Here comes the Judge, here comes the Judge...

In the ER, we try VERY hard not to let our personal feelings get in the way of what we have to do for patients and their families.
It's not that we don't HAVE feelings and opinions - as evidenced here - but they can't be the basis for how we act!

However...
you MIGHT want to think twice about coming in off the street and demanding that the Social Worker give you free formula for your baby 'cause it's been a long month and you ran out of food stamp vouchers - while at the same time waving around an expensive cell phone,

a French tip maniand extensions past your shoulders!

I was a single mom too, Chiclet, and there are choices to be made!

How 'bout makin' feedin' your kids a priority instead of stylin' and textin' your posse?

Just sayin'.

Decoration Day

It is the VETERAN, not the preacher, who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the VETERAN, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the VETERAN, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the VETERAN, not the campus organizer, who has given us freedom to assemble.

It is the VETERAN, not the lawyer, who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the VETERAN, not the politician, who has given us the right to vote.

Let us remember all those men and women who have served our country in the military this Memorial Day.

May God bless them all!

Two weeks 'til Rosebud!

“Back in the day", I was a Senior High Leader at church.

Planning for, and then guiding the kids on, Mission trips was a huge part of that role and, as daunting as it was (and, I’m sure, still IS) having responsibility for 25 extra teenagers, I LOVED it.

For someone who dreamed of being a Peace Corps volunteer, going to remote places, working under adverse conditions and discovering the universality of human feelings and experience while being within vastly different cultures, is a dream come true for me.

Truth be told, it’s why, when I stopped being a leader for the high school group, I instituted a Mission Group for Adults!

One of the places I traveled to, with both the senior high AND the Adult groups, was Caretta, West Virginia - a coal mine community deep in the ‘hollers’ of McDowell County, one of the poorest counties in the United States.

During one of the trips, another leader and I, both avid gardeners, noted huge banks of wild roses blooming along the road side.

We excitedly reckoned if they could bloom, untended, in the rocky, shale ground of southern West VA under blistering conditions, with only mountain ‘runoff’ from sporadic summer rain, MAYBE transplants would survive in the dry clay soil, under the Missouri sun in August – in other words, in the outer ring of Dante’s hell.

Using spoons, gloves and reclaimed glass jars, we dug up cuttings to bring home.

I made the mistake of planting the ‘start’ in amended soil, enriched with all kinds of additives and nutrients - and, not surprisingly, my ‘Caretta’ rose promptly died.

As disappointed as I was, I accepted failure, mowed over the poor, dead single stick that remained and forgot about it.

But three years later, I noticed there was a new start of rose coming up in the exact same spot.

I had no idea why, after lying dormant for years, a deep root should start growing again.

Not wanting to repeat my earlier mistake, however, I dug it up and placed in it the crummiest dirt I had – the ‘garden’ in the front, created when a new retaining wall was filled in with dirt from construction sites, with only an inch or two of decent topsoil.

A decade later, this plant specimen has not only grown, but flourished, and has almost completely taken over the area.

It has exquisite clumps of blooms and, best of all, the same plant, the same ‘root’, puts out flowers of different colors!
Deep and pale pinks and every variation in between.

Honestly, I've never seen anything like it - and judging from the comments of people who pass by, neither has anyone else!

The Caretta rose blooms right before each Adult Mission trip now and I love the reminder.

Even if we’re all ‘rooted’ in Christ, we're different.

We don’t look, act or perform in the same way.

Our gifts are not the same.

We don’t bloom at the same time; some of us are in full flower and others are still buds, waiting for the right conditions before bursting forth.

We don't need special additives; we've been given all we need to thrive, we just need the right circumstances - and some of us are our most beautiful under adverse conditions.

And, for some late bloomers, those who might not even know what gifts they have to offer, sometimes a move to a new location is exactly what they need before they can spread out and come into their own beauty.

The Caretta rose always serves as a vivid reminder of important truths before heading to Rosebud Reservation and it's a wonderful way of tying together two places I hold deep in my heart.

For me, the plant is a powerful sign of Gods own perfect timing which, not surprisingly, isn't the same as ours.

Unlike Moses, I don’t need a burning bush to tell me that all the ground I walk upon is sacred…I just need a brambling one that blooms!

Dear Child Abusers...

We hate to admit it but we're disappointed.

You have brought us SO many fine moments of creative improv...but here you were handed a unique opportunity and you were all asleep at the wheel.

What gives?

You've come up with "a ghost must have done it", "spontaneous combustion bruises" and "Mexicans crawled through the tile in the bathroom ceiling and beat her up" - to name just three of our Top Ten excuses for how your babies got injured.

