There was an older, very sweet couple in the post office today mailing a small but very heavy box to the Netherlands. The post man said, “You have to fill out a disclosure slip and get this duct tape off the edges and address it correctly. Next!”
They filled out the disclosure slip, removed the duct tape and replaced it with the clear tape the postman had given them. They took their box back to the counter. People behind me were getting restless and thought the couple should go to the back of the line.
“Fill out the rest of the disclosure slip and bring it back!” snapped the postman.
I am familiar with disclosure slips from mailing stuff to my grandson in the Navy so I helped them fill it out.
“Where’s it going?”
“The Netherlands,” said the lady. Her accent was very heavy.
“Are you from the Netherlands?”
“Oh yes, many years ago now.”
“It’s such a heavy box,” I said.
“It’s clay for pottery.”
“Let’s put art supplies,” I suggested.
When we were finished the man winked and said, “I hope we don’t get sent back again.”
“Good luck.”
I could hear the people behind me muttering as they approached the counter again. I hoped they didn’t get sent back too.
The postman weighed the box, stamped this paper, tore that one and rang up the little box. “Seventy six dollars and 16 cents,” he said. “It would have been cheaper to just send money.”
The couple paid the money, turned and headed for the door. As they passed me, they smiled. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” I said.
I am sure it would have been cheaper to send money but the clay in that box was a precious offering and very important to the couple. I understood. I was also mailing a very precious and important package; a birthday box for my Little Mary.
“Next!” called the postman.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
my mother's house
on the odd occasion
I drift into my mother’s house
ruby
emerald
sapphire
earrings lined neatly
on the dresser
today she wears diamonds
tiny jar of honey
lifted from the drugstore
where she eats breakfast
placed exactly on kitchen counter
tea bags in custard cup
await her pleasure
I find her there
an abbreviation
cross legged on her bed
paper napkin in her lap
tuna sandwich on white bread
her hands are swooping birds
pecking at the food
flitting eyes asking questions
a northern creature
transplanted to the south
her voice still holds the sea
damsel fly skimming the top
her life is a hand knit afghan
that turned out smaller than she expected
anger is her portion
and she roars
the echo
of a full lifetime of
never enough
I drift into my mother’s house
ruby
emerald
sapphire
earrings lined neatly
on the dresser
today she wears diamonds
tiny jar of honey
lifted from the drugstore
where she eats breakfast
placed exactly on kitchen counter
tea bags in custard cup
await her pleasure
I find her there
an abbreviation
cross legged on her bed
paper napkin in her lap
tuna sandwich on white bread
her hands are swooping birds
pecking at the food
flitting eyes asking questions
a northern creature
transplanted to the south
her voice still holds the sea
damsel fly skimming the top
her life is a hand knit afghan
that turned out smaller than she expected
anger is her portion
and she roars
the echo
of a full lifetime of
never enough
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
This afternoon I visited an old friend who has had several serious surgeries and is homebound. She lives alone. She spends her day in a wheelchair and depends on others to help her with her daily care and make sure she has what she needs.
We chatted for a while, remembering happier times and thinking about what her future will be like and then, I asked if there was anything I could do for her.
“Oh Kate,” she said, “the only thing I need right now is a remote control for my TV. I can’t get out of this wheelchair to change it and this lousy thing quit on me.” She handed me an old remote control. “I changed the batteries but it still doesn’t work. I recoded it and everything but it’s broken!”
“No problem,” I said. “I will be happy to get you a new one.”
She handed me a $20.00 bill and said, “There’s a Wal-Mart only at Tropicana and Fort Apache.”
Suddenly I had a problem. I don’t shop at Wal-Mart… never have and never will.
“Maybe there’s a Target or a K Mart nearby,” I said.
“Nope! Not way out here! Only Wal-Mart and besides, I can’t afford Target or K Mart.” She is not working since her surgeries and is on a tiny fixed income. I sat there for a minute, looking at her and thinking. All she has is the internet, books and a TV to keep her busy. Her days are long and boring and she doesn’t sleep well at night because of pain. Her TV keeps her company. How could I say no to her?
