Missing
warm velvet
Twitching muscle
Running partner
Curious nose
Whistle pig
Thinking
Old friend
Frolic
Snowy footprints
Yellow snow
Slippery hill
Big smile
Remembering
Wet feet
Crunchy bowl
Hot bacon
Prozac
One salty kiss
Groaning sigh
Running
Half heard footsteps
Pulling uphill
Cold morning
All girls
Someone missing
Harley Bean
1/23/08
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
What the world needs is.... frosting
A wise man I know once said, “If you are going to have a pity party, bake a cake and invite friends. When the cake is gone, the party is over. Get on with your life.”
Last week was a particularly crappy week. See post below for partial details. There were other things too, but they are no longer important, the party is over.
When I’m in a funk the worst possible thing for me to do is to stay home and wallow in it. The best thing for me to do is to spend time with Guy. The next best is to spend time with many friends. So, I stacked the cards in my favor and drove into the mountains (see earlier post on “you can’t have the blues if”).
After spending a couple hours by myself … well, with a cat who would have nothing to do with me… Guy picked me up to go meet some friends. An evening together playing with friends was just what I needed. Stack that on this morning getting in a run on the slopes with him and then meeting other dear friends for some skiing at Breckenridge and the party was long forgotten.
On the way home, I was reminded of my pity party. It seems some of the icing from the cake was strewn all the way up along my route. Everything was coated in thick, white, creaminess that looked like you could run a finger through it and have a tasty treat. The world was covered in fluff. The sky was brilliant blue with lavender around the edges. Elk and bison looked like sprinkles in the fields along the highway. I dare say they wouldn’t be too tasty as is though.
As the sun went down in the crystal clear sky, the twilight deepened and the full moon brightened. The world looks a lot different today… who needs cake.
Last week was a particularly crappy week. See post below for partial details. There were other things too, but they are no longer important, the party is over.
When I’m in a funk the worst possible thing for me to do is to stay home and wallow in it. The best thing for me to do is to spend time with Guy. The next best is to spend time with many friends. So, I stacked the cards in my favor and drove into the mountains (see earlier post on “you can’t have the blues if”).
After spending a couple hours by myself … well, with a cat who would have nothing to do with me… Guy picked me up to go meet some friends. An evening together playing with friends was just what I needed. Stack that on this morning getting in a run on the slopes with him and then meeting other dear friends for some skiing at Breckenridge and the party was long forgotten.
On the way home, I was reminded of my pity party. It seems some of the icing from the cake was strewn all the way up along my route. Everything was coated in thick, white, creaminess that looked like you could run a finger through it and have a tasty treat. The world was covered in fluff. The sky was brilliant blue with lavender around the edges. Elk and bison looked like sprinkles in the fields along the highway. I dare say they wouldn’t be too tasty as is though.
As the sun went down in the crystal clear sky, the twilight deepened and the full moon brightened. The world looks a lot different today… who needs cake.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Wind AND rain - walking the talk
As a doctor, I require all my patients to have a colonoscopy at age 50, 40 if they have risk factors, to screen for colon cancer. I have found precancer in someone as young as 31… I sent him on a gut feeling. I send most of my patients to Chuck, a kind, gentle, and funny doctor whom they all end up loving. So when Chuck reminded me that I needed to begin my colonoscopies at age 40 (I was already a couple years beyond that) I did what any good doctor would do… I put it off.
This year, with a lot of prompting from my family and Guy, I made an appointment to have it done with all my other yearly maintenance appointments. First, the dentist. Then the blood work. And so on. This week was the week for the butt check.
I arranged with a good friend to drive me. She has been through this procedure, though she is much younger than I, and was delighting in knowing what I would go through… that’s what friends are for. She shared tales of spending most of the evening on the throne while her sister sat with her and entertained her. Sisters must be a great thing to have. At least I had some advanced knowledge of what would happen to my evening.
I was supposed to begin my prep at noon. Trouble is, I’m not off work at noon. Add to that my scheduled eye appointment was at 3:30. Since my “procedure” wasn’t until 3 p.m. I figured I could put off the prep a bit. So, when I got home and mixed the first glass of prep, it was 4:30. I couldn’t read the bottle because my eyes were dilated from the eye doctor. Turns out I took dose 2 instead of dose 1, the only difference being the amount so I took a little out of the dose 1 bottle too. Then I waited.
