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thoughts that escape the confines of my head |
| this journal is where I vent...to relieve the pressure of taking care of so many people. I'm a mother, grandmother and private duty nurse who used to work in a hospital. The thoughts here cover my life for over 40 years. I write at home, at work, on the beach...anywhere with access to a pencil...laptop...desktop |
| Wait! What! I didn't care how the aliens had gotten into my bedroom. I didn't care how they had entered undetected into our atmosphere. I cared that this world was getting tossed around like a drug search in a gangster's house. The government developed a new disease yesterday, and everyone was mandated to be tested. I knew it was a ploy to test for alien blood. What did they expect to find? A little organism with pointy heads and big eyes? Three days ago, an alien craft landed in Detroit, Michigan. I mean, they just landed as if they had a parking permit. Not even an attempt to hide. They were nothing like this group in my bedroom who no one knew was there except me. There are six of them. Not green. Not big-eyed or pointy headed. The ones who emerged from the Detroit craft were described as green, big-eyed, and pointy headed. They ran in sequence into a mall and disappeared. The mall was crowded, Christmas time, and the aliens had morphed into human form and blended in with the shoppers. So, this new disease had cops knocking on doors. It had the National Guard out in force. Everyone had to have their I.D. ready and be prepared for their blood to be drawn and tested. They were currently in my neighborhood. My small group looked from one to another. One nodded. One shrugged. They all stood between 4 and 5 feet tall, and they communicated telepathically. Then, one opened his mouth to speak. I held up my hand to indicate wait as I grabbed my smartphone. I scrolled through my alien translator app and nodded. I tapped the app as the alien began to speak. The translator was a bit behind, speaking with the James Bond accent I'd chosen. "They are a few doors away," said the translator as the alien spoke his alien words. "They will knock on your door soon." I nodded, remembering my mother language. "Yes. It's time for me to go home." The translator said as I spoke in my alien words. |
| It's no wonder nothing happens. Procrastination is the nemesis I cannot vanquish. My only hope is the fact that I do visit here sometimes. My lifeline is the update your blog messages. I grab on and hold on. I visit here and feel the reminder of the writer in me. In fairness to myself, I do not abandon writing, I write often on my current, years-old novel because my characters are always in my head demanding my attention. They will not let what they have to say get lost in the murky water that is sometimes my mind. |
| Don't read too much into this poem. It's 4 a.m. creativity. Her Eyes I'm not sure, not anymore. To take the chance, on this romance. When this pain, is all I'll gain. A love so true, I have for you. But you returned, a love that burned. A victim of theft , with nothing left. First hiding tears, then hiding fears. You played a game, now who's to blame? I joined right in, thought I would win. I was the slave, who gave and gave. You were the crook, who took and took. I didn't see, how it would be. When it was she, tried to warn me. I thought her plan, was for my man. Her heart had bled, her tears were shed. My foolish self, wants no one else. You had my life, she was your wife. And now my face, is in her place. Now as I cry, she will get by. I see your lies, now through her eyes. |
| And If Only And if only the years were between twenty and forty And if only we had lived in the same city And if only we had boarded the same plane And if only we had shared a cab And if only we had shopped at the same store And if only we had lived in the same neighborhood And if only you had been the boy next door And if only that simple twist of fate had not been so cruel |
| I just looked through all the writing I've been editing, and finishing, thinking of cutting and pasting something here. My last blogs here are about patients, but that's not what I've been working on. That is, however, where I want to update. My newest patient turned a year old a little over a week ago. He is quite active and is testing out his walking legs. We have no idea how long it will be before he has corrective surgery. His lungs are so much stronger, and, although he has a tracheostomy tube, he does not need oxygen, or ventilation, like Joe, or Desi. He's more like a mini Michael, who could breathe on his own, only stronger, because Michael was on a vent when he slept. So I decided that this is the one who will grow strong and kick us nurses to the proverbial curb. |
| So I lost Michael, then I lost Joe. Now I've lost the little 3 year old, who had turned 4. I am taking care of patients who are dying, but hey, we're all dying. There are no alternatives for me. I just go where I'm needed. So Desi died. That was her name. Desi. Her lungs were compromised because at two months old, she had a brain tumor, then a tumor on a kidney. It was the chemo. It wracked her infant body, then destroyed her organs. She was such a fighter. Strong and never seeming sick. The last day I saw her, she looked right into my camera as I took her picture. I told her and her mom that I would see them Tuesday night. Her lungs collapsed, the doctors induced a coma, she never woke up. I wrote her a poem. When God Sends Us an Angel When God sends us an angel, for just a little while They’re here to bring us knowledge, they’re here to make us smile. They’re here to make us stronger, they’re here to make us weak, They’re here to point the way to all the knowledge that we seek. They’re here to teach us when we’re down and feeling very sad, There’s always someone else out there who has it twice as bad. Desiree is an angel, sent from God above. She came to give the knowledge, she came to teach the love. And though she has returned to God, and left some of us with strife, The knowledge and the love she brought, will stay with us for life. I am now taking care of a 4 month old baby who just needs to gain weight and get stronger. He will then have surgery to correct his condition, and then go on to live a normal life without the need of nurses. |
| Here I am again with more free time than I want, especially since this freedom hinges on my newest patient. My little 4 year old patient is in the hospital in a medically induced coma. Both of her lungs collapsed and her mom sent a bulk email to all nurses and therapist involved in her case and reported what happened. I last saw my patient last week,Thursday morning, at the end of my shift. I took a picture of her as her mom held her, fully dressed. This was something I never see since I always work overnights. She looked right into the camera of my phone after I'd taken 3 pictures, and I captured her full face. Shortly after that I left, saying I'd see them Tuesday night. Well today is Tuesday, and they say, no news is good news. I haven't heard anything, but yesterday my agency called to report my patient's hospitalization, and to ask if I wanted to orient to a new case. I actually resented their lack of optimism towards my patient's recovery. I can never separate my emotions from my job, I get attached every time, I never learn. |
| I continue to write something, somewhere nearly every day. It will soon be the first anniversary of my patient Joe's death, a matter of days. I have already bonded with my new patient and her mother. I've cut back on hours though. I work two overnights a week and that's plenty. I have a lot of free writing time, even some pretty good 'middle of the night' creativity. I have the means, motive and opportunity, to work on a slew of inspirations that crawl through my sleepy mind. So as usual, the culprit that keeps me not posting here or anywhere, is me. It's always me. |
| So I am writing something somewhere every day and lately more and more of it is making it from my head to my computer and thus will make it to my writing sites. I love these writing communities and sharing our creativity. I'm no longer marooned...alone...standing on a rooftop and shouting to a deserted neighborhood...I'm sharing...and I like it... |
I’m not thinking anything, I’m just trying to make a sandwich. It’s like this. I’m in the kitchen setting out bread, lettuce, tomato, mayo. There’s the plate, there’s mustard, there’s a knife. And my brain is like, “So what are we going to write about next. Are we blogging, are we going to write on the Chris story. What about the poems. How about working on blog pages, or Instagram. You have to figure out how to get the pics off your PC and onto your phone so you can post them to Instagram. Wait here’s a thought for a story. Then I’m like, “Stop it. Be quiet. I’m trying to make a sandwich. I’m hungry. I don’t have pen and paper, only sandwich supplies in front of me, and now I’m thinking I need another gadget. Just one more gadget to add to my endless supply of gadgets and computer accessories. I have the mike that connects to my computer and texts the words I speak. Now I want that mike on steroids. The one that streams wirelessly to my computer so it can text my words, while I’m in the kitchen making a sandwich. |
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