You THINK you forgot?!? Are you wearing underwear or not??
NOPE!
November 20, 2013
Underwear
About 2 minutes before we were going to walk out the door to put Becca on the school bus, she announced, "Um, I think I forgot to put on underwear."
November 15, 2013
Journey through Nursing School: More than Passing Meds and Making Beds: Today a life was changed.
More than Passing Meds and Making Beds: Today a life was changed.
Yesterday, Mr. C received devastating news – a biopsy was taken from the lump on his chest and the doctors believe it to be lung cancer. Even worse – a scan revealed it has already spread. There were 4 spots on his brain.
Last night the calm, level headed, happy-go-lucky Mr. C changed. He transformed into an aggravated, combative, danger to himself. He pulled out his IV, put on his clothes and was bound and determined to leave the floor, go down the elevator, and get his car (which was actually parked about an hour away). He went on and on ranting and raving about needing to move his car. His only focus was to get out of this prison and take care of moving his vehicle. He hardly slept all night.
When I met Mr. C, he had calmed down a little. He was still insisting that he needed to leave because he had things he needing to get done. He still needed to move his car, he needed to make sure the lights were off but the porch light was on at his house. Although retired, he was a very busy man, had things to do, and needed to get out of here.
My first task to complete was to do an assessment. He was cooperative, but voiced concerned that he really wanted to take a shower and get cleaned up now. We struck up a deal that I would do my assessment quickly, and then he could get in the shower. Mr. C was very independent and steady on his feet. He showered, shaved and brushed his teeth while I tidied up the room. With a neatly made bed, a fresh gown, and all cleaned up, Mr. C had calmed down dramatically. He was clearly a bit stir crazy in the room, so we took a walk down the hall to have a cup of coffee.
We took a seat in the family lounge and enjoyed a cup of coffee. The conversation flowed easily as he told me about the 44 years he worked for the same company, his daughter who now lived on the east coast, and his passion of restoring old muscle cars. After about 45 minutes, we saw the breakfast trays being delivered, so we returned to his room.
As he finished his breakfast I knew the time had come to have a serious conversation about his health. Now was the point that I needed to ask the hard questions and help him face the devastating diagnosis that he had received. A voice inside me repeatedly shouted to just let him be, just continue the benign small talk, and don’t rock the boat. But I knew what needed to happen. No matter how messy or ugly it was, we had to face the truth. I did my best to seem calm and matter of fact, but I could feel my body shaking. I used my cover as a student nurse to shift the conversation to his health. I jokingly blamed my professors for making us complete so much paperwork, and told him I needed to ask a few questions so I could complete my assignment. It started easily enough, I asked about his health history. I could see the fear in his eyes as he started to tell me the story of when he first noticed the lump on his chest. My head was spinning trying to come up with just the right words. When I asked him if he remembered what the doctors told him, he lowered his head and paused for a moment. The silence felt like an eternity, when in reality it was only a few short seconds. He slowly raised his head and looked me right in the eyes. “Yes,” he began. “They think it is cancer and… and..” another pause, “It is in my brain too”. He clearly understood the seriousness of the situation. I was so afraid that I would say the wrong thing, that I would somehow make things worse. Before I could even form a complete thought in my head, I heard these words coming out of my own mouth, “That is a lot to take in.” I immediately started to beat myself up on the inside, I wanted to come up with just the right thing to say, and that is all I had? I was floored when a look of relief came over his face and he started to speak calmly and easily. He went on to explain that in the last 24 hours his world had been turned upside down, but he didn’t want to burden anyone with his worry. He admitted that he tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but he had no idea what he was going to do. He revealed that he knew moving his car didn’t really matter, but he felt he had lost control over everything else, so maybe he became focused on that so he didn’t have to face the diagnosis he had been given.
