Friday, July 29, 2011

Pedestrian Voyeurism

I kinda doubt anyone cares about what happens on my block, because there's not much. When my neighbor across the street answers the door in a towel, even less so.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

There's Something Wrong

Two years have gone by since the horrific "wrong-way" crash, and last night HBO debuted its documentary on the families involved. It's hard to watch. Besides the picture of Diane Schuler dead on the grass, the surveillance video is so eerie to watch. Besides the images, it made me wince to see the Schuler family grap at every straw they can to "clear Diane's name."

Sometimes it is hard to accept a painful event, especially if there is no closure. It seems that the Schuler family is struggling to come to terms with what happened or that she could have done something "bad". It struck me that the alcohol and marijuana in her system is being contested so vehemently, even though they admitted she smoked pot on occasion to help her sleep. They are insistent on a second autopsy and have latched onto a "medical" situation as the root cause, such as her abscess tooth.

Separating the person from the action, Diane is human, her friends and family loved her, and she made a choice to drink and smoke pot at some point that had tragic consequences. In addition, exhuming her body for an autopsy may revisit the physical state of her body, but there is no way to trace her mental and emotional well-being. Perhaps she had a psychotic break or a panic attack, either of which would not leave a trace in her system like BAC or THC. There may have been secrets she had, lingering pain, unspoken feelings. There is no black box for the mind.

A commenter on HBO's site said it best, there are no winners in this situation. One can only hope that the loved ones left behind can find peace with what transpired, accept what happened and her humanity, and forgive.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

This P*sses Me Off

Food trucks rock. The crackdown is so ridiculous. Any shop that feels threatened by a food truck probably sucks. Get over it, it's called a free market. Thank godness for The Lot on Tap

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Switching Gears

Peritoneal cavity...nephrology..catheter exit site...these are all words I'm using more often. Someone close to me has advanced kidney impairment and started peritoneal dialysis. It's a great treatment that can be done in the comfort and convenience of one's home. However, in the beginning, it needs to be done four times a day, and takes an hour for each cycle, not to mention the preparation and sterile conditions required. On top of everything else to do, this is quite disruptive.

Looking at the situation, I decided to move back in to my folks' house and take FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act of 1993) for nine weeks to help out. Some people may question this, how it would affect my career progression, if I would even have a job. FMLA guarantees a role upon return, so that wasn't really considered. Part of me wondered if I would even want to go back after a break or how my peers and superiors would view the break. In the end, I decided that family is more important right now that work, and that I would appreciate spending more time with my loved one down the track. People in our current society place so much emphasis on career focus before anything else can transpire, but life doesn't always work that linearly. Having worked straight through college and consistently afterward, what could be the harm in a break?

Not to say that I am sitting on the couch eating bonbons. There is driving to doctor's appointments, changing dressings, carrrying dialysate bags upstairs, schlepping used solution to the nurse practitioner for testing. Having more time at home and more people in the house allows me to cook more too, allowing me to go through my archive of Chow recipes of the day, such as beet greens and feta pasta and shells with arugula pesto, sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts.

In addition, I have taken it upon myself to clean my parents' house (read: get rid of junk). The living room is done, onto the kitchen. It pains my mother to part with Danish butter cookie tins and glass jars, but I'm warming her up to it. When the furniture gleams from orange-scented polish and the cabinets can be opened to well-organized, non-expired foodstuffs instead of an avalanche of plastic bags filled with God-knows-what. So far so good. Now if I could only tackle my room....