7am: "Those are mine!" The security guard is staring suspiciously at the bags of men's clothes
at the door. "Well, not mine," I qualify. "But I left them there when I went to park my car." The guard laughs and we grab up all the bags of shirts and shoes and rush them inside.
11am: "Thank you. Thank you, all of you, for working today," It's the program wide Director of Nursing, and he's standing beside the BMH director, and she is holding a bag of chocolates out to us, over and over again. Barry hugs all of us before he leaves. Sarah snaps a photo of the turkey family made out of rubber gloves and tells us again how thankful she is for us.
12:30pm: "You're going to town on those peas, huh?" The man laughs. I am sitting in the activity room with a plate of food on my lap. I am surrounded by patients and we are watching House. I realize with somewhat of a start how natural these traditions have begun to feel. One of my patients approaches me shyly and asks if she can wrap up her leftovers. "I don't want any of it to go to waste," she explains.
4:30pm: "Michelle's here! Michelle's here!" I feel as though I've entered a dream. My Aunt and Uncle's new house is three years old, but that's how long it's been since I've spent a Thanksgiving with my family. Light bounces off colored glass, and I don't know where to look first. My family, larger somehow than I expected turns toward me, smiling. I feel dirty and tired looking in my scrubs. I feel like I don't belong here, and although my day was easy, tears threaten my cheeks. Then somehow my mother's arms are around me and Ralph is taking my coat and Rosina is pouring a glass of wine and Auntie Mame is asking questions and I am not crying at all.
"Do you want one?" asks my small cousin chewing on a caramel. He is looking at his little brother. Sam nods.
"You can't have one," Nicholas says, without a hint of malice. He looks at me apologetically, "they're too chewy. - But you can have something else, Sam."
And when my tiny cousin, now old enough to speak but still a stranger to me, looks at me as if to ask if this is all ok, I nod. And he smiles shyly and nods back.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Nightmare on Hanover Street
Last Sunday night I attended the opening of the new Improv Asylum NXT show, Nightmare on Hanover Street.
I LOVED it.
Disclaimer: I work at Improv Asylum.
Other disclaimer: But not on the NXT cast.
As far as shows go it continues to follow the Improv Asylum structure of improv and sketch blend, although it takes the blending further than usual. This can be seen in a couple of places in the show where improv transitions smoothly into written material, or where written material incorporates audience input seamlessly.
For example, the improvised musical that ends the first Act. It has just enough structure to be spot -on successful, while leaving plenty of room for improvised play. Like a sonnet. A big musical improvised sonnet with awesome lights and tight choreography.
I won't spoil the closer for you, but the title of their show hints at the theme at the very least, as do some of the cast portraits popping up on facebook. Think about everything you loved about Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas and you still won't know exactly what you're in for.
Under Jeremy Brothers' direction and guidance the cast found new interesting ways to get and use audience input for improvised scenes. It's part of the fearless creativity that permeates the entire show, in the improv as well as the content and execution of the sketches.
You should definitely get out to see it sometime soon.
Nightmare on Hanover Street
8pm Sunday Nights
Improv Asylum
I LOVED it.
Disclaimer: I work at Improv Asylum.
Other disclaimer: But not on the NXT cast.
As far as shows go it continues to follow the Improv Asylum structure of improv and sketch blend, although it takes the blending further than usual. This can be seen in a couple of places in the show where improv transitions smoothly into written material, or where written material incorporates audience input seamlessly.
For example, the improvised musical that ends the first Act. It has just enough structure to be spot -on successful, while leaving plenty of room for improvised play. Like a sonnet. A big musical improvised sonnet with awesome lights and tight choreography.
I won't spoil the closer for you, but the title of their show hints at the theme at the very least, as do some of the cast portraits popping up on facebook. Think about everything you loved about Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas and you still won't know exactly what you're in for.
Under Jeremy Brothers' direction and guidance the cast found new interesting ways to get and use audience input for improvised scenes. It's part of the fearless creativity that permeates the entire show, in the improv as well as the content and execution of the sketches.
You should definitely get out to see it sometime soon.
Nightmare on Hanover Street
8pm Sunday Nights
Improv Asylum
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Masks
As I mentioned in my description of Sleep No More, the entire audience is asked to don white plastic masks that cover the face fully and told to keep the masks on at ALL times.
The masks were my favorite device at work in the show, and I think it's because they were so simple, but multifunctional.
