While getting ready for the gym today I noticed a multi-hued bruise just above my knee cap. I touched it. It hurt. Hm. When did I get that? Must've been recently. How? Mysteriously, as you often do, silly girl. I had a hazy memory of hitting myself with the heavy ramps I used to wheel my lawn mower into the back of Truck yesterday. My dad needed to borrow the mower, so if that was the cause of the bruise then at least it was in an act of love and not just poor coordination, as is the usual case.
The most unfortunate part of the bruise was that I was scheduled to do a portrait session with my photographer friend, Doug (affectionately known as Delores here). I worried about the bruise ruining the pictures. I made a mental note to check the rest of my limbs for unsightly blemishes. Later I would fret that the humidity would mean my hair would be limp and gross looking and that my workout would mean my face would be extra red. Gah. Pictures stress me out.
Last Sunday afternoon when NAF was here we were wandering around at the Forks. He snapped some pictures of the river for his blog.
"Wait, there's one more picture I need," he said and pointed the lens at me.
I made a face and groaned. "Not today."
"Why not today?" he asked.
"I was prettier yesterday," I said although I have no idea what that meant. If anything I was "prettier" on Friday when I was sporting my new frilly dress. On that particular Sunday I was wearing a typical weekend t-shirt with some black, easy-breezy, wide-legged pants and, the biggest fashion faux pas that I allowed myself to indulge in, my tired and worn black runners (the ones from New York that I cannot bring myself to toss. Not ever).
"You're one of those people," NAF said as we headed up the river bank.
"One of what people?"
"The ones who never like how they look in any pictures of themselves when really they take beautiful pictures." He showed me the image. Well if I hadn't have made such a "please don't take my picture now" face maybe the photo would have turned out lovely. Great. Now that is going to be his lasting image of me from this visit. You see? Pictures are so stressful!
When I was a kid, no, for my entire life I've wished that I could express myself physically through dance, gymnastics or figure skating or taking really great photos. I understand the concepts of beautiful and expressive lines and postures, but I am so freakin' awkward and uncoordinated, like a baby giraffe who has no awareness of the length of her limbs. That's why I am constantly bruised. I am forever flailing my arms out and getting my legs in the way of unyielding objects. If I can practice and go slow, sometimes I think I can look graceful, and then I feel beautiful. But that takes some work. It's not natural to me like the flow of words onto a page is. Meh, everyone has their thing.
I've always been good with words. I know how to place them to communicate what I want to say. I know how to play with sentence length, diction and imagery to create something for my readers or listeners to understand and react to. If I can make someone feel something, I have succeeded in my expression.
When it came time for goodbye on Monday morning, NAF and I didn't have much to say. All weekend we had traded stories and laughs but now we were both quiet.We'd look at each other and I'd search his eyes for something that would tell me what he was thinking. Perhaps he wanted to say something but the words were locked up in his head. Me, I had words, all kinds of words. But I didn't know which ones to use just then. Instead I hugged him and hoped that he could read in my eyes that I understood and I wasn't mad, hurt or feeling regret. It was a hard goodbye for me, harder than I thought it would be, but I wanted to show him my most beautiful self--a girl full of grace, poise and strength. That was the picture I wanted him to take with him on the rest of his journey.
At my photo session with Doug today I put on my favourite songs and my favourite outfits. None of them showed the bruise. I tried my very best to show my heart, the whole happy-but-scarred, beat-skipping thing.
"Let's make sure we get a real smoldering shot," I told Doug. I wanted to have evidence that I could tell a whole heartbreaker story in one, unblinking look. With the very last head shot he did he said, "your eyes are really blue."
I leaned over to look at the preview screen on the camera and smiled. That's the look that makes for hard goodbyes.
Now I know.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Something for the Pain
Saw my doctor today re: double fainting spell post-immunization shot. As I thought he would do he set me up with another round of tests, mostly the same heart ones, but added to the mix this time is a meeting with a neurologist...to rule out seizures. Yay. I Googled Seizures from Pain. The number one rule of the Internet is that one should not Google medical conditions unless she wants to give herself a reason to need anxiety meds. The results were mostly benign except that it seems that doctors are not willing to make connections between pain and seizures even though a small number of people on the Internet seem to think that's what they got. Oh yippy, I get to have something else odd about me.
