The Story: Part 2

After Shawn was flown via helicopter to a trauma center in Las Vegas, Aunt Lisa and 

cousin Troy drove his mom, Donna, and I to the hospital to meet him.  We talked through 

the whole 2 hour drive: laughing, joking, calming our nerves and keeping our spirits up.   

It may seem inappropriate to laugh at such a time but the human mind does amazing 

things to keep calm and carry on.

We arrived at the emergency room, explained who we were.  A nurse from the trauma 

unit met us at the double doors and explained that Shawn was about to be taken

 into surgery.  He allowed Donna and I to see him before they took him back, 

solemnly warning us that Shawn looked very bad, urging us not to panic when we saw him. 

 I reassured him that I had already seen Shawn at the scene of the accident, we would 

be okay.  He gave me a sympathetic nod, a pat on the back.

Shawn lay under the bright fluorescent lights, lines and tubes and wires coming out of 

every direction.  Beeping noises, IV bags, nurses rushing around him: all familiar sights 

to me.  But not when it involves my husband.  His ear had been left alone for now as 

the trauma doctors thought it would be best to let a plastic surgeon address it.  His 

bloody, disfigured ear was the first thing his mother saw, a sight so gory and horrifying 

that she burst into tears.  I have to go, I can't see him like this.  She hurried from the

 room, her heart broken as she gazed at her precious baby boy, feared for his life.

I went to his side, held his hand, gently stroked his cheek.  The rest of the room seemed

 to fade away.  I'm here, babe, right here.  I love you.  He opened his eyes, squeezed 

my hand, and said, "Hey, babe.  How are you?  Thank you so much for coming!".  

It was so Shawn.

The nurses buzzed around but didn't move me, didn't ask me to leave.  I asked 

several questions, they answered willingly.  The trauma doctor came in and briefed me 

on what had occurred so far, what we could expect for the rest of the night:

Open compound fracture of the humerous bone and elbow of the left arm 

Severed brachial artery 

Laceration to the right side of his head 

Laceration to the forehead 

Lacerated right ear 

Road rash to the face and shoulders 

Fractured C-1 vertebrae

I shuddered.  It was a long list, critical, uncertain outcome.

It was time for surgery.  They took Aunt Lisa, Troy, and I into the holding area to 

meet more doctors, sign consents, discuss plans.  The doctors were all very grim, giving it

 to us straight.  There was no use painting a pretty picture here: Shawn was in

 critical condition and we were to be thankful that he was alive.  Making it out of surgery

 with positive outcomes would be added bonuses at this point.

The fact that they allowed us to be with him so much scared me, reiterated to me 

how precious these moments were, reminded me how uncertain his future was.  I didn't 

tell anyone else this.  There were a lot of things I kept to myself that night.  I didn't 

want anyone else to be as afraid as I was, I didn't want them to know that the things 

the doctors were telling us were not good.  And so I kept encouraging them, focusing on 

the positive and staying strong.

The told us the surgery should take about 2-3 hours.  They would repair the bones in 

his arm first and then repair the severed artery next.  He would wear the collar on his 

neck for at least 6 weeks to repair the fractured vertebrae.  Staples were placed in 

several places on his head to repair the lacerations.

We set up camp in the surgery waiting room, trying to get comfortable in the hard chairs, 

the cold room, our anxiety swirling around us like a tropical storm.  Troy brought food 

but we could barely get it down.  We talked, shared stories, prayed, tried anything to

 keep our minds from drifting back to that scene, the scene of the accident.

The promised 2-3 hours came and went.  The surgery ended up taking 8 hours total, 

an entire night of waiting and worrying.  The doctors came out to talk to us and gave us

 a report: the bones in his arm had been repaired using 19 screws, plates and wires.  A 

vein was taken from his leg and a graft was performed to repair his artery.  There 

were several complications during the surgery because his arm had gone without blood 

flow for so long.  He had no movement or feeling in his arm and the doctors were unsure 

of the long term prognosis.  For now, he was alive and well and we were to hope for 

the best.

By now, it was morning.  My mother woke up that morning and found my text

 messages urging her to call me.  As soon as I heard her voice, I finally lost it.  I went out 

into the hall and completely broke down, sobbing and crying so hard that I could 

barely speak.  She patiently listened, crying quietly into the phone and feeling helpless. 

 That was the only time I allowed myself to ask why, the only time I allowed my armor

 to come down.  Something about hearing my mama's voice comforted me in such a way

 that I allowed myself that vulnerability, the healing power of my tears streaking down

 my face.  A woman walking down the hall stopped and pulled me into her arms, a 

complete stranger held me and let me cry into the phone to my mama.  I looked up into

 her kind eyes and thanked her, a true human connection.