It was hard to walk into that store. I kept reminding myself I was not shopping at Wal-Mart for myself or spending my own money, still, it was hard.
The aisles are wide and bright, the floors shine and the displays are interesting. I have to admit I was caught up a few times by the merchandise and low prices. I kept myself focused on what I was doing. I had no idea where the remote controls were and I did not want to wander the whole store looking. It’s a BIG store. I stopped the first employee I saw. “Excuse me,” I said. “Can you tell me where the TV remote controls are?”
“Oh sure! Follow me honey!” We walked at a rapid pace to the other side of the store where she smiled and waved her arm at a large display of laundry detergent. I was confused.
“I am looking for a remote control.”
“Oh! I’m sorry! I misunderstood you. I don’t know where they are.”
I walked away. I could not figure out what part of “remote control” sounded like detergent but then I am not familiar with all the detergents on the market. I use only one; Seventh Generation and it doesn’t sound at all like remote control.
Several aisles over I found a young man who looked like he was familiar with remote controls. “Can you tell me where to find a remote control for a TV?”
“That way, “he said, jerking his head to the left. He started to walk away!
“Which way?”
“That way!” Again with the head.
“How many aisles over?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “A few.” This time he did walk away.
Oh my gosh! Surely I had made a mistake and he was not an employee. I watched as another customer approached him and asked a question. He jerked his head at her too.
I wandered away and by chance I saw remote controls hanging on a wall. I picked the one I wanted and started to leave. A young man in a blue shirt asked, “Are you finding everything all right?”
WHAT? Am I finding everything all right?
“Actually I would like to find a manager!”
“I’m a manager. What can I help you with?”
“I just had an encounter with an employee who could not be bothered with helping me but jerked his head and walked away.”
“Where is he ma’am?”
“He walked away.”
“Can you tell me what he looks like?”
I could and I did.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I know who you mean. I am sorry he wasn’t helpful. I will speak to him.”
“Thank you. This is my first time to shop Wal-Mart and I have not been impressed.”
“I’m sorry ma’am. We hope you will come back again.”
I waited on a long line to pay for the remote control and when I reached the check out woman I did not know exactly where to put it so I handed it to her.
“Put it down there,” she snapped. Ouch! I paid for it and left. On my way to the car I realized millions of people have similar shopping experiences daily. I also realized the “manager” was not going to speak to the young man at all. I was just another Wal-Mart customer and no one cared if I came back or not.
Still, I count myself lucky. I have finally had a “Wal-Mart experience” and I was able to help my friend. I hope her remote control is working tonight.
We chatted for a while, remembering happier times and thinking about what her future will be like and then, I asked if there was anything I could do for her.
“Oh Kate,” she said, “the only thing I need right now is a remote control for my TV. I can’t get out of this wheelchair to change it and this lousy thing quit on me.” She handed me an old remote control. “I changed the batteries but it still doesn’t work. I recoded it and everything but it’s broken!”
“No problem,” I said. “I will be happy to get you a new one.”
She handed me a $20.00 bill and said, “There’s a Wal-Mart only at Tropicana and Fort Apache.”
Suddenly I had a problem. I don’t shop at Wal-Mart… never have and never will.
“Maybe there’s a Target or a K Mart nearby,” I said.
“Nope! Not way out here! Only Wal-Mart and besides, I can’t afford Target or K Mart.” She is not working since her surgeries and is on a tiny fixed income. I sat there for a minute, looking at her and thinking. All she has is the internet, books and a TV to keep her busy. Her days are long and boring and she doesn’t sleep well at night because of pain. Her TV keeps her company. How could I say no to her?
It was hard to walk into that store. I kept reminding myself I was not shopping at Wal-Mart for myself or spending my own money, still, it was hard.
