Bright.

 I'd been laboring for over 24 hours. Though only part-way through my 2nd year of med school and this being my first pregnancy, I still knew we were reaching some sort of limit. The OB walks in to check progress. This woman was not my regular provider.  (Of course, my doc had warned me not to go into labor early because she was out of town the weekend before my due date). I'm not sure I'd even met her before this day. I knew of her, mostly because of her reputation as one of the few docs that still performed abortions. When she walked in for the first time, I could see she had no fucks to give. By my estimate, the last fuck she gave was probably at age 11 in the the 5th grade. Badass. Pretty sure she went outside to smoke cigs between surgeries and cervical checks. I appreciated Dr. B because she trusted me, my body and my veteran nurse (who happened to know me well from my swimming days, therefore knew the caliber of my so-called grit.)

She'd sort of saunter in every few hours or so, look at the monitor, talk to the nurse and shrug "Guess you can keep going" then walk out...for coffee and a smoke? I could tell her overall attitude was one of skepticism. She'd seen thousands of women with premature rupture of the membranes, with slow progression go over the 24 hour mark, which typically means cesarean. Infection risk and all that. And just as she suspected, I progressed at a snail's pace. (I'm not going to get into my theories that the night nurse simply didn't want me to progress so as to avoid an actual delivery...because, in the end, time of delivery doesn't really matter, now does it?)

A fascinating piece to this, and even as a 2nd year med student, I identified on the monitor a pattern of early decelerations in the infants heart rate - indicating that the cord might be wrapped around it's neck. If the heart rate recovers immediately, post contraction, you can carry on...so...we carried on. Again, she shrugged. No fucks. 

All this being said, the clock was not our friend. My incredible nurse looked at me and said, "the baby is slightly turned, but we have to start pushing. I'm going to try to turn it's head while you push as hard as you can with every contraction. I know you can do this. I saw you swim."  We did this. For over 3 hours. In this 3 hours, the anesthesiologist (a former grade-school classmate of my husband's) visited twice, in prep for potential cesarean. Dr. B all but said, "call me when it's time to operate." Again, coolly meandering out the room. 

I'll never forget the absolute shocked look on the doc's face, when she walked in the room at 27 hours and my nurse said, "it's time to deliver a baby." The shock dissolved quickly into what appeared to be simple routine baby catching - she's done a million times before. I got no impression that she would remember me and my herculean pushing efforts which resulted in avoiding an all but inevitable cesarean. I am woman, hear me ROAR. 

With that, my entire body shook, and ripped in two, and I simultaneously experienced the worst pain in my life and the most peaceful, content euphoria and amazement as my firstborn son cried and gazed at me. After she had unwrapped the cord THREE times from around his neck, of course. The nurse stood flabbergasted, "a triple nuchal! That explains everything." But, Brock just stared. Straight into my eyes. Straight into my soul. I swear I could see the wheels already spinning; you are my mother. I am here. What is this world? How can I learn about it immediately? Huge. Curious. Piercing. Alert. AWARE. Beautiful, bright eyes. 

The doctor continued with my excruciating perineal care, telling me I shouldn't be feeling this (I later found out that my epidural wore off at some point in those 3 hours of pushing.) She finished. Walked up to the head of the bed to stand by me. I don't know what I thought she would say, "sorry for the pain with all those stitches. You did incredible. I think you're the most amazing woman to have ever delivered a baby in all my history of being an OB." In complete monotone she says, "I have never given an infant 9 and 10 APGARs, because, well, that just doesn't happen. So I gave your son 8 and 9. BUT. If I were willing to give 9 and 10...that's the first baby I've ever seen with it. And that's with a cord wrapped around his neck 3 times." She sort of stood there for a moment, in seeming amazement. The most emotion I'd observed on her face up to that point. Then strolled out of that room, never to be seen again. (Well, until I ran into her at target, years later.)

Brock and my blood-type don't match - which usually produces Jaundice. He had none. The child does not get sick, even to this day. And his eyes and curiosity have never, ever stopped. He is about to complete his freshman year at Rockhurst, and will take on the hardest academic curriculum possible as a Sophomore. I see him and how he operates and feel like a lowly bystander.  And in these moments, I can't help but remember the day he was born, the look in his strikingly bright, alert eyes, and the stunned reaction of that veteran, cowboy of an OB that seemed impressed by nothing...and think to myself; we all always knew you were something extraordinary. 

The Goal gets all the Glory. But what about the assist?

Seemingly out of the blue, Curtis says to me, "Mom, what's an insist?" I pondered for a moment, trying to guess at what he could possibly be asking. Umm, I don't know. Maybe the thing I do all day, everyday to my children? Insist they get dressed. Insist they sit down. Insist they pick up. Insist they listen. Insist they stop picking their nose. Insist they play outside on nice days. Insist they not play in the mud outside. Insist they sit to eat at the table. Insist they behave like reasonable humans!?? Great. Now, I'm mad.