And we didn't mention it beforehand because we didn't want to give any of you ideas but...
yesterday, you could have brought your baby in with skull fractures, bleeds in his head and numerous bruises - and said God had started to 'take him up in the Rapture'...and then changed his mind and dropped him back to earth!

We even had a diagnosis for it ready - Ruptured Rapture.

And not ONE of you told us that!

You let us down...
and that doesn't happen often.

But it's Monday; get your game on...

Love,

the ER

Did anyone else hear or read this?

The Los Angeles County coroner's office has positively identified "mummified" human remains that were found in a dilapidated Beverly Hills home as those of Yvette Vickers.

The coroner's office determined that "the cause of death was Arteriosclerotic Cardiovascular Disease -- heart disease," said Craig Harvey, a spokesman for the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner.

Harvey said positive identification of 82-year-old Vickers was made using dental x-rays.

Susan Savage, a neighbor of Vickers, made the gruesome discovery on April 27. Savage told the Los Angeles Times she became concerned when she noticed her neighbors mailbox was overflowing and the front door to her Benedict Canyon home was covered in cobwebs. Savage said she had not seen the reclusive actress since the summer and decided to investigate.

Remains were reportedly on the floor next to a running electric heater.

"The skin is still intact but the body is like dried skin, leathery," a coroner's office spokesman told News earlier this month.

According to the Internet Movie Database, Vickers was the daughter of jazz musicians Charles and Lola Vedder.
The Missouri native was married and divorced twice.
She was most famous for her roles in the 1958 science fiction film "Attack of the 50 Foot Woman" and the 1959 horror flick "Attack of the Giant Leeches."

I totally understand the possibility of dying at home alone and not being discovered for days.

I have lived alone for a very long time.
My sons, as loving as they are, do NOT call me every day or even every week... nor do I expect them too.

I'm semi-reclusive after work and, if I didn't show up for a few days, my boss would assume I'd gone nuts and decided to take some time off.

OK, so the subpoenas for court appearances might garner some concern if I didn't show up; but I could see circumstances in which I could go missing and not be missed for awhile.

I'm thinkin' Yvette's agent wasn't knocking down her door with new offers.
Further guessing that her house was completely paid for but she didn't have much saved- so repairs and upkeep weren't do-able; besides, she's from Missouri - have you seen some of the shacks in the Ozarks?I'm sure nothing in Benedict Canyon even comes close!

Here's what I don't understand...
a running electric heater implies ongoing use of electricity...which implies unpaid electric bills for nearly a year??!
Give me a break!!

Ameren UE would have cut service to her sorry ass off after 2 months and then harassed her for payment until they raised the dead!!I'm moving to CA.

Brrrrring brrrrrrring

I should never have answered the damn phone...that was my first mistake!

There should only be so much reality a girl needs to deal with on any given day!

As I went 'slack-jawed' in disgust, shock and incredulity, I knew it was only in part from the information I was hearing; it was more the iceberg it represented.

The call was forcing me to look closely at the system in which I work - which, as far as I'm concerned - is always a BIG mistake!

The average 'life expectancy' for a job in medicine as a Critical Care Pediatric Social worker (PICU and ER) is roughly 18 months.
I'm a veteran of 31 years.

My advice for survival: Own the piece you own; give it 110% of who you are at any given moment but, at some point, you have to trust that other people are giving it all they've got too. You have to trust that others, in other disciplines, will pick up the pieces you hand them and either pass it off -in more complete shape- to the next responsible person in the chain or bring it home.

No one person can do everything!

Keep your head down and, if you want to survive, don't EVER look up or you may see that other folks are dropping the ball that's been handed to them.
To recognize that will drive you crazy - and out the door!

As far as I'm concerned my 'formula' works.

His words made me look up~~~~


In a world in which 4,000 people can be convinced to sign a petition to make 'Pole dancing' an Olympic sport, the States Atty was telling me he didn't believe he could get a jury of 12 rural voters to convict a young, married, mother of two, middle class, church-going babysitter, for the physical abuse and permanent brain damage of a 7 month old infant left in her care.

While it might surprise some, I appreciate that the vast majority of felonies do not lead to arrests and the vast majority of arrests do not lead to prosecutions - but, COME ON, you have to start somewhere!

Maybe you could try showing them a tape of the damn confession!
You know, the one in which she admits being so pissed off by his crying, she picked him up from the high chair and slammed him, head-first, into the side of the playpen with such force that it splintered and collapsed, causing him to then hit his head on the elliptical machine positioned in the corner!

