Catching Up on the Catch Up

7 Months later... I think it's time for another update. 
This little one...

Is now this big one.  He is a walking ball of jolly energy!  We had a blast camping in Big Sur with him (and his Mom and Dad) this summer.  He loved the beach and wanted to use his new found walking skills to go straight out into the waves.

Our little Pixie has gone from 3 lbs. 3 oz. at 7 months...

 to 4 lbs. 4 oz. at 16 months.  What she lacks in size she makes up for in tenacity.

We also took this cutie camping, without her Mom and Dad, because the announcement that she made about her Mommy's tummy having a baby....

resulted in the youngest addition to the family.  Although he was too tiny to come camping, we visited in Utah and I got some good cuddle time in with the chunky little man.

As I had hoped a few years ago when I began the adventure that led to me getting this letter in the mail...

I got this in the mail.

And finally this letter...

after multiple "false alarms", "practice runs", "failed placements",  or whatever term you choose to use, has led to this...

signing even more paperwork so we could be her parents!

I promise she has a face and it's probably one of the most amazing things I've ever seen, but she is still technically "in the system", so until she is officially 100% ours I don't feel right putting her out there for the world to see.  She is two years old. She has big unruly blond curls and ice-blue eyes.  She is funny, goofy, witty, affectionate, fearless, and smarter than I think she should be.  She has come into our family and filled a place in our hearts that we knew was empty, but had no idea how full it could be.

I plan on writing a lot more about her, she deserves it, but I can't seem to find the words, I'm not sure there are any good enough.   

Catching Up

Oil and water, nursing school and blogging, one in the same.  Let's play a little catch up.

Summer brought two additions to our family.  First, this little guy, who came out delectably perfect.

And has grown into this yumminess.

Then came Pixie.  Tipping the scales at 3lbs. 3oz. at 7 months old she has wiggled into our hearts.                                                                                                                   





My Mom and I went to Virginia when the little one was born.  We spent about two weeks hugging, cuddling, and loving the new guy.  We did sneak off a few time and do some sightseeing too. 

At the Potomac Riverwalk

Then Phil and I went to Virginia.  More hugging, snuggling, loving, and sightseeing.



Since it is against Phil's religion to take pictures off the camera - this is actually a picture of the Capitol Building I took when I was there with my Mom.  Since it looked the same 2 months later when Phil and I were there, it seemed okay to use.  Our real pictures are tucked away safe and sound on the memory card. 

Moving on...

She is going to be a big sister.  She broke the news by announcing “my Mommy’s tummy is going to have a baby!”  So we excitedly await the end of May when her Mommy’s tummy will birth the next niece or nephew.

Only one more semester and my classmates and I can sport some awesome nursing wear and graduate!  But only if I survive having Satan as one of my main instructors.



courtesy of Flickr





Oh, and we’re expecting…a phone call. We finished the 9,384,548,878,497 pages of paperwork to prove that we are keeping absolutely no secrets from anyone.  We did the required 8,968,513,578 modifications to our home to guarantee that the level of baby proofing would in fact keep Phil and I from accessing anything sharp, potentially sharp, poisonous, potentially poisonous, flammable, potentially flammable, dangerous, or potentially dangerous (get the idea) in our home.  We are ready and waiting. Actually, ready to wait.  Getting that phone calls sometime next June (after graduation, see above) would be amazing.  We've waited over 5 years already, what's another six months or so.  If it comes before that we will enjoy a wild ride on the "It Was Meant To Be" train. 

 

The L&D Script

Welcome to Labor & Delivery, I’ll be your Nurse for the day.

Yep me, the one who’s kinda crazy thanks to a good 5 years of infertility

I have a pretty convincing “I’m a student nurse and couldn’t be happier to help you!” façade when I mutter the following lines:

Oh I see, you’re 19 and this is your 3rd? I’m sorry, that must be rough.

You already have two girls and you really wanted a boy this time but got stuck with another girl? Life isn’t fair, is it?

No, I don’t think its routine for the doctor to “tuck” up some of your “extra” tummy during your cesarean. I do know swimsuit season is right around the corner, and you’re right, it is a lousy time of year to have a baby.

You’re right, that was silly of me to think you would want to breastfeed when you can get free formula from WIC.

Yeah, kinda like house arrest I guess, it’s more an anti-theft device to make sure no one takes her from the hospital. No, I don’t know who would ever want to steal a baby.

This makes up for it though…

Yes, she really is beautiful.

I agree, you’re wife did an amazing job.

Yep, he has lots of curly hair. Nope, he’s perfectly healthy. Really, he is. I know, amazing, huh?

