Tears for Fears

I cried on the drive home from work today.

It wasn't the first time I've cried on my commute home.

The last time I remember commute-crying, I was still in Chicago and felt so overburdened by the weighty projects sagging my weary shoulders. The tears were more of the "How in the world will I EVER accomplish this?" type versus today's tears.

Today's tears were of the "I'm so sorry I had to do that to you today" type.

Leadership is never easy. Sometimes people regard leaders as managers who sit in board rooms, discussing hypothetical policy changes, immune to what's REALLY happening on the front line. I've been accused of such, that I have "no idea" what the "real world" is like; that I sit in my plush office and collect my lucrative paycheck without feeling any pain.

Most days hurt. Today flat-out sucked.

As part of a system-wide layoff today, I had to tell 14 people that I was wrecking their lives. I had to take six badges away from people, escorting them out of the hospital forever. I had to tell four more that I was making their full-time employment half-time (slashing pay and benefits). The rest? They went from regular, comfortable 8am-4pm shifts, to graveyard, midnight to 8 am shifts.

I was popular today. Whenever my staff see me coming, they immediately assume someone's getting laid off or fired. It's great.

I traveled to four of my seven campuses, delivering terrible news to employees. What's funny is that I didn't truly realize what I was doing. I mean, I knew I was eliminating peoples' jobs, a-la "Up in the Air." But I got through each employee meeting with dry eyes and a moderately-upset stomach.

It wasn't until I was on the way home, on the busy Chicago-like interstate, that I read the press release from our healthcare system.

[Relax, I was in standstill traffic. We hadn't moved an inch in 4 minutes.]

But something strange hit me when I read that press release. It talked about the terribleness of Obamacare on the nation's hospitals, that we are forced to do more with less, provide healthcare access for the formerly-self insured population, and do it with less reimbursements and at higher quality. Then it said one painful line........."Those affected by the layoff have been notified today."

Today?

That's what I did today? I "notified" several people in my wonderful staff that they no longer had jobs. Or full-time employment. Or even regular employment.

Cue the "I can't believe I did this to you" tears. It was brief, but new territory for me. I'm used to shedding a few tears every now and then about the mounting, heavy responsibilities of hospital management, uncertain of how my measly shoulders will handle it all.

Today? I guess I felt some humanity as I shattered several lives.

It's so different to fire an employee. They bring it upon themselves and force you into that position. This time, I had to tell innocent people that they're done.

Humanity. Humanity is a good thing. My stomach is still upset and the future's uncertain.

I'm going to be grateful for my humanity today...and hopefully, the good that I have been able to do today for our overall healthcare ministry.

Are There Monks in the Caribbean?

I'm sorry if that last post was a little revealing. Jack was all like, "did you really just write about your mammogram? Eww."

I'm one for transparency. Why hide my experiences when I can gross out my friends?

We're feeling reflective today. It's a Monday night and both Jack and I are laying in our respective recliners, grimacing from bad headaches and weird body aches that plagued us both through a Monday. It just seems as though winter hit so quickly; it was 78 and sunny last Tuesday and I'm staring at my iPhone, unable to believe that accumulating snows are on their way for Wednesday's forecast.

Cue the Thera Flu. Good thing we have an electronic yuppie fireplace in our new house. Flip a switch! And whoosh! Fake flames galore. At least it took the edge off the chills we both have!

I could use a sick day off work. Things have been brutal. The type of brutal that, despite my 8-minute commute and gorgeous closet where I can pre-plan my pantsuit rotation for three weeks, I have resumed wondering if I'm barking up the wrong proverbial career tree.

I have this wonderment every few months, necessitating a mental health day where I watch reruns of Friends, drink pre-mixed margaritas, and make bacon-cheese steak fries. I then convince myself that I'm okay and I return to the treadmill of work, eager to thrust myself into the Rat Race once again. I. Can. Keep. Going! Yes! I'm a machine! A completely-overscheduled machine who's always running the Indy 500 without ever making a pit stop.

It's bad when my assistant actually told me to cool it for a while. She's 3 years my senior and every bit the mother hen. She's the one who truly runs my life and the pace of my days is directly proportionate to her optimism for life. If she's mad or bummed, I'm less scheduled. If she's happy and in an achieving mindset, I'm booked for 10 hours straight, for 4 weeks straight. It's rather funny. When something bad happens, she'll exclaim, "OH NO!" But it comes out sounding throaty and raw, like Animal from the Muppets. "OH NO!"