My tears were gone in the next few minutes when the nurses came out to tell me that 

Shawn was now in ICU and we would be allowed to come back and see him.  They assured

 us that this particular ICU had an open policy with visitors because the patients were all

 so critical.  We would be able to be with Shawn as much as we wanted.  This both 

comforted and scared me at the same time.

He was very disoriented when we first saw him, thrashing around and trying to climb out 

of bed.  I stayed by his side, holding his hand and whispering reassuring words into his

 ear. He slowly woke up, became aware of his surroundings.  He was so 

confused, remembering nothing about the accident, completely unaware of how he

 had gotten here and what had occurred over the last 12 hours.  The trauma of what he 

had experienced was too much for his brain to comprehend, it was shut out to 

protect him.

That first day was spent feeding him ice chips, giving him a bed bath, family 

members coming in and out, our phones ringing off the hook as news started to spread 

about the accident, doctors making rounds, plans and labs and decisions.  Shawn's mom 

went home to take care of Isabelle and Brees.  She could not bear to see him in this 

condition and felt she could better serve us by taking care of our girls.  We were 

so grateful.

The nurses allowed me to sleep in his room in a recliner that would become my bed for 

the next 20 nights.  Shawn's family was kind enough to rent a hotel room across the 

street from the hospital, a place for me to get away and take a shower and catch up on

 my rest.  I was never able to spend the night there, though.  The thought of my 

husband being in the hospital and my daughters being 2 hours away made me feel

 so completely alone.  I was not strong enough to be in that hotel room by myself.

Our nurse that first night gave me a clipboard and a stack of blank paper.  I couldn't

 sleep with the nightmares that haunted me, the scene of the accident replaying in my

 mind over and over every time I closed my eyes.  Instead, I stayed up and made lists of 

all the things I needed to do.  I watched Shawn sleep, counted his breathes, monitored 

the screen that recorded his vital signs.  I devoted myself completely to taking care of 

him and getting him through this time.  It was the only way I could survive.

And so we began, taking on the work of Shawn's recovery with courage and

determination. We formed a new routine, focusing on making sure that he ate well, 

slept well, exercised, and stayed positive.  We said our prayers every night, kissed 

each other and held hands, sat side by side every step of the way.  It took me 8 days 

to clean all of the blood off his body, gently wiping and cleansing his physical wounds 

while simultaneously nursing the emotional ones.  His family drove back and forth to 

the hospital, keeping us company and bringing us anything we needed.  The word 

"support" does not even begin to describe what they provided us, they gave us so 

much more.

Shawn went through 5 different surgeries, making baby steps each and every day

 and surprising everyone around him with his progress.  The doctors were honest with 

us from the beginning: if he does not regain function of his hand within the next 6 

months, amputation is our worst case scenario.  The first time we heard that 

word, amputation, we were both speechless.  That word is not something you ever 

imagine being a part of your life, your future.  We had many conversations about that 

word, talking and exploring the most worried parts of our souls.  

That was the key throughout this whole experience: we talked.  We communicated to 

each other, spending every single day side by side, remaining patient and selfless 

and allowing ourselves to truly practice the art of love.  Shawn and I both believe that 

this accident will not break us, we will come out of this stronger, better people.  We 

have remained positive even on the hardest days.  Why?  How?  Because we have

given ourselves no other choice.  We are lucky that Shawn is alive and have chosen to 

allow that fact to propel us into tomorrow.  Life is precious and there are no guarantees, 

we are living proof of that.  Now, we just have to keep moving forward and celebrate

each day for what it is: a gift.

Thanks to the doctors, nurses, and therapists pushing him along, Shawn sits before us 

today a much healthier man.  He was finally discharged from the hospital after 20

 days, allowing us the opportunity to go home and be with our girls again.  The day we 

left the hospital, we couldn't help but look back and sigh with relief, allowing ourselves 

a moment of awe.  We made it through that time, came out on the other side.  I helped

him put on his sling, watched as he got himself dressed, packed up our things and

ensured that we had enough supplies.  This man who fought for his life, fought just to get 

out of bed, worked diligently every single day to rebuild himself: that day, I was never

so proud to walk beside him and call myself his wife.   

Home Sweet Home

On Friday afternoon, after 20 days of being hospitalized, Shawn was finally given his 
walking papers and released from the hospital!  We began the long journey home,
 anxiously awaiting the moment we would have our little girls in our arms.  That 
moment came on Sunday and it was just as amazing as I had imagined.  The four of us 
are all home now, together, beginning what feels like a new life.  
Now the healing can really begin.

Give Thanks

I wanted to thank you all for the overwhelming amount of love and support you have so generously given us.  This has been a very enlightening time in our lives, revealing to us the most compassionate and loving side of the people around us.  You learn a lot about yourself during times like these, you learn a lot more about the people you have chosen to surround yourself with.  We are so fortunate to have the friends, family, and community that we do.