3 years is a long time trying to have a baby, congratulations!

You’re right, he does have your nose.

Do you want a pink or purple bow in her hair?

We’re going to give him his first bath and the birthmom wants you two in there.

Nursing School Confessions

I failed my IV skills test.

Yep, I start countless IV’s, on little old folk, with little spidery veins, in the back of moving ambulances, with my eyes closed (not really, practically though), and I failed this skill on testing day.

It went like this…

It was a dark and stormy night (again, not really, just setting the mood) I walked into the nursing lab and signed in 2 hours prior to my scheduled test time, planning on learning all 28 steps required to start an IV “their way”. I have no problem adding 23 steps to a procedure I am competent in, to make sure I am doing things “their way” after all it’s “their program”.

About 5 minutes after I walked in my name was bellowed. Umm…I have two more hours till my test time I gingerly say to a wretchedly miserable stout woman glaring at me (my memory may be a little tainted). We are running two hours ahead of schedule, would you rather we be running two hours behind?! She snorts. Umm, no…but I was planning on using the 2 hours to practice, ma’am.

You’re a paramedic, don’t you already know how to start IV’s, a helpful classmate piped up. I clenched my fists to keep from backhanding her. The paramedic thing is a secret I try to keep. Generally nurses and paramedics are not BFFs. Neither fully appreciates the other, both thinking they know more and work harder than the other. Ironically, I have come to learn in a way they are both right. Her squinty little eyes lit up….oh a paramedic, huh? Well come on in, this should be interesting.

I walked into the room that was being used for testing and realize that it was the mock NICU room, with isolettes containing fake dead babies along two walls and fake plastic birthing vaginas along the other wall, a little distracting. It was like fire and brimstone, with Satan Instructor sitting in the middle of it all. I gathered myself up and began to tend to the lone arm that was sitting on a table.

I proceeded to establish an IV in the plastic arm. Then came the fury, Satan Instructor was so disgusted with me I fought the urge to hand her a bucket to throw-up into. She spit out my abominations in list order - I swabbed the site with alcohol clockwise, not counter clockwise like the training video clearly demonstrated, I used two pieces of tape to secure the IV instead of three, was I asking for it to be ripped out with my two measly little pieces of tape, I referred to the arm as Mr. Walters, not Mr. Walter (no “s”, my bad), and I warned Mr. Walter(s) of a “small poke” not a “ little pinch”. Her face said it all; I was a loser who just killed Mr. Walter(s) by my horrifically vicious IV skills.

In my defense, her video sucked, I fell asleep half way through it, so no, I didn’t note the counter clockwise rotation of the alcohol swab, I didn’t think that a lone plastic arm would flail about to the point of ripping an IV out, and my IV’s don’t “pinch” they “poke”. They have been “small pokes” or “big pokes” for the last 7 years, they didn’t start magically “pinching” that day. Oh and sorry Mr. Walter(s), the (s) just sounds more natural.

Satan Instructor shoved my evaluation paper at me with FAILED circled in red, telling me that I would have to come back the next day and she might be able to retest me then, or maybe the next day, or the next, whenever she “got around to it”. I explained that today was my only day off work. She laughed and said it was time for me to choose whether I was going to commit myself to nursing or continue to be “just a paramedic”.

I walked out calling her bad names under my breath. Then it hit me, I still had over an hour and a half before my scheduled test time. I took in a deep breath and gathered my “I am a sleep deprived, full time student, full time employee, and not taking crap from anyone” self and went back into the dead baby/plastic vagina room. I let her know that I would be coming back to take my test at the appointment time I had been assigned. When she objected loudly to my declaration it caught the attention of another testing instructor, a sweet grandmotherly type of lady with big white puffy hair and strong perfume.

Satan Instructor stormed out of the dead baby/plastic vagina room and insisted that Grandma Instructor follow her to her office. I could hear rumbles of her satanic voice mixed with the charm of Grandma Instructor’s melancholy voice.

They immerged. Grandma Instructor said that she would test me at my given appointment time. Bless her!

When I finished testing with Grandma Instructor she nodded her head and smiled. She said under her breath “you proved her wrong”. Satan Instructor had warned her about me and my sinful ways. What Satan Instructor didn’t know was that before Grandma Instructor taught nursing, she taught paramedics.

She handed my test paper with PASSED circled. She asked for my FAILED paper, folded it in two, tore it in fours and threw it away. As I was walking out she said to me, I love paramedics. Oh Grandma Instructor, and this paramedic loves you!

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.)

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!