Sittin' on the dock of the bay

Already, there is more to the story.  

I just hung up with my aunt, my dad's sister.  It turns out that she did not have a contact number for me and called my parents to have them contact me or to get my contact info.  My aunt called my parents' house twice....and they were in Indianapolis at my house.  

So my parents received those two voicemails today around 2:30pm, when they got home from visiting us in Indy.  That makes me feel better...the Facebook thing was because no one could seemingly find me.  

The other details are pretty marked...he had a massive stroke at some point Thursday evening.  His wife found him slumped over in a chair and barely able to mumble anything.  By the time the paramedics arrived, he was unresponsive.  It went that fast.  They rushed him to the hospital and all the while, he was unconscious.  He was in ICU from 12:30 a.m. Friday morning and they began the range of Imaging and neurological tests to determine brain function and the depth of the stroke.  It was a terrible stroke, massive, in the deepest recesses of his brain.  No surgical intervention could have helped and the stroke was progressing.  His brain was full of blood and it was getting worse.  

There were only two options...to trach him and keep him on a ventilator with a feeding tube until his heart gave out...or to discontinue the vent.  I'm so grateful, from a human and ethical perspective, that they discontinued the vent Saturday morning.  Palliative care nurses made him comfortable and he passed away peacefully within two hours of them discontinuing the vent.  It gives me such peace to know he passed quickly and peacefully.  

I'm still mad that we had to lose 15 years of relationship (or whatever it was) because he didn't want me or need me in his life.  My emotions are ranging from anger to sadness to a sense of helplessness regarding my own mortality.  But all things considered, it could have been far worse.  I do hope he is resting in peace.  

The song "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" always reminded me of him.  I hope he's sitting on the dock of the bay in heaven.

  

A Eulogy...or Lack Thereof

I was going to journal this writing but thought blogging would be (at least for me), a freeing, honest experience.  You're about to get some very raw Dorrie here.

Here's the thing.  I found out my dad died yesterday.  My biological father.  He had a massive stroke and it went very quickly.  I don't know many details because I haven't been intimately involved in his life in about 30 years...and I found out about his sudden passing on freaking Facebook.  An aunt posted the news as her status.  Bleary-eyed this morning at 7:25 a.m. and still laying in bed, I scrolled through my newsfeed.  It's my tradition.  First thing I check is the weather.  Then Twitter for news headlines.  Then Facebook for other updates.  Then usually work email.  Usually, by checking these feeds, I learn who has recently had a baby or what ISIS is up to now.  

But this morning, I found out that my dad died.  

I had to read the status twice.  

My first thought was "God rest his soul."

My next thought was "I don't know what to feel."

I laid there for a minute, just sort of wondering.  Should I be sad?  Relieved?  Guilty?  Apologetic?

Rolling over, I woke Jack up to tell him the news.  He seemed dumbfounded, like he was trying to make sense of my words, teasing out whether he was still in a dream.  

We each got up and headed downstairs to the coffee pot.  It was then that I was able to name the emotion I was feeling: Numbness.  Jack and I sat in our recliners, beautiful sun streaming through the windows on a bright Sunday morning, just staring at each other.  Jack's dad also left him at a young age and neither of our dads really care about us.  My stepdad and Jack's stepfather-in-law has become our 'real' Dad over the last 25 years.  By some grace of God, my family was in town this weekend, celebrating my other brother's graduation from the police academy here in Indy.  They attended his ceremony on Friday and went to lunch to celebrate.  I had to chair and speak at a conference and Jack could not get out of work....but we were with him in spirit.  After the ceremony and lunch, they all descended upon Chez Dorrie and Jack for a weekend celebrating family.  And Dad's birthday.  All he ever wants in the world is his family together.  So by getting together, having a few beers and a lot of laughs, we give him the best gift possible.  

Friday night, we all needed to laugh, so I cracked open a bottle of wine and we all threw several scenes in a bag...to play "Scenes from a Hat" from "Whose Line is it Anyway?"  It was "Scenes from a Bag" and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to vomit!!  Saturday, I had to write a paper and the guys went to a new brewery nearby.  Jack made corned beef, cabbage, and homemade soda bread.  We cheered the Irish men's BB team onto victory last night and turned in early for once.  

Our house guests usually sleep in when they visit.  It's fine, it tells me their beds are reasonably comfortable.  However, my mom came down first this morning.  I couldn't even look at her with telling her the news.  As soon as she sat down with her coffee, I broke the news.  My voice cracked when I mentioned it.  She immediately apologized for my loss and I wondered how the news would affect her.  My dad was her husband for 11 years.  A lifetime ago.  She was more worried about me.  

