Soon, as in this Friday afternoon, I will be done with my first semester of nursing school.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
Life Changes
For two months this was my life...
Redecorating a bathroom with a cherry and lemon theme so yellow the camera couldn't handle it
Making a Karlee Fuchs (I think her last name might beat mine) drawstring bag and an Amy Bulter messenger bag. Note: Karlee Fuchs’ pattern, awesome and easy, Amy Butler’s, not so much.
Hanging some pictures and shelves in our bedroom that we've had since we bought the house
And hanging out with this cutie
Now this is my life and what I hang out with....
They're not much fun and aren't real cute
Redecorating a bathroom with a cherry and lemon theme so yellow the camera couldn't handle it
Making a Karlee Fuchs (I think her last name might beat mine) drawstring bag and an Amy Bulter messenger bag. Note: Karlee Fuchs’ pattern, awesome and easy, Amy Butler’s, not so much.
Hanging some pictures and shelves in our bedroom that we've had since we bought the house
And hanging out with this cutie
Now this is my life and what I hang out with....
They're not much fun and aren't real cute
Monday, August 17, 2009
Letters
While caring for my four-year-old niece for just over a week I thought more than once, “I should write a letter!” So here they are.
Build-A-Bear,
What kind of addicting, luring, kid-can’t-resist-begging, fumes do you emit from your store that makes a four-year-old physically unable to leave the mall without making a “bear”?(in her case it was a lamb) Granted I love the idea, create your own stuffed animal, but you should be called “Build-A-Bear and Then Spend Three Times as Much as the Bear Costs to Buy All the Necessary Accessories”. It may not have the same ring, but at least its honest. Oh, and do you think that we could work on a smaller “bear”. Once the said “bear” is made it must travel everywhere with us. I thought about renting a double stroller at the zoo and almost had to buy it its own seat on the airplane.
Every Single Grocery Store,
I was wondering if we could put fruits and veggies on the shelves at the check-out counter instead of candy. See, the problem is that after we have made it through the whole grocery shopping experience without too much begging on her part and caving on mine, you push us over the edge right at the end. How does a kid, who is already sick and tired of shopping, and an Aunt who is sick and tired of saying “no”, survive the “hall of candy”? So I feel that fruits and veggies would be a good replacement. I can hear it now, can I pleeeeeease have some carrot sticks?
Crayola,
Your art and craft supplies are amazing! You supplied us with countless hours of creative and fun entertainment. My refrigerator door looks like a four-year-old’s version of the Louvre.
Chuck E. Cheese,
I now understand why my parents hated you when I was young, but after watching her there I remembered why I loved you.
LA Zoo,
Why must you be built on a hill? Inevitably when we were all done and at the bottom of the hill, she wants to see baby giraffe, again, at the top of the hill.
Her parents,
You have an amazing little girl. She is bright, funny, witty, cute, sweet, and sensitive. She aims to please and adores praise and affection. You are blessed to be her parents. Thank you for sharing her with me, it was one of the best weeks. Cherish her, love her, teach her, and sent her my way more often.
God, Mother Nature, & My Body,
I want one of my own.
Build-A-Bear,
What kind of addicting, luring, kid-can’t-resist-begging, fumes do you emit from your store that makes a four-year-old physically unable to leave the mall without making a “bear”?(in her case it was a lamb) Granted I love the idea, create your own stuffed animal, but you should be called “Build-A-Bear and Then Spend Three Times as Much as the Bear Costs to Buy All the Necessary Accessories”. It may not have the same ring, but at least its honest. Oh, and do you think that we could work on a smaller “bear”. Once the said “bear” is made it must travel everywhere with us. I thought about renting a double stroller at the zoo and almost had to buy it its own seat on the airplane.
Every Single Grocery Store,
I was wondering if we could put fruits and veggies on the shelves at the check-out counter instead of candy. See, the problem is that after we have made it through the whole grocery shopping experience without too much begging on her part and caving on mine, you push us over the edge right at the end. How does a kid, who is already sick and tired of shopping, and an Aunt who is sick and tired of saying “no”, survive the “hall of candy”? So I feel that fruits and veggies would be a good replacement. I can hear it now, can I pleeeeeease have some carrot sticks?
Crayola,
Your art and craft supplies are amazing! You supplied us with countless hours of creative and fun entertainment. My refrigerator door looks like a four-year-old’s version of the Louvre.
Chuck E. Cheese,
I now understand why my parents hated you when I was young, but after watching her there I remembered why I loved you.
LA Zoo,
Why must you be built on a hill? Inevitably when we were all done and at the bottom of the hill, she wants to see baby giraffe, again, at the top of the hill.
Her parents,
You have an amazing little girl. She is bright, funny, witty, cute, sweet, and sensitive. She aims to please and adores praise and affection. You are blessed to be her parents. Thank you for sharing her with me, it was one of the best weeks. Cherish her, love her, teach her, and sent her my way more often.
God, Mother Nature, & My Body,
I want one of my own.
Friday, July 31, 2009
She's on the Mend
And having fun
Stamping
She thought my Yoga mat was a picnic blanket - so we had a picnic. I think I like picnics more than yoga.
Earning her keep
We added "Lamby" from Build-A-Bear to our family. She likes the box it came in best. She has since added lots more paint, pompoms, feathers, and glitter to "Lamby" house.
We have also been busy swimming, painting nails, riding bikes, running through sprinklers, baking cookies, and all the other fun stuff I like to do and finally have a kid around so I don't look crazy doing it. No wonder this girl is sleeping 12 hours a night.
Her parents have called and asked when they can have her back. I'm thinking sometime around 2021, when she turns 16.
Stamping
She thought my Yoga mat was a picnic blanket - so we had a picnic. I think I like picnics more than yoga.
Earning her keep
We added "Lamby" from Build-A-Bear to our family. She likes the box it came in best. She has since added lots more paint, pompoms, feathers, and glitter to "Lamby" house.
We have also been busy swimming, painting nails, riding bikes, running through sprinklers, baking cookies, and all the other fun stuff I like to do and finally have a kid around so I don't look crazy doing it. No wonder this girl is sleeping 12 hours a night.
Her parents have called and asked when they can have her back. I'm thinking sometime around 2021, when she turns 16.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Girls Week
Our “Girls Week” ended this morning at 3am when I dropped off my mom and sister to catch their flights back home. Today went better than Sunday when I did the same thing, only to pick them back up a few hours later after they were both bumped from their flights. I didn’t mind – a few extra girl days are never a bad thing. Their husbands didn’t agree.
This brings an end to hours of eating, laughing, and watching a stack of estrogen enriched movies. I might have withdrawals.
I get to keep the little one for a little longer.
Its 9:45, she still sound asleep without a hint of waking. What 4-year-old would sleep through plans of making cookies, finger painting, running through sprinklers and playing playdoh? Attacking a craft box with as many pipecleaners, stickers, pompoms, felt squares, colors of glitter and jars of paste any 4-year-old could dream of? This one, who has been sick for the last 4 days. For the sake of summer fun, hers and mine, I am hoping that the antibiotics kick in and she is back to being her normal, bubbly, funny, energetic, makes-me-laugh, little girl.
I would definitely loose the “favorite aunt” award if these are her only memories of her summer with me.
This brings an end to hours of eating, laughing, and watching a stack of estrogen enriched movies. I might have withdrawals.
I get to keep the little one for a little longer.
Its 9:45, she still sound asleep without a hint of waking. What 4-year-old would sleep through plans of making cookies, finger painting, running through sprinklers and playing playdoh? Attacking a craft box with as many pipecleaners, stickers, pompoms, felt squares, colors of glitter and jars of paste any 4-year-old could dream of? This one, who has been sick for the last 4 days. For the sake of summer fun, hers and mine, I am hoping that the antibiotics kick in and she is back to being her normal, bubbly, funny, energetic, makes-me-laugh, little girl.
I would definitely loose the “favorite aunt” award if these are her only memories of her summer with me.
Friday, July 10, 2009
4th of July
I know it was a while back but we are still feeling the effects of it.
I am always up for some good 4th of July celebrations. In fact I was the one that prodded my Sweetie out for some tasty BBQ and dazzling fireworks, but my dear neighbors are the champs of 4th of July celebrations. In fact, they are still celebrating. Every night they put on their own little firework show. Every night.
Now that sounds fun, huh?
Well it would be if it didn’t scare the bejezus out of my 100 pound German Shepherd. Every night they start their post independence day celebrations and my poor dog starts shaking….and panting, and pacing, and whining, and passing gas. Lots and lots of dog gas.
