Another day of lecture. It was not so noisy last night in the lobby, so I got to bed a little earlier. I put my stuff in the conference hall in the same spot, next to the same people (I figured they had built up a slight immunity from yesterday's exposure to me and my ringweaving), had breakfast, and then went to lecture. Today was everything from musculoskeletal (three lectures) to surgery, trauma, diabetes and wound care. Yesterday as I was standing in line, waiting to ask a question of one of the speakers, a short, stocky young man with a beard noted the irony of the Pink Floyd lyrics playing overhead (after lectures) - "We don't need no education..." I ran into him during the first break, and said, "Hello, Mr. Pink Floyd." He introduced himself as Bob from Louisiana, and we chatted a bit. He seemed friendly, so during the next break I found him again and asked if he was here alone, and would he like to have dinner together. (I immediately also said, "I'm married...." He held up his wedding band and said, "I am too.") He indicated the older lady at the table in front of him and said, "I've been talking to you, and I've been talking to Liz - why don't the three of us go to dinner tonight?" She and I both thought that was a great idea. So I lined up two dinner dates for myself.
Not much to say about the lecture day itself; it felt a bit longer today than yesterday. I brought my 18 gauge rings to "process" today because an entire day of bending 16 gauge rings was making my hands ache a bit, even with my ergonomic pliers. The 18 g are a little easier to work with. I got bored about halfway through the day of just opening and closing rings, so I got a few already-processed ones out of the bags and wove a European 4-in-1 bracelet for the lady on my left (Mary Ann). She has thin wrists so I had to modify it a bit, but she liked it. A lady at the table in front of me approached me during one of our "60-second stretch" breaks (which are more like 2 minutes) and held up the two pieces of her reading glasses chain. "I wondered since you're doing all this jewelry, if you could help me with this?" I had to take out two small links (it was a cheap brass chain) but it didn't make much difference to the overall length. She thanked me twice with a big smile. I felt flattered to be asked.
After lecture, I met up with Liz (from Iowa) and Bob, and we agreed to meet in the lobby by the concierge in 20 minutes. I zipped up to my room and dropped off the huge syllabus and all my ring stuff, and headed back down. Yesterday I had struck up a conversation with one of the concierge workers, a tall man from the Gambia named Talley. He was not busy when I went to wait for Liz and Bob, and they weren't there yet, so I started talking to him again. He asked me how I liked the stay. I said, half jokingly, that I was a little irked that such a fancy hotel charges $10/day for internet in the room. Mistake. He asked me what my room number was, and I told him. He said, "I'll take care of that for you." I replied that he didn't have to do that, but he launched into a sincere speech about customer service, and how the hotel takes it seriously, and how "when you serve another person from your heart, that is how you touch their heart. Like you, when you went to Africa to care for people - you know how it is." I nearly got choked up (there's that kindness, again) but managed to keep it together. Much as I dislike the noise level in the hotel, and was annoyed that they didn't have an indoor pool and that their outdoor pool is closed, I have to say that the people working here have been friendly and accommodating without exception. I would come back for the service, but I'd bring earplugs next time.
Bob and Liz showed up and the three of us walked a couple of blocks to find the Italian restaurant that had been recommended to me yesterday by the concierge. We walked a bit too far and I ran back 1/2 block for directions from the people at another hotel we had just passed (I figured one of them would know). They redirected us back a block, and we walked into Azio's, a relatively quiet (and screen-free), dimly lit, wood-decor-intensive place. It was quite nice and the food was reasonably priced (and very good). The three of us talked about traveling, kids, marriage, ADD, and a few doctor things. It was a nice meal but again I felt my ambiversion come to the fore as the other two were rather more determined talkers. I didn't have much to contribute, anyway, but it was interesting to listen.
There was a stiff wind as we walked back - I was wearing a skort and a long-sleeved shirt, and was a bit chilly - but it wasn't far back to the hotel. I parted ways with Bob and Liz, went up to call my family before my kids went to bed (they have a sleepover tomorrow for which they are so excited), and then I made a bracelet for Talley. I went back down to ask him some questions (where to print my boarding pass, etc) and put two hands out to him. He took my hands between his, and I slipped the bracelet into his hands. He initially thought I was trying to slip him some cash, I think, because he said, "Oh, no," and was about to protest, but then he looked at what it was, and said, "Oh... when did you make this?" "Just now." It was a bit loose on his thin wrist, but he said he liked the way it fit, and put it on with a big smile. He told me about the colors of the Gambian flag - "Red for the sun, blue for the river, green for agriculture, and the white - peace." It started to get busy in the lobby - apparently there's a fraternity/sorority event, huzzah - so I took my leave shortly thereafter, and that was pretty much it for the day. Hope I can get some sleep with all this noise.
