The other apple story.
When I was a freshman at Dartmouth, I decided I would get over my shyness by sitting with a different person at lunch every day. I decided I would just walk up to somebody and say, "May I join you?" sit down, and get to know them. Of course, it never occurred to me that people might not like this.
One day, I sat down at the table of this Korean guy who always ate by himself. He didn't look too thrilled, but he did start passing the conversational ball back and forth.
We ate in this big dining hall called Thayer, a big echoing place. It always felt like a viking hunting lodge to me--big painted beams crossed the ceiling, long wooden tables stretched from end to end. As a freshman, you were required to eat there. I thought the food was pretty good. Everybody else complained. Maybe they'd grown up on something other than cream of mushroom soup--my mother has about 77 dishes she makes with cream of mushroom soup.
All the sudden, there's a hush. A guy, Jay Qamar--that's his real name, jumps up on a table and starts singing a song. It's a terrible song--one of the worst I've ever heard. It's got lines about women fucking dogs. It's demeaning and ugly. I'm really not a prude--now and then--I almost never get offended, so when I do, I pay attention.
At Dartmouth that fall, I'd encountered a level of misogyny I'd never experienced in Little Dixie. I was completely unprepared for it. It seemed so sly and deep--hard to point to--but here it was bubbling up in this terrible song no boy from my county would ever be caught dead singing around girls. So I picked up an apple and I threw it. I can't usually throw very well and I have terrible aim, but this time, it arched beautifully across the length of the dining hall and hit him in the thight, right by the crotch.
Song over.
But not the hate.
You wouldn't believe the things that happened because I did that. The guys at the table belonged to Theta Delt. They pissed under my dorm room door. They carved things into it: "Haley's pregnant." They destroyed my bicycle--my poor purple 1967 Western Flyer. They would interrupt my classes and scream, "Haley Patton is a Cunt." They continued this campaign all fall.
I had worked so hard to get there. I was the only person from my town that year to go to an Ivy League college. I went with visions of Winter Carnival and F. Scott Fitzgerald. I came from a cramped, two bedroom house, where my mother, from fear of lack, stacked crates of canned food in the living room. You could hardly walk. My parents drove one 20 year old car and sold all their treasures to pay my tuition. It was my big chance. It was a nightmare.
I couldn't tell anyone from home about it, because I didn't want them to feel bad and I also didn't want to admit I was having a bad time. It didn't occur to me that this was harrassment and I needed to report it. I was ashamed that it was happening. I failed two classes. I was afraid to go to the library. I started dating a guy who lived off campus and moved in with him. I never went to my room. I was 17 years old and school was terrifying.
I haven't made the best choices, but when you don't feel safe, you never do. Now, at 41, I'm pretty good at keeping a clear head even when I'm very frightened and not making decisions that will later sabotage me. But when you're young, you don't usually have that capacity. You just react. I didn't think--if I don't get a dean involved in this situation, I will screw up my future and not get into medical school. I just tried not to walk alone at night and stayed away from class.
But you know what? I'm glad I threw the apple.
I just wish I'd thrown a rock. instead.
That's my 1/2 hour.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Apples
Mondays.
I worked. 4th day in a row. The census was so low in November that I got no overtime (we get paid the month after)--but the good news is I'd been sticking a little extra in my mortgage account here and there--and actually ended up saving enough to skip my mortgage payment this month! I guess that's what they mean about not living paycheck to paycheck. What an interesting idea.
A storm was coming in, we went from room to room covering our patients with blankets and moving them away from the windows. The sky got dark and the air smelled heavy, like rain, even inside the unit and more than ever I had the sense that we were on a spaceship, our little twilight ship, steering it through. That's what I am...the captain of twilight. Storms get me a little agitated--I went through Hurricane Andrew. I read an article in the Miami Herald about a year after that describing post traumatic stress syndrome--it essentially said that the whole city was suffering from it. As if we needed to be any crazier down there! Both our attending and our fellow are combat vets--Viet Nam and the first Gulf War, and Johnson, that old dragon, was stalking around giving poor little Baggins hell. Humiliating him in front of the unit. I thought Baggins was going to cry. Something must be wrong somewhere else, because I've never seen him so upset. He was speaking in this very calm, quiet, fuzzy voice, as if he were choking.
