Not The Destination But The Journey There...

I am currently 13 hours into a train ride to Big City. I am starting my apartment hunt. I decided take the train because it was so much cheaper than flying or driving and I have the time.  I’ve only ever been on Amtrak a handful of times and they all were over a decade ago and on the opposite coast. Though I’ve traveled rather extensively by rail in Europe and Asia, the mode had never been part of my own cultural vernacular and so domestic intercity train travel never really crosses my mind as an option when I decide to go somewhere.

I think that is going to be changing. I’ve really enjoyed myself.  The entire process, from check in, the trip itself and leaving has been hassle free. I went through no crazy security check points, I could pack snacks AND DRINKS for the trip and I’m going to just step off the train and walk into the city.

There’s an old proverb that states “If time matters, and of course it does, take a plane: If time is even more important, go by ship.”

This train is my ship today. I love that distance traveled to Big City is part of my journey and not just an interruption.  I can stand, walk, meander to the dining car and have a glass of wine. I’ve interacted with a group of nuns, a family of Mennonites and the two potheads talking about volunteering at Lollapalooza next August.

The cars have wifi (Awesome!) and people just seem friendlier and more helpful. Maybe it’s the overall relaxed atmosphere. Anyhow, I think that I’ll take it.

Hometown Blues

The greater metropolitan population of my hometown is about 200,000.

There are over 90 bars, all of which serve the same house wine, domestic tap beer and have the same smoky dingy interior. There is one bookstore: Barnes and Noble- also the only free wifi location in town.

The male-female ratio is about 76:100.  Median income is 18,000 and 25% of the population lives in poverty.

The political tone is strongly republican and no one that I've talked to cares that the best gym at the local Y is men only.  After all, I'm such a feminist.

The average driver's age is 59.

There is a local racetrack and 2 movie theaters.  There are no art galleries.

A nurse on U8, one of the few who was interested in more than getting married and having babies, was after me for weeks to get together. Finally, we had a common day off and made plans.

I was thrilled to finally share conversation. She didn't show up. She sent me a text message the next morning telling me how sorry she was but a friend showed up in town unexpectedly.

Now, a week later, she acts as though we are best buddies, girl-flirting with me at work and constantly playing with my hair. I ignore it.  My resentment towards her is minor. Rather I resent that this stifling, backwaters town has so lowered my standards for friendship.  I miss my wonderful, interesting, reliable Seattlite friends.

She asked me if I was going to be sad on my last day next week and I laughed at her.

I hate this town and, now that my family is mostly gone, can hardly wait til I'm gone.

Matriculation

I passed my background check.  Though I didn’t have much rational doubt, I confess that I was terrified that somehow that check that I bounced when I was 16 had somehow snowballed into a felony that, unknowingly, had chased me for 15 years. It’s a relief that the federal government doesn’t care about my teenage irresponsibility. Whew.

I’ve withdrawn from most of my acceptances. I’m holding out on one though.  I know that I want to go to BCS but I hesitate to withdraw from town Podunk because ‘what if there’s a mistake?’ What if I withdraw from one and my financial aid doesn’t come through or I mistook the other’s offer and they didn’t really accept me? It’s safer having two places to go.

What if I mess up somehow on the stupid convoluted crazy-ass paperwork that they require?

I’m thinking about that student that’s on the waiting list and hoping desperately that she gets accepted. I want to give her that chance because waiting sucks. I was fortunate enough to know before Christmas but it wasn’t soon enough. I just can’t send that withdraw notice because what if it’s a mistake?

Countdown

It's the homestretch of my life at U8; tonight marked shift 10 in my countdown. I'm thrilled to be moving on and immersing myself in school but terrified at the idea of being unemployed for four years and intimidated by how hard medical school is going to be. What if I'm not disciplined enough?

In wonderful circular serendipity, one of my all time favorite patients, a friendly inspirational and endearing character is back for my last weeks.  I worked with him at the start of my time here and now I get to say goodbye. It's the perfect end to my clinical interactions and a great memory to tide me over until I get back to the floors in two years.

I decided to go to the big city medical school (BCMS).  I was vacillating between the two for months and had decided on small-town nearby because I convinced myself that my quality of life would be better there. (family pressure may have been a factor)

Then BCMS offered me an amazing scholarship thus giving me the freedom to acknowledge that I would be happier in the program and in the city. It was enough to topple even the strongest objections to the choice. Hooray!!

I'm going to the city next month to look for an apartment.  I'm so excited for this summer!

Patient Remembrance

A recent patient (P) of mine was a peripheral co-worker of my mother's. They both worked in different departments of a large institution.

I recognized her immediately but, fortunately, she didn't remember me. I'm always ill at ease when acquaintances of my parents meet up with me and express their own grief.

As the day went on, people from this workplace came and went visiting P. Well, someone inexorably knew me. Sigh. The news spread like wildfire through the waves of visitors and I was stopped a number of times in the hall to answer questions about my life, how my family is without my mom and to listen to how sad they were, how much they miss her etc.

Don't get me wrong, it's comforting to know that so many people were affected by mom. She was an amazing special woman. She was, without a doubt, my closest friend.

