The Cross, The Mantle

Wonder. Ful.

2011-07-13T11:52:00.002-06:00

We're having guests come through Friday evening, and we're going hiking with friends tomorrow. So today is the last full day I have to get the house ready.

I finished cleaning the bathroom while hearing shrieks of delight from the main part of the house.
"I'm so glad we have a dog he can play with, while the baby naps," I thought. Tigger's shrieks and laughs made me smile while I scrubbed.

I emerged from the bathroom to find him throwing handfuls of rice (from our 40lb bag) straight up into the air, and shrieking with delight as it all landed with pitter-pattering sounds everywhere in the kitchen. This had been going on for a while. Aside from a layer on the floor, there was rice all over the counter tops, inside the dog's water bowl, under the chest freezer, embedded in the throw rugs, ...grrr.

"Mama try?" he asked, wondering whether I was sad enough to "cry."

"That would be a lot better than what I want to do right now," I responded.

I gave him the dust pan and brush while I grabbed the broom, sternly enlisting his help to clean all the rice from the kitchen's various surfaces.
For a few minutes, he dutifully brushed my little piles of swept rice into the dust pan and deposited everything into the garbage can.
But then I watched him step into a pile and start swinging his feet backward, like a rabbit trying to run away from a tether. Essentially, he was using his heels to toss the rice in all directions again.

"Teee hee-hee!" he squealed.

A friend's recent Facebook status read something to this effect: "Whoever coined the phrase 'terrible two's' had no sense of wonder."

I don't know if, at this point in the story, I lost all sense of wonder, or just lost all my patience.

But I scooped Tigger into my arms, marched to his room, put him down there on the floor, and closed the door behind me as I walked out. I didn't care that his minor protests went silent 3 seconds after I left the room. There isn't that much he can do in his room.

After I cleaned the kitchen, I went and retrieved him from the bedroom. When he heard me coming, he quickly put away all the clothes he'd been removing from his dresser drawers.

Then, when he was sure that I wasn't going to "try," he asked for a hug.

And eventually, everything became wonderful again.

Mirror of my mind?

2011-07-01T15:26:00.003-06:00

What does it say about me as a mother that my son is always singing the alphabet ...but doesn't even try to join in when we pray the Our Father at Mass?

If I begin to recite, "A...B...C..." he'll pick up where I left off. It's fun to listen to what letters he skips. Then as the weeks go by, I start to hear those letters, subtly added into the song. K, Q, and X were especially difficult. But he's begun to say "Tay" after "H,I,J." So it's coming.

He also doesn't know the Hail Mary.

I discussed this with Doo the other night, who assures me that he won't grow up to be heathen. He will learn.

But I still have to reflect on my personal habits, and wonder why the alphabet is more familiar to Tigger than basic prayers.

There's nothing like having a mirror of my shortcomings running around the house.

The Perfect Rainy Day

2011-05-18T15:29:00.003-06:00

It's been raining rather steadily the past two days. I've quickly learned what makes a rainy day not only survivable, but truly enjoyable, inside our cozy bungalow.

"Willie Nelson For Kids" drowsily playing on the CD player. Repeatedly.

Reading "If You Give a Pig a Pancake" a ka-jillion times.

In keeping with the theme of our reading material, making gingerbread pancakes for after-nap snack time.

With real maple syrup.

Speaking of naps, long naps--almost two hours--make a rainy day even better!!

Catching up on laundry.

And dusting.

And cleaning the refrigerator.

Replacing framed pictures with updated prints. So much fun to see new and current faces around the house!

Trying new recipes for dinner.

Not going out grocery shopping.

Watching Tigger tip-toe around the backyard in his boots and fireman raincoat for fifteen minutes before knocking to come back inside.

Drinking hot tea.

Observing playful laughter between two young siblings.

And having the presence of mind, as well as the camera on-hand, to record such encounters:

Affirming Him

2011-05-16T16:11:00.000-06:00

Tigger holds out a piece of food to show me, with an inquiring, "Huh?"

"Mushroom," I tell him.

"Eat?" he asks.

"Yes, you can eat it," I assure him.

He pops it into his mouth: "MmmMMmm!"

A few seconds later, he holds out another morsel, "Huh?"

"Carrot," I tell him.

"Eat?" he asks.

"Yes, you can eat it," I say.

And again the consumption, followed by the verdict: "MmmMMmm!"

I watch as he picks up a green bean.

Here we go again.
Rinse, repeat.

If both Doodle and I are present, he asks both of us. He asks each of us to name whatever he has, and will not eat it until it has been correctly identified and verified as edible, twice. I say "correctly" identified, because he does know what the object is, most of the time.

It's some kind of a game.

Or isn't it?

Is this scenario just a small tableau of his 2 year-old need for affirmation?

My son hasn't lived in this world all that long. Many times, I forget that. When he belts out nonverbal yelps after I've told him that the baby is sleeping, I forget that he really isn't trying to be annoying. He's little; he's learning cause and effect. Yes, he's learning quickly how to "push my buttons," but he doesn't do things for the sole purpose of making me upset and frustrated; he does it because he likes to observe the cause-effect relationship. He likes to see my reaction. He has little idea that my reaction stems from my personal distress, anger, and frustration.

But I forget.

When I lose my patience and yell, or clench my teeth and pull him forcefully away from kicking the baby, I forget that my little son isn't really being defiant. Not in the rebellious teenager sort of way, anyway.

He does not have the self-efficacy of an adult. His actions do not stem from a confidence in his own personhood. He is only 2 years old! He's still looking to me to affirm that personhood!

I am his self-efficacy.

What must he feel, then, when affirmation is denied? Does it crush his little spirit every time I forget to treat him with gentleness?
I can hope that the angels still kiss his little cheeks when I'm not looking, but by-and-large, he looks to me for approval. For unconditional love.

And I keep forgetting.

Affirmation is not single compliment about a job he did well this afternoon. It is a continuous loving attitude, expressed by patient guidance and acknowledgment throughout the day. He is constantly learning, and so he requires consistent encouragement, in order to integrate all of his experiences of the world and allow those experiences to build him up in the right way.

A friend of mine likes to say, "Parenting is difficult, if you're doing it well."

It seems, however, that some are naturally better at it than others.

After about seven pieces of food, I tend to lose interest in vegetable identification.
"Tigger," I say, "I assure you that everything on your plate is edible. Okay? Eat up."
Doodle, on the other hand, has no end of patience, calmly naming each item presented. I sometimes wonder whether he should be the one to stay home and raise our children; perhaps they would be better nurtured by him.

But this is my purification. I am being pruned, humbled by my own failings. And learning so much. Most importantly these days, I am learning to take a step back from myself. Trying to remember that these behaviors are not personal attacks. I'm the parent; he's the innocent child. I am learning to decrease my personhood in order to allow his personhood to develop.

I am learning to affirm him.

Spring Planting

2011-05-11T18:08:00.000-06:00

Yesterday in the mail, all the fliers came. Grocery ads, coupons, and other random sales events. My habit is to pull out the three fliers that we actually care about, cut whatever coupons I deem valuable to our diet and lifestyle, and toss everything else (pronto) into the kindling bag. Otherwise, we end up having piles of papers collecting dust on random household surfaces for weeks to come.

When Doodle comes home, he likes to peruse the fliers with me. We joke that while other families look longingly at travel magazines and real estate pamphlets, we drool over the grocery store ads as we prioritize what we *really* need to buy!

"Oh, look," Doodle commented last night. "Lowe's is having a sale on lilacs."

He must have known his observation wouldn't be ignored.

Guess where I brought the little ones today? :D

We also needed bird seed, some more planting pots, potting soil, and a gas can for our lawn mower. But my scheming side-mission was to check out the lilac bushes. And we ended up buying one.

The woman in the garden center assured me it would produce a few blooms this season. I don't believe her. I also don't care. I'm just excited that I have a lilac bush planted in my backyard.

Fluid Schedules

2011-05-10T14:01:00.006-06:00

My Darling Doodle is not a morning person. Never has been. I doubt he ever will be. Many have told me "that will change once he has children." But his parents still stay up on weekend nights well past midnight, and sleep in when they can. They wake up early when it is necessary. But they are not "morning people."

These thoughts cross my mind as I am lying in bed, wide awake, at 7:15am. His half of the bed is cool to the touch.

I listen to the soft clinking of silverware hitting bowls as he prepares breakfast for our energetic Tigger. I hear his soft muted whisper, "Would you like cream cheese?" and Tigger's eager (and louder!) response, "Ehs!" I watch with my mind's eye as I hear Doodle lift our 2 year-old into the high-chair, help him find the buckles to click together, say grace, then push the breakfast plate toward his chest.

Looking down, I see that Ninna is still attached to me, sucking deliberately. I force myself to breathe deeply, softly, slowly. Resisting the urge to break away, I will myself to remain calm so that she'll drift back to sleep.

Finally, at 7:45am, I enter the kitchen. Tigger is dressed for the day, already playing with his toy firetruck in the living room. Doodle is searching the bottom drawer of the fridge for fruit to add to his lunch. I rub his back as I walk by on my way to turn on the coffee machine.

"I've been awake for a while," I say apologetically, "but Ninna wouldn't let me get out of bed."

"That's okay," he replies, always understanding. "I have to be up anyway."

A few months ago, I awoke with him early in the morning. I made Tigger's breakfast, prepared and packed Doodle's breakfast and lunch, emptied the dishwasher, and started prepping the kitchen for whatever projects were planned that day. Meanwhile, he was able to ease into his day: sip his tea, listen to the radio, look through his favorite news blogs, make last-minute edits to his meeting notes, ...

But we've moved into a different phase. Now there's this beautiful baby girl who doesn't like me to leave her alone in bed. I, the morning person, now stare bright-eyed at the ceiling while my dear husband wearily autopilots bread in and out of the toaster for our son.
This man who used to never fall asleep during the day has figured out how to synchronize the two little ones' naps so that he, too, can nap for an hour on weekend afternoons.
My daily run with the dog has shifted from early mornings to late nights--because it's easier for the baby to handle my absence when she is tending toward more sleepy, rather than more awake.

We follow the waves of need and our household routine looks different from one season to the next. But I believe that some things will never change. I imagine that someday, when our children are older, I will wake up early and go to bed before my Doodle. Once again, he will slowly sip his tea in the morning and be able to ease into the day.

Until then, I'm getting used to running down the street at 10pm.

Weekend Entertainment

2011-05-09T22:56:00.001-06:00

We don't have a television, but on the weekends, Doodle brings his work computer home and we spend the evenings gathered around it at the kitchen table, catching up on shows like American Idol and Britain's Got Talent.
This is a fantastic performance; all of us love this guy.
We watched this clip a few times, and Tigger couldn't take his eyes away from the screen, laughing loudly with a big open mouth at the moves Razy accomplishes. Check it out.

This corruptible body

2011-05-09T14:00:00.005-06:00

For my weekend job, I work with the aging population. When I see that one of my patients has not yet reached 80, I automatically think, "young." It is enjoyable for me to chat with these people who have experienced so much. I often ask for their wisdom, and try to listen carefully to what they say.

All of the responses from people on the upper end of this age spectrum are strikingly similar when I ask for their secrets on making it to that age: "You don't want to get this old."
Man or woman, chronically ill or healthy as a horse, the answer tends to be the same after the age of 90. And what do I say? I don't tell them there's plenty for them to live for, even if I think there must be--because I am not in their position.

Plenty of these people are suffering. But their comments are not necessarily drawn from their ailments. Younger patients with far worse ailments are not ready to leave this world.
One elderly woman in her late nineties--whose only current "medication" is a daily multivitamin--said to me, "I wake up, and I wonder if today I'm going to move. And then I do move. And I make it through another day. But I'm ready to go."
She is not depressed. Unlike many of her peers, she is not visibly ill. She is active and, by all outward appearances, still enjoying life. Yet she is honest when I ask her about her secret.

These are not suicidal tendencies. They are sincere expressions of fatigue, coming from corruptible bodies. I believe it is evidence of the natural human lifespan. No matter what advances medical science achieves, humans will be ready to leave this world within a century of birth.

Because really, we're made for something beyond this.

Happy Friday!

2011-05-06T12:53:00.005-06:00

Every Friday feels a little bit like the day before a trip out of town. Since I work outside the home on weekends, I try to make sure that the house is clean and meals are prepped before Saturday comes. It's a comfort to know that the house is ready for recreation and that dinner is at least planned as I leave my little family for the better part of these days. After all, this is Doodle's time off, and he works so hard during the weekdays. He should be able to spend time playing with his children, not cleaning floors or dreaming up likely possibilities for dinner. My goal, then, is to have everything done and ready to enjoy, every weekend.

I've been working the weekends for over a year now. I should have this routine down to a science. There are five days for me to space out the tasks of weekend preparation. And some weeks, I do just that. I cook and clean in small amounts everyday, and by Friday evening, I can sit back and relax with Doodle, who is also more than ready to sit back and relax.

But more often than not, Friday afternoon finds me on the edge of a multitasking cliff:
--3 loads of laundry in various stages of completion throughout the house
--2 sticks of butter softening in the large mixing bowl (in anticipation of restocking the cookie supply)
--vacuum plugged into the wall with only half the house traversed
--various refrigerator items sitting out on the counter waiting for dinner prep
--multiple tabs/windows open on my computer, one of which is a recipe for pizza dough, because I just remembered that one of my goals for the week was to learn how to make pizza dough from scratch
--dishes from lunch in the sink (okay, maybe there are a few there from breakfast, as well)
--a growing grocery list on the counter that I swear I will take care of this evening when Doodle comes home from work (after all, the store doesn't close until midnight)
--the breast pump set up on the couch, because we need more milk in the freezer for the baby
--did I mention that there is butter still softening in the mixing bowl?

And things become more complicated when the children decide to stagger their afternoon naps.

I've slowly made the discovery that being a stay-at-home-mom requires initiative, self-direction, and self-discipline. It's just like owning your own business. The profits aren't immediate, the hours are long and irregular, and a lot of leg work needs to be done during the start-up period before the organization will begin to run like a well-oiled machine. Like most vocations, you take out of it what you put into it.

Some Fridays, I end up going to bed late, just to tie up all the lose ends I've ambitiously started. Some weekends turn out to be freezer dinners or last-minute stops at the store on the way home from work. Some Saturdays I return home to find that my husband has done one of "my" jobs--one of those housekeeping duties that I missed or didn't finish during the week. He's a great man, and he knows that an unorganized home drives me crazy--even if it's my own fault.

Every Monday brings new resolve to stay on top of it, to arrive at the next Friday with some semblance of routine and order, and with a house set up for enjoyment of the weekend.

Week by week, more lessons are learned, whether by success or failure.

And now I must go address those sticks of butter in the mixing bowl.

Inspiration

2011-05-05T16:20:00.003-06:00

There are about 7 blog posts half-written in my head.
Instead of writing them out, I'm revamping the "look" of my page.
Which will motivate me to come back and write out my posts... right?

A few deaf men

2011-02-28T11:07:00.005-07:00

They don't care that the baby is crying.

"Who?" you ask.

My boys--namely, my husband and my son.

Ninna is screaming and crying, ...crying and screaming.

They don't cringe, their heart rates don't sky rocket, they don't breathe faster, they don't shift in their seats, NOR do they press on the invisible gas pedal on the passenger side of the car so we can get-there-get-there-get-there and pick up the baby so she STOPS CRYING.

They don't seem to hear it.

I look over at my Doodle, who seems to be driving *just* under the speed limit; seems to be slowing down at green lights in anticipation of those lights turning yellow; seems to be totally engrossed in the conversation we're trying to have over the screaming child. He seems not to hear. the. screaming.

I glance back at my son in his car seat, legs dangling just shy of Doodle's seat. He's barely three feet away from the crying baby girl, flailing in her own car seat. But he is placidly looking out the window, holding his stuffed lamb. When he feels my gaze, his eyes shift to meet mine. Now that he has my brief attention, he points to the ribbon on his stuffed friend.

"Bwoo!" he states, showing me he knows the color of the ribbon.

"Great job!" my husband responds, as I shake my head in wonderment. "And tell Mama what color your hat is," my husband continues to encourage him.

"Bwoo!" Tigger shouts now, proud of his word.

"That's right!" my husband crows.

"Very good!" I say enthusiastically, hoping my smile masks the wince on my face. Because I can hear the crying. Screaming. Hunger? Gas? Pain? She needs me. How can they be completely unfazed by the noise coming from that little being?

It must be a mothering phenomenon. I cannot sit at peace when I hear that particular noise. I shift, fidget, wince, and press my foot on the invisible gas pedal.

Get home. Get home. Let's go.

Good thing we only live 1.7 miles from church.

Exclusive Footage

2011-02-22T15:27:00.000-07:00

In our family, my dear husband is the one in charge of most visual media. When he recently organized and uploaded all the videos he's taken over the past few months, this one was tucked, like a secret treasure, in amongst the scenes of park swings, snow sledding, and family Christmas highlights.
This is the morning of little Ninna's birth, shortly after Tigger awoke to meet her for the first time.

The Thursday Challenge

2011-02-16T10:54:00.005-07:00

Thursday is "floor day."

At least, I like to pretend that it happens every week. I make sure to vacuum the entire house, at minimum. But on the ideal Thursday, the mop bucket comes out as well; the kitchen floors are left without scuffs and stains, and the wood floors shine by the time Doodle comes home from work.

The biggest challenge lies within this Challenge: timing the two tasks of vacuuming and mopping close enough together so that the dog and cat don't shed in the meantime. Otherwise, there is infiltration of black hair into the mop threads, and unnecessary clouding up of mop water.

Unfortunately, vacuuming is easiest early in the morning, before too many of Tigger's toys have found their way to the floor. And the mopping is best saved for the afternoon, when little ones are (ideally) nappng at the same time, and the dog also senses that it's time to mellow out on his cushy bed.

Alas, the stars did not align today; but tomorrow is Thursday, so that's when the official attempt will commence!

Happy St. Valentine's Day!

2011-02-14T15:12:00.003-07:00

Myself and the two children celebrated today by going grocery shopping for the first time without my mother's help, to TWO different stores!!

We survived (wa-hoo!). Of course, what's the worst that could happen?

Oh, yes.

That.

And it did.

It happened.

Somewhere between the two stores (that happen to rhyme with Bosco and Star-jet, respectively), Little Miss decided to make up for her recent lack of bowel activity. As in, lack of activity, I mean that we've been starting to worry after about 5 days of only wet diapers.
So she finally let it all come out. She was a mess. I mean, all over. I'll have to remember to put her car seat cushion in the laundry, actually. Blech. And since the weather is so lovely today, I didn't bring a blanket to wrap her in, so I had nothing civilized within which to transport her from the car to the Star-jet restroom. Guess what else? Yesterday, while gallivanting around the city as a family, we realized there were no baby wipes in the diaper bag. Well, we actually fixed that problem yesterday by stopping to buy a new box. However, we brought that new box of baby wipes inside the house upon our return home yesterday afternoon. So they weren't in the diaper bag! All I can say is that it's a good thing I was at Star-jet...

I somehow led Tigger by the hand (no easy feat these days) into the store and up into a cart. Meanwhile, I had Ninna-in-arms, with a jungle-animal-print changing pad wrapped around her. We went "shopping" for wipes and a new outfit for Ninna (I was doing this all one-handed, since I wasn't about to put her into the Sleepy Wrap!). As we went, I heard and felt further emissions into her diaper region. I say "region," because there definitely wasn't any more holding room in her diaper! I discreetly checked my shirt a few times, to make sure the output hadn't seeped through the changing pad onto me. I finally managed to shove our shopping cart into the narrow ladies' restroom, completely ignoring the sign that restricts bringing in "unpaid merchandise."

And that was half the battle. Tigger was so patient; it probably took me a good 10 minutes to get Ninna changed--there was nothing solid in that diaper, and I had to be extra careful not to let it all pour onto the changing pad as I removed the diaper, then her clothes. Tigger sat in the front of the cart the whole time, watching people come in and out, checking himself out in the mirror, and wincing every time the hand dryer starting roaring.

Yes, Ninna will be getting a bath tonight!!

In unrelated news, I also bought another box of diapers for her, and a training potty for Tigger. No, I'm not preoccupied with toilet issues, I swear. :P

Time Warp! 2 kids now...

2011-02-14T14:07:00.004-07:00

I haven't written out Tigger's entire birth story yet. It's in the making, but not complete. And here, already, is the birth story of our second child. But it took a lot longer for Tigger to be born. So I'm justified. (Right?)

Baby Colette Moninne (Mo-NEEN) was born at home in the water early on Wednesday morning, January 19th at 12:49am after about 5 hours of labor, start-to-finish. 8lb 9oz, 19-1/2 inches.

Tigger slept through the whole thing, and awoke the next morning to a new baby sister!

