It's like talking to an old friend

I found you again, blog. You're still here, waiting for me patiently in the depths of the internet. You're only mine, and no one reads you but me.
The man who I love (new man, long-ish story) has been encouraging me to write, and asked me about this place where I used to occasionally come to spew ideas onto a screen.
On Saturday we had a busy shift on my labor and delivery unit. I woke up very early on Sunday to write about it, because as soon as I was conscious the day was playing in my head. The sentences are broken, it's a little graphic. Life, however, is graphic. Especially as a nurse. Especially as a human being.

~3/8/15. But this is about yesterday. Full moon.

When I went to a Saturday shift that turned out like a Friday shift on steroids.

It started with 2 transfers to ante/postpartum. One is only 27 weeks, she is 4 cm dilated and nervous. She gently reminds me to do the things I promised to her. I discharged her from the tracing  system, then re-admitted. The other has been delivered for hours. Her baby is cute, she is kind of a pain. This is her 5th kid,  or something nuts.

Then it was an admission for induction of labor. Her baby's heart was decel-ing during mild contractions before labor even started. She is funny, though. I talk to her about the possibility of pre-eclampsia, what I need to know about, what signs to watch out for. I have a bad feeling, so I hint this to the doctor. Pre-eclampsia destroys placentas. Or baby’s reserve for labor. Or something.

Somewhere in this day, early in this day, a patient lost her 38-week pregnancy. I can’t do that today, I say to my charge nurse.

Next was a patient admitted in active labor. She was ready to push as I got her off the stretcher and on to the labor bed. She was strong and brave, no epidural, no time. She didn’t want to, but she did. Her baby’s father came in as the baby came out.  

Was I in the OR yesterday? No. No I didn’t go there.

After she delivered, I had a break. Thank goodness.

I came back and covered someone else’s break. That patient had pain through several epidural replacements. I also went back to the patient who I admitted for the induction of labor. She had more decelerations after cytotec. Flipped and oxygenized.

Then came stop-and-drop #2. She was on her knees facing the head of the bed. I couldn’t trace her baby's heart. We rushed to get everything ready. Blood everywhere, but a happy, normal, delivery. I was nervous the whole time. I forgot that some babies probably don’t need continuous monitoring.

Recovered her. Admitted her and her new baby. In and out of checking someone else’s blood transfusions. Thankful for my nurses who came to my rescue.

Covering someone else’s delivered patient all of a sudden. Push to get patients off the unit. Go into the new patient’s room. Fever. Tachycardia. Dizziness with ambulation. Beautiful smile full of braces. Talk to the chief. Acetaminophen.

Transfer the stop-and-drop, normal delivery, walking momma, baby and dad. Jess is helping me again.  Ask someone else to give the acetaminophen 1 gram. Thanks, Donna.

Come back. Check that the patient got the medicine.

Patient rolls in on a stedy. That’s how that word is spelled, google drive. It’s a transport tool, that a patient steps onto and leans/sits into. Hard to explain. I think the ED ran out of wheelchairs. Full moon.

Room 10 is clean. Baby sitting in her vagina, head trying to come out. Can you call my husband? No. Take off the shorts, the underwear drenched in amniotic fluid. It’s on me. She is pushing. Push up her sweatshirt so the baby can go there. Carina gets a delivery cart. I try to get fetal heart tones. Baby is out. Admit mom and baby over room phone. Mom turns a little blue and gets cold. Blood pressure’s ok. Baby is gorgeous. Next nurse is here, surprised that the baby had been born. Chart something. Full moon.

Shift done. Check on him. He’s been asleep, thank goodness.

Stumble out of hospital. So good to be outside. It’s not freezing. Get on the terrible, nausea-inducing, bus that is the D8. Traffic. Tired. Feet throbbing. Legs throbbing. Cloudy, fuzzy.

Arrive. Get off. They always lower the bus for me, it’s really nice.

Get inside. He’s there, waiting for me, ready to hold me. Everything. Hurts.

Shower. Clean it off. Empty Diva Cup.

Out. Television. Talking, trying to explain and I can’t. Pizza. Pitch Perfect.

