A Thousand Words

•May 12, 2013 • Leave a Comment

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They say

A picture is worth a thousand words

But much of what I see

Can never be photographed.

And a thousand words could never show you

All that I see as I work.

How do you write of feelings?

Like

Pain

Fear

Sorrow

Hurt

Anger?

I could use descriptive terms as best I could

But they would fall short

Because

A thousand words could never show you

His fist clenched because of the pain

Her heart racing because of the disease

His tears falling because of her sorrow

A thousand words could never describe

Their hands holding because of their love

Fifty years strong while the heart monitor beeps

The tension as the Morphine drips

The respirations up and down and up and down

And then slowly

End.

The family crying

And thanking through their tears.

I have no pictures

I never will

So words will have to do

But never

Ever

Through all of this

Even with a thousand words

Or less

Could I make you see

All that I wish

I could just

Show you

A picture of

What it is like

To work

As me.

Nothing Left to Lose

•April 15, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Reblogged from Dear Someone,:

Click to visit the original post

What can make me whole again... 

Nothing but the blood of Jesus...

~

I look forward to having a job that does not require an emotional debriefing with co-workers after days like today. 

It is sometimes not possible to stuff away your emotions if they are too powerful, or you will find them spilling out in all kinds of other directions.

Read more… 227 more words

A post that I enjoyed- especially this part- "In the words of my co-worker tonight, “You have to take care of you, or you can’t take care of others. You have to vent.” And in a job that asks you to give all of yourself to others, even when you have nothing left to give, his words could not be truer." ~SarahLeeRN

The Decision

•March 31, 2013 • Leave a Comment

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They met outside of the café. The sun was warm and the street was quiet.

He held out her chair and she sat. The metal seat felt cool through her summer skirt.

He sat across from her as the waiter came. They both ordered coffee, black.

It was brought to the table almost immediately.

Words were not exchanged as they sat there, sipping their coffee and looking out across the street.

She was watching two children playing in the fountain in the town circle.

He was watching the shop owner up the street wash his window. The window was covered in suds. Fresh Bread Made Daily the window said.

They could both smell the bread from their table.

Finally he spoke.

“We have to make a decision.”

“I know” she replied. She took another sip of coffee.

The children were running now, in circles around the fountain, laughing under the deluge.

Their mothers were sitting on a bench, talking and watching.

“I don’t really want too, you know” she stated.

“I know,” he replied softly, still watching the window washer. “But we don’t have a choice. She can’t…”

“I know she can’t,” she interrupted sharply. Realizing, her tone softened. “I just wish we didn’t have to be making this decision.”

“We have to,” he said again. “We owe this to her. She left the burner on again last night….you know she got lost last week…every since Dad died it’s been getting worse…”

Looking at the creamer on the table she decided that she would have some. Pouring it into her cup it made a cloud as the black coffee turned brown. She mixed it with the spoon just for something to do.

She thought. “Isn’t there a song out, something about clouds in my coffee…?”

She sighed.

“That was us, you know” she said, nodding towards the children and their mothers. “And that was her. When did this change? When did we become the ones having to make the decisions?”

He shook his head.

The window washer was rinsing his window. “Remember when she used to take us there?” he said. “She would let us have one slice of whatever we wanted.”

She smiled. “Only one, because we couldn’t ruin our dinner.”

They both laughed, strain combined with a good memory.

Sober, she said “She won’t like it.”

He set his cup down.

They looked at each other.

“She thought I was Uncle Steve” he said.

She nodded, biting her lip then looking away as tears started to come.

“Ok.” she said. Wiped her eyes with her napkin.

“Let’s start looking…”

“I have a list of places to start” he pulled a folded paper out of his pocket. “We can pick the best ones and then go visit them…”

And they began to compare and to discuss as the children went on playing in the fountain and their mothers continued watching.

And the window washer finished and went back inside his store.

Cheap Thread

•March 12, 2013 • 1 Comment

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Cheap Thread Acts like Cheap Thread

I heard this sentence yesterday when a person I know said it.

She was referring most definitely to thread and to nothing else.

She was using cheap thread and the thread was breaking and snapping. It really wasn’t very useful for her purpose. “A real seamstress wouldn’t use this thread” she lamented.

I thought that her observation was fascinating and I began to think of other areas of life where her cheap thread analogy could apply.

Please don’t misunderstand me.

I love cheap. I love thrift stores. I love good deals. Cheap is good. If such a thing as cheap didn’t exist, I wouldn’t exist. If everything I bought was at the original price, I would be standing on the street corner with a metal cup.

So all of you DIY’ers out there can simmer down, because I am not here to put my nose up in the air and say that everything that is cheap doesn’t have value.

