Pages

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Wow!


I ran across this picture today, not sure how it could happen since the wall of the uterus is between the baby's foot and the mom's skin, but then the uterus wall has thinned out a lot at this point in pregnancy. Such were the wonders witnessed by those of us once in the medical field...I give you a little look back at that part of my life and my "today" in the previous 2 blogs.

30 years is a long time

The things that happened in the 70's, college, dating, marriage etc...used to seem not too long ago but somewhere in the last few years they have started feeling dimmer and less relevant....memories of highschool in central Oregon, nursing school, and even the years as an RN...just a memory now after almost as many years at home and now 12 years in the insurance business.
In my cleaning out last month I ran across a story I wrote in nursing school about 35 years ago. I think I wrote it just as a memoir of that time in my life. Rod said I should share it and he retyped it off of the faint eraseable typing paper it was typed on so I wouldn't have an excuse not to publish it. I called it "698" Here it is.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“You’d better watch that one in 698 tonight. We took off his restraints because he fought them so, but now he’ll need a close watch to see that he doesn’t climb out of bed.”

This is how I was greeted by the swing shift student who was preparing to give over to my care the noisiest and most boisterous patient of her shift, along with the other fifteen patients on the small east floor. These patients, total strangers to me and from every walk of life, were to become the responsibility of myself and the R.N. for the rest of the long night ahead. They would trust us for the most intimate and personal attention, care, and assistance, if not their very lives. I would be doing most of their physical care and must meet their needs without the slightest attitude of distaste or embarrassment, and above all, approach each one with concern and compassion. Needs would be met, whether it would be emptying a bedpan, or just stopping to listen and trying to understand. This was what I would expect of myself. These were the factors that would set me apart as a professional in the field I had chosen.

Somehow, as I stood there listening to a report of the busy previous shift, already weary from a busy week of clinical work, study, and exams; the bit of a weekend I had enjoyed seemed far from sufficient. I wasn’t at all sure that these people (strangers at that) deserved professional effort. After all, this wasn’t scheduled clinical experience. There would be no C.I. (clinical instructor) evaluating me. This was just weekend work; the one area of nursing that bought my weekly tuna fish and bread.

Such were the thoughts that tumbled recklessly through my brain. Nevertheless, the next thirty minutes found me making rounds. In one hand was a time schedule coordinating various duties such as taking blood pressures, temperatures, and tube feedings; and in the other hand, a flashlight. These tools would help me coordinate bed and body with room number and problem.

Slowly, each patient began to take their place in my mind. My flashlight passed over bodies positioned with pillows, limbs supported and suspended, and drainage tubes leading under covers to unknown sutured areas and cavities.

One after another, they registered in my mind, until stopping on one large white, thermal lump. There was nothing particularly unusual about this patient at first glance, except his size. He appeared larger than the average five foot six inch patient looks in contrast to the long seven foot beds. As my eyes fed my brain the information the number of tubes, coloring, etc, I was forced to pause a bit as the halo of yellow light revealed his face. I think what really caught my attention was the beard. Yes, it was definitely the beard; the snowiest, softest, most grandfather-like beard ever seen. A closer inspection revealed strands of blue-silver woven through it. It hung from eyes, the corners of which bore marks of either laughter or strain. The dimness of the lighting would not distinguish the difference. His cheeks were so ruddy and wind-worn I could not help but wonder what life would cause such a glow of strength to radiate from one’s face. The beard continued to flow softly down to caress bowed lips of similar ruddiness; full and red, with the kind of tenderness that one remembers touching your own forehead somewhere, sometime, long ago.

The hands were browned and toughened by work and sun. Joints were swollen and fingers were curled with stiffness from the years of hard work required of them. Realizing that this old elf was in reality a retired farmer, who’s greatest concern was his goats; I couldn’t help but think that those same stiffened hands had probably caressed and cared for those goats, perhaps helping bring some into the world. What a sad way to repay such hands, with stiffness and soreness. How beautifully those hands bore the scars of service.

This person was 698. In his present resting state, it was hard to see him as the boisterous, troublesome patient described to me earlier. No doubt, when aroused, he would prove true to the symptoms of senility and confusion, and fulfill the role he was to play that night. After such a revelation as I had just experienced or fantasized, I knew that my care for him would indeed include all the patience, concern, and yes, even a little love that makes the difference between real nursing and tuna fish and bread money.

People or stuff?

I wonder if anyone is still reading this blog as I have been cleaning out my upstairs, thinning out old clothing and books.
I sent about 12 boxes of books home with my son and daughter in law this last weekend for a book exchange they know about at some of the Seattle area churches. God must have given me divine grace and strength to get rid of so much....it feels like a death, I thot sure I would teach from those books or someone would need them, but there doesn't seem to be much interest out there in the experience of other generations...the new marriages and new parents appear to be getting their information from their own peer groups...and maybe a new book that has either an untested theory or a repackaging of some of the principles by great family teachers such as Dr James Dobson.

When I became a mother, I could not read enough books or go to enough Bible studies on home and family. My mom, mature womens' Bible study leaders, and Dr Dobson on the radio kept my marriage and parenting ship on course. Maybe at least the books will get read now that they are back in circulation?

Some of the kids clothes I had kept out of sentiment but most of that I gave or threw away too.
I am relieved to have those rooms cleaned out yet I feel as depressed as relieved? It is like nothing matters anymore and no one cares about keeping anything. I can't keep it all so out it goes...like those years of my life and the things that documented them are also of no value or interest to anyone.
But having gone through my deceased Mom's house just a year ago I know that I must hold lightly and live lightly....I just haven't found the joy in that yet...at least grandbaby Micah has an uncluttered room for his crib now when he comes...I kept telling myself, "Your kids or the stuff?"

Still have a garage full of my Mom's things but maybe this experience will give me the courage to tackle that one of these days with new perspective... and someday the joy?

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Living in it



As Rod and I were hurtling into downtown Portland for our weekly business professionals' meeting I was thinking about how the world we live in has changed so much just in the last few months. Oil products are at highs I wouldn't have believed just 2 years ago along with groceries. It seemed a little overwhelming to me at that time of day, esp. on top of the angst we feel sharing business space with the new "lingerie modeling" business that moved in next door to our insurance office a few months ago.


I realized that I get overwhelmed when I feel my environment is beyond my control. Control is the real issue and yet when you think about it, we are only asked to change those things that we have been given power over. God has asked generations of people to live in immoral or economically bankrupt cultures, the fact that we have not faced many of these challenges in America is proof that we have been living in an exceptionally protected life.


This is a critical perspective if we are to continue living in the joy and peace that God offers us because we know that He is able to provide for us and change the world through us in His time. My job is to let Him do that.


Somedays when I leave my office and look back at the "girly" business right next door I pray, "God you do the hard stuff (change hearts and lives) and I will do the easy stuff (love people, pray for them), and be proactive to change any law I have influence over.


Certainly voting is the least of that control...I have no patience for Christians who feel getting informed and voting is someone else's job. (If your parents gave you that value you need to examine it because it is slothful and I don't think God is pleased with it. What a slap in the face for those who fought and died in 2 world wars to secure those freedoms!


I was thinking as cars whizzed along that sometimes unexpected good comes from these things like less SUVs and double cab trucks causing fatalities to those of us in smaller, lower, cars...and less gas consumption and alternative fuel could mean cleaner air, esp in places like LA someday.


So I turned to Rod and said, "You know, God is the one who has put us HERE at THIS time in history, all He asks us to do is just live one day at a time in His grace and strength....some how I believe He is and will always be ENOUGH for us to live with joy and peace in this uncertain world.