In other news I spent my long weekend hosting NAF. It was, nice. I haven't figured out how to tell that story yet. It's long and twisty.
In other news I spent my long weekend hosting NAF. It was, nice. I haven't figured out how to tell that story yet. It's long and twisty.
Friday, May 06, 2011
And I thought I was lucky YESTERDAY
Note to self. When you think you have hit some kind of luck jackpot, do not blog it without the expectation that you will pay for it thrice when Luck's version of the taxman finds out what you scored.
Today I had a meeting with the workplace health and safety nurse to review my immunization records and see if anything was missing. Working in a hospital, they want to be sure employees are not at risk for contracting anything from exposure to patients.
"Did you have chicken pox as a child?" Her voice was soft and she was round with child. She had a spacious, bright office with a sink across from her L-shaped desk.
"Yes," I said, sitting in the chair beside the desk.
She asked me what I remembered about the chicken pox and how old I was when I had them. I told her I had the itchy rash and that I thought I got them when I was in or around grade five.
"I have the scars," I told her, ready to point out the one above my right eye if necessary. It wasn't.
She looked up my records on her computer and then turned back to me. "Your records show that you only had one dose of the measles, mumps, rubella vaccine. We require that you have two."
At this point I expected her to hand me a letter or direct me to a secretary to pick one up that I would then need to take with me to my family doctor.
"We do have that in stock here so I can give that to you today," she said. Oh thank you! A surprise needle! I am so pleased! I am totally not busy at work and had no plans to use my arm at all today, so that is fine that you will be sticking a needle into my arm, which, according to past experience, will render the appendage achy and tingly for a good 24 hours.
She presented me with a form that I had to sign to indicate my understanding of the risks of the shot. One of the questions asked me to disclose if I had any current illnesses or was feeling un-well at all. For some reason, perhaps a last ditch effort to delay the needle, I noted that I had a scratchy throat.
The nurse reviewed my sheet and asked me about the ailment.
"I might be coming down with something," I said. She nodded, filed the form and went over to her mini fridge to retrieve my inoculation. "Left arm or right arm?"
I picked left as the lesser of two inconveniences and rolled up the appropriate sleeve.
The needle felt fine and less invasive than the flu shot. I don't think she had to put it into muscle. Maybe I wouldn't get the side effects after all.
A few seconds later I felt the cold touch of cotton ball soaked in alcohol and then the stick of a Band Aid. That wasn't so bad.
"As a standard procedure we'll have you stay here for a few minutes just to make sure you don't have any kind of adverse reaction to the shot. Since you've had the shot before and didn't react I'm sure you'll be fine."
I sat in the chair and twiddled my thumbs. Everything was normal for probably two or three minutes and then my head got light and my vision cloudy. I put up my right index finger and said, "um, excuse me? I'm feeling a bit light headed."
Just like the last time I fainted I had some wicked but unmemorable dream. I felt like I was having the best, deepest sleep ever. When I woke though there were three people in the room and I had no idea who they were or how I had gotten there. I thought I was still dreaming. I kept trying to wake up and get "home". I guess my head finally cleared and the nurse asked me if I knew my name and where I was.
"Jill" was my first answer. "At work," was the second. They told me to take deep breaths and put my head between my legs. Good Lord I felt awful. So awful in fact that I passed out a second time. Again, I woke up confused but this time also sick to my stomach. I was freaking out.
I had actually tweeted this morning that I had discovered when you make a peanut butter and jam sandwich with Melba Toast the jam reverses the "toast" status of the Melba. It was like a mini, soft bread sandwich. Well, delightful as that was for a ten a.m. snack, it was most certainly NOT delightful in reverse.
The three people in the room kept telling me I was going to be fine.
"The colour in your face is looking much better!" one said. I'm sure, with such close proximity to the grey tin garbage can I looked positively glowing. I was absolutely freaked out though.
"Is this normal?" I asked. Nobody answered that question.
"The ambulance is coming," they said. In retrospect now, I wonder just where it had to come from in order to pick me up and drive me literally around the block to Emergency.
I looked down because they again instructed me to put my head down. I noticed a puddle on the floor. At first I thought it had something to do with the wet facecloth they had brought me but then I noticed I was uncomfortably damp.
