This is a problem money can solve

Tonight we came home from work, and I discovered an unpleasant surprise: the load of laundry I had left going this morning had been washed with a tube of lipstick, and several things were ruined…or at best will only be salvaged with a lot of effort on my part. I think there are a few things that will be total losses. Since we’re in an apartment (for this work stint) that is somewhat sparsely supplied, there were no stain treatments with the laundry supplies. I drove back to the small grocery to see what options were available. I bought four different products, hoping that something would help.

After an hour of rubbing, scrubbing, soaking and working, I had made some progress. Enough to let the things soak while we ate dinner. While we were eating, we talked about our day, Rob in the back of the clinic seeing patients, me in the front, dealing with forms, schedules…the admin side. As I’ve said, I don’t do blood.

The other staff members are great; some of them have worked here a long time. They know everyone, and everyone’s story. I hear bits and pieces, put a few names and faces together. The last time we were here, I got a little taste of clinic life, the up close and personal view you get of patients when you sit at the front desk. But when I was here before, I was primarily training staff. I had limited exposure to the patients coming and going. Not so this trip. I’m working at the front desk, filling in until the new hire starts. It was a convenient opportunity. Rob was already scheduled to work, and it was nice that I could come along, and be paid to be here.

The view is different from the front. For the past five years, I’ve worked in healthcare administrative offices, hospital settings that put me in the healthcare arena every day. But in my role, I’ve primarily been involved with the business of healthcare. I’ve had almost no patient connection. The past few months, working with document management, and now sitting in the front office seat, I am seeing the patient population for the first time.

Of course I’ve known they were out there, real people with real illnesses. I’ve witnessed the healthcare system in a limited way for myself and my family. But we’ve been fortunate, and healthy, by and large.

Now I’m seeing, from a perspective I haven’t had before. Patients come in for everything from colds to cancer, broken bones to pregnancy. They come in all ages, shapes, sizes. This is a primary care clinic. Some patients’ stories are poignant reminders that life is fragile. Some are working the system…what can they get for pain? What diagnosis will get them a trip to a specialist in Seattle, conveniently paid by Medicaid? It is unbelievable, the parade that passes on a daily basis.

There are happy patients, women in for prenatal visits, or young parents with little ones for routine checks. There are older folks who come to be monitored for some condition, but who are generally well.

And there are the others…the ones with serious issues that usually can’t be fixed, or cured, or healed. They have too many complications, too many barriers, and many people are their own worst enemies. I often see references to behaviors that are creating the reasons patients come to be seen. But regardless of cause, self-inflicted or just an act of nature, it is a sad thing to look at people who are broken.

This afternoon I saw a man who is obese, can only walk with a walker, who looked hopeless, almost lifeless. He has a heart condition, but I don’t know what brought him in today. Regardless, he’s in bad shape. Then I saw his wife, who had come to pick him up. She is a cancer patient who had part of her jaw removed. It is unsettling to look at her. I found myself looking away, uncomfortable to see someone who has been literally defaced by her disease.

I sat tonight, eating dinner, frustrated at my own innatention to detail that allowed me to wash a tube of lipstick with the laundry. If I had only checked my pockets! And of course, several things I had recently bought were in that load.

But as we ate and talked, perspective grew. My thoughts cleared, and I realized, in the words of a friend, “this is a problem money can solve.” Worst case, I spend a little money to replace what I can’t salvage. The truth is, I’m as irritated at myself for causing the mishap as I am over the ruined clothes. I get impatient when I do foolish things.

Well, there are enough bumps in life to keep me appreciative of days that run smoothly. But no ruined laundry, fender bender, burned dinner…name your pet peeve…can compete with the sadness of serious illness, life-threatning disease, chronic pain. And so far, I’m blessed to be free of any of those conditions. So with that perspective, a little ruined laundry doesn’t seem too bad. Hey, it’s all replaceable or fixable, and non-essential. I mean no disrespect toward the value of money…I know money, or the lack of it, creates hardship too. But that’s another post. And still, in the big picture, things are just things.

I wish I could say I won’t need to be reminded of this again. But that isn’t true. I’ll be frustrated at some other slice of life in a few days, or a week or a month from now. And I’ll have to remind myself what’s important. Who’s important. And that if money can solve the problem, it isn’t really a problem after all.

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Spots

pink laundry detergent

Ok, please tell me why a freshly pressed light-colored pair of pants is a magnet for spots? I’m not usually messy…I don’t spill a lot, don’t have a hole in my lip. But I know when I left the house this morning I was wearing clean clothes. Now, late in the day, I look down and see I’ve acquired a few things along the way. And it’s not such a big deal to go home and treat a few spots and throw laundry in for a spin. But how long have I had these spots? Were they with me as I went through a day of meetings? You know, I really try to project a professional image. Is there a conspiracy? Must I wear leftovers through my afternoon? And why do I notice at the end of the day? At least if I had noticed the drip when it happened, I could have attempted a fix. Now, at 4:30, there’s no point. My spots have been on display, front and center.

The only thing I can hope is that everyone else was pre-occupied with their own spots.

If all of this sounds silly, just wait until you realize that instead of displaying a confident and polished self, you were wearing your best middle-school look. Really, the only comfort with these little flashes of insecurity…you know, an unzipped fly, or socks that don’t match (I don’t know how that happened) or bad hair days….is the realization that no one escapes. We’re all seventh graders at one time or another, even after we’ve long outgrown the age.

Well, off to buy some stain remover. And tomorrow, I hope to move up a grade or two.