Just do it.
For the woman who was told that girls can't be scientists.
For the gentleman who was told that working class people can't have aspirations higher than that.
For the young man who had dreams but was caught too soon by death.
For the young woman who had dreams but caught them and held them tight.
Just do it.
For the little boys who look up to you.
For the man who wants you to be happy.
For YOU. Above all, Work hard and Be happy.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Thankful.
I am so thankful. In a small break in the Vancouver weather, I caught a glimpse of the stars last night. I thought about life. Where I have been, where I'm headed and my little family. I'm just thankful for it all. The pure simplicity of life and how it all seems to work out lately.
That's it. A short blog today... not much to say lately. School is coming along. Slowly, but going.The kids have had a cold from the deepest fieriest depths of hell and there has been no rest in this house for 8 days running.
Life is crazy, life is good. Always good.
That's it. A short blog today... not much to say lately. School is coming along. Slowly, but going.The kids have had a cold from the deepest fieriest depths of hell and there has been no rest in this house for 8 days running.
Life is crazy, life is good. Always good.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
The following rant brought to you by National Eating Disorders Awareness Week.
While going through old pictures I stop at one from 2003. It' my own eyes in the picture. Haunted and empty, pleading- See me. Love me and take away this struggle for me because I sure as hell can't.
It's a mantra that's been repeated so many times through my head throughout life. It's part of me and stemming from deep rooted anxiety issues and the occasional bout of depression. It's a plea for help from some primal part of my brain that realizes I can't live like I am. The outside of me and the surface of my brain loves the roller coaster ride my emotions are on. One moment, loving life. I'm NORMAL. Functioning and making eye contact with the outside world. The next- and who knows what precipitates this, be it an unexpected glimpse of myself in a large mirror, a minor error at work, the shrinking of a favourite shirt in the wash-- but it's all over.
to the scale.
to the measuring tape.
to the laxatives.
to the toilet, hand down my throat.
again with the plans to never eat as long as I shall live.
again with the drama
It all seems cliche and dramatic and the truth is, that at times living with an eating disorder can be that way. Certainly, it is when it is put onto paper and laid out in stark back and white. The person living with the disorder doesn't write it to sound like this but it sure isn't an easy disorder to live with. It's a disorder that's hard to understand to somebody without issues. Food is energy. It's fuel. It's not love, how can it be punishment? How can it be used as a weapon? Especially as a weapon against oneself?
I lived with an eating disorder for years. Decades, in fact and again and again on this blog, I have mentioned that my children have saved my life and changed me for the better. Again and again, they have. They teach me how prcious life is and how WORTH IT it is to remain conscious and happy. This is not a lifesaving device that most people can use, it's just something that has worked for me.
As a person surviving an eating disorder, I have to admit that it's never truly gone. It can be shoved to the background and ignored like a bratty child but it can never truly be let go. It taunts me daily for brief fleeting nagging moments and then I get on with my day. The regret after every meal never seems to let up though it's disappeared to a dull murmur that I can quickly backhand out of the picture so I can live the rest of the day. It's like all addictions. Never truly gone.
Therapists and wondering people will always ask the following: How did you become like this? what happened to you?
I have always had body issues. One of my earliest memories was self consciousness in a bikini at the age of 4. By the age of 11, I was bullied so mercilessly at elementary school that I began throwing up to prove to my parents that I was sick and could stay home from school. Let us forget momentarily the fact that this was a catholic elementary school where we were taught to love each other.... and that the teachers turned a blind eye to my suffering and allowed it to continue.... never mind that. Seriously. They were dark days for me... days where I honestly remember nothing but clouds and dread upon going to school.
By the time I was 13, I was purging regularly to lose weight. I don't think it worked for weight loss but going through a growth spurt at the time, I maintained a low weight while getting ever taller and in the end, I was underweight. Not a big deal at the time- I think everybody was gangly and still growing into their bodies. It was more of a hobby to me than a true endeavor.
Through the next 8 years or so, I was okay. Teetering on the edge of an eating disorder. Toying with the idea. I read every book about anorexia in the library. I kept my weight stable with purging and by walking EVERYWHERE.
