Saturday, January 27, 2024

The DMV. A Short Story.

 "Belligerent and threatening behavior will not be tolerated". Not, "please have ID and forms ready". Nor, "No shirts, no shoes, no service". Not even an "open" sign dons the door I open to step in to the DMV. Just a threatening sign about being threatening. Deep breath. I will not be belligerent. I will not be threatening. I will smile. I will be patient. I will say thank you. I will not tell people how to do their job. Deep breath. Though, I now fear that the reduced caffeine intake and belly full from lunch might not have been quite enough to help me keep my composure. Probably should have medicated myself as well. Rookie mistake. I'm 41. When will I ever learn!? 

In my defense, I think this is only the 4th time I've ever had to renew my driver's license, so my naivety can perhaps be excused. Also, as another vouch for my character, I know for a fact that I have all the documents one could possibly need to acquire said license. Found not only my current SS card with the "O'Laughlin" name, but my original one with "Smith". AND a notarized photo copy of it as well. Packed that away into my Tumi shoulder bag along with my current expired license, passport, birth certificate, marriage license, both MO & KS medical licenses, 2 most recent pay stubs, my overdue Gap credit card bill (well, that was already there- because I was supposed to pay it) as well as other various mail, my health insurance card, and finally, my 6 drivers license renewal reminder post cards. (Because, obviously, I'm coming to renew this months to a year after and first card arrived and 6 days before it's too late. Do you know what happens when it's "too late"? You have to take all the tests over again, like a 16 year old. I'm not even sure I'm going to pass the eye test (because, 41) nor the easy blank sign recognition test. I promise you, I'd fail a full driver's test. Don't you feel nice and reassured and safe with me on the road now?)  

I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses, and understanding simple paperwork and the requirements to fulfill as much is extremely high up on my "weaknesses" list. Like, maybe the top. I even mess up the name part if the order isn't obvious. And procrastination? Well, that tops both lists...because, truthfully, is it a strength (I sort of think so) or is it a weakness (meh)? Hopefully, my new license arrives by next week when I leave for Denver...So, anyway, that's why I showed up incredibly over prepared to get my renewed license, and more specifically, the REAL ID. You know, so I can continue to travel whenever that actually becomes a required thing at the airports. 

Despite the sign, I step through the door with complete confidence that I can and will, seamlessly acquire my new REAL ID Driver's license. I'm not even both feet in the door when I hear "Can I help you!!?" I'm half looking for the voice screaming (at me?) and half looking for the little number dispenser. I'm not crazy, I KNOW the procedure used to be grabbing one of those old-timey looking paper slips with a number typed on it, with like, old type-writer style print and ink. "CAN I HELP YOU??" Oh, shit. Yep. She means me. I {attempted to} timidly walk toward where the voice seemed to be originating from to find a folding table set up near the door with gloves and hand sanitizer (will Covid never end?) as well as more signs about not being threatening. This time, there were also signs saying to have documents ready and to be sure and request "REAL ID" if you want it. 

"May. I. Help. You?" She says. Again. Hasitily. So, now I'm looking around confused because there is no line. I am one of the only 6 non-employees here, and the only one standing. The tone so extremely mismatches the situation, I yet again am wondering if I came properly medicated for this endeavor - and the process really hasn't even started. Deep breaths. I will not be belligerent, I will not be threatening. "Yes, I'd like to renew my license." This, received by a huff that depreciates all other huffs, "What TYPE of license" accompanied by an eye roll. "Oh! Yes, Driver's licen...."

"Previous license and a piece of current mail."

"Ok, I have those, but..."

Hand out turned, "Previous license and a piece of current mail."

"Here you go" Pointing to the sign. "But I'd like REAL ID."

Handing me my forms back, paperclipped with a number and pointing, "Go sit over there."

"Ok, got it. That's where I sit to get my new driver's license with REAL ID?"

"Yes, right there."

