Thanksgiving away...

Thursday was a pretty special thanksgiving. Despite being away from home, I was once again reminded of why we have this holiday. I mean, besides the whole food part.

Its so cliche, but we do tend to forget all the reasons why we should be thankful, all the blessings that are in our lives that seem so normal, so innate to life until they are taken away and we are painfully made aware of how much we rely on those things.

I started writing this post but then got a bit distracted, and I fear that if I don't do this now, it will be a while until I get around to it. I asked one of my housemates, Kierstin, how her day was, mid day on Thanksgiving. She had gone to work that morning, like all the other days she works, very early in the morning, around 5am. Miriam's Kitchen does not close, ever, as there are always people out there who are hungry and need a warm meal to get their day started:  hunger doesn't take holidays off. That morning she was frustrated. No, frustrated isn't a strong enough word. She was saddened and angry.

Why, on thanksgiving, are people without a place to go?

Why, on a day that is centered around family and friends, are people left with no where else to go but places like Miriam's Kitchen.

She thought this as she was looking across the room at the multitude of homeless who had come on Thanksgiving morning, who wouldn't be spending the day in a warm house. No one should be without a place to go, especially on a day like Thanksgiving. Then she told be about one of her client who came up to her, and listed off the things that he was thankful for.

"I'm just glad to be able to see another day, to be among the living, to be HERE."

Cue the waterworks. Proof that we all, no matter what, have something to be thankful for. Its all about perspective.

Race Day!

Who would have thought that getting to a 12K race would be the tough part?

Not I.

Back in September when I impulsively signed up for the Marine Corps 12K Crossroads race, the only thing on my mind was the training that I would have to do so that I didn't pass out by mile 3. For all of you die-hard Red, White, and Blue folks out there, 12 kilometers is approximately 7.5 miles. I've never been much of a runner, as in, I hated running my entire life. If I'm not chasing something or someone, running isn't worth it. I get bored easily. With running, all I could focus on was the pain/strain in each of my legs as each foot smacked pavement. My logic in obtaining from running was this: cost vs. benefit...the cost of feeling like crap with each stride multiplied by the number of strides taken in a 2-3 mile run (which is..... too damn many) is not worth the health and self-esteem benefits of running. Period.

However, when I decided to do crew in college, I was more or less forced to love 'long distance' exercise. While it felt like hell, the euphoria after it was all over almost made it all worth it. Almost. After quitting crew my junior year I turned to the weight room, and spent two years on my physique. Weightlifting appealed to me because once I got in the routine, I felt like I was missing something in my life if I couldn't make it to the gym for a day. Lifting is all about short periods of intense pain/strain. I could easily justify this because I knew that in 8 reps or less, (for the most part), the pain would be over, and the feeling of relief after seemed so close. For this, I didn't do much running in my later years in college, but on occasion would force myself to doing a late night run after a heavy meal.

Fast-forward to this year.

One of the values that the program instills in its members is simplicity. While if I really wanted to, I could dip out of my savings and put $20 a month to joining a DC parks & rec gym. When I sat down and thought about it, I realized that exercise can and should be free. Why pay money get on a boring treadmill so that you can chart exactly how long you run, how many calories you burn, and maybe...just maybe... look like a complete idiot when you screw up your dismount and get thrown onto the floor.....when you could run around and explore the place you live? Push ups are free, situps are free, heck, even Rock Creek Park has pull up bars and tons of other outdoor exercise equipment that don't require a membership fee.

This is how I started running, and why I wanted to have something to work towards... ie, a 7.5 mile race.

Back to how running the race was the easy part... So when I signed up for the race, I wasn't thinking about where the race was. I assumed that being in DC meant that public transit could take me ANYWHERE and ANYTIME.

Not so.

Quantico, Virginia is about 45 minutes away by car. While it is accessible by train, the service does not run on weekends. Also, while there is a shuttle service that goes from Reagan National Airport, it costs around $30 a person.