We have a teenager in the unit--well, we have a lot of teens in the unit. Scares the hell out of me. And one of them is double vented and very touch and go and a bronchoscopy was scheduled for 1300, but RT didn't show up. Fat Alice was our respiratory tech and she must have been having troubles at home, too, because she screwed up all day--missed my OR transport, didn't respond to pages, forgot labs...and she never does this...so it was really her fault, but Johnson just went on and on...and Baggins is going all military, clasping his hands behind his back and standing there like a sailor, the wide white dented scar that cleaves his cropped head from crown to occiput looking even whiter, because he's turning red. So I just walked up in the middle of it and handed him an apple. (I always carry a bag of organic granny smith apples--do you know they are the only apples that don't feed yeast?).
Baggins looks at me like I'm nuts.
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away." I say. Then I go back into my patient's room.
The pod just dissolves in laughter.
Tirade over.
I mean really, Johnson can't do that to our Fellow, in front of staff and patient's families. It will destroy their sense of trust and it's completely inappropriate.
Apples have gotten me into a lot of trouble. I guess, if you subscribe to the Judeo-Christian world view, they've gotten us all into a lot of trouble.
One time, I threw one. And it changed my life.
I did this when I was a freshman at Dartmouth. But that's another story, and that's my 1/2 hour.
I worked. 4th day in a row. The census was so low in November that I got no overtime (we get paid the month after)--but the good news is I'd been sticking a little extra in my mortgage account here and there--and actually ended up saving enough to skip my mortgage payment this month! I guess that's what they mean about not living paycheck to paycheck. What an interesting idea.
A storm was coming in, we went from room to room covering our patients with blankets and moving them away from the windows. The sky got dark and the air smelled heavy, like rain, even inside the unit and more than ever I had the sense that we were on a spaceship, our little twilight ship, steering it through. That's what I am...the captain of twilight. Storms get me a little agitated--I went through Hurricane Andrew. I read an article in the Miami Herald about a year after that describing post traumatic stress syndrome--it essentially said that the whole city was suffering from it. As if we needed to be any crazier down there! Both our attending and our fellow are combat vets--Viet Nam and the first Gulf War, and Johnson, that old dragon, was stalking around giving poor little Baggins hell. Humiliating him in front of the unit. I thought Baggins was going to cry. Something must be wrong somewhere else, because I've never seen him so upset. He was speaking in this very calm, quiet, fuzzy voice, as if he were choking.
We have a teenager in the unit--well, we have a lot of teens in the unit. Scares the hell out of me. And one of them is double vented and very touch and go and a bronchoscopy was scheduled for 1300, but RT didn't show up. Fat Alice was our respiratory tech and she must have been having troubles at home, too, because she screwed up all day--missed my OR transport, didn't respond to pages, forgot labs...and she never does this...so it was really her fault, but Johnson just went on and on...and Baggins is going all military, clasping his hands behind his back and standing there like a sailor, the wide white dented scar that cleaves his cropped head from crown to occiput looking even whiter, because he's turning red. So I just walked up in the middle of it and handed him an apple. (I always carry a bag of organic granny smith apples--do you know they are the only apples that don't feed yeast?).
Baggins looks at me like I'm nuts.
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away." I say. Then I go back into my patient's room.
The pod just dissolves in laughter.
Tirade over.
I mean really, Johnson can't do that to our Fellow, in front of staff and patient's families. It will destroy their sense of trust and it's completely inappropriate.
Apples have gotten me into a lot of trouble. I guess, if you subscribe to the Judeo-Christian world view, they've gotten us all into a lot of trouble.
One time, I threw one. And it changed my life.
I did this when I was a freshman at Dartmouth. But that's another story, and that's my 1/2 hour.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Shit
Watched Stranger Than Paradise with Lilly. Lilly looks a lot like the actress who plays Eva. It's 22 days late. One of my New Years Resolutions is not to do stupid things with my money--like get parking tickets and late fees. Last year I spent $500 on parking tickets, and god knows how much on late fees at Cherry Street Video. They're the only place who lets me rent videos. I have a real problem returning them. I always do, eventually, and I always pay, but I mean, it's five minutes away from my house--why can't I remember to return my movies? What is it I want to avoid/sabotage? Why can't I leave the house 5 minutes earlier in the morning so I don't have to park in the CEO's spot in the parking garage and get a ticket? Why can't I remember to put change in the meter downtown? I mean, really. Aren't I too old for this crap?
Nick is slamming around looking for his glasses. Blaming Lilly. Lilly finally got out of bed , walked into the living room and found them immediately.
Lilly is the finder.
Whenever any of us lose anything, we go to Lilly. And she finds it. One time, Lilly didn't have school and was sleeping in and Nick couldn't find his geometry textbook. We turned the house upside down. We woke Lilly up, finally, and half asleep, she shuffled right over to where it was and handed it to Nick. Then she went back to bed. She holds this ability over us: "I'll only find the keys if you promise to let me go to the moview with Amanda...'