I just needed to be alone.  While I was so grateful for the surrounding love of my family, I needed space.  I didn't know what I was grieving or how you grieve someone who didn't want you.  So I stuffed my emotions down my throat and started doing laundry (because that's important, right?).  My stepdad (who has been "Dad" to me for 25 years now) found me in the laundry room and just hugged me.  He didn't say anything, just held me.  He eventually just said, "I'm sorry."  

To which I replied, "Well, you've been my real dad for 25 years now."  He only hugged me tighter.  He could have said so many things..."sorry the bastard is finally gone" or "good riddance" or something to that effect.  He chose to just love me.  

That's all I wanted from a dad anyway.  Someone to love me without judging.  Someone to just meet me where I am and love me for that.  In that singular moment, he truly became my Dad.  I'd never loved a dad as much as in that moment.  Which felt extremely ironic because I was starting to greive my "real" dad.  

Celebrating my dad's birthday on the same day that my father died.

At that point, I knew I had some serious reflection and unpacking of my thoughts before me.  My family sensed this and soonafter, packed up and left for home.  I just needed time, space, and silence.

Which brings me to this point.  After talking with Jack for about an hour and a lot of internal thoughts over the last 7 hours or so, I have a few key points of grief

When I die, I want my friends and family to celebrate my life.  Me.  To relish their memories of me, our laughter, my presence in their lives.  I really want it to be a relatively happy event.  But in this case, I don't have many memories of my father.  I initiated an email exchange last year and he seemed like a bitter, angry old man.  He left me when I was 6, we had a strained relationship throughout my adolescence and teen years and our last real contact was just after my wedding in 2001.  I wouldn't have minded having lunch or dinner with him to reacquant but he didn't want to.  After all these years, all my education, and accomplishments, he still didn't want me.  Fine.  After a few days of grieving that, I let it go.  I can't force someone to love me or want me in their life.  

But I can't really celebrate dad's life.  I don't know who he is.  Hell, I don't even know if he was alone when he died.  I don't know if he has a will, an estate, or whether there will be a funeral.  I assume their will be but one never knows.  I'm grieving the lack of memories and good times.

The second thing I am grieving is the loss of a parent.  My mom always tells me it's awful.  She changed the day she lost her mom and I see it.  It makes me hug her tighter each time I see her and relish the goofy stories she often recounts.  I am now in a new category...a child who has lost a parent. Even though I did not have a relationship with dad, I am still, biologically, half his.  I am pretty much it on my paternal side... A half-orphan.  

And selfishly, I pick through this new territory of having lost a parent.  Sociologically, it's significant.  I am the next generation now.  And yet, I selfishly keep wondering about his health history.  Do I need to worry about dying from a sudden stroke now?

The last thing I am grieving is what could have been.  As I said above, I have a few memories of him that I hold close to my heart.  A few moments where I felt loved for being me.  When I was accepted to study abroad in Ireland, my mom said we couldn't afford it.  Dad said to GO!  That the money would end up okay and that I should never miss a chance to spread my wings.  He was right...I did study in Ireland and ended up traveling the world as a result.  At his prompting, I also backpacked South America in college because the money would end up okay.  It always did and I'm glad he encouraged me to take those risks.  

There was one winter day when the two of us took off for New Buffalo.  I was maybe 12 or 13 and I remember staring out at the barren, icy landscape of the lakeshore.  He had his camera and was taking pictures.  I was just staring out at the frozen scenery, letting the cold wind sting my eyes.  Even now, when we travel to Lake Michigan each summer for our week at the beachhouse, I think of that wintry day with dad.  I think he took me out to lunch that day and I felt special.  I felt like a daughter.  It stuck with me.

I'm sure I will have more to reflect upon in the coming hours, weeks, and days.  But so far, this experience is teaching me yet another thing I shouldn't do in my life.  In short, don't NOT have a life.  Live your life in a way that others will celebrate when you depart from this earth.  

Even though you didn't want me, dad, I never wrote you off.  Maybe now you will experience freedom and release.  Rest in peace, Dad.

Far Niente

So I've had an unexpectedly quiet weekend.  Jack came down with the flu (like, the mother of all viruses) Saturday night.  It's Monday at 5:30 p.m. and he still hasn't come downstairs.  He's in quarantine.  I think it's the sickest I've seen him; if it's anything like the flu I had a few weeks ago, he has to feel like absolute crapola.  

I planned to have a quiet weekend.  As though I jinxed myself, we had a huge snowstorm on Friday night and into Saturday.  I didn't go anywhere and happily stayed on my couch in Adidas pants, roaring fire in the fireplace.  I gave up wine for Lent but with the circumstances at hand (done with job and truly unemployed for a few days), it was time to open a bottle of 2012 Far Niente.  

Far Niente: "the art of doing nothing."  

And I truly did nothing.

We sat and watched the snow fly, drinking beautiful chardonnay, listening to Louis and Ella.  Louis and Ella is like audio valium.  My already lightened shoulders began to relax even more.  

