Life in Chicago

On Death & Dying

I've been having a hard time at my job. Certain aspects of it have been getting to be too much for me.

I still enjoy the counseling. I enjoy visiting patients and families and I think I do good work with them. It's so meaningful and restorative to me to be able to help someone through such a challenging point in their life. I often reflect on when I, myself, was in a similar situation and how grateful I was for the people around me who stepped in to help see me through it. I sometimes think that is what life is about -- a series of interactions in which when we are strong, we help others and when we are not, they help us.

What I've been struggling with is constantly hearing about illness and disease. Every Thursday I spend two hours in an interdisciplinary team (IDT) meeting. I sit at a long boardroom table, my high heels crossed against the table leg, my case load binder open in front of me, paperwork and pens and sticky notes nudging into everyone's else's piles of the same. On my left is our social worker, on my right is one of our nurses. Across from me sits another nurse, sandwiched between the chaplain and the massage therapist. At the end of the table the two home health aides sit next to each other. At the head of the table our team doctor sits between our clinical director and office secretary.

And for two hours we discuss all of the patients we currently care for. We begin with all of those who died in the last week -- what their death was like, how the family is doing, when the funeral or memorial service will be and any psychosocial risks for the bereaved. After that, we discuss the new patients we have taken on in the last week -- their diagnosis, whether they are at home or in the hospital or in a nursing home, who is caring for them, what kind of help they might need, and what our team can do for them and their family as a whole. Finally, after that, we discuss all of our current patients -- any change in health status or caregiver needs, and who is visiting when.

Words and phrases like stage four colon cancer, mets (metastatic) to the bone, lung cancer, swelling in the brain, morphine, lung mets, albuterol, prostate cancer, bleed out, bed sores, mets to the ovaries, liver cancer, severe hip pain, hospital bed, brain cancer, terminal, alzheimers, dementia, breast cancer, stroke, cardiovascular disease, pancreatic cancer, aortic stenosis,  tumors, renal disease, COPD, failure to thrive, and on and on.

I can't stand these words. They make my belly go cold with fear. As I sit there for those two hours, hearing these words tossed around I literally feel those places in my body as they're said. My liver. My lungs. My heart. My brain.

I think about Greg and I think about my life and I think about how much I don't want to get sick ever. I think about how much I want to do with my time here and how much I want to have kids. And I can't help but think these things and sometimes I can't get these words and phrases out of my head. Literally, sometimes I wake up in the mornings with the word scopolamine in my head. (It's a kind of pain killer.)

And you know, I look around the room at the doctors and nurses and social workers and secretaries and although some of the nonclinical people like me will squirm at a particularly graphic description of someone's medical problem, for the most part, none of them seem to be at all haunted by these words.

I know that so much of my fear has to do with having lost both of my parents to cancer and having watched that disease ravage their bodies over the years, but I can't help wondering how no one else seems to be haunted by all this disease-talk like I am. I'm of the opinion that what we think about grows -- another reason I hate having these thoughts and words and illnesses in my head all the time. But then I think about oncologists who work closely with disease every day -- where do they put these things? How do they wake up in the morning without the word cancer on the forefront of their thoughts?

And I just keep wondering, is there a way for me to do this job without constantly ingesting it all like this??

Thursday

I'm writing this morning.

If you're looking for something to fill your internet-surfing time, check out this story I wrote about taking a ride-along with the Inglewood Police Department while I was in grad school. It's in three parts, all on The Nervous Breakdown.

Wednesday Morning

It's Wednesday morning and I'm at home in Chicago. I'm eating toast and drinking coffee with milk. I'm sitting at the dining room table, the hum of the air-conditioning unit drowning out the softly playing Bach in the corner. The cats are on the deck, I'm still in my nightie, and a swatch of sunlight falls directly across my face and torso, warming me despite the cool air blowing past.

This weekend marks one year since I moved to Chicago. I can hardly believe it. That a whole year has gone by. I mean I have to believe it since, with all that's happened since I've been here, at least 12 months would be required to have passed.

I had a long phone conversation at the airport yesterday with my boss at my hospice job. I thought she wanted to talk because I was in trouble for going out of town so much but instead, she wanted to talk to me about going full-time and taking on a project at another hospice branch in the south suburbs.

I feel conflicted about it. I'm enjoying my job these days and I'm definitely grateful for the financial security and health care, but if I were to go on full-time I would have hardly any time for writing or for travel writing trips. Right now I actually feel as though I don't have enough time for writing, and taking on this added work would really cut into that even more.

Greg suddenly has some potentially very exciting developments happening with his writing career and, while I couldn't be happier for him, it's also given me pause about what I'm doing with my own writing. That book is still nagging me...but the thing is that it's just never going to happen unless I sit down and work on it.

