Category: Inspiration

Deliberate Deliberately

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Our intention creates our reality. – Wayne Dyer

There is something so very exciting about January.  A blank slate, a fresh year full of promise, and a chance to let go of what no longer works in our lives and embark on whatever it is that helps us to have a banner year.  Typically, I use this time of year to set resolutions for myself.  Resolutions I sometimes fail at by mid-February.  I realized only recently, when I was texting my cousin about a resolution I had made, that the meaning of the word does not put me in the correct frame of mind to accomplish anything…resolution smesolution! When I looked back at my text to her, I thought, “Why did I put the word resolution in quotations?” I put quotation marks around it like it was a made up word without meaning.

Last week, you may have noticed, there was no post from me.  Part of the benefit of working at a not-for-profit organization is the chance to give back to the community in many different ways. The slight downside is it often means completing work for the organization in personal time. Last week, I was busy finalizing a letter to accompany a grant written in an attempt to secure additional funding for my organization.  The whole process was very detailed.  There were many items required, forms to be signed, explanations to be detailed and painstakingly placed in the grant document.  It was a tedious process! As I crossed my fingers and sent the grant on its way to the reviewers, I suddenly realized what my problem was with New Year’s resolutions.

My problem is with the word itself!  Resolutions, while made with wonderful intentions, leave me feeling frustrated when I do not achieve what I set out to do 100% of the time.  Instead of lifting me up and improving my situation, the failure drags me down.  The reason it seemed to hit me so abruptly this year, was because I realized I would have no time to write this blog…one of my resolutions for this year.  There it was early in January, and my resolution was already botched. I felt guilty, but why?  I was excited about the grant.  I WANTED to write it.  I enjoyed the challenge. And, I desperately hoped my organization would receive the funding to support something I am passionate about.  Admittedly, the guilt bothered me.  It forced me, however, to explore alternatives to resolutions…and I found one!

Here is my plan! It involves erasing all of my resolutions and instead approaching this time of year with a different mindset.  This does not mean I do not have goals, rather, it just means I will go about reaching them in a different manner. Instead, this year, I have set an intention to do two things. To be deliberate (adj.) and to deliberate (verb.). My plan then, is to be conscious, mindful and intentional with decisions.  I hope to concentrate on those things which are most essential.   Mainly, to deliberate my options and then make a decision.  My mantra this year is: TO DELIBERATELY DELIBERATE.

In my family, this looks like making the decision to be present and not distracted.  It means taking time to plan activities that are meaningful and not feeling obligated to attend every event for which an invitation is received.  In my work, it means digging in and reminding myself why I enjoy my work while making it relevant and memorable.  In my personal life, it means carving out time to escape a little and write.  In action, it means questioning why I do just about everything.  Should I feel guilty about this?  Can I fit (x) in if I cut (y) out?  Why do I do it this way and not that way?  In essence, figuring out what is essential.  With deliberate as my intention for 2020, I hope that I can get rid of all the things that do not matter and replace them with the people and things that matter the most.  In 2020 I will deliberate on doing less, and deliberately do better! I hope you do, too. Have a wonderful 2020!

©2020 Inspired Pharmacist

Kathryn Joy

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Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.  It turns what we have into enough, and more.  It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, and confusion to clarity.  It can turn a meal into a feast, house into a home, a stranger into a friend.” – Melody Beattie

We are blessed daily, starting with the fact that we get to wake up in the morning and face the day ahead.  Sometimes the things we are grateful for are big, like a new job or the birth of a child.  Other times they are small like enjoying a cup of coffee to start the day.  Sometimes it is hard to be grateful, especially when the not so good things start to weigh us down.  I think this is why on October 3, 1863, in the midst of the civil war, President Abraham Lincoln issued a proclamation announcing the final Thursday of November would be set aside to express appreciation for all of life’s blessings.  Thanksgiving.

Usually when I think about Thanksgiving, it reminds me of my Aunt Kathy.  She was an artist.  She dressed in the most unusual way…in vibrant colors, flowing skirts and usually had fun earrings to match.  She exuded Joy, appropriate since this was her middle name.  She was so kind and generous, and I would be shocked if she had any enemies.  

