Catching Up

Whew. What a week. Finally home after being away for over two weeks, arrived home late Sunday evening and then jumped right back into regular life on Monday. I feel like I haven't had a chance to breathe - oh, except for one mid-week hang at the pool with a cooler of beer, brats on the grill and several friends. That was fun. But the rest of it, well - let's just say it's taking a while to catch up. By the time we finish unpacking from this trip it will be time to pack again for our trip to the beach in three weeks.

I'm not sure where to begin. I'd review the last three weeks but that would take way too long. Long story short, I worked a week in the kitchen at Ukrainian Plast camp which I addressed in my last post, spent a week in Canada relaxing on the Georgian Bay with my sister's family (during which time her two little ones provided much entertainment and also reminded me why we're done having kids), went back to camp for visiting weekend which is another blog post in and of itself if I ever get around to writing it, then back to the craziness of home life. Sometimes I feel like I'm on a treadmill - for a short while it seems manageable, but then suddenly people start throwing things at me and as I frantically try to catch them I end up dropping half of them, tripping over the other half and gasping for air as the treadmill speeds up. Then I realize the ridiculousness of it all and collapse into laughter, get thrown off the treadmill and regain my senses. Yep, that's about right.

Working 9-10 hours a day for a week in a hot camp kitchen gave me a newfound appreciation for my real job, the one where I don't have to stand on my feet for 9-10 hours mindlessly chopping vegetables, sorting silverware or spooning out the same dish over and over again. "French toast? French toast? French toast?" I started feeling like that teacher in Ferris Bueller's Day Off - "Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?" When I finally got home I decided that wow - I LOVE my job! I make my own schedule, I'm usually in and out of a patient's house in about an hour at which point I get to sit in my car listening to music while I make my way to the next appointment. Sometimes I even go to Starbucks and work on paperwork while sipping on an iced coffee. What luxury! I started seeing my job through rose-colored glasses and couldn't wait to get back.

It didn't take long for me to remember all the things I hate about my job. Ok, hate is a strong word. How about all the things I dislike about my job? That sounds a little better.

Monday got off to a good start. I only had two patients so I had the lovely option of scheduling them in the afternoon so that I didn't have to rush. Both patients were sweet little old ladies who were delightful to talk to and I ended my day with a rush of love and gratitude for this fabulous job of mine. I welcomed Tuesday with open arms as I embarked on my second day of work.

This one didn't go so well. The day was fraught with missed phone calls, traffic jams and aggressive drivers and patients who were a little more demanding and less pleasant. My last visit of the day was the icing on an increasingly bitter cake. After driving through horrendous traffic for over half an hour I arrived at my destination only to discover that the patient I was supposed to see did not live in the apartment in which I was told I would find him. I ended up on a wild goose chase which involved a lot of trudging around the apartment complex, perplexed people opening their doors and shaking their heads, a frustrating phone conversation with the patient's granddaughter who inexplicablly could not tell me the correct address for the patient and lastly, repeated phone calls to the patient himself who kept hanging up on me because he did not speak English and had no idea what I was asking. Fuming, I got back in my car and headed back into traffic. Really hated my job at that moment.

But then a funny thing happened. The next day I went to see another patient for whom I also had to sit through traffic. I was grumbling the whole way, wondering why I'd thought chopping vegetables and washing dishes had been so bad. At least there were no surprises with grunt work.

And then I was reminded why I love the surprises that my job throws at me. I spent about an hour and a half evaluating a lady who'd had a stroke about two months ago. When she was first admitted to the hospital she couldn't speak and her whole right side was paralyzed. Eventually her speech returned and she was discharged home walking with a cane. I admired the shiny black grand piano in her living room and she asked me if I'd like to hear a song she'd written. The next thing I knew she was sitting at the piano playing the most beauiful song, her fingers flowing effortlessly across the keys. My eyes welled up with tears and when she finished I found myself telling her about my dad, his love for the piano and how he'd recorded himself playing so that we would have his music to listen to after he was gone. We ended our visit with a big hug and I left feeling light on my feet and overwhelmed with gratitude for meeting this lady. Really loved my job at that moment.

The experience reminded me that my job throws me many curveballs, some good and some bad. It's not so bad to be on a treadmill with things being thrown at you, as long as some of those things are good things. So as much as I hate my job sometimes, I love it too - even when I'm silently cursing inside my head.

Now back to unpacking (will it ever be done?) and doing Jack's laundry now that he's home from three weeks at camp. I think I'll have to throw out most of his white socks - no amount of bleach will save them at this point. It's nice to be back to normal.