Mourning with this who Mourn

I know I haven't posted in a long time. I know that this is the time for giving thanks, but my heart is heavy. I need to say something; just a bit of writing therapy.

For any of those who have suffered through the heartbreaking tragedy of losing a baby,
Your nurse cried too.

Hair Cuts and Sports Teams

For the average being, hair cuts and sports teams have absolutely nothing in common. For me, they are inexplicably intertwined. Okay, not really, I can explain. You see, I'd been wanting to cut my hair for a really long time. Tyson did not want me to cut my hair. For some odd reason (I think it really is just a guy thing) he likes my long, thin, stringy, hideous hair. And no matter how many times I've tried to explain that thin, fine hair and long hair are NOT a good combination, he insisted that it stay long.

Enter the sports teams.

You see, I went to the dreaded UNIVERSITY OF UTAH for my first two years of college, and had a grand ol' time in the Muss cheering for the Utes.

It was on our very first date, when we were discussing the important get-to-know-you questions, that I discovered that he was a devoted BRIGHAM YOUNG UNIVERSITY fan. Like... the ultimate obsessive fan. After finding that out, I said, "Well, we can still be friends."

For the past three years of our marriage that has been the only particular item that has brought stress and grief into our lives. The rivalry games were brutal.

But it held the key to the best compromise of all time. I just had to start cheering for BYU and he would be okay with me chopping my hair. I went up to Brigham so it could be a surprise


Before:

Ugly, nasty hair:

And ta da!

New hair!



But the best by far was when I went home. I put on one of the hubby's BYU hoodies and waited for him to come home.

The look on his face was priceless. After getting over the initial shock, he smiled and came over and patted my hair. He is a wonderful husband and was very careful to not hurt my feelings. He still prefers my long hair, but was very sweet. And, he got a BYU fan in the process.

I love win-win situations.

Shoes

Some are passionate about clothes. For others, it's jewelry. Still, some prefer handbags.

I love shoes.

Ever since I was little, if I had the right shoe, I could be or do anything. It seemed to me that by wearing the perfect shoe, I would then have the mind-frame to accomplish any given task. You put on the shoe, you transform into that perfect person. I could score a goal in my soccer game, if I had my cleats tied up tight. I could pirouette, pique, or plie like the best the minute I slipped my dance shoes on. And I was a bullet in the water while wearing my fins.

For whatever role I'm playing, I need to have the perfect shoe. (Random thought, but ironically enough, Cinderella is my least favorite Disney Princess. Shoe envy, I guess.) There are many important roles that we play during our life, and I want to share with you some of the shoes that I wear during the week.

This pair is one of my favorite pairs to wear to church. You can't go wrong with a little peep-toe, especially in summertime!

This sassy set is one I like to wear for date night. I like to dress up nice to go out with my best friend, and these shoes complete the outfit.

You'll find me in these shoes running up and down the halls of the hospital. I love being a nurse, and I would be miserable after a long night without these shoes.

Here are my running shoes. I've put a few miles on these shoes, and I have many more to go!

Technically, these aren't shoes. But my feet absolutely freeze if I don't wear these when I write. I have to have my fuzzy warm socks on so I can focus on my writing, instead of my popsicle feet.

Let's face it. All of us have more than one pair of shoes in our closet. What type of shoes do you wear during the week?

Happy Birthday to Me!

This year for my birthday, we took a trip with our good friends down to Vegas.

IT. WAS. SO. FUN!

I got to do some shopping and discovered the happiness that is H & M. Unfortunately on our big shopping day, the shopping gods were very unfavorable towards me. Despite that, I managed to scrape by with a few very cute accessories.

For my birthday night, Jess and I went to a "Duelin' Piano" bar. It was literally in this place called "The Pub". If you have never been to a piano bar- GO! It is so much stinking fun! You submit your requests to the pianists-any song you want!- and they play and sing it for you. It's incredible to hear. I think one of my favorite songs that they did that night was 'The Devil went down to Georgia' it was awesome to hear it played on a piano.




If at the bar, they try to offer you any alcoholic beverages, you can always use the pregnancy excuse- even if you aren't pregnant. Which Jess did.

A few requests went up for a few different songs, and they had some requests for birthday people and bachelor party people. Now, when they get up to the stage, the bartender will usually offer them a free drink or some shots. The pianists bang on the lower half of the keyboard while the crowd shouts "Chug! Chug! Chug!" Quite amusing.

Jess submitted a request to them for my Birthday. Luckily, she had mentioned on the piece of paper that I was pregnant (Let's get this straight- NO. I am not pregnant. ) so that I wouldn't have to chug an alcoholic beverage.

So I mosey on up to the stage.

And the guy proceeds to say,"You're pregnant, so soon you will have the opportunity to teach your child all of the fun songs you learned. So let's start back in kindergarten."

He then played "I'm a little Teapot" while I did the actions.

I did them very well.

He then played 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider" and I did the actions for that song too.

