Pursuitist
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness
Extraordinarily Routine
The tone was set as I walked into Leif’s.
It was supposed to be a nice afternoon walk through the neighborhood of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. A few architecture sites. Middle Eastern food. Norwegian heritage. The occasional pub. A nice, sunny afternoon following a day filled with rain.
COVID Strikes Back
“This is the first summer where I’ve hung out with people and I haven’t thought about COVID.”
The clock was wound. The grave dug. It was only a matter of time.
COVID: Vaccination
I hadn’t expected it to be so emotional. As I waited in line to receive the vaccine, I thought back to the past year. The Spring, the Shit, when I’d sit down in the shower before work, too tired to properly stand at 5:15 in the morning. The unknown, the anxiety, the close calls. The looks, the looks of patients as they gasped for air, The Terror. The absence of family.
COVID: Press Your Luck
I started to feel bad around lunchtime on Thursday. By Friday afternoon, the body aches had intensified. A non-specific sense of blah had captured every corner of my body. The feeling waxed and waned through the weekend. On Sunday afternoon, I looked to Lori and said “I need to isolate. I’m not feeling too well.”
Surgery
I severely underestimated the amount of pain that would be involved.
Going into the abdominal hernia surgery, I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t nervous. There was some consternation about COVID protocols, but I’ve learned to trust my providers. That said, I’d never been on the other side of the knife.
COVID: Exhaustion
Three of my patients were crashing at the same time. One of those patients had just transferred to the floor. I couldn’t tell you her name. The Rapid Response Team was called. I was on the phone with my attending doctor mapping out treatment options. During the call, I felt a surge of emotion; a mix of doubt, of fear, of feeling overwhelmed. It raced through my veins and up to my brain. I wanted to throw the phone down and run away. Run from the stress. Run from the responsibility. It lasted for no more than 15 seconds, but it surprised me with its intensity and abruptness. Something within me overpowered the emotion, suppressed it. I listened to my attending and worked with my team to stabilize the patient.
COVID: Normalcy
Somewhere between then and now, it became normal. The N95s, the gowns, the empty trains, the solitude. The process was gradual, but the realization was sudden. It hit during a conversation at a nurses station. We were poking fun at a nurse who had floated down to our floor to cover a shift. She approached the assignment as we all once had; with an overabundance of caution and a healthy dose of fear. We snickered watching her apprehensively gown up. We saw the fear in her eyes, a look we all recognized from glimpses in our own mirrors. That look had washed out of us, only to be replaced by something more sinister: normalcy.
COVID: Isolation
Every breath was a struggle. I watched the patient as he focused on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Absolute concentration. He had been wearing a BiPAP mask for nearly 24 hours, having failed the nasal cannula and non-rebreather mask. The BiPAP creates a seal around the nose and mouth, making it difficult to talk, much less eat. Today we were going to try to get him to snack. Not too much, as that could lead to aspiration. Banana. Gelatin. Water.
COVID: The Emergency
That damn N95 mask. It cuts into the skin, along the cheekbones, above the Adam’s apple, and most glaringly across the bridge of the nose. Strategically placed band-aids could prevent further abrasions, but they don’t lessen the discomfort. In addition to the cuts, the masks place a persistent pressure that bores into the lower jaw. By hour 11 of the shift, it feels as if I’ve spent the day grinding my teeth. By hour 12, we all start to doubt whether the life-saving properties are worth the trouble.
Graduation
“Kick ass.”
We were lining up for graduation and I was on deck to give the class speech. Dr. Snyder pulled me aside and told me about a speech she was supposed to give that had rattled her nerves. Her professor pulled her aside and told her to whisper “kick ass” as she walked up to the microphone.
6138 Compton
Moving. The bittersweetest of endeavors. Yes, it's the worst. A strong motivating factor for staying in Indy was the avoidance of the move process. Ultimately job availability won out. This round of packing has once again stirred the nostalgic embers; rummaging through old stuff will do that. So many memories with this move are tied to the apartment itself. Almost two-and-a-half years in Indy! The memories:
Up Around the South Bend
Another road trip. Another trek to another Indiana corner. There are only so many corners in a square-shaped state. We're running out of road.
This trip led north. Past the Chief Menominee memorial and up to the South Bend / Fort Wayne areas.
Ring of Redwoods
An unmitigated disaster. The weekend wouldn't end that way, but it was off to an inauspicious start.
We had traveled to a retreat nestled in the California Redwoods for Kevin's wedding. At least most of us had. Kris, our cabinmate, missed his flight "by 6 minutes," or as one of Kevin's consulting buddies put it: "You mean he missed his flight." Pete had been grounded by severe storms in Dallas. The guy had flown halfway across the world for the weekend and now couldn't find a flight in to San Francisco, San Jose, Sacramento, LA, etc etc. It was Labor Day weekend. Burning Man weekend.
The First Goodbye
"So that's our first goodbye."
Lori and I had just said goodbye to Jordan and Colleen. They were leaving for Peoria in the morning. New jobs. New apartment. New life.
It was well past dusk as we walked down the Monon. I nodded in agreement. My heart swelled as it does with goodbyes. Where there used to be longing, sadness, sorrow, now there is a bittersweet fullness. Emotion pervades, but without form or definition. It's not tear invoking. Rather it's a sense of being filled to the brim with life, with the sense of being alive. It's beautiful.
The Waiting Place
As with most waiting places, I don't know exactly when I arrived. It just sorta happened.
My job offer came through on July 5th. My application for New York State licensure to practice as a PA was submitted July 9th. Since then, I've slipped into the dreaded Dr. Seuss Waiting Place.
My application has yet to be processed by the state. Until it's processed, I am unable to apply for my DEA license. Without either, I'm unable to start work.
Indiana's Nicest Day (Registered Trademark)
A dozen ballerinas twirled across the sunlit stage. The shimmer of their white leotards balanced softly upon the notes of the piano that reached out to the hushed crowd. We had just crested the Newfield's hill and were greeted by the wonder of the Penrod Arts Fair. It lived up to it's billing as Indiana's Nicest Day.
Over 350 artists from around the United States annually descend on Indianapolis to showcase their talents and proclaim the close of summer. Their stalls traverse the Grand Allee of the former Lilly estate, each a celebration of creativity. Visual artists weren't the only artisans in attendance. A visit with the local meat and ale vendor provided us with a proper base for the afternoon.
Bam! Gold!
