"Hey- yo, Little Bit, come here!"
"That's NURSE Little Bit," I corrected him automatically, my way of gently reestablishing some semblance of boundaries.
"Right. Nurse Little Bit. You look like a cat today."
I patted the lumps of hair on top of my head, two symmetrical buns meant to mask my bed head.
"Oh yeah, I guess I do!"
"You went out last night. You stayed out late."
"I went out?" I raised my eyebrows to show... disapproval? denial?
He looked at me, head tilted sideways and the corners of my mouth twitched, spoiling my stern nurse face.
"Yeah I knew it," the patient laughed, " 'cuz you come in here with your hair up like that. You just rolled out of bed this morning and said 'eff it, I'm just gonna do my job.' Yeah, I know you went out."
They always know.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Mix Independent, won't you come spend a little time?
Monday night I had the pleasure of attending Cherry, at Jacque's Cabaret in Boston.
"Cherry" is described as " a night of New," for a reason. It features new performers or veteran performers doing new things. There was a very special reason I was present at this particular show and it was because Johnny was doing something new.
Last week, Johnny Blazes, wrote to a handful of hir friends saying:
As any performer will tell you, and most of you are performers so you know first hand, there are certain things that a performer feels completely comfortable doing onstage.... There is also usually at least one thing that that performer is terrified to do onstage. In my case, sing anything other than opera.
Not sure why. I can take off my clothes, flamenco dance, recite a soliloquy, lip synch like a fifth grader, cover myself in fake blood, fake fur or real whipped cream, without the slightest hint of stage fright or embarrassment, but singing earnestly onstage seems off-limits.
Well. It's about time.
Johnny's letter went on to express fear, and even uncertainty about inviting any of us, but asked that we come out to support this new endeavor. I hadn't seen Johnny on stage in a while due to my own rigorous performance schedule, so I made plans to go.
Jacque's was well populated when I got there. I'd never been before, but I started enjoying myself right away. Monday night featured Becca D'bus, Katya, and Hava Heart, and their lip synching, hip twisting, hair flipping performances were all spectacles in their own right...
But Johnny, as promised, was singing. Earnestly. And it was amazing.
Hir second number was a rendition of Ne-Yo's "Miss Independent," done with all gender neutral pronouns. "Ze does hir own thing," Johnny sang, sidling up to audience members in the small space, "that's why I love hir. Mix Independent, won't you come and spend a little time?"
As Johnny moved, every other person in the room remained riveted. Johnny didn't strip, or juggle or do any of the complex choreography the audience knows ze's capable of. It was just Johnny being Johnny, sharing hir voice in a way that is usually off-limits. I watched with a mixture of love and pride, and was surprised by the end to find my eyes full of tears.
Because that's how performers grow. But not just performers. That's how we all grow. Facing and shedding fears one at a time. And if we're lucky we get to share those moments with people we love.
Congrats, Johnny.
"Cherry" is described as " a night of New," for a reason. It features new performers or veteran performers doing new things. There was a very special reason I was present at this particular show and it was because Johnny was doing something new.
Last week, Johnny Blazes, wrote to a handful of hir friends saying:
As any performer will tell you, and most of you are performers so you know first hand, there are certain things that a performer feels completely comfortable doing onstage.... There is also usually at least one thing that that performer is terrified to do onstage. In my case, sing anything other than opera.
Not sure why. I can take off my clothes, flamenco dance, recite a soliloquy, lip synch like a fifth grader, cover myself in fake blood, fake fur or real whipped cream, without the slightest hint of stage fright or embarrassment, but singing earnestly onstage seems off-limits.
Well. It's about time.
Johnny's letter went on to express fear, and even uncertainty about inviting any of us, but asked that we come out to support this new endeavor. I hadn't seen Johnny on stage in a while due to my own rigorous performance schedule, so I made plans to go.
Jacque's was well populated when I got there. I'd never been before, but I started enjoying myself right away. Monday night featured Becca D'bus, Katya, and Hava Heart, and their lip synching, hip twisting, hair flipping performances were all spectacles in their own right...
But Johnny, as promised, was singing. Earnestly. And it was amazing.
Hir second number was a rendition of Ne-Yo's "Miss Independent," done with all gender neutral pronouns. "Ze does hir own thing," Johnny sang, sidling up to audience members in the small space, "that's why I love hir. Mix Independent, won't you come and spend a little time?"
As Johnny moved, every other person in the room remained riveted. Johnny didn't strip, or juggle or do any of the complex choreography the audience knows ze's capable of. It was just Johnny being Johnny, sharing hir voice in a way that is usually off-limits. I watched with a mixture of love and pride, and was surprised by the end to find my eyes full of tears.
