The Power of Trees

Today we had an Arbor Day celebration here at work.  I have to admit, I never knew there were so many grown men so passionate about trees.  The State arborist actually wrote a poem for the kids and researched out what tree could be planted in all 5 states we cover as a hospital.  The kids were given a copy of the poem with some tree seeds on their lunch trays.  When I heard that these zealots were coming I couldn’t help but have a vision of some big burly forest ranger dude with graying hair in a ponytail and some teacup poodle dog named Muffin.  Why Muffin, you ask?  Well really what else are you going to call a small dog owned by a burly guy?  (And I just assumed a guy who wrote poetry was sensitive and wouldn’t have his masculinity called into question by owning small pets, wearing the color lavender, and proud that he could make a mean quiche.)

 

My director was ecstatic about the new plans of this celebration.  Someone from the Mayor’s office, the governors wife, city and state arborist and some wanna be Josh Grobin guy showed up with the media.  We shuffled kiddos into the playroom and they messed around with glitter as official proclamations were read. Made me wonder, these guys do know it’s a children’s hospital, right?  Proclamations mean nothing when you are 6 years old.  I began to snicker to myself in the back of the room at this point in time while I wondered which ranger would be bursting into song with the set up cheesy synthesizer by the podium.  The gov’s wife looked a bit plastic as she took the stage.  Mary-Kay (perfect name) showed up in her pink suit with her pink matching pumps and pink lip-gloss.  She read her note cards with the official seal on them and wouldn’t you know the kids kept playing with the glitter.  There was one girl who was wheeled into the playroom by her mom.  She couldn’t have been more than 11 and she was a double amputee with both legs gone.  She sat through the readings looking small in her wheelchair and gown.  She never looked up, that is, until the Josh look-a-like began to sing.  She first began to look at him in awe (I have to admit, his voice was amazing) and then she began to cry silent tears. 

 

The whole ceremony culminated with a gazing ball being placed on top of a tree in our courtyard.  The pine has bright colored ribbons with laminated cards tied to various branches.  Each card has a child’s handwritten wish upon it.  Things like:  “I wish my headaches would stop.”  “I wish my Mom could have a happy marriage.”  “I wish I had a house with a back yard.”  But the most common one on there is, “I wish I could get cured and go home.” 

 

In high school I had a friend who hated signing yearbooks, but would do so in a very passive aggressive manner by wishing you well on obscure holidays.  My Sophomore yearbook I was wished a happy Arbor Day (today) and my Junior year I was wisheda happy Flag Day.  Incidentally I will always remember it is June 14th.  I used to think these various holidays were pointless, strange days established by the government for some odd reason.  Arbor Day never really meant anything to me.  Today it took a different meaning when I watched the pomp and circumstance actually reach the heart of a child.

Professional Parties

It’s amazing to me how people always identify themselves as human doers vs. human beings. Take for example last Friday night. I flew out to visit my boyfriend and on the agenda was a party with the group of residents in his profession. One would think there are other things to talk about than work, but I kid you not, those conversations never happened. I was actually quite nervous about meeting his colleagues and attendings, for some unknown reason.

 

The first thing that struck me is that people were happy to see I really existed.  Nothing like a long distance relationship to really get people guessing if someone actually has a girlfriend or is just super creative with photo shop for those pictures on the mantle.

People usually begin conversations with the typical: so-what-do-you-do question.  However, how do you interject yourself into a conversation when everyone does the same thing (with the exception of you)?

 

"So how is it that I didn't even get asked what was wrong with my own patient when they were coding last night?" One intern mused to her colleague. "I mean, I KNOW that this patient has congenital cardiac blah blah blah and yet, they insist on seeing the chart.  I ended up just sitting behind the oxygen tank not even feeling a pulse when the whole thing was happening.  Its like I got pushed out of the way." (Me thinking, gee, assertive skills is obviously not her strong suit, but not about to tell her that.)

 

"Oh I know what you mean, I actually was running a code on a patient when some stupid nurse decided to try barking orders.  I actually had to identify myself as someone who knew more than she did." (Me thinking, gee, you should have chosen surgery as a specialty...)

 

Most of the individuals would begin talking to my boyfriend and then eventually asked how long I was going to be in town. It shocked me that they were surprised when I said, 48 hours.  Hello? They all know how long a "golden weekend" is. Only once during the whole evening did one person ask what I did. When I began to tell him my title he actually dazed off in the middle of it and mumbled something about finding chips before he wandered off.  I'm not kidding here. Yup, doctors and their social skills at their finest.

 

I really tried to seek out the spouses and significant others of the doctors hoping to find some common ground. However that ended up being more of a daytime TV interview session.

 

Me: "So are you from here?"

Spouse: "Yup." or "No I was in forestry in California but I couldn't stand being away from so-and-so.  I left home and moved across the country and have been in retail ever since."

Me: "How did you guys meet?"

