Things I am thankful for.....and Sports Adventures

Thanksgiving, of course, is a time for reflection. Naturally, there are the 'usual' gratitudes: I'm thankful for my three daughters, wonderful husband, my parents (and the fact that I'm so fortunate to still have them), and my work 'family'. But there is another family to which I belong, and to which I am forever grateful. It's a bit of an unusual family; not one of blood ties, certainly (unless you count the Red Sox blood flowing through our veins), but a family whose members gather once a year in Ft. Myers to play baseball at the Sports Adventures Red Sox Fantasy Camp. We all originally went for the same reason, I think...that is, to have an opportunity to 'play' at being a real major league baseball player, if only for a week. But the similarity stops there. Some of us, perhaps, were college baseball players being scouted by the majors, yet a career ending injury destroyed our dream. There have been others who have faced serious illness who have given this gift to themselves to celebrate their recovery. And for a handful of campers, Sports Adventures Red Sox camp has given the opportunity they were denied as young girls growing up in the pre-title IX days. There are almost as many 'stories' as there are campers. But since this post is about gratitude, I will tell you why I am grateful for being a member of this Sports Adventures family. It is a family of kindness; we celebrate the births of children and grandchildren, marriages, retirements and all the good times. We mourn when we lose a member of our Sports Adventure family, and we support each other when we lose a member of our real families. Every year we enroll a few new family members, are happy when they tell us 'this was the best week of my life'. We embrace and tolerate each others differences, quirks, moods, and (sometimes) practical jokes that go awry. We forgive, forget...and then go out and play two.

So, as we go into the holiday season, and we count our blessings, I know that, for a group of us, Larry Marino and his awesome organization will be on our list. And, of course, we're all counting down the days to our next 'family reunion' at the end of January!

ER: 2:00 am

I am not deaf, I am not blind.
I am not immune to your words, unkind.
My clothes are soiled, and I need a bath.
But what have I done to deserve your wrath?
It’s cold outside, and I have no bed.
I’m really not sure when last I was fed.
I DO know my name, and (maybe) the date.
But who is the President of the United States?
That’s always the hard one; I used to know.
Carter, I think? No, wait, don’t go!
I can tell by your face what’s going on in your head
“Just another drunk vet who’s gone off his meds”.
But I once had a home, and a family, too.
And a job, and a car, and future, like you.
I have a college degree, and I’ve written two books
So please refrain from those disgusted looks.
Because there’s really no difference between you and me
Except a little bad luck and some brain chemistry.

Time flies....

1975
“Marry my daughter? The answer is no.
Too young, no job, years of college to go.”
The father stood up, and pushed back his chair.
Sized up the young man, barely nineteen, with long hair.
“I’ve made my decision. Young marriages don’t last.”
The boy walked away, with his eyes downcast.

2010
The boy, now grown, takes the father’s arm
Helps him over the rocks, keeps him from harm.
The climb has been steep, despite the tram ride
But at the top of the mountain, there waits a young bride.
With another young groom holding her hand.
She smiles as she sees them, her grandpa and her dad.

New Grad Jobs.

So, I've been totally delinquent about keeping up with my blog, but I promise to be a more conscientious blogger in the future. Main topic of chatter with my students right now (other than the looming NCLEX!) is the current lack of job opportunities for new grads. Now, having a few (!) years under my belt in the nursing world, I've seen ups and downs in the nursing job market, but my students, being Gen Y-ers, only know the current job market, which is admittedly, pretty dismal for the students graduating this year. Not sure how best to reassure them that 'this, too, shall pass' when in many cases their expectations of what they will accept for a first job are pretty exclusive. In other words, they really want (and expect) to be offered an ICU, ED, L&D, name-your-favorite-specialty job, and don't understand that maybe..JUST MAYBE..they might have to 'settle' for something less than their ideal job. Its not a generation that is used to settling for anything; not their fault, for sure, but something society, and many of us as parents, with their best interests at heart, have unwittingly caused.

So, I guess the best advice I have to offer them is to aim high..but be open to other opportunities in nursing. They have many more years ahead of them to work, and any experience they get now (yes, even if its in a Nursing Home...although they are all shuddering at the thought of that!) will only make them more marketable nurses when something else opens up. And who knows...they might find their true calling may NOT be in the ICU, ED, L&D, name-your-favorite-specialty. Its time for you all to spread your wings and FLY! There is so much available to you in the field of nursing...don't limit yourself!

Be an informed consumer!

