Project C.U.R.E.

I’m on the volunteer committee at my office. We organize several events a year to help keep everyone  involved in the community. Yesterday a few of us spent time at the local Project C.U.R.E. warehouse, sorting medical supplies. I first heard about Project C.U.R.E. in a radio interview on NPR, and I had been looking forward to participating first-hand in what sounded like an amazing charity group.

When we arrived we were asked to watch an orientation video about the organization, whose mission is to distribute medical supplies to disadvantaged areas around the world. The video was in turns disturbing, heartbreaking, and hopeful. It was all I could do to keep from crying in front of everyone. There were images of babies in dirty beds, rubber gloves that had been washed and hung up to dry for reuse, emaciated patients sharing a hospital bed, and various other deplorable conditions.

Around the conference room were posters that displayed facts about the organization. I learned that Project C.U.R.E. is mainly volunteer driven, and that only $.02 of every dollar is used for administration costs. I thought that was pretty dang impressive. I also learned that in Sudan some surgeons are forced to use TIN CAN LIDS in lieu of scalpels, and that often the procedures are done WITHOUT ANESTHESIA. Think about that for a minute. Horrific.

After the video we were given a tour of the warehouse. It was colossal and contained any and every kind of medical supply and equipment imaginable. Everything is donated by doctors, hospitals, supply companies, and even patients. We were shown a huge box of scrubs that was donated by a hospital who decided to get rid of them after a month of use because they didn’t like the color (which I thought was a lovely shade of dark blue). What was even more amazing that the sheer volume of stuff was the fact that in the past a lot of it would have ended up in the trash.

Our job was to sort through boxes and bags of supplies that had been donated from various places, and place them in one of about 100 plastic bins that held everything from stethoscopes to butterfly needles. Some of the items we sorted were expired and had to be discarded. But other items—though they happened to be past their expiration date—were still perfectly usable. There were extra instruments, tubing, sutures, etc. that had been ordered for surgeries and not used, there were oodles of packaged needles and unused containers, and lots of stuff that I couldn’t identify. Luckily there was a binder that helped us determine what went where, and I was fortunate enough to have a surgical nurse on my team who knew what almost everything was.

Among our pile was a plastic bag full of about 8 boxes of cyclosporene pills along with various other large bottles of prescription meds. Cyclosporene is a drug that suppresses the immune system, so it is often used for transplant patients. It also happens to be one of the many drugs poor little Maggie had to take for her severe allergies, so I know from experience that each pill costs about $1.50. It occurred to me that the bag was most likely donated by the family of a transplant patient who passed away. And then I realized that without Project C.U.R.E. these expensive, life-saving medications would have gone straight into the trash.

Another way to help Project C.U.R.E. is to donate a portion of ebay auctions to the charity. We do have some stuff sitting around that we need to get rid of, so I hope to take advantage of this mode of giving sometime soon.

I have had my fair share of complaints about the medical community in the past few years, but my perspective has definitely changed. I knew before I volunteered that there are limited medical offerings in other countries. But I didn’t realize the extent of the problem—the shocking lack of even the most basic items that we take for granted. I will probably never look at a clean pair of rubber gloves or a pre-packaged needle in the same way again. Not to mention a tin can lid.

Fang Boy

I bet we’ve taken about a thousand pictures of Max since he was born. If nothing else, the child is well documented. And now I have a new favorite. Max went on his first gondola ride up in Steamboat this past weekend, and I managed to capture this beautiful moment:

I love the way he looks like a spunky pirate. Or a pro wrestler.

As a special bonus, I now have a photo for his baby book, which calls for a “first tooth” picture. That pearly white (which Jim refers to reverently as “the fang”) is conveniently peeking out like a tiny jewel.

Themes

Jim and I have decided that Banjo’s theme song is “Woo Hoo” by The 5.6.7.8’s, and Rooster’s theme song is “Mahna Mahna”, We’ve never discussed what Beast’s song is, but music from the Jaws soundtrack seems about right.

My theme song changes on a daily basis. Today it’s a mournful dirge. Too much too do and too little time. And I’m still weirded out by the D.F.W. news.

Infinite

This morning at breakfast Jim informed me that “the Infinite Jest guy killed himself a few days ago”. I looked at him blankly, mouth agape. I couldn’t believe it. Almost as shocking as the suicide was the fact that I had scanned the news on several occasions over the weekend and hadn’t seen a single story about David Foster Wallace’s death. I mean, sure . . . a lot of his work isn’t exactly accessible (as I admitted after slogging my way through “Infinite Jest”), but it is amazing. Undoubtedly pure genius.