The real trouble began in 2003 when I moved away from home. I'm talking an 8 hour drive over mountain passes to get home to see mum and family. It was a hard time. I was always fully conscious of the distance. As a result, Body images, anxiety and depression all spiralled into one big emo-fuck-black-hole and I just... Willingly fell into it. Oh, let's add my first car (no more walking) and an inability to meal plan and cook for myself into the mix and well- I was fucked. First, I gained 30 pounds in a short amount of time eating instant crap and comfort foods. Upon realizing this, I stopped eating entirely.
As I mentioned before, I gained 30 pounds really quickly when I moved. Food is how I learned to cope. The day my brother died, mum took us to McDonalds on the way home from the hospital. She then went straight to the kitchen and made a roast AND pork chops, salad, buns and veggies. We ate it ALL. As a family. In a robotic haze. I remember it so vividly. Food is how we as humans connect. I'm sure it's a long lost primal urge to gather around a kill and feast before it went bad. We celebrate everything with food. Women cry over ice cream. Dudes commiserate over wings and beer. People in general pass the time with coffee and scones. Young people dance while holding alcohol aka liquid calories. Then, we brag about how we will fight the hangover the next day with a fast food breakfast. We celebrate, medicate, Dull ourselves, sharpen and connect over food. It's a primitive urge from the primal part of our brains. We can't help it. Some people like me though, we can't handle it.
The day I 'broke' and fell headlong into hell was late summer. I was waiting to get into the on-air booth at the station I worked at as a producer there. I loved my job and still miss it today and regret the loss of my career promise when I began idolizing food.
For some reason, there was a full length mirror at the end of the upstairs hallway in that station.--The reason I question the full length mirror is because we were a RADIO station-- I was musing this as I looked over and accidentally caught a full length glace of myself. My apartment being so small and shitty, I barely had a shard of glass above my bathroom sink to look at myself in.
This glance of myself in a mirror caught me off guard and I saw all extra 30 pounds in their full oily fatty wiggly glory. It was an awful moment. I actually had a tummy flap and my clothes were straining. The pencil skirt and shirt I wore daily (in different variations) had fit perfectly when I left home. Now, it was too small and ridiculous on me. The shirt was too short and My growing out shaggy pixie cut just added to my own horror. There are moments in life you jut don't forget easily and this was one of them.
The rest of that day was a blur but over the next few months, I slowly went crazy. Eating nothing for days on end. Introducing myself to laxatives, purging one carrot one evening because it wasn't on my 5 day fasting plan.
It came to a point where I couldn't focus on my work. I was making stupid mistakes. I took illegal diet supplements. I drank liters of diet pop every day. I was on eating disorder help message boards looking for ways to get out. At the same time, it was my comfort. The excitement of losing one more pound, the games I'd play with myself and the planning involved.
My boyfriend was worried and we'd have all-out arguments over stupid things like V8. Is it FOOD? or a DRINK? I was convinced it was food since it's basically ground up vegetables. He disagreed.
There was a point where my body just couldn't take starvation any more and it naturally turned to food. In retaliation, I turned to bulimia. The binge-purge cycle took over my days and nights. I'd wake up in the morning with open cans of Diet Coke next to my bed and no recollection of how They got there. I think it was my brain starving. It needed food and I wouldn't eat any. In fact, I didn't know how to eat normally.
Purging and laxatives combined with the stimulants I was taking to lose weight gave me my very of heart murmur. I still have it, 10 years later. Mum would call and ask how I was, and I'd answer 'Oh GREAT, everything is awesome!" as I washed puke off my hands. I'd demolish $50 of groceries in a night and as a result, I'd have no money for my bills and my credit card was put into collections, my phone was cut off and the car's gas was continually on empty.
I don't think I can get into much more detail without glorifying the whole experience. It was not glamorous. It was not fun. I lost 50 pounds between end of September and Christmas. Some days, I ached to my bones with the lack of nutrition. I lived off coffee and chicken broth.
I honestly don't remember when I'd had enough. What tipped me off. I just walked into my boss's office and gave him my notice.
It was a moment of relief and one of panic. I was to move in with my boyfriend. I knew Brian loved me unconditionally. I knew it was the end of my personal control. The end of my freedom. However, it was the beginning of life, I guess. A transition to normal life.
