Uncategorized – Page 12 – thatnursewrites

It’s Just a Chair

My daughter started high school two weeks ago. She’d had difficulty falling asleep the night before school started. She said she couldn’t quiet her mind. Deep down inside, I knew what she was thinking: Will I be accepted by my peers? Will I succeed in high school? We all had those worries as teenagers.

My daughter is my extroverted, free spirited child that thinks outside of the box. She always has been. She has a wide variety of friends that I can’t keep track of. Every other week she has a new college major in mind. She can teach our dog to do tricks when none of us have the patience. She figures out algebra and geometry equations in her head without showing her work, which is way over my head. At a young age she’d find complicated ways of moving tiles around the Rummy Cube game just to make one play. When she was 4 1/2 she figured out how to use two game pieces on the same square to block other players from getting around the Parcheesi game board. She’s open to trying new things and she accepts situations in life as they come.

I’ve mentioned before that my kids are band kids. My daughter has played trumpet since fifth grade. She named her trumpet Treena. Midway through her seventh grade year, she began taking lessons with one of the high school band directors. In the spring of her eighth grade year we learned that she had been place in Wind Ensemble as a freshman. Wind Ensemble is the highest level and gifted and talented band class. She was flattered and extremely thankful for the opportunity. My son didn’t get into that class until he was a junior in high school. She’s always the first to admit when she thinks she messed up an audition or a piece of music. Last week, they had seat placement auditions in her class. There are five trumpets. She practiced. She had lessons. Naturally when she said the audition went well I anticipated her earning at least second trumpet music. She came home yesterday and said she’d been given third trumpet music and placed in the last seat. She also said the band director advised them that second and third trumpet music would alternate.

My jaw dropped and my mouth is perpetually hanging open. We don’t put pressure on our kids to achieve certain things but we do expect A’s and B’s. Also, I don’t claim that my daughter is a Miles Davis or Louis Armstrong but I know the girl can hold her own with her trumpet. Inside I’m wondering if the band director thinks my daughter stinks. It bugs me I guess because I did poorly in high school and I’m so proud of my kids because they’ve exceeded our expectations and will not go into college swimming against the current with their heads barely above water like I did.

Really though, third trumpet last seat? Instinctively I confided in one of my band parent friends who has a family music back ground and who’s sons who’d graduated in 2014 and 2015 and were also in that class. I also spoke to my son who graduated this year. Both said seat placement is a complicated matter and there’s reasons musicians are placed in certain seats and just because she’s in the last seat doesn’t mean she stinks. My friend also advised me that if it doesn’t bother her, it shouldn’t bother me. So I asked her if her seat placement bothered her. She said, “it’s just a chair”.

I admire her for that. She doesn’t sweat the small stuff. In her mind she was placed where she was placed and she accepts that. She doesn’t have to know the reason. She just wants to play her trumpet and learn challenging music. I know that her being in that class will not only enhance her trumpet playing skills, it will expand her ability to think outside of the box even more. So I’ll let it go. After all, it is just a chair.

On August 12

August 12, 2016: I have a weekday off and I am out to lunch with my kids. I enjoy taking them out for lunch when they are on summer break. I look across the table at my son. He wears a goatee on his chin and the rest of his face has several day stubble of beard. He looks like a man now. His serious brown eyes tell me differently though for they are still the eyes my little boy. I know what’s going on in his head because it’s the same thing that went on in my head 25 years ago. It occurs to me that soon I won’t be able to enter his bedroom at 0530 each morning to kiss his forehead before I leave for work. On this day, August 12, 2016 I know that I have approximately ten days to finish dorm room shopping, help him order his college books and get my emotions in check. He’s leaving for college.

Rewind my life back by twenty five years to August 12, 1991. I was weeks away from my 21st birthday and my mother was preparing for my departure. I couldn’t write about this on August 12, 2016 though. Too many emotions involved. Today I can.