Everyone has told me tales of eruptions of volcanic proportion beginning about 10 minutes after swallowing the first sip of Fleets phosphosoda. After a day of nothing but clear liquids, I was pretty sure they would be accurate about the speed. I tried to do a few things around the house but being unable to see, I couldn’t accomplish much. Half an hour into the process, my friend called to see I things were coming out all right… I told her I hadn’t started. Evidently, I'm not nearly as FOS as she is. Finally, it hit and within 1 ½ hrs the basics of the prep were done… unfortunately, I still had two doses left to go.
These preps work by pulling water into the colon which causes everything to flush out. Needless to say, it is impossible to drink enough to keep up. Right after you take it, your body also dumps a lot of water into the belly making you wish things would go the other direction too… All in all, I would lose 5 lbs of water in the process. It is important to note that it is not a good idea to “break wind” since, in this case, wind is always accompanied by torrential rains.
I did manage a little sleep overnight and drank plenty of water before 11 a.m. My appointment was at 3 and I was to stop drinking water at 11. Think about it, I’ve lost about 5 lbs of water and then I can’t drink for 4 hrs. As soon as I arrive they are supposed to put in an IV. Do you think they can find a vein? Nope. Well, actually they did but it felt like Doug was trying to dissect it out rather than poke it with a needle. Not that Doug isn’t good at IVs but my veins roll and weren’t all that obvious. I offered to do pushups which made Doug laugh… he offered to do them with me. My friend informed him I was serious. After 3 tries, he finally found one that he could hit. I was ready to be wheeled into the room.
About that time the Marquis de Chuck arrived. I presented him with a gift… a book I had found while packing books during my prep. It was called “The Day my Butt Went Psycho.” I’m hoping he was kind and gentle since I brought him a gift… but about then, Doug gave me something in the IV and the next thing I knew I was in the recovery area with my friend beside me. She had lots of witty things to say but I was still in and out so I can pretend I didn’t hear any of it. She had my report complete with photos that prove that my head is NOT up my arse.
We stopped by Chuck’s open house at his new endoscopy center… a lovely, homey place to have someone look where no one has looked before. The event was catered and it had been nearly 48 hours since I’d had anything but clear liquids. Shrimp in phyllo cups, cheese, puff pastry with smoked salmon, and these fabulous, grilled, bacon-wrapped dates with almond and cream cheese. I know, I don’t eat bacon but I had to have a bite!
In the end it all came out fine. In fact, it’s something I highly recommend… but you don’t have to like it.
This year, with a lot of prompting from my family and Guy, I made an appointment to have it done with all my other yearly maintenance appointments. First, the dentist. Then the blood work. And so on. This week was the week for the butt check.
I arranged with a good friend to drive me. She has been through this procedure, though she is much younger than I, and was delighting in knowing what I would go through… that’s what friends are for. She shared tales of spending most of the evening on the throne while her sister sat with her and entertained her. Sisters must be a great thing to have. At least I had some advanced knowledge of what would happen to my evening.
I was supposed to begin my prep at noon. Trouble is, I’m not off work at noon. Add to that my scheduled eye appointment was at 3:30. Since my “procedure” wasn’t until 3 p.m. I figured I could put off the prep a bit. So, when I got home and mixed the first glass of prep, it was 4:30. I couldn’t read the bottle because my eyes were dilated from the eye doctor. Turns out I took dose 2 instead of dose 1, the only difference being the amount so I took a little out of the dose 1 bottle too. Then I waited.
Everyone has told me tales of eruptions of volcanic proportion beginning about 10 minutes after swallowing the first sip of Fleets phosphosoda. After a day of nothing but clear liquids, I was pretty sure they would be accurate about the speed. I tried to do a few things around the house but being unable to see, I couldn’t accomplish much. Half an hour into the process, my friend called to see I things were coming out all right… I told her I hadn’t started. Evidently, I'm not nearly as FOS as she is. Finally, it hit and within 1 ½ hrs the basics of the prep were done… unfortunately, I still had two doses left to go.
These preps work by pulling water into the colon which causes everything to flush out. Needless to say, it is impossible to drink enough to keep up. Right after you take it, your body also dumps a lot of water into the belly making you wish things would go the other direction too… All in all, I would lose 5 lbs of water in the process. It is important to note that it is not a good idea to “break wind” since, in this case, wind is always accompanied by torrential rains.
