Hey, I know that grad!!

(A grad who, incidentally, has been allowed to be *way* more independent than I ever recall being during high school!)  Turd.

Seriously, though, we love you more than you can imagine and we're so proud of you.

Congratulations.

And coming, soon, a photo essay commemorating the aforementioned grad.

(Now, she's nervous... :-)  )

Happy Birthday to the Best Husband in the World

When I first knew Scott, he was just the funny bald paramedic who could captivate an entire nurses' station full of staff with his latest stories from the streets. Gregarious and charismatic, there was just something that drew people in, and I was no exception. I'm not sure what made him pay attention to me, a brand-new nurse still getting the hang of the ER, but he did. Eventually it got to where I would fabricate or fake reasons to go to the main nurses' station when I knew he was there, because it felt so darn good to laugh like that, and later because his big bear hugs felt like acceptance and safety and "home."
Fast forward eight or nine years, and here we are, having settled into the comfortable-if-harried rhythm of a busy life with a handful of kids. He's still the very embodiment of acceptance and safety for me; he saw something worthwhile through the layers of mud I surrounded myself with for a time, held tight to my hand, and pulled me out of the pit. I still don't know why, and I may never understand what blind faith possessed him to think I'd be worth the risk - but every day I try to show him my appreciation and devotion and unconditional love in return.
This man makes me laugh more than anybody I've ever known. I've enjoyed so many fun times, been so many places, and experienced so much with him by my side. It's like I've told him before - even when we've found ourselves in less-than-ideal circumstances (riding in a hailstorm through foot-deep construction mud on the bike, deciding against staying in horrifically disgusting accommodations we'd reserved in good conscience, or standing on the side of the road somewhere), I can't help but laugh because there's no one I'd rather share these crazy misadventures with.
He brings me roses for no reason at all, he flirts with little old ladies and holds doors for little old men. He pulls me into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen or the garage or the middle of the street, he snuggles me to sleep, and he loves me just the way I am. And I love him too.
Happy Birthday, Gorgeous.
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~e~

Nurses: The Good, the Bad, and the Clueless

It's National Nurses' Week. I have worked with some great nurses, and some shitty ones. Some I'd trust to take care of my family, and some I'd just as soon punch in the head. Some that make me proud to share a credential - and some that make me cringe.

So Happy Nurses' Week to the good ones, those of you who use your noggins and good old-fashioned critical thinking. Those of you who try to be self-sufficient instead of lazy and entitled. Those of you who smile and try to be nice, to patients, co-workers, random people you see who look like they could use a smile. Those who don't pawn off all your scut work on techs and CNA's just because you can. Those of you who understand that we're all part of the same healthcare team, and don't act bitchy and annoyed at those who bring us patients. Those of you who understand that you're no better than the housekeepers or the volunteers. Those of you who realize the doctors aren't perfect either, and pay attention to help save everybody's butts.

I'm honored to consider myself your colleague. Here's hoping you hear lots of words of appreciation this week, and don't get spit on or cursed at too much.



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Location:Colorado Springs,United States

Important: Please Read

I know, I don't usually beg you to read posts.  But this is really important.  Why, you ask?

Because we nearly got killed last weekend.  Really.  On the bike, we got clipped by a drunk driver as we rode home in the wee hours of Sunday morning.  We should, by all rights, both be dead or at the very least, vegetating in the ICU.   It happened like this:

Shortly after last call, which is a dumb time to be on the roads, we both know from occupational experience, we were homebound after a fun night downtown.  Not a lot of traffic on the roads, and we were hitting all the lights green as we rode north on Powers at the posted speed limit, 55 or so, and we commented on our lucky timing.  We were about to find out just how lucky.

Approaching the intersection of N. Carefree in the center lane, there was a small sedan in the right hand lane traveling right along with us, and the headlights of a southbound vehicle in the left turn lane ahead.  We got closer to the intersection, and the driver of that car made no apparent attempt to slow or stop or pay any kind of attention, and about the time we crossed into the intersection proper, it became clear that he was oblivious to the three oncoming headlights, despite his red light in the protected left turn lane.  He just kept turning, no change in speed at all, and Scott made the split-second judgment that it wasn't an option to swerve left and miss the guy completely.  The only choice was to goose it and shoot the rapidly shrinking gap between the drunk left turner and the car to our right, so he opened the throttle and I moved my left foot from the passenger peg to avoid getting my knee smashed (not that it'd have made a difference, had there been more than a glancing impact).  All kinds of romantic notions of hasty last sweet nothings in the face of death, out the window, as what I screamed instead of an i-love-you was actually "Fuuuuuuuckkk!!!" The turning SUV clipped our rear tire just enough to shove us a foot to the right, clunk-squeal-exhale, and I have no idea how we stayed upright.  No idea.

