Stranger than Fiction (though just as long)

Look what's been hanging in our basement!
Ok, so this is just a stock photo from the interwebs, but trust me, what we caught looked just like these little punks.
So far we've caught two babies on two different days. Last Friday we caught one in the basement. For those of you (like me) who are thoroughly disgusted and squeamish about coming near opossums, let me reassure you that they're not like mice. They don't scurry and they can't jump. (What a relief!) They're slow and frankly, kind of dumb. And when I say "we" caught, I mean that my husband did while I fetched the flashlight, garbage can to put it in, duct tape to secure garbage can, etc. I definitely scurry! Ack!
The possum was small still, only about the length of my shoe.

I thought I was done with this possum problem until this Monday. I came back from getting the kids from school. I walked into the kitchen an put my keys and phone on the butcher's block where I always do. I looked at the fruit bowl and noticed that half a banana was bitten off, peel and all, with various claw marks in the other bananas. "Expletive!" I shouted.
My oldest came in and asked me what the problem was.
"Do you think you're little sister would eat a banana like this?
"Nuh-uh."
"Who or what do you think did? Because it wasn't like that when I left the house."
And so another possum search began. The kids and I looked all over the house and basement. Turns out the possum didn't go far. He was on the floor behind the butcher's block, frozen in panic. Since my husband wasn't home, I texted my neighbor. He's awesome, and I so owe him a 6 pack and some cookies for always doing random jobs like picking up a possum for me and placing it in a garbage can.
Again I did the bleach clean-up of all surfaces. I vacuumed the few fresh possum turds that were behind the dryer in the basement.

After this second possum find, I secured the only external entry I could find. It turns out the outside dryer vent was off and the pipe (about a 5" diameter) was open. I put the vent back on and hoped that I wasn't trapping anything INSIDE our house. My theory is that this pipe is somehow loose/open in the space we cannot see behind the wall. The dryer pipe that runs between the dryer and wall is secure.



The following day I was in the basement switching clothes from washer to dryer. It was late at night. My oldest was at the top of the stairs in the kitchen. As I was starting to leave the basement, something hissed at me! I shrieked and ran upstairs. My daughter heard it too. She chided me for being so wimpy. Pshaw!
After I calmed down a second, we both went back into the basement to try to find the possum. No luck.
I secured the basement door so that the possum (and I'm wondering if it's bigger because it hissed? The babies never hissed) would at least stay downstairs.

It's been two days and I've not seen or heard a possum. Surely there is still one in the basement? I've had a live trap set all this time. Even though I caught one outside in a live trap a few years ago (outside, trying to catch the garden groundhog), these basement possums are clearly smarter than that.

So all this possum stuff is just the background buzz in my life.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The past weekend was stranger than fiction and full of intensity and LIFE.

Friday morning I did a prenatal visit and then went grocery shopping. As I put my cart back and got into my car, I saw a young man and woman arguing in the parking lot. A few folks walking past stopped to stare at them. I paused and because I couldn't see more than their heads from where I was, I got out of the car because it seemed to be getting more intense. From where I was I thought the man was pushing the woman down to the ground. I ran over there and realized the woman had pulled an unconscious man from the back of her car. She started giving chest compressions while her boyfriend stood there. I don't know what came over me, but I went into CPR instructor mode.
I knew the gawkers around were calling 911 (gawkers can be good for something. None of them were closer than 50' or so). The unconscious man was covered in tattoos and looked fairly young. I straightened his head/airway so the woman could get better breaths and chest compressions. I placed my hands on his chest and abdomen to determine where the air was going, and repositioned his head again. I assessed for a pulse. He had a steady pulse but wasn't breathing. He also had a ton of junkie track marks/scars on his arms. On his wrist, he had a hospital wrist band. All I saw was the name of the hospital and his age: 29.
The woman doing chest compressions was starting to get hysterical, crying a lot and going too fast to be effective at CPR. A voice from my mouth said, "Ok, you need a break. Good job! You! (pointing to the boyfriend) Take over! Two breaths, compressions, NOW!"
The boyfriend was bigger and calmer, and the CPR seemed more effective. The unconscious man maintained his pulse. We could hear the ambulance coming. The unconscious man's eyes rolled back, then open. He gasped, said, "Heeeeeey!" and crashed again. More compressions. Then again, he started breathing on his own. Talking, confused, making no sense. Trying to get up.
The ambulance pulled in and found us struggling to keep this man down on the ground. (On a more clinical note, it was interesting to see his physiological reactions. A ton of air was obviously in his belly. He stood there like he was going to burp, but just a steady hiss of air came out.)
It had been 6 minutes since CPR was started.

