Wednesday, November 12, 2008

I'm no Lance

Not even a Lancet.

I had yesterday off. I love the VA on Veteran's Day. Not just because I get the day off when I'm on the out-patient rotation. Mostly because the flags are up all around the front and the patients have hand colored pictures in their room from school kids in the area thanking them for serving. I supervised a lumbar puncture today of a vet and while the intern re-identified the landmarks I saw the picture right next to the urinal. A fourth grader. It was very good.

So to celebrate, Mom, Bryce and I went for a bike ride to the ocean. That involves a lot of hills from here. Well, a lot for me. I liked the flat bike rides in Davis. Half way up one of the hills with my thighs and my lungs burning, I was composing craigslist ads to sell my bike. Then there would be a downhill and I'd delete the typed sales pitch in my head. We finally made it to the ocean at Torrey Pines. It was hard to believe it was November given the beautiful sunny day and the people scampering about the beach.

On the ride, though, I was thinking, "I used to be tougher." I used to be less eager to give up. I didn't give up, but I thought about it. Maybe I used to be more stubborn. Biking can be sort of scary, though. Especially when Ali had cautioned me to not fall over because I'd get really bruised. And the cars rush right by you. And the shoes are locked into the pedals so that when mom almost falls into me I can barely clip out in time to catch myself and her. It's not often anymore that I'm scared like that--a self-preservation sort of fear.

I'm not really sure I like it. It's pushes and stretches, but it's not comfortable. Maybe that's the point.

But.

I still have unhealed scars on my legs from my bike wreck last year. At least this time I wore a helmet.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

White Bread and Missing

I had a patient in clinic the other week who was deathly afraid of white bread. He is a 40 something man with panhypopit which means his pituitary doesn't make the salt, sex, sugar, or growth hormone regulators and he need them supplied externally. He had long hair and a small chin. And he was deathly afraid of bread. White bread only. "I just want to drive away if I see it, man. If I'm at a friend's house I say--I tell him--I just want the patty, man. I can't stand white bread. My mom used to tell me 'the whiter the bread, the sooner you're dead.' I guess I took it to heart.

I guess he did.

I've been reminded of Pop a lot lately, too, in my last few weeks at the VA. A nearly blind but otherwise healthy 85 year old man wore pants like him. His wife of 63 years did most of the talking for him. She remembered everything. "He's been such a wonderful husband," she verbally caressed him. They were adorable. "Like two peas in a pod," she said a few times. I believe it.

Another man in ENT clinic reminded me of him with the way he talked. Another WWII vet. He'd been in Europe in the ski troops. What a trip that must have been. I wished we'd got Pop hearing aids sooner. I wish we had been more diligent about getting the pain from his hip see to.

I wish he weren't gone.

I dreamt about him last night. He hadn't really died, but he was going to soon. He hugged me and said it would all be okay. I wanted to ask him what we were supposed to do without him, but I didn't get the chance. I didn't want to wake up and lose him again. I know he'd say to just do our best and try not to let it get to us. I still miss him. Everyday.

I know he had survived cancers and quadruple bypass, heart failure, and heart break. He survived with a smile for everyday. I wanted to as him what he thought in those quiet moments he had alone. Mom thinks he thought of us or errands or chores that should be done and that, those last years, he could no longer do.

He was an amazing man. I love him. I miss him.

I wish he could have met Ali. It would be different for him, but I know he'd like him. He'd like him because of the way he treats me--because of the way he spoils me. Because of the way he missed me when I was in New Zealand. Because of the way he tells people he's proud of me. Because he puts air in my nearly flat tires. Because he wants me to remember my pills and get better. Because he missed me and he loves me and he tells me. Because those are all things that Pop used to do. They're very different externally, but the heart of good men runs through time and place and culture and lives. Ali's at work now. Pop is only in my dreams these days. They're both with me, but I miss them now.