Most of my childhood Thanksgivings were spent at her house, and before we sat down to eat, we would go around and say something we were thankful for.  I DREADED it.  I would think for days before hand, trying to come up with something more creative than “I’m thankful for my family.”  I knew I had much to be thankful for, but somehow it all seemed trite. Nonetheless, my turn would always arrive, and she would prompt “How about you Ab?” and smile at me, as only she could, somehow giving me the confidence to speak.  She made me feel like the most important person in the room.  

After I moved away, she would send me letters; letters I still like to read.  In her letters, she would describe the scene from her morning walk, the music she was listening to, the trinket she found while shopping, the antics of her beloved grandchildren, and the goings on of the world.   The letters she sent me came in the middle of a difficult life transition and I was focusing on all the things I perceived as negative.  Her letters were the bright spot in my weeks.  Among other things, they allowed me to see how much I was loved and supported, even from far away. They were encouraging, and confirmed goodness in the world.

 She never said life was perfect, or free of burdens and hassles.  However, looking at life through her letters encouraged me to identify the beautiful things in my own life.  If you think about it, I think you will find that this is the true definition of gratitude; an affirmation of the good and wonderful things in the world and a recognition that the source of this goodness often involves the love and support of others.

Years later, on this Thanksgiving morning, not unlike most mornings, I considered what I am grateful for.  My family, the friends who have stuck by me, the roof over my head, my work, even my puppy who got muddy footprints all over the bathroom this morning.  I also thought of my Aunt Kathy, and all the things she taught me.  My practice of gratitude started with her.  What I now realize is that in her letters to me, she was probably just writing all the things she was grateful for, in a much more eloquent way, and sending them to me.  Somehow, she knew I had much to learn about recognizing life’s small blessings and exhibiting immense gratitude for them.  She realized and appreciated God’s beautiful life design, and passed that on to me.  This year, as I contemplate my many blessings, I am so thankful for her beautiful heart and her wonderful example of a life well lived.  

Happy Thanksgiving!  I hope you enjoy a day filled with love, laughter, delicious food, and most importantly gratitude for life’s multitude of blessings.

Transformed

IP

I was reading some OLD material, and thought my 15 year old self had something insightful to share.  I hope you enjoy this throwback.

Transformed

A cozy cottage placed serenely on a hill
Stood tall in the shade of a magnolia tree.
There, hopes and dreams were stored,

 

Laughter painted the walls

And meadowlarks sang,

Childhood innocence filled the air.

 

Friendships were formed and nurtured,

And the tiny dwelling watched it all,

Waiting patiently for my return.

 

Now, when grown-up frustrations overwhelm,

My mind takes me back

To that enchanted childhood playhouse,

 

Where faded hopes and dreams once again become

As bright and shimmering as summer’s sun,

And against the backdrop of today’s reality

 

I am transformed

Leave a comment: What childhood memories transform you?

© 2019 Inspired Pharmacist

Seasons of Love

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The leaves are about to show us how lovely it is to let things go. – Unknown

Recently, we cared for an elderly woman who presented with a massive stroke. When it was clear she would not make it, I heard her husband say to the chaplain “we have been married 70 and ½ years, and I say the ½, because like a kid I was really looking forward to 71.”

The vivid yellows, oranges and reds of autumn foliage were just beginning to appear.  I noticed them on the way to work that day. For me, fall always brings about an acute awareness of the passage of time.  It also reminds me that not all things are for all seasons.

I grew up gazing in awe at the wooded hillside bluffs of Pike County, IL painted with warm fire-like fall colors.  I used to stand outside in the cool crisp air astounded and humbled by the sight. I would watch the trees day to day and notice how the leaves would dramatically change and eventually drop. As a younger person, I would wish for beautiful leaves year round.  Now, I understand this universal principal: in order to grow, we must release something.  Hanging on to what can no longer be possible hinders our development.