Speaking of geometry, Lilly flunked it this semester. She picked the right day to bring home and F, though. We had admitted a 14-year-old head trauma that morning. My former preceptor from the ER, Grass, was there. "Just don't go in there, Haley. I'll tell you everything you need to know." Grass protects me.
So that night, Lilly hands me her report card. "Are you mad?"
But I wasn't. I was just so glad that she was mine and sitting at the table, alive, telling me about it.
Today kind of sucked, which was too bad, because I was really excited about coming in to work.
Transferring my patient today, his Swan Ganz came out. Diverticulitis. Bowel perfed. Septic from stool in his belly. Open abdomen, dialysis, vented, ostomy, arterial line, mahurkar. So much to catch on. Poop is so damn important. I used to make fun of my poor grandfather for being so obsessed with it.
Be obsessed. Eat lots of veggies and drink lots of water and be very sure to poop each and every day.
Foot long floaters.
Ah! Zen moment! Your own shit is what gets you....waste is as important as consumption.
If your nose is covered with shit, shit is all you will smell. That's a favorite of Seido's.
So anyways, that is the first time I have ever lost a line on a patient. The first! Wiz was really mean about it. "I can't believe you did that. You're going to have to PSN yourself."
And the resident: "How did that happen? What is wrong with you nurses today? Everybody's losing lines and tubes. You have to be more careful."
I almost cried. I was so pissed off at myself. I've been nicer to Wiz when he screws up.
James, one of our newer nurses--one who really annoys me, usually, came in the room where I was slamming around, hiding out.
"You know," he says, "everybody pulls out a line at some point. This guy has more stuff sticking out of him than an octopus, you took every precaution--6 people helped you transfer him--and you were doing it for his own good, so don't feel bad. You didn't hurt him. He's okay."
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"I'm giving you the exact same pep talk you would give me." He grins.
"Thank you."
And then I remembered "I take refuge in my own good nature" and there it was, waiting for me. like a big comfortable chair, easy, warm and amused. "Oh, there you are, " I said to myself, and just hung out in it the rest of the day. Nice I spread enough of it around so that someone was holding a little of it to give back to me.
Wheww. We're all in this together, aren't we?
That's my 1/2 hour
Nick is slamming around looking for his glasses. Blaming Lilly. Lilly finally got out of bed , walked into the living room and found them immediately.
Lilly is the finder.
Whenever any of us lose anything, we go to Lilly. And she finds it. One time, Lilly didn't have school and was sleeping in and Nick couldn't find his geometry textbook. We turned the house upside down. We woke Lilly up, finally, and half asleep, she shuffled right over to where it was and handed it to Nick. Then she went back to bed. She holds this ability over us: "I'll only find the keys if you promise to let me go to the moview with Amanda...'
Speaking of geometry, Lilly flunked it this semester. She picked the right day to bring home and F, though. We had admitted a 14-year-old head trauma that morning. My former preceptor from the ER, Grass, was there. "Just don't go in there, Haley. I'll tell you everything you need to know." Grass protects me.
So that night, Lilly hands me her report card. "Are you mad?"
But I wasn't. I was just so glad that she was mine and sitting at the table, alive, telling me about it.
Today kind of sucked, which was too bad, because I was really excited about coming in to work.
Transferring my patient today, his Swan Ganz came out. Diverticulitis. Bowel perfed. Septic from stool in his belly. Open abdomen, dialysis, vented, ostomy, arterial line, mahurkar. So much to catch on. Poop is so damn important. I used to make fun of my poor grandfather for being so obsessed with it.
Be obsessed. Eat lots of veggies and drink lots of water and be very sure to poop each and every day.
Foot long floaters.
Ah! Zen moment! Your own shit is what gets you....waste is as important as consumption.
If your nose is covered with shit, shit is all you will smell. That's a favorite of Seido's.
So anyways, that is the first time I have ever lost a line on a patient. The first! Wiz was really mean about it. "I can't believe you did that. You're going to have to PSN yourself."
And the resident: "How did that happen? What is wrong with you nurses today? Everybody's losing lines and tubes. You have to be more careful."
I almost cried. I was so pissed off at myself. I've been nicer to Wiz when he screws up.
James, one of our newer nurses--one who really annoys me, usually, came in the room where I was slamming around, hiding out.
"You know," he says, "everybody pulls out a line at some point. This guy has more stuff sticking out of him than an octopus, you took every precaution--6 people helped you transfer him--and you were doing it for his own good, so don't feel bad. You didn't hurt him. He's okay."
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"I'm giving you the exact same pep talk you would give me." He grins.
