i won't sell myself short.

I am starting out by saying that I have so much to be grateful for-- steadfast, amazing parents who amidst their own daily struggles would bend over backward and lasso the moon for me if I needed it, the best, most steadfast loving man I could ever hope to have is mine and he is the sweetest friend I've ever had, I am living independently, there is a little bit of food in my fridge/cabinets that will get me through the week (even though for the past few days, my diet has consisted of a bagel, leftover pizza, smoothie juice and lots of h2O), uber exists, I am aliiiive.

I had about a 5 minute conversation with my boss, and I mean the boss of my boss's boss today. When he took me aside, I at first thought that I was in trouble haha, because in the full year I've worked at this place, he and I haven't exchanged much more than hellos. To my surprise, however, he wanted my opinions on how things were going at work, wanting my insight as to how things could look better, emphasizing that he wants me to further my goals and recognizing that they certainly don't stop here. I was so encouraged. He gave me some very high compliments on how I do my job and made it clear that I was crucial to how the place is supposed to run. I felt free to express myself to him in that moment, both technical details on how a shit should operate, but also my personal expectations, goals and hopes. It all made me start to wonder "am I selling myself short?" I found something my heart is 100% in and that I'm incredibly good at, but the professional tier level I'm at is basic. It's a stupi thing that I've gotten the education I have this far and have learned so much and gotten so good at a concentration that I can't get credentials for. I'm wrestling with a stalemate. I LOVE my job. But I can't teach other people to have a passion, that's what this job needs is a heart that is willing and open and desirous to serve. It's a disposition, and to be good at the job, you have to go beyond the job description on paper. Memory care is so different than typical CNA work. So, so different. I chalk it up to parenting practice, because I have learned how to be patient in the weirdest, most stressful of times, I've gotten pushed to my absolute limit. Yet, I've managed to keep my cool and be graceful. It's a GIFT. I don't want to waste it or sell myself short. I have so many desires to further my education, keep myself in this field, do so many things... And no money or open avenues to do tht yet. So for now, I'll keep excelling at what I'm good at, keep an eagle eye open, and keep being prayerful. I refuse to sell myself short.

Grace

I've been thinking about the gift of grace a lot lately.
Work takes a ton out of me, emotionally and physically. In addition to feeling exhausted all of the time, I'm preoccupied with billions of other things. Work feels like my life, but the truth is, I've been so overwhelmed with things outside of work that I don't feel like I have the time or energy to address. I want to spend more time with my dad who doesn't have a ton of structure in his days. His latest stroke was the scariest thing I've ever experienced. He is leaps and bounds ahead of where he could have been, but I want to have the time to spend days with him doing stuff before I go to work. My car is a hot mess-- the brakes are failing and my two front tires are more bald than Mr. Clean and one of them is nearly flat. I work all weekend through Wednesday, I have a doctors appointment on Monday morning to discuss results of a CT scan that I had done, I'm anxious about my car getting me from point A to B, I was going to hve my car towed to the shop this morning but the tow truck people "got busy" even though I set up a pickup ahead of time, ergo, my car is still a ticking time bomb. My friend Valerie is having a birthday party for her son who I haven't even met yet and I can't go, my future "cousin in law" has a bridal shower that I can't go to either.... The list feels so heavy. And full of negatives. I feel like none of my time is my own. I'm struggling so much to stay positive and have a servant's heart. Honestly, I'm very grateful for my job because when I'm there, I can immerse myself in the lives of my residents and commit my time to being their helper. But when I'm not within those walls, I start feeling so overwhelmed by the unaddressed things in my life that I haven't had time or don't get time to do or accomplish or experience. I'm fighting resentment and anger and restlessness and fatigue. But at the end of the day, especially when I get happy texts from a friend or hear Stephen offering to take me to work and get brake fluid for my car or my mom texting me randomly or a person I haven't seen in eons tell me that I'm beautiful inside and out and asks about my day, I realized how love I am and how valuable the gift of grace is. Grace is accepting yourself where you are, accepting your limitations and humbly being grateful for the people and situations the Lord provides you with. God knows where you are, he knows your heart and all of its desires. He will not let you down. I have to keep steadfastly believing that this is a season of life that will only make me better, stronger, more faithful and grateful for the things I have. There is a ton I need to address and accomplish, but I also have a ton of wonderful people who love me and who will be on my sidelines and beside me when the going is tough. I am not alone. I AM NOT ALONE. And that's a beautiful thing. Grace is the reason why I can love, move forward, have peace, and accept the struggle. I know this post had so many typos and was basically a giant run-on sentence, but such is my brain-flow today. I'm determined to not be defeated by my disappointments, and instead to pursue my every day in this life season with humility, grace, determination and hope. I'm casting away the spirits of guilt, shame, and self-loathing. I can't afford the infiltration. Grace is not a get out of jail free card, it is a sanctified, precious, humbly accepted, beautiful thing.u

Be free

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!