Flexibility

Several posts ago, I mentioned taking one or two occasional group fitness classes to get me out of work before the ripe ol' hour of 7pm.

One of these was boxing. The other a "relaxation" class that taught us how to stretch, rolling our bodies on foam rollers to mimic deep tissue massage, and increase our flexibility.

Have you ever foam-rolled? It's like rolling your body around a gigantic rolling pin.

My pal Vera and I, after reading the brochure on this "relaxation" class, thought it would be a great way to defrag after a crazy day. We both purchased new yoga pants for the occasion and she gifted me cute footies to wear in class.

Is it ironic that I wanted to pass out several times during the flexibility class and handled the boxing class pretty well (except for being sore for five days afterward)?

I learned something about myself in this so-called flexibility class...I'm not very flexible.

Like, at all.

A big fan of intense cardio and sometimes a fast-paced Pilates, I struggle with making time to stretch. As a result, I get hard muscles that won't stretch much without incurring some sort of injury. This is not good.

As the class contorted their bodies on the foam rollers, I looked over to see Vera all blissed out and relaxed, immediately getting the hang of this weird rolling experience.

I, on the other hand, struggled with the most basic of poses and exercises. The instructor hovered in my general neighborhood, offering little modifications that wouldn't tear my muscles or seriously wound my pride!

As I fought through the class, it got me thinking...I really hope I'm not this inflexible in the rest of my life. Is there some secret message that my tight muscles were supposed to impart on my even-tighter resolve?

Hmm. Maybe it's time to stretch and regain a greater sense of flexibility.

Or maybe I should just stick to boxing!

Lent

It's that time of year again. Time to shelve the rich desserts and meals, stock up on tuna and fish sticks, and look inwardly for a sacrifice that'll help me be more faithful to God.

I always post some poignant beginning-of-Lent reflection on here, just to have my Lenten practices slowly fade into the background as Lent progresses. I tend to be like that- black and white. If I can't do something 100% and perfectly (or near perfectly), I throw in the towel and re-channel my energy into something I know I *can* do.

It's probably a maturity thing. But in all areas of my life, I'm taking a page from my mentor's book and continually asking myself, "how could I have done that better?"

Perfection is an unattainable ideal. Some say that if you do happen to achieve what we define as 'perfection,' you're not setting your bar high enough.

So I defined a couple of Lenten practices for myself and the bar is pretty high. But my other Lenten practice is to be okay with my own humanity and imperfection. When I do fail to achieve that high bar, I'm forced to ask myself, "how could I have done that better?"

It's actually very liberating...none of us will ever be perfect; it's not even possible. We shouldn't waste one ounce of energy worrying about it. But what can we do to become the best version of our imperfect, human selves, knowing full well that the journey will be full of pitfalls and trials?

I just have to keep trying. The grace is in the journey and as long as we continue to try, we're on the right path.

Campaigning

I'm pretty sure I'm evil. And that I almost got punched the other day!

I've been running this political campaign to hire two wound nurses for the inpatient floors. Since we are closing the outpatient clinic, effective in April, I really *really* wanted to keep the nurses on staff for use on the floors. I created the job descriptions, submitted them to HR, figured out how to track their stats with finance, and went through the formal processes to get the positions approved.

And I waited.

And waited.

And started to get really frustrated. This is patient care we're talking about and we have numerous, documented business cases for these nurses.

So I started my campaign. I discussed the needs and the skills these two nurses bring to the table. I rallied nurse managers, directors, quality folks, and human resources. They all had my back. And yet, the positions were not being approved by the responsible VP.

After seven exhausting weeks of this, where the nurses were *this* close to leaving the hospital for jobs at neighboring hospitals, I called up my VP of Human Resources and point-blank told her, "I'm hiring the wound nurses tomorrow."

She laughed. Then said, "Fine with me!"

This was risky on my part. There's never been an unapproved FTE allowed at St. Fozzie's. Here I am hiring two.

I saw her that evening (Wednesday was a late night) and told her, "I'm doin' it!" She high-fived me as she walked out of the office. Seeing Elvis down the hall, I also told him I was offering the nurses positions the next morning. He didn't bat an eye and I thanked him for getting my back.

Then, in a fit of meanness, I stopped at the store to pick up a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne. When talking to the wound nurses during those seven terrible weeks, I promised them that, if I was able to offer them jobs, we'd crack open a bottle of champagne in my office.

I try to always keep my word.

Early that next morning, I summoned them both to my office. I made my voice sound flat and uninterested.

