Hershey in my Heart

Not sure if you've heard the news, but Central PA is under water, you guys.  Lots of water.  Feet of water.  Here are a few pictures from around Hershey, my hometown.  My heart aches every time I look at them.

Hershey is surrounded by a few very small creeks.  Small creeks that have now completely overflowed and spilled into...well, all of Hershey.  I spoke to my dad last night, and he said downtown Hershey is basically an island - you can't get in, can't get out.

Here are some pictures from Hershey Park.  And ZooAmerica, which is the small zoo attached to the Park.  The zoo staff actually had to euthanize 2 of the buffalo yesterday because they were drowning.  The flooding started so quickly, they couldn't get them out in time.  They thought euthanizing them would be more humane then letting them drown.

This is a road I took every single day of my life while I lived in Hershey.  It's literally falling apart.

And this is pictures from my in-laws' house.  The first is of the "road" out front.  The second is of the parking lot of the KinderCare day care next door.  And their driveway.  In between the two, is a storm ditch that is about 8 feet deep.  It was meant to hold up to a 100-year flood.  Fail!

Matt's parents' basement flooded.  And their sewer backed up into the basement.  ICK.  My mom and step-dad, and my dad, are all safe and have no damage.  My friends are all ok.  Thank God.  This is completely unprecedented for Hershey to have this much flooding.

Sending love, prayers, and virtual hugs to all our friends and family in the area....

Hurricanes

So everyone knows the East Coast got hit by Hurricane Irene this weekend, right?  If you live on the East Coast, you pretty much couldn't get away from the coverage.  I have read around the interwebs that people were "sick" of hearing about it, that the storm was overhyped and underwhelming, that everyone on the East Coast overprepared.  Some people even called us sissies.  Crybabies.  Drama Queens.

Whatever.  I'd take overprepared over underprepared any day of the week.

As I sat in our house on Saturday, listening to the rain beat down and the wind blow against the siding, I could not help but be reminded of our honeymoon and our adventures with Hurricane Tomas.  I remember being absolutely terrified during Hurricane Tomas.  And I think a lot of that was because we had no way of knowing what was happening, how long it was supposed to be happening...it was all a big mystery. 

In St Lucia, we woke up on Saturday morning to a phone call telling us our zip-lining excursion had been cancelled because a tropical storm had hit the island and they wanted to make sure the lines were still intact and safe for use.  Made sense, so we just rescheduled for later in the week.  We stepped onto our balcony to survey the scene.  It was wet.  And windy.  There were already palm leaves on the ground.  So we headed over to breakfast and tried to get a better handle on what was going on.  The staff seemed to be fine.  We ate and then thought we'd borrow the laptop and check our email.  And that's when we found out it was a hurricane that had taken up residence on the island, not a tropical storm that had already blown over.  But the staff was still acting like nothing was happening.  So we went back to our room to do some reading on the balcony.

Around lunchtime, we got hungry, so we made our way over to the Bayside, only to find that most of the resort was hanging out in the Mirage, playing games and watching movies.  And drinking.  So we sat down and joined them.  The storm continued to intensify outside, but still - no announcements, no warnings, nothing.  We heard through chatter among the guests that Hurricane Tomas had intensified to a Category 2 storm, and had slowed down to just about 10 miles per hour, which basically meant it was just sitting on top of the island.  An island which had not had a direct hit from a storm in 30 years.  An island that had in no way, shape, or form prepared for this storm.  An island full of people who had either heard the warnings and ignored them, or who had never heard the warnings in the first place. 

By the time the storm blew over, it was clear that the people of St. Lucia had not prepared.  Even some of the resorts, especially down at the Southern end of the island, where the devastation was nearly total, were completely unprepared to handle the aftermath of a hurricane.  Travelers were stranded, forced to find shelter elsewhere.  Left without electricity.  Left to basically fend for themselves until help arrived.  No communication. 

On the other hand, this past week we were inundated with warnings about Irene.  We spent days before boarding up our homes, putting away our outdoor furniture, stocking up on water and bread and flashlight batteries.  When the storm hit Saturday evening, Matt and I had every candle in the house out and ready to go.  Every flashlight in the house ready to go, with replacement batteries nearby.  Our cell phones and my laptop were fully charged.  We had a case of bottled water, 2 loaves of bread, plenty of PB&J, and a few cans of tuna and baked beans (gas stove still works in the event of a power outage!).  We felt prepared.

I'm not gonna lie and say it didn't get scary.  Saturday night we had 4 separate tornado warnings in about 90 minutes.  How did we know that?  Because we were lucky and didn't lose power and saw it on our tv.  [BTW, did you know that emergency broadcast messages will interrupt On-Demand movies?  I had not before Saturday, and was so thankful for that.]  So I started to cry and freak out, because tornadoes scare the ever-living shit out of me.  But then I got up, cleaned out our coat closet, got out some extra pillows and blankets, and we had our tornado shelter ready to go had we needed it.  Thankfully, we didn't.  But we were prepared, and just knowing that made me feel better.  Knowing that we knew how we would get food and water over the next few days if things got bad made me feel better.

Preparation is everything.  And yes, maybe we all panicked a bit more than we should have.  But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I, for one, would much rather be able to look back and laugh at myself for overstocking water than look back and be sorry that I blew the whole thing off. 

Earthquake!