Bed. Talking. We talk about my mom. I want her to share my happiness, and she won’t. Lovemaking. Can’t have sex, or won’t have sex. Orgasm. Sobbing, wracking, tears. He’s holding me again, telling me it’s ok to cry, to let it out, to breathe. I’m sobbing out “I’m sorry,” too many times.

Sleep.~

Journaling is something I have always done, since I was a little girl, since I was 8 years old and I got my first journal for my birthday. It is small-ish, mostly bright purple with a design on it, it has a lock on it; the ey is long gone. It talks a lot about my best friend, about fights with my siblings. I have had so many notebooks over the years, full of events, plans, big ideas - or not so big - and the magic of ordinary days.
I don't think this blog has taken off for me because I love to write - physically, I mean, with a pen. I still have a callous on my left middle finger.

That said, this has value. It's doesn't get lost, it doesn't take up room. I can search for dates or ideas with a simple ctrl-f. I'm still deciding.

Nursing

I was reading some other blogs just now... well, more like glancing at them. Sometimes people write too much, and sometimes not enough. Blogs seem to be a way to let people into one's life - is that what I want? My newest thought is that I should begin blogging about nursing. This makes me nervous, because privacy is so important in this line of work. So, I changed some of the information attached to this blog, to create a sense of anonymity.  But there is so much to say, and so much that I'd like to remember, and mostly so much that I would like people to know.

But is anyone interested?

Let's find out.

It would also be an interesting project (for me) to try to incorporate my faith journey into this nursing vocation. Honestly, I've pretty much abandoned my faith journey. It's not just on the back burner. It's on the grill outside. Underneath the charcoal.

Recently a friend of my boyfriend asked me to answer some questions for her about the nursing program I went through last year. I did one of those crazy accelerated programs, and this one was about as crazy as it was made out to be. I studied a lot, more than I ever did the first time I went to college, and it took up as much time as a full-time job and then some. Anyway, this friend had taken the time to develop a list of serious, conscientious questions. I was so impressed, and it brought me (not for the first time) to the realization that I am not as reflective about my life as I would hope to be. I let life pass me by, and while I notice it happening, I don't always actively participate.

I don't have a plan, yet. At all. I think I'll start by trying to get something typed onto this every day. Is that bold? Of course it is. And maybe unreasonable. Gotta start somewhere :)

A forgotten space

I remembered this today, because I felt like I had something to share. It is not world-impacting, and it is probably not interesting to almost anyone.
I am grateful.
I have not been grateful for a long time, and it took a long conversation with an old friend to bring me back to this particular state of being.
Last night I spoke to Sr. MAD, formerly Ray X. She has decided to dedicate her life to God, and she is doing it with a full, open heart. As I listened to her contarme the story of her life in the past year, I remembered all of the joy we have shared! Because if anyone is to call me an eternal optimist, they have not met this woman. She is more than a few steps ahead of me in the happiness department. And she understands something that it is hard to convey to many people - there is joy and growth and peace to be found in all walks of life. The good can be found anywhere, if one looks for it. It is not always overwhelming. Good can be difficult to uncover, especially in a hard situation. But it is there.
At the risk of revealing too much, I will say that my Ray X received some bad news that makes her and her family very sad. They will be struggling for months, perhaps years, with this news and this reality. It is cancer, and a future of illness and death. And I wish I had recorded the words that flowed to easily from her mouth, because she is praying even as she speaks, and voicing what good there is even if it is not instilled in her heart. She knows, as I know, that speaking the good, hearing the good voiced, is the first step to making it your reality.
So today, I am grateful. For my life, my job, my family, my friends. Life is good. I can see the good.

