I have neglected my blog terribly despite multiple topics running through my brain! Unfortunately, our space bar on the laptop is gone, so I have no way of typing. I have contacted a computer guy who said he could replace the keyboard for an amazing price but he is HORRIBLE about getting back to me, despite multiple attempts to contact him.
If anyone knows someone that could help, let me know! LauraB2000@wyan.org
Monday, December 17, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Today is the 2 year anniversary of my sister's incident. I'm not going to go through a play by play of that day. My mind just doesn't feel like going there. It doesn't mean my mind DIDN'T go there, I just don't feel like typing it all out. Last night I spent a lot of time going through a grocery bag I keep stashed up in my closet. Little things I have kept over the past 2 years. Like for instance:
This is a collection of the cards and notes I have collected. No, it's not all of them, but it's a good portion. Notes of support and love, notes that accompanied American Heart Association donations for the heart walk, etc. I doubt I personally thanked every person that sent a note, but this is proof that regardless of it I did or not, the appreciation was undeniable.
Or this:
...which is a collection of items from when my mom, sister, and I were nominated to be Women of Wyandotte, representing love and family. That was one of my very favorite post-incident memories.
I even saved this:
...which is the receipt from Kristen's wedding which was the day before. I remember one night when Leslie was in the ICU. I stopped at her house to let her dog out. While I was at her house, I looked in her work bag and saw all these reminders of what we had prior to her collapsing. Her receipt was there. Notes she had jotted down for her classroom, a portion of uneaten food from her lunch that day. That night, right there in my sister's dining room, I had one of the biggest breakdowns of my life.
I have this saved:
Hi Laura,
Your phone was in my purse this morning!! I don't know if you have a key so I'm going to put it in between the screen door and big door in the backyard... Not front doors.
Amazingly enough, I feel slightly hungover and very bloated today. George said he feels a bit queasy too! How about you??
Love,
Les
...which was her facebook message to me the morning of September 20, 2010, as well as my response, which was this:
I was wondering where it was this morning. I will probably just pick it up when I go out to get Ethan from school. If I don't, though, I will come by sometime tonight. I'm in no rush.
I feel totally fine this morning, just tired. I got home, and immediately took a shower. Then I was just sitting around watching TV and playing on the computer when I got super tired, so I was sound asleep by midnight! Slept like a rock all night.
But yeah, definitely no hangover. I hope you guys feel better soon, maybe after some pop?
Talk to you later.
...I didn't read that message for a LONG time. It was too painful.
I remember I'd drive by her house and it was like I would have to physically refrain myself from turning into her driveway because my mind and heart wanted to so desperately.
I remember running my fingers over the numbers that would dial her phone, but I never actually called it, because I knew she wouldn't answer.
I remember leaving the hospital that first night. My body was painfully exhausted and desperately wanted some rest, but at the same time, I had no idea if leaving that night would mean I wouldn't see her alive anymore. She was up to 10 mg of Ativan at that point, and the seizures were relentless. Shaking her entire bed. I remember being told, "she responds to pain, but only sometimes." The logical part of me knew that "only sometimes" was not good, but my heart clung to "she responds to pain." I remember feeling like I won the lottery the night I spent with her and her eyes would flutter when I would speak to her.
I still have this:
And this:
...which allowed me to call and get details on her, and granted me permission to be there after visiting hours.
I have this:
...which is a sign Ethan made to support the American Heart Association. He did this all on his own. He handed these out freely to people.
Leslie's incident changed me in many ways. Some ways are not so good. I don't trust as easily. I constantly wait for the "other shoe to drop", so to speak. I am always on guard. It taught me that tomorrow is NOT guaranteed, so never get too comfortable.
On the contrary, because I don't trust tomorrow is guaranteed, I am more proactive. If something isn't working out, I don't just hope for change...I MAKE it change. While I still have this burning desire to have other people's approval, I don't dwell on it quite so much. I know true love from my family. I know what it means to sacrifice. I don't waste energy and emotions on people that don't have the same love and respect for me that I have for them. Life is too short!
