Do Miracles Happen?

Recently, I had the privilege to witness joy at the passing of a patient. I got the call as I was on my way to dinner. I turned around and went to the address my triage nurse had given me. Let me preface by saying that I was not supposed to go to this house, it was my colleague's territory and she wasn't answering her phone. It turned out that she was home in bed and someone else was supposed to be covering her calls. That nurse didn't answer the phone either, so I went to do my duty in a place I wasn't supposed to be.

When I pulled up to the address, there was such joy and celebration going on in this home that it seemed more like a party atmosphere than the home where a death had just occurred. I thought this couldn't possibly be the right house. It was. It turns out that this patient was so labored in an effort to breathe that the family joined hands around the patient's bed and sang a traditional Catholic hymn. As they completed their singing, their loved one passed. The family was convinced that this soul had gone to heaven. Their celebration of joy was truly an affirmation of their faith.

With the anniversary of my own mother's passing, my heart and mind were heavy. Walking into this home made me feel that indeed, something special had happened here. Just like it had when my mother passed.

I know I've mentioned this story before, but at the anniversary of my mom's death, it bears repeating. My dad passed away in a local, small community hospital that has about 100 beds. Four years later, my mom passed away in the same hospital, in the same room and in the same bed. No person on earth can convince me that this was a coincidence. I know it wasn't. My Dad came that night to claim her back. The idea still brings me an overwhelming sense of peace. I miss both of my parents very much, but it's experiences like the ones I get to witness routinely as a hospice nurse, that convince me I'll see all of my loved ones again.

When all was said and done the other night and I'd pronounced my patient's death, I went home and pondered why it was me that this particular responsibility fell to. Was it a coincidence that nobody else answered their phones? I don't think so. And besides, I've never really cottoned to coincidence, I am of the belief that for every thing that happens, there is an explanation. Something greater was at work and recognizing my grief, had brought me solace at this, the anniversary of my mother's passing: I got to bear witness to another family's miracle and faith. Today, I give thanks for that.

I'm curious, have you experienced your own little miracles or signs? Do they bring you peace, or do you find these things unsettling?

Henri

Our mom, Henrietta, early 1940s

I've been thinking a lot about our Mom, Henrietta. September 7th marks two years since we lost her, but it's not just this anniversary of her death that causes me to reflect on her life. Recently, I had the privilege to attend a meeting in Brussels, Belgium, the land of our grandparents, Irma and Leon.

Brussels, Belgium, August, 2008

Brussels is a charming city of about 1 million people. Today it is the capitol of the European Union. You hear many languages spoken on the streets. I wandered many of the streets, visited the Grand Palace, built by the guilds in the late 17th century - the Renaissance and some magnificent cathedrals. Sidewalk cafes are everywhere serving a local favorite of mussels, fries and of course, Belgian beer. The shops are filled with Belgian lace and tapestry as well as Belgian waffles and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. I took every opportunity to sit outdoors and enjoy the sights, the people and the mussels. I thought much about our mother and grandparents.

Irma and Leon relive their immigration

Irma and Leon immigrated to the United States following World War I. Our mother was born in her house in Detroit in 1926. Her brothers served the US in World War II. Flemish was the native tongue of Irma and Leon. Henrietta understood Flemish - but didn't speak it. Irma would frequently speak to Henrietta in Flemish which would upset Dad; Irma did speak English.

Brussels August, 2008

Catholicism was a major influence in their life. The main cathedral here is spectacular. I must admit, my meager knowledge of world history fails me here. This area was predominantly Flemish but I'm not sure what impact the Reformation had on this region. Food is hearty here just as it was in my grandmother's house. The locals say it is as good as the French but has the portions of the Germans. There were lots of stews in Irma's kitchen. Raisin bread was her specialty (kuka stuten); it was served at every holiday and at many other times of the year. I can still think about how good it tasted smothered with butter.