I checked the headlines again tonight to see if maybe something would pop up. This is what I found under Yahoo’s “most popular” stories: MTV’s ‘Total Request Live’ is ending in November. That’s apparently more important to the American people than the fact that one of the most brilliant writers of our times has—as D.F.W. himself might say—”erased his own map”.

I spent the rest of today in a sad haze. My mind kept wandering back to the Rothko retrospective that I saw at the National Gallery in 1998. Mark Rothko also succumbed to depression, and a walk through his chronologically arranged paintings was like a stroll though his psyche. The early works were figurative, but the paintings became more and more abstract until the canvases swam with subtleties of color. They almost felt like windows into another universe. On the day that I visited the galleries were almost empty, and as I gazed into the depths of Rothko’s works I felt like I was being transported. It was hypnotic. But as I made my way through the last few gallery spaces, the colors began to fade and the paintings grew darker and more ominous. The last few paintings were black and grey. When I exited the exhibition I felt profoundly sad.

I hate the fact that sometimes genius comes with a terrible price. I hate that David Foster Wallace decided to hang himself knowing full well that his wife would find his lifeless body. I hate that so much potential has to be wasted. I hate that sometimes intense suffering can’t be alleviated. I hate to think what it would feel like to watch all of the color drain away from life.

There and Back

I am pleased to report we survived our first round-trip visit to the east coast with Max in tow. We were THOSE PEOPLE with the baby on the plane 4 times, (both legs of our trip had layovers) but it could have been far, far worse. As it was Max and I both woke up with colds on the morning of departure, so I was terrified that his ears would be killing him. And though he definitely had some uncomfortable moments (which were mitigated a bit with bottles and food), he did really well considering.

We spent the first two days of our trip at Camp Hi-Rock in Massachusetts. It was the camp’s 60th anniversary and Jim was able to meet up with friends he hadn’t seen since his camp counselor days. We were lucky enough to get an enclosed room in the infirmary with a private bath. Pretty rustic by most estimations, but luxurious by camp standards. There were probably only 5 daddy longlegs per square foot instead of 10. Luckily we brought a PeaPod for Max, so at least his sleep was happily bug-free. I was a little worried that the enclosed space would freak him out, but we gave the tent a trial run a couple of nights before we left and he wasn’t bothered at all. He’s a pretty adaptable guy and like his mom, loves to sleep regardless of the venue.

There was obviously a lot of feeding and napping to negotiate, but we did manage to take a few walks and a nice hike to Bear Rock, which overlooks a beautiful valley. We saw lots of interesting moss. Yeah, moss. I had to take a picture because it was so cool. It looked like astroturf, but it was velvety to the touch.

Here’s a shot of Jim and the happy camper. The sunglasses lasted almost a half an hour, which was a half an hour longer than expected.

On Sunday we headed to New Hampshire to visit Jim’s parents, brother, sister-in-law, and nephews. A few of his cousins joined us Sunday and Monday, so there was a lot of activity with kids running pell-mell and plenty of food to be had.

On a random note, I continue to marvel at the vast quantity of Dunkin’ Donuts establishments in the greater New England area. I like donuts as much as the next guy, but the abundance in the city of Keene, NH alone is staggering. There are FIVE Dunkin’ Donuts in a city of approx. 22,500. In contrast, the city of Boulder, CO, (population approx. 83,500) has not a single Dunkin’ Donuts, and only 2 other donut vendors that I could locate. So if you do the math, in Keene there is one donut shop for every 4,500 citizens, and in Boulder there is one donut shop for every 41,750 citizens. Insanity! It’s probably a good thing that donuts are in short supply out here because I could still stand to lose a few pounds, but I guess I’m curious as to why people in New England are so happy for the fried, frosted dough. Must investigate.

Anyway, we made the journey back to Colorado Wednesday night, and I’m still in recovery mode to some degree. I have to say I’m very relieved that our next big trip (to Florida for Thanksgiving) will involve a direct flight and only one destination instead of two. Max is pretty adaptable, but it’s probably best not to push our luck.

The 180

The Daily Show is so deeply awesome. This is the best video I have seen in a while. Papa Bear O’Reilly takes the cake.

Fired up

This election business has me in such a fine state I can barely contain myself. Part of me wanted to watch McCain’s speech tonight, but another part of me knew that if I did, I might start throwing things at the television. So I retired to the office and spent some time making a t-shirt for Max. And any other baby who is powerless to his/her mom’s desire to voice a certain political opinion. On sale now at CafePress!