"Curtis, honey, why don't you give me an example of what you mean?" Phew. Saved that one.

"You know, like when I throw in the ball or kick it in soccer and get an Insist. People keep telling me I'm really good at insists."

Oh. You mean Assist.

I went on to explain that an assist in soccer is a play where your actions led directly to a goal scored. This means, that though you didn't make the actual goal, it could not have happened without your help. My little soccer-loving boy beamed with pride. His natural position seems to be midfield, which means, he will likely have a lifetime of assists, with very few goals. And, at age 7, it might be too early to tell, but I could venture a very solid educated guess that this may be the story of his life. Though he is absolutely my most competitive child when it comes to sports and games, he is my most thoughtful, self-sacrificing and helpful child when it comes to everything else. Curtis is at his happiest when he is assisting and making happy those he loves. It's beautiful.

I happen to be extremely close to another human, very much like this. This human would be Curtis' father, otherwise known as my husband. Matt.

Seven weeks ago, when I became disabled via Achilles rupture, Matt, without hesitation assumed the role of caretaker, home-maker and continued to go to work full-time. But I could tell, his heart belonged with me. If he were forced to choose one thing in that moment, it would have been helping me get well. Assisting.

I hated putting him in this position. Though, it's well known, I'm here for the glory...I also like to give credit where credit is due. Great teammates can make an assist feel just as important as the goal. Teamwork, it's beautiful. 

That's the bummer of it though. It seems only those closest can see it. The assist position lacks validation. People only asked Matt how I was doing - never checking in on him. The true bearer of all the repercussions. Our 5 kids were ages 3 thru 9, and with my immobility, I effectively became a 6th child twin to the 3 year old. I couldn't even shower on my own. 

When Curtis talks of soccer, people typically ask, "Did you score a goal?" And he has to say no. And a little piece of him feels less than. And he gets that message over and over and over from the outsiders. And I just want him to know that giving the assist, helping the team achieve their goal, is absolutely, one of the greatest things a human can do. He can look to his father and see a man who has achieved an incredible career. A happy marriage. And 5 beautiful children. 

Honestly, when you look at it like that...it seems like maybe it's actually the assist gets all the glory. 

-Written May 2018.

Are they your {Beauty} Standards? Or...

 Do you know what I realized one day? There has never been a single person to step foot in my exam room and ask me if there's anything I can do to help them become an Olympian. Or a professional sports player. Or heck, even a college athlete. It seems that most everyone has a firm grasp on what it takes to get to that sort of position. Determination. Dedication. Drive. Goals. Plans. Persistence. Prioritization. Proper nutrition. Proper genetics. As that classic No Fear brand t-shirt claims: No Pain, No Gain. 

The message out there about sports to the masses is clear. You cannot expect the results you want, if you haven't devoted the proper time or energy to your goals. It's also understood, that the moment you stop training, is the moment you stop improving. You will deteriorate. Your muscles will revert to the standard human form. Continued strength and athleticism requires upkeep. Forever. And ever. Until you die. The end. And don't forget, that it's also a fairly accepted idea that if you're born under 5' 7", your sport of choice probably shouldn't be basketball, volleyball or rowing...it's not impossible, it's just that much harder.

I don't think anyone reading this has a counter argument. There's no devil's advocate here. We all agree; them's the facts. You could try to tell me that there are natural born athlete's gifted beyond all other humans - and you'd be right. There are always outliers. But even they have to train day in day out to beat all of those other more determined humans. No one gets a free ride. In the wise words of Steve Prefontaine, “No matter how hard you train, Somebody will train harder. No matter how hard you run, somebody will run harder. No matter how hard you want it, somebody will want it more, I am somebody.”

At this point, you're probably thinking, "duh, Erin. Why would someone come to the doctor to ask about something so obvious? Besides helping with an injury. Or looking in to an atypical metabolic or genetic type disorder preventing one from building muscle. There's no reason to come to your family physician to ask about becoming an elite athlete. This is something you do on your own and find teams and coaches who specialize in that sport." And I agree. 

Here's where we get to the fascinating part. I see so many glaring parallels within competitive sports and the beauty industry. We are inundated with models, actors, influencers. They are beautiful. Flawless. Perfectly dressed and the "exact right weight". They have made a career out of their looks, rather than their athleticism or intelligence. Just like athletes, they have goals, they are never satisfied, they don't look in the mirror one day and say, "Aha, it is done! And now I rest." They continuously work, day in and day out to keep up that appearance. To maintain the fountain of youth and the finely toned bodies. They have coaches and nutritionist and chefs. They think about and plan their intakes, their output, their beauty brands. This is their job. They are the Olympians and Professional athletes of the Beauty Industry. Dedication. Determination. Proper nutrition. Proper Genetics. Yet...

