Evaluating the program

Well, as some of you may have guessed, my comprehensive plan has been slightly modified by the vagaries of life. Being sick with the swine flu changed things; so did going down to Vancouver for the weekend and just plain old busyness.
The good news is that I have been doing better in some categories. For example, while not exactly meeting any of my goals, I have improved upon some of them. I am praying more. I can now do 3 chinups in a row. My French has improved.
I suppose that too is debatable, though. I had a new French student last week, and I was going over some spelling words for him. I pronounced the word 'parenthèse' and he turned and looked at me with a puzzled look.
"What do you mean?"
I tried valiantly to pronounce it again. His quizzical look vanished and he said, "Oh, you mean parenthèse!"
Yes, of course that's what I meant; that's what I said. But I think the difference was in my emphasis of syllables. Yvette corrected me on it the other day. One of the down sides of learning a language by yourself is not being able to predict the irregularities to rules. Take emphasis, for example. In English, different words have the stress in different places. 'wonderful', for example, has the stress on the first syllable. To say it 'wonDERful' would sound funny. 'Hallelujah' is pronounced 'HalleLUJah. 'Produce' can be pronounced two different ways- and the emphasis completely changes the meaning of the word.
So it is in French, I have learned. Unlike Italian, which has a predictable rule that (usually) the second-to-last syllable is stressed (think spaGHEtti), English and French change at will.
Sometimes I've had to choke back laughter listening to my ESL friends read out loud, now I have become one of them.
Years ago I read an inspirational quote: "Reach for the moon: even if you miss, you'll land among the stars".
I thought about it for awhile and then decided it was a pretty stupid quote. Anybody who had been through grade 2 knows that the stars are farther from earth than the moon. If you reach for the moon and fall short, there's no way you'll even be close to the stars. Not only that, but the chances of actually hitting another intrastellar body while aiming for something else that is lightyears away is pretty darn slim. I modified the quote to make more sense:
"Reach for the stars: even if you miss you might be the same distance from the earth that the moon is."
I suppose I've reached for the stars with my comprehensive plan. You may think I'm hanging around the moon's orbit. Actually, as we all know, there are near stars and far stars. I aimed for some pretty far stars, so hanging around Alpha Centauri suits me just fine.
Excuse me, I've got some chinups to do.

It's an idea.

Well, I'm still sick, but this time it is sort of self-induced: I got the H1N1 vaccine. The good news is that Robin is still quite sympathetic (as long as he judges that my symptoms are not just made up). I admit, I can be a bit of a hypochondriac. But this time, it really is bad.
Last week I didn't work all week and this week I worked two afternoons, so I've had lots of free time and it's been exceedingly frustrating.
I've always been a highly motivated and busy person so to be sitting around, feeling crummy, not having much work, is really wearying me. On monday I was talking with our friend Marlene and she commented on the necessity to enjoy the slow times because before you know it, you are overloaded with work.
I thought about that for the rest of the day and the next morning my thoughts had consolidated themselves into the perfect solution.
I began Heather's Comprehensive Improved Program for Total Betterment. It took me half the day to write up all the flowcharts and lists but I got it done. Lasting for 12 weeks, this program has several goals in different areas and delineates the individual steps needed to get there. For example, in the 'discipline my body' category, in 12 weeks I will have worked up to doing 12 consecutive chin-ups. Each week I add one on (this week I'm supposed to do 1 a day). In the 'challenge my mind' category, I have to listen to 20 minutes of French a day, write one French essay a week, learn 2 new Latin words a day, study one drug class, etc.
In the 'build my spirit' category I have various bible memory goals. In the 'channel my emotions' category I have to paint/draw one picture a week. It all started out fine. Because the first day was a half day, I cut myself some slack. I did the chin-up, listened to some French, worked on a memory verse.
The second day I was a bit busy with various things and only got 3 different things out of 20 done. I decided my goals needed to be attenuated a bit. The third day I drove to summerland and listened to 80 minutes of French but did nothing else but the chin-up. Today I'm feeling sick and my arm is burning from the vaccination so I doubt I'll even manage the chin-up. I decided that I don't like painting and the running is a bad idea when I'm sick and I don't feel like reading my old physics textbook.
When I first devised my plan I told Robin about it and begged him to tell me it was a good idea. He paused for a moment and then said 'It's an idea'.
I think I often shoot too high. It's better, I believe, than not trying at all, but sometimes I don't have a very realistic view of myself and my capabilities. If only I could take all my good ideas and actually make them happen....
At any rate since I'm sick at home today with not much to do I can do some of the more laid-back things. Perhaps I'll be feeling better tomorrow and I can catch up on the running and chin-ups. I'll keep you posted.