I am always up for some good 4th of July celebrations. In fact I was the one that prodded my Sweetie out for some tasty BBQ and dazzling fireworks, but my dear neighbors are the champs of 4th of July celebrations. In fact, they are still celebrating. Every night they put on their own little firework show. Every night.
Now that sounds fun, huh?
Well it would be if it didn’t scare the bejezus out of my 100 pound German Shepherd. Every night they start their post independence day celebrations and my poor dog starts shaking….and panting, and pacing, and whining, and passing gas. Lots and lots of dog gas.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
To Tarzan
Only crazy people have parrots and only weirdoes celebrate their pet's birthday. Whatever, commit me.
Happy 1st Birthday Tarzan
Happy 1st Birthday Tarzan
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Kid Doctors
Another note on my Holiday at Cedars Sinai
Also known as interns, residents, fellows or as they like to introduce themselves, just generally as “part of the thoracic team”. Don’t trust them, or any other “doctor like” person who is not your doctor. They really don’t know what’s going on. Sure they glanced at your chart for a full 4 seconds before sauntering into your room – but just listen, nod your head, and ignore what they say.
I had some kid about my age walk into my room shortly after I arriving in my room from the recovery room. He didn’t give a title but muttered something about being on the “thoracic team”. I assume he was some kind of soon-to-be-full-on-doctor. He asked me if I wanted to go home. Dumb boy, my reply – “sure, spring me”. He told me I could go as soon as I could walk, eat, and take oral pain meds. “Bring it on” was my higher-than-a-kite response. Come to find out when I asked for a meal and to have the tube in my chest and IV taken out – kid doctor was wrong and I was held captive for a few more days.
Another kid doctor was seeing me before I went into surgery. He requested to write a “yes” on the side of my chest that the surgery was to take place on and a “no” on the other side. Kinda scary that surgeons rely on kids with magic markers for surgical instruction, but I thought, hey what's the harm. Well the harm was that kid doctor didn’t believe me when I told him they weren’t going through the front of my chest, but through the back. Trying to explain to trust-me-I’m-almost-a-real-doctor kid that your chest can be accessed from the front and back isn’t as easy as it sounds. We compromised and he wrote on both the front and back of my chest on the respected sides “yes” and “no”. I think he was happy – he got to do more coloring and I let him pick the colors. I was happy just to see a big fat scar running through the “yes” on my back and not on my front.
Also known as interns, residents, fellows or as they like to introduce themselves, just generally as “part of the thoracic team”. Don’t trust them, or any other “doctor like” person who is not your doctor. They really don’t know what’s going on. Sure they glanced at your chart for a full 4 seconds before sauntering into your room – but just listen, nod your head, and ignore what they say.
I had some kid about my age walk into my room shortly after I arriving in my room from the recovery room. He didn’t give a title but muttered something about being on the “thoracic team”. I assume he was some kind of soon-to-be-full-on-doctor. He asked me if I wanted to go home. Dumb boy, my reply – “sure, spring me”. He told me I could go as soon as I could walk, eat, and take oral pain meds. “Bring it on” was my higher-than-a-kite response. Come to find out when I asked for a meal and to have the tube in my chest and IV taken out – kid doctor was wrong and I was held captive for a few more days.
Another kid doctor was seeing me before I went into surgery. He requested to write a “yes” on the side of my chest that the surgery was to take place on and a “no” on the other side. Kinda scary that surgeons rely on kids with magic markers for surgical instruction, but I thought, hey what's the harm. Well the harm was that kid doctor didn’t believe me when I told him they weren’t going through the front of my chest, but through the back. Trying to explain to trust-me-I’m-almost-a-real-doctor kid that your chest can be accessed from the front and back isn’t as easy as it sounds. We compromised and he wrote on both the front and back of my chest on the respected sides “yes” and “no”. I think he was happy – he got to do more coloring and I let him pick the colors. I was happy just to see a big fat scar running through the “yes” on my back and not on my front.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Everything’s Under Control
I am an “in control” type of person. Sometimes this characteristic of mine comes in handy – like when I’m at work and crap is hitting the fan, you need someone to call the shots. But sometimes it’s a nuisance, it causes me to bite my tongue and/or just be completely annoyed. A short hospital stay proved sometimes things are out of my control – I didn’t like it.
After having a mass plus a couple of ribs removed from my chest I laid in a hospital bed completely annoyed. Not at the fact that I couldn’t breath or much less move without pain, but because they had put these ridiculous leg squeezers on my legs. I’m sure they have a more medical term for them, but that really describes them – they were hot, itchy, plastic things strapped around my legs and at completely random intervals they would inflate squeezing my legs. As much as a wiggled and kicked I couldn’t get them off. My caring Sweetie wouldn’t take them off for me either (wait till he asks me to do something for him).
I immediately asked if I could have them removed and Nurse Crotchet acted as if I had asked her to actually saw my legs off. She gawffed a mumbled something about them being “critically important”. I wondered if she had read my chart correctly and known that I had chest surgery and that my legs were just fine. I did take my oxygen off despite her scolding. I tried to bargain with her – leg squeezers off and oxygen on – but she wasn’t having it. Regardless, I was too drugged up to argue.
Which brings me to my second point of contention.
I had an IV in my arm, (actually the inside of my wrist right below my palm – and coming from a person who starts IVs everyday at work – it was lame placement). Through this IV flowed regular doses of Dilaudid. Whether I needed it or not that little pump was relentless in keeping me in a foggy stupor. I also had “little button guy” (I named him, thanks to the Dilaudid) that I could push if I wanted more, but there was nothing I could push if I wanted less. No control. I would just start to wake up and get my bearings when I would hear that little beep, the Dilaudid would drip, and I would be fading out again.
Again I called on Nurse Crotchet. I told her that I wanted to get rid of the Dilaudid drip but keep “little button guy” so I could get how much I wanted when I wanted it. “The doctor ordered it so you get it” was nurse Crotchets reply. It was obvious, she likes to be in control just as much as I do.
I think she pushed “little button guy” for me because I just remember dozing off again annoyed and a little smug. She hadn’t noticed that I conned the CNA who had wondered into my room to check my vital signs to also to remove my “critically important” leg squeezers with the promise that I wouldn’t tell Nurse Crotchet and I would keep my legs a’movin’. (I said “a’movin’" thanks again, Dilaudid.)
After having a mass plus a couple of ribs removed from my chest I laid in a hospital bed completely annoyed. Not at the fact that I couldn’t breath or much less move without pain, but because they had put these ridiculous leg squeezers on my legs. I’m sure they have a more medical term for them, but that really describes them – they were hot, itchy, plastic things strapped around my legs and at completely random intervals they would inflate squeezing my legs. As much as a wiggled and kicked I couldn’t get them off. My caring Sweetie wouldn’t take them off for me either (wait till he asks me to do something for him).
I immediately asked if I could have them removed and Nurse Crotchet acted as if I had asked her to actually saw my legs off. She gawffed a mumbled something about them being “critically important”. I wondered if she had read my chart correctly and known that I had chest surgery and that my legs were just fine. I did take my oxygen off despite her scolding. I tried to bargain with her – leg squeezers off and oxygen on – but she wasn’t having it. Regardless, I was too drugged up to argue.
Which brings me to my second point of contention.
I had an IV in my arm, (actually the inside of my wrist right below my palm – and coming from a person who starts IVs everyday at work – it was lame placement). Through this IV flowed regular doses of Dilaudid. Whether I needed it or not that little pump was relentless in keeping me in a foggy stupor. I also had “little button guy” (I named him, thanks to the Dilaudid) that I could push if I wanted more, but there was nothing I could push if I wanted less. No control. I would just start to wake up and get my bearings when I would hear that little beep, the Dilaudid would drip, and I would be fading out again.
Again I called on Nurse Crotchet. I told her that I wanted to get rid of the Dilaudid drip but keep “little button guy” so I could get how much I wanted when I wanted it. “The doctor ordered it so you get it” was nurse Crotchets reply. It was obvious, she likes to be in control just as much as I do.
I think she pushed “little button guy” for me because I just remember dozing off again annoyed and a little smug. She hadn’t noticed that I conned the CNA who had wondered into my room to check my vital signs to also to remove my “critically important” leg squeezers with the promise that I wouldn’t tell Nurse Crotchet and I would keep my legs a’movin’. (I said “a’movin’" thanks again, Dilaudid.)
Saturday, June 27, 2009
My Husband
He’s had a birthday so I thought I would reflect on why my favorite guy is my favorite guy.
To be honest, I just love him. When most women gripe and complain about their better halves, I get to sit there without much to say. I think that says a lot.
He has all the redeeming qualities one would list as preferable in a husband – he is loving, caring, sweet, funny, handsome, and smart. But there is much more to him than the generic list.
