January 22, 2012 11:11am EST

January 1, 2012 5:37pm EST

Happy New Year.  And, what a year it is going to be.  I have quite a few stories up my sleeves.  And, DsofM is off to a roaring good start.  Remember, that section of the site can only be accessed by members so sign up today.  There are 22 stories there for your reading enjoyment. 

My goals are simple this year, live and love and leave a mark.  There will be lots of fiction and maybe a few rambles.  Eternal Blue Sky will be finished this year!  I absolutely insist that I complete the story I love so much but have ignored for too long. 

So, sit back and read,

phair

November 12, 2011  10:19am EST

          Since 2010, I've been on a specific journey.  Trying to find my way after the career I spent almost three decades proved to be pretty meaningless.  My work with patients is not meaningless.  It is still a miracle of art and science when a patient and I combine our skills to create healing in their speech, thinking or eating functions.  It is humbling to be allowed at the bedside of people who are struggling to reclaim what they can of their lives during a medical crisis.  I will forever be grateful to have been a part of so many lives. 

          However, the culture of healthcare has gone from a humanity when I was in college in 1985 to for profit corporate business in 2011.  There were weeks in 2010 where patients were not discussed at meeting about census.  Only the dollars and cents of the nursing home industry.  Industry?  Yep, that's what is is.  Staff got bitter.  Anger was constant.  And, I gave up.  I walked away.  I sat on the beach for two months as my savings dwindled and expired a natural death. 

          While sitting, I decided I would pursue my writing full time.  I'd been writing since I was sixteen.  One book was published in 2003 and I had a website.  I launched the Dirty Story of the Month Club and people joined for a fee.  I worked per diem to cover my expenses and began to actively work toward ways of making a transition to full time writing. 

          Life, always, sidetracks you with reality.  One of the per diem jobs caught steam.  I settled into what looked like a good steady gig.  It seemed only natural that I sign on full time.  Took some added responsibilities and suddenly healthcare was back to the center of my day.  Oh, I was still working on being a writing but the fever was breaking.  My reasonable mind was abounding with better ideas about security and finances.  It seemed sensible to stick with the old bird in the hand model.

          I was seeing an analyst about this time to deal with old hurts.  We were working through things well.  I was feeling really good.  Then she lowered a boom on me.  She told me my writing was immoral and against God's code.  Yeah, it violates thousands of healthcare ethics and policies for her to say that and I know those subjects better than most.  But, instead of calling her on it, I stated my discomfort with talking about God with her, paid my bill, scheduled the next appointment, cancelled it by phone when I got home and felt bad for a couple of days.  Some brave woman I am, huh?  Coward.  I know, I'm a Coward.

          A couple of weeks of brooding went by.  I was without a counselor so I chatted it up with friends and family.  We all agreed I was not evil.  But, I felt a bit demoralized.  I should note here, the analyst returned my last payment saying I overpaid my sessions.  Perhaps, she was brooding too.

          Last spring, a few weeks after the analyst situation, I stopped by a chapel near my work on a Friday afternoon.  A co-worked needed a statue from the gift shop and I decided to get it for her.  I was not being nice.  She was trying to sell her house and move away and I wanted to facilitate that.  Not nice of me at all!  So, I bought St. Joseph and thought I should stop in the Chapel and pay my propers before leaving.  I was raised Catholic.  I still believe in the faith but I worry about what men have done to my church.  I won't use hijacked because it is over used but…they did hijack my church and ruined it from the inside out.  Which was very evil of them.

          I was kneeling in front of a statue of St. Joseph asking for forgiveness for this kind of bad thing that I was doing.  You know, making my case for the great good.  When a hand touched my shoulder.  I jumped and looked over to see a Franciscan Friar.  He was not a priest but a brother. 

          "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not suppose to be here, right?"  I babbled sure that I broke a rule…it's a Catholic thing.

          "No, not at all," he said with a smile.  "I just came over to welcome you home."

          I think my heart stopped. 

          Then he reached passed me to shake somebody's hand.  I sat back to look at who came in while I was praying.  Nobody was there.  The chapel was empty except for him and me.  He drew back his hand suddenly and put it over his heart.

          "Oh, look at you.  You're surrounded by angels."

          Okay, my heart stopped then and the tears fell.  Not remorse.  Relief.  I was sure he was going to tell me Satan was over my left shoulder.  Maybe with a cloven hoof around my shoulder.  And, grinning.

Reality descended rapidly.  I spent the next few minutes telling him I was pretty bad.  He refuted most of my claims.  He was supportive of all the years I was away from Mass.  He said, that was fixable.  I was sure he wasn't getting it.  He was a little old.  So, I told him that I write dirty stories.

He winked and said, "What is dirty anymore?"

Had him, I thought.  I laid it out clearly what my stories contain.  Nuts, bolts, and chains.  Now, I awaited his condemnation.

"How do you feel when you write?"

"Don't get mad," I prefaced.  "I feel like I'm doing the lord's work.  My writing reaches out to people who are marginalized.  It let's them know they aren't the only one's to feel these things.  I think, from the fan mail I get, that I've helped people."

He took my hand in his, "This is your hand.  You write with it.  But, it is also an extension of your heart.  You must keep writing!  Keep writing.  Don't ever stop."

I left there with a confidence in my writing I had not had for months.  It was validation.  I was on the right track.  This was my path.  But, where did healthcare fit into the mix?  Where did it belong in my life? 

The next Monday, I was suspended from work because somebody complained my writing was a form of sexual harassment.  Obviously, I had my answer; healthcare does not belong in my life.  I was vindicated but that fact is of little consequence.  I'm disillusioned with the industry that values money and lies more then art and science.  I'm on  a journey of healing still but with a different method of delivery than a lab coat. 

if you have questions about this ramble or want to join the chat at 12:30pm and 7:30pm EST today, email.  If you are an existing member, you can go directly to the chat in the link previously provided.

best

phair