Who's Who
The first, and most utilitarian use of the masks is to separate actor from audience visually. In crowded dark hallways it is easy to find the characters, because they are unmasked. The rest of us fade into a non distracting (and dream like) backdrop of white faces.
The Audience as Aesthetic
The value of the backdrop of white masks goes further when you consider how eerie a constant presence of inexpressive faces really is. It's seriously creepy. What are those faces in the context of the scenes? We are the classical Greek chorus watching a tragedy but not stopping it. We are one lone character's invisible friend in a time of need. We are the demons pursing the tortured characters in their own nightmares. Or their guardian angels. Or maybe we're just part of the wall. The masks no longer simply delineate actor from audience but they blur the line between us at the same time. The masks are our own costumes and we become a tangible part of the show through them.
Anonymity
The masks also empower the audience to behave more boldly. With our faces (and by extension our identities) shrouded we were more free to follow, run, touch and explore, all of which was essential to the success of the play as a whole. Nobody has to look foolish. Because we're all Nobody. It similarly prevented anyone from actively disengaging (or cracking jokes or trying to "break" the actors) due to anxiety, which can often ruin intimate, interactive theater experiences. With their masks on, audience members are free to step closer or step back without self consciousness.
Sensory Deprivation and ASC
Our ability to sense air moving near our face an an important cue for sensing others near us in the dark, is restricted by the mask. So is peripheral vision, causing people to have to turn their necks further, and to focus more on what's directly in front of them. Loss of peripheral vision also makes a dimly room lit dimmer when the light source is beyond sight lines. Additionally, an altered state of consciousness (ASC) can be induced through the manipulation of sensory input, which in this case is achieved in a minimal way, through the masks. We feel different with the masks on because our brain is receiving information in a new way, and is sending signals back to our body that something strange is going on. In this state we are more susceptible to suggestion, creating a richer theatrical experience.
Isolation
Every person, because of his mask, gets to react to the show as if he is seeing it alone. You could also say every person because of his masks has to react to the show as if he is seeing it alone.
Making the audience wear masks ensures that at any given moment individual members are reacting only to the deliberate cues within the show. Whether it's an entire scene or just a smell, no one can accidentally affect how anyone else perceives it.
Every person behind his or her own mask remains isolated, unable to seek information on anyone's face and equally unable to easily convey emotion to anyone else.
With our most effortless means of silent communication stripped away there is a loss of community, and of connectivity. But the same masks which taketh away also giveth. And in this instance what the masks provide is protection from the vulnerability that comes from losing your safety net. You're alone in the crowd, but the crowd will never know how you feel about that.
It's incredible what a plain white mask can do. The more I think about it, the more I am certain that the entire show would have been different, (and might not have even worked) without the very small addition of masking the audience.
I'm in awe of the enormous impact of such a simple thing.
The masks were my favorite device at work in the show, and I think it's because they were so simple, but multifunctional.
Who's Who
The first, and most utilitarian use of the masks is to separate actor from audience visually. In crowded dark hallways it is easy to find the characters, because they are unmasked. The rest of us fade into a non distracting (and dream like) backdrop of white faces.
The Audience as Aesthetic
The value of the backdrop of white masks goes further when you consider how eerie a constant presence of inexpressive faces really is. It's seriously creepy. What are those faces in the context of the scenes? We are the classical Greek chorus watching a tragedy but not stopping it. We are one lone character's invisible friend in a time of need. We are the demons pursing the tortured characters in their own nightmares. Or their guardian angels. Or maybe we're just part of the wall. The masks no longer simply delineate actor from audience but they blur the line between us at the same time. The masks are our own costumes and we become a tangible part of the show through them.
Anonymity
The masks also empower the audience to behave more boldly. With our faces (and by extension our identities) shrouded we were more free to follow, run, touch and explore, all of which was essential to the success of the play as a whole. Nobody has to look foolish. Because we're all Nobody. It similarly prevented anyone from actively disengaging (or cracking jokes or trying to "break" the actors) due to anxiety, which can often ruin intimate, interactive theater experiences. With their masks on, audience members are free to step closer or step back without self consciousness.