He said, "Okay Maria, you've graduated. And now it's Spring Break in Las Vegas. So I want you to put both hands on your hips, and try to make your shoulder blades touch." I complied with his request. He then sang to the tune of "I'm a little Teapot", but changed the lyrics.
It went something like:

I'm a little bimbo, tall and stout.
Give me lots of money and take me out.
When I get all steamed up, I don't put out.
I slam the door and say "Get the heck out!"

I can't remember exactly, but it was funny! Then the whole Pub sang Happy Birthday to me. It was a fun night!

The next night, Tyson gave me one of the best birthday presents EVER. Jess and I dressed up fancy for a phenomenal trip to Mandalay Bay Theater to see the Broadway show:



If you know me, then you know that I bawled during the opening scene. This Disney show is what originally inspired me to go to Africa; going to Africa was one of the best things I've ever done. It was a marvelous gift to be able to see this show because it took me straight back to Africa. It was spectacular. The costumes, scenery and performers took my breath away. If you ever have the opportunity to see this onstage, do it.

Indeed, I had a very Happy Birthday!

Work Update

Work is getting better, I haven't had any more meltdowns.

I'm feeling more comfortable, which is good. They tell you to give yourself a year before you feel really confident.

So I'll give myself a year.

I'm still scared, but hope that with more time I'll gain more experience so that I can be proactive, and not freak out.

Thanks to all for prayers and good thoughts on my behalf.

Love you!

Baptized by Hellfire

I did exactly what I didn't want to do.

I had a meltdown.

AT WORK.

(Luckily it wasn't in front of the patient)

It was a very chaotic day- and I didn't have one specific nurse staying with me and "orienting" me. A few different nurses would pop in occasionally and check on me to see if I was still alive. And I was doing ok, up until the point where the baby tanked.
(Ok, the baby hadn't tanked completely, I'd seen babies do this before, but this was my first time alone.)

The solution was real simple, just a bit of ephedrine but as another random nurse and I walked in to give it- I stopped and told her I needed a moment.

That moment lasted an hour and a half.

I have to be sincere and thank my Heavenly Father for all my wonderful co-workers.

They reassured me that clinically speaking, I'd done everything right.

That me freaking out right now, was a good sign-because I'm sensible enough to be scared spitless.

That this is normal. It might have been my first freak out, but it won't be my last.

It is the scariest thing in the world knowing you have not one, but TWO lives in your care. And that really hit home that day.

Scared. Me. To. Death.

Fight or flight instincts really kicked in, and I fled.

So I told myself- NO MORE. It's time to step up, take care of my patients, and do my job.

I'll keep you posted.

Just a "Little Black Raincloud"

It's my second week orienting at work.

(What this means is I've spent 5 days following an experienced nurse, while I pretend to be a real nurse.)

I am not just a little black raincloud, I am THE little black raincloud.

In a way this is good-I've seen some things that the other nurses have only seen once or twice in their 20 year career.

In another way, I feel somewhat inadequate. I realize that I still have LOADS to learn, but will I ever feel completely comfortable doing my job?

For example: I swear I have not had a single epidural run completely fine. Either Mom's blood pressure's drop to the toilet, or the baby freaks out and the heart rate drops. Not a fun place to be in either situation. (Plus side: I've learned the appropriate interventions and how to handle these situations-Thank the heavens for Ephedrine!)

Today, the epidural actually started running the opposite way. So, "mom" started getting shortness of breath and coughing because her respiratory system was getting numbed. Don't worry, we fixed it. Or rather, my battle-scarred nurse did. If some of the things we saw and experienced as nurses actually left physical proof I imagine the scene would play out something like this:

The hospital's halls were brightly lit with fluorescent lighting. Things on the Labor and Delivery unit had been quiet that day...too quiet. I had my hair pulled back, watch on, and stethoscope at the ready. Looking back, I didn't understand the meaning of the word ready.

"Pssst, hey kid," a nurse beckoned to me from behind a computer, "Come here a second." She had frizzy gray hair, and a long line of scars adorned her arms. Cautiously, I wound my way behind the desk and sat down next to her. She pointed to a long, bulging keloid scar on her forearm. "See this? This was from a placental abruption in '92." She then rolled up her pant leg and on her ankle was an angry red wound. I counted the stitches, and couldn't believe that it only took 10, it looked bad enough to contain at least 15. "And this," she continued, "this was from a cord prolapse as they wheeled me and the patient in for the emergency c-section."

Yeah. That's pretty much how I picture it. And today, that last bit about the prolapse actually happened today. And this was pretty much how I reacted:




Not my best moment.

One of my personal goals as nurse is to be one of the people that my co-workers say "I'm so glad she was there."

Not: "And Maria was on that night, you know how that goes."

And that probably wouldn't have happened.

To be fair, my veteran nurse said this was the second time she's seen a prolapsed cord in her 20+ year career. So I'll cut myself some slack.

But I seriously feel like a little black raincloud sometimes.

On " The glass is half full" side of things, I'm so glad all of this has happened when I've been with an experienced nurse, and not on my own. And all of this has been such a wonderful learning experience. For that, I really am grateful.

But it would be alright with me if the little black raincloud went away for a few days!