Open-book, open-ended, open-minded pop quiz
1. How many sci-fi/fantasy books are being read at OMSI on any given lunch break. By visual evidence of last Tuesday, at least two.
2. If I could've given myself this same haircut for way less than $40. Hint: yes.
3. What would happen if you put semi-rigid packing foam into the demo cart vacuum-chamber. And would that be different from the biodegradable puffed-rice packing foam?
4. If I might die from exhaustion in Denver either in a pair of snowshoes or with a beer in hand after a St.Patrick's-themed run. I think I'd prefer to go beer-in-hand, as long as I'd drunk at least half of it already. No need to be wasteful.
5. Just how many antique computer parts, old timesheets and empty paperboard Christmas boxes are in the basement of my parents' house.
6. Why there is an inexplicable orange creamsicle smell in the hallway going to the staff bathroom at the museum.
7. How many full-time positions I'll have to apply to at this museum before they just hand me one to get me off their backs.
8. If I really will be able to fit enough clothes into a carry-on for a two-week trip to a variable climate and not kill myself trying to lift it into the overhead bin.
9. If this suffusing joy at being able to talk museum shop with my coworkers (who are eminently capable) and getting paid to do things like play with Lego robots and make moon craters in big Plexiglas boxes of flour will ever wear off.
Extra Credit: If I'm doing the right thing.
Answers do not need to be in complete sentences, but should be complete thoughts. Please write legibly.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Next on the CW...
Five West
A show about intrigue, drama, chance meetings...
IVs, dosing schedules, uncomfortable chairs that fold into beds...
And really, really bland food.
I mean, doesn't it sound like some Melrose Place spin-off? It's actually the name of the oncology wing at St. V's where Dad is. Again. We're back here for this round of in-patient chemo. This mix of chemicals has a round-the-clock dosing schedule, and the toxicity is high enough that Dad needs to be monitored pretty closely to make sure they don't overwhelm his system.
That's the paradox of chemo in general: these chemicals that you're pumping into someone's veins are so poisonous that the nurses have to wear paper gowns over their scrubs, extra-thick gloves, goggles (supposedly), and all the empty IV bags, tubes, needles, etc. has to go into special protective bags when they're finished with them. How is this stuff okay to go into someone's body when it's so dangerous to get on the body? It really is a confusing theory of treatment: harm to heal. I get that much better in a figurative way than a literal one. One PostSecret card that really struck me, of late, is this one:
Desert imagery. Obvs.
But when those good things are useful little bits like hair cells and white blood cells, well... that's a bit harsher reality.
Dad, independently, has been saying pretty much the same thing that has been my mantra in the past months. "I'm doing this. I have no choice. I have to push on." Now I know where I get this hardscrabble determination from. My phrase is "needs be done," but the sentiment is certainly the same. God love him, he's working so hard.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Be Nice To Me...
... I Gave Blood Today.
Those stickers have always seemed a bit needy to me, so I declined one when it was offered. But on second thought, we all hope that people will be nice to us. Specifically asking for it isn't really that beyond the pale. Is it? Just: assertive.
Anyway. I did donate blood. And my Me juices came out faster than they ever have before! I was done in a little over five minutes, blood pressure low and iron count adequate: a personal best. Given the opportunity to donate, I pretty much had to. Dad's gotten a few pints of blood and platelets over the past week or more, and every time I looked at that little "Volunteer Donor" sticker, upside down on the hanging plastic bag, I was very grateful to that stranger, and desirious of helping out similarly.
I've donated before: blood and hair (also here and here). I'm in the Caitlin Raymond Stem Cell Registry, my driver's license says I'll be an organ donor when the time comes, and in the nearer future I'll possibly be parting with some eggs. In the process for the latter, the extensive application asks why I'm donating, so I've been thinking about that. I suppose I've always felt like if one has a biological ability to share parts of themselves to help others, they also sort of have an ethical imperative to do so. It's not for everyone, and there's a myriad of reasons why giving and helping (volunteering time, resources, etc.) in other ways might be preferable. But I've never been squeamish about giving of myself, literally. I actually think it's kind of cool to be, even tenuously, connected to others on the planet in a biological way. And hey, I'm not really using it.