"Did I pee myself?" I asked.
"Yeah," someone said. Then the paramedics arrived, a blonde pony-tailed woman and two attractive guys. Perfect.
Still feeling nauseous I got onto the gurney and laid down as instructed. They asked me more questions. How are you feeling? Did you eat anything this morning? Have you ever reacted like this before? They wheeled me out into the hall and I had to close my eyes because the moving ceiling above me was not agreeing with my stomach which was now cramping severely.
"Can someone call my office please and let them know what happened?" I asked. This was my first thought. My next was that I wanted to call my mom. The nurse and her entourage assured me they would.
So they put me in the back of an ambulance and asked me more of the same questions. The Pony-Tail one asked if she could put an IV in me for fluids.
"What are my options?" I asked. I had just had a violent, freaky reaction to a needle, unless the IV was going to be a life-saving measure, I was not having anyone stick me with anything at that moment. She told me either she could put the IV in or that they would probably put one in me when I got to the hospital. The hospital. Where I had just walked over from forty-five minutes ago, upright, in heels and feeling super. Weird, weird, weird.
I arrived at Adult Emergency around the block and they parked me behind another guy on a gurney. A nurse came up and asked me for my next of kin. There were no beds open so there was a line up at triage. One of the paramedics asked the guy in front of me when he got here. Quarter to nine, he said. Good grief, it was now eleven o'clock.
"Looks like we're going to have a bit of a wait," my attending paramedic said to me. "You can go ahead and take a nap."
I watched the other paramedics checking their cell phones so I felt that it would be safe for me to pull out mine. I sat up as much as I could, buckled down to the gurney, and reached into my bag for my Blackberry, Assuming that someone had called my parents already I went to my email and sent The Doc a note. We were supposed to have a meeting today at noon.
"Don't think I will make the 12pm meeting as I am getting the first hand tour of the er. Stupid mumps and rubella shot reaction!"
I was really mad I was going to miss the meeting.
Finally, I got moved to the triage desk and they put me in a wheelchair.
"I know people here. Do you think I could drop some names and maybe get ahead in the line?" I half joked.
The paramedic wheeled me into the Emergency waiting room and parked me beside the security desk. Then she left and I was alone.
I decided to try phoning my parents. My mom picked up.
"Did anyone call you and tell you what happened?" I asked.
"No, what happened?"
So I told her about the shot and the reaction and the ER waiting room and I told her I was now sitting in a wheelchair in wet pants. And then I started to cry. So she said she and Dad would come for me with a change of clothes. The security guard, a young, attractive guy, approached me and gently let me know that I couldn't be on the phone in the waiting room and that he would wheel me to the back, by the vending machines. So he wheeled me in my pee pee pants to the back where I finished my conversation with my mom.
After hanging up I scooted myself back into the waiting room to watch for my parents to come for me. I was sitting beside a street person who had been brought in for intoxication. I sniffed and wondered who smelled worse, him or me.
Settling in for the wait, I started texting people. I saw that NAF was online, which struck me as odd since I though he would be peddling at that time. Still, I knew NAF would be a good distraction and could probably give me a reason to crack a smile.
Me: Are you really taking messages right now?
After a few moments I assumed he wouldn't reply. But then this popped up.
NAF: Depends on the message :-)
Me: Just looking to kill some time while I sit in the er (as a patient, not a work thing, oddly enough). Stupid measles mumps rubella shot knocked me out.
NAF: So sorry.
Then he added, I sorta want to avoid getting run over so I oughtn't chat long.
Well, who can argue with that? So I replied with a sign off.
Me: Keep ridin' upright. Talk later.
NAF added a few more words about the disappearing view of the rockies and then mentioned the package he was mailing to himself for pick up at my house next weekend.
NAF: And there may be some energy bars in the mail too. Please don't eat them all.
Finally, I smiled and forgot about being scared. Tongue in cheek, I replied.
Me: I will if you become roadkill from cycling and texting.
NAF: Deal. Good luck! Get well!
My parents arrived and were prepared to sit with me and wait but I was ready to go home (after changing). The nausea was gone, the stomach cramps a memory. I figured whenver I finally got to see a doctor there wouldn't be much that they could do for me at that point anyway. My dad was hesitant but followed me up to the admitting desk where I was stopped by security.