In medical news, the CDC is calling into question the 'safety' of the Gardasil (cervical cancer) vaccine...this is after repeated assurances to consumers that this vaccine was safe to give our young teen daughters. (http://abcnews.go.com/Health/CancerPreventionAndTreatment/story?id=8356717) One can assume that this vaccine underwent the lengthy FDA approval process, yet now, we as consumers are being provided with the news that this vaccine may not be as 'safe' as initially reported. However, this post is not about the Gardasil vaccine, but about the H1N1 (swine flu) vaccine, which is being rushed through the approval process in order to be approved for distribution this fall. (To read about the vaccine testing and approval process, go to http://www.cdc.gov/vaccinesafety/basic/safety.htm ) We're being asked to cheerfully roll up our sleeves to receive not one but TWO separate injections that 'may' provide protection about a flu which could 'possibly' mutate to become a more virulent and deadly illness. Am I the only one who remembers the mid-seventies Swine Flu vaccination fiasco, where the vaccine program was halted after millions of people had already received the first injection, and the side effect of Guillian Barre Syndrome (ascending paralysis) was discovered?

This is in no way meant to discourage people from receiving the vaccines this fall. However, each individual MUST take responsibility for making an informed decision regarding the H1N1 vaccine. There is an abundance of information on the valid information on the Internet (stick with the sites from reputable organizations, i.e. .gov or .org, or from various medical associations). Get educated, then make an informed decision for yourself and your family!

The more things change...

Many years ago (more than I care to remember!), after much pleading, my father agreed to take us (my two younger sisters, my mother and me) to a Boston Red Sox game. The year was 1966, the year the Impossible Dream Team was just a glimmer in Tom Yawkey's eye. I was a faithful watcher of televised games, always in black and white, of course, and often listening to Ken Coleman broadcasting the play-by-play late into the night on my transistor radio tucked carefully under my pillow. Younger readers of my blog may not believe this, but in 1966, attendance at Red Sox games was so pitiful that tickets were easy to obtain. My father bought the tickets at McCarthy's Smoke Shop in Brockton, and I began the painful countdown until the day I would get to see my favorite players in person.

The big day finally arrived, and off we went, Mom, Dad, and three daughters ranging in age 11 down to age 7. I remember the noise, the colors, the crowds, and the excitement, all swirling around me. But what I was not in any way prepared for was the site that greeted me as I walked up the ramp to our seats. Green grass, so bright, so perfect, it hurt my eyes to look at it. I realized then that I had never ever seen an image of the field that was anything but black and white. I stood at the top of the ramp, unable to move, in awe of the view of the field in 'living color'. At age 11, it was love at first sight; a true and passionate love for a field, a game, and the men who played it. I don't remember the details of the game, who won or lost, the final score, or even the name of the opposing team. None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered is that I had finally been to Fenway. No matter where I lived, how far away I travelled, how many ballparks I visited, going to Fenway Park would always be special, and I would never forget that first trip up the ramp to see the green grass of Fenway Park.

Fast forward 40+ years. As a mentor for a city organization this year, I was matched with a mentee who has an interest in my career, nursing. So, we had a couple of breakfast meetings, went on a few field trips, and although she was pleasant and polite, even as the program was drawing to a close, I didn't feel like I had made any difference in her life....I had failed as a mentor! When an opportunity arose to take her to a Red Sox game, I jumped at the chance, selfishly figuring I may as well be getting something out of this arrangement, even if she isn't. So, off we went, on a cool night in May that threatened rain. After parking and walking to the concourse, I noticed her interest piquing. She was texting her frends about being there; a step in the right direction. I brought her over to watch Jim Rice and Dennis Eckersly as they were doing the pre-game show. She didn't know who either one of them were, but politely expressed interest. We walked into the Souvenir Store, where I bought a hat for my California daughter, then headed inside and bought sodas (yes, fellow Sox campers, soda, not beer!) before we sought out our seats.

As we walked up the ramp, her face brightened. Speechless, her eyes roamed the field surface, shining brightly green despite the gloomy weather, then scanned the skyboxes, brightly lit like a necklace around the inside of the park. She craned her neck to see the scoreboard above us, already showing amazing plays of the previous week. And she smiled.

I saw a little bit of myself that day, as I imagine my father saw a little bit of himself in me those many years ago. This is how Boston Red Sox fans are created; it is as much about the scenery as it is about the play, and hopefully, someday, I'll bring one of my own grandchildren here to bear witness to the incredible, awesome power of Fenway.