He is lovingly gentle. He knows when a I need to be hugged a little longer than usual. He knows when I need him just to listen and sympathize – not analyze and strategize. He has never raised his voice in our home. He complements freely and shows appreciation for what I do.
He is fun to be around. We laugh at ourselves and each other. Its him who initiates the adventures we go on. He likes toys and to have fun.
He has never shown resentment towards me when I haven’t been able to provide him with the family that we’ve dreamed of. He has endless patients when my mood swings would give most people motion sickness.
He balances me. When I want to throw caution to the wind and hope for the best – he’s there with a security net and a back-up plan.
He pays attention. He knows my favorite singer, type of pizza and flavor of ice-cream. He knows my shoe size and which t-shirt is my favorite (its really ugly, has a few holes, and has been around as long as he has and he never complains when I wear it to bed).
He is a good person. He works hard for what we have. He is honest and moral.
He loves me and that makes me one lucky girl.
Happy Birthday to my Sweetie Sweetie!
Oh, and he lets me call him “Sweetie Sweetie”
To be honest, I just love him. When most women gripe and complain about their better halves, I get to sit there without much to say. I think that says a lot.
He has all the redeeming qualities one would list as preferable in a husband – he is loving, caring, sweet, funny, handsome, and smart. But there is much more to him than the generic list.
He is lovingly gentle. He knows when a I need to be hugged a little longer than usual. He knows when I need him just to listen and sympathize – not analyze and strategize. He has never raised his voice in our home. He complements freely and shows appreciation for what I do.
He is fun to be around. We laugh at ourselves and each other. Its him who initiates the adventures we go on. He likes toys and to have fun.
He has never shown resentment towards me when I haven’t been able to provide him with the family that we’ve dreamed of. He has endless patients when my mood swings would give most people motion sickness.
He balances me. When I want to throw caution to the wind and hope for the best – he’s there with a security net and a back-up plan.
He pays attention. He knows my favorite singer, type of pizza and flavor of ice-cream. He knows my shoe size and which t-shirt is my favorite (its really ugly, has a few holes, and has been around as long as he has and he never complains when I wear it to bed).
He is a good person. He works hard for what we have. He is honest and moral.
He loves me and that makes me one lucky girl.
Happy Birthday to my Sweetie Sweetie!
Oh, and he lets me call him “Sweetie Sweetie”
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Utah or Bust!!!
We are off to Utah.
Here is to a week of dresses, flowers, family, and a wedding. Sounds pretty unbeatable to me!
Here is to a week of dresses, flowers, family, and a wedding. Sounds pretty unbeatable to me!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A Word of Caution
I’ve never thought of peppers, jalapenos to be exact, to be dangerous, but ask my partner he will tell you otherwise - from experience.
He was chopping up jalapeno peppers to put into a salsa he was making when nature called. He went to the restroom, washed his hands, and came back to making salsa. Moments later he was shifting his weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable.
It instantly made sense to him – he had jalapeno pepper residue somewhere it should have never been. He bolted to the shower room and according to him was undressed and showering within a few seconds.
Here’s the second note of caution – water makes the burning worse.
Frantically my partner called on another guy that was at our station to Goggle an antidote for the burning. Milk and butter where shuttled into the shower room and only he knows what he did with them, but he says butter works better than milk.
My stomach hurt from laughing, his boy parts just hurt, and he now is the owner of many nicknames that are not appropriate to post.
He was chopping up jalapeno peppers to put into a salsa he was making when nature called. He went to the restroom, washed his hands, and came back to making salsa. Moments later he was shifting his weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable.
It instantly made sense to him – he had jalapeno pepper residue somewhere it should have never been. He bolted to the shower room and according to him was undressed and showering within a few seconds.
Here’s the second note of caution – water makes the burning worse.
Frantically my partner called on another guy that was at our station to Goggle an antidote for the burning. Milk and butter where shuttled into the shower room and only he knows what he did with them, but he says butter works better than milk.
My stomach hurt from laughing, his boy parts just hurt, and he now is the owner of many nicknames that are not appropriate to post.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
The Wedding
T Minus 2 Weeks till Casey and Shawna's big day!!!
The flowers are done - well, ordered and paid for.
Hopefully they will arrive from the growers all ready to be arranged. I've never ordered wholesale flowers online so my fingers are crossed that they will be delivered alive.
If everything works out this is what they should look like -
The little ones dress is still under construction if we're lucky it will be wearable in two weeks.
The flowers are done - well, ordered and paid for.
Hopefully they will arrive from the growers all ready to be arranged. I've never ordered wholesale flowers online so my fingers are crossed that they will be delivered alive.
If everything works out this is what they should look like -
The little ones dress is still under construction if we're lucky it will be wearable in two weeks.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
A Day (almost and entire day) at the Doctors
Random thoughts of a day in the doctor's office...
The big sign stating that they ONLY validate your parking ticket for 2 HOURS should have been my first clue about how things were going to go. Appointment time? 10:30 Saw the doctor? 12:30 Time with the doctor? About 40 seconds. Waiting for referral information? Another hour.
Still cost me $13 dollars to park – no insurance coverage there.
Why was my appointment at 10:30 when I didn’t see him till 12:30? Although the waiting room is inviting, comfortable, and well decorated, I have better things to do than read through 2 copies of Good Housekeeping, 3 Parent Magazines, 1 Highlights (I hate when the little brat before you circles all the objects in Can You See It), play at least 10 games of Tetris on my phone and send a few texts to my Sweetie.
A phone call saying something to the effect of, “you’ll be here a while, you might want to show up an hour after your appointment time or bring rations” would have been nice.
You still pay a specialist copay even if that specialist only spends 40 seconds with you referring you to another specialist. That was a dollar a second I paid for his time. If I made that kind of money I would rake in about $10,713,600.00 year, not including overtime.
I am thankful for my specialist's honesty and humility – I think it takes a good doctor to admit someone else, in the same specialty, can do a better job. I would rather hear, “I’m going to refer you to Dr. Better-than-me” than hear, “let me give it a try and we’ll hope for the best.”
Now that I am home I have a little more perspective. I am fortunate enough to have good medical benefits and have access to good medical care, and even more fortunate that I rarely have to use it.
The big sign stating that they ONLY validate your parking ticket for 2 HOURS should have been my first clue about how things were going to go. Appointment time? 10:30 Saw the doctor? 12:30 Time with the doctor? About 40 seconds. Waiting for referral information? Another hour.
Still cost me $13 dollars to park – no insurance coverage there.
Why was my appointment at 10:30 when I didn’t see him till 12:30? Although the waiting room is inviting, comfortable, and well decorated, I have better things to do than read through 2 copies of Good Housekeeping, 3 Parent Magazines, 1 Highlights (I hate when the little brat before you circles all the objects in Can You See It), play at least 10 games of Tetris on my phone and send a few texts to my Sweetie.
A phone call saying something to the effect of, “you’ll be here a while, you might want to show up an hour after your appointment time or bring rations” would have been nice.
You still pay a specialist copay even if that specialist only spends 40 seconds with you referring you to another specialist. That was a dollar a second I paid for his time. If I made that kind of money I would rake in about $10,713,600.00 year, not including overtime.
I am thankful for my specialist's honesty and humility – I think it takes a good doctor to admit someone else, in the same specialty, can do a better job. I would rather hear, “I’m going to refer you to Dr. Better-than-me” than hear, “let me give it a try and we’ll hope for the best.”
Now that I am home I have a little more perspective. I am fortunate enough to have good medical benefits and have access to good medical care, and even more fortunate that I rarely have to use it.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
From the Mouths of Babes
In my line of work I see an abundance of Old Folk as I like to call them. They are our grandparent’s age, they are mostly pleasant, easy to assess, and appreciative of care. They are our bread and butter, what we know and what we are comfortable with. But every so often we get to care for children. Some of these calls make you want to cry, but some you can’t help but laugh. These are a few that come to mind…
A four-year-old girl is sitting buckled up in her car seat in the back seat of a pretty mangled up car, I walk up and she’s crying. I say in my most happy, nonchalant, don’t be afraid voice, “Hi sweetheart, are you hurt?” She replies, “My body isn’t but I think my feelings are.” An assessment showed that she was indeed just fine, but we took her anyways to get checked out. In the back of the ambulance while admiring our array of life saving equipment she asked if we had Dora Band-Aids – we don’t. I asked her where she would put a Band-Aid if she wasn’t hurt – thinking I might get her to admit to an injury we hadn’t caught. She pointed to her chest and said, “I think my feelings are right about here.” At that moment I would have given anything for a Dora Band-Aid.