The Journey

Today was the first day of clinical of my last semester of nursing school. I woke up at 0600, got on a new bus a little before 0700, and was at the hospital by 0810. If you're wondering about the military time, occasionally I use it because I'd like to be comfortable in implementing it in hospital notes. And, you know, i want to be cool.
A lot of things happen in a day. Start with the bus ride, for instance. Small thing, right? Sort of. Only because it was a new bus route that had to get me where I was going on time. I don't know why this makes me nervous, but it does. So I woke up several times last night. The bus, when I got on it, took me north on 16th street - I don't usually go that way. It was foreign, and I observed the people around me, wondering why they had to go north today. Only because my intuition tells me that south is the way to go from 16th street and spring rd. When I got to Silver Spring station, where I was to change buses, I looked around and admired the organization. The different "bays" are actually stops along the sides of the street that are assigned letters. Not what I was expecting at all, but plainly still quite functional. I walked up to the bus I thought I wanted, the J2, and asked the bus driver if he was going to the hospital I wanted, and he said "Kinda sorta." So I asked if i should wait for another one, and he laughed and said, "no, they go to the same place." "Kinda sorta?" I asked. "I mean, yes," he said with a smile. He was very pleasant, more pleasant than metro bus drivers tend to be so early in the morning. He made me feel connected for the first time today.
The bus ride was long, and this particular route took a lot of different turns that seemed to be going in a circle around Bethesda. Thankfully I wasn't in a rush. I sort of looked around to judge if riding my bike there will be worth it. Not sure. Maybe between the bike and the metro it would be.
I got the hospital and had the clinical day. And it went on like this, with many details, many kind people, and many interactions.
And the point is - I am not completely with it. I am not completely connected to my day. I am distracted, because things, as always, are going on. I'm trying to get health insurance so that I'm not paying for a year-long subscription with the school. I'm waiting for my loan reimbursement to come through. There is a credit company who thinks my credit sucks and has caused me to lose a credit card and possibly be denied a loan. My Grampy is dying, and I'm going to see him this weekend, missing the first flag football game, a night of work, a return from Baltimore, and good study time. My sister's baby shower. Studying - there are so many different things to do that it's difficult to know where to start. I'm pretty sure I will not be able to waste time for much longer.
So. Start. Go.

Mini-disasters

There was an "earthquake" and a "hurricane" this week.

I didn't feel the earthquake (don't let me lie about this later!), and the hurricane was less than impressive, except that it made AJ and I sick of each other and forced me outside.

Now, this is an interesting phenomenon that should be observed.

At one point in the evening, AJ and his roommate were watching a movie that I didn't really like, so I walked out of the room. A little later, I started perceiving AJ as acting weird or strained or something, and it made me uncomfortable. So I asked him why he was acting weird. Which, of course, made us both even more annoyed - him, by virtue of the fact that I had asked that question, and me, because the only answer I got was, "I'm not."

Now - the cool thing is that I knew what was going on. Cabin fever. Or something like it. I'm pretty sure something I was doing was just bothering him. Maybe he doesn't even know what it was. It could be that I was using his computer. It could be that I wasn't enjoying a movie he likes. It could be that we were stuck inside and there was some misplaced blame? It could be that I was unknowingly exuding some aura of unpleasantness.

The point is to RECOGNIZE this moment and do something. I cannot take credit for doing anything. AJ did. Michael (unaware) helped.

I went outside to get beer.

That's right! I braved Irene for the sake of Blue Moon. Man, was it worth it. For a couple of reasons. First, because beer is necessary. I don't really like to drink liquor anymore. It reminds me of too many nights of debauchery. Second, it got me away from AJ. For probably less than half and hour. I did not rush. Because - although at the moment I sort of felt like I was being used and was a little weirded out that no one volunteered to come with me - I needed to go away. This was more necessary than the beer.

AJ and I are struggling with this issue right now. It's verging on becoming a theme - which I dislike.

We are also, ironically, talking seriously about moving in together. I actually think it would alleviate some of this particular problem (while no doubt creating new, different ones - but we'll cross those bridges when we come to them). Both of us feel like we need to be doing things with the other when I am at his house and in his room. And so, when there's nothing to do, or one of us just doesn't want to, we get annoyed. Duh. It's a small space. And really, I just want to sleep (just sleep) with him, and that's why I'm there most of the time. If we shared a space, I would know that I'm always going home to him. That even if we don't spend time together, at the end of the day I will be with him, exactly where I want to be.

Of course, there are some obstacles (in my mind) to moving in together.

My parents might freak out. They have a lot going on already.

But also there's this "why buy the cow when you get the milk for free?" mentality I've got going on. If it were up to me, we'd get married. Just do all this at the same time. I don't even really care if it's a big deal. We have no money (I have negative money). I don't need a crazy dress. I don't really need anyone to be there. Do I? Anyway, the point is - I feel like I'm giving in if I move in with him. Not that he doesn't want to marry me, but wouldn't he feel a little more urgency if I wasn't already there every day for him? This is a game of women. It's real. And it's in my head. I don't know how I feel about that. Yes I do. Not great.

