Going home

Maybe you CAN go home again. 

After working in pharma this past year, I've made the decision to go back to the hospital. The place that raised me and taught me libraries full of lessons on how to be a nurse practitioner. Practical, clinical things like spinal taps, bone marrows, choosing antibiotics, figuring out a 2 page algorithm for chemotherapy. And not so practical, yet critical lessons too. Like how to get a kid to Disney World even though they're on an epidural pain pump. Quite possibly, the most important thing the hospital and the people in it have taught me is how incredibly lucky I am to have a job that is meaningful. Even if there were days that I didn't love it or even like it (ok, there were days where I hated everyone in the building) I always knew that what I did every day had meaning. 

My year in pharma has also been a great learning experience. I learned things about medicine and industry I never would have been privy to in a clinical setting. I learned a small part of the business world. I learned that I can be super social if I'm being paid to do that. I learned that new drug development is critical to patients (I know, duh- but when youre treating patients every day, that little fact can get lost in the mix). I learned that if you want to motivate people to excel, you need to throw cash at them. I learned that even though the cash is amazing- I can't stay in this field. Not because of any heroic, selfless desire to cure children with cancer but rather for a selfish reason. I need to have meaning. I need to love what I do. I need to connect with people on a level that goes beyond superficial niceties. Because small talk with strangers may actually be worse than a sharknado. I am incredibly grateful to pharma for this past year. I think I needed a break from the grind of the hospital too. I also got to see how the other half lives. The half with high paying jobs that aside from travel, doesn't require much hard labor. I got to feel like a part of corporate America. I got to learn that I don't want to be part of that. I got to meet fantastic people in the industry. Good, kind, smart people.

So, come January 6th- I will be going home again. This time I will be a Nurse Practitioner with the Leukemia/Lymphoma team. Previously I've done solid tumors and brain tumors which carry a far worse prognosis that leukemia so hopefully I will be on the winning side much much more often than not. The people on my team are old, solid friends. We get each other. There's no small talk. The kids we treat are gunning for a cure and we have an excellent shot at it. I know there will be days where I will miss working half as hard and making twice as much. Especially when I need to get my hair dyed and my kids to a well check-up. Or when they have a school function I'll have to miss. Or when I need to run to the store at 1pm for milk. But.....at least I'll be home. 

Genes and a Grill

My daughter's working on her grill these days.
She currently has 5 silver-capped teeth and has 3 more to go.  We're trying to come up with a name to engrave across her mouth. I'm thinking "DECAY4EVA".
Her brother who has equally atrocious dental habits has a pristine mouth. I took him to the dentist who congratulated him on his excellent teeth brushing. He then turned to me and gave me that shit eating grin that says- "I won". It was the same grin he had when I took him to the pediatrician because of his dangerously skinny frame. Because of his enormous head of hair he looked like a lollipop. In Auschwitz.
On our way to the doctor, I told him about the feeding tube I was sure Dr. Awesome was going to threaten him with. It was like an episode of "Scared Sober" and I was confident this kid would eat out of sheer terror. After he got weighed, Dr. Awesome comes into the room and says: "Good job, man- keep doing what you're doing". I was stunned silent. And not missing a beat- my son looks at me and grins. He was victorious. He then asked me to please get him some donuts .
So the teeth issue is a small example of lucky genes. The skinny issue is a mystery. There are NO skinny genes on any branches of our family trees. So my daughter inherited the miniature, soft, corn on the cob teeth from her father. Those teeth were created to rot. My son got his hardy, resilient metal teeth from me. Those things can cut wood. So even if he brushes them with each solar eclipse, he will likely not have a single cavity. I'm 39 and have 2. I went to the dentist this year for the first time in 5 years and got an A+.

