Today, I felt like... Well, I did, fall short on personal and inttrpersonal expectations from the get-go. My insomnia kicked my butt. I cancelled plans so I could sleep, I was tardy to work, everything started out completely wrong. But I got a text from my mom (who is one of the several that I let down today) that said "Mary, don't be overly anxious about things today-- I know where your heart is. Be free. I love you."
She totally set me free. She didn't excuse me, but she didn't blame me either. She gave me the freedom to deal with what I am/was going through, and the freedom to accept the grace comes with failure. Moms are the BEST. And my mom envokes and embodies Christ. My cup overflows.
My work day was crazy. Everything went beautifully until about 6:30. My residents were fed, my dishes were cleared, all my residents were (or seemed to be) in a happy, post-dinner, I'm-full-let-me-sit-and-enjoy-my-carb-coma-nonchalance mode. Then I heard it. The unmistakeable "fall" sound. I knew a chair had been toppled over, I was just praying to God that one of my residents was not occupying said chair. Boy, was I wrong. In the literal two seconds it took for me to run the ten feet over to the source of the noise, all bets were off. I had a resident on the floor with blood pooling from his head. I was RIGHT THERE, how could I not have prevented it?! But there he was, still in his chair, but toppled sideways on the floor with drool streaming out from the corner of his mouth and trembling from the impact of the fall. I took a half look at the underside of his head that hit the floor and realized oh shit, call the EMTs. Head wounds can look exaggerated, they bleed profusely no matter the severity. But this one was the most extreme I have seen. I lifted his head to put a towel underneath, and the blood from the gash steadily streamed like the source was an open faucet tap. I do not exaggerate. So, with bath towels steadily saturating with blood, I sat with this man still crumpled in his toppled chair on the floor while I waited for some more backup so I could safely sit him and prop him up in order to apply some pressure to the bleeds. The ambulance was soooooooo quick to arrive, and with the EMTs, several firefighters as well. I felt very "triage" and professionally nursey with my gloved hands and bloodied towels and (to my slight chagrin, my own bloodied sneakers) as I informed the personnel about the incident and my resident's history. I was secretly amused at the somewhat subtle but easily recognizable surprise on the many burly and hulky emergency-men's faces when I was able to mostly lift and stand up this 6 foot tall dead weight resident of mine so they could get him on the gurney. Being a CNA builds lots of muscles, people, and you learn how to lift in sometimes seemingly impossible and weird ways. Our backs may suffer but our biceps remain!
Said resident is thriving after this incident, and I have since gotten bigger (actually smaller, yet feisty and combative) new fish to fry in terms of new admits. Im glad I'm good at my job. And I'm blessed to feel honored to do it. These are my elders and they deserve all the respect in the world for what they have and are currently experiencing.
I'm getting really good at handling dementia. Is there a specific career I can pursue straight from cna to expertise here? I have so much insight. So much advice. So much love and understanding for this population.
Who knows. I am blessed and honored to do what I do.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Patience with Patients.
I told y'all I'd be back to haunt your inter web space.
So, I'll catch you up a bit.
Working in memory care is a constant challenge-reward vortex. I am absolutely people-and-emotion-and-physically-exhausted at the end of every work day, yet when I get a day off, I find myself wanting to pop into work to see my residents and make sure everything is going smoothly. (Plus I secretly enjoy coming into work wearing what I like to call "people clothes," aka non-scrubs. I recently was at the grocery store and recognized one of my nurses in the same aisle as I was... I debated whether or not to blurt the first hello, but it entertained me that a few glances were exchanged between us with no apparent recognition on his side. I opted to keep the amusement of my anonymous existence outside of my scrubs to myself.)
Today, I walked into work, and one of my residents ( and yea ok, we are never supposed to have favorites, but this little number and I had a golden connection from day one) who I am convinced, despite her inability to express herself in a lucid manner most of the time (she is almost CONSTANT chatter, it's amazing, she is the energizer bunny of mostly gibberish conversation) knows my face and responds to my way of caring for her beautifully, saw me and said clear as day, "OH! hey you you you! Hi! Oh you, I like you!" Couple this with the sweetest, almost childlike, clingy hug from her, and I was butter. This is the same woman who most people had given up trying to toilet or shower because she retaliated so physically aggressively, but for some reason, I hit home with her. For months, I was the only one who could get her in the shower, much less onto the toilet without her beating me up. ( I will admit, I have had proof of her feistiness in the form of scratches and admittedly ugly bruises, but at the end of the day, and after almost a year, she knows my face, and she knows my voice, and she trusts me) She seeks me out for hugs and in her gibberish tells me all the things she is thinking and I sit with her at the piano, and somehow, some way the former pianist in her emerges, and I am sometimes fortunate enough to hear her play something almost flawless, always beautiful. This, folks, is why I can show up to work every day and not be mad about it. I am so, absolutely, totally in love with my sweet residents. They all still have a mind, and in my opinion, it just doesn't cooperate with them sometimes. This may sound naiive, but when you catch the lucid moments from the people you are CONVINCED can't make any sense of things, you are humbled and really realize that you're caring for your elders, adults, people who absolutely still expect to be treated with dignity and kindness and respect. It kills me when I hear people talking about my residents right in front of them. Like they can't process. I thin they can hear and process way more than they can output or express. Just an opinion. But I try to talk to all of my residents (even though in my heart, they are all my babies) just as they are-- my elders, accomplished people, and fellow conversationalists. Even if a resident has silly, gibberish speech, or is slow to respond or doesn't make sense, I talk to them like I would to my boyfriend, my mother, my dad, my friend. They deserve normal speech, after all, they have like 50,60,70 years of life experience on my ass. I respect that shit.
