Aptly Titled

I *feel* like I need to "just keep swimming" lately. What is with this rain? Did God not get the memo that it's summer and it's supposed to be 80 and sunny? My mood tanks when it rains (or is incessantly cloudy). It takes at least three times the effort to be "on" and probably four times the caffeine. Even though my offices don't have windows, I can just sense that it's crappy outside.

Yesterday was one of those "multiple Mt. Dew" days. I had a four-hour meeting in the morning, one in which I thought I could sit back and observe. Turns out, it was a form of leadership training and we had intense stuff like group discussions, role play, and even skits. You can't just sit back and observe that stuff. So I jumped in and had some fun with it.

Eight minutes after having returned from that meeting, Sister Lourdes popped in my office and invited me to IRB (Institutional Review Board) at the other hospital campus. I attended the meeting because it has an ethical element to it. Several docs presented drug trials and we (okay, they) had to decide whether the trials were ethically-conducive to human experimentation. Pretty interesting and they had STELLAR chocolate cake for dessert.

What really struck me about today (and exhausted me), was the comprehensive tour of the Cancer Institute while at the other campus. My family has been touched by cancer many times and, as many of you know, my own experience took me down the cancer road. The Cancer Institute is astounding; the technology really is state-of-the-art. Yet, as I looked at the radiation suites, the cozy and comfy chemo chairs, and the scanners and diagnostic equipment, my mind rushed back to 2006.

I didn't actually have cancer. That's what they told me when I woke up from surgery. "Benign" was the magic word. But I still went through all the motions and was prepared for the chemo, radiation, and subsequent life changes. My life ended up going in yet another direction, but I still cannot deny those experiences. I was the sickly post-surgical patient in the cushy chair. I was the patient who confided in her oncologist because my regular doctor didn't understand what I was going through. I was the patient who was scared to death of those big, loud machines. I've walked a mile in those shoes and understand patients' fears.

Walking through the Cancer Institute, I was reminded of my own harrowing experiences. A few times, the memories threatened to overwhelm me. I braced myself and instead focused on the artwork hanging on the wall. But at the same time, I realized just how darn lucky I am to be alive and how appreciative I am for this experience at St. Fozzie's. I really do feel as though I'm called to the healthcare field, if only because I've been in the patients' shoes myself. You really don't know until you've been there.