Yeah, that one!

Maybe you could show them a tape of the baby on life support, seizing his brains out in the PICU.... you know, the same image his parents and I had to witness earlier today!

Maybe people wouldn't be so shocked to hear about abuse like this if they were aware of how frequently it happens.

Maybe if there were more prosecutions, your constituents wouldn't think there were just a few random salacious cases reserved for Nancy Grace...

maybe if you did your job more often or, dare I say it, better and charged some people, they'd start to get the drift!!

"Face it, Donna, people don't want to live in a world where shit like this is possible".

I understand that - I do...

but the world I want to live in even less is the one in which no one gets held accountable.

Second mistake?
I should have kept my head down....

Not anonymous

I hadn't thought of it in years, although I remember the case.

As he spoke, his eyes were shadowed by images and memories that have haunted him for years; the kind that raise questions that stay with you 'til death and for which you pray for answers in the next life.

It was over 25 years ago that the headless, naked body of a young girl was found in the basement of an abandoned house on the South-side.

No amount of searching or forensic investigation (still in it's infancy back then) yielded any clues.

No follow up on missing child reports, no DNA testing; nothing provided this child with a name or a face.

The police involved in the discovery and investigation were profoundly affected; several left the force; those that stayed always were on the look out for the clue, the story, that might finally point them in the right direction.

All of them chipped in their own money to bury her.

But they were bothered by her being alone and unnamed.

Two decades later, a local Prosecutor started the Garden of Innocence, a site in a local cemetery in which children who are killed, abandoned or unclaimed are buried with dignity.

The Detective wanted HIS girl to be with other children who had traveled a similar journey.

He wanted her not to be alone anymore.

So he received permission from the courts to have her dis-interred and re-buried.

The only thing was, he said, when they went to the site where she had been buried, there was no body and no casket to be found.

He, and colleagues, have watched the original tape of the funeral, paced off the distance and recalculated markers and space; all to no avail.

She is missing.

When I said that maybe she can't rest until she finds her head - after giving me a crooked smile which said that only someone with too many years of dealing with this kind of thing could make this kind of joke and be understood - he replied that it made as much sense to him as any other explanation that's been offered.

My faith, and his, teaches us that we are ALL named, known and loved by our Creator.

No matter how this life maims and dismembers us, He will re-member and reclaim us as His own.

I pray that, in the only sense that truly matters, she has already been found and is safe at Home.

Yes...I'm talkin' to you

At some point, I might wonder what forces in your life have made you the pathetic excuse for a mother that you are.

I suspect you'd tell me you were a victim too; that being helpless is so deeply ingrained in your being that you're no more aware of it than you're aware of having to breathe.

Your victimhood just happens.

It's a reality that, for some, precludes any other path, especially the possibility of being able to choose a healthier way of life for yourself and your children.

But, honestly, your brokenness isn't mine to worry about today; not when I've had your 8 yr old daughter sitting in front of me for the past hour, describing all the ways your partner has been sexually abusing her.

Your daughter is beautiful; from the colorful beads in her carefully tended extensions to her luminous brown eyes.

She teased us, laughed with us and, ultimately, had the strength to tell her story in excruciating detail.

Do you know what breaks my heart?

You knew!

She told you - and your response was to tell her 'not to worry about it'.

Do you remember that?

It was right before you bought a 'noisy' bed in the hopes that if/when he got up in the night you could wake up and ask him where he was going.

It was right around the time her older sister promised she could sleep in her bed -with a sheet pulled over their heads, trying to hide them both - as if K-Mart cotton was armor.

Only her sister knew nothing would work - because she'd been through it too with another one of your boyfriends.

All your girls know what it's like - because you've not protected a single one of them.

Four girls - 9 reports of sexual abuse between them in the past 6 yrs.

3 men serving time in prison because of their depravity and, in order to get those convictions, the state made plea agreements for your cooperation, a condition of which was that the kids were returned to your custody...

all so you could sell them out to the next offender who crossed your radar.

I know there are a lot of perverts out there but your ability to pick a rotten apple out of any barrel goes beyond uncanny. Police might not be able to prove that you're deliberately pimping them out, but there's not a single person in the ER who would find it hard to believe.

She wanted to believe you.

As the baby in the family, she wanted to believe that you meant to protect her; that you'd tried and, still, your perceptions are the ones that matter.

When told she couldn't go home, her first response was "My mom was right; I should never have told anyone; my family is going to be ruined and it's my fault. I'm so stupid."

