New year, old mom

I haven’t written in a long while. Too much, so much, in many ways, to sit down and try to collect my thoughts, organize them and corral them to paper.  And yet here it is, Rosh Hashanah. I find myself feeling reflective and in need of …. An outlet? An emotional release? The notion that if I can put all these thoughts and feelings on paper, I can move past them, stay with them, and generally not be overpowered by them. Maybe.

While I am not religious I can appreciate the renewal of the holiday and the notion of reviewing one’s life and relationships. Call it a yearly check in, a personal accounting of sorts. First and foremost I am bowled over with love and luck that my mother is here to celebrate a new year. Having turned 90 this past year, this is no small feat. Almost two years ago, my mom was on hospice and I was trying to wrap m mind around saying goodbye. But Bub, as most call her, is the definition of “one tough old broad.”  She was strong fierce, and intimidating when I was growing up and she can be a handful now. She is also fragile, indecisive, tentative and wholly cranky at times. Her world is smaller. She sits at the head of her dining room table and rules her small domain. That is her command post. The smaller her world becomes the more attentive to detail she is. “What’s that on the floor?” “Who moved my papers?” “Where is my pen?” She has everything she needs within reach. It is often difficult to write about my mom, because it feels somehow disloyal or disrespectful to share my most human feelings of love, frustration, and the fear of her living a life with diminished quality coupled with the fear of my life without her. I am grateful beyond words for the time we have spent together.

My mother should get an honorary social work degree. She encouraged me, supported me, listened to me rattle and rant about everything I was learning. She shared my excitement and endured my outrage at things I was learning or seeing more clearly than ever before.

While physically mom has been getting a bit more frail over time, it is only recently that she is having trouble remembering things. Her brain and her mouth aren’t communicating as well as they used to and sometimes things come out more like a game of sounds like/connected to/could be or she just gets frustrated and offers the Bub equivalent of “blah, blah, blah.”

So many of us go through this. Yet each and every time it feels unique. There is no handbook or instruction to follow. There is no guide for watching the strongest, most fierce , most important person in your life need help with the most basic things. She looks to me for answers. Wait, I want to scream. Wait! I have to call my mom, she’ll tell me what to do.

Some people tell me I’m a momma’s girl. Others tell me I spend too much time with her. I’m okay if both of those statements are true. Spending time with my mom is a gift to both of us. There are moments when I want to throttle her and in the next moment, want to hug her forever.  As I look to this New Year, I wish my mom peace and tranquility. I hope for her an ease of being in the world until it’s not. I hope for patience and humor and a gentle way of being with her.  I hope for her to feel the love that envelops her. I hope to continue to make her laugh.

Happy New Year, mom. May it be sweet, happy and healthy in every way. I love you.

An attitude of gratitude

Being Thanksgiving and all, it seemed like a good time to review all of my blessings and things to be grateful for. I'm trying to be more aware of gratitude all year long, but today is the KING of gratitude holidays so here goes.

1. My mother. It was a year ago right after Thanksgiving that things started to get weird and we really thought we were going to lose her. This year and any time we get with her is a gift. It is by no means easy caring for an aging parent but I can only barely imagine what it's like to be the one ageing. I guess if we're lucky -- or not, depending on how you look at it -- we will all find out. I love you mom.

2. My sisters. I know no other way than to have sisters. It is not always easy but they are always there. Together we have faced the world each in our own HUGELY different ways. but also oddly together. Taking care of mom takes a village.  I am so grateful she planned well and provided us the tools to manage her care.  As hard as it is now, I can't even think of what its like with no resources.

3. My family. They make me laugh, make me scratch my head. They make me feel young and make me feel old. I used to dream of a "Leave it to Beaver" type family. Nah, they don't hold a candle to these folks!

4. My ability to change careers yet again and return to school. These two years (okay, only 1 1/2 at this minute) have been everything I wanted them to be and SO MUCH MORE!! What a journey of introspection and learning. There by the grace of god... is all I can say. From inpatient psychiatric unit last year to outpatient psychotherapy in north Philadelphia this year. It makes me grateful for my life every day.

5. My friends who hang in with me even if I only see them once a year or call when I come up for air or only visit by Facebook. I forget to return emails or text at odd hours. You know who you are and how important you are to my life.

6. My little tiny house which smelled so good this morning when I woke up.  It smelled like family and home and good food. And the backyard which is what drew me here in the first place. My landlord recently told me he had never spent as much time sitting in the yard as long as we did the day I came to look at the apartment. Clearly, I ave to work on that poker face.

7. Sleeping in. Right now it doesn't happen very often. Sleeping until 8 am this morning was a luxury, I know that someday I will get the chance to sleep in on weekends again even if that's just until 8.