There was a day a few weeks ago when I had to send one of my coworkers with my debit card to walmart to grab me a new pair of scrub pants because mine had just been splattered to the knees with someone's poop. I have photographic proof, but no one would appreciate that.
I have a deep, healing, yet purple bruise on my left upper arm from a tiny 89 year old lady who pinched me so hard that my eyes watered. when I finally had her in bed, she thanked me and apologized if "she said anything offensive." Close enough. Remind me to trim her nails.
I have a resident that, maybe 30 years ago, was a registered nurse. Sometimes the only way I can get her to settle into her room for the night is by telling her that it's the hospital on-call room, and that she's had a long shift and that I made sure she has somewhere to rest. She is so grateful that I made the on-call room up so nicely for her, and I sure her that someone will make sure to wake her up for rounds in the morning.
Have I mentioned that it's three in the morning and I have insomnia? Oh shoot, it's almost 4. I have to stop and pick this up later. Until then, here's to another post on the little blog that could.
So, I'll catch you up a bit.
Working in memory care is a constant challenge-reward vortex. I am absolutely people-and-emotion-and-physically-exhausted at the end of every work day, yet when I get a day off, I find myself wanting to pop into work to see my residents and make sure everything is going smoothly. (Plus I secretly enjoy coming into work wearing what I like to call "people clothes," aka non-scrubs. I recently was at the grocery store and recognized one of my nurses in the same aisle as I was... I debated whether or not to blurt the first hello, but it entertained me that a few glances were exchanged between us with no apparent recognition on his side. I opted to keep the amusement of my anonymous existence outside of my scrubs to myself.)
Today, I walked into work, and one of my residents ( and yea ok, we are never supposed to have favorites, but this little number and I had a golden connection from day one) who I am convinced, despite her inability to express herself in a lucid manner most of the time (she is almost CONSTANT chatter, it's amazing, she is the energizer bunny of mostly gibberish conversation) knows my face and responds to my way of caring for her beautifully, saw me and said clear as day, "OH! hey you you you! Hi! Oh you, I like you!" Couple this with the sweetest, almost childlike, clingy hug from her, and I was butter. This is the same woman who most people had given up trying to toilet or shower because she retaliated so physically aggressively, but for some reason, I hit home with her. For months, I was the only one who could get her in the shower, much less onto the toilet without her beating me up. ( I will admit, I have had proof of her feistiness in the form of scratches and admittedly ugly bruises, but at the end of the day, and after almost a year, she knows my face, and she knows my voice, and she trusts me) She seeks me out for hugs and in her gibberish tells me all the things she is thinking and I sit with her at the piano, and somehow, some way the former pianist in her emerges, and I am sometimes fortunate enough to hear her play something almost flawless, always beautiful. This, folks, is why I can show up to work every day and not be mad about it. I am so, absolutely, totally in love with my sweet residents. They all still have a mind, and in my opinion, it just doesn't cooperate with them sometimes. This may sound naiive, but when you catch the lucid moments from the people you are CONVINCED can't make any sense of things, you are humbled and really realize that you're caring for your elders, adults, people who absolutely still expect to be treated with dignity and kindness and respect. It kills me when I hear people talking about my residents right in front of them. Like they can't process. I thin they can hear and process way more than they can output or express. Just an opinion. But I try to talk to all of my residents (even though in my heart, they are all my babies) just as they are-- my elders, accomplished people, and fellow conversationalists. Even if a resident has silly, gibberish speech, or is slow to respond or doesn't make sense, I talk to them like I would to my boyfriend, my mother, my dad, my friend. They deserve normal speech, after all, they have like 50,60,70 years of life experience on my ass. I respect that shit.
There was a day a few weeks ago when I had to send one of my coworkers with my debit card to walmart to grab me a new pair of scrub pants because mine had just been splattered to the knees with someone's poop. I have photographic proof, but no one would appreciate that.
I have a deep, healing, yet purple bruise on my left upper arm from a tiny 89 year old lady who pinched me so hard that my eyes watered. when I finally had her in bed, she thanked me and apologized if "she said anything offensive." Close enough. Remind me to trim her nails.