At 0700 we stepped off the elevator onto a medical-surgical floor. The aroma of night time body odor, cheap hospital soap and powdered eggs greeted us for the first time in our lives. I immediately gagged at the odor and wondered if I’d made the right choice. We checked in at the nurses station and got our patient assignment. Our task for the day: to administer a bed bath. I knocked on my patient’s door and there was no answer so I walked in. My patient was sitting up in bed with a sheet over her head as if she were a dead body covered up. I backed out of the room with eyes wide open to show one of my classmates and get the attention of my instructor. My instructor and I went in the room together. My patient was a little old lady with dementia. My instructor helped me bathe her. This lady incredibly was strong. She was combative and she kicked my ass during that bed bath. I remember noticing how easy interacting with the patient during the bath seemed for my instructor and hoped that one day I could enter a patient’s room with that much confidence. I never saw that patient again but I’ll never forget her either.

I remember so many firsts during that time of my life. I remember when they taught us how to do the hospital tuck but I was proud because I already knew the hospital tuck way of making beds because me grandmother taught it to me as a little girl. I remember the first patient I became attached to. I remember the first time I saw a baby being born and the first time I realized one of my patients was deteriorating over a period of several days and was going to die. I remember my first cardiac arrest and how scared I was. I remember the first time I saw the cardiac rhythm Atrial Fibrillation on a telemetry monitor. It’s not the most lethal rhythm but a dangerous one if uncontrolled. I remember the first time I suctioned someone through their tracheostomy and how when the patient coughed the “trach cough” that it startled me so badly I jumped. I remember calling my mom at work to tell her that I’d given my first blood transfusion and how she yelled out to her coworkers, “my daughter just gave a blood transfusion today”. I remember my first AIDS patient and how his family turned their backs on him because he was gay and dying of AIDS and that he died alone. I remember hearing helicopters and sirens at all times of the night because I lived in the dorm next to the hospital. I remember the oxford blue shirts, white pants, white socks and shoes we had to wear. By graduation those oxford blue shirts had pit stains on them from all the blood sweat and tears we’d put into this. I remember two nursing instructors that were tough as nails to me because I was a young smart ass and I deserved the torture they put me through.They turned the light bulb on in my head and taught me to look at the bigger picture, the patient as a whole. After that I was ready. I remember after each clinical day in the hospital, I’d hum the MASH theme song to myself because I’d helped people just like those nurses did.

I remember how it felt to hold my nursing pin in my hand for the first time on May 14, 1994, the day I graduated Nursing School. I remember coming home from errands on July 18, 1994. My brother was holding a thin envelope addressed to me from the Missouri Board of Nursing notifying me that I had passed my state boards. I was now a Registered Nurse. I remember sitting for my Board Certified Emergency Nurse exam and having a panic attack because I thought I was going to fail that exam. I passed the exam. I remember walking across the stage on May 28, 2011 to receive my Bachelor of Science in Nursing degree.

I remember August 12, 1991 alright. It was my first day of Nursing School. The day all of the above began for me. Never forget what you’ve earned and what you went through to get it.

Hearing the Call

Life happens. If we open our minds and follow our hearts we will allow synchronicity to occur for us and lead us to people, places and experiences we might not have imagined ourselves in as our adult lives began.

In recent months, through a series of my own synchronicities, I have heard the trail calling me. The trail meaning any trail I choose to hike. I approached it with cautious baby steps at first but now I enter it with confident great strides. I belong there. It welcomes me, embraces me and shows me it’s true beauty each time I visit. It’s a necessity for me now. For inner peace, for inspiration and for exercise.

I hiked my favorite trail today. Blue to red to blue to orange to blue. The woods were wet from the heavy rains we had last night and I could smell the earth. There was no humidity or bugs, a plus. My eyes are always scanning the scenery as I hike along looking for anything I haven’t seen in a previous hike. Although I know my landmarks, it always looks different to me. I haven’t seen any deer in the last three hikes I’ve taken but today I saw five! For as hard as I look for them, poof all of a sudden they just appear as if something is pointing my head right in their direction. They stand still as we make eye contact. If the breeze blows their way, I can see their nose lifting slightly into the air and I know they have inhaled my scent. I stand there for as long as they’ll tolerate it without them getting spooked and running off. I whisper to them. I tell them how beautiful they are and that I promise I will never shoot them. I thank them for visiting with me and when they finally run off, I continue on.