As we are putting the seatbelts of our gurney around a larger woman her six-year-old daughter announces, “She doesn’t have a baby in her tummy, even though it looks like she does.”
We are taking a 2-week-old to the hospital because of a respiratory infection when his five-year-old big brother confides in me, “Its okay, you don’t have to bring him back, I don’t like him.”
A nine year old is accidently hit in the head by his friend swinging a bat. He has a pretty good gash which he has his hand plastered over.
Me – Could you move your hand so I can see?
Him – No
Me – Why?
Him – The cut is really deep and if I move my hand my brain might fall out.
Me – I’ll be sure to catch it if it does (I am joking, he is VERY serious)
Him as he’s moving his hand away – Get ready its probably pretty heavy.
Its not always life, death, and drama. When we’re lucky its small, cute, and funny.
A four-year-old girl is sitting buckled up in her car seat in the back seat of a pretty mangled up car, I walk up and she’s crying. I say in my most happy, nonchalant, don’t be afraid voice, “Hi sweetheart, are you hurt?” She replies, “My body isn’t but I think my feelings are.” An assessment showed that she was indeed just fine, but we took her anyways to get checked out. In the back of the ambulance while admiring our array of life saving equipment she asked if we had Dora Band-Aids – we don’t. I asked her where she would put a Band-Aid if she wasn’t hurt – thinking I might get her to admit to an injury we hadn’t caught. She pointed to her chest and said, “I think my feelings are right about here.” At that moment I would have given anything for a Dora Band-Aid.
As we are putting the seatbelts of our gurney around a larger woman her six-year-old daughter announces, “She doesn’t have a baby in her tummy, even though it looks like she does.”
We are taking a 2-week-old to the hospital because of a respiratory infection when his five-year-old big brother confides in me, “Its okay, you don’t have to bring him back, I don’t like him.”
A nine year old is accidently hit in the head by his friend swinging a bat. He has a pretty good gash which he has his hand plastered over.
Me – Could you move your hand so I can see?
Him – No
Me – Why?
Him – The cut is really deep and if I move my hand my brain might fall out.
Me – I’ll be sure to catch it if it does (I am joking, he is VERY serious)
Him as he’s moving his hand away – Get ready its probably pretty heavy.
Its not always life, death, and drama. When we’re lucky its small, cute, and funny.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Just a Trim
That’s what I say every six months when I go to get my hair cut. I know, I only go every six months, but that’s all I can handle of the hair cut routine.
I have had the same hair lady since I was a sophomore in high school. She is sweet and we have seen each other through some major life changes – college, my wedding, her divorce, new homes, new careers, new puppies, and her new husband. She hasn’t charged me more that $35 for a wash, cut, and style since I was sixteen.
When I see her I feel obliged to “chat”. I am not good at chatting. If we were friends sitting around on a comfy couch munchin’ on some goodies then fine. But that’s the thing, we’re really not friends and we only see each other for a mere hour every six months. How do you chat about the last six months of your life with someone you won’t see for another six?
She seems better at it than I am, but go figure its what she does. Sometimes she makes me feel guilty with her above average chatting skills. She remembers details of what we chatted about six months ago and asks detailed questions regarding what she remembers and I, for the life of me, can’t remember a thing.
She may be too good at the chatting thing though, because “just a trim” always ends up to be much more. She seems to get carried away in one story or another and just keeps snipping away. Just when I think she should be finishing up, she starts another story and I lose another inch. I have thought about booking a factious appointment in the slot right after mine in hopes that she gets down to business, resulting in less chatter and me walking out with more of my hair.
Regardless of the endless chatter and excessive snipping, I am stuck with her. I don’t think I can break-up with my hair lady. I have though about finding someone closer to home or just going to the generic Super Cuts where chatting isn’t required, but a feeling of infidelity always comes over me. I wonder if I were to be unhappy with a new person cutting my hair and tried to return to my lady, would she take me back? Would my hair give itself away and could she tell that I had been seeing someone else? That would definitely be awkward, thus making me a more pitiful chatterer.
Well hair lady, I’m good for another six months. Maybe I should write down stuff we talked about today and make notes for “chatting” next time. But really who am I kidding, you’ll chat and snip and I’ll sit there and our routine will continue like it has for the last 12 years.
I have had the same hair lady since I was a sophomore in high school. She is sweet and we have seen each other through some major life changes – college, my wedding, her divorce, new homes, new careers, new puppies, and her new husband. She hasn’t charged me more that $35 for a wash, cut, and style since I was sixteen.
When I see her I feel obliged to “chat”. I am not good at chatting. If we were friends sitting around on a comfy couch munchin’ on some goodies then fine. But that’s the thing, we’re really not friends and we only see each other for a mere hour every six months. How do you chat about the last six months of your life with someone you won’t see for another six?
She seems better at it than I am, but go figure its what she does. Sometimes she makes me feel guilty with her above average chatting skills. She remembers details of what we chatted about six months ago and asks detailed questions regarding what she remembers and I, for the life of me, can’t remember a thing.
She may be too good at the chatting thing though, because “just a trim” always ends up to be much more. She seems to get carried away in one story or another and just keeps snipping away. Just when I think she should be finishing up, she starts another story and I lose another inch. I have thought about booking a factious appointment in the slot right after mine in hopes that she gets down to business, resulting in less chatter and me walking out with more of my hair.
Regardless of the endless chatter and excessive snipping, I am stuck with her. I don’t think I can break-up with my hair lady. I have though about finding someone closer to home or just going to the generic Super Cuts where chatting isn’t required, but a feeling of infidelity always comes over me. I wonder if I were to be unhappy with a new person cutting my hair and tried to return to my lady, would she take me back? Would my hair give itself away and could she tell that I had been seeing someone else? That would definitely be awkward, thus making me a more pitiful chatterer.
Well hair lady, I’m good for another six months. Maybe I should write down stuff we talked about today and make notes for “chatting” next time. But really who am I kidding, you’ll chat and snip and I’ll sit there and our routine will continue like it has for the last 12 years.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Can You Say Bargain?
What is it you ask? Thats 20 patterns for $20. That my friends is a savings of $260.00!
Thanks to Jessica and my Mom for telling me about the sale!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Not exactly Mozart
Now don’t get me wrong, I am all for encouraging children’s creativity through music and art, but I want to kill our young neighbor. Or at least maim him bad enough that the horrific sound that is coming from his garage and assaulting my, what used to be a peaceful haven of a house, stops. I think his parents call it “Heavy Metal” but I call it loud as crap and sounds like @#it. My windows shake, my dogs hide, and I curse. Please, when encouraging your little rock star…just say NO to garage bands.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Our Bishop
You have to love my Relief Society president for noticing me ditch out on the Mother’s Day Brunch at church. I sat through the lesson, but when dismissed for the brunch the ladies went right and I turned left.
She confronted me and asked why I wasn’t going to go. In a few short sentences I explained that Mother’s Day really wasn’t my thing and summed up our last 4 years of trying to become parents. She asked me why I hadn’t talked to her about it before and before I could come up with something snappy about my infertility not fitting into most Sunday lessons she answered the question for me.
She told me that I should try adopting and that I would be sure to get pregnant (one of my favorites), then I would end up with two babies and be so busy I would wish for my life pre-parenthood. She also suggested I go visit Sister Soandso who has 6 children under the age of 5 and that would “cure” me from wanting kids so bad. I smiled at her, thanked her for her concern, got in my car and moped all the way home.
My husbands reaction as he drove his sniffling wife home? “I knew we shouldn’t have gone to church today.” I wanted to smack him, but he was right I should have stayed home, or so I thought.
Well dear Relief Society president obviously talked to my Bishop. He asked to meet with me the next week.
The next week rolled around and I find myself in his office. He asked if we had really been trying to have a family for 4 years. When I said yes he just look and me for a while then said, “I am so sorry, I have no idea how hard that must be.” “It must be a struggle to come to church every week and see so many young families and have everything be so family oriented.”
This guy had it going on. He was inspired.
We talked about what we’ve tried, haven’t tried, and might try. But in the end he left me with this…“As hard as those fertility treatments may be or the adoption process might get, keep pursuing parenthood.” “You and Phillip will make great parents and any child you are blessed with will be lucky to have you two as parents.”
That’s why this guy is our Bishop. Because when we have doubts about why we are not parents, thinking that there must be some reason God has not chosen us to parent, here is a man, obviously of God, counseling us otherwise.
She confronted me and asked why I wasn’t going to go. In a few short sentences I explained that Mother’s Day really wasn’t my thing and summed up our last 4 years of trying to become parents. She asked me why I hadn’t talked to her about it before and before I could come up with something snappy about my infertility not fitting into most Sunday lessons she answered the question for me.