[EVERYTHING ties back to the Muppets here.]

Something I learned recently from Jack is that all of life is cyclical. You're never on your game 100% all the time. You're never completely fit and healthy 100% of the time. You have to take SOME days off from being a rockstar. Sometimes you just don't have the 6-pack abs or sculpted shoulders. Sometimes you have to coast at work. Or in life- whatever your station. Cereal for dinner? Fine! Sleeping on fresh towels because we forgot to wash the pillowcases? So be it! Buying two pairs of larger pants because I haven't made it to the gym? FINE (albeit- I'm still mad).

I keep thinking about the Cayman Islands or a quiet monastery or even the Irish countryside. I'm craving peace and quiet, unscheduled days, and lack of wifi or cell service. I want to travel to Zimbabwe or go on a Caribbean cruise where internet access is $3.99 per second. I want to be unreachable so I can regain my own equilibrium.

But will it help? Is that momentary peace sustainable?

I think my problem is that I am addicted to being needed at work. [Some call it workaholism, I just call it over-achieving tendencies. But whatever.] I served my first stint as Administrator on Call last week at St. Gonzo's and loved that I was paged at random times to tend to random would-be emergencies. I liked that they needed me. I like being busy and overscheduled...until my body gives out and I'm laying around listlessly on a Monday night, listening to Enya while Jack cooks homemade Manwich, while I complain to you poor people!

What's the balance? Is there one? I'm not sure I can find a balance while I work in the complex juggling act of healthcare. Do more with less, while receiving less reimbursement and the government is demanding higher quality. Something has to give.

I just hope it's not me. I'll be on retreat in the monastery on the Cayman Islands!

See the Tatas

Today's the first day, oh, since this time last year, where I came home from work and actually felt like publicly sharing my day. Progress!

Last night, at 10:39 pm, I finished my Franciscan Leadership program work. Nineteen essay questions, in the midst of my usual 250+ email Hades and operational madness that always arises each day. I "celebrated" my success in fully completing the two-year program this morning by allowing myself to sleep in past 6 am. I'm not sure where the days and weeks have gone. The old rumors are true- never go into an area of the hospital and say, "Man! It's QUIET!" It's an evil curse; once someone utters the "Q" word, it's all over. Then all of the sudden, it's Sunday night and time to start the madness all over again.

Like, today. I have seven total campuses and visited one of the smaller, community hospital settings to A) catch my breath, B) visit with my second-favorite radiologist (who kind of reminds me of an older rockstar), and C) help out during the employee Mammothon. This is where we open up the Breast Center and allow walk in appointments for the community. Local media usually visits and we have enough freebies to overwhelm a used car salesman. Our community Mammothons are in October but we wanted to highlight the staff and offer them the same opportunities. After all, most of the healthcare workers in the US are women. So off to "Gonzovent" I went. It's not uncommon to actual see episodes of Andy Griffith playing in the cafeteria- the pace of life is far slower at Gonzoville. I spend most of my waking hours at the primary St. Gonzo campus so the break was welcome.

After visiting with my second-favorite radiologist (after all, my most-favorite radiologist gives us free tickets to huge concert events...don't worry, each "free" ticket is paid for a lot of problem solving and conflict resolution- ugh!), I rounded on the department's employees and had a great one-on-one chat with the manager.

Then I got an urgent page that St. Gonzo's imaging department (the main one across town) flooded. Noah would've been proud. I was then treated to text message pictures of used linen and old towels baracading the water from the VERY expensive CT and Nuclear Medicine panels. After a few calls, I got the right people to respond but I don't like to risk about $12M in imaging equipment because of a faulty toilet (or three). Soon after, I received a 911 that not one, but two of our three MRI's went down at the primary campus.

Back at Gonzoville, I relaxingly talked with the Breast Center employees who were preparing for Mammothon. Our delightful conversation was interrupted by an urgent page from another imaging department reporting a bed bug infestation.

Bed bugs? Seriously? What's next, an interview with 20/20? Maybe just a plague of locusts?!