I'm sure most of you heard by now that the East Coast had a bit of a shaky start to the afternoon.  5.9 magnitude earthquake in Virginia, felt all the way from North Carolina up through Maine!  Wow!!! 

We felt it here in Philly.  I was in a staff meeting and suddenly the whole row home was swaying back and forth.  Definitely a creepy feeling.  I heard from my sister, who lives in Baltimore, and she said they're fine.  Her husband was at home and their house is intact.  But their kitty, Brady, is freaking out.  Poor little man.

I hope everyone on the East Coast is safe and sound!

Headlines

Some news stories that caught my eye...

Facebook Murder-For-Hire  Are people really this dumb?  Did this girl actually think that she could get away with posting an offer to pay someone to kill her "baby daddy" on her facebook wall and no one would notice?  The sad part is, even though by the time he actually was killed, she was behind bars already.  Which means either someone else took on the "I'll pay you a stack to kill him" bit, or some idiot didn't realize she was already behind bars and needed the money. 

Flash Mobs  Marc Lamont Hill, you are a moron.  There are so many ways in which you are dead wrong that I can't even believe the Inquirer published this nonsense.  All that aside though, my main argument is this: What about my right to walk down the streets of this city and not get nervous when I walk past a pack of teenagers?  Doesn't that count for anything? 

The Eagles  I hate living in this area during football season.  Eagles fans drive me crazy.  They are the most fair-weather fans I've ever seen.  One good game?  Everyone loves them.  One bad game?  Everyone hates them.  And now, with expectations of a "perfect" season after all these free agents they just picked up, a lost game is going to be horrific.  It almost makes me want to move.  I don't understand it.  If you're going to be a fan, be a fan.  I lived in Pittsburgh for 15 months.  Now those are fans.  Win or lose, they love their Steelers.  Philly fans are just obnoxious.

9/11 Responders  This makes me want to cry.  These first responders saved countless lives in the days following 9/11/01.  Now you're going to sit there in your big offices and pretend like they don't exist?  How dare you! 

Brain-eating Amoebas  GROOOOSSS!!!!!

Michelle Bachman  Really?  You, single-handedly, will control the crude oil market and cause those prices to drop?  You, single-handely, are an idiot.

Self-Deprecating

I wasn't very nice to myself today.  And it pissed me off.

One of my coworkers asked me today if I am a nurse, too.  I replied, "No, just a social worker."  Just.  A lot of weight is in that one little word.  Just.  As in only.  As in not important.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was disappointed with myself.

There is nothing just about being a social worker.  About all the work I put into becoming a social worker.  About having the kind of personality it takes to be a social worker.

The decision to be a social worker isn't typically one that one just makes.  You either are a social worker or you're not.  It is like a gene, buried somewhere deep inside of you.  It is not something you do, it is something you are.  It is a part of you.

While obtaining a degree in social work may not be the most grueling process in the world, it is not easy, either.  It is a 2-year Masters degree program that includes classes and field placements.  A full-time program encompasses 5 3-credit classes plus a 24-hour per week placement per semester.  It takes commitment.  A lot of reading.  A lot of writing.

Going into the field of social work, while it is something you are inherently destined to do, is still something to seriously consider.  It is exhausting work.  It is emotionally overwhelming.  It is high-stress and low-pay.  We social workers like to say, "We don't do it for the money!" because, um, we'd be crazy if we did.  With a Masters degree, most of us make less than others with Bachelors degrees or even Associates degrees.  "We don't do it for the money," but it'd be nice if we were paid according to our work and stress levels.  My boss is constantly telling us that she wishes she could pay us more, because it kills her to see how low our pay is for all the shit we put up with.

In my position in particular, as a hospital social worker, we are the ones who get yelled at by overwhelmed and frustrated patients.  We are the ones who get blamed with discharges don't happen quickly enough.  We are the ones who take the heat when the nurses aren't happy.  We take the brunt of everyone's unhappiness...and we do it with a smile.

We appear to have thick skins but we have soft hearts.  We put up with all kinds of abuse.  We have conversations with people about death and dying.  We provide support to patients who are scared about their diagnoses.  We reassure families who are feeling guilty about placing their loved ones in nursing homes.  We encourage drug addicts who are looking for sobriety.

There is nothing just about being a social worker.  It is a noble, important, and necessary profession in this crazy world, and I am damn proud to be one.

Sometimes I need to remind myself of that...


*Images from my Pinterest

No, I'm Not Pregnant

Just fat.  But thanks for pointing out my gut. 

I've stopped making excuses to people.  Arguing with them.  I've just started responding that way when they look at my stomach and ask if I'm pregnant.  "Nope, just fat.  But thanks for pointing it out!" 

from google

Look, I am well aware of the fact that I have gained weight.  And that the bulk of that weight is sitting right at my gut.  I am aware that wearing babydoll-style shirts and flouncy maxi dresses also contributes to the appearance of being pregnant.  But I like that style shirt, and I've been wearing flouncy maxi dresses since before Nicole Richie made them cool again.  They are comfortable.  Especially in 90+-degree heat.  And especially now, when I am feeling too self-conscious about my gut to wear the more form-fitting clothes I have worn in the past. 

But I'm not pregnant.  And even if I am, it's not any of your business.  Until I decide to make it your business.  Which I haven't.  Cuz I'm not.

So let's stop talking about how I "look" pregnant.  Cuz all you're really saying is, "Wow, you have a stomach that's pushed out further than normal and we're taking notice!"  Which in turn means, "Hey, Fatty, nice gut."  It really doesn't make me feel good.

