Be nice or leave.

Turn your lights down low
And pull your window curtain
Oh let the moon come shining in
Into our life again

~ Bob Marley and Lauryn Hill

______________________________

When I came into the room it was dark. The shades taut without even the tiniest glimmer of sunlight escaping inside and the kind of stillness that instinctively made you think twice before flicking on a light switch.

"Good morning, sir," I spoke softly. "I'm one of the senior doctors on the team taking care of you. Would you be okay with me turning on one of the lights so that I can better take care of you?"

No answer. In fact, he didn't even move in response. And on this day, I was alone. Even though my entire team was standing just outside of the door, I'd entered alone because I'd been forewarned.

"He's tough."

"He wasn't so cooperative with us."

And those were nice ways of saying that this patient was one that would require some advanced communication skills. Or at least some very, very careful thought before I spoke with him. Even the nurse, who I've known and trusted forever because of his amazing interpersonal skills and knowledge, looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Don't go in there with that whole group. He even gave me a run for my money."

That alarmed me the most. Because this senior nurse was a master at navigating around and through even the most difficult patients. And knowing that even he had been challenged greatly by this patient on the other side of the door made me nervous.

And so. I took his advice. I left my team standing in their same semicircle as I peeled away to see the patient on my own.

"How are you feeling now compared to when you first got here, sir?"

"What the fuck do you want?"

That was the first words I heard him speak. I swallowed hard and coached myself to not counter his antagonistic words with the same.

"I'm so sorry you don't feel good. I actually want to see what I can do to help you feel better."

And when I said that, I gently rested one hand on his back between his shoulder blades. He was lying face down in the bed with his head away from me. And the moment I touched him, I knew it was a bad idea.

"Move your hand. Take it off of me."

And so I did.

"I've been reviewing your medical chart and talking to the overnight doctors. They told me that you'd been feeling really awful. I know of your past medical history and I just want you to know that we are working hard to make sure that in addition to managing your pain we try to look for any other things that might be going on at the same time. Like. . .you've been breathing pretty fast so we wouldn't want to miss a pneumonia or something like that."

Silence.

"Sir? Would it be okay if I listened to your lungs? Just to be sure that I don't hear sounds that make me think of pneumonia?"

"Didn't y'all do a fucking xray? Look at that."

"I saw your xray, sir. I did. It actually looks really good. But sometimes your exam can tell us things before the xray can. Would you be okay with me taking a listen?"

Silence again.

"Sir?"

"Just fucking listen and don't do anything else."

And so I listened. I asked him to take deep breaths which he promptly did not and I awkwardly maneuvered around his chest from his face down position. None of it was ideal.

I didn't hear any crackles or wheezes but it was such a limited exam that that meant nothing.

"Who are you?" he finally said.

"My name is Dr. Manning. I'm the attending doctor taking care of you."

"The what?"

"The senior doctor. Leading the team. And we are really concerned about you. I'm hoping we can work together to get you feeling better."

"That shit is so cliche."

"Pardon?"

"You just want what you want and don't give a shit about me. I wasn't born yesterday. I know the drill."

"Hmmm. I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I guess you think talking in that soft voice is going to trick me? Man, please. You don't give a damn no more than any of these other folks."

And the worst part is that he didn't even look at me when he said all this. Like, he hadn't even looked at my face in that dark room or didn't even remotely try to factor anything else into that accusation.

"I can't speak for every other person. But as for me, I know for sure that that isn't true. I know for sure that I do care and that I do very much give a damn. About you and about all of our patients."

Silence.

"Sir? I've been here for almost thirteen years. And I assure you. .  ."

He interrupted me. "Are you through preaching? About you and why you're so great?"

I stopped talking and just stood there. My cheeks felt like someone had taken a torch to them. I'm pretty sure I was more embarrassed than anything else. In that instant I couldn't have been gladder for the dark room or the absence of my team.

"Ummm. . . . listen. . . I think. . .uhhh. . . .yeah.  So now doesn't seem like a good time. I will come back and try to examine you a little later, okay?"

"Close my door behind you."

And that was it. That was his response and that was what happened.

I came out and told my team exactly what he said. I even shared the awkward parts and told them that I wished I hadn't said that part about myself and how long I'd been at Grady because it seemed a little defensive. The senior resident looked at me and twisted his mouth in concern.

"Should we take Jacob off of this patient then?"

Jacob, the medical student caring for him, looked over at me to see what I'd say next.

"No," I said. "I think Jacob has to learn how to manage difficult patients sooner or later. Unless you're very uncomfortable, Jacob, I say you keep seeing him."

And Jacob nodded hard to let me know he was cool with that plan.

I spoke to my team about how I'd try navigate this. I told them I would reflect on this patient and our interaction and think about ways to break through. Because the only things that were completely clear to me was that this patient was sick and also that whatever was making him so nasty to his caregivers was about him and none of us. That part I knew for sure.

"So what is the strategy?"  Jacob asked.

"To come back. And not take it personally. But more than anything, to come back. Again and again and again. We are all works in progress. There's no magic."

And you know what? I did. I came back. And so did Jacob. I watched that senior nurse interact with the patient and learned from his years of experience, too. I asked for his insight and got some suggestions. I also listened to Jacob when he told me of the things he said to our patient and learned from those words, too.

That patient was unkind to me a few more times. He was. But I kept coming back and thinking and trying and remembering that it wasn't about me. And eventually, the walls started coming down. First he started looking at me. And eventually, he allowed me to turn on the lights. Well, he let me turn on one indirect light because he preferred that the lights be kept low. And that was something I could do and so I did. Which was a step in the right direction in terms of our therapeutic alliance.

