The Fruits of my Labors

Some people seem to think that health care workers are the same as hospitality staff-- like your waiter or hotel manager, where "the customer is always right."

Granted, I do perform a lot of similar duties. I get you beverages. I change your sheets. I provide warm blankets, pillows, and I try to make you comfortable. But then, I go even a step further. I change the nasty bloody, poopy towels from under you. I help you to the bathroom. I give you important medications and inform you about them. I can tell you how your labor is progressing. I help to make sure that you and your baby stay healthy and safe.

Now, I certainly do believe in choices, and I think patients should chose their care providers and facilities according to what suits them best. I also believe in respect and appreciation, and sometimes patients take what we do for granted. It's the attitude that we are simply there to cater to them- especially in labor and delivery. What I do can be very difficult. It's scary knowing that my actions can totally change a patient's outcome. In fact, I pretty much hated nursing for the first six months and only tolerated it for the next six. But what got me into this mess was wanting to help people, to calm and comfort them in times of stress, a chance to make a difference to somebody. Sometimes what I do goes completely unnoticed. Sometimes people get angry no matter how hard I try to please them. And sometimes, you win the lottery.

In the past few weeks I have gotten two lovely handwritten notes of appreciation from patients that I have taken care of. One sent me a picture of her cute baby girl along with her letter. Another came all the way back to the hospital to give me cookies and a note. I don't know if they understand how much that means to me! Perhaps it is simply their grateful attitudes more than any kind of extraordinary care I might have given them that prompted them to do it, but it sure made my day nevertheless. There is nothing quite like knowing that something you did made a difference for someone else-- especially in my area where emotions are high, there are a lot of expectations, and things can change in an instant. It feels so good to know that there are those who not only appreciate what I did for them, but so much so that they made a special effort to tell me. As I approach my two year mark in nursing, it's nice to finally know and feel that what I do is important-- and to even enjoy it!

Thank you!

The Last Two Months

After two months of frustration and feeling out of touch with the world, we finally got our computer back. Now that it is healed from its 300+ viruses, it is running much smoother and we can go back to doing homework at home, keeping up with family and friends, and spending hours giggling over Cake Wrecks. Ah, it's good to be back!

Meanwhile, we haven't been all boring. There was that time that our apartment almost burned down.
So that explains the smell coming from behind our bed...

The time I had to go to three baby showers in one week.
(Lots of card making going on at our house!)

Did you know that only pregnant women shop in the baby aisle at Target?

Then we decided to spruce up our bathroom decor...
... and Lance did the unthinkable:
He asked if there was any way we could clean it so that he could still use it since it was new (ick!) but I told him I refuse to kiss a potty mouth.

And lastly, there was the time we got together with friends to show off who's got the best Wii skills around. And we sure showed them... who's got the best team unity!
(My model is at school so we'll have to do with the flowered couch.)
Although we were both pretty intimidating, only Lance pulled through with some true competition. But I did make a pretty good seven layer bean dip!

I guess I'll have to hone my skills a bit more before we meet the Daniels family for a rematch, but many thanks again to Mom, Dad, and Laynie, who gave us a very merry Wii Christmas last December. At least now the playing field will be somewhat even at the family reunion...

So, 2010 is off to a fairly good start, and let's hope that as we continue to move forward, each year is better than the last.

For Ziggy

Today I found my safe spot.

Have you ever had a safe spot? It’s like in tag, when you map out a safety zone where no one can get you out. Some may call that cheating, but maybe it’s just good strategy. It’s your rendezvous spot, the place where you can pace your breathing, think clearly, and think out your next move.

On Tuesday I found out that my baby had died. Two week s ago I saw his little heart beating on ultrasound now only to witness his absolute stillness. Lance came with me to my 12-week appointment to see our baby for himself, since last time I had used the ultrasound machine at work to sneak a peek. He tried to calm my fears when the Doppler picked up only my heartbeat. But all those fears were confirmed when the doctor announced that our baby looked very small for 12 weeks. Very small.

No blood flow. No heartbeat. Not even a recognizable shape. My baby had died and my body didn’t do anything about it. I felt betrayed. For two weeks at least I had gone on, ignorantly, planning and praying for something that would never get the chance to fulfill the dreams I had created for it.

Maybe it’s my fault. I prayed so hard for my baby just to “hold on,” to stay firmly attached to me in order to continue growing. My body did hold on, even after my baby couldn’t. The literature says that many early miscarriages are a result of chromosomal abnormalities incompatible with life. I guess that’s why my baby didn’t really look like a baby. But even so, I can’t bring myself to think of him as only a bundle of cells or mass of tissue. Because he was mine. Or perhaps even better, Ours. Our creation, Lance’s and mine. Our baby. Our hope. Our chance to work with our Father in Heaven in fashioning the most marvelous gift of all: Life.

On Wednesday I had my first surgery ever. I underwent a procedure called dilation and curettage to clean out my womb. But instead of scraping out my uterus, I feel like they scraped out my heart. It’s strange to know that in just fifteen minutes I went from being pregnant back to my regular self. Nothing special. No need to avoid certain foods or medications, no excuse for weight gain. Just me, in the singular.