I've learned what it means to have faith in a power way higher than myself. Leslie had angels on earth working for her that day and for many days after. But there is TOO much that just went so unbelievably RIGHT despite all the things that were going wrong to say that someone out there wasn't watching over her. I envision my Grandma Price watching over her and saying, "No, it is NOT her time" just as her heart started beating again. I just know she was there!
Today at work, I had my eyes on the clock when it was about 9 AM, as that is about when those messages were exchanged between Leslie and I. I had my eyes on the clock at just after 2, when she collapsed, and again around 2:40 when I got the phone call from my dad saying, "Come quick, something terrible happened." I had my eyes on the clock around 3:30 when they allowed us back to see her. Despite the ventilator and tubes coming from everywhere, I remember how beautiful and peaceful she looked. I remember around 5, when we all regrouped at home, then headed to Henry Ford Hospital to see her in her ICU bed.
Not a day goes by that I don't think about it. Maybe not in quite so much detail, but it is always on my mind in one way or another.
Happy 2nd RE-birthday, Leslie. I love you so, so much!
Or this:
I even saved this:
...which is the receipt from Kristen's wedding which was the day before. I remember one night when Leslie was in the ICU. I stopped at her house to let her dog out. While I was at her house, I looked in her work bag and saw all these reminders of what we had prior to her collapsing. Her receipt was there. Notes she had jotted down for her classroom, a portion of uneaten food from her lunch that day. That night, right there in my sister's dining room, I had one of the biggest breakdowns of my life.
I have this saved:
Hi Laura,
Your phone was in my purse this morning!! I don't know if you have a key so I'm going to put it in between the screen door and big door in the backyard... Not front doors.
Amazingly enough, I feel slightly hungover and very bloated today. George said he feels a bit queasy too! How about you??
Love,
Les
...which was her facebook message to me the morning of September 20, 2010, as well as my response, which was this:
I was wondering where it was this morning. I will probably just pick it up when I go out to get Ethan from school. If I don't, though, I will come by sometime tonight. I'm in no rush.
I feel totally fine this morning, just tired. I got home, and immediately took a shower. Then I was just sitting around watching TV and playing on the computer when I got super tired, so I was sound asleep by midnight! Slept like a rock all night.
But yeah, definitely no hangover. I hope you guys feel better soon, maybe after some pop?
Talk to you later.
...I didn't read that message for a LONG time. It was too painful.
I remember I'd drive by her house and it was like I would have to physically refrain myself from turning into her driveway because my mind and heart wanted to so desperately.
I remember running my fingers over the numbers that would dial her phone, but I never actually called it, because I knew she wouldn't answer.
I remember leaving the hospital that first night. My body was painfully exhausted and desperately wanted some rest, but at the same time, I had no idea if leaving that night would mean I wouldn't see her alive anymore. She was up to 10 mg of Ativan at that point, and the seizures were relentless. Shaking her entire bed. I remember being told, "she responds to pain, but only sometimes." The logical part of me knew that "only sometimes" was not good, but my heart clung to "she responds to pain." I remember feeling like I won the lottery the night I spent with her and her eyes would flutter when I would speak to her.
I still have this:
I have this:
Leslie's incident changed me in many ways. Some ways are not so good. I don't trust as easily. I constantly wait for the "other shoe to drop", so to speak. I am always on guard. It taught me that tomorrow is NOT guaranteed, so never get too comfortable.
On the contrary, because I don't trust tomorrow is guaranteed, I am more proactive. If something isn't working out, I don't just hope for change...I MAKE it change. While I still have this burning desire to have other people's approval, I don't dwell on it quite so much. I know true love from my family. I know what it means to sacrifice. I don't waste energy and emotions on people that don't have the same love and respect for me that I have for them. Life is too short!
I've learned what it means to have faith in a power way higher than myself. Leslie had angels on earth working for her that day and for many days after. But there is TOO much that just went so unbelievably RIGHT despite all the things that were going wrong to say that someone out there wasn't watching over her. I envision my Grandma Price watching over her and saying, "No, it is NOT her time" just as her heart started beating again. I just know she was there!
