In Memory of Madeline Spenrath, R.N.

I just found out on Thursday, April 25, 2013 that one of my favorite nursing supervisors had died.  I’d talked to her several times over the last few years when we were both going through various cancer diagnoses, but hadn’t talked to her in a while.  She had been through breast cancer, and thought she was doing well when she discovered she had bone cancer in her thigh and had to have an amputation at the hip (around 2010).  She went through that with a great deal of grace and dignity.  I’m told that she had recurrence of cancer in her lung and spine.  I can’t imagine what that was like for her. Getting used to her leg prosthesis and wheel chair were hard enough; the leg prosthesis drove her nuts.  She was incredibly independent, and needing help didn’t make her smile.  I can just hear her saying “when I go, just toss me out into the pasture with the horses”.  Down to earth, no frills, and knew SO much about nursing.  I will always have a great deal of respect for her.

Madeline  was a no- nonsense supervisor, but also had a heart of gold. I first met her in in  1991, and while there are many people who knew her much better than I did, she left a definite impact on me, for the better.  I worked at Sid Peterson Memorial Hospital in Kerrville, TX on and off for over 10 years.  Madeline had been there much, much longer, and was a ‘staple’ supervisor on the night shift.   She had her own way of getting report on every patient in the hospital for the next shift’s supervisor (or ‘Number 9’, as they were called at Sid Pete, at least at that time). Some supervisors wanted report from each nurse- Madeline wanted the charge nurse to give the run-down.  SO, I talked to her a lot.  She wanted ‘just the facts’, but also had a really good sense of humor, and if a patient needed something, and she could do it, she’d give it her all.

Madeline could get IVs in just about anybody.  Generally, if someone needed an IV started or restarted, the direct care nurse or charge nurses would get them in.  If that didn’t work- or if someone’s veins were just too puny to go poking around when it didn’t make sense, the charge nurses would call Madeline (or whoever was the supervisor that night).  Madeline could get an IV in the butt vein of a grasshopper. In motion.  She was just that experienced and had all of the tricks down pat.

Madeline used to have incredible BBQs for the night shift staff. They were annual and legendary.  I got to go to one in 1991. She had them in the summer, and would have one of her horses saddled up for anybody who wanted to go for a ride around the farm in Comfort.  I still have a photo of me on one of her palomino horses, in my tennis shoes and t-shirt…. I looked SO not ‘Texas’.  But it was fun 🙂

When Coca-Cola changed their formula back in the 80s, Madeline rode her horse to the town store, and brought home as much of the original formula as she could secure to that horse!  I never heard that she ever smoked or had other vices- but don’t mess with her classic Coke !! 🙂

One night, Madeline called me about a predicament with staffing on the telemetry floor.  Uh oh.  Madeline could get me to agree to a lot of things that I’d normally freak out about (like charging two floors on nights when there were simply no other nurses to cover one of the floors- they were back to back units – 4A and 4B- so I just ran between the two that night; one was my usual floor, and I knew the other staff well enough).  The regular charge nurse on the telly floor had some emergent health situation happen, and they really needed a charge nurse.  I really didn’t read telemetry strips !  I knew ‘OK, looks survivable’ and ‘uh oh’. She reassured me that the monitor techs knew the rhythms and there were standing medication orders that the nurses knew about- I’d be fine. They just needed an RN body to check off orders and be physically present.  Scared the snot out of me, but I went.  Everybody survived the shift 🙂

She hated taking bodies to the morgue in the basement of the old hospital. Madeline would do anything she could for anybody in the hospital, but once she was notified of a death, she’d show up like the wind and drop off the keys to the morgue.  She wasn’t a fearful person but that morgue gave her the willies. I have to admit, it was creepy- it was a ‘one occupant’ room, with shelves along all available wall space that had the specimens from various surgeries… there were gallbladders, appendixes, lungs, and just about anything that could be removed from a body bobbing along in preservative liquid in semi-opaque plastic buckets. You could still tell they were guts.  Named, dated, and labelled.  The first time I went down there, I was very distraught.  I was still shaking the next day, and actually had to leave when I got to work (major chicken-poo reaction). Madeline was on that night, and while she wasn’t amused at me falling apart, she never made me feel ashamed of my reaction. Once I knew what I’d be seeing, I was able to go if I had to help take a body there.