Yes, this was a planned home birth. I love my midwife, Rebecca--she was awesome throughout all the prenatal care, the labor and delivery, and then the postnatal care, which was more adventurous than any of us would have liked.
I'd been having strong BH contractions for about 2 weeks, so from about 7:45pm when they felt a little stronger than usual, I didn't think too much about it--maybe I'm a little dehydrated, I did quite a bit today so maybe I'm more tired, etc--but Rebecca counts this time as "early labor."
I suspected that subsequent contractions were "the real thing" around 9:45pm, but since my experience with Tigger was long, slow, back labor, I was still waiting for the really difficult and painful contractions to start when Rebecca and my doula arrived around 11:45pm! I didn't believe I was in full-blown labor, even when she told me I could get into the birthing pool, and that I was "about to have a baby." Besides, my water never broke. Colette might have been born in her amniotic sac, if Rebecca hadn't needed to break through it to help her shoulders jiggle through.
I think I went through transition in the birthing pool (even with Tigger, it was the one contraction I couldn't bring myself to greet with a welcoming breath). Then I told Rebecca I was going to poop in her tub.
"That's okay," she replied. "But I think that's just the baby coming."
I gave a push and when I reached down, I could feel the amniotic sac coming forth like a bubble. Which freaked me out, actually. With the next contraction, I could feel her head. It was happening so fast. Rebecca, my doula, and Doodle all assured me that I could slow it down by blowing through a few contractions. That was the scariest part--I just wanted her out, Rebecca reminded me I didn't want her out too fast so that I wouldn't tear, and of course, I didn't want her to retreat backwards (is that even possible?). I also didn't want her where she was, because that, too, was highly uncomfortable!! I panicked and screeched that I was going to die. I didn't, though :). Her head came out, then the contractions stopped. Rebecca saw that the cord was around her neck, so she told me to stand (I had been half-kneeling up to this point). Rebecca went around the tub behind me and that's when she broke the sac and pulled Colette down a little bit to elicit another contraction, then helped her shoulders get through. The cord started pulsing again soon after she was released, but she was a little blue right at the beginning. Being born in the water, though, she was much cleaner than Tigger was when I first held him.

I lost a lot of blood, but Rebecca gave me methergine orally, and later pitocin by injection, to help contract the uterus. I stabilized by around 5 in the morning on Wednesday. However, I started losing a lot more blood on Thursday, and she came over Thursday evening around 10pm in response to a call from us updating her on my heart rate of 138 at rest, and uncontrollable headache. After she checked my blood count, it was decided that I should go to the ER. Some huge clots were removed from my uterus by manual extraction (ouch!), and I was admitted with a diagnosis of acute endometritis. The only pain I had, though, was a severe headache (which they ultimately diagnosed as a migraine); this was kind of weird because an inflamed uterus is supposed to be extremely tender, even if just touched lightly. However, 48 hours of heavy antibiotics, plus a blood transfusion, put me on my feet again. So whatever it was, I'm alive and grateful for the important role that modern medicine can play. I discharged Sunday afternoon to home, and since then I've been feeling better and better.

Colette is a very quiet, calm baby. We've been very blessed through this ordeal with that, as well as with wonderful neighbors and friends. They let me keep her with me when I was admitted to the hospital, but I needed to have another adult in the room with us at all times, in case something were to happen to me and I couldn't take care of her. So Doodle got neighbors to stay with Tigger overnight, and his boss spent some significant daytime hours with me while he went home to relieve the neighbors. My Mom changed her flight so that she arrived Saturday morning, and she stayed until February 7th.

Colette is a 14th century French saint who reformed the Poor Clares; there is actually still a branch (?) of the Poor Clares known as the Colettines. She was known to love animals, and is sometimes pictured with a lamb or a bird. My husband especially loves that piece of trivia. :)
My husband's name is Colin, my middle name is Colleen, and her godparents are from Louisiana and have French heritage. So we thought the first name really fit well.
Moninne is the nickname of an Irish saint, St. Brinne (BRIN-yeh) who is said to have been baptized & confirmed by St. Patrick. Mo-ninna actually means "my daughter" or "my little girl" in Irish. Depending on which legend you read, she got the name "Moninne" when she cured a dumb man and the first word he uttered was "Ninna Ninna," or it came about because her first word as a baby was "Ninna."

So from here on out, she will be referred to on this blog as Ninna (NEE-na).

Counting Down

2010-11-18T21:34:00.003-07:00

As the gestational weeks fly by, and we pass the 30-week mark, I have a sense of urgency with regard to spending quality time with my Tigger. I realize that he won't be ignored once his sister is born, but I also realize that the days of "him and me" will be gone forever.

Add to this the fact that the cold weather is threatening to stick around pretty soon, so our days of easy outdoor access are limited.

This feeling of urgency has also been encouraged by the daunting thought of taking more than one child out to do grocery shopping and other errands. Especially after speaking to friends with several young children, I find new resolve to appreciate my relative ease-of-mobility at this stage of life.

And finally, the desire to make the best of this time has also been encouraged by Tigger himself, and his rapid development of playfulness and communication of late.

He plays more interactively every week, and can tell me more certainly how he would like activities to be run. We've enjoyed many little outings in the past few weeks... a rainy trip to Costco where we found all the puddles in the parking lot between the car and the store,... multiple trips to the dog park where he's learning to jump off of some tree stumps, as well as play with other dogs... a trip to the zoo,... a trip to the aquarium,... not to mention all the fun we've been having on sunny days in our own backyard, kicking a soccer ball around, repeatedly setting up his football so he can perform "kick-off," and playing fetch with our own dog.

Yesterday, my plan was to initiate him into the joys of jumping into autumn foliage. It was a worthwhile endeavor on the practical side of things, too, since the tree out front has ejected all of its lovely ornamentation onto our lawn. I had forgotten the wonderful smell that rises from the ground when one gathers the dry, papery, fallen leaves together, as well as the more pronounced whiffs of the season when bending down every so often to remove whole pieces pierced through by the rake's prongs.

Tigger was only marginally interested in the raking task itself, but he thought the "one - two - three - JUMP!" was hilarious when I demonstrated it. So hilarious, in fact, that he was thrilled to watch ME do it over and over again.

"You're turn! You do one-two-three-jump," I tried to prompt him.
Shaking his head, he repeatedly responded, "Ma-ma-ma-ma," while pointing to the huge pile of leaves.
"You want Mama to do it again?"
"Heh?!" he answered every time, which is his particular signification for "yes."
It must have been a funny sight, were any of the neighbors watching, to see a 7-month pregnant mother jumping repeatedly into a pile of leaves, while her toddler stood by and laughed with delight.

That's one thing I won't be doing for too much longer!

Voluntary Dependence

2010-10-28T12:56:00.006-06:00

Words are the actualization of thoughts.

Which is one reason I haven't posted lately. The thoughts I've been having are, in some ways, too heavy for words.

With both abundant gratitude and great trepidation, I have been contemplating this temporal life, marriage, family, and the tender thread of Faith that keeps me connected to my Creator, the Father of all. We are all human, none of us exempt from temptation or immune from the snares of the Devil.

During our marriage preparation class, one guest presenter made a statement I will never forget. "Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce," she stated. "Let's split the room down the middle. Those on this side, look at the other side.... Whose marriages will last?"
I was bothered by her matter-of-fact, "it's inevitable" attitude; it still makes me cringe. After all, weren't we there to gather tools from these presenters to increase our likelihood of success? Didn't they offer the best recommendations to be had?
There is a grain of truth to her point. No bride walks down the aisle anticipating a future separation. No young man buys an engagement ring while planning a future affair. We have no way to predict the hardships that await, the temptations in our path. So much depends on our voluntary dependence on grace. And, for that matter, our realization of that true dependence we have on God. There is no formula to follow except that of "trust always," and "pray unceasingly." Even then, one spouse may fall away. And the other is left to "trust" and "pray."

Unfair?
Yes.
Unbelievable?
Almost always.

But it has happened, over and over, these past several years. I have watched as long-time married couples have gone from union to individuals. It is painful to witness, like a body being dismembered.
"When you're with them, it's like you're with one person," I said to my husband of a strong marriage.
Yet I could have said this about a few marriages that have since seen storms too difficult to weather. Marriages that have given life to beautiful children, who are heartbroken and deeply troubled by these unhappy events.

It gives me pause. I am only two years into my marriage. Why should I think I'm exempt? I'm just another young bride, confident that her knight will never leave her.

"We must remember to always pray for our husbands," my older sister, Meg, reminds me. It is so true.

And so I clutch that thread of Faith, take nothing for granted, and voluntarily depend on my Father to lead me through the temptations of this world.

A Hurdle Jumped

2010-09-27T14:20:00.003-06:00

Last week, Doodle and I attended a formal dinner, leaving Tigger with an unrelated babysitter for the first time. The anxiety I experienced during the day before the event was little less than consuming.

I wondered how to leave the house without scarring my little boy for life.

I worried that he would refuse to go to bed, not having had anyone aside from his parents ever put him to bed for the night.

I fretted that the dog's puppy-like behavior would demand more of the sitter's attention than my son's easy-going playfulness.

In fact, I half-hoped my husband would call from work and say he was super busy, and that we'd have to cancel.

In the end, of course, the evening went very smoothly. We said goodbye to Tigger, who shook his head "no" when asked if he'd like some goodbye kisses. After all, he was busy playing with a plasitc container he had pulled out of our recycling bin!

I texted our babysitter twice in the three hours we were gone, asking if everything was okay.
"Ya, everything's great," was the first response.
"Ya," came the second.

When we arrived home, Tigger was in bed, and the babysitter was sitting on the living room couch with the cat curled up next to her and the dog lying at her feet.

It was a hurdle for me. Not for my son.
Not even for my husband. Except that now he's excited that I'll agree to more frequent date nights in the near future--before the next little one is born!

My Little Girl

2010-09-17T13:34:00.003-06:00

I actually wrote this back in May, right after we found out we were expecting #2.
Now we know she's a girl. :)
I'm so excited to meet her.

A Mother’s Day Reflection

“Children are a gift from God,”
The old man quoted Psalms.
I’d heard it growing up, of course,
Now hear it as a Mom.

My day is short—so much to do!
I wonder at his tone.
He speaks like one who’s been there, and,
He’s sad those days are gone.

I look upon my little son
Who stares at the old man.
This little one, his perfect form,
A gift from heaven’s Hand.

A strong compulsion beckons me
To squeeze him. So I do,
Then look at the old man and nod,
“Sir, I believe so, too.”

Suddenly all my concerns
Of dirty floors and dust
Disappear, as in their place
I feel my Lord’s sweet trust.

He’s given me a precious gift
To cherish, love and lead
He’s deigned that I—this broken soul—
Provide his every need.

Humbled by this noble task
I turn to go inside.
My fingers stroke my middle where
Another gift now hides.

Furry Friends

2010-09-13T21:19:00.002-06:00

Tigger is becoming attached to stuffed animals.

Two stuffed animals in particular.

One is a teddy bear from...are you ready to follow this one?...
the girlfriend of a former member of Doodle's old grad school lab in North Carolina, whom we met when we were in Houston for Doodle's dissertation defense.
Her name is Sue, and she's a pediatric nurse.
Tigger was only two and a half months old at the time. But the teddy bear is a classic looking teddy, with a bib that proudly proclaims, "My First Green Teddy."
So we're all hip about the environment, too, I suppose. (How is a teddy bear "green," I wonder?)

His other favorite is a small creature that looks sort of like a baby lion with a cloth diaper on, except he has spotting like a giraffe. We named him Girrion (jer-I'-yen) from the very beginning. This was also an early gift, from my best friend's mother-in-law; she sent it along with an outfit when Tigger was first born.

For about the last two weeks, it's the same every morning. We hear him wake up and start calling out. One of us enters the room. Tigger is in his crib, either sitting or standing, but always with Teddy in one arm and Girrion in the other. And we have to lift all three of them out of the crib, or else he becomes very upset.

He allows us to seat them, side by side, next to the toaster in the kitchen while he sits in his highchair to eat breakfast. After that, he forgets about them for most of the day. But come nap-time, and then later at bedtime, it is much easier to set him in his crib if you've tucked Girrion under his arm and set Teddy close by.

I mused to Doodle the other night, "I wonder what he thinks about them. I wonder if he just likes how soft they are, or if he thinks they have personhood."

Either way, it's really precious to see him clutching them first thing in the morning.

Random Declarations

2010-09-10T14:50:00.004-06:00

For Mrs. Bear.

And because I also think these are fun to do!

5 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT SEPHORA:

1. I chose my blogger name because I love the name of Moses' wife (of the Old Testament) the way it's spelled and pronounced on the movie "The Ten Commandments" (as opposed to the spelling and pronunciation on the movie "The Prince of Egypt"). My blogger name has nothing to do with a certain line of cosmetics.

2. My tendency to multi-task can sometimes get carried away. Yesterday, my dear Doodle came home earlier than I expected, and caught me halfway finished mowing the front lawn. I suppose I count on knowing he'll come home at a certain (later) time, so that I can "wrap things up." Because inside our home, there were a number of tell-tale signs of multi-tasking:

~a basket of clean but unfolded laundry sitting next to our bed.

~an unmade bed, because the cat decided early in the day to make it his napping spot, and I didn't have the heart to move him. Yet.

~little piles of dirt and pet hair in the living and dining room, not yet collected by the dustpan.

~dishes soaking in the sink.

~all the shower contents (shampoo, razors, etc) sitting atop the closed toilet lid, not yet returned to their places in the newly-scrubbed shower.

~a can of cat food sitting on the kitchen counter.

3. My favorite color is still purple, and my favorite flower (and scent) is still lilacs. These have been such for a long time.

4. I dislike slowing the car down on a main thoroughfare while trying to locate the exact building that I'm looking for. Usually, I end up driving past my destination a few times until I'm sure I know where to turn in. If I don't see it the first or second time, it is likely that I will give up or find an alternative destination. This happens often when I'm looking for a post office.

5. Autumn is my favorite season.

Time for a Recipe

2010-09-09T14:59:00.002-06:00

This is not my own.

Oh, no.

I am nowhere NEAR that level of domestic woman.

But it is a favorite in our house, so I thought I'd share. We usually have it with scrambled eggs mixed with some kind of meat, smoothies, and coffee (or tea, if you're my husband). Basically, it's our special-occasion substitute for toast!

And the season is upon us!

Apple Oven Pancake
From Williams-Sonoma “Essentials of Breakfast & Brunch”

My own 2 cents added in italics, from many early-morning learning experiences!!

Ingredients:
4 T unsalted butter, separated into 2 T and 2 T
4 c diced peeled tart apples such as Granny Smith (about 3 large apples)
2 T firmly packed light brown sugar
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 t ground cinnamon (I just sprinkle til it looks like a nice color!)
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 c whole milk (I only ever have 2% on hand; it works fine)
1 c all-purpose flour
1 t vanilla extract
1/8 t salt (I think you can officially call this a “pinch,” which is how I add it—who wants to measure out 1/8 teaspoon of salt in the morning??)
Confectioner’s sugar for dusting

Directions:
Position a rack in the lower third of the oven, and preheat to 425∞F.

In a large frying pan over med-high heat, melt 2 T of the butter. Add the apples and cook, turning as needed, just until tender, 5-7 minutes. Sprinkle evenly with the brown sugar, lemon juice, and cinnamon and stir to combine. Remove from heat.

(While the apples are cooking) Place a large baking dish (9x13 or 12inch diameter) in the oven to heat for 5 minutes (and set a timer!!). Remove the dish from the oven, add the remaining 2 T of butter, and (keeping in mind that it’s hot and you STILL need a pot holder) tilt the dish to coat the bottom and sides with the butter.

Spoon the apples over the bottom of the dish in an even layer.

In a bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, flour, vanilla, and salt until blended. (Usually I do this first, after I dice but before I cook the apples.) Carefully pour the batter over the hot fruit.

(Keep in mind that the baking dish is STILL hot, and you STILL need a pot holder to put it into the oven!)
Bake until puffed and golden brown, 20-25 minutes. Remove from the oven. Using a fine-mesh sieve, dust the top with confectioner’s sugar. Serve at once (with real maple syrup!).

"And I thought I loved you then..."

2010-09-05T11:07:00.000-06:00

If you've never heard Brad Paisley's song, "Then," please open it up and listen.

It's one of my current favorites.

He acknowledges the excitement and the intensity of love felt at the start of a couple's relationship, but then also describes how it deepens and grows. The song tells of how a married man becomes more in love with his wife over time.

It's a favorite of mine because it echoes how I feel about my husband.
(You're about to learn a little more about my Doodle.)

When I first met him, I couldn't believe that anyone could be so "right" for me. Not only did he have all the attributes I was looking for in a man, he also seemed to have a sense of the person I was striving to be. Nothing I said surprised him; none of my imperfections upset him. He took me at face value, but also gave me the benefit of the doubt where my foibles were concerned.

Little did I know then that this is how he meets everyone--he accepts them where they are, recognizes the best in them immediately, and chooses to relate to that "best" person. My husband can meet and talk to almost anybody. His sincerity is completely disarming, and it puts others at ease. Children and animals are drawn to him like a magnet; his intuitive way of meeting others wherever they are extends even to the little ones.

At the same time, he's not naive. He recognizes when people aren't living up to their potential, and he's an excellent judge of character.

This sincerity of heart allows my Doodle to really enjoy life, and to have a childlike Faith. There is no guile in him; no energy is wasted on pretending to be more or less than he is. He is always ready to have fun, and he takes delight in the beauty of natural occurrences.

As a scientist, his humility and sense of wonder recognizes God, our Creator, in the workings of microscopic proteins in cells. As a father, he truly enjoys making up games that our Tigger will laugh at, and loves teaching him little bits and pieces about the world around us.

In the evenings when our son is asleep, Doodle asks me about what Tigger did that day. We marvel together at his newest little accomplishments, and share amazement at the way God created His little beings to grow.

There is no way I could have seen the extent of Doodle's love of life, and awe of creation, from the beginning of our relationship.

Anyone who has met my husband knows that he loves animals, and that he especially loves birds. He knows more about birds than anyone I've ever met. He is the only person I know who recognizes--and can name--a bird he's never seen before. We have several bird feeders in our backyard, and a few on our front porch. It takes several hours every week to keep them fresh and full, but he doesn't mind. His quiet time in the morning is spent with a mug of hot tea and his binoculars, watching the birds at the feeders. If I come stand by him, he'll make a few quiet remarks about what he's observed so far that day. Knowing that he can find such peace from this favorite activity gives me so much joy.

Did I mention that he is artistic?
There is almost nothing I feel confident arranging in--or on the walls of--our home, without his input. Not that he would ever criticize my choices, but I just respect his detail-oriented opinion much more than my random tendencies. He has a perceptive eye for everything from decor and landscape to fashion and photography.

Speaking of detail-oriented, Doodle is the best gift-giver I've ever met. He picked out my engagement ring; it was perfect. I didn't see my wedding band until he put it on my finger during our exchange of rings; again, beautiful. Everything he's ever given me has been perfectly suited to my style, my personality, and my taste.
But this talent of his extends beyond gifts to me; I now consult him when I'm giving gifts to my friends--these are people I've known for years! Maybe it ties into his knack for really connecting with people that he meets. Whatever it is, it is another area where he amazes me.

Sincere, humble, joyful, peaceful, artistic, thoughtful,... and loving. Man, can my Doodle love! He knows how to make me feel special, how to make me smile, how to tease me just enough to be playful but not too much to be hurtful. He somehow knows just how to make me happy.

The other day, before I left for work, I told him that I'd like one of our crosses hung centrally above the kitchen windows.
When I came home from work that day, I found:
~the living room walls tastefully decorated by our framed pictures
~the stereo system set up, music pouring from the speakers
~the fireplace mantle clear of excess items
~the fish tank set up in the dining room
~the dining room furniture re-arranged
~another picture frame hung on Tigger's bedroom wall

...and the specified cross was hung centrally above our kitchen windows!!

Finally, he is a man of principle. He is not outspoken, nor does he engage in debate unless absolutely necessary. However, he lives by the principles he knows to be true--without wavering.

As each year passes, I realize more and more that my Doodle is the stronghold God has given me to cling to while I struggle with my imperfections on this journey of life.

"What I don't see is how I'm ever gonna love you more; ...but I've said that before."

Risibility

2010-09-02T00:15:00.000-06:00

I didn't learn until I was in college that the reason humans laugh is because we're rational.

Apparently, it takes some logical brains to decipher whether something is humorous.

I remember reading one author in particular (don't ask me to remember which one) who explained that humor is recognition of the absurd. This makes sense to me; people with a highly developed sense of humor generally have the knack for quick analysis of a situation in all its complicated, potential absurdities.

My little Tigger laughs everyday. I'd like to say I do, as well, but he definitely does; and if I definitely do, it's because his is contagious. He expresses his rational soul on a regular basis. It's like his little innocent being understands what it means to be human in the fullest sense.