I did manage a little sleep overnight and drank plenty of water before 11 a.m. My appointment was at 3 and I was to stop drinking water at 11. Think about it, I’ve lost about 5 lbs of water and then I can’t drink for 4 hrs. As soon as I arrive they are supposed to put in an IV. Do you think they can find a vein? Nope. Well, actually they did but it felt like Doug was trying to dissect it out rather than poke it with a needle. Not that Doug isn’t good at IVs but my veins roll and weren’t all that obvious. I offered to do pushups which made Doug laugh… he offered to do them with me. My friend informed him I was serious. After 3 tries, he finally found one that he could hit. I was ready to be wheeled into the room.
About that time the Marquis de Chuck arrived. I presented him with a gift… a book I had found while packing books during my prep. It was called “The Day my Butt Went Psycho.” I’m hoping he was kind and gentle since I brought him a gift… but about then, Doug gave me something in the IV and the next thing I knew I was in the recovery area with my friend beside me. She had lots of witty things to say but I was still in and out so I can pretend I didn’t hear any of it. She had my report complete with photos that prove that my head is NOT up my arse.
We stopped by Chuck’s open house at his new endoscopy center… a lovely, homey place to have someone look where no one has looked before. The event was catered and it had been nearly 48 hours since I’d had anything but clear liquids. Shrimp in phyllo cups, cheese, puff pastry with smoked salmon, and these fabulous, grilled, bacon-wrapped dates with almond and cream cheese. I know, I don’t eat bacon but I had to have a bite!
In the end it all came out fine. In fact, it’s something I highly recommend… but you don’t have to like it.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
You know you are doing something right...
Just over 11 years ago, I decided to change my career. Damn the torpedoes and financial solvency… I went back to school. I spent the next 6 years studying to become competent and took an oath, “do no harm.” Then, I spent 3 more years learning “on the job,” so to speak, in residency.
If “do no harm” is your objective, that seems a pretty easy goal to meet. In retrospect, it is not so easy. If “the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” the road to harm is paved with good efforts. I can honestly say, I believe I have lived up to that oath. But not doing harm is not why I went into medicine.
I have no illusions about saving the world. The world is well beyond my scope of abilities and, at present, appears to be headed away from salvation toward something quite the opposite. But as the world is careening out of control, I hoped to help a few individuals live healthy, productive lives.
When you train for medicine, part of the medical machine involves brain washing. They try to teach you that the western medicine way is THE way to health. They teach you to maintain a “professional distance” and to not get “attached” to patients. The trouble is, western medicine and a “professional distance” have nothing to do with health and everything to do with disease. As a medical student one learns to find, identify, diagnose, and manage diseases. A professional distance means that you focus on the disease, not the person in whom the disease might be raging. Success involves meeting benchmarks in a patient’s disease management. Checking off the various diagnostic criteria and medicines that constitute “standard of care” is considered “good medicine.”
I’d like to know I do a good job in all that I do. I do check those boxes, dot the I’s and cross the T’s. But that is not how I have defined my success. Up to now, I have defined it in how patients send their friends and family to see me; in how my kiddos give me hugs; and in how my patients have told me they feel better, look better, and are healthier. Between the paperwork and complaints of the unhealthy who are not improving as quickly as they like, these rewards are huge. That little thank you note or that big hug mean so much.
A few months ago, I decided to make a huge change in my life. I am leaving this practice where I have been caring for (and getting attached to) people, real people not patients, for about 4 ½ years (2 ½ officially). This week, I began telling everyone I was leaving. I have only told a tiny fraction of my patients. None of them have started singing.
I remember old myths about how when you save someone’s life they are beholden to you forever. I see it the other way around. When I find something that might save someone’s life, they become important to me and I am very attached to them. It is those people who will be the hardest to let go.
One person who falls into that realm told me that his family would just have to move to the same town. Another came in today for follow up. She is very important to me. Her daughter is the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen… I have come to realize that her inner beauty is even more vast that the beauty on the outside… she got it from her mother. The whole family means a great deal to me. When I explained to them that I was leaving they were shocked, nearly speechless, and almost in tears. As I left the room at the end of the visit this elegant, elderly lady welled up with tears and said, “I love you.”
In that moment, I knew I had done something right. To hell with professional distance and standard of care. To do real medicine, to help people heal, you have to get attached and really CARE for them…you have to love them. It will be hard for me to let go of the family (all my patients) I care for so deeply. I will feel the loss of them when I am away and will still send healing thoughts. I know I will shed tears for those I care for as I have today for this dear lady. I have done something right when it heals my heart to help them.