I have a resident that, maybe 30 years ago, was a registered nurse. Sometimes the only way I can get her to settle into her room for the night is by telling her that it's the hospital on-call room, and that she's had a long shift and that I made sure she has somewhere to rest. She is so grateful that I made the on-call room up so nicely for her, and I sure her that someone will make sure to wake her up for rounds in the morning.
Have I mentioned that it's three in the morning and I have insomnia? Oh shoot, it's almost 4. I have to stop and pick this up later. Until then, here's to another post on the little blog that could.
Friday, November 13, 2015
New Beginnings (part one?)
I hereby interrupt this posting lull with breaking news! I am back and determined to keep this little-blog-that-could alive.
I don't know where I left you, but I haven't the focus to zero-in on the wheres and whens, so I'm probably gonna skip a few chapters of my life since I last posted. I will, however, give you a certified and abridged synopsis of my goings-on since I finished my latest semester of Nursing school in May.
Here goes.
Being back in Virginia from January-May was a complete whirlwind of surreality. School felt odd, and I felt old jumping back into the mix. I was surrounded by wide eyed, energetic true sophomores who whispered about their fake IDs and clubbing stories during Microbiology lab. Having taken a 3.5 year break, I felt a huge maturity rift between most of my classmates and myself. It both helped and hurt me. Commuting was a blessing and a curse-- blessing because I operated on my own terms and could come and go as I pleased, curse because I had less time truly "being" on campus and cultivating working relationships with classmates... study buddies are extra helpful in nursing school, and I had few. I was lonely, yet determined. In sum, I did really well in all of my classes. I ended up having to make up a clinical at the end of the term because I missed the first one [because my chicken pox titer (fancy word for making sure I've already had the virus) wasn't back from the lab yet. So, so lame.]. Due to unforeseen stomach trouble resulting in my inability to leave the house, I was an hour late to my clinical make-up, resulting in my automatic failure for the course, clinical and lecture. I appealed, contended, did everything I could, but it was futile. I got an F on my transcript because of a rebellious GI tract, folks! in short, failing that course essentially set me back a full year in the program because it's only offered in the spring. I was disheartened and disbelieved, but there it is. It sucked. It still kinda sucks. I can't help but wonder what life would be like if I had just stayed at school before I left the first time, stuck it out for the full four years and graduated on time. Then I stop myself and realize I wouldn't wish that for the world because so much LIFE and learning and skills have been learned because I left initially, and the fact that I received that F may have been just another weird blessing in disguise. I am so happy that I am not at school in Virginia right now.
I moved back to good old South Bend in May. I went with my boyfriend Stephen to his brother's wedding in Bloomington and it was one of the best weekends I have ever had.
Oh, yeah, Stephen is here. and it's the best. he is a constant reminder that God is in it for me to win at life. Cause Stephen is a total winner. (enter all the extra mushy lovey dovey emotional stuff.)
I resumed my job in home care and met some of the most wise and amazing old people and got to take care of them. They encouraged me, shared their lives and their families with me, told me I was going to do great things, and left a lasting effect on me. Two of them passed, leaving me not knowing how to deal with the loss. I work in healthcare, I deal with loss all the time. People die, it's the finish line of natural progression. But something stops me every time and my breath catches-- each loss feels new. There has never been one person I am less sad or heartbroken about being gone than another. Each one feels new and exactly as difficult. I realize it is because I spend my heart on the people I care for. I actually cannot help it. I am wired this way. For a time, I was tormented by these losses, inconsolable, actually. I felt like I was in a tunnel that had no end. I continually spent my emotions and heart and mind and physical energy on people that just end up dying. Why is it worth my time?? Why is it worth the grief I go through, or giving so much of myself to someone who may very well not even recognize me the next day? Why do I put myself through this?! Then I got some words of wisdom. Some of them from Stephen, bless his heart, and some through prayer-- It makes a difference. I make a difference. A specific difference in specific lives, all the time, throughout my day every day. I once told someone that I'm a CNA (certified nurse's assistant) and they replied with, "Oh, so you're basically wiping ass for a living... like a professional ass-wiper!" I don't recall how I responded at the time, probably something insecure/masked with sarcastic whatevers, but in retrospect, I want to go back and correct that person and set them straight. Yes, I spend a lot of my day helping old people go potty. Yep, that includes wiping them. It also includes dressing and undressing them, bathing them, changing their sheets, doing their laundry, feeding them, tracking every time they urinate or have a bowel movement, doing their skin assessments, being kicked, slapped, pinched, cussed-out, and unappreciated by the people who can't make heads or tails of why someone has to do these things for them. But the thing is, after being slapped around (old people are STRONG, by the way, mark my words) and cussed-out and screamed at while trying to help "Jane" get her jammies on and go potty, once she's tucked in bed, she says thank you and she loves me.
So maybe thats a natural progression for me to say that I now work full time at a memory care assisted living facility!
