Right now, I'm sitting on the second floor of my uncle and aunt's lake house on Michigan's Indian Lake watching my hot husband reel in a fish from the dock to a backdrop of beautiful blue water, a striped pink, gray and blue sky. I'm sun-kissed after sailing today with Ben. I can hear my mom laughing with my grandparents on the back porch. I see my aunt watering the flowers with my cousin. My child is asleep in his crib. It's the 3rd of July and people are already starting to shoot fireworks before it's dark in anticipation of celebrating our freedom tomorrow. I can almost hear Ray Charles sing "America, the Beautiful" just like it was played in "The Sandlot" while Benny, Squints and the boys were wrapping up their day playing ball.
Oh my gosh. Life is picture perfect today.
I grew up during the summers on this lake. The house used to be my grandparents summer home on my mom's side. Thank goodness we still have them around but now it's my uncle and aunt's lake house. I can't even express how thankful I am that the entire family is still wanted and welcome to come visit during the summer.
This place is my little corner of peace and serenity in this world. It's where I can think the clearest, talk to Jesus real honest, and smile the purest. It's comfort and beauty soften my heart a little. It's gotta look a touch like Heaven.
So today, I thank Him for my family, His beauty, and this little slice of Heaven that I'm experiencing on Earth. With all my heart, I hope you have your own Indian Lake.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Just rest and enjoy the ride
I know I've talked a lot about Grant's impending first birthday lately but it's just a really big milestone for me. We did have his birthday party this last weekend. It went off without a hitch. Minus the 109 degree weather during the party...that was outside. However, our huge pecan trees provided some much needed shade and the sprinkler kept the kids cool. And the cake...I know I'm biased, but I'm pretty sure that was the best devouring of cake I have ever seen at a first birthday party. Not only did he EAT half the cake, he also stuck his feet in it, wiped icing on Daddy's shirt, and looked comatose from the sugar binge after he finished. Seriously...this kid had never even had juice before. Talk about a shock for the tastebuds.
A year ago, I could only dream about getting to this point.
Pregnancy was a long, tough road for me. Physically, emotionally, spiritually...exhausting.
I've had type I diabetes since I was eight years old. Not the kind you get because you're older, or overweight, or have a family history of it. Type I diabetes is an autoimmune disorder...like rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or chrons disease. My own immune system got a little confused and attacked the beta cells in my pancreas. Beta cells are what make insulin. Therefore, my body no longer makes it. The good guys are dead. I have to give myself insulin. I wear an insulin pump, but up until I got that in 2000, I was giving myself insulin injections about eight times a day. A big misnomer is that a diabetic can't eat sugar. That's not the case. I just have to count ALL of the carbohydrates I eat. So there's a little lesson on diabetes.
Back until the late 1970s and early 1980s, diabetic women were encouraged to not even get pregnant. The baby may have spina bifida, a heart defect, or at least be really big and a c-section would be the only delivery option. I want to say that the specialist in saw in Fort Worth told me that almost half of the babies who were carried to full term to diabetic moms were stillborn. That's a sobering statistic.
Good news is that medical advancements have been made and we've come a long way from those statistics. Those possibilities are all still very real, but not as common because the opportunities to monitor blood sugars and fetal development are so much better. God is good. Now, a type I diabetic mom can have a healthy child...but there's A LOT of work she has to put into it to make it happen.
So, back in October of 2009, I took a pregnancy test one morning at 4 a.m. and it was positive. Naturally, we are overjoyed that we would soon be parents to a precious little boy or girl. We told our family and closest friends so they could be excited alongside us. But as I smiled ear to ear as we shared the good news, my heart was so overwhelmed.
Oh my gosh...my blood sugars have to be PERFECT. (And here's another medical lesson for you: blood sugar management is an art, not a science. Just because I input the right amount of carbs into my pump doesn't mean that a piece of wheat bread with 12g of carbs is going to be digested the same as 12g of carbs in grapes. Or that when I exercise for 30 minutes on Monday morning that it'll lower by blood sugar the same amount on Tuesday morning. Or that my body will produce the same amount of hormones on Wednesday afternoon as it will on Thursday.) All I could think was...I can't screw up.
IT WAS OVERWHELMING. Doctors appointments weekly, diabetes educators weekly, sonograms weekly, working on a mother/baby unit, studying maternal/child health in nursing school, parents asking how my blood sugars were, doctors asking how my blood sugars were, AAAAHHHHH!!!! And still with all of that, I was my harshest critic. Meagan...YOU HAVE TO BE PERFECT.
It's one thing to want to study hard to make good grades. But take that same concept and apply it to the health and wellbeing of your unborn child and the potential downfall of your kidneys? IT'S EXHAUSTING.
