Like 98.4% of Americans

So what's your New Year's Resolution?  Are you going to lose weight?  Be more healthy?  Maybe go back to school or finally start that new hobby?

Yeah, me too.  Pretty cliche this year.  

I never really regained my sense of balance since upheaving my whole life (and Jack's) this past year.  I received the phone call on January 2, from the COO of St. Gonzo's, about interviewing for this big job he thought fit me.  I received that phone call one year ago today, just when I thought I was adjusting to the Chicagoan rat race, feeling decent about my career, and I had just finished glamming up our villa.

Two weeks later, I survived a six-hour day of interviews and was offered the job on the spot.

The next week, I submitted my resignation and settled upon a termination date.  February 20.

On Feb. 1, we traveled to Indianapolis to find me a house to start the whole distance-marriage thing again.  After looking at 9 unavailable properties, we dined with a friend from middle school who just happened to have a condo neighbor looking to rent their townhouse.  We ate at Don Shula's as part of "Devour Downtown."  It was 4 degrees above zero and we discovered that our new friends liked wine and bacon.

The next day, I signed for the condo while Jack started organizing movers and supplies.  We contacted a realtor to photograph our villa for listing.  

The weeks leading up to February 20 were a blur.  I cannot ever remember working so much.  They were not replacing my position and so I parceled my work out to 6 different directors.  On my last day of work, my colleagues threw me a going-away party and Jack surprised me by having my mom travel to Chicago by train.  He left momentarily and ushered my mom to my party.  I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw my mom waltz into a Chicagoan sports bar.  

On February 21, we power-packed.  Laced with caffeine, we packed up the entire house in about 12 hours.  I treated her to an Italian dinner that night, where we about fell asleep at the table.

The movers arrived early on February 22.  Jack followed them to Indy while mom and I stayed back to perfect the remaining items for Jack's return after the weekend.  The semi and Jack traveled down I-65 without a problem.  By the time mom and I left an hour later, a massive pile-up occurred on 65, leaving us stranded on the highway for almost 5 hours.  The 3.25 hour trip to Indy took 8 hours.  We arrived in Indy dead tired (again); by the time we got there, Jack and my dad had all the furniture set up and beds made so momma and I could crash.

I started my new job on February 25.  It was intense and I worked 12 hours even that first day.  My commute was 35 minutes one way and I quickly resorted to my "I'm alone" diet of Lean Cuisines and/or granola bars.  Jack kept his job in Chicago and commuted to Indy for the weekends.  We spent our weekends alternating between total couch-surfing and exploring downtown Indy's restaurants.  

March was a blur of long days, long commutes, and long loneliness.  I was in a grad school class and I remember March being yucky, paper-wise.  I also had a lot of homework for the Franciscan leadership program.  We listed our house on the market and it sold in 3 hours.  At a huge profit.

In April, the long days finally caught up to me and I came down with a hacking cough that turned into walking pneumonia.  I didn't even have a doctor yet, so I had to trouble my VPMA for an antibiotics script.  He also gave me codeine so I could sleep and that's when I wrecked my reputation forever with Jack.  I hadn't taken codeine in 25 years but I was desperate.  I took a healthy dose, curled up in bed, and flipped on Showtime to catch a flick.  When Jack arrived from Chi that evening, he discovered that I had somehow put "Mean Girls" on repeat.  You try explaining that, in your codeine haze, you considered Lindsay Lohan to be a decent actress. 

Easter fell on April 25 and when I had to leave Jack behind in Chicago (I travelled up there for the holiday), I fell apart.  I couldn't do the commuter marriage anymore.  I asked Jack to submit his resignation that Monday and move to Indy permanently.  He did and did.  His boss was awesome and let him work remotely from Indy.

May introduced us to race month in Indy.  From our condo, we could hear the race cars practicing at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.  We're not exactly racing enthusiasts, but it was really cool to sit on the back patio and hear all the "vrrrrrooom!  Vroom, vroom, vroom!" from a few miles away.  We also discovered Broad Ripple in May and Sakura sushi.

In June, I spent $5M on three new MRI scanners to completely upgrade the hospital's equipment.  I finished crafting the deal from my bathing suit on the beach.  We continued our tradition of vacationing with Vera and Mr. Vera on Lake Michigan.  They've transitioned from friends to family and we love them.  The week consisted of laying on the beach, cycling the lakeside, and sipping local wines.  Doesn't get much better.  Except that I fell down 9 steps and heavily bruised my backside.  I was heading down a 100 steps to the beach and in the morning drizzle, didn't realize that the bottom steps were coated in algae.  