The aisles are wide and bright, the floors shine and the displays are interesting. I have to admit I was caught up a few times by the merchandise and low prices. I kept myself focused on what I was doing. I had no idea where the remote controls were and I did not want to wander the whole store looking. It’s a BIG store. I stopped the first employee I saw. “Excuse me,” I said. “Can you tell me where the TV remote controls are?”
“Oh sure! Follow me honey!” We walked at a rapid pace to the other side of the store where she smiled and waved her arm at a large display of laundry detergent. I was confused.
“I am looking for a remote control.”
“Oh! I’m sorry! I misunderstood you. I don’t know where they are.”
I walked away. I could not figure out what part of “remote control” sounded like detergent but then I am not familiar with all the detergents on the market. I use only one; Seventh Generation and it doesn’t sound at all like remote control.
Several aisles over I found a young man who looked like he was familiar with remote controls. “Can you tell me where to find a remote control for a TV?”
“That way, “he said, jerking his head to the left. He started to walk away!
“Which way?”
“That way!” Again with the head.
“How many aisles over?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “A few.” This time he did walk away.
Oh my gosh! Surely I had made a mistake and he was not an employee. I watched as another customer approached him and asked a question. He jerked his head at her too.
I wandered away and by chance I saw remote controls hanging on a wall. I picked the one I wanted and started to leave. A young man in a blue shirt asked, “Are you finding everything all right?”
WHAT? Am I finding everything all right?
“Actually I would like to find a manager!”
“I’m a manager. What can I help you with?”
“I just had an encounter with an employee who could not be bothered with helping me but jerked his head and walked away.”
“Where is he ma’am?”
“He walked away.”
“Can you tell me what he looks like?”
I could and I did.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I know who you mean. I am sorry he wasn’t helpful. I will speak to him.”
“Thank you. This is my first time to shop Wal-Mart and I have not been impressed.”
“I’m sorry ma’am. We hope you will come back again.”
I waited on a long line to pay for the remote control and when I reached the check out woman I did not know exactly where to put it so I handed it to her.
“Put it down there,” she snapped. Ouch! I paid for it and left. On my way to the car I realized millions of people have similar shopping experiences daily. I also realized the “manager” was not going to speak to the young man at all. I was just another Wal-Mart customer and no one cared if I came back or not.
Still, I count myself lucky. I have finally had a “Wal-Mart experience” and I was able to help my friend. I hope her remote control is working tonight.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
the garden
I have not planted a garden for 7 long years. I did not have room. But this year, along with a husband, a house, a new cat and a red haired grandson I got room to plant a garden! I was ecstatic and relentless. I made wonderful loamy compost. I bought dirt (yes, in the desert we buy dirt) plants and seeds and went to work.
I planted squash and watermelon seeds and beautiful tomato plants, both determinate and indeterminate, with tiny marble sized tomatoes trembling on the stems. I planted flower seeds galore and already established succulents; baby sun rose and moss rose with tiny blooms. I moved Rudy’s little cactus into the garden where it could keep company with other growing things. I tended the seedlings and plants with great care. I mulched them deep and low (thank you Arlo) and watered them twice a day. All was well in my garden. Life was sweet.
Rudy and I noticed two Common Sagebrush Lizards living behind a young Mediterranean Palm at the edge of the garden. We named them Lizzie and Leo Lizard Lips. In short order Leo and Lizzie presented us with several tiny hatchlings about ¼ inch long. The little ones skittered across the deck and up the block wall when we walked outside. Their parents were much braver and stood watching us as they did “push ups” to make themselves appear ferocious.
The squash put forth huge yellow blossoms that bloomed in the morning and withered by afternoon. But we had no pollinators. For a week or so every sunrise found me padding about, bleary eyed, paint brush in hand, transferring pollen from male to female blossoms. The tiny yellow blossoms on the tomato plants wilted and died. I harvested eight tomatoes; those that were on the one plant when I bought it. The watermelon vines grew silvery green and sprawled their way past succulents and useless squash and tomato plants. They bloomed and the blooms died.