Returning to my Breast Center conversations, I succumbed to at least three employees peer pressuring me to get my annual mammogram, too. I shrugged it off, uncertain of whether I wanted one of my technologists to see my tatas. I soon realized that it was a unique opportunity to 'walk the walk.' By letting them run car tires over my girls, I could influence others to get their mammograms, too. And I did! I had my exam and then was able to convince six other imaging employees to get theirs. Strange, violating, exposing mission accomplished.

And now I can never look that technologist in the eye again. Yikes.

I have a strange hang-up about being too vulnerable in front of my staff. Yes, I want them to see my humanity and relate to me as a fellow human. But I'm very protective of my off hours. I don't like going to church with my staff. It's too intimate. I dislike going to the store and seeing employees. They peer into my shopping cart, analyzing my food choices and counting my servings of veggies. And the gym? Forget it. I rock out to my music and pound through my workout and really don't want to sweat with colleagues. It's just gross.

But I finally conceded and agreed with Jack that it was time to move into an actual house. After moving to Indianapolis (as renters!) over eight months ago, we had completely transitioned to our new home, new dentist, new friends, new Meijer, new church, etc. I even found a primary care provider I can stand. So what will we do? MOVE! It's a nice house and I'm proud that I finally got over myself and my vulnerability phobias. Dangit, I will soon have to pray, shop, and sweat with my colleagues.

So I came home tonight to a list of pre-new-house activities from Jack. I again lamented my fear that the contents of my Meijer cart were going to be public knowledge again and he looked directly at me and said, "REALLY? Are you kidding? Your employee saw your breasts today and your radiologist saw INSIDE your breasts today! You have no excuse as to why you can't go to the gym with your employees now!"

Touche.

So much for a relaxing day at Gonzoville. Maybe tomorrow will resume the busyness?!

(And that's what I've really been up to! In the last eight months, I have stricken the word "normalcy" from my vocabulary!)

An Airport Metaphor

Last weekend, after listening to me vent about my current workload and stress for a breathless 38 minutes, Jack suggested that I return to blogging. Even if my entries are quick or incomplete, he reasons that I like seeing my growth and progress as reflected in my own writing.

So I will try. Blogging takes a lot of time but I'm willing to get back into the habit.

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

My brain lately has felt like an airport; it is the closest metaphor illustrating my stress and chaos. There are constantly planes taking off and landing, with thousands of people running between terminals, each following their own itinerary. Much like that age-old metaphor discussing stress in terms of rocks and sand in a jar (rocks are the "big things"- health, family, friends, faith, etc. Pebbles are the smaller stressors- work, house, cars. Then there's the sand- the rest of our experiences that fills in our life.) For me, the airport is a perfect metaphor. The gates all represent different areas of challenge for me. The new job, the new city, new house, new hospital, lack of anything familiar (Meijer, church, dentist, etc.), and distance from Jack. Jack is now 160 miles and 3 hours away from me. I can't address any of the gates together; each gate needs its own space for discovery and subsequent adapting. Luckily, my friends and family accompany me to the various gates as I visit them, supporting me as I muddle through yet another huge life change. Jack's just a saint.

I then consider the airplanes. Planes, arriving and departing, represent the big projects and "things" weighing on me...the tasks and worries that wake me up at night and instigate my brain into an Indy 500-ish tizzy. I think about my big construction projects, a lingering management agreement, overdue contracts, threshold capital for 2014, festering employee issues, lawsuits, difficult physicians, homework for school, my practicum for Franciscan Leadership, leadership of the corporate radiology group (yes, somehow, that is falling to me even though I have exactly six business days' experience), painting of the old house, selling the old house, unpacking the new house, getting back into some sort of exercise routine, taxes...oh, the list keeps going. The airspace above my head is full with worries. Some planes are little Cessna's while others are jumbo jets. I need to land some of the planes to keep a sense of sanity.

But that's what transition is about. All of the people traveling through the airport have a purpose. I liken these to the small actions, behaviors, and choices that occur during the day. They all play some part in it- in advancing the overall wellbeing of the airport. They'll all eventually get to their destinations and at the end of the day, the airport will settle into a routine quiet, when all of the flights have departed.

I'm grateful for the terrific support and understanding of my family and friends. So much of my life has become survival; I'm so tired at night that I have yet to watch the fancy new television that Jack installed simply for my relaxation purposes. I turned it on one evening just to pass out cold before the commercial even ended.