I take my paperclipped stack along with my belongings and go sit to wait for number 83 to be called. I get out some of my other identifying forms, as I just am sure REAL ID calls for more than just my license and a piece of mail. I know I didn't bring every single important document of my life along with me for no reason. Again, my confidence to complete this sort of thing is low, but Matt even confirmed this with me. And if anyone knows these sorts of procedures, it's my thorough, rule abiding, instruction reading (who does that!?) husband. Just as I start to read on my phone (though, I'm really not sure this is even allowed because there are also signs everywhere saying "No cell phones") the number 83 is called. 

I sit, she puts out her hand. As I'm placing my tiny pile of paperclipped documents in her hand, I'm also pointing to, yet another bolded sign that says, "If you want REAL ID, you a have to tell them at Check in. If you did not do this, you need to go back to check in." Deep breaths. I will not be belligerent, I will not be threatening, I will not tell people how to do their job. I smile, politely and say, "I wanted REAL ID, and I told her at check in, but she only requested those documents." I get the slightest of nods and she proceeds. I confirm my address. I pass the eye test. I pass the sign test (she gives me a pass for calling a stop light a stop sign), she tells me it's $27. I never provided any other identification. I know, in my gut, this cannot be right. "This is for the REAL ID, right?"

She stares. "No. You have to tell them you want that at check in."  Deep breaths. As I look up at the sign, directly above her head: Belligerent and threatening behavior will not be tolerated. I'm now beginning to wonder who actually makes it out of this place without becoming belligerent and threatening. 

As kindly and sweetly and apologetically as I can, crouching into my chair, trying to make myself seem as small and meek and helpless as humanly possible, I say, "I'm so sorry, but I really need to get REAL ID. I'm happy to get back in {the non-existent} line to show the right documents..."

Exasperated, with a huff that might have rivaled check in lady's huff "I have to start the whole process over again to get you REAL ID." She says, eyeing the stack of my identifying documents I've set on the table. I can tell she sees that I have it all right there. 

"I know this makes your job more difficult, and I really am happy to get back in line, but I'm guessing you are the only one doing this, so I'll just be back here in front of you in a few minutes."

She snatches me documents, she completes the renewal again, she purposely takes my photo while I'm blinking, and viola! I will have my renew REAL ID drivers license in a few weeks. Deep breaths. 



Tuesday, February 7, 2023

What is it all?

 Every Summer, since Brock turned 9, we make the long, 6 hour trek to Lake Okoboji in Iowa, to drop the kids off at camp. We drive through these back roads, some not even paved, through Iowa farmland. It’s impossible not to see, admire, remark on the beauty of these steads. The pride these farmers take in their crops seems to exude from every angle - or windmill. If we’re lucky, we see a crop duster, gliding through the sky, you can almost taste the exhilaration. One year, a bald eagle flew by our car and Diana, without hesitation, pumped her fist in the air and proclaimed “America”. Even the youngest of our crew subconsciously takes in the sense of beauty and freedom that these farmlands radiate. You might catch a farmer out on his tractor, tilling along, row after row, in some sort of peaceful meditative path. Nowhere else he’s got to be...sigh. We can’t help but wonder to ourselves about the simplicity of it all. This glimpse at life, so vastly different than ours, yet so lovely and sustainable, makes me realize, for some, this is “having it all”. And I think. Gosh. I can see it. What a lovely life. 

While on our honeymoon in Hawaii, Matt and I rented a car and explored the entire island of Kauai. We did some of the touristy stuff, but as we do, we tried to blend in and get the locals experience as well. On our slow, and unguided exploration days, we stumbled upon, what appeared more shack-like than house for sale and found it to be in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. This little beach front property would likely have been condemned and destined to be torn down in the quaint neighborhoods of our Kansas City homeland. We were momentarily astonished, until we thought about what it might be like to move to this magical island we were struggling to leave in a few days time, anyway...do you even really need a house if you live in beauty like this? How much money or hobbies do you really need? How incredible would it be to surf the waves, eat outside every night, listen to the ocean as you doze off. I don’t need 4,000 square feet when I have the beauty of the island available every day. How vastly different island life would be, and it sort of felt like a shack on the ocean equates to “having it all”.