Writing has always been a therapeutic process for me.  It has allowed me to express my emotions and process them in a way that encourages growth and healing.  Working through the emotional trauma of Shawn's accident has been a process, one that I am sure will take years to fully comprehend.  Our spirits have remained high and we have trusted in our faith, taking courage in the knowledge that we are never given anything that we can not handle.  Our lives are defined not by what happens to us, but by how we handle those situations and the perspective we gain from them.  That is how we choose to move forward.  We choose to not spend a single second asking why, feeling anger or resentment, feeling regret.  Instead, we choose to believe that this did indeed happen for a reason and that we will emerge stronger, wiser, and more determined than ever.  We choose to take this second chance and make it the most beautiful chapter in our story yet.

Today is our 18th day in the hospital.  Shawn just had his 5th surgery, a skin graft to cover some of the open areas on his arm.  We pray that it will be the last surgery for a while.  Each day brings a new triumph, some big, some small.  Slowly but surely, he is being rebuilt and healing in his mind, body, and soul.  We hope to be out of the hospital and heading back to Louisiana this weekend.  We have a long and uncertain journey ahead of us: numerous consultations and appointments with specialists, physical therapy, nerve conduction studies.  This will be a marathon, not a sprint.  Shawn's injuries to his left arm were extensive and severe.  He is lucky to be alive, even luckier that he still has an arm.  The long term effects of these injuries are unknown, only time will tell.  For now, he has no feeling or movement in his hand, only numbness and tingling.  The doctors are optimistic this will improve.

We ask you all to continue praying for Shawn and our family as a whole.  Isabelle and Brees are home and doing well.  We Skype them several times a day, savoring every moment we get to see their faces and hear their voices.  My blogging is quite limited with only the iPad but I plan to press on regardless.  In an effort to stay connected, I am on instagram now, you can find me @soulsingingliv.  For all the times I have disliked technology and the affect it has had on really connecting with others, I have been so grateful for it over the last few weeks.  I hope to share more of our story soon.  Thank you for joining us on this journey.

The Story: Part One

Our plane landed on a Friday afternoon in the midst of a hot summer day.  Shawn and I were ecstatic to finally be on vacation, our work at home done and put away for the next two weeks.  The girls behaved beautifully on the flight and we gave them high fives and big praise to thank them for making the trip so easy.  We left the airport and headed straight to the first leg of our big Arizona adventure: a 3 day camping trip with Shawn's whole family.

Nestled deep inside the mountains was a beautiful piece of property owned by Shawn's uncle, our home for the next few days.  Our first night was spent eating, catching up, and gazing at the thousands of stars in the desert night air.  Laughter, smiles, and the peaceful easy feeling you get when surrounded by loved ones took over.  We were free.

We awoke with the sunrise early the next morning, Shawn making tea while I nursed Brees on the floor of our cabin.  Sweet morning kisses while we planned out our day.  Grandpa made breakfast, we took turns holding new baby cousins, Isabelle and Brees set to work exploring.  We spent the day relaxing, going on short ATV rides through the mountains, playing horse shoes and starting new books.  It was a good day.

Late that afternoon, while the little ones splashed in the baby pool someone so thoughtfully set up, a large group of us decided to go on a longer ride, caravan style, around the mountain.  We would be home before our BBQ dinner, we promised.  We split up into pairs: Shawn and I together, giggling like children as the wind whipped through our hair, marveling over the beauty of this place so unlike our familiar terrain of Louisiana.

The trip was around 20 miles long, 4 pairs of riders on various styles of ATVs.  Halfway through, we stopped for water and typical family style banter.  As we were leaving for the second leg home, Shawn's cousin, Troy, invited me to ride with him instead.  "Come on, Liv! Are you ready for this?", he joked menancingly.  I kissed Shawn on the cheek, put my brave girl face on, and hopped in with Troy, the daredevil.  "See you soon, babe!" Shawn and I called to each other.  See you soon.

After lots of twists and turns and shrieking in the wind, Troy and I made it back to camp first.  I took my radio head set off, the source of communication between our caravan.  Troy kept his around his neck as he unfastened his seatbelt, both of us smiling from ear to ear with all the fun we had just had.  I remember having the deepest feeling of contentment.

And then I saw a look cross over Troy's face, a darkness took over, fear in his eyes.  He hurridely put his headset back on, listening intently.  Pete, a family friend, was yelling for us to come back.  Someone was hurt.  It was bad.

Troy and I looked at each other, both of us scared, fear of the unknown.  In seconds we had our seatbelts back on, the vehicle heading back onto the road, the campsite left behind.  Should we call 911?  No, let's just get there.  I prayed and prayed and prayed as sweat poured down my face.  I knew, in my heart I knew it was Shawn.  Please, God, just get me to him.

