All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women, merely players
Do I even need to attribute that quote to William Shakespeare here on Planet Substack? This is Act II of The Nurse Knows (You Don’t Think) Act I can be found here and thank you for reading…
Ahem. When I leave work, my walk almost always borders on a jog and my fast pace serves me well here in New York City. I know my carefree young girls cannot ever keep pace with me, the tough mother with the bitch face that never rests thanks to years of working in Intensive Care Units. I led us through the station, trudged toward the light and glanced back, always relieved to see my girls close behind. There was no sign of LA Baby though, our out of town guest. I found her frozen there, mid staircase and staring straight up into the abyss. Honestly smiling like a complete fool, holding her phone out trying to capture the innards of Penn Station in a video. It is quite a sight and the poor thing looked like a little baby deer caught in the headlights.
Jesus Christ, this chick had not one clue people trip up or down these stairs, or the many ways their lives can end when they’re not paying attention.
It’s 2022 in the Big Apple. Half the city has vanished, and it’s streets are slightly crowded, but really it looks empty to me and I feel saddened by this lack of crowd. Too many favorite places are gone, all shuttered up shops and restaurants. I think only tourists stop in Times Square, they don’t know it’s not supposed to be this empty. It always seems like New Yorkers don’t care about anything at all, but that’s not it.
The nurse knows everything is relative to the amount of suffering one has previously endured.
I shook my head and smiled, realized LA Baby’s big brown eyes had never beheld such a sight. It was her first visit and I got to experience the wonder of a first. I can’t remember my first visit to the city or when I became desensitized to the what looks, smells and sounds like complete chaos on 7th Avenue. God forbid anyone touches you here and you can quite literally taste the food on the carts as you zip past them.
I imagine that’s what it must feel like to visit a Trauma ICU for the first time, if you’ve have never visited one of those before.
Oh I know my East Coast vibe and tone is offensive to some and again, I really couldn’t care less read: give a fuck. I live at the intersecting point between NYC and Philadelphia, my vibe is simply my vibe. I operated under the assumption that LA Baby knew how to act in a city. Nowadays NYC doesn’t scare me at all, any more than any one place particularly scares me. Now I call it mindfulness and self-awareness rather than fear. Sure I could let my guard down a little, but I don’t and I am aware of my reasons for this. At work I might even relax for a split second, but it doesn’t take much at all to flip into beast mode, the instant the panic alarm sounds, and please read that statement as bitch switch turned back to on.
The nurse knows to save herself first.
I’ve visited a lot of cities, but the City of Angels is not one of them. I was surprised when LA Baby told us nobody really walks in LA. The idea of not walking where it’s always warm and sunny is a preposterous one. My own daughters were displaying the strong survival skills I’d taught them and this felt so good, yet at the same time it stung to realize how little they need me. Unsettled by this realization, I focused my attention on LA Baby, wanting to shield her from the unseen evils lurking in the city. Mentally, I swept her under my wing and we made our way to the Majestic Theatre on Broadway, one of my favorites.
Someday the city may be free of all plastic, but here no one balks at the thousands of paper Playbills being distributed to the masses. Unlike the ticker tape, the idea of eliminating them is so blasphemous, I believe any mention of it could very well spark a revolution. There is usually a Playbill insert which will blatantly inform you which cast member is off or sick, and who will be taking their place. After a few times, you will stop feeling disappointed over who is not there even though you wanted them to be there. It’s Broadway, trust me you will always get your money’s worth on Broadway. Be forewarned though, you might also get your head chewed off by a sweet looking lady if you so much as even blink in the direction of your unsilenced cellular phone.
Again I fucking love New York, this city of purists if you ask me.
Phantom of the Opera is a phenomenal show, the story is timeless, but the music is not. This sound belongs strictly to the decade of decadence. When the show was over the crowd rose up like a tidal wave, clapped, cheered then some even started to cry. There really is no sentence to describe the end of an era. We stood and clapped together for several minutes, looking at the strangers around us, nodding and smiling as if to say we cannot believe this is happening. My tears welled behind my eyes threatening to ruin my mascara. See it was the first time since March of 2020 the claps and cheers didn’t remind me of the pandemic.
Finally as the curtain fell and the house lights came up, I immediately looked at the faces of my girls. Of course they liked the show, it was energizing and spectacular, but I could see it didn’t top their ever evolving list of Broadway favorites. We’re all young adult music snobs for a moment in time. Again I shook my head and thought to myself, smile bitch, just look at this life you’ve given to these spoiled brats of yours. Oh I made out like a bandit, a Critical Care Nurse in a goddamn pandemic, and I will never like this fact, but I always know to take the good with the bad.
I looked at the beaming face of LA Baby and I knew it was love at first sight that afternoon on Broadway. I thought back to how it felt to walk into the ICU as a young and once green graduate nurse. It’s a life show, a intense force unlike any other. It’s the one place besides the theater where the world falls away and I feel complete calm. I don’t remember when I stopped noticing the smells, or when the blood had to be spurting forcefully enough to hit the ceiling, in order for me to be impressed. I don’t know when my ears learned to discern a scream of frustration from a cry for help. They do though and it’s part mother’s instinct at play there. So many years later, I get to conduct this carefully orchestrated chaos, read lines on faces and hear people’s incredible love stories. Year after year, I am blown away and my love for life, along with the dramedy of it all, only grows stronger.
We walked to Rockefeller Center where the big Christmas tree was up, but not yet lit. Nanny Shirley used to always say the lights were on and nobody was home, instead of saying someone was stupid. It taught me never to call people stupid, even though people do some stupid things.