Which brings me to my next airport metaphor: fuel. There is only so much gas to fuel the airplanes; once that supply is gone, the fleet is grounded. So I am trying to be cognizant that I only have so much time and energy. When I get out of bed each day to help advance a mission and serve our patients, the fuel supply lasts longer.

Last, I feel safe and secure in the knowledge that I do have a flight control deck at my airport, with God at the helm. He's going to keep all of my planes in the air, on schedule, and properly maintained. I don't like the expression "God is my co-pilot," so I'll say that "God is my air traffic controller."

Flashing Back to '09

I found this a while back and thought it extremely appropriate...

I dreamt about how I was going to write this post. Should I start with "I got the job!" Or something more demure such as, "I somehow survived to the finish!"

Or maybe just, "I'm completely sidelined with labyrinthitis and it's forcing me to stop and be sick and reflect a bit on the craziness and drama of the last 3.5 years..."

Whatever the opening line may be, I am moving to Indy. I accepted a wonderful promotion at one of our flagship hospitals and I keep having to pinch myself to make sure it is actually happening.

And the inner ear stuff? It hit me instantaneously at one of my Franciscan leadership retreats. Here I was, sitting, absorbing the astounding lessons from America's foremost expert in Catholic Social Theory and the room started spinning...

...Not spinning as in, merry-go-round...

...but spinning as though I'd had 6 cocktails...

...and I was on a pitching boat, far out to sea....

It was fun. Really. I had no idea I was experiencing my first bought of vertigo.

It ended up with two medically-trained fellow retreat colleagues, leading me up to my hotel room while I staggered down the hallway and tried to not yarmit on them.

Pretty picture, eh? Humility lives!

Luckily, one of my colleagues is an ED physician who pronounced me free of serious cardiac or stroke-related symptoms. Whew.

[Now, could y'all please leave so I can yarmit in peace???!?]

After a harmless visit to the ED the next morning and several IV meds, Jack drove me home so I could lay still in a dark room with Downton Abbey on in the background.

Husbands rock. So does Downton Abbey if you haven't yet discovered it.

Anyway, BEFORE the inner ear infection hit me like a sledgehammer, I solidified my transition to St. Gonzo's. Remember St. Gonzo's? I have gone there for many a meeting in the last few years and interviewed for a dream position. It's the position all my training, stress, and stomach acid prepared me for. When the offer was finalized, I could hardly believe my luck, blessing, and opportunity.

The job is huge. Massive. Way bigger than my experience prepares me for. But somehow, I know it's a good fit and that I will have a whole lot to keep me busy in the coming years. Honestly, I can't wait. A new city. Several new hospitals. New politics, new physicians, new employees. A new house. Again. Sigh!

It was very difficult breaking the news to my employees earlier this week. We've grown together and in some cases, grown up together. Yet, everyone seems happy that I have the opportunity to move on- but only verifying that my email and texting will still work in Indy. It makes me feel extremely humbled...I had no idea people leaned on me like this. I feel like this tiny part of something so much bigger than myself and we're all trying to advance the same Mission.

That's why I get out of bed each day. And when I'm leaving, it becomes even more concrete to me.

So, four weeks from today, I will lock my office door for the last time. I will bid my beloved employees and managers goodbye and throw one last joke my boss's way. I will walk out of Administration and drive out of the parking lot, thanking St. Fozzie's for the unbelievable experiences. I cut my managerial teeth at St. Fozzie's and the leadership team is second-to-none.

Yet, I will drive away and not look back. I'm getting rather practiced at this- leaving and only looking forward. The drill will be much the same: Jack will stay behind and sell our house and finish up his work commitments. I will go ahead to Indy, secure a residence, and start the new job. We'll enter into a commuter marriage again, but this time we know it is only for a few months and not a year like last time.

Wow. I could copy-and-paste the first 50 blog posts I wrote back in 2009.

Here's to the future...whatever terrifying and wonderful adventures await.


[It just makes me laugh that my last post on the blog was about normalcy. Ha!]

Celebrating the Normal

Right now, I am sitting in the big, cushy chair in my den, looking out on a strangely sunny, spring-like sky in Chicagoland. The grass outside never quite lost its green and if I didn’t know better, I could think it was mid-March- maybe approaching Easter. The lack of snow and freezing temps fool even the most thorough participants in seasonal affective disorder!