When I was diagnosed with diabetes in 1995, I had just started working at SPMH again (and was diagnosed with diabetes through general pre-employment screenings)… one night I said I felt a little funny, and Madeline went bounding off to the cafeteria to get me a pimento cheese sandwich, in case my blood sugar was getting too low; I was still very early on in being treated, and could sometimes have symptoms even when numbers were decent- my body was just used to having much higher blood sugars.  Being diabetic wasn’t seen as a liability, and I had a great deal of support from Madeline and others there at SPMH.

When Madeline brought a meal for a patient admitted later in the evening or night, she’d bring back  a tray full of food fit for a football player…. her theory- never trust a skinny chef, and make sure they get enough food if they’re hungry.  Never knew when someone sick would either lose their appetite, or have the need for some energy stores.

Madeline loved her horses and cats.  She retired from nursing several years ago, and while she was dealing with a lot of health issues, she always talked about how she was doing with taking care of the horses and cats on her farm. She was deeply saddened when that palomino died… it was one of her favorite horses.  She also volunteered at the local VA hospital, and loved going out there.  She had passion about many things, and when Madeline took to something, she did it with a great deal of satisfaction- and she was good at it.

Madeline was a ‘giver’. I never heard her ask for anything for herself, even when she was going through so many life changes with her health.  When she’d call me, she’d sound upbeat- and she had so many reasons to be bummed.  She’d send funny e-mails, and periodic notes- and never complained.

When Madeline would hear of something just not sounding fair in regards to how someone was being treated after some management changes at the hospital, she felt so badly for them.  Madeline believed in people being accountable- but she also knew that sometimes people got a really raw deal… and it hurt her when they hurt.  One other supervisor comes to mind in regards to that.  We both deeply respected that other person.  Madeline didn’t always wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she was an incredibly caring person who wanted the best for those around her.   Sometimes there might be someone (usually someone who didn’t last long) who drove her a little nuts- but she was always fair if anything came up that involved her input with that person.

I’ve worked with some great people in the years I worked as an RN.  Madeline Spenrath is someone who I will never forget, and am forever grateful for things she taught me.  I became a better nurse and person for having known her.

For those who knew Madeline, and would like to leave a comment about your memories of her, please feel free to do so, and I’ll get them added to the comment section 🙂

Blowing Away Runners’ Legs…. For What?

The Boston Marathon- April 15, 2013 has been bombed.  Cowards targeted an international gathering and celebration of runners.  There is no logical explanation.  This isn’t political. It’s not religious.  It’s a sport,  way to stay healthy, or hobby.  It’s non-threatening from any angle I look at it.

It’s all that’s on regular TV right now, and as with many past horrific events, I am drawn to the news to hear if anything else has either happened or been discovered. And I am horribly saddened by this.  It’s becoming so common for humans to attack other humans for whatever cause- religious and political seem to be the biggies for larger area and well known venue tragedies… nut jobs seem to target single, smaller venues.  It really doesn’t matter; the outcome is the same. People’s lives are extinguished or permanently altered.

It’s clear what happens to those who die. But when there are injuries, we never know exactly how severely injured the victims are, whether it’s a car wreck, or something covered by hours of news. Will they get bandaged up and sent home?  Will they spend some time in the hospital, maybe do some time in a physical rehab center, and then be pretty much back to normal physically? Or are their injuries going to cost their limbs, requiring major rehab and learning to either use a wheelchair or prosthetic limbs? Or will they be brain damaged to the point of never being aware of the world around them again?  Some of those outcomes are worse than death.

