because sometimes trauma is funny

It's been a big month for traumas. Dog bites. ATV crashes. Motor vehicle collisions, which we used to call motor vehicle accidents, until someone somewhere deduced that if we refer to them as collisions, it will somehow make mankind in general be more cautious while driving and our numbers will go down.

One of our trauma nurse practitioners told me yesterday that we have the third busiest pediatric trauma center in the country. I believe it. When our trauma patients are brought to the ER, they're assigned a name like Bob Trauma. We've had so many Bob and Julie and Ted Traumas hanging out that the cafeteria workers thought they were all sibling or cousins.

I was helping another nurse clean a cervical collar on a four-year-old the other day. A cervical collar is that thing you see on someone's neck when they've had an injury. When you're hospitalized, one nurse has to clean your neck and check for skin breakdown every 12 hours while another nurse holds your neck completely still in c-spine to prevent further injury. Doing all of this on a four-year-old who has just had a big, scary accident takes some finesse.

If you've never been surrounded by pediatric nurses, you should know that they never stop talking. Ever. We narrate all of our actions so that the tiny people we're taking care of don't get scared. Sometimes it works. Most times, it doesn't.

So I'm standing over a four-year-old, trying to pull a brace off of his sore neck without scaring or hurting him. And I am grilling him like an FBI agent.

"What's your name? How old are you? How long was your hair before they buzzed it all off? Are you doing okay?"

He's four. He doesn't go to preschool. He likes that he gets to stay home with his mom. His birthday is in June.

"So are you going to have a birthday party?"
"No."
"Are you going to go anywhere with your mom?"
"No."
"Well, are you at least going to eat some birthday cake?"
"I can't have birthday cake! I got hit by a car!"

When I was in nursing school, one of our instructors told us that most nurses get divorced. She said that this was because we like to fix everything. We love lost causes. We fight until the end. And that's true. Every part of what she said was absolutely true.

We lost a patient yesterday. She wasn't just any patient. She was a baby. And worse, a baby that, as a team, we had taken care of for the past five months. She was a very sick little girl. We watched her more closely than the rest of our patients because we knew how quickly her health could deteriorate. She coded at change of shift. And we couldn't bring her back.

We are experts at fighting off death. For us, it is literally a science. Actually, it's an algorithm. We follow the steps. We start compressions, we give breaths, we give meds. We are experts at fighting off death, but sometimes we lose.

We work with very sick children and many times, they will not live to the age of eighteen. We have the hard conversations about time and quality of life. We prepare our patients' families for the inevitable. But as nurses, we believe that if we watch closely enough, we can keep these kids safe.

We are the gatekeepers. We are the guardian angels. We are the ones who call the doctors at three in the morning to tell them that a kid "just doesn't look right" and that they need to be transferred.

We forget that our patients decide when to keep fighting and when they've had enough.

When that sweet baby girl went to be with Jesus, the residents took it the hardest. They are young in their careers. They are arrogant, as they should be. The foundation of their practice is the belief that they know everything and that they make the correct decisions to keep people alive and well. They are wholly unaccustomed to failure. They sat in the team room and cried for most of the day.

We gave our condolences to the family. Her mother said that every day that she spent with her daughter was a blessing.

The nurses cried. In our field, it is acceptable to shed a few tears with the family. But after that, you have to hold them back. You are allowed to cry in a closed room, where your grief cannot affect the rest of your work. You are required to fight back tears until the end of your shift and then cry on your drive home. You find ways to cope. Have a drink. Take a bath. Eat all the carbs you want. Take a sleeping pill. Call in sick for a day or two.

We give ourselves some time to grieve, although it's never long enough. And then we open the door and we get back to work, because the rest of our patients still need us.

on choosing to have a good day

Hey, it's been a while. This post is dedicated to Laila, who runs one of my favorite blogs and is one of my favorite people.

So I'm back to living in Phoenix, still doing the pediatric nursing thing. I did a sprint triathlon, and then a half marathon. I'm still spending my free time with Russell and our Wonder Dog. And the new love of my life is hot yoga.

Hot yoga is one of those things that I said I would never do (like running a half marathon and eating fish, both of which I have done). Yes, it is so hot that your entire body sweats so profusely that you need a towel on your yoga mat so that you don't slide off of it. Yes, sometimes I need to lay down on my sweaty yoga mat because I am seriously concerned that I am going to throw up. But it makes me feel good and happy and more sore than I've ever been in my life. My favorite instructor looks like Eric Nies, raps through our flow, and played a James Taylor song during the practice today. I am SOLD.

So I went to yoga today and afterwards, I was feeling great. Russell and I went to the mall to get my computer fixed. We walked around and bought some cookies. We drove all around Phoenix and Scottsdale on a day that was so warm and beautiful that it might just be illegal to have such a day in February. We had burritos for dinner. And all day long, I kept thinking that it had been such an amazing day and I was surprised how nice everyone had been.

And it hit me. You get what you put into life and you find good in the world when you're looking for it.

I have to be honest. Most days, I am not happy. I work on a floor with really sick kids and understandably, their parents are not in the best of moods. I am on my feet for 12+ hours a day. It is not rare for me to have shifts where I don't get a chance to eat or go to the bathroom. I do it all with a smile on my face and by the time I get to my car at the end of the night, I am drained. I come home mean. I cry a lot. I have a hard time being thankful.