Over the next hour we spoke gently and frankly about where he would go from here. We talked about the difficulties of asking others for help, and that one of his greatest fears was that he would become a burden on others. We didn’t go into the specific treatment, that would have to be discussed with the oncology team. We did come to the conclusion that it was ok if things were ‘messy’. He admitted that he liked life to be neat, organized and have a sense that he was in control. He didn’t want to admit that he might not have it all figured out right now, but that it was ok to have hard conversations with loved ones, it was ok not to have all the answers, and it was ok to feel broken. His plan from here on out was just to be present in the moment and allow others in with him. He began to express a confidence that his feelings needed to shared, and he had trust in others to listen and support him. He acknowledged that everything from treatment to being open to help from others would be hard, but he was willing to try. He reminisced about how proud he felt when he has been able to lend a helping hand to others multiple times over the years and decided that maybe now was the time for others to have the ‘glory’ and be there for him. He laughed and admitted that he probably wouldn’t get it all right on the first try, but he would keep trying and trying and trying.
As my time with Mr. C was ending, he shook my hand and smiled. He thanked me over and over for being with him today. I wish I could say that I performed some amazing and dramatic action today, but all I know I really did was show up and be present. This kind man who had just received a shocking diagnosis was able to share his wisdom and self-discovery with me. Every fear and doubt I had about my own struggles in life were brought into a completely different light. He could acknowledge the fear, uncertainty, and emptiness and embrace the need to rely on others for help. I couldn’t find the words to express what a difference he had made to me today, I just found myself thanking him for allowing me to be a part of his morning.
Today, in room 803, there were no cutting edge procedures performed, no foley catheters inserted, no central line dressing changes, and not a single medication was administered. In fact, not one medical intervention occurred. Despite this seemly lack of action, a life was changed, mine.
Yesterday, Mr. C received devastating news – a biopsy was taken from the lump on his chest and the doctors believe it to be lung cancer. Even worse – a scan revealed it has already spread. There were 4 spots on his brain.
Last night the calm, level headed, happy-go-lucky Mr. C changed. He transformed into an aggravated, combative, danger to himself. He pulled out his IV, put on his clothes and was bound and determined to leave the floor, go down the elevator, and get his car (which was actually parked about an hour away). He went on and on ranting and raving about needing to move his car. His only focus was to get out of this prison and take care of moving his vehicle. He hardly slept all night.
When I met Mr. C, he had calmed down a little. He was still insisting that he needed to leave because he had things he needing to get done. He still needed to move his car, he needed to make sure the lights were off but the porch light was on at his house. Although retired, he was a very busy man, had things to do, and needed to get out of here.
My first task to complete was to do an assessment. He was cooperative, but voiced concerned that he really wanted to take a shower and get cleaned up now. We struck up a deal that I would do my assessment quickly, and then he could get in the shower. Mr. C was very independent and steady on his feet. He showered, shaved and brushed his teeth while I tidied up the room. With a neatly made bed, a fresh gown, and all cleaned up, Mr. C had calmed down dramatically. He was clearly a bit stir crazy in the room, so we took a walk down the hall to have a cup of coffee.
We took a seat in the family lounge and enjoyed a cup of coffee. The conversation flowed easily as he told me about the 44 years he worked for the same company, his daughter who now lived on the east coast, and his passion of restoring old muscle cars. After about 45 minutes, we saw the breakfast trays being delivered, so we returned to his room.
