There was a lady circling the desk (a patient) and she was saying random non sense words, asking questions about the number 9, with an occasional comment about Satan, and the end of the world..... (just in case you weren't already freaked out). And every time she passed me, I tried not to look at her.
As I was getting the medications ready for my next patient, my I-phone was playing a song. It was a Beatles song from my new cirque-LOVE cd (the Beatles remixed... But not jacked up) and while I was getting my meds together, I was thinking about John Lennon and how he had said once (as a response to the blues of life), "all you need is love".
*(of course he also said he was the walrus...... which I never got, but I totally think the crazies would understand).
John Lennon would have made a great blues man cause all blues men know about love. But given the crap that comes with loving people that don't love you, the question I would've asked John Lennon (were he still living) would be, how do you know, all you need is love? Cause (from a 7 Tower perspective at least) sometimes I think all you need is Haldol (antipsychotic medication).
In fact, if life is a debate between whether the world is insane or sound, it's the crazies these days that are winning hands down as far as I can tell.
I have an uncle who thinks he's the opposite of all that (crazy). He's a modern man. He only believes in science, thinks technology is the answer to most problems in life. He scoffs at traditional cultural concepts of the supernatural as superstition... (Not just the "big five" religions.....All of them.... Old Pagan.... New Pagan..... Asian.... African..... Native American......). But he loves science fiction (may speak Klingon). He's reasonable and rational and skeptical of anything outside of what he can see or hear. He believes the universe is a closed box of cosmic dust and that people are not much more than a few brain cells and sex organs and hormones (to keep it all going).
He believes that he came from nothing and that he's going to nothing and that in the end there's nothing more out there than a very lonely compact atom sized dot that the entire universe will eventually collapse back into. But still, every day he stands in the sandwich line at work and gets pissed off when the administrative staff casually cut themselves toward the front of the line, as if anything that happens in this world, good, bad, just or unjust, should finally matter in the end, at all.
(Now that's crazy).
Living life seeing things that aren't really there (Justice, Meaning, LOVE) is the definition of crazy. Right? And yet, deep inside us we all "gotta feeling" (another Beatles song) that all these things are true. (is that irrational?). The problem is that with all the (alleged) evidence to the contrary, we think this life matters. That it has meaning. That maybe after all.... All you need is Love. And either that's true, and we're all living our lives unwilling and detached from something bigger, like some dying leaf on a breeze. Or we're just terribly arrogant. (and crazy). And I'm willing to believe that a little of all three are true. And in the end, you just cant deny the truth.
(* Charlie Dixon once said the blues is the truth. And John Lee Hooker said to; "Let that boy boogie woogie..... cause it's in him..... and it got to come out".).
I picked up my medications to go to my next room but as I stepped into the hall the crazy lady made her way past me with her back bent, head down like a chicken, talking out of her head. I let her make her way past me without eye contact. But this time she looked more familiar to me. Maybe like every single crazy blues man that I'd ever seen.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Malay
Spent some time with a bunch of friends from work on Friday night. One of our friends, her name is Malay, is at MD Anderson today for surgery to remove a recently discovered cancer. It's a very extensive surgery. I'd be lying if I said we weren't worried about her. The get together was a surprise send off and we had a great time (and I don't think it was just the alcohol). But I learned Friday night that laughter is a blues fighter.
We spent the majority of the night talking about the crazies on 7 Tower. My favorite story was about one of our nurse aides who was sitting with a patient. The patient was very confused and while our nurse aide was watching him, he fell asleep (as a sitter you never fall asleep-it's like being a prison guard). Of course, as you could imagine, a lot of bad things could go down in a situation like that. (it sometimes has..... once a naked patient ended up at a quicktrip across 11th street). However, the best possible (and most thoughtful) thing happened. While the nurse aide was sleeping the patient climbed over the bed rails, crawled over to our sleeping "security guard" and covered him up with a blanket.
Lesson learned. Not all crazies are Hell bent on destroying the world.