Once more I turned around to check my chicks and there was LA Baby standing in the middle of the damn street. Again her mouth was open wide and God help me, she was fumbling with her phone. I am old enough to manage every aspect of my life without a phone and this sight sometimes annoys me. I cocked my brow, ready to reprimand her, but realized she was staring straight into the bright lights of the one and only, RADIO CITY MUSIC HALL.
The sweet girl was trying to call her mother back in LA to share the moment with her. I heard her say, Mommy do you remember when we used to watch the Rockettes on TV, in the highest and delighted young woman squeal. Now tears filled my eyes again and I sure do remember what that moment felt like.
The fall break ended and my girls returned to school. I spent the next few weeks prepping the apartment for Christmas and their return. Instead of letting my usual Christmas favorite songs flood the house, I listened to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack on repeat. It’s now my second favorite show after Wicked, but most of you already know my reasons for this. My down payment for a house sat safely parked in the bank, nothing to do except wait a little more.
One night I called my girls to say hi, mentioned again how much I loved the show and they laughed at me. I laughed and made no apologies for my love of the synthetic piano. It reminds me of the 90’s and the first time I saw the Rockettes live. It would be the first of many city trips to see shows. The very first trip was sponsored by a church youth group, a friend had an extra ticket and well it was my first real taste of something different. Back then I only knew that someday I wanted my life to be filled with New York City shows. Even now as I write this, I remember it pays to be very specific when manifesting or The Universe will honor my request to change my life however the hell it sees fit.
Or as Nanny Shirley would say, be careful what you wish for.
Then I informed my girls I’d chosen my funeral song, one from the show. Told them I’d like for a dove to be freed from a cage as my casket drops into the ground. Hopefully it’s not too expensive, their mother is cheap, so damn practical and they know I only purchases experiences for Christmas. Besides they also know I’d like to be blasted into the sky alongside Halley’s Comet if I don’t live long enough to witness the return. I’ll be 86 in 2061, it could go either way, but hey a wish is a wish.
Chloe declined to give my eulogy, said she’d like to and knew hers would be the best, but that she would be too drunk and vomiting to speak. We do like to share those $40 Broadway show sippy cups that contain half a bottle of gin. Worst most expensive drinks ever and I lost count of how many cups are lurking in my kitchen cabinets. Alexandra agreed to provide my encomium and I am confident she’ll use her fancy English/Philosophy degree to bring the bereaved crowd (another wish) to their knees. Yeah I hope my funeral is jumping like a life-ending, hot as all hell summer block party.
Our good spirits never leave this earth and this will be my legacy. I promised my girls I’ll be there somewhere at my funeral, we’re just not quite sure which direction I’ll be coming in from, if you catch my drift.
The Nurse knows this life is for the living. In fact when given the chance, the only thing to do is really live.
Think of me, think of me waking
Silent and resigned
Imagine me trying too hard
To put you from my mind
Recall those days
Look back on all those times
Think of the things we’ll never do
There will never be a day
When I won’t think of you
OMG. I CANNOT LOVE THIS ENOUGH. You have walked me through my memories of the city that are extremely strong. When 2020 hit and it was over I didn't know what to do. I would have annoyed the hell out of you!!! John knew I'd keep an eye out as I photographed my way through every single nook and cranny, (him ahead by a block) esp. the street art, of which I became a complete freakazoid over and would arrange miles of walks with my youngest to find the street art wasn't there - but hey, after 15 miles, we talked a lot and discovered more than we imagined. I have walked with my equipment hanging off me all over L.A., not always safe, but I would make my client bring someone that would watch us. It's no longer fun to walk around there. It's it's own emergency room hell sadly. The theater was our life, rushing cheap tix and jazz. The best jazz in all the world resides in that city, underground and places like Blue Note - I was your LA Baby each and every time and I cried over it. Never did I feel so alive than in that city. We would eventually take the train on Sunday mornings to Brooklyn Tabernacle and worship our butts off. I have never hugged such a diverse crowd of exceptional humans. The best Christian based book I ever read was Pastor Cymbala's "Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire." Talk about fire. With the fire comes the fresh wind. In everything. You, my dear friend and nurse I wish I had at my side several weeks ago, have walked through years of fires and you keep coming out into the wind of fresh life. I loved every single bit of this story. I felt it in my bones. Our first show was Billy Elliott. I sat stunned with emotion. Probably, since John and I have always had a hard relationship (you know those personality tests with the 4 letters at the end? I can't remember - but yeah, we were told after two tries, we really aren't meant to be together) - We have struggled our whole marriage - but we are both deeply passionate and dramatic. I don't hold back. He holds everything back. During Ian's Freshman year we saw Once. It was fall of 2013 at the Jacobs Theater? anyways a small, intimate, just like most of Broadway is, theater. The scene opens with the main character coming in the door and singing this song. I can't find a clip but this is the original singer Glen Hansard singing it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6wRT1MzmH4. - I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. John began to squeeze my hand so tight and Ian on the other side was squeezing and crying. I'm crying as I type this. I've screamed this. So has he. The theater was literally suffocating us. And our youngest theater kid with so much passion - "the one" I begged for for so many years - who had to witness our fights - who was struggling internally with his sexuality - only coming out a few years before leaving us to go to New York. Oh man why did I read this! I am sobbing. Okay - I'll go now. I love you Nurse Kristin. Thank you. I get you. ox
P.S. John also got me to walk over every bridge in the city marveling at the history. Still crying.
Love this, both in laughter and love it overflows. I know from which direction you’ll be arriving at your funeral.. I might even offer to accompany you to embibe at the wake. 💞