Resolutions and Solutions

The song game

A friend of mine turned me on to this game. Turn on your mp3. Take a line from the first 10 songs, any line will do. Now put them together so it makes sense. Here’s what I’ve got right now. Titles and artists follow, so I’m not accused of plagiarism. Forgive, sounds good But something happened for the very first time with you I dream at night I can only see your face Well you whispered to me Breaking my heart into a million pieces You say you want to start something new You’ll come to me when you want to settle down I keep dreaming you’ll be with me and you’ll never go You got me begging you for mercy I know a way to make you smile Not Ready to Make Nice, The Dixie Chicks Bleeding Love, Leona Lewis Every Breath You Take, The Police Too Lost in You, Sugababes That Thing You Do, The Wonders Wild World, Mr, Big One Fine Day, The Chiffons Far Away, Nickelback Mercy, Duffy Let Me Touch You For a While, Alison Krauss

Modern inconveniences

I am a big fan of modern appliances. Granted I don’t have a microwave, but I shudder at the thought of making a butter cream icing without my trusty mixer. I love my vaccuum cleaner, too. I know this makes me sound like some sort of domestic twit, but I do have a point. Said point is this; the conveniences of modern day living are only such to those using them. My cell phone is a must. I never leave home without it, even though I chronically forget my keys. But that doesn’t mean everyone in the country is as happy about my phone as I am. I realize this, and avoid making calls in crowded areas. Sometimes they cannot be helped, and in these instances I keep the call as short as possible and try not to yell over the background noise. I have learned that the little microphone that I’m speaking into makes it infinately easier for the listener on the other end. I do not, therefor need to yell loud enough for them to be able to hear me without the connection. So to the man sitting next to me on the train yesterday, I ask: What is your problem? It was a little after 3pm and the train was packed with people heading into the city. The benches, made for 2, were for the most part all holding 3. There were people jammed into the aisles and the doorways between cars. Across from me a larger man started pushing the people on either side of him trying to get into his pocket. After pushing an older woman onto the floor he managed to pull out a cell phone and, making loud comments about how inconsiderate some people can be, he proceeded to push some buttons. I assumed that he’d be sending a text message. I was wrong. Putting the phone up to the side of his head, not to his ear, but near it, he proceeded to yell at the listener about some hot chick that he saw bending down in the grocery store. Very loudly. Now I know I wasn’t in the quiet car. The trains all have at least one of them now, where you’re not allowed to talk or use a cell phone. They’re meant for people who want to read or work or sleep during the commute. But that’s still no excuse for this guy. That’s all I got.

What difference do I make?

Tonight I sat beside a 72 year old man and talked to him. I listened to him cry out his frustration and humiliation at being “locked away” in a nursing home because he can no longer care for himself. A man suffering from Alzheimer’s, but still cognizant enough to remember soiling himself the night before, I assured him that his incontinence does not repulse me. I offered my presence as proof that he could not scare me away just by one messy night.

I held this man’s hand as he begged me not to tell his son about the previous night’s incident, nor that he was so depressed he could neither get out of bed nor eat. He began referring to me as his wife. I don’t look like her, he just couldn’t remember and the fact that he had refused food, drink and medication all day did nothing for his mental state, especially not after being taxed by a long conversation with me.

I the role of his wife, I convinced this man to take pills that he did not want. I succeeded in feeding him 10 spoonfuls of yogurt and almost a while glass of water. I felt triumphant at this, even though I know it’s not enough. It’s not even close.

So my question is, what difference do I make? Is it worth it to spend so much time with a patient only to accomplish so little? Or does the fact that a man knows that he is not alone, if only for the duration of my shift, enough to outweigh the fact that I was not able to give his body the nourishment it will need to keep him alive? Is it even ethical of me to tell this man that living is the best thing for him, when he clearly doesn’t want to live like this, in this state of half-awareness.

I will never willingly participate in helping a patient die by active means (giving an extra dose of morphine, pulling a ventilator wire, stopping IV nourishment, etc.) I know that I have no choice when it comes to the passive means, such as not starting the IV or ventilator in the first place. At the same time I feel like such a liar telling a man that he’s better off alive when he has been reduced to an existance that is really just short of living.