All in all a good day. One more lecture day, then home.
blessings
wb
Friday, February 21, 2014
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Atlanta, day one
Greetings. Here is the rest of yesterday. We'll see how far I get.
I think I mentioned that our flight was delayed by about 40 minutes, and that I was in boarding Zone 1. I had the window seat on the starboard side of the plane. The man in the aisle seat switched with the man behind him so that he could sit with his wife, so I ended up talking to Craig, a guy in his 50s who was headed to Atlanta for a conference as well; he owns several Exxon Mobil stations near where I live and started right in with asking me where I get my gas. I told him (it wasn't Exxon) and he made a face and said, "Well, I shouldn't speak ill of my competition, but...." And he told me why the gas station nearby had changed hands recently, and said I should get gas at Exxon, of course, and told me about a special they will be running with the Speedpass in the next few weeks (save 25c/gallon!). I was sorry to tell him that my husband's Prius gets about 55 mpg, and that my Vibe even gets between 30 and 35. He was unfazed, but let that part of the conversation drop. I noticed that pattern throughout our subsequent conversation, though - "Not to talk politics, but [insert political statement here]." "Not to seem rude, but [insert rude-seeming statement here]." It was rather comical.
The man who filled the middle seat between us was Scott, who was also headed for a business meeting in Atlanta. He sells the Da Vinci robotic surgery device. I had heard of it, but it came out after I got out of the OR as a resident, so I have never seen one used, and don't even know what it looks like. It was easy to "prime the pump" of conversation with these two gentlemen, who both essentially were in sales. I got to experience the joy of ambiversion, because in the morning Wednesday I had had breakfast with two rather introverted friends, and spent much of the time talking, whereas on this 2-hour flight, when faced with two clear extroverts, I mostly listened. Reflecting on it, I think I do have the best of both worlds. :)
Anyway, between Craig and Scott, we had another wide-raging conversation about education, backgrounds, kids applying to colleges, sports, concussions, and of course their businesses. The discussions lasted for more than an hour, although I admit I tuned out when they started talking football and basketball and Izzo. Upon takeoff there was the most gorgeous sunset, and when we landed it was full night. I love flying at night, especially over more densely populated areas.
Our flight got in about 8:20, and I grabbed my carryons and started toward the signs that said, "Ground Transportation." Since I had done a lot of sitting, I intended to walk rather than take the train. There was an exhibit all the way down those hallways (in the depths of the building) from Zimbabwe. It was interesting, because I noticed the photographs and thought, "That looks a lot like Zambia - I wonder where those were taken?" I was pretty close. I enjoyed the exhibit peripherally, but I didn't linger because I wanted to get to the shuttle and I wanted to call my family before my girls went to bed. I did manage to get to the shuttle, though beyond a certain point they stopped all pedestrians and made us take the train a single stop. Odd, but oh well.
When I walked out into the 60-degree weather, I stopped an airport employee and asked where to get the shuttle. He stopped what he was doing and both explained and pointed clearly, in addition to calling me "Ma'am" and being extremely polite. That was unexpected - not that I expected rudeness, but it seemed as if he was bending over backwards for me. I have experienced a lot of that here, particularly among the hotel employees, who must have it deeply ingrained in them. I haven't heard a single word of complaint, or seen anything but a smile; every one that is within speaking distance gives an unfailingly polite greeting. The man at breakfast today asked how I was. When I said, "I'm well, thank you," he said, "No, thank YOU - you're the reason I have a job." I suppose customer service is all very well, but sometimes it makes me a bit uncomfortable, as if these people have no person left; they only live to serve. But perhaps once the get home and take off the name tags, they can be themselves.
Anyway, I took a 15-minute shuttle ride to the hotel, checked in with an unfailingly polite and smiling clerk named Lisa, who, when I asked (out of curiosity) what would happen to the electronic locks on the doors if the power went out, she said, "That's a very good question" and said something about contacting security to find out what the backup plan is. Don't ask a question you don't want someone to hurt themselves finding an answer for, I guess.
My room is on the 10th floor, directly above the bar (on the first floor). The whole hotel is a giant hollow square tube, with the rooms all on the outside, and a big square lobby in the middle. There is an elevator tower on one side of the square, with 5 glass elevators running up the outside. The elevators look like old radio tubes decorated with vertical strings of white Christmas lights. Every time I have gotten in to an elevator that was already occupied, every person in there was facing the door. That makes no sense to me, to turn one's back to the glass, when the show is outside, people. My kids would love going up and down in the glass elevator. I'll have to take them somewhere where there is one sometime.