But we all have that memory in our heads of when we bought something cheap and it didn’t last. That $2 shirt that exploded in your washer. Those $0.50 pens you bought that lasted two sentences into your first great novel outline. How about that on sale day old bread that really did have something growing in it when you got it home? Or don’t forget the cheap paint that didn’t seem to get brighter no matter how many coats you put on your wall.

What I am trying to say in a nice way is: Not everything that is cheap is useful. Sometimes, if it was cheap, it acts cheap. It came easy. It wasn’t hard to get. But then it doesn’t last. It begins to wear down. It starts to snap and break under pressure. It doesn’t hold up. It turns out to not be what we thought it was. Then we get mad and frustrated because it’s just not surviving and it turns out the problem was that it came into our hands cheap. Why did we expect it to act any different?

I see many people on a daily basis. Many of these people seem to treat a lot of thing in their life as if they are cheap. They treat their bodies and their health cheap. They treat their families cheap. They don’t visit them. They get in fights with them. They don’t talk to them for years. As if they had obtained all of these things at the local dollar store at half off. I am not pointing fingers; I am guilty of this as well.

But it makes me wonder:

How many times do I treat my life as if it were cheap thread purchased at the dollar store?

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Life isn’t cheap thread. It’s like the most expensive silk thread that the best seamstress in the world would use. It’s valuable. It’s worth something. 

And it one minute it can all be over.

Trust me, I know.

There is nothing like listening to a heartbeat with a stethoscope and hearing the lub-dub of a human heart. It’s amazing. The heartbeat of a human life.

Then listening again and hearing absolute silence. A heart that has stopped beating.

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I will not live on earth forever.

But I will live somewhere forever.  

My life and your life is worth more than cheap thread.

In fact, Someone paid a very large price so that I could have life that lasts forever. And not only me, but anyone who believes in Him.

Jesus said: “For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

I will not die forever, I will live forever.

My eternal life was not purchased cheap. It was at the cost of another Life.

“He that believes on the Son has everlasting life: and he that believes not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abides on Him.” John 3:36

If cheap thread acts like cheap thread, I hope that my expensive life acts like an expensive life.

Don’t treat your life like it is cheap. Trust in Christ who paid for your life today.

 And if you have trusted Him, don’t forget how valuable your eternal life is.

It’s not cheap thread.

 

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Tomorrow When I Wake

•March 7, 2013 • 3 Comments

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Tomorrow when I woke up

(I know, it doesn’t make sense)

I stumbled to the coffeemaker

With my cellphone pressed to my ear

Checking my voice-mail.

And I heard a message I may never hear again

Especially in the world of healthcare:

“I’m sorry

We are overstaffed this week

Please don’t come to work

And enjoy the time off”

I sat down and stared at the coffee pot

It started to make noise

And I, stunned

Stumbled back to my bedroom.

I set my phone on my dresser

And noticed a stack.

Not of socks,

Which is the norm

But of dollars,

Which is not.

Becoming more alert

I picked them up  and counted.

$10,000

I counted twice

And was sure.

Still groggy I couldn’t remember

If I had went to the bank yesterday

Or not.

I sat down on my bed and processed all of the above

Decided not to question

Seized the day

Forgot the coffee

Took a shower

Grabbed my car keys

And went on my way.

I stopped at the nursing home

And dropped off a thousand

Told them to please

Buy some new equipment

For the residents

And told them exactly what I wanted them to buy

Just because I could.

I drove to my neighbors’ house

Who are elderly and fighting cancer

Gave them a couple thousand

For the gas to drive to

Chemotherapy

And to cover the co-pays

For the nausea

Medication.

I then buzzed over

To my grandparents

And dropped them a couple thousand

For food, gas and electric

(Social Security just isn’t enough some months)

Feeling a bit bipolar

I resisted the urge

For sensibility

And decided to continue.

I stopped at the food pantry

And dropped off another thousand

And specified that it NOT

Be used

For Thanksgiving and Christmas

(People still need to eat in July)

(I mean really)

And emphatically declined

To have my name on the window turkey decal.

Having four thousand left

I decided

To do what I always wanted to do

I rented a

(Cheap)

Storefront space

Went to lots of thrift stores

And bought

(Cheap)

Second handed but good

Medical equipment

Like

Walkers

and

Wheelchairs

and

Lifts

and

Beds

(Yes I did find a hospital bed or two)

And started planning a

Medical supply exchange store

For those with great needs

And little resources.

I still had much more work to do

When I drove home at the end of the day.

The sun was beginning to set

And I was

Exhausted

From giving so much money away.

(And I never did drink my coffee)

Now

Lest you think I’m a martyr

As I turned the light out I thought

If today wasn’t tomorrow

And tomorrow when I woke up

All this had happened

Or not

Maybe today was free

And it all worked out.