Weak sauce.

So I discovered this, only too late in the game. With no ideal means of transit at my disposal (IE a car), I found that the cheapest alternative was to rent a car, being that there were two other jesuit volunteers coming into town to go to the race as well.

Here's the break down:

Rental Car for 1 day (no options whatsoever ie insurance, blah blah blah...): $25
Cost of being 21-25 years old: $27/day
Taxes: $10
Gas: $13
Total cost: $75
Split between 3 people = $25 each.

Not to shabby...

Though to all you youngins out there, I didn't realize this but when you rent a car, don't be surprised when you give them your credit card and they say that the total will be $350.

I about shat a brick. But, that money is a deposit that you will get back when you return the car.

All in all the car rental went very smoothly and got us to the race so we didn't have to stress about using public transit. Oh ya, and I got an upgrade from a subcompact to a PT Cruiser, fo free... NBD.

The race, while I did say it was easy, really wasn't. I'd been doing a training schedule which has a mix of running, cross training, and strength training that starts out easy, then keeps upping the distance and intensity as you get closer to race time. This really helped, as I had never run a race before. However, I found that at mile 5-6, it felt like hours went by. I started to feel nauseated. My heart was pounding, my ankle hurt, and I about lost the will to keep running, but I couldn't stop. When you're in a race, you don't want people to judge you, to think you're weak, so you push yourself much harder than you ever could alone. This is why I about vomited when  I finished the race. With 250 meters to go, there was one guy ahead of me within sprinting distance, so to the frustration of my legs, I sprinted, passing him up and finishing the 7.5 mile race in 55 minutes.

Where to next?

Half Marathon in March.

Cherry Blossom Run (10 mile) in April, (A DC tradition).

Who would have thought that this guy would be running races by his own will? Not me for sure. But hey, I guess I'm a running junkie now.

The best / worst work week ever.

So this is how my morning went on Monday, and how that morning drastically changed my week.

      Over the weekend I had noticed a couple bumps on my arm, nothing big, I mean, they didn't itch, but I did think it was peculiar that they only appeared in one spot, and close together. Monday morning, I woke up, like any other Monday morning, absolutely stoked to start the week off good, a drastic change from the way things ended last week, (chaotic - it was the week of hell at SOME medical, if you want more details, you can ask). Two slices of bread, one side with peanut butter, the other with its pair, strawberry jelly, were pushed together, in beautiful harmony. I delicately wrapped what I anticipated would be a good hearty lunch for the day. On went my sweatshirt and helmet. Out the door I went, ready to make calls, see patients, and do what I do. I parked my bike in the back lot, locked it up, and put my elevator key in the key hole and turned it while pressing the call button. I walked into the clinic, set my things down, and then did what I thought I should. I asked Dr. Wright if I should be concerned about these bumps on my arm. He looked at them, then told me that I needed to head home for the week, and begin treatment for scabies as a preventative measure. You see, the Friday prior I had unintentionally screened a patient who ended up having scabies, meaning I was exposed to the parasite, and the bumps did appear to be from a parasite, as they were close together and localized. In my head, I screamed profanities. I kept my mouth shut though, as I was shown how to apply the neurotoxin cream that would kill whatever bugs were on me, was asked if I had a history of seizures, as that could be a side-effect of the medication. ARRRRGGHGHHH. Words could not describe how frustrated I was. I left work, dejected, and pissed. How was this happening to ME? Now I had to go home, and incinerate everything I owned. Well, not entirely, I had to put all my laundry and clothes, plus linens (and intimates), in a hot wash. My room had to be thoroughly vacuumed, everything sprayed down in critter-killing pesticide, I had to take a hot shower, then rub this white cream all over my body, avoiding the family jewels. This process took pretty much the entire day. Along with spraying my own room, I sprayed down the rest of the house. Made an errand to Target, to purchase two items.

1: Bed Condoms, AKA Mattress Covers
2: The baddest most deadly bed critter pesticide known to man, well, at least that was what I hoped it was.