I planted squash and watermelon seeds and beautiful tomato plants, both determinate and indeterminate, with tiny marble sized tomatoes trembling on the stems. I planted flower seeds galore and already established succulents; baby sun rose and moss rose with tiny blooms. I moved Rudy’s little cactus into the garden where it could keep company with other growing things. I tended the seedlings and plants with great care. I mulched them deep and low (thank you Arlo) and watered them twice a day. All was well in my garden. Life was sweet.
Rudy and I noticed two Common Sagebrush Lizards living behind a young Mediterranean Palm at the edge of the garden. We named them Lizzie and Leo Lizard Lips. In short order Leo and Lizzie presented us with several tiny hatchlings about ¼ inch long. The little ones skittered across the deck and up the block wall when we walked outside. Their parents were much braver and stood watching us as they did “push ups” to make themselves appear ferocious.
The squash put forth huge yellow blossoms that bloomed in the morning and withered by afternoon. But we had no pollinators. For a week or so every sunrise found me padding about, bleary eyed, paint brush in hand, transferring pollen from male to female blossoms. The tiny yellow blossoms on the tomato plants wilted and died. I harvested eight tomatoes; those that were on the one plant when I bought it. The watermelon vines grew silvery green and sprawled their way past succulents and useless squash and tomato plants. They bloomed and the blooms died.
We watched as two soft, gray mourning doves billed and cooed on the garden wall and since they were nesting, I bought seed for them. They pecked gently among the seed and soon about a million pigeons joined them, jostling and pushing them aside. I provided them all with water. It’s hot in the desert. I bought a hummingbird feeder hoping to bring pollinators to the garden. The hummers loved the nectar but couldn’t be bothered with yellow flowers, thank you very much. Tiny finches found the hummingbird feeder so I bought a tube feeder and Rudy and I watched the hummers and finches eat while we had breakfast and dinner. They chirped loudly, jockeyed for position, fought and fluttered. One of the little finches learned to cling to the window screen and peer in at us. One early morning a hummingbird hovered not five inches from my nose. We were eye to beak and I was so enchanted I think my heart stopped beating.
My veggies bore no fruit, my flower seeds did poorly, though I did have a nice showing of California poppies, and while my morning glories climbed the wall in true morning glory fashion they did not flower.
Then one morning the unthinkable happened. I looked out the window at my poor struggling garden and the pigeons were industriously eating away at the succulents and even the few petunias that were left! I did nto know pigeons ate plants! I stopped feeding the pigeons; the mourning doves had already left for where I don’t know; probably a nearby garden without pigeons. I still feed the finches and the hummers but the garden is just about finished. There is one bedraggled, yellow cempasuchi marigold, the yellow marigold associated with the Day of the Dead ceremony. How fitting. I wonder who pollinated it. I hand pollinated two watermelon blooms last week and now there are two tiny pea-sized watermelons. I am protecting them from the pigeons with mesh. I wonder what will become of them. And though I no longer feed them, the pigeons stay on, feeding on seeds and suet the finches drop. I have tried chasing them away but they're not afraid of me. The succulents have all been moved to the front porch where they have not been found by the pigeons and are beginning to bloom again.
All is not lost in my garden. There were lessons to be learned. I have learned that in spite of it all I still love to garden. I have learned the difference in male and female squash and watermelon blossoms, and that you don’t always get what you expect. I have learned to care for hummingbirds and finches and that pigeons will eat anything %*@#!
My veggies bore no fruit, my flower seeds did poorly, though I did have a nice showing of California poppies, and while my morning glories climbed the wall in true morning glory fashion they did not flower.
Then one morning the unthinkable happened. I looked out the window at my poor struggling garden and the pigeons were industriously eating away at the succulents and even the few petunias that were left! I did nto know pigeons ate plants! I stopped feeding the pigeons; the mourning doves had already left for where I don’t know; probably a nearby garden without pigeons. I still feed the finches and the hummers but the garden is just about finished. There is one bedraggled, yellow cempasuchi marigold, the yellow marigold associated with the Day of the Dead ceremony. How fitting. I wonder who pollinated it. I hand pollinated two watermelon blooms last week and now there are two tiny pea-sized watermelons. I am protecting them from the pigeons with mesh. I wonder what will become of them. And though I no longer feed them, the pigeons stay on, feeding on seeds and suet the finches drop. I have tried chasing them away but they're not afraid of me. The succulents have all been moved to the front porch where they have not been found by the pigeons and are beginning to bloom again.