That bruise lasted 3 weeks.  Charming, eh?

In July, I found myself on several airplanes, doing business in Minneapolis, Chicago, and Milwaukee.    Jack and I celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary by dining at St Elmo's Steakhouse.  The $17 shrimp cocktail is totally and utterly worth it.  I'm making it more important to do something meaningful on our wedding anniversaries.  I hate sitting back, not remembering what we did to commemmorate such great days.    

While the summer was decent, hanging out frequently with our next-door neighbors (the ones who found us the condo), my skin started itching.  Our condo was so small and my commute so long.  It's not that I wanted to jump into a house but I had condo fever.  I couldn't take it anymore and had several late, hazy nights where I honestly couldn't remember driving home.  So in August, I called the bank, was approved for a mortgage, and then hired a realtor.  Jack organized several interesting properties in our price range.  After three days driving around Indianapolis, we found a stellar home.  We negotiated a terrific deal on the "inventory" home and our offer on a new house was accepted.  Moving day was set for September 28.

Work exploded after Labor Day and Jack earned more "hero" status by single-handedly packing up the entire condo.  I'm serious - he even packed my dresser drawers, purses, and jewelry.  I did nothing but pathetically cheer him on from the couch when I came home to crash each night.  He'd give me a menial chore, like packing this one frying pan, so I could say that I contributed.  

Moving day was suddenly upon us.  Again, Jack took charge by setting up all utilities, installing the security system, and organizing the movers (seriously, if you ever need help moving, call Jack).  I took a couple days off work to unpack and buy out JC Penney Home Store - all while wandering around the house, not sure it was really my home.  I only set off the new security alarm three times that weekend.  The ADT lady started laughing at me.    

October flew by with my Franciscan leadership program graduation (the reward for completing the program is a week in Rome this May.  Apparently, we get a special tour of the Vatican Museums and an audience with the Papa.  I've been scheming to revisit Italy and can't believe this tremendous opportunity with work colleagues).  We also went to a Notre Dame game and threw my folks a big wedding anniversary party.  They acted like cute kids in love and the party was a great success!

November seems to be the month of depositions for me and I found myself embroiled in a lawsuit from an event that occurred before my arrival.  The COO who recruited me announced his departure from the state for another job and I suddenly realized that I had one lightly-scheduled week after Thanksgiving.  So I booked it and we flew to Florida for a week of grouper, Vitamin D, and seashells.  We ate most of Florida's fresh fish and came home with wonderful tans.  We also discovered Sanuk's.  

My insomnia started getting pretty bad again, even on vacation.  I took my doctor up on her offer to prescribe Ambien.  I hate taking such things, but it's truly better living through pharmaceuticals.

I spent December in a vortex of terror at work.  Several big patient safety and HR issues came blasting to the surface, occupying hours and hours of time.  I stopped working out each evening in honor of more time on the laptop before my eyes involuntarily crossed and I couldn't form coherent sentences.  The week before Christmas was gnarly and I lost my first patient.  An outpatient had a bad reaction and didn't make it.  I watched in disbelief as my own staff led the chest compressions before the ER doctors arrived.  It was a nightmare and the first time I actively watched someone spontaneously die.    

Sometimes I forget I work in a hospital....

But Christmas delivered with its usual promise of family laughter, copious amounts of Bailey's, and reconnecting with people we don't see nearly often enough.  It's exhausting to travel so much but I'd never miss Christmas with the people we love.  I ate all the carbs in South Bend.

So this was all going through my mind the other night, as I prepared for New Year's.  Vera and Mr. Vera visited us in Indy for New Year's (it's a tradition to ring in the new year with them) and we all reflected on our successes and challenges.  We toasted each success and comforted fears and perceived failures.  We boosted each other up for more successes and fewer failings.  Vera and I went downtown for lunch and to shop while the boyz brewed a batch of beer.  After a later "Thanksgiving-esque" dinner, we discovered that our neighbors organized a block party, complete with pudding shots (Oh, the pudding shots.  Why are you so yummy, dear pudding shots?).  

