Bad News First? The Hospital, Health Care Experience Things that Make You Say “hmmmmm.”

Phrases like:

This is one of the “older beds, stretchers, etc.”

No answer when staff is asked about milk being sour.

Or in other words, seems like a lot on this unit have diarrhea.

(BTW - This is not my current health care setting.)

That one’s got a nice “set” heard one 3 a.m. under pretense of being cleaned up.

Or the classics:  “I didn’t get the message” and “Don’t be rude to me.”

I need to write about this stuff. 

There are somebody really good, kind people in health care 

and I don’t know or have the exact Mister  Rogers’ quotation, but find the friends first,

 by all means in yuour neighborhood. 

It’s been a tough week, absolutely. I’m receiving much support and better care now.

The Bent Wobbly Mailbox

A Story for my Dear Sister 

There was a bent wobbly mailbox on a little street tucked away in the village. Despite it being well-worn and much used, the mailbox served its owner well. The owner, a woman who lived on this tucked away street, was wise and resourceful. She received many things in the bent wobbly mailbox and made wondrously beautiful gifts with what she received.

She made gifts for birds and other creatures with bits and pieces of cloth, string, and yarn. The pieces of cloth often were fashioned into lovely, warm quilts for folks in the village who felt cold in the winter months. Yarn was made into hats, scarves, and mittens for the same people who otherwise would suffer. She left these warm creations on shrubs throughout the village for anyone to take.

People who were ill would find the quilts on their doorstep left there secretly by the woman. The people of the village never knew where all these gifts came from. The birds and other creatures knew her secret but told no one even if they were pets in the village households. Their masters did not know the source of all the beautifully crafted gifts. There would be tweeting and twittering, barking and meowing in hilarity by the birds and other creatures because of the village folks lack of knowing.

The woman had a purpose knowing she was doing good for her village. The bent wobbly mailbox gave her a never ending supply of all she ever needed. It had a purpose, too. You might say this is magic and I think you might be right. Who knew there could be so much love in the woman’s bent wobbly mailbox?

Doc's Skeleton Story

 - A Story Told to Me by Doc Conklin -

Doc worked as a night watchman for a time at Ithaca Hospital while attending Cornell University to become a veterinarian. On his rounds of the hospital one night he discovered some cigarette butts and empty beer bottles in an uppermost attic. He immediately had concerns about someone smoking cigarettes there due to the hazard of fire.

He made a plan to find out who was doing this and how to stop the trespassers from continuing this behavior. The next night he made a hiding place for himself behind where he had found the evidence of trespassing. He quietly waited.

Two men showed up and made themselves comfortable to enjoy drinking some beer and smoking. As Doc observed this, he took hold of a skeleton stored near where he hid. It was in storage for use in classes at the hospital. Gleefully, Doc shook the skeleton hard and with enthusiasm. In his words, Doc described the two men jumping up and ran “hellbent for election.” 

According to Doc, they never came back and the problem was solved; a true example of Doc’s sense of humor and resourcefulness.

A Poem

The exotic bird
Bright with a show of
lime, fuchsia, azure
shivers at the feeder.
He's escaped from
the cage
and his old one
who clucks and pats
and coos, in his warm
home of
seed plenty, water
fresh, place clean.

He's chilled at the feeder
with the blowing and sharpness
of a wind that will
not send him back to
his old one,
nor comfort her.

Chickadees and
sparrows bow to him,
pecking, bobbing;
not knowing, ever,
what is cage;
not knowing, ever,
what is lost.

Mourning George W.

Seeking His Soul

Who would care enough to reach out and give his hand to a gambling addict in a recovery meeting?  This would include going to a Correctional Facility for a meeting with incarcerated gambling addicts  Through many years of attending a recovery meeting for those of us who enable gambling addicts, I saw George W. do this many times.  The welcome and warmth he gave to newcomers was heartening to watch.

He encouraged my companion, William P., inn many ways through the years  After William passed, I found a photo of George's grandson in William's wallet.  This had meaning for both of them and William honored the grandson by carrying the photo in in his wallet.