"Thank you."
And then I remembered "I take refuge in my own good nature" and there it was, waiting for me. like a big comfortable chair, easy, warm and amused. "Oh, there you are, " I said to myself, and just hung out in it the rest of the day. Nice I spread enough of it around so that someone was holding a little of it to give back to me.
Wheww. We're all in this together, aren't we?
That's my 1/2 hour
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Nana
I just got done working out. I'm obsessed with working out. I just discovered pumping iron. Arnold Schwarzenegger has this quote from his first movie, and I'm paraphrasing, but he says, "pumping iron is better than coming." And for me, this is absolutely not true (although, in some desperate situations, I've found sometimes pissing is better than coming, but that's another story and everyone who's ever been pregnant knows that already) But for some reason, after doing the nautilus circuit here at the university gym using the lowest weights possible because I'm such a pansy, I feel like a bad ass. And my arms look really great in the Cozumel photos--not the lunch lady flabby things they used to be. I've only been doing this 6 weeks! Sometimes I resent the time--I mean, what normal person works out 1-2 hours/day, 6 days/week? But spend a little time in a trauma/surgical ICU and witness what time and neglect do to bodies--you would, too. Not that this will protect you from car accidents, random diseases, pianos falling on your head, etc, but if you do suffer a trauma, you will stack the deck in your favor if you've been taking care of yourself. The people that make it, that crawl back from the endgame, are 1)loved 2)in good shape. So if every minute I spend in a gym saves me five at the end of my life in an ICU, it's money well-spent. No one should have to go through that. No one.
One of the reasons I'm a nurse is because of what I did to my grandmother.
My grandmother was 90 years old. She was in fantastic shape for 90, sharp as a tack, as they say. She wasn't the softest, nicest person on earth--she was pretty catty--a Kappa, rich, funny, with that clenched jaw wasp drawl--like Katherine Hepburn. But she was vital and fun. She had friends from all different age groups ('You have to stack your friends' ages' she said, 'if all your friends are old, they just die off and depress you. It's just like dogs.') She was doing just great, and then started feeling tired all the time. She had had a lifelong heart murmur, which eventually had developed into mitral valve prolapse. They gave her 6 months, however, there was a surgery she could undergo which would take care of the problem.
"I've had a long life, Haley," she told me. "6 months is fine. I'm ready."
"Nana," I told her, "listen, you're strong. You could have ten more years--ten years of weddings and lunches and friends and shopping. Stay with us. Get the surgery."
I talked her into it, and she did, and she died. A terrible, painful death, septic and intubated in an ICU. Her last words were, "You're a lunatic."
Which is just like her, actually.
Everyone was really nice to me about it--my family--but her longtime phillippino maid, Hermes, didn't pull punches.
"I feel like I killed her," I told her at the funeral. We were standing on the sunset cliffs behind her house, looking at Catalina.
"I know--you kind of did. Why did you talk her into it?"
"I thought she was stronger than she was."
"Oh, Haley, I wish you had been smarter about that."
Me too.
It's funny, we both used our inheritance to become nurses.
That's my 1/2 hour.
One of the reasons I'm a nurse is because of what I did to my grandmother.
My grandmother was 90 years old. She was in fantastic shape for 90, sharp as a tack, as they say. She wasn't the softest, nicest person on earth--she was pretty catty--a Kappa, rich, funny, with that clenched jaw wasp drawl--like Katherine Hepburn. But she was vital and fun. She had friends from all different age groups ('You have to stack your friends' ages' she said, 'if all your friends are old, they just die off and depress you. It's just like dogs.') She was doing just great, and then started feeling tired all the time. She had had a lifelong heart murmur, which eventually had developed into mitral valve prolapse. They gave her 6 months, however, there was a surgery she could undergo which would take care of the problem.
"I've had a long life, Haley," she told me. "6 months is fine. I'm ready."
"Nana," I told her, "listen, you're strong. You could have ten more years--ten years of weddings and lunches and friends and shopping. Stay with us. Get the surgery."
I talked her into it, and she did, and she died. A terrible, painful death, septic and intubated in an ICU. Her last words were, "You're a lunatic."
Which is just like her, actually.
Everyone was really nice to me about it--my family--but her longtime phillippino maid, Hermes, didn't pull punches.
"I feel like I killed her," I told her at the funeral. We were standing on the sunset cliffs behind her house, looking at Catalina.
"I know--you kind of did. Why did you talk her into it?"
"I thought she was stronger than she was."
"Oh, Haley, I wish you had been smarter about that."
Me too.
It's funny, we both used our inheritance to become nurses.