We spent the majority of the night talking about the crazies on 7 Tower. My favorite story was about one of our nurse aides who was sitting with a patient. The patient was very confused and while our nurse aide was watching him, he fell asleep (as a sitter you never fall asleep-it's like being a prison guard). Of course, as you could imagine, a lot of bad things could go down in a situation like that. (it sometimes has..... once a naked patient ended up at a quicktrip across 11th street). However, the best possible (and most thoughtful) thing happened. While the nurse aide was sleeping the patient climbed over the bed rails, crawled over to our sleeping "security guard" and covered him up with a blanket.
Lesson learned. Not all crazies are Hell bent on destroying the world.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Mrs. F.
Sometimes there's a part of me that turns into a child. A little boy. Just for a second. Sometimes just a flash of a moment. Like a flash of hurt; like losing a board game on the floor of some childhood friends house. And then I want to go home. One of the nicest ladies I've ever met died on Monday. She was one of our cancer patients (breast cancer). We diagnosed her on the floor several months ago. A wound that didn't look right. A biopsy. A talk with the physician. A game plan. A surgery. A dose of chemotherapy. Then another. The hair loss. The nausea. The pain. The discharge. The readmission. The discharge. The readmission. The discharge. The readmission. The turn for the worse. The ICU. The DNR. The family. The pain medicine. The unconsciousness. The pauses between breaths. The suddenly slow heart rate. The slowing. The friend... Husband... Wife.... Partner..... Mother..... Father.... Sister..... Brother..... Son..... Daughter..... sitting beside the bed. The slowing. The call from cardiac monitors. The slowing. The family's concern that somethings not right. Something has changed. And finally the slowing to a stop. This is the way it almost always goes. The lady I knew was a body full of Joy. She once grabbed the ass of one of my male nurse aides in a narcotic stupor. And then she apologized like a lady when the medicine wore off. Cancer didn't defeat her. It took her body but it never took her spirit. That's the beauty of the blues of this world. It can never take your spirit. God Bless one of my favorite patients. May you dance with angels while you and the rest of this universe await the promised kingdom to come. |
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Dharma of Jesus
Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) said that "the world is a vampire", but I'm inclined to believe that it's more like a "big legged woman that ain't got no soul". (Led Zeppelin-Black Dog).
I overheard a conversation between 2 friends at work. (Both of them very compassionate people working with the crazies on 7 Tower). My 1st friend was talking about how she didn't buy into organized religion and how it was all a sham and stuff, and she asked my 2nd friend (who's gay) what he believed. And his answer was, he had a problem with believing in God because of how some things had worked out in his life. And also because of Gods followers (the churchy's and their "God hates fags" signs) but he added, "I like Jesus......... I've always liked Jesus" he said.
It had me thinking about what God looks like. I struggle a lot with my concept of God. Primarily because of my Blues. I was raised in a culture that viewed God as a hateful caricature, some old dude sitting above the clouds; angry, hating everything and everyone, like that Kansas preacher Fred Phelps- (constipated?) with a white beard (Leon Russell?).
I have to admit that sometimes I struggle with my belief in God. Especially the constipated God, cause I don't think the constipated God exists. Sometimes I struggle with all the crap that happens in the world, and why it happens, and why won't God prevent it from happening. Sometimes I ask God questions that they (churchy's") say you're not supposed to ask.
In fact I was reading an article from some religious dude (a Churchy) and he was going on and on about "music these days" (he was a churchy musician). And he was saying how most of the religious music that was coming out was offensive to God, cause it wasn't respectful enough. It didn't put God high enough up in the clouds. But rather it was too base, and worldly, kinda like a- "God as your girlfriend"- romantic love kind of music, and the picture he was painting of God made him feel very distant and foreign to me, like suddenly I was looking at Leon Russell again, way up in the sky.
I was surprised to find that Mahatma Ghandi (Hindu by religion) had found a similar experience with the churchy's. Before he was the non-violent hero of justice in India he was a law student in South Africa and at invitation of a friend he spent some time studying both Holy books; the bible and the Bhagavad Gita (Hindu scripture). With his study of the Bible, particularly the gospels of the New Testament, he found himself intrigued by the teachings (Dharma) of Jesus and so decided to visit a church one day, but was prevented from entering by one of the elders because of the color of his skin. When asked by a christian missionary (at a later time) what he thought about Jesus, Ghandi said, "Your Christ, I like, what I don't like are your Christians". (paraphrased).