Happily (if that word can be appropriately applied here), the recent events in Haiti seem to have spurred so many to help however they can. Silver lining, you know? That's an impulse that needs to be flexed in our society more often, and I wish it didn't take a tragedy and round-the-clock media coverage for it to happen.
Months ago in Arizona, I was teaching myself geology from kid's books (like you do) and I came upon this quote from Roman philosopher Seneca, writing in 62 CE about the catastrophic volcanic eruption in Pompeii, Italy:
Get yourself ready for some hipster schlock!
Those stickers have always seemed a bit needy to me, so I declined one when it was offered. But on second thought, we all hope that people will be nice to us. Specifically asking for it isn't really that beyond the pale. Is it? Just: assertive.
Anyway. I did donate blood. And my Me juices came out faster than they ever have before! I was done in a little over five minutes, blood pressure low and iron count adequate: a personal best. Given the opportunity to donate, I pretty much had to. Dad's gotten a few pints of blood and platelets over the past week or more, and every time I looked at that little "Volunteer Donor" sticker, upside down on the hanging plastic bag, I was very grateful to that stranger, and desirious of helping out similarly.
I've donated before: blood and hair (also here and here). I'm in the Caitlin Raymond Stem Cell Registry, my driver's license says I'll be an organ donor when the time comes, and in the nearer future I'll possibly be parting with some eggs. In the process for the latter, the extensive application asks why I'm donating, so I've been thinking about that. I suppose I've always felt like if one has a biological ability to share parts of themselves to help others, they also sort of have an ethical imperative to do so. It's not for everyone, and there's a myriad of reasons why giving and helping (volunteering time, resources, etc.) in other ways might be preferable. But I've never been squeamish about giving of myself, literally. I actually think it's kind of cool to be, even tenuously, connected to others on the planet in a biological way. And hey, I'm not really using it.
Happily (if that word can be appropriately applied here), the recent events in Haiti seem to have spurred so many to help however they can. Silver lining, you know? That's an impulse that needs to be flexed in our society more often, and I wish it didn't take a tragedy and round-the-clock media coverage for it to happen.
Months ago in Arizona, I was teaching myself geology from kid's books (like you do) and I came upon this quote from Roman philosopher Seneca, writing in 62 CE about the catastrophic volcanic eruption in Pompeii, Italy:
Can anything seem adequately safe to anyone if the world itself is shaken, and its most solid parts collapse?At the time, it struck me as personally relevant, and later it came back to me as globally relevant as well. How can we bounce back from these things? How do we regain a sense of normal, a sense of peace, a sense of safe? Time, space, and nature are great healers, it is true. But I've always found the comfort of another human being to be imperative (another imperative!) to getting back to okay. A hand to hold, an arm to lean on, soft words repeatedly spoken. A line in this song I can't stop listening to (this song on repeat on my headphones as I lap around the Catlin Gabel track again) says, " 'Cause in the end we have each other/and that's at least one thing worth living for." And it's sappy. And that's not even my favorite line in there. But really - caring for others, being cared for. Honestly and with recognition that everyone wants someone to 'be nice' to them. It's got to be one of the valuable things to dedicate your life to.
Get yourself ready for some hipster schlock!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Bizarre is the new Normal
Dad's home! Still a bit of a fever, and the guy delivering the oxygen tank and pump came by yesterday as I was making soup and The Most Amazing mushroom ravioli Alfredo with broccolini. There's a humming pump in the corner and a trailing tube all over the house, and we're still some kind of phone dispatch center for pharmacies, doctor's offices, medical scheduling assistants and the like, but I think (I hope, I wish, I pray) that life will settle a bit more now that we can ALL sleep in our own beds.
