The Ladder

The tables have turned and I suddenly became the mentor.

I spend so much of my time, soaking up others' experiences and advice. When I was asked to let a grad student from the U of Illinois shadow me, I was a bit taken aback. What do I possibly have to teach her?

She looked to me as the seasoned executive (yeah, I about snorted my coffee when I heard that) and had a lot of questions about what she should take in school and how one breaks into administration. Everyone's out for a job these days…but one of the huge lessons I've learned is that women need to pull each other up. That was my complaint of the few scant female execs I met before Nurse Jackie. They were too worried about retaining their own positions that they never made time to mentor other women. They didn't want to lose their jobs. They just didn't make it a priority. Nurse Jackie is the first female exec to pull me up, to teach me the ropes, and to baptize me with administrative lava. You can only learn so much by studying and talking about it. Eventually, you have to jump in and JUST DO IT.

EVOO challenged me to become like Nurse Jackie. He encouraged me to "pass it on" and to mentor as many young women as I can. While I've just started climbing the ladder (and the top of the ladder disappears into the clouds while I’m about 3 feet off the ground), these women are still standing on the ground, not sure which ladder to start climbing. They're not sure if the rungs are greased or if women are even allowed on the first rung.

So I gratefully accepted the student who wanted to shadow me. I toured her around the hospital, introducing her to all the nurse managers, RN's, techs, and even a few of the housekeeping staff. By doing that, it raised my own confidence that I can now (comfortably) go to any nursing unit and know most of the folks by name. I can walk into the ER and ignore the feelings of faintness I feel when I see a gunshot victim who took a bullet to his chest. I can go up into surgery and know which areas require scrub and which do not. The student had the Deer in Headlights expression but I'm starting to see that it's my job to help other women wipe the Deer off of their faces!

Quote Journal: Adversity

"Adversity causes some people to break; others to break records. "

-William Arthur Ward


I saw this quote on one of my employee's bulletin boards as I visited the Wound Clinic yesterday. It was one of those days today where I powered through the quagmire of quicksand and every time I blinked my eyes, I saw a quick vision of my bed. If I stopped to listen hard, I could actually hear my bed calling. It was saying, "Lay on me! Let me envelope you in my feathery goodness! Let me blissfully whisk you away to restful sleep!"

I hate foggy Monday's. They make you feel like you're living in a dreamscape. So I blasted my new XM satelite radio and listened to Radio Margaritaville on the interstate. Yes, the visions of palm trees helped shake me into reality.

Adversity is never a thing to be wasted. You can grow from tough experiences, quicker than you would have grown without them.

Right Place, Right Time

Life hasn't been ALL that bad lately.

Last week was 100 mph, especially Thursday and Friday. On Thursday, I received an unexpected invitation to half the big corporate execs meeting at St. Fozzie's. This surprised me because, while I eventually want to end up in that room, I didn't think I would be allowed in just yet. EVOO fought for my admission and it was a tremendous brain-stretching morning. Then I ran to two of my departments and explained the strategic plan to all the employees. It is Administration's dream (and goal) to have all employees able to recite (or at least understand) the strategic plan.

Thursday night turned into me walking five miles and collapsing in a heap.

Then bright and early on Friday morning, I attended the biweekly Service Excellence meeting and during that meeting, decided to cancel my big afternoon throughput brainstorm I had planned. Half the attendees were out or leaving early. I asked one of the attendees if he minded if I canceled and he said, "No, I don't mind; I have to leave early anyway. I'm going to the Crosstown Classic."

I gave him a hard time and told him I'm deeply pitying him.

He then said, "I have an extra ticket...can you leave within the next hour?"

I'm a total Wrigley virgin and had no idea how to get there, how much time I needed to traverse midtown traffic with the Blackhawks parade in full swing, the opening day of the Jazz Fest, AND the Crosstown. I didn't have a jersey. I didn't have a clue.

As it turns out, I still haven't been in Wrigley Field. Our seats were on one of the Sheffield Rooftops. Apparently, these are enviable tickets (sorry, Edge) and while they afforded us great views, they also included all you can eat and drink:

This was taken from the front row of the rooftop box. Now, this was before the broiling sun came out....as the game started, it was a balmy 86 degrees that made a Floridian summer seem light. As the sun peeked out in the 3rd inning, the heat rivaled Hell itself and I felt myself wilting into a Caribbean sweat in the Sox jersey EVOO picked up for me on his way out to the game. It was HOT but in a sea of Cubs fans, my friend A-Rod, EVOO, and I found a few south siders and the White Sox fans united for a win.

It was a terrific day to be in Chicago. I love this city.

Well, That's Ironic

THREE of you actually emailed me to make sure I was okay and well, hadn't dropped off into the deep end. Thank you for your concern. That concern means the world to me. In all honesty, things aren't going all too well in SB as we prepare to leave the house. My family seems irked that we're leaving SB and have withdrawn their fiduciary responsibility to assist progressive generations advance toward excellence.

That means they're not helping us pack.

It's been *TIRING* and we spend all weekend rushing around, boxing things for St. Vincent de Paul, boxing things for Chicago, boxing things for storage, boxing things for the garage sale, boxing things for SkyBlue, etc. I need an air traffic controller over there.