One photo I saw had two versions. There was one ‘general publication’ shot that was cropped to show a seemingly fit man in a wheelchair with obviously devastating leg injuries. His skin was a disturbing gray tone. And he was still conscious- though undoubtedly in considerable shock- and he was holding one knee. The uncropped  version of the photo showed that both of his lower legs were essentially gone. There was one bone still attached to one leg, but muscle and tissue were stripped away, leaving a large blood vessel and what appeared to be either a large nerve or tendon just dangling below the stripped bone, along with some remaining shreds of skin. He had a tourniquet on. The other leg was gone, and just a bloody nub- but it was almost unnoticeable because of the horrific image of the other leg.  I’m an RN. I’ve seen terrible injuries, as well as textbook images of injuries.  This beat them all.  In part that’s due to the disturbing level of awareness on this guy’s face. My prayer is that he was more numb than aware.  I wanted to holler ‘get his head down (to get blood shunted back to his brain)’ but they were obviously doing the best they could to get him to help.  There were three people with him, doing all they could. They will never be the same  either.  PTSD happens to responders as well as victims.

After hearing about how many lower leg injuries and amputations there were, it struck me as being even more cruel. It’s dreadful when that happens to anybody, but these are runners.  There’s an even greater level of evil that targets people who are peacefully gathering from around the world to engage in a sport or hobby.  This wasn’t a political or religious event.  It was a premier gathering of the world’s best runners.  For some, it may have been the first time out of their home countries.

One of the dead is an 8 year old boy.  There have been reports that eight children have been taken to hospitals with injuries.  The youngest I’ve heard of so far is three years old.  There are many who still have a very good risk of dying.  And, there are countless people who are not residents of Boston, who are now either trying to see about their friends and family in one of the 9 hospitals that have taken most of the injured, or trying to get out of there and back home- to whatever countries they’ve come from.

The winners may be forgotten on tomorrow’s front page.  Lelisa Desisa Benti- 23 years old from Ethiopa won the men’s division.  Rita Jeptoo, a 32 year old mother from Kenya, won the women’s division.  I hope they are able to appreciate their accomplishments in some way in spite of this tragedy.  They did something very few have done- they won.  Many go just to finish- and that is also an amazing accomplishment- but face it.  It’s a race. There are winners.  Maybe this year, another level of accomplishment is to have finished unscathed by either seeing the carnage, or being hit by shrapnel.

Then there are the conspiracy theorists who think that the government did this.  If I actually believed that my home government was responsible for the things they blame on it, I’d be long gone… according to them, Sandy Hook, 9/11, and other high profile tragedies are nothing more than the government doing horrendous things just because they can.  Maybe that’s how some people cope with the fact that ‘regular’ human beings are capable of such devastation.  They are just another flavor of nut job in my book.

For now, I just wait to hear of any news that someone has been caught and is being held accountable for this terror attack.  If it’s domestic (mad about Tax Day), or international (who knows what they’re pissed about now) doesn’t really matter. I don’t even care about their names.  I just want them taken care of.  Get the proof, be damn sure, and eliminate them.

How is it possible to even relate the concept of feeling safe in this world to a generation who is growing up with such regular occurrences of the senseless waste of human beings?  How is it possible to let them know that there really was a time when things like this were pretty rare- most people had only heard of a few things- the Kennedy assassination, the University of Texas at Austin Tower shootings, the Jim Jones cult suicide… and those were years apart.  Sure, there have always been local murders that become legends in their home cities.  Some other crimes may be brought up in criminology classes.  But it’s not one thing after another nearly on a monthly basis on the nightly news.  It’s ‘now’… not history.  It’s wasn’t part of ‘the norm’ to hear of these types of things when I was young.  Now it is.  I’m not sure this type of decline in humanity can be reversed.  Especially with 24/7 news and the sidewalk reporter with a cellphone.

Tonight, my prayers go out to the victims and their friends and family.  I pray for the people who travelled to Boston from around the globe, that they understand that in the US, we like events like the Marathon that bring the world here for something that is generally a celebration and source of accomplishment.  I also pray for the government and law enforcement personnel (and the K-9 dogs) who are trying to figure out what (and who) did this.  And I pray that whoever did this is ‘dealt with’ in whatever way necessary to hold him/her/them accountable.

And for the rest of us, God help us all.