8. Good coffee.

9. Good people. I am convinced there are far more good people in this world than not. We have to speak up, speak out and make a difference. Really. It matters. It's an old bumper sticker but as necessary today as ever. Practice Random Acts of Kindness. A smile to a stranger, holding open a door, letting someone in traffic. Buying a cup of coffee for the person behind you. A buck to a homeless person. It all helps. Seriously.

10. All that I have and didn't do a thing to get it. And understanding that.

Much love to all for this Thanksgiving and every day.

Hannah

Doing Therapy...

Doing therapy is thrilling. It is an adventure like no other. You never know who will sit down in front of you and what they will bring. And doing therapy is hard. Harder than anything I ever imagined. In class talked about “holding” what the patient bring in. The therapist “holds” the issues so the patient can get some relief from the burden – no matter the issue, no matter the size or depth. Sometimes it is all a therapist can do to just stay in the room. To stay present for the most immense and intense sadness I have ever witnessed. Our job is to stay there, to show the patient that we can survive bearing witness. And if we can survive that, maybe they will come to trust enough to “hold” whatever is causing such pain. I learned all that, but I learned it in my head.

I am working with a population for whom violence and death is absolutely commonplace. It is party of daily living. The majority of my patients have loved ones who have been shot and killed. Plural. Loved ones. They have witnessed harassment, abuse, fighting, guns, knives, robberies. I have one patient whose 8 year old son wants to write a book for kids about gun violence; about how he lost his father and his uncle. I have another patient who has been present for two shooting deaths, as well as a history of childhood trauma. I had one patient who told me she held a knife to a man’s throat because he called her a name.

Sitting in a room, meeting, listening and holding these stories -- these truths -- is exhausting and overwhelming and totally necessary. It is important to bear witness. It is important to say, you are seen and heard. You are not forgotten out here in an alternate universe of day-to-day violence.

 On Friday, I had to call Childline and report a mom for potential abuse. It was the first time I met the patient and she told me that she was worried she would hurt her three week old baby. There is obviously way more to the story but the important parts are this. It was Friday afternoon, my last patient of the day, of the week. I was exhausted and spent. I made it through the sessions with her and then completely fell apart. It was the gravity of all that she told me. It was the weight of what I knew I had to do, of what might happen. It was the responsibility of not doing anything and the safety of a tiny vulnerable little baby. It was those feelings of self doubt that come flooding in, wondering if I was cut out to do this, if this was part of the job.

After I made the call, I called the mom and told her what I did. I told her I was worried and that I wanted to get her more help. I hope that is what is offered to her, more help. I hope that this mom will come back again to therapy, but I’m not sure I can blame her if she doesn’t. I looked out for the safety of the child, but I feel like I betrayed the mom. It was a lose-lose situation.

I hope that I never become so numb that I lose the feeling of the gravity of calling the authorities on a parent but that it might get easier and I can learn to do it without falling apart.  I hope for peace for my patients and their families. I hope for a time without guns and the horrible violence they inflict on  whole communities. I hope for basic safety in our homes and on the street. Truthfully, I hope for quite a few things these days. In the mean time, however, I keep showing up. I stay in the room and I hold as much as I can. I hope it helps.

I have a Pope crush

I know who he is and what he stands for. I know that he is opposed to issues that are integral to who I am. And yet, in the afterglow of the weekend... I like this guy. 

It was a pretty cool weekend. For weeks leading up to this visit, Philadelphia has been freaking out over the major security measures which were badly communicated from the beginning. It has been a PR disaster from the start.  They took a five mile square and closed it to traffic, seriously disrupted public transportation, and closed a main bridge into the city from NJ. They basically made it difficult as hell to get into the city and to the celebrations. Then, after scaring everyone out who could get out, they were surprised when the numbers were less than expected.

Luckily my field placement is outside the "box" so I had a sweet commute Friday and today. At the hospital where I work part time, I signed up to work at the ER on Saturday and Sunday.  They had literally hundreds of folks spending the entire weekend because of the transportation issues.  Saturday was so dead that they told me I didn't have to work on Sunday. My bike and I stayed at my mom's in center city to make it easier to get around  Bike riding on car-less streets was the best part of the weekend. I understand it was dubbed "urban utopia." With literally no cars on the roads, you could right right down the middle of the street. Going to work at 6:30 am on Saturday was like riding through a ghost town.  Eerie. The only other folks out were going to work and a few "pilgrims" in town for the big World Meeting of Families. Coming home was a different story.  With tons of pedestrians everywhere I had to adjust my routes so as not to collide with pedestrians filled with the spirit of their adventure but not always watching for a novice biker.  In many ways it reminded me of the thousands who would walk from RFK stadium in DC to the mall when we would hold those massive rights marches.  Of course, those were for abortion or LGBT rights and these folks would not like the analogy.