Today at work, I had my eyes on the clock when it was about 9 AM, as that is about when those messages were exchanged between Leslie and I. I had my eyes on the clock at just after 2, when she collapsed, and again around 2:40 when I got the phone call from my dad saying, "Come quick, something terrible happened." I had my eyes on the clock around 3:30 when they allowed us back to see her. Despite the ventilator and tubes coming from everywhere, I remember how beautiful and peaceful she looked. I remember around 5, when we all regrouped at home, then headed to Henry Ford Hospital to see her in her ICU bed.
Not a day goes by that I don't think about it. Maybe not in quite so much detail, but it is always on my mind in one way or another.
Happy 2nd RE-birthday, Leslie. I love you so, so much!
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Two years ago today, I was celebrating my best friends wedding. It was a gorgeous fall day, bright and crisp. The dresses were cherry red. My sister and I were bridesmaids and spent morning until night together, looking like queens. Laughing, dancing, eating, drinking, and enjoying each other's company.
Two years ago today is the last memory I have of my sister pre-brain injury. Do you have any idea how thankful I am that out of all the memories I have in my life, THIS was the memory that is the "last"? We were surrounded by our favorite people: Kristen, Colin, Renee, Heather, Linsey, Mr. and Mrs. Mosczynski, as well as our parents and our spouses. Do memories get much better than that?
I remember when I got the call. One of the first people I called was Kristen. I told her what I knew, and then said, "thank you." Why would saying thank you be appropriate? Because at that moment, I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know if my sister would be alive by the time I got to the ER. If there was any "last memory" I wanted, it was exactly the one I had: laughing, dancing, eating drinking, and enjoying each other's company on a gorgeous fall day, bright and crisp.
Two years ago today is the last memory I have of my sister pre-brain injury. Do you have any idea how thankful I am that out of all the memories I have in my life, THIS was the memory that is the "last"? We were surrounded by our favorite people: Kristen, Colin, Renee, Heather, Linsey, Mr. and Mrs. Mosczynski, as well as our parents and our spouses. Do memories get much better than that?
I remember when I got the call. One of the first people I called was Kristen. I told her what I knew, and then said, "thank you." Why would saying thank you be appropriate? Because at that moment, I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know if my sister would be alive by the time I got to the ER. If there was any "last memory" I wanted, it was exactly the one I had: laughing, dancing, eating drinking, and enjoying each other's company on a gorgeous fall day, bright and crisp.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
So it's no surprise that I got a new job. Totally unexpected, but it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.
Normally, I am a person that HATES change. Working in health care, that doesn't exactly mesh real well together. Things CONSTANTLY change. And I constantly hate it. When I got my first nursing position, I went into it with a very dear friend (hi, Julie!) so it wasn't quite as scary. When I took on my second position, I went into it with another friend and previous coworker. This time? It was all me, all alone. It's funny, because normally this would cause insane amounts of anxiety and guilt. I think I feel more guilt about not feeling guilty than I do about the changes! I even TRY to feel unhappy...and I can't! It literally is like there is sign after sign after sign that this was a really good decision.
Let me tell you the big sign today:
The spiritual director was giving a speech. It was basically about patient's perception, nonverbal body language, etc. She personally knew someone who was in an ICU two separate occasions, but in the same health care system. The first time, she had just gone through a very long night. She had a cup of coffee in her hand and the nurse came in and said, "Coffee is NOT allowed in the ICU! Please get rid of it immediately." Second time, same circumstance, just sans the cup of coffee, as it was "not allowed". She was standing by her loved ones bed, feeling exhausted. A nurse came up, but her hand on her shoulder and said, "You must be exhausted. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
Oh, yes. THIS situation is right up my alley. If you have paid attention to posts from a year or so ago, I had a similar situation. This time my sister was the critically ill patient. Signs posted everywhere about the ICU rules, including family members cannot sleep in patients room. Okay, understandable. It was maybe day 2 or 3 of her stay. She was still intubated and VERY touch and go. Exhaustion was an understatement. I held Leslie's hand, and rested my forehead on our clasped hands. The nurse came in and said, "There is NO sleeping in the ICU." Another day, I was in with Leslie, in the same position, but with my head up, and the nurse said, "I need to position your sister..." This was normally the cue for me to get out of the way and take a long walk. Instead, the nurse finished her sentence with, "...so do you mind helping me? We can wash her hair and braid it, too."
