An inspiration: RIP Joe Garagiola

In another life, I graduated from college, and this baseball player/broadcaster/general good guy came and spoke at our university at commencement.

It was a time when unemployment for new college graduates was high. How high? High enough that employers were picky and paid you a pittance unless your degree was in demand.

I remember things from that day that don't seem important: goofing off, taking a picture with my favorite professor, watching pigeons fly into the arena (unplanned!), hanging out with my husband and my best friend. My dad couldn't make it to the graduation--he attended one of the other graduation events earlier that week--because he nearly died the month before.

To me, graduation was a victory, even though the reward--a full-time job in my specialty--was still more than a year away, after five years of undergrad work.

When Joe spoke, he told stories, of his life, baseball and left us with many words of wisdom. The ones I'll never forget were these:

"Don't take a 'no' from someone who can give you a 'yes'."

As I finally got a job, and made a career, I learned that maxim, and many other things he mentioned, were absolutely correct.

I never saw Joe in person after that day, but many years later, I got to thank him when I called into a radio show. I had been driving down the road, heard it, and called the question line.

He was kind, appreciative, and thanked me for paying attention. The radio host, too, was surprised. However, for a guy like him, it was just taking care of the folks coming up. Because that's what you do. You share the gifts you are given. Joe did that wherever he went.

And you never forget where you came from, where you were just a regular kid down the block.

RIP Joe. Godspeed and say hello to the rest of the folks you and I know for me.

An obituary for Yogi

There is much sadness these days for all the baseball fans here in RehabLand. While we are far away from New York City, many mourn one the passing of the last great characters in baseball, Lawrence Peter "Yogi" Berra, the pride of the Yankees.

Here in the wilds of the middle of America, it ain't proper to like anything coastal. "Them people are strange" is a comment that is not uncommon. In the villages, towns and small cities, baseball is the life of summer. People come out, see neighbors, and have a good time.

Yogi, however, was someone people could identify with in RehabLand. He was a son of immigrants who grew up in St. Louis, MO and never forgot where he came from. He was tough and never let people's impression of him become his destiny. Beneath that smiling, crinkly face was a sharp guy with an eye for baseball, and how to navigate it successfully.

In later years, Ron Guidry wrote a book about going to spring training with him. I highly recommend it. It's a fun book to read.

It really wasn't over, 'til it was over, and what a life it was. Thank you Yogi for giving us a lot of smiles and excitement watching our national past time. You will be missed.

Vacation

All I ever wanted. Free and escaped from the Hotel for more than seven days. That alone is enjoyment!

To start off this week of merriment, Bubba and I hopped in the Family Truckster (not an actual truck, we call it the big fat Silver Bullet) for a whirlwind trip to Memphis. Thanks to the fine Friendly Neighborhood Tire Store, the Truckster was cleared for takeoff, tires rotated and balanced and away we went.

Dahey got some important correspondence (aka the check the boss said was in the mail since the fourth of July) late Friday, so we left at 0800, since we had to visit our friends at the local bank. After that business was transacted, with our special mix of candy in hand (Swedish fish, saltwater taffy and Jolly Ranchers included), we took our time driving down the highway.

Some people used to count Slug Bugs when I was a kid, but not anymore. Bubba decided to bring the iPad along when he got tired of counting dead armadillos (still not too common in RehabLand) and use up all of my high speed data for the month (luckily, that message didn't come until we were nearly home). Sadly, we noticed 10 armadillos who died on their way to meet Elvis.

Our trip was uneventful and we made decent time, so we decided to head straight for the night's lodging. I decided to try something different, as the captain and chief hotel steward: we went for glamour and fun. As a result, since Bubba wanted to go to see Memphis's favorite pandas, Ya Ya and Le Le, we figured we'd better see some other famous critters while we are there. The Zoo has packages where you can stay at the famous Peabody Hotel downtown and see the ducks, in addition to tickets to see their zoo.

