Making a difference

What do you call a socially inept, insecure, weak, timid, athletically disinclined individual?  Dork, nerd (as in socially inept,) geek, dweeb?  Perhaps any or all apply at various times.  What ever, I admit that that was me from 0 to 8.  Not that a complete transformation occurred on my eighth birthday.  By no means, but the road to change was embarked on and I have quite a few people to thank for that.


 

“People who grew up in difficult circumstances and yet are successful have one thing in common; at a critical juncture in their adolescence, they had a positive relationship with a caring adult.”  Former US President Clinton

The road to success is rarely smooth and straight.  More often than not a mentor or mentors intersect our path and one way or another smooth out the rough patches and guide us through the twists and turns of life's byways.

 

Uncle ED was the first person I remember who took an interest in pulling me out of myself for no ulterior motive or benefit to himself.  He saw in me more than I saw in myself.  He believed that sports, baseball in particular, were a great asset to helping a boy into adulthood.  He refused to accept that I had little athletic ability.  He drafted me to the little league baseball team that he coached, and played me at every position.  I responded by playing horribly, proving myself right.  Every game, I played every inning, struck out every at bat.  I was rewarded with constructive pointers on how to improve my catching, throwing and batting. The other players on the team were very supportive; probably because my uncle was the coach.  But even with that, they invited me to play catch in the park and to participate in pick-up games in the neighborhood.  Pretty soon I got the hang of it; after three years, in my last year of little league, we won the championship.  The following year, when I had to move up to junior league because of age, I was one of the first players drafted.  In high school I was captain of our varsity baseball team and had aspirations of going on to play professional ball.

 

Uncle Ed died when I was 12.  He never got to see the finished product of his efforts to turn a wuss into a star baseball player.

 

It wasn't a complete transformation for me, but it was a solid foundation to build on. 

 

In freshman year of high school I again reverted to my wimpy, insecure self.  Classmates (mentors aren't always elders) who had played summer baseball with me, encouraged me to try out for football and wrestling my sophomore year. 

 

Two new mentors entered into my life at this point. Both Bill Plimpton ( social studies teacher and varsity football coach,) and Ted "Bear" Stratford (biology teacher and football coach,) had witnessed my penchant to defend my insecurities with fist-fights, and welcome me when I tried out for the team. I had no innate talent for either football or wrestling, but I had tons of gumption and determination.  They applauded my strengths and rarely if ever pointed out negatives.  I gave them 100% and in time earned the position of captain on both the wrestling and varsity football teams.  Following up on their ground work after they left our school was Bill Powers, (head football coach my senior year,)  who was a fount of encouragement and praise.  He wrote in my senior yearbook; "one of the finest athletes I've ever coached.

 

While these gentleman and the sports programs were instrumental in guiding this juvenile delinquency bound boy to the more acceptable path, they were not alone. Other teachers who encouraged, and praised me throughout my high school days were part of my transformation also; Miss Murphy, Soph. English, Mrs. Blake, Typing, Mrs. Getman, French, Mr. McNally, algebra, Mr. Seymore, Principle, And Mrs. Robie, vocal music.

I'm grateful for the encouragers and praisers in my life; they've taught me that self confidence, hard work and determination are the key drivers to success and to pay them back through the "pay-it-forward" method.

 

When people ask me why I run and exercise at 68 years of age I tell them: to beat back the niggling gremlins of insecurity, and self-doubt that roam in the recesses of my mind looking for an opportunity to pounce.

 

Notes from The Head of the Bed

Notes from the head of the bed

Let’s start at the beginning.  Well my beginning; as I used to say to my kids; “nothing happened in your world “til you were born.”  “Anything before that is called history and is subject to interpretation.

In the beginning you dream, are inspired, have a proclivity for, or maybe had/have a relative whose career was in the health care field.  After some suitable investigation (suitable for you) you decide you’d like to administer anesthesia for surgery.

Choices; it’s always about choices isn’t it? What career path will lead you “the head-of-the-bed” where you will be able to provide anesthesia?  Today, 2014, there are three avenues to THoTB:  become a physician who specializes in anesthesia (MDA), become a registered nurse who specializes in anesthesia (CRNA), or become an anesthesiologist assistant (AA).  What’s the difference, you ask?  That’s the age old question that patients frequently ask their anesthesia provider.  The simple and time effective answer, (remember, in the OR, time is of profound importance,) is; an anesthesiologist is an MD, a nurse anesthetist (a-nez-the-tist) is a registered nurse (CRNA,) and an anesthesiologist  assistant is person trained specifically to assist anesthesiologists and under their direct supervision.

This may seem more complicated that it really is.  Remember these two caveats when things appear complicated; it’s always about the money, and “Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose,” (the more things change, the more they stay the same.)

Now back to the beginning, mine; the short version. In 1969, when I made the choice to go to “anesthesia school,” the requirements were: 1. you must be a registered nurse, (RN.) 2. You must have had at least one year as an operating room nurse.  The course was 18 months, and after successfully completing your program you were required to sit for a national exam and if you passed you were allowed to use the title CRNA, (Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist.)  There was no (zero) tuition, but you did have to give a deposit of $350.00 which would be returned at graduation if you didn’t break or lose any equipment. At that time a CRNA could expect to earn twice what an OR nurse was making.  When I left the OR for anesthesia school I was earning $7,500.00 per year with call pay included. Five years later I started in the same OR at $17,000.00, call included.  Pretty good return on investment, don’t you agree?

Just so you know, back then there were few “anesthesiologists” per se.  Most MD heads of anesthesia departments, in my neck of the woods, were GPs (general practioners) who’d received some on the job training in the military during WWII.  They in-turn trained some of the OR nurses in their departments to do anesthesia and they were referred to colloquially as “Chin Holders.”

Fast forward to today.  If you choose to apply to a course of study leading to a title of CRNA, you must meet these requirements: (these requirements will change by 2016) 1. You must have a bachelor’s degree in nursing (BSN,) 2. Have at least two years experience in a critical care clinical setting.  If you are accepted, you course of study will be 30 to 36 months in length.  Most programs are now university based rather than hospital based and will cost you no less than $150,000.00 to $200,000.00 for the 3 years of study.  You will graduate with a Master’s degree in nurse anesthesia, (soon to be PHD.)  After successful completion of your program you will also have to take a national certifying exam.

Your investment to attain CRNA status today;

 4 year BSN program @ ? $40,000.00

2 years as critical care nurse.

3 year MSN anesthesia program @ $200,000.00

Mag #220 a wandering eye

If everyman should be shot
            Dead
For his wandering eye,
            Or every woman too
                  For that matter.
There would soon be too
            Few
Persons to populate this
             World.
            ----------

BTW, did you notice the waitress'   
           Shapely derrière?

Magpie #219

I am a dream

 

I? I am a dream.
You?  You are the wind
That blows me,
Bends me to your will.
You are the sun, caressing,
Searing.
You are the sea; whipping,
gnashing, lashing, washing.
I am your plaything,
Tossed, abused, loved,
Used.
Kicked to the curb.
Left to awaken dry,
Parched, singed,
Coated with brine.

 

Magpie #218

Waste Stream Management

 

Poor pretentious
               Bastard
In your rented
                Tuxedo
Sipping from God's
                   Table;
Waiting, waiting
                    Waiting
For eggs to break
                     Open
On asphalt conveyor
                      Belt.
Makes me wonder
               Absently,
Your employer
                    God
Or Waste Stream
            Management?