As I'm walking around, cool, calm, confident, and collected on the outside, my stomach was in knots, my heart was racing, and my brain kept saying...Meagan, don't screw up. This is on you. Grant's health...yeah, God is "in control," but this is on you.
One morning, being particularly tired, nauseous, and feeling fat, I was walking in our neighborhood. Walking is a release to me. It's when I think and pray and rejuvenate. I was on my favorite stretch of the walk under the tree-covered canopy over Berkeley. I was focusing on the uneven sidewalk under my feet, hoping to not fall and break an ankle. As I look up, I picture someone walking about 20 feet ahead of me. Don't really remember what he looks like. I just remember what he said. No, it wasn't audible. But it was spoken right to my heart.
"Meagan...look up. I've already walked the path ahead of you. I know where you're going. I created the path you're on. Just rest and enjoy the ride."
Yes, that mirrors a few Bible verses I've heard over and over and over. But on that morning, something clicked. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much or little I screw up, the Lord is still in control. I can't be perfect. Never have been. Never will be. I guess if I was perfect, I wouldn't need a Savior, huh? For the first time in my life, I felt like I had to hand over EVERYTHING to the Lord. I HAD NO CONTROL. No matter if I had my kidneys at the end of my pregnancy or if my child was born with a hole in his spinal cord...He has prepared the path before me, set my feet on it, knew every crack and stone on the uneven path, and wanted me to let go, let God, and enjoy the ride.
Of course, I still checked my blood sugar, exercised, took my insulin, and counted my carbs. God wasn't telling me to be lazy and stupid. He was telling me to rest and trust. I'm not going to lie and say that from that point on, I never worried or got anxious...because I did. It was and still is a daily battle I fight. But most nights when I would lay down, I wouldn't stay up and let my mind race over the "what-ifs" and "then-what's." There was a peace I would fall asleep with as I thanked the Lord for getting me through the day and trusted that His plans were intentional and good.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight." - Proverbs 3:5-6
And oh how we praise Him for the sweet, perfect, healthy child He gave us!
A year ago, I could only dream about getting to this point.
Pregnancy was a long, tough road for me. Physically, emotionally, spiritually...exhausting.
I've had type I diabetes since I was eight years old. Not the kind you get because you're older, or overweight, or have a family history of it. Type I diabetes is an autoimmune disorder...like rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or chrons disease. My own immune system got a little confused and attacked the beta cells in my pancreas. Beta cells are what make insulin. Therefore, my body no longer makes it. The good guys are dead. I have to give myself insulin. I wear an insulin pump, but up until I got that in 2000, I was giving myself insulin injections about eight times a day. A big misnomer is that a diabetic can't eat sugar. That's not the case. I just have to count ALL of the carbohydrates I eat. So there's a little lesson on diabetes.
Back until the late 1970s and early 1980s, diabetic women were encouraged to not even get pregnant. The baby may have spina bifida, a heart defect, or at least be really big and a c-section would be the only delivery option. I want to say that the specialist in saw in Fort Worth told me that almost half of the babies who were carried to full term to diabetic moms were stillborn. That's a sobering statistic.
Good news is that medical advancements have been made and we've come a long way from those statistics. Those possibilities are all still very real, but not as common because the opportunities to monitor blood sugars and fetal development are so much better. God is good. Now, a type I diabetic mom can have a healthy child...but there's A LOT of work she has to put into it to make it happen.
So, back in October of 2009, I took a pregnancy test one morning at 4 a.m. and it was positive. Naturally, we are overjoyed that we would soon be parents to a precious little boy or girl. We told our family and closest friends so they could be excited alongside us. But as I smiled ear to ear as we shared the good news, my heart was so overwhelmed.
Oh my gosh...my blood sugars have to be PERFECT. (And here's another medical lesson for you: blood sugar management is an art, not a science. Just because I input the right amount of carbs into my pump doesn't mean that a piece of wheat bread with 12g of carbs is going to be digested the same as 12g of carbs in grapes. Or that when I exercise for 30 minutes on Monday morning that it'll lower by blood sugar the same amount on Tuesday morning. Or that my body will produce the same amount of hormones on Wednesday afternoon as it will on Thursday.) All I could think was...I can't screw up.
IT WAS OVERWHELMING. Doctors appointments weekly, diabetes educators weekly, sonograms weekly, working on a mother/baby unit, studying maternal/child health in nursing school, parents asking how my blood sugars were, doctors asking how my blood sugars were, AAAAHHHHH!!!! And still with all of that, I was my harshest critic. Meagan...YOU HAVE TO BE PERFECT.
It's one thing to want to study hard to make good grades. But take that same concept and apply it to the health and wellbeing of your unborn child and the potential downfall of your kidneys? IT'S EXHAUSTING.
