Had you asked me a few months ago if I had plans of leaving my current nursing position, I would have said with 110% certainty, "Heck no!"

I truly feel that God had a hand in the position I am currently in.  See, when I was hired, I was still in nursing school.  I applied to be an extern.  The interview process consisted of a bunch of nervous nursing students sitting one at a time in front of a board of managers.  The mangers would shoot out questions, the nervous nursing student would answer, and then the managers would decide who wanted which student, and which students left without a job.

I was chosen to be on the 6th floor, and I have loved it from the very beginning.  I still love it today.  Sure, I have a lot of shifts where I leave feeling like I was in a 12 hour tornado, and I am almost CERTAIN that during every shift I work, at some point or another, I mutter the words, "I wish I could replicate myself!  There is one of me and 6 of them!"  ...but I love my job.  I love my coworkers.  I love my manager and our charge nurse...we have a GREAT group of people.  If I were ever sick, or a loved one of mine were ever sick, there would be no hesitation in my mind to request for them to go to 6.

Unfortunately, I have come to a point in my life where I need more consistency.  A more set schedule.  More reliability on what my days will be like.  And just like that, a position opened.  My patients would still be oncology patients, but they will be outpatient as opposed to inpatient.  My schedule would be set, and there would be no weekends or holidays.  It's funny how one minute I can feel like my life is all out of whack and then an opportunity like this opens up.

When I saw the position, I submitted my resume thinking, "We'll see!"  I didn't hear anything for a while, and started to think that it wasn't meant to be at this time, and I was okay with that.  But then I had a message on my machine.  Asking for an interview.  The very next day.  ACK!  Waaaaaaaaait wait wait.  I had to go.  It would be silly NOT to, and how would I ever know if it was meant for me or not?  I'll be honest, the whole way there, I recited off how I was going to politely decline the position, but when I got to talking about it with the managers, it all came out so, so easily.  I am terrible at being put on the spot, which is exactly what an interview is, but when they would say "Tell us about a time you dealt with a difficult physician and how did you handle that?" I had a story.  When they said "Tell us about a time you went above and beyond for a patient."  ...I had a story for that, too.  When they said, "Tell us how you detach yourself from the sadness you see at your current position (hospice, cancer) when you leave and go home for the night." ...and I honestly said that a lot of the times, I don't detach myself.  I've BEEN THERE.  No, my sister didn't have cancer.  But she was critical.  She was living minute to minute, followed by day to day.  When I was with her, I wasn't a nurse, I was simply the patients sister.  So when I am in my nursing role, I never EVER forget.  While I may only see these people 12 hours out of a day, their stress doesn't end at 7PM like mine does. 

I drove home from that interview feeling very strange.  In one sense, I was pleased, because when I speak about being a nurse, every bit of it is from the very depths of my heart.  It's so easy for me, because I am so passionate about it.  Speaking about something I love so dearly puts me in a very great mood.

But as I drove home, my mind shifted back to 6.  And the tears welled up in my eyes.  My first "real" job.  My friends.  My patients.  The patients I have lost that I still think about daily.  Leaving that place?  Walking away?  Tears. my. heart. out. 

I'm torn.  This other position has not been offered to me yet.  There are other people interviewing.  Do I think this would be a great fit for me?  YES.  There are many areas of my life right now that are a little fuzzy, so the set schedule would help me tremendously.  But leaving my "home" is HARD.

Regardless of what happens...if I don't get this position, I might be a little sad, but I know that I am still going to have my job on 6, where I love.  If I do get offered the position, I will most likely accept it, and have to go through the sadness of change.  I pray I make the right decision.  I pray I am doing the right thing for me and my children.

Again...that manual I was talking about??  You know, the one about "Laura's Life?"  ....right about now I'd skip to the chapter titled "Career Choices" and read what the right answer is.  Oh, right.  There is no such book.  So I have to make these decisions on my own.  Gulp.

I wish life had a manual that you could refer to whenever you had to make a decision.  Instead of having to weigh pros and cons in my mind, I could just flip to the chapter called "Laura's Life" and see what choice is best.