The last month has just been wonderful. A lot of time with family and close friends, time spent hurriedly (but joyfully) baking, shopping, wrapping, addressing 100’s of Christmas cards (I need to scale back on this- I love giving all my employees a hand-written Christmas card, but it becomes a significant burden as the clock ticks closer to Christmas). For the first time in recent memory, I felt completely joyful throughout our Christmas preparations. I didn’t road rage. I didn’t swear under my breath at the woman in the express checkout lane with 98 items in her cart. I didn't yell when I heated up chili in the microwave, neglected to cover it, and came back two minutes later to find that a "chili bomb" completely coated the inside of the 'wave. I tried to cultivate a spirit of patience and hospitality, practicing those very difficult skills!

I suck at patience. It's easily my biggest weakness.

And of course, I wasn’t perfect in my charitable thoughts. Not even close. But small choices of charity really mitigated my holiday-related stress. The absence of stress made room for even more joy and fun. Great friends spontaneously popping over with wine and cheese; gracious family visits filled with hysterical laughter; and a couple laid-back, “nothing will get done around Christmas anyway” weeks at work ushered in late, jovial evenings. In short, we lived the heck out of the holidays this year!

But as I sit here, reminiscing over the holiday season, a pit of depression threatens to suck me in. The extravagance is over. All the extra time with family and friends is over. The Christmas carols? Gone! Last box of Chocolate Charley? History. The time of celebration seems like it’s over. But does it have to be?

While I love preparing for Christmas and carefully decorating the tree, the cautious placement and spacing of outside lights, and intentional arrangement of nativity scene figures, I am just as excited to pack the Christmas decorations away once January 1 comes. I know the Christmas season doesn’t really end until Epiphany (technically, the Baptism of the Lord), but I feel this crazy need to CLEAN. After the craziness of Christmas and the emotional hangovers of New Year’s celebrations with the best of friends, I always have to start the New Year with a clean house. A clean closet. A clean mind. I throw open the windows, dust the oft-forgotten corners, bleach the heck out of the white towels so they are radiant white, and I work all day to organize my goals, priorities, and suits for work.

This is when we buckle down and scarcely look up until May. Every week has a robotic feel to it; the routine usually soothes me. From lands of too many sweets and not enough broccoli, I relish the dependable schedule of hard work, carefully planned, nutritious meals, allotted exercise time, and football-free Saturday's.

Each season has its perks. Autumn welcomes falling leaves, sweatshirts, new school years, and Notre Dame football. Thanksgiving ushers in a solid month of merrymaking and high-carb treats. Winter excites the snowbunnies, skiers, and soup fanatics (another one of our goals- have a pot of soup/stew perkin’ every Sunday). Spring reminds us of new birth, growth, and days that are finally light past 6pm. Summer promises fun times at the lake, bonfires, cook outs, and al fresco eats on the patio.

But for me, January 1 starts a whole new season: the season of routine and discipline. After the extravagance and overindulgences of the holidays, a predictable existence is sometimes okay. Sometimes it’s preferred.

So we’re going to buckle down, scale down, and celebrate a return to normalcy. It’s all a cycle- soon we’ll be sick of all the long hours and we will be dreaming of Jimmy Buffet-esque beaches and umbrella drinks. But if the still-green grass has anything to say about it, spring will be here before we know it.

Make it a great New Year.

My First Post in 30 Days

I'm not sure what happened, but I forgot about ol' Blogville here. One measley post in November!

Well, November was fabulous. I survived a massive lawsuit and depositions, Jack and I went to Anna Maria Island for a beautiful week in the sun (we got a stellar deal on a house a block from the beach with its own pool. I suddenly became a Bob Marley fan on that vacation), and I've been rather happy lately.

Did I just say the "H" word? Holy cats! Reminds me of that 90's movie, "French Kiss." One of the greasy Frenchmen says, "when people say they are happy, my arse begins to twitch." LOL.

But Anna Maria was phenomenal. The Edge came down for a few days and while she and I sat by our own pool, Jack took sailing lessons. Our largest decision of the day was, "pool or beach first?" And the second decision was, "wine spritzer or diet coke!?" Jack became known as "Captain Jack" because of his innate sailing skillz. He took me out on Tampa Bay in a Trimeran (sp?), a small sailboat that he steered with ropes.

