Is Your House in Order?

I never expected finding a house to be a simple task, full stop. But I was unprepared for the deluge of paper that follows applying for a mortgage, deciphering the crypto-speak on the seller's disclosures, the frustration toward the seller who decides that "today is just not a good day" to look at their house that has been on the market for over a year, the sheer disappointment when you actually arrive at the house that looked so promising in the pictures only to discover that there is something really weird or unacceptable.

Let's talk about the weird or unacceptable. I decided to come to this process with an open mind. Initially, I thought I only wanted one style of house...but then I realized that style of house is usually only found in city neighborhoods and city neighborhoods mean that I am too close to my neighbor. Living in apartments for as long as I have has developed in me a strong and certain desire for a buffer zone. I have compromised on the acreage in the country...but that's as far as it goes. So the lesson here is that pretty much any style will do. I won't not consider a house because it's not a craftsman style bungalow.

But just because I am open minded doesn't mean that I will consider any four walls. If I drive up to a house that is, say brick face, and there is a big patch of vinyl siding in the middle of that brick, that's weird. That patch of vinyl in the middle of the brick is jarring to the eye. It's like when I notice a stain on someone's shirt. I can't not see it; I wonder if the person realizes it's there; I wonder if they are ignoring it or if they don't care. Then I wonder if they don't care, why don't they care?

So there is this patch of vinyl on the front of the house, note to self: something I have to fix. The inside of the house looks well cared for. The family room has been redone rather nicely, they clearly sprang for many expensive options in here like the stone fireplace and the flag stone apron around the fireplace. Then there is the custom built media cabinet that is really lovely and has a closet behind it so you can keep the wires from the equipment stowed and organized. That was well done. And there is the cedar bead-board on the ceiling to deaden noise, it looks terrific and it is a nice touch. But what about that patch of vinyl out front?

We move on to the sun room. Hinky thing number 2. What is up with these walls? They are some kind of composite material used in bathrooms for the insides of showers. The walls move when I press them. Crap this is no good. What's this behind the couch, dirt? From when water leaks in, dries up and leaves sand behind? No, no, no, this won't do. And what's that you say? There is a basement? Some owner of this house hollowed out the crawl space and put a second kitchen near the sump pump? No, a thousand times, no! I am holding the line against weird and unacceptable.

And then there is the cesspool of childhood issues that were never resolved percolating just beneath the surface of your public-facing persona. I always knew that I would be wary of a house with a wet basement. Many an argument ignited between my parents because of our soaking wet basement. And then there was the shame surrounding the fact that I lived in a house with a soaking wet basement. Somehow, my parents were not like the other parents who had managed to avoid buying a house with a soaking wet basement. They always claimed that the seller never told them about it. Things that were stored in the basement always had a funny smell (now identified as mildew) and even though my mother valiantly tried to make that room livable, there would always be a flood. Sometimes it was minor dampness that would soak up through the carpet. Other times, like the time when I graduated from college, the sump pump failed and 2 inches of water soaked the entire basement. Somewhere there is a video my mother took of my father sweeping the water back into the sump pump basin with a big squeegee. When he realized he was being taped, he lost his composure and hissed at her, "Why do you want to record this misery?" Yes, why record it? That basement is as much a part of me as my size 10 feet.

That memory follows me to every house I visit. If it's not a damp basement, it's an errant patch of vinyl or a shabby second kitchen hewn out of a crawl space next to a sump pump. If a house is a reflection on its owner, then what do I want a house to say about me? Order on the outside reflects order on the inside? No inadequacies to see here, move along. The people who live in this house have no issues with alienation or personality disorders, are not grappling with professional failures, they don't live with persistent irrational fears that hamper their personal and professional development. The people who live in this house have their act together, they get along with their family, their pets are continent, and their basement is dry.

Home is...

The Sunday finally came where, with a great, deep breath, we walked into an open house and introduced ourselves as Mr and Mrs Degenerate Scholar, prospective home buyers. Instantly, all our fears and hopes were made flesh. There were questions to answer, forms to fill out, expectations to manage, realities to accept and move on from.

That first Sunday wasn't our first time looking. We had spent a weekend or two doing drive-bys or more like drive-byes. At the risk of sounding like a snob, most things we looked at did not meet expectations. We were not looking at anything fancy, but we both have definite ideas about what we don't want. On that first Sunday, we met a Realtor we felt comfortable with. He knew alot about the places where we mentioned looking at, he discouraged us from some of our high tax follies and he seemed to connect well with Mr. DS, which is no mean feat.

After e-mailing back and forth a couple of times, we agreed to our first "date" to look at a house. I had scoped out a cape in a rural area built in 1963. We arrived early and drove around the area for a few moments. The good news was that I could see Mr. DS was won over by. I sensed he was hesitant about distance from civilization but in reality, we were not far from amenities and I could see he liked the surroundings.