Sensory Deprivation and ASC
Our ability to sense air moving near our face an an important cue for sensing others near us in the dark, is restricted by the mask. So is peripheral vision, causing people to have to turn their necks further, and to focus more on what's directly in front of them. Loss of peripheral vision also makes a dimly room lit dimmer when the light source is beyond sight lines. Additionally, an altered state of consciousness (ASC) can be induced through the manipulation of sensory input, which in this case is achieved in a minimal way, through the masks. We feel different with the masks on because our brain is receiving information in a new way, and is sending signals back to our body that something strange is going on. In this state we are more susceptible to suggestion, creating a richer theatrical experience.
Isolation
Every person, because of his mask, gets to react to the show as if he is seeing it alone. You could also say every person because of his masks has to react to the show as if he is seeing it alone.
Making the audience wear masks ensures that at any given moment individual members are reacting only to the deliberate cues within the show. Whether it's an entire scene or just a smell, no one can accidentally affect how anyone else perceives it.
Every person behind his or her own mask remains isolated, unable to seek information on anyone's face and equally unable to easily convey emotion to anyone else.
With our most effortless means of silent communication stripped away there is a loss of community, and of connectivity. But the same masks which taketh away also giveth. And in this instance what the masks provide is protection from the vulnerability that comes from losing your safety net. You're alone in the crowd, but the crowd will never know how you feel about that.
It's incredible what a plain white mask can do. The more I think about it, the more I am certain that the entire show would have been different, (and might not have even worked) without the very small addition of masking the audience.
I'm in awe of the enormous impact of such a simple thing.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sleep No More
As a child, at haunted houses or at Plymouth Plantation, or at theme parks my mind could fill in any details that were decidedly lacking. My imagination was always willing to overlook the zipper on the back of the monster. But the older I've gotten, the fewer interactive theater experiences I've had that didn't let me down in some way or another.
Sleep No More not only didn't let me down, it far exceeded every expectation I had. It was meant to transport us fully and it did. I feel like I lucid-dreamed someone else's nightmare.
The audience enters through a swanky 1930s bar called Manderlay*. John and I took seats near the stage, but the Annie Darcy Band was on break. Soon our playing card numbers were called, and we entered a dark hallway. We were asked to be silent and to keep our masks on. What masks? Oh, just the blank white masks that they were handing out to everyone. Masks on? Good.
Annnd Goodnight.
Sleep No More is a Punchdrunk and A.R.T collaboration. It's defined most accurately as "immersion theater." Every room in the Old Lincoln School in Brookline has been transformed carefully and deliberately into a different fantasy set. The audience is invited and encouraged to touch anything they want. (In an office, I pawed through a drawer and found a notebook full of frantic scribbling and sentence fragments; in another room a school room desk was full of hay and human hair.) The audience follows actors through dimly lit hallways, bearing witness to the characters' interactions. Lights, sounds and even cleverly layered smells guide emotional reactions in every room.
The story is Macbeth, but through a Hitchcock lens, and most of the scenes are completely non vocal. The success of the scenes relies on the ability of the actors to communicate relationship and intent through facial expressions and body language. And they do not disappoint. Each and every actor is fully committed to moving honestly through a world we're just trespassing in.
You can also read John's account of the evening. But we had very different nights. Every audience member has a potentially completely different experience depending on which characters they chose to follow, when to leave a scene or stay and what rooms to explore next. In the end everyone finds their way to the same location for the final scene of the play, a shocking and visually impressive climax.
John and I followed the second Mrs. de Winters as she ran through the hotel lobby and into an office two floors below us. She was startled out of a reverie induced by a photograph she found by a man who approached her from behind. As we stood by the anger in his eyes turned to desire, they embraced and kissed. When she fled, I ran after her leaving John with the man.
After a following her for some time I found myself alone with her. She beckoned me into a small bedroom, locked the door and bid me to sit down. I sat. She took my mask off and suddenly the room became very, very real. She leaned in and told me a story. As she told me the story we held hands. Slowly we were getting closer until we were embracing. The story was sad. I was comforting her. I had been told not to speak, and I didn't. Not even when she kissed my forehead. She put the mask back on my face and led me to the hall.
I entered chapels and bedrooms. I watched couples dancing in a misty forest that intoxicated me with the smell of pine. Later in the evening, left on my own, I accidentally walked in on Duncan's murder. I followed Macbeth back to his room, watched his wife wash the blood of his face, hands and chest. When he left, I stayed silently watching her private journey from anxiety to agony to outright hysteria.