...I have someone come in my office almost every single day, hoping for some help from me to achieve this goal. They seem to understand that models and actresses have a leg up. They have a whole fleet of people helping them achieve this beauty standard. But, Betty Sue in the cubicle next to them eats Cheetos and has a Pepsi every single day and is still a size 2. We don't know what she does with the other 16 hours of her day, but for the 8 we see her, she seems to eat and do whatever she wants..."I want that."

I can't even describe the look of dejection I get when I explain the logistics behind their weight goals. When I impress upon them that weight loss is not static, it's a lifelong endeavor. Nor can I describe the look of confusion I get when I try to tell them that "weight" is not synonymous with "health". If Betty Sue is a size 2, and only eating Cheetos and Pepsi. She is going to be in a world of hurt by her 60's, bent over and osteoporotic, and probably dead &/or demented by 70. But, hey, she looked good for 50+ years!

Marketing, Social media, Magazines, the Beauty industry as a whole, has been pouring BS down everyone's throat since the day we could print materials. They want us to think that anyone could be an Olympian and that it's easy - as long as you have all the right products. They conveniently leave out the whole part about eating the right foods, in the right quantities, with the right amount of exercise, every day for the rest of your life as being part of the key to success here. Buy their products and be that "10"! No effort necessary. 

The Beauty industry doesn't want you to think about ALL THE OTHER THINGS that influence your outward appearance. Your genetics. Your mental health. Your lifestyle. Your finances. Your physical health. Your living situation. There is no limit to the complexities of being human. Just like running a mile under 6 minutes can come to some with relative ease - they still have to train. Maybe not as much as you, but it didn't come for free. And it couldn't be bought. 

I'm not here to tell you that there isn't a time and place and necessity for weight loss medications and surgeries. I absolutely recommend these options for those in need. It can be life saving. But in most other instances, if you aren't the "10" that you "want to be" it's because -and don't get mad at me for saying this - YOU don't REALLY want it. Society does. When YOU really want something. You go out and get it. You set goals. You have plans. You follow through, day in and day out. If you aren't getting results, you find a coach. You remain accountable to yourself, every single day. 

And you know what? That's OK. It's fine to skip a work out. Get a dessert. Have a drink. Enjoy a 5 course meal. Be a size 8 or 14 or 20. As long as you are otherwise, getting your steps in. Getting all the food groups in. Not smoking heavily. Not drinking heavily (alcohol or soda). Not doing illicit drugs heavily. Look at your body like those athletes do. Treat it like the beautiful vessel it is. Embrace the differences we have amongst age, gender, race, height, weight, genetics. Do you really want to look just like everyone else? Maybe you do. And that's OK too! 

I just really need you to understand that you aren't a failure, when you haven't even tried yet. Don't listen to the media. It's not easy. Try to be honest with yourself, try to ignore that outside chatter - that sometimes even comes from the ones we love most. Our mothers. Our fathers. Our spouses. Our friends. If they can't love you in the body your in, it's a "them" problem. You can be whoever you want - with the right amount of dedication. Everything is achievable - and most of it - unnecessary. 

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. 

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. 

Dear Matt.

 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

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.

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.

Why?

 "And, there's nothing you wouldn't want to change on your body?" She asks incredulously. 

As if someone being perfectly comfortable with their physique is not a real thing. And by "She" I mean all of them. The collective she. Probably the "hes" too. Is anyone truly happy with their body and all the things that lie within? Where is the separation of physical - emotional - mental - spiritual? Is there a line?

I'm always met with such skepticism. Disbelief. I am hiding something. I am in denial. I am not being authentic or truthful with either you or myself. So much so, that I often wonder if she isn't right? Am I unhappy with a body part? Am I ignoring some inside itch to be someone else? Have something else? Secretly hope to not have some glaring blemish - as generally perceived by the outside world? 

Sometimes, I feel my thoughts are so different, and so against the grain, that I have to ask myself, "Am I crazy?"  When all parts of me feel so whole. Right. Comfortable. ...and fluid...

There is no permanent part of me. Not even my life. Ever changing, evolving, experiencing, withering, growing. We are so, so, so fluid. Like the water I lived in. Love. Enjoy. 

Are there things I might change at this exact moment? Sure. Like anyone, I can come up with a few imperfections. Are they things that I believe I CAN change? On my own? With the right training, research, discipline? Absolutely. I've always known I can accomplish anything -yet achieve nothing. In completeness. 

You do know, perfection doesn't exist, right? 

I've long since made peace with the proverbial mechanical hare. The moving target that I will never reach - and like our little Italian Greyhoud, Tater, who oft caught his prey then instantly panicked with a yelp: "wtf do I do now!?" - I think I would simply do the same. Where do I go from here?

Unlike, what I've observed {from what seems the majority} of my fellow man, I don't have a lot of arbitrary desires. If I want to change something, it's for a specific goal. Ideally, a multifactorial gain. I regard time & energy in the highest esteem. Don't spend it unwisely. 