After walking around the property for a few minutes, we entered the house. The Realtor joked that it smelled like grandma. To me it smelled just like my mom's friend T's old house. Not unpleasant, but like old cigarettes and memories. Frankly the charm ended there. The owner had purchased the house in 1990 and it was evident she had not put dime one into modernizing the place. The kitchen was a relic from the 60's, the bathrooms were small and the fixtures had never been modernized. While I am not of the school that you should change and throw away that which is in perfect working order, opening a window, clearing cobwebs and painting go a long way when you are trying to sell a house in a buyers' market. Mr. DS was of the opinion that the fireplace mantle had not been finished and between him and the Realtor, they declared that the lamp wire connecting much of the electrical system was definitely not code. I was imagining what the inspector would say about the septic system. If the electrical was original, what of the septic?

Deep sigh...not the place. It could have been with just a little work from the owner. But between the price she was asking and the updates we would have to make just to bring the place to the sub-par standard we live with now...it would be alot of money and time and contractors. There's a house for us somewhere...

Bye Bye, Bijoux

On August 14, 2009 we said goodbye to a beloved member of our family, Bijoux. I adopted Bijoux back in 1992, from a family who advertised free kittens. Bijoux was the cutest, most adorable kitten I'd ever seen. He had the creamiest fur with dramatic chocolate points. His blue eyes danced with mischief and sparkled like two little gems. I was inspired to name him "Bijoux". Along with the rest of my little herd of cats, Bijoux moved all over New York, relocated to New Jersey and survived all the slings and arrows of that ordeal for almost 10 years. He finally moved with us to Pennsylvania where he loved to sit out on the patio, watch the birds and sniff the breeze. After a brief and valiant battle with cancer, he now occupies a place of honor on my bookshelf. In all his years, he never lost his dignity.
We miss him every day.
Hug your beloved pets and support your local animal welfare organizations.
Because of our experience with chronically ill cats, we support Tabby's Place.

Desert in June

The Parc Bistro is a gem of a restaurant in Skippack, PA. Its French-inspired cuisine is enhanced by fresh, local produce. On this day in June, we enjoyed strawberry shortcake with local, organic strawberries from Willow Creek Orchards in Collegeville, PA. Following this lunch, I visited the farm store and purchased a pint of the most delicious strawberries - devoured that night. They also had some lovely baked goods.
I highly recommend both!

Lansdale Farmer's Market is a Success!

Ringing in the new farmer's market! Looking forward to next summer.

Soft Shell Crabs at Yantze Gourmet

Over the Memorial Day holiday, Mr. Scholar and I tried a few new restaurants and visited a few old favorites. Yantze Gourmet restaurant in Lansdale is a little gem located in a strip mall, as most things are these days. But that's no reason to turn your nose up. Good food can be found anywhere if you are willing to look and be adventurous.

One of the nice touches at Yantze is that the owner comes to every table, welcomes you and tells you what the specials are. On this day, the special was soft shell crabs in a spicy brown sauce served with fried rice and steamed vegetables. “Soft shell crabs are not for everyone and they are only in season for a short time,” she said. “But if you like soft shell crabs, you will like ours.”

Usually I order off the menu just because everything they serve is wonderful. But today, I wanted something novel. Soft shell crabs, I thought to myself. They remind me of spring weekends in Connecticut with my parents on one of my father's boat hunting expeditions. I am accustomed to crabs that are sauteed and served on toast points or deep fried and slapped on some kind of roll. I had not eaten crab in years, mostly because of a squeamishness developed over the last few years. (Who can say why?) But if I could actually get over the notion of eating moulting crab, I was willing to trust my palate to the chef at Yantze.

The crabs were lovely. I was rewarded with slightly crunchy, sweet, tangy, spicy taste. Every few bites or so, I would remind myself that I was eating crabs in their most vulnerable state and I would wonder if I was going to be able to finish the dinner. But prevail I did. The vegetables that accompanied the crabs were not exotic, but they were perfectly steamed and provided a nice foil to they spicy main dish. Alas, I was too full for the fried rice. It was yet another lovely meal.

Review: The Nursing Spectrum Networking and Educational Event

On Tuesday April 7, 2009 Nursing Spectrum hosted a networking and educational event at Dave and Buster's in Philadelphia, PA. As providence would have it, I was able to attend my first “dog and pony show” as a nurse. I've attended other such professional events in my previous incarnation. What surprised me was how small this event was, given the location and the time of year. I'll elaborate...

For all its faults, Philadelphia is a major university town. With Penn, Drexel, and Temple all within blocks of each other, there are three nursing programs right there. Jefferson hospital, CCP, Frankford-Torresdale, and Northeast hospital each have programs. Just within the city limits, that adds up to a lot of newly minted nurses. There were very few hospitals advertising positions, and the ones that had vacancies were looking for specialty nurses with years of experience. Only two hospitals were seeking graduate nurses, one southern hospital and one regional hospital in a less than desirable city west of Philadelphia. No aspersions on the hospital itself, it's just that the city has been struggling with a depressed economy and rising crime rate for over a generation.