Ropes. We're splashing through 5 foot waves on Tampa Bay, probably going 20 mph (really fast when you're scared!) and I didn't die!! My knuckles were stiff from holding onto the boat so tight and I must admit that I knelt down and kissed the beach when he dropped me off at the pier. He crossed off two bucket list items by learning to sail and then taking me sailing. I crossed off a bucket list item by not dying!

I liken my white-knuckled sailing to life at work. Work is never going to be easy. But compared to how I felt a few months (years?) ago, things are markedly better. I don't have to hold on, white-knuckled, anymore. Corporate bureaucracy is always going to erect obstacles. Personalities and egos are always going to delay progress. And it's my primary job to make people want to be the best versions of themselves.

My role as a manager of managers makes me reflect on management this time of year. I have eleven performance evaluations to still complete but this year, I am not dreading them. Instead, I now LIKE having those conversations with my employees. I like stretching them, challenging them. I want them to excel and even surpass me; that's the best sign of strong coaching.

Maybe I'm becoming part of the "establishment." Maybe I'm just being overtaken by a sense of joy and patience that is bigger than myself. I am making an intentional effort this Advent to let some patience permeate my daily existence.

[C'mon, you road rage too, right? That's what I'm trying to stop. Even if I'm nicer on the road, I will contribute to a positive Christmas spirit.]

[Have you MET the Chicago drivers?! The highways around here are the last Christian frontier.]

So while I haven't blogged lately, things are still moving forward. Finals week is in full gear and while it could be a mistake, I signed up for TWO classes in the spring. Time to get a move on and finish this degree program!

If I somehow don't check in between now and then, have a terrific Christmas season. Celebrate with light, joy, and patience!

Vanna and Stuffing Buns

Why do I only think of blogging when I have a pile of work sitting beside me on the couch or in the den? I was freakishly productive today and my to-do list only got longer. Man, I LOVE those days. Just keep swimming, dangit!

I'm irked by a couple things lately...First, this election. I'm not going to cast my vote here publicly, but both sides need to pull their heads out of their rears and follow the example George Washington set back in the day. We need a humble, unassuming, unegotistical (is that a word?) president. One who helps people pull themselves up by their own bootstraps and practices isolationism. We have enough problems in our ol' U. S. of A to be dabbling in others' affairs. I believe in Keynesian economics. And I believe in vanilla-frosted cupcakes.

I'm glad the battle will be over tomorrow. Peace sweet peace.

The second thing irking me is the incessant onslaught of Christmas ads already. When did the "holiday season" start at midnight on November 1? I actually saw a few Christmas ads (*cough* *cough* TARGET, K-MART) before Halloween. Why is this happening? Don't the twinkling lights and magic of Christmas seem most appropriate, um, around Christmastime? While I am nearly finished Christmas shopping (hold your applause; I have not even bought, let alone started the 179 Christmas cards I have to write), I do not appreciate Christmas abuse. Let us have some advent and some O Come, O Come Emmanuel before the proverbial Christmas cookie hits the fan.

Okay, departing the soap box now.

In other news, I saw Nurse Starbucks for the first time in years this past weekend. We met at a gourmet burger bar halfway between her outlet mall and my house. Jack's "burger" was the best; it was Thanksgiving dinner in a burger. The buns were made of pressed stuffing. This low-carb gal couldn't help but sneak multiple bites of the Thanksgiving burger...and the chocolate beer stout cake that followed! It's very welcome to meet friends with whom you only text or email. You forget they have a voice and when they call you on your cell, you're like, "Why do you sort of sound like Vanna White?!"

Just kidding, RN Starbucks!

Saturday was more of the same with Jack's clients from work. We took a trip to a nearby winery and were blessed with a waiter who loved Notre Dame football more than we did. The three OT game proved very trying for our appetizers and he constantly ran back and forth to update us on the score. It was faster than the guys' cell phones, as they bent down in prayer nods, studiously updating the scores. That waiter got a great tip, especially with the "celebratory" bottle of vino he gifted the table. Thank goodness those Irish keep pullin' it out!

So here's to the ending election, premature Christmas ads, good wine, and great friends. Great friends (and who are we kidding- great wine) get us through the crud life throws our way.

Now. I have to get back to my lists. I literally made a list of my lists. But I'm grateful for every opportunity and feeling blessed that I'm too busy and life seems taxing. It's a Rock Tumbler, making me into something shiny and (hopefully!) pretty. We're all in this together.