"To what end?" Is my genuine, nonjudgmental and deeply curious reply.

Such a terse reply. I'm almost not allowed to ask it. So often she reacts with defensiveness - We are supposed to be unhappy with ourselves! You are doing this wrong - She whispers to herself.

If changing something about one's physique whether by diet, exercise, weights, surgery, injections, beauty products, supplements produces a result that fulfills a dream, a goal, a desire - please, don't ask permission. 

Don't seek acceptance for something so personal. Even if it's simple. Goals don't have to be lofty. Life altering. Goals are for you, and you alone. 

Don't misunderstand me, they can include others. You can want to be a better partner, mother, doctor. This will affect others, but it's still an individual change, desire, want.

It's all individual. To be the person you want to be is all up to you. It's inside of you. There's nothing initially external that will help you reach your goals. Improve your esteem. Get you a job. Nor a joyful relationship. And, the first stepping block isn't to change what you think society wants you to change. It's not to be like someone else. 

It's to be like YOU. 

And to become and live the most genuine "you" is to continually, truthfully, honestly and repetitively ask yourself the scariest of all questions: "Why?"  Over and over - until you get to the very core of your desires.

Why? Why do I want to change?

Or don't I?

The Hidden Art of the Lollygag.

George comes up to me one morning in the midst of the school and work readying frenzie and says to me, "I just don't get it. Mitch is the first one ready everyday AND he gets to play video games for like 30 minutes every morning. It's like he just wakes up, gets dressed, eats his breakfast and then sits and plays video games until we leave for school."

I say, "Right. That's exactly how it works. He gets up, does all the necessary things without dilly dallying or distraction, then gets more time to do what he wants while still getting out the door on time. What part do you not get, George?"

He sort of looks at me like I'm a crazy person as he fiddles with a cereal box, searching for a pen to do the maze on the back of it, with no shoes or socks on, and says, "I don't get it because I don't dilly dally!? I do the same thing as Mitch, but I don't have the time to play video games!"

And, I just laugh. "Bud, you are literally messing with a cereal box and telling me a whole, long, drawn out story about how you don't get how you don't have the same amount of time as Mitch, INSTEAD of actually just putting on your shoes and socks."

He laughs. "Ugh. Ok! I know! But there are so many more interesting things than just getting ready for school". He says using air quotes and deep change in inflection.

"So, you do get it then?"

I honestly can't offer much advice, as I suffer from the same affliction as George. Lollygagger's Syndrome.

In fact, I'm writing this "just real quick" before I go on a walk then eat lunch then continue planning our 20 year high school reunion then planning our weekend events - including Mitch's 8th birthday party - while also sending in all the meds and finishing all the charts from the morning and fielding texts from work, home, friends and family all during my 2 hour lunch break. (Before you get all amazed at my time management abilities - I WILL NOT accomplish even half of this. Especially, now that I'm typing.) 

Meanwhile, my lovely spouse, Matt is Mitch. I'll head up to bed 20 minutes before Matt with nothing to do but brush my teeth, change into pajamas and go to bed...yet, he ends up in bed with all these tasks completed before me, every time. Every time! I mean, the man simply finishes his routines, functions, projects, etc without distraction. So, I get it George. I really do. 

The thing of it is...I rarely regret my lollygagging. It sometimes {rarely} produces lovely, creative writing pieces. It most often results in plans for a fun weekend or evening. Or brightening someone's day {I hope} because of a silly photo or meme I've passed on to them via text. 

I run into kids, parents, teachers, family alike, and occasionally I'll get a "you won't believe what Mitch did" or a "I have a funny story to tell you about Mitch" or even a "love that kid" comment regarding Mitch. But I almost ALWAYS get these types of comments regarding George. 

Don't get me wrong. Mitch {and Matt} are awesome dudes. I love them more than anything. They offer many, many things that George {and I} do not. I truly could not select a preferred personality type. 

All I know is...for entertainment and procrastination purposes, you want George and I on your side. If you would like to *actually* accomplish your desired goal...bring in the other guys.

And thus, concludes, my somewhat pointless ramblings but chosen afternoon distraction activity for the day.

Sedona.

TRAILS:

Devil's Bridge: Very cool, if you want to walk out on (or get a picture standing on) the bridge, you want to do this on a low traffic ay (like middle of week) or slightly poor weather. Otherwise, you will be waiting a few hours for the pic.  

Sunset we drove up to a spot that gave 280 degree views, very pretty, don't know the name.

Soldier's Pass: This is an awesome hike, and you can make it as long as you want (lots of trail break offs). This is where you can climb inside a cave, and also see the 7 sacred pools.  Possibly me favorite.

Fay Canyon Arch: We did this in the afternoon when we were sort of exhausted, short and easy.