Perception. Words. Being observant of what is going on. Empathy.
The only way I can describe how I feel about this huge change is: complete happiness and peace.
Normally, I am a person that HATES change. Working in health care, that doesn't exactly mesh real well together. Things CONSTANTLY change. And I constantly hate it. When I got my first nursing position, I went into it with a very dear friend (hi, Julie!) so it wasn't quite as scary. When I took on my second position, I went into it with another friend and previous coworker. This time? It was all me, all alone. It's funny, because normally this would cause insane amounts of anxiety and guilt. I think I feel more guilt about not feeling guilty than I do about the changes! I even TRY to feel unhappy...and I can't! It literally is like there is sign after sign after sign that this was a really good decision.
Let me tell you the big sign today:
The spiritual director was giving a speech. It was basically about patient's perception, nonverbal body language, etc. She personally knew someone who was in an ICU two separate occasions, but in the same health care system. The first time, she had just gone through a very long night. She had a cup of coffee in her hand and the nurse came in and said, "Coffee is NOT allowed in the ICU! Please get rid of it immediately." Second time, same circumstance, just sans the cup of coffee, as it was "not allowed". She was standing by her loved ones bed, feeling exhausted. A nurse came up, but her hand on her shoulder and said, "You must be exhausted. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
Oh, yes. THIS situation is right up my alley. If you have paid attention to posts from a year or so ago, I had a similar situation. This time my sister was the critically ill patient. Signs posted everywhere about the ICU rules, including family members cannot sleep in patients room. Okay, understandable. It was maybe day 2 or 3 of her stay. She was still intubated and VERY touch and go. Exhaustion was an understatement. I held Leslie's hand, and rested my forehead on our clasped hands. The nurse came in and said, "There is NO sleeping in the ICU." Another day, I was in with Leslie, in the same position, but with my head up, and the nurse said, "I need to position your sister..." This was normally the cue for me to get out of the way and take a long walk. Instead, the nurse finished her sentence with, "...so do you mind helping me? We can wash her hair and braid it, too."
Perception. Words. Being observant of what is going on. Empathy.
The only way I can describe how I feel about this huge change is: complete happiness and peace.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
For several weeks when Leslie was in the ICU, she literally had tubes coming from all over. Then on top of all the tubes, she had the ventilator, which while it wasn't breathing for her, it was protecting her airway, which obviously is very important.
I remember when Jay's Grandpa was dying of brain cancer. From diagnosis to death, we're talking months. I remember we were on out way to a birthday party and I told Jay I felt we should stop by to see him one more time, as he was inevitably close to death. When we arrived, he had the "death rattle", meaning secretions were building up in his mouth, throat, and lungs and just rattling around in there with each pathetic breath. His arms were so swollen they were shiny, and when you touched them, it caused an indent that never fully rebounded.
I also remember when Jay's aunt was dying from diabetic kidney failure. We were all there. We were in the process of moving her from the recliner to the hospital breaths when she did those awful "fake"breaths....where her chest rose and fell, but there was no air exchange. Just like that, she was gone.
Last story was my Uncle Frank's funeral. He was in his coffin and was on day 3 of the viewing. I touched his arm. Rock hard and cold. It made me quietly yelp and back away, and also caused me to vow to never touch a deceased loved one again.
Back to Les. When people were around, I kept the touching to a minimum. Maybe hold her hand or brush her hair. I was comfortable enough in the hospital setting to know that each bleep and bloop of the machines did not necessarily mean something bad, but for my parents sanity, I kept the touching to a minimum. What they DIDN'T know, was that when everyone was gone and I was on night duty, it was a regular ol' Jane Fonda session all up in that ICU hizzouse. I'll be damned if my sister recovers from sudden cardiac arrest but then has months and months of PT related to foot droop. Or worse, she recovers, then becomes septic due to bed sores. Nope! Not on my watch.