I have never been one to believe in "dieting."  It has always been easy for me to alter the way I eat (portion control, healthier foods, etc) and drop weight without much other effort.  Obviously, my body is older and my hormones are different and things have changed.  I need to put more effort into it.  So I've been working out.  I just started the 30 Day Shred, and am hoping that that gets me results.  But I'm only 2 days in.  So right now, I still have a gut and flabby butt and floppy arms.  Can we not discuss it and analyze it to death?   Seriously, I'm sitting at work right now, and I feel like I could cry.  I just walked away from a discussion between 3 nurses about how they all think I'm pregnant.  After a few "Nope, I'm just fat!" comments from me, with a hope that they'd get the point that they're hurting my feelings, I had to walk away.  How do you respond to that? 

Since when is it appropriate or socially acceptable to so openly discuss a woman's body?  Or a woman's choice to bear (or not bear) children?  One of the nurses actually had the audacity to ask me if I would be upset if I was pregnant.  After telling me that I was pregnant and me denying that "fact," she had the nerve to say to me, "But you wouldn't be upset if you were pregnant, would you?"  Like that would be the worst thing in the world.  Maybe I would!  Maybe I don't want to be pregnant.  But how is that any of her business?  Since when do I need to discuss my desire/ability/readiness to have children with her?

I'm absolutely appalled by the audacity of these women.  I would never dream of asking a woman if she was pregnant if I was absolutely 100% sure that she was.  And if I was so rude as to ask that of a woman who then tells me she's not pregnant, I would certainly not continue discussing the matter and insisting that she was!  Who does that?  In what way is that ok?

I am already terribly self-conscious about the weight I've gained.  Having people discuss it doesn't help.  I wish it were as happy an occasion as me being pregnant.  But unfortunately, it's just as simple as me gaining weight.  So let's move on, please.  You are not helping my already delfated self image. 

Marriage

A few weeks ago, when my girlfriends and I got together, it was such an eclectic mix of people in different stages of their lives and relationships.  We had me, the newlywed; my friend Abriel, happily married with a 9-month-old; my friend Mel, divorced from an abusive a-hole with a 6-year-old; my friend Amy, happily married with a 2-year-old and now pregnant with their 2nd; my friend Nicole, widowed with a 5-year-old; and my friend Tina, going through an ugly and painful divorce with a 5-year-old and a 7-year-old [wow, really??].  Seriously - we represented almost every single life stage for a 30-something woman.  The only one not represented was the unmarried, childless woman.  And now that I think about it, I don't actually think that exists anywhere in my circle of friends!  Wow, we are getting old!

Nicole's husband died 2 years into their marriage, when their son was 6 months old.  She obviously still mourns him, but is moving on and looking for new love.  Mel is in a relationship with a guy who seems to treat her well.  Her ex-husband seems to have finally grown up a bit.  But Tina is (understandably) miserable and unhappy.  And she's not exactly a huge believer in marriage at the moment.  So when everyone was asking me about how married life was, I felt a little bit guilty being all "Oh it's just so wonderful and I'm so happy and I love my husband and he's the best thing in the entire world."  So I just said "It's great!" and moved on.  But later, when it was just me and Abriel and her mom (who is, hands down, one of my favorite people in the world), I admitted my true feelings: I've never been happier.  When we first got married, and people asked if I felt different or if anything had changed, it seemed so silly.  We'd lived together for 4 years already.  Why would anything feel different?  But now I realize that it does.  It has changed.  I can't quite put my finger on how or why, but it has.  My heart just bursts when I think about how being married to Matt makes me feel.  We talk about our future in such real and concrete ways.  We support each other.  We encourage each other.  We reassure each other.  And we love each other.

Sometimes, I look at my husband and I'm just overwhelmed.  I've heard from so many people that the first year of marriage is the hardest.  Granted, we've only been through 9 months so far.  But if it's true that the first year is the hardest, then we are gonna sail along beautifully for the rest of our lives.  And I can't wait.  For whatever comes.

Snack Attack

I don't know what's going on with me, but the past few months, I cannot. stop. snacking.  I never used to be a snacker.  Ok, that's not true.  I have very vivid memories of when I was younger, I used to have a snack when I got home from school, and then a snack before bedtime.  But I was younger, I was active, and my metabolism was running at an all-time high*.  I used to snack on weird stuff, too.  Salads.  Olives (black or green, I was olive-colorblind).  Pancake batter.  [Yes, I would mix up pancake batter, and then just drink it.  Like a shake.  Disgusting.]   Then I just stopped.  Sure, in college I would indulge in the occasional cafeteria sundae or late-night meal (mmm....Nap's pizza sticks...I still drool just thinking about them).  But for the most part, I ate my three meals and day and that was it.  Well, that and copious amounts of alcohol.  But that doesn't count, right?

Anyway, it went on like that for years.  Just eating my three meals and that was it.  I rarely snacked, rarely craved snacks (except for chocolate, clearly).  But even when I did snack, I had total control.  A handful of chips, a small bowl of ice cream, a small frappucino. 

Ever since our wedding, though, I am a snack-a-holic.  I can't stop myself.  I eat when I'm hungry.  I eat when I smell something.  I eat cuz I have nothing better to do.  It's gotten pretty bad, and I've packed on pounds.  I could probably still snack and keep the weight off (for the most part) if I could go to the gym regularly but 1) I hate the gym and 2) I have had a series of injuries/pains in my body over the past few months that have prevented me from going.  So instead, I snack, gain weight, get mad, and snack anyway. 