Church in the Rock: So many people recommended it, I felt it was meh. Very populated, despite rain.

Cathedral Rock: Most advanced climb that we did. A bit nerve wrecking in spots, but definitely worth it. Very cool views at the top! Also THE MOST busy location be far. So, again, middle of week or bad weather is best bet. 

Birthing Cave: Super short hike, but a really cool little spot. You could also rent a bike and do the SUPER long trail around it. 

Soldier's Pass

Devil's Bridge

Fay Canyon

Soldier's Pass

Devil's Bridge

Church in the Rock

Sunset

Cathedral Rock

Birthing Cave

Soldier's Pass

7 Sacred Pools (Solder's Pass)

Birthing Cave

Cathedral Rock

Cathedral Rock

Solder's Pass

Fay Canyon Arch

Soldier's Pass

Devil's Bridge

Devil's Bridge

 We ate at this awesome little Brewery, Sedona Beer Company - highly recommend!!

Gerardo's for a nice dinner was fantastic. 

Secret Garden Cafe had very fresh, yummy food. 

Creekside was the best breakfast place we patroned. 

Dinner at Hideaway, had no complaints there either. 

We ate a few other spots, but they were definitely replaceable. 

Parachutes, not Oxygen.

Begin rant.

For the last year, I've tried so so so unbelievably hard to remain PC (if that's even a thing anymore). Supportive. Make lemonade out of lemons. Urge people along to follow "guidelines" (despite feeling these guidelines were poorly constructed, short-sighted and even inappropriate and devastating at times). 

I'm losing patience.

After a year of consoling patient after patient, slowly crumbling from the anxieties of this pandemic, I can't help but get increasingly bitter. 

This vaccine roll out, has really put me over the edge. And, probably not in the way you think. 

I'm not bothered by the lack of organization, the inherent chaos, the bottle-necking, the wasting of vaccines and the inability to get this vaccine out to our most vulnerable. I KNEW this would be the case. If you are shocked, at all, by how the distribution of this vaccine has gone, then you are truly lying to yourself daily about our country, this government and the world really (because, I guarantee you, no country has gotten anything "perfect")...which is what brings me to my true beef: humans. 

I 100% agree with this tiered system. The absolute first people to get this vaccine should be every FRONTLINE health care worker and any human employed at, caretaking for or living in a long term care facility. I capitalize FRONTLINE, because I do not view anyone in controlled outpatient settings, the subspecialties, the chiropractors, the physical therapists, etc as "frontline". They're close, very close, and should be top of next tier (along with teachers), but they are not the ones directly treating known positives, they are not the ones potentially getting it nor spreading it at the rate of those working inpatient in the hospital. 

This vaccine, and the subsequent recommendations on distribution rolled out, and suddenly everyone is clambering for it. Do I qualify? Can I get it? How do I skirt the system? The most oft cited slogan I've heard to justify this behavior has been the "You put your oxygen mask on first, then you help those that may not know how."  And for some, I believe that to be true. I'm on forums full of selfless, bleeding heart primary care physicians who all begged to give their dose to one of their patient's that they knew needed it much more than they. 

You see, despite the rhetoric out there, that this "virus doesn't discriminate".  "Healthy people get it too." It does discriminate. It still very much does. There are clear groups of people that are more devastated by this pandemic than other groups. And it doesn't take much research or even much more than simple observation to figure out who these groups are. But, in case you struggle on this front, I'll list some groups for you: minorities, wage workers, unemployed, morbidly obese, those over 65, the uninsured, the homeless.

I'm going to let you in on something that should be obvious, but I'm no longer sure it is: I am not one of those groups - and I'm willing to bet, if you are reading this, neither are you. 

I'm 38. I'm in (what I consider to be) excellent health. I have top of the line health care benefits, as do my children and husband. I recently had Covid, and as we statistically expected I would, I had a mild case and full recovery. I work in an outpatient environment, surrounded by healthy, fully insured co-workers, and mostly "healthy", insured patients. My patients are "healthy" because, they ARE SEEING A DOCTOR. They have healthcare. They may have diabetes, high blood pressure, autoimmune disorders, so on and so forth, but we are MANAGING THEM!!! 

For me to have taken a vaccine in the past 2 months would not be putting my oxygen mask on first. For me to take a vaccine would be more likened to grabbing a parachute and jumping out of the plane before I even asked if there were enough for everyone on the flight. 

In more plain, and potentially triggering terms. It would be selfish. 

That's my beef. The answer for so many, is simply to get this vaccine. To finally get a pacifier to stop all the crying about the virus. How scary it is. How it's interrupted life. Made you stay home, and not travel, or see friends or family or loved ones. How it's increased anxiety and depression and suicides to an all time high. How devastating it is in every sector. How horrible other people are because they have flown on a plane. Or eaten indoors. Or hung out with friends. That we are infringing on rights by requiring reasonable protocols (such as masking, distancing, etc) How horrible our government is, and how they botched EVERYTHING. Give me, give me, give me, give me. Take. Take. Take. Take. 

