Remembering Daddy...

As I opened the door late last night, to let the dog out, I realized that it was a lot cooler outside than it was in the house…

I followed the dog outside and sat down in a rocking chair on the patio.  Of course, I immediately looked up at the stars.  I cannot look at the stars without thinking about my daddy.  We used to lay on his USMC green, wool blanket on the back lawn and look at the stars.  He would tell us the names of the constellations and how sailors used the stars to navigate.

I’ve told the story many times before, along with a lot of other memories about my daddy, on my blogs.  I guess the star-gazing memory is special to me…

As I sat there, looking up at the stars, I realized that my memories are tangible to me; perhaps because I think about them—and Daddy—often.  Something else occurred to me as I sat there: all those memories from so long ago happened right here in this same backyard.

Tangible memories….

I can sit where he sat, eat where he ate, look at pictures from our house back then….that is still my house now, and remember him.  And when I do, I feel surrounded and comforted by those same memories.

Life ends, eventually, for all of us.  I am so glad that my daddy lives on in my memories…

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

Hotter Than Hades...

It’s cooler this weekend that it was last week, and I’m glad for that.  I can’t really complain: we have insulated windows and air conditioning.  It’s just the pits to go outside when the sun is out….that’s all.

As I tried to go to sleep last Saturday night, it was too warm to be comfortable.  Sleep did not come easily.  

 I found myself remembering a long-ago encounter with a patient and reliving it in my head.  Not just remembering it: analyzing it to figure out how I could have done it better…

Have I mentioned that I think too much?  I do….

So, it was about ten years ago, on a very hot, muggy evening.  I was the nurse on call for my home health agency and there was a little boy who needed to be seen and given antibiotics at six in the evening.

He was so little.  About four years’ old, if I remember correctly.  His skin was very light colored, and his huge, brown eyes were dull, not shiny.  He had been home from the hospital for about an hour when I arrived.

I must have looked like the circus came to town, hauling in a box of IV supplies and dragging an IV pole behind me.  Usually, the infusion company would deliver the IV supplies but I didn’t want to have to wait for them, so I picked them up myself.

His mother spoke only Spanish, so my interpreter was his six-year-old sister.  As I assessed the little boy and asked the required questions, I began to realize just how hot it was in their apartment.  I began preparing the IV infusion, and prayed that I would be able to start his IV on the first stick.  (Some well-meaning RN in the Peds Unit at the hospital was “afraid” to send him home with an IV needle, so she took it out….)

I excused myself to go to the kitchen to wash my hands before doing the IV, and there, on the counter, was a slab of brown-gray meat covered with flies. Apparently, mom was defrosting it for supper. Knowing that the little boy was hospitalized with sepsis, I wondered if the family food preparation practices had anything to do with his condition.

Should I say something to Mom?  Could a child-interpreter really do justice to what I had to say?  Was it really something I needed to address, or was I out of line? As the visit unfolded, I realized just how much this young mother was overwhelmed with her son's illness.  And life, in general...

I returned to the patient’s bedside and started his IV.  I needed to stay until the infusion was complete and discontinue it.  Another RN would come to the home the next day and do the infusion again.  Since it was only for three days, and since there was a significant language barrier, it was decided that we would not teach the mother to do the infusion.

I could feel my uniform sticking to me, wet with perspiration in the stifling heat of that little apartment.  My patient was sleeping now and it was quiet in the room.  Mother sat staring at nothing and stroking her son’s hair, soothing both of them.

Suddenly, there was a loud BANG as the front door slammed shut.  Mom stood up with a look of panic on her face:  her husband was home and she had forgotten to turn on the air conditioning so he would be comfortable.  She ran and turned it on as he walked towards the bedroom.

I turned around and looked up to see him glaring at me.  He turned to his wife and asked her, in Spanish, “Who is this woman and what is she doing to my son?”  I was genuinely concerned by his demeanor.  Mom explained to him that I was a nurse and that I was giving him his IV medications.  He said, in English, “no more! Finish what you are doing and NO MORE!”

What to do?  I decided to be as blunt as he was.  I explained that the ONLY reason his son was able to come home from the hospital was because a home health RN would come administer the remaining antibiotic doses.  If he would not let us do it, his son would need to go back to the hospital.  Or risk becoming very ill again...

After a heated discussion with his wife, in the hallway, he came back in and said: "OK.” 

 

I walked out into the warm evening relieved.  The visit was over and, although I had a couple of hours of documentation to do on the computer, the worst of my evening had just passed.  I chastised myself for not being…..whatever it was that I thought I should be.  I didn’t feel comfortable about that home situation but I didn’t know what to do…

All these years later, I can still see that little boy and his mother and sister.  I can’t remember dad’s face that well, but I will never forget his voice.  Was I too intimidated to do the right thing?  That was the question that went through my head over and over last week…

And I still don’t have an answer…

Cali

Happy Birthday, Matthew...

What do you say to someone you haven’t seen in eight years?  How do you explain all that has happened since he left?  Or all that happened when he was younger?  How do you communicate with children who speak Italian?  What is there to say, after all these years?

Today is my younger son’s birthday.  I sent him a birthday wish on Facebook.  I think about him all the time, and even more so on his birthdays and holidays.  It’s tough: we don’t communicate well.  Not just Matthew and me, but all of us in our family.  Most of us don’t like to talk on the phone, don’t write letters, don’t Skype, and then regret that we don’t do it.

Sending him a package costs nearly fifty dollars.  A phone call isn’t much cheaper, either.  Ah, excuses, right?  Yes.  And more.  I am not sure I could talk to him on the phone without crying.  I know I would not be able to explain my tears to him, either.

