Virgins and Non....

Seems I only write on this blog when I need to share things that ought not be shared with others. So yet again here we go.

Christmas Eve was one of my regular days to work. I love Christmas. I know that it's not the actual date Jesus was born, I know that we should rejoice year round about the miracle of his birth. Many people focus on Easter because that is when we celebrate the passover Lamb for our sin, and I recognize that detail. However, I'm so fascinated with the thought of a creator of the universe becoming a human, a baby, growing up and living among us. It's a wonderful time.

So this day we had a young mom check in, her baby was in one of ICU's and had just been transfered here. She was ill, multiple symptoms. The baby was only a few days old and while I don't know all the details of what was wrong, she needed to be transferred to an adult facility. I was her nurse, and got everything going. I called up to the ICU to let her spouse know what was going on and was told the doctor wanted to speak with the mom and family before she left. Silly me, I thought it was just to be an update.

The doctor came in, and very kindly told them what every parent fears: her child was not going to survive. It was horrible. Trying to comfort what is uncomfortable. They all were so overwhelmed (as they should be). There was pleading, crying, and begging God to intervene. There are no words that help, everything seems so trite. All I could do was pray, and hope that any comfort I gave was meaningful.

I spent quite a bit of time with them, the whole time I had to as much as possible control my own emotions (I did a lousy job, I shed a lot of tears) and support them. The baby died a few hours later, the mom was not able to be there due to her health problems.

Later than night I went to the Christmas Eve service at our church. All I could think about was this family losing their baby. We celebrate the birth of one baby but I was grieving the loss of another. Still sorting through a lot of thoughts about it, but I did have a good cry during "Silent Night."

One thought that passed through my mind was wondering if David and Bathseeba's baby died from HSV. And remembering all the little one's that Herod had killed trying to get Jesus. Death is not unknown in scripture, nor to man.

I'm so sorry for this family. I can't reach out to them, I can't really offer comfort. All I can do is pray for them and hope that one day, as promised in scripture, God will wipe their tears from their eyes.

It is a privilege to serve these families in their time of need.

Called to the Garden

Palm Sunday I was required to work. It was a beautiful day outside and not a bad day at work. After lunch we got called that we were going to receive a trauma soon. The case is now public but I don't care to share many details. I will of what I need to in order to keep my thoughts.

The initial story is that a man ran over this child, not once, but twice in anger. There were other people involved, some survived, some did not. We were pretty upset about this, who in their right mind can understand when this happens.

The child was 4 years old, the outside hospital and helicopter crew had done quite a bit in order to somewhat stabilize her for transport to a trauma center. She had a chest tube on the right, intubated - she was not responsive at the scene and therefore unable to maintain her airway, they had established IV access but that was later lost, she had a urinary catheter, and received multiple units of blood enroute. All of this follows established protocol for multi system trauma. She also was splinted on three limbs with a c-collar.

We received word that they lost her heartrate enroute and were doing chest compressions, they also ran out of some of the drugs you use. On arrival to the ED we began working on her before she ever was off the stretcher. We had a trauma surgeon, OR staff to assist him, other surgeons, critical care attendings plus ER staff. Our IV was lost and the attending was never able to get an IO, even though he is good at that, I thought at one point we were putting in a chest tube and when I looked up (my orientee, her first trauma, says, "I think I see lung.") realized they had cracked her chest and were doing compressions directly on her heart. Some things I just wasn't sure of until later, the most interesting (medically) was that they used a urinary catheter and placed it to the RA (inside the heart) to give blood and medications through.

My job was to document everything, every order, every medicine, vital signs or the lack thereof, every person, times, all of it. It actually took two of us to keep up with everything, my orientee was wonderful. We worked on her for over 20 minutes, maybe 30, then when it was obvious that we were not going to be able to save her, the doctor stopped all efforts. We agree this was right.

At this point the patient is mine, and I do the remainder of her care. I quietly prayed for her. We began to clean the room, I to check my documentation, finalize everything, see the coroner, and do what little final care I can for her. This is when the emotions began to come.

I've cared for a lot of people after death. In the adult world I wash them, pray for them, and care for their loved ones as well. Many of them I had sat with or assisted in them in death. I always had closure. So it wasn't the death. And I've been with a few children, not as many. And I remember the first well, she was also killed by a parent. But the last hands that touched her cared for her, and I think she knew it.

So I did as much as I could. My hands slipping in her blood as I tied the name tags on her. I pulled the papers from the other hospital out and heard a rattle coming from the envelope. I dumped it out and there was a heart shaped necklace that fell out. I lurched in my shock at knowing that someone put that on her, someone gave it to her in love. And now here it is, to be bagged up with her.

The coroner came and the full extent of her injuries, the visible ones, were seen. We had never fully exposed her because we never got past "C" in the protocols. Her backside had a large laceration, her legs limp in the splints.