Eventually things got more normal. The patient never apologized for being mean but that was okay. I signed up to be the nice one. And him? He didn't sign up for anything.

Yeah.

***
Happy Thursday.

Note:  People have mixed views on dealing with not-so-nice patients. I'm not a fan of allowing someone to abuse me. But it takes a lot for me to see it that way in the hospital setting. I'm not really sure why.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . .

What does the kid say?

Riding in the car on the way to school yesterday. . . .

Isaiah:  Mom?

Me:  Yup.

Isaiah: What's a ho?

Me: (almost choking on coffee) A what?

Isaiah:  A ho. Like, what does it mean when somebody says that?

Me: Wait, huh?

Isaiah:  Somebody at school was talking about hoes. And I didn't know what they meant. Mom, what is that? What is a ho?

Me: Who said that word to you?

Isaiah: What--ho?

Me:  Yes, that word.

Isaiah:  Uhhhh, somebody said it at aftercare and then everybody else started saying it.

Me: And what were you doing when they kept saying it?

Isaiah:  Just staying quiet because I don't know what a ho is. What is a ho, anyway? Is it bad or something?

Me:  Okay, but like I want to know who said it first, Isaiah. Who said that first?

Isaiah:  What--ho?

Me:  Isaiah! Yes! That!

Isaiah:  Is ho a bad word?

Me:  So let me get this straight. You were in aftercare and you heard somebody using the word 'ho' and then everybody else did, too?

Isaiah:  Yes. But it was a grown up first.

Me:  What?!

Isaiah:  Like one of the younger ones in after care.

Me: (muttering) Lawd Jesus.

Isaiah:  Yeah, like she said, 'Where is that ho?'

Me:  Somebody said that? Like . . .said that with you guys just standing there?

Isaiah:  Yeah. And then she was all frustrated and kept saying 'that ho, this' and 'that ho, that.' But I don't even know what a ho is so I was just confused.

Me:  TELL MOM THE NAME OF THE PERSON WHO SAID THAT WORD OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

Isaiah:  Uhhhh, Mom? Why are you mad?

Me:  I'm not mad. I just need to know exactly who thought it was a good idea to be talking like that in front of you guys or even at all.

Isaiah:  Hmmm. . .uhhh. . .okay. It was my Garden Club teacher.

Me:  *silence*

Isaiah:  Mom?

Me:  Ummmm. . . .

Isaiah:  Is she going to get in trouble?

Me:  No. . .ohh. . .ha haha. . .oh wow. So this was all in . . . Garden Club?

Isaiah:  Yeah.

Me:  Yes.

Isaiah: I mean, yes, ma'am. The ground was too hard and she said we need a good ho.

Me:  Ooooooooh, right.

Isaiah:  What did you think I said?

Me:  Oh, nothing. . . .I was just confused.

Isaiah:  Oh, kind of like you were when I first started singing 'What does the fox say?' and thought I was saying a bad word?

Me:  Uuhhhhhh. . . .

Isaiah:  Mom. . .wait. . . is there another kind of ho?

Me:  Hey, you want to listen to 'What does the fox say?' on my iPhone?

Isaiah:  Yes! Can I? Even on a school day? Can I, Mom? Really? Yay!!!!

Me:  (hands phone to back seat)

Isaiah:  Wow! Don't tell Zachary, okay? I mean, I won't tell him I got to look at youTube. This is awesome. . . . .Cow goes moooooooo. . . .


*Note to self:  Get all the contextual facts before jumping to conclusions. 

***
Happy Tuesday.

Now playing. . .over and over and over again. . . .

One Year, Part 2: Throw some DEEEEE on it!

I'm baaaaaaack. . . . .

Who's up for some fun? Okay. So here's the challenge for the weekend. Your challenge is to THROW SOME DEEEEE ON whatever you do for the next few days. What does that mean? It means that, at some point, this weekend you have to do something that Deanna would do that you typically wouldn't do. Oh man. JoLai and Will and I have been cracking up over text messages this week as we think of ways to "throw some DEEE on it." Ha ha ha ha. . . whew!

Okay. So the rules? There ain't no rules! Do you have to have known Deanna personally to participate?

NO, MA'AM and NO, SIR.

Wait. I take that back. Everybody who has been reading this blog sort of knows Deanna, don't they? As a matter of fact, a friend wrote me the kindest words today. She never met Deanna in person but said that, in her own way, she was feeling the loss and missing her, too. And then she thanked me for sharing Deanna and introducing her to Deanna over this past year.

Smile.

And so. Here is an extraordinarily random list of ways that you--YES, YOU--can THROW SOME DEEEEE ON IT this weekend.

I bring you:

THE RANDOM LIST OF RANDOM THINGS THAT DEANNA WOULD DO THAT YOU CAN DO TO THROW SOME DEEEEE ON YOUR DAY, YOUR WEEKEND OR YOUR LIFE. 

Like to hear it? Here it go.

You can. . . .