That's my 1/2 hour.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The Hangover Leftover Party
I have another resolution. I'm going to really learn how to play chess. I already know how to play, but I don't have any idea of the shape of the game. Jay played with me once, beat me in like ten minutes, then decided I wasn't a worthy partner and never played me again. This was one of the many small chivalric kindnesses Ayhan afforded me. We played chess (sort of, I found out) every day--and Ayhan would let it drag on as long as he could and then beat me, or, as I realized, let me win.
There was some overlap between the two relationships and I had already played chess with Jay when this hit me--Ayhan let me win.
"You've been letting me win." I told him
"How did you realize that?" he asked. And it was over.
Hmmm.....letting me win at chess/giving me a venereal disease....didn't make up for it. Some small part of me whispers that it is coarse to judge him for that, that he didn't mean to and really thought he wasn't contagious, and that he was kind and decent and held all the doors and helped clean up after the parties and was nice to my mother, and the only price I had to pay was this silly little skin condition--but then I think--no. It's really not okay at all. You have to be honest about what's dangerous about yourself to another person. It's disregarding them in the worst way.
So I'm really going to learn chess this year.
Yesterday was the hangover leftover party. So many people showed up! I couldn't believe it. I ran out of wine. I was absolutely not expecting that many people. It's like that--some years there's nobody--someyears--everybody. I made a big kettle of hoppin john, and just let it roll. I didn't enjoy it very much, though, because a lot of people showed up I didn't know very well, so I felt I had to babysit them, which I did, but that's always a bit of a pain. It wasn't relaxing...which is kind of the whole point of the party. And what a crowd--lots of conservative people--mostly the parents of Lilly's friends. I guess they wanted to check me out, since Lilly has sort of evolved into the official social coordinator of her school and everybody's usually over at my house. My neighbors came over and my old bandmate, Rashid, bringing his guitar. Rashid sort of freaked everybody out, I think, with his swarthy good looks and intense gaze and black leather and galoises, but oh well. Then he turned off the stereo and started playing music, which I don't think happens much at the parties these people usually go to. Then Dave, my drummer,brought his djimba in and my neighbor, bless her heart, ran to her house and brought over all these wonderful musical instruments collected on her travels and we distributed them to all the guests. it was really cute. Two of the most straightlaced parents fell in love with a little xylophone and sat on the couch playing it together. I got out my fiddle and for about 1/2 hour, everybody just played and played. Rashid wanted to keep going, but Jay came up to me and whispered in my ear:
"I know another joke. Want to hear it?"'
"Sure."
"Okay. What's more boring than a hippie drumming circle?"
"Nothing?"
"Yep."
So I gently discouraged him. Actually, what happened was, he went outside in the freezing cold to suck down another Galois, and I put the stereo back on.
I think there was just enough of that.
Then someone showed up with a baked alaska--a baked alaska!!
Hali called right at the start of the party to tell me that she and Juan wouldn't be able to make it.
"But I want to tell you how truly grateful I am for your invitation." she says.
One big happy family.
The kids had their own party downstairs. For some reason it's freezing down there. They watched movies and played charades and ate cookies. I made random unpredictable surveillance sweeps, which I find to be the best deterrent to illicit undesirable teenage activity. How to keep your kid out of trouble? Don't hound them, question them, harass them. Just frequently, magically, and unpredictably.....materialize.
Poof!
Happy New Year.
that's my 1/2 hour.
There was some overlap between the two relationships and I had already played chess with Jay when this hit me--Ayhan let me win.
"You've been letting me win." I told him
"How did you realize that?" he asked. And it was over.
Hmmm.....letting me win at chess/giving me a venereal disease....didn't make up for it. Some small part of me whispers that it is coarse to judge him for that, that he didn't mean to and really thought he wasn't contagious, and that he was kind and decent and held all the doors and helped clean up after the parties and was nice to my mother, and the only price I had to pay was this silly little skin condition--but then I think--no. It's really not okay at all. You have to be honest about what's dangerous about yourself to another person. It's disregarding them in the worst way.
So I'm really going to learn chess this year.