All is not lost in my garden. There were lessons to be learned. I have learned that in spite of it all I still love to garden. I have learned the difference in male and female squash and watermelon blossoms, and that you don’t always get what you expect. I have learned to care for hummingbirds and finches and that pigeons will eat anything %*@#!
I am already planning next year's garden. I'm going to have carrots, turnips, potatoes; anything that grows underground.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Lost in the hallway.
It was our second night in Colorado. We enjoyed a delicious dinner and returned to our hotel.
“I’m going to hang out in the lobby a few minutes and check my Face Book,” I said.
“You go ahead. I’m going up to the room,” Rudy said.
The lobby was pleasant and I checked my Face Book and wandered around a bit before heading up to the room.
I got off the elevator on the 2nd floor and hesitated before I knocked on the door of room 233. It seemed to me our room was on the other side of the hall. I did not want to knock on the door and come face to face with a stranger. How would I explain myself? “I’m sorry but I can’t remember what room I am in?” No way! I wandered up and down the hall and looked at the doors. None of them looked right. I whipped out my trusty cell phone and sent my husband a text message: “Open the door please. I am lost in the hallway.” But the message was not sent. I tried again. “Rudy, please open the door and look out in the hallway. I am lost.” Again the message was not sent. What the heck was wrong? Once more I tried and the message was not sent. Arghhh… Was I doomed to go to the front desk and tell the very young receptionist I had forgotten what room I was in? I tried to call my husband. The call did not go through. “Wait,” I thought. “We are in the mountains and the reception is probably no good!”
I gave it one more try before I faced the front desk and this time I heard Rudy’s sweet voice say, “Hello?” But that was all. I lost the connection.
“Buzzards!” I pushed the down button on the elevator and just at that moment I heard a door open. I looked around the corner and there stood my husband. I was saved!
“Have you been trying to call me?”
“Well. Yes. I forgot what room we were in and 233 didn’t seem right.”
Rudy laughed. “That’s because we’re here… in 218.”
“Oh. Thank goodness. I didn’t want to have to go to the front desk and admit I had forgotten where I was sleeping tonight. I tried messaging and calling you but my cell wasn’t working.
Rudy laughed again. “That’s because the reception is lousy up here,” he said as he turned to open the door to our room.
A strange look came over his face and immediately I knew what it meant. The door was locked. Yes. He had walked out and let it lock behind him.
Hand in hand Rudy and I went downstairs to tell the very young receptionist we had locked ourselves out.
“I’m going to hang out in the lobby a few minutes and check my Face Book,” I said.
“You go ahead. I’m going up to the room,” Rudy said.
The lobby was pleasant and I checked my Face Book and wandered around a bit before heading up to the room.
I got off the elevator on the 2nd floor and hesitated before I knocked on the door of room 233. It seemed to me our room was on the other side of the hall. I did not want to knock on the door and come face to face with a stranger. How would I explain myself? “I’m sorry but I can’t remember what room I am in?” No way! I wandered up and down the hall and looked at the doors. None of them looked right. I whipped out my trusty cell phone and sent my husband a text message: “Open the door please. I am lost in the hallway.” But the message was not sent. I tried again. “Rudy, please open the door and look out in the hallway. I am lost.” Again the message was not sent. What the heck was wrong? Once more I tried and the message was not sent. Arghhh… Was I doomed to go to the front desk and tell the very young receptionist I had forgotten what room I was in? I tried to call my husband. The call did not go through. “Wait,” I thought. “We are in the mountains and the reception is probably no good!”
I gave it one more try before I faced the front desk and this time I heard Rudy’s sweet voice say, “Hello?” But that was all. I lost the connection.