If “do no harm” is your objective, that seems a pretty easy goal to meet. In retrospect, it is not so easy. If “the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” the road to harm is paved with good efforts. I can honestly say, I believe I have lived up to that oath. But not doing harm is not why I went into medicine.
I have no illusions about saving the world. The world is well beyond my scope of abilities and, at present, appears to be headed away from salvation toward something quite the opposite. But as the world is careening out of control, I hoped to help a few individuals live healthy, productive lives.
When you train for medicine, part of the medical machine involves brain washing. They try to teach you that the western medicine way is THE way to health. They teach you to maintain a “professional distance” and to not get “attached” to patients. The trouble is, western medicine and a “professional distance” have nothing to do with health and everything to do with disease. As a medical student one learns to find, identify, diagnose, and manage diseases. A professional distance means that you focus on the disease, not the person in whom the disease might be raging. Success involves meeting benchmarks in a patient’s disease management. Checking off the various diagnostic criteria and medicines that constitute “standard of care” is considered “good medicine.”
I’d like to know I do a good job in all that I do. I do check those boxes, dot the I’s and cross the T’s. But that is not how I have defined my success. Up to now, I have defined it in how patients send their friends and family to see me; in how my kiddos give me hugs; and in how my patients have told me they feel better, look better, and are healthier. Between the paperwork and complaints of the unhealthy who are not improving as quickly as they like, these rewards are huge. That little thank you note or that big hug mean so much.
A few months ago, I decided to make a huge change in my life. I am leaving this practice where I have been caring for (and getting attached to) people, real people not patients, for about 4 ½ years (2 ½ officially). This week, I began telling everyone I was leaving. I have only told a tiny fraction of my patients. None of them have started singing.
I remember old myths about how when you save someone’s life they are beholden to you forever. I see it the other way around. When I find something that might save someone’s life, they become important to me and I am very attached to them. It is those people who will be the hardest to let go.
One person who falls into that realm told me that his family would just have to move to the same town. Another came in today for follow up. She is very important to me. Her daughter is the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen… I have come to realize that her inner beauty is even more vast that the beauty on the outside… she got it from her mother. The whole family means a great deal to me. When I explained to them that I was leaving they were shocked, nearly speechless, and almost in tears. As I left the room at the end of the visit this elegant, elderly lady welled up with tears and said, “I love you.”
In that moment, I knew I had done something right. To hell with professional distance and standard of care. To do real medicine, to help people heal, you have to get attached and really CARE for them…you have to love them. It will be hard for me to let go of the family (all my patients) I care for so deeply. I will feel the loss of them when I am away and will still send healing thoughts. I know I will shed tears for those I care for as I have today for this dear lady. I have done something right when it heals my heart to help them.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Pow Pow Gnar Gnar
“I like big dumps!” So says my nalgene water bottle and my bag of ski gear that waits patiently in the corner all week long, waiting for the weekend. Big dumps are great for skiing. This year, in Colorado, they are also great for disaster – we are having one of our biggest avalanche years ever.
For Christmas, Guy and I gave each other Avalanche Beacons and skins for our back country skis. So this weekend was about learning how to be safe in the back country. We took a 2 ½ day avalanche course from the Colorado Mountain School.
The first night was classroom work given at Rock Climb Boulder, a climbing gym in Boulder. On breaks, we could watch the climbing competition going on outside our 3rd floor room. During class, we learned about weather conditons, terrain considerations and traps, snow pack qualities, and other considerations to avoid avalanche danger in the back country. A case study of an avalanche accident put it all together. The next night we’d watch the video put together by the ski party from that accident, a sobering movie called “A dozen more turns.” It’s available on YouTube.
Saturday’s class was in Estes Park. Our little group gathered at the CMS location in Estes Park for morning indoor sessions. In the afternoon, we bundled up and ventured out to Estes park for practice finding buried avalanche beacons. There’s a technique to using them… not complicated but needs to be systematic. There’s a technique to digging out buried victims.. not complicated but… you get the idea.
We spent the evening with a few more courses and a couple videos that ranged from graphic details of the accident mentioned above to nearly ski porn with a little education thrown in for good measure. In between, relaxing with our fellow classmates and getting to know these other snow junkies. Skiiers, boarders, hikers, snow shoe trampers. Some were also ice climbers and rock climbers wanting to know how to get around the avalanche danger to reach their fave climbs.
