RIP

My uncle John died last night.

During a break between my lecture and lab, I checked my phone and saw that I had missed four calls, all from my mom and dad. I panicked, and prepared myself for a voicemail about my grandma. I don't think my heart has ever raced so fast. It was definitely one of those things I had to sit down for.

Instead of grandma, though, it was uncle John...completely out of the blue. I'm not sure what the cause is, but all I know right now is that there was a trip to the hospital via ambulance, and a doctor that just couldn't save him.

To say that I am sad doesn't even hit the tip of the iceberg.

I'm trying to sort out all of these things I am feeling right now. I AM sad. Extremely, deeply sad. Aside from my grandpa passing away when I was in the 5th grade, and my great-grandma shortly after, my life has been blessedly loss-free, as far as my family is concerned. I didn't cry nearly this much when grandpa Ashbrook died, nor granny Boughner, but I think a lot of that was due to my age...or at least that's what I think.

I also feel a little conflicted, because my uncle John and aunt Pat-Pat got divorced. Divorce is a tricky thing that almost always makes one pick sides, and that sucks. I have no idea what was at the root of their divorce, but all I know is that I liked them both equally.

Uncle John was wicked smart and witty. He was quiet and always seemed a bit flushed in the face. He was also very generous - despite the divorce, he would often send gifts for big occasions to my sisters and me.

I also remember a very specific example of his type of humour: it was my first year to participate in my school's spelling bee, and due to a case of extreme nervousness, I struck out on the first round for misspelling "charcoal."

Everyone in the family gave me a hard time about it, I suspect because they knew that, had I not been under extreme duress, I could have spelled "charcoal" quickly and easily.

A couple of weeks after I thought the teasing had subsided, I received a letter in the mail with no return address. I was stoked to get something in the mail (back when I was young, and didn't ever get bills!), so I opened it, only to find a Xeroxed page of the dictionary, with the entry for "charcoal" highlighted. It was from uncle John.

I also can't quit thinking about my cousin Justin, who rode with him in the ambulance. Having to call 911 for any reason is scary. Having to ride in am ambulance is even scarier. Having to return home without your fellow passenger is something that I can't imagine.

I also can't quit thinking about the doctor at the hospital, who must have tried so, SO hard to save him. What is that like, to have to walk out of a room where you've just been so swiftly defeated, and tell someone that you just couldn't save their loved one?

I think that often, people see doctors as gods. Doctors are the people who fix everything on everyone, and put things back in working order. They are the people who make life-saving decisions on the fly; they are the people who prescribe treatments that overcome diseases and infections. They can make the blind see; they can make the deaf hear, and they can take someone with no legs, give him prosthetics, and teach him to walk again. It is easy to understand why doctors are seen as saviours, in some cases.

It must be hard to be a doctor, though, and to not be able to save someone, or fix what's broken. I want to say that it must become easier the more one is exposed to it, but in reality, I just don't see how that can be the case. So aside from thinking of John, Justin and Pat-Pat and John's family (and my OWN family), I am also thinking of that doctor who did everything that he could, and still couldn't fix John. It must be hard to bounce back at work after something like that happens. On some level, it makes me confront the reality that, as a future nurse, I will see doctors fail. I will see bodies fail, and I will see diseases and infections and traumas win. It isn't necessarily something to look forward to, but it is certainly something to consider.

At last update, my cousin had finally fallen asleep, and my aunt is with family, I think. We still don't know why John died. He was young - mid-40s, I think.

Whenever someone dies, I always think to myself, "Now they know what the rest of us don't." It's funny how, as much as I crave knowledge about everything, that final step of knowing is something that I can definitely wait for.

Rest in peace, uncle John. Say hi to Ted Kennedy for me.

House Pics

Pardon the captioning...I have not quite figured out the pictures and captions thing yet in Blogger.


In the master bathroom...dual sinks make for a happy marriage!





Shower in the master bathroom




Master bedroom




Tile in the guest bathroom...exactly what we had back in Dallas, but probably not 100+ years old!




Guest bathroom




Guest room




Close-up of the front door handle and new paint job...painting a front door is harder than I thought it would be...




Front door, newly painted...it used to be a powdery blue colour...not my style!




