BANG BANG, YOU'RE DEAD: AGAIN. This time it's a doctor.

On Monday, January 28, 2013, Dr. Ronald Franklin Gilbert was shot to death in an examining room in his office. The person who shot him stayed in the room until police arrived to arrest him.

     Okay, I’m not going to rant on and on about gun control. All I’m going to say is, when all is said and done, I’m fairly certain the investigators will find out that the murderer is a reclusive nut case. Just my guess, but I’ll betcha I’m right.

     This brings up another point, however. One I’ve wanted to rant about for a long time. And that’s the way people who have gone into healthcare are treated at times. No one goes into healthcare to become rich and famous. Doctors certainly don’t become rich any more. Those days are gone. They spend long hours getting their degrees and the ONLY REASON PEOPLE go into healthcare is because they have a desire to help others and to “give back”. No one goes into healthcare in order to do harm to others.

     We are mortal souls. We are born, we live, we die. It’s basically pretty simple. WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE! I’ve been a nurse for 46 years. I’ve seen a lot. One thing I’ve observed is the idea many in our society seem to have gotten that everything can be fixed. If it can’t be fixed they become angry and blame the medical establishment. Sometimes they become verbally abusive. I’ve heard lots of rants over the years from patients and family members because they are angry that they can’t be cured of a terminal disease. Sometimes the disease is something they’ve brought on themselves by overindulgence and not taking care of themselves. But, it becomes the doctor’s fault. Sometimes they sue. That’s okay with me. But, the outcome this time was much worse. The doctor was murdered in cold blood. Why on earth would anyone do that? How can anyone possibly think a doctor would purposely harm them?

     Of course mistakes are made on occasion, but most of the time what I hear people complain about aren’t mistakes. It’s just nature. People get sick and they don’t always get well. More people get well now than they did in the past. And why is that? It’s science and modern medicine. We’re living longer and healthier. Maybe that’s why some folks abuse their bodies more by overindulging? They think everything can be fixed.

PAIN IS A PAIN: FIBROMYALGIA AND ARTHRITIS

I woke up this morning with a headache, neck pain, and a backache. It’s rainy and cold. Pain is really a pain. I fumbled through the medicine cabinet until I found a bottle of Vicodin left over from hand surgery a couple of years ago and took one. Then I went online and made an appointment for a massage.

     I have all kinds of inflammatory issues. I’ve had them my entire life. I’ve learned to live with it and it’s better now that I’m older, post-menopause, and only working part time. I used to have migraine headaches. I have arthritis. I have fibromyalgia. I had, and still have a bit of ulcerative colitis. I have nasal allergies and sinusitis. Bronchitis. Tendonitis. I really wish someone would figure out how to get rid of inflammation. You can’t live on anti-inflammatory medications. They do too much damage to your liver and kidneys, so I limit how often I take them. The only time I’m pain free is when I take prednisone for something severe. But you can’t live on prednisone, either. It causes way too many problems long term.

     Here’s what I have learned over the years. Rest is extremely important. Eating well is, too. There are foods that cause me pain. Sugar makes my entire body hurt. Refined carbohydrates do, too. I avoid both. Alcohol helps. I certainly don’t want to become an alcoholic, but wine every day cuts down on my pain and I sleep better at night. Exercise helps, but too much exercise hurts. Balance is important. Depression makes the pain worse, and then the pain makes depression worse. It’s a vicious cycle. My happy pill helps. I’ve learned to be kind to myself, which helps.

     Probably the most important thing I’ve learned is to “act as if”. What I mean by that is, act as if I’m fine. Act as if I’m not in pain. Act as if I’m the healthiest person I know. It helps me to believe it and it ultimately helps to lessen the pain. It’s also important to remember that other people are not deeply interested in my misery; they have enough problems of their own. So, I try not to moan, groan or complain, and if it gets bad enough I do what I can to make it better. If it’s still bad and I’m truly miserable, then I hibernate until it’s better. The only reason I’m whining now is to let others out there know they’re not alone in dealing with pain issues.