Another famous person in India, Mother Teresa of Calcutta, had an interesting perspective of what God might look like. Mother Teresa, who worked with the destitute, the dying, the rejected, the blues playing poor of India, said that she always tried to picture the face of Jesus on every person she came in contact with. (paraphrased). Because it was the Dharma of Jesus that told her that when you offer someone even just a cup of cold water in his name, you're also giving it to Jesus. In a way then his Dharma is that God doesn't as much look like the white bearded old man in the sky as much as in a particular way, he looks like your sister, or your mother..... your brother..... neighbor.... even your enemy. Where ever there is pain anywhere in the blues playing world...... there in the face of the blues, is the person of Jesus.
As for me, my preference these days is to view God as a guitar playin blues man. Maybe making his way through the universe with a guitar strapped on his back. (Some electric-blue Les Paul, I would imagine). Carrying nothin with him but that guitar and a whole host of blues songs about the world that got away from him, that "big legged woman that ain't got no soul". And how he loved her once and then she left him. Spent his money. Stole his car.
At risk of offending my churchy musician friend, what I'm suggesting might be a little base, "worldly", similar to "God as your girlfriend" kind of stuff, but in this case we (the world) are the the runaway woman (don't tell Fred Phelp's that he's a woman). But if it ain't all happening like that on some level, then there ain't nothin in this world that's true at all.
I overheard a conversation between 2 friends at work. (Both of them very compassionate people working with the crazies on 7 Tower). My 1st friend was talking about how she didn't buy into organized religion and how it was all a sham and stuff, and she asked my 2nd friend (who's gay) what he believed. And his answer was, he had a problem with believing in God because of how some things had worked out in his life. And also because of Gods followers (the churchy's and their "God hates fags" signs) but he added, "I like Jesus......... I've always liked Jesus" he said.
It had me thinking about what God looks like. I struggle a lot with my concept of God. Primarily because of my Blues. I was raised in a culture that viewed God as a hateful caricature, some old dude sitting above the clouds; angry, hating everything and everyone, like that Kansas preacher Fred Phelps- (constipated?) with a white beard (Leon Russell?).
I have to admit that sometimes I struggle with my belief in God. Especially the constipated God, cause I don't think the constipated God exists. Sometimes I struggle with all the crap that happens in the world, and why it happens, and why won't God prevent it from happening. Sometimes I ask God questions that they (churchy's") say you're not supposed to ask.
In fact I was reading an article from some religious dude (a Churchy) and he was going on and on about "music these days" (he was a churchy musician). And he was saying how most of the religious music that was coming out was offensive to God, cause it wasn't respectful enough. It didn't put God high enough up in the clouds. But rather it was too base, and worldly, kinda like a- "God as your girlfriend"- romantic love kind of music, and the picture he was painting of God made him feel very distant and foreign to me, like suddenly I was looking at Leon Russell again, way up in the sky.
I was surprised to find that Mahatma Ghandi (Hindu by religion) had found a similar experience with the churchy's. Before he was the non-violent hero of justice in India he was a law student in South Africa and at invitation of a friend he spent some time studying both Holy books; the bible and the Bhagavad Gita (Hindu scripture). With his study of the Bible, particularly the gospels of the New Testament, he found himself intrigued by the teachings (Dharma) of Jesus and so decided to visit a church one day, but was prevented from entering by one of the elders because of the color of his skin. When asked by a christian missionary (at a later time) what he thought about Jesus, Ghandi said, "Your Christ, I like, what I don't like are your Christians". (paraphrased).