My husband and I have future hikes on different trails planned. These hikes are baby steps leading to great strides and longer distance hiking. We have a pretty cool date scheduled for 7PM on September 9, 2016, We will visit our local sporting good store to attend a class entitled “Planning Your Appalachian Trail Hike”. Yes I said it. The Appalachian Trail. It’s calling me and I can’t ignore it. I won’t ignore it. Our plan is to hike the 41 mile Maryland Section of the Appalachian Trail over four days in the fall of 2020 after we’ve both turned 50. I’d love to as my brother says “check out and hike the entire trail” but I know now is not the time for that. Why hike the Maryland section in 2020 and not now? Because our second child, our daughter will be a freshman in college and she says she’s “so going away to school”. Our son will have graduated college that spring. We’ll be empty nesters who won’t be committed to a high school marching band season for the first time in eight years. We’ll be 50. It will be our time to redefine who we are in a new phase of life and give something back to ourselves. Why not strip technology and comforts away for a few days in the wilderness to do that?

Four years seems like a long time but it really isn’t. My daughter’s time in high school will fly by probably faster than my son’s did. There’s much to learn and much hiking to do to prepare our bodies for a long distance hike like that. One thing is for sure: Each hike I take is one step closer to the Appalachian Trail.

I am a Nurse. That’s what I do.

I am a PREOP nurse. Four days per week between Monday-Friday, I rise at 0430, put on the scrubs and drive my jeep at warp speed so I can begin my 0600-1530 work day. I prepare patients for surgery.

Two weeks ago, my hospital opened up a surgical unit for Orthopedics. All of the Orthopedic surgeries now go through PREOP/OR/PACU on their own floor. Today I got pulled to the Orthopedic Surgical Unit. It was my first shift there. I had a wtf moment when I saw my assignment: 0830, 0840, 0850, 0910, 1140, 1250. These patients had multiple health problems, were on a ton of medications, could barely walk and a few were hard IV sticks. The surgeon I worked with often moves fast and runs ahead. The orthopedic OR staff is also a little impatient. I felt like I’d been hit by a train. On top of it, here I was getting used to a new unit for the first time. Different geography, newer equipment and a different unit flow. At one point one of my charts fell apart because I was so frazzled I forgot to close the three ring binder before I closed the chart. I felt like a new grad today. Somehow I managed to get through it all without being removed in a straight jacket. My patients went to surgery safely and on time. The surgeon didn’t yell at me and after my first four patients I could finally exhale. I did it because I am a nurse and that’s what I do.

My husband is not a nurse but today he had to report to work at 0600, two and a half hours earlier than usual because of an extremely busy day for his department. Today at 2;46PM my husband sent me a text stating that he needed a nap. I told him to welcome to my Monday-Friday weekly sleep deprived trance. He said he didn’t know how I managed to get up at 0430 every day. My answer is simple. I am a nurse and that’s that I do.

On July 20, in my Social Media post, I mentioned a dying coworker. Four days later on July 24, she passed away in the early evening. Less than 12 hours later, I was back at work at 0600. I went through the motions of my work day, double checking my work because it was difficult to concentrate. I took good care of my patients. I reassured them their surgeries would turn out fine. I smiled. Behind my smile though was a broken heart for the loss of a good nurse that I’d worked closely with when she and I worked together in the Emergency Room. I had less than 12 hours after her death to get to bed, have a terrible night’s sleep and get to work to take care of my patients without any free time to take a moment to reflect upon her life and the purpose she had in mine. Nurses don’t get the luxury of putting our work on pause. We get a grip and just keep moving. All the time. I am a nurse and that is what I do.

Hiking Through

The Appalachian Trail is only something that has recently entered my subconscious mind. I’d heard people mention it but never really gave it another thought because I was unaware of it’s significance. One day while we hiking our favorite trail, my husband told me about this couple he knew of when we were in our 20’s (friends of a friend) who were going to take several months off to hike the Appalachian Trail right after they got married. They’d spent months planning, preparing, buying gear and taking practice hikes. Four months before their wedding, the groom dumped the bride and the hike was cancelled.

Curious about the significance of the Appalachian Trail I decided to look for a book. I downloaded a book onto my nook entitled “Hiking Through: One Man’s Journey to Peace and Freedom on The Appalachian Trail” by Paul V. Stutzman. The author of this book tells the story of how he lost his wife to cancer. After his wife died he continued to work at the restaurant he’d spent his entire career at until he realized he couldn’t do it anymore. In just two months he planned his hike and headed to Georgia to do the Georgia to Maine 2176 mile 300 mountain hike on the Appalachian Trail. His reason for this hike was to work through his grief and find his purpose again.