     Oh, and I just returned from having a 1 and ½ hour relaxation massage. It’s helped tremendously! I feel like myself again. Oh darn, now I have to do laundry. On second thought, I think I’ll work on my next book. That’s way more fun. The laundry can wait for another day.

LA archdiocese to release priest abuse files Documents will not be edited January 13, 2013

I’ve attended church since a little girl. Growing up, I attended an American Baptist Church in Iowa. I was baptized when I was twelve. Full emersion, the way Baptists do it. It was hard to find a church that fit when we moved to California. The Baptist churches we attended were too evangelical. We didn’t get the same feeling as the church in Iowa gave us so eventually my mom stopped taking us. I went with friends to their churches on occasion, but it wasn’t until I started attending the Catholic Church with my husband-to -be that I once again felt at home. I converted to Catholicism soon after we were married, and as most converts do, I became a really good Catholic. I went to Mass, communion, confession, took my children, volunteered in the Catholic School and the church activities, and fully supported the church.

            Imagine my disappointment when I first learned of the sexual abuse by priests within the church. I tried to push it aside and I kept going to church. Then more and more allegations came out. I started reading everything I could about the accusations. I read stories about individuals who were forever changed by abuse. The more I read, the angrier I became. I also learned that it wasn’t just boys who were abused; young girls and older women were as well. I became furious. I stopped going to church. I lost my faith in the Catholic Church. I was heartbroken.

            Then I began writing a novel about priestly sexual abuse as a way of working through it. I invented a character, Mary Margaret Riley, a 15 year old Catholic schoolgirl. Mary Margaret was a composite of all the abuse victims I’d read about. I also invented a priest, Father Antonio Velasquez, also a composite of all the abusive priests I’d read about. I wrote and wrote. I got Mary Margaret through the abuse and onto the other side and I gave her a happy ending. I hoped the real victims of abuse were able to get to the other side as well. Afterwards, I was able to heal and to develop a new relationship with the Catholic Church. On my own terms. I don’t always attend Mass, but I do when I feel like it. I enjoy the rituals, the Gospel readings, and the music. I will never again buy fully into the whole thing. But, I’ve found my own peace with it.

            Recently, the Los Angeles Archdiocese was ordered by a judge in Los Angeles to release the files of the priests accused of abuse to the public. I decided to put a new, professional cover on BLESS US FATHER and had it reformatted for Kindle following a comment someone made on the Amazon review page. I like the way it looks now. I sat down and read it again the other night and it evoked all the same emotions in me that it did while I was writing it. Poor Mary Margaret. What she went through was horrendous. It’s a difficult read, but it teaches a lot. I hope people can benefit from it.

Here is a website that lists all the priests in the US that were accused of sexual abuse. It’s a long list. 

http://bishop-accountability.org/priestdb/PriestDBbylastName-A.html

It’s my hope that we can all learn from these events and prevent them from happening again. I think we were all just too trusting and naïve.

DEAR YOUNG NURSES FROM ALL US BOOMERS

     You don’t know us yet, but someday I’m sure you will. We all end up in a hospital at some point in our lives. Now that I’m an aging nurse, I’m beginning to worry about how I’ll be taken care of when my turn comes. You see, things have changed a lot since I entered nurse’s training 47 years ago. Standards are way different. The focus now is on care planning and outcomes. Things have to look good on paper and in the statistical data. My observation when I’ve gone to visit loved ones in hospitals recently is that for the most part, the nurses aren’t very involved in actual hands on patient care. Sure, you push oral and IV medications, do treatments, but I haven’t seen a lot of one on one patient interaction.

     I’d like to share a personal experience. When I was 48 years old I had major surgery to remove my entire colon and rectum. The surgery took 8 hours. When I woke up the next day I was in a hospital bed with IV’s running into my arms, a needle was in my spine to administer morphine, I had a temporary colostomy bag, two drains coming out of my abdomen, and a catheter draining my bladder. My surgeon had spared me a nasal-gastric tube, but that was about it. I could barely move, with all the pain and tubes running into and out of my body. I’d been perspiring and my skin itched. The sheets were bunched up under me. I was miserable. Then my nurse arrived! Yay!