Spouse: Various stories of college, quick marriages/house buying/relocation before residency.

 

There was a trend here:  no one really asked me questions and typically every spouse gave up something HUGE to be with their doctor significant other. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the war stories of who stayed up the longest on call, how many codes, how many admits continued with the residents oblivious to outside interests we call "life." No one remarked on hobbies, activities, interests, etc.. (Although we did have a couple of exciting moments when the host played the accordion while the attending accompanied him on the piano.) One would say the conversation was due to the one-dimensional aspect of being a medical resident, but even the spouses couldn't elaborate

 

It was like two separate parties going on.  The doctors were describing how hard it is being a resident and the spouses were talking about their version of the journey in supporting a doctor. I truly was the only one in the room with a professional career without being a doctor.

 

How do we define ourselves and why is it mostly centered around our profession?  We certainly must have learned this somewhere along the way.  Somewhere between grade school and adulthood, we stopped talking about what really interests us and began to talk about the other stuff that fills up our lives. I think its because its emotionally safe to give ourselves labels like "accountant," "teacher," "lawyer," and "doctor" vs. "skier," "poet," "musician." Somehow those latter things just don't hold the weight of being productive.  We measure ourselves by what we do; what we accomplish; And I have to admit that even I passed judgment on those who identified their focus as the person they loved, especially when perhaps I assumed, it wasn't themselves.

Travel Bug

I do not have good luck when it comes to traveling and boyfriends.  Sure, it seems like a good idea to plan a romantic get-a-way, but when it comes down to it I panic.  The only reason why I bring this up is because I just bought over a thousand dollars worth of plane tickets to go to Honolulu in June with my boyfriend.

The bad traveling vibe began when I was 18 and dating a guy from Arizona.  We went to Disneyland with a group of fraternity people.  The crux was meeting his mother and sisters who were competing in a cheerleading contest.  I would say the highlight of the trip was watching my friend trip out on acid to the sidewalk by Space Mountain.  The worst part was having his mother not like me and then having to spend an additional three days with her in Phoenix. 

I abstained from traveling with lovers until I went to Tulane with another guy when I was 21.  Tulane was his dream school.  I got in + he didn't = we broke up.  Ok, moving on.

I did travel quite a bit when I was dating guys from back east, although usually those trips involved meeting parents and it wasn't a joint venture so it doesn't count.  This entry is to solely focus in on traveling WITH the person not going to see him.

Ok, well there was this one time when I was dating interracially and it was my turn to join his family for Thanksgiving.  He had just gone through surgery so LorTab was his best friend.  We drove to his grandparents in North Carolina and it was a cultural exchange to say the least.  We were in very small quarters, I was definitely the only Caucasian around, and they were equally fascinated with my hair dryer as I was with the fact that they shot Sammy the Squirrel, stewed him up, and served him for breakfast.  We broke up that following January.

In 2003 my current boyfriend asked me to join him for a wedding out in Pennsylvania.  It was an old friend from high school marrying a girl with my same name.  I apparently went to school with the guy, but I didn't recognize him at all.  Here is where the trouble began.  What he neglected to tell me was that his ex-girl friend was going to be there as well.  I don't know if he just thought the ostrich maneuver (stick your head in the sand) was a good one or what.  We had the most outrageous fight complete with the ex wishing me "good luck" (they had dated for 8 years), me smashing a scotch glass, and both of us standing out in the rain reconciling. 

We decided to try traveling again!  Another wedding!  Chicago that August for a medical school friend.  What he again neglected to tell me was that it was an interracial marriage.  Ok, so that pushed some buttons for me.  Her Irish family was not so accepting of the gospel singing way-to-do of the wedding, but as I hear it, they are still quite happy. 

Sure, third time is the charm... In January 2004, we again decided to go to Tulane for an interview for his residency. (Its like deja-vu all over again.)  An awful fight precluded me getting on the plane (although I can't for the life of me remember what I was upset about now).  Neither of us went.

I have bad luck with New Orleans and men.  Even my girlfriends from there tell me to quit creating awful memories with such a great city. 

Then there was a time when I almost went to Jamaica with an ex.  It was canceled because I was back together with my current boyfriend.

And then we went to one last wedding last August.  It was in Minneapolis and we went all out.  Great food, incredible hotel, and a very unique union of sorts.  Another interracial, intercultural, etc, extravaganza.  Imagine a born-again Ethiopian marrying a Russian Orthodox.  As I hear it, they too are very happy.  Come to think of it, the only hard part of that whole trip was I wasn't feeling very well and he was exhausted from being post-call.

 So, this brings me to now.  In June he has 2 weeks off.  My aunt has offered us a place to stay in Honolulu near Diamond Head.  Hello?  We would be crazy not to take it.  The search was on for airfare and today I found it.  I paged him and we talked for a brief moment before I hit "confirm." 

At this point in time all I can do is hope for the best, save for spending money, get going on my work-outs, and hope that good intentions produce incredible results.