"Well I guess you're old enough to make that decision on your own," security said when I explained what I was wanting to do. I pointed back to my parents. "Yeah, and if not I'll make them sign me out."
I was sad to have to get my hospital bracelet cut off. It said "Holister" on it. I didn't know the sister store of Abercrombie and Fitch was also in the business of making medical equipment. "It's designer," I told my Dad when I pocketed the yellow band. It's going in the scrapbook: Jilly's First Trip to the ER
I led my dad back up to my office to retrieve my things and head home for the day. My team was back from lunch.
"It's take your dad to work day," I announced as we walked in. "Everyone, meet dad. Dad, meet everyone."
"Hi Dad!" one of my co-workers said. I told them what happened. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are all nurses?
"Oh, you should have called us, we would have come sit with you in the Emerg!"
"Make sure you eat something. Eat some protein. Drink something."
"Are you going home? Do you have someone to stay with you?"
They really are sweet people. I don't care, I'm going to say it, I'm a lucky girl.
So my parents took me home and my mom stayed with me for a bit. I had some lunch and some water. My appetite is healthy and I am feeling fine. I made an appointment with my doctor on the way home for Monday afternoon. Given my history of fainting I do want to be sure I get this all checked out. The other weird thing? My ankle, the bad one that I sprained two years ago which led to my first fainting spell, is very sore. I was sitting down the whole time so I don't know how I would have hurt it. Aliens. I'm pretty sure.
Today I had a meeting with the workplace health and safety nurse to review my immunization records and see if anything was missing. Working in a hospital, they want to be sure employees are not at risk for contracting anything from exposure to patients.
"Did you have chicken pox as a child?" Her voice was soft and she was round with child. She had a spacious, bright office with a sink across from her L-shaped desk.
"Yes," I said, sitting in the chair beside the desk.
She asked me what I remembered about the chicken pox and how old I was when I had them. I told her I had the itchy rash and that I thought I got them when I was in or around grade five.
"I have the scars," I told her, ready to point out the one above my right eye if necessary. It wasn't.
She looked up my records on her computer and then turned back to me. "Your records show that you only had one dose of the measles, mumps, rubella vaccine. We require that you have two."
At this point I expected her to hand me a letter or direct me to a secretary to pick one up that I would then need to take with me to my family doctor.
"We do have that in stock here so I can give that to you today," she said. Oh thank you! A surprise needle! I am so pleased! I am totally not busy at work and had no plans to use my arm at all today, so that is fine that you will be sticking a needle into my arm, which, according to past experience, will render the appendage achy and tingly for a good 24 hours.
She presented me with a form that I had to sign to indicate my understanding of the risks of the shot. One of the questions asked me to disclose if I had any current illnesses or was feeling un-well at all. For some reason, perhaps a last ditch effort to delay the needle, I noted that I had a scratchy throat.
The nurse reviewed my sheet and asked me about the ailment.
"I might be coming down with something," I said. She nodded, filed the form and went over to her mini fridge to retrieve my inoculation. "Left arm or right arm?"
I picked left as the lesser of two inconveniences and rolled up the appropriate sleeve.
The needle felt fine and less invasive than the flu shot. I don't think she had to put it into muscle. Maybe I wouldn't get the side effects after all.
A few seconds later I felt the cold touch of cotton ball soaked in alcohol and then the stick of a Band Aid. That wasn't so bad.
"As a standard procedure we'll have you stay here for a few minutes just to make sure you don't have any kind of adverse reaction to the shot. Since you've had the shot before and didn't react I'm sure you'll be fine."
I sat in the chair and twiddled my thumbs. Everything was normal for probably two or three minutes and then my head got light and my vision cloudy. I put up my right index finger and said, "um, excuse me? I'm feeling a bit light headed."
Just like the last time I fainted I had some wicked but unmemorable dream. I felt like I was having the best, deepest sleep ever. When I woke though there were three people in the room and I had no idea who they were or how I had gotten there. I thought I was still dreaming. I kept trying to wake up and get "home". I guess my head finally cleared and the nurse asked me if I knew my name and where I was.