As I'm walking around, cool, calm, confident, and collected on the outside, my stomach was in knots, my heart was racing, and my brain kept saying...Meagan, don't screw up. This is on you. Grant's health...yeah, God is "in control," but this is on you.
One morning, being particularly tired, nauseous, and feeling fat, I was walking in our neighborhood. Walking is a release to me. It's when I think and pray and rejuvenate. I was on my favorite stretch of the walk under the tree-covered canopy over Berkeley. I was focusing on the uneven sidewalk under my feet, hoping to not fall and break an ankle. As I look up, I picture someone walking about 20 feet ahead of me. Don't really remember what he looks like. I just remember what he said. No, it wasn't audible. But it was spoken right to my heart.
"Meagan...look up. I've already walked the path ahead of you. I know where you're going. I created the path you're on. Just rest and enjoy the ride."
Yes, that mirrors a few Bible verses I've heard over and over and over. But on that morning, something clicked. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much or little I screw up, the Lord is still in control. I can't be perfect. Never have been. Never will be. I guess if I was perfect, I wouldn't need a Savior, huh? For the first time in my life, I felt like I had to hand over EVERYTHING to the Lord. I HAD NO CONTROL. No matter if I had my kidneys at the end of my pregnancy or if my child was born with a hole in his spinal cord...He has prepared the path before me, set my feet on it, knew every crack and stone on the uneven path, and wanted me to let go, let God, and enjoy the ride.
Of course, I still checked my blood sugar, exercised, took my insulin, and counted my carbs. God wasn't telling me to be lazy and stupid. He was telling me to rest and trust. I'm not going to lie and say that from that point on, I never worried or got anxious...because I did. It was and still is a daily battle I fight. But most nights when I would lay down, I wouldn't stay up and let my mind race over the "what-ifs" and "then-what's." There was a peace I would fall asleep with as I thanked the Lord for getting me through the day and trusted that His plans were intentional and good.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight." - Proverbs 3:5-6
And oh how we praise Him for the sweet, perfect, healthy child He gave us!
Monday, June 13, 2011
My poor girls...for women only :)
Grant will be one in a little less than two weeks. Oh...how time flies. I ordered his cake, bought some plates and napkins, a pinata...pretty sure he could care less but I'm learning that the first birthday party is really for me. Not so I can get presents and have everyone sing to me...but for me to feel like a mom who is providing a fun day full of laughter and cake for my kiddo. I know he knows I love him. The birthday party is just icing on the cake. The cake of which will probably be disgustingly and oh-so-adorably devoured at his party.
So, with his one year birthday approaching, do you know what that means? It means BREASTFEEDING IS ALMOST COMPLETE!!! I have LOVED the bonding moments with my child that come with breastfeeding. I have LOVED knowing that he has gotten the best nutritional start to life that he could possibly get. I have LOVED knowing that my body is providing his nourishment. HOWEVER...let me tell you why my nips will sing praises when this breastfeeding stint will be completed.
I should have known that I was going to have troubles with my nips or "the girls"...as we shall lovingly call them. Life for them had been completely normal until a funny thing happened when I was about 24 weeks pregnant. And then, life as they knew it changed.
One night, I was getting ready for bed in our bathroom. I took out my contacts, put them in their holder, put on my glasses (which is a MUST because I am as blind as a bat), and proceeded to shut my glasses case. DIRECTLY ONTO MY RIGHT NIP. I screamed loudly, pulled off the case, laughed so hard I wet my pants because I was A. in shock B. completely embarrassed C. feeding off of Ben's laughter and D. no longer had great control of my bladder since there was a small child using it as his trampoline.
Now here's where it turns from funny to a little scary for a second. After I finally regained my composure, I realized that my heart has jumped out of rhythm from my immense laughter (not that uncommon during pregnancy) and is beating at about 215 beats a minute. My nursing knowledge kicked in. I did the valsalva maneuver (where you hold your breath and bear down) and it kicked my heart back into normal rhythm. Problem solved. However, I did feel the need to let my OB/GYN know that my heart was acting weird. Talk about an odd conversation.
At 10:45 p.m.: "Yes, I need to have Dr. Lamar paged....Hi, Dr. Lamar. Sorry I'm calling so late. Ummm...we had an incident...ummm...end result was that my heart went into SVT."
Later that week, I did tell him the whole story at my next appointment. I believe it was the talk of the office for a while. As he was laughing while I was telling the story, he said, "I figured it was either something funny or something sexual." Welp, let me tell ya, it was about as far from sexual as you can get.
So there was the start of the rough road my nips began.