“Buzzards!” I pushed the down button on the elevator and just at that moment I heard a door open. I looked around the corner and there stood my husband. I was saved!
“Have you been trying to call me?”
“Well. Yes. I forgot what room we were in and 233 didn’t seem right.”
Rudy laughed. “That’s because we’re here… in 218.”
“Oh. Thank goodness. I didn’t want to have to go to the front desk and admit I had forgotten where I was sleeping tonight. I tried messaging and calling you but my cell wasn’t working.
Rudy laughed again. “That’s because the reception is lousy up here,” he said as he turned to open the door to our room.
A strange look came over his face and immediately I knew what it meant. The door was locked. Yes. He had walked out and let it lock behind him.
Hand in hand Rudy and I went downstairs to tell the very young receptionist we had locked ourselves out.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
the Steve and Doctor McDreamy question
The Mountain View emergency room was busy. At the end of the hall a young woman sat on a gurney and a nursing assistant sat with her. She was on suicide watch and had been there 6 days waiting for a bed at Las Vegas Mental Health. All the rooms were full and there were people in the hallway… people with broken legs, feverish babies and seniors with chest pain. I was there with my daughter Lori, who was suffering headache and stiff neck. We were not in the hallway but in a bay, surrounded by a red and gray striped curtain. Lori was sleeping after an injection of morphine. I sat wedged between a metal tray and a crash cart, reading and waiting for the doctor to come back and say something. Anything. The metal tray next to me began to rattle and I felt the side of it hit my leg. I looked up. The lead wires from the next bed were coming over the curtain and tipping the tray. Suddenly drops of blood spattered the floor near my feet. I heard people running. The curtain covering the next bad was shoved back. I could clearly see what was happening.
“Get back in that bed Steve!” yelled the young doctor. “Look what you’ve done! You ripped your IV out and there’s blood everywhere! You’re pulling the curtains down and you’re going to hurt this woman. I don’t blame her if she sues you.” I did not want to be hurt but I had no plans to sue Steve.
“I just spent a week… seven days, in Summerlin Hospital drying out!” Steve yelled.
“And you left there and on your way home you got drunk and ended up on the floor in CVS. The ambulance brought you in. You are detoxing all over again, your cardiac enzymes are not good and I expect you to seize any moment. Now get back in that bed.”
“I am sick of being in the hospital. I just spent a week in Summerlin. I want to get out of here.”
“Look Boss, keep it up and you’re going to see a nice doc become a mean doc. Get back in that bed!”
By now, two security guards and a nurse had joined the doctor and they were all issuing orders.
“Get back in that bed now!” said one security guard.
“Here, give me your arm,” said the nurse. “You’ve got blood everywhere and your arm is swelling. Give it to me!”
And Steve kept repeating, “I just spent a week in Summerlin. I am tired of hospitals. I want to get out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” yelled the doctor. “I am serious. Get back in that bed.”
“I know my rights! I want out of here! I just spent a week in Summerlin! You can’t keep me if I want to go! Give me the @*$# paper and let me sign it and get the @*$# out of here!”
The doctor looked like Mountain View’s version of “McDreamy”; young with curly, dark hair, blue eyes, navy blue scrubs and matching sneakers. Steve was older, gray and thin with cavernous eyes, dressed in a hospital gown with blood dripping from his right arm. It was clear to me who was going to win this argument.
“Don’t make me restrain you Boss!” said the doctor.
“Just give me the paper and let me out of this @*$# place! You can’t keep me if I want to leave.”
About that time a nurse hit Steve with an injection in his arm.
“What the…? What was that? Why did you do that?”
“The doctor ordered it to help you calm down.”
“I don’t want to calm down. I want to get the hell out of here. I just spent a week in Summerlin. I need to go home. You can’t keep me here. I know my rights.”
Steve was right, of course. They couldn’t keep him there legally and they were keeping him against his will. Still it was 11 pm and 104 outside. He was drunk and the doctor felt he needed to be somewhere safe.