With one thing and another, I called my family to say good night, then went exploring. They do have a pool, but it's outside, and was closed for the season. Sigh. I explored around the rest of the hotel, finding the store, restaurant, "market," fitness room (where I picked up a rather insipid-tasting apple) conference rooms/registration (for the next day) and concierge. One of the men behind the concierge desk traced out a route for me to run when I asked; another told me there is a 24-hour CVS down the block. The second man had a delicious accent, and told me he was from Gambia. I told him I have been to Zambia, and he told me that now Gambia is referred to as "The Gambia" (like "The Congo"). I actually knew that, and was surprised initially when I told me he was from "Gambia" without the "the." I love the diversity here, even just looking around. Not a lot of that in my hometown, unfortunately.
When I finally returned to my room, I worked on my bog for a bit. I didn't have access in the room - I typed it up in a word-processing and pasted it tonight. I was mad that they wanted $10/day for internet access in the room, though lobby access is free. I think that's unbelievably greedy for a swanky hotel to charge an exorbitant fee for the room (although conference participants got a price break) and then add WiFi fees on top of that. You get free WiFi at Days Inn, for pete's sake. But tonight I ponied up for the fee because I just wanted to sit in my pajamas and didn't want to be bothered to go to the lobby to publish the blog.
Unfortunately the acoustics in this hotel leave a lot to be desired. A big empty echoing cube with a bar on the ground floor left the noise filtering up and through the cracks around my door. The arrangement of the furniture has the head of the bed at the same end of the room as the door, so there is nothing to block the noise. And there was a REALLy noisy group there last night. I called security twice - at 11, and again at 12:30 - and nothing really happened except I put on a white-noise program on my iPod, and the bar eventually closed. I asked this morning if they could find me a room in a different place, and my name is on a list, but so far no dice. Even if they had a big curtain across the doorway, that would help dampen it some.
So, after about 6 hours of sleep, I got up this morning, registered, ate a nice breakfast (provided for us) and brought my entourage downstairs - jacket, active sitting cushion, bags of rings, pliers, and oh, yeah, my course syllabus. At breakfast I "happened" to sit next to a woman from Grand Rapids who works in Kentwood (not far from our office), a man who works at McLaren in Flint (near where I did my residency) and a man from New Hampshire, not far from where I grew up. Small world.
I sat in the fourth row or so - I heard once that the amount one learns is inversely proportional to the distance one sits from the professor (that is, small distance, learn more, large distance, learn less) so I always sit near the front. It also helps diminish my tendency to
SQUIRREL!
...be distracted. I took my Adderall but it really was the ringweaving that got me all the way through the day. Lectures from 8 - 5:30 with an hour for lunch and a couple of short breaks. Whew. I generated some interest from the people around me in what I was doing - two men stopped to admire my work, and two ladies commented on it. The lady next to me kept looking my way. We talked in between lectures, and she said she's so distractible, and she wondered that I could concentrate while I'm working with the pliers and rings. I said it's the main thing that helps keep me listening. Who knows? Maybe she'll take up crocheting or something.
I had a nice dinner at a restaurant about a block away. They are known for their house-brewed beer, apparently. I had a house-brewed root beer. It was pretty good. Then I called my family again, and took a hot bath (since they don't have a hot tub - ahhhhhhh) and am winding down.
Uh-oh... sounds as if I might need to put on my white noise program again. I'm tired and it's only 10 PM. There's a note in the hotel information that says "9 PM to 9 AM is quiet time; please be considerate of others." Guess most people can't read, more's the pity. (I must live a very sheltered life, not to want to party at the swanky hotel with all my new friends.) It was quieter during the rioting in Kenmore Square the night the Red Sox won the pennant in 1987 (my dorm was right under the CITGO sign). Although I think the group from yesterday may be gone, I saw a lot of sparkly-dressed women walking around - apparently there's a meeting for Silpada. Sigh. Maybe I'll be lucky and there will be a sci-fi con tomorrow. That at least I can relate to.
Thanks for listening, and good night.
peace
wb
Another adventure
Notes from Wednesday, 19 Feb 2014
It's amazing how traveling always opens my word box. By the time I arrived at my departure gate in the GR airport, I was already topped off with things to say. So let me begin.
My flight was delayed (due to the origin flight from ATL being delayed) so I stopped at the Y, ran a mile, and lifted some weights for about 20 minutes. It was good to squeeze in some movement, since I anticipate doing a lot of sitting in the next few days.
I drove myself to the airport in my husband's space shuttle (Prius C) which was wigging me out all day. He took my Vibe so that he can bring it in for servicing; there's a recall on it. His car's engine shuts off when the car is stopped (such as at traffic lights) - I kept thinking it had stalled. Takes some getting used to.
A big sign at the airport said, "Long Term Parking Ramp FULL; use North Lot." So what do I do? Turn in at the short term lot, and realize as I'm in the one-way entrance that, duh, this isn't the North Lot, and big signs everywhere say "No Overnight Parking." So I drove around to the very kind parking lot attendant and explained my dilemma. She waved me through and gave me directions to the North Lot.
