IT'S RAINING!

Today is a good day, complete with thunder showers and rain. It hasn't rained in a long, long time. We left the front door wide open so that we can hear and see it.

I should be studying, but the storms rolling through do a number on my head. I think it's the pressure changes that storms bring. In a minute, I'll get up and try to shove enough into my brain to pass tomorrow's quiz.

In the meantime, here are some photos I found on my phone:

That is the break room on the MICU. I take these kinds of pictures because it's one of those environments that matters because it's part of my existence, but it doesn't matter enough to really remember. I find that a strange phenomenon.

Likewise this break room used by the wound care team that I worked with last week. They're a more independent group, which I liked. Less regimented and more autonomous. More my style.

I featured this contraption a couple of days ago. It's one of DaVinci's ideas brought to life, an early diving suit. I liked the looks of it and how it would not be completely unexpected if it just turned its head and started talking to you in some alien language.

A series of low moments led to this selfie in front of my Christopher Wool style painting NIL DESPERANDUM (Never despair/Do not despair/Despair not). It's in black and white because I realized that my daily makeup is doing nothing to cover my rosacea. That led to a trip to Ulta today where I bought a couple of slightly heavier foundations in lighter shades to experiment with. I'm suddenly feeling very old and tired and lumpy and lopsided. I don't know if makeup is going to help that, but it's a more readily accessible solution than, say, trying to get enough sleep.

Every week after clinicals, we have to write a reflection paper. In past terms, they've been fairly structured, but this term the instructor who runs the clinical sites at this level is, like, you know, just write about whatever you want to write about. (My actual clinical instructor just gives full credit if you turn it in on time.) This week, this is my opening:

Before the clinical day started on Friday, I was talking with another student in the lobby and she said to me, “I don’t like taking care of alcoholics and drug addicts. I mean, if they can’t take care of themselves, why should I take care of them? I mean, right? Right?”
    She wanted me to agree with her that there are certain patients who are not worthy of our time and attention. (Today it’s drug addicts and alcoholics. Tomorrow it could be an obese patient or one with STDs or uncontrolled diabetes or someone who tried to commit suicide. They made their choices, the argument seems to go, let them suffer the consequences.) I don’t agree, but I don’t say anything either.
    I’ve run into this attitude before. Last term, I worked with a nurse whose callous and cruel treatment of a young Native American woman with alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver shocked me. I don’t think this attitude can be changed by arguing or by bringing up research that suggests a genetic predisposition toward addiction or by pointing out the link between early childhood trauma or sexual abuse and addiction or by talking about the insidious nature of addiction, about how hard it is to break an addiction even when it’s ruining your life or the lives of the people you love. I didn’t say anything then—and I didn’t say anything Friday morning—about growing up with an alcoholic parent and how for years I struggled with the bitterness of that. I didn’t say anything about my younger brother who became addicted to drugs as a teenager and who died of a drug overdose when he was in his early 30’s.
    I didn’t say anything because I don’t agree with her statement, but also, I actually do understand the desire to cling to an attitude of self-righteous superiority when it comes to dealing with alcoholics and drug addicts. It’s self-protective, yes, but also there’s something twisty about addiction that makes compassion seems like weakness and hard-hearted disgust seem like a solution to the problem.

It goes on from there...