Memories

Today we celebrated my son's 10th birthday. He's the one in the middle with a blue shirt and his four year old little sister sitting on his lap. He's a good soul and I'm lucky to have him. It's days like today that make me remember the important things in life. No doubt we will talk about today for years to come. We will talk about how his grandmother fell off the side of the obstacle course and how everybody's hair stood straight up from static electricity. But most of all, we will remember the fun, the laughter, the togetherness.

Happy Birthday, my baby boy! You're growing up too fast....or mamma's getting too old....or both.

The Gift of Clarity

I believe that there is a Supreme consciousness. You can call it by whatever name makes you comfortable, God, Jehovah, Allah, etc. It is all the same being. I believe that we receive gifts from this "Being" every day, we just don't recognize them as such. Oftentimes, the gift is presented as a problem we must work through or a failure of our best layed plans. It is from these adversities that the opportunity for learning presents itself. Before I start sounding like a cheesy motivational speaker, let me share a time in my life that became one of the best gifts I have ever received. It is the gift of clarity.

Throughout my career in Clinical Laboratory Medicine, I have had the opportunity to interact with many people at a particularly trying time in their lives. I have sung to premature infants in the Neonatal ICU because they were crying. I have held the hands of AIDS patients as they suffer through the final stages of the disease. I have listened to the jumbled, confused stories of Alzheimer's patients. Several times, I have felt anger towards mentally ill patients who come in with half hearted suicide attempts, draining the resources of the ER away from people who were there for actual emergencies. I always felt like these things were part of my job and, in a way, I was honored to be a part of each patient's life, no matter how brief.

One morning, after a horrible night shift, I went to the ICU to get several blood samples on a terminally ill patient in his late '70's. I was tired, grouchy, and hungry. There had been no time for lunch, no time for snacking, no time for anything. We had several trauma cases come through the ER that night and even a DOA from a car accident. I was so, so, so very tired. When I got to the ICU, I went in to the patient's room. He was asleep, as he should be at 5am. As the hospital policy dictated, I tried to wake him and tell him about the procedure I was about to perform on him. He was unresponsive so I proceeded to prepare to draw his blood. I drew his blood and as I put the pressure bandage on his arm, I felt a cold slap on my forearm. His hand was on my arm. His fingers were blue and cold, his fingernails needed trimming and were yellow tinged. He scared the daylights out of me. About that time, his eyes met mine and he said in a clear voice, "Am I going to die?". For what felt like hours, I just looked at him unable to say anything. After a few seconds, my eyes filled up with tears and I said to him, "I don't know, honey." His gaze was so penetrating that I couldn't think of anything else to say to him. He just rolled over on his side and went back into his little world where he had resided for that last few days. I was shell shocked and felt guilty for not saying something more professional. It is common for patients to have "moments of clarity" before dying. They could be unresponsive and then, out of nowhere, open their eyes and start talking. That's what I had just experienced with this patient.

He died the next day with his family all around him.

I think of this moment in my life often. When things become difficult, I always flash back to that cold morning in ICU. In many ways, I feel that this was a gift from God. A shocking moment of clarity that brings everything else back into focus. I'm lucky to be alive, lucky to have a family, lucky that I can breathe unassisted by machines, and lucky to know everyday is a miracle.

Rock Me Amadeus!

The '80's girl in me loves cheesy '80's music. The Clash, The Cure, even Big Country are among my favorites. But when it comes to music, nothing transports me back to leggings and Izod jackets better than "Rock Me Amadeus!". An infectious little tune with sung by a German dude(at least I think he was German, he's dead now) named Falco. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was known for his womanizing, heavy drinking and wild parties. He was well before his time in many ways. There's even a movie or two about him, but they hardly compare to the song. :) So, without furthur ado, I give you "Rock Me Amadeus!" by the late, and sorta great Falco.

(You've got to rap it with a German Accent to sound authentic)

He was the first punk ever to set foot on this earth.
He was a genius from the day of his birth.
He could play the piano like a ring and a bell
And ev'rybody screamed:
Come on, rock me Amadeus.

He was a superstar,
he was dynamite and whatever he did (it)
Seemed to be alright.
And he drank (and)
he cursed and he fooled around
But when the women would shout:Rock me Amadeus

Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Oh oh oh Amadeus.

With a bottle of wine in one hand and a woman in the other
'Cause he was a ladies man
He never stopped to worry what the next day would bring
Because the girls would sing:Rock me Amadeus,

Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Oh oh oh Amadeus.

His mind was on rock and roll and having fun
Because he lived so fast he had to die so young.
But he made his mark in history.
Still ev'rybody says:Rock me Amadeus

Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus,
Oh oh oh Amadeus.

The Fox and The Hound

I watched the DVD Outfoxed. I was appalled at the way The Fox News Channel was anything but "fair and balanced" like its slogan states. The numerous memos and interviews used as evidence in the documentary made me nauseated. I didn't realize just what lengths the Republican Party would go to in order to brainwash millions of Americans. The Fox News Channel is just a propaganda machine for the Bush Whitehouse. Each day they send out a memo on what news stories need to be "played down" for the day.

