Easy choices.

The milk is spilled.

Everyone has choices in life, at least those of us who attempt to move forward.  On any given day, at any given moment, you may take a path that either leads to regret or thankfulness.  Most choices are simple, and being regretful over Chinese vs Mexican or thankful over blue tie vs sweater vest are the kind of sand-in-the shorts things that we typically fret about.  On those occasions in which we are faced with big decisions, I, for one, can become paralyzed.

One of the most stressful moment in my life was just a few months ago, receiving a call from Baltimore City, with a job offering big money and big benefits.  At the time I had not one but TWO jobs that I really loved and was making almost-enough money. I did what I had to do not for my own comfort but what was best for me and the family.  

The choice wasn’t pleasant, but it was easy.

When I was faced with the decision to either turn off my paternal grandmother’s breathing machine or let her go on suffering toward an eventual death . . . again, I did what I had to do.

The choice wasn’t pleasant, but it was easy.

The teachers at Sandy Hook made a decision that (I’d like to believe) anyone would make in the same circumstances.  A choice of either attempt to protect the children or save yourself?  I’m not even going to talk about it.  You know what you would do and we all know what they did.

The choice wasn’t pleasant, but it was easy.

When people talk about “hard choices,” they are usually talking about other people’s sacrifices.  When politicians are talking about “hard choices,” they are most certainly using it as an apology for those about to get the shaft.  Some choices are hard, not because of comparisons of the two sides but because we fear that we may be wrong, that the decision will lead to being worse off than we were before.  Then, especially with politicians, they can be shouted down for their “failed policies.”  So, everything we get is wishy-washy, watered down, and hyped up and we are polarized into camps either “Forever For” or “Forever Against.”

Well, now that yet more lives have been taken, now that little kids have been gunned down, if you were faced with the choice of preventing a death of a first grader or holding on to your own long-sustained notions about gun policy, healthcare, or our right-to-know, are you going to make it a “hard choice?”  Or will it be easy?

There is NO easy fix.  There is no law that can stop a bullet.  But, are we going to be willing to open our minds as quickly as we open our hearts to the victims?

My brother just posted that if the president could guarantee his safety, then he would hand over all of his guns.  Believe it or not, this is good ground upon which to start.  It's a sentiment with which many can identify.  After all, if crazies like the one in Sandy Hook are around the corner, how DO we guarantee safety?  Now, before I get blasted for being anti-gun, I’m just setting the stage, here.  Ya think that maybe, just maybe, not everybody needs access to assault rifles?  If it would have saved a life, would you consider it?  Do you think that maybe free healthcare or at least a better system for the mentally ill could reduce or prevent the next mass-murder?  Consider it.  Would you rather prevent the next attack or not?

Another person posted that there have been 31 school shooting since Columbine, but we haven't had a change in gun policy.  Well, you on the liberal side, do you think that, perhaps, ARMING some of our more well-adapted citizens could be an option?  The police are armed, aren’t they?  Why can’t we give training to a larger percentage of our population along with the DUTY to protect others? Say, one-in-twenty?  If we did, then out of twenty teachers, one of them could have put the guy down.  This goes the same for Virginia Tech, and same with 9/11.  Sounds like madness?  Good, you’re listening.

Can we, as a nation who HAS to know and has to get the up-to-the-minute report, accept that the media is using scare tactics to get us to tune in?  I just read (and it could be bullshit) that the mother who had the guns had them because “she was afraid what would happen in the economy.”  If this is true, then it wasn’t guns that caused this, it was the fear that convinced her she needed them to protect herself, a fear propagated to keep you afraid and voting one way. Dare I suggest that our government should regulate the press?  Dare I suggest that fear-mongering isn't journalism and should be punished as a capital offense?

Instead of staying in our foxholes, shooting anyone who disagrees, how about being open to real answers that have been proven to work?  How about real compromise that makes us all safer?  Would you be willing to give something up, or are you going to hold on to your politics despite reason?  Are you going to defend the shooters right to have guns?  Are you going to look at any kind of prevention as an infringement?  Are you going to concede that licenses to carry could actually prevent this kind of thing?  And, yes, I mean in schools as well. I work in a school system in which I know of at least one instance where a student was armed and another instance where an armed robbery happened after I watched the intruder walk by me.  There is no secure building when you have students willing to open a door from the inside. How about making sure that the mentally ill are treated with the same kind of crisis urgency as someone who is bleeding to death?  Even if they are not violent (most aren’t), we are still talking about a human life, a victim that didn’t ask to be diseased.