Post pudding shots, we had the success/challenge/failure conversations.  That's when I realized that I never really regained my balance this year.  New job.  New city.  Two moves.  New house.  New friends.  My treadmill has NOT seen enough action this year and I don't drink nearly enough water.  I'm dusting off 20 year-old hobbies such as painting and drawing and I'm resuming this last master's degree here in a couple weeks.  Got. To. Finish. It.

So I'm going to be like 98.4% of America and probably stop working out by January 9th.  But I'm going to take better care of myself and enjoy this life we worked so hard to build.

Happy New Year!

It's a Wonderful Life

I'm trying to get into the swing of blogging again (seriously helps to do so from my ipad- and the picture function isn't working well) and might jump around from topic to topic.  My apologies.  

Anyway, I've been in this weird land of Radiology for 10 months now, where I'm the leader of 12 hospitals and outpatient facilities and 500 employees.  I still vacillate between having a complete grasp on my position and its awesome demands and sitting in my office, sort of zoning out to old Duran Duran songs on Pandora while I stare at the piles of radiology "stuff" needing attention.  How do I even edit a Nuclear Medicine Isotope policy without having to google things?  Eek.  

I was out of the office for 11 days and in the Tampa airport, on the way home, I caught up on email.  Yet, by the end of today, I was tapped out again, dreaming of our 85 degree pool at night, with Christmas lights draped on our Floridian railing.  

That didn't take long.  

I *loved* those Christmas lights.  I always travel with them now. 

Anyway, a few things shake me from my relative security or downright stagnation- and it's the huge generosity of the radiology staff.  A few years ago, the department started sponsoring some families and charities for Christmas.  They would raise $1000-1200 for the families and it was such a striking gesture.  This year, the "Christmas Committee" came to me in August, requesting a formal meeting.  They wanted to start a "12 weeks of Christmas" program across Radiology, where each department would take one of the weeks of Christmas.  The departments would create baskets for raffles or sponsor potluck luncheons for modest fees.  Then, as we spaced out the requests for money, we might get a better response for the charities.

Why would I object?  Of course this sounds great.  The management team was assigned "Four Calling Birds" and we created an Alfred Hitchcock-themed Birds basket.  With Christmas movies included!

Gotta include Kevin MacAllister with your Hitchcock movies!

So this whole "12 Weeks of Christmas" idea started in October and so far, with 2 weeks to go, has raised $5800.  It's stunning.  We actually had to find MORE charities to support this year; what a novel problem to have.  

We very well may surpass $7000 raised and it's so humbling to me because this is all staff-driven.  I've learned that I have employees who volunteer at soup kitchens in the city every Saturday night.  I've learned that I have MRI staff who gather at 5:30 am each Wednesday morning for Bible study.  I found out that the Diagnostic Xray department does spontaneous blanket drives throughout winter.  

The sense of charity, generosity, and kindness is truly humbling.  I look around and all these people want is perrmission to keep doing what they're doing.  And they refuse any kind of recognition.  They are spreading God's presence around the hospital and other departments outside Imaging and Radiology are starting to participate because they are so moved.  

It's so humbling.  I can't believe I work and with for such wonderful people.  

What a blessing.  For us all.   

  

22 Minutes

This is probably the only place on earth when I wish every morning was Monday.  That would mean we had our entire vacation week ahead of us.  On Monday morning, I was elated that my entire beach experience was still before me.  On Tuesday morning, I skipped my morning walk and at 8:00 a.m., went straight down to the beach, coffee cup in hand.  Jack soon joined me and we lolled around on the beach until after 1 when we finally needed a lunchtime refresher.  We read poolside then until 3:30 when we decided it was time to shower and locate some dinner.  

That's what I love about vacation.  The ability to be totally spontaenous.  I don't get that luxury too often in my 'real' life.

Contrary to our normal OCD planning, we just started walking the beach uncertain of what would happen.  We walked over four miles and found ourselves standing in front of one of the few commercialized restaurants on the island.  We walked right by.  Thinking we were just going to have ice cream for dinner, we stumbled across a teeny little restaurant we had never noticed before: "Sign of the Mermaid."  I quickly checked out the menu, started salivating, and ushered Jack inside.  We sat at one of the restaurant's eight tables, ooohing and aaahing our way through several appetizers of sashimi grade seared tuna, huge sea scallops, steaming grouper enveloped in puff pastry (with a creamy crab sauce), and lump crab cakes.  It was probably a good thing that we had a two-mile walk back home so we could burn off .03% of the total calories injested.

