If you will kindly remember, September was supposed to be the month of clarity. Well, here we are on the last day of the month and I still have beer waiting to be bottled next to the vacuum in the closet. Also as a side note, we have 20 gallons of apple cider in our garage waiting to be turned into REAL cider a la a little fermenting once we get the closeted pilsner out of its fermenting container. However there has been progress on other fronts.
J has decided to go for a fellowship in palliative care. While I made pro/con lists from hell and taped them to the fridge, listened for hours, etc, etc, etc, there was only one person who helped him reach that decision and it wasn't me. Nope. It was a good friend of ours in J's same year who is now interviewing for jobs around the area. This is the same guy who came up with the molecular structure for Splenda at the winery. We'll call him Dr. PDA (not for Public Displays of Affection, but for the real gadget).
The night before our anniversary, long after I passed out and went to bed, they stayed up talking. Dr. PDA pointed out that while he is efficient, these jobs want their docs to see somewhere around 27 patients a day. 27 patients in an 8 hour period. That is less than 1 patient every 4 minutes. And this is for a primary care physician!!! No wonder our health system is going to hell in a hand basket. He then pointed out that 1) J cares too much about his patients, 2) his strength is communication, and 3) when you are specialized, you can basically tell the HMO's to go screw themselves because you are a specialist and can take as much time as you damn well please. That was all it took for J to make the decision to get his CV in order.
J went through his CV and met with his advisor last week. Her first words were to the effect, "Don't tell me you aren't going to apply out of state just because you don't want to uproot your wife." Up until that point, J was seriously just thinking of putting 80% of his eggs in the one basket labeled, "Indy," but now he is thinking of other places to apply.
Yesterday we went up to Lake Michigan with Edgar to take him swimming. (Yes, he is like our child and I am sublimating my baby hunger with the dog for now, which by the way isn't getting any better now that I work with labor and delivery PRN.) It was an exciting adventure 3 hours north where Edgar navigated the waves and you could see Chicago's skyline in the distance. As we were driving home with exhausted puppy sleeping in my arms, J remarked that if he were to apply to Boston's program, Edgar wouldn't have a lake. In fact, we would live in an apartment (renting, of course), without a yard or a lake or anything a doggie needs. I had to remind him that we would survive and he is just a dog. (Very hard for me to verbalize that last part.) I reframed it by saying it would be an adventure as we could live in a downtown loft, just like his fantasy of being a bachelor, except for the fact that he would be married with a dog and trying to get pregnant. Ok, so my reframing abilities suck, but that was what I could come up with.
Other options include: Milwaukee, Rochester, quite a few in the South, etc. J is against anything in Florida as he has evolved from the polar bears and would definitely melt. I might chalk it up to his strange fear of Mickey Mouse and Alligators, but then I would be making things up in my head.
As we have been moving forward with this new direction, I've been having a ton of dreams about my house back in Utah. It is currently being leased by a very nice couple from the UK who are professors. My dreams (read: nightmares) involve me coming to check on the property only to find that they have done major renovations, painted the walls awful colors (or colors that I do in fact like, but am pissed because they did it, not me), threatening litigation, freaking out about losing the income source, neighbors taking sides as to who misinterpreted the lease, etc, etc, etc. Freud would have a hay day with that one, I'm certain.
Doing a fellowship means that we will be postponing an eventual goal of returning to Utah. However, I've noticed that now J is making statements that he would be happy returning to the general West (not specified as to Utah.) The house in Utah is something that I identify with simply because it was my first house and that I bought it all by myself. I suppose that this new evolution of fellowship direction will just coincide with another revision of me.
In the meantime of this potential revision, there is beer needing to be bottled, a deck to be stained, cider to be fermented, and perennials to be transplanted.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Intuition
I consider myself to be a pretty intuitive person. I get this about me. I can sense if bad things have happened in places, pay close attention to my dreams, and really listen to my gut. The only thing I really don't get is that others don't have this same tendency.
This week I started off by attending hospital orientation. The group was small, like under 20 people. And as far as new employee orientations go, this was a pretty well designed program. About 20 minutes into the morning I began to sense that something was wrong with someone in the room. I didn't really know what or who, but the feeling kept nagging at me. Sure enough I finally spotted the guy. He was rubbing his leg, shifting in his chair, wincing, gasping, and turning red. What surprised me is that none of the speakers nor any of his table mates were doing anything about it. He was in a lot of pain and it was getting worse.