It was hard, moving in with Brian and adapting to meal times and to grocery shopping for two normal people and not for one manic person. I gained weight like crazy due to something called metabolic damage. to date, I'm up 100 pounds from when we moved in but down 40 of that.
Again, it's my children who have stopped all crazy eating habits. I want them to see their mother and remember me growing up as a loving mother. Not a crazy woman who's never eats or is always throwing up. I want them to have a healthy image when it comes to food. A good role model. fter my children were born, I stopped and thanked my body for the first time ever. It had grown them for me. All my life, I'd hated it cursed it and tried to get rid of it. Now, it had done something extraordinary.
I could almost love it. No, I'm not there yet but I'm getting there. <3
While going through old pictures I stop at one from 2003. It' my own eyes in the picture. Haunted and empty, pleading- See me. Love me and take away this struggle for me because I sure as hell can't.
It's a mantra that's been repeated so many times through my head throughout life. It's part of me and stemming from deep rooted anxiety issues and the occasional bout of depression. It's a plea for help from some primal part of my brain that realizes I can't live like I am. The outside of me and the surface of my brain loves the roller coaster ride my emotions are on. One moment, loving life. I'm NORMAL. Functioning and making eye contact with the outside world. The next- and who knows what precipitates this, be it an unexpected glimpse of myself in a large mirror, a minor error at work, the shrinking of a favourite shirt in the wash-- but it's all over.
to the scale.
to the measuring tape.
to the laxatives.
to the toilet, hand down my throat.
again with the plans to never eat as long as I shall live.
again with the drama
It all seems cliche and dramatic and the truth is, that at times living with an eating disorder can be that way. Certainly, it is when it is put onto paper and laid out in stark back and white. The person living with the disorder doesn't write it to sound like this but it sure isn't an easy disorder to live with. It's a disorder that's hard to understand to somebody without issues. Food is energy. It's fuel. It's not love, how can it be punishment? How can it be used as a weapon? Especially as a weapon against oneself?
I lived with an eating disorder for years. Decades, in fact and again and again on this blog, I have mentioned that my children have saved my life and changed me for the better. Again and again, they have. They teach me how prcious life is and how WORTH IT it is to remain conscious and happy. This is not a lifesaving device that most people can use, it's just something that has worked for me.
As a person surviving an eating disorder, I have to admit that it's never truly gone. It can be shoved to the background and ignored like a bratty child but it can never truly be let go. It taunts me daily for brief fleeting nagging moments and then I get on with my day. The regret after every meal never seems to let up though it's disappeared to a dull murmur that I can quickly backhand out of the picture so I can live the rest of the day. It's like all addictions. Never truly gone.
Therapists and wondering people will always ask the following: How did you become like this? what happened to you?
I have always had body issues. One of my earliest memories was self consciousness in a bikini at the age of 4. By the age of 11, I was bullied so mercilessly at elementary school that I began throwing up to prove to my parents that I was sick and could stay home from school. Let us forget momentarily the fact that this was a catholic elementary school where we were taught to love each other.... and that the teachers turned a blind eye to my suffering and allowed it to continue.... never mind that. Seriously. They were dark days for me... days where I honestly remember nothing but clouds and dread upon going to school.
By the time I was 13, I was purging regularly to lose weight. I don't think it worked for weight loss but going through a growth spurt at the time, I maintained a low weight while getting ever taller and in the end, I was underweight. Not a big deal at the time- I think everybody was gangly and still growing into their bodies. It was more of a hobby to me than a true endeavor.
Through the next 8 years or so, I was okay. Teetering on the edge of an eating disorder. Toying with the idea. I read every book about anorexia in the library. I kept my weight stable with purging and by walking EVERYWHERE.
The real trouble began in 2003 when I moved away from home. I'm talking an 8 hour drive over mountain passes to get home to see mum and family. It was a hard time. I was always fully conscious of the distance. As a result, Body images, anxiety and depression all spiralled into one big emo-fuck-black-hole and I just... Willingly fell into it. Oh, let's add my first car (no more walking) and an inability to meal plan and cook for myself into the mix and well- I was fucked. First, I gained 30 pounds in a short amount of time eating instant crap and comfort foods. Upon realizing this, I stopped eating entirely.