Then Jack got sick that evening.  So I moved out of the bedroom and into the guest room and bath.  It's kind of like a get-away.  In my own house.  

So I've pretty much been alone in the house even though I can hear Jack walking around upstairs.  The ghost of Jack.  Ha. 

I just can't tell you how grateful I am to be out of hospital management.  I had to talk myself into it back in 2009, where I convinced myself I was all badass and could play ball in the big leagues with the big guys.  And I could and did...but it was at a price.  It certainly took its toll.  The other day, I tried to think of who I was before I took the Chicago gig and had I really changed that much?  I took today and tomorrow off to rest...I've been running this marathon for years now and my legs are exhausted.  So is my heart.  

I had a massage this afternoon, a two hour massage with my all-time favorite massage therapist.  I swear, his fingers get in between the very vertebrae of my back.  It's very painful but after a hot bath when I get home, I feel like a new human.  Couple that with the feeling that I have, for the past six years, been carrying around a huge camping backpack (picture Reese Witherspoon in "Wild") and left it behind.  In leaving the job, I left that massive backpack by the side of the road.  I left work on Friday and felt a million tons lighter.  

My wonderful staff threw me a huge going-away party.  They gave me so many presents - my favorite was a huge poster board card that all 500 people signed.  But they also chipped in to get me a stunning Pandora bracelet (my two favorite charms are a Notre Dame football helmet and Franciscan cross), a 12-pack of Easy Mac, several pounds of M&M's, caffeinated Crystal Light, and wine.  It dawned on me that that's pretty much what I lived on at St. Gonzo's: mac and cheese, M&M's, and crystal light (and wine!).  My staff cracked me up and at least 30 of us crowded into one frame for a fantastic selfie.  

But as my assistant helped me pack up my car with my loot, I felt joyous.  Excited.  Very relieved.  I was tempted to blare Alice Cooper's "School's Out" when I drove away from the hospital.  Even though I will be back for meetings (in two weeks), I won't have to run part of the place.  

I'm thrilled to be able to be "me" in my new job.  Not that I wasn't me in my last few jobs.  But there was a forced-ness to it all, where I felt as though I had to sell my authenticity.  Isn't that the funniest concept ever?  In my new position, even though I really don't know what it entails yet, I have a feeling I will get to be myself.  They want me to be myself.  Not some badass Big League executive.  Just me.  

I no longer have to work really hard to become what I should be.  I just get to be that person now.

It's a relief.  A tremendous relief.  

Insomniacs Unite

It's 1:30 in the morning and my usual insomnia has struck again.  My friend Vera (from Chicago) and I text during the night because we both frequent the insomnia train.  Tonight, though, she must be able to sleep because she didn't text back.  

I'm in a weird place.  I usually lose sleep because my brain is racing a zillion miles an hour and I lay there, trying to will myself to peace and to sleep.  My to-do lists mount in my brain and my strangest anxieties rear their annoying heads while my body is trying to replenish itself.  That's when I worry about some stupid mistake I made 10 years ago or how a colleague may have perceived a facial expression that day.  Whatever the space junk floating around my head, that's when it manifests itself.  

I was exhausted tired on Sunday.  It may have been from the long weekend but it felt like more of a work hangover, from my body trying to get over the fact that I wasn't stressed to the point of breaking. Monday, I barely woke up all day and drug myself to bed at 7p.m. (only to sleep a solid 11 hours...on a weeknight!).  Yesterday, I had a massive migraine and was nodding off even as I got my hair cut at 6pm.  By 8, I was in bed and already passed out cold.  So imagine my surprise when I woke up at 11:39 pm, completely rested.  It was as though my body was saying, "Okay, we're good now.  Please proceed."  

So now, I have similar physical feelings of anxiety and restlessness.  But it's almost as though I'm going through a withdrawal from work.  A physical withdrawal from hospital operations.  It's not a bad thing; these type of DT's are totally worth it.  They're a sign of healing.  

For the first time in six years, I don't care if we get a huge snowstorm.  I will get to stay home, in front of my fireplace, and watch the snow fly from the comfort of my Snuggie.  I will no longer have to be on-call to run a hospital, to open a command center for overnight staffing, or worry about a dozen offsite facilities and who would make sure they are safe for patients.  When huge storms hit in the past, I would visit the news apps and marvel at the number of schools and businesses closed for the weather.  Hospitals never close...so I'd get up and with a slight feeling of bitterness, fight through monsterous storms to help keep said hospital open.  But now, I will welcome the snowstorms.  Bring it on.  Now I'm stayiing home, too.

For the first time in six years, employee concerns will no longer worry me.  There were some weeks that I spent more than 40 hours just dealing with people.  And their shenanigans.  While I will still have personalities and perceptions to manage, I will have people to manage the people.  I will welcome quieter days without Human Resources issues galore (and the requisite documentation that accompanies them!)