As he finished his breakfast I knew the time had come to have a serious conversation about his health. Now was the point that I needed to ask the hard questions and help him face the devastating diagnosis that he had received. A voice inside me repeatedly shouted to just let him be, just continue the benign small talk, and don’t rock the boat. But I knew what needed to happen. No matter how messy or ugly it was, we had to face the truth. I did my best to seem calm and matter of fact, but I could feel my body shaking. I used my cover as a student nurse to shift the conversation to his health. I jokingly blamed my professors for making us complete so much paperwork, and told him I needed to ask a few questions so I could complete my assignment. It started easily enough, I asked about his health history. I could see the fear in his eyes as he started to tell me the story of when he first noticed the lump on his chest. My head was spinning trying to come up with just the right words. When I asked him if he remembered what the doctors told him, he lowered his head and paused for a moment. The silence felt like an eternity, when in reality it was only a few short seconds. He slowly raised his head and looked me right in the eyes. “Yes,” he began. “They think it is cancer and… and..” another pause, “It is in my brain too”. He clearly understood the seriousness of the situation. I was so afraid that I would say the wrong thing, that I would somehow make things worse. Before I could even form a complete thought in my head, I heard these words coming out of my own mouth, “That is a lot to take in.” I immediately started to beat myself up on the inside, I wanted to come up with just the right thing to say, and that is all I had? I was floored when a look of relief came over his face and he started to speak calmly and easily. He went on to explain that in the last 24 hours his world had been turned upside down, but he didn’t want to burden anyone with his worry. He admitted that he tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but he had no idea what he was going to do. He revealed that he knew moving his car didn’t really matter, but he felt he had lost control over everything else, so maybe he became focused on that so he didn’t have to face the diagnosis he had been given.
Over the next hour we spoke gently and frankly about where he would go from here. We talked about the difficulties of asking others for help, and that one of his greatest fears was that he would become a burden on others. We didn’t go into the specific treatment, that would have to be discussed with the oncology team. We did come to the conclusion that it was ok if things were ‘messy’. He admitted that he liked life to be neat, organized and have a sense that he was in control. He didn’t want to admit that he might not have it all figured out right now, but that it was ok to have hard conversations with loved ones, it was ok not to have all the answers, and it was ok to feel broken. His plan from here on out was just to be present in the moment and allow others in with him. He began to express a confidence that his feelings needed to shared, and he had trust in others to listen and support him. He acknowledged that everything from treatment to being open to help from others would be hard, but he was willing to try. He reminisced about how proud he felt when he has been able to lend a helping hand to others multiple times over the years and decided that maybe now was the time for others to have the ‘glory’ and be there for him. He laughed and admitted that he probably wouldn’t get it all right on the first try, but he would keep trying and trying and trying.
As my time with Mr. C was ending, he shook my hand and smiled. He thanked me over and over for being with him today. I wish I could say that I performed some amazing and dramatic action today, but all I know I really did was show up and be present. This kind man who had just received a shocking diagnosis was able to share his wisdom and self-discovery with me. Every fear and doubt I had about my own struggles in life were brought into a completely different light. He could acknowledge the fear, uncertainty, and emptiness and embrace the need to rely on others for help. I couldn’t find the words to express what a difference he had made to me today, I just found myself thanking him for allowing me to be a part of his morning.
Today, in room 803, there were no cutting edge procedures performed, no foley catheters inserted, no central line dressing changes, and not a single medication was administered. In fact, not one medical intervention occurred. Despite this seemly lack of action, a life was changed, mine.
March 30, 2013
G-tube Free!
One day after returning home from the hospital:
"Mommy, when will Molly's 'special straw' grow back?" (that is what the girls called the feeding tube)
I explained that the doctor took it out and she didn't need it any more.
"But that made her special. How will we know which baby is Molly if she doesn't have it??"
I think I will be able to figure it out!
February 12, 2013
The Mommy Triathlon
The Mommy Triathlon
If you are a mother of young
children, formal exercise is not something you have much time or desire to
do! As a substitute to going to the gym,
you should partake in a triathlon weekly.
Yes, you read correctly, a triathlon.
This Mommy Triathlon is also known by another name, grocery
shopping!
Phase one: corralling all the
kids, getting shoes and coats on, loading up in the car and unloading at the
grocery store. In this initial phase, it
is crucial to remember a few key planning aspects. Most importantly, make sure everyone has gone
potty before leaving the house. This is
critical when you reach phase two! On a
good day, completing this episode is relatively simple.
The beginning of stage two is
marked by entry into the grocery store.