We took them up on it, and had a blast. Bubba was roaming around in the terry cloth robe looking like a Rockefeller wannabe. Thankfully, he didn't drink any of the expensive water in the room ($7) or take the rubber duck toy package home (a mere $9.95 plus tax). He wanted to keep the robe, but at $50, he didn't want to part with his allowance he had saved.  He was happy he had internet and the Travel Channel so he could watch Ghost Adventures.

However, we did leave the room. We are baseball fans, so who doesn't want to go out into a heat index of 106 and see Santa Claus? We did since it was Christmas in July at the ballpark. The players had an ugly sweater uniform (thankfully not wool), they played Christmas songs, and Kris Kringle himself was available for photos. Bubba looked funny and Santa had a good time holding his BBQ nachos (a park specialty). For a moment, I thought Santa might eat them.

The other bonus to the hotel proximity: no driving to and from the ballpark. This was especially appreciated, since I chose to indulge in a couple of cold frosties while I was there. Also, since it was so beastly hot, I made sure to have some iced water at the top of each inning. Bubba ate a huge snow cone, so that helped him, and neither of us got dehydrated. Thankfully, the home team won, and after the game was over, we had fireworks. It was a fun time, even though Bubba missed Dahey a lot.

On Sunday, we finally got to make one of  Bubba's longtime dreams come true: he got to meet a panda. It wasn't like we expected (only one of two showed up in view), but he was happy he got his selfie with Ya Ya while she was behind the glass. Ya Ya must have had one heck of a Saturday night, because she slept right through our visit. As the keepers who do some education outside the exhibit mentioned, pandas like to eat, sleep and poop.  We got a great view of the sleeping part. Maybe next time we'll see the rest.

Bubba was happy to hit the road, but he was hungry and nothing looked good at the zoo. Never fear, our kid loves barbecue and the sides that go with it. He has yet to find a place that doesn't have mac and cheese as a side, so we ordered that as a side for the trip. We got a slab of ribs plate for two to take home for our dinner. They were excellent!

All in all, we had a fun time on the road. Just wish Dahey could have been along for the ride. He was busy this weekend keeping an eye on a coworker wandering over the border in Tijuana.

Stay tuned. Vacation continues...

In an instant

A police officer puts a person resisting arrest in a choke hold. He ignores the pleas that the person can't breathe. The person dies.

A guy driving through a protest march hits a pedestrian. He's arrested for assault.

Another guy goes to work. Someone asks him to come out to the parking lot. It's his son. He proceeds to club his father to death with a baseball bat in the middle of the day in the parking lot.

It doesn't take long for a life to disappear. Robbing someone of one breath, one moment, one defensive move can have consequences that last forever.

Life happens in an instant. Be aware. Some things you can't get back after that instant is gone.

Your sense of smell

Some things just stink. Your favorite team doesn't win a football, baseball or soccer game.

However these recent news stories had me wondering where the bad odors could be coming from.

Think the litter box needs emptying? Maybe it's just your laptop according to Dell. (courtesy of the BBC)

Can the smell of the famous "rooster sauce" (aka sriracha) cause headaches? Some people think so. (from the LA Times).

And you thought things were rough listening to Grandma's Lawrence Welk. Those darned Somali pirates can't handle this woman's music. (from www.military.com --thanks to my astute active duty brother-in-law).

Enjoy! More to come...

Baseball on the brain

Yes, it's not a nursing topic, but in these parts of RehabLand, you know when people have had enough of winter, because they start talking about spring training. It's on television, it's in the newspaper, it's the stuff of discussion on the unit amongst the locals. (The non-locals are all about football and basketball right now...)And even more so since two old ball players got their heavenly rewards this week: Stan Musial and Earl Weaver.

A few of our old timers talked about their memories: radio stories, pros buying an enlisted guy a drink on his birthday, harmonicas, confetti, and screaming matches. One old character told us about his friends from the Negro Leagues. This guy actually showed up to tell the story about how he always was the target of fights since he liked throwing pitches "high and tight".