I'm a stranger.

No amount of saying that whoever told her it was her fault was a liar was going to counteract her need and her willingness to take on the responsibility for all the changes facing her family.

You've brainwashed her well.

Drug dealers and sexual predators have 'three strikes and you're out'...

Failure to protect - again and again and again and again - should also be a felony.

You don't deserve another chance.

In all the tales of terror I hear, I try to find one sliver of humor.

It occurred when your daughter was asked if Carlos was your boyfriend.

She replied "NO, he's her husband; he put a ring on it in IL and then she made tamales".

How innocent is that?

Despite all she's been through, nothing says love and marriage like a ring on a finger and homemade Mexican food!

A girl after my own heart.

It would have been more amusing if I hadn't been trying so hard to hold back the tears.

All that's missing is U

It started out innocently enough.

The kid was clearly VERY motor driven, climbing all over the room- on chairs, the bed, the counter top -and all this with a broken leg.

It was a totally believable story that he had fallen and gotten injured at home.

If only they had left it at that.

But no...mom had to go and say, "Can you hurry up, please? We have to be in court at 2pm!"

And, when the doc asked conversationally, why she had to be there, she said, "So DCFS can close my case; I just got the kids back from foster care. They've been gone for 2 years."

Really?? Did you think that would get you a medal for honesty?

No...it got you a Social Service consult!

But, by that point, she was on a roll and the words came spewing out.

As I asked her for the name of her state worker, the father threw his keys across the room, in my direction, screaming, "Now, we're really fucked."

Mother, in her wisdom, told him to leave the room, saying "I can't have you making things worse."

Surprisingly he did without uttering anther word.

(Guess that's what happens when you're in a relationship and you're nearly a decade older than your partner; you get to be HIS mother too!)

When I asked mom about the circumstances of why the kids went into care in the first place, she said. "The usual; first it was environmental neglect because the house was like, you know..hoarders; then my mother complained about me and their dad doing drugs, so they had us pee in a cup and, of course, we dropped dirty."

OF COURSE!

THAT usual!

Don't you hate it when THAT happens!

Oh nuts!

Mom further 'explained' that she would be in a LOT of trouble, since there was a court order saying that Dad couldn't be anywhere around the kids, so she'd really appreciate it if I just didn't mention it when I called DCFS.

So, I replied honestly, "I'm sure you would".

What Mom and I didn't know was that, by the time I contacted DCFS, they were already at the court house with the police, telling a judge that mom and dad were in clear violation of the last court order. They had been seen 'begging' around town, using the kids as bait; police found drug paraphernalia in the house, along with crack cocaine and the oldest two kids had loop marks all over their backs.

All the kids are back in foster care.

Don't you love a story about the power of honesty that has a happy ending?

I'm flattered

I 'borrow' all the time, right?

So I can only say 'thank goodness' someone had the sense to 'borrow' one of MY ideas.

I'm grateful he has a bigger venue to get the idea across...any little bit helps.

This cutie recently expressed ideas about not dressing girls up as sex objects - in a totally brilliant way - found here - which should be required reading in all nurseries right along with the information about NEVER shaking a baby. (Not that THAT campaign has been all that successful, but you get the drift.)

The concepts HE expressed are really the same I espoused back in Nov of last year...parts of which I've decided to re-post below. (OK...I've figured out snarky is for blogs...eloquence gets you on the opinion pages of Huffington and CNN!)

Personal responsibility

I know it's an old fashioned concept, but I really think its time for a comeback!

I don't want to play the game of 'blame the victim' - although that's a trend that's been around since Puritan times - even if the phrase was coined in the late 70's by William Ryan in his book of the same title.

(The phrase originally summarized his theories about intergenerational poverty and the attempts, subtle and not so much, to divert responsibility away from the complex societal factors which promote and sustain wealth inequity to the more simple concept of behaviors and cultural patterns of the poor.)

We contemporary humans tend to be like that...we prefer our difficult issues reduced to simple ideas and ten second sound bites.

Two recent cases brought home these thoughts which, in my mind got crystallized into the simple "what the hell were you thinking?"

I'm sorry, Ma'am, but when you take your 11 yr old daughter to a rock concert dressed like a 'ho' in 5 inch fuck-me- now heels, a see through white mesh skirt with black bikini panties underneath, a tube top (whose 'tube' is about the size of a travel tube of toothpaste) and makeup applied with a trowel, don't be surprised when some guy, jacked up on concert hormones and god knows what else, takes her up on at least one of the mixed messages she's sending!