Now, I've navigated Logan and O'Hare many times; Grand Rapids "International" Airport is not even comparable to one of the terminals of the bigger airports, so getting lost is trickier than one would think. As it turned out, I didn't get lost, but I had to drive back by the long term ramp and noticed its sign said there were 11 spots left on Level 3. I saw my chance and turned in there, just behind another vehicle. Still 10 spots left, and the car in front of me was unable to navigate the tight turn required to snatch a spot next to a huge pickup. But I could. :)
Into the terminal, up to the security check point (only two people were in front of me) and the usual doffing of shoes, shuffling of bags, and pat-down on the right outer thigh because the travel pants I always wear on the plane have a metal zipper pocket there. I saw the X-ray agents slow my bags way down and look at them for a while longer than is usual. I guessed it was because of the 1/2 gallon bags full of aluminum jump rings in both my bags. One of the agents pulled my LL Bean nylon tote (how I love that thing) and said there was a "liquid" in there that they couldn't quite see, and that I was not allowed to help her search for (except verbally, I guess). Whoops; I almost never travel with liquids but I had a hand sanitizer and a tube of hydrocortisone cream (for the hives on my toes) that I had forgotten to take out of the bag. She eventually found it, but first she pulled out the 1/2 gallon bag stuffed full of smaller ziplock bags of different colored rings. I'm going to be sitting in lecture for almost 30 hours this week; I figured it would be a good time to be productive.
Side note: Anyone who has spent any time with me in a meeting or has attended lecture with me knows that I have to keep my hands busy or I cannot pay attention. I folded origami through my whole senior year in college (and got a 3.89 that first semester, so I know it helps) and made enough paper animals during my board review courses in medical school to fill the pockets of every kid that went through the endocrinology clinic at MSU. (The endocrinologists were the ones that thought my origami was the coolest, so I gave them as many of my folded models as they wanted.) So this plan of ring-bending may fly, and it may not. I figure if I distract my neighbors too much, I'll buy them off with chain maille jewelry that I make in front of them. (Thanks for the idea, Gen.)
So the agent pulled out the bag of rings and said, "What is this?" It obviously was not a liquid, but I think she and her coworker were dying to know, because when I told her, "They're jump rings; I make jewelry," and showed her the bracelet I had thoughtfully worn as an example, she looked over at the X-ray guy and said loudly, "They're rings for making jewelry." (I have three 1/2 gallon bags full in my luggage.) She put them back, found the culprit liquids, thanked me and sent me on my way. Thankfully there was nobody behind me in line, so I didn't hold anyone up. And the agents got to satisfy their curiosity. I love the TSA agents at GRR; they are so friendly. I had a run-in with one in Maui and he was not friendly at all. But that's a different story from a different adventure. Onward.
Got a sandwich at the Great American Bagel place - I always get something there if I'm hungry at the airport - filled my water bottle from the cool dispenser on the wall, and went to sit down in a place where I could recharge my phone. I ended up in a middle seat between a young lady who was playing on her phone, and another young lady who was reading a large-print book. I wasn't nosy enough to look at what it was. I pulled out some of my rings (our aircraft hadn't even arrived yet) and started bending. (When they are initially cut off the coil, they need either to be opened, or closed all the way in order for me to weave with them, and it's much faster to work on a project if the rings are "preprocessed." That was my reason for bringing them to the conference - to process the "raw" rings into something weaveable.)
I was hesitant to interrupt the woman to my right who was reading, so I tried to overhear the conversation of a lady who came in with a Goldendoodle service dog. The man next to her (several seats away) asked questions I wanted to ask her, but although I could hear his questions, I couldn't hear her answers, so I gave up, and with the rings in my lap, it wasn't worth moving to join the conversation. Instead I ventured, "I wonder if the people who design these seats make them singularly uncomfortable on purpose." With a smile, the lady next to me put down her book and commented on that. We decided that the airport seats are neither fashionable nor functional. From there we got into a conversation.
Her name was Annie, and she was traveling to Jackson Mississippi for a job interview. Her fiance lives there, and she is moving there next summer (MS in the summer - ugh). She told me about her education and her current job working with people with disabilities. Actually, the conversation was quite wide-ranging, and would probably be dull to recount, even if I could remember it all, but it was interesting to me, and she was quite nice.
I upgraded my seat when I checked in, because the seat I chose when I bought my ticket was different than the seat I had been assigned to. It only cost me $30 and it was worth it to be closer to the front of the plane. So I was actually in Zone 1 - never happens to me. I was in the row right behind First Class, so lots of leg room and also room to store my two carryons. I brought the same luggage with me as I did on my 11-day trip to Hawaii, but whereas that trip was all about portability, this trip is all about comfort. I only have to carry my bags through the airport, and on the shuttle, and up to my hotel room; reverse and repeat. Since I will be sitting for three days, I packed them with my aforementioned rings and accompanying tools, as well as my dynamic sitting cushion (like a flattened therapy ball, for maintaining good posture and an anterior pelvic tilt for good back ergonomics), partially deflated but still rather bulky and heavy. I also have two bags of Dove Easter candy - dark and milk, for emergencies. Stuff like that. :)
Note: the end of this has been written on Thursday evening. I will stop here and finish the rest of yesterday and today in another post.