If today was real

(And maybe it was)

And tomorrow lasted

(If it wasn’t today)

All week

Would I have done the same?

Further pondering as I drifted off to sleep

I thought:

If all of my todays were tomorrows

How would I live

Everyday?

Seize the day, seize whatever you can, ’cause life slips away just like hour glass sand” ~Carolyn Arends

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/03/07/daily-prompt-seven-days/

Clinical Day 1: Discoveries

•March 2, 2013 • Leave a Comment

 

 

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A lesson learned few years ago, but never forgotten.

“No, hon, you’re not going to want that. Those are old. You’re going to want these,” said the nurse, pointing at a rack full of thick binders on the side of the desk.
Bewildered, I put the first binder back on the shelf (it was big and heavy) and turned to face the other rack.
Not really sure what I was looking at but attempting to look professional, I grabbed the binder with my newly acquired client’s room number on the spine, clutched it to my chest, and practically ran from the nurses’ station.
As I fled back to the safety of the visitor’s room that the freshmen nursing students had confiscated for headquarter purposes, I could imagine that poor nurse’s thoughts in the back of my mind. “That freshmen nursing student, thinks that she’ll be an RN someday and she doesn’t even know what a chart looks like!” I could just see her shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the inconvenience of having to deal with a floor full of freshmen. I made it back to the visitor room and sank into a chair with the chart in my lap.

 

My need to stay in my comfort zone was very quickly overcome by my clinical instructor’s orders to “Find your client’s medications from the chart and write them down.” Then she added with a touch of sadistic delight, “Some of these clients are going to have a lot of meds. One student last year had a client with twenty medications.”
Staring at my instructor with disbelief coupled with shock, I tentatively opened my patient’s chart. Pages and pages of information jumped in front of my eyes. Words that I had never seen before, much less understood, attacked me from the pages. I had no idea where to even begin looking for my client’s medication information.
Suddenly remembering that I would need more care plan information about my client than just medication info, I was struck with the bright idea of taking my client’s chart into her room and sitting with her while I attempted to decipher this terrifying binder. At least I wouldn’t be under the eyes of some of the more experienced freshmen or my clinical instructor. I was still delusional enough to think that my classmates were less confused than I was. If I had actually looked around I think that I would have seen the same deer –in-the-headlights-look on their faces that was so evident on my face.
Quickly sucking in my breath like a diver ready to jump, I rose from my chair, slammed the binder shut, and started walking briskly to my client’s room. As I left the visitor’s room I suddenly felt a surge of confidence. After all, here I was, in my new uniform, young, full of ambition and I had almost four weeks of classrooms lectures and lab time behind me! My self-confidence was returning! I felt knowledgeable, smart, and self-sufficient.

Then I passed the nurses’ station where I had gotten my chart. My confidence quickly dwindled as I walked, no; I sneaked, past that station. No snappy uniform or college based confidence could stand in the face of plain old experience that was represented by those sitting behind that desk. I quivered.

Still clutching my binder, I made it past the nurses’ station and arrived safely, albeit somewhat un-confidently, at my client’s door.
I then gave myself my one thousandth pep talk of the morning. “You’re doing fine, everyone feels like this on their first day. Just relax.”
We had been taught to always knock before entering a client’s room, however, upon meeting my client earlier in the day I had discovered that in my client’s instance that little textbook jewel could be thrown right out the proverbial window. I would have to hit that door multiple times with a crowbar before my client would even hear it. The dear woman’s hearing was not very good, and so, I concluded that all textbook information could be adapted to meet specific client needs. Looking around me, half expecting, half afraid to see my clinical instructor behind me, I discarded textbook policy, and walked right in. I walked up to my client, being careful to approach her from the front so that she could see me clearly. Leaning towards her, I raised my voice ever so slightly. “Hello, Ms. So and So! My name is—— and I am a student nurse. I am going to take care of you today!”

 
That was my very first ever clinical experience. I wrote about this experience very shortly after it happened. I have learned so much since that day; it would take me thousands and thousands of words to even begin to scratch the surface of all that I have learned since that first clinical day.

 

First of all, I learned that I was not alone in my feelings of nervousness.

I learned that I was not the only freshmen nursing student in the world to have felt so illiterate at the clinical setting.

I learned that my instructors were and are not sadistic, but in fact want to push me to my limits and challenge me with new experiences.

I learned that my instructors were approachable when I was unsure of myself.

I learned that my instructors didn’t mind me ‘adapting’ textbook policy (within reason of course!)

I learned that it was possible to understand a client’s chart!

I learned that the clinical staff can be invaluable tools for learning.