Sigh. Just keep breathing. Last Monday and Tuesday, I was so sore from having packed a whole bunch and hoped to not repeat that same mistake this weekend. Needless to say, I'm already sore, so I surpassed that point already. I might as well go on an Advil drip!

It's been tough. On one hand, all of this, ahem, solo packing is making it much easier to leave SB. There's no fanfare, no celebratory cook-out's, nothing like that. No one stopping by with sub sandwiches or leftover chicken. We're flying under the radar.

I guess I'm okay with that. It just gets lonely.

Only six more days until we're no longer SB residents. Not that I'm counting!

Time to Replenish

I heard a story once about a mother who gave all her food away to the needy. She gave and gave and when it was time to feed herself, had nothing left in the kitchen. It's a great metaphor for the overachievers in the world (or the really generous mothers) who give until the tank is empty. Good one, eh?

I realized that you cannot keep giving and giving and giving without (every now and then) stopping to replenish the cupboards. Or, you give away all the good coffee, soups, spices, and snacks and all you're left with is seven year-old sugar free jello boxes and decaf coffee that no one has touched since the Easter of '05.

Yes, it's time to replenish the proverbial cupboards. This chica is down to food coloring and cherry pie filling. There is nothing good left to give anyone.

SO what am I doing? I'm taking a night off work tomorrow night, going out with new friends in the city, and getting my mind off work. Then, when the hoopla of moving is over in two weeks, I will breathe a sigh of relief that my husband and all my material belongings are in the same time zone. Last, if Jack lets me have my way, I will soon be booking our November vacation. We have it narrowed down to Puerto Rico or the Bahamas. THAT, in itself, will provide a significant source of fuel for my tank.

So what's the weirdest thing left in your cupboard when you're about to run dry? When do you KNOW you must finally break down and go shopping? When do you KNOW you must finally break down and take care of yourself?

My Shoes Are Loose

Remember a whole year ago when I started my job at St. Fozzie's? I had the DIHL expression a lot and felt like I was playing dress up when I donned my suit and heels every day? I couldn't wait until I could "own" my position and really cultivate some confidence in my job and Chicagoan life.

Yep, I'm back there again. When St. Fozzie's offered me this promotion, I traded in my newbie administrator shoes (broken-in, just starting to feel comfortable) for big, heavy, platform shoes that might as well be a men's size 14. They're huge shoes to fill and everyone is expecting me to fill them gracefully, happily, and quickly.

They're administrator shoes.

So I'm clomping around in my new administrator shoes, trying to walk forward in shoes that are still too big for me. However, I cannot let on that the shoes are too big. It's a sad but true fact, that women who ask for administrator shoes need to be able to walk in them. They're almost always men's shoes and if you can't walk in them, you need to fake it until you can!

Okay, enough about shoes. In short, I just want to die. Then I will get to rest. Just kidding. Well, sort of. Last week kicked my a$$ and I managed to fit 80 hours' worth of work into a week with an observed holiday in it!

I could spell out a litany of what I'm doing but I will probably bore all of us to sleep. I'll keep it short...the eight departments I'm managing haven't been tended to (managerially) in years. The managers of those areas have specific questions, HR concerns, and compliance issues on which I have no idea where to start. I have to figure out their departments and then how to assist them in their issues. I might as well wear the firefighter hat for a while because that's what I'm doing. I also intend to grow these areas and their services and that requires a lot of physician interaction. Oh, and I need to hire two Diabetes-Certified RN's and a hyperbaric chamber technician. Know any of those? Yeah, I don't either.

Another full-time job I have is the physician recruitment and strategic planning side of things. We're in the midst of recruiting a few new primary care physicians and the schmoozing is incredible. And I helped run a strategic planning retreat on Thursday; it was three hours of productive, interactive discussion. But I had to have Jack help me organize the notes on the 13 pages of newsprint generated at the retreat! Now we need to execute the awesome ideas generated from the hospital leadership team.

Finally, I have my huge operational and Lean Six Sigma projects that I carried over from the previous position. I'm still in charge of them and need to see them through to completion.

I feel like I have three full-time jobs. Again, though, I am not complaining. I asked for this and want to continue on this "jack of all trades" path I'm on. So I will slip on my size 14 men's administrator shoes and clomping through another week.

It'll get easier. It *has* to get easier.

Uprooting the Roots

Uprooting your roots is tough. Have you ever weeded a garden and come across a weed whose roots are so deep that you have to brace yourself and give the weed a second muscle-filled pull to free the tangle of roots?

I’ve never tried to uproot a huge oak tree or anything 31 years old…but essentially, that’s what I’m doing right now. With the exception of one year in Ireland and one year in Chicagoland, I’ve lived in SB my entire life. Those roots run deep. So while uprooting, I find myself occasionally numb. Sometimes I’m fine. Sometimes I’m excited. Sometimes I have slight panic attacks when I realize what I'm doing and that, in two weeks, I'll no longer own that piece of real estate.

It’s just bizarre.

