Fellow.

2/13/2010 in Randomness | 1 comment

It’s a different kind of stress, being in charge. When I was a resident, I was always afraid I would kill someone. That doesn’t happen. I didn’t realize how closely the fellows kept tabs on the babies up here in the NICU. Now, I’m the fellow, and I’m the one keeping tabs. Like I said, it’s a different kind of stress. Less paperwork, at least.

But oh, my residents, they are a different breed nowadays. I know that everyone always says that about the groups that come below them, but I swear it’s true in my case. I suppose I just have higher expectations. I can smell their fear of this place. It’s seething. Some of them, they embrace the fear like a roller-coaster, head on. The others, they hide. And then, it’s just me running the unit.

It’s funny, being afraid of a 1 lb baby.

Fog.

1/17/2010 in Introversion | No comments

When there’s nothing left to burn, you must set yourself on fire.
–Stars, Your Ex-Lover Is Dead

The fog was already in place when I woke up this morning. It proved stubborn, and the usual clear to a sunny day did not occur. I waited for it. Today was a day for a long drive, with errands and such, and the mist did not lift, daring us to go ahead. We did. By night, it was but a blur of lights. Dangerous but beautiful. We drove nearly blind.

It made me think about where I was headed. In truth, I didn’t know. I am but six months into my fellowship. I was only beginning to understand what I didn’t know. Steve held my hand in the car and asked me what I was thinking. He had seen the furrow in my brow. I lied about some vague mumbles and pretended to fall asleep. I thought about how lost I was, and it irritated me that the streaming Pandora station seemed to know me better than I did. It picked out songs I didn’t even know I liked.

The drive did not solve-find-illuminate anything, but on our way home, I felt anxious to be home again. To curl up under warm blankets and wake up to hopefully a sunny day tomorrow. I need to feel the light.

Fog

2010.

1/1/2010 in Happenings | No comments

I resolve to have more things to say. I just need more time to write it and more space in my head before it slips away.

View from 2009

Funny, how time and dates only have meaning when we give them so. Such great power, to make the meaningless…more. It’s a new year, alright, but it’s just another day. It’ll take me a few weeks to stop signing everything 2009, but the novelty will wear off. I’m neither smarterfasterstronger, but oh, the days seems only to make me duller, worn, sluggish. There’s nothing new. And so here I am, ready to pick myself up, dust off, and pawn it for something better. At least, something better to be. A sister, a daughter, a learner, a teacher, a friend, a healer.

Happy New Year.

Uninvited guests.

9/29/2009 in Happenings | No comments

Autumn always seems to sneak up on me. Yesterday was the first cold day. I was bold enough to renege on my coat, only to find that I desperately wanted needed it later. It was more the wind, I think. The kind that cuts through and through.

I worried about my tomatoes.

It’s odd that I should call them mine. They appeared in my yard without announcement or invitation, for that matter. That is, I didn’t plant them. They had never appeared there before. But suddenly after weeks of summer rains, I found them sprouted by the hose.

Surprise tomatoes Surprise tomato plants

Roma, even. Strange, but tasty.

I went out to scavenge another dozen tomatoes today before a frost. My dog is suspicious. I feel obligated to water them now and even thought about how I could save them a little while longer. Put a blanket on or re-pot them indoors. More likely than not, they would not be back next year. I have no intention of making them my intention. That is, I don’t suppose I will plant purposely in the spring. I don’t know anything about tomatoes. I only know about autumn. And she’s back.

First.

8/4/2009 in Happenings | No comments

I intubated my first 24 week 1 lbs premature baby today, gave surfactant, got him on a vent, and got two lines in–all under an hour. And I just remembered why I wanted to do this for yet another three years.

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