My point is that until and unless we stop cradling our Us vs Them mentality, until we come together to produce real solutions for these problems and YES with the sacrifice of some of our heavily-defended concepts of what liberty is, what it can be, and what it should be, then it won’t be long before we are clucking our tongues and shaking our heads once more.  I'd rather stand on that "slippery slope" and try like hell to keep us from sliding farther into madness.  So, climb out from behind your fortresses of righteousness and lets all meet on the ground of concession.  Yield, dammit!

The decision won’t be pleasant, but it SHOULD be easy.

Milestone on the way to being wise.

Stairs.
I once said that I’d know when I was getting old when I started taking stairs one-at-a-time.  I’ve always hated stairs, they are always between me and my goal, even if that goal is simply the food court.  My attitude in the past was that they were put there to slow me down and I wasn’t having it. So, I always took them two or sometimes three at a stride if I was feeling particularly spunky.  I’m not sure when I started the one-step method, but it must have happened gradually since I never noticed.  It could have been a year or two ago when I was at a high weight (fat) or possibly sooner.  I DO know that in 2004 I was still charging up the stairs of the school in which I taught, which means it must have happened in the last eight years.  On the bright side, I probably look much more dignified stepping casually as I ascend rather than throwing myself to the top, nowadays.  I think it’s a shift in attitude more than anything else.
It’s both good and bad:  Bad, because I’m not as enthused as I used to be and Good, because I’m not living my life as one, big emergency.  My fear is that, deep down, I’m thinking  that no matter what waits for me at the top, it’s not really worth all the effort to get there.  That’s scary.  Hell, that’s downright depressing.  I’m hoping that the real reason is because I’ve become much more patient.  Not entirely patient, mind you, but more so than I used to be.

Comics.
If you went back to 1989 and told me that there would come a day when I would no longer buy comics, I’d have laughed in your face.  Three times in the last three months I’ve felt driven to walk into the local comic store here in Frederick.  I went in, looked around, and left empty handed.  Nothing, and I mean nothing piqued my interest. It has all been done, and I’ve seen most of it.  Although I still feel excitement at the prospect of a mysterious wall-crawling rope-swinging high-flying crime fighter dispensing two-fisted justice on evil-doers, at this point in my life I’m well-read enough to feel disappointed at bad writing and frustrated at second-rate artwork.  Very few storylines are truly original or have any kind of flair.
I used to be happiest when I had a stack of fresh comics and time to read.  It wasn’t very long ago when I used to organize my bi-weekly stack like a feast, with certain comics clearing the palate for the next, and working from light, to dark, to funny, to fantastic, and on down through the pile.  It was a hobby in which I invested time, effort, and lots of money.   It hurts to say this, but now that same stack of comics is a chore.  I’m sure that if I were twenty again I’d probably be buying into it with fervor, but not in my 40's.  Well, to be honest, at age twenty, I never would have been able to afford them at today’s prices.
Here comes more old-man talk: $4.00 for a fucking comic book? I remember when comics were $.35!  Granted, there’s inflation, but a comic, then, was the same price as a can of Coke.  I can’t help but think that this is where it should have remained comparable.  We pay about a buck for a bottle of Diet Pepsi, maybe $1.50 if we’re hard up on a hot day.  I could even see paying $2.50 since I’ve collected comics through that price point and I was OK with it even when I had less money.  But buying ten comics to while away a Sunday afternoon should not be a major investment.
I have thousands of comics gathering dust.  I don’t need any more, and I can’t see spending serious money on something that is not going to hold its value nor my interest.  My older comics may be worth something, maybe not, but they’re mine and I look forward to the day when I can spread them all out in a room and relive memories.  I’m hoping that there will be someone there to record my enthusiasm, suddenly awakened from its chrysalis.  Perhaps it will be my Mitsubishi Service Bot, having been programmed to pretend to give a shit about my rambling as well as change my Depends.  If not, there’s always this blog, possibly.  Lucky you. Hell, at this point, I should start pulling boxes home from the storage area and re-reading the old ones since there’s NO way I could remember the storylines of them all.  (I got about seven thousand or so).  Also, I’d never read them all again before I died.  Ok, that’s probably an exaggeration but you get what I mean.  Erica would probably object to stacks of musty newsprint cluttering up the house.
Question: did I change, or was it the industry?  Am I just getting to be a codger, or did comics just get boring?  Either way, this is the way it is. I still feel that pull, that old excitement drawing me in, every time I’m passing by the shop, so maybe it’s not me.  Maybe this is the universal narrator telling me to start writing my own comics.  Hmmm . . .