“Hey! What was that you gave me?”
“Ativan. Relax.” The nurse helped Steve back onto the gurney and pulled the curtain back around him.
“I guess I don’t have any @*$# choice.”
I watched the housekeeper clean the blood from the floor, listened as Steve’s voice became softer and was finally quiet and I thought about his rights and how they had been violated. Steve was not incompetent but he was drunk. And it was a hot night. And it was dangerous for him to be wandering around out there but still… he really wanted to leave the hospital.
“Get back in that bed Steve!” yelled the young doctor. “Look what you’ve done! You ripped your IV out and there’s blood everywhere! You’re pulling the curtains down and you’re going to hurt this woman. I don’t blame her if she sues you.” I did not want to be hurt but I had no plans to sue Steve.
“I just spent a week… seven days, in Summerlin Hospital drying out!” Steve yelled.
“And you left there and on your way home you got drunk and ended up on the floor in CVS. The ambulance brought you in. You are detoxing all over again, your cardiac enzymes are not good and I expect you to seize any moment. Now get back in that bed.”
“I am sick of being in the hospital. I just spent a week in Summerlin. I want to get out of here.”
“Look Boss, keep it up and you’re going to see a nice doc become a mean doc. Get back in that bed!”
By now, two security guards and a nurse had joined the doctor and they were all issuing orders.
“Get back in that bed now!” said one security guard.
“Here, give me your arm,” said the nurse. “You’ve got blood everywhere and your arm is swelling. Give it to me!”
And Steve kept repeating, “I just spent a week in Summerlin. I am tired of hospitals. I want to get out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” yelled the doctor. “I am serious. Get back in that bed.”
“I know my rights! I want out of here! I just spent a week in Summerlin! You can’t keep me if I want to go! Give me the @*$# paper and let me sign it and get the @*$# out of here!”
The doctor looked like Mountain View’s version of “McDreamy”; young with curly, dark hair, blue eyes, navy blue scrubs and matching sneakers. Steve was older, gray and thin with cavernous eyes, dressed in a hospital gown with blood dripping from his right arm. It was clear to me who was going to win this argument.
“Don’t make me restrain you Boss!” said the doctor.
“Just give me the paper and let me out of this @*$# place! You can’t keep me if I want to leave.”
About that time a nurse hit Steve with an injection in his arm.
“What the…? What was that? Why did you do that?”
“The doctor ordered it to help you calm down.”
“I don’t want to calm down. I want to get the hell out of here. I just spent a week in Summerlin. I need to go home. You can’t keep me here. I know my rights.”
Steve was right, of course. They couldn’t keep him there legally and they were keeping him against his will. Still it was 11 pm and 104 outside. He was drunk and the doctor felt he needed to be somewhere safe.
“Hey! What was that you gave me?”
“Ativan. Relax.” The nurse helped Steve back onto the gurney and pulled the curtain back around him.
“I guess I don’t have any @*$# choice.”
I watched the housekeeper clean the blood from the floor, listened as Steve’s voice became softer and was finally quiet and I thought about his rights and how they had been violated. Steve was not incompetent but he was drunk. And it was a hot night. And it was dangerous for him to be wandering around out there but still… he really wanted to leave the hospital.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
snapshots
Family
My daughter and I don’t always see things the same way but we often enjoy long discussions. She is kind enough to allow me to give her motherly advice (though I don’t know if she takes it) and sweet enough to let me nurture her at times. We have worked together professionally and I admire her nursing skills and she my social working skills. We travel well together and at home we enjoy spa days, lunch, shopping, family and spending time with her grandchildren… my great grandchildren. Sometimes, when we are laughing (or even when we’re crying) I can’t help wondering what it would have been like to have a mother-daughter relationship with my mother.
________________________
I went to Iowa a while back. I was invited to a family reunion by people I did not know and who were not family. I met them online. When we arrived at my hostess Laurie’s house her two sisters, Barb and Connie and their kids were there. We sat downstairs in the den with cool drinks and began to get to know each other. As we talked Barb waved a bottle of nail polish. “Connie,” she said, “polish my toenails for me, okay?” Connie sat on the stool in front of her sister, picked up the bottle and polished Barb’s nails.