As we drove across the country, through desert lands we’d never experienced, it appeared that certain areas looked to be developed by “squatters”. Like, we are pretty sure that people got tired of “the man” and took campers to the middle of nowhere, off Route 66, parked their vehicle and never left again. Like cousin Eddy. Though, supposedly, there is no “unclaimed land” left in the US, we’re pretty sure no one is going to kick them out of the weeds. These nomads can hike to their hearts content, and live off the grid forevermore. Though, this life sounds terrible to me, it still makes you think, why? Why the daily grind. Why the lofty goals and the crazy activities schedule. Why all the people? And the friends? And the family obligations? Why the travels and the flights and the hotels and the food? It’s all so much. So gluttonous. So...heavy. The option does exist to to simply exist. To amble and have nowhere to be, and for some, isn’t that “having it all”?

Years and years ago. In the times before my career had fully bloomed. Before my children had fully bloomed. In fact, I think I’d had 2, maybe pregnant with a 3rd. A long article what published in The Atlantic (I believe) titled something liked “Why we can’t have it all”. It was written by some higher up in Washington, on the Obama administration, who’d had to scale way back (or maybe it was even leave) from a dream job because her teen boys were struggling and needed her at home. In essence, she had to choose between work or family. She’d successfully “made it” only to still have to choose in the end, so she composed a long and extremely well-written thought piece on why women still can’t have it all. I would not have read this article, were it not for the fact that no less than 7. Seven people sent it to me, telling me that it made them think of me. The whole article as well as the fact that people sent it to me irked me to no end. As far as I’d ever heard or figured out in life, literally NO ONE HAS "IT ALL". 

I'm curious. Did this woman think that if society would have more rapidly adapted to a less patriarchal system that she wouldn't have mentally ill sons? If only all the resources supported a working mother or dual income household better? Does she think that mental illness doesn't happen in children when the father works a demanding job even with a stay at home mother? What about homes with 2 mothers? Do they both have to leave their high profile careers? 

What is "it all" anyway? Isn't "it" different for absolutely everyone?

Did you ever stop to think that maybe almost everyone has it all? Because, isn’t “it all” simply the ability to choose? It felt like this article was just whining. Why can’t we work 90+ hour weeks in a demanding high profile career that we love. And spend time with our children. And have a loving spouse. And a perfect house. And completely physically and mentally healthy family members. And all the money we want. And all the vacations we want. And get appreciated properly for all that we do. And never have a bump in the road or a bad day or a hard break? Why can’t it all work out perfectly? I can’t help but picture Veruca Salt, whining about her golden ticket. 

Everywhere I go, I observe lives so drastically different from mine. I'm intrigued. Curious. Excited. I could see a million ways one could enjoy this one life we are given. Yet, I'm exactly where I want to be. I see no greener grass. And if my grass starts to wilt, I will water it. Even if that means pulling my energies from elsewhere. 

Thursday, February 10, 2022

 Dear Matt, 


I never thought ours an interesting love story. I don't even like telling people our origins - so banal, boring. We met in high school. You went to an all boys Catholic school. Me, an all girls Catholic school. Same upbringing. Same city. No surprises how we found each other or why we get along. But, it dawned on me somewhat recently how differently it could have all gone. How truly, in my memory of the whole thing, there was one, incredibly brief moment and conversation, on which our entire future hinged. 

"Matt. Swimming is my first love." I said.

You may not remember this moment. Your response made this declaration seem so insignificant. But I'd been thinking about it since the day you asked me to be your girlfriend, the weight of it suffocating me. I felt it imperative to let you explicitly understand this important fact about me, my life, who I am - before anything progressed further.

I'm completely and utterly dedicated to swimming. It comes before school. Before friends. Before family, even. So, it definitely comes before a budding senior high school fling. These represent just a tiny sampling of the incessant, unending, loud thoughts. I interpret this now as evidence of our immediate and incredibly strong connection. It sent me into a panic.