A new year begins

I rang in the new year sitting alone it a dirty train car. The windows were filled with the light of fireworks and the solitude allowed me to enjoy the ride completely. I don’t think I’ve ever watched fireworks alone before. I liked it.

I have a few basic goals for the new year. I want to learn Spanish, or at least manage to read La sombra del viento (The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón). I want to pass all of my exams and thus be able to take more responsibility at work. And, of course, I’d like to be happy. These should be easy enough to accomplish, but then the easiest looking things tend to be surprisingly deceptive.

Growing up

It’s not easy making the transition from childhood to adulthood. Thus the turbulent teen years. For some it’s harder than others.

I’ve reached the point in my life where I’m grown up enough to want to take some friends by the shoulders and scream: Stop being such a melodramatic child. You are no longer 13 years old. AAAH!

Have you ever felt like that? I mean, by the time you reach 30 you really have lost the right to act like a child. I know psychologists will talk about the New Childhood, and Second Childhood. I got top characters on my thesis about how media and pop-culture are encouraging children to grow up sooner while at the same time letting adults take responsibility later. But 30 years is old enough to understand that you don’t get to stomp your feet and carry on just because you don’t get your way.

I know breaking up is hard to do. Yes, I’ve heard the song too. But still, not every guy you meet can be The One. And if they all run away after hearing how in love you are with them after only a week, maybe you need to change your strategy.

That said, here’s a little dating advice for those of you who might need it.

1. Show up on time. Call if you’re going to be late for whatever reason. No, a first date running long is not a good enough excuse.

2. Unless you have known the person for years, a first date is not the right time to express your undying love and devotion.

3. Most people over the age of 3 like to order for themselves while out at a restaurant. Especially when on a date.

4. Unless your name is Joey Tribiani, do not eat your date’s food.

5. Getting a kiss at the end of the night is not a given, it is something you have to deserve. You do not deserve this if you pinch her ass while giving the kiss.

That wasn’t so bad, huh?

Preparations

The new year is a few days away, and I’m getting ready. Not for parties or fireworks, but for two long evenings of work.

You should always feel challenged by your job, and I do. Most of the time. But there’s something depressing about working in a nursing home. Especially when the residents are just in the early stages of Alzheimer’s or dementia. You know, the point in the disease where it has started consuming their memories, but not enough so that they are blissfully unaware. It scares me.

I guess it’s my own fault, because I signed up for the shifts, even agreeing to take a third (I also worked there Christmas eve) when asked by my boss.

That’s an odd working relationship right there. I’ve only met my bosses once, though I speak to them at least once a week over the phone- either directly or through a convoluted sort of phone tag. I have more than one boss, and they all work in a little office in the middle of the City. From this office they coordinate available shifts and available students via internet. The system is a well oiled machine.

 I went for the Christmas gathering, where they were offering cakes, mulled wine, and a gift for every employee. They knew me right away, as they recieved a photo with my CV. That, and my accent surely gave me away when I spoke at the doorphone. It was odd to be surrounded by people who knew me- or at least recognized me- and I couldn’t even recognize the voices I had spoken to so often.

It struck me only later that this is what it must be like for people with Alzheimer’s. All of these smiling faces that greet you as an old friend, a welcome addition to a group, and yet not one is familiar. It’s a very disconcerting feeling. Celebrities are also prone to this feeling, I would imagine.

So in preparation of the New Year, I am not planning which dress to wear or which shoes are most convenient for the dash from subway to party. I have no jewelery picked out, and no make-up packed in a purse to be brought along for touch ups. Instead I am preparing to introduce myself to the same people many times over the course of my 8 hour shift, knowing that not a single one of them will remember my name by the time I return the next evening. I am getting ready to smile as I hear the same stories told again and again by the same man, unaware that he finishes only to begin anew.

I don’t know why I keep taking these shifts. One might argue that the staff of the nursing home is kind and easy to work with, and that the pay is good. But none of this really fills the hollow ache that follows me home after each visit. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to spend the time I wanted to with my own relatives who passed away in nursing homes. Maybe I just want to prepare myself for what awaits me one day.