Some family came, but no one close enough to be able to be in the room. All for the best, she was a "crime scene" and they could not have touched her. Then it was time to place her in the body bag. I lifted her up and gently placed her there. Closing her necklace up with her. And she was taken away.

Since then I've had many days with tears. The next day, Monday, I went to the church to pray. The scripture for the day was Matthew 26, Jesus in the garden. I sat at the alter and read and reread the words. Jesus calling them to pray with him, to just stay awake and bear the burden. And they couldn't. I haven't done well with that before, but I think I felt a new level of calling. I can't imagine what the cross was like with the sin of the world on him. Just the burden I felt was overwhelming, how did he bear it all? I take communion, His body broken for us, and I remember her legs, broken. He was resurrected, and I am in Him. I

'm a mess of emotions. One day I think, she's better off, surely she is with Jesus. And I think about what heaven must be like, joy unspeakable for lack of words, and seeing his face. Then I remember her body, broken by her father. We hear talk of the father's love, and I was a daddy's girl. How did he do it? I could understand if he just did it once and said, I was overcome with hated of the mother and just lost it. But no, he drove around and did it again.

And the father. I think if I just hate him enough,then I will feel better. But I can't. Because murder is no different than my sin. They are all in the top ten. I should be hated as well. And I want forgiveness.

I don't want to forget, I don't want to not be tender. I'm sure this will pass, the crying will anyway. I can't stand crying.

Is she in heaven? Is she with Jesus? Tell me that.

Voices

So many of us joke about the voices, makes you wonder if the people that really hear them can tell the difference? And what makes us different? If the voices are always chatting at me, why don't I do what they say? I would hope that I have enough sense to know that it's garbage, but what if one day I forget? What if one day I can't separate it? I do fear that. Or that I'll forget why I continue the struggle.

I guess I could make this nice spiritual thing out of it. You know, I need to die to self. I need to die is what is being screamed at me. Hmmmm, not the same I think. Sometimes I just need to say it. I've come a long way with depression and I don't want it back and I don't want more therapy or drugs. Ugh. So tried of them. I think what needs to happen is to use this opportunity of dying to self to actually effect a change. It's easy to always say, I want to do this or that but harder to walk it out. When I quit smoking it was a bit of a process and the biggest change I need to make is to lose weight. So I'm going to keep on trying to one day at a time to try try again try again and do this. I don't have to be a twig, just not a mighty oak. :)


Thanks, I needed this.

Again

I did it again. Something I'm ashamed of. Why do I keep doing things that are wrong. Nah, didn't kill anyone. But much like Paul I keep finding my flesh strong.

So Lord, tonight I confess my sin to you. I don't promise not to do it again, because I am weak. I promise however to lean on you and resist. There were several things, and you know them. Please cleanse my heart, cleanse my soul, and let me love you more. I ask that you allow me to repent to you.

Palm Sunday

I had this yesterday before I lead worship at my church. Well, I kinda lead worship, I'm part of a team. I pick the music, and I've been trying to lead them to more worship and some different ideas but mostly banging my head against the wall. So I woke early and had these thoughts during my quite time. I'm presenting this on here, because I was not given the opportunity to share this with the group. I think the words are from the Lord, I believe it would have been beneficial to the body, but I will submit to the leadership and it was not given out. (this is not said resentfully either, just explaining). Since I don't think many people read this and I use it more for myself, it's a record.

This morning as I was preparing myself for worship today I had a sense of this being an important time that we overlook in our preparations for the big event of Easter.

I actually was focusing on palm Sunday and how Jesus rode into the city with all the people praising him, and how little they knew what was coming in the next week. So this is true of us, and how we should though praise and worship him, as we come into the next week and celebrate with great amazement the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.

So I went to several books to read this, to make sure I had the right focus. What smacked me in the face though was not the “triumphant entry” into Jerusalem, but what occurred right before this: the anointing of Jesus by Mary. John 12: Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had rasied from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him (imagine how Lazarus was feeling now – overwhelmed would be an apt description). Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a years wages?” he did not say this because he cared about the port but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.
Leave her alone, Jesus replied, “It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.

Our worship this morning is as sweet as the anointing Mary gave. Picture yourself pouring out yourself as a perfume on Jesus……. We are an offering…….

Death

Sometimes we equate death with someone that we meet, sometimes we know him all to well. Such is what I have today. This post is more to remember, for me personally, some of those I've lost and why they stay with me. The details are for me, and you dear reader, may join or not. While at times I laugh and joke at the things that happen, they make a heavy impact. These are not all that are with me, but today they are present.

My journey with death began before I took breath. There was a twin that died before birth. One physician told me that it was a miracle I survived with the other fetus there. I don't know. We never knew if it was male or female, I don't have any feelings either way. For years though I thought that my mom would have preferred the other one, I don't know why, but it was a very real emotion.