She told me that I should try adopting and that I would be sure to get pregnant (one of my favorites), then I would end up with two babies and be so busy I would wish for my life pre-parenthood. She also suggested I go visit Sister Soandso who has 6 children under the age of 5 and that would “cure” me from wanting kids so bad. I smiled at her, thanked her for her concern, got in my car and moped all the way home.
My husbands reaction as he drove his sniffling wife home? “I knew we shouldn’t have gone to church today.” I wanted to smack him, but he was right I should have stayed home, or so I thought.
Well dear Relief Society president obviously talked to my Bishop. He asked to meet with me the next week.
The next week rolled around and I find myself in his office. He asked if we had really been trying to have a family for 4 years. When I said yes he just look and me for a while then said, “I am so sorry, I have no idea how hard that must be.” “It must be a struggle to come to church every week and see so many young families and have everything be so family oriented.”
This guy had it going on. He was inspired.
We talked about what we’ve tried, haven’t tried, and might try. But in the end he left me with this…“As hard as those fertility treatments may be or the adoption process might get, keep pursuing parenthood.” “You and Phillip will make great parents and any child you are blessed with will be lucky to have you two as parents.”
That’s why this guy is our Bishop. Because when we have doubts about why we are not parents, thinking that there must be some reason God has not chosen us to parent, here is a man, obviously of God, counseling us otherwise.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Its Official
I’m in….Nursing School here I come!
Here’s to two more years of school, better hours, more pay, and a smaller scope of practice!
Here’s to two more years of school, better hours, more pay, and a smaller scope of practice!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Its...bright?
I made this...
I'm not sure how I feel about it. All I can think of is that it's bright. Well, and uneven and full of puckers, but thats not a surprise thats my signature look.
I'm not sure how I feel about it. All I can think of is that it's bright. Well, and uneven and full of puckers, but thats not a surprise thats my signature look.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Confessions and Random Thoughts
I had a 47 year old patient die yesterday and we didn’t do our best for her. There’s a 99.9% chance that she would have died no matter what we did, but its that 0.1% that gets me. Sorry to her and her family – she deserved better from us.
I only subscribe to the newspaper to line my bird's cage with. I never read it and I make sure I give him the comics on Sunday.
I like one of my dogs better than the other one, but I try not to show favorites.
I park in “expectant mothers” parking spaces. Mercy on the fool who dares to call me out on it.
I started dating my husband when he was my supervisor at work.
I could save about 40 minutes a day if I didn’t have to shower and do hair and make-up. That is about 4 ½ hours a week, 18 ½ hours a month, and 244 hours or just over 9days a year.
I love my husband for many many reasons, but I love him today because I while cleaning the bathrooms I realized that he has never once left the toilet seat up and he has impeccable aim.
Like I said…random.
I only subscribe to the newspaper to line my bird's cage with. I never read it and I make sure I give him the comics on Sunday.
I like one of my dogs better than the other one, but I try not to show favorites.
I park in “expectant mothers” parking spaces. Mercy on the fool who dares to call me out on it.
I started dating my husband when he was my supervisor at work.
I could save about 40 minutes a day if I didn’t have to shower and do hair and make-up. That is about 4 ½ hours a week, 18 ½ hours a month, and 244 hours or just over 9days a year.
I love my husband for many many reasons, but I love him today because I while cleaning the bathrooms I realized that he has never once left the toilet seat up and he has impeccable aim.
Like I said…random.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
My Parrot is a Toddler
For the following reasons:
• He is mostly potty trained but still has the occasional accident.
• He talks, but is kinda hard to understand. I don’t worry because his pronunciation and vocabulary are improving daily.
• It takes some coaxing, and I hate to admit sometimes bribing, to get him to eat his vegetables.
• We have had our share of doctors appointments to treat a runny nose and the sniffles, I have antibiotics in my refrigerator.
• My husband and I discuss on a regular basis what new and cute things he is learning how to do.
• He loves bath time.
• He has a million toys that end up all over, but he still manages to get into things he shouldn’t.
• His silly antics and innocent curiosity keeps me busy but makes me laugh.
Disclaimer: Just because my parrot is like a toddler, doesn’t mean a toddler is like my parrot. I wouldn’t advise trying to place a toddler in a cage, turning on the T.V. for entertainment, and leaving for the afternoon. I also do not condone teaching a child to use the restroom only on the newspaper.
Here’s to Tarzan
• He is mostly potty trained but still has the occasional accident.
• He talks, but is kinda hard to understand. I don’t worry because his pronunciation and vocabulary are improving daily.
• It takes some coaxing, and I hate to admit sometimes bribing, to get him to eat his vegetables.
• We have had our share of doctors appointments to treat a runny nose and the sniffles, I have antibiotics in my refrigerator.
• My husband and I discuss on a regular basis what new and cute things he is learning how to do.
• He loves bath time.
• He has a million toys that end up all over, but he still manages to get into things he shouldn’t.
• His silly antics and innocent curiosity keeps me busy but makes me laugh.
Disclaimer: Just because my parrot is like a toddler, doesn’t mean a toddler is like my parrot. I wouldn’t advise trying to place a toddler in a cage, turning on the T.V. for entertainment, and leaving for the afternoon. I also do not condone teaching a child to use the restroom only on the newspaper.
Here’s to Tarzan
Monday, May 11, 2009
I don't scrapbook...
but I made this...
Its a mini-fold out scrapbook. I went to a class with my mother-in-law. Of course I haven't put any pictures in it - probably because I don't scrapbook.
Its a mini-fold out scrapbook. I went to a class with my mother-in-law. Of course I haven't put any pictures in it - probably because I don't scrapbook.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Happy Mother's Day
As much as people would think otherwise, I don’t hate Mother’s Day.
I am surrounded by wonderful mothers that I do believe deserve to be celebrated.
My Mom is one lady that makes Mother’s Day justifiable. She is the type of mom that makes motherhood look easy. She is a down-to-earth, go with the flow, everything is good, type of person and I’m beyond lucky to have been raised by her. She is cares without smothering, she disciplined without being mean, and she encourages without pushing. She mothers with a balance that I could only hope to have. I think it says a lot that I am “grown up” and still miss my mom (she lives 10 hours away) and I kinda like that she misses me too.
My mother-in-law is also a lady that deserves some credit today. She is responsible for rearing the man I married, therefore she is good in my book. Not only did she raise him to be the wonderful guy he is, she did it mostly alone. My husband’s father died when he was 13. In the midst of loosing a husband, she managed to raise him into a pretty amazing man – hats off to her.
To my good friends that are mothers – I really am happy for you. I may be a wee jealous of your little ones, but you guys are amazing women and deserve acknowledgement for the work you do as mother – there really is no more important role.
While I am supportive of Mother’s Day, today I got in over my head. Trying to show my Mother’s Day support, I went to church. I thought, I am strong I can do this, when the reality is I still hate that I am not a Mother, and in a room full of women discussing the blessings of motherhood, I did all I could to keep from bursting into tears. Note to self – Mother’s Day for me is now considered a church free holiday.
Happy Mother’s Day!!!
I am surrounded by wonderful mothers that I do believe deserve to be celebrated.
My Mom is one lady that makes Mother’s Day justifiable. She is the type of mom that makes motherhood look easy. She is a down-to-earth, go with the flow, everything is good, type of person and I’m beyond lucky to have been raised by her. She is cares without smothering, she disciplined without being mean, and she encourages without pushing. She mothers with a balance that I could only hope to have. I think it says a lot that I am “grown up” and still miss my mom (she lives 10 hours away) and I kinda like that she misses me too.
My mother-in-law is also a lady that deserves some credit today. She is responsible for rearing the man I married, therefore she is good in my book. Not only did she raise him to be the wonderful guy he is, she did it mostly alone. My husband’s father died when he was 13. In the midst of loosing a husband, she managed to raise him into a pretty amazing man – hats off to her.
To my good friends that are mothers – I really am happy for you. I may be a wee jealous of your little ones, but you guys are amazing women and deserve acknowledgement for the work you do as mother – there really is no more important role.
While I am supportive of Mother’s Day, today I got in over my head. Trying to show my Mother’s Day support, I went to church. I thought, I am strong I can do this, when the reality is I still hate that I am not a Mother, and in a room full of women discussing the blessings of motherhood, I did all I could to keep from bursting into tears. Note to self – Mother’s Day for me is now considered a church free holiday.
Happy Mother’s Day!!!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
My Neighbor, My Hero
It’s a typical Friday morning at work and our bells go off. “Respond to an unknown medical alert” our friendly dispatcher squaks over the radio. We roll our eye because as the address comes across the radio we know what is in store for us.
