What a stretch

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One of the reasons I chose emergency medicine as my field of work is that I work shifts and can have a pretty good home life.  I work hard at work, but then I get to leave it behind.  A lot of primary physicians work 10-12 hours for 5 or 6 or even 7 days a week; they even take call that may have them receiving phone calls during all hours of the day.  How they do it, I don’t know.

My typical schedule is very untypical – no pattern at all, working both day shifts and night shifts.  However, I usually only work 3 or 4 shifts a week.  Additionally, as the medical director for our group, I have several meetings per month that I need to attend.  Compared to my primary care colleagues, my life is pretty good.

These past two weeks, conversely, have been absolutely brutal.  Having a partner on an extended vacation while already being short a physician made for a very long stretch of shifts:

The good news is that I’ve got some days off coming up and I intend to have some good quality time with Linda and the girls.  I envision a lot of biking and a lot of movies.  I might also get some time in the Doctors’s Lounge.  We’ve got family coming to town for a family reunion.  These next two weeks are going to be a lot better than the last two.

Pushing a rock

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I’ve been thinking a lot about a post I recently read at Fallible Blogma.  I wanted to share it with my family and friends.

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A man was sleeping at night in his cabin when suddenly his room filled with light and God appeared. The Lord told the man he had work for him to do, and showed him a large rock in front of his cabin. The Lord explained that the man was to push against the rock with all his might.

This the man did, day after day. For many years he toiled from sun up to sun down, his shoulders set squarely against the cold, massive surface of the unmoving rock, pushing it with all his might. Each night the man returned to his cabin sore, and worn out, feeling that his whole day had been spent in vain.

Noticing that the man was showing signs of discouragement, the devil decided to enter the picture by placing thoughts into the man’s weary mind. “You have been pushing against this rock for a long time, and it hasn’t budged. Why kill yourself over this? You are never going to move it.” Thus giving the man the impression that the task was impossible and that he was a failure. These troubling thoughts discouraged and disheartened the man. “Why kill myself over this?” Maybe I should just put in my time, giving just the minimum effort and that will be good enough.

He prayed, saying “Lord, I have labored long and hard in your service, putting all my strength to do that which you have asked. Yet, after all this time, I have not even been able to budge that rock. What is wrong? Why am I failing?”

The Lord responded compassionately, “My friend, When I asked you to serve me and you accepted, I told you that your task was to push against the rock with all your strength, which you have done. Never once did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. Your task was to push. And now you come to me with your strength spent, thinking that you have failed. But, is that really so?”

“Look at yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled, your back sinewy and brown, your hands are callused from constant pressure, and your legs have become massive and hard. Through opposition you have grown much and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have. Yet you haven’t moved the rock. But your calling was to be obedient and to push and to exercise your faith and trust in my wisdom. This you have done. I, my friend, will now move the rock.”

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I think of the instruction that God has given to us to pray unceasingly (1 Thessalonians 5:17).  I pray, but not as much as I would like.  In fact, I sometimes become discouraged in my prayer because it occasionally seems fruitless; I’m not seeing the results of the prayer.  Is my prayer is effective?  Am I doing it right?  Have I not learned the right formula?

This story spoke to me – God doesn’t command us to make the changes with our prayer.  He just said, “Pray!”  Push the rock.

20th anniversary of proposal

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Yesterday was the birthday of Linda’s father; it was also the anniversary of a very special day in our lives.

20 years ago yesterday, I asked Linda to marry me.  I’d been back from the war in Iraq (Desert Storm) for about 6 weeks and we’d spent many days traveling back and forth between Manhattan and Topeka during those 6 weeks.  Several conversations included future plans, including marriage, but we were young and in college and still had a lot to figure out.

However, I woke the morning of July 2, 1991 and decided that I couldn’t wait any longer to have Linda as my fiancé.  The ring I had purchased was not quite 3 months worth of paychecks, but it was close.  The downtown jeweler in Manhattan sold it to me for $300 – $25 per month for a year, which was a lot of money for me.  It was decided that July 2 was the day I needed to give it to her.

I called Linda to see if she would be around because, being home for the summer from college, she was working both at the public library and at a softball diamond concession stand.  It turned out she was home and, to my luck, was stuck to the house because she was waiting for the washing machine repair guy to arrive.  I drove to Topeka as quickly as I could.

I’m sure I surprised Linda when, on one knee, I asked her to marry me in the middle of her parents living room.  She quickly said yes…and then pointed out that I’d need to leave before her parents got home.  There was a birthday celebration dinner planned and I wasn’t part of the plans.  It’s my understanding that Linda even hid the ring the whole night.

One of my regrets is that I didn’t talk with Linda’s father before asking for her hand in marriage.  I’m sure it was quite a shock to her parents when they found out we were engaged.  They didn’t know much about me and it would’ve been good for them to be able to ask questions about my future plans.  In my defense, my future plans at the time weren’t all that great – I wanted to write music for a living.  Everything, thankfully, has turned out for the good.

We were finally married two years later and have spent 18 happy years on our very circuitous road to where we are now.  Twenty years ago seems like a long time; just look at how young we were!

Blast from the past – 1969 Karmann Ghia

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I was going through old photos this morning and stumbled upon a picture I hadn’t seen in quite a long time.  However, every time I see it I get a little misty-eyed remembering the fun I used to have with my 1969 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia.

It wasn’t my first car – I wrecked that one about a year after I got it (the day I paid it off, in fact).  No, the Karmann Ghia was my second car – purchased for $450.  The passenger door didn’t have a latch – it was held shut with a bungee cord wrapped around the passenger seat head rest.  The seatbelts were wrapped around the seat frame (not bolted to the floor).  The body of the car had plenty of dents and rust.  Also, it was a very old, sickly baby blue color.

My dad and I did a lot of work on that car.  Bondo filled in a lot of the gaps and covered the rust-holes that were knocked out.  I didn’t have the money for a real paint job, so I painted it myself…with spray paint.  Yep – black spray paint.

I don’t know how many times I replaced the tailpipe on that thing.  I began to make regular trips to a salvage yard in Topeka that had old Volkswagen parts.  I know very little about cars, but I got to know that car very, very well.

The car was parked at my parents house while I was in Desert Storm.  I’m told it was accidentally backed into and the small amount of damage that was done totaled out the car.  When I returned from the war, my car was gone.  I didn’t even get to tell it goodbye or take it for one last spin with Beach Boy songs blaring out of the tiny speakers.

Whenever I see a Karmann Ghia on the road, I’m like the dog in the movie “Up” that is easily distracted by a squirrel.  My head turns, my ears perk up, and my heart races just a bit.  Linda and I joke that some day I’ll have a Karmann Ghia again.  As the years go by, it seems less and less likely.  Sigh…