A "Good News" Story

As most of you know, I've played baseball at Red Sox Fantasy Camp in Ft. Myers, FL for over ten years. What started as a 'once in a lifetime' opportunity to meet and play baseball with some of the Red Sox stars of my youth has become an annual event, and I'm proud to say I'm now a member of a wonderful, if somewhat crazy, 'family' that gets together once a year to play baseball. I know most of you are too young to remember Bill Monbouquette, who pitched for the Sox from 1958-1965, but he's been a camp 'regular' for many years. A year and a half ago, Bill was diagnosed with leukemia, and following an arduous battle with chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant, is now recovered and competing once again in charity golf tournaments; we're looking forward to seeing him again in February at Sox Camp. Bill and his wife Josephine are wonderful people, and I'm so happy that this story has had a good ending. Last summer, after participating in a bone marrow donor screening done by Dana Farber on his behalf, I wrote the following:

A Baseball Story, 2008

I know enumerable stories have been written about encounters with former Major League baseball players. This may come off as just another one of those; but as I look at the picture sitting on the desk in my office, I can’t help but think that this story is different….made more important, maybe, because time is running out, and I have unfinished business that won’t wait much longer.

This story dates back to a time when girls did not play baseball; pre-title IX. Two generations of girls have been born since then; playing sports with all the advantages that I never had. This story is not about that…not really. It’s about a memory, and a story that I have tried to tell several times to the man involved, but each time words fail me.

Baseball has been in my blood as long as I can remember. My grandmother Sadie, passionate Red Sox fan, passed the love of the game on to me. From the early sixties, I have only brief snapshots of memories; Gramma, pitching the ball to me in the back yard. Five years old, skinny and shirtless, I swing with all my might, and yelling “Strike!” when I make contact. I guess I confused baseball with bowling back then, and a different grandmother might have let it go. But to her, it was important that I understand the game, and she explained that a strike was good in bowling, but in baseball, it meant something very different.

Another snapshot: watching the Red Sox on a black and white TV, circa 1960, and the man with the funny name is pitching. Mom-boo-cat. Although the picture on the television is grainy, I have a clear memory of my grandmother saying that Mom-boo-cat was a great pitcher. Now, I’m sure my grandmother spoke of Ted Williams; she may have mentioned Earl Wilson and Frank Malzone. But to my five year old ears, those were ordinary names. Bill Monbouquette is the name I would remember.

Gramma died in 1988, at the age of 99. A stroke, and eventually a broken hip, would be the cause of her demise. But she left a legacy of passion for the game of baseball, passed down to her daughter, her granddaughter, and her great-granddaughter....which brings me to the reason for this story.

In 1996, I celebrated my fortieth birthday with ultimate fantasy for a Red Sox fan. One of only three women to attend Sports Adventures Red Sox Fantasy camp in Fort Myers, Florida, I was able to play baseball for a week with those who loved the game as I did. Gramma’s girl finally fulfilled her dream of playing for the Boston Red Sox! The bonus, of course, was getting to meet ex-Red Sox players…famous ones…like Carl Yastrzemski, George Scott, and Rico Petrocelli. But the man I wanted to meet most was the man with the funny name….Bill Monbouquette. I wanted to explain to him what meeting him meant to me, and what great memories his name evoked, but I feared that saying “You were my grandmother’s favorite player” would sound trivial. I didn’t want to insult the man by making him feel old, and secondly, I truly didn’t know if he indeed was her favorite player. But his is the name I remember her saying, and I can hear her saying today as clearly as I heard it when I was five years old. But the real reason for my reluctance is that I feared telling him would cause my throat to close up, and then tears would come. This, of course, was even before Tom Hanks said “There’s no crying in baseball.” Even so, I never told him, but always thought: “If only Gramma could see me now!”

Over the years, I’ve returned again and again to fantasy camp, and have gotten to know Bill and his wonderful wife Josephine. And, I have had other opportunities to tell him about how important that is, yet words have failed me each time. This year, things are different. Bill Monbouquette has cancer. We weren’t sure he would be able to come to camp, but he did. One night after dinner, he walked to the podium to a standing ovation, and told us about his diagnosis, the treatments, and the kindness of the Boston Red Sox and the people at Dana Farber. His throat closed up, and the tears came, and I knew then that sometimes crying in baseball is justified, especially when life has handed out a huge dose of bad luck.

But, back to the picture on my desk, the one I cherish above all others. It is not of Bill and me, but of Bill and my twenty-eight year old daughter Jen, taken this year at fantasy camp. He, despite chemotherapy, still is looking strong in his gray away Red Sox uniform, she in her home Red Sox uniform and wearing her catcher’s gear. She is looking up at him with great intent while he talks to her. I would like to think they were talking about baseball, but in all likelihood, he is talking to Jen, a veteran herself, about his pride in his own two sons, both serving our country. But the subject doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Gramma is looking down, seeing her granddaughter and great-granddaughter playing baseball with the Boston Red Sox, and they have become friends with the man with the funny name, Bill Mom-boo-cat. I know she’s proud. Its time to tell him how important that is.