This is Mrs. Oldfolk’s house. She is about 900 years old and does water aerobics every Friday morning. Inevitably one of her 19 cats trips her medical alarm and she is not there to reset it – so our response is in motion.
As the convoy of emergency vehicles approaches her home, a new neighbor who happens to be a firefighter emerges from his garage. We get out and approach her house in less than a hurry. We know that by her back door under the yellow flower pot is a house key. As one of our guys was walking around the house to get the key – the helpful neighbor approached quickly.
Panicked he asks if everything is okay and if we need his help. Maybe he didn’t notice the 5 professionals on scene obviously not overly concerned with the situation, or maybe he thought we are a bunch of uncaring sloths or that its everyone’s first day on the job, regardless we politely thank him for his offer and reassure him that the situation is being handled.
This answer didn’t satisfy the helpful neighbor and we’re not moving fast enough for his liking. He shouts at us that we are not “making entry” fast enough and starts throwing himself against Mrs. Oldfolk’s glass inlaid front door. What he doesn’t realize is that our guy has already gone through the back door and is on his way to let us all in the front door.
Despite our attempts to stop him the helpful neighbor breaks all the glass out of Mrs. Oldfolk’s really expensive looking front door, reaches in, unlocks and opens it – only to be met by our guy on the other side.
It made my day to pick up fluffy #12, scold her for setting off the alarm, reset the alarm, and see the hero of a neighbor standing dumbfounded amongst the broken glass. Hopefully his Department pays him well because I think he owes Mrs. Oldfolk a new door.
That sums up my opinion of the over worshiped firefighter. Most of them mean well and are strong, but when it comes to smarts, well, they mean well and are strong.
This is Mrs. Oldfolk’s house. She is about 900 years old and does water aerobics every Friday morning. Inevitably one of her 19 cats trips her medical alarm and she is not there to reset it – so our response is in motion.
As the convoy of emergency vehicles approaches her home, a new neighbor who happens to be a firefighter emerges from his garage. We get out and approach her house in less than a hurry. We know that by her back door under the yellow flower pot is a house key. As one of our guys was walking around the house to get the key – the helpful neighbor approached quickly.
Panicked he asks if everything is okay and if we need his help. Maybe he didn’t notice the 5 professionals on scene obviously not overly concerned with the situation, or maybe he thought we are a bunch of uncaring sloths or that its everyone’s first day on the job, regardless we politely thank him for his offer and reassure him that the situation is being handled.
This answer didn’t satisfy the helpful neighbor and we’re not moving fast enough for his liking. He shouts at us that we are not “making entry” fast enough and starts throwing himself against Mrs. Oldfolk’s glass inlaid front door. What he doesn’t realize is that our guy has already gone through the back door and is on his way to let us all in the front door.
Despite our attempts to stop him the helpful neighbor breaks all the glass out of Mrs. Oldfolk’s really expensive looking front door, reaches in, unlocks and opens it – only to be met by our guy on the other side.
It made my day to pick up fluffy #12, scold her for setting off the alarm, reset the alarm, and see the hero of a neighbor standing dumbfounded amongst the broken glass. Hopefully his Department pays him well because I think he owes Mrs. Oldfolk a new door.
That sums up my opinion of the over worshiped firefighter. Most of them mean well and are strong, but when it comes to smarts, well, they mean well and are strong.
An addition to our family
Am I lame, getting old, or both? Its been awhile since I was this excited about something, but this vacuum has made my week. We bought a Kirby cleaning system – yes a system. Long gone are the days when you just buy a vacuum – now you get the system. My carpets have never been cleaner, my furniture has been adequately assaulted, my tile is free of dog hair and dust bunnies, and my curtains better watch out because they’re next. Our sales lady promised me this vacuum would last the rest of my life – so we are trying to bond. I have thought about naming it because “Kirby” seems kinda generic – plus the way it works I’m sure it’s a girl. She’s pretty too – cast iron aluminum with a grey and blue motif. I could go on and on about how she converts to a carpet shampooer, a hand vac, and comes with 15 attachments, but you would have to know her to love her like I do. Well “Kirby” welcome to the family!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Body Threats
One of the adventures that accompanies fertility treatments is weight gain. When I started my first IVF my doctor was rambling side effects of the treatment to me,...fatigue…mood swings…hot flashes…cramping…bla bla bla…20-30 lb weight gain… Ok he had my attention. He explained that this weight gain was due to the ridiculous amounts of hormones and steroids I would be injecting into my bottom. I like to think that he was telling me the truth but deep down I know that its probably because ice cream and baked good make way better comfort foods than veggies and lean meats. Bless his heart for letting us girls blame the meds.
I was more than willing to go along with the weight gain because there was a chance that I would have a little bundle of joy or two to show for it. Turns out I got the weight and nothing else to show for months of injecting those evil little vials into my now bigger bottom.
When we stopped the fertility treatments I had two things to fix – my crushed spirits and my bigger figure. I wasn’t sure what to do about the first, but I figured I could start on the second and lose the weight. As soon as I felt like I wasn’t going to collapse dead on the treadmill my feelings began to change.
The hatred I had toward my broken, unable to reproduce, body began to change. Everyday that I was able to exercise I was relieved that my body responded. Finally my body was doing something I wanted it to do. It was a feeling of control that I had lost a long time ago. In my screwy head I have this conversation with myself while at the gym-
Me: Well body, if you don’t want to cooperate and procreate than you can run.
My Body: I’m tired, my legs hurt, and I’m out of breath….
Me: Screw you! You’ve been in control long enough and you suck at it!
So when you see some chick running on the treadmill arguing with herself, let her be and don’t judge too harshly. That’s probably me trying take back possession of my broken, unable to reproduce, not-as-fat-as-it-used-to-be body.
These tunes seem to drown out my body's protest – a list of my favorite gym jams:
Ol’ Red, Blake Sheldon – Ticks, Brad Paisley – Firecracker, Josh Turner – Big Green Tractor, Jason Aldean – Size Matters, Joe Nichols – Country Man, Luke Bryan – Rockstar, Nickleback – Sideways, Dierks Bentley – Believers, Joe Nichols – Holler Back, Lost Trailers – Life is a Highway, Rascal Flatts – Nothin’ to Lose, Josh Turner
I was more than willing to go along with the weight gain because there was a chance that I would have a little bundle of joy or two to show for it. Turns out I got the weight and nothing else to show for months of injecting those evil little vials into my now bigger bottom.
When we stopped the fertility treatments I had two things to fix – my crushed spirits and my bigger figure. I wasn’t sure what to do about the first, but I figured I could start on the second and lose the weight. As soon as I felt like I wasn’t going to collapse dead on the treadmill my feelings began to change.
The hatred I had toward my broken, unable to reproduce, body began to change. Everyday that I was able to exercise I was relieved that my body responded. Finally my body was doing something I wanted it to do. It was a feeling of control that I had lost a long time ago. In my screwy head I have this conversation with myself while at the gym-
Me: Well body, if you don’t want to cooperate and procreate than you can run.
My Body: I’m tired, my legs hurt, and I’m out of breath….
Me: Screw you! You’ve been in control long enough and you suck at it!
So when you see some chick running on the treadmill arguing with herself, let her be and don’t judge too harshly. That’s probably me trying take back possession of my broken, unable to reproduce, not-as-fat-as-it-used-to-be body.
These tunes seem to drown out my body's protest – a list of my favorite gym jams:
Ol’ Red, Blake Sheldon – Ticks, Brad Paisley – Firecracker, Josh Turner – Big Green Tractor, Jason Aldean – Size Matters, Joe Nichols – Country Man, Luke Bryan – Rockstar, Nickleback – Sideways, Dierks Bentley – Believers, Joe Nichols – Holler Back, Lost Trailers – Life is a Highway, Rascal Flatts – Nothin’ to Lose, Josh Turner
Friday, May 1, 2009
Heroes & Miracles
I work as a paramedic, I see some crazy stuff, but I am not some sap that believes that I work amongst heroes and witness miracles. Both those words kinda make me cringe. First of all we are trained in what we do. We go to work like most people who are lucky enough to be employed and do what we are hired to do. No one I work with comes to work for the sole purpose of helping others, saving lives, or changing the world. We come for the paycheck, the benefits, and the retirement. Therefore not heroes. As far as miracles – usually its just a quick medical intervention that prevents further demise. That’s kinda our forte – get there quick and fix the problem before someone dies. So on the rare occasion that we are really able to make a difference we think of it more like a good day at work than a miracle.
All that being said, a hero's work produced a miracle at work this last week….
Mark, a paramedic, yelled out to his wife on Friday morning that something was wrong. She got to his side as he collapsed and stopped breathing. She sent her young daughter to get a neighbor, set her one year-old son down, called 911 and performed CPR on her husband.