For the first time in six years, I will enjoy the month of July.  July is budget month in the land of hospital management.  Last year, it was particularly gory and I don't think we saw the light of day from July 15-August 10.  Then we all had the post traumatic stress of having to catch up on everything from that month in the dungeon (a.k.a. conference room).  Once July 4 comes and goes, I know it's pretty much over until Labor Day.  But no longer!  I will welcome summer months that do not end in something called a "budget hearing."  Well, that's not entirely true - I will have two budgets to prepeare.  Not 110 like in 2014.  I will have a July!

For the first time in six years, my personal wellbeing and "centeredness" is an expectation of my position.  Wellbeing and work/life balance are the first things that go out the window in healthcare.  It's always "do more with less" and sometimes, there just isn't enough time, energy, funding, etc. to go around.  You cut corners.  You cut budgets.  You cut staffing.  You end up giving yourself massive eye strain as you answer dozens of emails from your cell phone or laptop after dinner.  You're forever checking your phone for new alerts because healthcare never stops and dammit, neither should you.  I will welcome a lifestyle change that, while certainly stressful, is expecting me to take care of myself.  Instead of managing nit-picky details and following up on countless tasks, my job will be the implementation of philosophy.  A doing of ethics.  Teaching execs how to lead.  Higher-level system activities.  It has the potential for huge stress but the expectation that I practice presence.  I will welcome this change in philosophy.  I will take care of myself.  Caring for myself is no longer an indulgence...

Isn't it funny the concessions we make along the way?  My "normal" became a constant job that never stopped (even during snowstorms), where I spent countless hours managing people, tasks, and strategy.  I dreaded (and I mean DREADED) the months of July and August.  And where it felt so self-indulgent to take care of myself and sleep when I needed to sleep.  Or go to the doctor for a physical.  Or get my glasses adjusted because they no longer fit my face.  Or to exercise to feel better.  I put off nearly everything I needed to function as a human, much less a successful leader.  I somehow made it through...but now I'm putting the pieces back together.  

And I got my glasses fixed.  

This new world is unsettling and wonderful.  I check my email after dinner and instead of seeing 30 new messages since 5:00 pm, I see 3.  And one might be junk mail.  It will surely pick up next week when I officially start the new gig...but for now, I'll take it.  I'll welcome the pause.  Maybe we'll have a snowstorm blow in so I can have my first snow day in a very long time.  

I'll welcome the heavy eyelids now and go back to bed.  

  

Baggage (and boxes)

I took today off because I've worked something like 184 days in a row.  And I have a moral theology paper due in about 36 hours and all I have is a couple of useable quotes scribbled in the margin of my notebook.  Normally, I'd be spazzing that I wasn't going to finish the paper, I would flunk out of grad school, and have to wear a big scarlet letter "F" on my sweater.  

But now, I don't care.  I had senioritis at the end of every degree - but is it even called "senioritis" when it's your third degree??  Maybe I have a case of "degree-itis."  ?  I just need a B to graduate but I get into this moral debate with myself about the ethics of slacking in a moral theology class for one's ethics degree.  Just. Keep. Swimming!

Anyway, I spent the last couple of days packing up my office, organizing files, making to-do lists for the incoming director, and pitching files that I have carted around with me to every job.  As I glanced around my trashed office on Wednesday, I marveled that I could have accumulated so much junk in two short years.  And why was I keeping a file from a corporate meeting that occurred in 2009?  I'm guessing those meeting minutes have been updated since then.

Because I was intimately involved in a lawsuit a couple years ago, I have learned to save everything if there's ANY chance I might need it again.  I'm a file hoarder.  This caused me to end up with a 1.4 Terabyte shared-drive and three drawers' of files that needed to be pitched.  It was extremely liberating to throw stacks of files into the shredding bin.  My shoulders keep getting lighter and lighter.  I can't believe I carried so much with me, both physically and mentally.  

I sort of assumed that this transition was going to be easier than the others.  No packing up of a house, moving cities, finding a new Meijer, selling a house, moving Jack, Jack's new job, etc.  My transitions are usually huge disruptions that unsettle us for a calendar year.  So I was surprised at how much work it is to just relocate my office one mile south.  

I have one week to go.  Five more get up's until it's over.  Then I get to officially start my dream job.

Word of the Day

I took over Jack's big leather recliner.  Beside me, a glass of Franciscan Equilibrium white wine.  I discovered this wine two weeks ago when we went to mass and dinner with my friend and her surgeon husband.  We all ordered our drinks based on their names and what we were feeling that evening.

I ordered "Franciscan Equilibrium" based solely on its name.

Check it out.  It's a very subtle white wine, non-assuming, non-offensive, with a peach finish.  I struggled to explain it beyond "it is equilibrium."  That word itself is very nebulous - what does "equilibrium" even mean?  Balance?  Normalcy?  Peace?  