But alas, there is no such thing, so here is to hoping I make some good choices.  More on that later.

Most days I have this STRONG maternal urge to have one more baby.  I think of being pregnant and feeling those soft movements and knowing it was something that was only known by myself and my sweet baby.  I think of the incredible process of laboring a baby.  I think of those first few days when you entire world revolves around each burp, nap, and poop.  My uterus twitches just a touch whenever I hear the soft music play while at work, indicating a baby had just been born.

Today though?  Today was not one of those days.  In terms of my reproductive organs, I'm pretty sure my uterus just shriveled up and dried, that's how this day was.

Why, you ask?  What made this day so bad?  MY KIDS WERE MANIACS!

In our heads, Jay and I had his picture perfect day planned.  Allison and I would go to church.  Jay and Ethan would go to one of Ethan's friends birthday party, and then we'd meet back at home and drive out to the apple orchard for a great afternoon of fresh doughnuts, cool cider, and pumpkin picking.

Where the heck did it all go wrong?

Maybe the part where Allison was a total maniac at church.  She didn't want to sit with me in church like she normally does, and she acted like she'd never see me again if I left her in the play area...which meant we spent 2 hours just meandering around until we went home.

The ride TOO the orchard was nice, except we hoped Allison would take a nap early on in the ride so she would be rested when we got there.  That didn't happen.  She started snoozing as we were pulling in.  That's always ugly.

And the fact that today was hot and sunny, we anticipated the orchard would be full....and that it was!  Ever heard of the website called "The People of Walmart?"  Well, there should be one called The People of the Orchard (ooooh sounds like a horror movie!)  ...but no, really.  It all began as we waited in line with our kids to jump in the inflatable pumpkin, behind a lovely family with the mother wearing a shirt that said clear as day "We'll rip their f&^%$#g heads off."  I almost tapped her on the shoulder and gave her a big ol' thumbs up for being such a classy lady, but I didn't.

The bees were ridiculous and I all think we held our breaths as we watched a bee fly down the collar of Allison's t-shirt, fly around against her baby skin, then fly out the bottom of it. 

The cider and doughnuts were amazing, but then it came time to pick pumpkins.  It was as if someone pulled a string on Allison's back which sent her zipping through the pumpkins that were displayed for purchase and promptly tipping each one over.  While she did this, Ethan kept yelling after her "Allison!  Stop!  Allison!" while Jay kept saying "Ethan!  Stop parenting Allison, I will take care of it!" and I chased Allison around taking each tipped pumpkin and putting it back upright.  We literally did this for like 30 minutes before we realized we STILL HAD NO PUMPKINS PICKED.  By this time we were all hot, dirty, and tired.  I ended up picking two good looking gourds and we hit the road.

I had it in my head that the kids would be overtired so they would be quiet on the 40 minute ride home...AHHHAHAHAHA!  They were INSANE!  Allison cried for her binky (which she HAD, it just apparently wasn't the right binky) and Ethan was mad that I wouldn't let him change his seat as Jay was driving.  We picked a movie for the DVD player and neither kid could agree on a movie.  It was a long, miserable, loud, migraine-inducing ride.  As we finally did the final turns to our home, Jay and I started laughing.  What. a. day!

....but neither of us would have traded it for any other day.

WHAT is this self (husband) -proclaimed shop-o-holic to do???

No, seriously.  I can't. stop. shopping.  I literally spend HUNDREDS of dollars every single month.

Now before you gasp and consider me a terrible, horrible, no good, well dressed person, let me be more specific.  I'm not buying Coach purses and MAC make-up.  It's usually spent at Target or Meijer or somewhere less exciting, and it's usually spent on my kids.  I love buying them clothes and shoes.  And I love cosmetics, so it usually ends up being a couple outfits for Ethan, a couple for Allison, and some shampoo or other random item.  And the total is ALWAYS over $100.

