Wrote this Yesterday

Today, I am tired of death. My patients' bodies are shutting down, and it makes me tired. Striker makes me tired, because he is tired. And his wife is tired. Baby makes me tired, because she is tired. AML is terrible. It takes healthy ones, defeats them over and over mentally, physically, emotionally, and then it kills them. Tonight, I am just tired, and I am going to go to bed now.

In other news, today was my first day as charge nurse, and it wasn't terrible.

A family lined the halls that day. All the same family, watching waiting. Then, when it finally came, a soberness rested on the whole place.

A young one died that day on our floor.

One nurse said, "I just don't get it." She didn't say, but I know she was talking about life and God. We're okay when the old ones die. It's part of the reason we work here. But the young ones take us deeper to ask questions about who is ruling the universe.

I've been thinking lately about how God is King. It changes everything. Everything. If God is king, then all the stuff that I think matters really doesn't. All of the stuff I think about on a daily basis has very little to do with reality. The world is upside down.

Words

I just watched a movie about cooking and blogging and butter. It was lovely, and a couple of tears surfaced, though none dropped.


I met some people at work. One was the nicest man, and I wish I could have him over for Thanksgiving dinner. I don't know if I'll ever hear from him again, but I have mixed feelings about this. Oncology nurses face attachment issues, and everyone has his own opinion about what "too attached" means. If I see him again, I may understand more about that.


I think about people I've cared for in the past, and I have no regrets about attachments. I only feel honored to have cared for them. Sometimes, tears surface or even drop for them, but I am not a mess. My life has more meaning, because I cared for them. I think of the man whose hair I cut during his induction chemotherapy. I think of Norwegian man. I even think of yellow man who was more obviously close to death than the others. None of them are living now, and soon, my Thanksgiving friend will go, too. Normal people don't understand what an honor it is to care for these. They think about is the pain I must feel.


I met someone else at work that helped me remember simple math. If I expend more energy than I take in, I will lose weight and be tired. At work, there's very little replenishing built into the system for nurses. Bottom line: I need to eat more, buy more plants, and take more baths.


Recently, a friend asked me if I'm doing what I'm made for. I think I was wrong when I said, "Not yet". It's like sentences. Every word is important. And this word in my life is part of my testimony.


"They overcome him by the blood of the lamb and by the word of their testimony." Revelation 12:11

What I Saw

My day was spent seeing machines breathing for tiny bodies, babies with flat affects who startled as I drew near because of abuse. There are no opportunities for teaching when the parents are just not there. There are no opportunities for interaction when the other's consciousness is just not there. I gave pain medications based on a heart rate and a blood pressure. Sedatives, paralytics. I saw lifelessness, and I saw myself sustaining it. 

Even though my actions may have meant healing and life, I couldn't see that. It's why I wasn't cut out for the PICU. It's not because of the PICU, it's because of what I saw there. And I didn't want to stay long enough to become numb to it, to see something else.

Betty says crying is like washing the windows of your soul. I went into the shower after that day and spent some good time sitting on the floor of the shower all huddled up and crying for the children until he came in. He saw me, and got in the shower with me. He lifted me to my feet and held me. When he got out, he put the plug in the tub, and sat beside the tub and let the water fill up around me. We talked. I don't remember what we said. But it was good and healing.

Maybe it's because it was the first time anyone had ever really entered into my place of sorrow. Maybe it's because it was the first time it was really evident that I wasn't alone in anything anymore, that I didn't have to run away or hide to be sad. Maybe it's because it was a picture of God - how He enters into life with us and makes it bearable, because we're not alone, how we don't have to be clean to be with Him. Whatever the reason, I saw it as the very definition of precious itself. 

"I will make your battlements of rubies, your gates of sparkling jewels, and all your walls of precious stones." 

Isaiah 54:12

So Long Insecurity

I just have to repeat this from Beth Moore's book. 


"We can stop playing the game. ... When we work from an activated mentality of God-given security, we are fully capable of thinking another woman is beautiful without concluding we are ugly.  We can esteem another woman's achievements without feeling like an idiot. We can admire another woman's terrific shape without feeling like a slob. Where on earth did we come up with the idea that we have to subtract value from ourselves in order to give credit to someone else? You see, it's our insecurity that makes us so poor at math. It constantly leads us to the draw the wrong conclusion." 


Oh, it feels like relief. How freeing it is to be objective, to enjoy another woman's talents and beauty without comparing it to my own. Do you ever just feel happy for another person without thinking of yourself - even if it's a little kid? Please just extrapolate that feeling. You can feel happy for another person without thinking of yourself. 

ants and the important things in life

Yesterday, I got to work, and they told me I had the day off. I went to Arlington Cemetery. People swarmed like armies of ants. I didn't get to see the ceremonies at the Tomb, because others had more patience to weasel their ways to a point of view. I did get to see Thomas, though. I spent some time watching him. He stood straight as an arrow and held his mouth and jaw strong as the ants streamed around him. He and the other men are images of strength. Afterwards, we went to a pool party with his buddies and ate burgers. All of his buddies's wives want to be nurses.

Today, I got to work, and they told me a patient I took care of last week died over the weekend. I didn't think about it again until the drive home. It makes me cry a little. I love it, though. More than any other feeling, I feel honored to have taken care of that woman in her last days. I rubbed her feet and back. I warmed up her soup in the microwave. I did all of the piddly things like keeping track of her IV lines, giving her meds, making up her bed. Somehow, they're important.

Our day on the floor was so busy that our manager bought us milkshakes. I didn't get time to eat mine. I don't even know if it came. There were some things that I couldn't get to today, like lunch, and double checking fluid orders. I think this is a trend I'll be experiencing more. I ask God for help with knowing which things are the most important. I do everything I can, and I leave the rest up to Him.

You're it.

Several things have changed this week, and I can finally talk about before. It's been about a month and a half since I've done any nursing work. I've transitioned out of the PICU. It takes a special person to work there, and I'm just not it. 


I couldn't talk about it for a while, because it felt like failure. I couldn't get any vitality from the PICU. I couldn't learn to cope with those kids. I used to hear people say, "I could never do that" about various things. And I always thought they were being silly. Of course you could. But I'm there now. I could never do that without losing myself. I wouldn't be I anymore.


When I was out and about and I saw a little one, my heart would be crushed. It was too easy to think about how he or she could be in the PICU in a blink. It was too easy to sense their vitality and remember where it's not. It was too easy to know exactly what that little one would look like in the PICU.  


Sometimes staying happy is a battle. Depression is the enemy, and canons of isolation and accusations are densely packed. It's been that way for me lately. I've gotten some ammo of my own, though. 

• Always have something planned for Monday morning. A walk with another woman is a good option. 
• Be bold about helping people. Don't think. Just do it.
• Meet with people. My Beth Moore Bible Study Group has been my salvation.
• Don't go to bed sad. 

I just landed a new job this week. On Monday, I start working in an adult oncology department. It takes a special person to work in oncology - only this time, I think I'm it.