Pot Roast and Stuff

I’m bad at being German. 

Nine months ago when I moved here I told myself I was going to learn German, because hey, if people move to the U.S. then they should learn English, so I figured that rule probably applies to other countries as well.   When making phone calls to businesses on the German economy I used to at least ask them (in mangled Germish) if they could speak English.  Now I just start speaking in English and expect a response… in my native tongue.  I’m now a hypocrite.  When I get back to America I’m perfecting my Spanish.

Also, while running the other day I made an observation, and it is as follows: my running shoes make my feet look big.  My feet aren’t big for my height; they’re an average size of 8-8 ½.  Good thing I need new running shoes anyway; this time around I’m buying shoes that flatter my feet a bit more.  It’s important to look good from the ankles - or cankles, as the case may be - down while running.

Okay, time to get on track.  I just like to pontificate on the frivolities that make up my life every once in a while.  And by every once in a while I mean every time I post in this blog.  I digress.

If you’re sick of my inspiring soldier/patient stories, advert thine eyes away from this blog now.  If you aren’t sick of them, read on… it makes me feel good when lots of people at least feign interest in my ramblings.

Anyway, the other day I was humbled yet again by one of my awesome patients.  This particular patient was a young guy with polytrauma (AKA lots of injuries).  I had been taking care of this guy for multiple nights, and what a champ he was!  Some of his injuries included, but were not limited to, two amputations, multiple broken bones, and multiple fasciotomy sites (this is basically a large, open incision done in the OR to decrease pressure and swelling to an extremity).  P.S. Fasiotomy = Pain… and lots of it.  Every night I was with this patient, he was cheerful and joking and so cooperative with all his care, and when I came back on shift each night he was always excited to show me what progress he’d made during the day.  It was so awesome to watch him begin his recovery process!

Caring for this guy really made me think about what I would do in his position.  Well, let’s see, if I was missing a limb, had multiple extensive tissue wounds, was stuck in bed, and was dealing with pain as intense as his, I can’t say I would be a pleasant person to be around.  Geez, I revert to my inner two year-old if I don’t get food every three to four hours.  It made me want to hang my head in shame.

The night before this particular patient was scheduled to fly home, I was talking to his parents.  His father proceeded to thank me for taking care of his son, and he continued to tell me how sweet I was and how grateful he was for me.  I couldn’t help but feel completely unworthy.  After all, I wasn’t in Afghanistan patrolling areas ridden with IEDs in 10,000-degree heat; I was at home, sitting on my cushy couch, watching the Bachelorette (don’t judge me, it’s a guilty pleasure).  All I could think to tell this patient’s dad was that it really was my pleasure to take care of his son; and I whole-heartedly meant it. 

Every day I work I see patients who have been to hell on earth and back, they see and experience things that no person should ever have to, and many of them will live life with constant physical reminders of the sacrifices they made for all of us.  Wow!  What a privilege it is to take care of these people.  They’ve made me kind of mushy, for which I’m about 50 percent grateful, and they teach me every day to not take things for granted, because you just never know when you might turn around and those things will be gone.

Oh, and I successfully made pot roast this week.