What the...? Where am I?

Today was just a bizarre day. By the end of it, I felt exhausted and abused. First of all, I felt as though I were some sort of U.N. Ambassador. Working in a Rochester hospital, I'm surrounded every day by nurses from Ukraine, Poland, and Russia, as well as doctors and residents from all over the world, but most notably India, Pakistan, and the Middle East. But on top of that, on my caseload for today were patients who spoke French and Spanish (which I can at least speak), as well as Italian, Greek, and Ukrainian. And none of these people spoke English. Or so I thought.

The other thing that made my day stressful was that I ended up getting yelled at by all my patients. Most of them are confused little old people. One woman was yelling at me for stretching out the contractures in her calves and hamstrings, asking me "God dammit what's wrong with you!?!" The woman in the room next to her, the French-speaking patient, started out polite, and then ended up screaming at her nurse and me when I tried to translate to her that the nurse wanted to give her medicine. We found out that she spoke decent English. "You don't know nothing! Medicine! Medicine!?! Ha! You don't know nothing about my medicine! You don't know nothing!" She then punched the nurse in the stomach, so we left her to fold her sheets as she'd been doing. The guy across the hall from the French-speaking patient has a 40 year history of IV-heroin use, and becomes delusional and agitated at times. I found him wandering the hall, very unsteadily, so I tried to help him back to his chair. He ended up yelling at me to not be ashamed of my Latino heritage (I'm not the least bit Latino, but have been mistaken for it before).

The toughest, though, was a new patient I picked up today. He'd just been diagnosed 2 days ago with metastatic cancer of unknown origin, and was told by one doctor that he would probably only live 3 more months. Understandably so, he became a bit depressed and withdrawn. They ordered a physical therapy consult on him just to keep him moving so that he could safely go home and not have to spend any unnecessary time in the hospital. I read that he is a Vietnam veteran, and also that he has a history of post-traumatic stress disorder, but didn't exactly put the two together. Well as I got him up to walk for the first time, I stayed slightly behind him and kept a hand on his back to make sure he was steady on his feet, as I do with all my patients for the first time. He quickly turned and yelled over his shoulder "Hey, I'm not some old cripple. You don't have to hold on to me! And I really don't like you being behind me!" I explained to him that I wanted to make sure that he was stable and that I wanted to be safe. Two steps farther and he whipped around again. "Take your damn hands off me." So I did. He was pretty steady, so I walked beside him down the hall. As we got toward the end of the hall, he was getting close to the wall so I walked quickly behind him to the other side, so as not to run into the doorway. As soon as he'd realized that I'd switched sides, he immediately freaked out and came after me. He brought his hands up toward my neck and came quickly at me shouting something...I can't even remember exactly what...about being a Vietnam vet and not liking it when people move around behind him. I managed to hold his wrists and keep him from choking me long enough for him to settle down, then did my best to explain that I was sorry and just didn't want to run into the wall. Thankfully I stay calm in situations like this. I actually remember thinking, as he was trying to choke me, "Okay, just stay calm and let him get out whatever pent-up frustration he's got stored, then take back control of the situation." It worked, he settled down, and we continued on to the waiting area around the corner. We sat for a few minutes and talked. He apologized, then apologized again twice more when we got back to his room. I just made a concerted effort to stay in front of him. But tomorrow he's coming up to the PT gym, so we'll see how that goes. Wish us luck...

"Music is the soundtrack to the crappy movie that is my life." - Chris Rock

During our recent 5-hour car rides to and from my parents' house in Ellenburg, Greg talked about his idea to make a CD that goes year-by-year through his life so far, containing songs that were influential or meaningful to him at that time. I've been thinking a lot about which songs I'd pick for my life, and here's the working list so far.

Age 6 - Gotta Boogie, Weird Al Yankovic
Age 7 - Take Off, Getty Lee (from The Great White North soundtrack)
Age 8 - La Bamba, Los Lobos version
Age 9 - Parents Just Don't Understand - DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince
Age 10 - U Can't Touch This, MC Hammer
Age 11 - Life is a Highway, Tom Cochrane
Age 12 - Nuthin But a G Thang, Dr Dre
Age 13 - Regulate, Warren G
Age 14 - Black, Pearl Jam
Age 15 - No Woman No Cry, Bob Marley & The Wailers
Age 16 - I am the Walrus, Beatles
Age 17 - Everlong, Foo Fighters
Age 18 - Yellow Ledbetter, Pearl Jam
Age 19 - La Mentira, Manu Chao
Age 20 - Amiyo, Bisso na Bisso
Age 21 - More Than Words, Extreme
Age 22 - El Desierto, Lhasa de Sela
Age 23 - Hoy Me Voy, Sargento Garcia
Age 24 - Everybody Knows This is Nowhere, Neil Young

Gotta Boogie was on Weird Al's self-titled first album, which my grandfather gave to my brother and me at this time. Take Off, same thing. My grandfather gave my brother and me the Great White North soundtrack, which we practically memorized in a month. I can only hope that I hang onto my sense of humor like my grandfather did. I don't remember how I ended up with the La Bamba soundtrack, but the song La Bamba quickly became my favorite. It was just fun to sing along to phonetically. In 4th and 5th grade I was a huge fan of DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince. I had all their albums, and Parents Just Don't Understand was my favorite. MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice were the next step up in the hip-hop phase of my life.