I put my baby name book in the closet. My stash of pregnancy information and prenatal vitamins are safely tucked away under the bed. And Lance’s Christmas present to me, a beautiful wooden rocking chair, will stay at his parents’ house for now. I guess that’s the key phrase right there: For now. Because amid the tears and the confusion, the pain and the sorrow, there is peace. There is peace because if we let him, there is someone who will give it to us:

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names.
Great is our Lord, and of great power: his understanding is infinite (Psalm 147:3-5).

If the Savior knows the name of every star in the sky, surely he knows mine. Even if I don’t understand the plan, he does. And because he has felt it himself, he can heal my broken heart and bind up my wounds. And as I have tried to let go of my disappointment and let the Savior aid me, I found my safe spot. The place where I could catch my breath and plan out my next move.

I found it on the couch. As we knelt to pray, Lance wrapped his arms around me and nestled his head against me. And I felt safe. Warm. Like nothing and no one in the world could tag me out. I felt as if the Savior was using my own sweet, dear husband to let me know how much He loves us. I felt, like Lehi, that “… the Lord [had] redeemed my soul from hell… and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love” (2 Nephi 1:15). And for the first time in days, I felt peace. It was the point when knowing things would be alright and believing they would became the same. And instead of wondering if I did something wrong, I prefer to think on what Lance said just after our prayer. He said that maybe there was a little spirit up there that so wanted a body, and so wanted to be our baby, that he just couldn’t wait-- even though his body wasn’t meant to last very long. I’m not saying it’s doctrinal, but it is nevertheless a beautiful thought, and one that has brought me comfort.

There will be relapses. There have been already today. And I have no idea how difficult it will be for us to finally get our baby. But it’s going to be okay. One of the greatest challenges of our lives is to learn to trust in our Heavenly Father’s plan. And he has provided even for that, through the gift of his Son. As Elder Nelson said, “Thanks to Him, no condition is hopeless. Thanks to Him, brighter days are ahead, both here and hereafter. Real joy awaits each of us—on the other side of sorrow” (Oct. 2005 General Conference). So here’s to that other side! Through the help of our Savior, may we find it more quickly than we had even hoped.

7+18=20?

Announcing..... Fifevergnuegen #20!

Stats:
ETA: June 7, 2010
EGA: 8 weeks
Sex: Unknown at present
Current size: Approximately .63 inches, .04 ounces (raspberry size)
Hobbies: Swimming, Water Polo
In utero name: Ziggy

Seeing the Future

This year for the annual Rees Family Halloween Party, Lance and I decided to take a look into our future. It isn't exactly pretty....

A future Grandpa and Grandma Rees?

Settling down with a nice bowl of chili to warm my aching bones...

Great Uncle Lance posing next to the Halloween decorations


My, how quickly fifty years go by... how young we were in that wedding picture in the corner!

The party was a success and everyone had a good time-- even us old geezers.

Monumental Move

Last Friday we got to witness a monumental move. A true testament to engineering ingenuity. A climax in constructional creativity. And it was about as exciting as watching grass grow.

Ok, so maybe I'm being a little harsh-- especially since Lance was so excited (this is the guy who used to pray for the tractors and other construction equipment as a kid). And actually, it was really cool. Around 10pm the existing bridge exit for American Fork Main street was closed to traffic so that spectators could watch from it as the new bridge was put into place. This new bridge, weighing in at 4 million pounds, is the largest bridge ever to be moved. Ever. Using some fancy equipment with wheels and a really, really big remote control, half of the bridge (complete with driving surface, guardrails and sidewalk) was inched over both south- and northbound lanes of I-15 to rest over the previously completed pillars. The second half was moved Sunday night. It took over three hours just to get it in place. So my comparison to watching grass grow is accurate- they could only move a bit at a time, making frequent stops to make sure nothing had twisted or shifted out of place. It was one of those things where if you stare at it you can't see it moving, but as soon as you look away and then look back, you can tell it isn't where it was before. In between staring across the street and listening in on the familiar awkwardness of a couple on their first or second date standing just behind us, I actually fell asleep for about half an hour. So, when I woke up, it looked like the bridge had actually jumped across the highway instead of crawled.

I think Lance may have stayed there all night, if by midnight I didn't have to go to the bathroom so bad from that free hot chocolate that was no longer keeping me warm. However, we did have a good time, and it's neat to say that we witnessed history in the making.

Going Steady

After a year of "floating," I am finally settling down. I just got my permanent schedule for American Fork Hospital. Now instead of taking turns at three different hospitals, I will just go to one and I'll have the same two week rotating schedule until the powers that be decide it needs changing.

Overall, my schedule is pretty good and my manager has a way of making one feel she's getting a deal. I only have to work two nights out of my six rotating shifts, and all the rest are day shifts. Which is lovely-- except for that Sunday. I do have to work every other Sunday, which really stinks, but until people stop having babies I'm afraid someone's got to do it. And one of those "someones" is me. At least for now. The nice thing is that I do have my schedule set now for the rest of the year and the one to come, so it is easier to plan. Not only that, but I can forget about trying to fit in with three different sets of staff, remembering what each hospital does differently than the others, and so forth. What a relief.

My new schedule starts in November and I look forward to leaving the pool and just being able to stay in one place. As a friend of mine once said, "Monogamy is key!"