resuscitation

life is motion, right?

many of us live in 2-D.  we stand up to awaken, we sit to work, we lay supine to sleep.  we hold a hand, one side's fingers interlaced with another. our time is linear.  point A to point B.
dr sutherland described the tide, a three-dimensional pulsation bathing our beings, an all-encompassing force greater than the to-and-fro within our vasculature, without which we could not exist.  dr jealous described the embryologic zones, a four-dimensional construct enabling him to describe why some of us are born and develop and live and die suffer and thrive the way we do in the physical world over the course of our existence.  the motion of development.  structure and function.  function and structure.

i always thought if i could have a superpower, it would be to fly and experience the world in three dimensions.  but on thursday, i discovered i had a different one.  it is the ability to experience it all in slow-motion.
i could hear my footsteps echoing much louder than they should for the soft shoes i was wearing, the sounds bouncing through my skull endlessly.  i could see in my periphery the bland walls moving by as i ran down the hall.  i could feel my heart stop as i saw the crash cart and ten million people in  my patient's room.  and then i could feel the entire world frozen, breathlessly immobile, as i saw them inside his room, standing over his bed, beating on his chest, yelling at each other, his feet flopping to and fro, keeping time.  his belly grotesquely distended. an impossible marionette.

and i saw, one by one, the faces of staff and family, as they crumpled in agonizing pain before all that was unfolding, in shock and disbelief.  i could see my patient's face as i remembered him when i saw him last night, wide smile, kind and forgiving eyes shielding his physical pain and the inner pain of the unknown, the known, and the realization he was too late. i could feel the soft warmth of his hand as i shook it for the last time.  i could feel the same hand gripping my throat and dragging my spine down into the floor as, after 45 minutes of cpr, he was pronounced.

what have i done.  what could i have done for you, P, that i did not have the knowledge or foresight to provide earlier?  could i have saved you?  could i have bought you precious time during which at least your family could come to your side and say their final goodbye?  have i robbed your family of that joy and sorrow and closure?

outside, the clouds moved briskly through the blue sky, and people toiled in the fields, and why am i still here and you are gone?

i feel you at my back.  i carry you with me always, as i do the faces of your loved ones.  it is heavy. and endless.

running

i stepped out of that cave of a dance studio around dusk.  the air was heavy and cool.  the clouds were backlit with brilliant yellows and pinks, and with smokey greys.  i hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary, as i was concentrating on stepping around the deep pools of water in the parking lot to not get my shoes wet.  then i noticed nails on the pavement.  and suddenly, there it was.  short hair, caramel, long pointed nose.  lean, with mouth open and tongue lolling about.  uncollared. unafraid.
it looked me in the eye, then trotted towards another dancer walking to her car, as if it belonged to her.  i was startled, but i figured someone just let it off its leash. i turned and got in my car.  as i was backing out of my space, i saw it dart across my front, then out of my line of sight.  i was irritated. the last thing i wanted to do was to kill a dog on accident after dance class.  i braked and rolled slowly to avoid crushing it, if it was still there.  then, i saw it loping away from my car in my rearview mirror.  relieved.  went down the driveway.
as i started picking up speed down the street, i suddenly saw her again in my rearview, running after my car and going into a full on sprint.  it was not the face of a rabid dog, nor a playful one. her eyes were piercing and dark.  as if to say, i am running too.  take me with you.

swing state

I have been thinking about my grieving process.  What constitutes healthy, mature reactions? How do I prevent unhealthy reactions?
My lack of resilience gives me great anxiety, ironically.
But I think this time will be different.
I am nearly crossing the line over which women are designated "advanced maternal age."  Aside from my inconceivably crushing debt, I have nothing holding me back - house payments, children, involvement in politics.  Though I am sure the future ramifications are far more serious than I imagine them now...how can I stay silent through these times?
During morning report last week, the director felt it was appropriate to comment on the election.  He said something to the effect of, "so, all those minorities who are saying they are scared for their lives, they should quit their bitchin and moanin, because that isn't really a thing." 
Right then, right in that moment I saw my shackles, my shame.  Because as I knew instantaneously I should say something, I saw my future fellowship taken away from me, my name slandered from ever practicing in the area...career ruin.
If I could go back in time, I would say something.  Anything.  Just, something to let the room know that this is not right.  This is not okay.  This is the type of attitude that should be a crime to perpetuate amongst future healthcare providers.  This is a gentleman who is so completely ignorant of his bias that he can't see any other worldview than his own.  We CAN'T let this be normalized for doctors in training.
See something, say something.  See something, say something.
What do I have to lose?
Everything.
Say something.