St. Iranaeus said, "Man fully alive is the glory of God." In other words, the more we actualize or participate in the life God created us to live, the more He is glorified. God created us after His image, higher than the animals, with a rational soul. So the more we are true to ourselves (aka: act like the rational beings we are), the more we are glorifying God.
This leads me to conclude that joyful laughter glorifies God.

A corollary to this conclusion might be that children glorify God, but that's more of a first principle, don't you think?

I think it's marvelous that my Tigger laughs everyday. Perhaps his sense of humor is not the most sophisticated, but the more he learns, the more he develops into the man God created him to be. For now, his laughter has enough meaning to convince me of the active presence of his rational soul.

And it reminds me to actualize mine, to the glory of God.

Fall Shedding

2010-09-01T14:33:00.004-06:00

Doodle assures me that I'm not crazy.

That yes, it is possible to have thoroughly swept the floor three times today, yet still acquire a huge pile of hair the fourth time.

We have a dog and a cat.
Both black.

So actually, I shouldn't say I know for sure who to blame more. But the hairs that I gather up into the dustpan are long, and a bit bristly. And whenever the dog shakes, I see little tufts of these long hairs on the wood floor, in a circle around him. And whenever the dog lies down, I can tell where he's been by the scattered black hairs left behind.
In all fairness, the cat is also black. And he goes everywhere in the house. And I find black hair everywhere--even where the dog hasn't been.

However, I told Doodle this evening, "The next dog we get should be a Labradoodle, or even just a Poodle."

His suggestion: "Those Mexican hairless dogs are becoming wildly popular."

"Um, no, thank you," I replied. "I don't want an ugly dog; just one that doesn't shed." (Apologies to anyone who owns a Mexican hairless dog or thinks they are good-looking animals. Personally, I think they look naked.)

Then I turned to the dog. "I love you, Caomhan, but you just shed too much. Do you want to learn a new trick? Maybe how to collect all your fur-droppings into a neat pile for me to sweep up?"

Doodle laughed. Then he taught me something I didn't know before. Dogs shed extra in the spring and the fall. Isn't that amazing? Even domesticated dogs. It's a seasonal change of coats. So maybe this craziness is only temporary.

Like the loving husband he is, Doodle proceeded to take the dog out back tonight and brush him with the Furminator.

I stayed inside, excited about another revelation: Fall is here!!

The Department

2010-08-26T13:21:00.004-06:00

...of Motor Vehicles, and the Drivers' License building.

That's where we spent half of our morning. It actually didn't take too long to register the car at the DMV.
The drivers licensing process, though--my goodness. At least we had all the right documents!

First, there was the line when we first walked in the door, where people waited to find and fill out whichever application fit their need. Since we had already downloaded and printed our appropriate applications from the internet, we slipped by there without hiccups.

The purpose of the second line was to get a number. But this wasn't just a pull-tab machine we waited to see. At the front of this line was a man whose job was to discover our business and then make sure we had all the right documents. I actually think this is a great idea; presumably, with this mechanism in place, people don't waste half their morning waiting for their number to be called, just to be told that they can't do what they've come to do. After he paper-clipped our relevant documents together with a (pull-tab) number on top, we got to sit in the plastic chairs!! (Every DMV building has the same plastic chairs.) There, we watched red digital numbers flash on a small screen. Actually, I helped Tigger bounce on and off the chairs and run up and down the rows, while Doo kept an eye on the numbers.

Since there are so many different people waiting, with so many different reasons for being there, the numbers don't seem to have any consistent order or pattern. It's like winning a raffle when your number flashes in red up on the black rectangle!

Doo and I went to separate windows to hand in our individual paperwork and get a "kiosk number" in order to take the written (open book) exam. Fortunately, I finished my exam by the time Doo was ready to start his, and the Tigger hand-off went very smoothly.

After the exam, there is one more line to wait in: here, the desk clerk hands you a temporary paper license and informs you that the real one will arrive by mail in 4 to 6 weeks.
What?! Is this piece of paper going to work at the liquor store? Or do I need to carry around my birth certificate, marriage license, and social security card for the next month?

:)

Sort of anticlimactic.

But now it's done. Tonight we'll put our new orange and blue plate on the back of the Sonata, proudly displaying our residency in the state that boasts of Arches National Park.

And in about a month we'll again have drivers' licenses that fit into our wallets.

Multi-use

2010-08-24T13:53:00.003-06:00

Tigger has been introducing me to the variety of ways that everyday items can be utilized.

For example...

It's a tire lever, used to change tires on the bike and stroller.
OR, it's a nifty hook for pulling all of the dirty clothes out of the laundry basket.

It's an empty waste basket.
OR, it's a household "shopping cart," perfect for pushing around the wood floors and collecting toys.

It's a fly swatter.
OR, it's a really neat toy that bends when you shake it hard.

It's a pot lid.
OR, it's a great metal noisemaker when you throw it on the floor. Again, and again, and again.

It's a dog leash.
OR, it itself is a pet--to be dragged around for a "walk" and checked on every few steps.

It's an unpacked box of books.
OR, it's a jungle gym, perfect for climbing.

Hairy Muffin

2010-08-22T22:06:00.001-06:00

My little boy's hair has a very fine texture, but it grows quickly.

When he was about 7 months old, I noticed that it was creeping over his ears and winging out on either side of his head. When I pointed this out to my husband, Doo replied, "Oh, it's fine. We don't need to worry about it yet." I considered this a legitimate response, and finally agreed; he's a baby, not a PFC.

(See those wisps of hair over the ears? At the time, it was very noticeable. Really.)

Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks later, I came home from work to find my little baby's hair much shorter along the sides! My husband had taken his clipper set and gone to work. It actually looked rather cute.
But I voiced my primary "first-time mommy" concern: Did you save a lock of hair?
Doo shook his head, No; I mainly just trimmed the sides. There weren't any strands long enough to save.

I was a little disappointed, but happy to hear that the child still had some "original hair" up top, hanging down over his brow. When we get around to cutting those, I thought, I'll save a nice little bunch.

About 3 months later, the day came. My husband announced his intention to give our son another haircut, and I promptly trimmed a bit of the hair that was now hanging over his eyebrows. I stowed it safely in a plastic sandwich bag to deal with later. For the time being, it got tossed on the kitchen counter.

I forgot about it.

Until the next day.

Doo called from work. He does this often; sometimes he has a question, sometimes he needs me to tell me something or have me go pick something up, and sometimes he just phones to see how we're doing. This call was of the third category, a casual check-in.

So I reciprocated, So, how is everything there?

Oh, it's okay, he replied. Except I couldn't eat that strawberry muffin you put in my lunch today.

Oh, yeah? Why's that? I asked.

It was full of hair! I think you put the muffin in Tigger's hair bag.

WHAT??!! Oh, gross.

Neither of us could stop laughing.

Yeah, I'm sorry. I had to throw it out.

Hey, that's okay.

A few months later, we cut my son's hair for the third time. With the electric clippers, there wasn't enough length to save any.

I'm still not sure if I'll bother to save a lock of Tiernan's hair from his fourth haircut.

Eh.

Renewal, and Reasons to Remember

2010-08-20T21:22:00.009-06:00

Hopefully this is the post that announces, "I'm baaaack!!!"

I have my doubts.

But I also have some motivation. After lurking at the blogs of various friends, and especially at the site of one member of my family, I have felt the urge to keep my own record again.

I don't know who to credit with the quotation, "The days are long but the years are short;" however, I know I didn't believe it until I had my first child. In the past 16 months of his life so far...

-My DH (whom I refer to as Doodle, or Doo) wrote and defended his thesis, then

-He graduated with his PhD, which allowed him some time to

-Demonstrate what a devoted and loving father he was born to be.

-We've moved 3 times, twice across state lines.

-I've held 4 different part-time jobs outside of the home, as well as one ever-evolving stay-at-home responsibility.

-My son has gone from a helpless infant to a trotting toddler, capable of letting our dog know when he's overstepped his boundaries.

-My son has had 3 haircuts, and needs another (more on that in another post).

-We found out that we're expecting baby #2!

And these are all events that have happened within our young, small, nuclear family. If I include extended family, I have to mention the loss from one death, the gains from two weddings, one college graduation, and many more moves and transitions--physical, emotional, and spiritual--than I can recall.

The thing is, I want to remember. I want to be able to look back and relive the excitement I felt when we discovered we'd be moving west to Utah. I want to remember our family reunion in May of 2010 when we all stayed at the beach house and I announced that the ninth grandchild was on the way. Right now I can tell you that my son starting walking when he was ten and a half months old, but after I've had one or two more children, will I keep all those milestones straight?

When Our Lady experienced the miracle of the Nativity, she "treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart." Luke 2:19
Now that I am a mother, these personal events are my own treasures, and I feel compelled to keep them safe for my children in the future. Someday, if they choose, they can see what their lives mean through my eyes.

Even if no one else cares, I have plenty to record.

Many reasons to hold onto these memories.

And, please God, the grace to do so with honesty, love, and the good of my family at heart.

Early mornings

2009-06-01T18:21:00.003-06:00

Our morning routine begins when my DH, Doodle, wakes up early and takes our energetic dog, Caomhan, for a walk. This has been especially enjoyable for Doodle during the last month or so, since he is a serious bird-watcher, and it has been the season for Spring Migration. For the past few weeks, he has been returning to the house each day with a different exciting report of various warblers, passing through the state of North Carolina, on their way to points north.

Then Spring Migration was over. Suddenly. Last week.

This removes a huge motivating factor in Doodle's routine to wake up early. Nevermind walking the energetic dog. Add to that the fact that now, he has less than a month before his dissertation defense (and he is still writing his dissertation). This means late nights, followed by very UNrefreshing mornings, as he faces each day with dread and stress.

So last week, I spontaneously took the opportunity--3 times!--to wake up early and take our energetic dog out for a run, while Doodle gratefully stayed in bed with our little son. It was fun to do our usual route (which I walk regularly with him each afternoon), without the heat and weight of the baby on my chest. We also finished in half the time it takes to walk when I'm carrying the baby. Caomhan happily trotted along, and seemed genuinely fatigued when we got back home.

And this is what I found upon re-entering our bedroom, one morning last week:

Sleepy Wrap

2009-05-24T11:23:00.002-06:00

Doodle wanted to make sure he felt completely comfortable using the Sleepy Wrap...

...before he put our most Precious Cargo into it:

Delayed Announcement

2009-05-08T15:26:00.006-06:00

I don't currently have access to the internet at home, and it's difficult enough to attempt upkeep of a blog with internet access at work! Now that I'm not working (as of Good Friday, hurray!) it's even harder!

But our precious son, Tiernan Lorenzo, hereafter referred to as "Tigger," was born April 14th at 2:12am, weighing in at 8lb, 4oz.

Behold, the cuteness:

And what's even better is that today he was baptized. So for now, he's our little saint :) . "No malice for several years yet," assured Fr. Check.

39 weeks and counting... !

2009-04-03T17:16:00.014-06:00

I think this baby is taking his/her time. The baby's head still isn't engaged in my pelvis, so I deferred the internal exam this week.
Maybe by my next appointment, I'll feel a little closer to birth-day!

Thanks for all the prayers!

Another March Birthday!

2009-03-27T16:16:00.002-06:00

Happy 21st!! ...to the Fortunate Alvy, who is becoming more and more beautiful every year.
I have such lovely sisters.

Saturday Work

2009-03-05T08:56:00.002-07:00

I love my per-diem Saturday job, at a small regional hospital the next town over. Everyone there is very laid back, welcoming, and sincerely interested in supporting their co-workers.
After attaching a copy of my resignation letter to the director of rehab services there, I received this email reply:

"Dear [Sephora],

I regret to inform you that your resignation has been rejected and declined. Therefore we anticipate your return to PRN following your maternity leave and relocation. Please plan all of your future shifts around your travel time so that you are not late for work. Thank you.

Sorry to see you go!! Congratulations and good luck w/ all of the new changes in your life. If you are ever back in the area and are looking for work don't hesitate to contact us.

[Todd]"

Big Day:

2009-03-05T05:48:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday to Portia-Bean! May your day be filled with blessings and some sort of successful outing!

Kindness from Strangers

2009-02-05T18:39:00.007-07:00

I'm 7 months pregnant, but since I wear a big, oversized ski jacket that I've had since early college days, no one can tell that I have a protruding middle when it's cold out.

And it's now wintertime, even in North Carolina (most of the time).

So this means that when I get on the bus to go to work, I look like any other young woman in scrub pants, hat, and huge ski jacket getting on a bus. Since I live relatively close to the hospital, the bus is inevitably full in the morning by the time it stops near my house. I stand and hold the bar for about a half mile before the first main stop comes where half of the students exit, and I find a seat.

At first, I was a bit annoyed that I had to stand "in my condition(!)" and I resented my large jacket. But soon I realized how silly I was being: here I was, going to work as a physical therapist at the hospital, where I'm on my feet all day (except when I'm on my knees instead, crawling around the floor retrieving balls that I've coaxed my young charges to throw!) Why should I need a seat on the bus for a 15 minute ride in the morning? Besides, I can only imagine how awkward I'd start to feel if, everytime I entered the bus, somebody gave me a seat. I'd start to feel guilty that my stop was so late in the route.

As a result of these personal revelations, I've accustommed myself to making sure my jacket is zippered; I expect no special courtesies by others who are also half-asleep while making their ways to their respective jobs.

So of course, it came as a surprise one evening this week when I went grocery shopping (and happened to have my jacket unbuttoned). I pushed my cart up to the register where "Tina" was stationed.
Instead of the company-scripted, "Did you find everything okay?" Tina asked me, "What are you having?"
I looked at her quizzically--I may have even said, "excuse me?" because I had no idea what she was referring to. Did she wonder how everything in my cart might make one dinner menu for the night?
"Boy or girl?" she clarified.
"Oh! I'm sorry--we don't know. We're keeping it a surprise," I respond--just now realizing that my jacket is unzipped. At this point, I wonder whether I should hand her my discount shopping card (DSC); we're so off-script that I'm a bit frazzled. She hasn't asked for my card--and she's already proceeding to the part where she scans my groceries!!
Apparently, the spontaneous nature of the encounter doesn't phase her.
"Is this your first?" she continues, gingerly plucking my DSC from my half-outstretched hand, scannning it, and returning it.
"Yes, it is," I say, half-absently--since now I'm trying to swipe my debit card, and I'm one of those people who actually needs to READ the digital instructions on the card reader to make sure I do everything in the right order.
"That's so exciting," she coos.
"I know! We're very excited," I reply, finally finished with the logistical aspects of my checkout procedures. I move to the end of the counter to start bagging my goods.
Tina refuses to let the belt carry them down to me: "I can do all that when I'm done," she says.
"No, it's okay if I start them," I tell her.
She reluctantly turns her belt on, realizing that I'm about to reach across the counter to grab my blueberries.
I finish about 3 bags' worth when another girl comes up behind me: "I can finish these for you, ma'am!"
I step aside and thank her. Soon there is a third staff member present, and everyone is scanning, or bagging, or loading my cart.
"See, there's plenty of us here to do this for you!" Tina rejoices.
After I pay, Tina goes off-script once again. Instead of, "Would you like help out today?" she looks at me and says, "We're helping you out to your car. You're pregnant enough..." I laugh, but thank her, and chat with the "bagger" on the way out.

Of course, when I get home, I lug all the groceries around the house to our apartment, a few bags at a time, and I'm none the worse for the effort.

But it's refreshing to taste kindness from strangers.

Obama's Statement

2009-01-23T06:30:00.003-07:00

So this is the rhetoric we're given on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade:

"On the 36th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, we are reminded that this decision not only protects women's health and reproductive freedom, but stands for a broader principle: that government should not intrude on our most private family matters. I remain committed to protecting a woman's right to choose.

While this is a sensitive and often divisive issue, no matter what our views, we are united in our determination to prevent unintended pregnancies, reduce the need for abortion, and support women and families in the choices they make. To accomplish these goals, we must work to find common ground to expand access to affordable contraception, accurate health information, and preventative services.

On this anniversary, we must also recommit ourselves more broadly to ensuring that our daughters have the same rights and opportunities as our sons: the chance to attain a world-class education; to have fulfilling careers in any industry; to be treated fairly and paid equally for their work; and to have no limits on their dreams. That is what I want for women everywhere."

Aaaargh.
I have to start working, but I just have to say something about this.

First of all, this is quite a principle: "government should not intrude on our most private family matters." REALLY!
Then why won't he allow abortion to AT LEAST be a "family matter"--and let the parents stay informed about what's going on, espeically in those states where parental consent is already required? Instead, he wants to pass FOCA, which lifts all restrictions on abortion; which allows "the family" to be left behind, which allows impressionable and distressed young women to face healthcare pressures alone.
The reason is that it's NOT about the family. If it were, he might also support school vouchers, and even--gasp--homeschool! These things share that broader principle that says the government needn't get involved, because the family can look after their children's educational needs.

And this statement drives me nuts: "we must also recommit ourselves more broadly to ensuring that our daughters have the same rights and opportunities as our sons." Meaning, "our sons are able to run away from the consequences of promiscuity--why shouldn't our daughters be able to do the same?" Perhaps we should consider ways to make adoption services more accessible to both unwed mothers and to couples looking to adopt children--and MAYBE even encourage fathers to take more responsibility for their actions, even if they're not anatomically connected to the "punishment" of pregnancy!

And yet you read the news, and everyone is all excited about this man's commitment to finding "common ground."

God bless and save America.

The power of the bone

2009-01-16T14:52:00.003-07:00

My very hard-working (and late-working!) husband, Doodle, arrived home one night this week to find me fuming smoke from my ears and growing sticks from my fingertips. I felt like I had reached my last nerve.

I also felt somewhat like the proverbial overtired mother who hands off her toddler to her (equally overtired) husband as soon he walks in the door, muttering something like, "YOU deal with him."
Within the first five minutes--err, make that seconds--of Doodle being inside the door, I launched into a tirade of our 13 month-old dog's behavior. Yes, that's right; Caomhan, the puppy.

"I can't TAKE it anymore," I seethed. "He whines for more food, I tell him 'no,' but he won't stop whining. So I tell him to go to the couch, I spray him with the water squirter when he whines until he's quiet. Then he starts being rough with the cat, so I put him in the cage, spray him again with every whine 'til he stops whining. When I let him out, he goes over to his food bowl and whines for more food!So I put him on the couch... AAaargh!"

This had been going on, in varied sequences, for about 3 hours. I was exhausted and frustrated from having to stop whatever I was doing every 10 seconds to walk over and spray the dog (consistent feedback whenever he whines), only for him to let out little whines as soon as I got back to my task of making dinner.

"Are you being a bad dog?" Doodle asked the dog. "No whining."

Of course, Caomhan, with a bowed head, looked up at Doodle with contrite eyes. Then--without any suggestion of a whine--cautiously approached my husband with a wagging tail to receive some petting.

For the rest of the evening, there was no more whining. Although I was miffed that the dog would not listen to me as well as he would listen to Doodle, the precious silence surrounding the large animal on the couch was a blessing, after 3 hours of nonstop irritation.

I even apologized for my initial outburst. "It's okay," Doodle said. "Everyone needs 10 minutes to vent everyday."

Yesterday evening, I went to the grocery store. "Try to pick up some bones when you're there," Doodle reminded me the night before. "Caomhan hasn't had any since before Christmas." So I did....

When I got home from the store, I made Caomhan do an elaborate trick (dramatically fall and play dead after being shot down by my hand-shaped-like-a-gun). His reward, of course, was one of the bones.

And my reward was 2 hours of peace and quiet, while he lay on the couch with the bone between his front paws, knawing away.
By the time Doodle came home, only one of the knotted ends was left.

"How did he do today?" Doodle asked.
"Oh, don't you know, we're friends now," I replied, "Since I gave him that bone!"

25 weeks, ...what?

2008-12-27T09:38:00.003-07:00

This week of Christmas also marks the first week of the ominous Third Trimester.

So, far, so good.

Our first overnight in Colorado--December 25th itself--I got up about 4 times in the middle of the night, with my mouth as dry as chalk, feeling as if someone had beat me up. I actually made a trip upstairs to the kitchen (such a long way in the middle of the night!) to fetch a large glass of water--which I finished almost immediately after filling it.

I don't attribute this nocturnal experience to the Third Trimester, though. This year, Doodle and I spent Christmas Eve going to "Midnight Mass" at 7pm, then eating dinner, then packing, then getting a few hours of sleep before waking up at 3am to be at the airport in time for our flights to Colorado. Note that 3am in North Carolina is 1am in Colorado. By the time we went to bed on the night of the 25th, we had been awake for over 20 hours, with just a fraction of time here and there on the flights to snooze. Couple that with the dry mountain air, and you have the ingredients for "mouth dry as chalk" and "feeling beat up."

By the time I awoke to greet the day on December 26th, my body (including my mouth) was refreshed. Doodle and I even took a little hike up the mountain behind my parents' house while the snow was falling.