Only three miles away from the campsite we found them.  The ATV was on its side, Shawn pinned underneath it, his face lifeless.  His cousin Craig's girlfriend, Z, his riding partner after I had switched vehicles and jumped in with Troy, was sitting next to him with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth, crying hysterically.  Troy raced to her side to move her away from the vehicle. Sandy, a family friend who was in the vehicle right behind Shawn, came running around the corner with a bottle of water and a level head on her shoulders.  She told me that her husband, Pete,who used to work in search and rescue, was in the process of calling 911 and directing the rescue team in how to find us.  She told me that she and Pete drove up to the scene of the accident and saw Z running up the hill, searching for help.  She told me that she had been trying to hold Shawn's head steady, afraid he had broken his neck.  I looked at this woman and knew that she was here for a reason, she was here to keep me calm.

I looked down at Shawn, gave him a quick slap on his cheek, and yelled for him to WAKE UP!  And he did.  I had Sandy hold my watch as I assessed his pulse and respirations, all of which were reasonably normal.  But the blood, the blood was everywhere.  It covered the ground, it covered Shawn, there was so much blood.  I began a head to toe assessment, looking searching feeling.  Sandy left us and sat next to Z, giving her water and calming her down.  From what we could visibly tell, Z had a bruise on her eye but otherwise appeared unharmed.  She would later say that she remembers waking up and being on top of Shawn.  He broke her fall.  Overall, she was in shock but appeared to be in stable condition.  Thank God.

My attention was on the blood.  Where was all of this blood coming from?  I saw two large lacerations on Shawn's head and forehead.  His right ear was hanging off the side of his head.  But there was too much blood.  I had to find the source.  Both legs were fine, right arm good.  His left arm was pinned underneath him.  I gently pulled it out and nearly screamed at what I saw: on the front of his elbow, a hole.  I could see the artery, severed, blood shooting from it like a geyser.  On the back of his elbow, another hole.  This one had a bone sticking out of it.  Blood.  Blood was everywhere.  His arm felt unnatural.  It was literally in pieces.  This was bad, every fiber of my being knew that I had to take action.  Now.

I started calling out orders.  Everyone stay calm.  Breath.  Keep talking to me, Shawn.  Don't close your eyes.  Sandy handed me a handkerchief.  I tied it firmly around his elbow.  I then used Troy's t-shirt as a pressure dressing to cover the two holes in Shawn's arm, my left hand putting pressure on the front side, my right hand putting pressure on the back.  Every time he moved, every time I adjusted my own body weight, I could feel his arm and how disfigured it was, I could hear the bones creaking, felt the blood gushing.  The sights and sounds and smells would give me nightmares for weeks.  But he had a palpable pulse, he could wiggle his fingers, they were warm, he could squeeze our hands.  I crouched next to him, gravel rocks digging into my legs, holding pressure, the blood covering me.  I positioned my foot next to his hand so that I could feel his fingers, made sure they stayed warm, made sure they were moving.

Troy led us in prayer, standing over us and calling out to God.  Sandy and I continued speaking words of encouragement to both Shawn and Z, reassuring them that help was on the way, deep breathes, keep talking, keep your eyes open.  Inside, I secretly wondered if help would actually come.

Throughout all of this, Shawn remained awake and alert.  He was disoriented, begging us for something to drink, begging us for a pillow,screaming at me to let go of his arm, you are hurting me babe let go please let go this hurts so bad I love you why is this happening let go!

Keep talking, keep yelling, just please don't close your eyes.

Uncle Gary and cousin Craig arrived, shock on their faces as they assessed this nightmare.  I instructed Craig to sit by Z's side, tell her you love her, hold her hand.  They both started crying when the saw each other, their love is still so new.  I watched them over my shoulder, a young couple facing their first crisis.

Troy needed a job, he paced anxiously back and forth, so I sent him back to camp to get my purse.  We would need our IDs and insurance cards.  Uncle Gary stood over us and prayed.  I prayed.  Shawn yelled.  No crying.  There was no time for tears.  The bleeding had slowed thanks to my hands, my hands that were holding his arm together, my hands that were soaked in his blood.  Keep breathing.

And then I saw the dust approaching, the first rescue vehicle arrived.  Things started to move quickly.  After roughly 45 minutes of screaming, bleeding, praying, waiting: help was finally coming.  I started to feel a deep sense of hope and relief, help was finally here.  First a sheriff, then paramedics, and then the helicopter.  My eyes had been scanning the sky for what felt like an eternity, mistaking every movement for the helicopter.  But, finally, it was here.  They're here, babe, they're here!  You're going to make it!  Everything will be fine!

They tried to move me but I quickly informed them that I was a nurse, giving them a full report of his injuries.  They listened.  No one tried to move me again.  I kept my hands wrapped around his arm until the stretcher was prepared and they were ready to take over.  They very gently moved me to the side.  I love you I love you I love you, we both called out.