Additional joy: today got an "official verbal offer" for an on-call position at OMSI. What's happening with my foot? Oh. It's in the door. Nice! I'll have to go down there soon to start paperwork, and I have no idea when I'll officially start, but hey. The cogs are a-turnin'!
Sorry nothing's too eloquent today: I've got errands to run and finally the time to do it in.
The traffic light of my life is green, green, green.
Additional joy: today got an "official verbal offer" for an on-call position at OMSI. What's happening with my foot? Oh. It's in the door. Nice! I'll have to go down there soon to start paperwork, and I have no idea when I'll officially start, but hey. The cogs are a-turnin'!
Sorry nothing's too eloquent today: I've got errands to run and finally the time to do it in.
The traffic light of my life is green, green, green.
(Yup. It's my home too.)
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sleepy, Grumpy, Doc
I am so crabby.
If I had a dollar for every time I have washed or sanitized my hands since Tuesday, I would have enough money to buy some really bitchin' hand cream to repair the damage done by said compulsive cleanliness.
Seriously. I'm training to be this guy:
All the pretty doctors have wedding rings. Even the one who looks like Jon Stewart. (Thanks for making hair graying at the temples cool again.)
I've been kicked out of empty patient rooms for making obnoxiously loud phone calls in them. But getting the phone calls from friends was really nice. Also nice was the brief visit by the therapy dogs, two Portuguese water dogs with single-syllable names. There really is nothing better than a big furry body leaning up against your knees. Unless you're in a dance club. Then there's nothing worse.
I'm spending an awful lot of time 'liking' things on Facebook. I really should be spending my energy 'liking' some job applications, but what can you do. It's much easier and so pleasant to find animals being funny on the internet. Very little thinking required. Ha! Animals. They can't talk right.
Hospitals are, on the whole, places of healing. But they really aren't very restful. There's a constant chugging, pulsing, whooshing, gurgling about the place. Sometimes a chorus of beeps and dings and tones, like an elevator that suddenly decides it wants to be an opera star. Clicks of doors, rustling of curtains. Ins and outs of all sorts of people, not all of whom have squeaky shoes, but enough. A constant draft. A million questions. Infinite tests and procedures. On and on and on.
If I had a dollar for every time I have washed or sanitized my hands since Tuesday, I would have enough money to buy some really bitchin' hand cream to repair the damage done by said compulsive cleanliness.
Seriously. I'm training to be this guy:
I've been kicked out of empty patient rooms for making obnoxiously loud phone calls in them. But getting the phone calls from friends was really nice. Also nice was the brief visit by the therapy dogs, two Portuguese water dogs with single-syllable names. There really is nothing better than a big furry body leaning up against your knees. Unless you're in a dance club. Then there's nothing worse.
I'm spending an awful lot of time 'liking' things on Facebook. I really should be spending my energy 'liking' some job applications, but what can you do. It's much easier and so pleasant to find animals being funny on the internet. Very little thinking required. Ha! Animals. They can't talk right.
Hospitals are, on the whole, places of healing. But they really aren't very restful. There's a constant chugging, pulsing, whooshing, gurgling about the place. Sometimes a chorus of beeps and dings and tones, like an elevator that suddenly decides it wants to be an opera star. Clicks of doors, rustling of curtains. Ins and outs of all sorts of people, not all of whom have squeaky shoes, but enough. A constant draft. A million questions. Infinite tests and procedures. On and on and on.
Friday, January 22, 2010
(No) Scrubs
I hardly know what to say.
Dad's been in the hospital for the past three days, and will probably be here for a few days more. It wasn't planned, exactly, but it's not beyond the scope of possibilities with this cancer/chemo combo.
