I'm 30 today...

The last decade, I've concluded, was one of major metamorphosis.  It was me, evolving, into the person I wanted to be growing up.  Do I feel grown up now?  Sometimes... sometimes in the right way and sometimes in the "this is all too much" way.  Sometimes- I'd rather put on my knee-high boots, drink too many cocktails and go out dancing with my girlfriends... rather than dancing barefoot in my parents living room with my mom and Silas.  But then again- it is joyful, unpretentious, soul-filled dancing... not hard thumping, bumping, grinding  but drums and laughter and clapping and jumping.

My hope for the next decade is to take what I've learned and where I've been and make it fly.  Release more of the angst-y bullshit I cultivated in my teens and tried to move beyond in my twenties and rock on in my own way.   Judge less, fight less, hide less, worry less.  Listen more, commune more, love more, build more. 

What she said

"The shape of my life is determined by many things; my background and childhood, my mind and education, my conscience and its pressures, my heart and its desires.  I want to give and take from my children and husband, to share with friends and community, to carry out my obligations as a woman, as an artist, as a citizen.

But I want first of all to be at peace with myself.  I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations as well as I can.  I would like to achieve a state of spiritual grace from which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God...

Life today in America is based on ever-widening circles of contact and communication.  It involves not only family demands, but community demands, national and international demands, through social and cultural pressures, through the mass media.

My mind reels with it.  What a circus act we women perform every day of our lives.  This is not the life of simplicity that wise (wo)men warn us of.  It leads not to unification but to fragmentation.  It does not bring grace;  it destroys the soul...

With a new awareness, I begin to understand why the saints were rarely married women.  It has to do primarily with distractions.  The bearing and rearing of children, to running of a house, human relationships with their myriad pulls-- women's normal occupations run counter to creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life.  The problem is not merely one of Woman and the Home or Woman and Career, but more basically: how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life.

What is the answer?  I have only clues, shells from the sea.  The bare beauty of the channel-whelk tells me that one answer, and perhaps a first step, is in cutting out some of the distractions. But how?  I must find a balance somewhere between island solitude and communion, between retreat and return."

-From Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gifts From the Sea

Antagonism

Sweep up the crumbs or leave it messy

Struggle with the comb or leave it wild

Neaten, purge, dust- or let it all hang out...

Go outside or perseverate on the clutter

Lie around, watching a movie or tackle the mountain of journal articles still unread

Fold yet another load of laundry or leave it all undone...

Every day I try to choose a little sanity, a little relief, a little zen.  I try to let loose, push away panic attacks over dust bunnies- not ruin a day over a cheerio.  But this is my struggle- peace or productivity.  And still tonight- even as I reflect on this, my mind is zooming around and around- glass of wine or chapter review?  Because I continue to be so hard on myself- not wanting to waver in my dedication and pursuit of perfection.  Then I return to the obvious- who cares about perfection if you're miserable?  Who cares about achievement if you're burned out?

This is why I need to vacation somewhere other than my house.  So I can't spend my days raking and cleaning and loading and unloading the dishwasher and cleaning up for the cleaning lady.  I need to get away- fully- and bring my family with me.  Not for the cultural experience (which I crave) but for the moments of breathing- digging my feet in the sand, tumbling in the waves, a second margarita.

In 2000 I fell asleep on the couch in my apartment in the early hours of my birthday... after a night of watching returns, with fleeting moments of hope and persistant moments of fear. Who could have predicted the significance of that outcome? . When I woke up the next morning, wondering what had been decided overnight- I was so naive to think that there would have been a victor.  I watched in horror over the next days, in disbelief that it came down to single votes and our democracy was superceeded by court decisions.

I fell asleep on my couch again last night- Jeff nudged me... "He did It."  I was so relieved- not only at the outcome but at the fact that it was not a day filled with "irregularities".  That we really did get out the vote.  That the contagious hope translated into action.