I suppose the real effects of Third Trimester take some weeks to set in. :)
Meanwhile, we're scheduling a hike-a-day while we have the vacation time this week, in between visiting with family and friends, eating good food and Christmas treats, and catching up on some blogging!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Gift pressure

2008-12-11T15:56:00.003-07:00

My dear husband, Doodle, also comes from a large family. Like my own immediate family, his family members choose names every year for Christmas gift-giving. And being a new member of his family this year, I "picked" his older sister's husband, Eric.

I just sent a very long email to Doodle's sister, listing all the various ideas I've had for the perfect Christmas gift. Pleading for help.
Each idea that I think must be "the one" has been met with visible hesitation from my husband. Who happens to be one of the best gift-givers I know. (Number One on his Love Language test results). So I tend to listen to him when he has anything to say about gifts. Besides, he's known Eric for longer than I have. He and Eric get along really well, and Eric was his best man. But even with all of that being said, Doodle admits that I picked a "tough one" for gift-giving. "Eric likes a lot of different things, but they're very specific things."

So far, the idea of which he's been most supportive is a Williams Sonoma Cookbook, on the condition that it be one with a baking theme.

???

Yes, my brother-in-law is a very creative man, and an amazing chef. But a baking cookbook for Christmas? I guess I really don't have the gift-giving knack yet in this family.

First Christmas Pressure!!!

Attitude of Gratitude

2008-11-27T17:26:00.004-07:00

My first wake-up call today is the soft paw of Panther (our cat) on my cheek, accompanied by his rather loud "Nee-OW," which of course is referring to the moment in which he thinks he must get his breakfast. I assume that since my 6am cell phone alarm has not rung, then it must not yet be 6am. So it must not yet be time for Panther's breakfast. He has this habit of trying to weasle his breakfast out of his sleeping mistress at first light--recently, around 5:40am.

Instead of getting up, I grab Panther around his middle, hold him against my front like a stuffed animal, and start scratching him under his chin. His purr immediately becomes palpable against my chest. He settles in for a few minutes, and I guess I doze off, because the next thing I know, there's a paw in my face again, with another announcement of the time: "Nee-OW."

This time, I push him down toward my legs and start moving them back and forth, like I'm walking in my sleep. This sends him jumping off the bed. For 5 seconds. Then I hear him pounce back up, and I brace myself for another face rub. Instead, I hear my husband behind me let out a little grunt, and I know that Panther has launched his secondary attack plan. I am the morning feeder, and Panther knows it. When he starts trying to wake up my husband, I know he must be hungry. So I reach over and check the time on my phone: 5:45am. "Man!" I whisper, "okay, I'll get you food." Fifteen minutes is not worth battling wills with the cat, especially now that he's involving the innocent third party!

...

I climb back into bed, reset my alarm, and feel my feet begin to get warm again.
At 7am, my cell phone alarm goes off; I turn it off, and immediately roll over and tell my husband how much I don't want to go to work today. Then I remember that today is Thanksgiving Day. So in the next breath, I say, "Happy Thanksgiving!"
He replies, "Happy Thanksgiving to you!"

In that moment, God allows me to have an attitude adjustment.
"I'm very grateful that I have a job," I say to my husband. "So it's really okay that I'm going to work today."
"Oh, that's good," he says.

...

As I make my way from the parking deck to the hospital, I pass many nurses going in the opposite direction, just finished with their night shift. I pass my old roommate, who's listening to her voice messages on her cell phone, her glasses shielding--but not hiding--tired eyes. She flashes me a smile as we pass and calls out, "Happy Thanksgiving!"
I wonder if she's driving home to the coast today to be with her family. And I am suddenly grateful that I never have to work a shift overnight; that I'm not going home right now, exhausted and ready for bed, perhaps with a turkey in the refrigerator waiting to be cooked, perhaps with a long car drive ahead with bleary eyes and a weary body to see family. I'm grateful that I never have to start my workday at 7pm, but then start my day off at 8am.

...

I pass a lot of kitchen staff today at work. All of the patients' trays have a paper placemat on the bottom with a festive image of a cornucopia; they're serving turkey today for lunch, with green beans and mashed potatoes, yams, and cherry cobbler. I think about the patients in the hospital that have just switched from I.V. fluids to clear broth.... They won't be getting Thanksgiving dinner today. I look at the cafeteria workers, and I recall why I chose to go back to school to be a physical therapist. My mind flashes back to any year, Thanksgiving Day, 3pm, filling ice buckets and polishing wine glasses, moving tables, passing hors d'oeuvres and making cocktails, running my tail off all night to fetch extra gravy or make a cappucino...and then later, kicking back at midnight with the rest of the staff for a cold beer and some leftover turkey goodness from the restaurant kitchen. After that respite, then it was time to grab our stacks of cloth napkins (just up from the laundry) and the trays of clean silverware, and start rolling sets for the morning. No, I don't miss it. It was a great time in my life, but not for those busy holiday shifts. I'm glad it's over. I'm grateful that my job now is to spend time with individuals and their families, helping them recovery from illnesses, procedures, or accidents so that they can go home.

My husband pages me around 12:30pm and we plan to meet at 1pm for lunch. My co-worker has given me her holiday "free meal" pass for him to use, so we both get turkey dinner from the hospital cafeteria line.
We agree that it is the absolute worst "turkey dinner" that either of us has ever eaten. But I'm so grateful that we work so close to one another, that sometimes I get to see him during the workday, that he's sitting here with me today on a bench in front of the hospital. It's a beautiful day and we're sitting in the sunshine; I'm laughing at his imitation of the dog this morning, who apparently whined and yelped in distress at the change of morning routine, until my husband finally took him for a walk at 8:30am.

We're not with either of our families this Thanksgiving, but we're together, and these are the beginnings of our own family. I'm grateful that we don't have children waiting at home for us while we both go to work today. I know that there must be families who have to deal with that today.

It's a busy work day. I'm supposed to work until 4:30pm. I finish seeing my last patient at 7pm. But I'm grateful that I don't have a room assigned to me here. I'm neither a patient, a patient's family member, or a resident on-call for the night.

I get to go home. With my unborn child, who's been bravely reminding me of his/her presence all day. To my "family"-- my husband, my dog, and my cat. To leftover beef chili. To plan my first turkey dinner tomorrow.

I am so grateful.

Joining Nutmeg...

2008-11-25T15:09:00.000-07:00

What Your Height Says About You

You are a very vulnerable and spiritual person. Your emotions run deep.

You have a philosophical and poetic soul. You think things through and are a bit of a skeptic.

You tend to be very opinionated. You are a perfectionist with high standards.

You prefer to work alone. You work hard, and you don't like interruptions.

You are about as tall as the average Japanese woman.

What Does Your Height Say About You?

With this Magic Belt,...

2008-11-22T10:37:00.004-07:00

Speaking of glimpses into my work environment, ...

Another of my essential pieces of equipment when I see adult patients is my Gait Belt. Mine has yellow and blue stripes on it. It's quite fashionable.

The gait belt is used to help patients "transfer;" yes, "transfer" is a verb in the rehabilitation world. It means to move successsfully from one surface to another. With a gait belt around a patient's middle, combined with a little physics and excellent body mechanics, a smallish therapist can help a patient of almost any size transfer. Such things as getting from the bed to a bedside chair (or a toilet, or a wheelchair) can be accomplished by bringing the patient's weight forward on his feet, pivoting toward the desired surface, then gently letting the patient's weight shift back down to his hips to sit. If the patient has use of his arms, I usually ask him to push from the surface behind them when getting up, and reach back for the surface behind them as he's lowering down.

Patient safety with a gait belt is also addressed during ambulation, or "gait." Hence, the term gait belt. In school, we practice "guarding" people using a gait belt during all kinds of activities, including ambulation on flat surfaces, up and down stairs, with crutches, with less than full use of 2 healthy legs, you-name-it. We also learn how to lower people slowly, safely, and gently to the ground if they so happen to fall while we're guarding them.

Anyway--back to my favorite use of gait belts: transfers.

I believe in the utility of the belt. Some nurses look at me a little funny when I give it so much credit, but when you know how to use it, it can make some "two person" transfers possible with just one person. Many times I will qualify my report to a patient's nurse: "He was a max-assist transfer of one to the chair, but I also had a gait belt. If you don't have a belt, you'll probably want two people to get him back to bed."

Many of my patients come to believe in the gait belt, too. Sometimes it's an unhealthy belief. Kind of like Dumbo's feather: they associate their ability to move from here to there with the belt. And if you don't have a belt, then it's NOT going to work.

True Story:

I knock on the hospital room door of a patient for whom the physicians have ordered a Physical Therapy consult. Apparently, this woman has been very sick for a few weeks, to the point where she has not been out of bed for a few weeks, either. Therefore, she is profoundly deconditioned.

She answers my knock, "Come in?"

"Hello!" I smile as I walk in the door, rubbing my hands with the sanitizing foam positioned directly outside the door. "How are you today Mrs. Deconditioned? My name is Sephora and I am a physical therapist. I'm here because your physicians have ordered a physical therapy evaluation."

I explain to her the role of physical therapists in the hospital setting (which is not, by the way, to give out deep tissue massages--nor is it to "walk" people, as if they are pets that need to do their business 3 times a day).

The role of physical therapists in the hospital setting is to assess patients' mobility. We help the medical team determine whether patients are safe to discharge home, based on their ability to perform daily mobility activities--one of which activities, is, YES, walking. One must almost always demonstrate safety with ambulation in order for a physical therapist to recommend discharge home. However, there are frequent exceptions to this rule: equipment, family members who can be of assistance, home modifications, and other outstanding factors must be taken into account. Every patient is different.

If I conclude from an assessment that a patient is not able to perform mobility activities, I help him as much as possible while he is in the hospital, and make recommendations for follow-up if he has not met the physical therapy goals by the time he is medically ready to leave. Some patients are finished with physical therapy by the time they are discharged to home.

I explain to Mrs. Deconditioned that I understand she has not been moving very much recently, and that I am here to see how strong she is, and to help her get stronger so that she is ready to leave the hospital when the medical team is ready to send her.

"YOU're going to help me get up?" she asks, incredulous. "But you're a such a tiny little thing. I don't want to fall."

Next comes my memorized--but sincere--mini monologue, where I explain to her that I am a physical therapist and that means that I am a professional who is specially trained to help her move, even if she is not strong. I explain to her that this is an assessment, and that we are not going to do anything that she is not ready for, or that might be unsafe.

"Besides," I add to every such encounter where I determine it appropriate, "I have a magic belt here. With this belt, I have helped many patients who are much larger than you."

That gets them, one way or another, almost every time. Sometimes the patients are so confused, they don't remember that I just introduced myself as the physical therapist, and so they give some non-sequitor response such as, "Libby, you look so much like your mother in that outfit" or "I wonder why the bubbles are moving up and down the wall again." But most of the time, they're willing to try out the magic belt. Even if it's to challenge the truth of my claim.

In the case of this particular lady, she was super-weak. She had been through it all, and had seen much more across the span of healthcare than I ever wish to discover, even as a healthcare provider. But throughout my examination I continually explained everything we were going to do, along every step of the way, which is always appreciated by people who are apprehensive.

Incidentally, I have found apprehension to be a common denominator among patients in the hospital who are moving for the first time after a long sickness, with the assistance of someone they barely know...)

The end result was that this lady stood for a few seconds next to her bed before having to sit down again. There were plenty "tricks of the trade" that were utilized, but the most visible one was the use of the gait belt.

This patient was now a believer in the gait belt.

I knew for sure that she was convinced, because the next day when I went to see her again, and this time, one of her daughters was in the room. I greeted my patient and introduced myself to her daughter. Before I could proceed, my patient turned to her daughter with these words:

"Sephora might look like just a sprite of a thing, but she can do wonders with that belt!"

Five...

2008-11-21T15:49:00.006-07:00

Hurray for Month-versaries :).

And this week also marks 20 weeks of pregnancy. Strangely coincidental.

Some--no, many--of my contemporaries or senior co-workers offer, or at least agree with the common wisdom, "wait at least year" after marriage to have children. They have a variety of reasons that all seem plausible:

"Marriage is such a big adjustment, you need to get used to it first..."

"You want to make sure that you're stable emotionally and financially before you intorduce another dimension into the relationship..."

"Treasure this time together, because when children come, it will never be the same..."

My husband and I were bantering about this the other day, and laughing about the fact that the same people were sooo excited when they found out we were expecting. I don't think I wear my Faith or my beliefs on my sleeve, at least not as much as I should. But those same co-workers who would nod in affirmation to the advice listed above, said to me in giddy tones, "Oh, that's awesome! Great! So wonderful--you're so ready to be a mom!"

What?
Polar opposite reaction.

Yes, there are plenty of children in my family--immediate, extended, and among close friends. Yes, I've done my share of babysitting and there is no doubt that I want to raise several children of my own. But, really, any tips you may have of coming attractions would be appreciated!

Sometimes, I'm super-excited to hold this little one, to watch my own child grow into an adult like I've watched even my youngest sisters.

Other times, honestly, I'm scared to death.

My work environment feeds both of these emotions.

The little babies I get to see are all so precious; I can't imagine that soon, I'll be holding one that comes from my husband and myself. Our child. Wow.

The things kids say...

"What is the name for a baby horse?" I ask one of my kids while we're doing her exercise for the day.
"Pony!" she yells.
"Right! Now, what is the name for a baby cow?"
"Coward!"

But then there is the reminder, all the time, of the hardships that parents face.

I meet many teenage girls with scoliosis that need rods placed in their backs--only after years of trying to manage the curve with bracing. The pain of recovery, even though it is temporary, is felt by the parents, and especially by the mothers.

Some of the notes written about my pediatric patients have phrases such as "patient is well-known to this physician, now admitted for x, y, or z." These are children with chronic disease, or recurring infections, or complications from past treatments, or what have you; the parents go through so much more than the children, in some ways. Their level of control of their children's happiness slips through their hands when they run through the doors of the Emergency Room. It is heartbreaking to see their heartbreak.

At some point, I know I will experience my children's pain. It is likely that there will be hospital visits, but even if there are none, there will be real pain. I am reminded of it every day at work; some days, it frightens me.

My automatic defense is to respond to myself, "You work in a hospital. And not just a hospital, but a Level 1 Trauma Center, a State Hospital, and a specialized Children's Hospital. Of course, what you see everyday is a concentrated collection of the worst cases in the state, sometimes in the southeast."

But I know that every one of those cases could be anyone. My child could be one of the 3 in 10,000 births to have this specific complication or that chronic disease.

Am I strong enough to handle it?

Am I "so ready" to be a mom?

I told my husband that because we're not "waiting a year" before having children, we'll really only have one huge adjustment to make, all at once! A few decades down the road, I continued, it might be hard for us to even remember this time before children.

"OH, no it won't! I will NEVER forget this," he replied. He wasn't being romantic or anything--he's just under a lot of stress right now, trying to complete his graduate work. "I will remember this as the most miserable time of my life," he continued.

How sweet.

Happy fifth month of marriage, and bring on the children!

Have you seen my walker?

2008-11-20T14:54:00.010-07:00

An essential piece of equipment that is with me whenever I go to see an adult patient: The Rolling Walker, or RW, for short.

Many patients that come to the hospital and require the services of a physical therapist benefit from the short-term or long-term use of said piece of equipment. Many are also very distressed when, after you let them try yours out, you have to take it with you to see your next patient. They are a hot commodity, as they give otherwise off-balance or immobile patients the freedom to "move about the country" as the SouthWest ad goes. Therefore, these RW's, when spotted in the hallways of a large hospital, will inevitably be covered with colored tape, stickers, labels, stretchy bands, or other various pieces of "flare" in order to distinguish it as some therapist's individual property.

On the weekends, when different therapists cover for the regular weekday therapists, there is an unwritten but extremely serious rule that if you borrow someone's walker for the day, you return it to the exact spot at the end of the day. Nothing is quite so tragic or soul-crushing as the sound of that fateful Monday morning groan from an acute care therapist:

"Have you seen my walker?"

True story: It was the end of the day, and I had just seen my final patient for the day--and allowed that patient to use "my" RW, complete with a big orange sticker with my name taped to its front. After we were finished and the patient was safely back in his room, I collapsed the RW and set it against the outer counter of the nurses' station, then went around the counter to grab the patient's medical chart. Since our department is not included yet in the hospital-wide conversion to computer documentation, I had to scribble down my note describing the treatment session on one of our paper documentation templates. It may have taken me up to 5 minutes (but not likely) and definitely no more than 5 minutes.

When I walked around to the outside of the nurses' station again to grab my RW and be on my way, I stopped and cocked my head to the side, a frown forming across my brow. There was no RW to be found. The entire counter was free of leaning-against-it objects. Thinking I may have mistakenly left it in along the hallway near my patient's room, I wandered down in that direction. But no luck. So I began asking around--to the nurses, to the NA's (nurses' aides), to the HUC's (Head Unit Coordinators)--"Have you seen my walker?" No one could give me any clues. But they all knew what I was searching for. And I believe they could feel my soul being crushed.

Finally, the nurse manager overheard my question, and said, "As I was walking by room #12 down there, a woman was carrying a walker into the room. It might have been yours." "She was carrying it? Not using it, right?" I asked, clarifying that I was not looking for a walker that someone needed in order to be ambulatory.

"Yes, she was carrying it."

"A woman, you say--a staff member? Or a family member of a patient?"

"I don't know if she's family, but she's not staff. She was just carrying the walker into the room, and as she entered, she said to the patient, 'Look what I found!'"

"What??!!" I laughed. "'Look what I found!'?? What the...?"

I marched down the hallway to Room #12, peeked in, and saw a scene in which I did not want to involve myself.

There was an older gentleman, one leg out of the bed, upper body raised off the pillow as if to get up, with his nurse in front of him, both hands on his shoulders, trying to convince him to get back into bed. Meanwhile, I could hear and partially see a woman in the patient's bathroom across from the foot of the bed, running the water from the faucet, apparently cleaning out a container of some sort, and talking to the gentleman in the bed as if the nurse was not there. My RW was neatly propped against the wall. I made quick eye-contact with the nurse, quickly determined that she had the patient's safety under control, and whispered as I quickly snatched my walker, "This is mine; ok, I'm out."

"Is this your patient?" the nurse asked, assuming I had left the walker in his room after my treatment session with him.

"No--but this is my walker!" I responded, quickly exiting before the woman could completely emerge from the bathroom to reclaim her stolen goods.

I now keep my RW inside the nurses' station when I am writing notes--or at least in my direct line of sight!

Things to keep in mind...

2008-11-17T14:59:00.003-07:00

...while at work.

I am, as has been previously stated, a physical therapist. Currently, I work in the realm of acute care--that is, the hospital setting. I see many different people for relatively short durations. In the hospital, patients do not tend to stay under my care for weeks at a time. Those who do are generally very sick, but also are the patients that I automatically become closer to, as I experience their struggles, their pain, and hopefully, their eventual recovery with them and with their families. But I usually see most patients only for a very few days, before they move on to a less "acute" level of care. And many times, I will only ever have one encounter with a patient.

I have a quotation from Mother Teresa posted on my desk at work, to remind me to imitate her example to see Jesus in each person she served:

"Let us bring peace into the world by love and compassion,

by respecting life, the most beautiful gift of God. Let us love each person

- the unborn, the young, the old, the sick and the poor -

with the same love with which God loves each one of us,

a tender and personal love."

With the volume of people that I see in a given month--even in a given week, the temptation is there to "check them off" my list and move on without making a personal human connection with them. There is the temptation to get my part of the business of their care complete so that I can move on to the next floor, to the next patient, to the next order of business.

At the same time, part of what I love about my job is the opportunity I have to make connections with many different people. Some of those connections are more easily made than others. Some of the challenging ones energize me to try harder, while others discourage me.

Easier Connection: A mother of six children, whose youngest at 3 years old is lying in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, breathing with the help of a ventilator through an endotracheal tube, barely conscious from all of the sedation meds he's being given so he doesn't "extubate" himself. As I percuss my cupped hands on his chest wall to loosen the patches of pneumonia in his lungs, Mom and I chat. I ask her about her other children and we talk about the happy times of big families. She tells stories about this little one in front of me and I feel the love of this mother toward her entire family.

Challenging Connection: A teenager who last month was a track star, a violin and piano player, the one in the family and at school that "everybody loved." Due to what the physicians think might be viral encephalitis, she is now bed-bound with arms that become stiff, legs that move without her will, and a half-awake expression on her face as her mouth and eyebrows twitch. But we've been working with her, and last week, she definitely made eye contact with me. Definitely tried to raise her hand toward mine when I asked for a "high five." Definitely tried to move those twitching lips into a smile when her mom started teasing her. And it motivates me to work harder, to think creatively, in order to help this person recover her body--her current prison--to its prior role of self-expression and the actuality of her soul.