I feel as if part of me is gone, broken, or lost.  I feel the need to reconnect with my son but I cannot do it by myself.  I have tried sending an email to all three of my kids, hoping it would spark an interest in communicating with each other.  We could just “reply all” and share our day-to-day life with each other.  Didn’t happen…

I tell myself that, even though I don’t hear from Matt, he does love me and miss me, too.  I tell myself that it is just the Great Communication Barrier that keeps us from getting in touch with each other.  I tell myself that it is my duty, as a parent, to keep the lines of communication open with my kids.  And I tell myself that I’m not doing a very good job.

Why?  I don’t really know.  Maybe it is just easier to miss him desperately than to tell him and make him feel bad.  I know he’s busy, I know his life is full with family, work, and whatever else he chooses to do with his time.

And I tell myself that we are going to sit down and have a chat about it.  Soon.  I will tell him how much I love him and miss him and that I wish I could find a way to keep in touch with him.  I will tell him stories about when he was growing up and how he delighted us with his wit and wisdom.

And I will apologize for hurting his feelings when he was 7.  He rode his bicycle all the way out to his grandparent’s house (8 miles away) because I said something that hurt him and he wanted Grandma to comfort him.  I will ask him to forgive me for being unkind because I didn’t really mean to be…

I will hug him and spend some quality time with him.

He’s coming home to visit June 18^th……

Cali

Thank you, Nathaniel(s)....

Both of you…. 

On Tuesday, I went to the local AT&T store and purchased my new iPhone 5.  Yes, I know the next version will be out soon—this summer—but I wanted mine now.  After almost an hour in the store, I left with the new phone (and its hot pink cover) in my hand…

We had other errands to run, so I didn’t get a chance to plug the phone into my laptop and download my apps until the early afternoon.  Well, the “quite simple” process became less so: the phone “froze” in the iTunes home screen.

Nothing I did changed anything.  I turned it off, and then back on.  I restarted my computer and plugged the phone in again.  Nothing.  Just the same, stupid, frozen screen….

(I remember when I was four years old and our phone was on a party line.  I didn’t have any trouble with it: I would pick it up and listen, that’s all.  Of course, at four, I didn’t realize that it was rude to listen in on a party line when others were having a conversation.  When the operator called my mother to report my activities, I received a lecture on privacy and respect.  Oh well, nothing “froze”….)

So, the next step was to go BACK to the AT&T store and get them to fix it.  As I walked in the door, the greeter asked me what I needed and I explained that my phone was frozen.  She then asked when I bought it and I told her “three hours ago” and when she asked where, I said “here”….

And so, I met Nathaniel  Number 1.  He plugged my phone into a computer and tried to “unlock” it.  Then he tried another computer.  No luck, still frozen.  He then excused himself and went to talk to his manager.  When he returned, he was on his cell phone, talking to someone about me. It soon became apparent that he was talking to Apple Care….

After the phone call ended, he told me what my two options were:  1) go home and call Apple’s tech line and have them walk me through the process of unlocking my phone; or 2) drive an hour to the nearest Apple Store and have their techs do it for me.

And I was frustrated—and rude—to him.  “How can I CALL tech support when the ONLY phone I have is locked and won’t work?”  He could have been rude right back, but he wasn’t.  He was empathetic and supportive.  I apologized for my outburst and he said he would feel the same way…

And so, I went back home and picked up my laptop and John so he could make the trip to Fresno with me.  Of course, in my frustration/confusion/whatever, I gave him the wrong driving instructions and we drove an extra half hour to get to the Apple Store….

I felt so guilty that I encouraged him to sit in a comfy chair in the mall and have a Starbuck’s coffee while I took care of my phone problems...

Enter Nathaniel Number 2:  a very nice young man in his late twenties or early thirties.  Even though he hadn’t used Windows in fourteen years (he’s a Mac), he was able to help me navigate my laptop to facilitate the process.  Not only was he patient, he taught me some things I didn’t know…and need to know.  It turns out that I have to block my Avast “firewall” in order to download stuff from iTunes…

I explained what was going on with my phone and that I had no intention of going home until it was fixed AND all my apps were downloaded from iTunes.  He apologized for my long trip to the store and agreed to help me do all that before I left.

While my apps were downloading, he went to help another customer.  There I sat, staring at my playlist on iTunes, on an HP laptop!  Right next to me was a Mac.  On the other side of the table were two people with iPads….I felt like a fish out of water.

So, when Nathaniel Number 2 came back, and my apps were all downloaded, I thanked him for not making fun of my weird playlist.  He looked through my songs and mentioned several artists that he liked, too.  He noticed that I have Rufus Wainwright’s version of Hallelujah and he said Leonard Cohen’s versions are his favorites.  I asked if he had heard k.d. lang’s version and he hadn’t:  he plans to download it and listen to it for himself….

As six pm approached, NN2 excused himself: he had to leave because they are not allowed to have overtime.  He found someone else to help me with signing up for Apple Care + and he was off to clock out and go home….

So, what was supposed to be easy wasn’t.  What should have taken about an hour took most of the day.  And yet, what I will remember about the experience, and the day, is the two Nathaniels.  Two very different-looking men who tried everything they could to help me, and finally succeeded.

At my age, days are not to be wasted, and Tuesday certainly was not a waste.  I have my new phone, it actually works, and I met two young men who renewed my faith in “the younger generation”…. As I approach my birthday (Saturday), I am thankful that I have had the opportunity to have many positive experiences in my life….

And thankful for the two Nathaniels….

Cali