Artist at Heart's Open Salon Blog

The Cloud, Haven't I Seen This Before?

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 17:02:58 -0500

The “outsource your infrastructure” pendulum is swinging the other way again, this time in the form of ‘The Cloud”. As before, it promises to lower costs, improve everything and allow companies to focus on what they do and let someone else worry about that pesky infrastructure. It sounds great, actually too good to be true, but companies are embracing it anyway. The contracts, containing the ‘guaranteed service level’, will be signed and everyone will be happy. Now the company can focus all of its energy on designing and selling the best widgets ever made. However the company will have just entrusted its entire foundation to an outside vendor whose purpose is to make a profit. Over time, things won’t better as promised, they’ll be basically the same or even a little bit slower. The cost savings, for one reason or another, will not materialize, and response times from the vendor will not be acceptable. The vendor will be pounded on to improve their response times. The contract will be reviewed and it will be determined that the vendor IS meeting the agreed upon service level. Technically they will be, but it does not really work for the company and nobody will be happy. After many heated discussions with the vendor, much stress and frustration the contract will be terminated and the insourcing will begin.

The Look on His Face Brought it All Back

Wed, 7 Dec 2011 09:12:27 -0500

I walked around the corner heading into his office and he was on the phone. His eyes were huge, round disks, his mouth slightly open and he had a grim look on his face. I backed away but recognized that look. It was the look of somebody whose mother was in the ICU. He was talking to the doctor or his father or his brother but the look was the same. I know my own face had looked like this as I sat listening to the doctors or nurses or my siblings talk about own mother when she was in the ICU. It’s the look of helplessness and numbness as you hear the latest installment of the rollercoaster ride.

Down: “How can this be, she was doing so well yesterday?”

Up: “She’s made real progress the last few days”

Down: “It’s very serious and she’s very sick”

Up: “She’s off dialysis”

It’s the look I had as the critical care doctor ran toward me, heading me off before I could get to my mother’s room. “We’ve had a setback and I want to prepare you”. The words barely sinking in as I stared at him with unblinking eyes while telling myself not to forget to breath and stay calm as my heartbeats slam into my ear drums. Boom! Boom! Boom!

It’s the look I had as the doctor suggests ‘comfort measures only’ since there is no more that can be done. My feeling hands frozen, my wide-open eyes looking at him but not seeing anything, my ears hearing the quiet sobs of his young associate, nodding my head.

It’s the look I had at the funeral home, with Kenny Roger’s ‘Through the Years’ playing in the background, while friends asked me if I am OK and I try to smile and say yes.

It’s the look I have as I write this almost 3 years later still not able to understand that she is gone forever.

Only The Unborn Are Important

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 14:11:27 -0500

Driving home from a holiday visit with friends I was searching for a radio station and came upon a ‘religious’ station. The host of the show was interviewing the head of PersonhoodUSA. He kept saying they were protecting these ‘children’ and fighting for these ‘children’. It amazed me that they were so supportive of these children in the womb, but after they are born they forget about them. Mississippi has the highest poverty rate in the country, it has the lowest life expectancy, the lowest literacy rate, the most deficient state Medicaid program and it ranks 45^th on educational spending. If they were really worried about protecting and fighting for these children in Mississippi why don’t they educate the ones that are there? Why aren’t they doing things to lift these children out of poverty? Why don’t they invest resources to keep these children healthy?

Instead they invest resources in trying to get the government for force women to bring even more children into a place where they are unwanted. Why are the children so precious and valuable before they are born but not so after they are born?

Second Anniversary of the Worst Day of My Life

Tue, 16 Aug 2011 16:08:32 -0400

I posted this on the first anniversary of my death. The grief is subsiding and life does go on althought it is not quite the same. August 16 will always be a hard day for me...

I got to the hospital early. They let me into the Transplant ICU even though it was not visiting hours and they were usually very strict about visiting hours. I'm not sure if she could hear me but I talked with my mom. I held her hand, it was warm from the warming blanket she was under and swollen from all of the fluid they were pumping into her.Through my tears I told her that she was the best, she was the best! I told her that I was sorry that I was such a difficult teenager, and sorry for the pain my coming out had caused her, and sorry I never gave her any grandchildren. Most of all I was sorry that there was nothing more I could do for her now.

Since her transplant I did everything I could to make sure she was getting the best treatment. I talked to her doctors and nurses, I kept a log of all of her medicines and I researched online about what to expect and what questions to ask. I visited her every night for the last 10 weeks encouraging her and telling her about the traveling we would do and the shopping we would do when she was better. She couldn't speak due to the ventilator but she mouthed the words Las Vegas and Vera Wang. But a massive infection had overtaken her body and the doctors suggested 'comfort measures only'. That meant removing the fluids and the 3 IVs that were keeping her blood pressure up, but just barely.

My father and brothers and sister, one by one, arrived at the hospital. We sat in a small room our expressions as blank as the walls of the room. My mom's transplant surgeon was looking at the floor, he was serious and quiet and told us that the infection and low blood pressure had damaged the transplanted liver. He could not look at us. His young, female, Indian associated also stared at the floor tears running down her cheeks. He said that my mother was a very special lady and he would always remember her and he had never seen a family love and support anyone like we did. We should be proud.

Each of us called one of our uncles, her brothers, and told them that she was not going to make it. I waited outside the hospital. They arrived in a caravan of large black cars parking illegally and running toward me looking like aging characters from "The Sopranos". I had never seen any of them cry before but they hugged me and we cried. They were losing their only sister, their baby sister.

We all circled her bed and I nodded to the nurse. My sister, in the loudest voice I have ever heard her speak in said, "We're all here mum. We'll be OK. We'll take care of each other!". The nurse turned off each of the IVs. I held my mom's hand and stared at the monitor. Her blood pressure dropped to zero almost immediately and her heart slowed. She stopped breathing. My father kissed her on the forehead and left the room, then one by one everyone else left the room in tears. I did not cry. I stared at the monitor. My mom was not breathing, her blood pressure was zero, but there was still a faint heartbeat. The nurse whispered, 'She's gone", in my ear. But I could not leave until the monitor said her heart rate was zero.

I walked down the hall to the little room. My sister looked at me through her tears and I nodded. I hugged each of my siblings and my father and told them I had to leave. I had to get away from that place. I ran up the stairs, I ran faster across the hospital driveway to my car. I jumped in and sat there. Everything was spinning and I was hyperventilating. I pounded on the steering wheel and tried to calm myself down so I could drive away from this place.

I texted my 3 best friends a message: She's gone.

It's the Second Anniversary of the Worst Day of My Life

Sun, 15 Aug 2010 07:08:13 -0400

I texted my 3 best friends a message: She's gone.