Yesterday was the hangover leftover party. So many people showed up! I couldn't believe it. I ran out of wine. I was absolutely not expecting that many people. It's like that--some years there's nobody--someyears--everybody. I made a big kettle of hoppin john, and just let it roll. I didn't enjoy it very much, though, because a lot of people showed up I didn't know very well, so I felt I had to babysit them, which I did, but that's always a bit of a pain. It wasn't relaxing...which is kind of the whole point of the party. And what a crowd--lots of conservative people--mostly the parents of Lilly's friends. I guess they wanted to check me out, since Lilly has sort of evolved into the official social coordinator of her school and everybody's usually over at my house. My neighbors came over and my old bandmate, Rashid, bringing his guitar. Rashid sort of freaked everybody out, I think, with his swarthy good looks and intense gaze and black leather and galoises, but oh well. Then he turned off the stereo and started playing music, which I don't think happens much at the parties these people usually go to. Then Dave, my drummer,brought his djimba in and my neighbor, bless her heart, ran to her house and brought over all these wonderful musical instruments collected on her travels and we distributed them to all the guests. it was really cute. Two of the most straightlaced parents fell in love with a little xylophone and sat on the couch playing it together. I got out my fiddle and for about 1/2 hour, everybody just played and played. Rashid wanted to keep going, but Jay came up to me and whispered in my ear:
"I know another joke. Want to hear it?"'
"Sure."
"Okay. What's more boring than a hippie drumming circle?"
"Nothing?"
"Yep."
So I gently discouraged him. Actually, what happened was, he went outside in the freezing cold to suck down another Galois, and I put the stereo back on.
I think there was just enough of that.
Then someone showed up with a baked alaska--a baked alaska!!
Hali called right at the start of the party to tell me that she and Juan wouldn't be able to make it.
"But I want to tell you how truly grateful I am for your invitation." she says.
One big happy family.
The kids had their own party downstairs. For some reason it's freezing down there. They watched movies and played charades and ate cookies. I made random unpredictable surveillance sweeps, which I find to be the best deterrent to illicit undesirable teenage activity. How to keep your kid out of trouble? Don't hound them, question them, harass them. Just frequently, magically, and unpredictably.....materialize.
Poof!
Happy New Year.
that's my 1/2 hour.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Cast of Characters
Cast of Characters-- revised
Me--Haley Patton. trauma nurse, single mom, confused episcopalian, zen buddhist (sort of...), liberal arts casualty, former party-girl searching for redemption and relevance
Wiz--Clinical Supervisor. One fucking great nurse. My partner on the floor. 50's. Polish. mysterious past, short, bald and carp-like, with an obsession for music and french literature.
Nick--my 16 year old son, dear and dorky
Lilly--my 15 year-old daughter, busy being 15, 5'9" and built like Miss October, whom I'm trying to get through her teen years without incident and who generally fills me with panic on a daily basis. They both fill me with panic on a daily basis. I am filled with panic on a daily basis. Enough.
Jay--my boyfriend, documentary filmmaker and legendary rock climber with the sweet simple soul of an eleven year old boy. And the tact. ahem.
Soupy--the local medical examiner and favorite rumpled pet of a friend, 70, terrible dresser, looks like Albert Einstein
Talen--the tattooed, butt groping waiter at Ernie'sErnie's--the diner
Hunter--Jay's frog-like best friend, local pitt bull lawyer and casino owner.(In Monte Carlo! Can you believe anyone around here in Little Dixie actually owns a casino in Monte Carlo?)
Sybil--Hunter's beautiful grifter girlfriend--used to be Jay's girlfriend 20 years ago.
Baggins--our short, hairy ICU Fellow (that's an MD, top of the residents) Former nurse and army medic, gulf war veteran (the first one). Only dates teenagers.
Mark--hipster night shift supervisor
Alice--one of my best friends, an MD, missed a diagnosis on a child who ended up a vegetable as a result, now wanders the woods communing with plants. ("I talk to the trees..but they don't listen to me..." She does not find this amusing when I sing it to her.)
Staci Roberts--the best musican I know, but a little 'Jerry Springer' if you know what I mean...
Elizabeth--Another clinical supervisor, late thirties, 5 kids, a husband dying of leukemia
Lois--her Core.
Tonks-the lhasa apso at the center of all our lives.
Heather-my best friend from high school, who never speaks to me, except when she's in crisis
Xavier-my crazy rich Cuban artist/party promoter, etc. ex, who was institutionalized with schizophrenia
Madonna--Nick's heart's desire, xylophone player, charming chubby 16 year-old girl
Hali Cordoba--Jay's ex of 15 years who left him for and married a professional salsa dancer is weirdly enmeshed in our lives and never shaves her armpits (or wears a bra) and calls us at 10:30 at night.
Lena--her winsome 2 year old daughter
Juan Cordoba--her patient beleaguered Brazilian husband
The Hennessy's--Frances, Big Frances, Linda, Catherine, etc--the Irish-Catholic family who took me into their home and hearts in mean ol Miami
Dartmouth--the college on the hill
Me--Haley Patton. trauma nurse, single mom, confused episcopalian, zen buddhist (sort of...), liberal arts casualty, former party-girl searching for redemption and relevance
Wiz--Clinical Supervisor. One fucking great nurse. My partner on the floor. 50's. Polish. mysterious past, short, bald and carp-like, with an obsession for music and french literature.