1. Drink an iced coffee from McDonald's.
2. Drink a hot coffee from McDonald's but nurse it all day and then put ice into it to make it an iced coffee from McDonald's.
3. Flat iron, roller set, or cornrow somebody's hair.
4. Make some homemade salsa.
5. Get a massage. Preferably at a massage school.
6. Get your hair done at a beauty school.
7. Eat a honey crisp apple.
8. Look at pictures of Ryan Gosling and drool.
9. Post pictures of Ryan Gosling on your Facebook page.
10. Make some Jell-O shots. Or pudding shots.
11. Take a shot of any of the following things whilst celebrating big moments with friends: Jack Daniels, Tequila, or whatever is there. 
12. Be loyal to a fault.
13. Put on lipstick and admire your pretty lips in a mirror.
14. Make a list of men who are your "lust objects." 
15. Go to sorority meeting.
16. If you are a Delta, wear a Delta shirt, jacket, or something with Delta Sigma Theta on it.
17. Learn the Delta oath by heart (if you are a Delta.)
18. Play Bananagrams with or without a friend.
19. Do the hardest crossword puzzle you can find in a newspaper.
20. Do the GIANT crossword puzzle on Christmas.
21. Read Kimberly's blog.
22. Help somebody with some math homework.
23. Punch somebody for sticking their bare foot on you.
24. Call somebody you love "Pookie."
25. Go sit with your mama.
26. Go sit with your brother.
27. Go sit with your sister.
28. Go sit with your friends.
29. Talk shit and refuse to take it back.
30. Crochet something.
31. Make a quilt out of t-shirts.
32. Crochet something out of plastic bags.
33. Be the favorite auntie and have no issue with telling everyone you are.
34. Leave work and take a nap.
35. Take your nieces or nephews to a movie.
36. Go with your mom to a Denzel movie.
37. Talk about Denzel being hot more than the movie.
38. Cry for a random reason. 
39. Have allergies and sniffle while doing Sudoku.
40. Say "WWWWWWAAAAADDDDUPPP??" when somebody sees you who hasn't seen you in a few days.
41. Be honest about shit you don't like.
42. Not be fake.
43. Kick somebody's butt for messing with your sister.
44. Drive a Volkswagon that doesn't  go in reverse or that doesn't start without being rolled down a hill.
45. Go off for being told to "shut up." 
46. Watch Survivor with your mom.
47. Watch The Wiz with your sisters. 
48. Go to an Omega party.
49. Talk some more shit.
50. Make a Lemon Jell-O cake.
51. Pay your sorority dues.
52. Snore and then punch your sister when she calls you "Frosty the Snoreman." 
53. Create some shit that nobody can believe you thought up.
54. Call your dad Pop-O.
55. Scream really loud at niece and nephew sports until people stare--and then not give a shit.
56. Write someone a letter by hand -- because "it's good to get mail that isn't a bill."
57. Do water aerobics.
58. Write something in calligraphy with fancy calligraphy pens.
59. Listen to a Jill Scott CD and sing at the top of your lungs.
60. Show someone how much they mean to you through a gesture.
61. Paint your nails so that you won't bite them.
62. Text with emoticons.
63. Wear a shirt from your alma mater.
64. Make some homemade yeast rolls that take all day to make and two seconds to eat.
65. Understand the least understood people.
66. Not be afraid of people who have less education, opportunities, or resources than you.
67. Serve.
68. Give.
69. Love.
70. Laugh.
71. Inspire.
72. Create.
73. Encourage.
74. Include.
75. Accept. 

What will you do? Which will you do?

Now pardon me while I take this Jell-O shot and return to this hard ass crossword puzzle. . . . ha ha ha. . . . . .and those who not some things I missed? Feel free to add to the list. . . .ha ha ha. . .

***
Happy Everyday. Let this day be your reminder to always measure your life in love. Which reminds me of this post about that song here. She would have liked this one. :)

Now playing on my mental iPod. A song that -- yes -- is a little edgy but that includes people that never would have bothered Deanna at all. She could roll with the "every echelon" as she once told me. Which says a lot, actually. 

One year.

November 15, 2012

I took this photograph on the evening of November 15, 2012. I know I did because I remember it but also because the date and time were captured right along with the image. I was heading out of the hospital to my car and, on this particular day, had arrived too late to snag a lower level parking space. That was okay, though, because I got to partake in this view of the Atlanta skyline.

I remember thinking that it was just so. . . peaceful-looking. Like. . .something about the way the clouds seemed to be scattered across that cool blue sky and how the sun had receded just enough to signal to the night life to come alive . . . just drew me into it. I don't know. Whatever it was, it was enough to make me pull out my cell phone and snap a picture. And you know? That isn't so unusual for me to pull out my camera and grab an image. But usually? That's where I stop. For whatever reason, on this day, I didn't though.

Why? I'm not sure.  I turned my camera onto the hospital from that top floor view.

 

And lastly, something compelled me to take this one of myself. 

It's so weird that I did, too. Like. . . I study my expression and wonder. . .what was I thinking when I took that picture? Because at the time that this photo was taken, it was still an ordinary day. Like not yet awful like it was going to be later on, you know? Yeah. Something about this selfie is haunting to me. The look on my face seems knowing even though I know for certain that I had no idea that this would be the day that my life would change forever.

And ever. 

Yeah. So that evening and even that day was beautiful. I mean, sure, it was partly cloudy, but still, it was crisp and autumnal in the very best way. I'd taken the morning off to take Isaiah to see his pediatrician for a checkup and the rest of the afternoon I'd spent taking care of office work at Grady. I was scheduled to pick up a ward team on November 16, so I knew I needed to jump on all of my other duties beforehand. So that's what I did.

People always say that those awful, awful days are memorable for their stunning beauty and remarkable ordinariness. Who could forget how blue the sky was when those planes went crashing into the side of the World Trade Center? Or that initial calm before the levies broke after Hurricane Katrina? This day was no different.

I'd called her a few times from my office. Straight to voicemail each time which, after the third or fourth time, seemed a little weird. Next I shot a text.