As I mentioned before, I gained 30 pounds really quickly when I moved. Food is how I learned to cope. The day my brother died, mum took us to McDonalds on the way home from the hospital. She then went straight to the kitchen and made a roast AND pork chops, salad, buns and veggies. We ate it ALL. As a family. In a robotic haze. I remember it so vividly. Food is how we as humans connect. I'm sure it's a long lost primal urge to gather around a kill and feast before it went bad. We celebrate everything with food. Women cry over ice cream. Dudes commiserate over wings and beer. People in general pass the time with coffee and scones. Young people dance while holding alcohol aka liquid calories. Then, we brag about how we will fight the hangover the next day with a fast food breakfast. We celebrate, medicate, Dull ourselves, sharpen and connect over food. It's a primitive urge from the primal part of our brains. We can't help it. Some people like me though, we can't handle it.
The day I 'broke' and fell headlong into hell was late summer. I was waiting to get into the on-air booth at the station I worked at as a producer there. I loved my job and still miss it today and regret the loss of my career promise when I began idolizing food.
For some reason, there was a full length mirror at the end of the upstairs hallway in that station.--The reason I question the full length mirror is because we were a RADIO station-- I was musing this as I looked over and accidentally caught a full length glace of myself. My apartment being so small and shitty, I barely had a shard of glass above my bathroom sink to look at myself in.
This glance of myself in a mirror caught me off guard and I saw all extra 30 pounds in their full oily fatty wiggly glory. It was an awful moment. I actually had a tummy flap and my clothes were straining. The pencil skirt and shirt I wore daily (in different variations) had fit perfectly when I left home. Now, it was too small and ridiculous on me. The shirt was too short and My growing out shaggy pixie cut just added to my own horror. There are moments in life you jut don't forget easily and this was one of them.
The rest of that day was a blur but over the next few months, I slowly went crazy. Eating nothing for days on end. Introducing myself to laxatives, purging one carrot one evening because it wasn't on my 5 day fasting plan.
It came to a point where I couldn't focus on my work. I was making stupid mistakes. I took illegal diet supplements. I drank liters of diet pop every day. I was on eating disorder help message boards looking for ways to get out. At the same time, it was my comfort. The excitement of losing one more pound, the games I'd play with myself and the planning involved.
My boyfriend was worried and we'd have all-out arguments over stupid things like V8. Is it FOOD? or a DRINK? I was convinced it was food since it's basically ground up vegetables. He disagreed.
There was a point where my body just couldn't take starvation any more and it naturally turned to food. In retaliation, I turned to bulimia. The binge-purge cycle took over my days and nights. I'd wake up in the morning with open cans of Diet Coke next to my bed and no recollection of how They got there. I think it was my brain starving. It needed food and I wouldn't eat any. In fact, I didn't know how to eat normally.
Purging and laxatives combined with the stimulants I was taking to lose weight gave me my very of heart murmur. I still have it, 10 years later. Mum would call and ask how I was, and I'd answer 'Oh GREAT, everything is awesome!" as I washed puke off my hands. I'd demolish $50 of groceries in a night and as a result, I'd have no money for my bills and my credit card was put into collections, my phone was cut off and the car's gas was continually on empty.
I don't think I can get into much more detail without glorifying the whole experience. It was not glamorous. It was not fun. I lost 50 pounds between end of September and Christmas. Some days, I ached to my bones with the lack of nutrition. I lived off coffee and chicken broth.
I honestly don't remember when I'd had enough. What tipped me off. I just walked into my boss's office and gave him my notice.
It was a moment of relief and one of panic. I was to move in with my boyfriend. I knew Brian loved me unconditionally. I knew it was the end of my personal control. The end of my freedom. However, it was the beginning of life, I guess. A transition to normal life.
It was hard, moving in with Brian and adapting to meal times and to grocery shopping for two normal people and not for one manic person. I gained weight like crazy due to something called metabolic damage. to date, I'm up 100 pounds from when we moved in but down 40 of that.