Where is the accountability? I'm not talking big scale accountability. I'm talk small. Really small. I'm talking about YOUR accountability? Are you getting a full 8 hours of sleep? Are you eating well? Drinking well? Exercising? Caring for your mental and physical health? Putting yourself in the best position possible to beat this enemy? THIS is putting on your oxygen mask first. Or are you sitting around and asking someone else to do this for you? Biding your time, holed up in your home, waiting for someone to give you a handout so you can grab that parachute and hop right out of this godforsaken airplane of a pandemic?

Besides the islands (which are playing a whole different game) the most successful countries at combatting this virus also happen to have the lowest BMI average. They have universal healthcare (I'm not getting into a debate here either, I don't mind some healthy competition/capitalism, I'm just pointing out some commonalities). And more intrusive governments. 

The opportunities for you, personally, to reduce the devastation of this pandemic have been at your fingertips this entire time. And you either chose to use those fingertips to point at others. Or you made the best of it, did your part, assessed your own risk levels as well as risk tolerance, followed appropriate guidelines, supported who and whatever you could and continue to patiently wait until your turn for a parachute comes up. 

I know, I know, I can hear the counter argument now. 'What else were we supposed to do? We could get or spread the virus.' 'Some people don't believe the virus exists'. And, yes, in many ways these are valid concerns, thoughts, statements. Everyone could not go parading on as if there were no virus, but some of us HAD to and HAVE to still. And those of us who have the age, health and means on our side should have done this, as we are the lowest risk group. We would likely survive an exposure (from those behaving as if no pandemic), and we potentially have the knowledge to identify highest vs lowest risk of exposures and navigate this smartly. Were there and will there be casualties along the way? Absolutely, it's a pandemic!  In the time of hunting and gathering, the strongest always went out and faced the dangers of the elements - the weather, the predators, the terrain. Did we send out our strongest? Or did we sacrifice the "little guy"?? Had we sent only our strongest, would our numbers be as stark and devastating?

I want to clarify, I don't think I've done it all "right". I've made missteps along the way. To err is human. But I happily went to work everyday, trudging through the unknowns, to care for people. Though I probably interacted with more people than some feel "safe", I limited my encounters with others by the thousands. (Easiest example I will use is last year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I hosted or attended 17. SEVENTEEN holiday parties with more than 20+ people in a small indoor space, sharing food. I saw part of a few of the sides of my family this year). I wear a mask everywhere, with zero complaint. I did not fly anywhere until I felt I was in the safest place possible in regards to immunity. All of my decisions were fully informed, with intention and also with the knowledge that I have testing available as well as deeper knowledge about disease and it's spread than the general population.

I have no doubt, we are finally on the right path. That things will truly look up from here in many, many ways. I am so thankful for this. But, I fear that we might have gone through this whole entire pandemic, slaves to media and propaganda, and never really learning anything for ourselves. Or looking inside and asking yourself, really, really asking in a very deep and complicated way, am I part of the problem? Or part of the solution? 

To me, there were no simple solutions. No simple decisions. No one human, family, household that is alike. We all have and had very different roles in society, in this pandemic. Embracing our role, performing it to the best of our ability and supporting those from all walks of life is never the wrong decision.  And as we see our herd immunity ever expanding, we need to be more understanding than ever, that all are not equal. 

End rant.

Epilogue: In 30 days, I do have a decision to make about this vaccine. And because of my line of work, it is considered an oxygen mask type scenario. I don't want to be spreading virus - though, that's the biggest bugger of them all - supposedly, this vaccine ONLY protects me anyway. And doesn't actually decreased my ability to spread it...??? Soooo that's like a whole other rant in and of itself!!! Heaven forbid we get vaccinated and go to a restaurant or retail store, you know, to start supporting our local hurting economy - and by economy, I mean other humans trying to make a living. All of this makes me want to give my dose away to someone who really needs it EVEN MORE!! Argh!

It’s Not You.

 When I ruptured my Achilles’ tendon, I had about the smoothest medical experience one can have. I ruptured it on a Sunday. I had an appointment Monday first thing. I had surgery on Friday. Everything went as well as it could, no complications. I woke up from surgery and voila! I was on my way to recovery.  

A perk of being a native Kansas Citian, in the medical field, I {sort of} knew the anesthesiologist. The surgeon came highly recommended by his partner, who happened to also be my friend. I laughed in the pre-op area with the nurse, because she went to my high school and we knew each other, plus many mutual friends. My comfort level in my care could not have been higher. But, I’ll tell you what. Even with the best case scenario for every single step of my path to recovery...the whole thing SUCKED. Do not recommend. 