So, my kids inherited some twisted, messy chains of DNA. The ones that make them impulsive and twitch and shout. The ones that make them loud and out of focus. The ones that make them run around my house like golden retriever puppies. The ones that give them a mouth full of capped teeth, asthma and diabetes. Not to mention the multiple mental illnesses that course through our family veins. Oh, and the food issues. Sorry kids- those issues run so deep. I apologize in advance.
But they also inherited some great teeth,  musical ability, brains and quite possibly the greatest gift of all- the ability to make things funny. No matter what. So even if they're getting a whole new grill in their mouth or filling their zoloft prescription- they'll be able to laugh about it. You're welcome, kids.

Summer 2013

So here's a run down of Summer 2013:
My sister and her family came from Israel. Awesome.
Long distance relationships are tricky. When you're finally together, you spend an unnatural amount of time together with the knowledge this may be it for a long while. Then, it IS it for a long while. And that is so not awesome. So in my very black and white worldview I've determined that Zionism is over-rated and that families shouldn't live so obscenely far away.

We temporarily moved to allow for some house repairs and now we are all living in a 2 bedroom apartment while they finish up. We're kicking' it old school and going back to our immigrant roots. Baby J is in a pack and play in the bathroom. Yes, I know, our great grandparents would've killed for a pack and play (although to be fair, why would they have ever needed to "pack" it? It's not like they were going on a quick weekend trip to the beach), or even for a 2 bedroom apartment. They stuck kids in drawers or on the floor or what have you. We're lucky Baby J has his own room/bathroom. His older brother is on the couch and loving every minute of it. Needless to say, we are having some serious quality time together. Lessons learned so far- we have way too much stuff we don't need. We need 1/4 of the space we think we do. Basements are unnecessary (because of the stupid amount of stuff we don't really need). Kids can sleep happily a foot away from a toilet. Nine year old boys love sleeping on a couch. Not being able to have company for awhile is really not such a bad thing. Our family and close friends homes are always open if we need our kids to run free.

My new gig in pharma has been interesting. Travelled like a mofo all summer. I know the Atlanta airport south terminal like I know my childhood home. Lessons learned: Women need to stop wearing stilettos to the airport. Ladies- aint nobody got time for that. You look as uncomfortable as you feel. I hear your pinky toes shrieking. Stick the heels in your carry-on and out your flip flops on. Girl, please.
The slowest people in security line are the very old and the very young. Aim for the middle. Find a 50 year old guy with one small carry-on and get behind him. Even if it means pushing down an infant or an old guy with an oxygen tank. People, we need to make a flight. Farting on an airplane is quite possibly the most anti-social and selfish act. Get up and go to the shitbox and release your valve in there. Take your Sodoku with you, enjoy yourself, take some time to pat yourself on the back for being a solid citizen. Nobody deserves to sit in your colonic vapors for 2 hours. And finally, if someone has ear buds on, it means they don't want to chat. Most frequent flyers know this code. But there's always the rogue traveller who needs to know where I'm heading to. Despite the ear buds and lack of eye contact. To them I say- "Unsure. Where's this plane heading?"

My kids and spouse have been awesome with my new schedule. In many ways, my household runs much more efficiently and calmly without me in it. Marc runs a tight ship and is able to be much more rigid than I can ever be. The kids have a healthy amount of fear with Marc. They have none with me. What I need to say 7 times for the desired result, Marc says once. Jerk.
I think the kids are Ok with my schedule. I don't think I've committed them to maladjustment because of my travel. I am home more than I ever was when I was at the hospital. Baby J is still a nervous jew whether I travel or not. Although I still think his separation anxiety/insecure attachment is way worse because of my intermittent absences.
So lessons learned from me being away from home a lot: if you have a co-parent who's as good as mine- it works. This guy is Mrs. Doubtfire minus the drag. He may actually have more estrogen than I do. He makes to possible for all this to happen. I am one lucky bitch. I get it.
So I can "lean in" (whatever the F that means) and have a very full professional life because I may be married to one of the biggest feminists I know. I hope that even though my kids don't have their mom home every single night, they're at least learning gender equality. To my future daughter-in-laws: you're welcome. It's your job now to make him not pee all over the seat.

