The Next Right Thing

 "So now that you're just where you always wanted, what are you going to write about?"

"The next right thing?"

"Right, the next write thing AMIRITE"

"Why am I having a full dialogue with myself?"

Plz be gentle, I'm running on 18 hours of sleep in the past 96

Thank goodness for masks, otherwise there would be concerns about me quietly muttering to myself.

I've been off of orientation for slightly over a month, and while my basic skills are slowly improving, my absolute impatience with myself is like mentally tying my shoelaces together.

And Sondheim died.

But then we got a new cat. And named her Stevie Joshua Sondheim Matz.

Is Stevie the pirate, or am I?

And my emotional stretch marks are learning to accommodate.

Growth is challenging. There's an air of inadequacy that creeps in in the start of something new. It's invigorating, yes, but the drive to learn everything, all at once, yesterday, can really tie emotions in a knot.

Starting something new reminds me of when I woke up one day way back in 2009 and decided to fly trapeze. Phil is so used to my hypomanic peccadillos that he just shrugged and helped me find a school. I was desperate for new experiences and to throw as much excitement in my life as possible.

The thing about my personality is that I will always work my hardest to learn everything about everything I'm obsessed with. I've always been a jump-two-feet-without-looking-below person. 

It does not always go to plan.

I definitely meant to flip around like that

It seems very human to dislike not being good at something. So whenever I miss a line, a port, or a straight cath, I automatically assume I'm doomed for failure.

Come on, how many labs have you done? What the hell happened that time?

You're never going to get this. The family is so pissed, registration came over to warn you.

But then I took a beat and realized, "Was the patient injured? Did we get the labs? Did someone help?"

No they weren't, yes we did, and you're never alone.

I'll never do that again, but it won't be the last fuck up.

So what did I do after that? I went into another patient's room and did the next right thing.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

(It's been a bunch of busy evenings.)

Something I've noticed is that I have the luxury of constant opportunities for learning without judgement. Every day is a new adventure. 

However it's humbling to remember that there is no chance to learn everything - even when growth is always encouraged and nourished.

Thank you for not making me feel like crap, Phil

It's been a month off of orientation, and I'm still working on the next right thing. I joked to a colleague that I'm an adequate RN but I've got a solid personality, so there's that (?).

I've also given myself a break from my MSN, because I realized that all the SSRIs, SNRIs, and bottles of wine are largely ineffective if I'm intentionally, willfully, toying with my mental health.

My advisor was kind but clueless.

"Oh, I'm sorry you want to take a semester off. You know, you could continue your non-clinical classes if you want to work on your DNP?"

WHAT PART OF BURNOUT

We're all learning as a family to manage my new schedule. I sometimes hear Phil quietly moving throughout the house on mornings when I need to sleep, acutely aware of avoiding noise. Norah is fine, although I've learned not to ask her about how my nights will go.

"It's going to be bad. You're going to have three sedations."

"How did you learn about sedations???"

Learned experience, mofo.

Every day is a new challenge, and as of this documentation, I'm living for it.

A timeline of sorts (or, "There's too much exposition so here's a chart")

2018: Graduates

2018: Starts job as a surprise float in subacute rehab

2018: Cries a lot

2018: Learns what happens when you don't properly adhere a patient's ostomy appliance

2018: Learns about sediment from foley catheters

2018: Learns the panic of a needle stick injury

2018: Learns that management will give out M&Ms when you desperately text them for extra staff

2019: Starts BSN

2019: Learns how fun it is to remove staples

2019: Learns that this bullshit is not sustainable

2019: Discovers it is well time to find a new spot

2019: Gets in touch with adolescent psychiatry

2019: Gets interview with adolescent psychiatry

2019: Waits four months and then starts adolescent psychiatry

2019: Deescalation is a super power and PRNs are a utility belt

2019: Please wear sunscreen

November 2019: "What's up with the splash page talking about screening patients from Asian countries?"

2020: O shit

2020: Yes, it's bad

2020: Explaining on the internet that it's bad

2020: The internet gets mad at my explanation 

2020: Adolescent psychiatry becomes Psych COVID

2020: Isolates in guest bedroom to much personal emotional distress

2020: Stress bleaches hair but it actually looks rad

2020: Sharon's five years cancer free!