Curiously, the theme of the week for The Fox Newsies was down playing Dick Cheney's Hunting/Murder excursion. Instead they really concentrated on the Neil Entwhistle story. You know, the story where a guy shots his wife and daughter. Apparently when you're the VP of the US and you shoot somebody, it's not news. If you're no name guy in Massachusetts then you're obviously a nationwide story. Go figure.

Oh yes, lest I forget to mention Bill O'Reilly. Can we Irish give him back? I once called him the Jimmy Swaggart of the Republican Party. Wildly popular, but you just know that somewhere, somehow, he's picking up cross dressing hookers. He's an embarrassment to the Celtic people. He's arrogant, self-absorbed, and incredibly stupid. By the way, I don't like him.

So, the next time you sit down to watch the "fair and balanced" Fox News. Keep in mind that George Bush's cousin is over the Political News division there. "Fair and Balanced" MY ASS!

Love and Men

I will never understand men. My friend JD tells me that men are very simple. It's women that are complicated. Men want three things, sleep, food (preferably with lots of fat), and sex. The rest is filler for the times when those things aren't going on. Gosh I really hope that there is more to it than that. I want to think that men wonder about the meaning of life and love and all that jazz. Maybe not....

While talking with a friend, I discovered that I'm really a very naive person. I've never been a woman who likes "going around the block" with just any guy. Perhaps that makes me a prude. I don't know. But I do know that I can't be any other way; it's who I am.

Among the many things my friend and I discussed was the subject of "guy talk". Women know that guys have there own language. It can be crude and yucky, but it exists all the same. For example, "guy talk" for having sex could be....

1) Knock off a chew (never heard this until lately)
2) Seeing a vertical smile
3) Taking the flesh colored bus to tuna town (gross, I know)
4) Tap that ass (popular)
5) Ridin' the pony (popular)

Let me be clear to all the guys out there....Women don't talk like this. About the worst you will hear from a woman are phrases like "horizontal mambo" or "doing the deed". We tend not to refer to our sacred parts in terms of salt water fish species.

Will men and women ever reach a common ground? Uh.....Hell No, but it's fun to try. Just don't refer to me in terms of "chicken of the sea".

Handbag Whore

This is the most superficial post I think I've ever done. I have written about so many depressing things lately, that I thought today I would be all "selfish-like".

While shopping at Parisian's yesterday, I saw the handbag of my dreams. It's a Kate Spade bag similar to the one in the picture. It retails for $295. I looked at it, then I looked at it some more, but I left without purchasing it. Why, you ask? Because I can't justify spending my money on something that expensive to hold my WalMart wallet and WalMart lipstick. When I graduated college and got my first job, I bought two things. I bought a cherry red Mustang (remember this is 1991) and a Gucci handbag. The Gucci bag was over $100 at the time but worth every penny. After about a year, I got rid of both. My love for Mustangs has since waned, but I'm still every bit the Handbag Whore.

I suffer from "Responsible Mom" syndrome. It's an affliction that strikes mainly women with children. While my children wear clothes from Guess, Tomy Hilfiger, and others, I wear clothes acquired from Goody's sales. So, I pace in the handbag department of Parisian's like a crack whore pacing on a street corner. I think perhaps the looking is most of the fun. If I ever bought the damn handbag, I'd just be overwhelmed with guilt, as any good mother would.

A Mother's Agony

I hate war. I hate death. I hate agony. I look at a mother burying her child who was killed in the Iraq war and I see all three things in her face. When I look at her I feel a small part of her pain. Oh, it must be an unbearable, searing spiritual pain. When my children are hurt I can physically feel their pain. How would I go on if I couldn't feel them anymore?

The common denominator in this war is the crying of grieving mothers. The cries of the left behind. To the Iraqi mothers, I offer my sympathy, my love, my understanding, hoping that it might help. It doesn't matter to that mother what side he died on, only that she will never be able to hold him again. To the US mothers, I offer the same, and again, hope it helps. Mothers are mothers throughout the world. Perhaps someday the mothers can come together. We can find a way out for our children that doesn't involve killing.

Peace

I have deleted the last post on Hitler. I became concerned while reading it and the comments it generated. If I stand for nothing else, I stand for peace. My posts are meant to generate thoughtful discussion, not fighting. I want to thank my friend in Ireland, Insomniac2000 for defending my honor. It's something you don't see too often these days. I also want to thank everyone who posted. It's amazing that no matter how many years go by, just the mention of Hitler brings out the claws in people.

Johnny D., your comments are always welcome. We may not agree but perhaps we can learn from one another, that's all I have ever wanted from this blogging exercise.

So, again, let's all go to the Pub. Let's have a few pints and sing Irish drinking songs.