UPDATE: As of 4/16/13, the man who was photographed in the wheelchair, with both legs left in shreds has survived two surgeries, and is in critical condition, but doing better.  His name is Jeff Bauman Jr.   The man in the cowboy hat who is helping him in the photo has a sad story as well. Mr. Arredondo lost one son in the war in Iraq, and another son to suicide following the death of his brother.  He was there to support veterans who were running.

Feeling Deformed… and Being Needed

I just got back from the endocrinologist’s appointment… they always weigh me there. I already know the number will be horrible before I walk in the door. I know it every time I look in the mirror, or remember the rings I can’t wear anymore, or wonder why I look like an orangutan (my chin has more than doubled).  I detest what I see when I look at myself, so I avoid it whenever I can.  But, bless the doc’s heart- she didn’t rag me about it.  My diabetes numbers are very good, my blood pressure was 98/60, and my blood sugar records were more likely to be on the low side than too high- so it’s not about too many carbohydrates.  And, I’ve stayed within 3-4 pounds for a  year.  But I’m not happy.  Not by a long shot. I look horrible.

I know that as a Child of God, I’m supposed to look at that to determine my self-worth.  I know that He has everything under control, and that He has some reason for this.  I’ve tried so many ways to lose weight, and it just won’t move. I’m afraid to get too radical, since I have a history of some pretty significant starvation and eating disorders. I don’t want to go back there.  SO, how am I supposed to learn to accept myself like this?   I’m unacceptable !  I don’t know what He can do with me like this to be of use to Him.  But I have to trust that He’s got it figured out.

My oncologist told me to just be thankful that I’m alive; many people with acute promyelocytic leukemia don’t make it… I know of two people by name who didn’t even know they were sick  until a day or two before they died from brain bleeds. One was 29 years old, the other was an 11 year old kid.  They both shook me up more than a little.  I was pretty sick in the hospital for six weeks… and initially I lost weight on the induction chemo. Then came the consolidation (arsenic), and maintenance (M6-mercaptopurine, methotrexate, and tretinoin)… 19 months total.  I blew up by 50 pounds from the lowest post-induction chemo weight (30 pounds from before the cancer diagnosis). It’s humiliating.  YES, I’m very thankful to be alive, but I feel like I’ve failed at getting my body into better condition.

My mobility is limited because of degenerative disc and joint disease, bone spurs, and fibromyalgia. My activity tolerance is limited by dysautonomia.  I’ve tried sitting exercising, and my heart rate gets to the point of making me dizzy and pre-syncopal.  I can’t get in a heated pool, or the heat will trigger my blood pressure to nosedive.  I’d slink under the surface of the water, and drown. Not helpful.  I can do some isometric stuff- but that hardly melts off the fat.

But I am thankful for a lot. I love my new puppy, and she needs me to be here for her.  She’s someone who notices if I’m around or not, and wants me close to her. I need that. I don’t get any sort of personal satisfaction from being a nurse anymore… I miss that a lot. I loved working, and am thankful that I had the years I did.  I am very thankful for the stuff I’ve survived.  I want to be here.  I’d rather hate my body than have it parked in a marble orchard somewhere (that’s what my dad calls cemeteries).  I enjoy many things (mostly on TV, or online).  I’m thankful that one day, I’m promised to have a new body in heaven.   I’ve requested a size six. 🙂  It’s just hard for now.

My puppy doesn’t care if I’m a size &^%&# or a size zero.  She just wants me here. When I call her name, she wags her tail as if I’d just given her the best prize in the world.  To her, I’m enough.  I’m hers.  I guess maybe I’ll just have to start there, and have that be enough ❤

Redefining Normal

As I continue to struggle with some of the medical issues I’ve got, I’m trying to figure out how to maintain my independence, safety, and general medical stability.  Sometimes that’s easier said than done, and on days when I don’t feel as bad, I forget to pay attention to what has become my reality, and I get into trouble.  I know my primary triggers for the dysautonomia are pain and heat (my perception of heat- not what others feel as warm).  Dysautonomia, diabetes (5 shots/day), epilepsy, chronic pain, fibromyalgia, arthritis, bone spurs, degenerative discs (neck, thoracic spine, and lower spine), scars in my lungs from massive pulmonary emboli, one replaced knee, one messed up knee, etc), fluid retention…..  There are a lot of things to have to adjust things for, and sometimes it can be overwhelming.