2020: Begins kickboxing as a way of managing rage and extensive takeout orders

2020: Finishes BSN, considers MSN because what's another degree

2020: 

2020: Steps off curb and breaks a goddamn ankle

2020: Brief foray into pedi fencing in which I get way more invested than she does and I'm reminded of how terrible I felt after every gymnastics practice where my biodad made me feel like shit for not being good enough

2020: Unpacked my own shit and allowed my kid to do her own thing, which included not needing anyone's permission to say no

2020: Became the oldest Xennial on tiktok

2021: "This is going to be a much better year"

2021: 

2021: Trip to Europe is postponed

2021: Trip to Europe is canceled

2021: Started MSN

2021: 

2021: "Maybe there's something else I can do to utilize my psych knowledge"

2021: Applies to pediatric emergency department

2021: Starts pediatric emergency department

2021: Decides to prioritize happiness 

Aaaaaaaand...we're caught up. 

I think. 

We're all still here, under the phlegm

 I can't believe this still exists.

No, not the internet.

Not even blogspot (though after two glasses of wine, I was hyperventilating, rabid, fixated on uncovering all I had written about the trauma of the 20-teens).

Us.

Ohhhhhhh bloggers, we have decades to unpack.

(Well, really only three years, but between three jobs, 40 pounds, and one pandemic...it's a lot)

On Anthony Bourdain, Kate Spade, Robin Williams, and the Tragedy of Fame

I've avoided a lot of social media today in the same way I avoided social media on August 11, 2014 (or, the day Robin Williams completed suicide).

Anthony Bourdain was more than a celebrity chef. His shows delved into the cultural richness of the areas he featured. It wasn't enough for him to sit in the kitchen of a five star resort restaurant in some exclusive city. He wanted you to see what other people experienced, to recognize your privilege while absorbing a society you may never get to visit.

And, he has my favorite quote: "I'm a total egg slut."

Me too, Tony. Me too.

We may never know what prompted Bourdain's suicide - and that's fine. Being in the public eye does not give us agency to know those deepest, darkest monsters. People are ridiculously complicated, fascinating beings. Maybe he didn't even know what prompted him to end his life. Maybe it was a spontaneous decision with permanent consequences. Monday (Friday?) morning quarterbacking doesn't make his daughter any less father-less. It doesn't make his friends less horrified. And it doesn't make us any less sorrowful.

But just like when Robin Williams died, the seemingly surprising suicide of a celebrity with gravitas leads us to a more personal conversation with ourselves and each other.

I see a lot of people posting the suicide hotline number; yes, that's important, a good start. We all want the people we love to stay with us in a corporal sense, as long as possible. But here's where those suicide lines hit a snag:

A lot of people with suicidal ideation may not want to take that first step. I know that when I was at my most depressed, being told to take the initiative at a time when I could hardly get my head off a pillow would have felt like an insurmountable task. And actually speaking to someone on the phone? Unpacking layers upon layers to a therapist, only to discover that we're not compatible?

It's like dating, with less orgasms.

Asking someone who is depressed to take on another task may be too much. 

Being wealthy, famous, all the strappings of success - it won't change the internal struggles. If anything, it may suppress them until all the Depression Hotline or Suicidal Ideation Text Hotlines couldn't possibly reach you at your darkest. We didn't expect Kate Spade to suddenly not be alive (and screw all these news reports giving gruesome details. We are so desensitized as a culture that we care more about the color of the scarf than the grief of her heart.)
Anthony Bourdain was a shock. And the next, and the next, until we're so anesthetized by our society that we don't even look up from our phones when someone plummets to their death.

So what's the answer?

Well, I'm no psych nurse (yet), but it starts by not putting the onus on a depressed person to reach out for help. It starts with sending a text saying, "I'm getting pad thai and bringing you an order," and making good on it.

Stock Footage? Yes. Appropriate? Also, yes

It starts with a call (that will most likely go to voicemail) saying, "I can come to your house to help you organize your books," or, "I know shit's rough for you right now, so I'm taking you on a hike."

It's taking the initiative. Carrying the load when you know someone can't carry it themselves.

And if you're struggling there in the deep end of the pool, know this: I see you. I see you and I'm swimming over.

Because if there's one thing that we should know in this week of celebrity suicides (what a dark phrase that is), it's that we all need to take turns with a flotation device.