Sunday, February 16, 2014

Words


I love words.

If you ever want to know what I am afraid of losing...pay attention to what I write about.

I love the way I can string together any number of words and they create feelings. Words can elicit anger, power, passion, or love. Words can encourage or motivate or inspire. Words can cut and hurt and tear apart. Rearrange the same words and the meaning changes. The intention changes.

Change the person reading the words and the words change.

It is magical.

Words can be personal. Something that I only write for myself. Never to be seen or shared. Call it venting or dumping or screaming with a pen (or keyboard, in this case)...these words can be beneficial.

I rarely write those kinds of words. Writing those kinds of words means admitting them. To myself. Admission can be difficult and cultivate feelings that are uncomfortable. Worthlessness. Anger. Guilt. Shame. Denial. Any combination of the above. I have these kinds of words, we all do, but I don't like to write them.

Words can invoke conversation with another person. We live in an age where texts trump phone calls and emails come before face to face. This is both amazing and damaging. I feel far more comfortable typing words into a faceless device, than I do using my voice. This can help me overcome fright and worry...but it also allows the possibility that I will hurt someone else. It is easier, right or wrong, to react to a situation negatively and without thinking, when I don't have to see the face of the person I am hurting.

Words, when shared with someone else, instantly make me vulnerable. Everything I write and share, is open to interpretation. I can't control how the party reading my words will understand them. I can't predict what they will associate them with, or the feelings and emotions that my words will elicit. That is challenging for me. It is hard for me to accept that my intention isn't always what is received by the reader.

I struggle between not wanting to share words and sharing too many. One of my favorite Maya Angelou quotes sums it up pretty well..."There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." There is no greater anguish than needing to give life to words, before they overcome you, but feeling unable.

Except, maybe...just maybe...when the words that you carefully give birth to...the words you unabashedly give away...do not extract the response that you intended. Maybe...that hurts more.


Thursday, February 13, 2014

It's Over

My hours have been completed for my preceptorship and all I'm left with is a pile of assignments that I need to tackle. I don't know where the last four weeks went, but I know that I spent much of it in the car and most of it in blue scrubs.

I will never forget my hours in labor and delivery. So many things touched me, in ways that I didn't expect. I was welcomed by the other nurses and they willingly taught me. They were patient and they answered my questions, no matter how silly I thought they might be. I experienced birth, in so many forms. Birth of babies...of mothers...of families. I experienced death. I experienced heart ache and the realization that I will carry the memories of some of these babies with me, for a lifetime. I experienced frustration at situations that tie nurse's hands. I experienced how incredibly miraculous birth is and how amazing women's bodies are.

I'm thankful for the jokes and laughs at 3 am that kept me awake. I'm thankful for the opportunity to work with some amazing people. I'm thankful for my preceptor for taking me on as a personal shadow. I'm thankful for the many, many hours that I got to cuddle the newest people on the planet. I'm thankful to have experienced all that I did...even if it wasn't all pretty and shiny and happy. It gave me a glimpse into an area that I know will be my home one day. Not yet...but one day. I have a lot more to learn, clinically and emotionally, before I want to venture there.

To my family and friends that had to endure my crazy...I love you. I couldn't have done this, without each and every one of you. I'm sorry. I'd like to tell you that I will now return to my regularly scheduled chaos...but even that is pretty intense. ;) Just know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel! I applied for graduation today and in just 71 days I will walk for my diploma.

Then you just have to love me through boards.

Oh. Did I mention I applied to the Bachelor program, too?

Who still loves me? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Friday, February 7, 2014

Happy Birthday, Avers!

My beautiful girl,
You have been a fighter since birth. You fought to be born early and you fought to live at six weeks old. You fight rules and you fight expectations. I love it. You are your own person and I love the strength in which you portray that. Being your mother is the most challenging thing I have ever done and for that, I thank you. You have taught me more about patience and love and determination, than anyone else on this planet.
Happy 9th birthday, my darling girl. I hope this next year brings you all the happiness you desire, all the lessons you need to learn and more love than you can handle.
Love, Mommy
 



Thursday, February 6, 2014

A Baby Should...

A baby should know from the beginning of life, that they are loved. That they are wanted. That they are the most miraculous thing to ever grace the planet.

A baby should be paid attention to. Every need met. Every cry answered.

A baby should be held. Wrapped in loving arms and held tight against warm skin. A baby should feel safe and protected.

A baby should know the sound of humming and your heartbeat. The sound of lullabies and fairy tales.

A baby should know the feeling of soft blankets, kind hands and gentle kisses. There should never be enough kisses.

A baby should be whispered to. A baby should be told how amazing they are. How beautiful they are. How one day, they are going to change the world. How they have already made the world a better place.

A baby should change your life.
...and if it doesn't...it breaks my heart.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Hell Week

I'm just over half way done with my preceptorship. Ho.Ly. Crap. Crazy how time flies when you're...loving on cute babies and walking around like a zombie.
 
I am currently in the middle of what I am lovingly referring to as "Hell Week". Between Saturday night and Friday night, I will work and precept 72+ hours. In addition to my homework. And trying to see my kids at least once a day.
 
Sigh.
 
This is what I wanted, right? This is what I thrive off of?
 
It's true. I like pushing deadlines. I like exhaustion. I like feeling like my world may explode at any moment. Ridiculous as it sounds.