I woke up this morning with butterflies in my stomach. I listened to the news with tears in my eyes.  And suddenly, it was as if a huge weight lifted from my heart.  He did it. We did it.

There is much work to be done. Thankfully, we have a leader with his nose to the grindstone and hope in his heart.  My faith in democracy has been restored.    I am inspired.

It may look dark tonight but if I hold on to hope, tomorrow will be brighter. ~President Obama

Holding my breath

We went to vote today as a family. Silas (my son to the core), happily squealing "NO John McCain!" as we waited on line. My hands shook with excitement at voting- more energy than I've ever experienced with voting. It's always mattered. Somehow it matters more today.

I then took a long walk home- it is so warm here today... and I spent the morning planting garlic and putting our flower beds down for the winter. I felt so in tune with today- the close of one season and planning for something new.

So I sit here tonight, holding my breath and watching the talking heads ruminate over numbers and projections. I'm afraid to go to bed before it's all settled. I'm afraid if I stay up and it goes the wrong way, I'll cry myself to sleep. I'm afraid that if Hope doesn't prevail, we're all fucked. Excuse me. FUCKED.

In my heart, I can only believe that Obama is going to win. It is the only thing that makes sense. It seems to be the only way to steer us back to some of our roots and get us back on track. Real compassion- that's what I'm talking about.

At the same time, part of my heart has resigned to moving to Canada- somewhere civilized- where everyone has guaranteed health care... I already have my tuke.

So cheers to all of you tonight, watching and waiting... holding our breath for something new, something better, something more.

You Just Have To...

Do it for yourself, your friends, your family, your children.

Do it for the economy, as an example to those who cannot yet.

Do it for the future, for the past, for the present.

I am desperate for something new- a new era, a new time, a new peace.

Get out there. Vote.

Over and Underwhelmed

Vacation... sweet vacation. Not for flying away and sipping coladas but for standing on my legs, straightening out my house and my head. Trying to gather together again. I'm a third of the way through my intern year and we seem to be maintaining. And I'm doing my best...
To not criticize or back-seat drive
To parent with a minimal amount of time
To be a partner, friend and lover to my hubby- even though we didn't even celebrate our anniversary (almost a month ago) because I was post-call and grumpy... and we had no baby-sitter
To keep my house clean (even when I'm not doing my share and we have outside help every few weeks)
To not care when my house isn't clean or to freak out and clean and de-clutter when really what I want to do is go outside, breathe some fresh air... or take a long nap in the afternoon curled up with Silas

And sometimes I fail and fall apart and lose my shit and ruin a perfectly good afternoon by being anxious about clutter or mess or dirty dishes getting crusty or the laundry piled on top of the dryer- not being folded for days... and then when it's folded, sitting in the middle of our living room in piles taking days to make it back into anyone's drawers.

Then I think- with all that we have going on- isn't it better to just say "Fuck It" and walk away...

So this week, my 1st off in 4 months- I'm going to walk away... or maybe walk towards- a few deep breaths, a yoga class, a hair cut, long breakfasts, planting crocuses. Ease my way into the day instead of hitting the ground running well before dawn. A few days of relief, regeneration and celebration.

A Longer Night

While everyone else seems to revel in the thought of daylight savings time... those of us up all night tonight have an extra hour of special-time at work... and while I would not wish to be doing anything else (except being snuggled up under our pumpkin colored flannel sheets at home with my guys) I will happily stay here- for a night of surgeries and births.

Oh Halloween... had friends over and handed out candy while we munched on pizza. Our sweet pea is too shy to truck around to strangers houses to Trick or Treat. I figured it would end up as us pimping him out for candy we weren't going to let him eat anyway. But still- Silas was soooo happy to be fireman. And that was after much anguish and feeling like a horrible mother for not getting a costume together despite much forethought and too little action. Happily, we inherited the perfect outfit Thursday night from a new-dear friend with a kiddo just enough bigger. Now if I could only get him to take the hat off.