William was a gambling addict.   George encouraged William but practiced tough love with him, too.. If a gambler was having struggles in  recovery, George would recognize it and suggest more meetings, more telephoning, more Step work.  George knew the signs and willingly shared his story to fellow addicts.  He was a dynamic speaker.

I would like to express condolences to Charlotte, Greg, and Mark for your loss.  There is an empty space where George once was.  George died on July 16, 2017 which was two days before what would have been William P."s birthday.  God bless.

Said in a recovery meeting:

I sought my soul, but could not see.

I sought my God, but He eluded me.

I sought my brothers,and found all three.

I Once Dreamt of Fame ----- Now I Dream of Peace

As a teenager I had many dreams and fantasies that fame would somehow give me the ultimate achievement.  I was very enamored of The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson and watched it many late nights observing and weighing how the interviewees talked and responded to Johnny Carson's schtick and his patter and comedic strategies.  I had a deep crush on Johnny and many of my fantasies revolved around being interviewed on his show for my great talents as a writer or performer.  Maybe I would be a rock star who was supremely talented in a band like Three Dog Night or Blood, Sweat, and Tears.  This was how I built up my self esteem at a time when my ego was fragile and not well bolstered at all.

I guess I ought to feel embarrassment for those long ago fantasies and yearnings that would somehow make me valuable and worthy in the eyes of the world.  I didn't feel valuable and worthy in the life I was living.  I'll spare you the long litany of why I didn't feel valued.  These feelings followed me into adulthood but eventually I've somehow managed to find some peace and acceptance of myself.

My faith has been helpful to me in realizing that I have worth.  In the words of one mentor, "God don't make no junk."  At the lowest depths of darkness, I've been able to hear God's lesson that I am a child of the Creator who exists in a light-filled,world  Even though I was deep in some very dark places with the shadows surrounding me,  I was able to hold on and know God was with me.

The peace and acceptance have gradually followed from those dark days of pain and panic.  I have experienced much spiritual growth.

In many facets of my existence, I do experience peace.  With gratitude, I welcome that peace that God has given me.  I may never have been on The Tonight Show yucking it up with Johnny Carson, but I have something now that I value more than anything like that would have been.  It is something much more valuable to me.  I have peace and the gratitude that accompanies it.

And my dear Johnny Carson,   hope you have found peace in the afterlife.  You gave our culture much laughter and entertainment in your time, and me, as well.  And I have the lesson I have learned from those long ago days of my teen years when what I thought I wanted was not to be and what I didn't know I wanted, came to be.

Overthinking About Overthinking

It's almost 6 am on a Wednesday morning.  It is calm and cool as I look out the window in front of my laptop.  What shall I write?  I'm not able to think of a title for this post.  My mind has not kicked in to thinking mode this early in the day.  That is a possibility.  Sometimes thinking mode is over-rated.  I read posts in different venues about how over-thinking can be problematic.  It's quite often associated with addictive behaviors.

I love to get in the place when my mind is involved wholly in a task such as crafting or reading.  I don't find watching television conducive to this mindful place that I like to be in.  The analogy of television as junk food isn't lost on me.  There are times when I like junk television and it is an escape.  I admit I watch Let's Make A Deal with Wayne Brady or Big Brother as a sort of calorie laden bag of potato chips for my brain.  I'm not able to do this as a constant.  It saps my inner reserves of self discipline if I watch a lot of television.

To achieve the mindful place where I'd like to be, I quietly meditate and pray, I crochet on the prayer shawl that I'm making for Ernie who is seriously ill, or I listen to music.  It is such a gift to me when I am able to focus my attention and do these activities.

Reading has been a difficult area for me to re-establish.  Due to depressive episodes, the focus and attention to it has been lost to me at times.  A lot of my childhood and youth were spent in this beloved pastime.  The rewards to me of achieving the focus I need to read a book in its entirety are limitless.

I listen to the vehicles speeding by on the US highway I live on and I hear the birds with their tweets and song.  It is an interlude of sound that sends me on my way this morning.  I have hope that I may achieve some mindful time such as this as my day progresses.  It may include some reading, crocheting, or music.  That is a bonus in any day of my life.