Being sick

Sometimes I forget to post on my blog because I think, nothing interesting has happened in my life, why would people want to read it?
Well, trust me, I'm not posting today because I have interesting things to say- it's just because I'm so darn bored.
My husband and I are sick, possibly with the H1N1 virus, and he got sick first (several days ago) which is a good or a bad thing, depending on how you look at it. From his perspective, of course, it's pretty crummy, but from my point of view, it has prepared him (who has many fine qualities of which sympathy is not one) to be caring towards me. His attitude, of course, is 'Poor sweetheart, I know just how it feels to feel so awful!'.
Actually Robin's lack of sympathy towards me in general is a very constructive thing. I am a natural whiner and yes, I will whine as much as I can get away with and then some. I can also tend towards slight hypochondrism (being convinced there is something deathly wrong with me when I just have a bruise or a split nail). God himself is a perfect mix of mercy and justice and the beauty of my marriage to Robin is that as we grow closer, we are being pulled away from the polar extremes of the spectrum and finding a home somewhere in the middle.
I would make a terrible judge or a police officer, I commented to a friend once, because as soon as I saw a crocodile tear I'd let everyone off the hook.
Robin, on the other hand, would probably be an excellent soldier or police officer (or a high school teacher) because he sees past all the fluff.
That all being said, being sick is an exercise in mutual compromise, because we have to take turns caring for each other, or sucking it up, whatever the situation requires and whoever is feeling more able at the time.
In the larger picture, being Christians is being members of the body of Christ and as such, we're all joined together and have a responsibility to care for each other as we are able. I read this morning in the Dr's office about a girl in Chile (Daniela Garcia) who lost all four limbs in a tragic train accident. She persevered against all odds to become the world's first quadrilateral amputee physician, married her boyfriend, and is very involved making other people's lives better. She does not feel sorry for herself: she is overflowing with compassion towards other people.
All that being said, being sick right now still sucks.

We're all in the same boat

Last night at work I asked the other woman working with me who would be coming in at 11 to fill the night shift. Usually there are two of us at night- a nurse, and a detox worker, who does bed checks and cleaning and helps me out dealing with problem patients. She told me the name of the girl and I remembered her as having just been hired- maybe this was her third day on the job?
She was 21 but looked 16; very pretty, very shy, very young. I couldn't believe that she had been hired to help look after dozens of big, rough-around-the-edges drug addicts in the middle of the night. Were they crazy? She looked like she would have trouble managing the vacuum let alone having to stand down someone being aggressive and threatening. She looked the very definition of naivety.
I thought I should give her the benefit of the doubt, though, and I said to the other girl, "well, I guess I'm pretty young too." "No, Heather, she said, you don't seem like that at all; you have life experience."
Life experience, how did I get that? I remembered my first day nursing in the hospital as a nursing student. I was 17, 5'3" (I'm still 5'3", unfortunately) and much much more terrified of my patient than she was of me. I stood in the nursing station with my instructor and a couple of other students and felt like walking down the hallway to meet my first patient would be like walking to the guillotine. I don't know if it showed on my face but my instructor looked at me, then took my hand, and put it in the hand of another student, and older lady named Shannon.
"Shannon, you are going to walk with Heather to room 503, and then meet me in 516, okay?"
So we walked down the hall together, hand in hand, and looking back at that moment I wish there was some way I could tell Shannon how much it meant to me. My patient was an older lady with dementia and I don't even think she knew I was there anyway.
Fast forward 8 years and I've navigated nursing and chemistry and medicine and several jobs and countries and relationships and adventures. The funny thing is, I still feel like that 17-year-old sometimes, I still have to swallow my nervousness and go and meet that person anyway, dive in with the awkward questions, have the courage to speak the truth. I don't think any amount of life experience can eliminate that queasiness all the time.
Last night sure enough I had a really difficult patient in the middle of the night and finally I'd had it with niceness. He had been going on and on about his anger and how he wanted to kill someone and all his life problems and how his Dad had abused him and how he hated the other guys here and he didn't want to watch tv with them because it made him want to kill them, and everything hurt so much and I just didn't understand and I should feel sorry for him and blah blah blah. What he was really saying was, I'm a victim, I deserve to get everything I want, and I'm angry at you because you aren't taking away my pain.
"Why are you here?" I asked Kris.
He stopped for a second and then said, "I want to stop using these @#%$%&* drugs, and I'm paying good money for you guys to fix me, and you're not giving me what I want!"
"Kris, it's not my job to fix you. I can't do that, that's your job. I am just here to facilitate it. You need to make up your mind that this is what you want, and then I'll help you."
"You don't understand!" He whined. "Everything hurts so much. Have you ever tried to come off 90mg of Oxy's?" (A pretty high dose of opiates similar in effect to heroin).
"Kris, you are the one that needs to take responsibility. I can help you, but I can't do it for you."
I gave him some suggestions that might help with his middle-of-the-night freak-out.
He swore at me, exasperated. "You sound just like my MOM!!!"
As he stomped away I thought, she's probably one cool lady.
I've written lots in my blogs about the pain that underlies addictions- how these people I work with are easing the abyss of suffering in their lives by dulling it with drugs or alcohol. But in case you get a lopsided view of addictions, in most cases, I have become convinced that there is some degree of choice involved. No matter what crap I get dealt in life, it's still my choice how I respond to it. That's what free will is, that's part of what makes us human. I don't doubt that some of my patients here are truly victims and have got to a point where it is impossible for them to help themselves. But for others, not taking responsibility and not accepting accountability for their actions has become a habit that has become a lifestyle.
So I guess that's an example of life experience, because before I worked here I had a narrow and inexperienced view of addictions- it was something so far removed from my life, it belonged to the people who lived on the streets on Vancouver who were nameless and faceless. Now I realize that we are in exactly the same boat. Perhaps I don't know what it's like to come off of 90mg of Oxy's, but I do know what it is like to suffer pain and make the choice to persevere.
And maybe I'm not as shy as the young detox worker last night, but I do know what it is like to be terrified of your patients and I think actually she's doing a great job.

