A Flash of Red

Surprise awaited me this morning as I strode confidently across the drying lawn to the garden shed.

A flash of red against the shaded trunk of the old pear tree stopped me as my hand reached for the shed door. 
Looking slowly to the left, I saw 
a small bird, black wings, white breasted, it's head capped in red working steadily, focused and determined, at the bark of the scrabbled, mossy tree trunk of the generous old tree.

Over the last two years, 

the city’s natural world has unfolded to me.

Crows and gulls have croaked and scree'd,

robins and wrens have perched on the fence 

or pulled worms from the lawn, 

flitting and chirping all the while.

This year, squirrels busily stored nuts 

gathered from the grand old walnut tree,

scampering around the perimeter of the six foot fence, 
carrying one nut at a time to their winter stash.

This red headed bird was new to the yard.

Hushed and moving slowly, I backed away.

My camera was in the house.

On this fine autumn Sunday, neighbours were cutting grass with growling mowers, buzzing electric saws cut wood for a weekend’s project. Three times, my camera clicked and flashed.

The little bird, a young woodpecker, ignored us all,

stripped a small piece of bark from the old pear tree

and carried on pecking bugs and crawlies from under the bark,

then disappeared up the tree for more brunch.

“Nature will bear the closest inspection.  She invites us to lay our eye 
level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of it’s plain.”  
~ Henry David Thoreau

A Night To Remember

It was a dark and stormy night. A sentence far too cliched, over used and with images of Charley Brown rather than a memorable night.  However, it definitely was a night that I have never forgotten.

Thirty-nine, confident and driving a brand new Dodge Colt, the home of my new employer beckoned. Hired over the phone in April at St. Mary of the Plains Hospital in Lubbock, Texas, my adventure began by going to see where my home would be in October of that same year. In May, my long drive from Regina, Saskatchewan began. First it was to Grand Junction, Colorado to visit my uncle and aunt, and then on to Lubbock, Texas, Buddy Holly's hometown.

  

Setting off bright and early on a clear, sunny and calm morning for an interesting 740 mi (1200 Km) trip, my shiny blue car and it's owner was ready for the long drive through unfamiliar country into amazing, tree covered mountains from far southern Colorado and into New Mexico. Coming down from Raton, New Mexico, on the east side of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains into the Llano Estacado, the horizon was troubled by fat, white clouds edged in grey. Not a problem. 

Frequent breaks refreshed my chariot and it's driver. Clouds continued to gather ominously much more quickly than anticipated.

Then it started to rain - big fat drops flattened onto my new windshield. Evergreens and spring green trees were bending in a increasingly energetic wind.  

No matter. Now only about two or three hours out of Lubbock, according to my directions, I were almost there. The highway was broad and flat. There was no traffic.

Thunder clouds came in faster. The night grew darker. The wind grew stronger. The darkness should not have been upon me yet, but it had arrived fiercely - a not so gentle reminder that I shouldn’t ‘mess with Texas.”   

My dad did teach me, that in a storm, get off the road and get shelter till the storm passes. Where to go? This was an Interstate highway! Divided. The highway sign for Happy, Texas welcomed me so pulling off the interstate, I carefully drove down the main street: of a closed up town. Rolled up. Quiet. Dark.

Back on the highway, now slick with a half inch of water, a wind that rocked my little car. The storm threatened to push me off into the Texas plain. Fear tightened around my heart.

There is no memory of tears stinging my eyes, only fierce determination to get to Lubbock, Tx and safety. Praying desperately, my hands gripping the steering wheel, I just kept driving. A safe arrival in Lubbock, a good nights sleep and waking to a beautiful sunny day welcomed me to Lubbock, sprawled on the Texas plain, drying in the sun.  

The year was 1988 -  before the security of cell phones. Unaware that the last leg of my trip would take me through 'tornado alley', money for a car radio had not been in my budget. 

"Determination gives you the resolve to keep going 

in spite of the roadblocks that lay before you."

~ Denis Waitley

Questions with No Answers

Susan's Tomato Bush Oct. 2012

When I came home 
from work this afternoon,

I knew I would write 
this blogpost  tonight, but

didn’t know what I would write.

How did I choose?

I went to the garden to see what I could dig up - to shift and sift my thoughts.

In an hour, I picked up a half dozen windfall pears - one real nice one - firm and bronzed.

checked the miniscule size of squash and pumpkins,

slender flat pole beans that I didn’t really expect

counted at least ten tomatoes on my tomato 'bush' 

then tucked daffodil bulbs under the soil

covered them with crispy fallen leaves

dug up some well rooted weeds at grasses edge

yet words failed to flow - not even a drip!