I listened to Tom Cochrane's Life is a Highway every single day in 6th grade. There was a girl that year who had a crush on me, and knew that this was my favorite song. So, hoping that I was listening, she called into the Open House Party (with the Wiiiiiiiiild Armenian John Garabedian) and requested and dedicated this song to me. Unfortunately I wasn't listening. She was a bit peeved, but she got over it. Dr Dre and Snoop Dogg were at the top of my hip-hop phase, which was full-fledged in 7th grade. I bought a black and white flannel to look like Dre and thought that Nuthin but a G Thang was my anthem. Silly little white kid living in the sticks. Warren G came along right at the end of my hip-hop phase, which was finally and definitively put to rest when I borrowed Pearl Jam's Ten and Vs from my friend, Kevin.

This music was like nothing I'd ever heard before. I guess I'd seen Pearl Jam and Nirvana on MTV, but when I sat alone in my room and put Ten in the CD player, it blew me away. Black, in particular, really moved me. I'd never heard anyone sing with this much sincere emotion. I admit that Eddie Vedder, at times, can mumble incomprehensibly with his lyrics. But the pure emotion in his voice is more than enough to make up for that, particularly with the visceral growl heard in his early years with Pearl Jam. Pearl Jam literally changed my life.

At age 15, I went to a Bob Marley festival in Detroit with my best friend, Joe, and his aunt. This was my first exposure to reggae music. When we were on our way to the festival, I made what could be the stupidest remark of my life. "Bob Marley, he plays reggae, right?" About a month after I came home I was going through my brother's room, recently abandoned when he left for college. I found a tape he'd made from his friend Jason's CD's. On side A was Legend, a greatest hits collection from Bob Marley & The Wailers. Even without the drugs, it was mind-expanding.

When I was 16, I re-discovered the Beatles. My mother was and still is a big fan of the Beatles, even though I had to break the news to her that they'd done drugs in the 60's. She'd never heard such a thing before. In the quest for non-conformity which ruled that stage of my life, I am the Walrus seemed to suit me best.

At age 17, I went to my first real concert, the H.O.R.D.E. festival in Saratoga. On the bill were Kula Shaker, Leftover Salmon, Soul Coughing, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Beck, Primus, and Neil Young. Simply amazing. And when I heard Foo Fighters' Everlong, it exactly what I'd felt at that concert - "Hello, I've waited here for you, everlong...Breathe out, so I can breathe you in, hold you in." I was hooked.

At age 18, high school ended. Drastic changes, and we all went off in our own directions. August 20, 1998 was sort of our last hurrah. Pearl Jam was playing in Montreal, and I went along with Ashley, Shawn, Buck, and Joe. At 5 the next morning, Buck was off to the bus terminal en route to Puget Sound. A week later, I left for Ithaca, Joe went to Vassar, and Ashley and Shawn stayed home to attend Plattsburgh State. Things would never be the same again, and the ultimate goodbye song, Yellow Ledbetter, bid us farewell.

When I was 19, I left for a semester in Aix-en-Provence, France. Another eye-opening experience. I began to see things from a global perspective, rather than the narrow-minded and short-sighted American way. There, among other things, I found Manu Chao. His song, La Mentira, describes my original reaction to this new perspective.

Todo es mentira en este mundo
Todo es mentira, la verdad
Todo es
mentira, yo me digo
Todo es mentira, porque sera
-------------------------------
Everything's a lie in this world
Everything's a lie, it's the truth
Everything's a lie, I tell myself
Everything's a lie, why?

When I went to France, I had no problem with culture shock or homesickness. The newness of everything, along with my mind as a sponge to soak everything up, overcame these emotions. Sure I missed people, but I knew I'd be coming home in four months. When I came back to the States, however, I had a terrible transition back into my old life. I felt as though so much in my life had changed, while nothing back here had changed at all. It was frustrating, and it seemed like no one else understood this. I went into a semester of isolation, trying to surround myself with as many things French as I could. This coincided with the free days of Napster. I downloaded thousands of French songs onto my computer. Among these was Amiyo, by Bisso na Bisso, a collaboration by Congolese hip hop artists who'd emigrated to France. The song uses vivid imagery to describe a beautiful woman, absolutely ideal. They sing about their longing for her, and plead with her to just give in and end their suffering by letting them into her life. For me, though, it described my longing to be in France. This ideal place I'd known and left and just wanted to get back to. No one understood my longing, but that didn't matter to me.

Shortly after turning 21, I began my first internship in physical therapy. I spent these six weeks with my grandparents, who lived only 3 miiles away from the hospital. While there, they asked me a few times to play guitar for them. I didn't really know many songs they liked, but when I played More Than Words by Extreme, my grandfather's eyes lit up. He'd heard that song about 10 years before and ran out and bought the CD. "The rest of it's dirty, you don't want to listen to it," he said. But he loved that song, and played the melody on his harmonica while I played the guitar for it. It was brief, but a memorable connection with my grandfather.