For me, it was more of a wish than a feeling.  I am two weeks into my job transition; I have two weeks left in Imaging while I survive the new ethics position.  Things are flying at me so fast that, for the majority of the week, I didn't know if I was coming or going.  My assistant, tuned into my rhythms and weirdness, also felt the stress.  Oh, how I wish I was able to take her with me to my new position.  We are like an old married couple - we rarely have to talk.  An expression or glance communicates all we need to say.  

This past week was killer.  Holding down two huge jobs sucks.  I should censor that word; as the ethicist now, I probably shouldn't use the word "sucks."  Oh well.  There is no better word. 

Imaging was crazy - I completed a multi-million dollar purchase, fired several individuals, and had several safety situations arise.  I was in complete chaos and had about 25 emails coming in every hour.   In meetings from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. each day, I sat down to do my "real" work after everyone went home.  I made it until 7 p.m. and finally went home to eat whatever my wonderful husband cooked that evening to keep me going one more day.  I addressed concerns in the new position after dinner and Jack tolerated the constant presence of my laptop until I drug myself to bed.

But it's over.  The worst of the transition is over.  My awesome assistant (see above) cleared my pretty much cleared my schedule for the next two weeks.  Thank you.  Praise God.  

My new boss is a perfectionist.  We work well together and, as far as I can tell, are cut from similar cloth.  It will be fine once I can leave the 500 people and $350 million dollar budgets behind.  My new office is in a different building, separate from the hospital.  I am able to keep living in Indianapolis but have several road trips coming up in the next few weeks.  But peace is on the horizon.  Equilibrium, if you will.

In a way, this new position is returning me to my youth, to my "ideal state" being, before I was tarnished by the crap of hospital administration and big city life.  I now get to lead retreats for executives.  I'm leading the programs to help them become ethical leaders.  I'm leading a pilgrimage to Rome.  I am basically responsible for the soul of the organization.  

It's still terrifying.  [Gulp]

But I have to write a Lenten prayer service for an upcoming exec retreat.  Seriously?  They are paying me to do this?  My new job description is not just "other duties as assigned," but "things you did while in ministry and oh, you are a ministerial leader now.  Act like it."  

My new boss (whom I will have to name here) actually admonished me for my stressed appearance.  I was asked to lead an exec retreat exactly 9 days after finding out about this new position.  I still had everything from Imaging on my shoulders PLUS I was administrator on-call for three hospitals and there was a huge snowstorm bearing down in Indianapolis.  Of COURSE I was going to be stressed!  My aura was probably black.  I was anticipating having to run three hospitals in snow crisis yet again.  [Luckily, the storm missed us.  But it was a terse couple of days.]

But it dawned on me...Now I am expected to demonstrate presence.  Peace.  Tranquility.  Dare I say, equilibrium.  It is now in my job description to be a stable and centered.  I'm really, really good at being a stressed-out turkey.  It will truly require some growth to find peaceful equilibrium.  

Equilibrium.  I'll take another glass of that!

4th Time in 5.5 Years

I was extremely tempted to write something on New Year's (during my annual New Year's post).  I wanted to announce that I had the "illusion of control" at work and how I finally mastered my massive position at work.  I no longer felt pulled down by the vortex of work and politics.  I recounted this to Jack on the way home from Chicago on New Year's Day.  I kept telling him that I couldn't wait to return to work; I felt rested after a long winter's nap and a holiday season with family and friends.

Jack's reply?  "Dude, don't jinx it.  The minute you announce that you're settled and have mastered a position, well, then you get promoted."

I laughed at his superstition.  That's child's play.

I ran into the front yard and yelled "I'm settled!  I feel at home in Indy!  I love my job!  Bring on 2015!"

[Okay, I really didn't yell that from the front yard.  But I did yell it from the laundry room as I was folding white socks.]

And my CEO must have heard me.

Last week, it was about 6 p.m. and I was talking with one of my managers about an employee situation that arose.  My cell phone rang with an eerily familiar number.  I stepped out into the hall and it was the system CEO calling me personally.

Oh, crap.  Crap, crap, crap.  Here we go.

I had been dreaming of "the call" for the last year.  What would it be next?  Whenever that CEO calls me, it means a big move, a new job, and most likely a new city.  Or time zone.  Regardless, I thought I'd have a few years before he called me again. 

But this time was no different.  He floored me.  He asked me to oversee Ethics for the whole healthcare system AND lead an executive leadership program (that Leadership program I talked a lot about a couple years ago).  

It was...my dream job.  Landing in my lap.  The CEO and I talked for a while and all the while I had two thoughts alternating in my head, "I'm not worthy" and "They're PAYING me to do this?!"

Shell-shocked, I called Jack at work.  Upon telling him this newest revelation, the phone went silent for an easy 3 minutes.  Eventually, Jack cleared his throat and said, "huh?!"