As a nursing student I one of my first patients was made not only "do not resuscitate" but no food or water. He was begging for a drink, mostly beer actually. That was a difficult patent to care for, he really pulled on my emotions and I couldn't understand why the family did that. Even now, when I look at those cases, I have trouble if the pt is conscious.

One of my first deaths was that of a woman while we were evaluating her for hospice. She died while I was taking her pulse and answering the questions about how the family would know it was happening. I still remember when the realization hit that she was dead and now what do I do. Hers was quite, peaceful, painless from all observation.

Unlike recently, when I went on break, came back to find a pt in my bed. He was all over the bed, obviously in pain. The basic story was he was about to have a minor procedure when he began complaining of chest pain. However, what they told the shift supervisor was he had a low blood sugar. Forgot to mention the heart attack that was going on!!! He died in pain, and I saw it. It's always the eyes that get me. When you know there is nothing you can do, I couldn't get the morphine quick enough to help. Again, one I had to stay alone in the room and just be there, tell him I'm sorry, and you tell them their family loves them and hope it's true.

Only a few weeks later we got a woman down from the floor. I don't even remember why, I think she was short of breath. Anyway, we got her somewhat stable and I resumed care for my pt. Later I realized they were not doing well in that room, went down to help. While standing at the bedside, she looked at me - I saw her eyes, asked if she was in pain, and then called for my co-worker, for she was dying. I didn't need the monitor to tell me anything, I knew before. Of course we coded her until the physician had us stop. We had her husband of many years come be with her, but she had been gone, he was just watching the monitor wind down.

The most recent is the one that troubles me most lately. He was my pt for several days, a truly delightful man. The way his room faced the unit he could watch everything that went on and he loved it. Then one day we switched a medication, it basically stressed his heart and he had pain, shortness of breath, all the signs of a heart attack. Of course we changed things and then not long after I was called away to a couple of codes. It bothered me that I had to leave him, what had I been called away before he developed those symptoms, would the others have noticed in time, my partners pts were quite busy. He made it through the day and I was off for several days. When I returned I asked which floor he had been sent to, they looked at me, then told me how he had died, in great distress, two days after I had him. I knew his heart was bad, but I guess I thought he would be okay for awhile. Maybe because he was funny like my dad, maybe just because I liked him, I don't know, but it hit me very hard.

Last year we had two young mothers die. We took the babies, we did every trick known to us (and their wonderful physicians) to save these women, but they had too many complications. I'll never forget seeing one staff nurse, a young man, frantically doing CPR on one as the other one rolled into the unit (she died two weeks later, same thing). They were so young, in their 20's, both very similar. Both babies survived. My staff, and obviously me, were traumatized. I still need to hold a baby.

This could go on and on. The one that no one could get the mother to let go, I came on duty with no plans to discuss it with her since everyone else had. She did the morning visit, walked up and said it was time to let him go. She allowed me to call his friends to come, arranged last rites for him, and let him go. There was the one I just watched while a nurse went to lunch, she passed away as soon as the girl left. There was one that I had in the ER, the spouse worked for us, while they were home getting ready for work, the pt died. We thought we were going to send her home. Again, so many.....

So what do I fear in death? I fear not seeing my children marry and have their own families. I want to see their children. Otherwise, I don't mind. The song "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die" has been playing in my head constantly. Tis true. Yet is it death to self or death to the body? Death to self is harder. I have felt death in the air away from work only once. Sadly, it should have not been where it was. I hope to avoid it for some time with the new job. Death with peds would not be good. Maybe a few more snatches from the drain.

Balls of Yarn

So I get this phone call this morning. I really stressed yesterday over how I needed to put my resignation in, needed to set a date, blah blah blah. I chose the 27th as my last day. That way I could work Christmas and fulfill that duty. Spouse had suggested I make that my last day but I didn't feel good about that. The 27th would be better. I sent it in. This morning the new boss from the children's hospital calls, she's going to post the position for me, I need to reapply for it later today and it will stay up for about 3 days, then they will hire me.

So if I have this straight, I quit my job yesterday, today I can apply for the new one, for three days I'll see it posted, then I should be hired.

Methinks God is toying with me.

I have a friend that calls his students, little balls of yarn (he thinks he's a cat). I'm beginning to feel like a ball of yarn.

However..... I've been griping about reading Isaiah, it's not a warm and fuzzy book. This morning, as usual, I'm waking up when I should be sleeping. At 4:30 I proclaimed I might as well get up, came in and started on, grrrr Isaiah and read Chap 43. Being obsessive about this new Bible hardly anything is underlined or written, dang (the BMC PC editor isn't sure about this word but thinks that it might be okay unless you are extremely strict) if almost the whole chapter isn't at this time. It even has writing in it now. I was rather impressed with all of the "I am" "I have" and "I will" verses there are. And if I am correct, those would include me. Anyway, it was a rather delightful time and, well, then I went back to bed and slept.