Panera Moment

Day 2 of 365

Sitting in Panera, tapping away on my cool keyboard. Its a  blue tooth so it just rolls up. Take it anywhere with a hard surface and have at it.

Used it at the Rose Parade float viewing Scribbled away while listening to loud Indonesian music. Dancers were alright. Not the quality of dancers like the ones in Samara movie, but they were okay.

Yesterday at the Rose walked 4 miles. Lots of nice floats. Lots of people. I suspect it must be packed today. Flowers will not be as fresh, so going yesterday was a good idea. Sorry I missed hanging with family, but I suspect it was for the best.

Table next to me. Listening to lady talk to her mother now. It is a sad conversation. She is shipping her off. She wants to go live on her own. It is a bit sad.  She wants to send her to a convalescent home. It is going to happen whether the mother wants it or not.  

Daughter's body language is guarded. Her left arm is braced next to her side. She talks about meeting new friends, help with her memory, and other BS. It is one thing and maybe its not in my place. I don't know the conversation or her situation.

Maybe she knows her limitations. Maybe the Mom was not a good mom. Maybe. . .Under the table, the mother's legs is crossed. Her body is a good eight inches away from the table. Her arms are held tight. Back is rigid. The tone of the conversation is muted.

Daughter's arms crossed. She is leaning forward, but her gaze is looking up and away to the left. Plates and napkins are barriers. The mothers hands under the table are wringing. She leans back and posture is purely defensive. 

Enough of this intrusion. Their talks have turned to vacations and inheritance. This leakage is quite troublesome. How can you let someone take care of your parents in their declining years. The coldness of the daughter's voice is something I hope Karma will take care of.

Said a little prayer for her. Been trying to do more of this year.  Letting go and letting God.  There is a plan. I am relatively sure of this. Guess it will be revealed. 

These life things happen all around. I have taken to heart to just Flow.  Line is bigger now. Two cashiers up front. A person sitting next to me is listening to some Daughtry. If I had my headphones, I would be listening t something besides this New Age Panera music. Not saying its bad, it is just doesn't fit.

Just got a compliment about the keyboard. A seventy something lady with silver hair from the book club came over and just said, "Cool."

This part of my day is over.

Samsara

Our paths crossed but a few times. However, our lives are intertwined. Brief were our visits, but long and life lasting. A mousy smile. Brown short hair, eyes that smiled with a knowingness. They say in romantic stories, that when I am with you I became a better person. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Didn’t like who I was becoming when I was with you. I fear that being with you I would be behind bars. This is an uncomfortable thing to discover. Looking back, I didn't see the anger and fear. Didn't understand the hostility. Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was just stuff. In the end, I fear my stuff was holding back at seeing the bigger picture. What I should have been learning with our encounters was Karma. What I remember is broken furniture and holes in the walls. There was more and I didn't see it at the time.

If asked if I loved you, the answer would be,“Yes.” Why it didn't work I will leave it to Karma and the Big Smile to reveal at another time. You had a way of touching me--connecting with me--that I will never understand. An attraction was there, but not in this lifetime. I am sorry that it didn’t work out and I am sorry for more things I can never explain or express.

You are in my thoughts and prayers. Little consolation I imagine, but they are sent nonetheless.

In Samsara, the concept of transmigration and reincarnation, it is said we live 8 stages of life. Two from the past. Four for our present. Two for the next one.  In a story, it is said that people that we Love (and Hate) are forever intertwined. We had stuff from another life. Perhaps I was your wife and you my husband, Whatever it was, the stuff from a past had us keep us connecting. This I am sure of. 

Time has passed and I hope that we connect again. Stuff between us is still stuff between us. It is said, in some religious beliefs, they claims that we choose our parents at birth. It is this wish to desire the experience of a body that we are reborn, reincarnated. 

A thought exercise comes to mind. In one word, describe your Dad. In word, describe your Mom. You are the result, the combination of the two. They have life lessons to teach and you are the result of their teachings. Consequently, your life lesson teachers your kin how to answer their own transmigratory lesson plan.

If so, the mother and father I chose, I am thankful and grateful. Given freedom, given protection, given life traits I am still discovering. I would go on about Mom on this Mother’s Day, but everyday our Mother’s should be honored. Taking time one day out of the year to give thanks to all that our mother has given and sacrificed would fall woefully low. It is like asking how many angels can fit on top of a pin? It is like finding that point where the Earth ends and the Heaven begins. It is like telling someone you always loved , but haven’t seen, how much you love them.  I’ve been blessed with a great mother. I’ve been blessed with a special woman.

Robynn, you are a special woman and I pray on this day that our lives will connect again. Next time I am not sure when, but I hope its on happier and better terms. Samsara, Karma, Dharma—I’m sure they will take its course and I hope down road when our paths come together again we may take one that will bring smiles in our lives. 