It just makes for an uncomfortable workday.

I'm training someone in the end stages of orientation. This person was practically running the group and so I was able to avoid more of the prolonged interaction.

It wasn't until the end of the night that I had to re-enter the room solo.

P. saw me and thrust out her hand.

"Kate! There's another Kate on the floor whose mom worked with me. It was so tragic her dad died and then her mom... Oh.. What was her name? Oh.. Not Kate.. that's the daughter's name.. What was her name?..."

I sighed.

"Her name was M___. I'm Kate ___. The only Kate on the floor."

P. stared at me for a moment then burst out in sobs.

"Oh.. your mom was the sweetest lady ever. We all miss her so much and think about her every day... blah blah blah blah."

I found myself comforting a hysterical patient for over forty five minutes about the death of my own mother; a woman whose name she couldn't even remember!

To cap it off, P. sent candy and a card to the unit after her discharge thanking everyone personally for their care. "Sue was so kind and helpful. Janet was so smart... etc" But she didn't remember my name! I laughed and laughed. It was so poetically ironic!

I sure ate some candy though.

Neighbors

My neighbors are fighting again. They scream, swear and throw violent words at each other. It’s actually rather filmy. I’m listening to tranquil Leonard Cohen and eavesdropping on a explicit fight. The walls are thin; eavesdropping is inevitable.

Neighbors usually like me. I’m very quiet. I think about my relationships. They’ve all been boringly civilized. My last boyfriend and I broke up in a Vietnamese restaurant. Silent tears over a steaming bowl of pho and a hug at the end. He remains a friend.

I once dated someone who had abusive tendencies. It didn’t last long. Though it was, by far, my very worst breakup, I helped carry his boxes to the car. He drove away. I waved. We never spoke again. (best day of my life btw)

I’m not a screamer but it fascinates me when people react so strongly that they shout and scream and break things. They’re so very alive. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to lose that control. I just can't picture myself letting go like that.

Oh Brother

Sometimes, my oldest brother has a way of making me feel as small as a flea. I love him desperately; he was even more excited about my first acceptance to school than I was. I can remember the look of thrilled shock on his face when I told him. Everyone should have someone to be so genuinely, unselfishly happy for them. I’m fortunate.

That said, he’s a freakin’ type A, control freak, micromanager with so-not-his-business. Argh. I called him today to chat. We take turns calling and so usually talk several times a week. I mentioned meeting an aunt for coffee and visiting our maternal grandmother in the afternoon.

Gram took great pleasure in reliving some of my “stubborn little pip” anecdotes. She and my aunt laughed at memories of me, a naked 4 year old interrupted from a fight with her brother, claiming that “Just because little girls are staying with their grandma, doesn’t mean that the grandma OWNS them.” Apparently, I was aware of my civil rights even at age four. I blame my mother.

I gave him quick updates on several of our cousins then mentioned finding sprigs of pussy willows on a walk. I have bouquets of willow shoots, winterberry and dried hydrangeas, pretty, easy to maintain and much much cheaper than fresh flowers. He’d always admired my displays when visiting.

Anyhoo, I also mentioned that when I went to the market I noticed that sashimi grade tuna was on sale for 7.99/lb and splurged on a filet ($5.28). I was excited to indulge myself on this weekend off.

His temper exploded and he ranted. How I can’t expect to pay for school, our shared mortgage etc, if I can’t budget my income… blah blah blah.

Now. I. Am. A. Freakin’. Penny. Pincher. I can satisfyingly squeeze a week’s worth of meals on a $30 budget with some creative use of spices and inexpensive staples (quinoa, eggplant, cauliflower etc.). I am also a master of the free/cheap entertainment: volunteering with the zoomobile for a free season pass to the zoo, free city wifi and no cable TV, forgoing downhill skiing for cross-country in open parks. I haven’t seen a movie in the theatre in years. Other than a few pairs of (clearance-no grey’s anatomy for me) scrubs and my interviewing suit, the only clothing I’ve purchased in the last 2 years has been socks and underwear.
I don’t mind. I’ve always been pretty low maintenance, but hell if, at 31, I’m going to be explaining every little purchase to anyone. I told him so. It escalated. Dammit. He’s just like our father; careful, loving and thoughtful but rigid, old-fashioned and by-the-book.

I remember being a teenager and chafing against my father’s restrictions. It was the primary motivation for my moving thousands of miles at eighteen to work for national parks. Every time that I jumped out of a plane, hitchhiked to the rodeo, climbed a difficult mountain or pushed myself past things that scared me, I thought “so there!” to my father.

Right now, I’m garnishing my tuna in a lemon wasabi remoulade (less than $1.50 to make- even with locally raised free range and hormone free eggs) sipping a glass of prosecco ($2.25) and thinking “so there!” at my brother.

Addendum: My brother, bless his soul, sent me an apologetic message a few minutes ago. He and my (favorite) sister-in-law have been under unrelated stresses and he didn’t mean to take it out on me. * sigh * How can I maintain my rebellious angst (damn you! Camus and Morrissey) when my family is so bleeping awesome?