See idea expressed above about reducing complexity and, for males, ratchet it up a thousand percent - subtlety and nuance aren't exactly in their wheelhouses, ya know!

If you DO decide that's the way you, and she, want to express her individuality and your cultural identity (although I didn't realize there was a Prostitute Nation, excuse me) then the least you could do to safeguard her is to keep her on a leash!

Likewise, kiddo...if you don't want to be perceived as a thug, then I suggest you stay out of stolen cars in which large sums of cash, drugs, three other gang members and weapons, including a submachine gun, are being stored!

Your protestations about how you're a 'good kid' didn't fall on deaf ears, but IF the worst you're guilty of is having lousy taste in friends, that's still gonna buy you time in Juvenile Detention - where, no doubt, you'll meet more of the same.

You might also want to reconsider who you accept a ride from next time you're just "going to buy some clothes." You might want to rub two brain cells together and ask yourself -If your friend didn't own a black Escalade this morning, how the hell do you think he ended up with one tonight?

There's another old fashioned phrase which springs to mind here...

If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck and walks like a duck...it's a

I'm just sayin'.

Blatantly borrowing

I told y'all right at the very beginning (see here) that I rarely have an original idea...but I borrow from the best of them.

So, I was just waiting for a rainy day so I could try this:

and Mother Nature cooperated one day last week.

The pictures aren't as charming as Katie's - but I had a blast nonetheless!

I discovered it's tough to take pictures... in the rain... on the parking lot... at work...in work clothes... on a busy clinic morning... without risking life and limb... and getting stopped by Security guards, asking what the hell I'm doing and why I'm littering the premises!

(Perhaps people who wear uniforms have too little magic in their souls; how sad. Maybe they need a duck more than most!).

It was a great experience - and the ducks were all snatched up within 10 minutes - by kids who LOVED an excuse to play in the puddles!

I'm calling this one a WIN - and, since I have some ducks left, I'll do another 'installation art project' on a rainy day in the future too!

A lovely quote from sara ban breathnach combined with one of my images from the weekend...and some time playing in Picasa - when I should be getting ready for work.
Can you say, postponing the inevitable?

Better than Chuck E Cheese

The next time I'm tempted to feel sorry for myself on my birthday, bemoaning the fact that I didn't have a big party or receive as many cards and presents from friends and family as I wanted, I hope I'll remember how I spent my day.

Three kids were brought to the ER by ambulance this morning, accompanied only by police.

They had been taken away from their mother, not only because they were living in a car (due to their house being so 'trashed' it was uninhabitable), but because one of the kids had been targeted for abuse.

He was covered with bruises, scars and was unable to use one of his arms because of a clavicle fracture.

Mother was in police custody being interrogated downtown. She was making a confession about not only injuring her middle child but about breaking the littlest ones leg several months ago.

During the course of the work-up, staff noticed that it was the youngest ones 2nd birthday.

True to form, staff sprang into action and within an hour, had gathered a bag full of presents, most for the birthday girl, but gifts for all the children since no one wanted any of them to feel left out.

Meal trays were ordered and, when they arrived, the kids indicated this was the first food they'd had in days.

A birthday cake also made its way to the ER and, as staff stood around serenading them with a rendition of Happy Birthday, the kids were beaming and, among the staff, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

After they ate, as I was wheeling them around the ER in a wagon, waiting for their foster mother to come get them, the oldest one said to me, "This has been our best birthday EVER... can we come back here next year?"

Think about it... what did YOUR best birthday look like?

I'd be willing to bet, it didn't resemble this!

Final Scenes from a weekend

One more look at my trip last weekend...and at the folks who make up the beautiful patchwork quilt that is my life.

The oldest teenager - a busy senior and designated driver for his mom, aunts and cousins who go 'clubbing' to biker bars!! LOL...

The youngsters...

Moms and daughters...

Girls with attitude...

Love this one of Art Boy talking to his aunt - w/his reflection in the mirror...

totally unintended capture.

GI Joe and fiancee with cousin.
California bound brothers.

Sassy girls...
Brothers and sisters.

Birthday boy turned teenager.

More moms and daughters.

Girls gone wild.

Girls who miss their Daddy - and always will.

Wishing for better luck...

Girls who remind me that some hair days are better than others - and all mine since shaving my head have been a piece of cake!

And these two who I love SO much I think my heart will explode in gratitude - for shoulders to cry on and conversations in cars that prove beyond doubt they are the better parts of their father and I , with all the magical qualities and attributes that are theirs alone.

Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future. ~

Gail Lumet Buckley