Now, for the Pope. I know all the things he's against, but if you can put that aside for a minute. Yes, a big put aside, he's kind of a cool dude.  Very humble and down to earth.  Took a pass on lunch with the big wigs in DC to have lunch with a bunch of homeless folks from Catholic Charities.  He visited some school kids in Harlem in NY and a prison while in Philly. He talked about emergency housing and how critical it was to anything else in life and spoke about immigration and our responsibilities to the people who need our help now. At the prison he talked about how being confined was not the same as being excluded or forgotten. He talked about rehabilitation. He has a great smile which seems to light up most when meeting the average people rather than donors or big honchos. I admit it, I was charmed by the guy.  At the end of every speech, he asked people to pray for him. In the prison, he said, I could have just as easily ended up here as where I did.

I'm hardly a religious person, but his message of peace seemed genuine.  The message of remembering those among us that it is too easy to forget... or maybe too hard to remember. Who knows. But on those issues, I appreciated his message.  Maybe those who agree with him on abortion and gays will really listen to his message of peace on other areas.  Maybe there is some common ground possible in this harshly divided world we live in. 

I walked over to the Parkway where there was a big concert on Sat night. I just wanted to see what was happening since it was happening so close to my mom's. I'm too short and was too far back to really see anything but on my tippy, tippy toes with my camera as high as my short little arm would go -- I got a video of the top of his pope mobile.  And somehow that was exciting.  Yup, I was officially sucked in to the Pope-a-palooza!

Here's a link to my almost sighting if you want to see:

https://www.facebook.com/hannah.olanoff/videos/10153648211248970/

So while the city was a ghost town and restaurants and businesses say their weekends were a financial disaster, and lots of people lost time and money over the hugely restrictive city closures, I have to admit I enjoyed the excitement of Pope Francis in the US and especially in Philly. I enjoyed the way the city felt as we endured/survived/celebrated together. For a city that can often seem rude not only to outsiders but to locals as well, it was gave me a whole new perspective on home. Seeing the top of the Pope's car is hardly a once in a lifetime experience, but it was cool. 

I know this won't last, and honestly I don't want it to. I want to understand his positions and explain to folks that while he is cool, there is still work today.  But for now, for today. The afterglow shines on.

Now I've really done it...

It's way to much to try and catch up so I'll do something very social work and just meet myself "where I am."

Yesterday I started my second year internship. I chose something difficult on purpose. It sounded like a good idea last spring when I was selecting the placement.  Remind me of that, please, that I did this to myself.

So here I am at an inner city hospital's outpatient psychiatric department. Sitting in a room with another social work student and two psychology students.  Day one and the psych students have to drop some condescending comments about social workers and our training. Really? Alrighty, if this is how the real world goes, bring it, psych. I can take you.

I have my own office. Well, its mine on the three days I'm there.  I share it with someone who must be an amazonian resident.  It seems she likes to type standing up so the keyboard is lifted up on a stand and the monitor is on the top shelf of the desk.  That will obviously change on my days or I'll need a step stool just to reach. It is a small space so my client and I will be very, uh, cozy. No cover or protection of distance for either of us.I'll need to check with my tall office mate and see if a couple of pictures and a plant are okay.  I'd like to make the space a little less sterile office and a little more me.  Early institution isn't my favorite design style.

After a couple of mind numbing hours of orientation about mandatory reporting, consent and Tarasoff rules (notification of a threat to individuals) just to name a few topics, my brain was just too full to take in much more.  That's when my supervisor handed me three charts. In each there was one flimsy over xeroxed paper with some handwritten notes -- yes, this department still uses hand written forms and notes -- which had a patient's name and a couple of lines describing their issues that bring them to counseling.

My first patient is next week. NEXT WEEK. The first one said, "anger issues" and "domestic violence." I don't even remember what the others said.  I have two patients on one day and another one the next week. Starting slow, which is so very good since my goal, I understand, is to get 17 patients scheduled in a week in the hope that 12 actually show up.  That is a plethora of patients.  Is it possible that any human can actively listen empathetically (is this a word?) that much in a day?  I guess I'll find out soon enough.

I'm scared, I'm excited, I'm eager to jump in and I'd like to wait.  This is the real deal. These are real people with real life problems. More than likely I will be very different from my clients in many ways. According to my training, my job is to acknowledge all of those differences and use the conflict to the therapeutic advantage. I think this will be one of the hardest things I have ever done. Probably the most rewarding too, but not in the beginning.  What have I gotten myself into?