Discouraging Connection: Another teenager. They don't know what is wrong, but her foot hurts. She is being transferred to the Psych floor to manage her anxiety, her pain, her outbursts of anger. I feel for her, and I want her to know that I'm here to help her. But the pain is so bad, she does not want to try to move. I want her to know I see her pain, but I also want her to know the real dangers of keeping her leg so protected, and in that position in the bed. She hears but does not listen. I remind myself that her foul language is not directed at me, that her mind is as sick as her body. But I'm discouraged as I sit and document in her chart that I did nothing for her today.

That is when more of Mother Teresa's healing words give me encouragement:

"At the hour of death, when we come face to face with God

. . . we will be judged on love . . .

on how much love we have put into our actions . . .

and not how much we have done.

We cannot see Christ to express our love for Him,

but we can see our neighbor

and do for her/him what we would do for Christ."

Life comes at you fast...

2008-11-14T18:04:00.002-07:00

We're already experiencing a bursting household, with the dog taking up most of the territory in the kitchen/living room area, and the cat romping everywhere at all times of day and night, from the dog's half of the house into our bedroom, sharing our bed--yes, sometimes even our pillows--with us!

Now we are preparing to make room for another little being, this one the most precious among us. It's such a mystery: that this little one exists inside of me, yet apart from me; that 30 years after I am given the gift of birth, my firstborn will receive the same gift; that the cycle of life is inevitable, yet still so exciting every time another opportunity for that cycle arises.

Please keep us all in your prayers.

Just Married!

2008-07-18T17:45:00.001-06:00

Just Married!
Originally uploaded by ~Sephora~

It will be 4 weeks on Saturday; with the official one-month anniversary on Monday!

The couple that gave us our cat invited us over for some wine last Sunday. They married later in life, and their advise to us was to celebrate the monthly anniversaries. "Not anything too grand, or fancy--it can just be a toast before dinner."

We decided that was a great idea.

So our first one is this Monday!

Less than 2 weeks!

2008-06-09T20:04:00.001-06:00

I leave for Colorado on Friday, and then a week from Saturday is the wedding!
Please keep us in your prayers.

I'm okay

2008-04-09T14:13:00.002-06:00

...even though someone has decided to hold my phone hostage. Grrrr.

The story goes as follows.

Colin and I are trying to find a place for him to move into at the beginning of June. One woman and I have been calling and emailing back and forth for about a week and a half now, trying to coordinate a time when she can show us her condo.

At lunch today, I decide to check my messages--just to make sure that tonight is finally the night that we can go check out her place.
Lo and behold, my phone is not in its usual spot, which is the side pocket of my backpack. The outside pocket of my backpack. Where it might have easily fallen out.
"But then again," I optimistically think, "I may have just left it in my car at the Park'n Ride."

I decide to call my phone and listen to my voicemail.

But when I call, someone answers. Sort of. At first, all I hear is talking in the background, "What do I do? What, man?"

"Hello?" I say.

"Mumble, mumble, [incoherent things being said]," and it sounds like they're outdoors.

"Hello?" I repeat.

"Hello," replies a voice.

"Hey, there; this is my phone," I say.

"Oh yeah? Well how much do you want for it?"

"What? Where are you?" I ask.

"Well, where are you?" comes the reply. By now it sounds like the voice of a young-to-middle-aged African American man. I see a lot of men working construction at the hospital everyday. Maybe one of them found my phone and picked it up for me.

"I'm at work. At the hospital," I reply.

"Well, let's talk money," I hear him say.

"ExCUSE me?" I'm incredulous. "This is my phone!!" I tell him. For some reason, I feel like repeating this information is a reasonable argument. Don't ask me why I think that.

"Yep, and I know where you are, but you don't know where I am," he says. "How about ten?"

"What??!" I still can't believe what I'm hearing.

"Ten bucks, you'll get your phone back."

"No way."

"Well, then you can't get your phone," he says.

"I'll just disconnect it, then," I tell him.

"Okay! I guess you can hang up now."

So I hang up. Disgusted. And I immediately call Colin and ask him to disconnect my phone. Then I ask him to call my mom at work and tell her I've not been kidnapped (because I can only imagine what the guy might have said to her if she decided to call me today). Then I email the lady we're going to meet this evening, and give her Colin's number to confirm our appointment.

Then I kick myself for not doing any number of other things in order to get my phone back from the jerk. I mean, we have Hospital Police here. They could be there when I "meet" the guy to retrieve my phone from him. But Colin doesn't want me to re-negotiate with him.

My phone was being stupid anyway.

But it has all my phone numbers on it.

So if you get a chance, send me an email with your phone number. Cause unless you're living at my parent's house, I don't know it by heart.

Bottom line, though, is I'm okay. Even though you can't reach me by phone anymore. Grrrr.

Awwww, making eyes...

2008-02-13T23:29:00.001-07:00

Awwww, making eyes...
Originally uploaded by ~Sephora~

Behold, our new responsibility: Caomhan.
His father is a boxer, his mother a black lab.
And he is just the cutest thing ever.
Until I go to work and rub the no-water sanitizing solution on my hands before and after each patient. Ooooh, the burning in those little raw scratches, so fun-lovingly left by my puppy's needle teeth and batting paws!
We can't help but love him...

Awareness, prayer

2007-11-15T19:23:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine who is in school to be an anesthesiologist is now "getting flak" from her professors who, before her acceptance into the program, stated it would be fine for her to decline--on moral grounds--any participation in procedures such as tubal ligations, abortions, etc.

The medical world is a dangerous arena. When you're surrounded by a lopsided environment, you start to walk funny. I notice attitudes, comments, and behaviors that pander to the culture of death almost everyday. On days I do not notice it, I worry that I have not been on guard.

It is so important to hold fast to Truth, especially the basic fundamentals of natural law. One danger is complacency, but even worse, there is a real danger of becoming infected by the culture in which you're immersed.

Since the problem exists perhaps even more blatantly in the scientific community, Colin and I fully appreciate the blessing we've been given in finding a solid, orthodox, actively pro-life parish in our diocese.

Read this article, written by one of the geniuses (literally) who graduated from my alma mater--even more a genius because he is able to unveil the Truth in simple terms, bringing those lopsided images into focus.

And pray.

Pray for our Church leaders; pray for our legislators.

The Proposal

2007-10-18T16:50:00.000-06:00

or, ...

How My Coffee Got Cold

Between Mass and our parish picnic on Sunday, October 14th, we went to pick up some lemonade for our picnic contribution. We also stopped to buy a coffee for me, due to my slight headache--which Colin always assumes is caffeine withdrawal, for some reason... :)

Upon returning to the church grounds, there was still about a 30-minute wait until the picnic was to begin. Colin suggested we go into the church and say the Rosary. There is an icon of Our Lady of Czestahowa inside (my favorite image of Our Lady, as she is the patroness of Poland under this title) so he had a grand scheme going.

However, having just purchased a coffee, and wanting to enjoy it warm, I declined the idea of going inside the church, and suggested we go to the outdoor statue of the Sacred Heart and do it there on the benches. That way, I could bring my coffee with me.

"The church is the better place to pray," Colin dutifully reminded me. Feeling the beginnings of guilt and self-accusations of heathenism coming on, I acquiesced and asked if we could put my coffee in his car. After I did so and he locked it up, he glanced up and saw the peaceful, quiet, outdoor Sacred Heart Shrine that I'd been referring to, and said, "Oh, yeah! We can just go there. There are probably a lot of people in the church right now, anyway."

"So, can I get my coffee, then?" I asked. He started laughing and shaking his head (while backing away from the car) and so I decided that I was being nudged to give up my coffee while we prayed the Rosary.

We sat on one of the benches and prayed the Luminous Mysteries. It was a beautiful day; we were shaded by overhanging branches that moved softly in the light breeze. There was only the occasional shout in the distance of the parish kids running around on the large church lawn.

After we were finished, Colin started telling me that he had spoken to my Dad a few weeks beforehand, and that both my mother AND my dad had given him their blessing. I responded by asking when and how and where this all took place, and he gave me a few cryptic responses. Then I realized that I was trying to draw information from him that would ruin any potential surprise effect of a proposal in the future. At the same time, I realized that he had brought it up in the first place!

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked, accusingly.
He smiled and leaned back, saying, "Because I finally got the ring!" I saw then that he was leaning back so that he could put his hand in the front pocket of his pants. My hands went to my mouth and I started tearing up.

"Oh, ...my God!" I said as he pulled his hand out to reveal the ring, so little between his thumb and forefinger.

I didn't cry beyond the first few tears of shock, because he's so funny: As he took my hand and slid the ring on my finger, he remarked, "I hope today is a good day to get engaged!"

I didn't know what to say, except, "Of course it is!" as I gave him a big hug.

We talked for a little while--and then it was time for the picnic.

Since he was pretty hungry, Colin requested that we go to the picnic, and call our parents later. I reluctantly agreed, but told him we still needed to stop by his car:

I needed to grab my coffee!

Engaged....

2007-10-17T20:13:00.000-06:00

And peacefully happy.

Thank you for your prayers!

A Better Monday

2007-10-08T16:25:00.000-06:00

Prayers are answered, and weekends have a way of ironing things out....

When I came into work this morning, I saw that the young man with C.F. that was just re-admitted last week after a long hospital stay was discharged again quickly--over the weekend.

And Jimmy? I went to see him this morning. His eyes were open; he was extubated! He's still physically in the ICU, but only because there are no available beds in the Step-Down Unit. I walked in while his nurse, "Mark" was doing his morning assessment. Mark asked Jimmy, "Are you hurting anywhere?"

Jimmy laughed and said, "I won't be when you let go of my wrist!" Apparently, Mark hit a bruised spot when he was feeling for Jimmy's pulse.
Mark replied what I was thinking, "Wow! It's good to see you smiling, that's for sure!"

*****************************************

And this afternoon, I saw another patient of mine with C.F. that's in the ICU, who's been wasting away because of a failing lung transplant and needs to get into good enough shape for a re-do. He actually was able to get into a sitting position in the chair next to his bed! It was a Max Assist transfer (meaning, he did, at most, 25% of the work and I did the rest) from the bed to the chair, but he did it!

It WAS a good Monday.

Suffering and Courage

2007-10-04T17:40:00.000-06:00

"Are you going to--oh my gosh, what's the matter?" Ginger, one of the ICU nurses, interrupted her own question with a look of worried concern.

I'd had my head down as I was looking over my patient's chart. I thought I'd gotten the last of my tears out in the nurse's break room a few minutes earlier. But as I looked over the chart and glanced over into "Jimmy's" room, I couldn't stop more from shooting from my eyes. Jimmy has been my patient for the past month. He's been Ginger's patient since 7 o'clock this morning, when she arrived for work.

Jimmy is barely in his 20's and has cystic fibrosis. He happens to be a really sweet Catholic kid who doesn't show much distress on his face when he's struggling to breathe. "I guess I'm just used to it," he told me once during an exercise walk around the hospital hallways. I always have to ask him directly if he wants to change anything we're doing in physical therapy. If I don't, he doesn't complain.
All the nurses love him. All the hospital visitors from the local parish love him.
But the fact that he's a sweet kid is beside the point.

The point is that his breathing has been getting more labored, and that despite increasing breathing treatments and physical therapy interventions, he's been needing more and more supplemental oxygen over the past few months. But he was getting better. The Pulmonary Team was going to discharge him from the hospital earlier this week, but he opted to stay "until I get my transplant."
His status on the lung transplant list is "active" -- meaning, he's waiting for the phone call that notifies him when matching lungs are available. "Good" lungs are not abundant. Organ donors, even with the same blood type and tissue type, don't always have healthy organs when they pass away. "Dry runs" are the rule, not the exception--a dry run being, when a patient is all prepped and ready in the O.R., only to find out that the long-awaited lungs are "bad."

Last night, a Rapid Response was called to Jimmy's room up on the Pulmonary floor of the hospital. A Rapid Response is a hospital-wide overhead page that calls for immediate medical intervention by a specialized on-call team. Jimmy's oxygen saturation was dropping. That is, there was not a sufficient amount of oxygen being carried through his body by his blood. This sometimes happens to people when the inner walls of the lungs become so congested or fibrotic, that no matter how much oxygen is sent in, there is too much of a barrier between that oxygen and the blood that is trying to pick it up on its way through.

Jimmy ended up being transferred to the ICU, where he was intubated. This means that a tube was sent through his mouth down his airway, to deliver oxygen to his lungs from a ventilator. The ventilator does the work of breathing for him, so that he does not have to use up his energy on an activity that we do without thinking. He won't become exhausted trying to get enough oxygen, and the Respiratory Therapists can monitor how much flow of oxygen he needs. Because people are not naturally designed to have machines "breathe" for them, it's a scary, agitating condition to be in. So people who are intubated are generally also sedated.

When people with cystic fibrosis are intubated, it is a serious event. It is not done lightly. Their lungs are already in sub-optimal health, so the chances of recovering breathing function with their own lungs is slim. It is difficult enough for people with healthy lungs (who need to be intubated temporarily because of other injuries) to wean off the ventilator, nevermind those with diseased lungs. For people like Jimmy, their primary hope is for transplant: for "good" lungs to become available sooner rather than later.

One of the Physical Therapy Technicians paged me while I was sitting in my team's meeting at 8:30 this morning, to tell me that Jimmy was intubated in the ICU. Upon reading the text message on my pager, I turned and whispered to Allison, our Pulmonary Senior Therapist, that I "hate pulmonary" (my current team assignment); then I completely lost control and had to excuse myself to the restroom to let myself cry for several minutes. When I arrived at the ICU 45 minutes later, I stood with clenched teeth and prayers to my guardian angel for strength, while I stood with the medical students, the interns, and the residents, and listened to the Chief Pulmonary resident on rounds give her report of Jimmy's status to her attending physician. I tried to numb my mind to much of what she said, "desatting into the 70's on non-rebreather mask ...tachycardic in the 150's ... PCO2 of 109 ... chest x-ray films ... worse ... hopefully he'll move up on the transplant list ...".
After I clarified with them that they did want us to continue chest PT (manual percussion on the patient's chest and back to help physically shake excess mucous from the walls of the lungs) I retreated to the nurse's break room for another semi-breakdown while I prepared my note for his medical chart.

And then I was standing outside his room, listening to the "click"s and "sigh"s of the ventilator, and hoping he was sedated enough that he wouldn't open his eyes and see my red ones looking back at him.

"Are you okay?" Ginger asked. "What is it?"

I motioned to Jimmy's room.

"Do you know him?" she asked.

"He's been my patient for the past month," I squeaked. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not handling this well today."

"We all have days like that," she assured me. "I hope yours gets better."

I thanked her, wrote my note, and left.

Another patient of mine with C.F. just moved to the ICU earlier this week from the floor. He is a staunch Christian and has been refusing to be put on the lung transplant list for years: he's waiting for a miracle. Yesterday he was lying in bed with his eyes closed, an oxygen mask on his face, his heart racing. His wife was reading to him from the New Testament. As I reviewed his medical chart outside his room, I heard her strong, steady voice read the story of the man born blind that Jesus cured on the Sabbath, and the Pharisees summoned his parents to ask if he really had been born blind.
Then I entered the room and reviewed the plan with her for continued chest PT treatment. I know the team is considering intubating him--but since he is not on the transplant list, that would mean he would be intubated ...indefinitely...? I hope he gets his miracle.

Last week, one of the young women with C.F. that I have as a patient experienced the "dry run." I had stopped into her room that morning, had congratulated her on "getting" some lungs, and had promised to pray for her that night as she went down to the O.R. The next morning, she was still on the floor. In that case, it was bad news that she was still on the floor. "The lungs were bad" was all I heard.

This morning, I looked up a patient in the computer, and saw another patient with a similar name listed one row beneath --and this other patient is one that I know: a young man with C.F. that just left the hospital this past week after several weeks' stay and a hard fight back to his prior level of health. I walked by his room this afternoon, saw that he was on the phone, and waved. He smiled and gave me a shrug.
I'm sure he'll be on my schedule tomorrow.

Thankfully, when I opened my email this evening, I received the timely encouragement of a message that Dad sent today to all of his children:

"We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance (produces) character; and character (produces) hope. And hope does not disappoint us." (Rom. 5:2-5)

and

"Courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "'I will try again tomorrow.'"

"We all have days like that," Ginger told me today.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.

Hard at Work!

2007-09-12T21:18:00.000-06:00

What I look like these days (minus the sitting down part, most of the time!)

Patient quotation of the week (after I hung that patient's Foley bag on the side of his bed so that the catheter wouldn't pull uncomfortably on him):
"Why, yer smarter'n a wood dog!"

Labor Day Vacation

2007-09-06T20:37:00.001-06:00

Apparently, we went to the best beach in the country this past weekend! You need to take an hour-long ferry just to reach the island (after a 5-hour drive!) but the ferry ride is enjoyable. Apparently, on our ride back to the island after Mass on Sunday evening, the people near the front of the ferry (Colin included) were treated to dolphins playing and swimming right along in front of the boat for a few minutes!

It was a lovely weekend, away from the cares and worries of work, hanging out with Colin and our friend Patrick and his parents.

The beach was gorgeous, the sun was shining, and the water was warm.
There was even a short nature trail (about 3/4 of a mile long) that Colin and I spent much of Sunday exploring for birds, bugs, and butterflies!

Click on my Flickr badge at the right for pictures.... As always, Colin's shutterfly picture share (coming soon to family) has much more beautiful images!

Surreal...

2007-08-28T20:33:00.000-06:00

...chatting online, late at night, with a friend in Kyrgyzstan, while she enjoys the sunshine of tomorrow.

Weird and wonderful, this day and age's extensive technology!

So Many Stories...

2007-08-26T14:59:00.000-06:00

Question: So why haven't I posted any?

Answer:
Number One,
My roommate and I still don't have internet, and the few times during the week I go to Colin's house (where there IS internet), it's because we plan to eat dinner there (which means I have to organize and then carry a load of ingredients, some cooking dishes, and sometimes some pages of recipes over to his house).

I don't go to his house until I've cooled off from my bikeride home from work and taken a shower. Then the cooking itself takes some time--usually he walks in his door around the time it's ready, between 9 and 9:30pm. After we eat, I generally take a nap on his futon, or check through my blogroll to see what's happening with friends and family members.

When he is done with his nightly "bug patrol" --literally, he goes outside with his flashlight and camera to check out the critters that have gathered around his outdoor lantern, his plants, and his cement wall-- he wakes me up and I am ready to go home. And ready to crash there. Because I have to wake up at 6am and bike to work for 7am.

Number Two,
My stories are probably going to need a lot of background information. There are always stories, everyday, from working with my patients that I think may really be the "you had to be there" or "you have to understand the context" events. ...And because I've spoken the language for the past three years, and now have gradually become comfortable with how things work and what is expected of me, I don't even know how much background information is too much--and how much can just get picked up by the reader along the way.

Some examples of my situational tidbits...
...The really sweet little man in his 70's with the chest tube due to a collapsed lung and a broken leg in a full cast who cannot tolerate "walking" more than 12 feet total with a rolling walker, tells his nurse that he thinks crutches would be better. "I just want to hop around," he tells her. That in itself is kind of funny.
...But then the fact that when his nurse pages me, she and I decide to actually toss him the bone, just because it will motivate him to get up one more time that day--I show up with crutches, try to tell him it takes MORE balance and energy to use them than it takes to use the rolling walker, but he is adamant. So I grab his nurse, and she and I practically have to carry him while he "uses" them for about 6 feet before he decides to give in and "forget these crutches!"
The lengths to which we will go to get people up and moving...

...The man who gets admitted because of "altered mental status" (AMS) who asks me what color I think everything in the room is, asks me if I see the bubbles going up and down the wall, then shows me his hospital bracelet and says it's made of lamb's wool. Then he says that his doctor told him earlier that when the patient sees me, that means he's "passed on." After I try to console him by telling him that he is in the hospital and that we're taking care of him and that he's getting better, I decide that maybe I'm upsetting him and this is how it's being manifested. As I exit the room, the phlebotomist enters, and smirks as she whispers to me, "See you later, angel!"
...The patient's nurse is concerned that the man is starting to talk about more than just colors and bubbles, so she notifies the primary physician. Who fails to understand why talking about death may be of more concern than talking about bubbles....

...Praising people for coughing up sputum is one of the most difficult aspects of my job. Especially now that I'll be rotating to the "pulmonary" sub-team of my "Neuro-Cardio-Pulmonary" team this week, where coughing up sputum is generally a primary goal! I don't mind a lot of things that I thought I would mind. But when that junk comes out--whether I hear it gurgling in the throat or see it shooting out of a tracheostomy--I have to really control myself to avoid visibly cringing.
"Great!" I coo with dramatic enthusiasm. "Better out than in!" or "Keep it up!" or "Nice job!"
Blech.
Almost as bad is asking them to describe the color, thickness, and amount they coughed up when I wasn't there to see it. My imagination is a little too vivid.