I also knew that he was trying to be quiet. He then began to cry. No one noticed. He didn't want to be noticed. Chances are this was a really good job that he really needed and by leaving early he probably thought he would get in trouble. I would cause a ton of attention by going over there and asking what I could do plus, was it really my role? I finally couldn't take it and found one of the facilitators in the back to bring her attention to the guy. She couldn't figure out who I was talking about even though it was plain as day obvious to me who was in pain. Finally she said she would let the other facilitator know when she got back in the room. This wasn't good enough for me.
I finally grabbed our HR coordinator to let her know. She went over to him and asked the "well, duh" question: Are you ok? No lady, he is NOT ok. He admitted he was in a ton of pain through quiet sobbing. It was only at that point in time that others in the room began to notice something was wrong. The HR coordinator then called her boss to ask what should be done. In the meantime I'm beginning to worry about him throwing a clot, a DVT, or something else really bad. People don't go into sudden huge onsets of pain for small reasons. She then told him he could go. I can only hope she directed him to the ED. I would have at least gotten a wheelchair and sent someone with him. Granted, she is in HR, but come on!
Later this week I began to have tons of dreams about the house which we jokingly called my Father's Castle and my gnawing anxiety began again. Something was wrong. I should also mention that this runs in my family. My grandmother knew my cousin was pregnant before she announced it. My Mom has these feelings quite frequently. And I have had three unique experiences the night before something bad has happened: once before I discovered my boyfriend was cheating on me, once right before I was diagnosed with a tumor, and then right before 9/11. I pay attention to these feelings. Thank God what I'm experiencing isn't anything close to that, but a little warning none-the-less.
This week I started off by attending hospital orientation. The group was small, like under 20 people. And as far as new employee orientations go, this was a pretty well designed program. About 20 minutes into the morning I began to sense that something was wrong with someone in the room. I didn't really know what or who, but the feeling kept nagging at me. Sure enough I finally spotted the guy. He was rubbing his leg, shifting in his chair, wincing, gasping, and turning red. What surprised me is that none of the speakers nor any of his table mates were doing anything about it. He was in a lot of pain and it was getting worse.
I also knew that he was trying to be quiet. He then began to cry. No one noticed. He didn't want to be noticed. Chances are this was a really good job that he really needed and by leaving early he probably thought he would get in trouble. I would cause a ton of attention by going over there and asking what I could do plus, was it really my role? I finally couldn't take it and found one of the facilitators in the back to bring her attention to the guy. She couldn't figure out who I was talking about even though it was plain as day obvious to me who was in pain. Finally she said she would let the other facilitator know when she got back in the room. This wasn't good enough for me.
I finally grabbed our HR coordinator to let her know. She went over to him and asked the "well, duh" question: Are you ok? No lady, he is NOT ok. He admitted he was in a ton of pain through quiet sobbing. It was only at that point in time that others in the room began to notice something was wrong. The HR coordinator then called her boss to ask what should be done. In the meantime I'm beginning to worry about him throwing a clot, a DVT, or something else really bad. People don't go into sudden huge onsets of pain for small reasons. She then told him he could go. I can only hope she directed him to the ED. I would have at least gotten a wheelchair and sent someone with him. Granted, she is in HR, but come on!
Later this week I began to have tons of dreams about the house which we jokingly called my Father's Castle and my gnawing anxiety began again. Something was wrong. I should also mention that this runs in my family. My grandmother knew my cousin was pregnant before she announced it. My Mom has these feelings quite frequently. And I have had three unique experiences the night before something bad has happened: once before I discovered my boyfriend was cheating on me, once right before I was diagnosed with a tumor, and then right before 9/11. I pay attention to these feelings. Thank God what I'm experiencing isn't anything close to that, but a little warning none-the-less.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Anniversary Drama, in Five Parts
September is full of celebrations. Tons of family birthdays, tons of friends' birthdays, my own birthday and if that wasn't enough, I also decided to get married in the same month. Last Sunday was our first anniversary. With every bit of fun there is always some drama. Our first act had to do with the wedding cake.
Last year the wedding cake was a pretty big deal mostly because I really wanted J's family to be a part of the selection. One spring day J and I brought samples to the family and we all submitted our commentary. It was quite fun and in the end we decided on a combination of a large spice cake with cream cheese filling tier and two tiers of lemon with raspberry filling. It wasn't your traditional cake, but it was to both of our families as each of our parents had spice cake for their weddings. As traditions go, the top tier went into a deep freezer at my mother-in-law's house.