The author openly discussed his wife’s illness, his childhood, past and his regrets. He’s a deeply religious man and his relationship with God was a strong influence throughout this experience. In the book he stated that hiking the AT “mirrored his spiritual journey” as he sought out the gift of hope and new life. His descriptions of nature, the people he encountered along the way, the culture of the AT, his struggles on the trail, what he learned and his conversations with God left me feeling fulfilled when he completed the AT hike. I read this book last week. I loved it and absolutely could.not.put.it.down. It made me feel good and gave me great admiration for those who have hiked through the AT.

Spiritual Journey? Physical Challenge? Long distance hike? Nature? Count me in! I’m putting this on my bucket list. I told my husband about this book and asked him if he’d be interested in hiking the AT. He quickly said yes. I don’t know how or when this will materialize for us but I do know the universe will present it to us at the appropriate time. Until then, it’s research and lots of practice hikes. I’ll be in the woods if anyone is looking for me.

Put the Girls Away

I’ll admit it, I like Instagram. I joined Instagram two years ago initially to monitor my son’s activity. At first I thought it was a little silly to have a social media site that displays pictures only but then I started to like it. I follow a variety of sites of interest in addition to my friends.

This week I found myself in a dilemma. Apparently the week of August 1-7 every year is World Breastfeeding Week. Each day this week as I’ve logged onto Instagram and scrolled through the feed, I’ve found a picture of one of my hospital coworkers with her bare breast exposed, feeding her one year old child. I instantly cringed, scrolled through Instagram at a more rapid pace and logged off.

I have two children. My firstborn child, my son was born six weeks prematurely via emergency Caesarean Section because I was critically ill with Pre-Eclampsia. Once I was more stable, alert and open to patient teaching, the nurses advised me that the breast milk of a woman who delivered prematurely was far more nutritious than a woman who carried her baby to full term. Even though my son had no adverse effects from his premature birth, it would be more beneficial for him to be breast fed for nutrients and immunity. I agreed to breast feed him but I told them I didn’t feel comfortable feeding the child from my breast so they taught me how to use a breast pump. The lactation consultant was supportive of my feelings and I managed to pump milk and put it into the bottle for five months for my son and nine months for my daughter. It worked. Everyone was happy and I have two very healthy children.

There are thousands of books and websites out there that emphasize the benefits of breastfeeding for mother and baby. Most of them make sense to me from a medical and health standpoint but some I just don’t agree with. Breastfed babies are demanding. They are difficult to put on a schedule and take longer to get to sleep through the night. They cluster feed. Breast milk is thinner than formula and less satisfying. They use the breast as a pacifier and you really don’t know how much milk the child is consuming because it’s not in a bottle with ounces. Some woman just sit around and breastfeed their babies all day. I don’t want to hear that its better for bonding either. You bond with a new born while they look into your eyes during cuddling, bath time, diaper changes, feeding, dressing and their awake times. It doesn’t make you a better mother. When they are teenagers I can assure you they won’t care if you breastfed them and they won’t want to discuss it either.

I’m going to get a little women’s libbish here now. I should have been part of the Women’s Liberation Movement of the late 1960’s through 1970’s but instead I was born in 1970. Maybe I got this from my mom then. My brother and I and were not breast fed. On top of that, here’s the mother of the child who’s trying to recover from a childbirth and needs the sleep but wait no, she has to get up to breast feed the baby while Daddy gets to sleep. My brother in law once said my sister in law had to breast feed so he could sleep at night. I wanted to rack him in the nuts and secretly tell my sister in law to let the girls dry up. No, no, thank you for playing buddy. If daddy enjoyed conceiving the child, which I’m sure he did, then he can get up and help feed the child in the middle of the night.

There, I said it. Now getting back to this Instagram issue. Seeing my Instagram friend with her bare breast exposed feeding her baby made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I had considered unfollowing her but I decided that was too extreme so I’m just going to suck it off and be on Instagram less until World Breastfeeding Week is over with. I shouldn’t have to do that though. I’m passionate about a lot of things too but I guess I’m just not one to post things on social media that make others feel uncomfortable. I’m happy for you that you love breastfeeding so much but maybe the rest of the world doesn’t share your same opinions. I don’t want to see your breast. I really don’t. Please put it away.