Sunday morning we reviewed the avalanche report from the Colorado Avalanche Information Center. Very detailed reports on recent avalanche activities, weather events that affect the snow, and conditions of the snow pack itself. Very informative. http://avalanche.state.co.us/ if you are interested. Then we suited up and went back to Estes Park.
On this trip, we took snow shoes and packs with everything we’d need for the day plus a few emergency supplies. We hiked up above the lake at our starting point, across the next lakebed, and then started scouting for signs of avalanches. We passed another part of our class digging snow pits to examine the snow and climbed above them to dig a pit of our own.
While we snacked, our guide Eli demonstrated how to dig a pit. Then he taught us compression and shear tests on snow columns and what the tests told us about the snow pack. Basically, all snow tests are inconclusive… they teach you about danger in that spot (the one where you just ruined the good powder) and don’t really tell you much about what is 10 ft away. Snow science is fascinating and it does give you bits of information you might use to predict snow conditions. However, it’s hard to extrapolate and the bigger picture is often more useful.
After our first pits, we hiked up to the next lake which was crowded with hikers and very windblown. We found a deep area on the south side of the lake where a north facing wall was drifted and protected from getting much sun. We divided into groups and dug pits to repeat the testing. Digging was harder than it looked and this was relatively loose snow… nothing like the concrete you dig in if there is an avalanche. The tests were interesting and trying to do them correctly was a challenge. We covered our pits by crushing all the available good powder on that slope (we’d found it to be unstable anyway) and moved on.
Next we hiked up to Emerald lake for a final set of pits and snowpack tests. Eli pointed out the Dragon Tails Couloirs, obviously a favorite place to ski… narrow, flanked by rock ridges, and apparently deep enough with powder to be fantastic. The sun was beginning to dip below the ridges and the temps dropped about 5 degrees before we headed back down. It was good to be on the move and warming up again.
About ½ way back down to the parking area, Eli went ahead and buried beacons in the drainage below. He yelled that there had been an avalanche. We all switched our beacons to SEARCH and ran forward to find the “victims” (poor defenseless beacons buried alive in the snow). Once over the ridge we yelled to Eli, “how many victims?” “Two,” he replied. “Where were they last seen?” we asked as we followed the signals on the beacons. “In this area,” he indicated. We followed the signals, calling out our approximate distance from the buried victims. The first 3 people were pinpointing the location of one victim and the rest of us began our systematic search for the other. We found and dug out both within 4 ½ minutes.
We had another shot at finding victims over the next ridge. Victims found within 15 minutes have a 92% chance of survival depending on any trauma they might have suffered. Chances drop precipitously if they are found any later than that. We had a harder time on the second attempt, the pinpoint was a little off on the second victim. Still, a good enough time for survival.
We returned to the mountain school to gather our things and say farewell to our new friends. The class had been full of interesting and amazing people. Some, I’m sure we’ll see again. All of them I hope never need to use the skills we learned and certainly never need to be on the receiving end. A fabulous, interesting and valuable class!
For Christmas, Guy and I gave each other Avalanche Beacons and skins for our back country skis. So this weekend was about learning how to be safe in the back country. We took a 2 ½ day avalanche course from the Colorado Mountain School.
The first night was classroom work given at Rock Climb Boulder, a climbing gym in Boulder. On breaks, we could watch the climbing competition going on outside our 3rd floor room. During class, we learned about weather conditons, terrain considerations and traps, snow pack qualities, and other considerations to avoid avalanche danger in the back country. A case study of an avalanche accident put it all together. The next night we’d watch the video put together by the ski party from that accident, a sobering movie called “A dozen more turns.” It’s available on YouTube.
Saturday’s class was in Estes Park. Our little group gathered at the CMS location in Estes Park for morning indoor sessions. In the afternoon, we bundled up and ventured out to Estes park for practice finding buried avalanche beacons. There’s a technique to using them… not complicated but needs to be systematic. There’s a technique to digging out buried victims.. not complicated but… you get the idea.
We spent the evening with a few more courses and a couple videos that ranged from graphic details of the accident mentioned above to nearly ski porn with a little education thrown in for good measure. In between, relaxing with our fellow classmates and getting to know these other snow junkies. Skiiers, boarders, hikers, snow shoe trampers. Some were also ice climbers and rock climbers wanting to know how to get around the avalanche danger to reach their fave climbs.