Most every resident living there has some form of dementia. There are few exceptions. This makes for one heck of a work day! Dementia is sneaky and presents itself differently in each person via personality changes and habits. Sometimes it reveals itself in nervous ticks or repetitive questions. Sometimes it makes people consistently worried/concerned. Sometimes maternal instincts tighten and you've got 90 yr old "Jane" carrying around baby dolls because those are "her babies" and they can't be left alone in her room. Those are her actual babies. Sometimes complacency sets in, and as a caregiver, you have to figure out clever ways to communicate to a brick wall of response. You start to develop clever ways of cuing someone to stand up, walk, sit down, reach out their hand, etc. I never would have thought I could have spent 20 minutes trying to explain to someone/convince/desperately ask someone to sit down on a potty before. Oh but i have, and i do. 40 hours a week. My favorites are the ones who basically regress to childhood. They may be speaking gibberish ( and some do), but you pick up enough to know that they had bad childhood experiences and their negative reactions are prompted by certain things. You start to learn their patterns. One lady counts when she starts getting upset. Ive heard her get all the way up to 97, then she went to 11 and started back at 1. You have the 100 year old who was a medical professional and you just can't help but admire the hell out of him, even though he can't remember what he practiced. You have the 90 year old lady who was a nurse and can kinda talk about it when you prompt her but when she gets off topic, she cannot let go of the fact that "someone has been in her room and all of her things are stolen." Not one of these people are the same. Each one with different behaviors, each one affected by the same disease, if thats what you call dementia. The fact of the matter is, I get to take time to learn about the person who lives in the dementia riddled body. I have every reason to believe that they know exactly who they are, their bodies just cannot cooperate with them. It's heartbreaking, tough work. But the times when you catch someone in a lucid moment and they tell you that you're beautiful, ask you if you are married and have kids, if not they'll pray one day you will, tell you stories of their lives and childhood, impart knowledge or advice, confide in you about hardships, but most of all, when at the end of a hard day, when I feel beaten up, exhausted, sad, I hear the words "thank you" from someone whose bottom I wiped and whom I clothed in jammies and tucked into bed.
It's getting far too late and I haven't written this much in eons. for now, I guess this was part 1. God bless you if you read or followed even half of this post. I always warn you, this is my brain vomit.
Anyways, Im grateful for another day of being able to give and be given to. Nighty night.
I don't know where I left you, but I haven't the focus to zero-in on the wheres and whens, so I'm probably gonna skip a few chapters of my life since I last posted. I will, however, give you a certified and abridged synopsis of my goings-on since I finished my latest semester of Nursing school in May.
Here goes.
Being back in Virginia from January-May was a complete whirlwind of surreality. School felt odd, and I felt old jumping back into the mix. I was surrounded by wide eyed, energetic true sophomores who whispered about their fake IDs and clubbing stories during Microbiology lab. Having taken a 3.5 year break, I felt a huge maturity rift between most of my classmates and myself. It both helped and hurt me. Commuting was a blessing and a curse-- blessing because I operated on my own terms and could come and go as I pleased, curse because I had less time truly "being" on campus and cultivating working relationships with classmates... study buddies are extra helpful in nursing school, and I had few. I was lonely, yet determined. In sum, I did really well in all of my classes. I ended up having to make up a clinical at the end of the term because I missed the first one [because my chicken pox titer (fancy word for making sure I've already had the virus) wasn't back from the lab yet. So, so lame.]. Due to unforeseen stomach trouble resulting in my inability to leave the house, I was an hour late to my clinical make-up, resulting in my automatic failure for the course, clinical and lecture. I appealed, contended, did everything I could, but it was futile. I got an F on my transcript because of a rebellious GI tract, folks! in short, failing that course essentially set me back a full year in the program because it's only offered in the spring. I was disheartened and disbelieved, but there it is. It sucked. It still kinda sucks. I can't help but wonder what life would be like if I had just stayed at school before I left the first time, stuck it out for the full four years and graduated on time. Then I stop myself and realize I wouldn't wish that for the world because so much LIFE and learning and skills have been learned because I left initially, and the fact that I received that F may have been just another weird blessing in disguise. I am so happy that I am not at school in Virginia right now.
I moved back to good old South Bend in May. I went with my boyfriend Stephen to his brother's wedding in Bloomington and it was one of the best weekends I have ever had.
Oh, yeah, Stephen is here. and it's the best. he is a constant reminder that God is in it for me to win at life. Cause Stephen is a total winner. (enter all the extra mushy lovey dovey emotional stuff.)