Happy to be safely here, but
always safe between the Lion's paws
wb
It's amazing how traveling always opens my word box. By the time I arrived at my departure gate in the GR airport, I was already topped off with things to say. So let me begin.
My flight was delayed (due to the origin flight from ATL being delayed) so I stopped at the Y, ran a mile, and lifted some weights for about 20 minutes. It was good to squeeze in some movement, since I anticipate doing a lot of sitting in the next few days.
I drove myself to the airport in my husband's space shuttle (Prius C) which was wigging me out all day. He took my Vibe so that he can bring it in for servicing; there's a recall on it. His car's engine shuts off when the car is stopped (such as at traffic lights) - I kept thinking it had stalled. Takes some getting used to.
A big sign at the airport said, "Long Term Parking Ramp FULL; use North Lot." So what do I do? Turn in at the short term lot, and realize as I'm in the one-way entrance that, duh, this isn't the North Lot, and big signs everywhere say "No Overnight Parking." So I drove around to the very kind parking lot attendant and explained my dilemma. She waved me through and gave me directions to the North Lot.
Now, I've navigated Logan and O'Hare many times; Grand Rapids "International" Airport is not even comparable to one of the terminals of the bigger airports, so getting lost is trickier than one would think. As it turned out, I didn't get lost, but I had to drive back by the long term ramp and noticed its sign said there were 11 spots left on Level 3. I saw my chance and turned in there, just behind another vehicle. Still 10 spots left, and the car in front of me was unable to navigate the tight turn required to snatch a spot next to a huge pickup. But I could. :)
Into the terminal, up to the security check point (only two people were in front of me) and the usual doffing of shoes, shuffling of bags, and pat-down on the right outer thigh because the travel pants I always wear on the plane have a metal zipper pocket there. I saw the X-ray agents slow my bags way down and look at them for a while longer than is usual. I guessed it was because of the 1/2 gallon bags full of aluminum jump rings in both my bags. One of the agents pulled my LL Bean nylon tote (how I love that thing) and said there was a "liquid" in there that they couldn't quite see, and that I was not allowed to help her search for (except verbally, I guess). Whoops; I almost never travel with liquids but I had a hand sanitizer and a tube of hydrocortisone cream (for the hives on my toes) that I had forgotten to take out of the bag. She eventually found it, but first she pulled out the 1/2 gallon bag stuffed full of smaller ziplock bags of different colored rings. I'm going to be sitting in lecture for almost 30 hours this week; I figured it would be a good time to be productive.
Side note: Anyone who has spent any time with me in a meeting or has attended lecture with me knows that I have to keep my hands busy or I cannot pay attention. I folded origami through my whole senior year in college (and got a 3.89 that first semester, so I know it helps) and made enough paper animals during my board review courses in medical school to fill the pockets of every kid that went through the endocrinology clinic at MSU. (The endocrinologists were the ones that thought my origami was the coolest, so I gave them as many of my folded models as they wanted.) So this plan of ring-bending may fly, and it may not. I figure if I distract my neighbors too much, I'll buy them off with chain maille jewelry that I make in front of them. (Thanks for the idea, Gen.)
So the agent pulled out the bag of rings and said, "What is this?" It obviously was not a liquid, but I think she and her coworker were dying to know, because when I told her, "They're jump rings; I make jewelry," and showed her the bracelet I had thoughtfully worn as an example, she looked over at the X-ray guy and said loudly, "They're rings for making jewelry." (I have three 1/2 gallon bags full in my luggage.) She put them back, found the culprit liquids, thanked me and sent me on my way. Thankfully there was nobody behind me in line, so I didn't hold anyone up. And the agents got to satisfy their curiosity. I love the TSA agents at GRR; they are so friendly. I had a run-in with one in Maui and he was not friendly at all. But that's a different story from a different adventure. Onward.
Got a sandwich at the Great American Bagel place - I always get something there if I'm hungry at the airport - filled my water bottle from the cool dispenser on the wall, and went to sit down in a place where I could recharge my phone. I ended up in a middle seat between a young lady who was playing on her phone, and another young lady who was reading a large-print book. I wasn't nosy enough to look at what it was. I pulled out some of my rings (our aircraft hadn't even arrived yet) and started bending. (When they are initially cut off the coil, they need either to be opened, or closed all the way in order for me to weave with them, and it's much faster to work on a project if the rings are "preprocessed." That was my reason for bringing them to the conference - to process the "raw" rings into something weaveable.)