Thus, the dilemma with my job situation. I like my hospice work a lot but it also takes a great emotional toll on me. It's really hard for me to contain all these stories of loss and illness all the time and I'm not sure that taking on more of it would be a good thing. But ultimately, I'm still working towards my professional counseling license so that I can one day have a private practice, something I want to do regardless of whether I write and publish books or not.

But it's been challenging to balance two such different careers. At my hospice job, no one knows that I'm a writer. They have no idea about this blog or about the magazines I write for. They don't know about the travel writing trips (Reminder: I will be out of the office next week.) or how I race home from the office to pound away at these little keys so that I can make deadlines on time.

Hmmm...it's just a lot to think about. I think I would feel guilty not taking on at least some of the work in the south office but maybe not if I made a very serious commitment to working on my book again.

Decisions, decisions.

Tuesday

It's Tuesday morning and I'm still in Baltimore. I'll fly home tonight but for now I'm sitting in Liz's office in the topmost corner of her house. I can hear her doing dishes downstairs in the kitchen and now and then her 3 month old daughter will let out a little cry. Her husband is in the shower and, from what I can tell, it's muggy outside.

For the last two nights I've slept for about ten hours and it's been wonderful. I don't get to sleep in very much these days so I've been taking advantage of our agenda-free days here to do so.

We went out to the cemetery yesterday to visit Jen's grave. It's in a quiet wooded spot near the back of the cemetery and it felt peaceful there. I can still hardly believe that Jen is gone. Having known Liz my whole life, I've known Jen as well and it's just unfathomable that Liz's beautiful older sister is no longer here.

In the late afternoon we watched some old home movies that I brought with me -- of my 6th & 8th birthdays. I sat on the floor of Liz's living room and we laughed and pointed at our 6 year old selves. We watched Liz's mom talking to my mom and Jen was there too and everyone was impossibly young and beautiful and I was struck by the ever-changing flow of this life force we're all swept up in.

I'm so glad to have come on this trip and to have spent time reconnecting with Liz. I'm also glad to be going home tonight. This was the first time in months and months that Greg and I have been apart and I've missed him and our home. I'm looking forward to staying put for a while, to working and writing and finding a regular running routine again. This summer has been a whirlwind of so many people and places that the slowing down of autumn sounds delicious.

Oh, and while I'm on the subject of friends this week, I want to take a minute to introduce you guys to another friend of mine: Lien Ta. Lien was one of my bridesmaids and has recently started a deliciously snarky new column called Hollywood BFF. If you're at all into Hollywood gossip, add this site to your list -- I've been addicted for days now.

Lien was one of my bridesmaids and this is what I wrote about her in my introductory email:

Lien is one of the sweetest, loveliest, most thoughtful friends I have. I met Lien about four years ago when I was working at 826LA and she came in to volunteer in our after school program. I think the first thing I ever noticed about Lien was her shoes -- in addition to being incredibly sweet Lien is, hands down, the best-dressed friend I have. She's been in LA for many years now and currently writes about movie stars. Lien and I grew especially close in the last couple of years when we both went through big break ups with long term boyfriends and suddenly found ourselves very single in the big city. Lien was there through every minute of me getting to know this guy "Greg in Chicago" and never expressed anything but support and love when I was threatening to and then actually moving to Chicago to be with him. Greg and I both couldn't be more thrilled to have her up there with us.

Okay, more from Chicago tomorrow!

Oh wait, if you're still up for a couple more clicks, Greg has a great story on a site called Bartleby Snopes that you should check out. You should also vote for him to win Story of the Month so that he can be included in their printed literary magazine.

I'm so proud of all the people in my life!

One Year Ago

I'm in Baltimore right now, visiting my oldest friend in the world, Liz. Her sister Jen died a year ago today. She was only 35 years old and she had a husband and a 4 year old daughter.

Over coffee downstairs, while Liz rocked her three month old baby daughter to sleep, she told me the story of the final days. I'd heard it before but I don't know how many times you can hear a story like that before it sets in. Maybe it never does. The scenario itself is so unimaginable. Cancer and hospitals, chemo and ventilators, all at such a young age.

In my job, and for the most part, in my life experience, it's rare to hear of someone dying from something like that under the age of 70. And it's terrifying for me to think about. I don't want to worry about something like that, don't want to play out that scenario for myself in my head, but I can't help thinking about what it would be like to face something like that as a young wife and mother.

And sitting across from Liz this morning I can't fathom her loss as a sister. My trip here to visit her is long over due. Last year, Jen died the day before I was due to get in my moving truck and drive across the country from Los Angeles to Chicago. There was no way I could be there. I remember driving across the southwest, through the deserts and canyons, the day the funeral was held, talking to Liz on the phone as she was on her way to the cemetery. I couldn't believe that I wasn't there with her.