The paramedics arrived and were obviously horrified to realize that it was a co-worker and friend lying in front of them clinically dead. They did their thing (pretty flawlessly) and were eventually able to get his heart beating again.
The news spread like wildfire “Mark was transported in full arrest” (what we call someone who doesn’t have a heartbeat and isn’t breathing.) There was an understanding that it was only a matter of time before we would hear the news that he had died.
News came…they were able to stabilize him for the moment, but his prognosis was grim.
The next day, Saturday, he woke up. He recognized his mom and wife and wasn’t happy about being on a ventilator. Later that day he was taken off the ventilator.
He had a pacemaker/defibrillator put in on Monday and was discharged from the hospital on Tuesday.
He cleaned his pool and walked his daughter to school on Wednesday.
Less than 0.1% of people survive being “dead”. Those that do survive spend months in the hospital and in rehabilitation centers and often do not fully recover.
It is a miracle that Mark can continue to be a husband to his wife and a father to his children and hopefully soon a paramedic to the people of Ventura County. His wife is a hero for her quick thinking and appropriate actions in a time of unimaginable stress, chaos, and fear.
Welcome back Mark!
Afterthought – I would love to say to him “Hey Mark, what did you do over the weekend?” And have him reply “Not much, just died and came back.” – That’s kind of sick paramedic humor. I also wonder if he saw some kind of light or had any crazy experiences on “the other side”. I always wonder what our dead patients can see. Are they watching us work on them...creepy! Maybe someday I’ll ask.
All that being said, a hero's work produced a miracle at work this last week….
Mark, a paramedic, yelled out to his wife on Friday morning that something was wrong. She got to his side as he collapsed and stopped breathing. She sent her young daughter to get a neighbor, set her one year-old son down, called 911 and performed CPR on her husband.
The paramedics arrived and were obviously horrified to realize that it was a co-worker and friend lying in front of them clinically dead. They did their thing (pretty flawlessly) and were eventually able to get his heart beating again.
The news spread like wildfire “Mark was transported in full arrest” (what we call someone who doesn’t have a heartbeat and isn’t breathing.) There was an understanding that it was only a matter of time before we would hear the news that he had died.
News came…they were able to stabilize him for the moment, but his prognosis was grim.
The next day, Saturday, he woke up. He recognized his mom and wife and wasn’t happy about being on a ventilator. Later that day he was taken off the ventilator.
He had a pacemaker/defibrillator put in on Monday and was discharged from the hospital on Tuesday.
He cleaned his pool and walked his daughter to school on Wednesday.
Less than 0.1% of people survive being “dead”. Those that do survive spend months in the hospital and in rehabilitation centers and often do not fully recover.
It is a miracle that Mark can continue to be a husband to his wife and a father to his children and hopefully soon a paramedic to the people of Ventura County. His wife is a hero for her quick thinking and appropriate actions in a time of unimaginable stress, chaos, and fear.
Welcome back Mark!
Afterthought – I would love to say to him “Hey Mark, what did you do over the weekend?” And have him reply “Not much, just died and came back.” – That’s kind of sick paramedic humor. I also wonder if he saw some kind of light or had any crazy experiences on “the other side”. I always wonder what our dead patients can see. Are they watching us work on them...creepy! Maybe someday I’ll ask.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Starvation
Not many people understand what things are like for us who trudge through infertility. What people do understand is food. People understand what its like to be hungry. Although it is like comparing a candle to a forest fire, hopefully a concept is conveyed.
I am hungry, I want to eat. I have been hungry for the last 4 years – after 4 years you are no longer hungry, but starving.
People all around me have beautiful plates of food. They are feasting while I am starving.
I am generally grateful that my friends and family are not starving along with me, but I do envy their meals. Watching them eat, makes me more hungry.
It makes me sad when people do not realize how blessed they are that they have delicious plates of food. They complain about the meal – its so much work, I got roast beef when I wanted chicken, I wasn’t ready to eat, its expensive, its messy….
I know people try to say anything to make things better but when you are starving you don’t want to hear – “you’re young, you have plenty of time to eat”, “if you just relax you’ll find food, or those hunger pains will go away”, “just think, without food you and your husband can spend more time together”, “my friend went hungry for 12 years before she got a meal”, “at least without food you won’t get fat”….
Again I know best intentions are at heart, but don’t tell me that I will eat eventually unless you have some specific plan that gets a plate of food into my hands.
Its pretty easy, all hungry women want is acknowledgement that they are hungry and that what they are going through is hard. Hearing the “benefits” of starvation doesn’t make hunger pains better, but sometimes this does – “that really sucks, I am so sorry that you’re hungry.”
Being hungry hurts. It gnaws at your heart, I mean stomach, everyday.
To all the amazing women out there who have been given a plate a food and realize what a priceless and beautiful blessing it is, but are not ready to eat, and share that plate of food with a starving woman – you are true heroes.
I’ll eat someday and I’m sure it will be amazing. Bon Apetite to all who have their meals. Enjoy them, love them, appreciate them, imagine how hungry you would be without them.
I am hungry, I want to eat. I have been hungry for the last 4 years – after 4 years you are no longer hungry, but starving.
People all around me have beautiful plates of food. They are feasting while I am starving.
I am generally grateful that my friends and family are not starving along with me, but I do envy their meals. Watching them eat, makes me more hungry.
It makes me sad when people do not realize how blessed they are that they have delicious plates of food. They complain about the meal – its so much work, I got roast beef when I wanted chicken, I wasn’t ready to eat, its expensive, its messy….
I know people try to say anything to make things better but when you are starving you don’t want to hear – “you’re young, you have plenty of time to eat”, “if you just relax you’ll find food, or those hunger pains will go away”, “just think, without food you and your husband can spend more time together”, “my friend went hungry for 12 years before she got a meal”, “at least without food you won’t get fat”….
Again I know best intentions are at heart, but don’t tell me that I will eat eventually unless you have some specific plan that gets a plate of food into my hands.
Its pretty easy, all hungry women want is acknowledgement that they are hungry and that what they are going through is hard. Hearing the “benefits” of starvation doesn’t make hunger pains better, but sometimes this does – “that really sucks, I am so sorry that you’re hungry.”
Being hungry hurts. It gnaws at your heart, I mean stomach, everyday.
To all the amazing women out there who have been given a plate a food and realize what a priceless and beautiful blessing it is, but are not ready to eat, and share that plate of food with a starving woman – you are true heroes.
I’ll eat someday and I’m sure it will be amazing. Bon Apetite to all who have their meals. Enjoy them, love them, appreciate them, imagine how hungry you would be without them.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
A Few of My Favorite Things
These are a few of my favorite things....
Hawaii (and my husband)
Tarzan - Our Eclectus parrot that makes me laugh out loud everyday
Barrett - He's a 100lb German Shepherd who is afraid of cell phones and laundry
Haylee - Sweet girl who would kill anyone who messes with her "Mom"
My Orchid - The first orchid that I haven't killed, it has survived over a year and is blooming again. One really tough plant!
A happy pile of retro quilt fabric
Joe Nichols - He's an amazing country singer too
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Yes...I'm His Wife
All you bra burning feminist out there probably cringe at my blog name “His Wife”. Well put your bras back on and I’ll explain why.
First of all when I came up with the blog title I tried to find out what Noah’s wife was named and I had all intentions of using it. Through my searches I couldn’t find her name for the life of me, and being pretty horrific when it comes to bible history the name “His Wife” seemed the safest.
Becoming His Wife is probably the best thing that I have ever done. Being a wife to me has meant that I am partners with a person that is my best friend and love of my life. It means having love and support every day. When something great happens, I call my husband. When something horrible happens, I call my husband. My husband is an amazing (I use that word a lot to describe him, but it just seems to fit) man, and I couldn’t be more proud to be His Wife. It is a title that I am blessed with and am thankful for everyday.
Now just because I call myself His Wife, does not mean that I cannot stand alone. I have independent thoughts and opinions that often are a contrast to his. I have put myself through college and have a career. It takes a strong woman to be His Wife.
First of all when I came up with the blog title I tried to find out what Noah’s wife was named and I had all intentions of using it. Through my searches I couldn’t find her name for the life of me, and being pretty horrific when it comes to bible history the name “His Wife” seemed the safest.
Becoming His Wife is probably the best thing that I have ever done. Being a wife to me has meant that I am partners with a person that is my best friend and love of my life. It means having love and support every day. When something great happens, I call my husband. When something horrible happens, I call my husband. My husband is an amazing (I use that word a lot to describe him, but it just seems to fit) man, and I couldn’t be more proud to be His Wife. It is a title that I am blessed with and am thankful for everyday.