I was hesitant to interrupt the woman to my right who was reading, so I tried to overhear the conversation of a lady who came in with a Goldendoodle service dog. The man next to her (several seats away) asked questions I wanted to ask her, but although I could hear his questions, I couldn't hear her answers, so I gave up, and with the rings in my lap, it wasn't worth moving to join the conversation. Instead I ventured, "I wonder if the people who design these seats make them singularly uncomfortable on purpose." With a smile, the lady next to me put down her book and commented on that. We decided that the airport seats are neither fashionable nor functional. From there we got into a conversation.
Her name was Annie, and she was traveling to Jackson Mississippi for a job interview. Her fiance lives there, and she is moving there next summer (MS in the summer - ugh). She told me about her education and her current job working with people with disabilities. Actually, the conversation was quite wide-ranging, and would probably be dull to recount, even if I could remember it all, but it was interesting to me, and she was quite nice.
I upgraded my seat when I checked in, because the seat I chose when I bought my ticket was different than the seat I had been assigned to. It only cost me $30 and it was worth it to be closer to the front of the plane. So I was actually in Zone 1 - never happens to me. I was in the row right behind First Class, so lots of leg room and also room to store my two carryons. I brought the same luggage with me as I did on my 11-day trip to Hawaii, but whereas that trip was all about portability, this trip is all about comfort. I only have to carry my bags through the airport, and on the shuttle, and up to my hotel room; reverse and repeat. Since I will be sitting for three days, I packed them with my aforementioned rings and accompanying tools, as well as my dynamic sitting cushion (like a flattened therapy ball, for maintaining good posture and an anterior pelvic tilt for good back ergonomics), partially deflated but still rather bulky and heavy. I also have two bags of Dove Easter candy - dark and milk, for emergencies. Stuff like that. :)
Note: the end of this has been written on Thursday evening. I will stop here and finish the rest of yesterday and today in another post.
Happy to be safely here, but
always safe between the Lion's paws
wb
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Kindness
Haven't felt like blogging much these days; either there is no time alone (not with heaps of snow and the accompanying heaps of snow days), or the alone time is spent elsewhere, not in self-reflection. I will admit that there has been a lot going on that doesn't belong in a blog, at least not in any blog I'd write, but that deserves contemplation, so I have been spending my emotional energy elsewhere.
But I just read a blog that was linked to by a friend from high school, and I was inspired. The blog happened to be a saga about the writer's dental issues. I found it well-written and entertaining, but the part that hit me was when the writer commented that a complete stranger "folded up his phone and held the door open for me." That act of kindness, probably very small to the person who offered it, but obviously a world-changer (however momentary) for the writer of the blog, really stuck with me.
A digital sign near where I work flashed its advertising one morning, along with the message "KINDNESS IS FREE." I thought about that. In a sense, that's true, because being kind - smiling at someone, holding open a door for the lady with the double stroller, waving the person through at the stop sign, allowing someone to merge - those things don't cost anything, at least monetarily. But kindness does have a price. It may cost me my "rights" as I wave another driver through when I had the right of way. It may cost me biting my tongue when it would be callous (or at worst, cruel) to point out something that doesn't really matter in the long run. It may cost me time to drop of the lunch that my daughter forgot to take to school.
Yet the cost for me, whether in swallowing my pride, or in "lost time," or in inconvenience, may be nothing in comparison to what it means to the person to whom I'm being kind. I may never know the impact I have by delivering an encouraging word, an empowering statement, buying lunch, going out of my way to help someone, but it's still very much worth doing. I know that I remember certain acts of kindness in my life. They stand out with searing brilliance, and when I think of them, I recapture the original feeling I had of overwhelming gratitude.
My first job in high school was cashiering at the CVS in the mall. I was seventeen. This was long before price scanners, credit card readers, and debit cards. People mostly paid cash. Checks and credit cards had to be looked up in a little flimsy paper book to verify they were not poor credit risks. Everything was rung up by hand, and although the register calculated the change for me, I handled all the money myself - no automatic change return. All this sounds silly to delineate for people who grew up with them - like describing a record player or a manual typewriter - but for those who grew up carrying thousands of mp3s and movies around on their phones which are more powerful than the first full-scale computers, it bears repeating.
I was a good cashier. A great one, in fact, although as an introvert I much preferred to be in the back "facing" the store (neatening the shelves) and doing inventory to being up front at the registers. The CVS was the only place in the mall to buy snacks, newspapers, and candy (for smuggling into the movies). I had 11 even drawers in a row one month, and one drawer that was 50 cents over. That meant that the totals of what was sold, money taken in and change given, were perfect for those 11 shifts. Those of you who have ever worked such a job know that there are fluxes in how busy it is, and sometimes we had lines reaching almost all the way to the back of the store. (Our cash registers were on either side of the entrance, perpendicular to the front doors.)