You may have read my last three posts.

They were about this addiction thing.

After writing these three posts, I realized that

despite years of working with addicts and alcoholics

I barely know a scratch about the actual workings of addiction.

Anymore than I know about 

what goes on in my plants

to produce fruit.

Medicine
Psychiatry 

Nursing
Social work

each have explanations. 

But what I don’t know is why it affects choice.

Choice is what it’s all about isn’t it?

People choose to be addicts and alcoholics.

Don’t they?

Or do they choose something else

and then there’s addiction for some?

But who? when? where?

Do these questions matter for the active alcoholic or addict?

Or do they matter for the individual who has never

seen

felt 

touched 

an addictive substance?

I guess I’ll just keep

looking to idea and story,

planting seeds, 

weeding the soil, and

caring for the folks who need caring for.

"Science is wonderfully equipped to answer the question 'How?'

but it gets terribly confused when you ask the question 'Why?'"

~ Erwin Chargaff

Not all Bridges are Burned

The phone rang......
....again.

It had been ringing all morning.

I didn’t want to talk to another

anxious or frustrated parent of a child old enough to know better.

My voice must have sounded abrupt even though I tried to sound professional.

Then I was speechless - my eyes brimming with tears.

A quavering voice reached through the wires

“Thank you. Thank everyone of you, from the very bottom of my heart.”

I had heard these words before,

but usually from my patients and the recovery community.

“My darling child has died of this horrible disease.”

I recognized this parent’s voice

and recalled how many, many times 

this parent had stayed beside the child

through each attempt to get and stay clean and sober.

There had been many hard lessons learned along this road, with always tired celebration at each success.

This child did acquire one long, and 

very rewarding period of abstinence,

before several that were less so.

The last relapse was the last.

We shared a very emotional moment 

at that busy nurses station,

the maelstrom of a busy Monday 

swirling in the background.

I knew that not all of the family would grieve.

This ‘child’ was fifty-two years old.

“The truest form of love is how you behave

toward someone, not how you feel about them.”

~ Steve Hall

Courage - Farther down the Narrow Path

To continue from last evening

and to move forward out of the mess that I left you in.....

Courage - Farther down the Narrow Path

With a fresher face and steady voice, she said urgently ‘I’m still feeling quite sick this morning but would you tell me 

when breakfast is, please? I’m going to try to eat a bit - not too much though.

And I would like to see a social worker today, I have some follow up plans that my counselor has recommended. I can’t do this anymore, I miss all of my family - did I show you the pictures of my grandchildren? - I took that first drink again! But now I have grandchildren that I want to get to know - and I want them to know me. I want them to remember me healthy and happy, not a sad, maudlin and vicious drunk."

Her seasoned voice caught in her throat but she continued 

"I know you’ve heard all this before from me ~ except for the grandchildren ~ but I have concrete plans this time and my intention is to follow through with all of the plans."

Who was this person?

Certainly not the jittery, angry person that

I left only sixteen hours before?

There were still pale, dark circles under her eyes, 

under a tired looking and anxiously wrinkled forehead.

The hospital identification band on her wrist said that it was her...

brown hair clean and pulled back into a fresh and tightly woven braid, short curls fluffed at her temples

blue eyes clear, but still tired, were the same eyes that darted about the interview room yesterday, unable and unwilling to meet my eyes.

The general pallor of her skin was showing a bit of pink health.

What else was different?

Her posture tall, straight and almost confident?

Clean, smelling of shampoo and soap?

Shaky belief that she could try one more time?

Oh, it wasn’t the first and we never knew 

if it would be the last time that she, or anyone else, tried 

breaking the vicious cycle of active addiction

leaving behind people and friends known for years

learning to build new and healthy friendships

rebuilding frayed and damaged family relationships

finding finances for

a roof over her family's head, 

food on the table for her children and now grandchildren.

We were all only grateful that she had lived to try again,

and that she had made the call on her own.

I reminded her about the benefits of

eating small frequent amounts and maintaining lots of fluids

regular exercise with slow walks or light cycling

resting during the day to conserve this new buildup of energy

moving slowly as her mind raced into the world ahead of her....

“When you fall you can stay down and feel bad for yourself

or you can get back up and try to better yourself.”