God, how I miss the theatre right now.

Leap of Faith

I have recently taken a leap of faith. I decided to change my life, yet again, and go to graduate school. I had a good job. But I wanted more. I wanted to make a difference. I had a taste of the "helping" profession as they call them, and I wanted more. I wanted to do it full time. It didn't hurt that my huge project at the theatre was ending and I was faced with managing buildings and systems and felt very far away from the art.

So I jumped. First it seemed like a small jump. I was working part time for three months while I started school. But now the three months is coming to a close next week and I am faced with the reality that this was no small jump.

This was indeed a leap of faith. Faith in me. God, I hope I can do it.

I am truly starting over. I will leave the comfort of a job and people I've known for two years (and a field I've know for much, much longer) and strike out on my own, trying to support this education thing.  So here goes.

I had a promising interview tonight for a part time job that would be in my field. My new field, but I don't want to jinx anything and don't even have an offer yet. If that falls through, then maybe I'll stop by Trader Joe's. I wonder how much they pay an hour?

The good news is that I love what I'm learning. I can't even remotely imagine having done this at age 22. It seems as if all my life has supported what I'm learning in class and in the field. From NOW, to theatre, to the clinic, it all fits.  And yes, the field. From day one of classes I've had a field assignment. How did they know that I would love being in the psych ward? I didn't know I would love it.  I was very nervous about this placement. Sometimes I'm sorry its a suburban hospital and not in the heart of the city... other times, I'm just fine.

So this is officially your update. As of next week, I will be three weeks away from the end of my first semester in Social Work school. I will also be finishing the last remaining bit of stability in my life, my job.

I'm oddly calm about the whole thing, that will probably change when I realize I don't have a paycheck anymore.  But until then, I'll take it. I'm on the right path. I know that. I can handle a few bumps in the road.

Feel free to invite me for dinner. I might need it.  Or better, yet, if you need an amazing part time employee or know someone who does....

Stay tuned. The adventure is truly just beginning.

Impressions of days gone past

I had the pleasure of going to the dentist this morning. I need a crown and wanted to get it done before my dentist retires. I like her. And that hasn't always been the case with dentists.

So there I am, ipod way up loud trying desperately to zone out and not hear -- or worse -- smell the tools of destruction she is using in my teeth. I keep my eyes shut because I don't want to see the four hands which feel as if they are stuffed all the way inside my jaws, and definitely don't want to see the masked face with magnifying glasses peering way too close to my own. Every once in a while I remember to relax. Unclench all the muscles which are currently in flight mode, ready to bolt out of the chair. I don't feel that stressed, but now that I'm paying attention to such things, I realize that every muscle is tense and I know that if I don't relax, I'll be exhausted before my day even starts.

I'm going along swimmingly when she taps me on my shoulder. "Great.We're pretty much done but we need to take an impression." Ugh.  Immediately I think of Dr. Haimowitz, my childhood orthodontist.  This is not a good memory. To this day when I have an anxious stomach about something, in my head I refer to it as Dr. Haimowitz stomach. He left an enduring impression.

Okay, I said. I'm up for this but you should know I don't like that stuff and I'm a gagger. I threw up on a dentist once. That got her attention. The truth is I was a little kid and I think I was a good judge of character. Dr. Ellis was a creepy guy in a dimly lit office. I don't remember much except for a long hallway with a checked linoleum floor.  I got in the chair and said, "nope. Not happening." And then I puked. I was cute like that. My mom was not pleased, but I can't remember if I ever had to go back to him.

I never managed to puke on Dr. Haimowitz but I remember all too well his office, his nurse ( I think she was the first trans woman I ever met, thought I certainly didn't realize that at the time) and I remember seeing the reflection of what was happening in my mouth in his glasses. No ipods back then, I had to check out on my own. They did have Highlights in the waiting room, but that's a different story.

Today when the doctor showed me the tray for the impression, I will admit that technology has helped dentistry in these many, many years than have passed since my orthodontist days but it still brought back those memories of a mouth full of cement. It is still the same concept. Fill up a tray with seriously sticky stuff, stick it in your mouth, bite down and wait.  Breathe. Don't think, relax. Ick.  Ick. Ick.

I'm happy to report that as a certified grown up I did not throw up on anyone or anything. I'm a little better at the mind over matter part... but still. In this advanced technological age, why can't someone invent dental tools that don't smell like burning metal? They make odorless paint, is a no-smell epoxy too much to ask for? Dentistry has come a long way but there still road to travel. You can do this, dentists of the world.  Get out there and invent stuff. You'll make a lasting impression on all of us!