"If at any point, I feel like you, or our relationship, is a distraction or stressor, I will end it. No hard feelings, and nothing against you. It's just where my priorities lie at this moment."

You sort of smiled, and shrugged. And said. "Ok."

In true romance novel style. The strong, stubborn, maiden {never} in distress female "had things to do, places to be, stuff to accomplish" and "no man was going to slow her down or get in her way".

I don't know how long we'd been dating - but it couldn't have been more than a month. In again, the most cliché melodrama, it may have just been weeks, days even, but the unexpected happened. I already felt an attachment, interest, attraction - whatever you want to call it - unlike any I'd ever imagined, let alone experienced. (To be more clear than necessary: I wasn't overly interested in a relationship, nor did I think about them often, but I wasn't immune to teenage hormones nor the general human condition therefore possessed the natural human instinct to have relationships. This is to say that anything I'd potentially "imagined"  was absolutely the furthest thing from a fairytale. I tended toward the skeptical pragmatic; I'll probably meet "the one"  later, while in med school or residency. And, while we're at it, I don't even believe in "the one", aka soulmates. We all probably have multiple lids that might fit our pot. And, knowing myself, I'm sure I have/had LOTS of matches. Math. Statistics. Facts.)

I don't think you could have known the right answer, nor prepared for this statement to be thrown at you, but, nevertheless, I tossed at you such a cold, stark statement  - and then you had me at "ok". That simple, no strings attached, completely genuine reply hit me like a ton of bricks. Knocking down a wall I had sincerely, never even known I'd built. It's as if you could sense that this intense, highly competitive, high energy, high self expectations perfectionist did not need one single other thing to make her feel an ounce of pressure. 

You just said. "Ok". And then you never looked back. 

Back to the fictional love tales theme, I wonder now, if as much as I was the prototypical independent, hard to get woman who needs no man - you were the strong, silent type man confidently smirking to himself. Perhaps saying, "ok" stoically on the outside but internally thinking, "I'll let her think she's in control, but the fact of the matter is, she will be unable to resist my charms. She has no idea what's coming. She is mine."

To be living this happily ever after of a fairytale love story that I never hoped nor imagined to be part of, still takes me by surprise, 15 years of marriage later.  If you were to ask me, to this day, who likes the other one more? There is no right answer. While I'm generally more passionate about, well, everything! Your calm, steadfast and secure presence has never once wavered. Though our story is simple. Seemingly, so boring and cliché. Written a thousand times before - it's truly wonderful to me.

I could have never predicted this. Yet, it's so right, and I'm so happy it has played out this way.

Sincerely, Erin

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

The Age of Reason. And Kindness. And Flexibility. And Empathy.

Written November of 2017.

I've been putting off writing about Brock for a while. Two years almost. I cannot figure out how to put into words these huge, intangible ways in which he has changed. Matured. Progressed. Developed. There is just something about that first born. That pioneer of your child-rearing career. That kid you brought home from the hospital and thought, "what the #$%k did we just do?" You are simultaneously proud of your little, walking miracle and yourself for every milestone, phase, grade, achievement, accomplishment.  You remain in complete awe of the capabilities this little person you are trying your best to mold and guide to be the best human they can be possesses, yet never stop seeing more potential. You look back on the difficult times, the things you thought might never change, and would always be a struggle, and realize, somewhere along the line, we figured it out.

Brock was born with so much energy, curiosity, willfulness and anxiety that I frequently told people that I believed had he been born to a less energetic, curious, willful and restless mother, they might not have found his antics so lovable, but rather, insanely frustrating. There were moments over the years that I worried about his ability to pay attention, sit still and focus in the classroom. I worried that his anxiety and obsessive/compulsive-type nature would hold him back from trying new things, making new friends, finishing his school work and a multitude of other things. I worried he may need medications or therapy.

