The road less taken

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October galloped up behind me again this year-it's been hectic and there have been times when I wondered about the wisdom of it all. My decisions, that is - not this being October. Like I could do anything about moving whole months around, although I've considered it.

Back in August I added the final touches on Getting Over Myself. This ego altering project included realizing that I'm not going to meet any more rich people who are desperate for murals in their overly mortgaged homes. Well, okay. I'm down with that. After all, I've done lots of things -and one of those things included taking care of elderly home bound patients for a year, when I was in my twenties.
They seemed to like me and I them. I'm a quiet person except for when I'm not and they seemed to feel comfortable around me. Couple this with my ability to talk Benny Goodman and and War Bonds -well. It all fell into place. A year later, however, I was offered a position with the local paper and found myself unable to resist the chance to write for a living -even if it was only the school page, the jail report and the occasional column. Lots of check passing pictures, local politicians shaking hands.

Fast forward to a few months ago. I decided to retake the health care course I muddled through so many years ago. This one was so hard- intense enough that I felt foolish for telling my instructor I had taken one twenty three years ago. So much had changed and there was so much more to learn it was as if I'd never darkened the door of a classroom. But I passed, and made a good grade for the course. Meantime I had accepted my first patient in decades -Miss Charlene B, who is in the fourth stage of lung cancer. I accepted the job, for our families had been friends for many years. I was clumsy at first, but I grew to love my patient. Our society was interrupted while I took the refresher course...but by that time, her six month prognosis had dwindled, seemingly.
Last Sunday was spent with her on the fourth floor at Washington Regional while her exhausted daughter slept. She is as blue eyed and pretty as one would want any 83 year old person to be. And no matter what her level of pain [ which has been considerable lately] she is always a lady. I'd like to be Miss Charlene when I grow up, but first, I've decided - I want to go on and become a hospice nurse. That's the end goal, though for a while I may have to be content with an attendant's certificate.

My classes for Certified Nursing Assistant [ CNA] begin in January, and I'm dreading them while looking forward at the same time. I'm doddering, rather middle aged and have little short term memory these days. But I have decided to do this thing, even if I have to test twice. This afternoon I walked into the hospice facility when they have moved my lovely patient, and knew right away that this or some place like it was where I was needed. I'm still somewhat in shock, because it's been some time since I've had a real epiphany of any description.

Well, now.
Thank you, Barrack Obama and George Bush and whoever else has sent our financial future hurtling through space . Because of your treachery and arrogance, one tiny, almost invisible yet fine thing has solidified in the life of an ordinary person. Otherwise I might have never realized. I wouldn't have been forced outside my comfort zone.
Painting is my first love, but I feel as though another part of my reason for being here is waiting to be discovered, too.