I drop one in the bathtub, oh well).

I have been working with one particular client for almost a year now - he's a gem of a guy, a highly educated retired professional with a sharp sense of humor and a good attitude about his communication impairment. We'd gotten to know each other fairly well, as will happen when the person is working on verbal expression. I really, really like him as a person and have been impressed with his progress. It finally came time for discharge, and he gave me a card at the close of our last session. Stuck in the card was a gift card to a big box bookstore, for a very generous amount. Immediately a little bookworm angel and a bookworm devil appeared on my shoulders -- my hospital has a corporate compliance policy that no gift is to be accepted that is worth more than $50 and even if it is less than that it is to be shared with co-workers when able to do so. But who would ever know? My name is on the envelope. It's mine, right? Okay, so I would be fired immediately if anyone ever found out, but how would they?

It really wasn't the notion of generosity or doing the right thing for the sake of doing the right thing that made me email by boss to tell her the situation -- it was the need to alleviate the butterflies that would have been in my stomach any time I was called into a private meeting over the next ten years. The final decision was that the gift card would be used to purchase materials for the SLP service -- fun things that clients can benefit from like picture dictionaries, etc. I'm sure that my client would be more than happy with this outcome.

While I was listening to the argument from shoulder to shoulder for those few minutes, though, my mind wandered to "the stack" -- my pile of books that are yet to be read. I try to read them in the order I purchased/received them, but it's an imperfect system given that I get too excited about a few authors to wait, or Harry Potter happened to be a 7 part series, or I've gotten a book on loan from a friend, or it just doesn't seem like beach reading to be actually learning something. Even though I just bought a bunch of books a week ago, I had a daydream of a whole new gleaming pile of fun things to get into as summer turns to fall and fall turns to winter and there is still a wonderful pile of things to get to. It was kind of like when you walk into a furniture store and see so many beautiful things you want to go home and set fire to everything you own. But, my current stack is actually looking pretty darn good -- even the old soldiers who have been holding down the base of the fort for more than a year. I'm glad I chose to stay employed vs. buy new books. Now if it had been a gift card for DSW...

Weird

2008-06-23T06:24:00.004-04:00

I opened a fortune cookie last night that said "You will work at a top hospital in the U.S. Wait, you already do!". No lucky numbers, nothing. Just the message.

The other one in the bag had the generic something about open arms with all the lucky numbers written on the back.

My best guess is that the cookies were specially printed for a party or something and that leftovers were mixed in to the general population. But weird, right? I love being spooked.

I eat your mind one...

2008-06-20T18:33:00.005-04:00

I have a confession to make: I love all things nerd.

I can say it freely and safely knowing that I am one, that my fascination with aspects of nerd life is only to wonder what I might be missing out on.

My recent nerd obsession was sparked by a radio conversation I heard about a documentary that is floating around out there about LARPing. Sounds dirty, right?

Even better -- it's nerdy. LARP = Live Action Role Play. These are my people. People who of their own free will purchase foam swords to keep in the trunks of their cars in case a fight breaks out. People who couldn't let go of Dungeons and Dragons as kids and now are staging epic battles as parts of multi-day LARPing festivals. People who wear capes and verbally cast spells on each other. People who follow a complicated series of rules about which curse/spell trumps which curse/spell (not unlike my food rules). I love them.

Imagine my delight when I came home from work just a few minutes ago to find 2 girls in the courtyard foam sword fighting.

Here's the trailer for the fabulousness that is the LARPing documentary -- anyone care to join me on a pilgrimage to it's next viewing?

The photo is of the "light contact" swords available at LARP-store.com. You've missed my birthday but Christmas will be here in no time.