Adderall

Finding time to write is hard. Many times a day when thoughts flit through my head, I say to myself- "I need to write that down". Then a squirrel darts by and I immediately forgot what profound thought I had seconds ago. I used to be hyper focused; sort of the anti ADD. Now, approaching 40- I've developed adult ADD. Otherwise known as old. married with crazy job and 3 crazy kids.
I went to a psychiatrist at the beginning of the year to see if I can get some meds for this condition I've developed. Surprisingly, getting my hands on some stimulants was WAY easy. This psychiatric practice was fascinating. I walked in and immediately saw this broken young man chain smoking out on the catwalk, muttering to himself, shaking his head back and forth. Clearly needing a xanax or a dart gun or something. I was so transfixed on watching him that I didn't hear them call  my name the first time. Also, they called me back less than 3 minutes after I signed in which I think was due largely to the fact that I presented an insurance card. The other folks sitting in that waiting room waited much longer than me. And I assure you, they needed to be seen quickly.
I was ushered to a room by a 14 year old psychiatry resident. Short white count and acne look great together. This sweet boy proceeded to ask me the battery of questions straight from his laptop.
"Are you fatigued?" Yes
"Do you get distracted easily?" Yes
"Are you irritable often" HELL yes
"Do you have feelings of despair" Excluding right now, no.
"Do you ever want to harm yourself or others" No to myself, yes to others- especially the people that irritate me.

I explained that I think I developed ADD in my late 30's and since I have a job where I kind of need to be on my A game most of the time, can I please have adderall, thank you very much. He smiled nervously and completed his questionnaire and went off to get Dr. P.
That's when things got interesting.
Dr P. walks in and all I can notice is her bizarre fashion sense. Nude knee-highs (also referred to as passion killers by my dear friend Sandy), mismatched skirt and top (like completely different patterns) and a big gold necklace that read: "God Loves You". In gold. Worn around her neck.
My mother always says that if someone dresses seasonally inappropriate, they're probably mentally ill. So if a woman wears a sweater in July or a tank top in December- beware. Well, Dr P was seasonally appropriate but the necklace and the mismatched outfit bought her the same diagnosis.
She asked me 2 more questions- "Do you get enough sleep?". After I stopped laughing, I said no.
"Do you eat a healthy diet?" She was killing me. Again, no.
Then she gave me a prescription for aderall and told me I should get more sleep and eat more balanced meals. Success.
I tried the aderall for a month and it may have marginally improved my attention span. It definitely gave me dry mouth, halitosis, mild palpitations and decreased appetite. My prescription ran out and I never refilled it. I learned that I don't have ADD but I have 38 year old Working Mother Disorder. There's no pill for that. But there is alcohol.
So to all of you who may live with a person with WMD- here's some good advice:

1. Don't tell them they need to get more rest, that they're working too hard. No shit. They're working this hard for a reason. It's usually attached to a dollar sign.
2. Don't tell them they should make time for exercise. No shit. They probably know that exercise is important already. If you watch their kids 3 evenings a week at a certain time, maybe they can get out and go for a run. If you don't- shut the frick up.
3. Don't tell them that time flies and their kids are gonna grow up before they know it so they should enjoy these amazing years now. They know their kids are going to grow up and move out and call once a week and ask for cash. They know they will look back at pictures and wont be able to remember when they were so tiny. But you know what? That's gonna happen whether or not they stay home and spend a ton of time with the kiddos or have to work long hours out of the home. Saying stupid shit like that just makes the mother with WMD feel like crap. So don't say it.
4. Tell your loved one with WMD that she is doing a good job and that her kids and husband seem like they are emotionally healthy. You may make her cry. But it'll be worth it.

