Those Who Can, Do. Those Who Can't, Blog.

9/17 Author's note:  This post has been edited/expanded upon after a Flu shot and a good night's sleep.

A number of people have asked me when I'm planning to resume regular blogging.  A few are a tad torqued-off that I've been gone for so long.

The simple answer is that what was originally conceived as an ordinary summer break will likely extend well into October.  Paraphrasing an old adage I despise (about teaching):

Those who can, do.  Those who can't blog.

Watching what's been going on the Greensboro blogosphere over the last several months . . . this after being cyber-stalked-and-brazenly-libeled online (with  some of Blogsboro's "finest" sneering, spitting and snickering as it was being done) . . . I am more convinced of that than ever.

If you want to be relevant, BE RELEVANT (this is aimed mostly at the so-called "journalists" in the crowd . . . knowing full well that it falls on smug, deaf ears).

I've been bitching/begging in this ether long enough, and I've decided to DO something about what was done to me (it's all the the sidebar, folks).  A page was turned a few weeks ago. I don't feel like getting into the details online.  But a page was turned.

It's taken a lot of time to get back to me.  I cannot believe how far away from me I got - just trying to survive.

As I write this, I'm watching the talking heads on the CBS Evening News wail and gnash their teeth about latest polls indicating that the American public is fed up with President Obama and Congress.

And I'm thinking that the American public just needs to get in line.

To explain, I reference excerpts from the President's September 8th speech to Congress pushing his latest "throw more money at it" plan to revamp the economy (like he re-vamped healthcare) and "create" more jobs:

These men and women grew up with faith in an America where hard work and responsibility paid off. They believed in a country where everyone gets a fair shake and does their fair share - where if you stepped up, did your job, and were loyal to your company, that loyalty would be rewarded with a decent salary and good benefits; maybe a raise once in awhile.

If you did the right thing, you could make it in America.

But for decades now, Americans . . . have seen the deck too often stacked against them. And they know that Washington hasn’t always put their interests first . . .

The people of this country work hard to meet their responsibilities. The question tonight is whether we’ll meet ours . . .

But know this: the next election is fourteen months away. And the people who sent us here — the people who hired us to work for them — they don’t have the luxury of waiting fourteen months. Some of them are living week to week; paycheck to paycheck; even day to day. They need help, and they need it now.

Now I could pick that speech apart for hours.  Suffice it to say that in my own case, it's actually been thirteen years - long before any of the bubbles burst for the rest of the world. 

The National Health Servce Corps recruited me to a job that wasn't previously there . . . my medical school loans would be paid - with taxpayer dollars - in return for service.  And I did EVERYTHING I was supposed to do . . . and then some . . . trying to "make it work" (when I look back on some of it now, it does seem like a bad episode of Project Runway).  I met my obligations, and went far above & beyond in terms of my responsibilities as a physician. 

Yet for my trouble, I was professionally crucified.  When I needed the Feds to enforce the terms of their own service agreements, they took a dive, and let all of the lovely taxpayer dollars "invested" in my recruitment be flushed right down the toilet with nary a second glance. 

It wasn't just a job.  It was my life.  My career was totally derailed.  I didn't really have the luxury of waiting that long on the state and Federal governments I served - or the politicians in Raleigh/Washington (some of whom I voted for) to do right by me.

I know ALL about serving a company loyally and well only to be stabbed in the back.  I know ALL about living from week-to-week, paycheck-to-paycheck, even day-to-day.

I needed HELP, and I needed it the FIRST time I placed a phone call to Tom Tucker in the N.C. Office of Rural Health back in March 1998 . . . after the WAY-over-rated, now-WAY-overpaid corporate bullies running Randolph Hospital, cast me to the curb/gutters of my own hometown for doing my job the way it was supposed to be done . . .

. . . for, one-night-in-the-middle-of-the-night, answering a nurse's frantic call and taking on a Cone-owned (Hi Ed, feeling relevant yet?) doctor . . . his abilities falsely advertised to the public, and WAY out of his element. 

Mine is no odinary job, you see.  I am a doctor.  I have unique duties and special responsibilities - specifically defined by Oath and the North Carolina Medial Board.  I could have been sued into oblivion - or been disciplined by the Board - if I had not done what I did. 

Much more disturbing than that, a child might have died.

But in North Carolina, a "right-to-work" state, I might as well be Bev Perdue's limo driver.

Now Roch Smith, Jr, Googling the old news reports almost worthy of Ethan Feinsilver (hello Mr. Robinson, forgive me if I don't think we've come very far), will tell you that I was fired "without cause".  But that was just a damned lie that a "non-profit's" Board of Directors used to distance themselves from their own responsibitilies both to me - and to the citizens of Asheboro & Randolph County. 

I was fired for saving a life.  For reporting medical badness/blowing the whistle. 