Now before you think to yourself, "Uh, so stop shopping, stupid."  Let me give a tiny bit of background.  I have really bad anxiety.  I take medication for it.  I am being totally serious when I say shopping is a HUGE anxiety release for me.  I can go about 3 days without shopping, then the urge overcomes me and I have to speeeend.  I put things in the cart, I pay, then I feel so, so guilty (but heck no do I return any of it!)  Then I store these new, shiny items in what I like to call my "trunk of tricks" aka.  the trunk of my car so I can slowly pull things out so Jay doesn't bust me. 

Now, clearly I need a different outlet for my anxiety.  I don't garden (everything dies at the mere sight of my face) and I don't cook (unless it's pre-packaged and frozen).  I don't scrapbook (but I could, if I bought some supplies...) I can't do a lot of volunteer work due to my very clingy 2 year old.  I love doing playdates and recently joined a local group on meetup.com, but then realized it costs $10 to join, and most of the meet-ups are at places that require spending money.

Winter is coming so parks and playing outside is coming to an end... what do I do???!

Come on.  Give me some ideas.

I have a "what would you do" question for anyone that would like to share.

Tiny bit of background:  I am a Christian.  I believe in helping others, especially when it is clear they are struggling.

The story:  After I came home from dropping Ethan off at school, I realized we forgot to send his library book back which was due today, so I turned right back around to take it to him.
 
Afterwards, I decided I'd go through the McDonald's drive-thru for a super healthy breakfast for me and the girl.  As we were approaching the window, a woman started walking towards my car.  Her clothes were kind of rough looking, she had a hood on, and the first thing I noticed about her was she seemed "off".  Maybe drugs?  Drinking?  Not sure, but that was my first impression.  Anyhow, she approaches my window and states that she just got out of the hospital (she showed me her bracelet) and got jumped last night by someone who "wanted to poke out her eyeballs" (I can't make this stuff up, folks!) and now she was out of gas and needed money to get home.  I asked her if she called the police.  She said yes, they caught the attempted eye ball snatcher.  But now she was stranded in a McDonald's parking lot.  She gestured over to her van, where an equally rough looking woman was in the drivers seat.

I literally had $7 cash in my wallet, which I intended to use on my super healthy breakfast with my daughter.  I lied, apologized, and told her I didn't have any cash, then I wished her well, told her to take care, and drove away.

Then I felt uber guilty.  I had other means of giving her money.  Would $10 really have hurt?  I feel like I missed a good opportunity to give.  Who knows if her story was true or not (her eyeballs were perfectly intact, with no signs of attempted removal) but she didn't look like she had a very easy life.

Would you have given her money?  If not, why? 

I love to read blogs.  My list of blogs I check daily is quite long, and I'd love to share them with you (but I am way too tired tonight after working all day).  This particular blog, though, I have to share.  Her most recent post is amazing. 

http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/

September 20, 2010:

Getting a phone call from my dad at about 2:30 PM, telling me my sister collapsed at school, CPR had to be done, and she was now on life support

Stopping my car in the middle of the street to repeat the words, "What?  What happened?  WHO did this happen to?  Wait, WHAT?" over and over again, followed by the worst sobbing I have ever done in my life

Panicking, rushing to get my kids to my mother-in-law, then enduring the longest ride ever to Brownstown Emergency Room

Waiting, for what felt like hours but was only minutes, to be allowed to see her

Seeing her for the first time, ventilator down her throat, NG tube and thermometer probe down her nose, several IVs, and restraints on her wrists.  I kept telling them, "Please keep her sedated right now so she doesn't wake up and get scared."  I should have known by their lack of assurance that her "waking up and being scared" was something that wasn't going to happen right now, whether she was sedated or not

Driving to Henry Ford Main to sit in a "special" waiting room for the doctor to come talk to us and prepare us for what we were about to see

Seeing her in bed, still on the ventilator, totally nonresponsive, and having seizures practically back to back that were so strong, her entire bed would shake

Being told not to touch her, which I obeyed for about 20 minutes, then the urge to rush to her and touch her overtook me

Having to leave her that night, not knowing if it would be the last time

Sobbing to my mom, saying, "I can't lose her!  I need her!"