I resumed my job in home care and met some of the most wise and amazing old people and got to take care of them. They encouraged me, shared their lives and their families with me, told me I was going to do great things, and left a lasting effect on me. Two of them passed, leaving me not knowing how to deal with the loss. I work in healthcare, I deal with loss all the time. People die, it's the finish line of natural progression. But something stops me every time and my breath catches-- each loss feels new. There has never been one person I am less sad or heartbroken about being gone than another. Each one feels new and exactly as difficult. I realize it is because I spend my heart on the people I care for. I actually cannot help it. I am wired this way. For a time, I was tormented by these losses, inconsolable, actually. I felt like I was in a tunnel that had no end. I continually spent my emotions and heart and mind and physical energy on people that just end up dying. Why is it worth my time?? Why is it worth the grief I go through, or giving so much of myself to someone who may very well not even recognize me the next day? Why do I put myself through this?! Then I got some words of wisdom. Some of them from Stephen, bless his heart, and some through prayer-- It makes a difference. I make a difference. A specific difference in specific lives, all the time, throughout my day every day. I once told someone that I'm a CNA (certified nurse's assistant) and they replied with, "Oh, so you're basically wiping ass for a living... like a professional ass-wiper!" I don't recall how I responded at the time, probably something insecure/masked with sarcastic whatevers, but in retrospect, I want to go back and correct that person and set them straight. Yes, I spend a lot of my day helping old people go potty. Yep, that includes wiping them. It also includes dressing and undressing them, bathing them, changing their sheets, doing their laundry, feeding them, tracking every time they urinate or have a bowel movement, doing their skin assessments, being kicked, slapped, pinched, cussed-out, and unappreciated by the people who can't make heads or tails of why someone has to do these things for them. But the thing is, after being slapped around (old people are STRONG, by the way, mark my words) and cussed-out and screamed at while trying to help "Jane" get her jammies on and go potty, once she's tucked in bed, she says thank you and she loves me.
So maybe thats a natural progression for me to say that I now work full time at a memory care assisted living facility!
Most every resident living there has some form of dementia. There are few exceptions. This makes for one heck of a work day! Dementia is sneaky and presents itself differently in each person via personality changes and habits. Sometimes it reveals itself in nervous ticks or repetitive questions. Sometimes it makes people consistently worried/concerned. Sometimes maternal instincts tighten and you've got 90 yr old "Jane" carrying around baby dolls because those are "her babies" and they can't be left alone in her room. Those are her actual babies. Sometimes complacency sets in, and as a caregiver, you have to figure out clever ways to communicate to a brick wall of response. You start to develop clever ways of cuing someone to stand up, walk, sit down, reach out their hand, etc. I never would have thought I could have spent 20 minutes trying to explain to someone/convince/desperately ask someone to sit down on a potty before. Oh but i have, and i do. 40 hours a week. My favorites are the ones who basically regress to childhood. They may be speaking gibberish ( and some do), but you pick up enough to know that they had bad childhood experiences and their negative reactions are prompted by certain things. You start to learn their patterns. One lady counts when she starts getting upset. Ive heard her get all the way up to 97, then she went to 11 and started back at 1. You have the 100 year old who was a medical professional and you just can't help but admire the hell out of him, even though he can't remember what he practiced. You have the 90 year old lady who was a nurse and can kinda talk about it when you prompt her but when she gets off topic, she cannot let go of the fact that "someone has been in her room and all of her things are stolen." Not one of these people are the same. Each one with different behaviors, each one affected by the same disease, if thats what you call dementia. The fact of the matter is, I get to take time to learn about the person who lives in the dementia riddled body. I have every reason to believe that they know exactly who they are, their bodies just cannot cooperate with them. It's heartbreaking, tough work. But the times when you catch someone in a lucid moment and they tell you that you're beautiful, ask you if you are married and have kids, if not they'll pray one day you will, tell you stories of their lives and childhood, impart knowledge or advice, confide in you about hardships, but most of all, when at the end of a hard day, when I feel beaten up, exhausted, sad, I hear the words "thank you" from someone whose bottom I wiped and whom I clothed in jammies and tucked into bed.
It's getting far too late and I haven't written this much in eons. for now, I guess this was part 1. God bless you if you read or followed even half of this post. I always warn you, this is my brain vomit.
Anyways, Im grateful for another day of being able to give and be given to. Nighty night.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Rants and Raves, My Pity Party Alternative
It's so hard to maintain an equilibrium, isn't it? Especially for people [like me, and probably you] who have demanding work or school schedules, so much expected of you, and in turn you expect so much from yourself. And then emotions and personal relationships enter the crazy fray and there are moments when you stop and realize that you feel caught; this crazy web of expectations, the personal urge to be your best self, the duty of friendship to other people, being accountable for your actions, and being responsible for curtailing rash reactions to adversity…. it all suddenly comes to a head and if you've thought you've been overwhelmed before, you laugh to yourself because you've finally realized how hard it is to be an adult.
I am struggling. I have so much on my mind, so many things I want to shout out loud, so many things I want to be able to fix, so many people I want to talk to face to face, I want that one shoulder to cry on and that face to look at and the comfort of being in the presence of someone who gets it. I want to scream and laugh and argue and sob and dance, all of these things out loud, but circumstance and geography hold me back and hinder me so unfairly to be able to do these things how I want, with the people I want. I could punch so many things, I could drink myself numb, but nothing will outweigh or deafen the blaring fact that I am solely responsible for the wellness of my heart. I cannot run, nor can I hide from anything that is happening. I would be foolish, oh, and I have been, more times than I care to count, to think that I can stifle and silence my struggles. I have learned fairly recently that facing and addressing hardship, head on and boldly and soberly, is actually the easy way out. It is so much more painful and grievous and poisonous to allow your problems or concerns or sadnesses or angers fester to the point of self destruction. I could be a spokesperson on "keeping it all in," and I'll cut to the chase when I say that it's not worth it and it doesn't work. You hurt yourself and the people around you, and you magnify your pain.