Teenagers.
My brother was applying for a job when he was eighteen and the owner/boss gave this opinion:  “Teenagers ain’t worth a fuck.”
I’m inclined to agree.
Now, before my young readers (heh, oxymoron), start tearing me up one side and down the other in poorly-formed text speak, I’d like to explain that not ALL teenagers are worthless.  They have potential at the very least and this makes them worthy of keeping alive for the few years when they are at their most irritating. The bright point of this is that this has always been the case.  As much as I’d love to jump and shout, “In MY day, . . .” the truth is that teens were just as worthless in the 80's.  We didn’t notice, since we were the worthless.  I remember fighting my mom about cleaning up the house, doing the dishes, and working the garden.  I hated all of the above.  Still do.
Behaviorally, there were teens who fought teachers in “my day.”  There was vandalism of cars, gas tanks, punched-out windows, and fire alarms set off several times a year.  Bullying wasn’t taken nearly as seriously as it is, today.  In many ways, it was much, much WORSE.  Technology wasn’t on such a rapid rise and “learning computers” really meant learning what the hell they were and what they were capable of doing. Today, kids have more access to more information and lightening-fast tech than anybody could have been imagined in the 80's. By playing with their phones, cheating on tests with their phones, and doing an entire research paper on their PHONES, they are actually honing skills that they will need in the very near future.  Self-delivery of information, or research, has never been easier.
So, why talk about teenagers?  Because I have to remind myself that there are people out there who do NOT run the risk of being called a bitch each and every day, that there are people who do not have to be prepared for combat, that there are those who go to work without facing full-on confrontation daily.  Inner-city schools have always been rough, but with the added distractions of hand-held tech it becomes all-but impossible to even get the full attention of the class.  Granted, teachers never really had that, even at the best of times, but the illusion was there.  I miss the illusion.
The fact that things have always been strained with the new generation does not make it any easier to take.  I had a confrontation with a young man the other day who was too (I won’t say stupid, although it applies) much of a teen to realize that what he took was weakness in my not calling his bluff we was actually me looking out for him.  I had pulled his charger out of the wall and he told me he was going to hit me if I touched it again.  I didn’t touch it again, not because I feared his reaction, I feared my reaction and the subsequent chain of events that would land this kid in alternative education and possibly me out of teaching forever.  I’m really not sure how I would have reacted if he had punched me, but I didn’t want to know.
     Not worth it.
He took my restraint as fear, which made the situation even harder to take.  Fear?  Yes, you pubescent, hormone-addled, ninety-pound gangster, that’s exactly what it is.  Fear that this 44-year-old man who spent winter in the North Atlantic and faced down guys twice your size and ferociousness may just show you what he can do to self-important dog meat before anyone can rescue you.  Then, I force myself to remember, this is a child.  It’s a spiteful, confused, undeveloped and frustrated young man growing up in the most shitty of environments who is trying to get control of a situation in which he has no power. Sigh.  Ok, I won’t kill you.  Not today, anyway.  But it’s really hard to do this as he’s doing his victory dance.
Teenagers ain’t worth a fuck.
More on teenagers: How is it that people like me, who aren’t worth listening to 90% of the time, are still required to know everything under the sun?

Student: When bridge projects due? (I know there’s no verb, this is my life.)
Me: Bridge projects? (These are the get-out-of-high-school-free packets if you can’t pass the HSA, FYI.) I don’t know.
Student: Yes you do!  Why you not telling me? (I swear, real dialogue.)