As the paramedics got to work, I ran to the side of the sheriff's car and vomited.  The sights and sounds and smells: I couldn't contain myself any longer.  Sandy ran to me and hugged me close.  Don't fall apart now, you've been so strong, you are amazing.  She was an angel to me that day.

I ran back over to the scene, gave them a brief health history, contact information, allergies, blood type.  Shawn would be transported to a hospital in Las Vegas, I was not allowed to accompany him in the helicopter.  I helped them lift him onto the stretcher, helped them carry him onto the bird.  I touched his hand until the minute they closed the doors, watched as they took flight and prayed that I would see him again soon.  Please, God, let me see him again.

As I turned around and looked back at the scene, reality hit me like a ton of bricks.  The ATV still on its side, the blood stained ground, the panic stricken faces.  The last hour felt like a dream, the kind of dream you fear and hope will never come true.  But there was no time to dwell, we had to move.

We drove back to camp, all of us armed with assignments.  The family stood in a quiet circle, awaiting our return, unsure of the details surrounding the last hour.  Isabelle stood solid, brave, looking at me anxiously and waiting for my cue on how to react.  How do you even begin to explain to your children what just happened?  How do you shield them from such trauma?  What could I possibly say that could mend their worried hearts?  I pulled her into my arms, don't cry, daddy will be fine.  I took her into our cabin where Brees played quietly in her bed.  I explained that there had been an accident, daddy was at the hospital, mama was going to meet him.  Their sweet brown eyes never left mine, they didn't cry, they just listened.  We packed a bag, I jumped into the shower to wash off the blood.  My husband's blood on the bathroom tile.  We hugged and prayed and I held them so close.  The only thing I could do for my children in that moment was to be strong for them, to reassure them through my faith and love.  It was the most difficult moment I have ever faced as a mother.

When the girls and I emerged from the cabin, the family stood ready and strong.  The girls would head back to Shawn's grandparents' house for the night.  Shawn's mom, Aunt Lisa, Troy and I would make the 2 hour drive to Las Vegas.  Another group would head to the nearby hospital where Z had been transported for a routine assessment.  Another group would search for Uncle Scott who, in the midst of this crisis, had gotten lost along the ride and was somewhere in the desert, alone.  We were all scared, pretending to be brave, hoping for the best.  I kissed my girls, turned around.

Let's go.

To be continued...

Our New Day

Two weeks ago, I imagined myself writing my first post vacation post: a reflection of the time our family spent together away from the stress and exhaustion of everyday life, imagined photos of us sunbathing on the banks of the Colorado River, stories of our girls exploring the desert and mountainous terrain.  I imagined the memories we would make as a family on our first real vacation in years.

Sadly, none of those things happened.  On the second day of our trip, Shawn was involved in an accident and sustained life threatening injuries.  I arrived at the scene of the accident to find my worst nightmare come true: Shawn, the strongest, bravest, most powerful soul I have ever known, fighting for his life.  With my heart in my throat and my hands shaking from fear, I used every ounce of my strength and my years of nursing experience to save his life and keep him stable.  Help arrived after what seemed like an eternity, a helicopter landed in the middle of the desert like an angel soaring through the sky.  Against all odds, the man I love with every fiber of my being made it through the night, the longest night of our lives.

We have spent the last 12 days in a trauma unit at a hospital in Nevada. During his accident, Shawn sustained an open compound fracture of the humerous bone in his left arm, a severed brachial artery, a nondisplaced fracture in the first vertebrae of his spine, a detached right ear, and multiple lacerations and abrasions on his head and face.  I have stood by his side as he lay in ICU in critical condition, held his hand as he took his first steps down the long hospital hallway after days in bed, fed him and bathed him, cleaning the blood and battle wounds that marked his whole body.  We have laughed and rejoiced in the simple fact that he is alive, cried over the uncertainty of our future and his prognosis, prayed for strength and the ability to make it out of this situation as better people.

Our girls were cared for lovingly by Shawn's mother while we have taken up residence in the hospital.  Due to the very high risk of infection and the extreme contamination of his wounds by the dirt and rocks at the site of the accident, the doctors recommended they not step foot inside the hospital, even to visit their daddy. I was able to spend time with them several times this week, soaking in every ounce of their love and allowing their little girl hugs to heal my soul.  This afternoon, with Shawn's hospital stay looming on into next week, we made the very difficult decision to send our daughters home to Louisiana with my mother.  They need their home, the stability of their familiar environment.  I brought them to the airport and kissed them a million times on their sweet little cheeks, tears filling my eyes as Isabelle whispered, "Be strong, mama".

And so, here we are, 12 days in, our lives completely changed in ways we are only now beginning to understand.  Shawn's recovery has stunned every doctor, nurse, and passerby.  His will and determination have carried us through some of our darkest hours.  During the first night, I prayed for him to live.  And he did.  During the first week, I prayed for him to keep his arm.  And he did.  Now, we anxiously await his fourth surgery since the accident, hoping to repair some of the nerve damage he has suffered.  Now, I am praying that he continues to heal and remains free from infection, that he will regain full use of his arm and hand and continue living this life with the spirit of a warrior.  I know he will.