The shipping dilemma began way back in July. How were we going to get this sucker from SLC to Indy? My poor MIL started having nightmares about packaging strategies to preserve the frosting. We also considered having my mom bring it when she came to visit only to realize that one of our friends had hers confiscated by security. Somewhere right after my birthday J received a phone call from his mom. He listened for a bit and consoled her then handed the phone to me.
"Oh, my dear heart, I don't know how to tell you this. But last night..." She stops to catch her breath because she's sobbing, "We went down to the basement and the deep freeze was broken. Everything had melted. We lost meat, fish, even some breast milk that was saved when Max was staying with us. But, oh, we lost the cake! I'm so sorry! We came so close!"
"Its ok." I responded calmly. "I'm so sorry you lost all of that meat." I didn't begin to go there with the breast milk.
"You aren't going to break down? Because I knew if you would break down I would lose it and I've been crying most of the day, didn't sleep last night and thought I would break the news to J first so he could support you. I would be hysterical if I were you. We were so close!"
My response? "Eh. There are bigger fish to fry. Its no big deal. I really appreciate you hanging onto our cake for so long."
"You really aren't that upset? I can't believe you aren't that upset. Are you just pretending for me?"
"No really, its ok. These things happen. No good will come out of me getting upset. All we miss out on is some stale cake."
I began to wonder why this stupid tradition even exists. Is it for luck? I brought that up to J later who rationally reasoned that it had to be a newer tradition as deep freezers didn't exist way back when and the divorce rate was really low. Good point. I began to research it. No no no, it is actually meant to be for your first child's christening!!! Oh good Lord, they thought we would have been pregnant before our anniversary and I suppose we would have been way back when. The tradition then morphed into the christening OR your anniversary. Good times for stale cake.
The second act of our drama unfolded last week when I came home a little bit early after teaching my class. I was received at the door by an overenthusiastic husband hugging me, telling me he was glad I was home, and promptly trying to shuffle me out of the living room. I glanced at our desk which was laden with clothes. "What's this?" Apparently it was my anniversary surprise. Clothing from REI for our outdoor adventures planned in Australia. He was so smug that he planned all of this even before my birthday and was going to surprise me, but then I ruined it by coming home early. That night he proceeded to bring me out articles of clothing one by one. Capri's, a long sleeved shirt, short sleeve shirt, sleeveless shirt, and tank top all very high performing gear. I was really impressed that he had the guts to buy me clothes in the first place.
The third act of our drama came when I accidentally washed his wallet. Oops. I pointed out the bright side that at least I didn't wash his phone. However, it did give me a fabulous plan to buy him a new one for our anniversary. It also fell into line with the tradition that the first anniversary should represent paper or clocks. I thought of paper money! Yeah yeah! Go me!! My poor sentimental husband claims he never heard of such a tradition. I said, "Where did you think the term 'golden anniversary' came from?"
The fourth act involved the US Postal System. Saturday morning there was a LOUD banging on our door, followed by aggressive door bell ringing. This happened not once, but three times. Edgar went wild and J and I, like mature adults, hid. We hid in our own house. Our front door does not have a peep hole so we were stuck tiptoeing around windows trying to see out without them seeing in. Then we heard the truck pull away. Now I go outside to find the "sorry I missed you" overnight slip with the next available time to be picked up three days away. I went outside in my pj's trying to see if I could find the mail dude. The rest of the morning was spent tracking down the package, contacting the sender to confirm it was perishable, etc, etc, etc. We did finally get the package which was from my MIL: fancy cocktail paper napkins, a card, and some cookies. She also included some leaf decorations that were on the tables of our rehearsal dinner. This made J well up a bit. Talk about thoughtful. That night we had a dinner party, but we didn't use them as we wanted to hang onto them for just a little bit longer.
The fifth act involved a sleepover of drunken guests from the night before. We made pancakes and coffee to just continue the celebration. It wasn't what we envisioned for our morning of our anniversary, but it was fun! We then paid bills (yup, living on the wild side for us!) and then took Edgar to one of our State Parks for a hike. That was followed up by a swim for Edgar in our lake, a bath, and us grilling steaks with a nice chilled bottle of champagne. I also gave J his wallet which he was thrilled! While I loved the clothes and actually wore them on our hike, the best gift was the decision he came to by telling me he was 90% sure he wanted to do a fellowship. Hallelujah, we may have some direction!!!