This student could not, would not believe that I DIDN’T know something.  This happens about three times a week.  They have looked at me in amazement when I didn’t know when Senior Inauguration is, what stores were in Mondawmin Mall, or the name of that breed of dog that never barks.  Despite having any contact the subject whatsoever, I’m just supposed to KNOW.  If I’m so Gods-damned wise, why don’t you fucking listen?

Sleep.
I used to make fun of people who slept their lives away.  You would never catch me oversleeping on a Sunday and I sure as hell would get up early on a Saturday.  It’s MY day, and I’m not sleeping through it.  I used to go out every Thursday night and 7-10 classes were a breeze.  Now, it’s a different story.  I look at time off as an opportunity to go to bed.  I’ve taken napping to a whole new level.  I’m pre-sleeping before I go to sleep.  I’ve become the Sleeping Bandit.  Whenever there’s nobody home, I can be undressed, in the bed, and catch a good forty winks within seconds.  I can usually be snoring long before anyone gets the chance to ask me to be involved in something. I’m not sure of the wink-to-full-night’s sleep ratio, but I’m always on the lookout for spare winks and must steal hundreds a week.  Erica keeps asking if there’s something wrong with me.  Nope.  Just sleepy.
Gone are the days when I’d say things like, “I got five hours last night, I’m cool.”  Five hours would just piss me off these days and guarantee that I’d fall asleep at the wheel on the way home from work.  Sleep has become a passion.  I’m old.

I guess it’s a change of desires.  I don’t let the old mania of impatience and the fuel of righteousness goad me into anger and cause me to go charging up the stairs into the unknown.  Instead, I’ve chosen the stateliness of confidence over the fires of insecurity.  I still burn, but now it’s a flame burning warmly, but slowly, laughing at these little sparks who think they’re brighter. (I’ve tortured this metaphor enough)
My tastes have grown up.  Now I expect more from both myself and my world.  I hold myself to a higher standard and ask the same of those around me.  When you think about it, isn’t that really what getting old is supposed to be all about?  Isn’t it the fathers and mothers of the world the ones whom you don’t want to disappoint?  While you’re up late, aren’t you supposed to hold it down so as not to wake up Grandma?
The more one has seen, the more one is seen as wizened and respectable in your domain.  No harm in acting the part, specifically when it adheres to your well-won situation.  I always thought of older people as tired.  Now I see them as more relaxed, less inclined to spend energy on trivial things.  They are tired because they’ve learned to back the lens up and look at the whole picture.
That’s a lot to take in.
It makes me sleepy

Opportunities should never be wasted.

The other day, standing at the gas pump, I pulled on the flap of my receipt and it just kept coming. Apparently, the little Zip-Zip paper cutter was malfunctioning. As I pulled, it just kept getting longer (giggity). Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to do what I wanted to do, which was pay out about 50-75 ft of slippery paper and then walk one end in to the cashier and ask, innocently, “Do you have any scissors?” Instead, I pulled out about three feet, tore it off, and got in the car and showed it to my stepdaughter. “Man, that was a lot of gas!”

My point is, one should never let the opportunity to do something funny pass him by. Case in point:
I have the same phonetic name as a doctor at JHU. Because I still have a JHU email, sometimes I get emails FOR the good doctor. Below you will find three of them. The first is a little harsh, but the next two are on the lighter side. Enjoy!

From: Susan CXXXXX
To: Robert Thompson
Subject: Aintree University Hospitals Education Sessions September 19-21, 2011
Date: Wed, 03 Aug 2011 17:01:31 +0000

Dear Dr. Thomsen,
Stephanie Pxxxxx in the Center for Innovation has invited Aintree University to participate in an education session focusing on Improving the Medication Delivery System and Improving Perioperative Care.
We would like to invite you to participate in presenting to the group of 15 on Day 2, as follows:
Tuesday, September 20 Domain Specific Learning Theatres:
10:00 AM Handling Disruptive Behaviors in the Operation Room
11:00 AM Robert Thomsen, MD, Assistant Professor, Johns Hopkins Medicine, Anesthesiology
and Critical Care Medicine

