Are you a Warrior?

I have been restless lately. Ironic since I don’t get much sleep working the night shift. I am a morning person normally so sleeping during the day isn’t work out so swell for me. But, for some reason, I have been restless this week. Maybe I am still adjusting to the fact that after 7 years of homework, I don’t have any. Maybe it has something to do with turning 40 this year. Maybe drinking 8 cups of coffee a day isn’t a good idea. I don’t really have a good answer.

I have been thinking about what I want to do for my 40^th birthday. Normally I am not one for large groups and big celebrations but this year feels different. I feel pretty good about turning 40. I think I might make it past 80 so I am not quite ready to call this mid-life. The crisis will have to wait.

I told Michael I want to go back to Disneyland for my 40^th. I love Disneyland. I know lots of people love Disneyland but I REALLY LOVE Disneyland. What better place to ring in 40? Then my kids caught wind of the plan and I started to realize that if I take my kids to Disneyland, there is really no way that it will be about me. Thinking otherwise is just plain foolish. I don’t have the heart to leave them behind (I did consider it) so, we will most likely be making the trek in October. I know it will be great fun but I am not going to settle for this as my 40^th birthday celebration. They aren’t going to humor me and let me ride California Screamin’ over and over while they watch and clap. I have lived a good 40 years and I plan to celebrate it.

Then I saw this... Warrior Dash. This is what I want to do. Here is the catch…I want you to do it with me. When I get all sentimental and reflective I realize that I am most grateful for forty years of great friends, family and health. What better way to celebrate than to run, hurdle, jump and swim in the mud with friends? I did the Mud Run last year that benefited the National Multiple Sclerosis Society Oregon Chapter but, much to my dismay, they aren’t able to do it this year. I had SO much fun. There is nothing like it. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. This run looks similar and it’s in September. You don’t have to be a superhero to do this run. You just have to have a strong will, a good sense of humor and be willing to get dirty.

I am going to do it. I got a running friend to agree to do it with me when we were running through the slush this morning. I am going to hold her to it even though it was 5:30 in the morning and she probably wasn’t awake yet. Even if it is just the two of us, I am doing it. Join us. We can sign up for Saturday or Sunday, September 8 or 9^th. Once I know who is doing it, we will vote on the day and time. I know this seems like a long ways off but some of you might want to train and others, like me, might need to plan ahead and make sure you aren't working that weekend.

After the run, you can come back to my house. I will hose you off and you can have some cake. I might not let you inside my house. Depends how muddy you are. If the cake isn't enticing enough, maybe the fuzzy warrior hat and free beer that you get at the race will do. If you have a medical note from your doctor and physically can’t do this race, come and cheer us on or just come for cake.

Come play in the mud with me. Let’s celebrate the fact that we can.

This One's for you Pops

Twenty years ago today my life was radically altered by the loss of the most important man in my life. I was coming out of a movie theater in Eugene when I was approached by some very good family friends, embraced and told that I needed to go with them. I knew at that instant that something was really, really wrong. I would come to find out that after a day working in the yard with my mom, my dad had stretched out on the couch to catch a quick nap before taking my mom to dinner, and he never woke up. He had a massive heart attack – myocardial infarction for you fancy medical types.

To my 19 years he still seemed pretty young at the time – 49. It seems even younger now as I approach 40 at warp speed. I realize just how young he was every time I fill out a new patient form in a doctor’s office. It is one of the questions that make them stop and ask for further information. “Did you have a parent die before the age of 50?” It’s always there. Look for it next time. We always have to pause and they remind me that my genetics kind of suck. 

On the bright side, I don’t have many of the vices that he had. My dad lived large. He was a loud, boisterous, loving man who was hard to ignore. He worked hard, loved hard and played hard. He drank too much, smoked too much and had a love for McDonald’s egg mcmuffins that I just don’t have. He was overprotective because, as a wild child, he didn’t want his girls to get mixed up with characters like he had been as a kid. We knew he loved us. Sometimes (okay, often) we felt smothered; but, considering how short our time together was, I wouldn’t change a thing. Bless my mom for putting up with him. I know it wasn’t always easy.

I think a very small seed was planted on that day 20 years ago that lead me on my path to becoming a nurse. I couldn’t help my dad but maybe I can help steer other people to a healthier path. If not, maybe I can at least just be present with them in the midst of a really challenging time. My dad helped shape my life during our time together and his death continues to shape it. I love my current job. I really do. It is an honor to walk beside people during a vulnerable time even if it gets messy (literally and figuratively).