I realize I've gone on a professional tangent.
Bottom line is, I am currently face-deep in crazy school assignments and exams and papers and meetings and relationship struggles and feeling isolated and written-off. I am struggling immensely with finding my equilibrium. Everything that pertains to us is personal. My relationships are personal, my schoolwork performance is personal. How then to prioritize how to feel? Emotions abound. Schoolwork has expressed a vengeance that I have never known, yet personal relationships that have a grip on my heart are constantly in the back or forefront of my brain and I seem to be unable to isolate my attention.
Hi, I'm Mary, and I'm a puddle of anxiety, stress, glimmers of hope, and exhaustion.
I need to be able to focus. On studies, on relationships, on self-love, all separately yet simultaneously. I love a good challenge, but today this feels like an impossible feat.
I'll end by saying that I know God is good and he wants to give me the desires of my heart. The only way that I'll be able to forge ahead is by trusting God with my body and soul and heart that he provides and he is good, and he will not let anything come my way that I can't handle.
I'll offer up my anxiety and confusion and feelings of defeat for the gazillions of people in the world that have way more to worry about than I do.
Shoot some prayers or good vibes my way as I embark on another arduous week of nursing school bedlam.
I am struggling. I have so much on my mind, so many things I want to shout out loud, so many things I want to be able to fix, so many people I want to talk to face to face, I want that one shoulder to cry on and that face to look at and the comfort of being in the presence of someone who gets it. I want to scream and laugh and argue and sob and dance, all of these things out loud, but circumstance and geography hold me back and hinder me so unfairly to be able to do these things how I want, with the people I want. I could punch so many things, I could drink myself numb, but nothing will outweigh or deafen the blaring fact that I am solely responsible for the wellness of my heart. I cannot run, nor can I hide from anything that is happening. I would be foolish, oh, and I have been, more times than I care to count, to think that I can stifle and silence my struggles. I have learned fairly recently that facing and addressing hardship, head on and boldly and soberly, is actually the easy way out. It is so much more painful and grievous and poisonous to allow your problems or concerns or sadnesses or angers fester to the point of self destruction. I could be a spokesperson on "keeping it all in," and I'll cut to the chase when I say that it's not worth it and it doesn't work. You hurt yourself and the people around you, and you magnify your pain.
I realize I've gone on a professional tangent.
Bottom line is, I am currently face-deep in crazy school assignments and exams and papers and meetings and relationship struggles and feeling isolated and written-off. I am struggling immensely with finding my equilibrium. Everything that pertains to us is personal. My relationships are personal, my schoolwork performance is personal. How then to prioritize how to feel? Emotions abound. Schoolwork has expressed a vengeance that I have never known, yet personal relationships that have a grip on my heart are constantly in the back or forefront of my brain and I seem to be unable to isolate my attention.
Hi, I'm Mary, and I'm a puddle of anxiety, stress, glimmers of hope, and exhaustion.
I need to be able to focus. On studies, on relationships, on self-love, all separately yet simultaneously. I love a good challenge, but today this feels like an impossible feat.
I'll end by saying that I know God is good and he wants to give me the desires of my heart. The only way that I'll be able to forge ahead is by trusting God with my body and soul and heart that he provides and he is good, and he will not let anything come my way that I can't handle.
I'll offer up my anxiety and confusion and feelings of defeat for the gazillions of people in the world that have way more to worry about than I do.
Shoot some prayers or good vibes my way as I embark on another arduous week of nursing school bedlam.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Is it a snow day tomorrow, or is this just my insomnia?
Yes, yes yes!!! I have a snow day tomorrow! Oh, bless you, wimpy Northern Virginia and your fear of 5"snowfall forecasts. The Indiana girl in me want to scoff and chuckle at how silly it is to cancel university classes for an entire day because of a "daunting" forecast, but since five inches of snow and 15 degree lows are record-breaking here in the DC metro area, who am I to complain? I have a ten page microbiology research paper due on Friday that I have yet to give my undivided attention. What better way to spend a snow day than to be in my jammies drinking way too much coffee and writing a report on antibiotic resistant bacteria? If you think of one, let me know. [Okay, yes, I can think of an abundance of brilliant alternatives, but school-duty calls].
Two more days until Spring Break! My destination: colder-than-here, Indiana. Home, home, home! Home to my parents and hilarious little [but way taller than me] brothers and Stephen (favorite person, #1, boyfriend, best pal) and open spaces and CORNFIELDS sprinkled with snow [more likely they will be wilted and soggy-brown] and my old room and my house that is always freezing because my dad believes in layering as opposed to big heating bills! I can hardly wait. I am a large research paper, a 3 hour Nursing lab, one micro lecture and a ten hour drive away from where my heart is.