"Jill" was my first answer. "At work," was the second. They told me to take deep breaths and put my head between my legs. Good Lord I felt awful. So awful in fact that I passed out a second time. Again, I woke up confused but this time also sick to my stomach. I was freaking out.
I had actually tweeted this morning that I had discovered when you make a peanut butter and jam sandwich with Melba Toast the jam reverses the "toast" status of the Melba. It was like a mini, soft bread sandwich. Well, delightful as that was for a ten a.m. snack, it was most certainly NOT delightful in reverse.
The three people in the room kept telling me I was going to be fine.
"The colour in your face is looking much better!" one said. I'm sure, with such close proximity to the grey tin garbage can I looked positively glowing. I was absolutely freaked out though.
"Is this normal?" I asked. Nobody answered that question.
"The ambulance is coming," they said. In retrospect now, I wonder just where it had to come from in order to pick me up and drive me literally around the block to Emergency.
I looked down because they again instructed me to put my head down. I noticed a puddle on the floor. At first I thought it had something to do with the wet facecloth they had brought me but then I noticed I was uncomfortably damp.
"Did I pee myself?" I asked.
"Yeah," someone said. Then the paramedics arrived, a blonde pony-tailed woman and two attractive guys. Perfect.
Still feeling nauseous I got onto the gurney and laid down as instructed. They asked me more questions. How are you feeling? Did you eat anything this morning? Have you ever reacted like this before? They wheeled me out into the hall and I had to close my eyes because the moving ceiling above me was not agreeing with my stomach which was now cramping severely.
"Can someone call my office please and let them know what happened?" I asked. This was my first thought. My next was that I wanted to call my mom. The nurse and her entourage assured me they would.
So they put me in the back of an ambulance and asked me more of the same questions. The Pony-Tail one asked if she could put an IV in me for fluids.
"What are my options?" I asked. I had just had a violent, freaky reaction to a needle, unless the IV was going to be a life-saving measure, I was not having anyone stick me with anything at that moment. She told me either she could put the IV in or that they would probably put one in me when I got to the hospital. The hospital. Where I had just walked over from forty-five minutes ago, upright, in heels and feeling super. Weird, weird, weird.
I arrived at Adult Emergency around the block and they parked me behind another guy on a gurney. A nurse came up and asked me for my next of kin. There were no beds open so there was a line up at triage. One of the paramedics asked the guy in front of me when he got here. Quarter to nine, he said. Good grief, it was now eleven o'clock.
"Looks like we're going to have a bit of a wait," my attending paramedic said to me. "You can go ahead and take a nap."
I watched the other paramedics checking their cell phones so I felt that it would be safe for me to pull out mine. I sat up as much as I could, buckled down to the gurney, and reached into my bag for my Blackberry, Assuming that someone had called my parents already I went to my email and sent The Doc a note. We were supposed to have a meeting today at noon.
"Don't think I will make the 12pm meeting as I am getting the first hand tour of the er. Stupid mumps and rubella shot reaction!"
I was really mad I was going to miss the meeting.
Finally, I got moved to the triage desk and they put me in a wheelchair.
"I know people here. Do you think I could drop some names and maybe get ahead in the line?" I half joked.
The paramedic wheeled me into the Emergency waiting room and parked me beside the security desk. Then she left and I was alone.
I decided to try phoning my parents. My mom picked up.
"Did anyone call you and tell you what happened?" I asked.
"No, what happened?"
So I told her about the shot and the reaction and the ER waiting room and I told her I was now sitting in a wheelchair in wet pants. And then I started to cry. So she said she and Dad would come for me with a change of clothes. The security guard, a young, attractive guy, approached me and gently let me know that I couldn't be on the phone in the waiting room and that he would wheel me to the back, by the vending machines. So he wheeled me in my pee pee pants to the back where I finished my conversation with my mom.
After hanging up I scooted myself back into the waiting room to watch for my parents to come for me. I was sitting beside a street person who had been brought in for intoxication. I sniffed and wondered who smelled worse, him or me.
Settling in for the wait, I started texting people. I saw that NAF was online, which struck me as odd since I though he would be peddling at that time. Still, I knew NAF would be a good distraction and could probably give me a reason to crack a smile.
Me: Are you really taking messages right now?
After a few moments I assumed he wouldn't reply. But then this popped up.