Sleep

There's something  beautiful about sleeping. It's even more beautiful to know that you're going to get to sleep undisturbed, as late as you want, for as long as you want. It's the 'anticipatory sleep" that I would argue may be even better than the actual sleep.
I find myself unusually tired these last few days. Maybe it's my thyroid, maybe it's viral, maybe I have leukemia. Probably not that. But you never know.
It's probably because I haven't slept through the night in about 9 years. No pity for me- I totally created these sleepholes (the little people that rob me of slumber). They all end up in my bed starting from about 2am. And then we're up at 6:30am. Now I know that we're lucky as hell to be able to get up and not have to take a bus to the factory to assemble cardboard boxes. Or that these sleepholes are healthy and continue to breathe all day long. We have a really cushy, lucky life. That being said, I would give my left nipple to sleep until noon.
"You'll sleep when you're dead", people have said to me.
News flash, that's not sleep. That's being dead. I won't enjoy the "sleep" because I'll be....dead.
I am always in awe of people who wake up at 5am to exercise or to just get "an early start" to their day.  How does that work? What makes them get vertical and put one foot in front of the other at that hour? The only thing I want badly enough at 5am is more sleep.
I admire those people like I admire anorexics. Kudos to you for that kind of willpower. Even if it's fueled by the crazies.
The few times I've gotten up at the ass crack of dawn to exercise (actually twice), I definitely felt good 2 hours after it was done. But I felt like ass the hour before, the hour of and the hour afterwards. Like night shift ass. That feeling of moving slowly through cotton candy. I promptly learned that I wasn't the kind of person who rose like a lion to take on the day especially when that day started with a treadmill. F*ck that. I had more important things to do...like staying unconscious.
So for Mothers Day this year, I am going to sleep in. And I won't even have to lose a nipple in the process. Husband will take the sleepholes far far away. I don't even want them on my front lawn. I want them somewhere where they need a car to get back home.
So to my little darlings whom I created and love with all of my being:  Mama needs to sleep and will physically harm you if you wake me up before 10am. Because it's my day, goddamn it, and that's what I want. I'll love the wrinkled paper flowers and sloppy card way more if I haven't been up since 6:30am.
Thanks in advance my little sleepholes. Mama loves you.

The Child Whisperer

Never trust anyone who claims they're a "whisperer". A child whisperer, a dog whisperer, a horse whisperer- what have you. It implies that there is one universal way to raise kids and train your dog. If they really knew *THE* way to "raise cooperative and respectful children" than why would they whisper it? Shouldn't they yell it from the rooftops?
This idea of a universal experience or a single truth is dangerous. It's dangerous to parents and to kids. I remember going away to college and feeling like my first year away from home in Israel HAD to be amazing and life changing. It just had to. Everyone loved their year in Israel. Everyone. It created this enormous pressure to make sure every experience was dripping with awesomeness. It made it seen inauthentic at times.  There were days that I just wanted to go home. There were days that I slept through and were totally not awesome. And there were days that really were kick-ass good. But those days didn't make it into the photo album (remember those relics of ancient, pre-facebook civilization?). So, the experience of that year and then of college afterwards was highly variable. Some days were good and would have made a great photo-op and some days sucked so bad that the idea of getting dressed and walking to class was too much to bear. Most of the days were somewhere in the middle.
I think the kindest thing we can do for our kids is to tell them that the experience they're about to embark on- whether it be summer camp, new school, college, a new relationship- may be great, may be mediocre or  may suck hard. And all of those experiences will be right- for them, at that time. It will teach them what they like and what absolutely doesn't work for them. And then- honor that. Even if you had the best years of your life in summer camp- your kid may hate it. Honor that. You may find religion moving and life affirming and your child doesn't. Honor that. You get where I'm going with this.
So how did I get here from the child whisperer? Not sure. But when I see books by these whisperers, I get highly suspicious. Maybe they whisper truths. Maybe they have great ideas that would work for some people in certain circumstances. But they need to keep whispering, because not everyone wants to hear them.

If I wrote a child rearing book ( with a big fat disclaimer that I have no idea what I'm doing on a good day) it would be called "The Child Screamer". I would go on a book tour and just yell at kids and parents. That seems like a universally great idea.