Another famous person in India, Mother Teresa of Calcutta, had an interesting perspective of what God might look like. Mother Teresa, who worked with the destitute, the dying, the rejected, the blues playing poor of India, said that she always tried to picture the face of Jesus on every person she came in contact with. (paraphrased). Because it was the Dharma of Jesus that told her that when you offer someone even just a cup of cold water in his name, you're also giving it to Jesus. In a way then his Dharma is that God doesn't as much look like the white bearded old man in the sky as much as in a particular way, he looks like your sister, or your mother..... your brother..... neighbor.... even your enemy. Where ever there is pain anywhere in the blues playing world...... there in the face of the blues, is the person of Jesus.
As for me, my preference these days is to view God as a guitar playin blues man. Maybe making his way through the universe with a guitar strapped on his back. (Some electric-blue Les Paul, I would imagine). Carrying nothin with him but that guitar and a whole host of blues songs about the world that got away from him, that "big legged woman that ain't got no soul". And how he loved her once and then she left him. Spent his money. Stole his car.
At risk of offending my churchy musician friend, what I'm suggesting might be a little base, "worldly", similar to "God as your girlfriend" kind of stuff, but in this case we (the world) are the the runaway woman (don't tell Fred Phelp's that he's a woman). But if it ain't all happening like that on some level, then there ain't nothin in this world that's true at all.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
A Beautiful Confusion
I was at work waiting on an email response from a friend and I was wondering if everything in the world (reality), all that I see and hear, is actually just as I think it is.
I'd like to say my thoughts were inspired by some Taoist-like meditation about the sound of trees falling in the woods and stuff, however, in reality the question came as the result of just another one of my hospital work days, what I sometimes like to call my daily "7 Tower acid trip".
Nursing is a strange combination of skills. You have to look for objective facts and turn them into compassion. It's like starting as a scientist and ending as a pastor. I was getting my medications for my next patient, listening to my IPhone (on speaker) and I was thinking about the patient I had just seen, (one of the crazies) and how ironic it was to be listening to Floyd right now on my IPhone (dark side of the moon).
What I remember about the man was that he was blind.... And nearly deaf. I remember how I had to lean way over to within about an inch of his face and then with the best projected voice my diaphragm could manage I would holler hello to him or that he needed to take his meds. Or sometimes I would holler and asked if he needed to pee.
He was an old black man. (Stress OLD-maybe Could have been a hundred). He looked like he could have been a blues man. But it seemed that no matter what I hollered he always just kept saying the same thing. "Yes ma'am", he would say. And I would say I'm a sir, and I need to know if you've had a bowel movement today, and he'd say "Yes Ma'am". And I'd say how many times did you go? and he'd say, "yes ma'am". And then I'd say you didn't really poop at all did you, and he'd say yes ma'am......... Then as a test, I'd say, "after lunch we're gonna scoot over to the other side of the room and with the help of Physical Therapy we're gonna fly out the window, you and me". And then after my muffled, barely audible, non-words he would yell out "yes ma'am" one more time, emphatically as if that were the end of the conversation (and it was). And then I would leave the room and come back to my med cart and begin working on my next patients meds;......... Pink Floyd playing gently in the background.... all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be.......
While I was standing at my med-cart I started wondering if it was true..... that all I touch and all I see are all my life will ever be? Cause I was thinking about the old blues guy and the modern world and I was wondering if maybe there were things going on around us.... things this modern world with all it's "science-only" business could never hear or understand. I mean what if all kinds of things were happening but because of my condition I couldn't hear any of it. (psychotic?).
My email ring tone went off and I checked my messages to find that it was an update of a friend whose daughter had just come out of surgery. Her daughter had been primarily deaf for most of her young life but for the first time she would be able to hear as the result of these cochlear implants. And my friend said that the doctor said that they would be slowly increasing her reception because at first sound her world would be mostly chaos, hearing words and sounds and noises that she had never heard before. He said that she might even be confused for a while but that she would work through it and start to distinguish things, voices and sounds and stuff, and that she would ultimately have to relearn how to live her life on this whole other level, and the email ended with this phrase from the dialogue between me and my friend:
She might be in a confusion?.... but it will be a beautiful confusion, he said.