Nick--my 16 year old son, dear and dorky
Lilly--my 15 year-old daughter, busy being 15, 5'9" and built like Miss October, whom I'm trying to get through her teen years without incident and who generally fills me with panic on a daily basis. They both fill me with panic on a daily basis. I am filled with panic on a daily basis. Enough.
Jay--my boyfriend, documentary filmmaker and legendary rock climber with the sweet simple soul of an eleven year old boy. And the tact. ahem.
Soupy--the local medical examiner and favorite rumpled pet of a friend, 70, terrible dresser, looks like Albert Einstein
Talen--the tattooed, butt groping waiter at Ernie'sErnie's--the diner
Hunter--Jay's frog-like best friend, local pitt bull lawyer and casino owner.(In Monte Carlo! Can you believe anyone around here in Little Dixie actually owns a casino in Monte Carlo?)
Sybil--Hunter's beautiful grifter girlfriend--used to be Jay's girlfriend 20 years ago.
Baggins--our short, hairy ICU Fellow (that's an MD, top of the residents) Former nurse and army medic, gulf war veteran (the first one). Only dates teenagers.
Mark--hipster night shift supervisor
Alice--one of my best friends, an MD, missed a diagnosis on a child who ended up a vegetable as a result, now wanders the woods communing with plants. ("I talk to the trees..but they don't listen to me..." She does not find this amusing when I sing it to her.)
Staci Roberts--the best musican I know, but a little 'Jerry Springer' if you know what I mean...
Elizabeth--Another clinical supervisor, late thirties, 5 kids, a husband dying of leukemia
Lois--her Core.
Tonks-the lhasa apso at the center of all our lives.
Heather-my best friend from high school, who never speaks to me, except when she's in crisis
Xavier-my crazy rich Cuban artist/party promoter, etc. ex, who was institutionalized with schizophrenia
Madonna--Nick's heart's desire, xylophone player, charming chubby 16 year-old girl
Hali Cordoba--Jay's ex of 15 years who left him for and married a professional salsa dancer is weirdly enmeshed in our lives and never shaves her armpits (or wears a bra) and calls us at 10:30 at night.
Lena--her winsome 2 year old daughter
Juan Cordoba--her patient beleaguered Brazilian husband
The Hennessy's--Frances, Big Frances, Linda, Catherine, etc--the Irish-Catholic family who took me into their home and hearts in mean ol Miami
Dartmouth--the college on the hill
Compromises
Happy New Year! I've had an unremarkable one so far.
Lilly and Nick didn't want to be seen with me, of course. Nick went downtown with his friends. He drove. Our town has a celebration called First Night--the whole town turns out to ring in the New year. It's usually wonderful, but last night was a little dull. There didn't seem to be that many people. Hali asked Jay if he could please watch Elena last night while she went out with her husband.
Bitch.
Nice way to throw a wrench in our New Years Eve plans. She's just bent on drying us up. I don't know whether it's conscious or not. Probably conscious.
So we took the Lena bean downtown. I think she was a little overwhelmed. They cover the whole plaza in front of the courthouse with layers of bubble wrap,and they have a kids celebration at 10, and all the kids just pour out in masks and crowns they've made earlier in the evening and they set off fireworks and the kids jump upand down on the bubble wrap--which is actually really satisfying. I'm thinking of covering my entire house in it.
"Big party!" she says, grinning.
"Big party," I agree. We jumped up and down on the bubble wrap for awhile. Then that was enough. She's struck up quite a relationship with Tonks, our Lhasa.
"Tonks loves me." she declares.
"Tonks does love you."
"Tonks is little and sweet and good and she loves me."
"That is very true."
After we made our masks (the Methodist church hosted the masks--the churches usually are open and participate, but my church was closed up cold for some reason. Damn anglicans. No wonder we're losing people) she wanted me to take her in to the bathroom so she could look at herself.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a minute. Then she turned to me and licked me.
I just started laughing. "Why did you do that?"'
"I'm Tonks. I kissed you. Kiss me."
I do so.
Well, what a strange situation.
After the courthouse, she said, "I want to go to another Big party." And Jay was actually considering keeping her out. But I dissuaded him.
"2. 10. Bed."