When I was 22, I spent the last great Christmas Break at home with my family. Both Jim and Buck were home as well, and we spent most nights either playing hockey or Atari, which Jim had just bought on eBay. Buck was the DJ for his college radio station's international music show, and brought a bunch of mp3's to Jim's one night. We spent a good 20 minutes listening to Lhasa de Sela's El Desierto, trying to decide if she sounded sexy or scary (turns out it was both). This song was my introduction to Lhasa's music, which came right in the middle of my Latin music phase.

At 23, I graduated from college, and was finally forced to join "the real world." I had to officially cut the cord and venture out on my own: find a job, get an apartment, pay bills. During this time, the song Hoy Me Voy by Sargent Garcia really sang to my experience. In it he sings about it being a beautiful morning, he gets up, sees the people milling about, in search of some shade. But he has to get out of his hometown, as much as it hurts him to think about all he's leaving, because there's no work there and he has to find a way to support himself.

After a few months, homesickness set in. I bought my first Neil Young CD, Everybody Knows This is Nowhere. The title track was what I needed to hear. It made me feel better to know that someone else seemed to miss his home as much as I did.

Every time I think about back home, it's cool and breezy
I wish that I could be there right now, just passin' time
Everybody seems to wonder what it's like down here
I gotta get away from this day-to-day running around
Everybody knows this is nowhere

At the end of last year, we moved from PA back to Rochester. For me, it meant being 3 hours closer to home. It's also a bit of a homecoming, as both Michaelene and I were here for a year in college, and we have a group of friends living in the area. I haven't yet picked a song for this year. I still have 7 1/2 months, though, so there's no pressure yet.

Weird Dreams

I rarely remember my dreams. They say that you have to wake up in a REM cycle of sleep to remember them. Maybe timing is everything. When I do remember dreams, however, they are usually bizarre. I don't have any of the typical dreams...flying, falling from high cliffs and waking just before hitting the ground. Mine are much more perplexing. I really have a hard time analyzing them. Some of my most recent remembered dreams are as follows.

About a week and a half ago, as gas prices were on a steep incline, I had a dream that my boss came to me during the work day. She told me that, due to the increase in oil prices, the hospital I work for may have to lay off somebody in 2 or 3 months. It wasn't a definite, but if this were to happen, it would definitely be me. I told my boss about my dream the next day, but she didn't really laugh at it. That made me a bit nervous.

Some time last week, I guess I heard the alarm go off in the morning. Normally Michaelene gets up first and showers. Then she comes in and wakes me up about 20 minutes later. Well on that particular morning, I apparently fell back asleep and began to dream. In my dream, I'd decided that I would hide on her when she came to wake me up. Then all of a sudden, I found myself sleeping in a parking lot outside a late-night restaurant. So I crawled out of my bed and into the back of a pickup truck which belonged to the owner of the restaurant, still inside and soon to drive home. After lying in the truck for a few minutes, the owner came out and found me. She was none too pleased. The reason she was upset, I found out, was a bit bizarre. In the cab of her truck, there was a pizza oven. The oven was set to turn on when a weight sensor was set off in the back of the truck. Since I'd climbed into the truck, I set the sensor off and the pizza in the front of the truck had started to cook prematurely. She was pissed and just stared at me until I climbed out. Thankfully I was awakened shortly afterward. I learned my lesson: don't mess with chicks who drive pickups.

The last dream I can remember was this past Sunday morning. I had to work on Sunday, so maybe that's why I was dreaming of the hospital. For those of you who don't know, I am a physical therapist and work at an inpatient hospital. A large part of my job is to work with patients who've just had hip and knee replacements. In my dream, we'd all heard that someone famous had just had surgery and would be in our department. Then early one morning, one of the transporters came down and told us that Snoop Dogg had just had a knee replacement. I was excited to learn if he really talked, you know, like Snoop Dogg (fo' sheezy my neezy). But before I had the chance to find out, I was awakened by the disgusting sound of my dog throwing up last night's dinner on the rug. Some mysteries were just never meant to be solved, I suppose.

Most of the dreams I remember revolve around high school. When I spent my semester in France, I had a ton of high school dreams. I remember one that had to do with our senior variety show. Something happened to the people in the next skit, so our director told my friends Shawn and Buck, and I to improv. The skit went something like this. Shawn walks into a room. Buck, the narrator, announces, "This is Shawn in the bathroom." Then I come running full-speed across the stage and take him out with a brilliantly-aimed slide tackle. Buck says, "This is Adam slide-tackling Shawn. Any questions?" Exit stage left, and wake up.

Another dream from France involved a mixing of home friends with my French host family. In my dream, I was sitting in the kitchen of my host family's home eating lunch, when the door bell rings. My host mom hollers "Come on in!" She didn't speak English in real life, but at that point I wasn't ready to dream in French (I have only dreamt in French since returning to the States). So then around the corner comes my friend Jim's mom, Sue. Apparently Sue and Sylvie, my host mom, were the best of friends. Sue had brought a bag of coffee beans as a gift for Sylvie. Wake up.

I'm sure I will think of more, and will post them when I do.