That day of cleaning allowed me to let my anger fester. Anger at the job for putting me in a situation where I could have gotten scabies. Anger at my situation, that I couldn't work this week (which seemed to take some meaning away from the week, at least it seemed like it would initially). Anger at the divine. Not exactly, though, but I was most assuredly angry at a lot of things.

After everything was done, I sat down in my chair, and stared at the wall for a bit. Slowly but surely, the anger subsided, my housemates returned home to me, and we had a good reflection. I realized that my anger wasn't going to accomplish anything, moreover, it was keeping me from getting any actual work done. Sometimes, S****** just happens, [scabies]. My job isn't to blame, nor are the people that I work with. The real test is how I respond to the situation, and I made a conscious decision at that moment to not let this situation ruin the rest of my week.

Tuesday: I made the trek to Theodore Roosevelt Island, and I would say that it embodies the word, Island: being isolated. Walking though the trails, you almost forget that a bustling city is minutes away. I was also struck by the stark difference in fall color between the west coast (my home), and where I am now on the eastern side. The colors here CHANGE. I was engulfed by shades of grey, yellow, red, orange, brown, and every color in-between. Leaves completely masked the ground. Walking takes on a new feeling as you hear and feel a *crunch* with every step. The air was crisp, the day was beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky, and that unfortunately deceived me into believing that I was once again in California, where, if it is sunny, shorts are appropriate. Not so, I was not in California but in a Washington, DC autumn. My legs, uncovered, felt the sting of a cold wind, which sent shivers up and down. Still, I was happy. There's something special about seeing such a drastic change (relatively) in the look and feel of a city. Now i get it, the east coast has SEASONS. Case in point: when I arrived here, I was miserable. The humidity stuck to every part of me. It was sunny and hot every day, though, now and again there was a thunderstorm and torrential rain. Green and yellow were the primary colors of the landscape. Now, that feeling and look are gone. It is an undeniable fact that fall is here.

Wednesday: I awoke early, ready for a day on the road. I packed a hearty lunch of two PB&Js, granola bars, protein shake, and PB crackers. I donned a thermal with a running t-shirt plus shorts, ready to sweat a little. The day before I had been inspired by a Mount Vernon Trail information sheet I had found on Theodore Roosevelt Island. The Mount Vernon Trail extends from Teddy's Island (Theodore Roosevelt) down to Mount Vernon, a total of around 17-18 miles. I felt inspired the day before to check out the house of our former president George Washington. I mean, he's kind of a big deal. At 8:20am I hit the road, biking first downtown, then began the search for the trail. As I crossed the Arlington Cemetery Bridge, I had no idea where to find the trail. I looked around and saw nothing. I almost made it to the cemetery before turning around and looking closer to the Potomac. Low-and-behold there it was, and after crossing roads where cars were going around 60mph, I was on my way to Mount Vernon. The ride was spectacular, but soon enough my butt began to hurt and I would alternate 'spin' style biking with normal seated biking to alleviate the pain. I only made one stop on the way down, to enjoy the view a little bit at the Reagan National Airport. The planes would take off directly overhead, accompanied with a thundering boom. I've always loved planes, except (according to my parents) when I was born. I spent my first days around an Air Force Base and would cry when the planes would go overhead. I think I've outgrown that phobia. I digress, I continued on the trail until I hit Mount Vernon. The price of admission is $15, and is totally worth it. There is an extensive museum and education center which are beautifully constructed. There are exhibits which outline our first Commander and Chief's life, along with the events that coincided with his life. However, the most breathtaking part of the experience is Mount Vernon, itself. The house looks just as it did when it was finally completed. I did not realize that the house was added onto many times, before reaching its final look. I'll post a few pictures, but they do not do it justice. You just need to visit.