While the leaves teach us the beauty of letting go, they also remind us to celebrate the loveliness of how we have grown in the previous seasons of life.  Like the leaves, we have a limited time here on earth. We MUST continually evaluate our purpose and reignite our passions.

As I looked at the patient’s husband, so near to losing a woman who was obviously the love of his life, I was overcome with joy as he lovingly said to her, “I wouldn’t have traded a single day with you.” To them I would like to say, thank you for sharing the beauty of your marriage vocation.  Thank you for briefly showing us the legacy your children will inherit and paving the way for a new generation. We should cherish and enjoy our relationships while we still have time. Like leaves on the trees, you reminded those of us lucky enough to be in the room that letting go can be beautiful. How blessed I am to witness and acknowledge the seasons of change.

Leave a comment: What are some beautiful things in your life that you’ve let go of, and how have they helped you to change and grow?

© 2019 Inspired Pharmacist

*Name and some details changed to protect the privacy of others.

Hail Mary

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You can’t outwit fate by trying to stand on the sidelines and place little side bets about the outcome.  Either you wade in and risk everything to play the game, or you don’t play at all.  And if you don’t play, you can’t win. -Judith McNaught

Football season is in full swing around the Midwest.  I have spent many weekends recently on the sidelines watching the team my husband volunteers to coach.  Because I did not grow up watching football, and my high school did not have its own team, this has all been a learning experience.  I am slowly growing to appreciate the game. Notably, I am now critically evaluating how I believe the game could be better played and what penalties I would like to see enforced.  (I am frequently annoyed by the time outs at the end of the game! Illegal time out, anyone?) The play I now love to see incorporated in a game is better known as the “Hail Mary.”  Football is not really my thing, so I never gathered the true meaning of the term until a physician used it to describe the treatment plan for Mrs. C.*

 I had just received a call about her minutes before – “need you in the ER for a code.” When I walked into the room, the physician said, “she’s only 45, so I’m not going to call it, yet. What else can we do?”  I quickly went through my arsenal of ideas, slowly eliminating each one from my mental checklist of options, except for one.  “We could try this treatment,” I said.  “I’m thinking it will have a low probability of a good outcome, but based on what you are telling me, it makes sense to use it in this case.” The physician said, “it sounds like a Hail Mary, but we have to try.”  

 The physician was correct.  It was a Hail Mary play in the truest sense. A desperate measure to resolve a serious problem at the very last minute.  It was unlikely to be successful.  Truly, divine intervention would be needed for the treatment to succeed.  Therefore, I prepared the drug and hoped that against all odds it would work.  We had no other choice.  The treatment did not seem so risky when all other options were exhausted.

 When the nurse gave the medication, I prayed.  With every pulse check and every blip on the cardiac monitor, I prayed harder.  I kept my hand diligently on the femoral artery, anticipating that at any moment I would feel something other than my own pounding heartbeat. I prayed harder.

 As we left the room that day, the physician said, “Well, we did everything we could.”  He was right; we did it all, and then some.  It is at that exact moment when I realized that many times in our lives we are all faced with a decision of whether or not to take a risk. Not all of these risks are matters of life and death. Sometimes it is taking a new job, moving positions within the same organization, starting a new business, or just doing something outside your comfort zone.   Greatness requires risk.  Whether or not you are successful, the risk will stretch you and give you confidence in yourself and the faith to try again the next time.  

 I now understand why the “Hail Mary” pass is so important.  Whether or not the risk was worth it in the end does not matter.  What matters is leaving it all on the field.  You cannot expect to win if you give up.  Never leave the room thinking you could have given more.  

 

How will you identify the daily “Hail Mary” opportunities in your life?

 

 © 2019 Inspired Pharmacist

*Name and some details changed to protect the privacy of others.

 

Play Me Another One

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Life is like a piano. What you get out of it depends on how you play it. – Tom Lehrer

My earliest and fondest memories of my grandmother, Eileen, revolve around sitting beside her on the piano bench.  Her nimble fingers would glide across the shiny black and white keys and I would wish to play like her.  I had just started piano lessons, and my one handed do-re-mi paled in comparison to the old gospel hymns she could easily recall.  She would guide my little hands across the keys until I would get frustrated and say “Meemaw, play me another one.”  “Someday,” she would tell me, “you’ll play just because of the way it makes you feel.”