Once the man started breathing and talking, the woman immediately railed into him, calling him all sorts of names. He was apologizing profusely. The EMTs put him on a gurney and took him aside to calm him down. I stayed with the woman while she gave her story to the police.
Whether true or not, this man was a friend. Just released from the hospital for crashing his car (he passed out while driving the week before). He came to her house and he and the woman's boyfriend had been drinking all morning. (The boyfriend left the scene on foot as soon as the police arrived.) She was driving to work with them in the car. She thought her friend was sleeping in the backseat but noticed in her rear view mirror that his lips were blue. That's when she pulled over into the parking lot.
The EMTs came over to us and said the man admitted to not only drinking vodka since 7am, but also to shooting heroin and smoking crack too. It was about 1pm.

I stayed a while to help calm this woman down. I told her what an awesome job she did, that she saved her friend's life. I gave her a big hug and offered to hang with for a while longer. She thanked me and hugged me back.
I got into my car, stunned. I started driving. At the first stop light, I said a quick prayer of thanks that the man came to. I grinned in disbelief. Already imagining telling the story to my husband.
At the second stop light, I started sobbing. Big, heaving, snotty sobbing.

I've felt life very alive, and precarious life (gained to fullness), and life gone in babies. It's very intense. Of course it is. It is part of my work.
I've never had my hands on a grown man, clearly intent on annihilating his body to the point of near death. Perhaps death was the intention of his morning drug regimen that day. I don't know.
29 years old. I prayed that he'd make it to see 30. That he'd find peace with whatever hurts him so badly that he needs to self-medicate to function (or to end his function).

I came home, still very stunned. I put my groceries away.  I told my mom about the junkie. I put my toddler down for a nap. I cried some more.
I realized my knees were scratched and bruised from kneeling on blacktop with shorts on. My husband thought I was nuts, and admitted that he'd likely be the person to just leave the scene. He'd be too uncomfortable to help. I on the other hand, felt pulled towards the scene like a strong rope was pulling me there. That doesn't make me a better person. I know I'm also the type to potentially put myself in harm's way when maybe I shouldn't. We're all made up of different stuff.

The next day I attended the Memorial service for the old English gentleman I helped care for for a mere three weeks. It was a beautiful service, and many spoke about his incredible life, personality, giving nature and the love and patience that bloomed from everything he said and did. It was sad and inspiring. My favorite speaker (aside from his 3 children) was an old man from England who spoke so lovingly about his best friend. Just remembering his speech makes me teary-eyed now.
In the middle of the service I received a call from a client in early labor. She didn't need me yet, so I sat for the rest of the memorial. I'm so thankful for my very brief time in the life of this sweet man. One can learn and feel so much in such a short amount of time.

Later that evening I got called to my client's labor. She was a doula client, so I wasn't in midwife role. Just the same, I spent 17 hours with her. She had a lovely VBAC at the hospital with one of my favorite nurse midwives attending. A lovely baby boy born.

Oh, these male creatures. I couldn't help but to think about the junkie, the old man, and now the new baby. Please God, protect this child on his life path...

At this point it was Sunday afternoon. I was supposed to be at yoga teacher training for a 12-6 class. I was dirty, sleep deprived and very, very hungry. I debated just going home, but knew that if I did, I realistically wouldn't sleep until 9-10pm once everyone was in bed. So I drove the 45 minutes into the Detroit area and caught the last 3 hours of class. And wouldn't you know, I walked right in  as everyone sat down to take a quiz on ancient Yoga texts and philosophy. Cripe, my brain was fried. I was full up on freakin' life philosophy after the weekend I'd experienced!!  Just the same, I got through it and did some yoga in my jeans with my dirty hair in a pony tail.

There you go.

Today is the last day of school for the big kids.
I'm ready for summer. Ready for not making school lunches every day. Ready to sign up for the library's summer reading program. Ready for days at the beach getting sunburned and that lovely, suddenly-starving feeling from swimming and being in sunshine.
Looking forward to eating simple summer dinners of sliced, salted cucumbers from the garden, cheese with crackers and maybe a hard boiled egg or two.

Life is good.

There's still a possum in my basement, but life is good.