I'm going to do my best to participate in NaBloPoMo as a kickstart to this whole self-reflection thing I'm trying to accomplish... we'll see if this experiment works... A post a day? Rather than a post a month? Sheesh.

Where I've been

These last weeks have been full... Full of 30 hour shifts every 4th night. Full of deaths rather than births. Full of family discussions, hand holding, letting go.

I just finished a month in the Medical ICU. Intensity is the rule there. Ironic that while so much of our time is focused on helping people breathe, I had a hard time catching my breath. I got a little more used to crying publicly- for better or worse. At one point, I was writing comfort care orders and signing "terminal extubation" forms with tears running down my face- only to look up and see my entire team as well as the wife of the patient standing across the desk. Sometimes I wish I didn't immediately get the red face and puffy eyes of someone on the verge of sobbing. It is what it is. I am who I am. I also gained more confidence- felt the ground beneath my feet- felt more and more like I was growing into the person I'm supposed to become.

And now I'm back in OB/GYN world. This time I get to be a surgeon. Or rather, learn to be one. Still lots of crying. Yesterday, as I was caring for a post-operative patient with advanced cancer, she showed me a photo album of her daughter. Her daughter died 10 months ago of ovarian cancer. She was 39. She was a patient at this hospital. On the same list of patients as her mother is now on. Her mother showed me pictures of her in her bikini up to her knees in snow, a picture of her with all of her nieces, a picture of her with a beautiful bouquet- renewing her vows- 2 weeks before she passed from this life to the next. We cried together yesterday.

So no poetry for me today. Feeling like I need to find my way back home. Sitting here at work, listening to the wind whip by the windows- barely able to see the Adirondacks for the clouds and snow- unable to believe that Fall has pretty much come and gone. And here I am, struggling to put 2 words together- feeling like I've missed the mark here today. Haven't quite gotten to the point. Still- here I am. And mostly, other than trying maintain myself while learning as much as I can and doing the best by my patients, I've been meditating on the following:
If you are irritated by every rub, how will you be polished? ~Rumi

...wishing this was more polished.

A Tiny Soapbox

I just can't stand it. I am so angry at the Republicans and John McCain I can't bear to keep it in. I can't laugh, I can't even cry- it is so beyond ridiculous. The nomination of Sarah Palin is a slap in the face of all women. To say that she was the best choice for the campaign is to belittle the careers of many smarter and more established women. Or to suggest that the reason she was chosen was to appeal to the marginalized women out there is another excercise in condescention. To say that we would vote for a vagina- any vagina... rather than someone, regardless of gender who supported our choices and freedoms and education and our families- is so transparent and baffling. Furthermore- to characterize her as a feminist, to accuse the media of sexism, to portray the GOP as the party for women- it such bald-face lying I can barely stomach another word about it.

Our current administration isn't bad enough. But, to me, Gov. Palin's nomination is one of the biggest farses in modern times. To suggest she has a single shred of skill that equips her to run the country is a mockery of our system of government. To suggest that she stands up for what she believes in is one thing... but what about the substance of it? It's not enough to just strap on a big pair of balls and put a truckload of aggression beyond them. This country doesn't need another "act first, think later" kind of person at the helm. We don't need judgmental a-holes, playing "holy-er than thou" while jeopardizing our international ties and financial stability. We've seen what 8 years of this has done for our global diplomacy- not to mention our economy. I mean really... crap. Or fuck. Or fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry and feeling patronized and in total disbelief at the number of people falling hook, line and sinker for the show. And while polls show a drop in their popularity, commensurate with Obama/Biden's gains, I worry that the Rove-esque escapades will pull it off again. That there will be voting "irregularities" and "Supreme Court Decisions" and we will be paddling up an increasingly large creek.

I'm not feeling eloquent, poetic or zen-like tonight. I'm feeling raw. For more coherent and educated banter...
Maureen Dowd
Arianna Huffington

And for a laugh (even if it's a nervous, panicky "this is too creepy to be comedy" laugh)

Onto the next

Fall has suddenly emerged... or snuck up or sunk in its teeth.