Because that's how performers grow. But not just performers. That's how we all grow. Facing and shedding fears one at a time. And if we're lucky we get to share those moments with people we love.
Congrats, Johnny.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Dan: 1, Crime: 0
I've heard several different reactions to the story. Some people think it was foolish to fight back. Others hail Dan as a hero. But deep down either way, anyone who knows Dan personally is just glad that he's ok.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Don't tell the mermaids where I'm going...
Yesterday's post was a bit heavy, even for me. Let's all enjoy my day off together by watching this.
Fun fact: The last two years of college I lived in a three family house. I used to drum this on the wall of my bathroom and my friend in the adjacent apartment would drum it back on his bathroom wall. Adorable.
And... great video.
Fun fact: The last two years of college I lived in a three family house. I used to drum this on the wall of my bathroom and my friend in the adjacent apartment would drum it back on his bathroom wall. Adorable.
And... great video.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
End of Life Care
I spent one day with a hospice nurse at a V.N.A (visiting nurse association) in Western Mass in the fall of 2006. During that day alone I first decided to become a hospice nurse; and then I decided to not become a hospice nurse.
I drove to the V.N.A office the morning of my hospice rotation with determination and an iron will. Having avoided assignments to many dying patients throughout the first few years of school, I was nervous. I was worried that being around dying people would dredge up some personal memories I was well aware of, but not ready to deal with.
Within two hours to my surprise, I thought I had found my calling.*
Each visit I spent with any of these men and women in their homes was an honor. I felt like talking to them, hearing their stories and bringing them comfort was a chance to touch something sacred.
Death is mysterious. Most people have never seen a dead body, unless they have been to a memorial service which involves a viewing of the corpse. By then it has been injected, stuffed and made up and is more of a prop than anything else. Many people have never seen someone die, and never will.
Being with these men and women, the mystery of death didn't scare me; it beckoned me. My own losses didn't haunt me; they fueled me. ** I wanted to understand how to serve people in their final moments. I felt a surge of passion for helping every person die with dignity, and in the way of their choosing. You want Elvis records playing? You want your plants near your bed? Ok. You want me to throw all the plants away? I will. You want a Rabbi? A priest? A Popsicle? I will bring it. You will be a human being until the end.
But you already know that I changed my mind by the end of that one day, because that's how I started this piece. By 2pm I became intimidated and afraid. And what ended up scaring me was one thing and one thing only:
As we were driving away from our last house my preceptor said to me, "In the end we use the morphine more and more frequently. It allows them to be completely comfortable. Sometimes it might be that last push of morphine that slows their respiration rate down completely. That's hard. But you do it anyway."
Essentially, a measure of comfort in the very end can be the thing that hurries death.
Now, obviously, the person is dying. There is a protocol to prevent life saving measures. It's called a DNR. The person is going to die now or in ten minutes and we're not going to prevent it. Furthermore, his quality of life is dependent on the comfort measures between now and then. So does it matter if the push you give pushes him over?
If you kill him to comfort him?
Logically, no. But the idea stopped me cold in all my young nursing student zeal. I tried not to think about it for the rest of school.
Now, more and more often it seems, end of life care is a part of my job. I didn't seek it out, but I also stopped running from it. And then I started to feel the same sense of purpose and honor I had before. And sometimes the choices that fall on health care providers are very, very hard. But someone has to make them; someone has to act in accordance with the patient's wishes when the patient can no longer wish out loud.
It's important to figure out your own feelings before you're on the other end of that morphine. Although sometimes we surprise ourselves in moments of extreme trials, going into them unarmed with knowledge of self is dangerous. It can cause loss of objectivity and emotional panic, which is no place to make life or death decisions from.
I'm curious to know what other folks, both medical and non medical, think since it's a topic that came up amongst my co workers last night.
Keep in mind, although this is sure to open up the topic of assisted suicide, that's not what I'm talking about here. The patient hasn't asked for medical assistance to terminate life. He has asked to be allowed to die, comfortably.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
* To be fair, I am kind of constantly thinking I've found my calling.
** Keep in mind, this was all in one shift. In one day.
I drove to the V.N.A office the morning of my hospice rotation with determination and an iron will. Having avoided assignments to many dying patients throughout the first few years of school, I was nervous. I was worried that being around dying people would dredge up some personal memories I was well aware of, but not ready to deal with.
Within two hours to my surprise, I thought I had found my calling.*
Each visit I spent with any of these men and women in their homes was an honor. I felt like talking to them, hearing their stories and bringing them comfort was a chance to touch something sacred.
Death is mysterious. Most people have never seen a dead body, unless they have been to a memorial service which involves a viewing of the corpse. By then it has been injected, stuffed and made up and is more of a prop than anything else. Many people have never seen someone die, and never will.