Since then, they have lived through the initial shock of breastfeeding. It's like taking the hose of a vacuum and attaching it to your girls. Eight to 12 times a day. Day and night. Then 5 different episodes of thrush. If you don't know what it is...look it up. All I can imagine comparing it to is having your nips look like red hot tamales, clamped down into a vice, and twisted. Then I accidentally burned the right one (poor girl...she's always getting beat up) with my flat iron as I was straightening my hair in my robe. Who even knows how that happened. Then Grant got teeth at 6 months. I called him my little piranha. For a while, it looked like a small hand grenade went off inside my bra. One time he bit me so hard (left side this time) that he drew blood. A lot of blood.
Then, smooth sailing for a few months until Memorial Day weekend. Grant fell on his face in the kitchen and chipped his two front teeth. Naturally, it was on Friday afternoon. The dentist was closed until Tuesday because it was a holiday weekend...so we (myself and the girls) had 3 1/2 days of breastfeeding a child who had razors for teeth. I would have pumped, but I just don't have the best pump and I feared my milk would dry up.
So, do you see why my nips will sing a song a freedom and redemption when Grant is weaned in a couple of weeks? They've been through a lot. They're tough gals. They've earned a break.
P.S. I really contemplated whether or not I should blog about my girls since it is somewhat of a sensitive (no pun intended) subject. Then I decided to put myself out there. A little humor to all you moms currently breastfeeding or have done it or are getting ready to do it...I'm proud of you. It's a sacrifice but oh-so-worth it.
So, with his one year birthday approaching, do you know what that means? It means BREASTFEEDING IS ALMOST COMPLETE!!! I have LOVED the bonding moments with my child that come with breastfeeding. I have LOVED knowing that he has gotten the best nutritional start to life that he could possibly get. I have LOVED knowing that my body is providing his nourishment. HOWEVER...let me tell you why my nips will sing praises when this breastfeeding stint will be completed.
I should have known that I was going to have troubles with my nips or "the girls"...as we shall lovingly call them. Life for them had been completely normal until a funny thing happened when I was about 24 weeks pregnant. And then, life as they knew it changed.
One night, I was getting ready for bed in our bathroom. I took out my contacts, put them in their holder, put on my glasses (which is a MUST because I am as blind as a bat), and proceeded to shut my glasses case. DIRECTLY ONTO MY RIGHT NIP. I screamed loudly, pulled off the case, laughed so hard I wet my pants because I was A. in shock B. completely embarrassed C. feeding off of Ben's laughter and D. no longer had great control of my bladder since there was a small child using it as his trampoline.
Now here's where it turns from funny to a little scary for a second. After I finally regained my composure, I realized that my heart has jumped out of rhythm from my immense laughter (not that uncommon during pregnancy) and is beating at about 215 beats a minute. My nursing knowledge kicked in. I did the valsalva maneuver (where you hold your breath and bear down) and it kicked my heart back into normal rhythm. Problem solved. However, I did feel the need to let my OB/GYN know that my heart was acting weird. Talk about an odd conversation.
At 10:45 p.m.: "Yes, I need to have Dr. Lamar paged....Hi, Dr. Lamar. Sorry I'm calling so late. Ummm...we had an incident...ummm...end result was that my heart went into SVT."
Later that week, I did tell him the whole story at my next appointment. I believe it was the talk of the office for a while. As he was laughing while I was telling the story, he said, "I figured it was either something funny or something sexual." Welp, let me tell ya, it was about as far from sexual as you can get.
So there was the start of the rough road my nips began.
Since then, they have lived through the initial shock of breastfeeding. It's like taking the hose of a vacuum and attaching it to your girls. Eight to 12 times a day. Day and night. Then 5 different episodes of thrush. If you don't know what it is...look it up. All I can imagine comparing it to is having your nips look like red hot tamales, clamped down into a vice, and twisted. Then I accidentally burned the right one (poor girl...she's always getting beat up) with my flat iron as I was straightening my hair in my robe. Who even knows how that happened. Then Grant got teeth at 6 months. I called him my little piranha. For a while, it looked like a small hand grenade went off inside my bra. One time he bit me so hard (left side this time) that he drew blood. A lot of blood.
Then, smooth sailing for a few months until Memorial Day weekend. Grant fell on his face in the kitchen and chipped his two front teeth. Naturally, it was on Friday afternoon. The dentist was closed until Tuesday because it was a holiday weekend...so we (myself and the girls) had 3 1/2 days of breastfeeding a child who had razors for teeth. I would have pumped, but I just don't have the best pump and I feared my milk would dry up.
So, do you see why my nips will sing a song a freedom and redemption when Grant is weaned in a couple of weeks? They've been through a lot. They're tough gals. They've earned a break.