What was done to me - under the cover of charity - was just WRONG.

But the deck was stacked from even before that awful night.  And what the North Carolina legal profession would subsequently do to me would be far worse.  No one played fair or met their responsibilities to me (especially not the local newspapers).  As Sam Spagnola will tell you, everybody lies in Court. 

Bad faith and perjury are no biggies.  Get over it.  Move on.

These days, I'm supposed to sit down and shut up (it's the progressive thing to do) as the Federal government gears up to throw more money at creating jobs . . . when it didn't do what it was supposed to do . . . what it very easily could have done all those years ago . . . to save mine.

Last but certainly not least, Jeff Martin (aka "Fec" the cyberstalker) thinks that me being PISSED OFF about everything that's gone down since I took a "non-profit" and the government at its word merits ridicule and a psychiatric diagnosis. 

His premise on the latter seems to be that he would know.

Reform has come and reform has gone, yet the holes I fell through as a doctor in public service have yet to be plugged.  I look at President Obama and I all I see is a tired, old recycled joke . . . because I've been hearing the same promises since the days of Hillary's village . . . since a good portion of the local blogging universe thought John Edwards was an up-and-coming superstar who would pave their way to a night in the Lincoln.  But nothing EVER changes.

It's not about the President's color, people.  It's about his policies.  Some of us and been there and done that.  It's like  a never-ending Groundhog day.  Wake up.  Grow up.

(PLEASE.  I'm begging you. Report me to "attackwatch.com".  Maybe then the White House will answer a letter.)

So.  I'm still working on doing . . . not blogging.  I spent way to much time on that.  It's not about politics.  It's about simple right and wrong.  And if I don't at least try, I will not be able to live with myself or continue in this profession.

Bottom line:  I'll be back when I get back.  My sincere thanks to those who care.

(You progressive Greensboro bloggers keep talking amongst yourselves.  I've decided it's just talk.)

Craving Quiet

Apart from a PBS Frontline piece entitled "Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero", I've deliberately avoided the 9/11 memorial programs and retrospectives that have flooded the airways and the ether over the last several days. 

To be sure, one day . . . someday, I will make the pilgrimages to New York and Pennsylvania.  Respect will be paid. But tomorrow, I think the TV will be off.

We all have our memories of that day.  We all process them differently.  For my own part, I'm not entirely sure what makes 9/11/2011 any different from 9/10, or 9/12, or any other day since that awful, surreal morning.

For 9/11/2001 still affects the lives of every American on a daily basis . . . and will continue to do so until long after all of our lives, and our children's lives, and our childrens' children's lives are over. 

It changed everything.  Evil is real and walks/lives among us.  Safety and security are illusions.  We knew it all along.  But we didn't.

On the flip side, ordinary people can act with amazing grace . . . and make extraordinary sacrifices for their fellow man/woman and the common good.

The Frontline documetary was basically about how different people process grief - and how their faith was challenged, strengthened, or died altogether on that horrible day . . . when many people wondered where God was.

PBS being PBS, the atheists also had their say.  Too much say, I thought.

A focal talking point towards the end of the documentary pondered the image of an unknown man and an unknown woman reaching out to one another and holding hands as they jumped to their deaths from one of the Tower's melting windows. 

A choice.  But love and humanity triumphing, in its way, over unimaginable horror.

Which takes me back to a post from 2006, in which I tried to imagine being in their place:

Have you ever been in the middle of a crowded, noisy somewhere and ever looked out beyond it . . . into a blue sky . . . or a lush green field or forest . . . or out over perfectly still/clear aqua water . . . and wondered (1) how you found yourself in the middle of the crowded/noisy somewhere and (2) why couldn’t you be OVER THERE . . . enjoying the quiet . . . basking in the light of a clear blue sky . . . or lost in fresh green fields & forests . . . or bathed in perfect aqua water?

That has always been my question when I look upon the images of 9/11 . . . especially of the people who were crowded in smoke-choked windows, and clinging to hope in the Towers before they fell. After the phone calls were made and the goodbyes were shared, what could these people see and what were they thinking in those last moments when they looked out . . . beyond the heat and the smoke and the terror . . . into a cool, clear blue autumn sky . . . the same unmarred blue sky that I vividly remember looking up to that day, my eyes swimming in tears?

I wonder if their hearts and souls craved the unreachable, perfect quiet? Were their final thoughts a silent scream pleading, "Please God, get me out of here . . . PLEASE let me be OVER THERE!"?

And then the prayer was answered.

Tomorrow morning, a Sunday morning, I will be craving quiet.  Remembering my countrymen and women.  Pondering the mystery.  And talking to a God I don't talk to enough.  

He had nothing to do with it, yet everything to do with it. 

And He most assuredly was there. 