I was in a strange state with people I didn’t yet know but I certainly recognized honest sisterly love when I saw it.
___________________________
Strangers
A week or so ago I pulled into an AM – PM minimart to get gas. I know they sell BP gas but I see a need to support them because they have a contract with BP and must buy gas from them. To boycott AM – PM minimart would not hurt BP, but it is obviously already hurting AM – PM minimart. They have dropped the price of their gas.
There was a large two tank gas truck next to my car getting ready to leave. The young driver got out of his truck and asked, “May I help you?” He pumped my gas for me, got in his truck, waved and left. He wore a BP insignia on his uniform. We’re all in this together.
___________________________
A couple of evenings ago I was sitting on the porch of Panera Bread enjoying a glass of iced tea. A young man with several old plastic bags sat down at the table across the porch from me. It was the end of a very hot day and he looked hot, dry and homeless. “Can I buy you something cold?” I asked. He got up and left. Sometimes good intentions can hurt others.
___________________________
I was in the store where I buy plants and seeds. There was a plant on the back shelf that was almost dead. I picked it up and looked at it. There was a tiny bit of fresh green at the bottom. “What will you do with this plant?” I asked the clerk.
“Throw it out.”
“May I have it?”
“Give it to you? No. You have to buy it.”
“But it’s almost dead.”
“Yep.”
I bought it, brought it home, put it in the kitchen window and watered it. It died. I’m still glad I bought it.
My daughter and I don’t always see things the same way but we often enjoy long discussions. She is kind enough to allow me to give her motherly advice (though I don’t know if she takes it) and sweet enough to let me nurture her at times. We have worked together professionally and I admire her nursing skills and she my social working skills. We travel well together and at home we enjoy spa days, lunch, shopping, family and spending time with her grandchildren… my great grandchildren. Sometimes, when we are laughing (or even when we’re crying) I can’t help wondering what it would have been like to have a mother-daughter relationship with my mother.
________________________
I went to Iowa a while back. I was invited to a family reunion by people I did not know and who were not family. I met them online. When we arrived at my hostess Laurie’s house her two sisters, Barb and Connie and their kids were there. We sat downstairs in the den with cool drinks and began to get to know each other. As we talked Barb waved a bottle of nail polish. “Connie,” she said, “polish my toenails for me, okay?” Connie sat on the stool in front of her sister, picked up the bottle and polished Barb’s nails.
I was in a strange state with people I didn’t yet know but I certainly recognized honest sisterly love when I saw it.
___________________________
Strangers
A week or so ago I pulled into an AM – PM minimart to get gas. I know they sell BP gas but I see a need to support them because they have a contract with BP and must buy gas from them. To boycott AM – PM minimart would not hurt BP, but it is obviously already hurting AM – PM minimart. They have dropped the price of their gas.
There was a large two tank gas truck next to my car getting ready to leave. The young driver got out of his truck and asked, “May I help you?” He pumped my gas for me, got in his truck, waved and left. He wore a BP insignia on his uniform. We’re all in this together.
___________________________
A couple of evenings ago I was sitting on the porch of Panera Bread enjoying a glass of iced tea. A young man with several old plastic bags sat down at the table across the porch from me. It was the end of a very hot day and he looked hot, dry and homeless. “Can I buy you something cold?” I asked. He got up and left. Sometimes good intentions can hurt others.
___________________________
I was in the store where I buy plants and seeds. There was a plant on the back shelf that was almost dead. I picked it up and looked at it. There was a tiny bit of fresh green at the bottom. “What will you do with this plant?” I asked the clerk.
“Throw it out.”
“May I have it?”
“Give it to you? No. You have to buy it.”
“But it’s almost dead.”
“Yep.”
I bought it, brought it home, put it in the kitchen window and watered it. It died. I’m still glad I bought it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)