Work

It's been too long and I've been busy figuring out how to work from home, how to work for pharma, how to not work for Children's and how to get my goddamn scanner to work period.
I spent the week in San Francisco for training and it went better than expected. Beautiful city, swanky hotel, fabulous dinners and 15 hours a day of being "on". I had to think and retain a boatload of information. I had to chat with strangers all day long.

Interrupted train of thought here while the man next to me at Einstein Bagels chews obscenely loud and smacks tongue to roof of mouth after every sip of coffee. Not cool dude in khakis with your own tupperware of revolting looking food. Why are you even here if you're eating your own food? Also, you are way too young to have such irritating eating habits. Save that for when you're 80 and stop giving a shit. Jesus.

Anyway, back to being nice and sociable all day long with people I just met. This may come as a surprise, but that is not my comfort zone. I mean- I can fake it very well but by 10pm I'm done. I need to not smile and not listen to what position your kid is on his baseball team. And for the love of everything holy- I can not discuss weather patterns with anyone after 8pm. That part of my brain has limits.

It was daunting to learn about the industry side of the job. All new concepts for me. Things I've been able to avoid for 38 years. Business acumen would be the very last 2 words to describe me. I know how to spend money, I know how to earn money. I know you need to spend less than you earn. That's about the extent of my business knowledge. So while I was sitting in this beautiful meeting room from 7am to 5pm learning about multiple myeloma as well as the business model of the company- I was expecting to be bored to tears. Surprisingly, I was actually interested in the industry part. Maybe it's the new-ness. Maybe it's because I feel like I need to fully understand my role and the company vision. Maybe it's because I've always wondered what non-clinical people do in an office all day and how that translates into making stupid amounts of cash. I haven't figured it out just yet. What I learned impressed me and I didn't have any moments of "what-have-I-gotten-myself-into" while I was there. On our last day in San Francisco a few of us went to the Pier and were chatting by the bay watching the seals sunbathe. One of the other nurses asked me what I thought and if I had any regrets leaving the hospital and entering the pharma world.  I had to pause. "Regret" I said, "takes much longer to develop. Ask me in a year from now". 

I know too little to know what I think about this move. I just don't have all the information yet. What I know so far is that I like learning new things. No matter the subject. With the exception of what baseball position your kid is on his junior varsity team. That, and any information about your kids sports prowess for that matter, is painfully boring. Tell your husband and your mom.

So, I'll be back in San Francisco next week for the final training week. One thing that I didn't have to worry about is how my kids fared with me away for the week. They did great. Marc did great. In fact, they behaved better than they do when I'm home. This is still a work in progress and as I travel more, I anticipate more challenges.

But for today, I'm leaning in to my career.