We celebrated by ordering a pizza and cracking upon a bottle of Chardonnay (what else?).  Jack kept marveling at the blessings we've received - oh, and can we PLEASE not have to move again?  

There wasn't really much to discern.  I briefly thought about what it would mean to leave hospital operations and management of hundreds of people and millions of dollars.  But as I considered the offer, the weight starting falling off my shoulders.  My shoulders and outlook lightened with each hour that passed.  With each step I took, the stress I have been carrying for years now began to dissolve.  I expected to have to interview for hours and be raked over the coals by executives but the transition was sealed by an hour-long phone call with my new boss and a few emails with my system and local CEO's.

So there you have it.  As soon as I decided I was comfortable in my job, I get bumped up again.  We do NOT have to move from Indianapolis (at least not yet).  And they're paying me to do my dream job.  

Miracles do happen.  Prayers work.  God is good.  

The 2015 Playoff's...and the Flu

Are you a fan of the NFL playoff's?  

I suddenly became one a few weeks ago.  Well, in years past, I watched the playoff's but with half an ear on something more important.  Like, work email, the chili perkin' on the stove, or maybe the melting of the polar ice caps.  

But this year, it's different.  For a unique Christmas gift, I bought Jack tickets to the Indianapolis Colts playoff's game last weekend.  They played the Bengals and we had STELLAR seats.  If Andrew Luck worked up a sweat and then tossed his hair our way, we would have gotten wet.  The game was incredibly awesome and somewhat weird for us.  It was our first Colts games in actual seats.  We have grown somewhat accustomed to club level seats serving unlimited quantities of prime rib, brisket, nachos, and Miller Lite.  You mean we have to buy our beer?  For $9.50 each (before tip), we each nursed one beer the entire game.  

In Chicago, Bears fanhood was a general expectation; even if you lived 10 feet inside the Indiana border in the Chicago metro area, you were a Bears fan.  We never really knew who played for the Bears, nor did we care.  But in Indy, Colts fanhood is a religion.  Not only an expectation, it is a sheer obligation that if you live in Indianapolis, by golly, you're a Colts fan.  And you will sacrifice every Sunday from August to January cheering your home team to victory.  Our Colts playoff experience solidified our fanhood.  We accept the Indy obligation and consider ourselves devout.  

The Colts play tomorrrow at 4:40 p.m.  You know where we'll be!

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Life has felt like a series of playoff's lately.  Or maybe another case of "be careful what you wish for."  After New Year's and a quiet January 2 at work (I got caught up again!  Yay, me!), Jack and I celebrated one last hoorah in the holiday season.  My brother Brady and his longtime girl (I need a nickname for her) recently decided they like sushi.  So Jack and I had to take them out for a sushi feast.  It was quite funny to watch my meat-and-potatoes brother choke down a huge piece of squid.  Yeeeck.  We had a terrific time at sushi, introducing them to the weirder side of sushi.  Our personal favorite is raw scallops.  Scallop nigiri is just wonderful.  Try it if you ever see it on a menu.  

After sushi, no one felt like going home yet, so we visited a brewery on the south side of Indy.  And because there were few folks around us at the brewery, we broke out the euchre.  It felt so 90's coffeehouse it wasn't funny.  However, I had this random throught when we left the brewery, that I had somehow dodged the flu so far this season and that it probably wasn't wise to tempt the gods.

And tempt the gods I did.  We went to the Colts playoff game on Sunday and then I crashed hard Sunday night.  What was wrong with me?  Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck filled with hot garbage juice?  Come Monday, I was under the weather AND under a huge, thick duvet.  

It was my rendition of the 2015 Flu.  Lemmetellyou, it SUCKS.  102 fever and body aches and a head so clogged up that I actually put granules of kosher salt on my tongue.  I could not taste them.  I wanted to sob.  At one point, I asked Siri from a fetal position under four blankets "What are some home remedies for the flu?"  Siri suggested that I drink fluids and take medicine.  Um, okay.  Thanks for cracking the code!

So I did the next best thing.  I sucked it up and went to work.  I know, I know, that's how the flu is spread!  But healthcare is one of few professions that never stops.  You're in this strange predicament of keeping everything moving while not infecting everyone.  I gutted through Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning before collapsing on my bed around noon on Wednesday.  I....just....couldn't....do....it!

NOTHING made me feel better.  TheraFlu inspired insane dreams where I ended up questioning reality.  Seriously, in one dream, I dreamt that Jack had the stomach flu and kept vomiting in our master bathroom.  I heard him retching and yelled, "Can you PLEASE go away and LET ME SLEEP?  We have two other bathrooms, go barf somewhere else!"  I woke myself up yelling.  It was so real that, the next morning, I asked Jack if he was ill the night before.  I felt like I had to apologize for yelling!