What frustrated me the MOST about learning the piano were the songs written in a key that contained those darn sharps and flats.  My grandmother would diligently highlight and circle the notes for me and we practiced looking ahead for awareness of what was coming.  In the depths of my discouragement with the whole thing, I asked her why we even needed the “stupid black keys.”  In her wisdom, she told me that music would be a lot less interesting without the black ones. “When you hit one, if you make a mistake, just keep right on going.”

I did learn, eventually, and just as she said, playing the piano became a contemplative practice.  It somehow became simple enough that my mind and heart are free to be with God more freely.  Playing the piano, for me, is an exceptional medicine.  It connects me to my past, my family and everything familiar.  In particularly trying times, you will most likely find me planted on the bench of my $50, untuned, yard sale piano.  I am still not as good as my grandmother, but thanks to her wisdom, I have learned to navigate the sharps and flats, both on the piano and in life.  

Life is certainly a lot like playing the piano.  The white keys represent the smooth happy times.  The black ones reveal the difficult and sometimes sad ones. However, as our journey of life progresses, we should keep in mind that black and white keys together create more meaningful music. Persisting in times of trials and tribulations adds to the enchantment of our individual stories. Now, if I make a mistake or face a challenge in my personal or professional life, I try to keep in mind my grandmother’s wisdom and just keep going.

My grandmother is now 88.  There is a special sort of magic in this number, which also reflects the number of keys on a standard piano. Perhaps this is why, on her birthday, her church also honored her for 70+ years of playing the organ and piano at services.  While she would certainly be justified in calling it quits, my grandmother, to me, has never been anything but steadfast.  She told the local newspaper reporter that she would play until her hands give out.  A long life full of black and white, creating the most beautiful music.    

Comment below: What are the hobbies or things that center you? Who helped cultivate your love for that activity?

Brushing Up on Dignity

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I long to accomplish a great and noble task; but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble. -Helen Keller

A few weekends ago, my husband and I were driving home from a wedding late at night.  It was late enough that we probably should have stayed in a hotel and made the two-hour drive in the morning.  Instead, and he will probably give me some grief for saying this, we listened to and belted out show tunes nearly the entire way home.  I had control of the music, but he was a willing participant.  I digress, though.  Usually when the song “Will I” from the musical Rent comes on, I change it.  It’s a little too slow for staying awake.  For some reason, my husband stopped me this time.  “I like that song,” he said. As I listened to the words, I could not help but think of Mr. B.*

He was mid-forties, tan with an athletic build and sparkling white smile. He appeared to be the type who would not leave the house without perfectly starched and pressed clothing; his dark hair was expertly coiffed.  When I met him, however, he was wearing superman pajama pants.  His mom had given them to him before he was admitted.  She was sick too, he said, unable to be there for support – so he needed to be strong for both of them; he had no other family.  He was newly diagnosed with leukemia and preparing to receive his first round of chemotherapy.  We entered the room to discuss his plan and provide information on the medications he would be receiving.  When he invited us to sit on the couch with him, I knew I was in for the long haul.

It is not that I did not want to take the time to make him feel comfortable, it is just that I was an overwhelmed, impatient, first year resident, merely observing.  I could not really answer any of his questions, as this was one of my first days on rotation.  As the interaction moved forward, one question stood out to me, because he interrupted my colleague many times to ask it. “Can I still brush my teeth?”  The second-year resident curtly answered “yes,” each time.  As we left the room, I briefly contemplated why  brushing his teeth was so important, aside from the obvious consequences of poor dental hygiene.  For some reason, the desire to know the answer to that particular question seemed more vital to him than the wealth of other important information provided to him that afternoon.