Sunday morning we reviewed the avalanche report from the Colorado Avalanche Information Center. Very detailed reports on recent avalanche activities, weather events that affect the snow, and conditions of the snow pack itself. Very informative. http://avalanche.state.co.us/ if you are interested. Then we suited up and went back to Estes Park.
On this trip, we took snow shoes and packs with everything we’d need for the day plus a few emergency supplies. We hiked up above the lake at our starting point, across the next lakebed, and then started scouting for signs of avalanches. We passed another part of our class digging snow pits to examine the snow and climbed above them to dig a pit of our own.
While we snacked, our guide Eli demonstrated how to dig a pit. Then he taught us compression and shear tests on snow columns and what the tests told us about the snow pack. Basically, all snow tests are inconclusive… they teach you about danger in that spot (the one where you just ruined the good powder) and don’t really tell you much about what is 10 ft away. Snow science is fascinating and it does give you bits of information you might use to predict snow conditions. However, it’s hard to extrapolate and the bigger picture is often more useful.
After our first pits, we hiked up to the next lake which was crowded with hikers and very windblown. We found a deep area on the south side of the lake where a north facing wall was drifted and protected from getting much sun. We divided into groups and dug pits to repeat the testing. Digging was harder than it looked and this was relatively loose snow… nothing like the concrete you dig in if there is an avalanche. The tests were interesting and trying to do them correctly was a challenge. We covered our pits by crushing all the available good powder on that slope (we’d found it to be unstable anyway) and moved on.
Next we hiked up to Emerald lake for a final set of pits and snowpack tests. Eli pointed out the Dragon Tails Couloirs, obviously a favorite place to ski… narrow, flanked by rock ridges, and apparently deep enough with powder to be fantastic. The sun was beginning to dip below the ridges and the temps dropped about 5 degrees before we headed back down. It was good to be on the move and warming up again.
About ½ way back down to the parking area, Eli went ahead and buried beacons in the drainage below. He yelled that there had been an avalanche. We all switched our beacons to SEARCH and ran forward to find the “victims” (poor defenseless beacons buried alive in the snow). Once over the ridge we yelled to Eli, “how many victims?” “Two,” he replied. “Where were they last seen?” we asked as we followed the signals on the beacons. “In this area,” he indicated. We followed the signals, calling out our approximate distance from the buried victims. The first 3 people were pinpointing the location of one victim and the rest of us began our systematic search for the other. We found and dug out both within 4 ½ minutes.
We had another shot at finding victims over the next ridge. Victims found within 15 minutes have a 92% chance of survival depending on any trauma they might have suffered. Chances drop precipitously if they are found any later than that. We had a harder time on the second attempt, the pinpoint was a little off on the second victim. Still, a good enough time for survival.
We returned to the mountain school to gather our things and say farewell to our new friends. The class had been full of interesting and amazing people. Some, I’m sure we’ll see again. All of them I hope never need to use the skills we learned and certainly never need to be on the receiving end. A fabulous, interesting and valuable class!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Right Decisions
I recently made a decision to change my life. Not a little change, more like 52 pickup with everything in my world. Well, not quite everything...
Obviously, big changes like this aren't easy to make. There are new unknowns and a lot of knowns you leave behind that you will miss. The only certainty in change is that it will be different. Everything else remains to be seen. The adventure and the excitement at something wonderful overwhelms any inertia.
Sometimes when you make a decision, you walk tentatively toward the future wondering what it will hold. At other times, you walk boldly in the direction of the new and the now with confidence.
And then there are times like now. Times when you look back with a combination of a wistful glance and a "gee I hope THAT stays behind me!" Times when that bold walk , or even excited run toward the future, is accompanied by a gale force wind behind you making it obvious that your decision is not only right, it is imperative.
In getting my things together and starting to prepare, purge, and pack, I found an old friend. His name is Wellington. He was the first teddy bear I ever had. A gift in high school from my best friend who couldn't believe I'd never had a bear. For 5 years, Wellington has patiently waited on the windowsill in my office to be noticed again. It is as if he is ready for another adventure with me. He's another funny little sign of what is right in my world.
Obviously, big changes like this aren't easy to make. There are new unknowns and a lot of knowns you leave behind that you will miss. The only certainty in change is that it will be different. Everything else remains to be seen. The adventure and the excitement at something wonderful overwhelms any inertia.
Sometimes when you make a decision, you walk tentatively toward the future wondering what it will hold. At other times, you walk boldly in the direction of the new and the now with confidence.