Some flowers along the front walk-way...thankfully, they are drought resistant




Front view; the big window is a bay window in the kitchen...things get nice and toasty in there when appliances are running, and the sun is shining





More to come later...and by "later," I mean "when those rooms are clean."

First Day Fail

Several fails from today...some funny, some not-so-funny:

1) My class this semester is in the ghetto. For those of you who are locals, it is five minutes away from ABIA. Not only does that give you an idea of how far I have to drive, but it should also give you an idea of the surrounding digs. The facility is old, and the lab looks ancient. I realize that, so far, I have been spoiled in the quality of environments in which I have learned.

2) While I was waiting for the professor to arrive this morning, I overheard the following conversation:

"So, uh, does anyone know what this class is all about?"

"Um, I just know that I need it to complete my nursing program thing...I think it's pretty pointless."

I almost fell off of the bench I was sitting on. Thank goodness there was a large, startling, taxiderm-ized (taxidermied?) wolf immediately to my right, which scared me almost equally, but would have at least broken my fall.

After that moment, I became even more grateful for crappy pre-requisite classes, for those are the classes that weed out the "future nurses of America" from the REAL future nurses of America.

3) Same person who asked if anyone knew what this class was about ALSO told the professor that the liver is a part of the urinary system...because it breaks down waste, y'know? I almost wept at that point, but was pleased that the professor didn't rip him to shreds and feed him to the taxidermied wolf outside the room.

4) To make a long story short-ish, I wound up having to drop my Physiology class immediately after coming home from Anatomy. It isn't "illegal" to take them concurrently, but the professor is against it, and wouldn't allow me to stay enrolled, despite my protestations of previous science classes (including A&P I many years ago). This sucks on many levels, but mainly because it prolongs things even further in terms of being able to apply to a nursing program. I talked to K about it at home, and explained that for the next several semesters, I will be taking one class at a time, because you can't take Physiology until you've taken Anatomy; you can't take Micro until you've taken Physio; you can't take Pharma until you've taken Micro, and so on and so forth. After awhile, K suggested that I look at several four-year BSN programs, since it will be at least three more years before I have my RN. This is a really attractive idea to me, since that would give me more options in the long-run, in terms of what kind of nursing I could do. (RANDOM ASIDE: Did you know that a nurse anesthetist, with a minimum-required education of an MSN, earns, on average, $146,000 PER YEAR?!?!?!)

So really, only four fails today. Four isn't bad, and if I look at the bright side, this means that not taking Physiology equates to more study time for Anatomy. Another win for today comes from the fact that my professor actually seems really good. She tried to impress upon my class how much WORK this class will be, and walked us through a "typical" lecture and lab, and all of its sundry preparations and tests. Come September 28th (my first exam), I just might be thankful that I only have one lab science to worry about, instead of two. I also really like the fact that she is encouraging us to study the material in many different "active learning" ways. She seemed far from the moster I read about online yesterday, and instead, more like someone who has been doing this for many years, and has reached a few conclusions about what differentiates a successful student from a slacker.

I'll give you three guesses to figure out which category I'm going to fall into, and the first two don't count.

Last Dregs of Freedom

School starts again tomorrow.

I promised myself a "relaxing" weekend, and I have come to learn that I have an odd way of defining "relaxing," since I have spent the last two days organizing, worrying and painting the front door. All is not lost, however.

I have Anatomy and its corresponding lab tomorrow, in far, FAR south Austin. My class begins at 7:45 a.m., which means I will probably leave the house at around 6:45. I suppose now would be as good a time as any to thank my internal clock for resetting itself, and making me wake up earlier, at my own will, than any other time I can remember in my life.

Tuesdays and Thursdays will be Physiology and its corresponding lab, same time and place, and at some point in September, I will also start my required Speech class, which I am looking forward to just as much as I look forward to confrontations. Let the record show that I am not afraid of public speaking (although, occasionally, I will find myself forgetting to inhale!); rather, I wish there were some way I could demonstrate my mastery of speech that would allow me to "test out" of this class. Such is life, no?