A few minutes later, they both appeared in my office doorway, looking like scared cats. I invited them to sit, then started quietly explaining how I tried to cash in all my political chips and even though it had been seven weeks, I was at a tough point. I let my voice trail off...

At that, they both started to cry, sure I was about to lower the hammer and tell them I could not hire them.

I quickly went all "Saturday Night Live" on them and in an excited rush, told them I would like to offer them jobs and I'd be honored if they stayed at St. Fozzie's!!

In the span of .034 seconds, their faces registered confusion, shock, and tremendous gratefulness. Then they both looked slightly ticked off that I played such a mean joke. Luckily, they know I'm a jokester at times and quickly forgave me.

The tears of fear changed to tears of happiness (both nurses are sole providers for their families). I triumphantly produced the bottle of fake champagne and over our 'clinking' of clear plastic cups, we started planning the future of inpatient wound care.

Finally. I was able to make a difference for the good and get patients the care they need. Plus, I get to keep my two favorite nurses; they will continue to report to me.

[I know management is a lot like having kids...you're really not supposed to have a "favorite." I'm controversial because I do have favorites and I might as well be honest with us both! The trick is to not let others know about your favorites and, ideally, everyone should feel like the favorite.]

During this process, I learned how to construct a political campaign, when to run my platform up the ladder when I hit a dead end, and when to disregard useless bureaucratic practices and pull a "Nike."

Just do it.

I just did it.

[Man, I hope my security badge and keys work on Monday!]

But next time, I'll consolidate my campaign and "just do it" a lot sooner.

Permission

Humbled

Long post alert. Go grab a sandwich and xanax. I'll wait for you.

**************

I had a bad couple of weeks.

There, I said it.

I pride myself on my uncanny ability to push through anything. I can work with the stomach flu. I can bulldoze through extreme exhaustion. I can push through seasonal affect disorder, just boning up on Vitamin D supplements and listening to Jimmy Buffet. I can email until my vision goes double from foggy contacts and I finally graduate to my glasses until my work is done.

Except that I really can't.

It's humbling to realize that you're a mere human and somewhere in between working a zillion hours and taking care of everyone and everything else, you suddenly realize that you're one breath away from walking away from everything and taking a job at the neighborhood Dairy Queen.

Okay, it's not that bad. But I haven't been completely honest with you- I have been struggling, using all my energy to put one foot in front of the other.

This past weekend, I drove to SB to spend time with my beloved aunt. Starving and on the expressway at dinnertime, I was overjoyed to find a candy cane in my glove box (it can't be *that* old, I bought my car in 2010).



Would it make it more palatable if I told you I had low blood sugar?!

Time with aunt was fabulous. She knows me better than my own mother and as a former executive, just gets it. She's one of my life coaches where I lay out my situation (positive or negative) and she gives me some objective wisdom befitting crystal ball status. This past weekend, after listening to my stories and delicately questioning me about work, she deduced that it was time for a change.

Racing back to Chicagoland on Saturday, I called my bestie Bewley for some friendly catching up. She is actually publishing a book about women executives and she reminded me to "play" more.

In an aptly-timed email, Nurse Starbucks offered to tutor me in massage therapy. In exchange for stock in Teavana and twice-daily dog-walking.

{Dog walking! My first client! Who hoo!}

As the weekend concluded, everyone's words rang in my head...is it really right that I'm working so hard and it continues to feel as though in vain? I tossed and turned all night, anxiously and spastically charting my week, meetings, and responses to political arguments that I will receive.

I didn't sleep a wink.

Before sunrise, per my usual routine, I showered and dove, headfirst, into a monster mug of coffee. But I couldn't face my 12-hour day, knowing I would finish the day with a longer to-do list than I started.

I'm so not a quitter. But I breathed a sigh of relief when Jack, studying my bloodshot eyes and panicked demeanor, reminded me that, in management, I get a degree of flexibility. So what if I stay home on Monday? He quickly offered that I could work on Saturday and he'd occupy himself, freeing me from the guilt of going in on a Saturday.

With that, I texted my boss that I was flexing my time and tuned into some Cities of the Underworld that I DVR'd over the last month.

The rest, as they say, is history. Two great friends (you know who you are) donated time out of their work days to pepper me with questions about why I'm doing what I'm doing. And what's truly going to serve God and not kill me or my spirit? Deep questions to which I still don't know the answers. But at least I now have the courage to ask them and fumble through the hodge podge of emotions they stir up.