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This morning, I awoke before sunrise and yet again wishing it was Monday morning (!), I grabbed my sunglasses and hit the beach.  I actually sat still on the sand for 22 minutes (yes, I timed myself) and just tried to be - while the sun came up behind me.  I focused on my breathing and when I was tempted to start worrying about something (work!  my dad!  the melting of the polar ice caps!), I gently pulled my attention back to the lapping waves on the empty beach.  It was a short time to truly still myself but for me, constituted a fabulous achievement.

It's only when I walk the beach do I discover hidden schizo tendencies in my personality.  After my 22 minutes was up, I couldn't take it anymore and started walking the beach.  The funniest thoughts go through my head when I'm beach-walking....

"How come there aren't more people out?  C'mon, guys, you can sleep when you're dead!"

"Hey, this is my stretch of empty beach.  Quit ruining my view."

"The sand is so calming and wonderful!  Why is everyone wearing shoes?"

"Ouch! [small explicative after she steps on sharp shell], why didn't I grab my running shoes?"

"I'm going to relax, breathe, and focus my brain."

"Wow, that shell looks like a nose!  Or maybe a dinosaur [turns head sideways to check]"

"Even thought we're on vacay, I'm going to eat healthy today and make better food choices."

"Is that bacon I smell?"

It goes on and on.  I'm only glad I'm not narrating these types of mental exclamations because I'd surely end up on some nutty reality TV show with ex-con's and people who dress up their animals to look like people.  And in the end, I guess it doesn't matter because this morning, despite my chattering walk, I sat still and breathed for 22 minutes.  

  

Dumb Ways to Die

Have you downloaded the "Dumb Ways to Die" game/app yet?

[If you haven't, please do so now.  I'll wait while you download it and then waste about 4 hours of your life trying not to die by having the bear bite your head off.]

It's a hilarious game (I think) developed by the London Metro purporting train safety.  In addition to it totally cracking up 98% of my family at Thanksgiving (my mom refused to indulge us), the "video" portion is extremely catchy.  As in, it gets stuck in your head worse than a crappy Lady Gaga song.

The chorus, not suprisingly, is "dumb ways to die....so many dumb ways to die."

Jack and I started our vacation by landing in Tampa and driving the beautiful, Tampa-Bay-surrounded waters that lead to Anna Maria Island (we think this is our 14th time here).  The flight was a bit early and the drive quick, so we were ready to relax before our rental house was ready for us.  Instead of getting upset, we walked down to a favorite sports bar with Heaven's lobster mac and cheese (dammit - where are my statins?!).  We discovered that this sports bar actually hosted the island's NCAA football viewing parties and it was FUUUUUUUN to watch Florida play Florida State in Florida.  I went deaf a couple times during all the cheering.  I quickly hid the Notre Dame t-shirt I was sporting.

Regardless, the experience ushered in the vacation experience and I quickly transitioned to Island Time.  After a quick trip to pick up our house keys and super-fast grocery shopping, we hit the beach.  

Watching the sun sink into a blazingly orange sea, my primary thought pattern changed from "Work/hospitals/leadership/avoid MRSA" to "Hey, let's do a beach-themed 'Dumb Ways to Die' song!"

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

"Play 'gotcha last' in the middle of the street....dumb ways to die."

"Swim with the jellyfish and stingrays, too....dumb ways to die."

"String Christmas lights right by the pool...dumb ways to die-ie-ieee."

"Pull your wife into the pool while she's still dressed....so many dumb ways to die!"

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

Sunday (today) was a bit drab.  After a four mile beach walk, multiple cups of coffee, and several hours reading poolside under a foggy, overcast sky, we finally decided to shower and go to dinner.  

Cabin fever had already set in.  Along with totally-unintentional sunburns.  Drat.

20 minutes later, the setting sun blinded us and accompanied with robin egg-blue skies, mocked us with sudden 80-degree temps.  

"Fine!" we said.  "We'll show you, Mr. Sun!"  I playfully shook my fist at God and then lost my footing in my cheap flip-flops.  Man, brick patios are hard. 

After seething over the beautiful sunset, we went to our favorite bayside beach bar.  Over a couple Landsharks and Grouper Fingers, grooving with a Jimmy Buffet-esque singer, we challenged each other to an epic (EPIC) battle in miniature golf.  The loser would have to buy the other person ice cream and maybe a made-to-order donut the next day.  The winner would bask in all the glory befitting the miniature golf olympics.  Where Putt-Putt gives you endorsement deals.  And you win a prize for every hole-in-one.