Again, it's my children who have stopped all crazy eating habits. I want them to see their mother and remember me growing up as a loving mother. Not a crazy woman who's never eats or is always throwing up. I want them to have a healthy image when it comes to food. A good role model. fter my children were born, I stopped and thanked my body for the first time ever. It had grown them for me. All my life, I'd hated it cursed it and tried to get rid of it. Now, it had done something extraordinary.
I could almost love it. No, I'm not there yet but I'm getting there. <3
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Well, today I put in my notice. It's a sad day here in my brain. I feel like Starbucks is an extended part of my family, that it's more than just a 'job'. I'm going to miss it.....
.... that was a post I began back in late September. I had just suffered a mini breakdown over too much school, too much work, too little sleep and 24-7 of kids bouncing all over me!
I did some honest budgeting, gave my two week notice and quietly left.
It's November now and I'm so happy that I am not working. I DO miss Starbucks. It was such a big part of my life for so long and such an important part too. It was a career. One that turned out not to be for me but one I gained all sorts of good things from.
How many coworkers turned into good friends? and yes, I've been hanging out with a few of my former coworkers.
November already. Time flies regardless of if you are having fun or not. I'm busy loving my boys to death. Busy carting them around to preschool, playgroup, to the library and to the park (indoor park, it's POURING rain over here in Vancouver) I am teaching my oldest to read, I'm giving him the materials to draw and paint; and in between it all, I am doing homework. Not as much as I'd like but still, I am slogging away. Writing essays for my academic writing course and studying biology for that too.... math has fallen by the wayside for a bit but it will surface again :)
Christmas is coming and we're busy squirreling treasures away to be wrapped and given away. Baking will start soon and there may be a few lights hanging from our living room window :) there's so much left to do but Christmas is a happy time for us in this house. it's always meant 'family' to me.
More on Christmas and life later.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
just a quickie (on my phone) as i lay in bed trying to while away the effects of too much caffeine. for some reason, my phone wont capitalize anything today. there's blackberry for you.....
the movie 'about a boy' comes to mind. remember hugh grant's character, the man with no real career besides wooing women and keeping to himself? i remember he looked at his days as ' blocks of time'. remember that? going to the post office- two blocks. getting my hair done and shoulders massaged- four blocks . only so many blocks in a day.
i feel my days lately have been a strange checkerboard of blocks. every second block belongs to the children and not enough are dedicated to sleep or school. once again, i am not complaining but i need to figure out a way to get my time blocks to add up to a proportionate amount.
i think every working mother has felt this way. in fact, im willing to bet that every mother since the beginning of time has felt scattered and stretched thin at times.
i read the other day on kelle hampton's blog (enjoying the small things) that you should treat your mind like a magnadoodle. just imagine youre sweeping it clean every night before sleep. i'm going to try this now. sneak in a bit of rest before the sun and my sons are up and we begin our game of blocks all over again :)
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Ramble-bamble...Ev-man!
I should have guessed after not managing to attain the perfect natural birth I had imagined for him that life just wasn't in my control any more.
I swore he'd never watch TV, that I'd make my own baby food, that I'd wear him in a sling and that he'd be immune to advertising and the poisonous lure of McDonalds and the candy aisle.
Yeah, that never happened and my imagined peaceful 6lb tiny newborn (I also thought he'd be a girl) came out late, angry, macrosomic and with blood sugar problems. We needed every medical intervention in the book. He was colicky, gagged on homemade baby food and when given a fry- he gobbled that thing down like he was in a contest! We were lucky- TV didn't interest him but he's a sucker for advertising.
It honestly doesn't matter like I thought it would. Once we saw he was healthy and we got his sugars under control, we went with the flow. :) for some reason, I thought that since I started 'unnaturally', I had free reign to continue with whatever I found to be the easiest. It was that, or the fact that I no longer had TIME to grind up baby food or go out in search of organic fair-trade baby toys.
I went through a breif period where I thought he hated me but he was colicky and to be honest, I think he hated everything at that point and what parent doesn't have that moment? THE MOMENT where you question your own judgement on becoming a parent in the first place and question honestly if you should continue because OBVIOUSLY ,you've destroyed this child and his life? No? just me? ah. Moving on....
Evan is today 4. He loves numbers, he's a natural with logical thinking and proudly rocks a batman shirt and other logo gear- which I proudly bought him. When we go to the park, he's outgoing with other children and loudly introduces himself "Hi, I'm Evan. Whats YOUR name?'