Like a dream, some details are hazy - was that a knife or a playing card? And others are firmly impressed in my memory - I remember, as an example, the chapter that the Bible was open to in de Winter's bedroom.
The last scene left me unable to speak for a little while, and I still felt the effects of the dream like state as I pushed my way out of Manderlay, which had become impossibly crowded. When John and I finally met up outside we compared notes. Together we pieced together more of the show than we would have seen had we come just alone or had tried (as some people did) to stay as a unit.
Sleep No More was one of the most satisfying audience experiences I've had in a very long time because it created an entire world of make believe to invest myself in without fear of interruption by logic or reason. It was permission to explore and process in new ways. It was a collective experience, but it was also a solitary one. Occasionally my mind poked me with "I wish I could be in a show like this," but otherwise it obeyed the reality of my/the dream world. Although it was nightmarish at times I emerged at the end feeling more refreshed and well rested than before. Amazing.
-----------------------------------------------
* Manderlay is fictitious in that it had been built as a set piece for the show, but also completely functional as it's being run by nearby La Morra.
Sleep No More not only didn't let me down, it far exceeded every expectation I had. It was meant to transport us fully and it did. I feel like I lucid-dreamed someone else's nightmare.
The audience enters through a swanky 1930s bar called Manderlay*. John and I took seats near the stage, but the Annie Darcy Band was on break. Soon our playing card numbers were called, and we entered a dark hallway. We were asked to be silent and to keep our masks on. What masks? Oh, just the blank white masks that they were handing out to everyone. Masks on? Good.
Annnd Goodnight.
Sleep No More is a Punchdrunk and A.R.T collaboration. It's defined most accurately as "immersion theater." Every room in the Old Lincoln School in Brookline has been transformed carefully and deliberately into a different fantasy set. The audience is invited and encouraged to touch anything they want. (In an office, I pawed through a drawer and found a notebook full of frantic scribbling and sentence fragments; in another room a school room desk was full of hay and human hair.) The audience follows actors through dimly lit hallways, bearing witness to the characters' interactions. Lights, sounds and even cleverly layered smells guide emotional reactions in every room.
The story is Macbeth, but through a Hitchcock lens, and most of the scenes are completely non vocal. The success of the scenes relies on the ability of the actors to communicate relationship and intent through facial expressions and body language. And they do not disappoint. Each and every actor is fully committed to moving honestly through a world we're just trespassing in.
You can also read John's account of the evening. But we had very different nights. Every audience member has a potentially completely different experience depending on which characters they chose to follow, when to leave a scene or stay and what rooms to explore next. In the end everyone finds their way to the same location for the final scene of the play, a shocking and visually impressive climax.
John and I followed the second Mrs. de Winters as she ran through the hotel lobby and into an office two floors below us. She was startled out of a reverie induced by a photograph she found by a man who approached her from behind. As we stood by the anger in his eyes turned to desire, they embraced and kissed. When she fled, I ran after her leaving John with the man.
After a following her for some time I found myself alone with her. She beckoned me into a small bedroom, locked the door and bid me to sit down. I sat. She took my mask off and suddenly the room became very, very real. She leaned in and told me a story. As she told me the story we held hands. Slowly we were getting closer until we were embracing. The story was sad. I was comforting her. I had been told not to speak, and I didn't. Not even when she kissed my forehead. She put the mask back on my face and led me to the hall.
I entered chapels and bedrooms. I watched couples dancing in a misty forest that intoxicated me with the smell of pine. Later in the evening, left on my own, I accidentally walked in on Duncan's murder. I followed Macbeth back to his room, watched his wife wash the blood of his face, hands and chest. When he left, I stayed silently watching her private journey from anxiety to agony to outright hysteria.
Like a dream, some details are hazy - was that a knife or a playing card? And others are firmly impressed in my memory - I remember, as an example, the chapter that the Bible was open to in de Winter's bedroom.
The last scene left me unable to speak for a little while, and I still felt the effects of the dream like state as I pushed my way out of Manderlay, which had become impossibly crowded. When John and I finally met up outside we compared notes. Together we pieced together more of the show than we would have seen had we come just alone or had tried (as some people did) to stay as a unit.
Sleep No More was one of the most satisfying audience experiences I've had in a very long time because it created an entire world of make believe to invest myself in without fear of interruption by logic or reason. It was permission to explore and process in new ways. It was a collective experience, but it was also a solitary one. Occasionally my mind poked me with "I wish I could be in a show like this," but otherwise it obeyed the reality of my/the dream world. Although it was nightmarish at times I emerged at the end feeling more refreshed and well rested than before. Amazing.