And then of course we have the epilogue. The following day I called my parents as I was half baffled they didn't call first and then began to worry that something REALLY BAD was happening over there. Mom talked about work, the dogs, asked about my jobs, how J was doing, etc when I finally said that we had our anniversary. Whoops. Well, she felt bad, which wasn't really my intention. Apparently when she talked about it with my father later that night his response was, "Well, at least she remembered her own anniversary." This coming from a man who has been married almost 35 years.
Last year the wedding cake was a pretty big deal mostly because I really wanted J's family to be a part of the selection. One spring day J and I brought samples to the family and we all submitted our commentary. It was quite fun and in the end we decided on a combination of a large spice cake with cream cheese filling tier and two tiers of lemon with raspberry filling. It wasn't your traditional cake, but it was to both of our families as each of our parents had spice cake for their weddings. As traditions go, the top tier went into a deep freezer at my mother-in-law's house.
The shipping dilemma began way back in July. How were we going to get this sucker from SLC to Indy? My poor MIL started having nightmares about packaging strategies to preserve the frosting. We also considered having my mom bring it when she came to visit only to realize that one of our friends had hers confiscated by security. Somewhere right after my birthday J received a phone call from his mom. He listened for a bit and consoled her then handed the phone to me.
"Oh, my dear heart, I don't know how to tell you this. But last night..." She stops to catch her breath because she's sobbing, "We went down to the basement and the deep freeze was broken. Everything had melted. We lost meat, fish, even some breast milk that was saved when Max was staying with us. But, oh, we lost the cake! I'm so sorry! We came so close!"
"Its ok." I responded calmly. "I'm so sorry you lost all of that meat." I didn't begin to go there with the breast milk.
"You aren't going to break down? Because I knew if you would break down I would lose it and I've been crying most of the day, didn't sleep last night and thought I would break the news to J first so he could support you. I would be hysterical if I were you. We were so close!"
My response? "Eh. There are bigger fish to fry. Its no big deal. I really appreciate you hanging onto our cake for so long."
"You really aren't that upset? I can't believe you aren't that upset. Are you just pretending for me?"
"No really, its ok. These things happen. No good will come out of me getting upset. All we miss out on is some stale cake."
I began to wonder why this stupid tradition even exists. Is it for luck? I brought that up to J later who rationally reasoned that it had to be a newer tradition as deep freezers didn't exist way back when and the divorce rate was really low. Good point. I began to research it. No no no, it is actually meant to be for your first child's christening!!! Oh good Lord, they thought we would have been pregnant before our anniversary and I suppose we would have been way back when. The tradition then morphed into the christening OR your anniversary. Good times for stale cake.
The second act of our drama unfolded last week when I came home a little bit early after teaching my class. I was received at the door by an overenthusiastic husband hugging me, telling me he was glad I was home, and promptly trying to shuffle me out of the living room. I glanced at our desk which was laden with clothes. "What's this?" Apparently it was my anniversary surprise. Clothing from REI for our outdoor adventures planned in Australia. He was so smug that he planned all of this even before my birthday and was going to surprise me, but then I ruined it by coming home early. That night he proceeded to bring me out articles of clothing one by one. Capri's, a long sleeved shirt, short sleeve shirt, sleeveless shirt, and tank top all very high performing gear. I was really impressed that he had the guts to buy me clothes in the first place.
The third act of our drama came when I accidentally washed his wallet. Oops. I pointed out the bright side that at least I didn't wash his phone. However, it did give me a fabulous plan to buy him a new one for our anniversary. It also fell into line with the tradition that the first anniversary should represent paper or clocks. I thought of paper money! Yeah yeah! Go me!! My poor sentimental husband claims he never heard of such a tradition. I said, "Where did you think the term 'golden anniversary' came from?"
The fourth act involved the US Postal System. Saturday morning there was a LOUD banging on our door, followed by aggressive door bell ringing. This happened not once, but three times. Edgar went wild and J and I, like mature adults, hid. We hid in our own house. Our front door does not have a peep hole so we were stuck tiptoeing around windows trying to see out without them seeing in. Then we heard the truck pull away. Now I go outside to find the "sorry I missed you" overnight slip with the next available time to be picked up three days away. I went outside in my pj's trying to see if I could find the mail dude. The rest of the morning was spent tracking down the package, contacting the sender to confirm it was perishable, etc, etc, etc. We did finally get the package which was from my MIL: fancy cocktail paper napkins, a card, and some cookies. She also included some leaf decorations that were on the tables of our rehearsal dinner. This made J well up a bit. Talk about thoughtful. That night we had a dinner party, but we didn't use them as we wanted to hang onto them for just a little bit longer.