I have to avoid being overheated away from home at all costs, since I can easily get to the point of passing out.  This involves keeping my body cool enough on the outside (using my ice vest when needed), and avoiding ‘internal’ heat through foods that are too warm.  Any activity that increases body heat or heart rate is no good. So my activity tolerance is pretty dismal.  In the summer, this involves shopping after the sun is down, and not leaving home any more than I absolutely have to.  Ironically, the winter is almost worse since everybody has their heater on, and I don’t tolerate artificial heat well at all. I keep my thermostat at home set around 60-64 degrees, or I get into trouble even being at home.  It’s going to be in the 30s tonight, and I’ve got the air conditioner on… no joke !

Cool and cold foods are much less likely to cause my body to overheat (duh), so I avoid warm and hot foods unless I’ve got the thermostat ‘perfect’, and I’m not already having trouble.  I never drink hot drinks. I have never liked coffee, but don’t drink hot tea, and if I do drink hot cocoa, it has to cool off considerably, which sort of defeats the purpose.  The process of cooking (or even just ‘assembling’) meals is very difficult. Repetitive motion of prepping food is extremely painful, and if it involves using the oven or stove to cook it, I have to be very careful that the thermostat is set low enough to help compensate.  Even stuff reheated in the microwave can be a problem.

Pain is something that is nearly impossible to avoid.  If I’m awake, I’m in pain.  Any repetitive motion sends my muscles into spasms, which can get to the point of causing vasovagal reactions.  I feel like a wuss.  There are so many things I want to do, but it’s just not safe. I need to see my pain doc again and talk about the next step in pain management. The sporadic injections into my spine aren’t helping at all, and the pain medications I have aren’t really that strong, and don’t work that well.  I do use more NSAIDs (ibuprofen, naproxen sodium) now that I’m not on blood thinners, but they don’t do a lot for the deep pain.  I’ve resisted taking anything stronger that the doc offered before. He understands that I’ve worked in the addiction rehab business (as an RN), and have seen some horror stories with detox.  I know that pain medications used as prescribed are very safe. I’m just a chicken…but I have to get over that at some point so I can function at home as independently as possible.  I’m losing some of that.  It’s a little scary to be just under 50 years old, and looking at needing help to get basic tasks done.

I already have mail order for as many things as is practical and available.  It helps a lot to have it just dropped off at my door.  My dad takes the trash to the dumpster sometimes; I still try to do that when I can, so I’m not doing ‘nothing’.  Today, that was very painful- but I got it done.  A childhood friend of mine and I have reconnected, and she has helped with many things- and will help with more if I just ask her…. it’s hard to accept help.  I’m supposed to be the one who helps others. I moved back here to help my dad with my mom, but she died.  I worked as an RN for 20 years, so I could help people.  I don’t want to need help.

I feel like I’m just not trying hard enough, but I’m starting to realize that my body is broken, can’t be fixed, and I have to do whatever I have to do just to ‘maintain’ things at home.  Leaving home isn’t really something I can increase… it takes quite a bit of equipment to be away from home for more than 2-3 hours.  I have to get home before the ice vest inserts I’m wearing begin to thaw too much.  As a twenty-something young nurse, I sure never saw this coming.

I’m thankful for a lot- I have a garage attached to my apartment and a washer and dryer in my apartment.  That helps a lot.  I have a great new puppy, who wears me out, but has  amazing positive energy.  I know things could be  a lot worse; I worked in some rough areas of nursing and saw some pretty tragic situations.  I’m still living at home, alone (which I prefer), and have figured out how to get stuff done, even if it’s not like I used to do things.  I believe that all things happen for some reason.  I have strong faith in God, and I trust that He can use this for something good.  Yet, there are days when it’s hard living like this. My world is pretty much my apartment and my dog.  I still have my dad around, and we’re in regular phone contact, and usually see each other weekly.  I’ve got computer access to former coworkers, and friends.   I’m still in remission from leukemia and I can still keep my mind busy with various things. So things could be worse. ‘Normal’ has changed.  But I think that as people go through life, even if they’re relatively intact, lives change.