Baker's anonymous

I’ve considered starting a support group for bakers like myself.
Hi, I’m Heather, and I don’t follow recipes.
This week Robin tried to convince me that Bob (our pastor) had asked to have a talk with me about my issues with cooking (i.e. not following recipes). For a second I felt as if I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar and then I realized, of course he’s joking. It is not a sin to improvise with recipes.
Did Christopher Columbus use a map, I ask you? He MADE the map! Recipes, as I see them, are merely guideposts that suggest one plausible method of cooking the dish amongst myriads of creative possibilities. It is the cook’s prerogative, like the artist’s, to create, to experiment, to explore uncharted territory and through the lens of adventure to create masterpieces.
A friend gave me a postcard once of a black and white photo of a woman holding a cake. It said ‘if I can bake a cake, I can build a bomb.’
The problem is, I did my time studying chemistry and yes, I learned how to build bombs, but it doesn’t appear to have helped me in the kitchen.
Kim gave me some decorative (inedible?) gourds from her garden two weeks ago. Whoever heard of a gourd that was inedible, I thought, so I cut it up, boiled it, and baked it into pumpkin pie. Or if you prefer, inedible gourd pie. We ate it and I think it was quite good.
My crockpot meatballs last night were not that great. I didn’t have all the ingredients to start with, so I had to improvise a bit, but the meatballs came out looking fine and I FOLLOWED the RECIPE instead of my instinct and put them in the crockpot for 5 hours on high in a sauce. (Well, I did have to improvise the sauce a bit by putting in apricot jam and teriyaki sauce instead of cranberry sauce and sugar).
You can imagine my shock when I came home from work and discovered 5 hours on high had evaporated all the sauce and left sticky gooey blackish meatballs covered in a sickly sweet sauce. We choked them down with rice.
I made steak for the first time last night. Robin likes it rare but I sort of forgot it was on the BBQ, so by the time I got to it, rare was the last thing you could’ve called it. He made a show of trying to chew it but I think he liked it, after all, overcooked steak is better than no steak.
I could regale you with tales of failed meals or of successful meals. I’m actually having fun learning how to cook things and planning meals, I realize it’s an art and if you wanted to classify me as a type of artist I probably wouldn’t be one of the ones who designs advertisements or paints perfect scenery or sculpts matching wax heads for museums. I would probably be more in league with the huge piece of canvas you see in a hotel lobby that looks like someone walked up, threw seven different paint cans at the wall, walked away and said, world, if you don’t like it, you can stuff it. And strangely they get paid big money for their acrylic temper tantrums and in some lights it looks beautiful and sometimes people cry over it.
Yes, some people cry over my meals, too, I’m sure. As I type I have an apple pie in the oven and I’m convinced it’s going to be amazing, especially because I made up the recipe myself.