"Dude. Call me when you get this."

That was my simple text to my sister Deanna. And at that point, nothing really was different. I just assumed that maybe her phone had died? Or that she was just in an area without a good signal? I wasn't sure. But I also wasn't worried.

I started driving home and pulled out my phone once again. By this point it was after 5:30 PM so I knew that Deanna would already have the kids by then. And since the after school care center is just a few blocks away, she'd be in my house by then. I punched her name on speed dial. . . .again--straight to voice mail. That's when I said it out loud:

"That's odd."

And that's the first moment that I felt worried. See, because Deanna always gave me a hard time for the days I let my kids be the last to get picked up from daycare or after school care. She made a point of getting to the boys long before the bell tolled and wagged her finger at those parents who came tearing in one minute before the late charge set in. So this really was odd that Deanna wasn't answering her phone since, by now, she should have been in my home where she could have easily plugged it back in if it were out of charge.

By now, it was about 5:40 PM.  That's when I remembered that Deanna was supposed to meet Harry at the barber shop with the boys at 6:30 PM.  I tried to convince myself that this is where she was but it wasn't working. I felt worried.

I decided to try her at our home.The phone rang and rang. I hung up and tried once more since everyone knows that we never answer the home phone. I figured that after a few attempts she'd eventually pick up. And so. I called. And I called some more. Then, on like the fourth attempt, the phone finally was answered. The voice was exasperated which made sense since I'd just rang four times in a row.

"Hello? What is going on? Damn!"

"Hello? What are you doing there?"

"Uhh, hello? I live here, remember?"  It was Harry. Harry wasn't supposed to be home at 5:43 PM. He was supposed to be rushing from his office to the barber shop about fifteen minutes from now.

"Has Deanna been there?" I asked. And when I asked, for some reason, I already knew the answer.

"I've been trying to call her but her phone must be dead. I was going to let her know that I'd get the boys for the haircuts. Where is she?"

"I can't reach her, Harry." My voice was serious and I tried to make it not sound that way. I cleared my throat and tried to think for a minute. Where could she be? Had something happened? And if it did was she already with the children when it did? I didn't want to panic. "Babe? Run up the street to after care to see if she scooped the boys already, okay?"  I used that word "scooped" because it sounded less panicky. Even though I felt the opposite of that.

"Cool," he quickly replied. Then as I heard him running down the stairs into the garage he paused and added, "Where do you think she'd be if she didn't make it?"

"Honestly? I don't know. But the only way she'd leave our kids at school without calling us would be over her dead body." And I froze when I said that. Because that? That was the first time I'd actually considered that as the reason why I couldn't get her on the phone.

Moments later I felt my phone buzzing on my lap. I looked down and saw that it was Harry and right then, I knew. I knew that something really awful had happened. I didn't even say hello when I answered. I just put the phone to my ear and listened.

"They're here," he said quietly. "They're the last ones here."

"Okay." My voice was anemic and my mounting emotions thread bare. "Just take them to the barber shop, okay?"

"What are you about to do?"

"Babe? I think something awful has happened. That's the only explanation for Deanna letting them get picked up last. I'm heading over to her house."

 He didn't protest.

My head was swirling like crazy. I wasn't sure who to call or what to do. I tried her one more time and still--straight to voicemail. And I was driving while all of this was happening so that made matters even worse. What I remember doing next is just pulling over on the side of the road. Literally. And I just sat there staring at my hands for a few seconds. I took a deep breath, parted my lips, and began to speak.

"Okay, God. So check it out. It seems like you're giving me some kind of discernment that something really bad is about to go down. And I need you to understand that if that's the case then I'm going to need you to show me specifically, exactly what to do. I'm for real, God. Like if my sister is like. . . .gone. . .I'm going to need you to give me blow by blow instructions and I'm going to need you to keep my wits about me. Because in our family that person is normally my dad. But if you've decided to take his child home it can't be him."

I sighed and just sat there.

"Look, God. All my family has ever known is favor. I'm really serious. I need exact directions. And I promise to do my best to be obedient."

I felt my pulse quickening. I closed my eyes for a few moments and then just waited. Then I just started driving again. I didn't even say "amen" or anything. That was my prayer. Nothing fancy or overly deferential. Just me in my regular voice talking. And honestly, I could dedicate an entire blog to what I learned from that moment. I could.

So you know how the rest of the evening went. It unfolded like some horrible origami as the evening went on. She'd never left her home. Her car was still there when Mom arrived and we agreed that nothing good would come from busting into the house. So 911 was called and Mom was standing in Deanna's driveway with Daddy on speaker when that awful confirmation came.

She was gone. Gone.

And I still can't believe it. Or understand it. Or get my brain around it. I can't. I still miss her every single day like it just happened and still want to speak to her with every single beautiful, funny or mundane moment I've lived ever since.

I used to wake up and feel fearful at the blue-blue sky days or perfectly normal moments. I'd wonder if it was what would make me remember some awful thing coming around the bend. Is it like that peaceful skyline that Thursday on the rooftop of the parking garage just waiting to open up into something tragic? I found myself thinking that way more times than I care to admit in the last year. But then I decided that I wouldn't live that way. And that I couldn't live that way.

Besides, Deanna would be the first to say how living in fear isn't leaving at all. So I hear her voice and live my life with the same kind of intention that she did. With unapologetic zeal and determination to use whatever gifts I have. . . . and to pay things forward as much as possible. She always did.