My friend Vera then reminded me about her "hippie healer" that she sees in Kankakee (a long, stinkin' drive!). I called and, surprise, they had an appointment. So I embarked upon the journey to Hippie Hangout, which was really just an old-school chiropractor. Who played me some awesome acoustic guitar.

What, your chiropractor doesn't play the guitar for you?

This one was a wiry, old-school guy who, after relaxing you with some fabulous strings, cracks your back 18 ways from Sunday. So much cracked that it was sickening.

I saw stars. And not the Hollywood types. But...I can stand up straighter and feel far less pressure in my neck and shoulders.

I know, I know. I'm a skeptic of chiropractors, too. Maybe it was the guitar that won me over. But, in the words of the Monkees, I'm a believer.

The title of this post is "humbled" because that's how I feel this week. My friends' coaching and listening and relaying of general life wisdom was so uplifting these last few days. I'm humbled to have such great people in my life. I hope that I can return the favor someday and offer you all some of the same great perspective with which you've graced me.

Tomorrow's a new day.

Grateful

Life is so short.

I'm repeatedly reminded of this and oddly, not as often as you'd think. Yes, I work in a hospital and regularly hear things like "Code blue" and "Anesthesia, please report to the ER" paged over the intercom. You know people die every day, within the same walls of the same hospital that occupies your office.

Yet, it's pretty removed. The only time I hear about a specific death is if it's a community figure and it hits the paper or if it's a tragic death (and hits the paper). One time, my hospice unit misplaced a body and that was just fun. Don't worry, we found him immediately; the paperwork was not completed and routed correctly.

Anyway, my job is hard. Some mornings I drive to work with a pit in my stomach, uncertain of how I'm going to survive a given situation. Sometimes I dread work, knowing I have to make difficult decisions that are going to affect peoples' lives. But, I suddenly realized, this is probably as easy as I'm ever going to have it.

Y'know, unless I start that dog-walking service or become a professional surfer.

Not to belittle those two careers; I'm sure surfers have very specific stress about sharks eating them without them noticing.

It's probably not too different on Wall Street!

[I won't walk the dogs on Wall Street.]

So even though I chastise myself for not doing enough or that I could be doing things better, I'm still alive.

Which is more than I can say for one of my employees, who was just diagnosed with breast cancer AND had her brother drop dead yesterday. It really made me grateful for my life.

Let's all be grateful for our lives. If everyone we knew met around the perimeter of a football field and threw our problems in the middle of the field, we'd probably choose to go home with our own problems. Other people are dealing with so much more than we are. Let's be grateful for our problems because they're most likely better than someone else's!

Oxymoron

"Perfection is not attainable. But if we chase perfection, we can catch excellence."

—– Vince Lombardi

AND




Yowsa. My two favorite quotes this week are polar opposites. Oxymorons. One says to strive for excellence and one says to let go. The genius is somewhere in the middle....how to strive for perfection (excellence!) and still unplug and let go occasionally.

I have a hard time letting go. Letting go means (gasp!) I cannot control the situation or its outcome.

So where's that sacred line between pursing excellence and doing what you can? If you figure it out, can you please enlighten me!?

Adele

As I drove to work this morning, all the morning radio shows talked about Adele and how she swept the Grammies. They played her live performance, snippets of her interviews, and in general, discussed her awesomeness.

Of course, I've known Adele was great since I 'discovered' her back in 2009 with her "Chasing Pavements" single. I was wandering around a Floridian grocery store, vehemently vacillating between key limes and regular limes in the produce aisle when I first heard Adele's sultry voice piped in over the industrial speakers. The song stuck in my head that entire week.

Ever since then, Adele's voice has reminded me of Florida. And vacation. And limes.

Nonetheless, I thought about Adele a few times today. Exactly what does a 23 year-old who has just conquered the music world with six Grammies do?

Does she eat a cheeseburger, a la Hillary Swank?

Does she get drunk, a la Lindsay Lohan?

Does she put Mrs. Doubtfire in the dvd player and sing along with Robin Williams' lines?

What would you do the day after you completely conquered your chosen field?

Slippers

If it weren't for the pink Cadillac slippers on Thursday night, I would have been in some serious pain.



As it was, I developed blisters on the bottoms of my feet from my ravishingly comfortable stilettos.

Thursday was the First Look for Charity, the opening night of the Chicago Auto Show, where we get all dolled up in black tie attire, sip champagne, and meander around $100k cars like we can afford anything more than a Camry.

It's one fancy gala. We're pretty much the riff-raff, but they don't discriminate as long as you pay the fees. And yes, Fabio was in attendance with his harem, although I missed him and his flowing locks!