I cried briefly in the Pre-op room. It’s lonely, and isolating. They don’t allow your loved one back, and I had to strip down and sanitize my body. Waking up from anesthesia is the worst (for me anyway). My blood pressure is all over the place, as is my consciousness, and man! Did my ankle HURT. If you follow me at all on social media, you know I whined for weeks. Weeks and weeks and weeks. Months really. If you know me in real life, you got more whining, in the form of texts. Emails. Conversation. It was miserable. I was miserable. My husband was miserable. Again, do not recommend. 

In all this whining, I don’t think it ever once occurred to the surgeon that my agonizing. My displeasure in my current life and situation. My new and awful personal hardships...had ANYTHING to do with him and his surgery performance. Why would it? How could it? He didn’t force me to play pickle ball in shitty tennis shoes the day after a holiday spent standing in wedges. He didn’t have anything to do with me being fat and out of shape. Nor is he old enough to have anything to do with my genetic make up, that might have precluded me to such a fate. He’s just the guy with the skills who is trying to help me make it through this patch. 

So, why, I ask, are teachers taking anything parents say about how difficult, awful and life-altering virtual or hybrid learning is, personally? Did they create this virus? Did they shut down the schools? Are they the reason we parents are stuck home trying to suffer through our careers while herding our children? 

Because, as far as I can tell, they are the surgeons. Trying to make the best of this horrendous and impossible situation. They are the ones altering their plans to try and educate our children. They are on call, working around the clock, constantly having to maneuver through this. Some of them are parents themselves! Muddling through both sides. They are the trained professionals in which we entrust a huge part of our children’s’ future. And though, not unlike my surgery, the process is painful and long and unforgiving through this disaster of a year, we know it must be done. And frankly, because I complain about everything, I’m going to complain about the most difficult moments. The quarantining, the electronics failures, the emails. Oh my. ALL THE EMAILS. 

Parents and teachers are a team. We must be. We always should have been. We actually have the exact same goal. And the administration has the toughest job of all...trying to keep everyone safe. Educated. Maybe even happy (content might be a better word). We all have a common enemy, and it’s a pandemic. Literally every member of this team is on edge. Has been since March. Nearly a year. 

So, I implore everyone, parents and teachers alike, to take a step back. And a deep breath. And realize, we are in this together. Like it or not. And it sucks. 

But, what if someone dies?

Tonight, my husband told me I was "stressing him out." I asked for clarification, as I've actually felt the most at peace I've been since March! So, this came as a bit of a shock. He told me it was because of my "defeatist attitude about the start of school".

You see, like most parents (and I'm assuming teachers) felt, I am straight up terrified of a repeat March and April. It was a DISASTER. There was the underlying stress of the panic due to the pandemic with the expectation to carry on, at home, with some kind of continued education of our grade school age children. In my case, a 5th, a 3rd, a 2nd, a K and a Pre-Ker. I am NOT exaggerating when I say that we accomplished nothing. Nada. Zero. If my kids managed to turn in even 50% of their assignments, I guarantee you they were neither complete nor correct. The level of home discord we achieved on a daily basis was enough to send even the most sane human to the funny farm. My children could mostly be found on the floor crying if not on an electronic device.

Let me be clear, I'm not criticizing schools or teachers. They were tasked with the impossible, and I applaud their effort. I applaud their continued efforts. I just cannot go through it again and besides abandoning my patients during their time of heightened need (because, turns out long-standing stress, panic and fear wreaks havoc on more than just the mental - which I also treat - but the physical begins to deteriorate) I can't stop working either. I say this, because if someone tries to argue that the true fault is that of the American work structure, I'm calling BS in my particular situation, as well as many others. 

I need to see patients. Period. There's no getting around it...and for a lot of jobs...there is NO getting around it!! (Well, unless we mass produce robots to stock the grocery shelves and bag up groceries and deliver them to your door. Or robots to take vitals and manage meds on inpatients, flip them, help them to the commode, you know, all the things. Or robots to take over my job even...hold on, I think I'm on to something!!)

Because of this experience, as well as my area of expertise (Family Physician, with a side of super stats/data nerd) I decided, with some encouragement of some other school members, I needed to be part of the school's re-opening process and task force. It shouldn't be that difficult, since somewhere around the last week in February, I've been incessantly studying (from afar) the Coronavirus. These motives were not purely selfish. My privileged, white children will be fine without a year or two of education and socialization. I could not, however, get over the idea that if I struggled this much to stay mentally healthy, physically healthy, electronically savvy, organized enough to do anything, then how on earth are those in far worse conditions faring??!!!

We {the task force} spent hours. Days. Pouring over and coming up with good strategies. Strategies influenced by the top pediatricians, Harvard, the CDC, and multiple incredibly reputable resources. I'd been trying my best to come at it from a place of reason and logic.

Weighing the benefits and risks of everything we do as individuals as well as everything we do as a society. Like peeling an onion, we went through layers and layers of situations. What ifs. Weighing both the now and the future.