Binge Watching

Last week, July 9-16 I was on vacation in a mountain lake, surrounded by trees, water and nature. I returned home rested, refreshed and craving an episode of my favorite History Channel series Mountain Men only to find that it’s on a small hiatus and a new episode would not return until July 28. I had to find another vehicle for my head to enter the woods after work when I literally don’t have the time to step foot into them myself. This week, just moments ago I finished binge watching Season 2 of Alone.

If you aren’t familiar with the series Alone below is the premise:

These people are skilled survivalists. Ten people are left in the Vancouver Island Wilderness carrying a backpack filled with 10 approved items of survival gear and some cloths. They are alone with no other human contact left to hunt, fish, build shelter and fire and survive the elements and complete isolation. The prize is 500,000.

For the record I’m not a huge reality show fan. Yes I watched survivor 15 years ago and turned my back on the ridiculousness of it and Jeff Probst within a few seasons. The only other reality show I’ve followed is Top Chef. Top Chef came into our lives when our children were young and our dinner menu was limited and mundane. From Top Chef, my husband and I cultivated a greater appreciation of food and cooking. Since then, we’ve enjoyed cooking together and trying new recipes.

In previous posts to this blog I’ve talked about my new found interest in nature and the outdoors. As my mid forties progresses and my children need me less, it is doubtful this is just a passing phase. Each time I enter the woods I gain knowledge, mental clarity or a visual I didn’t have before I went in. So what I have I gained by watching Season 2 of Alone? Ironically I paid close attention to the survivalists when they talked about and demonstrated basic survival skills I didn’t know before; fire starting, shelter building, fishing, gutting fish, edible plants. Some of the contestants were spiritual, earthy and enjoyable to watch because their strong connection to nature was obvious and calming in a way. Through their knowledge, skill set and demeanor they became part of the ecosystem of their environment and they knew they belonged there.

I know that I can’t continue to watch reality wilderness shows and expect to find peace. I have to get out there and do. I am a hands on person. I look forward to doing. I just haven’t had the opportunity. So what do I do when I want to learn something? I buy the book, I read, I do. Right after I finished watching the final episode I purchased a book Wilderness Survival For Dummies and a book about trees and wildflowers in the Maryland and DC Area. I look forward to what awaits me inside these books, learning and doing.

When Social Media is too much

Recently, one of my former coworkers made the decision to be placed in home hospice after treatment complications from a long illness. Through the course of her illness, she followed all the rules, took care of herself during treatment, kept a positive attitude and fought a very brave battle. Unfortunately she was told all treatment options have been exhausted. Instead of seeking additional medical opinions and miracle cures, she of sound mind, with her family’s support, made the decision to die.

She’s had an outpouring of support from family, friends and coworkers on social media. There’s pictures, memories, social functions and good times mentioned. While some choose to publicly support her, others choose to hold a silent vigil everyday for her in their hearts. I am in disagreement with some of these social media posts because some refer to her “fighting the disease” when she has clearly made a decision to die. It is even more disturbing that a few of these people who are encouraging her to “fight” are health care providers who know the reality of her disease and should know better than telling a dying woman to fight when there is no hope.

One of the most valuable things I’ve learned as a registered nurse didn’t come out of a textbook or in a nursing skills lab. It happened in real life at the bedside and more than once. When a someone tells you they want to die, as painful and difficult as it is, we must accept their wishes and let them go. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance are all part of the grieving process but sometimes we as healthcare providers don’t have time for all parts of the grieving process until later. Sometimes out of respect for the dying we have to jump right on to acceptance and deal with the other stages on our own time.

Where have people’s morals and integrity gone? Where do we draw the line with our egos on what is appropriate to post on social media? What do we hope to gain by telling a dying woman to fight when she’s decided to throw in the towel because there’s no hope for her? Why do these people think they have to be “the one” for this woman? I am one of those who have held a quiet vigil for her everyday in my heart and I’m ok with that. I have happy memories of good times at work with her and lunch dates with good food. I will hold them dear. I accept her wish.

