Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Today has reminded me...

... why Advil is such a wonderful thing.

... why I tell myself every morning to go to bed earlier that night.

... that birth control really does have it's merits.

... that the to-do list is not ever really conquerable.

... to count to ten and pray to Jesus in the midst the latest intolerable kicking/screeching/i-won't-take-a-nap-and-you-can't-make-me tantrum.

... that even though my husband's driving really pisses me off, I love him anyway.

... that it's OK to have breakfast for dinner. Toaster waffles, anyone?

... why sometimes, I could really go for a nice cocktail. Or two.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

The P word

"Productivity" is sort of a dirty word among us clinicians at work. I bristle whenever I hear it, mostly because it makes me feel devalued as a real-live person whose skills and talents are worth more than the numbers on the page might reveal. (I have to say I felt a little justified in this opinion when I attended a training course on our then-new computer system and learned that I, as a therapist, was lumped in with room space and equipment under the "resource" category. Very nice, eh?) And for the record, my productivity is more often than not at or above what is expected of me, so I'm not just whining about something I don't achieve.

But then I thought about how good it feels to be productive at home -- to get things done, to work on projects I enjoy, to feel a sense of accomplishment. It's relaxing, really.

I wonder if there is a way to bridge that disconnect. I doubt it. Unless they create a new category in the system for invaluable, insightful, compassionate, best-care, best-practice, highly-trained, committed "professional."

I'm not holding my breath.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Do you ever get that feeling?

Know how kids, at least kids of a certain age, seem to experience everything at full tilt? They have never been happier/sadder/more scared/more tired/angrier/in love with you than they are at that minute. Sometimes I love it. Other times (you can figure out which ones), I don't.

Do you ever still feel that way? I do.

I felt that way at church last Sunday, when I looked around at this room full of kids and adults and families and friends and felt so incredibly happy to be there. So enveloped. It was the best place to be right at that very minute. Everything was right.

And it's happened at work, when I have been overwhelmed by the kindness and goodness and generosity of the women that I work with. I believe we would do almost anything to help each other.

Sometimes it's utter helplessness. My cousin's family has been dealt three completely unrelated and equally unnerving medical blows over the course of the last few weeks. Two seemingly strong, healthy people are now looking at very scary situations. I sit by and know that there is nothing I can do to help, to make it better, to releive their fears. And I would do anything, if I just knew what.

Occasionally I feel invinicible. I went to the pool again today. Tried out my new Zoomers that I got for my birthday and I almost feel like I could go back again for more. I am convinced at this very minute that I can overcome everything -- even exercise.

And of course there are times when I feel overwhelmingly saddened by loss. It comes from nowhere and surrounds me. It takes my breath away. But what's odd is, even this is OK sometimes. I think the feeling of loss comes after a split second of feeling their presence -- like I could turn around and see them there. And that time is sweet, let me tell you.

I like these feelings. Maybe not the bad ones so much, but even those make me feel more human. I think I turned it all off for awhile because nothing felt very good and there didn't seem to be any promise that it would ever change. Now... Hey, I know life's not a free ride. It will get rough again. I hope I can remember to feel it though. It's just better somehow if you feel it.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Splish Splash

So, as anyone who reads this knows, I hate exercise. Hate it, loathe it, despise it, whatever. I even told this to a trainer once who then eyed me with a combination of such disbelief and disdain that I nearly knocked his block off. I guess it makes sense that he would react that way, but I was sort of surprised... my only real goal was for us to have a common understanding of the facts at hand, but it didn't work out that way. We didn't exactly "make friends."

But I digress.

In some twisted turn of fate, about the only form of exercise that I can tolerate [dare I say enjoy?] is swimming. I know, I know -- the mental picture has burned it's way into your brain and for that I am sorry. But the fact remains that swimming is the only thing that works for me. After Rob and I moved in with Dad we joined the Y (where I experienced the episode detailed above) and I eventually found my way to the pool where I actually grew into a routine of sorts. As Dad declined the routine went away and brownies and popcorn and country breakfasts crept in. Ah, the double whammy of death and weight gain. Doesn't seem fair, does it?

I've been ramping myself up to restart.... anything. Exercise, drinking water, eating better, taking my Glucophage, anything. I finally opted for exercise as it seems the most pro-active and is concrete enough to not totally overwhelm me. I went to the Lands End site and got a new suit and decided once it arrived I'd hit the pool, gawkers be damned.

D-Day was today.

I coached myself all morning: You've GOT to do this. The alternative is abysmal. It's not an option to skip (and my college friends can attest to my skipping prowess). It doesn't matter how you look or what other people think, this is what you need to do for yourself and Rob and Sara and any future kids you might want. JUST GO AND DO IT ALREADY.

So, I did. We did -- Rob, Sara and I all landed at the Y and I was ready to go. Bring on the pool! Screw the looks of disgust! Never mind that this is just a drop in the bucket! I'm ready!!!

And that's when I noticed the TV cameras.

No joke. F*&%#$^ TV cameras! And they've remodeled, so the pool area is now open to the sign-in desk, the lobby area, and the Wellness Center, so my ginormous sorry ass is displayed for the whole world to see. Well, at least to everyone at the Y. There was no dodging it, none at all.

But I trudged on. I put on the suit, grabbed my goggles, donned my flip-flops, and took that long dreaded walk to the display case known as the Indoor Pool. I did my laps, made a dash for my towel, and got the H out of there.

God love me, I did it.

Next time though, if I see TV cameras? I'm outta there.