When it was busy like that, I strove to keep people happy, and sometimes I got flustered with the overwhelming set of tasks it took to get everyone out the door in a timely fashion. Sometimes something would be on sale that hadn't been priced, and the customer would correct me, or complain, and I would fix it the best I could. I don't remember particularly what happened this time, but one day when there was an enormous line, I rang up something incorrectly, or there was an unmarked sale price. It must have been something like that - as I said, I don't remember. But I do remember a customer being particularly irate. I don't remember what he said, or why he was displeased, but he said something that left me humiliated and in tears as he stalked away with his purchase. I was so overwhelmed with shame that I wanted the floor to swallow me. I turned nervously to the next customer, who put his purchases on the counter, looked at me, and said, "Don't mind him. It's too bad his underwear is on too tight." I remember giving a rather hysterical laugh, and finished ringing him up.
I don't remember saying thank you. I don't remember anything else about that day. But I remember the overwhelming sense of gratitude I felt for his sympathy and kindness. It made me able to face the rest of the line, and the rest of the shift.
When I was pregnant with my first child, it was discovered at about 20 weeks that I was dilating early, and the OB/GYN needed to perform a cerclage in hopes that I wouldn't lose the pregnancy. I was a resident physician myself at the time, and of "advanced maternal age" as well. I had the procedure done at the hospital where I worked, so I knew or recognized many of the employees in the pre-op from my surgical rotations. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink for 8 hours prior to the surgery (fairly standard) which of course made me dehydrated and difficult to get an intravenous line in. I've been told by various lab persons that I'm a "hard stick" anyway, so that didn't help. The certified nurse anesthetist (CRNA) poked me 5 or 6 different times (and those of you who know me know that I HATE needles) and finally got an IV started in the back of my hand. If you've never had an IV in your hand, let me tell you, it is singularly unpleasant, at the very least. But I didn't wish to complain, for fear of another stick.
I don't know if the CRNA was at the end of her shift, or if she had a poor bedside manner, or if she was just a grouchy person, but as she eyed my IV, she wasn't happy with it, and was grumbling to herself and to me, giving off waves of irritation. Here I was, 20 weeks pregnant, a patient in my own hospital, fearful that I was going to lose my child, dehydrated, thirsty as heck, and realllllly not wanting to be poked yet again, yet feeling guilty that my veins were giving her such a hard time. Then, around the curtain came my favorite anesthesiologist, Dr. Chung. We had had several nice chats in the surgeon's lounge when I was on my surgery rotation, and I just liked him. When the CRNA complained loudly that my IV was not flowing despite all her attempts, he looked at it closely and said, "No, it's working just fine. See? If I hold it like this, there's no problem." She did the verbal equivalent of throwing up her hands, and retreated. He smiled at me, and said again, still holding the IV, "No problem."
I was awake for the surgery, for which I had a spinal anesthesia. It took about 30 minutes from start to finish. The whole time, Dr. Chung held my hand, putting my IV in a position where it flowed. I was in the hospital for a few more days, and had to deal with other things (magnesium sulfate, being put on the bedpan every hour by a different nurse - gee, why not have the whole shift come one at a time and look at my butt? - and my IV finally going subcutaneous and having MgSO4 infiltrate my tissues, ouch), but the gentle kindness of Dr. Chung, and the image of him protecting me from another poke and the irritation of the CRNA, and making it not a big deal to hold my IV open... I will never forget it.
So perhaps kindness isn't "free," in the truest sense of the word. No matter; I know it is worth "spending" on.
Be kind; it won't kill you, and it may save someone someday.
Peace
wb
But I just read a blog that was linked to by a friend from high school, and I was inspired. The blog happened to be a saga about the writer's dental issues. I found it well-written and entertaining, but the part that hit me was when the writer commented that a complete stranger "folded up his phone and held the door open for me." That act of kindness, probably very small to the person who offered it, but obviously a world-changer (however momentary) for the writer of the blog, really stuck with me.
A digital sign near where I work flashed its advertising one morning, along with the message "KINDNESS IS FREE." I thought about that. In a sense, that's true, because being kind - smiling at someone, holding open a door for the lady with the double stroller, waving the person through at the stop sign, allowing someone to merge - those things don't cost anything, at least monetarily. But kindness does have a price. It may cost me my "rights" as I wave another driver through when I had the right of way. It may cost me biting my tongue when it would be callous (or at worst, cruel) to point out something that doesn't really matter in the long run. It may cost me time to drop of the lunch that my daughter forgot to take to school.
Yet the cost for me, whether in swallowing my pride, or in "lost time," or in inconvenience, may be nothing in comparison to what it means to the person to whom I'm being kind. I may never know the impact I have by delivering an encouraging word, an empowering statement, buying lunch, going out of my way to help someone, but it's still very much worth doing. I know that I remember certain acts of kindness in my life. They stand out with searing brilliance, and when I think of them, I recapture the original feeling I had of overwhelming gratitude.