The night started out excitingly engaged; people from all our area hospitals popped out of their respective woodwork to play for the evening. Congressmen, mayors, and benefactors milled around our hospital's hospitality suite. Hey, in Illinois, in an election year, that was the place to be. I watched in awe...those congressmen knew exactly when the flash of the camera would pop; they'd make eye contact with their prey of choice and one millisecond before the camera goes off, flip their Dentine smile toward the camera, somehow making it appear genuine and spontaneous.

That's the trick of the politicians.

It was just so authentic.

SO anyway, in this room full of important people, I saddled up to Nurse Jackie's husband and jokingly asked if he'd wait in the 30-40 minute line for my refill of Chardonnay. Several other women at our table requested the same. We figured we wouldn't see Mr. Jackie back for at least a half hour. Imagine our surprise when he emerged back at the table a minute later, gracefully balancing six glasses of wine!

He said he told the bartender it was for the congressmen!

And so we all got our wine refills.

We're keepin' it classy!

So after that dashing experience, Jack and I went up to the show room floor with a few friends from work. My first stop, of course, was at Ford, for their Mustang display.



Do they get any prettier?

We ambled between the Oktoberfest booth (who was giving out 16 oz pint glasses as souvenirs) and the sushi station, mixing authentic German brews with raw fish. I didn't know until later, that Jack was hoarding pint glasses and suddenly realized that we now have service for four.

No wonder that bag he carried grew so heavy!

The other highlight of the night was the drawing for the two Cadillac's. We matched exactly one number on each drawing and figured that we didn't really want a Caddie anyway. We're TOYOTA people.



On the way home, speeding along the Dan Ryan, I disputed Jack's plan to stop at the nearest White Castle (this is our tradition; nothing is funnier than walking into a White Castle when you're dressed to the nines and tuck napkins into your strapless gown so as not to dump mustard on yourself). I had to get up at the refreshing hour of 4 a.m. to get to Loyola by 8 a.m. for an annual ethics conference.

When I signed up, I forgot it was the morning after First Look.

It was fun. I remember very little from the conference and took diligent, verbatim notes so I could re-educate myself later. I did, however, run into two of my ethicist pals from a neighboring Catholic healthcare system. My plan is to shadow them (if they'll let me!) and see what their worlds are like.

I arrived home later in the afternoon and immediately crashed. I knew Jack had a rough week because, when I emerged again, he had about six dishes cooking on the stove. My outlet is sleep. His is culinary arts.

I guess it COULD be worse!

And I'm finally allowing myself to blog because I finished a decent draft of my first theology paper (due tomorrow). I forgot how difficult it is to write a theology paper when you procrastinate to the last day!

Wine

So, apparently, I'm getting really good at telling people I'm taking away their jobs. I got to do it again today, with another one of my departments.

And I'm wondering if this is HR's underhanded plan to divest me of my position...if I keep selling and closing departments, *I* won't have a job either.

Hmmm.

[Scratches head?]

At least I'm employed today (and probably tomorrow). I talked to one of my colleagues today from a hospital system in Arizona. He's stellar and a leader in his field. He was offered a chief administrator position in Berkley and I'm not at all jealous. Nope. Not one bit.

Actually, I hear the cost of living in Berkley is quite high.

And that whole earthquake situation unhinges me anyway.

ANYWAY.

Together with EVOO (for new readers, that's my Chief Operating Officer), I told the manager of our in-house EMS that we're entering into an RFP process to seek out potential buyers for the service line. That means it's for sale.

It's like one of those "he said, she heard" situations.

For example:

He said: "Hey, that dress fits you differently than the last time you wore it."

She heard: "Hey, I'm surprised that dress still fits you with the way you've been indulging in mac and cheese lately!"

Or:

She said: "I'm so exhausted and have been running around like a freaking idiot all day and why doesn't ANYONE do their jobs anymore?"

He heard: "Bring me wine."

In this case today, it was more like:

She said: "We're entering into an RFP process to seek out a potential acquisition of the service."

He heard: "I need to update my resume."

Which isn't necessarily true. Good companies find a way to hold onto their great employees. So I'm cashing in some political chips to be able to keep him on staff. While I didn't lose sleep over this one nearly as much as the one where I had to lay people off, it's still awful to tell someone that we're selling their department. It makes them feel like objects and not people.

So that's my job here...to help them feel like people and that we will take care of them the best that we can.

Do the best you can with what you've got.

Now. Where's my wine?