Today is November 15, 2013. One year to the day after I said goodbye to my sister. I'm proud of the 365 days I've spent honoring her through a more intentional life. I am because I know she'd be proud, too. But still, I miss her in ways that sometimes feel unbearable. I do. Despite that, I remain more glad than sad. Glad to have this life that included Deanna and glad to have this world that includes all of you. And if I haven't said it lately, let me tell you again. Thank you. For sustaining me through your patience and kindness and listening. Thank you for your prayers and thoughts and energy. For those who don't know me or who never commented but read faithfully and for those who do know me or who did comment or who just read only sometimes here--thank all of you, too.  I need you to know that it made a difference. For me, it did. For all of us, it did.

Yeah.

***
Happy Friday.

Got family? Call them and tell them you love them. Got gifts? Use them. Got life? Live it like you mean it.

Come back this afternoon for something lighter. . . .it's in my head still but coming out soon. . ..

The song that played on my mental iPod the morning after I woke up and many times ever since. Thank you,  Mr. Lenny Kravitz, for ministering to my soul.

Team S.J.G.R. Thursday Huddle #19: Guidelines.

It was a Thursday, actually. Tomorrow marks one year since we officially said good bye to Deanna but to me, today felt the eeriest. Probably because it was a Thursday.

Anyways. That's the day that shit just got real for me. So real that it couldn't be escaped. And in the context of our Team and our pledge to fight cardiovascular disease like a mo-fo, just know that losing your 44 year old sibling to a heart attack is clinically significant. And as real as it gets.

Okay, so check it. Last week or so, the powers that be released new guidelines for the management of cholesterol. And let me just say it's kind of complicated and hard to break down quickly, but the take home message is that now they factor in some things that didn't get factored in before. Such as race. And family history of cardiovascular disease. Uhhh, yeah. So what does this mean? It means that some of us who weren't even thinking about taking a statin drug for cholesterol control now might be recommended to do just that.

Yup.

So now, with regard to heart disease prevention and cholesterol, my race and family history pack an added bit of punch. And yeah, these new guidelines are kind of controversial with some but regardless of all that, they are THE recommendations. Yup. So all you over fortysomething people? Listen up. All you people of color and folks with family members who've had cardiovascular events? I'm talking to you.

Get your cholesterol panel checked. And if you've already had it checked get your doctor to look at it with fresh eyes now that these new guidelines just came out. And if someone asks you why you're asking just tell them:

"Because shit just got real. And I need to know just how much."

***

Junk Drawers.

A huge part of my happy, Autumn and my boys

If you look hard enough you can always find something to be anxious about. That I know for sure. I was outside on a run today and I felt really good. The sun was hitting my face but the air was cool. The leaves were crunching under my feet and all of it screamed autumn. It's my favorite season and running allows me to appreciate it even more. My body felt strong and able and I had good energy.

And all of it was good.

While I was running, I started to zone out. And by zone out, I mean I started thinking about things unrelated to the music in my ear or how far I had to run. Which is usually a good thing but for whatever reason I started overthinking my happiness.

Yeah. That.

I do that sometimes. Like, wondering if I really am happy or if I have somehow tricked myself into just believing I am. Which is kind of ridiculous, I know, but it is something that I do sometimes. And on this day, I related that to junk drawers in my house. Random, I know. But stay with me -- I'm going somewhere.

So, yeah. I'm running and next thing I know I started to think about the two -- no three -- junk drawers in my kitchen and the stacks of books and stuff on the little cubby shelf next to the refrigerator. Then I remembered some article that I read in Oprah's magazine about how clutter really means something else about your life -- like perhaps it's jacked up and the junk is a sign of what's happening in it. Which made me feel kind of worried because I don't ever remember a point in my life where I didn't have at least two absolutely horrendous junk drawers.

Well "horrendous" depending upon who you ask.

Then I thought about the fact that it didn't extremely bother me. Or really bother me much at all. Which means that I could either be in extreme denial about my jacked-up-ness or just so freakin' balanced that I don't sweat the small stuff.

Maybe.

So yeah. The article, I think, said that junk drawers and cluttery closets and discombobulated cabinets suggest that you ACTUALLY have "junk" you are pushing down in your life that you don't want to see. Which is kind of worrisome when you've always had at least two solid junk drawers from as early as middle school.

So anyways. For a few moments while I was running I started trying to figure out what those things were in my life. Like what was really jacked up that I needed to tuck in a drawer that I wasn't dealing with and what would be my answer if I was the person whose house that declutter dude was snooping around in.

But then all of sudden a thought popped into my head that made me start laughing. Loud and hard. I pictured myself sitting on Oprah's couch across from the declutter dude and listening to him psychoanalyzing my junk drawers in his hoity-toity Aussie accent. Oprah and everybody in that studio audience was nodding and listening like he'd totally cracked open the story of my life by pulling open the middle drawer in my kitchen. But I had something for him.

For whatever reason, in this daydream I went all NeNe Leakes on him. Hand gestures, eye rolls, all that. Everything except the fluorescent white teeth and heavy make-up. So I look at him and Oprah and said, "What if your junk drawers just mean that you have too much shit and not enough time to find a place for it? I mean, damn."

And him and Oprah just looked at each other like, "Hold up--did she just curse on the yellow couch? Twice?"

And I just curled my lips and said, "Like, what is REALLY wrong with having AA batteries, taco seasoning, picture hangers, two Sharpie pens, old soccer picture proofs, two iPhone adapters and some packets of emergency hot sauce in one drawer? I'm sayin'!"