Being with these men and women, the mystery of death didn't scare me; it beckoned me. My own losses didn't haunt me; they fueled me. ** I wanted to understand how to serve people in their final moments. I felt a surge of passion for helping every person die with dignity, and in the way of their choosing. You want Elvis records playing? You want your plants near your bed? Ok. You want me to throw all the plants away? I will. You want a Rabbi? A priest? A Popsicle? I will bring it. You will be a human being until the end.
But you already know that I changed my mind by the end of that one day, because that's how I started this piece. By 2pm I became intimidated and afraid. And what ended up scaring me was one thing and one thing only:
As we were driving away from our last house my preceptor said to me, "In the end we use the morphine more and more frequently. It allows them to be completely comfortable. Sometimes it might be that last push of morphine that slows their respiration rate down completely. That's hard. But you do it anyway."
Essentially, a measure of comfort in the very end can be the thing that hurries death.
Now, obviously, the person is dying. There is a protocol to prevent life saving measures. It's called a DNR. The person is going to die now or in ten minutes and we're not going to prevent it. Furthermore, his quality of life is dependent on the comfort measures between now and then. So does it matter if the push you give pushes him over?
If you kill him to comfort him?
Logically, no. But the idea stopped me cold in all my young nursing student zeal. I tried not to think about it for the rest of school.
Now, more and more often it seems, end of life care is a part of my job. I didn't seek it out, but I also stopped running from it. And then I started to feel the same sense of purpose and honor I had before. And sometimes the choices that fall on health care providers are very, very hard. But someone has to make them; someone has to act in accordance with the patient's wishes when the patient can no longer wish out loud.
It's important to figure out your own feelings before you're on the other end of that morphine. Although sometimes we surprise ourselves in moments of extreme trials, going into them unarmed with knowledge of self is dangerous. It can cause loss of objectivity and emotional panic, which is no place to make life or death decisions from.
I'm curious to know what other folks, both medical and non medical, think since it's a topic that came up amongst my co workers last night.
Keep in mind, although this is sure to open up the topic of assisted suicide, that's not what I'm talking about here. The patient hasn't asked for medical assistance to terminate life. He has asked to be allowed to die, comfortably.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
* To be fair, I am kind of constantly thinking I've found my calling.
** Keep in mind, this was all in one shift. In one day.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
and the sky starts to change
This just in:
Improv Asylum will be presenting a Second City revue in Boston from late April 2010 to late May 2010.
So, for any friends, coworkers or family who aren't improv savvy/geeky, a quick background: The Second City started in 1959 in Chicago and is a comedy theater. A ton of famous people have started their careers there including Bill Murray, Gilda Radner and John Belushi. It now also has theaters in Toronto, Los Angeles, plus multiple touring companies. So... it's big.
So in 2010, from late April to late May, the owners of Improv Asylum are sponsoring a company to come to Boston to create a show that will run for about three weeks. The shows at IA will continue as normal; the Second City show is at a different theater in Boston. IA's producing it; the writers and directors are all Second City folks. They will most likely bring actors from other places, like Chicago...
... but they are also holding auditions amongst Asylum actors and alumni for (at least) two slots on the cast.
Which is very, very exciting.
The most exciting thing about it isn't that, though. It's what this could do to stir up more interest in comedy in general in the city. People who have never heard of "sketch," by that name, or whose only experience with improv may have been a bad one may undergo a conversion.
And when Second City leaves at the end of May they will look to other venues for their comedy fix. Boston is about to become an even funnier place (hopefully).
Improv Asylum will be presenting a Second City revue in Boston from late April 2010 to late May 2010.
So, for any friends, coworkers or family who aren't improv savvy/geeky, a quick background: The Second City started in 1959 in Chicago and is a comedy theater. A ton of famous people have started their careers there including Bill Murray, Gilda Radner and John Belushi. It now also has theaters in Toronto, Los Angeles, plus multiple touring companies. So... it's big.
So in 2010, from late April to late May, the owners of Improv Asylum are sponsoring a company to come to Boston to create a show that will run for about three weeks. The shows at IA will continue as normal; the Second City show is at a different theater in Boston. IA's producing it; the writers and directors are all Second City folks. They will most likely bring actors from other places, like Chicago...
... but they are also holding auditions amongst Asylum actors and alumni for (at least) two slots on the cast.
Which is very, very exciting.
The most exciting thing about it isn't that, though. It's what this could do to stir up more interest in comedy in general in the city. People who have never heard of "sketch," by that name, or whose only experience with improv may have been a bad one may undergo a conversion.
And when Second City leaves at the end of May they will look to other venues for their comedy fix. Boston is about to become an even funnier place (hopefully).
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