In the Wake

I am sitting in a boat on a mountain lake. The sun is shining bright on the water illuminating the green trees and the beauty of the mountainside. My skin is golden tanned and my hair is wavy and windblown. I have spent all week on this boat, allowing the lake to seep into my soul.
The boat is moving. I sit with my back against the driver so I can see the wake. As the boat moves through the water, the outboard motor creates an arrow shape in the water, the wake. Sometimes the boat turns and the water splashes me. It is in the wake of the boat that I realize I’ve found my center. I feel rested and back on track. During these days on the lake I’ve established a new rhythm of life. My lake life.
Each day I wake up early and drink coffee in bed. I meditate. I read while I eat breakfast, then I shower and write. By late morning we as a family choose our lunch plans and afternoon activities. There is always a boat ride involved. During these afternoon boat rides, I am a quiet observer, shifting my attention between the wake, the cabins and the trees. We stop for icecream and ride the boat until we feel the heat of the sun grow less intense and the air grow cooler. We head to the cabin for supper and a campfire to watch the sun set and the day end.
Tomorrow we will return to our city life. Monday I will rise again at 0430, shower, put on my scrubs and return to work. In the up coming weeks our freshman in high school will begin her marching band season. Our freshman in college will move into his college dorm and begin his marching band season. School starts for both kids at the end of August. We are headed for a busy fall.
I fear that the first time shit hits the fan at work and I become angry and burned out, or when the marching band bomb goes off in our house that I am going to be thrown off my center that lake life has given me.
I know my husband agrees with this next statement. We belong on the lake. It is our dream to own a place of our own for our family and friends to enjoy in years to come.
We practice The Secret and have asked the Universe to grant us this. Jim Carey once spoke of his use of The Secret when he was trying to establish his acting career. He said “I’ve already achieved this. I just haven’t accessed it yet”. Our cabin on the lake is out there waiting for us to make our home. We just haven’t accessed it yet.

Back in the Woods

This morning I entered the woods for a hike. Today’s trail is in a different location than the usual state park I hike. Today’s state park isn’t as big and the trail of wasn’t as strenuousbut I still left the woods with the same sense of calm I always do.
I gain something new every time I enter the woods. Sometimes it’s mental. Sometimes it’s physical. Sometimes it’s about nature. Sometimes it’s a cleansing. With each hike I go on my interest and appreciation for nature and the outdoors grows stronger and deeper. I wasn’t raised in a family that enjoyed being outdoors and I accept that. I can only be grateful that finally in my mid 40’s a synchronicity of events has led me into the woods and I can now focus on creating a lifestyle that is conducive to this. Rome wasn’t built in a day and I know that my new found interest only requires nurturing and my spare time. The woods are always there waiting for me.
I enjoy the physical challenge of hiking up an incline and feeling the sweat roll in, my heart beating faster, my gluteus muscles burning and my stiff knees cooperating with each step. Hiking is just as mental as it is physical. When I’m in the woods I often gain clarity on current situations of my life. One of my favorite things while hiking is to imagine pitching a tent, building a fire, cooking on that fire and spending the night in the woods. I’d read, I’d write, I’d reflect and as Depoche Mode says I’d, “Enjoy the Silence”. I’ve never been camping before. I’ve always enjoyed listening to my husband tell me stories of his childhood camping trips with his parents and sister. It’s something we never got around to when our kids were younger. I worked outrageous hours and even though camping was always in the back of my mind it wasn’t on my must do radar yet. It is now.
The trail this morning displayed a bounty of pine, birch, maple, oak, and hemlock trees. It’s a circular trail that leads hikers to three different waterfalls. I inhaled the smell of the falling water and observed the beauty of each waterfall I encountered. I also had a strong urge to strip off my clothes and enter the waterfall as naked as I was the day I was born to just sit there and let the water fall on me. I couldn’t do that though. It was mid morning and there were other hikers on the trail, including my two teenagers. My teenagers would end up traumatized for life and I’d get arrested for public nudity.
What I did do was take off my hiking boots and socks to dip my feet into the cool water. A few years ago I watched some Carol Tuttle videos on clearing chakras and learned how to clear each one. I remembered that one way to clear the root chakra was to rub your bare feet on the earth. I did that. I’m grounded now.