For now, I should try and get this sleep-starved body to sleep so that I can write my paper tomorrow and then be as lazy as I can for the rest of the day.
GAH can't wait for home. Love and hugs and lack of traffic! (I should stitch that on a pillow, damn the DC traffic and its evil ways.)
10-4!
Two more days until Spring Break! My destination: colder-than-here, Indiana. Home, home, home! Home to my parents and hilarious little [but way taller than me] brothers and Stephen (favorite person, #1, boyfriend, best pal) and open spaces and CORNFIELDS sprinkled with snow [more likely they will be wilted and soggy-brown] and my old room and my house that is always freezing because my dad believes in layering as opposed to big heating bills! I can hardly wait. I am a large research paper, a 3 hour Nursing lab, one micro lecture and a ten hour drive away from where my heart is.
For now, I should try and get this sleep-starved body to sleep so that I can write my paper tomorrow and then be as lazy as I can for the rest of the day.
GAH can't wait for home. Love and hugs and lack of traffic! (I should stitch that on a pillow, damn the DC traffic and its evil ways.)
10-4!
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Nursing Student Woes: the first of many rants and stories about being in nursing school
Aside from the initial eye-squinty cringe that overtook my face due to the bad color scheme I've got going on here as I opened the page to revisit neglected blog, I also realized how truly neglected it is! For someone who truly loves to write their thought-vomit down as a form of self-medicating, I am going to make another attempt to update frequently.
Nursing school is rumbling along, with every stressful and hilarious circumstance that accompanies the nature of the beast. Seriously, are we all crazy to be doing this?! I'm convinced that I am either a complete moron, clearly the most clueless student in the world, or this stuff is actually really freaking hard to learn.
I hope it's the latter, because I'm paying good money to not understand half of what my microbiology professor is lecturing so nonchalantly about.
So, I had some adventure-y happenings last week, albeit stress-crying was briefly involved, things worked out, like they always do.
[Back story: I went to this university for nursing in 2010- halfway through the 2011-2012 semester. Leaving halfway through your sophomore year is not something I recommend for anyone, but if you're a nursing student, I hope you get as lucky as I did to have somehow magically been able to start right where I left off, 3 years later. So, there you have it, my 23 year old self, more gray from three years of working in restaurants and as a CNA (Lord, I could write a book about being one, best thing Ive ever done), is back in the saddle as a super-sophomore nursing student, hell bent on getting that BSN.]
So, that should kind of get you up to speed. If you're reading this and if you're a nursing student, or have been one, you probably know that in order to start clinicals, you basically have to scrounge up and sign away your entire life's health history to the school/institution, in addition to paying way too much for background checks and drug tests that you don't need. (I mean, seriously, can't you pleeeeeeease trust me when I say that I have never committed a felony, I am not a pedophile, and I don't snort anything, shoot anything up, nor will I pilfer any medical weed from my cancer patients?! The lack of trust, I tell ya…) Needless to say, I did not have all of my life's health history documentation at the ready, nor did i have a magical Mary Poppins bag from which to retrieve it. Alas, I had to spend about 72 hours collectively on the phone with a vast amount of people in Indiana (home state, represent) in order to track down my immunization records, flu shot records, physical forms, etc. so that I could get them faxed to me. Then I had to pay and arm and a little bit of my soul to get a renewed CPR certification, a physical (walk-in clinics be damned! I walked out a broke soul, I did), and a lithe more here and there and everywhere. (I should say that this is all pretty much happening on the wednesday and thursday before my first friday clinical…) The kicker was that with the exception of one tiny detail, I had everything set and ready to go to clinical. I was so exhausted and proud of myself for actually getting all my shit together, and wouldn't you know it, I get an email saying I couldn't go the next morning because I didn't have a chicken pox vaccination. [IVE ALREADY HAD CHICKEN POX OMG]. So that was a little bit distressing. I cried a little bit, then turned to my friend Cabernet Savignon who always seems to be able to make it better.
Moral of the story-- make sure that if you're coming in in the middle of a school year, that you find out about any crucial paperwork you need to have in order to actually do the schooling you're paying for. I got lucky and the first clinical was orientation and i didn't miss anything. There's also a make up day, praise Jesus. However, too close of a call for me. CabSav won't always be able to come to the rescue! Keep your ear to the ground, people.
Aside from the occasional snafu (totally my bad, by the way, I take full responsibility for not being on my game), nursing school is truly exciting. I'm starting to see the light at the end of this grievously long tunnel I've driven myself into, and I'm so excited for the future!
Also, to all the CNAs out there who are studying nursing, how GREAT will our geriatric rotation be?! Look out, world, I am no stranger to the smell of C-Diff! When it comes to dealing with poop, all of the poop, we are masters, all of us.
Nursing school is rumbling along, with every stressful and hilarious circumstance that accompanies the nature of the beast. Seriously, are we all crazy to be doing this?! I'm convinced that I am either a complete moron, clearly the most clueless student in the world, or this stuff is actually really freaking hard to learn.