And the studio audience started applauding and that just egged me on more. "Raise your hand if you really needed some hot sauce and the little bit you had left had turned that weird brown color and, thanks to a late night Popeye's Chicken run one time, you found two packets in the middle drawer that weren't even that expired! Raise both hands if you used them and was happy as hell they were in the junk drawer!"

And the audience stood up, raised their hands and started pumping their fists in the air. And Oprah was like, "But how can you be truly be happy and living your authentic life when chaos awaits you in your kitchen?"

And I said, "Oprah, have you ever been eating something that absolutely required hot sauce and couldn't find any? Or have you ever been trying to take a nap and had your kids wake you up because the Wii remotes ran out of batteries? I think a solid junk drawer is a sign of complete sanity."

The studio audience was now chanting "JUNK DRAWER! JUNK DRAWER! JUNK DRAWER!"

Which is a hilarious thought I know, but really and truly the one I had while running today. And I'm so glad I did.

Sometimes you just have to be okay with where you are. And to stop trying to talk yourself out of believing that your life is good. Sure, it can always be better. But it can especially be worse. At least that's what I think.

So yeah. Today was a good day and it included a good run. I felt strong and motivated and happy. And especially happy about the much needed post-run PowerBar I found in the junk drawer -- right next to the airplane pretzels and Glade plug-in refill packets. And you know what?  It wasn't even that expired.

Yeah.

***
Happy Sunday. One mo' 'gin.

Here's Peter Walsh -- who actually does have some good tips. (But he doesn't address emergency hot sauce which apparently isn't a necessity in Australia.)

Suddenly I see.

The corner across from the hospital and our faculty office building

"I feel like walking the world. . . like walking the world."

~ KT Tunstall in "Suddenly I see"

The air was cool. Too cool to be outside with only a paper thin white coat and wintry enough for this Grady elder passing me by to give me a tiny head shake when I tried to pull that same inadequate coat closer to my body for warmth. But the walk wasn't far. I was only heading out of the hospital door and half of a block to our office building. Two minutes tops. And sometimes the threat of chilly air isn't enough to make you deal with the hassle of schlepping a winter coat onto the hospital floors.

For me, that is.

As I crossed the street, I saw a young woman walking briskly. She was holding what appeared to be a baby that couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. Fortunately, she'd checked the weather and dressed her baby and herself appropriately. Unlike the doctor approaching them.

"Good morning," I spoke.

"G'morning," she replied still hustling.

I craned my neck over to catch a glimpse of baby as we crossed paths. It warmed my heart when she paused for two seconds to pull down the fuzzy pink fleece covering her cherubic face. I stood on my tip toes to get a better look. Reflexively, I smiled and placed my hand on my chest. "Congratulations. She's beautiful," I said. And then, since I knew she appeared to be in a hurry, I added, "Have a great day!"

"You, too, ma'am!" She was already four or five steps away by then and almost into the County Health Department--which is conveniently located across the street from Grady and is also a necessary destination for parents of new babies seeking birth certificates.

The Glenn building steps

I kept walking and picked up my pace. On the steps of the Glenn building (also across from the hospital), I saw this rotund fellow sitting down and preparing to smoke a cigarette. He appeared to work in construction of some sort. That or something considering he was wearing a reflective vest and steel toe boots. He looked up, made  quick eye contact with me, and gave me the nod. I returned the favor.

In that glance, I also gave him some uninvited admonishment about the cigarettes. Since my expression was decidedly playful, his reply was, too. He held up his index finger and beat it in the air a few times--his nonverbal way of saying, "This is the last one!" I narrowed one eye, pursed my lips and pointed at him as passed. My way of saying, "I got my eye on you!" And then we both laughed. Which was cool because I didn't know him yet we'd just had an entire exchange without anyone saying a word.

When I reached the corner opposite our building, I saw this gentleman strolling up on my right. I could tell that he was, by definition, a Grady elder but that he was one of those spry and functional chaps like my daddy. His body was able and his smile was bright. Before he even got close to me he'd already given me the nod which I returned immediately.

The nod is often enough so I whipped my head from side to side to quickly sweep for cars and started across the street. Just then, that elder spoke to me just as I'd stepped onto the asphalt.

"Hey sugar!"

"Good morning, sir!"

"You jest like I like 'em--tight in the waist and cute in the face! And that's a compliment, sugar, and not a come on!" And after he said that he just threw his head back and laughed out loud. A sound so fluffy that it looked like it floated over his head in cartoon caption bubbles.

I was amused, too. "I think I will receive it as a compliment, sir." I chuckled.

He was already approaching the Glenn building by then. He spun and walked backward while calling out to me, "Don't get hit, sugar!"

I was in the middle of the street. I threw up a hand and shuffled up onto the curb. I could feel the cold air stinging my cheeks and neck so picked up my pace again. At this point I was just a couple of strides away from the entrance to our faculty office building. It has card access only on the entrance where I was, so I rummaged around for my access card to get in. It wasn't clipped to my jacket and wasn't in my pockets either. . . . hmmmm.

I thought for a few seconds and then. . . . shoot! I remembered in that instant that I'd left it sitting on my office desk earlier that morning. Man. It was too cold for all this. Pulling my coat together once more, I decided to make a break for it around the corner to the public entrance.

I usually try not to run while wearing my white coat unless it's an emergency. I know it always alarms people to see doctors rushing anywhere. This was no different; I could tell by the group of people standing catty-corner by the hospital who all stopped to watch me. When I noticed them, I stopped running and resorted to walking as quickly as I could instead.

Now, I was at the door. Finally. But just before I could escape the cool air, I paused. I was hearing something unusual.

"What is that?"

