Soft Shoe

I'd like to think I have a gift
I'd like to think me rare
Humor talent moxie charm
Presence savoire faire
You should see me sing and dance
On my own private stage
There's never been a show like this
To me I'm all the rage

The critic in my mind could fill
The whole newspaper page
And rejection makes me wonder
Just how the judges gauge
To outside eyes is obvious
my mediocrity?
Self-talk self-assurance create
this dichotomy?
The voices of the Positives
Say don't indulge the dark
Believe the mirror write the pages
of private stage remarks

The follies I've performed
for loved ones and for friends
Shining spotlights on myself
Alighting my descent
My need for loud ovations
A stranger's rave review
Crumbling me because I find
Auditions far and few

I'm using all the charity
I've earned throughout the years
For one more chance at that big break
To cap off my career.
Thanks to all who've done before
Who choose to fill my ears
Who conjure up my distant soul
Once so cavalier
Tick-tock, time will do the trick
Rest assured I know
My stage fright temporary
My soul made for the show

Hamiltons

VIDEO


Thanks, Blair

Impending

It was Thursday afternoon, about one o'clock when I returned to the ICU after lunch. Maybe 1:30, actually. I took a little longer at lunch than I should have, probably.

In the corner room to my left, I saw a nurse motioning for me to come over.

Mr. H was in the bed breathing quickly and deeply. Just that morning, our team had decided that he was ready to leave the ICU and go to the wards, as he was showing improvement after his heart valve replacement surgery. Now he was lying in the same position in bed, but strapped with a mask on his face.

I went to visit with him. Though he was breathing heavily, he was still quite aware of himself and his surroundings.

I went through my motions, examining him, checking his lines, the drainage tube from his chest. Ordered a chest x-ray. Got another physician to look at him and discuss what to do. Developed a plan, executed it.

As things progressed, I continued an interrupted dialogue with Mr. H, noting his awareness and condition. He never really worsened, neurologically speaking. But his breathing problems persisted.

He was quite raspy as well, as previous surgery in his past had left a scarred vocal cord.

"How are you doing," I asked. He nodded his head, and then shook it--probably not necessary to say any words.

"Are you getting tired?" He nodded again. Then he mouthed something. Through the high flow of oxygen through his facemask, it was even harder to hear and understand him.

I leaned in.

"Where's Dr. p? Is Dr. p coming?"

"Yes," I acknowledge, his surgeon would be on his way, though I didn't really know that for sure.

I straightened up and he motioned be back to his face again.

"I don't think I'm gonna make it this time," he said.

"We'll get you taken care of," I shallowly replied.



Mr. H died two days later, his distress and death a result of an infection.

Because he was so short of breath and was soon intubated, I believe those words were some of the last he spoke. So calmly, assuredly.

To me. Or to anyone else.

Solomon

Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us.

A wise person thinks much about death, while the fool thinks only about having a good time now.



Enjoy prosperity while you can. But when hard times strike, realize that both come from God. That way you will realize that nothing is certain in this life.

Snow

There was a snow storm the night before last.

TEN INCHES of snow on my car in the morning.

Of course, being a doctor, I could not play hookey. Had to trudge through the sludge to get to work.

This morning, it was colder here in KC than it was in Anchorage, Alaska.

Amazing.