My Hero was Born on the Fourth of July

Complications. . .
My hero is a junior high girl named Prece. On the Fourth of July thirteen years ago, we were ten minutes away from to Las Vegas. Bright lights filled the dark, desert horizon. I remember hearing the cell phone ring. Got a phone call from my brother and soon-to-be-first-time Dad Kevin. Could only hear bits and pieces, “Aspirated. . . Complications. . .Not good.” Saw my mother’s face and knew  reunion had to be next year. 

Last Time I Saw My Brother Cry. . .
Four hours later, we were on the pediatric floor of AV Hospital. Saw both Kev and Luz’s heads down. Shoulders hunched, their bodies were sobbing from a hundred feet away.  Been years since I seen my baby brother cry. Last time was after he played his last college football game.

Talking to Angels
What I remember next was seeing baby Prece helicoptered away. Wasn’t sure if there was going to be happy ending. Still remember the whole floor crying. Mom, Kev, Luz, Chelle, Gerry, Emma--everybody crying. Remember wiping tears from my eyes. Felt hollow inside. Just watched the helicopter climb into the clouds as I said "Goodbye." Never prayed before.

On that day, I did.

Prayers Answered
For the longest time, I believed being medi-vaced made all the difference. Prece carried all our prayers to God directly. Countless weeks later, attached to a heart-lung machine, encased in a glass incubator, “Precie” got better. Angels watched over her in Heaven and in the Pasadena NICU.

My Silver Surfer Still Flies
Prece still flies still today. She runs, too. Flips, twists, and back handsprings. Kaprece is my Hero because she is alive. When I watch her in gym, I reminded how Prayers are answered. I am reminded there are Angels on Earth. 

And Prece is one of them.

Hospitals: Today's Battlefield, Today's Front Line. Its Where Angels Roam

Every Day, Every Night--The Good Fight Dropped Mom at the hospital again. She goes almost every single day. Every day, life and death. Day in, day out. Taxing to the Body. Taxing to the Soul. Taxing to see so much struggle. A lifetime of healthy living, going to the gym religiously, eating well. Unexpectedly and all of sudden. Person is struck down by a stupid car accident. Or going to the hospital could be the result of a lifetime of bad habits. Smoking 2 packs a day, a diet of fat, greasy food, a regimen of lying on the couch, years in front of the boob tube watching other people live life.

Grew up in a hospital Its a second home. Mom's a nurse. Most of my aunts are LVNs and RNs. Uncle Juhn and Uncle Torney are in database. Uncle Alex works Presybyterian Memorial. Uncle Ruth is Engineering at Kaiser, Panorama. Aunty Dely is in Lab. Aunty Myrna worked in the cafeteria. Aunty Ellen and Aunty Cello are in business services. Uncle Alvin is Respiratory Tech. Cousin Jason and Russel's girl are both in RT school now. Leilani is at USC for Occupational Therapy. Ron Mitchell's in X-ray Tech. (Picture of Ron Mitchell and Rochelle Below) Going to the hospital is like going home. All my family members are there.

As a child, I'd roam around the hospital, running here and there. Road the elevators to the different floors. NICU. Lab. Med Surge. Each time the doors opened it was like changing channels on the TV. Each floor had a different show. ICU/ CCU, slow and somber. People stood around so quiet. NICU--Families crying and smiling. ER--fast and exciting. X-ray has secret doors that hid the cool humming sound. Lab--test tubes and microscopes. Morgue, I see dead people. Ate in the cafeteria since the food was free. Learned how to use the computer in database. The hospital was my second home. Always felt comfortable here.

I Hate Hospitals
That all changed. Rochelle got sick. She had stomach cancer. Hospital was not so fun. Seeing my cousin not getting better. Getting worse. Not so much fun. She was dying and I was . . . crying. Losing a playmate. Seeing her plugged up to the ventilator. Canulas in her nose. Tubes in her wrist. IV bag drip. Hearing the respirator breathe for her. Watching the heart rate monitor flash numbers. Systolic, 100. Diastolic, 60. Respiration, 50. Its like watching the stock market. The Flash of P Wave. QRS Wave. T Wave scroll across the screen. Those are the squiggly lines telling us that her heart's still beating. We're waiting for some sign, something miraculous. Hoping, she would magically be better. Rochelle would pop out of the bed to come play with us. C'mon, Rochelle, lets play. Lets go run around the halls. Go to the cafeteria and get our favorite green jello Aunty Myrna made. Take the elevator rides.

Her funeral has come and gone. But we're in the hospital again. Tatay is sick. Years of smoking caught up. Cancer, again. Lung this time. Here we go again. More tubes. More drugs. More time at the stupid hospital. Tatay passed, too. He's buried next to Rochelle. I hate the hospital. Never want to go back.