Disruptive behaviors such as yelling and abusive language are frequent in the operating room and can be linked to adverse outcomes and medical errors. Discover ways in which disruptive behavior may be effectively addressed
Please let me know if you are able to participate in this education session.
Thank you,
Susan Cxxxxx
Executive Assistant
Richard Dxxxx, PhD
Vice President, JHM Innovation and Patient Safety

From: R. Aaron Thompson
Sent: Wednesday, August 03, 2011 2:59 PM
To: Susan Cxxxxxx
Subject: Re: Aintree University Hospitals Education Sessions September 19-21, 2 011

No. I refuse. But, don't take it personally. It's just that I don't have a medical degree, nor do I know anything about abuse in the operating room seeing as how I've never been in one, not even as a patient. Although, I can sympathize with someone wanting to yell and be abusive, as this is about the 5th email I've gotten for DR Robert THOMSEN
Now, please look at the spelling of my name: Robert THOMPSON.
Please make a note of it and contact the good doctor instead of me.

From: Susan Cxxxxxx
To: R. Aaron Thompson

Well – at least you made me laugh. I’m sorry, I truly thought I selected Thomsen. Have a good rest of the day!
Susan

(So, at least she was a good sport. The next guy never wrote me back.)


From: Neal Cxxxxx
To: Dr. Thomsen

Hi Dr. Thompson,
Neal Chaisson here from pulm/critical care. I'm slated to start a month rotation in anesthesia this Wed with the goal of learning the ins and outs of airway management techniques during my time with you. I was speaking with some of the anesthesia residents in the WICU last week who said that you are frequently the GOR coordinator and that you would likely be able to help me get the most out of my experience. I am around today and happy to discuss any thoughts you might have. Tomorrow I'll be in the WICU and would also be happy to talk. Please let me know if there is a time that we could chat.
Thanks Neal


From: R. Aaron Thompson
To: Neal Cxxxxx

Neal,

Can I call you Neal? You’re from Pulm? I had an aunt from there! I hardly ever see her anymore since she won the lottery (you know how people from Pulm are when they think they’re better than you). I’m glad to hear that you’re going to wed Anastasia, I always liked that girl although a month rotating with her would make me dizzy. I’m sure airway management will be the least of your troubles. (Wink-wink) That girl is quiet as a mouse and you KNOW what they say about the quiet ones. WICU has always been one of my favorite radio stations, although I find that there is too much Gore for anyone to coordinate. But, if you want to get the most out of the experience, listen to their morning show, it’s not nearly as Gory.

Since you’d like to discuss my thoughts, right now I’m thinking about how often I get email for some doctor from JHU. Good luck in the WICU, tomorrow!

Have a good one!

Robert A. THOMPSON (please make a note of it)


From: Misop Hxxxx
To: Doctor R. Thompson

Rob and Lynette,
I have three robotic prostatectomies scheduled for Wednesday, April 11th. I also have a
general surgery lecture for the medical students at 3PM. If possible, I would like to
start my case at 7AM instead of 7:30AM that day so that I can finish the cases on time to
give a lecture. Please let me know what I can do to help. Thank you.

Misop

From: R. Aaron Thompson
To: Misop Hxxx

Dear Misop,

Although I commiserate with your busy schedule, there is absolutely nothing I can to do help you. Chiefly, it's because I don't even know what a prostatectomie is (although I can guess and it sounds painful). I do think the fact that you are using robots is REALLY cool. (If you could work pirates and ninjas into that, I would buy a ticket!)

As you may have guessed, I'm not a doctor and I don't even know anyone who could adjust your case start time. My presumption is that you are trying to reach DOCTOR Robert Thomsen. Me, I'm just a humble writing graduate. On the bright side, if you need someone to write about your schedule, I'm your man.

Have a great weekend and good luck with your busy Wednesday!

(non-doctor) R. Aaron Thompson (note the spelling)


He wrote back:

Thanks! :)

Misop

So, part of me wants to let JHU know that I’m consistently getting what MIGHT be confidential patient info. Part of me can’t wait for the next person to get it wrong.

Ta-Ta!

Aaron