Matt and I are eating healthier.  I'm using lower-calorie/fat ingredients (like substituting 0% greek yogurt for sour cream), we're eating whole grain bread and pasta (which is actually higher in calories and fat, but has more nutritional benefits than it's white counterpart), and we're both exercising better portion control.  I'm being very stringent about this.  And yet, I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to snacking!

So, I'm trying to snack a little healthier.  Having grown up in Hershey, I am physically incapable of surviving without chocolate.  So, I bought a container of dark chocolate roasted almonds.  I also have a container of butter toffee roasted almonds.  They're yummy, low in saturated fat, high in protein...a healthy snack, right?  Plus, they satisfy my chocolate needs.  I am also officially obsessed with peanut butter.  Like, I could, in theory, sit with a jar and eat it by the spoonful.  Until it was gone.  Instead, I eat a spoonful when I get home from work.  I wish I liked apples, cuz I would bring in a small container and some apple slices for a snack at work.  I am trying to eat more fresh fruit.  I never was a big fruit-eater, but this summer, I am making an effort to buy fresh fruit, cut it up, and divide it into containers to bring to work.  Strawberries, mangoes, pineapple, watermelon, canteloupe...I'm loving it! 

What do you snack on?  Any other "healthy" snack ideas I should look into?

*Probably.  I have no scientific proof to support this statement.

Hold on Tight

Alternate title: Why Social Work Will Take You on the Ride of Your Life...Every Day

I mentioned that Friday was a crazy day, right?  There are many reasons why a day in the life of a hospital social worker can be crazy.  But Friday was a particularly special kind of crazy. 

Not only did I have multiple discharges to arrange (which means making referrals, finding an accepting facility, getting insurance authorization, setting up transportation, and communicating all of the above to the patient and family), but I also had a patient who refused to do anything without my "permission" (more on that in a minute), and a psych placement.  With out-of-area insurance.  Who was refusing to go to inpatient treatment, despite the fact that she was under involuntary committment and therefore legally couldn't refuse.  It's unnerving to have to tell someone, "I'm sorry, but, um, tough shit, you're going to get on that ambulance stretcher and go to treatment."  Legal committment or not, it's not pleasant to force someone into treatment.  We actually had to call security at one point because she threatened to walk out.  I had to stand there and have a discussion with her about the fact that she was being committed against her will and she had absolutely no choice in the matter.  Not. Fun.

But that's not the part that made my day so roller-coaster-y.  (Yep that's totally a word).  I had another patient who, when he first came into the hospital, you could not have a rational conversation with him.  He was delusional and paranoid.  I know, it sounds like I work on a psych floor, doesn't it?  I promise, I don't.  He was delusional due to a medication toxicity - he'd accidentally/unknowingly overdosed on one of his home medications, and it caused him to go a little wacky for a bit.  Once his toxicity level came down, he calmed down and was able to have a real, meaningful, purposeful conversation. 

This patient had been (through his perception) abused by the system his entire life.  He was distrusting of everyone in the hospital.  He threw several doctors and nurses out of his room.  The first time I met with him, I had to walk away because he was so abusive.  But somehow, I got through to him and he grew to trust me.  He felt like, for his whole life, he'd been promised things that were never delivered.  I did what I told him I'd do, and I think he felt like he finally had someone on his side.  He needed help at home but refused to sign the paperwork necessary to get the help at home because a) he is illiterate and b) he was afraid they'd take his house (a very common misconception, unfortunately).  Once I explained everything to him, he agreed to have the caseworker come back and to sign the paperwork...only if I was present for the meeting and explained anything he wasn't sure about. 

So I was and he signed everything.  It was kind of a proud moment for me.  As a social worker, it is incredibly fulfilling to know that you gained the trust of a man that so few others could not.  He signed the paperwork.  He agreed to go a nursing facility for rehab ("for one week!"), even though the facility that accepted him was outside the city.  I had everything arranged for him to go on Saturday.  I left work exhausted but feeling like I had done some real social work. 

I came in this morning and received a voicemail from his insurnace company saying that he'd never arrived at the nursing facility.  I called the facility and they told me that they'd received word that he'd left the hospital AMA, meaning Against Medical Advice, before his discharge.  I checked the chart and, indeed, he had signed out AMA. 

I have to admit, I'm a little heartsick over this.  I thought I had done some real work.  I thought I had made progress and made a difference in this man's life.  I thought we had a deal.  The nurse practitioner who was on service the day of his discharge is not here today, nor is the nurse who discharged him, so I can't find out what exactly went down until later in the week.  I ended last week on such a high, and this is a pretty major blow.

In my heart of hearts, I know that I do good in my job.  But things like this make it hard to see the forest for the trees.

Rant

Do you ever have one of those days/weeks where everything and everyone just seems to be out to piss you off?  Maybe this is one of those weeks for me.  Or maybe I'm just feeling extra-sensitive - it's a full moon and I have my period.  The two most wacktastic times of the month are in full alignment for me this month, and it ain't pretty.  I feel cranky, tired, annoyed, and fat. 