My favorite quote as of late:

"It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you don’t care who gets the credit."

— Harry Truman

Freud and Goat Cheese

I successfully survived midterms this past week and anxiously await my grades. I still feel that pesky 9-year old inside, her whole sense of good and evil, right and wrong hinging upon a grade decided upon by a (no-doubt) exhausted teacher.

Or maybe a double PhD'd-professor. I still love school like the gigantic school nerd I am and still relish the feeling of a nice "A" in the inbox.

We'll see on this one. It wasn't my best work only because I haven't had as much time as I'd prefer on this coursework! I'm looking forward to this very trying Ecumenical Councils class being complete.

However, I received some terrific news late on Friday afternoon, after I returned from a state department of health meeting downtown Chicago on Friday. I was going to do the proverbial escape after the meeting and go home to do some online FEMA education and to start studying for another certification exam. Then Nurse Jackie texted me and asked me to come in after the meeting and I'm glad I did. Not to be dramatic or anything, but she reinflated me and in 60 seconds, made me feel like the past three years of stomach acid and Nexium were worth it.

It appears that my job title and responsibilities are changing again. For the better. I think my position in operations is becoming more of a "patient safety" position. I've been thinking this for years- if we only provide excellent, safe, quality patient care for our patients; the patient satisfaction (and money!) will come. We would not have such a dire financial picture if we provided safe, quality care in the first place.

And now I get to put my money where my mouth is...

This is the FIRST Sunday in ages where I haven't felt the "Sunday's." And I took a huge step back to gain some perspective.

[To be completely, utterly honest, I was **this** close to accepting a position at a competing hospital. Talk about the 11th hour. Actually, it was 11:58.]

As a result of this change and several other realizations, we're making a pledge. From now until Thanksgiving, we are verbally stating 3 things for which we're grateful. It can be something as bottom-line as great insurance benefits or something as little as a functioning wine corkscrew. But we're taking a grateful stance these next few weeks and I invite you to do the same.


For what are you grateful?

How far have you come on your life journey?

What have you achieved that you never thought was possible?

How would things be so very different without your friends or family?


We've been reflecting on our St. Fozzie's family this weekend. We had great times both Friday and Saturday with people we never would have met if we didn't take the plunge to move out to Chicagoland. On Friday, we hosted Jerry, the Finance Guy, who spent no fewer than 8 hours with me on my budgets, using creative accounting to allow the flourishing outpatient areas to avoid budget cuts. He singlehandedly helped me keep certain service lines available to our communities. So we had he and his wife over Friday night for excellent food (Jack cooked, obviously!), good wine, and great stories. In fact, they challenged us to visit Istanbul in the next few years, after hearing about my angst in Ecumenical Councils!

Then last night, one of the physicians and her husband invited Jack and I to a play downtown, called "Freud's Last Session." It's basically Freud arguing against God and for atheism and C.S. Lewis fighting Freud's ideas with sound, theological logic. Before the play, we dined at Sola, a restaurant on the north side, where three miracles occurred. One, Jack had the best lamb chops he's ever experienced. Two, the table made me eat brussel spouts and they were simply phenomenal (This is big; I once got grounded for a WEEK from my BIKE for not eating brussel sprouts!). Three, Jack ate goat cheese and Szechuan-pepper ICE CREAM.

The pepper part was actually pretty good. The goat cheese? It tasted a little like "barn!" Nonetheless, we would never had either experience with either couple if we hadn't had the courage to try something new.

So today, I'm thankful for our opportunities, our friends and beloved co-workers out here in Chicagoland, and for (gulp) goat cheese-pepper ice cream!

Priceless

This is my favorite picture from the ND v Stanford game. After sitting/standing/running in the pouring rain for upwards of 5 hours, I love this shot of the band director stretched out in a triumphant director-pose, orchestrating the thunderous sounds of the Notre Dame band while the students stormed the field. I stormed the field once, my freshman year, and it brought back all those memories.

The rain (oh, the rain) came down harder and harder as the microseconds ticked by. Rivers of water flushed down the stairs, further saturating our socks and shoes.

But it was utterly, completely worth it. A huge win in overtime...

Rain Poncho...$.88.

Hiking boots...$60.

Hand warmers...$1.50.

Hot Chocolate in ND stadium...$3.00.

An overtime Notre Dame win in 3 inches of rain with friends?

You got it...............