Working from Home

3 weeks of working from home and having to set up a home office has taught me that when it comes to technology, i have to dig really dip to avoid throwing wires and monitors across the room. Anyone listening to me in my office would've thought they were listening to Andrew Dice Clay stand-up. Not my best moment. However, I figured out how to install a printer/spaceship all by myself. This thing is huge. It scans, faxes, prints, cures AIDS and washes dishes. You don't even need to be near the thing for it to print, you just have to email the document to it and voila- it prints. And there are no buttons on it at all. It's all touch screen. And I figured out how to make it work. Myself.
Same with this giant flat screen monitor that sits next to my laptop, towering over it like a gawky 5th grader. I figured out how to get some screens to appear on the monitor and not on the laptop so I can have several windows open at once. Because who can possibly function with only one window open?? I never even knew this technology existed until this week. And I'm only 38.
Me and the IT guy are good friends by now. Abu (I swear that's his real name) is a lovely, gentle soul with Gandhi-like patience. He says my name so sweetly and has taught me valuable lessons about technology and life. Like, one should always know what operating system they are using and how sometimes the only thing left to do is power the sucker down and start again. Oh Abu- you are a wise Indian man who just laughed softly when I yelled "Goddamnshit!" when I dropped my company iPad face down when trying to figure out how to work the 65,000 apps it came with.
Anyway, I've been home for 3 weeks now and it still feels like I'm on vacation and will be heading back to the hospital soon. My days are fairly structured with a boatload of studying and trying to understand the world of multiple myeloma and proteasome inhibitors so my nerd cravings are being fulfilled. I forgot what it's like to read and study all day. What a luxury. I understand the allure of being a perpetual student. Imagine all you need to do every day is expand your mind and not have to interact with other humans. It's pretty awesome. For now at least. Strange thing is I don't miss the hospital at all. Maybe I was more burned out than I thought. I was definitely ready for a change and here it is.
People have asked me how the kids like me working from home. It was sweet/pitiful to hear HM tell her friends and teachers how excited she was to have mommy work from her house now because that means mommy will be home when she gets dropped off from school and that's never happened before. First-born son just cares about whether or not I'll be able to get him football jerseys from the cities I 'll be travelling to.
And Baby J- well that's a different story. This little nugget baby is a total mamas boy. Even though we have Monica/Jesus Christ Nanny at home, he is quite dependent on his biological mother. I also refer to it as insecure attachment. His baseline personality is Nervous Jew. He startles easily, has bowel issues and gets very anxious when left alone for a nanosecond. So when I leave him in his playroom full of toys and Monicas bosom- he freaks out. What I've learned to do is master the ninja skill of noiselessly tiptoeing to the bathroom. I've even dropped to the ground to avoid his line of vision. He once escaped and crawled his way to my office and when his eyes met mine, the look on his face was priceless. It was like Christopher Columbus discovering America mixed with "you bitch- you've been 7 feet away from me this whole time?!?" He was PISSED.
But even though there are some pitfalls to working from home- I do have to say that I am about 4000 times more productive in seclusion than I ever was surrounded by my peeps at work. Maybe it's because I love to study or maybe it's because my adderall is at a good dose. Whatever the case is, it's working for me. For now.

Passover is next week and there's a stupid amount of cooking and preparing that goes into this dreadful holiday. I would write all the ways I detest this holiday but it would take too long. And I have to go buy another 500 more dollars of food for 2 days.

Chewbaca Can't Fly

I realize my last post was a bit intense.
I never understood how the romantic comedy or fantasy movie genre appeal to people. Same with book choices. I always gravitate to the gritty, intense, REAL genre. In college, my then-boyfriend was into Star Wars and I was like Jane Goodall trying to figure him out. Like, why would anyone want to spend 2 hours watching Chewbaca fly a rocket?
Same thing with watching Jennifer Lopez as a wedding planner who falls in love with the groom and then all the stars align and they end up together. I mean, puh-leez. That's as likely to happen as Chewbaca flying that rocketship. (Star Wars geeks: I know its not called a rocket but it doesn't matter what it's called because its fake). I've had to read the first 5 Harry Potter books with my kids and I should win an Oscar for my performance as an interested reader.
It just doesn't speak to me.
Same way, general pediatrics never spoke to me. It wasn't gritty enough.
To quote Gotye: "You can be addicted to a certain kind of sadness".
It's pathological and twisted but true.
I've thought about this for awhile and think that it boils down to this: the same reason people cut themselves to feel, to really feel, is the same motive that makes me read the insanely depressing shit I read. Or be immersed in the tragic. Or watch movies that have horrible endings. This is what resonates with me.
But here's the other thing- if you are that person whose mind can be a dark and twisted place- and you choose to immerse yourself in the tragic every day for month after month and year after year.....you are in great danger of having those dark and twisted parts become who you are.
I'll never be sunshine and rainbows. Ever. If you see me and I appear that way- you should know that it's pharmacologically induced or I've finally cracked. But I think that maybe a healthier way to live is to be able to be present in the moment and feel whatever it is that's happening. Whether it be joy or boredom or sadness or anxiety or anger. Let it be. Even if what you feel is great irritability (check). I was trying to read Eckhart Tolle and couldn't get past page 10 because when he wrote "Just be in your being-ness" I burst out laughing. WTF does that even mean?? I cynically came up with a list of reasons why he sucks and went on a tirade about new age bullshit is so annoying as are the people who read this crap and so on and so on.
Now I'm realizing that even if he is full of crap, he's certainly in a better place than I am. Even though I still think "just be in your being-ness" is hilarious, I also think it may be worth a try.
If anyone knows how to do that, please share. Except if it entails a lot of meditating and yoga- I may need to take some drugs first.
I know, I have a long way to go Eckhart Tolle.