The way things are set up in my hospital is that the social workers are in the department of Clinical Resource Management.  This means that we are in the same department as the nurse case managers, who do the insurance reviews to make sure the hospital gets paid.  When I first started here, over 4 years ago, the social workers did all the discharge planning - set up home care, ordered equipment, arranged placements, setting up transportation, ordering medications...it was a lot, and things fell through the cracks.  We were totally overwhelmed.  About 3 years ago, the set up changed a little bit in that the home needs fell to the nurse case managers, so now they do the insurance reviews plus arrange home care and order equipment.  The theory behind this was that it would provide the social workers more time to do what we're trained for - to provide supportive counseling for patients and families.  It hasn't done that, but it was a nice thought.

Anyway.  Where I'm really going with this is that it can be very difficult to be paired with someone whose job is basically about the bottom line.  The case manager's job is to make sure we - the hospital - is getting paid.  Which means they have to find reasons to prove to the insurance companies that the patient needs to be in the hospital.  If the patient no longer meets "hospital level of care," it's time for him/her to go.  They also have to make sure that the patient's discharge plan is "safe," which sounds very altruistic and lovely, but really, it just means they need to make sure we're doing everything we can to keep the patient from getting readmitted, because if a patient comes back to the hospital within 30 days for the same reason, we (the hospital) don't get paid. 

While I understand that making sure the hospital is getting paid is important (I'd like to keep getting a steady paycheck, too), my first priority is to see that the patient's rights are being respected and upheld.  And this is where the social workers and the nurse case managers fall off the same page.  And me and my nurse case manager?  We may as well be in different books.  Social workers operate based on a core code of ethics and values.  The biggest one of those is to support the patient/client's right to self-determination.  And I take that value very seriously.  I feel like it is my job to advocate for the patient's right to make her own decision (so long as the patient has the mental capacity to do so).  If the doctors recommend placement for a patient, I am happy to discuss it with her.  But if she tells me that he wants to go home, that's her choice.  My job is to provide patients with the knowledge and choices to make an informed decision.  After that, it's up to the patient.  And we have to respect that, whether or not we agree with it.  Everyone has the right to fail.  But at least they failed with their dignity in tact. 

My case manager and I butt heads on this a lot.  And I get very frustrated with her very quickly.  She is constantly trying to get involved in cases that I am working on.  If I have established a relationship with a patient or family and am working with them to help them make a decision about home care services or rehab placement or (and this is my pet peeve!) hospice services, but the family is not deciding fast enough, she gets involved and puts pressure on me and on the family.  It's completely inappropriate and it makes me really angry.  I have discussed it with her and with our boss, but it never corrects.  It's her personality and unfortunately, my personality is the complete opposite.  We do not work well together and it's very difficult.  I am currently in discussions with my boss, who has just hired someone new, to change up the assignments a bit and put a new nurse case manager on my floor.  It's not a healthy work environment for either of us, and I fear that we do a disservice to our patients because we're so frustrated with each other.  But I worry that because she's so busy undermining me and then I'm trying to clean up the mess she inevitably causes, we're just confusing and frustrating the patients.  And as far as I'm concerned, it's ok to piss me off, but when you start affecting my patients, then it's not cool anymore.  I am here, as a social worker, to fight for my patients and to support their wants and needs.  If someone is interfering with that, it offends me. 

There are many other things about our working relationship that frustrate me.  She sends me emails throughout the day, telling me things about my patients that I already know because I've already established a relationship with them!  She makes inappropriate remarks about our patients.  She tries to drag me into situations where I do not need to be.  She tries to pawn work off on me.  She tries to make me feel guilty when she stays late and I leave (relatively) on time [somehow the fact that she sits around and gossips with other staff rather than getting her work done means I should be helping her out].  Luckily, my frustration (and let's face it, disdain) with her does not outwardly show, thank goodness (I asked a friend of mine who used to be a floor nurse on our unit). 

What do you think?  How do you deal with coworkers who you just cannot seem to mesh with?

Wow.

9 years ago today, my life was railroaded.  What happened that night changed me.  If you'd told me then that everything would work out and that my life would move forward, I'd never have believed you.  I felt totally stuck.  And it scared me to death.

In the years following, the anniversary of that night was a day that I stayed in bed and wallowed.  I dreaded it for days beforehand, and it made me feel anxious and sad and scared and angry.

These days, I don't even really think about it.  I had no idea it was today until I woke up and logged onto facebook and saw that it was Matt's cousin's daughter's birthday.  A few years ago, I discovered that her birthday is the same day.  If I hadn't realized today was her birthday, I wouldn't have realized today was the anniversary. 

I'm so proud of myself that I no longer dwell on it and that I've moved on to a point where I barely even think about it anymore.  The girl that I was before that night will never exist again, but I'm closer to her now than I was for years after.  Days like today remind me how strong I am.  And that, above anything else, puts a smile on my face.

Ding Dong! The Monster's Dead!

I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice note saying I approved of it.  (Mark Twain)

(source)

Rot in hell, bin Laden.

Here's the thing, though.  Already.  Not 12 hours after US Forces killed Osama bin Laden at his hideout in Pakistan, people are making it political.  I've seen lots of snarky comments from my facebook friends from both sides of the political spectrum: "Obama did what Bush couldn't...again" (democrat) and "Obama will be sure to take credit for the war and killing bin Laden" (republican). 

This morning when I was watching the news, the state representative for New York was interviewed on The Today Show.  He made a comment in which he said, "I would just like to say, as a Republican, that President Obama did an excellent job..." I'm paraphrasing a bit, but he definitely said "as a Republican."  Why?  Why not "as a human being" or "as a citizen of the planet Earth"?  "As a Republican" has no place in that statement. 

