Thrilling Young Spring Chicken

I was actually able to give Marvin 100 mg of gabapentin before taking him over to his vet on Monday afternoon by putting it in sticky bacon-flavored paste. He is not able to separate this stuff from the pill inside as easily. His vet poked the vomited-up specimens and immediately pronounced them to be a foreign substance of some sort. Further mashing revealed that they were segments of a substantial brown shoelace that I did not recognize. Tom has disavowed any knowledge of this item. One of the paid cat sitters has often mentioned the cats enjoying playing with his hoodie string; maybe one of the cats took it out of his hoodie entirely and it accidentally got left behind in the apartment.

I told Marvin’s vet the traveling vet’s idea re acepromazine, which she did not endorse, as expected. She clearly recognized the name of the other vet but did an admirable job of maintaining her poker face.

We discussed how to medicate Marvin for travel and she confirmed that his chip is scanning properly, so Duckworth’s presumably is, too. The cat transport people don’t rely on chips. The one traveling with us will bring along two AirTags. Marvin’s vet is hopeful that he will take his medication more readily now that he doesn’t have a big shoelace inside him, which was probably making him feel nauseous.

On Tuesday I called my boss to say I needed to quit my job, though I again couldn’t quite make the words come out of my mouth. I said several times, “I don’t want to!” Finally, he gently said, “How about this: I accept your resignation, but it’s not official until I get your letter of resignation.” We agreed on that. I started by writing a letter to my team. Once I had that drafted to my satisfaction, I wrote a simple resignation note, and then I sent both.

I did not actually use the word “retire” and was a bit taken aback when I soon got a note from one of my co-workers sending good wishes on the occasion of my retirement. Isn’t a retiree a forgotten old fart with nothing more to contribute? I’m not retired! I’m a thrilling young spring chicken!

Here is the note I sent my team:

Dear Completely Remarkable Spiritual Care Team,

Thank you so much for the pleasure of getting to serve alongside you for these almost-nine years—thank you for your kindness and love, and thank you for the moments of humor and connection. Achieving board certification as a chaplain is the accomplishment in all my life of which I am most proud, and being permitted to serve as a hospital chaplain has been the most profound honor in my life.

The decision to let this chapter end—years earlier than I had planned—has been agonizing indeed, not least because of the difficulty of saying goodbye to this remarkable group. I still find the hospital to be a place of wonder and mystery; I still find conversations with patients and their loved ones extremely satisfying and meaningful; I still feel it is an incredible privilege to get to be present for those moments of deepest difficulty and deepest letting go, and all the moments in between.

Unfortunately, and while I would do it the exact same way if it were April of 2022 once again, I very greatly over-functioned in the care of my parents and now find myself fundamentally depleted in a way I have not yet figured out how to fix; maybe it is not fixable, but I have decided to prioritize simplicity and rest and space.

(I have bought my parents’ house in Michigan and have discovered the joy of pulling weeds! I’m going to pull some weeds!)

A million thank-yous to [my boss] for his unwavering support and generosity—for making it so I didn’t have to worry about my job or livelihood over a period that turned out to be so much longer than I could possibly have imagined the day my father went to the ED not feeling well.

And I am struggling to figure out how I will get along without [our Healing Harpist!] to gently murmur, “I’m not sure I would send that email … .”

I will miss every single one of you, and I hope you will say hello whenever the spirit moves you.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

With love and with best wishes for each of you always,
Bugwalk

It does feel strange. Because I worked only two days a week, I assumed that my career would easily be sustainable until I was 70, and I always felt that I was just beginning. How is it already the end?

Since I may not have many further occasions to mention it, let me say that I completed (in September, 2017) what is regarded as the most rigorous CPE program on the West Coast, and in my cohort of 15 students, I was the only one to get a job as a hospital chaplain right away. I felt incredibly proud and honored, and I still do.

Today I got up after about seven hours of sleep to continue to fiddle with Marvin’s medications, calling his vet and calling the pharmacy and emailing the traveling vet. Marvin took his Prozac in the bacon paste, and then I also gave him a 50-mg gabapentin capsule to see if he would take a second pill in a row in the bacon paste, and he did.

Then I went to meet Carol-Joy, who had driven down from Novato, and we went to Plain Jane for breakfast followed by card playing at my place. I asked if she could give me a ride up to Market St. to get some cans of tuna to see if Marvin will take powdered medication in tuna juice; if not, hopefully he will take a compounded fish-flavored medication mixed with tuna juice. Whereas before I was all, “Whole Foods,” now I’m all “Safeway!” (Rainbow does not sell animal flesh for human consumption; they do sell meat, fowl and fish pet food.)

Oddly, while I was in Safeway picking out cans of tuna, a long-ago chaplaincy mentor of mine from San Francisco General Hospital called just to say hello.