P.S. I really contemplated whether or not I should blog about my girls since it is somewhat of a sensitive (no pun intended) subject. Then I decided to put myself out there. A little humor to all you moms currently breastfeeding or have done it or are getting ready to do it...I'm proud of you. It's a sacrifice but oh-so-worth it.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
You've come a long way, baby...
One year ago today, I was one month shy of giving birth. Thus, today marks Grant's 11 month birthday. (You didn't know you were going to have to do a little math this morning, did you?) As I was in the shower washing my hair with my favorite shampoo (Organix Teetree Mint, for those of you who are curious), I looked back on the last 11 months. The phrase that kept coming to mind was...
"You've come a long way, baby."
Last May 24th, I was over eight months pregnant. Ankles reminiscent of an 80-year-old woman in heart failure. I was three weeks shy of taking the NCLEX-RN exam which I had to pass in order to become a licensed RN in the state of Texas. I still had eight hours of defensive driving to complete before I became a mom and I didn't have time for it. Just to name a few things on my "to-do" list a year ago.
Since then, I have:
A. Given birth to the most beautiful, precious child God created for me to care for
B. Taken and passed state boards
C. Pulled numerous "all-nighters" because I work nights (even during the college years...I NEVER stayed up all night)
D. Breastfed a child through thrush and eight teeth for the entire 11 months (and counting down to a year)
E. Made it through our most difficult year of marriage (that statement should start with WE have)...to those of you who think the first year of marriage is the hardest like I did...wait until you have kids...
F. Learned a new level of love and respect for my husband
G. Attempted to learn to shut my mouth more often when what I want to say doesn't need to be said
H. Gone from being a natural blonde to a natural brunette (it's the hormones, I tell ya)
I. Been reminded that my girlfriends are life-savers and really are the sisters I never had
J. Watched Ben try his first murder trial
K. Gain a truer understanding of the meaning behind Mother's Day and deeper appreciation of my mom
L. Grasped a deeper knowledge of the unconditional love the Father has for me
M. Completed my defensive driving
N. And after this past weekend...primed, painted, and trimmed out an entire brick house (with the help of our INCREDIBLE family).
I'm stopping with N because I hear a kid crying who just woke up from a nap. Ooh...I think we went back to sleep.
It's been a tough, challenging, and rewarding 11 months. Would I want to re-live it? Nope. Do I cherish every moment of it? Yep. If I close my eyes and just relax, I can picture me and Jesus walking down the sidewalk, pushing Grant's stroller. He's got his arm around my shoulders and He leans over, chuckles, and says...
"You've come a long way, baby."
"You've come a long way, baby."
Last May 24th, I was over eight months pregnant. Ankles reminiscent of an 80-year-old woman in heart failure. I was three weeks shy of taking the NCLEX-RN exam which I had to pass in order to become a licensed RN in the state of Texas. I still had eight hours of defensive driving to complete before I became a mom and I didn't have time for it. Just to name a few things on my "to-do" list a year ago.
Since then, I have:
A. Given birth to the most beautiful, precious child God created for me to care for
B. Taken and passed state boards
C. Pulled numerous "all-nighters" because I work nights (even during the college years...I NEVER stayed up all night)
D. Breastfed a child through thrush and eight teeth for the entire 11 months (and counting down to a year)
E. Made it through our most difficult year of marriage (that statement should start with WE have)...to those of you who think the first year of marriage is the hardest like I did...wait until you have kids...
F. Learned a new level of love and respect for my husband
G. Attempted to learn to shut my mouth more often when what I want to say doesn't need to be said
H. Gone from being a natural blonde to a natural brunette (it's the hormones, I tell ya)
I. Been reminded that my girlfriends are life-savers and really are the sisters I never had
J. Watched Ben try his first murder trial
K. Gain a truer understanding of the meaning behind Mother's Day and deeper appreciation of my mom
L. Grasped a deeper knowledge of the unconditional love the Father has for me
M. Completed my defensive driving
N. And after this past weekend...primed, painted, and trimmed out an entire brick house (with the help of our INCREDIBLE family).
I'm stopping with N because I hear a kid crying who just woke up from a nap. Ooh...I think we went back to sleep.
It's been a tough, challenging, and rewarding 11 months. Would I want to re-live it? Nope. Do I cherish every moment of it? Yep. If I close my eyes and just relax, I can picture me and Jesus walking down the sidewalk, pushing Grant's stroller. He's got his arm around my shoulders and He leans over, chuckles, and says...
"You've come a long way, baby."
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Tales from the Maternity Ward
Last night at work, we got to laughing at about 4 a.m. via my expense. For starters, everything is funny at 4 a.m. However, I also tend to have a tendency to say funny things to patients at 4 a.m....when I'm not always thinking straight.