I remember one particular bad night. She was in full blown paranoia mode, fully believing someone was going to break in to our "apartment". Not only that, she was having a horrible reaction to a drug and had hives head to toe. She didn't get the concept of scratching the itchiness, so she just moved. A lot. She still had tubes in, this time we were down to heart monitors, a catheter, and a PICC line. She'd go to grab at the PICC line, and as you gently pealed her fingers away, she was already plotting on attacking the foley straight on. As you carefully told her that it will HURT if she pulls that out, she has already detached herself from all the heart monitors and is handing them to you so sweetly as if to say, "here, I think you misplaced these!" It was nonstop, all night long. I was tired. Finally? I said "Screw it!" to my empty bed and climbed into her bed. I rolled her to her side and got the foley anchored tightly between her legs. The PICC was covered by her gown now, so it was less distracting, and the heart monitors were on their own, meaning: she was still plucking them off left and right. Anyhow, I got her situated and positioned myself behind her bottom, in the crook of her knees and gently blew some cold air on her backside with one hand while using the other hand to gently rub over her entire body to relieve the itching. It was then that she finally fell asleep.
Her paranoia ceased because I was physically touching her and calming her; as well as distracting her from other things that were bothering her (the itchiness) which she did not have the mental capacity to put the two together.
This is just a specific example of touch. My hands were on her constantly. Rubbing her shoulders, scratching her back, stroking her legs and arms. I couldn't do much, but I could let her know with a gently touch "I AM HERE."
My current nursing role is very hands off. Sure, I get to talk to my patients and develop relationships with them. It's been amazing. But I miss the hands on part. I miss being able to assess a patients general well being by simply listening to heart and lung sounds, as well as bowel sounds. To assess the status of a wound by removing a dressing, comparing previous assessments, and then redressing the wound. Of having a delicate, bony arm around my waist as I shuffle an elderly patient to the bathroom. Of hugging the wife of the man who just passed away. Of rubbing lotion on the elderly patient with no family to visit, who winks at me as I leave as his way of expressing appreciation.
I miss it. Literally speaking, I'm not going "home", as it is a new health system with people I do not know. To ME, though...I am absolutely going back "home". Home is where your heart is...isn't that what that cliche little plaque says that you can usually find for 25 cents at a garage sale? It has so much truth, though. I'm so read to go back. Back to what I refer to as "home".
I remember when Jay's Grandpa was dying of brain cancer. From diagnosis to death, we're talking months. I remember we were on out way to a birthday party and I told Jay I felt we should stop by to see him one more time, as he was inevitably close to death. When we arrived, he had the "death rattle", meaning secretions were building up in his mouth, throat, and lungs and just rattling around in there with each pathetic breath. His arms were so swollen they were shiny, and when you touched them, it caused an indent that never fully rebounded.
I also remember when Jay's aunt was dying from diabetic kidney failure. We were all there. We were in the process of moving her from the recliner to the hospital breaths when she did those awful "fake"breaths....where her chest rose and fell, but there was no air exchange. Just like that, she was gone.
Last story was my Uncle Frank's funeral. He was in his coffin and was on day 3 of the viewing. I touched his arm. Rock hard and cold. It made me quietly yelp and back away, and also caused me to vow to never touch a deceased loved one again.
Back to Les. When people were around, I kept the touching to a minimum. Maybe hold her hand or brush her hair. I was comfortable enough in the hospital setting to know that each bleep and bloop of the machines did not necessarily mean something bad, but for my parents sanity, I kept the touching to a minimum. What they DIDN'T know, was that when everyone was gone and I was on night duty, it was a regular ol' Jane Fonda session all up in that ICU hizzouse. I'll be damned if my sister recovers from sudden cardiac arrest but then has months and months of PT related to foot droop. Or worse, she recovers, then becomes septic due to bed sores. Nope! Not on my watch.