The alternate possibilities are staggering, really.  Had Scott been drinking that night and his reflexes dulled even a tiny bit, we'd have been killed.  Had he opted to swerve left, there's no way we could have missed the SUV, and we'd have broadsided him and been killed.  Had we been on a less-powerful bike, we wouldn't have made it through the gap, and would've been killed.  Had he hit the brakes at all, we'd have skidded and probably ended up right in front of the SUV, and would at least be seriously injured.  But we were absolutely unhurt, save for an hour or so of adrenaline-fueled shaking once we got home.  And an experience like that certainly makes one ponder priorities.

People.  PLEASE.  DO.  NOT.  DRIVE.  IF.  YOU.  HAVE.  BEEN.  DRINKING.  PERIOD. 

It goes without saying, don't drive drunk.  But once you start drinking, it's too hard to judge where buzzed stops and drunk begins.  Just don't do it.

Which brings me to the next order of business.  Distracted driving can be just as dangerous.  And Stephanie has entered a contest sponsored by a local law firm, wherein entrants produced a 30-second video public service announcement regarding distracted driving.  She did a great job, and if she wins, she wins a MacBook and her school gets a donation.  Please take just a second to go check out the PSA pool, and give hers a quick vote.  In fact, you can vote once a day, if you like.  Watch hers here, first, rather than wading through the entrants trying to find hers:

That is all.  Thanks for listening.

Eastbound and down...

...somewhere over the rainbow...



Trudging toward Oklahoma for the funeral of a dear friend we never got to tell goodbye. But still in Kansas, Toto, for at least a little while.

Highlights, so far:

Grass.

Gale-force winds.

Flat highway.

Miles of wind turbines.

Witty, yet geeky chatter on every topic imaginable (history, the Navy, politics, travel, physics) from the front seat between two men who called Ben a best friend, chatter that exposes their mutual nervous dread and emotional hunkering-down for this final farewell.

And a 2/3-full can of Coke, forgotten where it sat between my legs as I fidgeted to get comfortable in the cramped backseat...




What next?

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Location:Kansas, USA

Gone Too Soon

Nine days from diagnosis to death.  Nine days.  

(Fuck you, pancreatic cancer.)

We love you, Ben, and you will be missed more than you can imagine.

Yes.

Like those of grammar.



Friggin' idiots.

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Maybe it's just us...

...and our dirty minds...



But we wondered what advertising genius thought this was a good image of a product that might very well be a useful cold-weather accessory.

????

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Monday Messiah Merriment

So it seems as if he's found Jesus.

A good friend of mine from Soda Springs had this picture posted on his Facebook page yesterday - and it's been giving me endless fits of giggles since.

You've seen Jesus on the sides of buildings and bridges.  Jesus on people's French toast and in their potato bins.

Well, add this to the mix.  Matt McC gives you Jesus:

On his dog's butt.

Priceless, my friend.  Thank you for sharing!!

Tuesday Late-Night Miscellany

Okay, Wednesday early-morning miscellany.  But it's still "night," until I've gone to bed.

So I saw something in the paper here yesterday which I found truly cool.  Apparently, one of the churches here in our fair city hosts a Gallery of Living Art to celebrate (do you celebrate?) the Lenten season.  Not being a religious gal myself, I'm rarely up to speed on the comings and goings and doings of that community.  So imagine my chagrin when I saw that I had missed a reenactment of my favorite sculpture of all time**, the Pieta by Michaelangelo (which I am lucky enough to have seen with my own eyes where it's housed in St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican).

See?  This is the original:

And this is the reprise, in my opinion beautifully and hauntingly done by a teenage brother and sister who are members of the congregation of the sponsoring church:

I found that pretty cool.  And if I'd known about it ahead of time, I might even have been seen venturing into said church to check it out.  Lightning bolts notwithstanding.

A pic the paper ran of the kid getting painted up in preparation for this:

Anyhoo.  I digress.

**My second favorite sculpture of all time, which some may have, on occasion, heard me refer to as my favorite sculpture of all time, but whence I was mistaken or otherwise delusional, is the amazing Pas de Deux by Francisco Sotomayor from just up the hill:

This piece (and forgive the crummy low-res picture, it's *really* hard to find an image of) is a beautiful thing that stood all by its lonesome in the unadorned picture window of an aluminum building in Woodland Park.  I gawked at it every time we passed for the first several years I lived here.  Then, one day, it was gone.  I saw it some years later in the lobby of the Plaza of the Rockies building... and I understand it was purchased for upwards of a million at some point.  Anyhow, I like it.

Another cool thing y'all may or may not be aware of is LibraryThing.  Dot-Com.  You can catalog your whole entire collection of books, so that you and others (who may wish to buy you a book, but don't want to buy you one you already have) can browse, search, etc., within your collection.  Pretty cool.  And it's free.  Scott has a nearly-completely-catalogued library, because a gal that loves him dearly has spent hours doing that little project over the last several years... that same gal's library is woefully incompletely catalogued, but since it's also incompletely read, I guess that's okay.

Something else I ran across tonight, whilst looking for pics of Sotomayor's work:  Banana sculptures?
No, really.  See?