Jack and I spent the entire weekend packing in preparation for the big move. While packing, we found some weird things from our seven years in this house (or even weirder items from the nine years of our marriage. One, Jack was packing up the cedar chest. I’ll admit that I have a robust cedar chest, saving a lot of things that have even a remote semblance of sentimentality. Yet while wading through the greeting cards, graduation tassels, and pictures we made for our mommies, he found two sticks. Like, from trees out back. We could not (for the life of us) remember what the sticks were supposed to represent. The tornado that whipped through my parents’ back yard in 2003, devastating seven full-grown trees, and somehow sparing the brand-new pool? Were they from our first campfire at our house? Were they relegated to the cedar chest after the fireplace rejected them? Whatever the case, we couldn’t remember the story and relegated them to our current fire pit!

The other weird thing we kept finding was thermometers. We have no less than seven thermometers. Why would two adults (without children) have that many thermometers? And why were these things multiplying like bunnies? I distinctly remember having Jack buy a thermometer when I had my first illness of our married lives (a wicked, wicked flu thing in 2001) and cannot remember buying a thermometer ever since?

Packing has been a purging, yet nostalgic experience. Boxing up the photographs and photo albums took a couple hours because I had to flip through all the photos (what was with my hair in the late 90’s? Hadn’t I received the memo that poofy bangs were NOT in?). The most nostalgic part of the day was the wedding dress experience. Shoved in the furthest-most recesses of the coat closet was my wedding dress. I hadn’t pulled it out since, well, the day after my wedding. I had studiously put it back in its plastic bag, packaged up my veil and wrap, and stowed it until it went to the cleaners to be professionally preserved. That was nine years ago.

Anxious to see if my obscene stress has taken its toll on my body, I slipped into the dress. To my great relief, it fit the same as on my wedding day. Jack stood there like the kid he was when we got married and I posed for a few obligatory pictures in my dress (with dirty hair, I might add!). After ten minutes, I happily stepped back out of the dress….I had forgotten that the heap of satin weighs nearly 40 pounds! What a fun experience, though, to slip into that dress for the first time in nine years. And after that ten minutes as the blushing (but a little more experienced!) bride, I zipped the dress and veil back up into its bag. Jack promised me he will have the dress professionally preserved…I wonder if that will take another nine years?!?

As I drove back to Chicagoland this evening, with a car full of boxes, I realized that I'm living the song lyrics from the newest Lifehouse song...I'm "halfway gone."

Can I Have a Hand?

I saw this picture on another website and thought it was a bit like a trainwreck. I can't stop looking at it. Why does this fish have hands and why isn't BP being prosecuted yet?

It's called a handfish and apparently, there are nine versions of them. That's, like, 36 hands.

This week is killing me (I kind of wish I had this guy's extra hands). Anything worth the prize is always worth the fight. The fight's been worth it, but I need to go to bed. Details coming this weekend!

Closer Than it Appears

Do you remember that scene in Jurassic Park, where the T-Rex is running full-speed to chase down a car full of people (to eat them)? The camera pans to the driver's side mirror, at the bottom of which is etched "objects may be closer than they appear." The T-Rex is gaining speed and from the view in the driver's side mirror, if he's really closer than he appears, well, you're dead meat.

I feel the same way about my future. Let me explain.

First, I've taken up a strange obsession with cloudscapes. I've started traveling with my camera and because I spend so much time on the road these days, I catch some interesting cloudscapes. All three here are from my travels and all seem very apropos. So the picture above, will be titled, "Future may be closer than it appears." For the future is coming at me whether I'm ready or not!

When I crested a hill and saw this weather situation, I instantly started humming the Wicked Witch of the West theme (where she's on her bike, riding by the window of the flying house). I thought, "what am I getting myself INTO?" Or maybe it was "Holy schnike, now that's a good way to illustrate the calm before the storm!" It was a great cloud formation, but I couldn't resist the temptation to scan the horizon for a funnel cloud or two. Hence, this photo will be titled, "Driving forward, no matter how scary or irrational it seems."

This particular shot reminded me of the view looking UP through a cresting wave (as though you're laying on the bottom of the ocean). No, I don't spend a lot of time laying on the bottom of lakes, pools, or oceans, but I've done enough underwater handstands to know what the underside of the water's surface looks like. Plus, all those surfing movies have cameras in the water and you're able to see huge waves breaking and rolling over the coral reefs.

Even though I was trying to outrun a severe thunderstorm here, I couldn't stop thinking of that "underside of the water" angle. In my job, I'm still such a newbie and have so much to learn...I feel like I'm looking up at the underside of the water. Yes, that's code for, I'm in over my head. But at least I know it. Getting over the denial is the first step toward healing, right? This photo will be called "I'm looking up through the water but at least I have air in my lungs and I'm propelling myself upward to the surface."

And yes, I outran that thunderstorm. All was well in the end (and I didn't get pulled over for speeding). Despite the life interpretations I find paralleled in cloud formations, I'm in a good place. I still have air in my lungs and I'm propelling myself upward.

C'est Finis!

The stroke program is up and running and it's DONE. As the French would say, C'est finis!

THAT's another monkey off my back!