Now just because I call myself His Wife, does not mean that I cannot stand alone. I have independent thoughts and opinions that often are a contrast to his. I have put myself through college and have a career. It takes a strong woman to be His Wife.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Being a paramedic is….
A lot of different things, but today we are going to focus on the pet peeves of the paramedic.
First of all when you see lights and sirens… pull to the RIGHT and STOP. This does not mean stop right where you are or pull the left and stop. This does not mean try to out run us so you can make your left turn. Don’t block our only way through the intersection either. Don’t panic we aren’t going to run into you (as long as you pull to the right and stop).
Just because you own a cell phone does not mean you need to be a “cell phone hero”. The most annoying calls we get are from “passer-bys”. Meaning people have no idea what is going on, they were driving down the road, saw something that may or may not be an emergency and called 911. Hey guess what, that fender bender you called 911 for – the people are usually gone by the time we get there. The “man down” you called for – that’s Bob, he is homeless, that is the bush he always sleeps under and he gets annoyed when we have to wake him up. Unless you are sure that there is an emergency (meaning someone’s life is in danger) please put your cell phone away.
We are called “paramedics”. We are not “ambulance drivers”, the “guys from the ambulance”, or any other version that does not sound like “paramedic”. Yes we drive an ambulance, but do you call police officers “police car drivers” or firefighters “fire truck drivers”, I didn’t think so. You also don’t call an ambulance, you call paramedics. Again would you say “quick call the police car”? We also hear “oh good the ambulance is here to take you to the hospital”. The ambulance itself is no more than a vehicle. It by itself will take you nowhere. The paramedics take you to the hospital in the ambulance. And finally the vehicle is called an “ambulance”. I have heard it called a wagon, buggy, van, truck, etc. It is an ambulance I am a paramedic.
We are here to provide a service, to help you in an emergency. A medical emergency is when you are sick or injured to the point your life is in immediate danger of ending. A few examples of medical emergencies are – uncontrollable bleeding, heart attacks, breathing difficulties, strokes, head injuries, major multi-system trauma. We are not here as a convenient ride to the hospital. If you have a fever, cough, cold, the flu, tummy ache, a sore toe, etc, we are not your people. If you can ride in a car to the hospital, then do so. If you are well enough to complain about how uncomfortable an ambulance ride is, you are not sick enough to need an ambulance. We will not get you seen any faster in the emergency room if you come with us. Most likely we will drop you off in the waiting room, then send a bill to you for paramedic services you didn’t need that your insurance won’t pay for.
Wow, that was a lot of ranting! I really love my job and the good things about it are an even longer list that someday I will get to.
First of all when you see lights and sirens… pull to the RIGHT and STOP. This does not mean stop right where you are or pull the left and stop. This does not mean try to out run us so you can make your left turn. Don’t block our only way through the intersection either. Don’t panic we aren’t going to run into you (as long as you pull to the right and stop).
Just because you own a cell phone does not mean you need to be a “cell phone hero”. The most annoying calls we get are from “passer-bys”. Meaning people have no idea what is going on, they were driving down the road, saw something that may or may not be an emergency and called 911. Hey guess what, that fender bender you called 911 for – the people are usually gone by the time we get there. The “man down” you called for – that’s Bob, he is homeless, that is the bush he always sleeps under and he gets annoyed when we have to wake him up. Unless you are sure that there is an emergency (meaning someone’s life is in danger) please put your cell phone away.
We are called “paramedics”. We are not “ambulance drivers”, the “guys from the ambulance”, or any other version that does not sound like “paramedic”. Yes we drive an ambulance, but do you call police officers “police car drivers” or firefighters “fire truck drivers”, I didn’t think so. You also don’t call an ambulance, you call paramedics. Again would you say “quick call the police car”? We also hear “oh good the ambulance is here to take you to the hospital”. The ambulance itself is no more than a vehicle. It by itself will take you nowhere. The paramedics take you to the hospital in the ambulance. And finally the vehicle is called an “ambulance”. I have heard it called a wagon, buggy, van, truck, etc. It is an ambulance I am a paramedic.
We are here to provide a service, to help you in an emergency. A medical emergency is when you are sick or injured to the point your life is in immediate danger of ending. A few examples of medical emergencies are – uncontrollable bleeding, heart attacks, breathing difficulties, strokes, head injuries, major multi-system trauma. We are not here as a convenient ride to the hospital. If you have a fever, cough, cold, the flu, tummy ache, a sore toe, etc, we are not your people. If you can ride in a car to the hospital, then do so. If you are well enough to complain about how uncomfortable an ambulance ride is, you are not sick enough to need an ambulance. We will not get you seen any faster in the emergency room if you come with us. Most likely we will drop you off in the waiting room, then send a bill to you for paramedic services you didn’t need that your insurance won’t pay for.
Wow, that was a lot of ranting! I really love my job and the good things about it are an even longer list that someday I will get to.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sew Crafty
In general my craftiness has been lacking. To remedy this I have decided that I am going to go out, buy a pattern, some super cute fabric, and sew. I have visions of my favorite little person (3 year-old niece) running around this summer in home made jumpers! Wish me (for her sake) luck!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Easter Inspirations
Thinking back today about sitting in church and what deep inspirational thought I can remember - all I can come up with is curtains...yes the curtains. You see these were cute curtains, I know, cute curtains in church…weird. But I have been inspired and wish I had more windows in my house to justify making copy cat church curtains.
I’m also thinking about my husband’s girlfriend. She goes by the name of Blackberry. He doesn’t go anywhere without her and she gets a lot of his attention, including while we are in church. I usually don’t mind so much having her around, but jeeze 3 hours of alone time with him every Sunday, is that too much to ask? I’m not sure why he so enamored with her. She doesn’t cook, clean, or do his laundry, and all she talks about is work. Whatever, I’m not jealous, she has to sit on the nightstand all night, I get the bed.
So here is my for real Easter thought: I was reminded today that our Savior suffered for all our sins and felt all our sorrows, so when I am in a bummer mood thinking “nobody knows how crappy I feel” I guess I’m not exactly right.
So here’s to Easter Sunday – to cute curtains, girlfriends, and a guy who knows exactly how you feel.
I’m also thinking about my husband’s girlfriend. She goes by the name of Blackberry. He doesn’t go anywhere without her and she gets a lot of his attention, including while we are in church. I usually don’t mind so much having her around, but jeeze 3 hours of alone time with him every Sunday, is that too much to ask? I’m not sure why he so enamored with her. She doesn’t cook, clean, or do his laundry, and all she talks about is work. Whatever, I’m not jealous, she has to sit on the nightstand all night, I get the bed.
So here is my for real Easter thought: I was reminded today that our Savior suffered for all our sins and felt all our sorrows, so when I am in a bummer mood thinking “nobody knows how crappy I feel” I guess I’m not exactly right.
So here’s to Easter Sunday – to cute curtains, girlfriends, and a guy who knows exactly how you feel.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Building The Ark
I am The Wife, with my amazing husband “Noah”, we navigate The Ark. My mom introduced me to a blogger saint and I was inspired. I am trying my hand at blogging - not to inspire, entertain, or educate, but for myself, to document our journey on The Ark. I believe in journal keeping, but have my fair share of half filled journals with years of my life missing. I think this might be the key – hopefully it will be my 21st century journal. We’ll see how the Ark sails....
How did we become “The Ark” you ask? Well "Noah" and myself were heading off for a vacation and Noah’s mom was going to watch our gang - 2 German Shepherds, 2 Parakeets, and an Eclectus Parrot (nobody needs two parrots). As we were getting ready to leave our house, it started pouring rain and there you have it: Noah, The Wife, luggage and our entire gang in the cab of our truck. When we arrived at Noah’s moms house we got out of the truck – two by two safe and dry.
Now I know that my husband is not an ancient prophet, nor have we built a giant wooden boat, but we are religious. We have faith in a Heavenly Father, we have our faith tested, we try to do our best, and we hope to weather the storms.
How did we become “The Ark” you ask? Well "Noah" and myself were heading off for a vacation and Noah’s mom was going to watch our gang - 2 German Shepherds, 2 Parakeets, and an Eclectus Parrot (nobody needs two parrots). As we were getting ready to leave our house, it started pouring rain and there you have it: Noah, The Wife, luggage and our entire gang in the cab of our truck. When we arrived at Noah’s moms house we got out of the truck – two by two safe and dry.
Now I know that my husband is not an ancient prophet, nor have we built a giant wooden boat, but we are religious. We have faith in a Heavenly Father, we have our faith tested, we try to do our best, and we hope to weather the storms.
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