-----------------------------------------------
* Manderlay is fictitious in that it had been built as a set piece for the show, but also completely functional as it's being run by nearby La Morra.
Monday, November 23, 2009
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...
...a fir tree full of sharks....
David and I went to Ikea last week to find a new carpet. We failed in our mission but managed to secure a bag of frozen meatballs as well as some nice place mats, and a series of photos of this rare shark conifer.
I wrote every single day last week but posted very little of what I worked on because I hated it.
Updating may be similarly spotty this week because as you are reading this I am picking my (original)* college roommate up at Logan airport for a week of shenanigans.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Once I moved off campus I roomed with many, many different people, friends and ferrets. I need to specify that Jen and I lived together in the dorms for two years because it is just more accurate that way.
David and I went to Ikea last week to find a new carpet. We failed in our mission but managed to secure a bag of frozen meatballs as well as some nice place mats, and a series of photos of this rare shark conifer.
I wrote every single day last week but posted very little of what I worked on because I hated it.
Updating may be similarly spotty this week because as you are reading this I am picking my (original)* college roommate up at Logan airport for a week of shenanigans.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Once I moved off campus I roomed with many, many different people, friends and ferrets. I need to specify that Jen and I lived together in the dorms for two years because it is just more accurate that way.
Friday, November 20, 2009
this is not a post about my hair.
"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.
"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.
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).
Monday, November 9, 2009
jump start my heart, you.
Friday had been an unintentional marathon of an evening starting with two shows at Improv Asylum followed by drinks at The Field with the cast of Crime Solving Bear 2, breakfast at 2am at IHOP and finally a viewing* of Wet, Hot American Summer for the breakfast survivors at chez moi at around 4am.
I only tell you this because you'd think that Saturday I would have slept all day.
Instead, Saturday morning I woke up restless.
The kind of restless I haven't felt in years, for reasons I will dwell on in a future post.
I tried to watch an episode of Mad Men (I'm still in Season One), and found myself unable to concentrate. I found out my plans in Boston for the night were being deferred to another evening and I only grew more itchy. I alternately cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. I considered and rejected complicated dinner options. I surfed tracks on The Scarlet Pimpernel soundtrack until I'm sure my roommates wanted to hand me over to be guillotined. I switched to The Last Five Years.
Outside the sky was blue, and the tree outside my window, with all its reds and oranges reminded me of Amherst. The first time I listened to The Last Five Years was in Amherst. My trip to Amherst was scheduled for the morning. Man, do I miss Amherst, I thought.
I decided to throw some clothes into a bag for the morning.
Then it was all over.
Once the clothes were in the bag my mind was made up. I began throwing things into the backseat of the car. I felt like a version of myself I hadn't quite noticed gone missing.**
Within fifteen minutes I was in the car belting the words to "I Can Do Better Than That," and cruising in a zen like state*** towards the middle of the state back to a town I've had a love/hate relationship with for years.
The first thing I did at Amy's house was accidentally almost electrocute myself in an incident involving an electric socket in their low set ceiling, and a giant sword. The second thing I did was debate at length about what it would have looked like, and if it would have been appropriate to carve into a gravestone.
The restlessness had dissipated on the road and was replaced with an overwhelming sense of coming home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
* We all promptly fell asleep, so it was more like a "putting on for background noise."
**Which is a good thing since most of my life demands a lot more discipline than I used to have.
*** only more driving appropriate
I only tell you this because you'd think that Saturday I would have slept all day.
Instead, Saturday morning I woke up restless.
The kind of restless I haven't felt in years, for reasons I will dwell on in a future post.
I tried to watch an episode of Mad Men (I'm still in Season One), and found myself unable to concentrate. I found out my plans in Boston for the night were being deferred to another evening and I only grew more itchy. I alternately cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. I considered and rejected complicated dinner options. I surfed tracks on The Scarlet Pimpernel soundtrack until I'm sure my roommates wanted to hand me over to be guillotined. I switched to The Last Five Years.
Outside the sky was blue, and the tree outside my window, with all its reds and oranges reminded me of Amherst. The first time I listened to The Last Five Years was in Amherst. My trip to Amherst was scheduled for the morning. Man, do I miss Amherst, I thought.