I hope it's the latter, because I'm paying good money to not understand half of what my microbiology professor is lecturing so nonchalantly about.
So, I had some adventure-y happenings last week, albeit stress-crying was briefly involved, things worked out, like they always do.
[Back story: I went to this university for nursing in 2010- halfway through the 2011-2012 semester. Leaving halfway through your sophomore year is not something I recommend for anyone, but if you're a nursing student, I hope you get as lucky as I did to have somehow magically been able to start right where I left off, 3 years later. So, there you have it, my 23 year old self, more gray from three years of working in restaurants and as a CNA (Lord, I could write a book about being one, best thing Ive ever done), is back in the saddle as a super-sophomore nursing student, hell bent on getting that BSN.]
So, that should kind of get you up to speed. If you're reading this and if you're a nursing student, or have been one, you probably know that in order to start clinicals, you basically have to scrounge up and sign away your entire life's health history to the school/institution, in addition to paying way too much for background checks and drug tests that you don't need. (I mean, seriously, can't you pleeeeeeease trust me when I say that I have never committed a felony, I am not a pedophile, and I don't snort anything, shoot anything up, nor will I pilfer any medical weed from my cancer patients?! The lack of trust, I tell ya…) Needless to say, I did not have all of my life's health history documentation at the ready, nor did i have a magical Mary Poppins bag from which to retrieve it. Alas, I had to spend about 72 hours collectively on the phone with a vast amount of people in Indiana (home state, represent) in order to track down my immunization records, flu shot records, physical forms, etc. so that I could get them faxed to me. Then I had to pay and arm and a little bit of my soul to get a renewed CPR certification, a physical (walk-in clinics be damned! I walked out a broke soul, I did), and a lithe more here and there and everywhere. (I should say that this is all pretty much happening on the wednesday and thursday before my first friday clinical…) The kicker was that with the exception of one tiny detail, I had everything set and ready to go to clinical. I was so exhausted and proud of myself for actually getting all my shit together, and wouldn't you know it, I get an email saying I couldn't go the next morning because I didn't have a chicken pox vaccination. [IVE ALREADY HAD CHICKEN POX OMG]. So that was a little bit distressing. I cried a little bit, then turned to my friend Cabernet Savignon who always seems to be able to make it better.
Moral of the story-- make sure that if you're coming in in the middle of a school year, that you find out about any crucial paperwork you need to have in order to actually do the schooling you're paying for. I got lucky and the first clinical was orientation and i didn't miss anything. There's also a make up day, praise Jesus. However, too close of a call for me. CabSav won't always be able to come to the rescue! Keep your ear to the ground, people.
Aside from the occasional snafu (totally my bad, by the way, I take full responsibility for not being on my game), nursing school is truly exciting. I'm starting to see the light at the end of this grievously long tunnel I've driven myself into, and I'm so excited for the future!
Also, to all the CNAs out there who are studying nursing, how GREAT will our geriatric rotation be?! Look out, world, I am no stranger to the smell of C-Diff! When it comes to dealing with poop, all of the poop, we are masters, all of us.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Wednesday, schmendsday
Oh, goodness, I've neglected you again, little blog. That's okay, I'm certain no one reads you, unfortunately.
Well, it's a glum looking day outside, very grey and droopy. I made myself get up early today and start my day off with a good prayer time. I don't have class until 3:30 today, so I had little motivation to roll out of bed at 8am, but I am very glad that I did! I'm trying to develop new grown up habits, starting with a morning ritual. I just think that any given day will go better if I have a set routine. Soooo, hooray for day number one!
I straightened my hair today just because I could. I keep forgetting how short it is! I miss my long hair sometimes. But, I won't dwell on vanity today! Today's for giving.
What do you want to accomplish today? If you were at your best right now, what would you be doing? What makes you tick?
I'm offering up my day to the Lord. I want him in my thoughts and conversations and choices, in the classroom and in my car when I drive. Ill choose to not to be wistful on this gloomy Wednesday, and instead I'll make some homemade sunshine.
Here's to a rockin' day! Pay it forward, smile, be bold and love well.
Well, it's a glum looking day outside, very grey and droopy. I made myself get up early today and start my day off with a good prayer time. I don't have class until 3:30 today, so I had little motivation to roll out of bed at 8am, but I am very glad that I did! I'm trying to develop new grown up habits, starting with a morning ritual. I just think that any given day will go better if I have a set routine. Soooo, hooray for day number one!
I straightened my hair today just because I could. I keep forgetting how short it is! I miss my long hair sometimes. But, I won't dwell on vanity today! Today's for giving.
What do you want to accomplish today? If you were at your best right now, what would you be doing? What makes you tick?
I'm offering up my day to the Lord. I want him in my thoughts and conversations and choices, in the classroom and in my car when I drive. Ill choose to not to be wistful on this gloomy Wednesday, and instead I'll make some homemade sunshine.
Here's to a rockin' day! Pay it forward, smile, be bold and love well.
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