Brock has so many little quirks, and it's hard sometime to know how others perceive them. Are they socially acceptable? Are they a problem or simply an annoyance? Will his persistence cause issues. Will he be bull-headed, stubborn and arrogant or learn to accept that others think and act differenly, and that's ok. Though as much as I want all of my children to be successful, liked, and well-adjusted, mostly I just want them to be happy. So, I, along with all of our family, tried so hard to guide and teach him along the way. Help him to react to changes of plans in a constructive way. How to deal with disappointment and how to learn from it. How to be kind to others no matter what they say or do to you. But how to still follow your heart. How to do what you love. How to be YOU.

Parenting is such hard work. You second guess your discipline. Your guidance. Your actions. Your words. Am I strict enough? Am I too strict? Do they know I love them and think they're hilarious, but that I have to correct them and quiet them in certain environments.

It's as if age 8 is the year that Matt and I (and our village) got to see all of our hard work come to fruition.

When we went on a walk along Brush creek. He saw the homeless man, and saw his stuff and immediately felt bad. You could see he wanted to do something for him. He kept repeating that "he felt bad he had no place to live." Empathy.

A teacher witness, that when he spontaneously & wildly kicked a ball at recess that landed right on a girl's head - he ran immediately to make sure she was ok. Instead of turning the other way, trying to ignore what just happened, like many do. Responsibility & Accountability.

He was awarded the Flexibility Virtue of the month. This is something we worked on with Brock, TIRELESSLY. He absolutely prefers to think in absolutes. 

He is so kind. I have to hold back tears when I write those words, because his kindness is simply so genuine and overwhelming. You cannot help but love Brock because there isn't a mean bone in that body. Maybe it was the slightly hippy-infused upbringing I experienced vicariously transposed, but Brock is very much a "live and let live" kind of guy. He has learned how to keep his anxiety and fears mostly to himself, while perhaps cautioning others just a bit.

Brock has almost no temper to speak of. What he lacks in actual line-waiting-type patience, he makes up for, by leaps and bounds, in patience of his fellow human's nature.

Though, we've known from an early age, Brock is a bright kiddo, with probably a pretty steller IQ, I am coming to realize that I believe his Emotional Intelligence (EQ) might be off the charts. Amazing how far he has come from the days that we wondered if he might be a socio-path.

*insert "restless" story*

My sister had 7 kids at the zoo one day. Brock being the oldest (at age 8). The kids were bizarrely lingering quite long at the exhibit of a creek with ducks in it. I mean - this is the ZOO!! Ducks you can often see on your very own street corner! Kids are weird. Anywho, one of the 2 year olds finally became agitated enough to start squirming about in the stroller. So, Leah, said, "Let's move on kiddos, Walter is getting restless."

Hours or days later - I can't remember at this point. Brock was having a conversation with Leah in which he was describing himself. He says to her, "What was that word? It wasn't anxious? It wasn't annoyed? It wasn't tired? It's that thing, you know, when you move a lot, and can't sit still or stop? You know, you called Walter it at the zoo?" And she pondered for a bit and said, "restless?"  And he lights up, "Yes! Restless. That's what I am. That's me."

Again, simply an example of his lifelong desire to be accurate and precise, as well as well spoken, and extremely insightful.

Thursday, November 18, 2021

Perspective - A Patient Encounter

When I first met her, I perceived she was nervous. I could sense the doctor skepticism. She simply had a negative aura about her. An Eeyore, if you will. A "no" person. A drag.

To my absolute non-surprise, she declined all screenings that a woman of her age is recommended to get. No labs. No pap. No mammogram. No flu shot.

I wondered why she had even come to the doctor.

I think she wondered that too.

I proceeded with the appointment in my usual manner. Attempting to keep the encounter warm, inviting, welcoming. Explaining, lightly and with a smile, all the reasons why these things are recommendations. What they are testing for, protecting us against, how tons of studies and science have deemed the benefits to far outweigh the risks. Ultimately, though, I always finish in earnest that I'm not here to force anyone to do anything. I am a steward of health, shall you choose to take my advice. Or not. I am obliged to educate. I take no offense.