Thursday: That's today. I woke up a bit later, as I didn't have any particular plans. I had thought I would go to a few museums but I wasn't as motivated to get started early. I do recall having some bizarre dreams, which I kept waking up from, then turning over in bed just so I could continue the saga. So I got up, made some breakfast, read the paper, then decided that I would go visit the National Archives. It was pretty interesting, and I felt inspired to check up on my genealogy, maybe when I get some time I'll make an effort to find out more about my family history on my own. After that I stopped at the National Gallery, and went through their exhibitions, which were absolutely breathtaking. I loved the Monet exhibition, its crazy how it seems up close that the brush strokes look like the work of an amateur, and it is only when you step back you get the whole picture and see it for what it really is, a work of art. I also was able to see the only work of Leonardo da Vinci that exists in the United States. Anyhoo, its been a long day, my friend's Dad is here, so I should get back to entertaining.

oh, where has the time gone?!

So its the darndest thing, you keep telling yourself, oh, well I'll get to it tomorrow, and then tomorrow comes, and you do the same thing again. Well, that's exactly what happened with my blog. I let myself come up with excuses, some valid, some not so valid, and I would sleep, eat, write (essays), run, or do a lot of other things rather than blog. However, now that I've really forced myself to do this, I remember why I do it in the first place. It keeps me grounded, it keeps me sane, and helps me to go back on the days experiences, and as I see that it hasn't been since mid-october since I've done this, i realize just how fast the time is flying by me. Today at work, and this week at work, have been difficult. I've been pushed in ways that I didn't expect. I've recently dealt with my first emergency situation: one of our patients (a new one) began seizing and vomiting in the lobby. Before I knew what was going on, I was assisting our MD with putting on a non-rebreather mask to get some O2 flowing, reading his O2 saturation, and moving the patient to a position of comfort. It reminded me a lot of my time as an EMT in college and while it frightened me a bit, I also somehow felt calm through the whole experience. The patient was able to get transported to the hospital, with what appeared to be severe alcohol withdrawal symptoms (vomiting, shaking, SOB). Other than that, this week i've seen a man's foot reduced to bone, covered in yellow, green, and red stained curlex padding. This patient had been to a local hospital, was treated for a severe infection of his foot, and had a sizable chunk of his foot removed including the heel and upper area. Skin grafts were applied and held in place with stitches. The surgery was so extensive that the surgeon did three separate surgeries to take care of the extensive damage that had occurred to his foot. However, something caused the hospital to rescind on their goodwill and discharge the patient, telling him to find a clinic to take care of his foot. When he came to our clinic, he had been turned away from over 3 other clinics as he did not have insurance. He came to us with the same gauze on his foot that the hospital had left. It was my job to remove that gauze, and that itself was a process as (don't read on if you're squeemish) the skin had oozed pus and discharge that had dried and caked onto the gauze, forming an area which made it hard to distinguish what was flesh and what was not. We had no saline at the clinic so we tried to loosen the bandages with distilled water, maintaining a sterile environment. As we peeled layer after layer off, we encountered the funky colors, and finally revealed a disfigured foot, with stitches still visible and the graft still appearing like flesh. This was not a case that clinics deal with, it should have been a job for a wound-care center. The pt had not been given any follow up appointments with that hospital to have the stitches removed. We all at the clinic could not believe how a hospital could do such a half-assed job. To leave a man who had already been through so much, like this, hardly able to walk and without insurance. They easily could have enrolled him in the city plan, could have assisted him in getting insurance for himself that would have allowed him to heal, and maybe have a chance at walking again. Instead, his future looks bleak. He was sent back to that same hospital, where he will rack up again more debt, more costs, and deplete more dollars out of the health care system. A system that is so broken, so ridiculous in its costs, that I feel, at the root, is caused by a feeling of entitlement that doctors feel to money, and that everyone in the healthcare field feels entitled to. It is not cheap to go through medical school, it costs hundreds of thousands of dollars. That money must be payed off. Well, at this point I feel like I am rambling and that it is getting late, again, my apologies for the long period of silence, I hope that it does not continue. Keep in touch