But if I took more time to be mindful of the world around me, I could find a lot of things to appreciate. I work with brilliant people with big hearts who second guess every detail because they are saving lives all day long. I have a family who loves and supports me. I live in a society where I can support myself. I am young and healthy enough to push my body to its limits in a yoga class or out on a run. I am rich enough to not have to worry about where my next meal will come from or where I will sleep at night.

I woke up this morning. And because of all these things, I don't deserve to have a bad attitude today.

As off the grid as I can manage

I've had a nice little zen retreat in my everyday life, thanks to TMobile's stupidity. Russell J & I decided to get fancy new phones. So we switched to TMobile from Sprint. Our phones get here today. Our service, however, was switched on Thursday. I've been cell-phoneless (and all-phoneless) for five days. I'm partying like it's 2003.

(Apologetic Girlfriend Note: He has been begging me for months to get these phones. I kept ignoring him, thinking that he was just being gadget-obsessed. I was wrong. This phone is really cool. I may never go back to having an obsolete phone.)

Thank you, TMobile, for freeing me from the tyranny of other's peoples' Facebook posts and Twitter mentions. It's SO NICE to be present, on vacation in Phoenix, able to move about my day without having to know that somewhere in the world, a distant cousin is fighting with her mom.

I am in Phoenix for another two days. I love it. If the Wonder Dog weren't still in Houston, I would never, ever leave.

Boyfriend & I have been putting in a lot of time of the gym. I had this crazy brilliant idea to sign up for a triathlon because they give you mimosas and cupcakes at the finish line. So we're both in training for triathlons, like active people. He went to a yoga class with me, which was one of the harder classes I've been to recently. Whoops. I ran 3 miles yesterday and am finally feeling like I'm almost kind of a runner.

And we tried to swim.

I'm going to drown. In the lazy river. At a resort hotel.

I haven't swam laps in, oh, probably 15 years. And even then, I was no Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps/Missy whoever/I don't know any female Olympic swimmers. I don't like to put my face in the water. Even with goggles on, I think that I'm drowning. Thank goodness for a patient, ex-competitive-swimming boyfriend. He recommended a paddleboard. And I'm seven years old again.

We were supposed to go to 2 spring training games over the past 2 days, but decided to take afternoon naps instead. Please don't tell Coco and Yoenis, but the naps were totally worth it. Plus, we're going to see them at their Spring Training home & buy lots of prezzies for the fam, so I hope they'll forgive me.

Goodness gracious, do I miss the 90's

I loved the nineties. Glitter. Capri pants. Spaghetti strap tanks. USHER. I have to come clean and admit that this moment of nostalgia is completely brought to you by the movie She's All That. I also miss Rachael Leigh Cook.

I ran ten miles this week. And by "ran", I actually mean that I ran intervals. But at least I completed ten miles on my own legs.

Russell J was here for five days and it was GREAAAAAAAT! We ate delicious Greek and French food, got a couples massage, went to the gym, and threw a Super Bowl party. Bad news: We've figured out that by the time we finally get to relocate, we'll have bought 2 engagement rings worth of plane tickets. Good news: only 16 more days until I get to fly out to Phoenix for Spring Training and boyfriend time.

I went to the gym today. Gyms are not my thing. They remind me of picking up my brother (and his grimy little friends) from wrestling practice and forcing them to roll down all the windows so they wouldn't stink up my car. I also have a ton of anxiety about gyms. Are people looking at me? Do I look cool? Am I working out hard enough? I did 20 minutes on the elliptical today and then made myself so nervous that I started feeling pukey. My hatred of the gym: I'm working on it.

It. Is. COLD. In. Houston. White Christmas? Not interested. Leaves changing colors? Couldn't care less. I want sunshine, 80 degree weather, frozen yogurt, and t-shirts all year long. There is California blood flowing through these veins and there always will be. The Wonder Dog and I will spend this week snuggled up, drinking tea, and eating oranges to keep all the germs away.

I am obviously an adult-lescent.

At work, I do really badass things like save lives and supervise fifty people. But at home, I do really lame things like set off the smoke detector by cooking a pizza. In my defense, the pizza is not burning. There is no smoke in this apartment. Honest to God, I don't even need to set a timer because the smoke detector goes off right before the pizza is finished. My apologies to my neighbors; I've taken care of the problem. My apologies to my firefighter dad; I've hidden the smoke detector in my closet again.

New year, new stories, new goals. I'm a relief charge nurse. I'm still in Texas, though I'd like to move again soon. Russell & I are still racking up frequent flier miles. Our Christmas vacation included going to the movies three times, eating all the junk food we wanted, taking long naps, and spending a lovely New Year's Eve at home with Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin.

New Year's Resolutions? Sure.
- Stop gossiping (mostly at work)
- Stop swearing so much (mostly at work)
- Learn how to like exercising. I've started working out with these girls.
- More yoga
- More veggies. More dinners that aren't made by Lean Cuisine.
- Read more, write more.
- Be sweet to my cute boyfriend.