I turned around and stepped back out on the sidewalk to look around. I couldn't see where it was coming from, but that sound was getting louder and louder. I looked over my shoulder to see if, perhaps, it was coming from our building. But it wasn't.

Louder and louder. Closer and closer. And finally, I saw what it was.

This:

November 7, 2013

A man perfectly playing a flute. Not looking for money or applause or any such thing. But I was so entranced by its perfect pitch that I gave him all of those things.

"Beautiful!" I said while clapping my hands. And I said that because I meant it. It really was beautiful.

"Today, Grady, tomorrow, The Apollo!" That's what he pulled that flute away from his lips to say to me. And then he laughed out loud a bit before playing an uptempo little piece right then and there for me on that sidewalk.

And I clapped and tapped my foot the whole time, forgetting about the cold and even why I was going back to my office in the first place. The song was short and sweet. And before I could say anything else, he'd tipped his hat and thanked me for listening. And I thanked him right back for blessing me with his gift.

"Music is my gift,"he said.

"My sister always used to say that if it's your gift you should use it." And I'm not sure why I told him that, but he seemed okay with me telling him.

"Use it or lose it," he responded with a soft chuckle. And then he pulled that instrument right up to his mouth again and prepared to continue down the street.

Before he left, he gave me his permission to take his picture and share it here. Which I'm really, really glad about one, because it will always remind me of that moment, and two because now you get to feel like you were there, too.

I watched him long after he'd passed me by. On he went -- walking and playing. The sound of his heels clicking the concrete were his makeshift metronome and I could see his shoulders hunching in concert with each note. I squinted my eyes to try to take in the expressions of those under the sound of his flute. And from what I saw, they all seemed to be blessed, too. And I swear to you, all of it was magical. It really was.

Eventually, he turned a corner and was out of my line of sight. Just then, I felt the chill of November on my chest again. I opened the door and went on up to my office.

And that was that.

So that was what happened in the two minutes that it took me to walk across the street from Grady Hospital to my office. But especially it's a reminder. A reminder of what can happen when I remember  to open my eyes and notice the moments, the music, and the magic swirling around the most ordinary parts of my day.

Because when I do? Suddenly, I see. . . . . everything.

Yeah.

***
Happy Sunday. This post made me think of this one.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . .

Team S.J.G.R. Thursday Huddle #19: Road Dogs

What's up TEAM?

Man. Staying on the straight and narrow with exercise isn't always easy. For you super motivated team members, you have no issue with jumping up and getting after it without excuses. But if you're like the rest of us, it's not so easy.

That's where your "road dogs" come in.

Now many of you think of your "road dog" as that old friend who you hung out with during your wild and crazy younger years. Or that you paint the town with now depending upon what you like doing. But for the purposes of what I'm talking about, this kind of road dog is different. This road dog is your partner in exercise crime. And one who helps hold you accountable.

These are your FITNESS road dogs.

Since exercise for me is mostly running these days, my fitness road dogs are mostly runners. My buddy Frieda (aka Free-Free) and I meet up for early morning long runs. It's a great way to catch up, gossip and get in our miles at the same time. She's also a SUPER medicine nerd like me so we talk medicine a lot, too. Laaaaaame, I know.

But man! We have a blast together! And the time just flies by. Knowing that we've agreed to meet up keeps us both honest -- and makes sure we challenge ourselves.

Of course there's my GURU road dog, Crystal H. She motivates me to sign up for races and also sends me training programs. She texts me to see how it's going and is always willing to run with me. She has a lot of intestinal fortitude and stamina. That's a good quality in a road dog.

Here's my original "runny babbit" road dog, Lesley M. She's nursing a 'flicted knee right now so hasn't been able to run much which is KILLING me. I swear those runs were absolute therapy for both of us. She's a dear friend so it's so win-win.

You don't have to regularly join your fitness road dogs for work outs each week. Yes. Your fitness road dogs can even live in another state! Staying in touch about what you're doing is a great way to nudge one another. My linesister Glencia and I share profiles on MapMyRun. Seeing her progress makes me want to do better.

There's also the fun of planning to join your road dogs for races or classes. For example, Free-Free and I will be running the Atlanta Half Marathon together--and it's so exciting because some other road dogs will be there, too. Like Crystal and Tamika. And I'm sure some others, too. And we've been all chatting about it so we're all kind of pushing each other.

Which is what your fitness road dogs do for you.

Just this week, I and several of my fitness road dogs agreed to register for the Hot Chocolate 15K coming up in January. Glencia's coming down from Chicago, my BFF Lisa D. is doing it, along with some of my Grady doctor-sisterfriend road dogs Stacy H. and Dominique C.  So. . . yeah, we pretty much will run 9 miles and some change and then replenish our carbs with delicious hot chocolate drinks.

Woo hoo!

Plus the sweatshirt they give you is super swanky. Which is way motivating, too.

So listen. The take home message is simple:

Line up some road dogs. Text each other. Meet up. Share your bad ass accomplishments. Pick people who will be happy* when you text a sweaty pic of yourself and caption saying:

 "Girl, just got in 10 miles at Stone Mountain. WHAT? WHAT!!" 

*(And not annoyed.)

Yeah. You need some fitness road dogs to keep going. And to have fun. I have plenty and am always open to more. Always!

Oh, and before I forget. How cute is this picture of this man and his fitness road dog--his 13 year old daughter--who'd just ran the Atlanta 10 miler with him? Seriously? Is there anything cuter or more inspiring than this?

So. Freaking. Cool.