A few months ago, I took care of a patient after her hysterectomy. I had spent quite a bit of time with her throughout the shift...doing her assessment, managing her pain, teaching her how to straight catheterize herself. As the shift was about to end, I went into her room to tell her she would be getting a new nurse for the day and told her what she could expect in the next twelve hours.
As I was leaving her room, she said, "Happy Thanksgiving!" (because we were a few days from Thanksgiving).
Without missing a beat...or obviously thinking...I replied..."You too! Enjoy being uterus free!"
Really. Who says that. Enjoy being uterus free. I meant it. I'm not a fan of Aunt Flo. But what was I thinking.
Another funny story that frequently is told at my expense. It was my first week as a PCA (basically, a nurse's aid) on the Mother/Baby Unit. I had just left my job as a fundraiser with Children's Miracle Network where I planned events, corralled volunteers, and asked people for money and stepped into the world of blood pressure, catheters, and c-sections.
One of the RNs working that day said, "Meagan, would you mind getting so-and-so (name not included to prevent identification of a patient...and for me to keep my job :) into the shower?"
"Absolutely! I'd love to!" I said. Oh, was I eager to learn and help. It's the over-achiever in me.
I be-bopped down to the patient's room, helped her out of the bed since she had recently delivered via c-section, got her into the shower, and proceeded to wash her. It was my first experience ever scrubbing the back of a healthy adult whom I was not married to. She looked up at me and said, "This is nice. No one has ever bathed me before. Not even after my last baby."
"Oh my gosh," I thought. "All they wanted was for me to help her INTO the shower. Not BATHE her."
"I'm glad I can help," I told the patient with a smile on my face...trying to hide the fact that I was utterly humiliated and felt completely awkward.
After her scrub-down was complete, I step out of the bathroom...scrubs dripping wet, hair transformed from straight to curly via steam, and completely embarrassed...walk down the hall to where all of the nurses I was working with (and whom I had only met a few days ago) were sitting, and proceeded to tell them about my "shower."
Oh, how they laughed. And it was obviously a noteworthy story...because it's still told on a regular basis.
So, while I'm very proud of the job I do as a nurse and know that I give the best care I can to my patients, let me tell ya...I guess I'm a little bit of a goober when I do it. All I can hope is that I have a patient out there who is enjoying being "uterus-free" and one who equates her last c-section with a day at the spa.
A few months ago, I took care of a patient after her hysterectomy. I had spent quite a bit of time with her throughout the shift...doing her assessment, managing her pain, teaching her how to straight catheterize herself. As the shift was about to end, I went into her room to tell her she would be getting a new nurse for the day and told her what she could expect in the next twelve hours.
As I was leaving her room, she said, "Happy Thanksgiving!" (because we were a few days from Thanksgiving).
Without missing a beat...or obviously thinking...I replied..."You too! Enjoy being uterus free!"
Really. Who says that. Enjoy being uterus free. I meant it. I'm not a fan of Aunt Flo. But what was I thinking.
Another funny story that frequently is told at my expense. It was my first week as a PCA (basically, a nurse's aid) on the Mother/Baby Unit. I had just left my job as a fundraiser with Children's Miracle Network where I planned events, corralled volunteers, and asked people for money and stepped into the world of blood pressure, catheters, and c-sections.
One of the RNs working that day said, "Meagan, would you mind getting so-and-so (name not included to prevent identification of a patient...and for me to keep my job :) into the shower?"
"Absolutely! I'd love to!" I said. Oh, was I eager to learn and help. It's the over-achiever in me.
I be-bopped down to the patient's room, helped her out of the bed since she had recently delivered via c-section, got her into the shower, and proceeded to wash her. It was my first experience ever scrubbing the back of a healthy adult whom I was not married to. She looked up at me and said, "This is nice. No one has ever bathed me before. Not even after my last baby."
"Oh my gosh," I thought. "All they wanted was for me to help her INTO the shower. Not BATHE her."
"I'm glad I can help," I told the patient with a smile on my face...trying to hide the fact that I was utterly humiliated and felt completely awkward.
After her scrub-down was complete, I step out of the bathroom...scrubs dripping wet, hair transformed from straight to curly via steam, and completely embarrassed...walk down the hall to where all of the nurses I was working with (and whom I had only met a few days ago) were sitting, and proceeded to tell them about my "shower."
Oh, how they laughed. And it was obviously a noteworthy story...because it's still told on a regular basis.