...Sometimes it's hard for people to feel comfortable when they hear me say that I'm going to be the one to help them get out of bed. I'm often challenged with skeptical responses: "You?" or "You sure you can handle it by yourself?" or "I think it may take more than one person." It's great to show them that my technique--not my strength--plus whatever they can contribute themselves, is effective for the job at hand. I'm learning how to gain their trust sooner, though, with statements such as "one thing at a time," and "we'll sit at the edge of the bed first and see how you feel," and "we won't do anything until both of us are ready," etc.
One larger patient's husband got a kick out of me helping his wife into the chair a few different times. On one occasion, her nurse paged me because she and another nurse were having a difficult time helping this woman back into bed. So I went back to the room to give the nurses some tips as well as some physical assistance, and was greeted by the patient's husband, "Here comes the little crane for the big load!"

Another patient looked at me in wonderment after I helped him stand a few times near the edge of his bed. He said,"Wow, little lady! You're strong for bein' so small! You must work out or somethin'!"

I try to tell these patients that they do more than they think, that it's my body position and the gait belt I use that makes it possible, ...but it's a fun part of my job, nonetheless.

So these are the kinds of stories that fill my days. I suspect that this at least gives a flavor of the environment I'm in all the time.

When I get internet at my house, I may be able to post them more regularly. That is, on the days that I cook dinner in my own kitchen!

Baggage Delivered!

2007-08-05T12:55:00.001-06:00

Having my bag again means, of course, that I have my pictures from the wedding!
The first thing I noticed about Miranda (this is the first time I actually met her) was her big, beautiful smile. It flashed across her face continuously, and brightened everything around her.

Please notice the color of Brian's tie... :)

A post of numbered items...

2007-08-01T15:58:00.000-06:00

Happy news:

#1. My car is fixed, the problems being not-so-serious. I know this because the car mechanic paged me at work and when I called him back, he told me what the problems were:
"[amidst car mechanic language]-blah-blah new gas cap blah-blah new plugs blah-blah new wires..." and then he stopped.

So I responded, "All that doesn't sound too serious to me--or am I just very naive?" To which he replied, "No, it's really not serious."

So I said, "Please proceed and fix my car."

Then I paid with my debit card, which was a happy moment, because there is money in my bank account :) :) :)

#2. Because of my set of four wheels, I can now travel the 6 miles to Colin's house, where my computer resides, and update my blog--without having to leave right after dinner in order to bike the 6 miles back to my house before I am completely exhausted!
(Actually, Colin has been making that trek since my car has been out of commission: he's been riding his bike to my place for dinner, then biking the 6 miles home--because he's always going to be in better shape than me, and also because he's just wonderful like that! Either way, my computer has not been accessible to me.)

So now I may give an update of the very recent West Coast Wedding experience I had.
Hereafter, I shall more easily give updates of life as a physical therapist in acute care--there are already, and will always be, stories in that vein!!

But now, for the wedding....

The ceremony took place in a beautiful spot, on a bluff overlooking a bay north of San Francisco within Point Reyes National Seashore. And the reception was fun--it was at a nearby Inn, where they had yummy food and swing-dancing :). I mingled with the best (worst?) of the Harvard / Yale / Berkley / Stanford crunchy people. Please be proud of me, for mingling is not my thing. But I was alone and decided to force myself to be a little more extroverted!

The nice thing about those peeps is that they're always so friendly and sincere. (It's the things that they're sincere about that make them a little wacky; things that are not-so-fundamentally-important to the good of society). It's funny to me how they intellectualize everything and take it all so seriously.... But anyway, I had fun. The best part was the swing dance that I had with Brian. And Portia's in-laws out there, with whom I stayed for the weekend, were exceptionally wonderful to me.

Otherwise, the entire affair might have been called a disaster...

1. The trip began Friday night, flying out of Raleigh, NC. I missed my connecting flight in Atlanta and spent the night in the airport. I can sleep anywhere, but with the airconditioning on and no one around, it was SO COLD! Every once in a while I would wake up shivering, so I'd walk around the airport a while and then find a bench (sometimes the same bench as before) that I thought might be far away from both the vents and the loud overhead televisions. At about 5:30am, when the airport started coming alive again, I got up and treated myself to a cup of Starbucks, partially just so that I could cradle it in my cold hands and press it to my chest!

2. So I got into San Francisco on Saturday morning. (At least I made it in time for the wedding, which was at 2pm!) But by the time I got my baggage and was driven to Portia's in-law's house, I had about 10 minutes before I had to leave to get to the site of the ceremony. (The baggage alone took about 30minutes to collect after I got off the airplane.) So ... no shower, after a full day of work on Friday and an night spend in Atlanta's airport!

***Here, insert Portia's brother-in-law and father-in-law kindly retrieving me from the airport, then her mother-in-law feeding me a sandwich and graciously driving me 40minutes to the wedding, because I "must be so tired," and so that I would be sure not to get lost along the way.

***Also here, insert beautiful wedding afternoon and evening, where I finally met the woman that Brian has been raving about for the past 10 years***
(despite the fact that their wedding website and invitation said "casual" since it was in the park, and I was almost the only woman there who was not in a cute dress... Oh, well. Brian didn't seem to care!)

3. The morning after the wedding, beginning at about 4:30am, I felt sick to my stomach. "Crazy," I thought. "I had 3 glasses of wine all night. Maybe I'm just super-dehydrated because of the airplane trip and everything." But after emptying said stomach's contents into the toilet bowl several times, my body continued to try to empty that-which-was-not-there until about 7:30am.

***Here, insert Portia's compassionate mother-in-law giving me a homeopathic remedy for my sickness, then going out early that Sunday morning to buy cans of gingerale and a box of saltines.***

***Also here, insert that I recovered, for the most part, by about 8:45am, so Portia's mother-in-law said that it was probably food poisoning. So much for "yummy food."...I hope more of the wedding party didn't get sick!

4. My already late-night connecting flight back to Raleigh from Atlanta was delayed, so that Colin had to come to the airport to pick me up at 1am instead of at midnight, late between Sunday and Monday!

5. Half of the delayed flight's passengers' baggage was not there when we arrived in Raleigh; the line into the Delta customer service closet was so long, it wound around the baggage claim belt. When I got to the front of the line, all they needed was my address, phone number, and bag tag number so that they could gie me a "file reference number." They said my bag would be delievered the next day. ...I arrived home around 3am.

6. It's now Wednesday, and I still do not have my bag. Mom is praying to St. Anthony (and so am I!) but it might be gone for a while... meaning, "forever"...

7. May I add that my bag is really small, and the only reason I didn't carry it on the plane was because I didn't have any plastic baggies to accommodate the "liquids" policy they have now. --I almost carried it on anyway, especially after waiting 30minutes in San Francisco for said bag to appear on the baggage belt on Saturday morning!!
But guess what I told Portia Sunday morning over the phone? "I don't want to risk carrying it on without any plastic baggies, and sending it through security, hoping they don't open my bag (something she suggested) because I don't want to risk having all of my make-up confiscated." Looks like a lot more than that is "confiscated" now!

Believe it or not, despite all of these mini-"adventures," it was worth the trip!

So that's my most recent story of what's happening here. The only other thing that I'm excited about these days is that I've been picking up evening shifts... Where I don't do anything except remain in the hospital building so that there's a therapist "supervisor" here while our techs do some evening treatments! I get comp time for this--which is time accrued for later use, ...meaning that I can take eventually take time from that bank to have some days off.

I literally sit at work, writing emails and taking care of business. (Last night I signed up for dental and vision benefits, then I ordered a thank-you gift for Portia's in-laws...). And I get comp time for doing this. I will never understand why my colleagues think I'm burning myself out, volunteering to fill the evening shift holes! They look at me with concern--"are you okay?"
I suppose I'd feel different if Colin didn't work until 9pm anyway. I certainly wouldn't like to do it if I had a family waiting at home for me. But for now, ...this is leisure compared to PT school!!

...Too bad Blogger is not one of the hospital-approved internet sites!

Q & A

2007-07-11T19:07:00.001-06:00

Q: What do you do when one of your best friends from high school is getting married in California during a transitional time in your life when you have no cash, no time off, and cannot even afford to go to cousins' weddings on the same (East) coast that you're living on?

A: All things being equal, you sadly check the "regretfully declines" box and put the reply card in the mail, then exchange emails with said friend, informing him of your disappointing rsvp that is on the way.

Q: So what happens when that same friend sends an email back, offering what he calls a Friend Fellowship, whereby his parents have offered to pay for your airline ticket, since he really wants you at his wedding, and furthermore, the ticket will be from Friday night to Sunday afternoon so that you don't have to miss work?

A: All things being equal, you call your sister in California to see whether her extended family may be able to assist with the rest of the pragmatic logisticals--transport, accommodations, etc--and then, when assured of your family "in"-ness, you accept the generous offer, realizing that at this point, there's really no other choice.

In other words, I'm headed to northern Cali the weekend of July 28th to attend Brian's wedding.
It truly marvels me how God keeps allowing this rare friendship to continue.

Time to be Tagged!

2007-07-08T13:31:00.000-06:00

Mrs. Bear has tagged me for a fun little meme. And since I don't have to be studying with every spare minute anymore (I love this!) here we go!

A picture of now, between past and future.

1. a. Describe your outfit. Hand-me-down (from my younger sister Alvie) orange and white striped blouse with orange embroidered flowers along the front buttons, TAC grab-box khaki shorts that still fit in summertime, black and orange teevas, orangy-brown bead earrings.

b. What associations does the main color evoke? Orange. Since it's kind of a light peachy orange, and the fabric is also really light, this orange says cool and breezy.

c. Is there a memory associated with that outfit (or part of
it)? I bought these teevas right before my memorable first-and-last annual Utah river trip with EC. They have seen plenty of wear, but still are so sturdy and super-comfortable. The shorts have been worn for many summer hikes since I grabbed them in May of 2001. And the shirt just reminds me of my sister everytime I put it on!

2. a. Are you listening to music? Yes. I'm at Colin's lab (because he has about an hour of work to do) and I put the Celtic station on his computer's yahoo "launchcast" radio.

b. Was this intentional? I intentionally put on music because I knew I didn't have to study, and it doesn't bother him over where he's doing his experiments. I like the Celtic station--it's everything from calming music to Irish pop, and this is a unique opportunity to hear things I can't hear on the local radio.

c. What does the music make you remember? It doesn't necessarily make me remember anything, until a question like this makes me think about it, then it becomes a stream of consciousness memory. I suppose the classical Celtic music with its wind instrumentals makes me think of rolling hills, which I see whenever I go on cross-country road trips, which makes me remember the green summer I spent in Kentucky, which makes me think of my former Clinical Instructor who just had a baby in March, which makes me remember that I have a lot of phone calls and letters to catch up on now, including that patient up in Massachusetts, and the Smilllies up there--oh, shoot I never sent Tess that peanut butter cookie recipe....etc.

3. a. Describe the objects within arm's reach. Hmmm... I'm at Colin's desk, so ...lots of scientific papers. For example, here is an excerpt from a paragraph I just looked down and started reading: "For analysis of meianocyte differentiation, dorsal neural plate explants were isolated from somite stage 10 quail embryos as described for equivalent chick explants."
huuuhhh??
Also, my laptop is right here; I brought it in order to post pictures from it online. Then my sunglasses, car keys, and cell phone, a few half-full water bottles, scissors, batteries, a stapler, cell diagrams taped to the wall above the desk, a box of envelopes, a contact lens case (Colin puts in his contacts whenever he goes over to the gym to play basketball), and speakers that are emitting Celtic sounds!

b. Choose one object and tell where you acquired it. My laptop was issued to me when I started PT school, and I effectively "bought" it by completing the program, so now I get to keep it! IF I had failed out or dropped out, I would have been required to buy it with real money. So there was another incentive to work hard and finish my degree!

c. On the whole, are the objects new (memory blanks) or old (memory filled)? Since most of these objects are not mine, and since I cannot understand most of what surrounds me right now (there are tons of papers piled up) then I would have to conclude that they are definitely memory (and mind!) blanks.

4. a. What room are you in? I am in the cubby where Colin's desk is, in Dr. Majesky's Lab, on the eighth floor of the MBRB (Medical BioResearch Building) on the campus of UNC.

b. To what extent is it yours? Not at all. And no, thank you!

c. What kind of memories will you have in the future of this room? Someday I hope to be in this cubby, helping Colin pack up all of his belongings, because he will be graduated and moving on to greater things! Until then, I will continue to drop in while everyone is working, occasionally sharing in their ice-cream breaks or non-work related conversations. He works with some of the sweetest people--I would never have thought that some of these Asian women were researchers; they're so kind and quick to smile. Not at all the high-powered, stressed, super-concentrated atmosphere I pictured.

4. What were you doing before starting this post, and what would you like to do next? I was updating my blog and Flickr account with some recent pictures before I started this post. Next, I will change my clothes so that I'm wearing a long skirt, and Colin and I will head off to Sunday (evening) Mass.

So now I will tag Portia (because I got to her before Nutmeg!), EC (since I still haven't been able to connect to her in the past month or so!), and Alvie (because maybe--just maybe--this will get a new post out of her?)

At home in NC

2007-07-08T12:37:00.000-06:00

This past week, I've been working on starting a new job, as well as moving into a new house:

Heather and I will be renting the main part of the house. Below us, through that small door to the far right of the driveway, there is a small single apartment, which will be occupied by another young woman, a dental student. She hasn't moved in yet, or even seen the place, but I'm sure things will work out just fine. Dental school is tough--she probably won't be making a lot of noise!!
Through the other door on the left side of the driveway is the basement, with a washer, dryer, and plenty of storage space. My bedroom is directly above the driveway.
One thing I love about this house--aside from the quiet and safety of the neighborhood--is all of the natural light that comes in during the day.

Below is a picture of the living room that faces the back of the house. You can only see about half of it in this shot, but the windows continue along the entire back wall there.

And here is my room, small but with a lot of natural light, and surrounded by trees filled with birds that wake me up at dawn! There's also a nice breeze that gets going in there, since the windows slide open to make a whole vertical half of them open.

The hospital is about a 3-mile bike ride which is mostly uphill (which means that it's mostly downhill after a long day of work!). And Colin lives about 3 miles from the hospital in the opposite direction, so we're about 6 miles apart now. That works out okay: he can make the downhill ride to my place for dinner after work, and my bike rack has become a permanent fixture on my car so that I can then give him a ride home later on.

I get my own desk at work, which I find very exciting! It's also a lot of fun to introduce myself to people as a physical therapist. Wow. Crazy.

And so life in the real world begins.

Passed!

2007-06-29T09:45:00.000-06:00

Great news!!

Yesterday I talked to the woman from Human Resources at the hospital, and she told me that the NC Board of Physical Therapy Examiners updates their website every morning at 1am. I have been checking that website since Wednesday, entering my last name to see whether I'm listed among the licensed physical therapists in the state. After the HR lady gave me that hint, I decided to stay close to the internet last night. I awoke around 2:30am, and switched on my computer as I stumbled to the restroom.
When I sat down in front of it five minutes later, I was so nervous to put my name in. I told myself that not everyone finds out in 3 days. If my name's not there, that doesn't necessarily mean that I failed.

...But my name was there! I passed the exam! I'm a licensed physical therapist in the state of North Carolina! And that means I start work on Monday!

:)

In a few days, I will receive a letter from the Board that gives me my score. But to tell the truth, I don't care about the score. All I care about is that I got a score high enough to get my license.

I know that I had the help of many prayers both in the days before and on the day of the exam. I am grateful for all of them. Thank you so much. I really felt the grace of all those prayers; I could not have done it without your support.

Even though I won't be spending July 4th at an 18th floor balcony party in Crystal City overlooking the nation's capitol, my prayers have been answered.

Exam Day

2007-06-26T07:48:00.000-06:00

Off I go to my exam...

...with plenty of prayers behind me, I know! I am very grateful for all of them.
Now all I can do is my best.

This was a refreshing start to my day, after the daily readings: a beautiful tribute to Saint Josemaria Escriva, founder of the Opus Dei movement.

The first few quotations are particularly enlightening.

A Living Faith

2007-06-21T09:17:00.000-06:00

Go listen to this talk by Fr. Newman about Evangelical Catholicism, linked by my very good friends here. It is a reminder that our call to holiness is really about an individual relationship with God--necessarily linked to, but not solely confined to, our weekly (or daily) encounters with Him in the sacraments. Very simply explained and easy to listen to, even if you don't have time for the entire thing; it's very good.

I'm sure there are misunderstandings and legalities that most cradle Catholics, especially, have had to face in their personal journey at one time or another. This past weekend, I was telling stories about going to Confession as a child, every Saturday afternoon.
I dreaded Saturday afternoons, but felt that this was the way I was going to grow in holiness. During the week as I remembered my sins, I would write them down in a pocket notebook--calling it my "sin list." That way, I would be sure not to forget anything when I arrived at Confession! The priest was a very holy man, but was even more scrupulous than I was, and did not make those encounters particularly easy for me. Every week, my penance was the same: a set of mysteries of the Rosary. It got to the point where I would go early and start the Rosary beforehand, just to save time later!

"Girls I know like you," Colin's dad told me, "are now Protestants."

He has a point. Because the Church contains the fullness of Truth, there is so much to cover; it cannot all be taught at once. The essentials are taught first, which is good. Children need the basics first. Different emphasis is made about different aspects at different stages of life. Understood. But I think that part of the problem that some cradle Catholics have is that no one taught them beyond the essentials. And it is necessary to obtain more depth.
Hence, Fr. Newman's observation that ex-Catholic Protestants say they left because they never "met Jesus."

I know that my parents' early emphasis of a personal relationship with Christ, through His mother, was a crucial aspect of my consistent participation in my Faith growing up. They encouraged me to nurture a personal prayer life. I was provided with instruction on how to start, and then how to develop that.
But of course this makes sense, if you think about it--if the sacraments do not translate into something personal that I can keep within me, then what's the point?

I remember a spiritually difficult time during my junior and senior years of college, when I was studying St. Thomas and learning more about the divine nature of God. The difficulty was not about belief in God, or in His Church. But it was then that I had the most trouble connecting the God of Creation with the God in my heart, and understanding that He was the same Being. Between Theology classes, when I would go to daily Mass, I would almost have to "put aside" my newfound knowledge of an unchanging, unaffected, About-Which-Nothing-Can-Be-Attributed eternal Being, for the loving, expressive, and personal God I met in prayer. It took me a while to really connect the two identities with one another. I still don't know if the full connection has been made.

But here is an article that reminds us how essential it is to really keep that connection intact. It is a short read: Fr. Paul Scalia shows how the gospel story of the woman who touched Jesus' cloak illustrates the difference between encountering God accidentally and encountering God on purpose, or with faith.
This is now the challenge of those who are beyond the crisis of whether to keep the Faith. Now the challenge is to keep the Faith alive. To remember, Sunday after Sunday, the gravity of what I am experiencing, the reality of what is going on. I know I, personally, have been guilty of receiving Communion "accidentally," or with casual complacency. Ironically, it is even more tempting to do so when I get into the habit of going to Mass daily, because the habit of it makes it harder to remember the awesome mystery of the Eucharist.

But this is the challenge: receive the sacraments with purpose and reverence, and then cultivate the life of Christ in me by meeting Him daily on a personal level.

And I suppose that the word for that these days is Evangelical Catholicism.

"No Cooking"

2007-06-18T08:34:00.000-06:00

This is an instruction from Doodle for this last week before my licensure exam.

"You just have to buckle down and study, study, study this week," he told me--even reminding me on the way home in the car that it was a perfect time to do some of my reading!

And as he gave me a hug last night before I left his house to drive home, he added, "And no cooking. You've cooked for the past how many months; I am more than capable of cooking for a week. Just concentrate on passing that exam."

I have the best boyfriend ever.

Trips North

2007-06-15T08:19:00.000-06:00

Starting to feel left out of the "traveling north" excitement over at the Nuthouse.
Plus, the United States Postal Service doesn't ship liquor, even for Father's Day.

"I guess you'll just have to deliver the scotch personally," I chirped to Colin, whilst he attempted to brainstorm about what ELSE he might POSSIBLY get for his Dad.
"Hey, wait a minute..." I continued. "Why don't we? Let's just go! We did it over Easter--let's leave on Friday after you get out of work, and come back Sunday evening! It'll be great!"

After some more convincing arguments about how practical this plan is, what a fantastic idea it is, and that I can study at his parents' house with same amount of rigor as in Chapel Hill, he agreed.

The plan was to surprise his dad, but we think that plan is already ruined:
"Come on up!" his mom [practically shouted, according to Colin] into the phone, with her signature exuberance. "But your father is sitting right here, and I think he can hear you," she laughed.

Personally, I believe he would have heard her, even if he was on the other side of the house! His hearing is incredible.

It will be a good time, surprise or no.

Now I've got to go out and find some Lagavulin!

What will Posterity think?