I learned that if I didn’t know anything, I should ask questions.
And the most important thing I learned that day was how to apply my textbook and lecture knowledge. I learned that no matter how much I learned in school, or how much I knew, when it came down to the client, it had to be personally applied to that client.
Although in the school lab, I would lose points during a re-demo for forgetting to knock on a client’s door, in the “real world”, if my client couldn’t hear me, I had to find another way of making my presence known respectfully without knocking on the door. I had to adapt my knowledge to meet a specific situation.
That little lesson turned the ‘light bulb’ on for me, and helped me to understand the nursing process.  It helped me to understand how to critically think a situation, even in a very small way.

I think that I learned more in that one tiny experience, with a hard of hearing lady in a nursing home, than in four hours of lecture on critical thinking. And, small as it was, I know that I will remember what I learned on that first clinical day for the rest of my life.
~SarahLee,RN

A Muse about Hands

•February 28, 2013 • Leave a Comment

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I was standing in line at the store the other day,
Waiting for the person in front of me who was buying Valentines candy that
was half off
(what on earth was she going to do with all of that chocolate for the next year?)
I was sick of looking at the tabloid covers
So I started to notice hands.
I have always been fascinated by people’s hands. Maybe because I am a nurse, I notice hands more than the average person.
I remember in nursing school one of my instructors saying that we would start noticing people’s hands in line at the grocery store.
She was right.
Looking at hands gives me clues into a person’s life. I don’t know if I am always right, but I enjoy imagining what a person does in their everyday life when I look at their hands.
The woman buying all of that candy had capable looking hands with what looked like
green paint speckles on the backs of her knuckles.
No rings on her fingers.
Maybe she paints.

The woman who was checking out the Valentine candy shopper had somewhat
stocky hands.
Her fingers were short and round.
Her nails were different shades of color.
The colors on her right hand did not match the colors on her left.
They were polished in bright colors, and no two colors were the same.
I imagine that those different colors tell of a need to try new things, be brave and be bold. So she painted them different colors.
I can tell that the paint is not a professional job, so I imagine that she is frugal and feels that she can certainly do her nails herself without paying someone else to do it.
She also has about five different rings on various fingers. I think she likes to feel glamorous. In keeping with her assumed frugality it appears that those rings are cheap imitations of real rings. There might be one real ring in the bunch, probably a significant gift at one time or another.
My mind began to wander about other hands that I have seen.

The guy at the cell phone store has long thin fingers on his hands.
His nails are very well kept.
His hands are almost ladylike in their delicacy.
I imagine that he spends a lot of time on his computer.
Maybe he even plays the piano.
He’s probably very concerned about hygiene and neatness, since his nails are so clean.
And he probably spends very little time doing manual labor.
I have seen thick and calloused hands on men in line at the store.
They are usually holding a carton of milk and a dozen eggs.
They have dirt around their nails.
Their hands are clean, like they have scrubbed them, but some dirt remains.
Their fingers are cracked and stained.

Those types of hands tell me of a hard working manual laborer.
Someone who is concerned about not appearing dirty, yet lots of soap and water cannot wash out years of hard work.

Those kinds of hands are on men like badges of honor, for all they have done their whole life was with those hands.
I imagine that those hands can chop wood, milk cows, build homes and fix cars.
And can only scramble eggs.

When I am in the hospital I see all kinds of hands.
I see diabetic hands, with discolored yellow fingernails.
I see heart failure hands, with clubbed fingernails and swollen fingers.
I see bruised hands where IVs and bloods draws were attempted and failed.
I see bandaged hands, where fingers were broken or hurt.
I see deformed hands and fingers, from arthritis, old age, and accidents.
I see beautiful, perfect baby hands, with little fingernails and tiny fingers.
I see shaking hands, from Parkinson’s or other tremor causing conditions.
I see hands clenched in anger at a situation.
I see hands swinging and agitated due to delirium or confusion.
I see (and feel) cold hands.
I see (and feel) warm hands.
I see people with one hand.
I see people missing fingers on their hands.
I see hands with good veins, and hands with bad veins.
I see hands outstretched just wanting someone to hold them for a little while.
I also see nurses’ hands.
And I know that I am biased, but I think that nurses have some of the most caring and capable hands in the world.
But every hand has a story.
And every hand has done something amazing.
And every hand is so unique it takes my breath away
(think of those individual fingerprints on each hand)
And when I look at my own hands I am reminded of this quote:

“I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God’s hands, that I still possess.”  Martin Luther

And of the most Amazing Hands I have ever known:

 Then said He [Jesus to Thomas, “Reach hither thy finger and behold My hands… and be not faithless, but believing.” John 20:27

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And I am thankful for the reminder of hands.

So next time you see someone, take a look at their hands. You don’t even have to be a nurse to observe hands.
And have fun imagining what they do every day.
What else are you going to do while waiting in line?

 
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