So we went to Hali's big house (she owns one of the biggest, oldest, most beautiful Victorian houses in our town, right on Broadway, which is a very prized place to have a house). It's always clean, too, unlike mine. Oh well, I do it alone. I don't have two husbands, plus however many roommates they have renting there to keep it all afloat. We're standing in the kitchen, talking, sort of. Hali doesn't make much conversation with me. I don't believe she's ever asked me a question about myself. She's wearing jeans which show the top of her black thong when she bends over and a ribbed turtleneck which skims the top of her waistband. Her hair is down. She takes Lena and they immediately go over to a rocking chair in the corner of the diningroom and starts nursing her.
Hallelujah.
So I invited her and her husband to the hangover leftover party. (This is a New Years Day party I have every year. It's kind of fun. Everybody just schleps over with their leftovers and hangovers and musical instruments and hangs out. Sometimes it's big...sometimes it's small.) I mean, fuck this. Let's get this shit on my turf. I'm tired of these games and I'm tired of being excluded. If there is to be a pretense of one big happy family--which it isn't--it's just an excuse to have the cake and eat it--we'll make the lie the truth. No more games. We'll stick her in the circle of my women, my family, my friends, and we'll bring those pressures to bear. It'll be good for everybody and it will inject a little reality and context in the situation and maybe we'll actually be able to pull something healthy out of it, like a friendship and community out of this weirdness. Here's my gift--I'm healthy and kind and strong. I'll let myself rub off on all this.
You want one big fucking happy family, bitch,
you got it.
That's my 1/2 hour.
Lilly and Nick didn't want to be seen with me, of course. Nick went downtown with his friends. He drove. Our town has a celebration called First Night--the whole town turns out to ring in the New year. It's usually wonderful, but last night was a little dull. There didn't seem to be that many people. Hali asked Jay if he could please watch Elena last night while she went out with her husband.
Bitch.
Nice way to throw a wrench in our New Years Eve plans. She's just bent on drying us up. I don't know whether it's conscious or not. Probably conscious.
So we took the Lena bean downtown. I think she was a little overwhelmed. They cover the whole plaza in front of the courthouse with layers of bubble wrap,and they have a kids celebration at 10, and all the kids just pour out in masks and crowns they've made earlier in the evening and they set off fireworks and the kids jump upand down on the bubble wrap--which is actually really satisfying. I'm thinking of covering my entire house in it.
"Big party!" she says, grinning.
"Big party," I agree. We jumped up and down on the bubble wrap for awhile. Then that was enough. She's struck up quite a relationship with Tonks, our Lhasa.
"Tonks loves me." she declares.
"Tonks does love you."
"Tonks is little and sweet and good and she loves me."
"That is very true."
After we made our masks (the Methodist church hosted the masks--the churches usually are open and participate, but my church was closed up cold for some reason. Damn anglicans. No wonder we're losing people) she wanted me to take her in to the bathroom so she could look at herself.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a minute. Then she turned to me and licked me.
I just started laughing. "Why did you do that?"'
"I'm Tonks. I kissed you. Kiss me."
I do so.
Well, what a strange situation.
After the courthouse, she said, "I want to go to another Big party." And Jay was actually considering keeping her out. But I dissuaded him.
"2. 10. Bed."
So we went to Hali's big house (she owns one of the biggest, oldest, most beautiful Victorian houses in our town, right on Broadway, which is a very prized place to have a house). It's always clean, too, unlike mine. Oh well, I do it alone. I don't have two husbands, plus however many roommates they have renting there to keep it all afloat. We're standing in the kitchen, talking, sort of. Hali doesn't make much conversation with me. I don't believe she's ever asked me a question about myself. She's wearing jeans which show the top of her black thong when she bends over and a ribbed turtleneck which skims the top of her waistband. Her hair is down. She takes Lena and they immediately go over to a rocking chair in the corner of the diningroom and starts nursing her.
Hallelujah.
So I invited her and her husband to the hangover leftover party. (This is a New Years Day party I have every year. It's kind of fun. Everybody just schleps over with their leftovers and hangovers and musical instruments and hangs out. Sometimes it's big...sometimes it's small.) I mean, fuck this. Let's get this shit on my turf. I'm tired of these games and I'm tired of being excluded. If there is to be a pretense of one big happy family--which it isn't--it's just an excuse to have the cake and eat it--we'll make the lie the truth. No more games. We'll stick her in the circle of my women, my family, my friends, and we'll bring those pressures to bear. It'll be good for everybody and it will inject a little reality and context in the situation and maybe we'll actually be able to pull something healthy out of it, like a friendship and community out of this weirdness. Here's my gift--I'm healthy and kind and strong. I'll let myself rub off on all this.
You want one big fucking happy family, bitch,
you got it.
That's my 1/2 hour.
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