Painful Decision

I'm back.
I've been post less for the last month. Not because I haven't had what to say but because too much stuff has been going on and I haven't really found the words. That is to say, when too many things happen at once, my mind tends to turn on the Emergency Broadcast System signal and all I hear is that loud beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
I'm leaving the hospital and pediatric oncology after 12 years. I will be an educational consultant for an oncology pharmaceutical company so in some ways will still stay in the world of cancer and medicine. But I'm selling out.
I always used to say everyone's a whore for the right price. Now I know my price.
But the other truths (because there is never only one truth) are that I am and have been ready for a major life change for awhile now. Professionally speaking, pediatric oncology is a bitch. But it's a bitch that I love. It's complicated, painful, funny, sorrowful and busy. It steals part of your soul. It  can make you an atheist and restore all hope in humanity at the same time. For me, it hasn't restored my belief in the God of my childhood. That belief is long gone. Never to return. I like to think that maybe it's just changed the concept of a Power of the Universe for me- but most days, I'm just left in a vacuum.
You can't possibly be surrounded with so much suffering and ugliness every day and be left unscathed.
That's not to say we don't have our share of the faithful among us. Especially here in the South. There are very religious folk down here. I am constantly amazed at the ability of people who, in the midst of a colossal shit storm, remain faithful.
I am not one of them. In fact, just being a spectator to the suffering- removed enough to be able to push it out of my mind for most of the day- has left me faithless.
But as I said, this job has allowed me to see people do supernaturally strong things. People who say thank you after you tell them devastating news. People who bring flowers to the unit a few days after their childs funeral. People who have such clarity about what it means to be a parent. These parents that I've met along the way have the strength of a pack of wolves. It's hard to describe that strength. You need to see it in a action to understand.
Over a decade of being immersed in this world has left me cynical, agnostic and intolerant. Intolerant of the woes of suburbia. Intolerant of colds and viruses. Intolerant of anything that isn't terminal.
Taking a break from this will probably be a good thing for my psyche (at least that's what my friends and family keep telling me) but I can't imagine what life is going to look like without it. My "job" has defined me for a long time. My "co-workers" (lifeline/sanity/friends forever) have given me a community and a support group. I've grown up here.
To say that I will miss the hospital and all that those walls hold is a gross understatement.
The new job includes traveling but when Im not traveling, I'm working from home. Many days, I will get to be there when my kids get home from school. That's never happened. I may even get to attend a school function mid-day. I won't be a crazy woman every morning trying to get myself and 2 kids dressed and in the car by 7:15 because this girl can wear sweatpants all day and no makeup necessary. If I need to take a sick child to the pediatrician, I can without having the anxiety and guilt about leaving the hospital to do so.
But, the travel. It's going to be a huge adjustment. There will be many evenings and nights that I will be away. This makes me belly-flopping anxious. Mostly because it's an unknown right now. I texted a friend who does this for a living: "tell me my kids won't end up serial killers because their mom travelled a lot for work". Her response: "Nah". Not very convincing.
I think it's going to be OK. I think the kids will be fine those evenings I'm away. I think I'll be home more often than I am now.
And as far as I know, Charles Mansons mom didn't travel for work.