So, while I'm very proud of the job I do as a nurse and know that I give the best care I can to my patients, let me tell ya...I guess I'm a little bit of a goober when I do it. All I can hope is that I have a patient out there who is enjoying being "uterus-free" and one who equates her last c-section with a day at the spa.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Patience is not my virtue
Back in the good ol' Texas Tech days, I was a student mentor to about 20 different athletes. I helped them with their homework, their time management, study skills, and as we got to know each other better, we also talked about relationships, family, and some pretty deep issues. I loved the job. And as most colleges invest in their athletes, so did Tech. The students had to take a "Life Skills" course where they learned about how they can better function as both a person and an athlete. In it, everyone was asked to fill out a 150+ questionnaire online through a program called "Strengthsquest." At the end of the test, you were given your top five "strengths" that layed out the framework of the way you "ticked" and encouraged you to use those strengths in your daily life. All of my athletes took their quizzes and as mentors, we were asked to take them, too. My top five strengths were:
1. Achiever - pushed yourself to the limit, could also become discontent easily
2. Relator - met people where they were at
3. Beliefs - strong core values/ethics
4. Can't remember exactly what it was called, but basically found potential in people and encouraged them to reach it
5. Competitor - have a strong will to win
No where on that list...much less in my top five...was the word "Patient." Because I suck at being patient.
I've been smacked on the side of the head relentlessly with this issue lately. I was in the process of transferring departments at the hospital I work at from Mother/Baby to Critical Care and from nights to days. I found out last week that due to me taking maternity leave during my RN orientation period, I had to wait to transfer until the beginning of October...if a job is available at that time. Totally understandable...but the lesson was Be Patient. I really want to finish losing my baby weight but my thyroid has been messed up off and on for the last 7 months and it makes losing the weight hard. Be Patient. I have salivated over the front-load washer and dryers since they first came out and wanted them with a pedestal in a really cool color. Our 25-year-old dryer decided to die this morning and well, we can't really fit a cool new pedestal dryer into the budget. Be Patient. Mother's Day morning, all I wanted was to sit down and eat a fabulous buffet and have a mimosa at Blue Mesa in Fort Worth with my family. Naturally, my child who ALWAYS acts perfect in public throws the biggest, longest fit I've ever seen him throw as we are about to be seated after waiting for 45 minutes. I go to the car, try to nurse him, rock him, console him...finally, after 30 minutes, he falls asleep in the Baby Bjorn carrier which makes it extremely difficult to thoroughly enjoy my meal. Even for something so small as eating my stupid brunch...Be Patient.
My mom always says that if there's someone in our life that we have a hard time getting along with, you can pretty much bet on the fact that God will bring someone else in our life just like them until we learn how to deal with them. I guess that probably goes for lessons like learning patience, too.
This isn't a fluffy, life-is-perfect-and-I've-learned-my-lesson post. Where yes, I completely know and believe that I am unbelievably blessed, patience is not my virtue quite yet. I have openly acknowledging that it's a really tough concept for me, so I guess I won that battle... but I have this gut feeling that the war isn't over yet.
"A patient man has great understanding, but a quick-tempered man displays folly." - Proverbs 14:29
1. Achiever - pushed yourself to the limit, could also become discontent easily
2. Relator - met people where they were at
3. Beliefs - strong core values/ethics
4. Can't remember exactly what it was called, but basically found potential in people and encouraged them to reach it
5. Competitor - have a strong will to win
No where on that list...much less in my top five...was the word "Patient." Because I suck at being patient.
I've been smacked on the side of the head relentlessly with this issue lately. I was in the process of transferring departments at the hospital I work at from Mother/Baby to Critical Care and from nights to days. I found out last week that due to me taking maternity leave during my RN orientation period, I had to wait to transfer until the beginning of October...if a job is available at that time. Totally understandable...but the lesson was Be Patient. I really want to finish losing my baby weight but my thyroid has been messed up off and on for the last 7 months and it makes losing the weight hard. Be Patient. I have salivated over the front-load washer and dryers since they first came out and wanted them with a pedestal in a really cool color. Our 25-year-old dryer decided to die this morning and well, we can't really fit a cool new pedestal dryer into the budget. Be Patient. Mother's Day morning, all I wanted was to sit down and eat a fabulous buffet and have a mimosa at Blue Mesa in Fort Worth with my family. Naturally, my child who ALWAYS acts perfect in public throws the biggest, longest fit I've ever seen him throw as we are about to be seated after waiting for 45 minutes. I go to the car, try to nurse him, rock him, console him...finally, after 30 minutes, he falls asleep in the Baby Bjorn carrier which makes it extremely difficult to thoroughly enjoy my meal. Even for something so small as eating my stupid brunch...Be Patient.
My mom always says that if there's someone in our life that we have a hard time getting along with, you can pretty much bet on the fact that God will bring someone else in our life just like them until we learn how to deal with them. I guess that probably goes for lessons like learning patience, too.