Our vacation may not have been the journey we anticipated, but it has been a life changing journey regardless. People have always complimented Shawn and I for our positive attitudes, for our ability to see life for what it truly is.  Those qualities have never been more relevant to us than they are now.  This is living: one day at a time, being thankful for each breathe.  We had a glimpse of what life could be and it has shaken us to our core, allowed us to come together in ways we never knew existed.  After 13 years of life together, I can tell you that I know now more than ever what love really is.  In sickness and in health, we are here, together.  We are surviving.

I promise to share more of our story soon.  I am still processing so much of what has happened and want to record as much of it as possible.  We ask you all to keep Shawn and our family in your thoughts and prayers.

Change

Remember this post, where I shared with you about my decision to find a new job?  A job
that would provide me with better hours, allowing me to be home every evening and
every weekend, no more 12 hour shifts?

Well, guess what?

I GOT A NEW JOB!!!!

After only a few short weeks of interviews, applications, and spreading resumes around
town, I got the most blessed phone call asking if I would like to accept a full-time position
with a local home health agency.  It took everything in me not to literally SQUEAL into
the phone!  Yes, of course I accept!  When can I start?  

So, in two weeks I will officially begin the next chapter in my career, a new journey for
our family.  In two weeks, I will officially be a home health nurse!  What does this
mean exactly?  Well, it means that I will work Monday through Friday, no nights, holidays,
or weekends.  I get to set my own hours according to when I want to see my patients,
which for me will likely be 7:30-3:30.  I will get to wake my babies up every morning,
feed them breakfast, drop them off, and then be there to pick them up in the afternoons.
I will get to cook dinner every night and be home with my family every weekend.
Currently, I work three 12 hour shifts a week.  On the days that I work, I leave our house
at 6 am and get home at 8 pm.  I work every other Saturday and Sunday and several
holidays a year.  While this has worked for us and we have made the best of it, it's
definitely time for a change.  Isabelle has begun crying when I go to work, knowing that
she won't see me until her bed time.  With Shawn juggling school and work, he has felt
the burn of not having me at home on those days as he struggles to play way too many
roles.  And the baby, she is just growing so fast and those days are so long to
not be with her.

So, I made a giant leap of faith, really put myself out there, and believed in the possibility
of something better.  And here it is.  I am so excited to give this new opportunity a chance.
In general, I do not like change.  I enjoy setting up roots, forming a close knit community,
and being loyal to a group I feel passionate about.  But for now, it's all about our family
and what is best for the tribe.  That is what we are working so hard for, all the
sacrifice, chasing our dreams.  We are doing this all for our family.  My only hope is that
one day, my little girls can look at their Daddy and I and know that with hard work
and determination, anything is possible.  

Hospital Story of the Week

I had the honor of caring for an 85 year old Army two time war veteran this week.  He
was the sweetest, funniest patient I have had in a while and I found excuses to go into
his room all day.  I sat with him as he ate his lunch, listening to his stories about being
stationed in Germany during World War II and raising crops of corn while his small
children ran under their mother's skirt.  When he was done eating, I helped him stand
up from his chair and maneuver back into his bed.  He was very weak, his big
heart overworked and his body tired.  I wrapped my arms around his waist and held
him steady, our cheeks side by side as I encouraged him to take his time, reassuring him
that I was holding on tight.  

"It's like we're dancing", he said quietly, patting me softly on my back.

"We sure are.  Nurses love to dance, you know", I said with a wink.

After a few moments of swaying back and forth, catching his breathe and regaining
his balance, I got my sweet patient comfortably back in bed.  "I used to love to dance.  I
can't tell you how many nights I spent dancing with my wife: in the kitchen after supper,
out in our yard, at my daughter's wedding.  We used to love to dance.  It's one of the joys
I miss the most about being young and healthy, being able to move and tap my feet.  One
of the things I miss most about my wife, seeing her float across the floor".

I felt a lump in my throat, my heart swelling as I listened to him reminisce about one of
life's most simple pleasures.  I sat down next to him again, forgetting about the hundreds
of other tasks I needed to get to, and listened to him tell me about his wife of 50 years
and their many adventures together.  He told me about teaching his daughter to dance
before her first prom, showing his son the proper way to hold a woman during a waltz.
He proudly told of his wife's grace and charm and how she always insisted on leading,
causing him to occasionally step on her delicate feet.  I listened to his stories and saw his
pride beam brighter than the sun pouring through the window, remembering his body and
its abilities.