~ Sonya Parker

Courage - Day Two

To continue from last evening

and to move forward out of the mess that I left you in.....

Courage - Day Two

With a fresher face and softer voice, she said urgently, 

‘I’m still feeling really sick this morning but would you tell me when breakfast is, please?

I’m going to try to eat. 

And will I be able to see a social worker today,

find out what I have to do next.

I can’t do this anymore, I miss my children and my family.

I 've screwed up again." Her voice caught in her throat but she continued "I know you’ve heard all this before from me,

but I really will do something different."

Who was this person?

Certainly not the angry, frightened person that

I left only 16 hours before?

There were still pale, dark circles under her eyes, 

under a tired looking and anxiously wrinkled forehead.

The identification band on her wrist said that it was her...

brown hair shiny and damp

hazel eyes clearer,

the same eyes that held me fiercely the day before.

Even the freckles that covered her skin seemed more defined.

What was different?

Clean, smelling of shampoo and soap?

Shaky confidence that she could try one more time?

Oh, it wasn’t the first and we never knew 

if it would be the last time that she, or anyone else, tried 

breaking the vicious cycle of active addiction

leaving behind people and friends she had known for years

learning to build new and healthy friendships

rebuilding frayed and damaged family relationships

finding finances for 

a roof over her family's head, 

food on the table for her children.

We were all only grateful that she had lived to try again,

and that she had made the call on her own.

I reminded her about the risks of

eating too much, too fast

exercising too much, too fast.

resting during the day to conserve this new buildup of energy

to move slowly as her mind raced....

"When the world says, "give up,"

Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."

~ Author Unknown

Courage

A missed opportunity yesterday, I am taking advantage of it today

Recovery has a path -
but it doesn't start out with clarity.

to add my commendation to all those women, men and teens that have attempted, 

and maybe even succeeded,

on this journey.

Yesterday was 

Recovery Day in Victoria

A celebration of Recovery from active addiction,

and of those brave and committed souls that

keep on, keepin’ on despite the many challenges

that they face, and burned bridges to mend.

My work in Detoxes across many miles 

is at the beginning of this often terrifying journey

that so very many take in an attempt

to restore joy and order from chaos and loss.

I am grateful to each and every patient and client, 

over the past twenty-seven years of my much longer nursing career,

for the fun, gratitude and caring you have given me,

and more importantly, given to each other.

That sounds so trite - but let me share with you 

a piece I wrote several years ago about 

this often stuttering beginning on the road to recovery in Detox.

It is not a pretty piece to read, so please do not continue if you

have difficulty with the details of sickness.

This story is a composite of many, and is true of any gender or age. 

Alcohol or drug withdrawal can be accompanied by minimal or severely acute medical crises.  A rather average story, it is simply called:

Courage.

She was so very tired; afraid and hungry every single day.  She sat huddled in a doctor’s office, desperately wanting to run.  Edgy and anxious, she was barely able to sit still. This waiting was taking precious time from her constant, frantic search to score and was almost more than she could do. If someone didn't help her soon she would be too sick to stay here.  Many days, despite her tiredness and weakness, she had not wanted, or even been able to take this time to find a way out.  She was desperate – and truly afraid for her life.

***

Now she was huddled in a hard cot at Detox, covers pulled over her head, shivering, feeling each tiny muscle in her body vibrating with dope sickness.  She was so cold.  Sweat drenched her in foul smelling sweat oozing from every pore, soaking thin cotton pyjamas.  Her bones were cold and ached miserably.  Her legs seemed unattached to her body and lay kicking and jerking, never allowing her to rest. 
Nausea and hunger mixed together in a bile coated and twisting stomach.  Every noise was magnified, sounds working in concert with jerking muscles.  And why were all the lights so bright?  Even with her head completely covered, tiny rays of light lasered through minute cracks in the thick flannel blanket, jabbing through tightly squeezed eyelids.  Every nerve in her body was screaming for relief.  

She refused to provide it.  It would be so easy.  Her dealer, or certain friends, would be only too willing to help her back into the chaos she was trying to get away from.  Now her very life was at stake.  The high and the fun had gone as surely as the job, home and family.  She missed her darling children so, so much.

She cried bitter tears when she remembered words spoken her kindly, only moments before:  "Withdrawal is the easy part of recovery."

She groaned, dragged herself out of bed and wiped her tears away. It was time for another hot shower.

"A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken.  Fortunately, something else happens to you and me.  
Pick up the pieces. Then, help me gather mine."

~ Vera Nazarian