NAF: Depends on the message :-)
Me: Just looking to kill some time while I sit in the er (as a patient, not a work thing, oddly enough). Stupid measles mumps rubella shot knocked me out.
NAF: So sorry.
Then he added, I sorta want to avoid getting run over so I oughtn't chat long.
Well, who can argue with that? So I replied with a sign off.
Me: Keep ridin' upright. Talk later.
NAF added a few more words about the disappearing view of the rockies and then mentioned the package he was mailing to himself for pick up at my house next weekend.
NAF: And there may be some energy bars in the mail too. Please don't eat them all.
Finally, I smiled and forgot about being scared. Tongue in cheek, I replied.
Me: I will if you become roadkill from cycling and texting.
NAF: Deal. Good luck! Get well!
My parents arrived and were prepared to sit with me and wait but I was ready to go home (after changing). The nausea was gone, the stomach cramps a memory. I figured whenver I finally got to see a doctor there wouldn't be much that they could do for me at that point anyway. My dad was hesitant but followed me up to the admitting desk where I was stopped by security.
"Well I guess you're old enough to make that decision on your own," security said when I explained what I was wanting to do. I pointed back to my parents. "Yeah, and if not I'll make them sign me out."
I was sad to have to get my hospital bracelet cut off. It said "Holister" on it. I didn't know the sister store of Abercrombie and Fitch was also in the business of making medical equipment. "It's designer," I told my Dad when I pocketed the yellow band. It's going in the scrapbook: Jilly's First Trip to the ER
I led my dad back up to my office to retrieve my things and head home for the day. My team was back from lunch.
"It's take your dad to work day," I announced as we walked in. "Everyone, meet dad. Dad, meet everyone."
"Hi Dad!" one of my co-workers said. I told them what happened. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are all nurses?
"Oh, you should have called us, we would have come sit with you in the Emerg!"
"Make sure you eat something. Eat some protein. Drink something."
"Are you going home? Do you have someone to stay with you?"
They really are sweet people. I don't care, I'm going to say it, I'm a lucky girl.
So my parents took me home and my mom stayed with me for a bit. I had some lunch and some water. My appetite is healthy and I am feeling fine. I made an appointment with my doctor on the way home for Monday afternoon. Given my history of fainting I do want to be sure I get this all checked out. The other weird thing? My ankle, the bad one that I sprained two years ago which led to my first fainting spell, is very sore. I was sitting down the whole time so I don't know how I would have hurt it. Aliens. I'm pretty sure.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Five/Five/Eleven
Just 45 minutes left of this lovely, lovely day. The date stamp on this blog will be logged as May 5, 2011. Every year I look forward to what this day will present because it is the fifth day of the fifth month and I like fives a lot.
What did Five o'Five deliver me this year?
An email from Adam--aka, OAF, NYF, etc. (I am thinking he could be NAF--Nomadic Adam Friend since he is currently peddling his bike across Canada.) Anywho, he wrote to let me know that he thinks he will be rolling into Winnipeg next weekend. I am considering a plan for a backyard barbecue with all the Manitoba fixings for an appropriate welcome and refueling event. Stay tuned.
A pleasant, sunny, dry, low-volume traffic drive into work, followed up with a prime parking spot right beside the stairwell. I never get those!
Payday
News that one of the TV stations will be running my awareness PSAs for a few extra weeks as a friendly bonus
Enough hours in the day to get done what needed doing
Another prime parking spot for my evening at Lisa's
Cheesy, homemade macaroni goodness at Lisa's
Vampire Diaries, the penultimate episode of the season (I don't get the channel that shows VD on Thursday nights so watching it at Lisa's is always a treat.)
And, with the blessings of Winkin, Blinkin and Nod, I hope, a very excellent and restful sleep
What did Five o'Five deliver me this year?
An email from Adam--aka, OAF, NYF, etc. (I am thinking he could be NAF--Nomadic Adam Friend since he is currently peddling his bike across Canada.) Anywho, he wrote to let me know that he thinks he will be rolling into Winnipeg next weekend. I am considering a plan for a backyard barbecue with all the Manitoba fixings for an appropriate welcome and refueling event. Stay tuned.