And then there are times like now. Times when you look back with a combination of a wistful glance and a "gee I hope THAT stays behind me!" Times when that bold walk , or even excited run toward the future, is accompanied by a gale force wind behind you making it obvious that your decision is not only right, it is imperative.
In getting my things together and starting to prepare, purge, and pack, I found an old friend. His name is Wellington. He was the first teddy bear I ever had. A gift in high school from my best friend who couldn't believe I'd never had a bear. For 5 years, Wellington has patiently waited on the windowsill in my office to be noticed again. It is as if he is ready for another adventure with me. He's another funny little sign of what is right in my world.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
You Can't Have the Blues If...
I remember once hearing a comedian talk about how you can’t sing the blues if:
You know who both your parents are
You are a teenager (you have too long left to live)
You have a retirement plan
You live anywhere with mountains
So there I was, waking up in the mountains with a pain in my back that made it so I couldn’t walk across the room without crouching. On top of that, I barely had a voice for the 3rd day in a row. And I have an overwhelming to-do list and no time to-do it.
Guy pointed out that there was about 8 inches of fresh powder on the car and I don’t sing while I ski (at least not when anyone is in earshot). So we loaded up the car and headed to Keystone resort. Guy was to be in a clinic all day and once again, I wouldn’t get to ski with him… hadn’t all season.
I arrived and schlepped my skis to the base area. When I arrived, I found NO lift line despite 4-6 inches of pow depending on what part of the mountain you were skiing. Guy called and told me his friend Nelson was skiing with his daughter and they would welcome me to ski with them. I wasn’t sure my back or lungs would let me keep up so I told Nelson I’d do a few runs and call him.
I went directly to the second mountain where I was sure there would be less people. Sure enough, the run I chose, Ambush, was thick with fresh snow burying the awkward bumps that had been hard to ski the week before. I skiied carefully, “Control Freak” style as Annie, the Bettyfest coach, would say. I went slowly with as perfect form as I could. My back wasn’t a problem as long as I did the bumps right. My breath was short but sufficient.
I caught the lift with a lovely lady whose family was a few chairs ahead. She told me about her son, obviously proud of his skiing. She had that incredibly gentle way of speaking that makes you feel like the whole world is fragile, delicate, and innocent. Turns out she is a neonatolgist at Memorial Hospital… her whole life is all about the most fragile, delicate, and innocent beings.
I did a nice bump run and considered grabbing some lunch. Oh, one more run, the sun was coming out. And there in the lift line is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. He invited me to ride the chair with his group. When we got to the top, Guy asked the coach if I could ski with them… “come on along.” A couple more great bump runs with the ski instructors in clinic and we headed in for lunch.
After lunch, we did several other drills that they have done ad nauseum but I have never done. I was making progress. The sun was out full force and we were thinking it might have been smart to put on sunscreen after all. The days are also getting longer so we snuck in another run before the long drive home.
No wonder you can’t have the blues in the mountains… even if you try.
You know who both your parents are
You are a teenager (you have too long left to live)
You have a retirement plan
You live anywhere with mountains
So there I was, waking up in the mountains with a pain in my back that made it so I couldn’t walk across the room without crouching. On top of that, I barely had a voice for the 3rd day in a row. And I have an overwhelming to-do list and no time to-do it.
Guy pointed out that there was about 8 inches of fresh powder on the car and I don’t sing while I ski (at least not when anyone is in earshot). So we loaded up the car and headed to Keystone resort. Guy was to be in a clinic all day and once again, I wouldn’t get to ski with him… hadn’t all season.
I arrived and schlepped my skis to the base area. When I arrived, I found NO lift line despite 4-6 inches of pow depending on what part of the mountain you were skiing. Guy called and told me his friend Nelson was skiing with his daughter and they would welcome me to ski with them. I wasn’t sure my back or lungs would let me keep up so I told Nelson I’d do a few runs and call him.
I went directly to the second mountain where I was sure there would be less people. Sure enough, the run I chose, Ambush, was thick with fresh snow burying the awkward bumps that had been hard to ski the week before. I skiied carefully, “Control Freak” style as Annie, the Bettyfest coach, would say. I went slowly with as perfect form as I could. My back wasn’t a problem as long as I did the bumps right. My breath was short but sufficient.
I caught the lift with a lovely lady whose family was a few chairs ahead. She told me about her son, obviously proud of his skiing. She had that incredibly gentle way of speaking that makes you feel like the whole world is fragile, delicate, and innocent. Turns out she is a neonatolgist at Memorial Hospital… her whole life is all about the most fragile, delicate, and innocent beings.