I'm trying not to get worked up about my professor. I decided to take the same professor for both A & P, and I also decided to do the totally fair thing and look her up on RateMyProfessor.com. I say "totally fair" with about as much sarcasm as my phalanges can muster (Phalanges! See? I am one step ahead in Anatomy already!). Each of her 21 reviews was scathing. The complaints were the same across the board: she does not grade in a timely manner, answers questions with questions (not always a bad thing, in my book), is bitter, and her tests are utterly impossible. I am trying to console myself with the reality that it is against our human nature (most of the time) to share praise. Instead, we vociferously bitch and moan about everything, so that others may hear our complaints and offer their sympathy toward our experiences, further validating our chosen role as The Martyr. I have also been consoling myself with the notion that perhaps each of these former students is just a good, old-fashioned Austin slacker who didn't want to put forth the effort required for a good grade. We shall see if these consolations are on the mark or not in a mere 17 hours. I have confidence in my abilities as a student, and I am BLESSED to be able to focus solely on school and my volunteer activities, without the added stressor of working. I'm feeling optimistic about everything right now, and hoping that it stays that way.

Oh, and for those who were wondering, the front door is green. A saturated, rich kelly green.

Pupdate

We've had the dogs for twelve days now, and I figured it was high time for an update.

The dogs, a basset hound named Colonel Buford T. Beauregard, CSA (yes, after the Civil War general...and yes, named by K!) and a beagle named Cosmo Brown (after Donald O'Connor's character in "Singin' In the Rain"), are fabulous.

It's been a rough first few weeks; I don't think K or I were mentally or physically prepared for the arrival of two dogs into our household ONE DAY after moving in to the new house. I think we sorely underestimated how closely they would need to be watched, and how much attention they would want from us. Dogs are certainly not cats.

Buford already came housetrained, and Cosmo, bless his heart, has given it his all. Twelve days later, I believe that he finally gets it, as he is running to the back door when he needs to go now, instead of me taking him outside forty times a day.

We are kennel training them as well, and Cosmo has taken to that better than Buford has. You have not overcome an obstacle in life until you have attempted to get the back-end of an obstinate basset hound into a kennel.

The dogs are best friends, and have serious separation anxiety issues, both in terms of being separated from one another, and from K and me. Buford follows us everywhere - into the kitchen, in the bathroom, on to the couch (after a bit of a struggle), and into the garage. Cosmo follows as well, but insists on following and biting your ankles or pants. It's a fun little game he likes to play. I think otherwise.

The cats have adjusted very well. We were completely worried about Fightin' Joe (Yes...named after the Civil War general "Fightin' Joe" Hooker...and yes, named by K...what household isn't complete without two Civil War general-named animals?!), since he is scrappy, to say the least. Joe is the cat that we see out and about the most. The dogs hardly seem interested in him. He has nabbed Cosmo once, after he got in his face and barked, but aside from that, there has been 'nary a skirmish. We rarely see Mouser, Fatty and Osanfay anymore. They spend most of their days lying in the cool darkness under the kitchen counters.

We took the dogs to the vet Saturday, after seeing them both have issues with diarrhea for a couple of days. After tests and other measures, it was determined that both have hookworms and roundworms, and Buford has heartworms.

I wrote a nastygram (OK, so it wasn't nasty at all...just an assertive expression of how dissatisfied I was with the rescue organization's failure to disclose the health of both dogs) to the rescue group, and we have since then started treatment for both dogs. Cosmo is too young to be tested (and treated) for heartworms, so we are crossing our fingers that he comes back clean in a couple of months, once he is old enough. It will be an expensive treatment, but there's no way we could NOT treat it. How can anyone ignore sad basset hound eyes?!

And speaking of basset hound characteristics: Buford has some of the worst gas I have ever smelled, and some of the slobberiest jowls I have ever seen. He always seems to feel the need to come put his head in my lap when he's finished drinking some water. At times like these, I am happy to be a student who can wear casual pants and jeans every day...I can't think of a single pair that hasn't been given the Buford Drool Treatment. He's also thrown his head back and given us several good howls already...Cosmo's howl we have yet to hear.

We have really been enjoying these dogs. They get us outside more, and they just have such distinct personalities and spirits. It sounds silly to say this after only two weeks, but I really couldn't imagine our lives without them. We have two fantastic, fantastic dogs.