He loves his little brother and thinks he's the third parent. He has hilarious sayings and evan-isms. Hockey is his favourite thing and he loves the Vancouver Canucks, the Canadiens, Team Canada and for some reason, the Phoenix Coyotes.
He's in preschool and loves playing with other kids. Super Mario on the Wii is his favourite pastime and even though I never managed to wear him in a sling or tie him to my head or whatever else natural parenting was teaching me to do, we're a tight knit family and it's awesome.
He's patient and loving. I think it's the family- oriented style we have. We go to McDonalds for dinner. We do it as a family. We watch TV, we do it as a family. I always thought that natural parenting would be the best but I guess Ev taught me otherwise.
My point on this ramble is that I had control over my life before children were born. I controlled when I woke up, when I went to sleep (note that sleep tops my list these days) what I ate, when I was able to work and where I lived. No wonder so many women (myself included) are surprised when they can't control labour, deliver and ultimately, their babies. Why wouldn't we be able to? up until now I've done everything my way.... and I mean, it's my own body, flesh and blood!I made this kid, why can't I make his life the way I want it to?
I'm so glad I couldn't do that. Evan the way HE makes himself is amazing and he did such a better job at it than I could.
Today, life is a wonderful organized chaos. I live in a three bedroom apartment instead of a spacious 2 bedroom. We use every available inch here too and the closets are crammed with plastic crayola coloured toys. Minimalism? what's that?! I carry the dreaded mom-purse with diapers, snacks and crumbs in it. Instrad of working when I feel like it, My husband and I trade off shifts. He works days, I work nights so one of us is always with the boys.
We eat at the early bird times and not when we get around to it. We eat what the kids will eat and not filet mignon (we never ate that. Let's be honest) We sleep when we can and jump out of bed to get someone another drink of water or to retrieve a lost fuzzy.
It sounds like hell.... if you're not a parent. If you are, you understand what I'm getting at. It's awesome. Wouldn't change the clutter, wont trade any of it for a full night of sleep. Wouldn't trade my children for anything.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Reasons to become a BSN
Growing up, I had siblings with CF. To be simplistic on it's effects on the body, cystic fibrosis is a genetic disease that affects the lungs, panreas and digestion. One of my brothers passed away the year I was born but I vividly remember my sister as being my idol, but somehow always sick. She needed home breathing treatments, pysiothherapy, hospital stays and Dr visits. Becky died when she was 16 and I had just turned 6. All I knew was that she went to the hospital and died. At my age, the reasons and education on why she died didn't make sense. Life carried on.
Nick was 25 when he died. I was 21. He was on the transplant list for a double lung transplant. Growing up, he was always sick and I asked why he always needed pills but never understood the answers I got from my parents. I loved Nick. He was full of life, full of love, had a smartass answer for everything and drove me crazy in ways only an older brother could. I wondered why he was sick when when I was older, I could finally understand why.
We all knew what was coming. The mortality rate for CF is 100%. To me, as a morbid young adult, the mortality rate for LIFE was 100% so why should we worry? I visited Nick in the hospital, saw him to go Dr visits and continued to think he'd be fine but I also saw his contidion get worse. I saw permanent IV ports being inserted, Saw more breathing meds and finally, saw him carry around an oxygen tank as a last resort to bring more oxygen to his starving lungs. I saw him leave to get a double lung transplant but also saw him come back later the same day because the donor had asbestos in his lungs or whatever the reason was.
The day did come and as I read Winne the Pooh to him as he lay in a coma in the ICU, we were all in a bit of shock. How could somebody so full of vitality, so full of a love for life ACTUALLY succumb to CF?
As a result, I saw hospitals as a place where people died. Or, where death was only prolonged. It was shooed away as long as we could scare it, only for it to return and take our family away, one by one.
Flawed thinking, I know but it's something that I fully believed in. With my limited life experience, why should I think any different? Becky, Michael, Nick, Grandpa had all gone into the hospital to die.
At 21, I guess that's all I knew.