This isn't a fluffy, life-is-perfect-and-I've-learned-my-lesson post. Where yes, I completely know and believe that I am unbelievably blessed, patience is not my virtue quite yet. I have openly acknowledging that it's a really tough concept for me, so I guess I won that battle... but I have this gut feeling that the war isn't over yet.
"A patient man has great understanding, but a quick-tempered man displays folly." - Proverbs 14:29
Friday, April 29, 2011
A Royal Occasion
No, I didn't wake up at 4 a.m. to watch the royal wedding. But I would have if I didn't have to work all night tonight. So, as I was having a bowl of Cheerios with my distinguished guest, Sir Grant Edwin of Wichita, as we watched the blissful nuptials on our DVR.
I think I'm cut out to live the life of a princess or dutchess. In kindergarten, I refuse to wear anything but a dress. I know which fork to use for what course of a meal. I can speak proper English (unlike most Americans). And I intensely studied films such as the Sound of Music and The King and I...where royalty was involved. However, my Prince Ben isn't referred to as "His Royal Highness"...however, I'm sure he would probably prefer that title.
Watching the wedding, I LOVED everything about it. The dignity, the poise, the dress, the respectfulness, the honor, the class. Now, I'm not "hatin' on" our culture...but maybe I am just a little. Compare the wedding we all watched this morning to what the youth of America hold in such high regard. What comes to mind? Images of Lady Gaga in a meat dress making some sort of weird statement. Rihanna dancing on the Grammy's so inappropriately that I turned to another channel because I was so embarrassed. Girls walking around in pants so low you see 3 inches of their crack hanging out. Young women in wedding dresses so low cut that all anyone can focus on is their...ahem...overflowing bosom. Lyrics that are played on every pop radio station. Bruno Mars's "The Lazy Song" lyrics totally repulse me.
"Today I don't feel like doing anything. I just wanna lay in my bed. Don't feel like pickin' up my phone, so leave a message at the tone 'cause I swear I'm not doing anything, nothing at all, nothing at all. Tomorrow I'll wake up, do some P90X. Find a really nice girl, have some really nice sex. And she's gonna scream out 'this is great.' (Oh my God, this is great.)"
What a stark contrast to the image of William and Kate - a young man and woman who are responsible, can shake people's hands and look them in the eyes, don't give a disgustingly long, totally inappropriate make-out-mack-down-let's-go-get-a-room kiss, and don't act like total jerks "because they can."
So, not only did I love watching a fairytale wedding because a commoner named Catherine Middleton is now referred to as the Duchess of Cambridge...I loved it because it was full of class, grace, poise, honor, and dignity. Something I think a lot of our culture...and generation, for that matter...forgets is out there. You don't have do be actual royalty, have seven names, and wear a feathered hat to treat yourself with a little respect and dignity.
I think I'm cut out to live the life of a princess or dutchess. In kindergarten, I refuse to wear anything but a dress. I know which fork to use for what course of a meal. I can speak proper English (unlike most Americans). And I intensely studied films such as the Sound of Music and The King and I...where royalty was involved. However, my Prince Ben isn't referred to as "His Royal Highness"...however, I'm sure he would probably prefer that title.
Watching the wedding, I LOVED everything about it. The dignity, the poise, the dress, the respectfulness, the honor, the class. Now, I'm not "hatin' on" our culture...but maybe I am just a little. Compare the wedding we all watched this morning to what the youth of America hold in such high regard. What comes to mind? Images of Lady Gaga in a meat dress making some sort of weird statement. Rihanna dancing on the Grammy's so inappropriately that I turned to another channel because I was so embarrassed. Girls walking around in pants so low you see 3 inches of their crack hanging out. Young women in wedding dresses so low cut that all anyone can focus on is their...ahem...overflowing bosom. Lyrics that are played on every pop radio station. Bruno Mars's "The Lazy Song" lyrics totally repulse me.
"Today I don't feel like doing anything. I just wanna lay in my bed. Don't feel like pickin' up my phone, so leave a message at the tone 'cause I swear I'm not doing anything, nothing at all, nothing at all. Tomorrow I'll wake up, do some P90X. Find a really nice girl, have some really nice sex. And she's gonna scream out 'this is great.' (Oh my God, this is great.)"
What a stark contrast to the image of William and Kate - a young man and woman who are responsible, can shake people's hands and look them in the eyes, don't give a disgustingly long, totally inappropriate make-out-mack-down-let's-go-get-a-room kiss, and don't act like total jerks "because they can."
So, not only did I love watching a fairytale wedding because a commoner named Catherine Middleton is now referred to as the Duchess of Cambridge...I loved it because it was full of class, grace, poise, honor, and dignity. Something I think a lot of our culture...and generation, for that matter...forgets is out there. You don't have do be actual royalty, have seven names, and wear a feathered hat to treat yourself with a little respect and dignity.
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