The fifth act involved a sleepover of drunken guests from the night before. We made pancakes and coffee to just continue the celebration. It wasn't what we envisioned for our morning of our anniversary, but it was fun! We then paid bills (yup, living on the wild side for us!) and then took Edgar to one of our State Parks for a hike. That was followed up by a swim for Edgar in our lake, a bath, and us grilling steaks with a nice chilled bottle of champagne. I also gave J his wallet which he was thrilled! While I loved the clothes and actually wore them on our hike, the best gift was the decision he came to by telling me he was 90% sure he wanted to do a fellowship. Hallelujah, we may have some direction!!!
And then of course we have the epilogue. The following day I called my parents as I was half baffled they didn't call first and then began to worry that something REALLY BAD was happening over there. Mom talked about work, the dogs, asked about my jobs, how J was doing, etc when I finally said that we had our anniversary. Whoops. Well, she felt bad, which wasn't really my intention. Apparently when she talked about it with my father later that night his response was, "Well, at least she remembered her own anniversary." This coming from a man who has been married almost 35 years.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Birfday Babble
Last year at this time I was in warp speed. I was trying to manage the details a wedding produces in the 9th inning and every 24 hours passing just meant I was watching the clock expand my ever growing to-do list. It was always T minus nuptial date. What this really meant was that I treated every day the same. Including my birthday which in 2006 only signified that I was T minus 11 days and counting. You could imagine my surprise this year when I realized that essentially I was celebrating becoming two years older not just one.
My birthday typically revolves around significant other life events like the start of school, new itchy wool sweaters/skirts that my mother had to pair with saddle shoes, the closing of swimming pools, Labor day, and my parents typically getting ready for a week absence due to globe trotting. This last event was due to my father's line of work and the yearly trips just happened to coincide with the yearly celebration of me. I spent quite a few birthdays in the custody of aunts, uncles, grandparents and random babysitters (including my now sister-in-law oddly enough while my parents were in Asia.)
I had my share of birthday parties growing up. One of my favorites was the afternoon tea my mother threw and some of my friends showed up in Cotillion dresses with gloves. I was just thrilled I had mini cheese cakes for my birthday cake. I also had the typical 80's rainbow/Snoopy stuffed animal/water slide birthday, the sleepover birthday when I was 10 where I accidentally broke the news to Molly M. that the stork was a lie that I still feel Catholic guilt about doing, the tomboy University football game birthday with my grandfather/uncle/brother where I got my period (that sucked), the drunk fest 21st birthday at a bar where I believe my own 19 year old brother got in, and the 22nd New Orleans birthday where I thought it was a good idea to karaoke "Raspberry Beret" after eating at a transvestite Asian restaurant and many drinks with toys/umbrellas/swizzle sticks in them. The best birthday I've had as an adult was when J surprised me with an elaborate surprise in Stillwater, MN at a bed in breakfast, canoeing, and two high-end elaborate meals. I think I turned 28 that year.
This year I turned 32.
As in, my-parents-had-a-9-and-7-year-old-by-the-time-they-were-32. My brother was kind enough to wish me a "Happy 26th Birfday, yes Birfday." This truly is kind of him as last year I accidentally wished him a happy 30th birthday when he only turned 29. Whoops about my math skills on that one.
My mom took J and me out to dinner while she was here for my birthday. That is just one of our traditions. I saved my cards from my friends and family to open with J that night before we went to dinner. While I hoped/guessed that J had made reservations at one of our favorite spots, dinner was really decided last minute between the two of us. Saving for trips and marriage has cut down on our elaborate dating. No surprise. Even on J's 32nd b-day back in January, I tried to surprise him but had to realistically coordinate his time into feasible reservations.
J came in the door about 5:00 with my gift. Some book about nursing ethics and their workforce shortage. This reminded me of the gift two of my girlfriends gave me in New Orleans. They bought a "silver" necklace with the word, "Virgo," in cursive as the charm from one of those cheesy kiosks in the mall. I think I responded the same way. "Wow. Thanks." as I tried to look really interested but my flat voice betrayed me. With J's gift I began to get a little angry. How did he not know my feelings about the nursing shortage?!?! All parties' gifts were just to see what my reaction would be.