I did a nice bump run and considered grabbing some lunch. Oh, one more run, the sun was coming out. And there in the lift line is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. He invited me to ride the chair with his group. When we got to the top, Guy asked the coach if I could ski with them… “come on along.” A couple more great bump runs with the ski instructors in clinic and we headed in for lunch.
After lunch, we did several other drills that they have done ad nauseum but I have never done. I was making progress. The sun was out full force and we were thinking it might have been smart to put on sunscreen after all. The days are also getting longer so we snuck in another run before the long drive home.
No wonder you can’t have the blues in the mountains… even if you try.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Starting the year with gratitude
We all get cheesy emails about how some people come and go and others change our lives forever. What appeals so much about them is the truth behind them.
2008 is a year of change for me. I guess every year is and/or has been. But this year there are many changes in the works. A new city, a new home, a new job. The deepening of an incredible love. New sports, new challenges.
In this process of transition I am thinking of the people I will leave behind. Perhaps not entirely behind but they will carry over into my life in a different way. Much like my move from Texas to Colorado where my friendships stayed strong but the interaction was different. There will be those changes with only a two-hour distance.
I will miss being able to stop by Ken and Colleen’s for a glass of wine just because a bottle is open and they have warm hugs. I will miss calling Alexis and getting her to stop by to take leftovers off my hands. But I will welcome exploring new trails with Ken and Colleen. I will welcome sharing tales of medical school with Alexis when she moves to Denver.
Then there are the other people who have come to mean so much to me. The people who come to me every day with their trials and triumphs, their pain and recovery, their dying and their new life. The most elegant woman I have ever known and her incredible mother will mean much to me always. The lovely lady who shares Maxine cartoons with me and the one who is still looking for a new laugh partner. I will miss them too. I will miss the families with their teenage drama and the ones with ambition and fire. I will miss my little ones who have healed from so much and the new ones who have barely tasted life.
Tonight I am composing a letter to those who have allowed me to care. From those who have frustrated me with sickness and neuroses to those who have invoked the deepest of love and compassion. Some have required me to remind myself over and over that they are children of God despite the fact that they didn’t know it themselves. And some have reminded me that there is good in me too.
I am grateful to every one of these people. I am grateful that they have shared their lives and have allowed me to hold that part of them in my hands and heart to nurture the life and health in them. I am thankful for every hug, every smile, and every bit of healing. I am thankful for the little ones who have given me high-fives and the ones who growl when they love you.
The best part of being a doctor is the people who heal you with their trust and belief in you.
2008 is a year of change for me. I guess every year is and/or has been. But this year there are many changes in the works. A new city, a new home, a new job. The deepening of an incredible love. New sports, new challenges.
In this process of transition I am thinking of the people I will leave behind. Perhaps not entirely behind but they will carry over into my life in a different way. Much like my move from Texas to Colorado where my friendships stayed strong but the interaction was different. There will be those changes with only a two-hour distance.
I will miss being able to stop by Ken and Colleen’s for a glass of wine just because a bottle is open and they have warm hugs. I will miss calling Alexis and getting her to stop by to take leftovers off my hands. But I will welcome exploring new trails with Ken and Colleen. I will welcome sharing tales of medical school with Alexis when she moves to Denver.
Then there are the other people who have come to mean so much to me. The people who come to me every day with their trials and triumphs, their pain and recovery, their dying and their new life. The most elegant woman I have ever known and her incredible mother will mean much to me always. The lovely lady who shares Maxine cartoons with me and the one who is still looking for a new laugh partner. I will miss them too. I will miss the families with their teenage drama and the ones with ambition and fire. I will miss my little ones who have healed from so much and the new ones who have barely tasted life.
Tonight I am composing a letter to those who have allowed me to care. From those who have frustrated me with sickness and neuroses to those who have invoked the deepest of love and compassion. Some have required me to remind myself over and over that they are children of God despite the fact that they didn’t know it themselves. And some have reminded me that there is good in me too.
I am grateful to every one of these people. I am grateful that they have shared their lives and have allowed me to hold that part of them in my hands and heart to nurture the life and health in them. I am thankful for every hug, every smile, and every bit of healing. I am thankful for the little ones who have given me high-fives and the ones who growl when they love you.
The best part of being a doctor is the people who heal you with their trust and belief in you.
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