He eventually grew tired and drifted off to sleep.  I imagine he dreamed of floating
through the clouds with his lady, two stepping the day away.  As I left his room, I reflected
on my own love for dance and the many memories I already have of moving back and forth
to my favorite songs, the nights under the stars, in the kitchen, little girls standing on top
of their Daddy's feet.  After work that night, when Shawn and I had put the girls to bed
and the day's responsibilities were done, I reached for his hand and said,
"Dance with me".

"Right now?" he asked, most likely surprised that I even had any energy left after such
a long day.  

"Yes, right now".  As we floated in each other's arms across the kitchen floor, lazily swaying
to the beat of our favorite Black Keys song, I told him the story of my dancing patient.
I shared the inspiration this man had blessed me with, the simplicity of his
message resonating so deep inside my soul.  He held me close, listening intently, taking
in the moment.  And we danced, as we have done so many times in our years together.  

We danced.

 I learn so much from my patients, mostly about life and its fragility, how quickly it truly
does pass by.  From this particular patient, I took with me the reminder to enjoy the
simple pleasures.  To take my man by the hand as often as possible and sway and groove
and rock to the beat, to grab my little girls and swing them around in the moonlight.  I
took with me the advice to stop what you are doing when your favorite song comes on,
wrap your arms around the person you love, and dance.
For no other reason than because you can.

Working Mama

 I read an article this week about maternity leave in Canada and parts of Europe and how it compares to maternity leave in the U.S.  I soon discovered that it actually doesn't compare.   Not at all.  The United States is one of the only industrialized countries in the world that does not provide mothers and fathers with an extended paid maternity leave.  Or any kind of paid maternity leave at all, for that matter.  

Canadians are given 15 weeks of paid maternity leave followed by 35 weeks of parental benefits, all paid for by the federal government (source).  Women in Spain are given 16 weeks of maternity leave at 100% of their salary.  The U.K.:  39 weeks paid.

When I was a sophomore in college, our Sociology class got into a very heated debate regarding women and the "choice" to return to work after having a child.  A male classmate announced that women in this country need to prioritize, learn to do without, and stop being so selfish.  And by being selfish he was referring to the act of working as a mother.

I struggle daily with the decision to have a career while simultaneously raising two daughters.  There is nothing anyone can say to a mother that can subside the guilt we feel when we drop our children into someone else's loving arms, trusting them to care for our babies while we reenter the work force.  And in this country, in today's society, working mothers receive very little support, financially or emotionally.  I took eight weeks off of work when Brees was born.  I had saved up enough sick days and vacation time to afford myself 6 weeks paid and the other two weeks required sacrifice by the whole family.  Not only was it financially difficult, but emotionally taxing as well.  As if it isn't hard enough to leave your newborn baby, you are then faced with harsh criticism and judgement from others.    

{40 weeks pregnant with Brees, spreading my love through the hospital}

There is no easy answer as for what decision to make.  As much as I love being a mother, I also love what I do for a living.  I am a nurse and spend my days caring for others, working to better their lives in some small way.  My job is rewarding and fulfilling to my soul.  I am very, very passionate about what I do and proud of how hard I worked to get where I am.   I touch people's lives and they touch mine.  I think about my family throughout the day, wishing I could be with them.  But I am also thanked daily by my patients' family members who can't be with THEM, thanked for giving of myself when they can not.  A patient told me yesterday: "You are doing the work of Jesus.  You are a healer, and He is giving you the strength and energy and love in your heart to do what you do everyday".  I left his room in tears, so thankful for his kind words, knowing that people like him come to me throughout the day to bring me comfort and encouragement. 

I was raised by a single mother who taught me the importance of self sufficiency and financial independence.  Watching my mother struggle to raise two children and provide us with the incredibly full life that she did has definitely influenced who I am as a person.  I value a hard day's work, being productive, contributing financially to my family.  And I know that I am influencing my girls as well.  I may not be able to be with them everyday, I may not fit the mold of what others think a mother should be, but I am working hard everyday to set the best example for them that I can, to show them immeasurable amounts of love, to teach them to live their life.  Their own way.

And so I reflect this morning on who I am, what I believe in, what I have accomplished as a woman.  I am a mother, but I am also a woman working her way through a rising career.  Can we have our cake and eat it, too?  I certainly hope to try as best I can, regardless of what society thinks I should do.

{Greeted by hugs and kisses after work, what a beautiful reward}

A Very Full Glass

I spent my Easter Sunday at the hospital, taking care of my patients and laughing with my coworkers.  I sometimes look at days like that as the "downside of being a nurse".  Having to be away from your family on days that are all about just that: being with your family.  Leaving out the presents and Easter baskets and slipping out the door before anyone awakens.  Not getting to see those smiling faces, not hearing the squeals of delight.