In the end (thankfully), it was a tie.  We mini-golfed by Christmas light and laughed our way through a course challenging enough to elicit several "Wait, that didn't count!" shrieks from Jack.  After golfing, we finally went back to our house and, upon seeing the seriously clear stars shining down from the heavens, decided to do a night beach walk.  With my StarGazer app at the ready.  

We saw Jupiter, Neptune, 29 other constellations, and Uranus.  

Yep.  Good times on a star-lit beach.  

Is it bad that I kept thinking of "Sharknado" while down on the beach?!?  Jack waxed and waned about the philosophies of aging and maturity and I kept thinking, "can a shark get me in 5 inches of water?"   What a dumb way to die-ie-ieee!

So many dumb ways to die!!!

Enough's Enough

Thanks to the marvels of in-flight wifi, I'm gazing out at a patchy cloud sky somewhere over Tennessee (or maybe northern Georgia?), sipping a Bloody Mary and writing. I'll be on the beach in less than 2 hours.

I decided that enough was enough. The beach called us and we listened.

About four weeks ago, the COO of St. Gonzo's announced his upcoming departure. With two senior administrators gone, I figured it was now or never for a MUCH-needed break. I don't sleep past 3:30 a.m. anymore. I work so much my eyeballs blur and the bags under my eyes resemble soybeans. I'm grateful for the chance to inspire great change in healthcare but I'm getting a little tired of the cold sweats that spontaneous appear when I'm more than 21" from my phone.

One of our very best friends, Mr. Vera (husband of Vera) had a massive heart attack. Then he walked around for about five weeks and even visited Jack and I in Indy. He had 100% blockage in his right coronary artery and we're not sure how he's still with us today. After a harrowing visit to the cath lab, they cleared the blockage and he is at home recovering.

Yet, he keeps sharing his story with me, forcing it to sink in. You see, the reason we're such good friends with Vera and Mr. Vera is because they are the opposite to Jack and me. Vera and Jack are the chefs who love experimenting with homemade herb rubs on fabulous steaks. While they're dinkin' around the kitchen, Mr. Vera and I talk shop. He's a hospital administrator and at one point, we had about the same position at our respective hospitals.

That's why I'm suddenly scared. And very glad I'm on my way to the beach without the proverbial access to work email. I can easily, far too easily, see myself in his shoes and no one's going to take care of me and my awful work/life balance but me.

I've suddenly become good friends with my chief radiologist at work. We have a sisterly vibe and she's one of the few people in my life who's willing to call me out. SHE even pulled me aside and told me to cool it. Over dinner one night last week, she shared some tidbits from her own life, about her experience with crumbling relationships because people are just too busy. It's during those times that I feel really grateful for Jack. He's my Type B, relaxed Joe who forces me to slow down (except when he steals my iPad and I chase him around our new house!). Point being: Jack has been telling me for years to "chill the heck out."

Healthcare is only getting more difficult as we have to do so much more with fewer staff and resources. I hate Obamacare (just sayin' it outright: it MAY help the overall structure of the healthcare landscape - but it will take at least 10-12 years to do so. We're already seeing adverse selection in the insurance exchanges, huge shortages of primary care physicians, and retail price wars for hospital outpatient services. All this does is result in hospitals receiving far less in reimbursement for services, increased self-pay/bad debt/charity care, and overall declining payor mix situations. IF hospitals survive the next 10 years, healthcare will look far different. I will either be some c-suite exec at the height of my career or combing the beach with a metal detector so that I can piece together enough change to buy a Corona on the beach by my tent. Either way, I would like to be alive at that point).

Hence my Bloody Mary and suitcase full of sunscreen and gossip rags. I need a few days where the biggest decision of the day is "Beach or pool?" Or "should we go eat off-the-boat fish for lunch or for dinner?"

I don't want to end up in the cath lab before I'm 40. I know I won't be saying "MAN, I wish I worked MORE hours" on my deathbed. I want to enjoy the fruits of my hard work while I'm still young and stupid enough to bodyboard (or paddleboard!) in the surf.

I'm going to try this thing all the kids are talking about: Chilling the Heck Out.

And with that, I can see the Gulf from my window.

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!]