Medicating

We took all 3 kids to a nice restaurant for dinner last night. We've seen other people do it. Older kids quietly sitting, coloring, playing on the iPhone, maybe even chatting with a sibling.
Since my children have  "voice modulation" problems (i.e- loud enough to make your ears bleed), there's never anything quiet about them. Even a regular conversation with them is like being in a noisy bar, yelling pleasantries at each other. Their volume is always set at 12 when the rest of the universe operates at a 7.
"Pass the salt" is "PASS THE SALT".
So so loud.

As the older 2 were happily yelling over each other, #3 was sitting in a highchair double fisting french fries and throwing giant chunks of bread and mushed up fish on the floor. Our waiter, a young, hip, tattooed guy who shaves his head to be cool, not to detract from his baldness- tried to be nice. He asked the kids what they wanted and HM screamed her order. Even though the restaurant was quiet. It's her way. She continues to abuse her vocal cords mercilessly. #1 has yelled so much for so long (8 years), he sounds like Demi Moore. After hipster-baldy kindly brought us our alcoholic beverages or three, we apologized for the loud chaos that are our children. He responded: "No worries, dude, it's excellent birth control for a young guy like me".
I felt accomplished. We're a walking PSA for safe sex.

We medicate our children. We take them to physicians who specialize in figuring out the right cocktail of drugs so they can function in the environment we place them in, and succeed. I often wonder what life would be like if we lived on a farm in Arkansas and there was no school, no after school activities,  no synagogue, no birthday parties or playdates my kids had to participate in. Places where they have to fit in and behave in a semi acceptable way. In this Arkansas fantasy, my kids would wake up and run in a field, climb trees and jump into a pond. They would be happy.

I would be miserable.

I don't medicate my kids solely because the structure they live doesn't tolerate loud, chaotic, hyperactive children. I can't either. It's like being stuck at a rave when you really just want to be in a library. If you're a person who doesn't have sensory issues (one of the few issues I don't have), living with loud frenetic people is hard. I've worn earplugs in my house, I've hidden downstairs or in the bathroom, I go to work happily....just to have some quiet.

To clarify- I don't medicate my kids to mute them. It's not all about the volume. Since both are ADHD kiddos, they need pharmaceutical help chill them the F out. That's the long and short of it. Without meds, they operate on high/loud/fast/physical setting. They run, don't walk, everywhere. From the bathroom to the bedroom next door, it's a run, then jumping leap then roll, ending with a knee slide through the door. Thats how they get from point A to point B no matter how close the distance. Eating is shoving food in, singing, rocking, interrupting. Watching TV or playing the iPad is interrupted every 2-3 minutes with a couch flip or a pile-on to whoever happens to be sitting next to them. Then back to the iPad and then a random loud song will be spewed out that may startle an unassuming person. But being highly active and loud doesn't necessarily mean the child needs meds. We decided our kids did for one reason alone.  We didn't want them to feel defeated.

We wanted school to be a place where they had fun, played soccer at recess, make life-long friends and open their minds to things they didn't know the day before. We wanted them to feel safe and accepted in that building. We wanted it to be their second home. In order for my kids to have their minds opened, they need to quiet down all the noise that's in there and make room for the information to live. They need to be able to read a page line by line and not skip words quickly because they can't slow down. They need to take pause for just a nanosecond before blurting answers out. Before reaching out their arms to touch/pat/kick their neighbor. If they can't chill the F out, adults (me being the first one) start to get annoyed. They start to criticize, correct, stop the offensive behavior. This doesn't work. My kids can hear "stop" 40,000 times in a day. Obviously they haven't stopped. It's like telling someone to stop scratching their itch. So, if my kids continue to itch there scratch, their entire day is full of "No", "Stop", "Take a break", ""Get out". Their evening at home is full of the same. There's no time or space for words of encouragement and validation. That, in my mind, is defeat.

So my kids get medicated to help me mother them and remain somewhat sane. They also need it to succeed in the school we chose for them (which, is a stellar, loving, good good place).

In between the above activities, they are your regular 8 and 5 year old kids. But much funnier than the average 8 and 5 year old, actually. We laugh often.
Loudly.