Why must EVERYTHING turn into politics?  The monster is dead.  Who cares who's responsible?  Who cares who started the war or gave the order or whatever else?  He's dead.  Gone.  The man responsible for taking thousands of innocent lives on 9/11 is no more.  Leave politics out of it and just be glad.  Justice is done.

In any case, many many many thanks to our men and women in uniform. 

Over and Over

Reason #497 why I love my husband: "I wish I made more money to spend on you."

Money is tight in our house.  Matt works for a small engineering firm.  With the downturn in the economy, things have been tough.  They laid people off and cut back on benefits.  Matt has survivied 2 rounds of lay-offs (because he's awesome and works his tail off) and the benefits don't matter cuz we're under mine.  But they also cut salaries by 7% and cut hours to 32/week across the board.  Because of this, for the moment, I'm the higher earner in our household.  And I'm a social worker.  I don't make much. 

We do ok.  We pay our bills and our mortgage every month.  And we do manage to go out a few times a month.  And we manage to save some money.  But it is hard, and sometimes we overspend and have to buckle down to make bills.  So we often feel like we're living paycheck to paycheck. 

I know that eventually the economy will turn around and Matt's salary will go back up and he'll work full time, if not with overtime, again.  But I worry that we're both kind of financially "stuck" at our current pay grades.  As a social worker, I don't have opportunity for upward movement.  In fact, I've recently started thinking about persuing something that means more to me, like sex education for teens, but that would probably mean a pay cut, so I'm not sure I want to take that leap.  And Matt works as a CAD tech, but his degree is in kinesiology, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't be an engineer. 

I'm not gonna lie - we're worried about the future.  We make things work now, and we'd definitely be more comfortable once his hours are back and his salary is re-inflated.  But kids are expensive.  We're worried about our ability to save once we have kids.  He has a 401K and I have a 403B, and they're both doing very well, but we want to be able to give our kids the same lifestyles that we had.  Our parents were able to provide us with a very comfortable lifestyle - we had pretty much anything we wanted, we traveled a lot, we ate well, etc.  That's the lifestyle we're accustomed to and we hope to provide that for our children.  And I think we can, but we're both worried about our ability to do that and to continue to save money. 

Which brings me back to the original statement: "I wish I made more money to spend on you."  Matt said this to me last night.  I told him I don't need him to spend money on me.  I'd rather that he save it now and spend it on our kids.  Or spend it on a nice vacation.  Fancy meals don't last, but memories last a lifetime.  Seriously, how priceless is the look on a child's face when she sees Cinderella's Castle for the very first time?  I'd so much rather have that than dinner at a 4-star restaurant.  But the fact that he says that, and that he wants to spoil me, is adorable.  And I fall in love with him over and over again.  Big freakin sweetheart.

Don't most couples worry the same way?  Doesn't everyone have the same concerns?

Workplace Dress Codes

The dress code where I work has always been a bit...ambiguous.  I work in a hospital that's part of a pretty major health system.  Even though it's part of the big health system, it feels like a small community hospital.  It serves mainly a population that comes from the geographical area immediately surrounding the hospital.  Because of this small, community feel, the staff are generally pretty nice, happy, and good at their jobs.  And also because of this commnity feel, the dress code has not been too "stuffy."  The only people who can be seen wearing suits on a daily basis are the people at the very top of administration - the CEO, CFO, CNO, etc.  Everyone else dresses pretty business casual, and some on the more casual end of that (guilty!).  All along, we've been told no sneakers, no capris, no tank tops.  But that's been the extent of our no-nos; otherwise, pretty much anything goes.  We've even been allowed to wear open-toe shoes.  It's always surprised me, but I went with it.  During the summer, I can be seen in strappy sandals most of the week.  Love. It.

But a new administration is in place and they are shaking things up.  Soon, we will no longer be allowed to wear open-toe shoes.  Even peep-toes will be outlawed.  We will not be allowed to wear khakis.  A couple of years ago, we were given the option to purchase fleeces with the hospital logo and our department/title on them - we'll no longer be allowed to wear those, either.  If I get cold, I can put on a white sweater.  Those are not absolutely terrible changes.  I'll miss my peep-toes, but I'll live.  I'm a little annoyed that just a year ago I spent $35 on a fleece that I can't wear anymore, but I'll get over it.

But it's not just the professional staff who are getting changes.  The nurses are being handed a pretty shitty deal:

This is actually titled "Old Fashioned Nurse"

All white scrubs.  Yup, nurses, who have to deal with body fluids and puke and blood and whatever else.  They have to wear white scrubs and white sneakers.  Plain white with nothing on them.  What a pain in the butt.  Not only do they have to buy all new scrubs, but they will have to buy all new underwear - there's only certain things you can wear under white scrubs that won't scream "I'm wearing panties!" 

The new CNO based this decision on a survey done in 2006 that found that people feel that they got better, more professional care from nurses in all-white uniforms.  What she failed to mention is that the survey results were actually that 55% of men over the age of 70 reported that; other age groups reported no difference in care.  And another study, done in January 2011, found that across all age groups, people responded that nurses in colorful scrubs with small print/pattern delivered the best care and were the most empathetic.  But the CNO chose not to use that study, and instead used the 5-year-old study based on a survey of 800 patients from one hospital.  Hmmm...