I sometimes think it was a blessing that, if my dad was going to die young, that he went so quickly. He would have been a miserable patient. Being in a hospital bed would have impeded his hunting, fishing and golf games. He probably would have been one of those patients that continuously press their call lights simply because they are bored and want to get out of the hospital. I am not sure he could have given up some of his habits even though he would have wanted to on our behalf. 

I miss him. Especially on days like today when I am reminded of how much he added to my life and how much he missed. It is startling to realize I have now lived longer without him than with him. His legacy lives on and not just in the box I check on the form when I go to the doctor’s office. His memory and his life come with me every time I enter a patient’s room and hopefully the experience has given me at least an ounce more compassion than I might have had otherwise.

Public Service Announcement

My patient looked at me and said, “Are you sober?” Hmmm. "Yes,” I said, thinking to myself that it would really be in bad form to come to work any other way. Then I realized he didn’t mean AT THIS VERY MOMENT. He meant the big “SOBER.” The “do we have some common ground here” sober. Oh. “I mean, no. Not that I am not sober right now but I don’t have a problem with alcohol.” I almost laughed out loud at that moment because isn’t that what all alcoholics say?

Even though I totally bungled that conversation, I got what he meant. My patient who was withdrawing from alcohol as well as meth, heroin and a myriad of other drugs wanted to know if we were kindred spirits. Turns out we weren’t but I did assure him that I was going to do what I could for him, I had seen addiction and I agreed with him, it was a bitch. I am not an addiction specialist but from what I have seen and experienced, I think it starts out as choices and then truly does become a disease.

I don’t work on an addiction unit but we see withdrawal if seizures are involved, the drugs have affected any part of the central nervous system or if a patient has another medical issue but also happens to be an addict. The latter group is thrown into withdrawal just by being in the hospital. The patient mentioned above had the misfortune of having a bleed in his belly – bringing him to my unit and my care. I won’t go into the details of our VERY long two nights together but I will say that I am absolutely emotionally and physically drained today so I can only imagine how he feels.

As a nurse I see a lot of things that many of you might not want to see. It doesn’t bother me. I am not squeamish. I know this isn’t the case with all my friends. I have tried not to be specific in this post but if you are uncomfortable talking about any type of fluid, you may want to pass on this reading. Just sayin…

There was moment over this past month that I looked around my unit and thought what a great public service announcement we could make. The message? Don’t do drugs. I could tell you about the guy with the abdominal bleed that was most likely related to all the damage he has done to his insides with his body trying to metabolize drugs and alcohol. Or the guy in the room next to him that had a stroke because his brain started bleeding related to his meth use. The right side of his body had become totally useless as a result of the bleed. Several of the patients also have Hepatitis C. Then there are the abscesses.

In an earlier post I said I wouldn’t talk about abscesses. I lied. Their time has come. The word is kind of cool. It has an interesting sound to it and it is hard to spell. The actuality of an abscess? Not as cool. I never really grasped how abscesses happen. My first experience with one was about a year ago with my sweet, now deceased dog, Belle. One morning Belle stood up to go outside and I noticed some blood…a lot of blood. After a visit to the vet, I learned she had an abscess on her shoulder. For those of you not intimately familiar with an abscess (which I hope is most of you), the technical definition has something to do with infected tissue, a collection of fluid, swelling and inflammation. I totally cleaned up the definition for you. I became quite familiar with her shoulder abscess. When the vet told me I either needed to bring her back every other day so they could clean and bandage her wound (for a hefty fee) or do it myself, I decided that it would be a good time to put my book learning to practice. I took excellent care of her wound and it actually healed (to my vet’s surprise). I was quite proud of the two of us. 

I didn’t realize that experience would come in so handy. Belle probably got her abscess from her frail body always lying on one shoulder on the kitchen floor when she slept. After time, it was just too much for that shoulder. Or she was doing drugs while we slept. I imagine living with us wasn’t always a piece of cake. Do you know how my patients most often get their abscesses? Drugs. Yep. Who knew? I don’t remember the word abscess in the “Don’t Do Drugs” talk. So, here it is. It happens. It happens a lot if you are an IV drug user and you get careless and say…miss your vein. It is not pretty. The healing may involve surgery, some draining and some wound packing. Yep…regular wound packing. How would you like me coming to your bedside telling you I need to pack your wound? Based on the reactions from my patients, you wouldn’t like it. My kids have no chance of getting a watered down version of the “don’t do drugs” speech. I am going to be ready, complete with visual aids. Poor buggers.