The cold, cold ICU room

Listening to the whooshing of the ventilator as it pushed air into my sisters lungs

Being told to step out while they cleaned her up in the wee hours of the night, and realizing I had absolutely nowhere to go

Wiping her chin and braiding her hair...the only areas that I could touch without disrupting anything

Having her slowly wake up, but being unable to talk due to the severe confusion and swelling of her brain

Having the ventilator removed, but those very scary moments soon after where they thought her airway was closing up and having doctors and respiratory therapists rush in to check

Driving home from the hospital after being there the entire night and thinking "Now I can understand how people fall asleep at the wheel" because I was experiencing pure exhaustion, both physically and emotionally

Hearing the doctors say to us "You should just be happy she is alive...her chances of survival were less than 10%"  when we'd ask questions about what the next step was

The constant desire to just dial her number to talk.  To drive to her house to visit.  Anything.  Something to know that she was okay

 This is the infamous pack of gum Leslie bought that I mentioned in my previous post.  It's hard to see, but note there are only two pieces missing.  One for her, one for me.  That was it.  I know it's stupid, and I know it probably seems very insignificant, but for me, it is proof that that amazing day happened.  Proof that we were together.  I will never get rid of it.

This is the slip of paper the ICU nurse gave me that first night.  The top is the phone number to her unit.  The middle number is her room.  And the code is the code I would have to give in order to get information.  Only George and I had the code, and it was our job to relay any information.

September 20, 2011:

Texting my sister to say "Wanna do lunch?" and having her write me back!

Meeting for dinner at Portofino's to honor those that stayed the night with her, night after night, so she would never be alone.  We never had to ask...they just did it.  And it was NOT easy.  Being tired was the least of our issues when we'd stay the night...it was more making sure she stayed in bed, reassuring her constant paranoia, keeping her from removing the heart monitors, catheters, IV lines, etc.

Watching her laugh and socialize with the people she loves

Seeing her update her status on facebook

Having full conversations with her through texts and e-mails, just like we used to do prior to this past year

Her smile.  Her smile is so genuine and so Leslie.  That was gone for so long, because for months, she literally was blank.  Void of all emotion.  It's coming back, slowly but surely

She never did lose her sense of love and kindness towards other people.  Even when she was so confused in the hospital, when someone came in and said "How are you?"  She'd respond with "I'm fine, how are you?"  That is apparently a part of her that will never go away.  She has a heart of pure gold

Thank you.  Thank you to every single one of you.  Whether you stayed the night, visited, brought food, prayed, thought about her, read the blog to stay informed on her progress, sent cards, texts, or emails,  WE APPRECIATE AND LOVE YOU and I promise, we will never, ever forget any of that.  There is absolutely no way we could have gotten through this without all of the love and support. 

This past year was the worst year of our entire lives.  My motto here on out is, "It only gets better from here!"

Keep it up, sister.  You have SO many people rooting for you.

 The beautiful cake, made by Persnickety Sweets.  Purple is Leslie's favorite color and the cake was chocolate, which is also her favorite

 One of the tables.  On the left, from furthest to closest, Allison (my 2 year old daughter), Shawn, and Jim.  On the other side, my husband Jason, my son, Ethan, my cousin Beth, and my cousin Michelle (both of them stayed many nights with my sister at the hospital.

 My dad's very heartfelt, touching speech that he put together all by himself.  It was very, very beautiful.

 The other table.  On the left side, Georges's sister, George's mom, George, and my dad.  On the other side, George's sisters husband (sorry about the lack of names!), my Uncle Terry, my Aunt Bev, Leslie, and my mom

                                                                Leslie and her cake :)

 That is her battlewound.  Okay, more like the scar left behind from her defibrillator being placed.  Nonetheless, I can't help but look at it and know that it just may save my sisters life someday.

                      This was the quote on the cake.  Very fitting, and Leslie loves Maya Angelou.

 This picture speaks volumes for me.  That night I left saying "I can't go on without her!" and here I am, WITH her.  Forever with her.

             The Tuttle Family, EXACTLY how it should be.  Thank you, God, for keeping us together.