Anyway, needless to say, the nurses here are not happy.  Many are starting to band together and come up with ways to fight this.  Several have written letters.  I can't really say I blame them.  While I do love my white pants in the summertime, I would not want to wear them day in and day out, on days when I have my period (flashback to middle school period checks!)....and certainly not if I were spending my day cleaning up people's piss and shit.  I intend to fully support the nurses, however I can. 

What do you think?  Nurses in white: a throwback to the 40s, a dirty male fantasy, or actual better care?

House Tour, Part 4

Here's where I'm going to show you some of my favorite things about our house.  What I think really makes it "us" and some of my favorite features.

First up, my reading nook.  I already showed you thjis picture, but I really love this part of the house.  I curl up in here sometimes with a book and my iPod and just shut the world off.  Or I'll crawl in and just are at the picture of paradise (actually, a picture of a palm tree on a beach in St. Thomas, taken by my sister).  I love it here.

Next, our wood-burning stove.  This sits in our back room, which the previous owners added but didn't insulate very well.  And the heat doesn't get out to this part of the house very well.  So it is consistently at least 5 degrees colder than the rest of the house.  But we light this baby up and it heats up the entire room.  It's wonderful.  I also love the two shelves we put on either side of the stove.  They hold pictures of us, our siblings, and Matt's cousins.

Next, the Rocky wall.  I already showed you this, briefly, but here is a better shot of it.  I told you of our love for Rocky here.  So when we had this corner of the room that was blank, I decided to make it into a Rocky "shrine" for Matt.  It holds his movie poster from the original Rocky, plus 3 framed photos - a picture of us with the Rocky statue, a picture from the first time I took him to watch Rocky on the Art Museum steps, and a picture of us at Victor Cafe, which is the restaurant that Stallone used as Adrian's in the 6th movie.  It also has his miniature replica of the Rocky statue and the Matchbox replica of Rocky's car.

This is a print I bought for Matt after the wedding.  I found it on Etsy.

This wall is essentially our travel log.  It holds pictures from vacations we've taken together.  Starting at the top, moving clockwise: Boone Plantation, SC; Venice, Italy; Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain; Cape Cod, MA; on top of Notre Dame cathedral in Paris, France; Legare-Waring House, SC; and in the center is a pub in Dublin, Ireland.  We're planning to add a picture from our honeymoon, we just haven't gotten there yet.

Next is this print.  My sister and her husband got it for us for Christmas one year.  They found it at an arts fair in Baltimore, near their home.  They initially discovered the artist because he had a print of a sign noting the neighborhood in Baltimore where they live.  Then they found this print, and bought it for us.  I love it.  It's right at the top of our first set of stairs, so you can't miss it when you come upstairs.

Our clawfoot tub.  I touched on it when you I showed you our bathroom, but I really really love our tub.  It's wonderful for taking baths.  And, I mean, it's a clawfoot tub.  That's just awesome.

Last but not least, our wine glasses.  We've collected many over the years.  Chaddsford Winery, Linganore Winery, and Truro Winery; Disney glasses; cut crystal; Philadelphia glasses; Europe glasses; and, my favorite, our Peacock feather champagne flutes, the original inspiration for our entire wedding theme.

So that's it.  My favorite things.  I love how our house has come together.  We've worked really hard on making it a home that reflects both of us, and I think we've done well.  There's always work to be done, of course, but it's a place we love to call home.

Bad Week

(source)

This has been a rough week for me.  Emotionally, Iv'e been kind of all over the map.  Some pretty high highs, and some pretty low lows.  And yeah, it's only Thursday.

I have this patient.  25 years old.  Came in for drug withdrawal.  Had a seizure in the ER due to drug withdrawal.  He has a pretty extensive medical and surgical history.  He was taking LOTS of pain medication (all prescribed by a "doctor" who should be fired and then shot, IMHO).  Said "doctor" made him an addict.  When his most recent prescription ran out, he couldn't fill it.  He went into detox.  Rapid, unsafe, and painful detox.  So his family brought him to our hospital.

He's tired of being addicted.  He wants help.  He wants to go to detox and drug rehab.  He's a really sweet kid who got mistreated by a "doctor" who wanted his money.  His family is supportive and also wants him to get the right tratment.  So I contacted his insurance company (well, the county funding agency, since he has no insurance).  They tell me that the county will not pay for detox for him because it'll take too long.  They'll send him to rehab with a methadone maintenence program (MMP).  I explain (nay, insist) that he doesn't want maintenance, he wants to be done with it.  Completely.  I'm basically told "tough shit."  Oh, and get him off the benzos before you call us back.  Bottom Hit #1.

So we tapered his benzos.  In the meantime, the family is getting more and more anxious.  I keep reassuring them that once he's medically stable, we'll do everything we can to get him into a good rehab program.  They're not crazy about the MMP but they'll take what they can get.

Benzo taper done.  I call his insurance back.  I'm told, "Why didn't you call us when you started to detox him?"  I reply, "Uh, I did.  Last week.  And you told me to get him off the benzos and you'd help me send him to rehab.  We did that.  He's ready to go."  I'm told, "He has to go to [x-facility]."  I reply, "He went to [x-facility] 2 years ago and was worse coming out than he was going in."  I'm basically told "tough shit."  Bottom Hit #2. 