2007-06-14T08:28:00.000-06:00

This is going to look interesting in the history books, years down the road.
Hmmm... What will be the possible explanations given, for why 21st century America didn't resist the conquest of radical Islamists?

Possibly... (depending who's teaching the history at that point)--

--Deep down in the hearts of all Americans was the knowledge that Islam was the answer to the grievous corruption rampant in their country.

Or take your pick of these...

--They had so much time for leisure, they were too stoned to know the seriousness of what was going on.

--Politicians were more concerned with looking like they cared about everyone else's opinions, that they didn't have time to think about the common good.

--No one wanted to take responsibility for being "prejudiced" against things they themselves don't believe.

--Alexis de Tocqueville predicted: in a democratic state, the minority voice eventually cries out louder than the majority voice, as the quest for equality off-balances itself.

--Catch phrases such as "open dialogue" and "freedom of religion" shut up anyone attempting to sound the warning calls.

--Denial is easier in a relativistic society, "If I don't interfere with them, they won't interfere with me."

God save us from ourselves.

Dreams

2007-06-13T16:24:00.000-06:00

Daydreams and memories . . .

Wouldn't it be great to go back, someday?

Why is it...

2007-06-13T12:32:00.000-06:00

...that I cannot, for the life of me, study at home?

Today is my 3rd or 4th attempt, and it's not working. Has anyone else experienced this problem?

God forbid I ever try to work from home: nothing will ever get done! There are just too many other distractions: dishes in the sink, clutter in my room, recipes that need to be found for dinner, meat that needs to be thawed, blogs that need to be checked ...things that are low priority--but are high demand--whenever I stay home.
I like to think it's my natural "nesting" tendencies (rather than my selfish "lazy" tendencies) that keep me from my primary mission right now. But that is highly improbable.

Whatever it is, I must cut it off and pluck it out, as it were (Mark 9:43-47), and focus on my present calling: pass my boards. pass my boards. pass my boards.

I'm leaving now....

Test Scheduled!

2007-06-12T08:06:00.000-06:00

After a month and a half of waiting, waiting, waiting, I finally have my test scheduled:

Tuesday June 26th at 12:30pm

The exam lasts about 5 hours, so if you pray for me at just about anytime that day, I will be in there. Don't worry, I will remind everyone when the time gets closer (probably even AS the time gets closer!!)
Please pray. I don't know that I'll ever "feel" ready for it. But God's taken me through this far, so I'm trusting that He'll help me finish it off now! I'm taking another practice test tomorrow....

S0 I'm off to study some more!

(thanks to Portia, for the cute cartoon idea)

Reggae, anyone?

2007-06-07T09:26:00.000-06:00

Who would've thunk?

A Catholic boy raised in Ireland and Germany, whose father is an Army Ranger, whose mother still swims competitively, who is repulsed by the idea of tatoos and body piercings, who loves both nature--especially birds--and heart research, ...

...has been introducing me to reggae music. That's right. I was surprised at first. But apparently, back in the '60s, his Army Ranger dad went to James Brown concerts where he and his friends were the only white guys there. His dad really appreciates any music with soul and rhythm. And although Colin can't carry a tune, he also has a very keen sense of rhythm. His defense for reggae music is similar to my defense for country music--for the most part, the music carries a good message, is family-oriented, and isn't afraid to talk about God. I never realized this before I started listening to his music. And, of course, there are the exceptions to these rules--songs that end up making it big on the charts--just like in country or any other genre of music.

Of course, the huge theological difference between country and reggae is that "God" to the reggae singers is the Rastifarian "Jah"--who is not the same as the Christian God.

But while listening, I have come up with another difference between these two types of music:

Country music - takes the goodness of the family for granted, identifying with it and glorying in it through stories and love songs.
while
Reggae music - realizes the need for family and God, and so promotes that realization to convince listeners that they won't fill that need somewhere else.

As a result, there can be a lot of gang and slang -talk in reggae music. The target audience is different.

Never thought I'd be in that audience... but tonight, Colin is treating me to a reggae concert in Raleigh! He's even supplying the earplugs.

It's fun to dance to, anyway!

8 Facts Meme

2007-06-05T18:35:00.000-06:00

I have been unabashedly tagged by my solitary older sister, whom I have been conditioned to obey with halcyon obeisance from the earliest days of my felicitous youth.

So here we go:

“For this meme, each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.”

1. I don't read the news. Nor do I listen to it on the radio. Nor do I watch it on television, except for rare occasions when I happen to be waiting at Firestone for an oil change or something. How do I know what's going on, you ask? Well, I don't, generally speaking. Until other people tell me. Or until I read / hear mention of something and decide to go look it up.

2. I sleep anywhere, and deeply. The funniest place I've fallen asleep was on a jeepney. And it's a good thing I sleep deeply, because according to Colin, the thunderstorm that startled me out of sleep once or twice last night was so close, that he reported hearing the electricity "return to the sky" with a crackle after every flash. He also said that the thunder and lightning occurred simultaneously--at least at his house. I would have freaked out if I had been awake for that!

3. I just bought a secondhand 10-speed bike for $40; it is very old, but it's blue and rides smoothly and I'm determined not to let it get stolen like my awesome $300 Trek hybrid did a few months ago.

4. I have 4 sisters, but I also have about 6 other girlfriends in my life whom I think of and turn to as sisters. And they're all over the country--soon to be all over the world. I believe these sister and sister-like relationships have contributed to my spiritual growth, my sense of well-being, and my understanding of what real romance is.

5. I am a physical therapist. Wait. Did I just say that? I am a physical therapist.
I know you all know that one by now, but I like saying it. Pretty awesome.

6. I'd rather be in the mountains than at the beach. Yep--give me a hiking trail, a scrambling mound, an alpine lake, or a ski slope any day. This has much to do with not liking sand sticking to me, as well as the feeling of adrenalin-inducing terror immediately prior to cresting the monster-waves. I enjoy the beach, but I enjoy the mountains more.

7. I enjoy experimenting with different kinds of sun tea. My latest favorite is Twinings Herbal Revive. I noticed it on the shelf at the store because the box is purple. But the tea itself has black currants, ginseng, and Tahitian vanilla. It's a yummy cold tea!

8. Counted cross-stitch is one of my favorite creative hobbies that I cannot wait to return to when I settle into my job!

And to tag...
Hmmm... I don't think I KNOW 8 people to tag for this one....

The meme stops here.

Thoughts about the Internet

2007-06-05T08:21:00.000-06:00

I have been joking with friends recently, about how I get everything I have from the internet:
My current sublet, my next living situation, including my soon-to-be-roommate, my bed, my bike, ...heck, even my boyfriend!
Recently I've become more aware of how much time I spend online:
~checking email
~paying bills
~reading my sisters' blogs (and usually at least one of their links!)
~reading articles
~browsing sales (we'll need furniture in our new place, for one)
~finding all sorts of information, whether it be where the nearest Goodwill donation center is, or whether a mosquito-catcher..."actually, it's called a Crane Fly, and it doesn't eat mosquitoes, or even bite," Colin says ...ahem, whether it eats mosquitoes or bites (yes, I need to read it myself!), or what kind of government Guyana has.

I must say that the internet is to me what cable television is to many of my friends. I would have a very difficult time giving it up.
And yet, I don't think that I would really miss that much, objectively speaking.
So I'm starting to make an effort to cut back. And the first step I've taken is to leave my computer at home. It may sound funny, but my computer has tended to travel with me--a habit enforced by continuous schoolwork over the past three years. Recently, though, I find studying for my boards much more productive without the internet at my fingertips.

There is something impersonal about the internet. It's like a protective--or even a defensive--screen that doesn't allow full personal disclosure. A mask is automatically in place unless there's already an intimacy or understanding between people. Interestingly, because of this mask, people feel freer to say things online that they may not say in person. They can be less socially reserved because they don't feel as intimidated by a screen as they might by an actual human face or voice. The danger of this, of course, is that people make up fantastic images of themselves to portray to the world, and become addicted to the expression of that image. Just take a look at MySpace and the lives that people live through those pages. It's enough to make you wonder whether they live on the same planet as the rest of us. (You don't really have to look there--it might not be the best use of your time, actually).
Colin and I both felt the presence of this "mask" when we first made contact last year, and we were both impatient to remove it to see whether there was something real that existed between us. We did our best to peel it away through our emails, letters, and phone calls, but ultimately, the emails we exchanged after knowing one another personally automatically had more meaning than previous exchanges. Although the internet gave us the opportunity to find one another, we both saw it as an early stepping stone to move beyond as soon as possible.

Now I am going to say that this mask, the mask that can encourage false confidence and tempt people to personal fiction, can also facilitate good things--like the rekindling of friendships.
Last night, I re-connected with an old friend who happened to be online when I was. This girl is someone I met through college, even though she didn't attend my college. She was a friend of a friend, who I somehow became close to in the course of one night when she stayed in my dorm room during a visit to see him. Ironically, he and I don't keep in touch--and she doesn't keep in touch with him, either! But over the years, she and I have connected and re-connected and have been able to pick up talking at any time. The funny thing is, I recently scanned through my phone contacts and saw her number, paused, and then continued through without calling. It's been so long--what would I say--it'd be weird to call out of the blue--this may not even be her number anymore--but I'm not going to erase it--
Last night we caught up via instant messenger, to some extent, but we also resolved that we would talk soon on the phone. Online communication gave us an easy avenue for getting back in touch with one another.

Maybe it's just me, but I propose that the internet and its mask can be used to casually reconnect in order to revive meaningful friendships.

And trust me, I'm not against connecting online in order to begin meaningful relationships, either! God can work through any medium.

There just has to be an awareness of the mask, both the mask that shields my face and the mask that shields the face on the other side.

Days of Rest

2007-06-04T06:26:00.000-06:00

Saturday night, I got together with a few of the lovely women I worked with on this last clinical. Pictured here is my former clinical instructor (CI), getting a kick out of Kari's poodle, Hugo. Kari is an OT, originally from New Mexico.
It was so good to spend some down time with them. The last time I saw them was the week before graduation, at work. So this was great. They encouraged me in my study efforts for the boards, which was helpful.

Sunday was going to be a full day off(!) for both Colin and me; so I planned out plenty of things for us to go do outside--from visiting the city flowerbed gardens to renting canoe at the marina to swimming at the lake.
And, of course, the best-laid plans of mice and men....

We both got up late yesterday. It probably had a lot to do with
1. Colin getting to bed late after coming back from a conference in Virginia
2. Me not used to getting up with my alarm these days, and even if I had awakened,
3. Colin's phone is temporarily disconnected, due to an "auto-pay" disfunction, so I couldn't have called him to wake him up.
4. It was dark outside, even at 10am, because
5. It was raining cats and dogs all night, and still drizzling most of the day.

I suppose some extra sleep isn't the worst way to spend some of your designated "day of rest." But that meant we did not make the hour-long drive to go to this parish we finally found (I just registered last week). Instead, we went locally ...then went out to breakfast ...then went to Dick's and bought me a tennis racket ...then went to collect treasures at Home Depot ...then went back to Colin's house where:

There was much rejoicing, as this plant was on sale, and it also happens to attract tree frogs, which are some of Colin's favorite creatures (besides geckos and skinks and salamanders and birds and snakes and moths and spiders and ferrets and dogs and cats and hippopotamuses...)

It's only about 5:30pm here! We're not used to it getting dark until around 8:30pm or so. It was a funny day....
Hurray! One down! And you can sort-of see the butterfly bush in front of Colin's left knee that I am going to inherit, since he says it will be happier at my place with more sun... :)

To finish off our Day of Rest, we ordered some Hawaiian pizza, drank some Colorado-brewed beer, and watched Dream Girls.

Today I'm taking my car to the Saturn dealership, since it collected water in the backseat and trunk during the rainstorm. This is not the first time it's happened in the trunk, but it IS the first time it happened in the backseat. I read online that Saturns with sunroofs tend to have this problem. I hope to get it fixed in order to prepare it for the wet climate of North Carolina. The season of humidity has only begun--and I don't need a moldy car!

Wish me luck, 'cause then it's back to the grindstone...!

Distractions from Studying

2007-06-02T08:54:00.000-06:00

While I should be studying for my Boards, I "happened" upon this report from the Onion; read it for an ironic--although somewhat irreverent--chuckle. Every once in a while I remember that The Onion exists, and I make a visit to allow myself a break from serious news. No, I'm not an escapist!

Meant to share these a while ago...

2007-06-01T09:02:00.001-06:00

Over Easter, Colin and I went back to St. Patrick's Church in D.C. where we first met over Thanksgiving.
It was neat to be there with him again, remembering that day to each other from our individual perspectives, and appreciating the beauty of the church again, this time completely at ease in each others' company.
I remember that Friday in November, standing next to him at Mass, marveling at the likelihood that I would look back someday and smile at how unfamiliar and shy I felt with him right then.
Funny how little time it took....

Just to illustrate the point, I would've never allowed myself to look this the first day I met him!

Pray for our Priests

2007-06-01T08:21:00.000-06:00

We have always been encouraged to pray for priests, who are mortal men answering a divine call. They carry heavy responsibilities, as well as high expectations from a world that at the same time, generally despises what they stand for and espouse.
Recently, I have become more in tune with the need to pray for these men. The parish priest here in Chapel Hill consistently concludes Confession with, "And please pray for this sinner, too."
While visiting Colin's parents in D.C. over Easter, the priest who heard my confession there on Holy Saturday specifically asked for prayers. And I was again reminded by an email that my spiritual father in Connecticut sent yesterday. We have been phoning and emailing back and forth, and I had recently sent him an extensive email citing all the possible ways that we could coordinate his visit to Charlotte in July with Colin and my work schedules. I had then ended my message with a promise of prayers and an eagerness to see him. His reply was one line, and its simplicity struck me:
"Many thanks, [Sephora], especially for the prayers. God will provide."(emphasis mine)

Colin and I have recently added this simple prayer to our evening prayers--although this is from a tiny pocket-sized prayer book, and I believe it is an abridged version of a more extensive prayer. It is just one of many possible prayers, but it is a reminder of what a gift our priests are, and how much they depend on our spiritual support for their strength.

O Jesus, I pray for your faithful and fervent priests; for your unfaithful and tepid priests; for your priests laboring at home or abroad in distant mission fields; for your tempted priests; for your lonely and desolate priests; for your young priests; for your dying priests; for the souls of your priests in purgatory. But above all, I commend to you the priests dearest to me, the priest who baptized me, the priests who have absolved me from my sins, the priests at whose Masses I have assisted and who have offered me your Body and Blood in Holy Communion, the priests who have taught and instructed me or helped and encouraged me, and the priests to whom I am indebted in any other way.
O Jesus, keep them all close to your Heart, and bless them abundantly in time and in eternity. Amen.

Lease signed!

2007-05-30T16:46:00.000-06:00

Today I met my roommate for the next year or so. Her name is Heather, she just graduated from nursing school, she'll be working at the hospital where I'll be working, and she's really sweet. We both liked the places we looked at, for the same reasons; so our tastes are similar. Plus, she really likes coffee and enjoys breakfast food--so we're going to get along GREAT!

We finally decided--after much deliberation, phone calls with further questions, and pro/con list-making on a napkin over lunch!--on a cute little 3-bedroom house (yes, we are encouraging visitors--family and friends a-HEM!) situated about 3 miles north of the hospital. That puts me a full 6 miles away from Colin--which, after getting used to the mere 2 and 1/2 mile bike ride, is somewhat significant! But the extra exercise, or five minutes in the car, will be worth it! Boo, hoo, I know! I'm so blest, and I am really very grateful for my state in life right now. To tell the truth, I couldn't ask for more.

The house has two lovely great-rooms; one with a fireplace, and one with 3 big windows along one wall that look out over the back garden. There is plenty of natural light, as well as light fixtures. It is nice and cool in the house, even without the A/C on, because it was originally made of cement blocks, and later covered over with dry wall, etc.
The older couple who is renting it to us is so sweet. When we wanted to go back today to take measurements of the bedrooms (for Heather's furniture) the wife told us over the phone where the spare key was, so that we could let ourselves in! Then when I called back later to say that we'd like to rent the place, the husband got on the other line and gave me directions to their house to sign the lease! So cute.

I'm so excited. Pictures in a few weeks!

Requesting prayers...

2007-05-29T07:22:00.000-06:00

At 2pm: Colin has his committee meeting, where he presents all of his current data to his board members, answers their questions, and receives feedback and "ideas" about his dissertation. His advisor and one of his board members are here at UNC and so they will attend in person, but two of the board members are back at his school in Houston. So a video conference to Houston has to be set up--also his responsibility today.

Apparently, not all faculty are as nurturing and supportive as mine have been. From what Colin tells me, it sounds as though professors of science make it a point to grill their graduate students as hard as they can to make sure they know what they're talking about.

Colin has been working on this presentation for several weeks now. We spent this past "holiday weekend" in his lab building--him at his desk working on his "figures," which is what they call confocal microscope images--and me a few floors below, studying for my boards.

After today, if all goes well, plenty of stress will be lifted from his shoulders. Of course, then he'll start working full-force on a "first author" paper which his advisor would like turned in by the end of July to be published. I never realized that the order of authors' names in scientific journal articles matter.
The first author listed in a scientific journal article is the one primarily responsible for the data collection, analysis, and writing of the paper. The last author is the Primary Investigator, or PI, in the lab where the data is collected and analyzed (in this case, Colin's advisor). This is the person who decides what research is being done, who consents to, changes, or rejects ideas of everyone working in the lab, and who ultimately has to answer to the NIH about what goes on in the lab.
The authors in between the first and last authors are other people working in the lab--also under the PI--who indirectly contribute by the work that they all do as a team, but do not necessarily contribute specifically to the writing of that paper.
Interesting....

Please keep him in your prayers today.

Random Memory...

2007-05-27T10:38:00.000-06:00

My lease is up on June 30th. After that, I will be living with a young woman who was also hired at UNC hospital, having just graduated from nursing school. We will be looking at different places on Wednesday, and it's my job--since I'm already in the area--to set up appointments at different places to investigate.
While searching for housing possibilities, thoughts have been coming to me regarding single-bathroom homes. There are plenty of 2- and 3-BR homes up for rent now that each have one full bathroom. That's well and good for a family, I always think, but my roommate and I would each like our own bathroom. And although this is more her preference than mine, I don't mind being responsible only for my own bathroom's cleaniness. One thing that makes my skin crawl is an icky bathroom....

So during these musings and hunts for 2-BR, 2-Bath rentals, a random memory came to mind, of a framed embroidered poem in my grandparents' bathroom, which I remember staring at as a child:

WHO WAITS OUTSIDE THE DOOR
ONE MAY NEVER KNOW
SO TARRY NOT MY FRIEND
HE TOO MAY HAVE TO GO

Not fully versed in all English vocabulary at "that" age (whatever age it was!), and having no punctuation to guide me, I remember time after time, reading and re-reading that wall hanging, trying to decipher what it meant.

My primary difficulty, given the names of all of my father's siblings, was figuring out who the heck Tarry was.... and after that, why he was "not my friend"...

Happy Day!

2007-05-25T15:32:00.000-06:00

Please congratulate this beautiful sister of mine and her DH on their 11th anniversary!

...and...

Please pray for this lovely friend, her husband, and their little baby girl who is coming into the world today!

Purpley purpled purpleness

2007-05-22T14:08:00.001-06:00

What Your Favorite Color Purple Says About You:

Intuitive --- Seeking --- Creative
Kind --- Self-Sacrificing --- Growth Oriented
Strong --- Very Wise --- Rare

What Does Your Favorite Color Say About You?

I never knew my favorite color was so meaningful!

File under...

2007-05-19T23:21:00.000-06:00

Classic Quotes:

While watching Sweet Home Alabama:

Colin: "Do you hear that warbling vireo in the background?"

Yes, the movie was my choice, and I did sort of coerce my boyfriend into watching it with me, but still.... he was DEAD SERIOUS.

Gotta love 'im.

Need I say more...?

2007-05-15T21:27:00.000-06:00

Here I am, pictured with the two primary players who made it happen, thanks be to God!

Graduation: May 12th

2007-05-09T14:09:00.000-06:00

"I stood on faith and the corner of ambition
I came here to sink or swim..."

~Alison Krauss, Broadway

In three days, I will graduate from my program and receive my degree, DPT:
Doctor of Physical Therapy

These past three years have led me down several paths and back again, and I am so grateful for all of the experiences, but also that it's all almost over.
It's funny how I seem to have been waiting, all my life, for life to really "begin." Meanwhile, it's racing by. I remember one point last spring when I really understood how important it is to live in the present. This is life, right now, with all of its uncertainty, expectancy, and adventure.

One event will not change the overall uncertainty of life; it will only serve as yet another stepping stone in the crossing to eternity.
This is true for graduation from my doctoral program, and it will continue to be true as other major events of life come along: my wedding day... the birth of my first child... my husband's new job... the purchase of a house... my final student loan payment... my children's graduations... retirement...