So anyway, I ended up calling my mom to ask for ANY home remedy that might decrease my discomfort.  She told me to get a good steam in the shower, slather my chest in Vick's, and fix myself a hot toddy.  Done, done, and DONE.  

Our house smelled like a sick room but the Vick's was magical.  After about 36 hours of Vick's, my sinuses threatened to let me breathe.  I went back to work on Friday and even though my assistant followed me around the office with Lysol, I felt somewhat human again.  It's not worth the gamble - stay away from large groups of people, do not drink from unsanitized bar glasses, and wash your hands as much as possible.  

Flu 2015 is not fun.  On the upshot, all I ate for several days was toast, broth, and OJ.  So at least my jeans are loose in the waist.  It's all in the little things, eh?  I'll take it.

Here's to a Colts victory, returning tastebuds, and a healthy week!

Annual Inventory

Happy New Year!

It's time for my annual post discussing how I need to work broccoli and brussel sprouts back into my diet.  Ugh.  I don't think I've had a green vegetable since December 20.  That is when Jack and I officially kicked off our holiday season.  I wouldn't really care about the veggies but even my Adidas pants are getting tight.  It's never a good sign when your elastic-waisted pants hurt you!!

It was a wonderful holiday season.  I know it's not technically over, but since Jack and I are working tomorrow, it feels like a Sunday afternoon.  But tomorrow's Friday!  A gentle re-entry to work.

Thinking back over it, everything went so fast.  Christmas was a week ago and it feels like it was 2-3 weeks ago.  I worked half the day on Christmas Eve (I gave my management team the day off but the hospital was crazy busy and I felt like I had to make a cameo).  I achieved a milestone on Christmas Eve - a milestone made of miracles and dreams for me.  I got caught up.  

Like, done.  

Like, was hanging out with employees and my assistant because I was bored with nothing else to do.  My email box was at 4.  My infamous to-do list had 3 items on it (down from nearly 100 in late summer).  My  12 inches' worth of filing was done.  I could have been wiped off the earth and wouldn't have left my successor any homework.  

It was the best gift I could have ever given myself.  I felt accomplished, competent.  I had complete control of my massive service line.  But on the other side of that coin, knowing I CAN get to a feeling of caught-upedness, I will expect myself to retain that success.  Yeah, riiiiight.  I'm trying to let go of that mirage before I drive myself back into therapy.  

Kidding.  Sort of.

So I came home from work that day and we kicked off Family Christmas 2014.  Our family traveled to Indy because I was the on-call administrator for several days and couldn't leave.  We baked and frosted cookies, attended Christmas mass, helped Jack create an Italian feast (you're supposed to prepare 7 kinds of fish on Christmas Eve), and enjoyed a gift exchange that we think went on for 5 hours.  Christmas Day, we schlumped around watching classic family movies like "The Christmas Story" and "Elf."  It's just not Christmas if we don't watch both movies at least five times.  Oh, and "Home Alone."  

My family members can all recite the lines to the Home Alone movie "Angels with Filthy Souls" verbatim.  "Who is it?"  "It's me, Snakes.  I got the stuff."

Don't you wish you were cool like we are?  Ha!

The traditional Polish trappings ensnared us on Christmas Day.  Turkey and sausage, cheesy potatoes, GBC, etc.  You know, the fat-free, heart-healthy stuff.  

The day after Christmas, we hit the annual Hobby Lobby after-Christmas sales.  For $50, I am completely stocked for next Christmas.  Wrap, bags, tissue, tags, and even 100 Christmas cards.  My neuroses kick into a frenzy if I don't have everything for next Christmas by the previous New Year's.  It's my OCD.  Obsessive Christmas Disorder.  Add in a quick trip to Margaritaville and we were ready for another round of movies and naps.  

How much can a person possibly nap?  I left a "Dorrie-shaped" imprint on our couch as I barely budged between Saturday night and Monday afternoon.  Every year, I seem to need two full days of sleep to recover from Christmas.  It's not just the heavy food and booze but I put a lot of pressure on myself to achieve Christmas perfection.  Perfect gifts, wrap, decor, and even linens.  When we are hosting holidays, add the pressure of perfect food.  No one really remembers the "perfect" holiday food but everyone remembers that one year you made the crappy ham that made Dad sick!

I lovingly refer to this 48 hour hibernation as my "holiday hangover."  But I was off work and thoroughly relished my sloth-like behavior.  

On Tuesday afternoon, we headed up I-65 to Chicago to ring in the New Year with our dear friends.  Any time the four of us are together, it's a party.  Even if we're sitting around in sweatpants drinking Bailey's-spiked coffee.  

It's always a party.  We're actually going to Italy with them in October (on pilgrimage).  While I can't wait, I'm not sure how the Italian atmosphere will affect our friendship.  I mean, we already share massive amounts of antipasto, salami, cheese, and wine.

