open what?

in counseling, we have discussed how life often offers you similar experiences over and over again.  which, either reinforces a pattern or offers you a chance to change things up a bit. . . see how they turn out. 

a brand-new married male co-worker said to me last week, within a few minutes of each other, 

"You are like chocolate ice-cream, i can't sit next to you without wanting you."

"Let's go on a date tomorrow night."

"My wife and I have an open marriage.  We have read books about it." 

to which i froze.  'what did he say? he couldn't possibly mean what he just said.'  goes my mind around and around and around. 

I process it for 5 days, with family and friends. 

to my supervisor on Tuesday, I shared the above, and he said, "I'm sure he didn't mean it that way, I'll talk to him . . . . man to man---suss it out."  which doesn't happen. 

to a female supervisor yesterday, who replied, "I'm sure he meant open like he explained. . .  Open communication."

To him directly, i said, "You shouldn't have said that to me. It made me uncomfortable and your intention and meaning was not clear." 

He replied,  "Would it have been better if I had said, 'my wife and I have an open marriage and I don't want to fuck you.'?"

To which I replied, "I guess so. It would have been clearer." 

Tonight, I went to supervisor #1 again and said, "I have been uncomfortable and have felt unsafe at work.  I have had to deal with this alone. No one here has supported me.  You should know that." 

He said, "We'll fire him tomorrow."  

and I'm not sure that this is the right decision.  I'm not exactly sure what I was looking for.  It feels a bit extreme. . . he didn't grab my ass, kiss my face, or touch my breast.  and yet, what he did was wrong. . . and i'm not sure that i can clearly explain it. years ago, i had a relationship that started off similarly and ended with him stalking me for years.  and i thought that i could handle it alone, and that it was just something that happened to me.  but, at 33, you have to admit, perhaps i am not a good enough boundary setter in the early stages of an unfamiliar relationship.  

I wish, last week, when he first said those things that i had looked him in the eye and told him to 'leave me alone.'  but, i am always wanting to be kind to the "other".  gentle with them, aware of their humanity and emotional fragility.  

maybe this strong, forceful firing of someone who "unintentionally makes a verbal blunder" isn't good for him. . . and maybe I shouldn't be so nice to his face and then go to supervisors and say that he made me scared.  and maybe i am really screwed up too . . . but if his 'screwed-upedness" is allowed to compare me to chocolate ice cream, in a professional environment, then mine can have his ass fired. . . because, maybe, his being fired is good for me at this point.  and maybe that is selfish. . . but healthy.  

NICU

fridays are tough.  always.  you hit the end of the week, and all of everything that you tried to push-off all week long seems to start crashing down around you at about 3:30pm . . .

i left work as the sky was turning that beautiful dusky grey blue-black color.  i needed to stop at a patients' house to drop something off and then i was going home.  to rest.

i am home, on the phone and someone is trying to call in. . . and it is someone from work.  i am told: a woman, who is young, and speaks no english and who had a premature baby earlier this week is home in pain with a fever.  she won't go to the hospital because she doesn't speak any english. . . is there anything that i can do?

i say, "no, there is nothing that i can do. it is dark and i have already worked more than 40 hours this week.  i am tired.  i haven't eaten dinner.  i'm sorry. she'll go if she needs to."  and i sat down to eat.

about 4 bites in, all the memories of all the moms in the NICU that i worked came flooding back.  women who spoke english and felt helpless and abandoned when their baby was taken from them and placed in an incubated, isolated place.  i can't imagine adding the language barrier.

i call work.  i say that i will take her to the hospital.  it's dangerous.  i don't speak her language.  i am there in a 'middle capacity'. . . as a support but with the knowledge and license to act.  she looks terrible when i pick her and her partner up.

we get to the hospital and her pain just increases and increases as the minutes tick by.  and as i watch her, i am not convinced that the source of her pain is her uterus. . . she has pain in her uterus. . . but i think her heart is broken.  

oh the kind, demeaning doctors that keep coming in, acting as if they know things when they are just mostly guessing and not really listening.  at what point in their education were all of these residents instructed to not listen? . . . i am thankful for my medical experiences. . . i have learned the lingo and a way to semi-efficiently navigate the system (regarding maternal-child health).  

once her pain is under control. . . i start to talk about her baby.  i ask if she has pictures. no.  has she spoken to anyone today about how her baby is doing.  no.  there is no way to do this with the language barrier.  has the baby seen his dad today?  no.  i start to emphasize the importance of their presence. . . the need for their baby to hear their voices, to smell them, to feel their hands.  and her eyes light up and she says, 'yes, you think that too.'  do want the baby's dad to go and see the baby?  'yes', she says.

and we go up. . . up to a place so familiar to me.  the darkness, the late-night hush, the vigilance of the nurses, the control, the beeping of the monitors, the respirators, the size of human body less than your hand . . . and a dad weeping.  they never do it in front of their partners.  in all the time i worked in the NICU, when a mom and dad stood there together, she cried and he didn't.  but, frequently, when you stood next to a dad . . . alone and quiet, no partner near. . . the tears flow.  and it is so painful to experience that i am glad they don't do it in front of their wounded partner.

somehow, this woman went home from a major surgery resulting in a very young, sick baby, with the impression that she couldn't help.  the most important person in her whole life was just removed from her  without a plan in place for how to stay connected.

there has to be a better way than this.

mexican pizza

it is a sunday afternoon. . . gorgeous weather.  i refuse to go anywhere.  i am sitting outside, an afternoon glass of red wine, the sun dimpling through the vegetation. . . pretending that i am in france.