Liz is the friend in my life who has truly been there for me throughout everything major I've ever been through. We met in Montessori and have been friends ever since. We started high school together and went to our junior and senior proms together. She flew home from Spain to be with me the week my mother died. We backpacked through Europe together and when I moved to California in my mid-twenties, she did too.

Liz was there almost every day during the months that I cared for my dying father. We held standing Sunday night dinners and I would cook for the three of us and whoever else showed up. She stayed with my Dad when I ran to the grocery store or just needed to get out of the house. Sometimes she just sat in the living room while I sat at his bedside, and knowing that she was there meant so much to me. She was there the night he died too, holding one of his hands while I held his other, as he took his last breaths.

And yet, I wasn't here for her when Jen died. And I haven't come until now. One year later. There are a lot of reasons why but none of them really matter now. I'm glad I'm here today.

Me & Liz at age 18 in Spain:

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(New post on She Wrote, He Wrote today: We Paddled, We Pushed Up, and We Totally Surfed in Costa Rica.)

Never Ending

It's Friday morning and the house is quiet. I'm listening to Bach and the cats are all asleep on chairs around the dining room table.

I'm working from home this morning and then will see a couple of patients this afternoon before picking up Greg's brother Alan from the airport. Alan and his wife Gabrielle will be staying with us this weekend and so this morning I also have last minute cleaning up around the house and prep for tonight's dinner to do.

Life feels never ending these days. A good thing, for the most part. Last night we both came home from long days at work (and three grocery store stops for me) and cleaned the house, had dinner, and then sat together at the dining room table working on freelance writing projects until almost 11:30PM, both of us still quite exhausted from our Costa Rica trip. Greg was up again at 5:30AM this morning to finish more work.

When I crawled out of bed at 7AM, rubbing my eyes and wishing for more sleep, Greg said, "I wonder what it would be like to just come home from work and watch TV." I wonder that a lot too. The two of us work so hard on our extra-curricular writing projects. And Greg works even harder than me. He works 40 hours a week at his job where I only 30 at mine and he still gets up a good hour and a half earlier than me every morning just to write.

I'm not really complaining about it all. I mean, this is the time in our lives, our thirties, when we're supposed to work really hard, right?? We're in great shape physically and are more advanced in our careers and talents than ever...we should take advantage of this time period, I think. But all the same, I still wonder what it would be like to come home from work at 5:30 and have nothing to do. Watching television sounds so dreamy sometimes...but even if I wanted to, we don't have cable and I would only have a selection of 4 or so fuzzy channels to choose from...so there's no real point in fantasizing about the what ifs.

I really don't mean to whine. I'm so incredibly grateful for my life these days. All the work that I do leads to trips like the one I just came home from...well worth it, in my book. And I know that our writing careers will only continue to grow and flourish as long as we work hard.

I'm looking forward to spending time with all my new in-laws this weekend. Tonight I'm making an arugula and heirloom tomato salad, pork loin stuffed with spinach and feta, potatoes gratin, grilled asparagus and a lemon creme brulee tart for dessert.

On Sunday I'm flying to Baltimore to see my friend Liz which is going to be a very important trip...and one that I'll write more about on Monday.

Wishing all my readers a nice weekend. I've been getting so many nice emails and comments from all of you and I want you to know that I really appreciate your visiting these pages and wishing me well. I wish you well too.

One of my favorite photos from the trip:

Returning Home

I'm sitting at the dining room table right now, sipping coffee and trying to remember what it was I was doing with my life before we left for Costa Rica.

It was such an incredible trip that I think it will take some time to decompress from. I felt very far out in the world, very far away from my life, and from the things that I think make me who I am.

We spent most of our time there on the Osa Penninsula, which is at the very southwestern tip of the country. National Geographic has called this region the "most biologically intense place on earth." We stayed at a gorgeous ecolodge called Lapa Rios which preserves 1000 acres of rain forest while offering guests very luxurious accommodations and fantastic access to the rain forest.

Every morning coffee was delivered to our room at 6AM and we sat out on our private deck, watching toucans and macaws fly overhead while monkeys played in the trees around us. And sitting out there in the early morning sunlight, the distant sound of howler monkeys in the forest, it was easy to look at my life from a distance.

I could see myself back home in Chicago, just as I am right now, up each morning typing away at my laptop in our  little home. I could see myself driving to work in Greg's little green Honda. I could picture myself at work, my legs crossed underneath the desk, phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, taking notes in a file folder. I could picture me and Greg together, sitting on the deck in the evening as the last dusky light fades from the sky.