Nothing like thoughts of spring to help ward off this winter chill. More later...

Simply the best

Oh, we're gonna celebrate at the Hotel. The place was hopping on evenings when I called S., who was leading the charge.

Now maybe the baseball fans will be quiet...until spring.

Right down the middle...

It's wild and wooliness at the Hotel with all the patients, since the World Series is right in the middle of America, with the St. Louis Cardinals vs. Texas Rangers. I think all we have left are baseball fans on our census. Not a peep about football.

Oh, we'll never hear the end of it. Where's the rest of the popcorn (since the vending machines don't stock Cracker Jack)?

I love a good diversion...

Crazy

Bubba has been a mess lately. As a diagnosed sports nut, he is getting up early to check ESPN for all the sports scores before school. Baseball, football (college and pro) and hockey...it's all going on right now. Heavens!

Unfortunately, this caused him to misinterpret the news (in his sleep deprived haze) "Mom, my favorite player, Michael Jackson died."

"No, dear. Your favorite player is Michael Jordan, not Jackson."

Go back to bed!

It won't be any better at the Hotel. We have that illness, too--sports overload sweeping the unit.

Ugh...stay tuned.

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.  ~Clarence Budington Kelland

Happy Fathers Day, Dahey. Bubba and I love your quirky voices and baseball coaching.

Dad, I miss you much.

Thud!

Dear Bubba,

When you get a new baseball bat, swing a little too hard and klunk Dad (Dahey) in the head, you know it's time for a little education.

Please dear, do not inflict a TBI on your dad. Mom has enough TBI patients at work to take care of and I'd like to not have one at home.

Love and Kisses,

Mama (aka your personal RehabRN)

Things I'd really like to say

To the hyperspazz out-of-wedlock pregnant idiot I work with:
"Hello, getting psycho just because it's the end of the shift isn't going to help anything when I ask you to do something for your patient. You're not the only one who's busy."

To the two people who called in "sick" today on a beautiful, spring, first day of baseball kind of day:
"You two are jerks. Karma's a bitch. I can't wait for it to bite you in the arse."

To the two ambulance drivers who took my patient to an out-of-network appointment and waited for him when his procedure was delayed:
"Yes, I know I thanked you, but I wish I could give you a bonus. Mikey really did like you guys."

To the legislators who are holding up the passage of the Federal budget:
"I don't care who you are. If you want me to come to work, you'd better pay me. And if I don't get paid, you and every last one of your staff, aides, etc., shouldn't either. You people are losers. F*&ing with nurses (and the ancillary employees we need around to do our jobs)  is not the way to solve problems. I just might mail a bowel program scented letter to you."

Hubby mourns...

The end of one basketball season...on to baseball. For me, it's on to work, and the rest of the week.

Stay tuned!

We let go

"When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things." New American Standard Bible (NASB)

We let go of a few things on the last shift. One of our regulars, who was injured years ago and a world away, coded suddenly as we got report. He had been sent to Washington to be monitored, but was going downhill since he left us.

We liked him. He kind of grew on you. He was quiet and unassuming and loved his baseball games. We never worried about not knowing what was going on with any televised baseball because he'd keep us apprised whenever we asked. I always went by his room to ask the score, and while I was there, unwrap his snack and open his milk.

He was someone who was always grateful. Grateful he could still use his arms. Grateful his family was still around. Grateful for friends, who would bring their children to visit him.

As a wounded veteran, he was a brother in arms to the younger guys who were injured. He'd light up when people asked him to help out by talking to a newly injured patient. He was a great listener and was a pro at making people feel at ease.

Though he was modest and generous, we often laughed and called him "the colostomy salesman". He said it was the best thing he ever did after his injury, because it helped him to live independently for so long. He had one so many years, he could tell stories about how it used to be, and how he liked it now.

Overall, we were sad to hear of his passing, but we delight in the fact that he will not suffer anymore. Happily, we let him go, hopefully, to a place where he is free of all pain and suffering, complete with his own field of dreams.