it has felt like a long week.  a long month really.  my heart, my head, and my body are all exhausted.  it is a good day to stop and just sit.  .  . very still.

i live in a city that i love.  a city that holds me when i am un-well and invites me into health.  a city that  matches my moods, that lets me wander around in skirts and sweatpants equally, never feeling like i need to be someone else.  

on friday evening, after a long week at work and feeling exhausted, i (somewhat irritably) needed to run to the store to pick-up some things so that  i could bake muffins for an event on saturday.  i love cooking, when i want to cook.  i hate cooking when someone asks/tells me i need to "bring" something along.

i come home and change into normal clothes and run out to grab groceries at the food co-op.  as i am driving, i am trying to think about food.  it is this never-ending thought process when you enjoy eating.  i wasn't very hungry, but i needed to eat something and i didn't want junk food and i didn't want to cook and i didn't want to clean anything up.  i ran through a list of take-out places, none of which sounded appealing.

i grab my eggs at the co-op and as i am checking out, the cashier has this interesting looking thing next to the register. . .

"what is that?  it looks delicious."

"it's mexican pizza and they already closed the food bar and there is lots left over. . . let me grab you a piece and you can have it for free, we can't sell it now."

and she stopped mid-ringing me up and ran into the back and came out with a piece of carroty-looking pizza and handed it to me on a real plate. . . it was delicious. . .

i'm sure that she will never know how much it meant to me that on a cold, exhausted friday she extended a gift with no expectation of anything in return.  this stranger in this city took care of me in such a loving way.  i'm really glad i live here.

The Break-Up

5 years. We met in February of 2005.  He was and is the funniest, most thoughtful, creative, and beautiful man I have ever met.  August of 2005, we break-up, he isn't ready for long-term commitment.  Back together in June of 2006.  He moved to my city that August.  I was ready for marriage.  He wanted to go slow.  We travel together in the summer of 2007 for 2 months.  After it is over, I love him more than ever; he thinks that next year, he might need to be alone.  We break-up in June of 2008 and I move to a new city. . . hoping to heal and to give him space.  He visits on New Year's eve 2008, and it starts again.  This time, long-distance. . . just to see how it goes.  I think it goes well.  In May 2010, he needs "space" to decide if we are going to get married or not.  He comes to my job in June. . . and I decide that this is it . . . we are going to get married.  We love each other and it has been a long-time.  He says he needs until August to make up his mind.  He decides that he isn't ready.  He can't do it.  Marriage requires a lot of confidence.  Confidence he doesn't have.

And I am here.  Alone.  My best friend- gone.  My every-day person- gone.  The guy who stood in my court and rooted for me- gone.  The person to buy a house with- gone.  The man I wanted to have children with - gone.   The person who can make me laugh when I am crying -gone.   I feel as if I have lost so much in losing him.

Everyone is full of platitudes.  "You don't want someone who doesn't want you."  "It would never work out if he wasn't invested all of the way." "He doesn't deserve you. You deserve better."  "You are better off without him."

But, I am not.  I am sad and lonesome without him . . . immobilized by grief and too aware of how good things in life are transient . . . it is as if a limb has been amputated.  No prosthetic will ever quite replace it.  There are some things in life that you can't undo.

My sister came to visit this past weekend.  To fill the hours, to spend time with me.  And I am so thankful that she did.  We went to a used bookstore on Sunday and she gave me the tools to survive the fall.


I hope that I make it.

one bird on a wire

i am not sure if you are able to see this or not. . . but, there is one bird sitting alone on a wire outside

my window.  .  .  

                            and this is how i feel lately. . .     

                              one,little bird,                                   

with the whole sky in front of her, waiting. . . .

waiting for another bird to land next to her . . . 

but it never does.

i watch this bird for a good half-hour.       

 she flies away alone.    

 i hope that this is not significant.

i watch other birds fly by her. . . and they never land. 

she sits and watches, then cleans herself, then watches.

you can't force another bird to land. 

i expected something different

out of life. i expected this:                                      .                  

                              but you can't get there on your own. 

sunday sewing

i have been wanting to try making pants for awhile. . . and decided that i would try this morning.   it was just me and the amy butler, 'In Stitches' book. . . which, i had resisted buying for about 3 weeks now, feeling that i could figure out the pants on my own.   but, after rifling through the pattern catalogues and trying to read about it on-line, decided, it was just better to pay amy butler her money and use her pattern.  

this is not the best photo . . . but it was the best that i could do.  .  .

 

the fabric was a gift from a friend, who sent it to me from michigan. . .

Cocktails and Throw-Pillows

i realized the other day that i am 33 and i have NEVER, NEVER owned a "throw-pillow". it may seem a little strange. . . but, it sort of feels like one of those not frequently mentioned, 'rites of passage' one should go through. are you really an adult, if you have never owned a throw-pillow?

i didn't contemplate it long. i saw a pattern on http://www.soulemama.com/ and decided to replicate it. My sister, emily, was visiting, and we went to my favorite pittsburgh fabric store and . . . what candy stores are for some people, fabric stores are for me . . . the textures, the colors, the patterns. . . i can easily loose 3 hours to a good fabric store. i only hope to be able to use the fabrics well.

i am learning that if i see a good fabric, and have no vision for it, it is still o.k. to buy it, because if i glance at it long enough in my sewing room. . . something always emerges.

this photo is from awhile back. . . i just got my camera to momentarily function again. If you are in the market, don't buy PENTAX.

i had been inspired by "Mad Men" and the 1950's cocktails. . . so, i started trying different ones. . . Dirty Martini's, Manhattans, Cosmos. . . it probably has not aided my desire for a little weight loss. . . but, it has been fun to experience.