However, I'm not really a "glass is half empty" kind of girl.  It is my mission to make the most of each day, to learn from each experience, to use my moments to better myself and become closer to who I am supposed to be.  And so days like yesterday are not a downside, they are a blessing.  I was not able to spend the holiday with my mother, but I did have the privilege of caring for someone else's mother, someone whose children live far away and are unable to be present.  I did not get to be with my children or husband, but I did get to care for someone else's children, someone's dear husband.  And I did it all surrounded by a group of women who feel the same way.  A group of nurses who wore smiles as big and bright as the sun, who skipped through the halls with wishes of good will and merriment in their hearts.

 The comraderie that we experience on days like that is priceless.  We are a united force, determined to make the most of our time and thankful to be in the company of each other.  I am so thankful to not only have a job where I am able to care for those in need, but that I get to do that job in the company of such inspirational women.

Today, count your blessings and appreciate where you are.  It may not be exactly where you hoped you would be, but make the most of it anyway.  Life is precious and moments are epic, live them to the fullest.  We are placed in certain situations for a reason, the people around us were put there to teach us a lesson.  Enjoy your surroundings, share your joy and love, and make your positive mark.  Life is what you make it, so make it the best it can be! 

Hospital Story of the Week

I had the pleasure of caring for a very wise and feisty 84 year old woman today.  She is a very sick little lady.  Her heart has simply grown tired and can no longer support the body she so vivaciously inhabits.  Doctors filed in and out of her room all day, poring through her medical records, scratching their heads and searching for an answer to heal her ailing body.  They gave her options, made predictions, spoke truths that brought tears to her grown childrens' eyes.

I stood next to her bed as she carefully pulled herself up, looked around the room, eyes fixed and determined.

"I am ready."

She said it with so much conviction, so much inner strength.  They argued with her, of course.  It is human nature to want to keep the ones we love here with us.  But she was so sure, so confident.

"I've lived on this beautiful earth for 84 years.  I've spent my life beside the man I love.  I've raised three beautiful children and watched as they birthed their own.  I've loved and cried and laughed and prayed.  My life is complete.  I'm ready for rest.  I lie here today surrounded by my family, knowing that I've lived a good life.  I did everything I could to make it the best life it could be.  What more could any person ever ask for?  I am a blessed woman".

I spent the rest of the day replaying those words in my head.  What a lesson to be learned.  Live your life to the fullest: what does that really mean?  Something different for each of us.  And all that we can strive for is to figure out what that something is.  And make it our reality.  I can only pray that someday, when my time nears, I have lived my life so fully, so amazingly big, that I have chased all my dreams and conquered all my fears, erased all regret and accepted all that I am, loved with every ounce in my being and felt that same love back, that I can feel confident in saying,

I am ready.

Love

Working this weekend and boy howdy are we busy!    Doesn't stop me from calling home to check on my girls a hundred times, though.  They spent the day with their grandmother and enjoyed the great outdoors.  Isabelle helped cook supper and Brees enjoyed all the spoiling.  Whenever I get sad about being at work and missing my littles, I remind myself how lucky we are to have so much help from family.  What a blessing for our girls to spend the day in their grandmother's kitchen, swinging on her porch, listening to her stories.  My grandmother took care of us when my mom worked and I have the sweetest memories of our days together.  Though I missed my mother and flew into her arms as soon as she got home, I enjoyed my time working with my grandmother in her garden and helping her feed the chickens.  As working parents, all that Shawn and I can hope for is for our daughters' days to be full and happy, even when we are gone.  And to receive sweet text messages such as these to keep us going though the day:

I showed this picture to all of my patients today.  Proud Mama.

Spring

Friday afternoon and preparing to head to work for the weekend. House is cleaned, fridge stocked, babies happy, Daddy prepared. Spring is in full swing here in Louisiana, what little bit of spring we get (Louisiana's seasons are a bit different than the rest of the country, didn't you know? We have Summer, Unimaginable Heat End of Summer, 2 weeks of Fall or, as my grandmother called it, the "Cold Snap", Winter, and 2 weeks of Spring). We have been spending our days playing outside as much as possible as this gorgeous weather is just too perfect to miss. The tire swing has been swaying back and forth under the pecan tree, filling the air with little girl giggles. And the azaleas, nothing feels like home to me more than the blooming of the azaleas. The vibrant color of the bushes brings new life to our yard after a cold, dreary winter.

In other news, Brees has developed a yucky case of pink eye:( Poor little lamb, she has been cutting a tooth, got her 4 month shots on Wednesday, and then woke up this morning with swollen eyelids and copious amounts of drainage. It's not surprising that because of all this, she has not been sleeping well and howls any time we try to put her down. So, I have basically thrown all of my sleep training guidelines out the window and put her in the big bed with Mama and Daddy the last two nights. She slept much more soundly surrounded by all that comfort and love...Hopefully, with a little more Tylenol, the eye ointment prescribed for her infection, and lots of extra cuddling, she'll be back in business in no time.

Here's the little lamb and her oh so watery eyes:

Have a wonderful weekend!!! I will be racing around the hospital, spreading good springtime cheer!