I also don't know how I'll feel about living with a man who isn't ready to marry me, but is somehow ready to pretend that we are? That's sort of what it feels like. Sharing responsibilities, forming our own community, sharing a room and a bed, sharing money. And what do I tell the priest when we are finally ready? Yes, Father, I knew I wasn't supposed to do this, but I did it anyway.

And I'm imagining a call to my best friend, to tell her that I'm moving in with him. And I'm hearing her try to be objective, and failing, because she wants so much more for me than moving in with someone who isn't ready to get married. She wants what is best for me, and her first instinct has been that AJ is really good for me. But this is not. By the way, she also chose me as her daughter's godmother. I don't have kids of my own. What kind of example do I want to set for O? What if she's 3 or 4 and comes to visit me, and starts to realize what's going on, and on some level understands that I am living with someone before I'm married? Or simply remembers that she visited AJ and I before she came to our wedding and makes the connection as a teenager? And what about my niece and nephew, who will be born soon? When I do have kids, will I be ok telling them that I moved in with their father (God willing that's what would happen) before we got married, and so it's ok for them, too? Slippery slope.

But - AJ has a point. It's hard to decide to marry someone if you don't know how it will be.

I have always said I would never do this.

I have never been in this situation, either.

I don't feel embarrassed in front of God for wanting this. I feel embarrassed in front of my family and friends, though. Why is it different? Is that a statement about my faith, or about my relationship with my loved ones? Or both?

To do this, I really need to trust AJ. I need to trust that he wants to do this because he wants our relationship to get stronger, and he wants us to grow together. Not to put off marriage or to somehow get his cake and eat it too. Maybe there is a mix of that for him, too.

I wish we were at the same place on this.

Meanwhile - aside from the crazy doubt in my heart - on the surface this is an AWESOME idea.

Share space with someone I'm comfortable with? Great.

Share food? Perfect.

Share cleaning responsibilities? Sweet.

Not schlepp my clothes and stuff between two different places? Nice.

Have people over, and in for the weekend, without really having to feel weird about it or as though I'm imposing? Incredible.

Going to sleep and waking up together every day? Pretty good.

Living with the man I love before we get married? ...

Hello again

My life has changed since I last put something here. A lot. It's over a year later. I guess that's the thing about life - it's dynamic. And, I'm finding, a bit of a challenge.

I'm 27 now. I am living in the smallest version of a bedroom in a row house of the "up-and-coming," area of Washington DC. I am a nursing student. Today I am on a break from school, leading to my rediscovery of this page. I am in some serious debt. I have a new, great set of friends, which I have sort of inherited from my...

I have a boyfriend. This is not new. It's almost a year old, now. Sometimes, though, it still feels pretty new. Especially since I have always been better at telling my feelings to an inanimate object, such as a piece of paper, or this screen, than to a person. By the way, I don't remember changing the background to this page to the glorious pink that it is, but I love it.

Anyway, last night I finally realized that I need to talk to him. I need to tell him what's going on, and I want to. I want to have discussions and live with the intention of inviting him into my soul, because how else can a relationship work? Unfortunately, this light bulb went off in the middle of the night. I began to cry, because I suddenly felt isolated within my own intimate relationship. Very strange. However, this is easily fixed, is it not? He wants me to talk to him, nearly begs me, in fact. So - pray, or wish me luck, or send good feelings. I'm going to talk.

Unaccompanied Alien Children

I just read a blip in the news about Elian Gonzalez, that little kid from Cuba who received mass media attention after being found on the coast of Florida, the lone survivor in a tragic immigration attempt. He is 16 now, and reportedly happy that he was returned to Cuba and reunited with his father. Thank God.

This brought me back, immediately, to the many children, ages 4 to 17, who I have seen detained by immigration. I at once wonder how anyone could put their child through anything like this, and at the same time realize that there must have been severe desperation involved, and the knowledge that, if you don't try, your child will never have a real life.

Immigration is not only about adults. There are so many children who come here, looking for a new life, to find themselves in crazy situations, like Elian Gonzalez. Pray for them. They miss their families, and live each day wondering what their futures will hold.