Another trend I noted was a disproportionate number of home care agencies. I think home care is a vital part of nursing and I believe that many facility-acquired infections can be avoided by allowing patients who can go home to receive treatment at home. But it seems that home care nursing is one of those areas where people look at you and wonder “why aren't you working in a hospital?” Also, how many graduate nurses could find jobs in home care? A new nurse needs to be around other nurses and I know when I first started, the last thing I wanted was be alone with a patient. I also noticed that the “grandmomma” of home care nursing, the Visiting Nurse Association, was absent.

The good news is that creative thinking and technology are expanding the profile of patients who can stay home. I spoke to a rep from a home infusion company who told me that her patients received total parenteral nutrition and chemotherapy at home in addition to traditional intravenous therapies. The only therapy they don't support is blood transfusion. I was truly overjoyed to learn that patients could now receive chemo and TPN at home. I've met many patients on chemotherapy who wanted only to be in their own home. I'm definitely following up with them.

As far as the “networking” part of it, many attendees traveled in pairs. I think traveling in pairs to a networking event is a defensive strategy against meeting new people. I also noticed that some people, you know who you are, took the lists of open positions from unmanned booths. Shame on you! Those lists were not for taking. You know you are stealing it when you shark an unattended booth a couple of times before you slip the list into your bag, all casual like.

I did not participate in the educational part of the session for three reasons. First, the continuing education credits I would earn will expire with my license this fall. Second was that the topic “business etiquette” didn't grab me. I've been jobbing for over 20 years. I don't need to be told that it's shabby practice to talk on your cell phone while caring for a patient. Third, I had to pick up the cat from the vet.

Impressions: there are shockingly few jobs for new and recent grads in Philadelphia and budgets for marketing schwag must be in the negative number territory as I didn't even score a “Nursing Spectrum” tote bag. But I am glad I attended because it generated some new ideas for career direction. I look forward to the next event.

Grids

When you're in nursing school, part of your clinical training is to fill out all the paperwork that is required in the care and keeping of a patient under your. There are admission forms, daily flow sheets, physicians' orders, incident reports, medication forms, transfer forms, consultation forms, discharge forms...I'm sure other nurses could list more forms. These are just the ones that I use almost daily. The one I find most disturbing are what we affectionately call “The Skin Sheet”.

When you are admitted to our facility, we strip you naked and inspect your skin from head to toe. Any bruises, moles, scars or potential for skin injury is documented on a form. But if you have an injury that moves into the realm of “wound” (think bedsores), we fill out the Skin Sheet. The Skin Sheet is a grid on which we record the date we found the wound, stage of the wound, the size of the wound, if it's draining, if it is tunneling, if it smells, and if it hurts. It's meant to be an objective tool that tells us how to treat the wound and allows us to monitor the progression of the wound. What the Skin Sheet doesn't explain is how the wound got there, what kind of neglect this patient experienced before admission to our facility, or how anyone who claims they are in health care could allow this to happen?

I often disagree with much of what goes on where I work but there are some things I think we do particularly well and that is prevent and heal wounds. If a patient comes in with a clean bottom, it stays that way while they are with us. If they come in with a wound, we do everything we can to improve it or heal it. But when a patient comes into the facility with wounds that are so large and so invasive, it becomes clear that somewhere down the line, the patient was the victim of neglect.

The Skin Sheet I fill out every week on this patient only tells me if these wounds are getting bigger or smaller. They don't explain why this person sat in his own filth for so long that his skin started dissolving to the bone. The boxes on the Skin Sheet only allow me to what kind of drainage is coming out of the wound. There is nowhere on the grid where I can document how fast the room was spinning the first time I stripped off the old, soiled dressing and saw what was there. I can document on the Skin Sheet if I think the wound causes pain for the patient. But there is nowhere on the Skin Sheet where I can document my rage that whoever was responsible for what happened to this man (who cannot speak or move of his own volition). There is no place on the grid for me to document how useless my emotional reaction is to this man. Every time I initial the sheet, I bear witness to what I believe is neglect that has caused harm.

Into the fray...

It is a universally accepted notion that any person in possession of an opinion will wish to share it... mostly. So here I am, many years late, diving into the fray. This diary of sorts is meant primarily for friends and family, however anyone is welcome to join the conversation. The opinions expressed here are mine alone and may range from evaluations of local restaurants to essays on health care.

It was dismaying to me that our local Olive Garden won “Best Italian Restaurant” when there are so many locally owned Italian restaurants that serve delicious meals and where there is no danger of running out of pre-fabricated chicken parmesan. Don't get me wrong, I like a good bread stick as well as the next person. But food is a way of getting to know other cultures...everyone eats. So why not try that local French-Thai place by the train station?

It is alarming to me when I hear that health care reform will mean health care rationing. If you think there is no rationing in our current system, talk to a patient with low hemoglobin whose insurance will not cover a simple weekly injection of darbepoetin alfa, but will cover a blood transfusion . I currently work in the health care industry, but I have worked in pharmaceuticals, IT and education. I have stories to share about all of them.

It is gratifying to know that the Internet allows us to connect with people from all over the world and stay in contact with the people who mean the most to us. That is the hope and purpose of this blog. Welcome to it.