Almost to the exact date, she arrived in my office, again, 1 year later. Same air of anxiety. Same negative aura. Her hair grey, her eyes grey, and even her skin a slight grey tone. As it was the year prior. To my surprise, she accepted the lab testing. She still refused the flu shot and the pap. She wavered on the Mammogram.

This time, she came forth with some extra tidbits. "The last time I had a mammogram, it turned into a whole ordeal. Another imaging test, a biopsy, and a lot of medical bills all for nothing."

I couldn't argue with that, except to say, we know that now, and won't retest the same spot, but it's still highly recommended. She said she'd think about it.

I considered that a win.

5 months later. Results of a mammogram came across my desk. She had gone, and it was abnormal. She had lymph nodes, that on report, didn't look great. My MA called her. She refused US for further imaging. She was sure this would result in all the bills and the same result.

I called her. I suggested she come in for me to examine. She obliged.

After I examine a patient, when I am trying to reassure them about lumps or bumps or all the things that Dr. Google has informed them is likely cancer, I say, "Trust me. I've felt cancer. More than I'd like to admit, and it gives me an immediate visceral reaction. I feel sick to my stomach." Cancer looks and feels completely unnatural. Inorganic. Wrong. "I didn't get that feeling. It's fine. We can just watch it."

When I felt the lump in her armpit. I couldn't say any of that. I felt sick.

After some gentle explaining, she still refused a biopsy, but was ok with an US.

The US confirmed our (the radiologists, mine, the patient's - despite her denial) suspicions. She agreed to a biopsy.

It came back invasive, stage 3, breast cancer.

I did what I do for anyone in this situation. I set up all their appointments. I get them in within days to see an oncologist. With in a week of diagnosis they have a plan and have maybe already started treatments. I call them. A lot.

"Are you ok? Who is your support system? Do you need help getting to your appointments?"

Yes. My cats. No, I'm fine.

She had no one. This home-body, single woman. Loner. Eeyore. As one might expect, had no one. Her parents dead. No siblings. No kids. I was stunned and stressed for her.

I reached out to people to find her a partner, or a group, some sort of support. But she quietly went on her way, through therapy. On her own.

I watched from afar. Via electronic medical record notes. She, as all my cancer patients do, abandoned my office for her new medical home. The oncologist, the infusion center, the lab, the imaging center. I don't need to add to her appointments.

I thought of her often. Seems to me cancer needs to be surrounded by strength, and warmth, and love to be destroyed. I worried her cats weren't enough.

Nine months later, she lands on my schedule.

I wondered why.

I quietly, and admittedly, nervously, knocked on the door as I stepped in to find a bright woman in a warm brown wig. With these shining blue eyes. A smile.

I hoped she didn't notice my second take and look of shock.

I smiled, I shook her hand, I remarked, "you look great! Tolerating treatment ok?"

She smiles and proudly says, "Why yes. I even started rowing while on Adriamycin!" (Notoriously an Awful chemo drug). She goes on to describe how well she's tolerated all treatments. That things are going well, she just has two more doses of her current med, and radiation is still an option.

We make eye contact the entire visit. I am just blown away. In front of my face, I'm seeing that a stage 3, dire and life-changing cancer diagnosis, has actually brought someone to life. She completely transformed. Her aura and energy bright and light.

"Doctor, thank you for calling me that day. Thank you for explaining to me that sometimes things in life are hard. Are too hard, in fact, to do them alone. That it's ok to find help, and that there are people out there who want to help. After this diagnosis, I realized how miserable the last 10 years of my life have been. How much I needed to change my job. I wrote down my regrets and realized I didn't want to keep them anymore. I am going to cancer support groups. I've made a friend. I'm sleeping better. I hope to one day help people in my same condition. Is it weird to say that this diagnosis helped awaken me to a better life?"

A normal person probably might have cried at that moment. I nearly did. Instead, I smiled, and said, that's not weird to say at all. Cancer provided you your silver lining...to life!

I hugged her, said, keep up the good work. And we parted ways.

I'll see her again.