Also, they require ID to approve the transfer.  His wife can't find his driver's license, but his mom has a copy of his passport.  I'm told, "That's not good enough - it has to be a state-issued photo ID with his adress on it."  I say, "Can't we use his passport and a utility bill?  They can't find his wallet!"  I'm basically told "tough shit."  I'm also told, "You'll have to discharge him and he'll have to go to the DMV tomorrow to get a driver's license then call me."  Aaaaan Bottom Hit #3.

Where's the high, you ask?  This kid seriously wants help.  Like, seriously.  Do you have any idea how rare that is?  Usually patients like this want "help" because they need a place to stay.  Not him.  He's done with the methadone.  Over it.  And that makes me happy.  For him.  For his wife.  For his family.  Also, his family brought me this huge beautiful bouquet of roses yesterday.  I cannot tell you how much that meant to me.  It is extremely rare that we get thanked, let alone shown appreciation.  I'm not trying to play the martyr here, it's just a fact.  I knew that going into this profession - it's a thankless, exhausting, frustrating job.  But when you get a bouquet of roses and hugs from your patients...it makes all the other bullshit totally worth it.  So today?  I felt like giving those roses back.  I feel like I completely let this patient and his family.  I feel like a failure.

So...yeah.  Rough week.  St. Patrick's Day is usually when I knock back a Guinness or two.  Tonight, I'm thinking Bailey's on the rocks is sounding more my speed.  [I'd say Jameson, but I'm an enormous liquor weenie]  What are your plans for St. Patrick's Day?  Celebrating the Luck o'the Irish, or drowning your sorrows (like a true Irishman)?

House Tour, Part 3

You've seen the downstairs and the upstairs.  Now let's take a walk around outside, shall we?  First of all, here is our little abode.  I realized I hadn't shown you our actual house yet!

On to the gardens.  You guys, I am so not a gardener.  My mom, yes.  My step-dad, absolutely.  Me, not so much.  We have a houseplant that probably would've died by now if Matt wasn' wattering it regularly.  I'm awful.  So when I invited my parents down to help us garden, I said, "I need hearty plants that I can't kill."  In the front, we have a huge old oak tree.  It's one of things I love about the house.  Except that the yard is a bumpy, patchy mess because of the roots.  But that's a whole other issue.  The tree is beautiful.  The previous owner built up a little patch around it and filled it with ivy, but in the Spring, it also gets tulips and daylillies.  Pretty.

Behind the tree, right in front of the house, we have some azaleas and a rose bush.  All of this was there when we moved in, and I left it alone.  Though we're thinking of tearing it out.  One of the azaleas is diseased, and the rose bush grows kind of sparsely and not very nicely.  And then there are some huge bushes that we definitely want to tear out.  They're big and they block the view from our front porch, where we have a set of rocking chairs and a small table.

Around the side, we have 2 humongous rhododendron bushes.  They are beautiful, and I wish you could see them better from the street.  Also left by the previous owners.  I planted a Stargazer lily, because it's my favorite flower.  And this is also where we have our vegetable garden.  Our staples are tomatoes, basil, and mint (fresh mojitos, yum!), and last year we very sucessfully grew cucumber and banana peppers, too.  We usually do green peppers, too, and had great results one year, but terrible results last year.  We'll try them again this year, though.

Our first year, we laid the black tarp down to cut down on the weeding.  It was a huge hassle, and since the cucumbers vine, we took it up last year.  Didn't really make a difference.  And I found I kind of liked the weeding.

Our very first pepper! 

Around the back, we have a beautiful Kousa dogwood.

I built that retaining wall myself.  I know, major props!

And then the back garden.  This is where we needed help from my mom and stepdad (Jeff).  First of all, when we bought the house, the garden looked like an overgrown jungle. No, no...really;

Scary, right?  After a weekend of roto-tilling and tearing out weeds and flowers and what-not, Matt and I got it completely cleaned out.  Then came Mom and Jeff and their glorious plants of wonder.  They brought down plants from their own garden and we spent an afternoon transplanting them into ours.  You have to understand, they have an amazing garden.  And they love it.  They actually tried to buy 2 lots in their neighborhood - one for the house and one for the garden.  [The lots aren't "zoned" for that, according to the township.  Not zoned to look awesome?!  Whatevs!]  Anywho.  After a full day of planting and tambarking, we ended up with this:

Oh yeah, we have a gnome!  The previous owners left him behind, can you stand it?!

Ok, those photos are from various times througout the year.  But you get the picture.  Canna lilies, calla lilies, irises, black-eye susans, sunflowers, lilies, a butterfly bush, dahlias.  Everything looked incredible.  But, like I said, I need low-maintenence plants.  Cannas and callas are not low-maintenence.  In order for them to survive the winter, you're supposed to dig them up and bring them indoors.  We took a chance and left them there.  The cannas didn't make it, but the callas survived last year.  We're crossing our fingers for a 3rd go around this year.  The sunflowers and dahlias are perennials and need to be planted every year.  We skipped the sunflowers last year, and the dahlias I planted didn't flourish.  We'll try them both again, though.

Oh, but the awesome-est part of our backyard?!  The hidden playhouse!  Tucked away into the big arbevita, the previous owners had built a little playhouse back there!  We painted the walls with chalkboard paint and put a couple of little chairs and box full of chalk and games out there.  Our friends' kids love it, and I can't wait to play with our kids in it!

I'm really proud of our gardens, and I hope that we continue to get better at this whole growing-things-that-live thing.