A pleasant, sunny, dry, low-volume traffic drive into work, followed up with a prime parking spot right beside the stairwell. I never get those!
Payday
News that one of the TV stations will be running my awareness PSAs for a few extra weeks as a friendly bonus
Enough hours in the day to get done what needed doing
Another prime parking spot for my evening at Lisa's
Cheesy, homemade macaroni goodness at Lisa's
Vampire Diaries, the penultimate episode of the season (I don't get the channel that shows VD on Thursday nights so watching it at Lisa's is always a treat.)
And, with the blessings of Winkin, Blinkin and Nod, I hope, a very excellent and restful sleep
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Searching for Good Enough
I had been asked to give a short speech at a fundraiser on Friday night. The event was taking place at a downtown club after work and featured a Ukrainian buffet meal--pretty casual and therefore not anything to get nervous about.
I had had another busy week that was not helped by the fact that I had Easter Monday off. On Friday I was barely in the office, which meant that I was typing up my speech at four o'clock. I read it softly to myself while timing it with my watch. I was aiming for a good five or seven minutes but got to the end of the page at only two minutes and a half.
"Are you going to send me your notes from the meeting today?" The medical director popped his head around the corner to ask.
I glanced over from my computer screen. "When do you need them for?" Please don't say Monday a.m., please don't say Monday a.m.
"In the next couple of days or so," he said.
"Sure." I smiled. "Hey, I'm working on a speech right now that I have to give tonight at a fundraiser. I'm only at two and a half minutes though and they asked for ten. They even asked for my bio. How am I supposed to tell them I'm not that important."
"Whadya mean you're not important? You got some good quotes in the news last week," the doc said.
I grabbed from my bulletin board the copy of the Free Press article on women and their shoes that Amara and I were in six years ago. My new co-workers know about my thing for shoes so I had brought it in to share with them.
"This is the kind of quotes I'm used to giving," I said, and handed him the article. He read it and laughed.
"Don't worry, you'll figure it out," he said, and left.
I went back to my drafting and about half an hour later was reading and timing it again.
"For crying out loud it's only three minutes!" I dropped my head into the keyboard and heard laughter around the corner.
"You'll do fine," the doc said. Well, easy for him to say. Massive internal bleeding and trauma for regular work assignments have a way of making something like my short speech look like a scrape on a knee.
I went back to editing and, when both satisfied and completely out of time I asked my other co-worker if I could read it to her. She thought it was beautiful and said it would make a person cry. When I was done I noticed that her eyes were all red but I wasn't sure if that was from my speech or seasonal allergies. She's been sneezing a lot lately.
When I arrived at the event I spoke to a few organizers and family members before sitting down with my own parents who had come out to support me. I had grabbed a plate of food but didn't have anything to wash it down with.
I was suddenly aware that I was incredibly thirsty.
I spotted my dad's beer on the table and took a swig while he was away in the food line. Maybe it was the not-your-babcia's perogies and cabbage rolls food pairings, but the cold lager actually tasted good (I still don't really enjoy drinking beer). Dad came back just as I was stealing my second sip.
"Hic," I slapped a hand to my mouth and my eyes bulged out.
"What? I saw you take a sip of my beer," my dad said, obviously deaf to my uncontrolled, spastic release of air.
"No, I hiccuped," I said, still afraid there would be more to follow. I envisioned having to approach the event organizers and telling them I was "hic" sorry, but I "hic" wouldn't be able to "hic" speak that night for "hic" obvious reasons. How freakin mortifying. Thankfully, the muscle spasm did not settle in, and I was fine. Lesson learned.
I was on as soon as I finished eating. I had no podium to stand at so I had to juggle my notes with the microphone while remembering to breathe and read at a normal pace (I wished I had had time to practice the speech more so I didn't have to read it, I hate it when people do that). I looked around the room trying to find a sign that someone was hearing my message. I couldn't tell. I finished with a shy thank you and stepped to the side to hand off the microphone. Then I sat back down with my parents.
"That was really good," my mom said.
"You think so? I was reading too fast and my voice was soft," I said.
"I don't think so," my mom shook her head. "I thought you sounded fine."
The loud inner critic stopped chirping soon enough when the mother of the person the fundraiser was in honour of came up to thank me. After her, another woman came up and asked me if I would come and speak to her driver's ed classes in the summer. I can hardly wait to tell the doc on Monday.