I obsessed and poured over the data.

I wanted so badly to be able to come up with good solutions. Good options. Something that might work for everyone involved. Words of comfort and wisdom for my colleagues, administrators, patients, friends, family.

But, no matter the solution, there were always critics to shut down every option. No answer pleased everyone. 

Turns out, there simply is no reasoning when the only barometer against which we are measuring what we do, which next steps to take, how we should go about living and moving forward is, "But, what if someone dies?"

I've treated this no different than any illness I encounter as a physician.

But. That's where I went wrong. That's the piece of the puzzle I could never solve, nor overcome.

There is no other illness as publicized and polarized than this. It defies all logic and reason from every dimension.

Did you know, there are currently estimated to be 2.1 BILLION mentions of Coronavirus in the media, whilst tuberculosis - THE NUMBER ONE WORLDWIDE CAUSE OF DEATH BY AN INFECTIOUS DISEASE - has less than 3 million mentions. TUBERCULOSIS!! This has both a vaccine and a CURE. *mind blown emoji* And since children always seem to be such a gut-wrenching figure - there were 205,000 TB deaths under the age of 18 last year. By comparison, (reports worldwide range with 0-0.8% of all COVID deaths are children - definition varies, so for argument sake, I'm going with the highest percentage) there have been approx 5,486 deaths of children, worldwide in 5 months. That would end up with around 13,167 deaths in a year, IF nothing gets better.

Try, now, to convince me that we care about lives...

...ALL lives that is. Black lives. American Lives. European lives. 3rd world country lives. Poor lives. 

Because, I can't help but see it that we let thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people die. EVERY year. From a treatable disease...simply because it doesn't really affect us directly. It's not really here. In America. Amongst the rich. The white. The healthy. The successful.

But now. NOW. All of a sudden there's a virus that affects US ALL. "No one is safe" (though, clearly there are demographics who are...) so let's drastically change all of society!?? To the potential demise of our entire country for one reason or another. I know, I'm getting off topic, but my brain goes down this perplexing rabbit hole. Every. Time. 

...ok, back here again, waiting to hear about how much we care about our lives...

If the barometer I used was simply, "but, what if someone dies". I would never, ever, EVER prescribe another medication again. EVER.

I ask all physicians, how often do you refrain from prescribing a recommended and vital medication because compliance might not be 100%? How often do you prescribe a new medication and tell the patient it is 100% safe? That there is no chance of adverse reaction? Ranging from a simple rash to kidney damage to death? If you are, then please, tell me!! What are and where are these meds!!!?? 

Ok, ok.  You're not going to tell me...because they don't exist.

So, returning to reality and good old-fashioned medicine, we have to deal within the constraints of what we've got...and that's simply, WEIGHING THE BENEFITS VS THE RISKS.

I do not recommend the same medication for the same disease to every person. I take into account many things, age, presentation, other medications, vitals, previous treatments, compliance, cost, labwork, etc.

Just like, I don't think there is one solution that works for every single family or teacher. This is a novel virus with bizarre and wide-ranging presentations. From asymptomatic to deadly. The spread isn't fully understood yet (but in my vast researching, my personal hypothesis is that a person is highly infectious for only a very short period - possibly less than 24 hours - but during that time they can get to a lot of people. It's really the only thing that makes sense...but I digress). You are absolutely allowed to be scared, nervous, and make the decisions you deem right for you and your family.

I'm tempted here, to go into a long drawn out explanation of the numbers. The stats. The facts. The COVID numbers vs flu, vs car accidents, vs suicides, vs all of it!!  But in the ever so wise words of my husband, "facts don't change minds". And, my goal here (if I have one...I think that ship sailed about 17 paragraphs {ramblings} ago) is not to change anyone's mind, but more to urge you to use it. Use your own brain. Please, stop being convinced by one-sided, dramatic, click-bait media. Take a deep breath and look at what you really think/want/believe for your own family. 

We all have some really hard choices to make.

At some point, people need to be accountable and responsible for themselves. I have not seen my own  father for 6 months. He is physically distancing and taking all the precautions. Benefits vs Risks. He weighed his own. He's retirement age at nearly 70 with a history of cancer, among other health issues. He misses us and we him. We usually spend time at the farm and lake together. He knows he has done his best to stay safe and healthy, and that's about all we can hope for...the rest is up to fate. 

If you need your kids home to feel safe. Keep them there. If you have the opportunity to teach remotely or take the year off the job, then do it. (This is a personal decision, we all had to make. Anyone in the public, essential, front line has had to make this difficult decision, keep my same income? Or find an alternative? What's the benefit of keeping this job vs the risks?) These options exist!! But steadily, the other option, that is so needed for so many, of sending your young children somewhere for care and education is slipping away. These people don't even get a choice. 

Sigh.

Now to quote my even more wise 11 year old: I hate COVID 19.