At least I’m still around, and I have to make the best of it 🙂

 

The End of Life As I Knew It

Nine years ago, on April 6, 2004, life as I knew it stopped.  It was my last day working as a full time registered nurse because of medical disability. I tried to go back to work a few months later, but it was a total failure, even though I was working back into full time hours slowly. My body was broken.  There was nothing to do to fix it.  I entered a world I didn’t really  understand- that of being useless and having no obvious purpose. My life since the age of 21 had been about being an RN (I graduated from nursing school in May 1985).  I had worked so many overtime hours and holidays because I enjoyed working.  And then it was gone.

I’m not sure when the medical problems ‘officially’ started, but I know when they got bad.  About 5 months after moving back to the midwest from Texas, and being subjected to indoor heat, the symptoms of my dysautonomia became severe enough to cause me to start having heart rate and blood pressure episodes that made working impossible at times. Then, over the next 10-11 months, it got to the point  of being totally unable to work.  I’d pass out if I got overheated, and that didn’t have to be all that warm- most people found themselves comfortable when I was turning beet red and feeling like I was going to faint.  Then there were the seizures.  Later, it was discovered that they are more likely to start at the beginning of sleep cycles…but that could be at the beginning of blood sugar fatigue, as well as the deep sleep I’d end up in after one of the dysautonomia episodes. It was a mess to sort out.  My boss and co-workers told me what they’d seen, which helped the doctors at the time.

My employer had started sending me to the emergency room by ambulance when I was found unconscious or seen seizing or collapsing. I was a liability.  It got to be a routine occurrence.  I was sent out more than the elderly residents at the nursing home where I worked (like a dozen times in the last 2 months I was there).  I remember none of the ambulance trips, but I do remember a lot of abusive ER nurses and docs when I would ‘come to’, who thought I was a low-life ‘frequent flyer’. They never stopped to realize that I hadn’t sent myself to the ER- I’d been sent.  ER personnel like to fix things. I couldn’t be fixed, so they took it out on me with name calling and general ‘disgust’ when they interacted with me. There was a rare ‘nice’ doctor or nurse, but I began to dread waking up in the ER.  It got worse before it got better (I found a different ER).

Those initial months and then years of not working were really difficult. In addition to the neurological disorders, I was having drug interactions that dropped my blood pressure low enough to cause small strokes.  It wasn’t uncommon to have a blood pressure in the 40-50/20-30 range.  I was usually still conscious but definitely feeling very unwell.  It was scary.  I eventually figured out a way to put a thin feeding tube in my own nose to put Gatorade through, in order to increase my blood pressure with fluid volume.  It beat going to the ER.  There were also the times when the dysautonomia kicked in and my pulse and blood pressure would go nuts on their own.  I was so frustrated that I couldn’t just ‘make myself’ do things that used to be so normal.  Like work.  Or go out in public, where the thermostats were out of my control. Now, I’m pretty much homebound, aside from monthly trips to the grocery store or MD appointments. I have as much as possible delivered.  It’s just too painful and risky to do much away from home.

It took many years to work through the shock of being unable to work.  I kept thinking I just had to ‘make’ myself well enough.  But I was having trouble doing basic things around home.  My world shrunk to that of my apartment and the monthly trip to the grocery store, or doctors’ appointments.  At the time, I had nobody to socialize with; I had no friends here.  I also didn’t have online access to most people I’d known in Texas, and none with people here.  I had my dog- and she was so important. I also had regular contact with my dad. But nothing with anybody who understood being a nurse, or being disabled.