I remember one particular bad night. She was in full blown paranoia mode, fully believing someone was going to break in to our "apartment". Not only that, she was having a horrible reaction to a drug and had hives head to toe. She didn't get the concept of scratching the itchiness, so she just moved. A lot. She still had tubes in, this time we were down to heart monitors, a catheter, and a PICC line. She'd go to grab at the PICC line, and as you gently pealed her fingers away, she was already plotting on attacking the foley straight on. As you carefully told her that it will HURT if she pulls that out, she has already detached herself from all the heart monitors and is handing them to you so sweetly as if to say, "here, I think you misplaced these!" It was nonstop, all night long. I was tired. Finally? I said "Screw it!" to my empty bed and climbed into her bed. I rolled her to her side and got the foley anchored tightly between her legs. The PICC was covered by her gown now, so it was less distracting, and the heart monitors were on their own, meaning: she was still plucking them off left and right. Anyhow, I got her situated and positioned myself behind her bottom, in the crook of her knees and gently blew some cold air on her backside with one hand while using the other hand to gently rub over her entire body to relieve the itching. It was then that she finally fell asleep.
Her paranoia ceased because I was physically touching her and calming her; as well as distracting her from other things that were bothering her (the itchiness) which she did not have the mental capacity to put the two together.
This is just a specific example of touch. My hands were on her constantly. Rubbing her shoulders, scratching her back, stroking her legs and arms. I couldn't do much, but I could let her know with a gently touch "I AM HERE."
My current nursing role is very hands off. Sure, I get to talk to my patients and develop relationships with them. It's been amazing. But I miss the hands on part. I miss being able to assess a patients general well being by simply listening to heart and lung sounds, as well as bowel sounds. To assess the status of a wound by removing a dressing, comparing previous assessments, and then redressing the wound. Of having a delicate, bony arm around my waist as I shuffle an elderly patient to the bathroom. Of hugging the wife of the man who just passed away. Of rubbing lotion on the elderly patient with no family to visit, who winks at me as I leave as his way of expressing appreciation.
I miss it. Literally speaking, I'm not going "home", as it is a new health system with people I do not know. To ME, though...I am absolutely going back "home". Home is where your heart is...isn't that what that cliche little plaque says that you can usually find for 25 cents at a garage sale? It has so much truth, though. I'm so read to go back. Back to what I refer to as "home".
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
You don't even have to know me very well to know that I don't have a whole heck of a lot of confidence within myself. I seek approval from anyone and everyone all the time.
There are a few things in my life, though, that I don't need others to tell me I am good at (note I said good, NOT perfect) because I already know it. I know it because I pour my heart and soul into the role and I truly feel if you give something your all, you will be successful.
I'm a good mom. I adore my children and I believe with my whole heart that they are the greatest creation I have ever had a part in. Sure, they see me fly off the hook sometimes (all the time) or sit around in pajama pants at 2 in the afternoon and announce "chips and dip for lunch today!" probably more than they should, BUT... they know I love them with every ounce of my being. They are doted on hand and foot and I would lay my life down in a heartbeat if it meant protecting theirs. The only authentic art work I own is the works of Ethan and Allison, and their masterpieces are decorated all over my cupboards and walls. I save everything. My closet looks like it's out of an episode of Hoarders, but if you took the time to REALLY look, you'd see it consists of folders upon folders of little snippets of all parts of their lives. I never doubt, not for one second, that they don't know just how much I love them.
I'm a good wife. Luckily, Jay does not log into my blog so he can't do any editing, but on the flip side, he could log in if he wanted, because our lives are shared. No secrets. He is the only human being who can drive me crazy both in a good way and a bad way. He loves football, I love Real Housewives. He loves (has) to budget, I spend like money grows on trees (technically speaking, though, it does..) Bottom line is, we share the common bond that family is everything. We chose each other for a reason, and we don't take our relationship lightly. There is nothing in this entire world that I keep secret from him (except the Target bill, and only then, it's only secret until it arrives in the mail) and he is the same. I pride myself on our trust, faithfulness, and loyalty. And the greatest part? I could take out the "mom" parts of the above paragraph and replace it with "dad", and it would be completely applicable.
I'm a good nurse. It's not an act when I take care of a patient. And to me, they aren't patients, but people. Both fortunately and unfortunately, I know the role of being a patient and being the family member of a patient, and those memories never fade and I definitely apply them in my practice. Won't lie, seeing the diagnosis "ETOH addiction" or hearing "go ahead and push the dilaudid faster...it works better that way!" makes me roll my eyes and want to run off into the sunset screaming, there are so many amazing moments that trump those.