It is the time for reveling...
One last swim in the lake
A final ear of fresh corn
Quarts of fresh berries from here and there

The time for preparing...
Making jam, freezing fresh veggies and fruit
Planting a few fall seeds in our cold frame
Tidying up the flower beds
Ordering bulbs

The time for gathering together...
Last picnincs on the waterfront
Welcoming new babies
Harvest festivals and back to school (for some)
New friends acclimating to our community

The time for putting away...
the canoe and hammock
sandtoys, sunscreen and beach towels
sundresses and sandals (not quite)

A time for getting my shit together. Touching my feet to the ground.

Home again

Waking up in my own room, my old room. Surrounded by abandoned college texts, high school yearbooks, boxes full of notes and letters. The sounds of early morning carved into my bones. The trucks roaring by, the breeze tickling the trees, a distant train horn.

Drinking lots of coffee while taking the morning slow. Silas doing laps in the kitchen while Mom makes blueberry pancakes. Listening to our favorite radio station. Waking up, shaking off last night's wine and soft serve.

Gathering ourselves, slicing watermelon, finding the sunscreen and lifejackets. Ready for a day on Captain's sailboat.

My childhood home. My centering place. Several deep breaths and four days off in a row. Blessed be.

3 Sheets

Alright then...

Just coming back from celebrating. A new place. Completing my first two months with some semblance of grace. Moving onto a new service.

I'm here flying solo for one night. I went out with some girlfriends- enjoyed a night on the town, some champagne and fries and a shake on the way home. Slightly tipsy and looking forward to a single day. A day to sleep in and get breakfast out. Perhaps here or maybe here... then the farmer's market... see about a haircut... and maybe some shopping. I really could use some new underwear... or maybe a nap.

Two months... I've evolved in subtle and profound ways. Dozens of babies. One born in the water, en caul today. Mystical. Some through surgery. Three back-to-back yesterday... and bleeding and dizziness and pain and infection... and babies and more babies. I come home and Silas says, "Babies? Mama catch babies?" What will I tell him of my work in the next two months as I venture to the Emergency Department and the ICU??! No babies. Sick people. Lots and lots of sick people. No babies.

I'm looking forwards to a breath. Maybe two. To four days off in a row to spend with my son and my mother. Some time to gather myself again before more craziness. Before I hear, "Anna! Anna! Anna!... Anna! Anna! Anna!"

And off I go with a belly full of milk shake and fries and champagne. For a night without alarms or 2am toddler wake-ups. A night that could go on until morning. Or afternoon. Many thanks. Much gratitude.

Exhaustion sets in.

5 Minutes

Jena, here we go...

5 minutes. All it takes, right? Somehow this post has been brewing for weeks.

My hand no longer shakes when I am handed the scalpel. It is steady when I grasp the handle. Tremors don't surge through my body when it is my job to stitch, my job to grasp, my job to repair.

My heart is still excited. I am overcome with delight and amazement when a baby makes a safe passage into their life. I wonder at the way women's bodies were born to bear children and how our bodies know just what to do, even when our minds tell us otherwise.

My body is exhausted and I am doing all I can- trying desperately to maintain frienships, maintain my marriage, maintain my motherhood, maintain my house, maintain my family. Sometimes all I do is maintain.

I spend my days watching "strips"- the passage of time measured in contractions, fetal heart rates. I listen well into the night to the fluttering murmurs of babies not yet born. One eye and one ear there at all times... even at this very moment.

I am stepping up, stepping in, learning how.

This might not be beautiful or meaningful... but it exists.

Today I missed a delivery. My first one to miss. It was her fifth and she proudly announced no doctor had ever made it to her delivery. I was defiant and confident. I'd be there. I was there, back turned for a minute to get the instrument tray. She delivered in the bathroom. She caught the head herself. Doctor? Who needs a doctor?

5 minutes. 5 more soon, I hope.

Dispatch...

Middle of the night...