People and their free time.  Jeez.

Speaking of which, I've run out.  Got a bunch of things to do before bed.  Ahhhh, my own personal rat race.

My week in pictures

Spurred by body fat test results at the work-sponsored biometric screening, I started the week with some exercise.


Boys' Pinewood Derby cars checked in... Gabe's:



Kyle's:



Then hasty creation of a middle-school Wonder Woman:



A supremely worthless class on how to subdue but avoid hurting aggressive patients who are trying to hurt us (I maintain that strategically-applied pressure or a well-placed groin kick typically accomplish the subduing part without me getting hurt in the process):




The coffeemaker chose today to die...


A brief stint in the (fake) sun, cause there sure the heck ain't the real stuff:



And a spiffy new coffeemaker provided the attitude adjustment that's helped me make it through this long, grueling night of truly sick patients:



23 minutes and counting, till I get to go home and crawl in bed.



-
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Facebook Parenting: "Like"

I imagine everybody's seen this by now, or at least heard of it -
But I just watched it for the first time and now I'm gonna share it.  Because I think this guy is right on.  His approach might be dramatic, sure - but his points are valid, each and every (exploding hollow) one of them.



Facebook is a pain in the ass, and while it's a great way to get in touch with people anymore, it's also made mass communication way too easy for a generation that has no clue about the ramifications of the crap they put up there for all the world to see.

When I was a kid, if you were pissed about something your parents did, you slammed a door.  Maybe you called your best friend.  On the phone that was attached to the wall with a cord.  If you were *really* pissed, you told a few friends the next day at school.

If you thought some girl was a bitch, you told your friends, and if you were brave enough, you told that girl face to face, knowing she might punch you or slap you or kick you in the babymaker (or, hypothetically speaking, even though she never did a darn thing to you, you followed her, real slow, in your ugly beat up silver Subaru station wagon [the one she deemed "the slutmobile"] as she walked home from school, or you threw her nasty looks in the hallway, and you probably didn't care that twenty some odd years later she still thought of you as a pathetic mean acne-scarred hag).

If you and your boyfriend got in a fight, or broke up, your friends knew about it.  Your *actual* friends, the ones who knew your favorite color and your shoe size.  Not your 14,702 Facebook "friends," most of which don't even know you or give two shits about what really happens in your life.

And if you did something dumb, a handful of people talked about it, until the next person did something dumb.  You didn't have to worry about photographic proof of your dumb-ness being available worldwide at the click of somebody's mouse (or worse, your own).  Shit that stays out there forever, shit that can follow you from high school to college to career...and it's all too easy to get it out there before you even take a second to think about it.

What I always say to our girls (who have, incidentally, all three gotten in trouble for dumb shit they posted on Facebook) is that if you wouldn't put it on a billboard in the middle of downtown, don't put it on Facebook.  What happens on Facebook *doesn't* stay on Facebook.  Plenty of people have been killed, have killed themselves...lives have been ruined by people not thinking about what they're posting.

So I say kudos to this dad, who found a way to make the point to his ungrateful entitled little shit of a daughter.  Our kids have chores and responsibilities and expectations too, and they have consequences if they screw up, and we stick to this agenda why??  Because we love them and want them to become responsible, productive members of society.  Because that's our job as parents.  Not nearly as easy as the dishes or sweeping the floors.

Yer Killin' Me, Val...

Oh, kids.  This is just too horrifying not to pass along.
I like Val Kilmer.  Have been a fan ever since Real Genius.  (Yeah, I know, that dates me.)  I dug him in Top Gun and Tombstone.  Never saw The Doors, but still want to, sometime before I die.

So imagine my surprise, when, in the course of some taking-a-break-from-house-cleaning surfing, I ran across this little slice of awful over at List of the Day.  Apparently, somebody told Val he should bless the world with his melodic musings.

He should not have.  Take a listen, and see if you can stomach more of it than I did:







And another thing.  A preliminary image search for shots of Val turned up a whole other kind of disappointment.  You see, I was going to end this little post with the quip "It's a good thing he's cute."  Well, he's not that anymore, either.  Used to be.  Ain't no more.  Dude, have a salad once in a while.
Lookie, and you'll see just what I mean.

Good Val:

Bad Val:

Eeeeeeeewwwww.

And it begins.

It started innocently enough. Fluffy flakes drifting lazily to the bare ground.



Then, a few began to stick.



Now, the wind has picked up, and it's really starting to snow...


(damn you, Starbucks, and your yummy new Blonde roasts, for screwing with my steely resolve to only drink home-brew)

The roads are getting slicker than snot, and traffic sucks, and this system is supposed to dump a foot or so on us tonight...


...and that can only mean one of two things for those of us who work in emergency medicine: a slow night because people are sensible and just stay home, or a bust-ass, no-time-to-pee night because they either get out there and drive like morons, or they call 911 for their sniffles.

We shall see.