I really did not think about it much more until the next day, when again, while we were on rounds, he asked “Can I still brush my teeth?”  Instead of just moving on, my preceptor paused and said, “Yes, Mr. B, but tell me a little more about why you ask that question.”  He answered, “you said when my blood counts drop, I might bleed more easily and gave the example that my gums might bleed when I brushed my teeth.  So, I just want to know if I can still brush them.  It will not feel normal if I can’t.”

Listening for the answer and not listening to respond allowed him to open up and connect with us.  It also enabled us to reassure him.  On the surface, it seemed like such a meaningless question. To the patient, the answer meant independence. By acknowledging his concern and answering the question honestly and with a shared understanding, he felt seen, heard, listened to – cared for.

George Elliott once said, “What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for one another.”  While I do not believe you can take someone’s dignity away, I do believe during trying seasons, one may start to question his or her value. I learned through this interaction that in medicine, and our daily lives, it is important to recognize and give permission to others to discuss insecurities.  Doing so, may provide them with comfort and ease their worry. As for Mr. B, he could rest easy knowing he would not lose the small measure of dignity brushing his teeth provided.  I like to think it gave him a little boost of confidence, just like those superman pajamas.

 

Let’s talk more about it: What does it mean to honor someone’s dignity?

© 2019 Inspired Pharmacist

*Name and some details changed to protect the privacy of others.

 

Piecing Shattered Dreams Into A Beautiful Story

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“If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces.” – Shane Koyczan

The low-pitched, gut-wrenching, tortured wail of grief sounds the same in every language. A sound that gives you chills to your core.  The sound of unbridled pain.  Sometimes, after especially brutal shifts, I can still hear those horrifying screams ringing in my ears.

The first time I heard it, I was a student; the patient was eight.  He had been admitted the entire time I was on my pediatric rotation with complications from leukemia, but was slowly improving. In fact, the medical team was talking about transferring him out of the ICU.  He unexpectedly coded one day while we were rounding; his mom was in the shower.  She heard the alarms and came running, arriving to the room barely dressed and soaking wet.  Because I was a student, I smashed myself against the wall to observe.  He did not make it.

As they called time of death, and the alarms that initially alerted us to his deteriorated condition were silenced, I remember looking around the room trying to find something familiar, because everything in that moment seemed so foreign.  It was not right; he was too young to die.  Hanging around the room were hundreds of letters and cards from his classmates, wishing he would be well again.  All of them telling the story of his vibrant life, a stark contrast to what I now saw.  His mother was crumpled laying on the floor in a heap near my feet, understandably weeping.  The faces of the seasoned medical professionals appeared so emotionless, mechanical, and cold.  I wondered how they could be so unfeeling.  I wanted to lay on the floor with his mother, but I pulled myself together, fearing I would appear weak.  I did not cry until I got into my car that night.  In my grief over his life cut short, I made a vow to myself that I would never be so detached.

Walking in the room that day, I thought I would learn about the role of a pharmacist in a pediatric code, and I did, but it also deeply and completely changed me.  The idea that I could grow through this experience still seems objectionable.  However, death and loss teach us something about ourselves and challenge our assumptions.  We have no choice about death.  We have no choice but to grieve.  What we can choose is how we will respond…will we grow better, or will we grow bitter?

It was in that moment that I chose to grow better.  I reassessed my life and how I functioned within it.  My priorities changed. Now, every day, I make a choice to be optimistic and kind to those I encounter.  I am determined to truly listen to those around me.  I dive deep into my spirituality, because what good is all this without the love of God beside me.  I have realized that I am stronger than I ever thought or knew I was.  Most of all, I am grateful for my life.  His death taught me about living; it also changed a job into my vocation.  I wish I could tell his mom how much he touched my life and changed my attitude.

When I made the promise that I would never grow jaded, I also vowed that if there ever came a day when I, too, was emotionless, mechanical, and cold, I would hang it up. Yet, how do I remain optimistic despite the heartbreaking things I regularly see?  The truth: there is no simple answer.  Thus, Inspired Pharmacist was created to document this journey, my journey.  A journey of gratitude, hope, love, and resilience – the good drugs of life.

*Names and some details changed to protect the privacy of others
Copr 2019 Inspired Pharmacist