Phytonadione

This would be an embarrassing confession if I didn’t know that it is a human’s divine nature to make mistakes. I think as children, as nurses, probably as office workers, parents, priests, nuns, monks, and whatever else, we have all made our share of errors. Forgetting to pack your lunch, forgetting to grab your thoughtfully packed lunch, forgetting to bless the wafers, forgetting to send a report. But this isn’t about mistakes, or if I am to be strict with my own meaning of the word mistake, “errors”.

Forgive me pharmacy for I have sinned. I have called and claimed that I checked every fucking friggin place for the got damned gosh darned medication. The fridge, the cabinet, the folder, the floor, the pneumatic tube system, the boiler room. Nothing. But that is because I was looking for the generic when I should have known the brand. Yup, that is what it feels like being a new nurse. Who knew that vitamin K went by phytonadione?

So yes, those first few months starting out in the ICU I probably called the pharmacy unnecessarily dozens of times with questions and accusations. While I recognize and appreciate all your hard work, this post is not for the pharmacists. Sorry!

This is the thought of being one hundred percent sure that something is missing, when you’ve been calling it the wrong name all your life. At least, that is how I feel. I hear people talk about being broken. Some say they will always be that way, others have wrenches in their perfectly manicured fingers, ready to tighten up any loose ends. And I think I have had one of those wrenches, maybe a utility knife, hell, maybe even a level (no power tools though. Not because I think woman can’t handle power tools, but because I think the clumsy shouldn’t handle power tools).

I’ve been hyper aware of this need to fix little things about myself, and honestly, I am over it. I think we are like ships in a bottle. That when we get battered around and misplaced, broken as so many like to say, we are still whole. We still have all our pieces, just in a different jumble. Some things seem like they can’t be unearthed, only for you to realize that there is a glass bottom to the rubble. That while we are infinite, what makes us up is finite. I am not without. And when I feel a part of me is inadequate, my focus is either too shallow or past relevant depths. I’m looking for the generics, and I can tell.

I’ve got it. Every time I go to buy a new cosmetic or piece of clothing I have to realize that I’ve got it. Every time I go looking for validation in another human beings eyes I have to realize I’ve got it. Because this kind of waiting for perfection is like missing a party because you were looking for your car keys, called a locksmith, and then sat down to feel the sharp jabs of metal in your back pocket. You’ve got the keys, now drive.

I went on a hike with a friend from nursing school. She’s in the Bay Area on assignment right now, too. I wish we had been closer in college, but what people don’t tell you is that college is a small evolutionary step from high school. We get over a lot of shit in between, but I think it remains that you identify with certain people and then get lazy out of shear comfort. I have x amount of people who are cool to me, but mostly live close to me, and those are the relationships I am going to focus on. It really makes the world a small place. Too small.

I’m developing this ability to identify those of my tribe. Traveling just forces it out of you. It’s like having to run for your life, except you’re running towards your life. I think that’s an issue that so many have because they don’t explore their world. Sure, some people don’t have the privilege to move towards what drives them, but some people are just professionals at making excuses and ruling people out. Now, I have to make the effort to stay connected to the people that matter to me, and understand that I am not done meeting people. The “x” in the “x amount of cool people” goes from a specific number to an unlimited number set of possibilities.  Life is too precious to sit down and look at the ducks you pointlessly placed in a row. There are so many things to left to learn, most of them from animals but I am getting tired of the stares I get from petting other people’s dogs.

So anywho, K. picked a hike near Muir Woods that winded along the coast. We both openly huffed and puffed because sometimes nonstop travel means missing a few days on the treadmill. The muck and potholes could not stop us. Seriously if you are ever feeling like an amoeba just sitting at your work desk, contemplating what it means to be an amoeba when you thought you were a human, go the fuck outside. Walk and pretend the sidewalk isn’t there. You left your pioneer covered wagon to go find water (really coffee because life is exhausting) and BAM! You are a human again. Trust me.

We ended up hiking ten miles up and down the coast. The heavy breathing became the background to our conversations. Each of us taking turns to talk so the other one could catch her breath. It’s the polite thing to do while hiking. Besides being grateful for the views and for the time to catch my breath, K. reminded me why I had wanted to try traveling alone.

This is my first assignment where I am not living with a friend or family. There are the connections I have prepared beforehand, like renting a room and sharing a space instead of my own apartment, but I haven’t felt like I have the solid connections I have had in the past. People who know I say sqwishy instead of squishy. Using a fork to chop, stir, and eat because I don’t like doing dishes. That kind of thing. And K. had been feeling that loneliness on her drive to San Francisco from home.

K. had been driving cross country on her way to her San Fran assignment and was feeling lost. Not literally, but figuratively. This happens when you move so often. There’s a point where you say “Why am I doing this?” because you can’t see what you’re moving towards, only what you’re leaving behind. She called her aunt to find some solace and instead found a new meaning to the trip. Her aunt told her “…this is your time to become your best friend…”.

When K. told me this story, I felt like my five year old self jumped up in front of me, waving her hands wildly in the air at me saying “Pick me! This is it, she is finally going to see me! This is my chance, we are finally going to be friends! I’ve got it. We’ve got it!” She held out a branch of a fern, an offering to who I was. Who I am.

The idea of being your own best friend isn’t new. I think Full House had an episode or twenty on the subject (like that SF reference?). But when you scrape off the cheese (and I am super paraphrasing K.’s aunt’s message because A. I wasn’t present for the convo and B. I may have missed a detail or two while trying to catch my breath) there is something not only edible, but delicious left. What is more appetizing than identifying yourself as worthy of being someone’s best friend, only to realize what an amazing person your best friend is because, well, its you! Do you follow?

Somehow I think I may have made this sound even cheesier. Let me just let this spiral out of control. I’ll let five year old Juliet break it down:

The best thing about having a best friend is that I’m not alone. When you think you have something fun to do but no one fun to do it with, well you’re wrong. You are wrong because you have yourself, body and mind, to do all the things. I will do it because it could be fun because everything is fun with me. I know when I need to rest and when to spoil myself with food and beer (ehhhhh I mean soda?). That is why I think I am the best friend I could have. The end.

WELL SAID, MISS THANG. WELL-FUCKING-SAID.

So here I had been saying I was traveling alone (like any sane person would say) but it suddenly meant something completely different to me. From generic to brand, alone became free. Alone became love. Alone becomes me.

It’s crazy that K. had to introduce me to myself. But then again, her aunt introduced her to herself. So of course we need the help. Of course we need to help each other. I hope I opened the fridge because you’ve got it, too.

I’m not belittling loneliness. Loneliness is real and it creeps and it clings. It is a feeling of inadequacy that comes up at just the right moment, an attempt to sink your ship. A swell of emotion with no outlet, only to strengthen the swell. No one is safe, but many survive. My point is that this feeling can be a failure to recognize the people waving wildly from the shoreline. LAND HO! Come back home. I know that analogy can’t make everything better, but I wish it could. If I had a nickel for every time Eleanor Rigby made me cry, I would be one rich mofo. So my only advice is to shower yourself with adoration if you can’t manage to see anyone else doing such a thing. The biggest flaw is to dwell on the little non-flaws that stand out to you as major problems. Problems that can be fixed with a credit card and a sense of style.

But I think it is time to lighten the load. Not just to give grace, but to see the worth in the moment and the worthlessness of the worry. The vitamin K is in the fridge, and it has only been five minutes. The patient hasn’t bled out.

And that leads me to my next post: ICELAND: my first ever solo international trip. A plane ticket purchased 12 hours before flight departure. Catch ya’ll sometime next week.