meta

i have a friend who can be....how to put this gently....strongly opinioned, about our mutual friends.
more specifically,  strongly negatively opinioned about the life choices of others.
having known this person for so long, knowing the family background and traumas, i think i get it.  i think i get where the feeling is coming from.
at the same time, it makes me very nervous.  "but for the grace of god," you know?  all that.
i want to think i am the kind of person that loves my friends for who they are at their core.  whether fiercely ambitious, emotionally damaged (and/or damaging), or happy to be a shadow.
if feminism is the idea that both men and women have equal freedom to make the choices they want, and i identify with that, shouldn't i extend the same courtesy to our most close and important friends?
i've often wondered if it would ever be a good idea to share this with her.  how would you put this, without sounding like you are judging someone for being judgemental?
who am i to say anything?
but sometimes...when it comes up....all i want to do is throw my hands up and say, give her a break.  she's living her life. let's just be there for her.
i dunno.  is that so wrong?

it is never as bad as it could be

it felt right to tell you, at that very moment, the thing that was on my mind.  even though in my heart i knew it was not wise.  even though i had not carefully considered the consequences.
there was a beacon, dim over the dark hills, but we continue along the shore, the wind whipping at our back.
maybe it will be warm again, but for now it's only me in this eddy, swirling, contained chaos fucking with my train of thought.

what it is

the first thing that comes to my mind is the softness of his arms.  the way they formed around me, perfect, tailor-made.  solid.  when i rested my lead-heavy head onto his chest, becoming enveloped by the warmth, vibration, heartbeat.  the hair and air and skin and muscles and tendons and bones melting away into nothing.  becoming distilled into something primal, living in the seconds between the seconds within the seconds.  civilizations born and rising and dying on the outside and it would not be bad or okay but just be.  a transcendent mediation that would only be broken with a human sigh, or a gentle borborigmo, or perhaps the start of soft, soft snoring.

dive

the van stopped at the end of a dirt road, off the main highway, by a chain link fence.  i remember getting out of the vehicle, towel in hand, breathing in the muggy, amniotic atmosphere.  we slipped through a chain-link gate, haphazardly shackled, and into the jungle.  the path was narrow but well-worn, darkly muddy, plastered with rotting black leaves.  i tried to focus on protecting myself from the myriad of mosquitoes that descended upon us hiking the path like starving children.  keeping my eyes to the ground, i noticed that the leaves were all uniformly angled...black triangles.  it was several meters before i realized they were hundreds of thousands of single butterfly wings.  i picked one up in curiosity.  the body was completely torn off; only the wings remained, black as obsidian, streaked with shards of iridescent blue.  no idea what species this was.  the macabre path was paved with them.  What was eating these butterflies, i wondered outloud.  The question hung in silence.  The guys didn't seem to care much.  They were as foreboding to them as the carpet in a casino. We hiked, the sunlight oozed through the canopy in patches, and the jungle rustled. Despite the humidity, a shiver went up my spine.
The path eventually broke into a small, picturesque cove, with crystal white sand.  Straight out of a postcard. Not a soul within shouting distance.  The clear sea was as hot as a sauna, the air above the waterline shimmering with energy.  I followed them down the sand to a large pile of boulders that lay at the base of the cliff and we started to climb with hands and feet.  The tall, slippery jet-black rocks interrupted the path with gapes so wide it seemed we would fall through and end up like James Franco in that terrible hiking movie.  We all slipped more than once, with a cry then a sigh of relief.
At the top, through the dense brush was a human-cut path.  And at the very edge of the cliff, the precipice: the cove, the ocean, the glittering horizon.  the heat of the land beat from below, and the sun from above.  a hundred feet or so below, you could see the rocks and fish below the blue surface.
i stood a foot from the edge, taking in the horizon.  At that height the world stretched out before me, endless, mysterious, wonderful.  time stood still.  there was neither the regrets of the past, nor worries of the present living within my head and heart.  only the infinite blue sky, and the kingdom of the sun, the lush forests, and the shimmering heat of the ocean water.  the humid air like molasses.  the infinite scenarios racing through my minds eye.  striking the rocks on my way down crept into my mind. perhaps never coming up after hitting the water.

i remember the end of the falling.  it was like a roller coaster, the inertia of my internal organs finally succumbing to gravity and pulling my nerves and veins and fascia down, down, down to the core of the earth, dragging my stomach with it.  everything became a blur of green and blue.  then, hitting the water, as warm as my blood, and feeling the salinity in my nasal cavities, feeling myself curve into a fetal position, the bubbles of my entry into the sea pushing me back and back towards the surface.

then, surfacing. gasping.  treading. buzzing...