I'm a good Christian. It took me 30 years to fully grasp what it meant to be a Christian, and I can say that ever since the near death experience with ,my sister, I have finally learned that God is key. I hate that it took me so long to "get it", but I am so glad I finally did. Every single decision I make, I literally do think, "What would God think?" and act based on that. I'm far from a perfect Christian. FAR from it. But I can say with confidence that God knows I am trying. When I hear my daughter sing worship music, clench her hands in the world's tightest fist when she prays or hear that my son did the prayer over the children's offering in Sunday School, my heart bursts with love and amazement.
The past two years have been hell on Earth. I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy. Through it, though, I have learned more about MYSELF than ever, and the above are the biggest things. I've learned I cannot control my surroundings, but I can control how I respond. I've learned that people may hurt me, but it is not my job to ensure they understand or feel the pain they inflicted. I've learned that sometimes, the only things important in life are God and family. The world can crumble all around you. but if the foundation YOU are standing on is strong, you will be just fine.
I will be just fine.
There are a few things in my life, though, that I don't need others to tell me I am good at (note I said good, NOT perfect) because I already know it. I know it because I pour my heart and soul into the role and I truly feel if you give something your all, you will be successful.
I'm a good mom. I adore my children and I believe with my whole heart that they are the greatest creation I have ever had a part in. Sure, they see me fly off the hook sometimes (all the time) or sit around in pajama pants at 2 in the afternoon and announce "chips and dip for lunch today!" probably more than they should, BUT... they know I love them with every ounce of my being. They are doted on hand and foot and I would lay my life down in a heartbeat if it meant protecting theirs. The only authentic art work I own is the works of Ethan and Allison, and their masterpieces are decorated all over my cupboards and walls. I save everything. My closet looks like it's out of an episode of Hoarders, but if you took the time to REALLY look, you'd see it consists of folders upon folders of little snippets of all parts of their lives. I never doubt, not for one second, that they don't know just how much I love them.
I'm a good wife. Luckily, Jay does not log into my blog so he can't do any editing, but on the flip side, he could log in if he wanted, because our lives are shared. No secrets. He is the only human being who can drive me crazy both in a good way and a bad way. He loves football, I love Real Housewives. He loves (has) to budget, I spend like money grows on trees (technically speaking, though, it does..) Bottom line is, we share the common bond that family is everything. We chose each other for a reason, and we don't take our relationship lightly. There is nothing in this entire world that I keep secret from him (except the Target bill, and only then, it's only secret until it arrives in the mail) and he is the same. I pride myself on our trust, faithfulness, and loyalty. And the greatest part? I could take out the "mom" parts of the above paragraph and replace it with "dad", and it would be completely applicable.
I'm a good nurse. It's not an act when I take care of a patient. And to me, they aren't patients, but people. Both fortunately and unfortunately, I know the role of being a patient and being the family member of a patient, and those memories never fade and I definitely apply them in my practice. Won't lie, seeing the diagnosis "ETOH addiction" or hearing "go ahead and push the dilaudid faster...it works better that way!" makes me roll my eyes and want to run off into the sunset screaming, there are so many amazing moments that trump those.
I'm a good Christian. It took me 30 years to fully grasp what it meant to be a Christian, and I can say that ever since the near death experience with ,my sister, I have finally learned that God is key. I hate that it took me so long to "get it", but I am so glad I finally did. Every single decision I make, I literally do think, "What would God think?" and act based on that. I'm far from a perfect Christian. FAR from it. But I can say with confidence that God knows I am trying. When I hear my daughter sing worship music, clench her hands in the world's tightest fist when she prays or hear that my son did the prayer over the children's offering in Sunday School, my heart bursts with love and amazement.
The past two years have been hell on Earth. I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy. Through it, though, I have learned more about MYSELF than ever, and the above are the biggest things. I've learned I cannot control my surroundings, but I can control how I respond. I've learned that people may hurt me, but it is not my job to ensure they understand or feel the pain they inflicted. I've learned that sometimes, the only things important in life are God and family. The world can crumble all around you. but if the foundation YOU are standing on is strong, you will be just fine.
I will be just fine.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
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