Augie, Henrietta and Rene- Mom and her brothers

Beer of course, was always present in their home. The Belgians know how to make beer. And now they own Anheuser-Busch (really????). They are cafe people who like to sit and talk while drinking beer or coffee. I have fond memories of our grandfather Leon sitting in his backyard, drinking beer and whistling for his birds to come home to roost. (He raced pigeons).

Irma and Leon-probably mid 1930s (Leon brewed "rootbeer" in the basement of their Detroit home during prohibition.)

I'm sure we kids all remember the brass ashtray of Mannekin Pis, Flemish for little man pee, that we had in our house. (Does anybody have that?) Mannekin Pis is a fountain in Brussels of a little boy peeing. This is probably the number one tourist attraction. It is a bit off the beaten path along the narrow streets. The story we were told growing up was that a merchant's son was missing, and a search party set out to find him. They did find him peeing in somebody's garden. The merchant was so grateful he decided to erect a statue. There are other stories dating from the 14-17 century. One is that the city was under seige and that the young boy peed on the fuse of a bomb and still another that he peed on soldiers entering the city (from a tree). I personally prefer the first story. People from this region don't take themselves too seriously. They enjoy a good time.

Mareseatoats and Mannekin Pis, August, 2008

Henrietta did enjoy a good time. I am sorry she didn't travel here to see the land of her heritage. I think she would have liked it.

Henrietta loved a photo op!

I hope you enjoy the pictures - I'm definitely going back to this region. It is rich in culture and without pretentiousness.

Today's post was brought to you by my sister Mareseatoats. Thank you Mares, I'm sending big hugs to you today.

Adventures in Knitting

My camera is not at home.  Today, it's been borrowed again to go to some dumb football game in South Bend, Indiana.  There was much talk about "Fighting Irish" and "game of my lifetime."  I don't really get this, I mean there are perfectly good football games right here in Michigan.  There was one just last night at the high school right across the street from our house (the band sounded a bit better at 8PM than they sounded at 8 AM for the past month.)  Being that I'm not a complete hardass in the electronics war- I relented and my camera went on vacation.  It left the house a few hours ago.  I hope my camera has a good time.  Too bad for you, I didn't download my pictures so you'll have to use your imagination here for my adventures in knitting.

Moving right along in the greater scheme of a knitter's life, I've completed Flow.  It's beautiful and ever so slightly out of season. That's OK though, it'll be great resort wear in February. The drape of this yarn, a linen blend, is very flattering.  I'm so happy I decided to make it a bit longer so that it falls to my hips.  I can't imagine it shorter as the pattern called for.  If you make Flow, add about an inch and a half before beginning your decreases-unless you're a twig and don't mind a peak a boo belly.

I'm working on my Clapotis now-today is the day I'll finally get to drop some of those stitches.  The yarn is beautifully soft and the pattern so far, is fun.  For the life of me, I don't know why they no longer make this yarn.  I can think of plenty of projects I could make from this.  It must not have been a big seller.  If you've never tried Sisik, you should.  If you're determined, once in a while, you can find it for sale on ebay.  I'm pretty sure what you'll get is either from a yarn store trying to unload it or from a knitter trying to destash.  I still have enough in my own stash to make a sweater after I'm done with this.  I've just the project in mind-a top down turtle neck from Pure and Simple.

I've started to swatch for the sweater election winner, Textured Tunic.  Size 8 needles were a no go-too many stitches to the inch.  So were the size 9 needles.  I've settled on Addi Turbos US size 10.  At least, prior to washing my swatch, that's the needle size that is giving me the gauge closest to 13 stitches to 4 inches that looks nice with my yarn.  I'll have to use a bit of math to make the rest of it work.  I might try to swatch with a 10.5 needle.  Size 11 was spot on but didn't look very nice, kind of sloppy.  I don't know if anyone else here swatches for a sweater, but I've learned the very hard way that it can be a complete waste of time and money if you don't.  Do you swatch?  Do you bind off your swatch and wash and dry prior to your final measurement?  I'd have nightmares about the outcome if I didn't swatch. 