     The nurse asked if I was ready for my bath and I told her yes. She filled a basin up with warm water and put it on my bedside table along with soap, a wash cloth, and a couple of towels. Then she said, “I’ll help you sit up then you can wash yourself. I’ll come back later and make your bed.”

     What? I couldn’t believe it. Wash myself? It was all I could do to breathe. I didn’t have anyone give me any help until the day the doctor removed the drainage tubes in my abdomen because they hadn’t been draining much. Later, I felt like water was pouring all over my stomach and soaking the bed. It was. Apparently the tubes had been plugged but there was still fluid there that drained out the hole left when the tubes came out. I put my call light on and an older nurse, about my age, answered. She came in and gave me the only good bath I’d had while there. She changed the sheets, rubbed my back, and made me feel like I mattered. We commiserated about the state of nursing today and how much things have changed. I was so grateful to her. I’ll never forget her.

     So, to all you young nurses out there: when the day comes and I’m your patient, please remember these few things that will make me feel so much better.

1.Keep me clean and dry all the time.

2.Please clean my mouth and moisten my lips.

3.Answer the call light when I put it on.

4.Don’t get annoyed because I need to use the restroom. Or worse yet, if I haven’t made it in time and I’ve made a mess.

5.Check the sheets on my bed to make sure they are free from wrinkles and lumps.

6.Help me with my meal tray and don’t just put it on my table out of reach.

7.Treat me like the human being I am, not just a number.

8.Look me in the eye when you talk to me.

9.Ask me about myself, get to know me a little while you work.

10.And most important of all remember, “Someday you’ll be me.”

BOOMERS, DEPRESSION, AND "HAPPY PILLS"

As an adult, I’ve had a number of bouts of depression: a few quite severe. The worst was when I was dealing with a major illness and family issues all at the same time. Though I never would do it, I did have frequent thoughts of driving my car into a freeway underpass at a high rate of speed. Fortunately, my medical doctor recognized my depression, prescribed antidepressants and encouraged me to go for counseling.

     I saw a psychiatrist for a few months and she pronounced me quite sane. She explained that many people have chemical deficiencies in their brain that lead to depression, PARTICULARLY when there are outside forces in play, such as my illness. After a couple of years on the medications I decided I wanted off them but I was afraid I’d become depressed again. The psychiatrist reinforced that from now on I would be more aware of the signs and wouldn’t let my depression get so out of control before I sought help.

     She was right. I was fine off the medication for ten years, then my father died. I was having a difficult time at work as well, and I became depressed again. I found myself bursting into tears in my medical doctor’s office where I’d gone for treatment of bronchitis. I confessed to her that I was depressed and she prescribed my happy pill...Prozac. Just a tiny little dose was all I needed. I took it for another year or so then weaned myself off until 2012, the year from hell arrived.

     I won’t go over all that happened again, but when I found I was sinking into that black hole of depression, I started taking my happy pill: Prozac 10 mg. a day. I don’t feel it. It doesn’t affect me in any way other than to keep my mood up enough that I’m able to handle everything that comes my way.

     Now I’ve decided I’m not going to stop taking it again. What’s the point? I’ll turn 65 in March. I figure I’ll live another 20-25 years if I’m careful and lucky. Why not do whatever it takes to be peaceful during these years? As boomers, we all know this is the time when we take stock of our lives. Yes, we’ve accomplished a lot and have passed a lot of milestones. Most of us have very nice lives. But along with that comes the reflection of roads we didn’t take, people that are no longer in our lives, and choices we made and now perhaps regret. There are so many things we may want to get done and never will. I don’t want to waste any time in regret for what has passed. I only want to look forward. My little happy pill helps me do that. I highly recommend it to anyone suffering from depression. If you needed to take a heart pill, you would. If you needed medication for diabetes you would take it. What’s the difference? It isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of hope for the future.