Watching fetal heart strips, checking labor progress, monitoring recoveries.

Many hours to go before I sleep- I can almost smell my cotton sheets and feel the fan in my bedroom. Aching just a bit for Jeff's light snoring and Silas's baby breath.

5 weeks in. Learning how to survive. Learning how to teach. Learning how to let go. Surrender or exhaustion? Does it matter?

Passing

There is a gaping hole in my heart tonight. My favorite favorite aunt died unexpectedly in her sleep. There are no words to console, to heal, to soothe. I am raw. Her vibrant energy, sassy attitude and no-holds-barred in your face honest is deeply missed already. I cannot believe she is gone.

My dearest Aunt Abby- you spoke truth and didn't hold back. You were a phenomenal cook and baker... you knew how to make good out of bad. You were my mom's best friend. I aspire to your unabashed fearlessness and wish I could have traveled the world with you. I wish I could remember the last time I saw you. I wish you laugh was not already fleeting from my memory. I wish you were here yelling the truth, grabbing your crotch in a way only you could, living with abandon. I miss you. I am raw.

Please hold my Aunt in your thoughts... Last night after a day spent swimming and sunning and reading and eating and drinking coffee and going for a walk at sunset she passed away in her sleep. A beautiful, poetic, merciful way to go. Twenty fucking years too early. I cannot believe she is gone.

Regrounding

I found your babyhood yesterday as we splashed in the pool. Me bleary-eyed from my crazy schedule and your blonde hair soaked through. My little baldy. Splashing and hugging me close. "Mommy, under!" you yelled over and over again. And we dunked and we sputtered and we wiped our eyes. We had an hour of uninterrupted, unrushing, un-doing time. I am so grateful. I am so so grateful.

Another Day

Bitching seems to be a given these days. A rite of passage in many career paths. In a time that we are blessed with so many opportunities and resources while our time and energy seem to be the limiting factor... why waste it complaining? Especially when it makes you feel worse not better. Commiserating? Yeah- being miserable together. I'm going to try to eliminate this from my way of being. My inspiration is here. Every day is another day. Join me?

Four Short Years

Four years from now....
I will have aided hundreds of women in bearing their children
been with them, held their hands as they faced their mortality
ran to their bedsides to attend to their fevers, pain, bleeding
witnessed their last moments on this earth
shared their euphoria as they saw or heard their baby's tiny heart beat for the first time
heard their dark secrets and deep fears
delivered babies who had already passed from this earth.

Four years from now...
Silas will be six
Jeff will be nearly forty
and I am desperately afraid their hearts will be harder for this time.

Four years from now...
I will have cried rivers of tears
Spent more time at the hospital than at home
Lost my shit and gathered it
Been taken to task in public and private
Become an obstetrician and a surgeon.

Four years from now...
I hope to retain my sense of humor and my humility
my wonder at the true miracle of birth
I hope I can maintain my most valued relationships
without straining them to the breaking point.

Three days from now I start my residency. I am scared shitless. I am excited beyond belief. I am realizing a dream hatched, squashed and reborn. My heart is heavy with the weight of "this one last weekend" but excited for that weekend with my family (at my brother in law's kick ass new studio open house). I am worried I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and I have patients booked into my clinic Monday morning. Mostly I'm worried I'm going to lose my sense of self and my way home in the madness of my training. I worry I'll lose the wonder for the paperwork. That the demands of a full list of people to care for will overwhelm my ability to be fully present with each one. That my heart will slowly close itself.

"Worry is a prayer for bad things to happen." So I am going to take a breath, embrace the four years a moment at a time, give myself the permission to fall apart and get back up and do it again. Reassure myself that my family will thrive even with a smaller piece of me. That I will remain whole as I am enriched by this training.

Priceless

I love Stephen Colbert but don't have cable and don't often think to watch his clips. This one had me laughing until my belly hurt. So much good stuff in it. Enjoy. Maybe empty your bladder first, depending on your mood and the state of your kegel practice.