Who are some of your fitness road dogs?  Do tell. And do tell in the comments. That'd be nice since y'all been real silent on these huddles.

Ah hem.

***
Happy Thursday. And shout out to my ROAD DOGS.

All of it spectacular.

I walked into Grady behind a medical student one busy weekday morning. It was just before the nine o' clock hour and you could tell that he was on a mission. His footing was brisk. And since he lacked signs of an overcoat or a lunch box, I could tell that he hadn't just arrived at the hospital and was likely en route from somewhere. But still, he appeared to be in a hurry to get to some destination.

Shuffling ahead of him was an older gentleman with a stack of papers in his hands. His posture was stooped and his pants appeared to be soiled with days and days of repeat wearings. Even from where I was, a few feet behind him, his dank body odor wafted into my nostrils. He stopped near the hallway and leaned his hand against the wall to take a breath.

That's when I saw what happened next. That hustle-bustling student first blew past that man and instead of wrinkling his nose in distaste and casting a judging side eye in his direction he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the man standing there. You could tell that he was, in that split second, trying to decide what to do next.

And so. There he stood at the mouth of the elevator vestibule where a large group in white coats of various lengths had already gathered in anticipation of the often sluggish lift.

*BING*

In an unusual twist of fate, the elevator arrived far sooner than anticipated. And I watched that student to see what he'd do. As folks filed on to the car, he still stood in his place. Then, like something went off in his head, he made a decision right then and there.

"Sir? Are you alright?" he asked. His eyes were earnest. His cheeks were still flushed from rushing indoors.

"Just getting my breath is all." That's what that Grady elder said. And I watched from where I was, noticing that there was something about the way that man had his palm splayed against the tile wall that suggested he wasn't okay. And like something was awry.

"Were you headed to the emergency department?" the student asked next.

"Naw. I had a clinic 'pertnment but today I just been getting short at the breath so can't walk so fast."

"Do you have chest pain?"

"Naw. Jest short wind is all."

I saw that student doctor look from side to side and making, what I believe, was one of his first triage decisions. He didn't think that it was okay to leave this man to himself and from what I had gathered in those quick moments, I agreed with his assessment.

But I could tell. That student wasn't sure what to do.

"Sir? What clinic you headed to this morning, sir?" I decided to interject. I nodded to the student and positioned my body to let him know that we were in this together. No, I wasn't dismissing him or discounting his involvement one bit.

"Medical One."

The student cast a puzzled glance my way and I responded to the Grady elder before addressing it. "Okay then, sir. How 'bout we go on and get you a wheelchair today and see about you right away in the clinic? They can check you out and see if you need something more today than just your regular appointment." My voice was filled with the musical deference I reserve specifically for my Grady elders. Then, I remembered the student. "Medical One is what the Green Pod used to be called." He leaned his head back and mouthed a silent "Oh."

I pulled out my cell phone and called up to the clinic. And less than three minutes later, a nurse appeared with a wheelchair poised and ready to save the day.

And you know what? Two more elevators came and went but that student stayed right where he was. And even when I thanked him for his help and empathic response to this gentleman, he still looked conflicted. Like this was now his patient. And as this man's doctor he shouldn't leave his side.

"This is what we can't teach you," I told him. "This." I patted my chest over my heart. His cheeks turned a blazing crimson. I leaned over to the patient. "Sir, would you be okay with me letting this student doctor who stopped to see about you know how everything worked out?"

"That'd be alright with me."

And that student smiled big and genuine at that Grady elder first and then me second. And that was that. Off they rolled to the clinic and on that student went to his original destination.

The patient needed a little extra water pill for his very advanced heart failure, but was mostly okay after getting some assistance. And, as promised, I followed up with his student doctor who seemed as relieved as he was surprised that I actually called to tell him.

So that was what happened and that was that. And this is Grady and this is the future of medicine. It is. Perfect, quiet, humanistic moments tucked inside of bing-ing elevators and blurry white coats running to join rounds. And all of it is Grady and all of it--spectacular.

Yeah.

***
Happy Thursday.

HBCU legacies.

 

The Tuskegee Song
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I

Tuskegee, thou pride of the swift growing South
We pay thee our homage today
For the worth of thy teaching, the joy of thy care;
And the good we have known 'neath thy sway.
Oh, long-striving mother of diligent sons
And of daughters whose strength is their pride,
We will love thee forever and ever shall walk
Thro' the oncoming years at thy side.

II

Thy Hand we have held up the difficult steeps,
When painful and slow was the pace,
And onward and upward we've labored with thee
For the glory of God and our race.
The fields smile to greet us, the forests are glad,
The ring of the anvil and hoe
Have a music as thrilling and sweet as a harp
Which thou taught us to hear and to know.

III

Oh, mother Tuskegee, thou shinest today
As a gem in the fairest of lands;
Thou gavest the Heav'n-blessed power to see
The worth of our minds and our hands.
We thank thee, we bless thee, we pray for thee years
Imploring with grateful accord,
Full fruit for thy striving, time longer to strive,
Sweet love and true labor's reward.

 

 

***

 

Proud to be an alumnus of this amazing historically black institution. The same college that educated my great grandmother, my grandparents, my parents and all three of my siblings. What a proud, proud legacy we have in Tuskegee. I am reflecting on that this morning and feeling proud.

 

New here? Revisit my HBCU homecoming posts -- here's a link to #1 and also here's one to #2 from 2012. These two posts were Deanna's favorites hands down. She loved, loved, loved homecoming and our alma mater. These two posts truly underscore what it was like for us in college and explains a lot of who we are.

***

Happy Wednesday.