The first task is cart acquisition and securing all your ‘helpers’ in
said cart. Usually at least one child is
crying at this point, but you must push on, you have a long way before this triathlon
is completed. Now, you probably wrote a detailed
shopping list that may or may not have actually made it into the store with
you. If, by some miracle, you have this
list in your hands, you might as well just throw it out now. Better yet, just hand it over to the
screaming child, she will end up with it soon enough. You are now ready to commence upon filling
your cart with all of your needed groceries.
Yeah right, you will now start filling your cart, but you will really
have no idea what you are actually buying.
Between breaking up fights, preventing little hands from swiping items
off the shelves, and attempting to lower the amount of noise pollution being emitted
from your cart, there really isn’t much time left to see what it is that is
filling up your cart. You will reach for
an item you need, get distracted by one or more of your helpers, and end up
with who knows what in your hand. But
you press on and continue this ludicrous system because is there not an
alternative. Once you have acquired all
of your needed food stuffs, the end of phase two is insight. All you have to do now is make it to the
checkout, unload the cart, prevent any small people from trying to add candy to
the belt, engage in the ever so fun “Why Mommy?” game answering about 300
questions in 3 minutes, pay for all the groceries and get everything and
everyone back to the car.
You will now be feeling pretty
good. All the kids and the groceries are
loaded in the car and you are heading home.
This feeling will be very short lived.
As stage three commences, the reality of the grueling final phase sets
in. You now have cranky and hungry
children who probably have to go to the bathroom again AND a trunk full of perishable
food. As you pull into the garage, your
mind is racing as to your next plan of action.
As you unload the kids, you are taking a mental inventory of the grocery
items that will spoil the fastest. Now
the race is on. You will learn just how
quickly you can grab bags out of the car and run them into the house. By the time you make it back in the door, the
smallest of your helpers, who has just learned to crawl, will be trying to make
her escape into the garage. Reset baby –
move her to the farthest corner of the family room and RUN back to the garage
to grab another armload of bags overflowing with random food. Yes, you will come running back in the door
just to be greeted again by your new little speed racer. Reset baby again, shoo other helpers out of
the bags already brought in and SPRINT back to the car. Repeat as many times as necessary until all
of the groceries are in the house. If it
hasn’t happened in the previous stages, this will be the point that sweating is
guaranteed. As you wipe your brow, you
see the end is in sight. At this point
you might be tempted to grab a random snack out of the bags to try to control
the wild hooligans who used to be your calm wonderful children…DO IT! This will buy you a good 4 minutes to be able
to throw items into the freezer and fridge.
Yes, items will be piled willy-nilly, but they will not spoil and all
will not be lost. Rejoice as you place
that final item in the pantry. You have
completed another Mommy Triathlon! If
all goes well, you won’t have to do this again until next week J
January 26, 2013
September 24, 2012
Six weeks post palate repair
Who's ready to be done with these arm braces??
"ME ME ME!!!" says Molly!
Six weeks post palate repair surgery and Molly had a great morning of appointments... Palate repair looks great - no restrictions on putting things in her mouth means no more arm braces!!
"ME ME ME!!!" says Molly!
Six weeks post palate repair surgery and Molly had a great morning of appointments... Palate repair looks great - no restrictions on putting things in her mouth means no more arm braces!!
September 6, 2012
Post Palate Repair
After Molly's palate repair surgery, the tissue is very delicate in her mouth, so she is not allowed to put anything in her mouth except liquid or pureed baby food. She is also not allowed to put any pressure by sucking. This means no pacifiers, traditional sippy cups or straws. This also means that she has to wear little arm restraints that prevent her elbows from bending so she cannot put anything in her mouth herself.
She is adjusting rather well (and she has the feeding tube so we can keep her well nourished without having to fight her to eat).
Absolutely hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time... Molly was trying hard to figure out a way to drink out of the cup by herself.
Trying from a different angle... nope, still doesn't work!
She is adjusting rather well (and she has the feeding tube so we can keep her well nourished without having to fight her to eat).
Absolutely hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time... Molly was trying hard to figure out a way to drink out of the cup by herself.
Trying from a different angle... nope, still doesn't work!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)