So I am determined to realize the present, live it to the fullest, and be grateful for all of my many blessings.

~Which means, this weekend is one of great rejoicing!~

Funny Hospital Story

2007-04-28T19:22:00.000-06:00

Add this one to the books...

Here at the hospital, I'm on the "Surgery Team," so I see patients on any services where surgery is provided--transplant, abdominal, trauma, ortho, plastics, general, women's, etc--all except for neurosurgery, oncology, cardiac, and pediatric surgery.

One of my patients this past week was on the trauma service--after a bicycle crash she had lots of different injuries. One day this past week, I went into her room for a treatment session and found her gradually slipping down in her recliner. So I brought the recliner up to upright and helped her bring her trunk forward so that I could help her with a "hips backward in the chair" trick. Well, I really had to help her--we call it "max-assist" in PT lingo--, she couldn't help out that much because of her injuries, she wasn't really "all there" anyway, and the brakes on the recliner were not all that stellar.
NO, ...I didn't drop her!!
But we didn't achieve very much "hips backward," either, cause the chair was moving back with us.
Suddenly (dun, dun, dun, ...the plot thickens) a gentleman in scrubs, complete with cloth hat, walked in, said, "how's it goin'," then proceeded to ask my patient a few "mental status" questions. Which means, he asked her where she was, why she was here, what year it was, etc. After she tried to answer, I introduced myself and identified myself with PT, hoping he would also introduce himself. He didn't, but asked what we were working on, and whether I needed help.
Bingo... just what I needed. "Well, right now, we're just trying to get her hips back farther in the chair. Yeah...actually, would you hold the chair? It keeps moving," I said, glad that this would actually work now.
After a successful shift was accomplished, he started to leave. Determined to find out who he was, I said quickly, "And you are...?"
"John Ufmerk*," was all he replied.
"Oh, okay. Well, thanks for your help," I said. I had no idea who that was, ...so I asked my clinical instructor later. "He said his name was Something-Oferk? or -Omferd?" I tried to remember.
She told me she had no idea who who that would be, and I assured her that I only had him hold the chair for me (anybody with two arms and two legs can do that, and at least he had scrubs on!). I told her I thought he was maybe a Neurology resident or something, because he asked my patient mental status questions. Very convincing, I know--everyone in the hospital asks those questions to patients!

A few days later, I went back to the step-down unit, and discovered that an MRI finally came back positive, that this woman had a subarachnoid hemorrhage, and that she'd been switched to the Neurology service.
I saw her chart, and there was her name on it with the name of her new attending physician: DOE,J / UFMERK
"Oh!!" I immediately thought to myself. "Ufmerk! That's what that guy was saying!" It also made sense that I hadn't known who he was, because he was an attending physician on another service in the hospital.

Only later did it hit me that I asked --not some intern or some random resident, not even a senior resident, no,... I asked-- the Chief of Neurosurgery for the hospital to "hold the chair" ...while this little student physical therapist does her "hips back in the chair" trick with a patient!!

The humor of this makes more sense --and is funnier-- if you are familiar with the hierarchy that exists among M.D.s in the hospital setting. Roughly, it goes like this, from lowest to highest:

1st, 2nd, and 3rd -year medical students (MS1, MS2, MS3)
Interns - this is where real clinical responsibility for real patients begins
Residents, numbered according to post-grad year (PGY1, PGY2, etc, ...up to even PGY6).
Fellows
Attendings, who have the final say, and are responsible for the actions of all the residents and interns under them.

So there are not many attending physicians on each service--you can usually count them on one hand. Each of the attending physicians has plenty of residents working under them, and then a few interns. And the residents and interns all rotate on a regular basis. Here, all the interns rotate every four weeks, and the residents every few months.

The physical therapists usually communicate all of their needs for their patients to the interns, and naturally, the interns get a lot of pressure from above, as well. It's a high learning curve for them, since they're only on each service about 4 weeks. So in dealing with the interns, I've learned to respect the amount of stress they're under, and to try only to ask them for things that I really need.

I'm not hearing the end of this situation, though, from my CI.... She loves it: "Hey! Maybe you can get him to wash your car for you this weekend!"
and
"How about for this next week, we make it a goal that you boss around a few more Attendings..."

Can I just say that this truly is a teaching hospital, where the Attendings will stop and discuss patients with you, explain things to you, and even help you out (case in point here!). I'm so excited that I have a job here after I graduate in May!

*name has been changed

Grateful to be a PT

2007-04-13T18:52:00.000-06:00

Before I left the hospital today, I checked up on one of my patients that I noticed had been transferred to the Medical ICU. I found his chart outside his room, and was looking through it to try to figure out what had happened to send him there.
While standing there, 2 residents coming from different directions stopped in the hallway almost next to me.

And this is what I overheard:
Resident Guy: What's this?
Resident Gal: Mr. [So and So]'s blood gases. ...
(silence as they solemnly review them together)
Then followed some unintelligible conversation, partly because I was doing my own thing, partly because I didn't see what they were talking about. Basically, they were discussing what they might do next.

Attending Physician (or Senior Resident, who knows which Big Shot) approaches.
Big Shot: What are you guys thinking about over here? ...looks at the paper they're examining. Who is this?
Resident Gal: Mr. [So and So]. I guess we have to [insert unintelligible phrase here]
Resident Guy leaves

Resident Gal, confiding to the Big Shot: I just hate it. I hate my job with him. I'm just basically slowly, ...slowly, ...
Big Shot: ...slowly letting him die?
Resident 2: Yes! And it's just awful. I feel so helpless.
Big Shot (sympathetic): It's a tough job. But it is your job. And you're doing really well. Sometimes the job is to let them die.

They slowly begin to walk away. I think Resident Gal noticed my thoughtful glance in her direction, because she quickly added, "Not this patient (referring to the guy whose chart I was holding), in case you were wondering!"

Grateful that "letting someone die" is not in the direct job description of a PT, I finished reading the chart, closed my binder for the week and headed home.

Hurray! I knew it must be.

2007-03-23T17:39:00.000-06:00

Your Brain is Purple

Of all the brain types, yours is the most idealistic.
You tend to think wild, amazing thoughts. Your dreams and fantasies are intense.
Your thoughts are creative, inventive, and without boundaries.

You tend to spend a lot of time thinking of fictional people and places - or a very different life for yourself.

What Color Is Your Brain?

Thanks, 'Meg!

North Carolina Bird Sightings

2007-03-21T11:01:00.000-06:00

I am finally here in (sunny!!) North Carolina, and after three weeks, I'm loving it. I bought a few bird feeders and have enjoyed watching the many birds that live in the wooded area behind my apartment. On Wednesday mornings that's what I do: sit and watch the birds on my porch with my tea and breakfast. It's a super-nice break in the week to work 4 10-hour days and have Wednesdays off.
I also bought some seeds (herbs and flowers, mostly, but also some lettuce shoots in case the seeds all fail!) and potted them out on my porch. This is a true indication that I will be "staying put" for a while. I don't travel with plants.

Below are a few pictures of my recent observations in North Carolina (on the wish-list, of course, is a better camera!)
This is a goldfinch at my little disposable thistle feeder. They are getting to be brighter and brighter shades of yellow as the weeks progress. Usually there are about 2 or 3 there at a time. They're very timid, and will didsappear immediately if I so much as walk by the sliding glass door. When I'm sitting on the porch, they will fly toward the feeder and then suddenly vear away in a sharp zooming arch--I guess they don't see me until they get a little closer!

These goldfinches are on two different feeders. The one on the big feeder will inevitably join the other one, since they all prefer the smaller thistle seed.

This Carolina wren is watching me, because I have the sliding door open and I'm just sitting there looking at him. He's very hesitant to take anything from the feeder, because he'll have to divert his attention away from me! He has such a beautiful song, and I heard him long before he ventured over to my porch.
The house finch, which has a beautiful red head and breast, won't even appear when he sees me out on the porch, or right inside with the door open!

You can barely see the Carolina Chickadee at my suet feeder. Besides this little guy, I see Downy and Red-breasted Woodpeckers there often, which is a lot of fun. Below is a Downy, although the red cap can't be seen very well. I know it's more fun to see birds live, anyway--but it's sad that my camera really isn't a very good tool for capturing their charm.

This female cardinal will come to my railing (where I leave a bunch of seed) or right onto the floor of my porch. The male generally follows and they sit there together for a while, but he didn't show up this time.

What also didn't show up to pose for my photo-session today was the Red-bellied woodpecker, the house finch (which has a beautiful red face and breast), and the dark-eyed junko. They're all daily regulars, as well.

Here's a final bird-sighting, just 'cause he's my favorite one to watch!

This is known as the Doodle-bird, or Doo for short. His call sounds like a short "Erp!" but you'll only here it occasionally, as a greeting when he enters a familiar environment. He has funny behaviors, which include putting on swimming goggles when he's miles away from any water. He also has a habit of regularly mistaking socks for mittens. This is the most common behavior of the Doo, as you can see here.
This bird can handle high levels of graduate-level research stress, always maintaining a cheery smile and keeping a dry but silly sense of humor. He keeps the ecosystem of Chapel Hill, North Carolina fun and interesting.

In short, I'm having an awesome time here, and couldn't be happier. There is no doubt in my mind that this is where I'm supposed to be right now. And no question in my mind that Doo will continue to be my favorite bird to sight for the rest of my life.

Veggie Tales, Anyone?

2007-02-19T19:31:00.000-07:00

It's so wonderful to be living in a house full of young children again. Of course, "wonderful" was not the term I would have thought to use when I was actually an older sister in the house with younger siblings. In my present situation, I definitely have the "out-of-family" advantage of experiencing the celebrity-esque admiration of the youngest darlings!

But all the same, ...

In a house with young children, everyone stops to laugh at the two year-old when, at the dinner table, he drops a piece of meat off of his fork and exclaims in his young baby-accent, "Oh, man!"

In a house with young children, you begin to remember what it was like to hear--but not really hear--the warnings of "stop jumping off the furniture, or somebody's going to get hurt." But now you marvel at the daily routine of after-dinner jumping and rough-housing and getting hurt; you marvel at the patience and love of mothers who daily comfort the hurts that they were just warning against; and you realize that mothers never stop doing this, even after their children have become adults.

In a house with young children, it is magical to see the older siblings play with the younger siblings. Every game can be stretched across the age gaps. These brothers, who are eight years apart, will only become closer as they grow older:

In a house with young children, everything becomes make-believe. It's fun to play a game called "Orphanage," where the "Orphanage Keeper" tells everyone to go to sleep and then uses a broom to bop those on the head who make noise.

In a house with young children, there is plenty of imagination to go around. "Hospital" is a game achieved with a few sisters, a few pieces of wood, a shower cap, and a tissue:

In a house with young children, even the older siblings can come to know and love the innocence of childhood programs. Everyone learns to sing along with Bob and Larry and Junior Asparagus in the car on the way to and from Mass on Sundays. And even when no one's looking, the teenagers cuddle up with Veggie Tales characters...!

And in a house with small children, you never know where you'll find the best graffiti of these powerful role models:

Can you see that? Look closely:

I am going to miss living with this family in a few weeks!

Ahh, the purple flowers of winter!

2007-02-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

It finally snowed this past week in Massachusetts!

And boy, did it snow! It took me over an hour to drive to work on Wednesday, which is usually about a 40-minute commute. The second car ahead of me on the highway at one point suddenly spun out and completed a 360+ degree turn, while those of us behind him fishtailed to a stop until he resumed control of his car. He did it again about a half mile down the highway, before we all decided to stay as far behind him as possible, until he pulled off at the next exit, his hazards flashing!

The snow came blowing down all day, and looking out the window, you could see the wind swirling the big flakes in circles around the hospital building.
All of my patients expressed concern about me getting home safely. All the therapists did whatever they could to leave as soon as the day was over. I switched a few patients around in my schedule so that I could leave a little early to go back home that afternoon. As it turned out, the drive home was not nearly as treacherous as the drive in. And the next day, although I left early because of predicted icy conditions, that drive pleasantly required much less wheel-gripping and eye-squinting!

It puzzled me why salt was not pre-emptively laid down on the roads before the snowfall on Wednesday. Or why the plows were not ready to be out as soon as the clouds rolled in. Weather forecasters across the country had been predicting this storm all during the entire previous weekend.
The flower shops were prepared; they made their deliveries for Valentine's Day on Tuesday, just in case they wouldn't be able to make it out on Wednesday. Why didn't the department of transportation act as wisely?

Anyway, because of the snowstorm, I received a lovely purple-themed bouquet upon my return home from work on Tuesday:

And now I appreciate why we celebrate Valentine's Day in the middle of February. A bouquet of fresh flowers in the middle of a winter storm really does a lot to raise mournful spirits and off-set the dread of waking up while it's still dark to go scrape off the car.

And purple flowers, ...well, they're even better!

Had to share...

2007-01-26T20:37:00.000-07:00

This is a compelling article that I had to share.... It makes me want to go back and read some Dr. Seuss again!

In other news, the goal for my clinical rotation next week is to have 5 patients for whom I am primarily responsible; in other words, on their chart it will say that I am their physical therapist. Exciting! Things are moving along well, and I'm discovering how much I enjoy inpatient neuro rehabilitation.

It looks like I found an apartment for the [first] few months that I'll be down in North Carolina. Colin went to look at a sublet I discovered via Craigslist (I love the internet these days), and proclaimed it to be cleaner than his place--which I thought to be quite an impressive description! Apparently, my roommate-to-be is a very laid back graduate student of geology, who recently bought a motor bike. Hmmm... I'm sure we'll have tons in common...! Hey, you never know!! :)

Life in Massachusetts is getting cold; today the thermometer outside read -5 degrees when I went out to start my car at 7am. On my drive home in the evening, the bank sign read that it had become a balmy 5 degrees above zero! The kids I live with are, of course, predicting snow. Wishful thinking more than educated guessing, as far as I can tell. Nevertheless, my 5 year-old friend Hannah and I are going to have to bundle up to take our Saturday morning walk over to the library tomorrow!

Contemplative thoughts and subsequent actions over the past few weeks:

1. Purgatory is said to be suffering worse than any human suffering on earth--note, that means any human suffering, not just the worst suffering I have personally experienced.

2. I see plenty of people everyday who are dealing with agonizing pain; they try to describe their nerve pain to me, and it sounds terrible. "Like a toothache shooting directly down my arm..." "Like someone is piercing me with a long, stinging needle..." I sympathize with them, but I really cannot imagine or appreciate what they're going through.

3. Reading the "Saints of Today and Yesterday" out of Magnificat in the evenings, it is amazing to consider the martyrdoms that some of these holy people went through. Such physical pain! It's no wonder that a martyr's crown is said to merit heaven. The sufferings described are probably among the worst possible on earth.

4. I thank God for my health everyday; I think of and pray for the souls in Purgatory much more often; and while scrubbing my hands between seeing patients, I say two Hail Mary's... one for the patient I just saw, and one for the patient I am on my way to see.

Working in healthcare--as well as reading the lives of the saints--really helps me to appreciate my blessings.

Happy New Year!

2007-01-07T19:51:00.000-07:00

So I'm a little late.
It's a different world, not having internet always at my fingertips. I think it's good for me, though. It makes my time online more productive.

I'm in Massachusetts now--staying in the home of my brother-in-law's brother, his wife, and their seven children. Except the eldest left to go back to TAC on Saturday. I go to my internsihp during the day, and then come home in the evening to a busy household, where a hot meal is being prepared and the table is being set for dinner! I love it. This family has already been so wonderful to me; I am so grateful for their generosity.
After dinner, I join the older children in cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen. Then we generally chat over a cup of tea before I head upstairs to do some studying or work for the next day. Inevitably, the 4 year-old will come in and say goodnight before she goes to bed. Otherwise, I wait for my phone-call from Carolina for Evening Prayers, then turn in after an all-too-brief chat.

It doesn't feel like I'm starting the third week of my clinical rotation tomorrow. These first few weeks went by quickly--probably because of the holidays shortening the actual time spent in the clinic. And last weekend, I did not stay in Massachusetts, so that broke up the timing, as well.

By the way, here are a few pictures of last weekend, which already seems so long ago:

What better way to spend New Year's Eve than standing around and periodically checking bags for food and weapons outside a UNC basketball game--especially if that means watching the second half of the game for FREE! Yep, Colin's got the whole fun-on-a-student-budget figured out!

Then a rousing country-western style New Year's celebration, complete with "specialty drinks," which Colin's friend Patrick insisted on buying for us! Hmmm... some kind of blue liquor in perfectly fine-by-itself champagne. My guess is that they were trying to get rid of some overstock.

And these were the two pictures taken last weekend! It seems that both of us--but especially Colin--are better at taking a lot of pictures of other people, and not necessarily ourselves.

Meanwhile, the weather feels like springtime. I'm not impressed by the supposed "harsh" Massachusetts winters. Although maybe I should save my skepticism until I leave in March!

Eight more weeks, and I'll be headed down to North Carolina!

Tagged

2007-01-07T19:48:00.000-07:00

I have been tagged by Nutmeg. Which means that a regular "Sephora update" will have to wait.

1. Favorite devotion or prayer to Jesus?
Efficacious Novena to the Sacred Heart of Jesus (it's become my favorite since Colin introduced it to me)

2. Favorite Marian devotion or prayer?
The Memorare

3. Do you wear a scapular or medal?
Yes; a scapular.

4. Do you have holy water in your home?
Not holy water of my own. But I'm sure the home that I'm currently living in has its own store of holy water!

5. Do you ‘offer up’ your sufferings?
Yes. Something about working in healthcare makes it easy to remember to be grateful for everything I have, and to always have someone to offer things up for.

6. Do you observe First Fridays and First Saturdays?
No, unfortunately.

7. Do you go to Eucharistic Adoration?
I used to, intermittently, when I had time. I've never actually signed up for my own time, although this is definitely something I'd like to do, once I settle down somewhere.

8. Are you a Saturday evening Mass person or Sunday morning Mass person?
Sunday morning. I love keeping Sundays as my holy day of the week, generally speaking.

9. Do you say prayers at mealtime?
Yes.

10. Favorite Saint(s)?
Saint Cecilia, Saint Joseph, Saint Anthony, Saint Rose of Lima, Saint Michael the Archangel, Saint Padre Pio, Saint Sebastian

11. Can you recite the Apostles Creed by heart?
Yes.

12. Do you usually say short prayers (aspirations) during the course of the day?
Yes--usually things like, "Jesus, I love you," or "Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him/her/me."

13. Where is your favorite place to pray?
On my bed--recently, while I'm on the phone...

14. Bonus Question: When you pass by an automobile accident or other serious mishap, do you say a quick prayer for the folks involved?
Yes--I've been trained since childhood, and I generally go into automatic Hail Mary's.

Tag? There's no one left to tag! Tim?

Christmas Miracles

2006-12-24T12:01:00.000-07:00

Christmas Miracle #1: Nutmeg, her DH, and their children (the "Grands") made it through the snowy roads up from Dallas to join us on Thursday evening for a cup of hot chocolate and some cookies before crashing into bed.

Christmas Miracle #2: Portia and her LH made it through the snowy roads from Las Vegas to join us very late on Thursday night for "a drink." I don't know the details--I turned in as soon as I got my hugs from the couple I haven't seen since last Christmas!

Christmas Miracle #3: Although his early Friday morning flight was cancelled due to the weather in Denver, Colin's sweet-talkin' smiles--Carolina style!--got him a confirmed seat on a flight that arrives this evening into Denver. He wouldn't pass up the chance to meet the entire family, all at once!

So a Blessed Fourth Sunday of Advent, and a Happy Christmas Eve to us all!

It's sort of a schizophrenic day as far as the Liturgical Season goes. This was reflected in the music at our little mountain chapel this morning, too. We started with "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" as the entrance hymn, and for the recessional, sang "O Holy Child of Bethlehem." As our celebrant said, for many of those who are going to the Christmas Vigil, today is a "two-fer."

There is a lot of busy activity here in the house; Christmas Eve is winning out as the day's title. The special Polish Christmas Eve dinner, Vigilia, must be ready to go when the first star is seen in the sky! (Or, in other words, when Nutmeg, her DH, and the "Grands" get home from the 5:30pm Vigil Mass)! There were also breakfast casseroles to be prepped for tomorrow morning's post-present-opening hunger stampede.

So it's a busy, but also a waiting, sort of day. The "Grands" wander in and out of the kitchen looking for a glass of juice, a piece of cheese, a mitten for snowboarding, or permission to play on the computer. The fireplace is swept out and ready for another late afternoon fire. Nutmeg helps Mom brainstorm the logistics of the meal service.
Portia and her LH made an eggbake, then slipped out to see a dear friend in town. Unfortunately, dear brother is working and won't be coming up until after 9:30pm. He will have a late Vigilia, but Colin and I will join him when we arrive from Denver.

Christmas Miracle #4: Everyone will be here for Christmas dinner tomorrow night, for the first time in 4 years.

God bless us, everyone.