I decided to throw some clothes into a bag for the morning.
Then it was all over.
Once the clothes were in the bag my mind was made up. I began throwing things into the backseat of the car. I felt like a version of myself I hadn't quite noticed gone missing.**
Within fifteen minutes I was in the car belting the words to "I Can Do Better Than That," and cruising in a zen like state*** towards the middle of the state back to a town I've had a love/hate relationship with for years.
The first thing I did at Amy's house was accidentally almost electrocute myself in an incident involving an electric socket in their low set ceiling, and a giant sword. The second thing I did was debate at length about what it would have looked like, and if it would have been appropriate to carve into a gravestone.
The restlessness had dissipated on the road and was replaced with an overwhelming sense of coming home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
* We all promptly fell asleep, so it was more like a "putting on for background noise."
**Which is a good thing since most of my life demands a lot more discipline than I used to have.
*** only more driving appropriate
Friday, November 6, 2009
Improvisers in the (Medical) Workplace
Recently Liz Caradonna of e-liz, posted a blog entry about what assets an improviser might bring to an office workplace entitled "Beyond 'Be Funny!': improv at the office."
Some ideas covered in the piece include the value a good improviser places on trust, and the concept of not overlooking the obvious answers to simple and complex questions.
Her follow up piece How to Listen, expands on the idea of how (good) improvisers may listen differently than others. (I almost just repeated half of her entry here because I love her explanation of this idea so much. But she explains it so well that paraphrasing doesn't do it justice. Do yourself a favor and go read it.)
Because people are generally always asking me if my improv helps me as a nurse, I have had a chance to come to many of the same conclusions as Caradonna.
In fact, almost everything she said about being an improviser in an office job can be said of being an impoviser in a medical field.
I'd like to briefly expand on her ideas in the context of a health care provider's daily work.
1. Trusting/Teamwork. Trust or lack of trust can literally become life or death very quickly in a medical work environment. But even in low stake situations trust is essential to successful patient outcome. In an ideal situation every member of the team, from respite aide to attending M.D is out to provide the best patient care possible while also lifting up and empowering every other member of the team. It's not in anyone's best interest to do anything else. For an improviser, the concept of working with a large group of people towards one common goal is familiar and easy. The give and take of leadership and trust comes naturally, and is an area a good improviser absolutely thrives in.
2. Being a Good Public Speaker. Improvisers are good to have on hand at staff meetings. They have a good sense of how to gauge an audience which makes presentations more effective. But a good improviser is usually also good at private speaking. This means not being afraid to talk to patients, family members and to advocate strongly for their rights while encouraging their compliance with care. You shake hands, you introduce yourself, you make eye contact. You know the patient's history going into the interaction. You are sure of yourself and encourage others to be sure of you as well.
3. Don't Discount the Obvious. Caradonna has a great explanation of why this is an improv skill. My two cents on the medical end is that it's really easy to see a tanked oxygen saturation level on the screen of the pulse oximeter and start to flip out. You want hook them up to 02 2L via nasal cannula STAT. But first you should check to see that the sensor didn't just fall off their finger while you weren't looking!
4. How to Listen. A good improviser is always a good listener. And a good listener makes a good nurse. In nursing school we spent entire lectures learning how to listen. We role played. We took tests on listening. Every therapeutic interaction with a patient is based on how to listen and how to listen well. As an improviser you are trained to listen well, retain information, and reflect and mirror your scene partner. Moreover, you are trained to respond to your partner as fully as possible, by attempting to demonstrate your acceptance of their personal reality.* You seek to understand their perception of their illness in addition to seeing the disease process through a clinical and objective eye in order to gain insight into a much larger picture of the patient's wellness. Providing therapeutic care is going to come very easily to anyone who does these things as a natural part of conversation.
I really wish I'd had the right language to use to describe all of this years ago while I was doing my psych clinical. My instructor was dubious of my ability to be a performer and a nurse. I felt like I was constantly defending my art to her, despite my stellar grades. I was conferencing with her one day and made the mistake of explaining that I approach every interaction as though it were an improv scene.
"No!" she exclaimed, "no, you can't do that. This isn't a joke. These people are sick."
What I meant of course was that I was going to listen to my patients, validate their experiences by accepting their reality, trust my co workers and keep my mind grounded at all times in the truth of the nurse-patient relationship. Which I tried to explain, too late and a bit lamely.