It was another great New Year's Eve.  New Year's is so emotional for me and usually difficult.  The gauntlet of emotions between sadness that another year is over and blessings that another year, a clean slate, is about to begin.  I think I'm somewhat autistic on New Year's; I'm acutely aware of the passage of time.  

But we just returned home from Chicago and are settled back in our house.  I packed away most of the Christmas clutter and left our tree and lighted mantle garland intact  I just can't part with the white Christmas lights yet.  I even logged into work email on the drive home and I only had 100 emails from Christmas Eve.  While it's not 4, when I take a week off during other parts of the year, I have 1000.  I'm not a huge fan of "staycations" where I take time off without at least visiting a beach - but it was an ideal, restful time.  

I'm ready to go back to work tomorrrow.  I'm ready for normalcy.  I'm ready for broccoli! 

  

Writing about Writing (about Writing)

It's  been a while since I've posted but I have been writing a lot lately.  Most of it has been stream-of-consciousness writing where I type what comes to mind, that whiny crapola that clutters mymind-space throughout the day.  Some of it is in the form of letters to people with whom I'm not happy or even letters to God.  I find that my thoughts unfurl when I put them on paper and things that seem scary or overwhelming in my self-talk lose their power when out of my head and on paper.  

Yesterday, TIME magazine posted an article challenging stressed out, anxious people to write for 20 minutes, for four straight days.  Just write about what's bothering you.  Then last night, in a weird moment of inspiration, picked up my copy of "The Artist's Way" that has been sitting on my nightstand since literally last Christmas.  My housekeepers dust it every two weeks and put it back in its pile!  But last night, I felt free enough to "go there" (I'm not sure where exactly "there" was, but I was willing to be challenged).  The book fell open to page 176, on a quiz about whether to tell if you're a workaholic.  Chuckling to myself, I skimmed the questions and suddenly realized that this might not be a coincidence.  

Busted.  

It was a sobering mirror into which I viewed my disordered work habits.  One sentence after the quiz put my struggle into words and is helping me articulate it...Workaholics only think they are worthwhile if they are working.  And so we work all of the time, without ceasing, without ever looking up from our email or work-based communications.  

So that's my confession here...it finally dawned on me that I am a workaholic.  I've been joking about it for ages and my family would probably laugh to read this.  They're going to be like, "finally!  Crazy girl!" I've been sensing this for a while and even asked one of my good work friends (I only have a few people I trust at work) to schedule me in yoga with her so that I am obligated to go.  My boss even told me a couple of weeks ago that I should really get out of the office no later than 5:30 p.m.

5:30 seems so early...

But I'm willing to work on it.  What's one more step in my identity tour? 

That's why I'm writing more, working all of these things out in my head.  It's funny; my aunt and I were talking about my crazy existence at Thanksgiving and she asked what I REALLY wanted to do (sensing that hospital admin might not be my forever path if I'm already this stressed).  I answered without even thinking, "a writer who writes at my beachhouse after a morning walk on the sand."  So I'll keep writing...just without the sand!

The other two reasons that I am considering all of this is because I received a high blood pressure diagnosis the other week.  My doctor is giving me three months to shape up and get my BP under control or else.  "Else" means another prescription.  My diet isn't that bad and we're not too heavy on the salt shaker...so 98.3% of my problem is stress.  

The other reason is because I finished Aquinas!  The last year has been awful, terrible, frustrating, and so time-consuming.  As I sat in church for mass this morning, I realized how much more I DO know about Catholic dogma from my friend St. Thomas.  I know why the Church teachings are structured the way they are and how the early Church fathers shaped them.  But MAN.  I lost a year of my life.  As I completed the 4-hour final essay exam early this morning, I felt a tremendous burden lift from my shoulders.  I have not done anything on Saturday's for the last year since that was Aquinas Day!  Yesterday, my studying complete, I exercised and went shopping.  I kept marveling, "Wow, this must be what normal people do on Saturday!"  Ugh.  But it's over.  The exam was not fun and I am not feeling wonderful about it, but it's complete.  

Adoro te Devote.

Thanksgiving was a beautiful holiday this year and the best in recent memory.  We did most of the cooking on Wednesday night and packed away the food in disposable aluminum pans.  On Thursday, all we had to do was make the green beans and heat up everything else.  The family who wanted to be there was present and there was no drama.  We laughed until our stomachs ached when we broke out "Cards Against Humanity."  Oh, don't judge; it's a horribly inappropriate game.  But with a glass or two of vino, it becomes more acceptable.  I haven't laughed that hard in years.  My family just cracks me up.  Jack and I drove back to Indianapolis with full hearts and joyful spirits.  

Wonderful holiday, Aquinas is complete, and I've got three months to fix my BP.  Hopefully, the joy I'm trying to allow into my heart will temper the BP a bit!