My trick to the swatch is to start with the needle size recommended on the yarn ball band and knit a couple of inches in, usually, stockinette.  I then purl a row to separate one measurement from another and go up or down a size in needles (too many stitches to the inch, go up a size- too few, go down.)  Knit a couple of more inches and repeat until I think I've struck gauge paydirt.  Then, I do a bit of the pattern stitch to see how that will look.  In my swatch, I started with US size 8 and went on to 9, 10 and 11.  The pattern has that bust detail area that is box stitch, so I tried that.  I may go down a needle size when I do this area on the sweater, I think it's too loose looking.  I dunno.  I'll think on it.

The yarn my daughter has selected for her Textured Tunic is Debbie Bliss Donegal Luxury Tweed, a blend of 85% wool and 15% angora.  The color (360011) is  variegated and the most similar to the wool used in the original pattern.  It's green.  The yarn store told me it's superwash wool which means you can wash it in the machine without ill effect.  I don't know about you, but I think this is a bad way to treat wool.  First, I don't dry clean.  You wouldn't dry clean a sheep, would you?  You wouldn't machine wash one either.  I think it's best to hand wash my knits then block them back into shape.  I know it's a pain in the  ass, but yarn isn't exactly cheap.  Neither is my time and it takes a bit of this to knit a sweater.  I think spending a little time on care of woolen items leads to less heartache all the way around.  They'll smell better without dry cleaners gunk on them too.

Tomorrow, I'll be taking a bit of a break.  My sister has written a lovely tribute to our mother and she'll be guest posting.  Thanks Mares.

Nonsense

The Jabberwocky
Lewis Carroll


'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

From The Daily Show:

IDRN UDLPN

I finally did it last night. I said the words, "are you an RN? Can I speak to The RN please?" The subtext is of course, you are a lowly LPN and unworthy of me even speaking to you. The reality is when one of my patients expires, it must be a RN who pronounces the death.

So I'm very sorry Nurse LPN, I know how it feels, but it had to be done. I'm quite certain you know what death looks like and are quite capable of listening to absent heart sounds for the required time. I'm also certain that when pressed, you know how to report a death to the medical examiner. I know why you were so passively aggressive toward me as I've been in your shoes.

One hundred and two years ago, when I first went to nursing school, I was looking ahead to my divorce and desperately needed a quick nursing program. Since I was going to be a single mother with bills to pay, I needed something that would get me a job somewhere rather fast. I chose a vocational program to be a Licensed Practical Nurse as my path of least resistance. It wasn't a bad little program and I learned a lot. Mostly, I learned that LPNs aren't highly respected-even when they're smart or have a boatload of experience. Many RNs and all administrators look down on them. I also learned there aren't too many jobs for the LPN. I had my choice of nursing homes to practice my trade, but that's about it.

My first job was at a horrendous little nursing home where the afternoon shift nurse (a RN), would prep the medications for the nightshift nurse. That's right. She'd take the pills for each patient out of their little identifying containers and place them in cups. The cups would go into a little well with the room number as the only identifier of the mysterious pills. This was to save the ONLY night shift nurse (me), some valuable time. Otherwise, I'd never get to go home and sleep. The most important things about a med pass, known as the five rights, are carved in stone AND written in Florence Nightengale's blood: right patient, right medication, right dose, right time and right route (and I didn't have to google the five rights to check these facts-neither did any nurses reading this.) Can you see the hamster in my brain having a massive seizure at this med set up? I remember asking the seasoned RN how I'd know which medication was which. She told me she didn't make mistakes. Okie dokie then. I quit after my one and only shift. I could not and would not work like this.

A bit later, I took a job at another nursing home. We had sixty patients on my unit, one RN, one LPN and one or two nurse assistants. The RN, a woman from India, seemed nice enough when I first met her. I thought, mistakenly, that she was joking when she told me, "IDRN, I Sit. UDLPN, udodmeds." What? For sixty people? Was she out of her mind? Apparently, she was. True to her word, she sat on her ass all night while I passed every single medication at midnight and then again, at 6 AM. Oh, she had lots of good tips about how to get this done quickly, none of them included her jumping in to help. I never finished my med pass before the end of my shift. Never.