I felt like from that moment on she was watching me as I made my rounds on the homicidal-suicidal unit where we worked, just waiting for me to mime a paintbrush, or burst into free style raps about Prozac so she could report me.
But time soon told what my fumbling words could not: that an improviser's instincts are some of the finest assets an employer can ask for, in any field.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* "...these responses go a step further than "what I hear you saying is..."; they say, "I hear you. I understand the universe that you're living in... and I'm living in it, too." This is the message that radiates from an exceptional listener. "We're in this together." (Caradonna, How to Listen)
Some ideas covered in the piece include the value a good improviser places on trust, and the concept of not overlooking the obvious answers to simple and complex questions.
Her follow up piece How to Listen, expands on the idea of how (good) improvisers may listen differently than others. (I almost just repeated half of her entry here because I love her explanation of this idea so much. But she explains it so well that paraphrasing doesn't do it justice. Do yourself a favor and go read it.)
Because people are generally always asking me if my improv helps me as a nurse, I have had a chance to come to many of the same conclusions as Caradonna.
In fact, almost everything she said about being an improviser in an office job can be said of being an impoviser in a medical field.
I'd like to briefly expand on her ideas in the context of a health care provider's daily work.
1. Trusting/Teamwork. Trust or lack of trust can literally become life or death very quickly in a medical work environment. But even in low stake situations trust is essential to successful patient outcome. In an ideal situation every member of the team, from respite aide to attending M.D is out to provide the best patient care possible while also lifting up and empowering every other member of the team. It's not in anyone's best interest to do anything else. For an improviser, the concept of working with a large group of people towards one common goal is familiar and easy. The give and take of leadership and trust comes naturally, and is an area a good improviser absolutely thrives in.
2. Being a Good Public Speaker. Improvisers are good to have on hand at staff meetings. They have a good sense of how to gauge an audience which makes presentations more effective. But a good improviser is usually also good at private speaking. This means not being afraid to talk to patients, family members and to advocate strongly for their rights while encouraging their compliance with care. You shake hands, you introduce yourself, you make eye contact. You know the patient's history going into the interaction. You are sure of yourself and encourage others to be sure of you as well.
3. Don't Discount the Obvious. Caradonna has a great explanation of why this is an improv skill. My two cents on the medical end is that it's really easy to see a tanked oxygen saturation level on the screen of the pulse oximeter and start to flip out. You want hook them up to 02 2L via nasal cannula STAT. But first you should check to see that the sensor didn't just fall off their finger while you weren't looking!
4. How to Listen. A good improviser is always a good listener. And a good listener makes a good nurse. In nursing school we spent entire lectures learning how to listen. We role played. We took tests on listening. Every therapeutic interaction with a patient is based on how to listen and how to listen well. As an improviser you are trained to listen well, retain information, and reflect and mirror your scene partner. Moreover, you are trained to respond to your partner as fully as possible, by attempting to demonstrate your acceptance of their personal reality.* You seek to understand their perception of their illness in addition to seeing the disease process through a clinical and objective eye in order to gain insight into a much larger picture of the patient's wellness. Providing therapeutic care is going to come very easily to anyone who does these things as a natural part of conversation.
I really wish I'd had the right language to use to describe all of this years ago while I was doing my psych clinical. My instructor was dubious of my ability to be a performer and a nurse. I felt like I was constantly defending my art to her, despite my stellar grades. I was conferencing with her one day and made the mistake of explaining that I approach every interaction as though it were an improv scene.
"No!" she exclaimed, "no, you can't do that. This isn't a joke. These people are sick."
What I meant of course was that I was going to listen to my patients, validate their experiences by accepting their reality, trust my co workers and keep my mind grounded at all times in the truth of the nurse-patient relationship. Which I tried to explain, too late and a bit lamely.
I felt like from that moment on she was watching me as I made my rounds on the homicidal-suicidal unit where we worked, just waiting for me to mime a paintbrush, or burst into free style raps about Prozac so she could report me.
But time soon told what my fumbling words could not: that an improviser's instincts are some of the finest assets an employer can ask for, in any field.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* "...these responses go a step further than "what I hear you saying is..."; they say, "I hear you. I understand the universe that you're living in... and I'm living in it, too." This is the message that radiates from an exceptional listener. "We're in this together." (Caradonna, How to Listen)
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