It's pretty much sucked. I'm able to help in the most minute ways, and I desperately wish I could do more. Yesterday I semi-jokingly told Dad that I was considering a career change. Picture a young girl (fine, let's own up - a young woman) jobless, aimless, prospectless and helpless. Then as a shining beacon, this phalanx of blue scrub-clad heroes comes in and alleviates pain, provides explanation, gives reassurance and comfort. Goddamn but these nurses do good work. I can understand the explanations they provide for what medicine and when and why, and my semi-technical questions prompt more technical answers on their part, until we come to a mutual understanding of comprehension and a degree of sophistication.
That's how it should work. Then there is the doctor (one of so many) who feel the need to explain, "Your heart is here. There are two veins that go up into your brain. Then they come back down." Thanks, sir, but Mom was asking about intravenous coagulation, so you might be able to assume she knows where the heart is.
At any rate, with these good nurses and medical professionals, I get that feeling I've gotten so many times before. That chirpy little voice inside that says, "You could do that!" And maybe I could, but for the most part, my heart (with the two big veins that go up and down) has placed its chips elsewhere, in education. Maybe that's what draws me to what these folks are doing. The translation, the interpretation of obtuse, impenetrable mysteries of science and medicine into a folk-ready explanation of, 'Okay, this is what's happening to your body and this is what we're going to do to help.'
Fascinating ruminations, though I'd rather not be here all the same. As long as we have to be, though, may the fates see fit to surround us with competent persons. And we will praise their efforts to the ends of the Earth.
Dad's been in the hospital for the past three days, and will probably be here for a few days more. It wasn't planned, exactly, but it's not beyond the scope of possibilities with this cancer/chemo combo.
It's pretty much sucked. I'm able to help in the most minute ways, and I desperately wish I could do more. Yesterday I semi-jokingly told Dad that I was considering a career change. Picture a young girl (fine, let's own up - a young woman) jobless, aimless, prospectless and helpless. Then as a shining beacon, this phalanx of blue scrub-clad heroes comes in and alleviates pain, provides explanation, gives reassurance and comfort. Goddamn but these nurses do good work. I can understand the explanations they provide for what medicine and when and why, and my semi-technical questions prompt more technical answers on their part, until we come to a mutual understanding of comprehension and a degree of sophistication.
That's how it should work. Then there is the doctor (one of so many) who feel the need to explain, "Your heart is here. There are two veins that go up into your brain. Then they come back down." Thanks, sir, but Mom was asking about intravenous coagulation, so you might be able to assume she knows where the heart is.
At any rate, with these good nurses and medical professionals, I get that feeling I've gotten so many times before. That chirpy little voice inside that says, "You could do that!" And maybe I could, but for the most part, my heart (with the two big veins that go up and down) has placed its chips elsewhere, in education. Maybe that's what draws me to what these folks are doing. The translation, the interpretation of obtuse, impenetrable mysteries of science and medicine into a folk-ready explanation of, 'Okay, this is what's happening to your body and this is what we're going to do to help.'
Fascinating ruminations, though I'd rather not be here all the same. As long as we have to be, though, may the fates see fit to surround us with competent persons. And we will praise their efforts to the ends of the Earth.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
No one said this would be easy
Well, no-go on OMSI. For now, at least. They promoted someone internal (like you do) but encouraged me to apply for the position that person is vacating. Hey, it's how I got my job at the Springfield Museums, so we'll see how that goes. Trouble is, it may take two weeks to a month to post the job before I can apply for it.
In the meantime, commence Funemployment. Daily activities as proposed:
SIGH.
Thanks for all your thoughts and well-wishes, guys. It truly means a lot to me. Hopefully I'll have some better news to post here sometime soon.
In the meantime, commence Funemployment. Daily activities as proposed:
- Applying to sell my eggs
- Registering as a substitute teacher/temp
- Listing unnecessary possessions on Craigslist
- Jump-starting my Etsy shop
- Cleaning the house top to bottom
SIGH.
Thanks for all your thoughts and well-wishes, guys. It truly means a lot to me. Hopefully I'll have some better news to post here sometime soon.
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