Not once in one hundred and two years, have I forgotten DRN. I've not forgotten the way she made me feel either: small. Last night, not wanting to leave the confines of my home to go pronounce a facility death, I let the dreaded "RUDRN" leave my lips in a rather haughty way. I regret it. From DRN to DLPN, please accept my heartfelt apology.

Random Thoughts

True Confession: If there is a hurricane or other natural disaster, I will be glued to the television watching the news or weather channel. I'll make many trips to wunderground to play with the hurricane models-worrying all the time if my relatives are out of harm's way. I will call and nag my loved ones because I'm afraid for them-I become obsessed. I can't help myself, just like the weather forecasters and news people can't either. Why do they always stand outside in the storms, fighting to stay upright in the face of the ferocious wind?

These storms are a magnificent thing to behold and I always worry about the people in their path. The weather people never fail to make me scratch my head in wonder. Do they get paid THAT much to listen to their producers? This morning, a bedraggled, rain soaked and wind whipped Ann Curry was standing in the storm for the Today Show. Why? Shouldn't she be in St. Paul? I'm sure she completely ruined her high heels. Don't they know how deadly these storms can be? Why, when there are mandatory evacuations, are newsmen and women allowed to stay? When did such powerful storms become entertainment? That's how it feels to me. And like a good little sheep, I follow it all.

Speaking of St. Paul, Minnesota, the Republicans are just beginning their convention.  I'll be watching very little of this convention and recording none of it. I plan to catch the highlights on The Daily Show. If not for The Alarming Female, I don't think I would have caught this billboard.  I can't help but wonder what arriving republicans think of this greeting.

Thanks Daily Show.  I needed a good chuckle today.

This Day in History

This day in 1981 began with me going into labor with my first child. I suspect, as with any expectant mom, it's hard to recall anything else that may have occurred during the time of pregnancy. It's possibly the most self absorbed period of time of any mother's life. When pressed though, I can recall a few things of import from the year of her birth.

J.R.R. Tolkien

I had a big fat tomcat named Tom Bombadil. Years before my daughter was born, I'd fallen hard for the written words of J.R.R. Tolkien. So hard, I named my cat for one of my favorite characters. Bombadil, with a name like that, was a cool cat. To this day, I will read and reread any Tolkien book.


I was reading the bestseller, The Bourne Identity, that had just been released. Hard cover books were very dear in price but somehow, I managed to buy this one. I was about half way through this very wordy book when I went into labor. It was another year before I finished it; someone else kept me occupied and entertained that year.


Prince Charles married Diana Spencer about a month before the birth of my very own princess. It was very romantic. I remember being glued to the television to watch it happening live. The only other wedding that year that could compare, was Luke and Laura's wedding on General Hospital. Laura looked like a princess too. I know deep in my heart, I loved Luke as much as Laura did.


I had a few nighttime shows I liked to watch. I was enthralled with the characters on Dynasty. I thought Krystle was a little too whiny and much preferred the dastardly deeds of Alexis. Alexis also had the best clothes. All of them had big shoulder pads and bigger hair. Dallas was a close second for my favorite TV shows that year and I never missed an episode of MASH. I think I still love Hawkeye Pierce but I didn't care too much for Blake.


I was not so secretly in love with Harrison Ford. After the release of Raiders of the Lost Ark in June of 1981, the deal was sealed. I continue a seemingly life long infatuation where this man is concerned. I know for a fact, a lot of women felt the same way about this man as I do did. And, I'm not so sure that Callista what's her name deserves this man.

I also loved this song:



So much so, I used that name when choosing what best fit the beauty lying in my arms.

Even though the labor pains are a very foggy memory, I should give myself a bit more credit for what I really recall from 27 years ago. What I remember most is the stupendous joy and my first real experience of unconditional love. I was astonished by the way she made me feel. Thank you for being the best daughter a mom could ask for Sebba. Happy birthday.