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Aftermath

The little far-Northeastern North Carolina town where I work was battered for well over 24 hours (from late last Friday night until the wee hours of Sunday morning) with sheets of rain and screaming wind.  Irene's eye passed just to our East, so we saw no relief during the onslaught.  If anything, apart from when the eyewall was passing, the back-end of the storm seemed far worse than the front (I think that was about the shift in wind direction).

Trees are down everywhere.  We had what I would categorize as mild-to-moderate flooding for this part of the world (the weathermen have joked that we're no longer in a drought).  It was not Floyd.  It was not Isabel.  But's that's only because we were dry-as-a-bone.  At least one local bridge is out.  Local farmers took a massive hit - particularly those growing corn, cotton and/or tobacco.  Peanuts and soybeans fared better.

The hospital took a nasty licking to its infrastructure (water damage mostly), but went on generator power about mid-day Saturday and, like the Energizer Bunny kept right on ticking.  The computers slowed (and remain very temperamental), but never went completely down (we had prepared for paper-charts - I was actually looking forward to that - one giant checkmark down the page, a signature and you're done).  The LDRP nursing staff was amazing (the weekend staff basically roomed in) - but of course, they've done this before.  We did have one "hurricane baby".

I rode the storm out at my apartment - about two miles and one creek from the hospital - electing to stay with my terrified animals - venturing out only to attend the aforementioned delivery very early on Saturday morning, and to do nursery rounds (we had several babies/their families in-house). 

Amazingly, I had power and even cable TV until about 8 PM Saturday night - when everything went out all at once.  But it was all back on by early Sunday morning.  The nurses wryly tell me it's because I'm on the same line/grid as the local funeral home. 

Some of my colleagues are still without power.  At night, there is the constant hum of generators in the distance.

Hospital executives threw a little post-hurricane party for the staff earlier this week.  Hot-dogs and hamburgers and beach-music in the courtyard.  It was thoughtful - and nice.  

The hospital maintenance crew deserves medals and $20 Walmart gift cards.  It's just my opinion, if any executives are reading this subversive little blog:)

It wasn't just the Outer Banks that got slammed.  Inland towns like Bath and Belhaven and New Bern took a vicious pummeling.  It's kind of surreal to hear people talk about the damage there now. . . as the weekend prior, Mama had accompanied my Aunts and Uncles to a family reunion in Bath/Belhaven.  And, by all accounts, it was an absolutely perfect weekend - the calm before the storm.

One of our anesthesiologists (a "traveller", like me) makes her permanent home on the sound side of one of our more Southern beaches - she plans to retire there.  She was off-call, and had thought about riding out the storm.  She laughed as she told me that she had expected local authorities to close the bridges/access roads . . . and was able to shrug of being told, "You will be on your own if you stay". 

But when they shut off the water and sewer, it was time to leave;)  Her home survived the storm with minimal damage.

The thing is, Irene was "just" a Category 1 storm (for those now sneering and spitting at the National Hurricane Center, I would rather forecasters over-predict than under-estimate).  And she pretty much shut the eastern seaboard down for two days.  The catastrophic damage in Vermont echos of the hurting that Hurricanes Frances and Ivan put on the N.C. Mountains in 2004.  What if Miss Irene had been the Category 2 or 3 monster she was originally feared to be? 

Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.  Get something in-between.

Folks here are holding their breaths over Katia - now lumbering through the Atlantic.

The people of Eastern North Carolina are a hardy lot.  Storms come and storms go.  Big rivers crest and recede. Land literally shifts under their feet. Beaches drift and homes disappear.  But these folks pick-up, clean-up and keep moving forward . . . without a lot of hand-holding from "our federal family" (cringe, choke, gag).  To-be-sure there will be Federal disaster-relief and money coming in (Governor Bev is all over it), but this ain't New Orleans, and nobody is waiting to be rescued - or blaming whoever happens to be occupying the White House.

(President Obama can take his photo-ops in Vermont.  No biggie.)

One resident of Hatteras Island said, "It's the price of living in paradise".

And on that note, I have one thing to say to anyone bitching about re-building Highway 12 (again).

If you've ever visited North Carolina's beaches and barrier islands and harbor towns/communities - some of them older than the state/country itself . . . stocked with ancient families who are far from "rich" . . . if you've ever enjoyed even one single day or night in paradise, put on your pirate panties, SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP. 

OF COURSE, the road needs to be rebuilt - for as long as we can do it - even if it's just dirt and gravel.

In the meantime, it sure would be cool to come up with alteratives . . . like shoring up our ferry system.  We also need to have some serious conversations about what gets built on our very unique and fragile coastline.  How can we preserve what we have for as long as we can . . . and pass paradise on?

One thing is for sure:  The day of the four-story ocean-front McMansion needs to be OVER.