Apparently watching me freak-out, attempt to mask my freak-out, or any variation there of could be a National past time and potentially more entertaining than baseball. Even when I was a self-conscious teenager my loving mother and brother would drive around the neighborhood with their arms out the windows, driving really slowly, and blasting twang country out of the stereo just to watch me freak out to the point of tears in the back seat. Good times.
After I had thanked him/convinced him I really was grateful for the stupid ethics book, J then brought his on call bag out and presented me with my real gift: perfume. But not just any perfume. The one that I've been rubbing off of the magazine sample since mid-July to the point that I had paper cuts on my forearms. The man pays attention. Well, either that or he was concerned that his friends were thinking I was attempting suicide with superficial lacerations. This was an extravagant gift for me. I do not buy perfume. The last time I purchased a new scent was in 1999.
I will say that my best gift I received this year were the numerous phone calls, cards, and well wishes friends and family passed along to me...as it should be.
My birthday typically revolves around significant other life events like the start of school, new itchy wool sweaters/skirts that my mother had to pair with saddle shoes, the closing of swimming pools, Labor day, and my parents typically getting ready for a week absence due to globe trotting. This last event was due to my father's line of work and the yearly trips just happened to coincide with the yearly celebration of me. I spent quite a few birthdays in the custody of aunts, uncles, grandparents and random babysitters (including my now sister-in-law oddly enough while my parents were in Asia.)
I had my share of birthday parties growing up. One of my favorites was the afternoon tea my mother threw and some of my friends showed up in Cotillion dresses with gloves. I was just thrilled I had mini cheese cakes for my birthday cake. I also had the typical 80's rainbow/Snoopy stuffed animal/water slide birthday, the sleepover birthday when I was 10 where I accidentally broke the news to Molly M. that the stork was a lie that I still feel Catholic guilt about doing, the tomboy University football game birthday with my grandfather/uncle/brother where I got my period (that sucked), the drunk fest 21st birthday at a bar where I believe my own 19 year old brother got in, and the 22nd New Orleans birthday where I thought it was a good idea to karaoke "Raspberry Beret" after eating at a transvestite Asian restaurant and many drinks with toys/umbrellas/swizzle sticks in them. The best birthday I've had as an adult was when J surprised me with an elaborate surprise in Stillwater, MN at a bed in breakfast, canoeing, and two high-end elaborate meals. I think I turned 28 that year.
This year I turned 32.
As in, my-parents-had-a-9-and-7-year-old-by-the-time-they-were-32. My brother was kind enough to wish me a "Happy 26th Birfday, yes Birfday." This truly is kind of him as last year I accidentally wished him a happy 30th birthday when he only turned 29. Whoops about my math skills on that one.
My mom took J and me out to dinner while she was here for my birthday. That is just one of our traditions. I saved my cards from my friends and family to open with J that night before we went to dinner. While I hoped/guessed that J had made reservations at one of our favorite spots, dinner was really decided last minute between the two of us. Saving for trips and marriage has cut down on our elaborate dating. No surprise. Even on J's 32nd b-day back in January, I tried to surprise him but had to realistically coordinate his time into feasible reservations.
J came in the door about 5:00 with my gift. Some book about nursing ethics and their workforce shortage. This reminded me of the gift two of my girlfriends gave me in New Orleans. They bought a "silver" necklace with the word, "Virgo," in cursive as the charm from one of those cheesy kiosks in the mall. I think I responded the same way. "Wow. Thanks." as I tried to look really interested but my flat voice betrayed me. With J's gift I began to get a little angry. How did he not know my feelings about the nursing shortage?!?! All parties' gifts were just to see what my reaction would be.
Apparently watching me freak-out, attempt to mask my freak-out, or any variation there of could be a National past time and potentially more entertaining than baseball. Even when I was a self-conscious teenager my loving mother and brother would drive around the neighborhood with their arms out the windows, driving really slowly, and blasting twang country out of the stereo just to watch me freak out to the point of tears in the back seat. Good times.
After I had thanked him/convinced him I really was grateful for the stupid ethics book, J then brought his on call bag out and presented me with my real gift: perfume. But not just any perfume. The one that I've been rubbing off of the magazine sample since mid-July to the point that I had paper cuts on my forearms. The man pays attention. Well, either that or he was concerned that his friends were thinking I was attempting suicide with superficial lacerations. This was an extravagant gift for me. I do not buy perfume. The last time I purchased a new scent was in 1999.
I will say that my best gift I received this year were the numerous phone calls, cards, and well wishes friends and family passed along to me...as it should be.
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