My first job in high school was cashiering at the CVS in the mall. I was seventeen. This was long before price scanners, credit card readers, and debit cards. People mostly paid cash. Checks and credit cards had to be looked up in a little flimsy paper book to verify they were not poor credit risks. Everything was rung up by hand, and although the register calculated the change for me, I handled all the money myself - no automatic change return. All this sounds silly to delineate for people who grew up with them - like describing a record player or a manual typewriter - but for those who grew up carrying thousands of mp3s and movies around on their phones which are more powerful than the first full-scale computers, it bears repeating.
I was a good cashier. A great one, in fact, although as an introvert I much preferred to be in the back "facing" the store (neatening the shelves) and doing inventory to being up front at the registers. The CVS was the only place in the mall to buy snacks, newspapers, and candy (for smuggling into the movies). I had 11 even drawers in a row one month, and one drawer that was 50 cents over. That meant that the totals of what was sold, money taken in and change given, were perfect for those 11 shifts. Those of you who have ever worked such a job know that there are fluxes in how busy it is, and sometimes we had lines reaching almost all the way to the back of the store. (Our cash registers were on either side of the entrance, perpendicular to the front doors.)
When it was busy like that, I strove to keep people happy, and sometimes I got flustered with the overwhelming set of tasks it took to get everyone out the door in a timely fashion. Sometimes something would be on sale that hadn't been priced, and the customer would correct me, or complain, and I would fix it the best I could. I don't remember particularly what happened this time, but one day when there was an enormous line, I rang up something incorrectly, or there was an unmarked sale price. It must have been something like that - as I said, I don't remember. But I do remember a customer being particularly irate. I don't remember what he said, or why he was displeased, but he said something that left me humiliated and in tears as he stalked away with his purchase. I was so overwhelmed with shame that I wanted the floor to swallow me. I turned nervously to the next customer, who put his purchases on the counter, looked at me, and said, "Don't mind him. It's too bad his underwear is on too tight." I remember giving a rather hysterical laugh, and finished ringing him up.
I don't remember saying thank you. I don't remember anything else about that day. But I remember the overwhelming sense of gratitude I felt for his sympathy and kindness. It made me able to face the rest of the line, and the rest of the shift.
When I was pregnant with my first child, it was discovered at about 20 weeks that I was dilating early, and the OB/GYN needed to perform a cerclage in hopes that I wouldn't lose the pregnancy. I was a resident physician myself at the time, and of "advanced maternal age" as well. I had the procedure done at the hospital where I worked, so I knew or recognized many of the employees in the pre-op from my surgical rotations. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink for 8 hours prior to the surgery (fairly standard) which of course made me dehydrated and difficult to get an intravenous line in. I've been told by various lab persons that I'm a "hard stick" anyway, so that didn't help. The certified nurse anesthetist (CRNA) poked me 5 or 6 different times (and those of you who know me know that I HATE needles) and finally got an IV started in the back of my hand. If you've never had an IV in your hand, let me tell you, it is singularly unpleasant, at the very least. But I didn't wish to complain, for fear of another stick.
I don't know if the CRNA was at the end of her shift, or if she had a poor bedside manner, or if she was just a grouchy person, but as she eyed my IV, she wasn't happy with it, and was grumbling to herself and to me, giving off waves of irritation. Here I was, 20 weeks pregnant, a patient in my own hospital, fearful that I was going to lose my child, dehydrated, thirsty as heck, and realllllly not wanting to be poked yet again, yet feeling guilty that my veins were giving her such a hard time. Then, around the curtain came my favorite anesthesiologist, Dr. Chung. We had had several nice chats in the surgeon's lounge when I was on my surgery rotation, and I just liked him. When the CRNA complained loudly that my IV was not flowing despite all her attempts, he looked at it closely and said, "No, it's working just fine. See? If I hold it like this, there's no problem." She did the verbal equivalent of throwing up her hands, and retreated. He smiled at me, and said again, still holding the IV, "No problem."
I was awake for the surgery, for which I had a spinal anesthesia. It took about 30 minutes from start to finish. The whole time, Dr. Chung held my hand, putting my IV in a position where it flowed. I was in the hospital for a few more days, and had to deal with other things (magnesium sulfate, being put on the bedpan every hour by a different nurse - gee, why not have the whole shift come one at a time and look at my butt? - and my IV finally going subcutaneous and having MgSO4 infiltrate my tissues, ouch), but the gentle kindness of Dr. Chung, and the image of him protecting me from another poke and the irritation of the CRNA, and making it not a big deal to hold my IV open... I will never forget it.
So perhaps kindness isn't "free," in the truest sense of the word. No matter; I know it is worth "spending" on.
Be kind; it won't kill you, and it may save someone someday.
Peace
wb
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