Got a call. Back to the hospital. Mike, my half-brother. A brother I did not know until a few months ago. The stranger stopped by a few months back. I was angry. I was jealous. I was stupid. Did not know that Dad had another family before us. A truck, 16-wheeler made a wide left. Apparently, the driver did not see Mike while making the turn. Dirt got in his brain. Looking down the Hospital hall. Dad, he's sitting down. Face buried in his hands. His body convulses. My father's sobs echo down the hallway. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Why?" That's all I hear. Another funeral. Another burial. Cemetary, again. More people dressed in black crying. Losing another loved one. Fucking Hospital. I hate this place.

God, Stop. Hospital Bad. I get the point.

Wait, there's more, God answers back. Pushed off a slide. Broke my arm. Damn, hospital. Knelled on glass table. Stitches for my knee. Can't go swimming. Hospital. Got to get shots, hospital. Cousin Edwards on the third floor, appendix removed. Hospital. Dislocated elbow. Patient in next bed keeps talking about yellow spots everywhere. A mere hospital curtain between us. I hear the clanking of the police hand cuffs. Drug overdose. Every one sick and hurt are at the hospital. I don't want to go. So much pain. So much misery. So much. Too much for me. I hate hospitals.

I need a party. Hospital party, well, I guess so. All family friends and co-workers are from the hospital. Their kids I can play with. That's not so bad. Played volleyball. Game winning spike. Gift shop is okay. Doctors and nurses are alright, I guess. Security guards say Hi. Ambulances with the blaring sirens and flashing lights are cool. Hospital green jello is my favorite. I still don't love the hospitals like I used to.

Code. . .Huh?
Time passes. Took mom to the hospital, Again. LCH. Lancaster Community Hospital. 6 in the morning. Pick her up at 7:30 at night. Used to drop her off at 7 at night, then pick her up 7 in the morning. No more graveyard shifts. She's got to watch her Dancing with the Stars. 8 pm it starts. She walks in. Automatic doors open. Says "Bye" to the nurses leaving. Stethoscope around her neck and lunch bag in hand. She walks into the battlefield. She goes into the struggle where life and death happen every single day. As the door open, over the speaker. "Code: Blue. Code: Blue. Code: Blue." It means, everyone get ready.

Code Blue: Heart attack patient coming in. Code Red: Fire. Code Green: Combative person using physical force. Code Brown. defecating person. Code Amber: Child Abduction. Code Pink: Infant Abduction. (Sometimes, its nurse being harassed by doctor. Keep this on the down low, not a very pleasant occurrence) Code Grey: Combative person no weapon. Code Orange: Show of force. Code Yellow: Missing patient. Code Rainbow: Riot.

Angels Roam the Hospital
My mom is one of them. She battles every single day. She works in CCU. Her patients are the terminally ill, post op from heart surgery, Swine flu, isolation. 500 lb morbidly obese that need 6 nurses to roll over. Stabbed inmates. Failed suicide attempts. Car accidents in full body casts. Psych patients that did not take their meds.

Mom guards her patients from the Grim Reaper. She also welcomes and introduces them to Death. Ravages and pains of cancer riddles the young and old. Like Rochelle. Like Tatay. Or accident cases. Like Mike. Like Andreas, my neighbor's son. She has a cordial relationship with Death. There is a Hate/ Not-so-much Hate with Death. Its just the way it is. She goes on with her business. Like every female Filipino, its her calling. Nursing. She liked the white uniform. She wears blue scrubs these days.

Mom gives the patients meds. She checks IV bags and life monitors. Gives her reports. Replaces dressing. She reviews student nurses work. She problems solves. For two shifts, nurses were wondering why there was no stool in plastic bag. Patient report read symptom, diarrhea. Last night, mom scolded the male student nurse. She asked why the tube is not in the patient's anus. Its in the other orifice. She sternly asks if he knows the difference. (She's laughing on the inside) They insert the tube in the correct hole. 700 cc. Jackpot. Its a gusher. NICE. Yuck.

Kaiser, I Hope
I've decided. I will work in the hospital, too. Not because I want to wipe, I don't. As a Pharmacy Tech, I hope. You see, the hospital is my second home. I grew up here. Good memories and bad experiences. And everything in the middle. I'd like to see more angels before I go to heaven. Haven't seen too many Angels lately. Seeing Angels makes me believe in a higher source. Anyways, here she comes. Dancing with the Stars starts in 30 minutes. Tom Delay broke his foot. He's out. Leaving for the hospital. Maya is not bad. Kathy Ireland is stiff. Who is going to get eliminated? Yes, I know the the car is too cold. I will roll up the window, mom. Got to get her home. Her show starts in 15 minutes.