BRIEF DISPATCHES

When work is going well, I can mostly think about other things as I type operative reports, cardiac catheterizations, consults, Emergency Department cases, etc. Between my work software crammed with shorthand terminology and medications I use constantly (loaded in by me over time) and my natural spelling ability, I almost never have to look anything up.

I am brought back to current reality, though, by statements at the beginning of a new dictation like I heard tonight:

First was "Chief Complaint: Skillsaw mishap involving loss of digits." Holy fuck, my fingers curled on themselves in sympathy. Love that "mishap" tossed in there after Skillsaw, a colorful turn of phrase.

Then came "Preoperative Diagnosis: A 40 -year-old female with 36 week pregnancy, perforation of colon and rock-hard stool throughout entirety of colon, with purulent ascites." Just to let you know, the baby got delivered and he was okay. Not so sure about mom, though. They cut out 68 cm of colon and gave her a colostomy. Since it was an op report, there was no explanation of how she got in these dire straits.

When you hear what can possibly go wrong with the human body over the course of 30 years, it makes you grateful for all the ways things go right day after day -- enzymes process dinner without your oversight, ligaments flex (mostly), taste buds send off feedback, gas makes it way out of you, and that big complicated muscle in your chest keeps squeezing to its electrofunk beat. Miracle after miracle.

(Yep, from little gator.)

One of my big accomplishments this week, leading to enhanced quality of life, was assembling a new office chair. The joints in my hands don't cooperate as they once did, but I finally got it done and am, as I type this, enjoying the new comfort of it all. Dinah likewise had a spike in her entertainment level because the long plastic strap around the carton that the chair came in is wonderfully snaky and rattly. If I go too long without lashing it around provocatively, I hear her coming my way with it gripped between her teeth, her paws stepping over it sideways, until she can drop it within reach and look at me pointedly. At the moment, it holds the status of Best Toy Ever.

("Holding Onto Myself" by Peter Callesen)

Here's a little reality check: When you get scared, you don't think well. You're undergoing a physiological response which may be slowed down but is still releasing chemicals into your bloodstream as if you had just looked up and saw a sabertooth tiger about to leap on your head. Your brain shunts processes over to reactive mode, and, well, unless you really are facing down a Smilodon, it would be better if you stopped making decisions (or trying to) and instead lay down for a long nap.

Seriously.

I know things look bad out there. Perhaps they really are that bad, in which case, flecks of feces will soon be splattering through the blades of the Kenmore fan and we'll be reaching for a wet-wipe. Until that happens, though, trying to "get ready" for something which has not yet occurred means you'll be operating on incomplete information. Using old scripts, and the legacy your parents handed you.

There is wisdom and hope to be had without turning to Revelations or reality TV. You know what these rejuvenating wellsprings are: Hanging out with kids. Going out in nature. Cooking something from scratch. The books and poetry you never get tired of (Annie Dillard, here I come). Watercolors. Meditation/prayer/davening. Singing out loud (Beatles are good for this, all you need is love, love, love...)

Texas has more natural springs than any other state in the country (we have a LOT of water here, folks, forget about "Comanche Moon" and all the ways we're portrayed on TV). We talk and think often about recharge zones, how to keep springs alive by not building on top of the labyrinth underground feeding their essence. Pay attention to your recharge zones, my friends. Balance.

There's a Quaker saying, "Proceed as the way opens." Imbedded in that logic is that you DON'T try to move forward until the way opens. Fits and starts is a perfectly okay way to live.

And if you really can't turn off the electronic media immediately, go read about the Overton Window by Sara Robinson at Orcinus. Things are changing for the better. Take a load off, teach a toddler the joy of knock-knock jokes, and eat some veggies. Catch you when you've rested up a bit.

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