I was in and out of the hospital myself and it was the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. I had a bad gallbladder but everytime we looked on ultrasound, the stones would be gone and the Drs would scratch their heads, wondering what the source of my extreme pain was. I ended up in hospital every 2nd night, for months and no answers. Only a shot of morphine and the advice to come back if the pain returned. It did end up being my gallbladder and after hundreds of tests, shots of morphine and demerol an even a week long hospital stay with pancreatitis did one of those pesky stones show itself. Frustrating, to say the VERY least.
I've always believed that children will change your life... but I always believed that children will change your personal life, not your beliefs. Boy was I wrong.
I had two babies. One in 2008 and another in 2011. Two boys and they actually showed me that hospitals are yes, where you go to die... that sometimes happens. They taught me that hospitals are where sometimes sick people go to get BETTER... sometimes, people go into the ICU (Ev had a frustrating stay in the ICU after birth where yes, they even tested him for CF) and they come out better than when they went in. Sometimes, people go into the hospital to create new LIFE.
LIFE.... families are formed in hospitals. Nurses and Drs come into hospital rooms to deliver GOOD news... sometimes, medications are given but not always are they to treat bad pain or sedate to ease the end of life.
I also learned that some pain is GOOD.... and with that knowledge I learned that to become a nurse is to spread this good realization to the world. To see families at their worst and sometimes at their best. I learned that with a lot of hard work. I can make an impact on the quality of a family or person's stay.
It's my duty.
Nick was 25 when he died. I was 21. He was on the transplant list for a double lung transplant. Growing up, he was always sick and I asked why he always needed pills but never understood the answers I got from my parents. I loved Nick. He was full of life, full of love, had a smartass answer for everything and drove me crazy in ways only an older brother could. I wondered why he was sick when when I was older, I could finally understand why.
We all knew what was coming. The mortality rate for CF is 100%. To me, as a morbid young adult, the mortality rate for LIFE was 100% so why should we worry? I visited Nick in the hospital, saw him to go Dr visits and continued to think he'd be fine but I also saw his contidion get worse. I saw permanent IV ports being inserted, Saw more breathing meds and finally, saw him carry around an oxygen tank as a last resort to bring more oxygen to his starving lungs. I saw him leave to get a double lung transplant but also saw him come back later the same day because the donor had asbestos in his lungs or whatever the reason was.
The day did come and as I read Winne the Pooh to him as he lay in a coma in the ICU, we were all in a bit of shock. How could somebody so full of vitality, so full of a love for life ACTUALLY succumb to CF?
As a result, I saw hospitals as a place where people died. Or, where death was only prolonged. It was shooed away as long as we could scare it, only for it to return and take our family away, one by one.
Flawed thinking, I know but it's something that I fully believed in. With my limited life experience, why should I think any different? Becky, Michael, Nick, Grandpa had all gone into the hospital to die.
At 21, I guess that's all I knew.
I was in and out of the hospital myself and it was the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. I had a bad gallbladder but everytime we looked on ultrasound, the stones would be gone and the Drs would scratch their heads, wondering what the source of my extreme pain was. I ended up in hospital every 2nd night, for months and no answers. Only a shot of morphine and the advice to come back if the pain returned. It did end up being my gallbladder and after hundreds of tests, shots of morphine and demerol an even a week long hospital stay with pancreatitis did one of those pesky stones show itself. Frustrating, to say the VERY least.
I've always believed that children will change your life... but I always believed that children will change your personal life, not your beliefs. Boy was I wrong.
I had two babies. One in 2008 and another in 2011. Two boys and they actually showed me that hospitals are yes, where you go to die... that sometimes happens. They taught me that hospitals are where sometimes sick people go to get BETTER... sometimes, people go into the ICU (Ev had a frustrating stay in the ICU after birth where yes, they even tested him for CF) and they come out better than when they went in. Sometimes, people go into the hospital to create new LIFE.
LIFE.... families are formed in hospitals. Nurses and Drs come into hospital rooms to deliver GOOD news... sometimes, medications are given but not always are they to treat bad pain or sedate to ease the end of life.
I also learned that some pain is GOOD.... and with that knowledge I learned that to become a nurse is to spread this good realization to the world. To see families at their worst and sometimes at their best. I learned that with a lot of hard work. I can make an impact on the quality of a family or person's stay.
It's my duty.
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