As I walked away from my med cart I wondered if some day there might be of a beautiful confusion for us? And I walked on down the hall with my next patients medications and I tried to open up my ears as open as I could, like I was deaf, or crazy, or like I was expecting some kind of alternate world to break in. But the only thing I could hear was the sound of my nurses aid asking my old blues man how many children he had, and the inevitable expected response, "Yes Ma'am. Yes Ma'am. YES Ma'am".
I'd like to say my thoughts were inspired by some Taoist-like meditation about the sound of trees falling in the woods and stuff, however, in reality the question came as the result of just another one of my hospital work days, what I sometimes like to call my daily "7 Tower acid trip".
Nursing is a strange combination of skills. You have to look for objective facts and turn them into compassion. It's like starting as a scientist and ending as a pastor. I was getting my medications for my next patient, listening to my IPhone (on speaker) and I was thinking about the patient I had just seen, (one of the crazies) and how ironic it was to be listening to Floyd right now on my IPhone (dark side of the moon).
What I remember about the man was that he was blind.... And nearly deaf. I remember how I had to lean way over to within about an inch of his face and then with the best projected voice my diaphragm could manage I would holler hello to him or that he needed to take his meds. Or sometimes I would holler and asked if he needed to pee.
He was an old black man. (Stress OLD-maybe Could have been a hundred). He looked like he could have been a blues man. But it seemed that no matter what I hollered he always just kept saying the same thing. "Yes ma'am", he would say. And I would say I'm a sir, and I need to know if you've had a bowel movement today, and he'd say "Yes Ma'am". And I'd say how many times did you go? and he'd say, "yes ma'am". And then I'd say you didn't really poop at all did you, and he'd say yes ma'am......... Then as a test, I'd say, "after lunch we're gonna scoot over to the other side of the room and with the help of Physical Therapy we're gonna fly out the window, you and me". And then after my muffled, barely audible, non-words he would yell out "yes ma'am" one more time, emphatically as if that were the end of the conversation (and it was). And then I would leave the room and come back to my med cart and begin working on my next patients meds;......... Pink Floyd playing gently in the background.... all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be.......
While I was standing at my med-cart I started wondering if it was true..... that all I touch and all I see are all my life will ever be? Cause I was thinking about the old blues guy and the modern world and I was wondering if maybe there were things going on around us.... things this modern world with all it's "science-only" business could never hear or understand. I mean what if all kinds of things were happening but because of my condition I couldn't hear any of it. (psychotic?).
My email ring tone went off and I checked my messages to find that it was an update of a friend whose daughter had just come out of surgery. Her daughter had been primarily deaf for most of her young life but for the first time she would be able to hear as the result of these cochlear implants. And my friend said that the doctor said that they would be slowly increasing her reception because at first sound her world would be mostly chaos, hearing words and sounds and noises that she had never heard before. He said that she might even be confused for a while but that she would work through it and start to distinguish things, voices and sounds and stuff, and that she would ultimately have to relearn how to live her life on this whole other level, and the email ended with this phrase from the dialogue between me and my friend:
She might be in a confusion?.... but it will be a beautiful confusion, he said.
As I walked away from my med cart I wondered if some day there might be of a beautiful confusion for us? And I walked on down the hall with my next patients medications and I tried to open up my ears as open as I could, like I was deaf, or crazy, or like I was expecting some kind of alternate world to break in. But the only thing I could hear was the sound of my nurses aid asking my old blues man how many children he had, and the inevitable expected response, "Yes Ma'am. Yes Ma'am. YES Ma'am".
Monday, November 1, 2010
the french connection
Ok. Truth be known. In the past my favorite French phrase has been, Voile vous coucher avec moi. (if not alive in the 70's, google meaning of Voile vous coucher avec moi.... It's from a Patty Labelle song).
As a result, my newest favorite French phrase has become, avoir le bourdon.... (see previous post). There ain't nothin like lovin to teach some'n the blues.
As a result, my newest favorite French phrase has become, avoir le bourdon.... (see previous post). There ain't nothin like lovin to teach some'n the blues.
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