Things are getting progressively worse when it comes to ‘normal’ activities. I just took the trash to the dumpster (about 12-15 yards away), and am now in considerable pain.  Pain is a trigger for the dysautonomia (along with heat), so I need to get more comfortable to prevent my blood pressure from crashing.  It’s very frustrating to feel like such a ‘wimp’  with normal activities.  Making lunch is also painful.  I have ‘grab and go’ foods as much as possible.   When I have ‘good’ days, I’ll make tuna salad- and then hurt.  I keep trying to do things, and it’s harder and harder.  I don’t know what sort of future I’ll have.  I am trying to find ways just to  make things work here, so I don’t end up needing assisted living anytime soon.  I want to be independent. It’s hard to accept help.  I don’t want to be a ‘whiner’ or not do as much as I can… but when I do, I always end up in a lot of pain, and often pre-syncopal.  I turned the air conditioner on about a week ago, when the night temps were in the 20s, but daytime temps were over 40.  It’s a matter of just being able to survive being at home.

I think about my old life a lot.  I miss working as a nurse. I keep my license active so I don’t have to say I ‘was’ a nurse.  I still am a nurse- unable to work as one, but I’m still a ‘real’ nurse.  Many things have changed in the nine years I’ve been disabled. But there are core nursing things that I still remember. I remember some of the patients  I took care of, and many of the other nurses and personnel I worked with. Those are good memories.  I’m glad I have them.

To those who think it can never happen to them…. you never know what life is going to hand you, or what challenges may come  your way.  Get disability insurance whenever you can.  It can make the difference between living in a decent place, or barely making it at all.  Take time to enjoy things, and don’t work ALL the time.  Jump on all opportunities to experience all you can.  Don’t create regrets.  Do make time to nurture friendships that will last.  Don’t let horrible experiences create limitations that don’t have to be there.  Live as much as you can !

Blocking Callousness

Those folks who have been watching the college basketball playoffs have undoubtedly seen the footage of Louisville sophomore Kevin Ware breaking his leg as he came down from jumping to block a shot by Duke.  The break was pretty horrific, even from a distant video view.  The bone came through the skin, the leg had an obvious unnatural ‘bend’,  and the players on the bench were seen recoiling and turning away from what they saw.  Today, there have been reports and a photo of Ware up on crutches after successful surgery; he is expected to fully recover.

In reading a particular comment ( from a friend of a friend on Facebook), the callousness was just beyond what is tolerable to me. I love the ‘block’ feature on Facebook- best to get cold, uncaring people out of anything I may read. The actual friend is very kind.  The point that the icy hearted individual made was valid in some ways- many, many kids/people get hurt every day.  That’s very true.  But when he asked why he should care (and then said he didn’t) it just hit me wrong.  I don’t have room for people like that, even in the periphery, of my life.  True, many kids get hurt; many get hurt much more severely than Wade did.  But why not be thankful for the positive prognosis of one who we all did hear about?  Why is that such a ‘waste’?  Why not care for the ones we have names for?  Why not try a bit of compassion and gratitude for some good news once in a while?  I’ve seen many, many  severe injuries in the years I worked as an RN.  It’s nice to hear that someone is going to be OK.  I’m happy for the kid.  Why is that so hard for some to grasp?  Good news is a gift we can all appreciate, if we so choose. But some people just can’t see past their own noses.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been offended by this person’s seemingly minute view of humanity.  But today, I erased him from my life by blocking him (who I only see in replies to someone I do care about).  There isn’t room for those who simply don’t care about anything except how it effects them.  He’s not the first. He won’t be the last.  I don’t know him in person, so he’s no loss in my life.  But I wonder what makes someone so cold.  It’s sad.  Maybe nobody showed him any compassion when he was in pain at some point. Or maybe he’s just a jerk… but most jerks have reasons for their behavior and outlook on life.  I’ve blocked ‘family’ members who have added nothing but pain and/or negativity; someone I don’t know has no room in my life when they do the same.

One more way to increase positivity in my life is to delete the negative.  That is a choice I can make to make my life better.  It costs me nothing to care about someone I hear about; I don’t have to know them to be thankful for their good news. I can’t imagine just not caring.  And I can’t imagine that blocking this person will be anything but good.