At the end of my speech I asked, "how much do you think your signature is worth? Ask the people who've received an organ because someone signed their donor card and they'll tell you it's priceless." I don't need to win everyone over every time I go out, but if I can get one, two, maybe three people to really hear me out and then go do something with that, I've made an important difference, a priceless one. That's good enough.
I had had another busy week that was not helped by the fact that I had Easter Monday off. On Friday I was barely in the office, which meant that I was typing up my speech at four o'clock. I read it softly to myself while timing it with my watch. I was aiming for a good five or seven minutes but got to the end of the page at only two minutes and a half.
"Are you going to send me your notes from the meeting today?" The medical director popped his head around the corner to ask.
I glanced over from my computer screen. "When do you need them for?" Please don't say Monday a.m., please don't say Monday a.m.
"In the next couple of days or so," he said.
"Sure." I smiled. "Hey, I'm working on a speech right now that I have to give tonight at a fundraiser. I'm only at two and a half minutes though and they asked for ten. They even asked for my bio. How am I supposed to tell them I'm not that important."
"Whadya mean you're not important? You got some good quotes in the news last week," the doc said.
I grabbed from my bulletin board the copy of the Free Press article on women and their shoes that Amara and I were in six years ago. My new co-workers know about my thing for shoes so I had brought it in to share with them.
"This is the kind of quotes I'm used to giving," I said, and handed him the article. He read it and laughed.
"Don't worry, you'll figure it out," he said, and left.
I went back to my drafting and about half an hour later was reading and timing it again.
"For crying out loud it's only three minutes!" I dropped my head into the keyboard and heard laughter around the corner.
"You'll do fine," the doc said. Well, easy for him to say. Massive internal bleeding and trauma for regular work assignments have a way of making something like my short speech look like a scrape on a knee.
I went back to editing and, when both satisfied and completely out of time I asked my other co-worker if I could read it to her. She thought it was beautiful and said it would make a person cry. When I was done I noticed that her eyes were all red but I wasn't sure if that was from my speech or seasonal allergies. She's been sneezing a lot lately.
When I arrived at the event I spoke to a few organizers and family members before sitting down with my own parents who had come out to support me. I had grabbed a plate of food but didn't have anything to wash it down with.
I was suddenly aware that I was incredibly thirsty.
I spotted my dad's beer on the table and took a swig while he was away in the food line. Maybe it was the not-your-babcia's perogies and cabbage rolls food pairings, but the cold lager actually tasted good (I still don't really enjoy drinking beer). Dad came back just as I was stealing my second sip.
"Hic," I slapped a hand to my mouth and my eyes bulged out.
"What? I saw you take a sip of my beer," my dad said, obviously deaf to my uncontrolled, spastic release of air.
"No, I hiccuped," I said, still afraid there would be more to follow. I envisioned having to approach the event organizers and telling them I was "hic" sorry, but I "hic" wouldn't be able to "hic" speak that night for "hic" obvious reasons. How freakin mortifying. Thankfully, the muscle spasm did not settle in, and I was fine. Lesson learned.
I was on as soon as I finished eating. I had no podium to stand at so I had to juggle my notes with the microphone while remembering to breathe and read at a normal pace (I wished I had had time to practice the speech more so I didn't have to read it, I hate it when people do that). I looked around the room trying to find a sign that someone was hearing my message. I couldn't tell. I finished with a shy thank you and stepped to the side to hand off the microphone. Then I sat back down with my parents.
"That was really good," my mom said.
"You think so? I was reading too fast and my voice was soft," I said.
"I don't think so," my mom shook her head. "I thought you sounded fine."
The loud inner critic stopped chirping soon enough when the mother of the person the fundraiser was in honour of came up to thank me. After her, another woman came up and asked me if I would come and speak to her driver's ed classes in the summer. I can hardly wait to tell the doc on Monday.
At the end of my speech I asked, "how much do you think your signature is worth? Ask the people who've received an organ because someone signed their donor card and they'll tell you it's priceless." I don't need to win everyone over every time I go out, but if I can get one, two, maybe three people to really hear me out and then go do something with that, I've made an important difference, a priceless one. That's good enough.
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