And although, there are little things I would like to change about my present life, the overall picture was sweet and good and full of more balance than I've had in a long time.

Miss Me?

If you're missing me this week while I'm Costa Rica then consider picking up a copy of this month's Yoga Journal at your local bookstore or magazine stand.

You'll find a piece I wrote on page 22, replete with a photo of me in savasana!

Going Out in the World

Greg and I leave early tomorrow morning for Costa Rica. I'm really excited about this trip -- neither of us have ever been to Costa Rica and, truthfully, I'm not sure that I ever considered going. I've heard wonderful things about the country, but there have been other places that I'm more curious about.

However, now that I'm actually going, I'm fascinated by the idea and I can't wait to crack the spine on my Lonely Planet Costa Rica tomorrow morning at the airport and read everything I can about this new place out in the world that I'm traveling to. We're going to be primarily in the rain forest, staying at an luxury eco-lodge and doing a lot of hiking.

Traveling is so important to me. There is nothing I like better than going somewhere far out in the world that is very different from where I generally reside. I have learned more about myself on each trip I've taken than a month spent in psychotherapy. My life and the way I live it has never seemed more clear to me than from a window seat in an airplane, a bench on a ferry, or a dampened rock by a hidden waterfall.

I think traveling is a cure for a thousand afflictions. I think it at once takes you out of your head and puts you in it...but back in the right place.

The funny thing about me and traveling is that it scares me.

I get very anxious as I prepare for a trip -- worried about my house and my pets, my little life that I strive to maintain and protect. I make lists and arrangements. I double-check obsessively and bite my bottom lip as I pack.

I'm very fearful of flying. This is an affliction I've battled for over a decade. Each flight. No matter if it's a jumbo jet or a puddle jumper, a 30 minute flight between little islands or an 18 hour one to Asia -- my knuckles whiten as I grip the arm rests, my breath shallow, my strange little prayers silent and desperate.

But no matter...each trip drives a hunger deeper into me to see more of the world, to be more and more a part of it all. And each trip finds me more grateful than ever for this life I live.

More on Blogging and Writing and a Little About Quiet Wednesday Mornings

It's only 7:30 and I've been up for an hour, drinking coffee, reading emails, chatting with Greg's parents. They've been here for about a week now. His sister was due to have her baby last Friday and still hasn't gone into labor yet and everyone is just kind of waiting.

The house has been full and bustling with the four of us for the last week. Everyone up early each morning, the bathroom door opening and closing continuously, water running, voices in each room, someone playing a video on the computer, the dishwasher swishing and humming, and the cats scampering across the hardwood floor.

I'm wishing for some quiet time but overall, it's nice to have them here. My new mother and father in law. They all just left for the day -- Greg and his parents -- and suddenly the house is so quiet. I can hear the train going by in the distance and the sound of a sprinkler in the grass downstairs. I'm grateful for this moment, at my little green desk in the front windows of our home in Chicago.

Greg and I are going to Costa Rica on Friday for a six day travel writing trip. I can't wait to get away. Life has been rushing by for the past couple of months and I'm looking forward to a brief interlude spent in the rain forest. And neither myself nor Greg have been to Costa Rica so it will be nice to experience something so new together.

Bill and Rita will be staying here while we're gone, which is nice because we won't have to worry about the cats or the house, but it also means that I won't really have any time before we go to clear my head and find some space before we leave -- something I like to try to do, in a metaphorical sense -- before going out in the world on interesting trips.

Regarding yesterday's posts, I'm really blown away by the generous and encouraging comments everyone left. It's remarkable to hear from friends, regular blog readers and strangers alike, and the passion with which all of you wrote was incredibly flattering and surprising.

This issue with some of my friends not liking this blog is a tricky thing. Regardless of how much I can rationalize and justify my enjoyment of writing here (and I have no intentions of stopping) it still doesn't make me feel very good to be somehow hurting people who love me. Yes, I wish they could see it as an extension of the writer in me and as something that I am driven to do and very much fulfilled by, but their feelings about it lend themselves to a somewhat harsh criticism of how self-centered all of this is.

I think my friend Lucy's words last weekend were something to the effect of, "It's like you just want everyone to look at your life all the time."

This comment felt like a slap across the face. I think my cheeks burned at the time. I think I apologized.

Again, I don't intend the blog this way. But when she said it, I could imagine, from her perspective, how it could seem that way.

I think this blog is more a way of me looking at my life, me showing myself my life, me just trying to get perspective on my existence and the meaning of it all.

I'm a writer. I always have been. There is a drive in me to put words on paper. To take experiences and turn them into prose. And I will always do it.