june is going to be better

the last couple of weeks at work have been hard. i'm proud to say, i've not missed a day. i've even done two 4.5 hour overtime shifts (because i keep spending money - retail therapy). but gee is it hard to care for others when you feel sick yourself. when your life is in shambles. when everything is unknown.

this weekend, i actually fell asleep at my computer while charting. the twenty minute nap saved me from more breakdowns during the remainder of my shift. i had already cried a few times in patient rooms. once especially hard when a male, nurse friend of mine asked point blank, "what's going on with you?" i couldn't help but spill the beans. "cole is struggling in our relationship. he's terrified. and i'm not sure this is going to end well." justin said in a kind, sympathetic tone - "don't let this break you christa." i said, "oh, you mean, don't feel pathetic and worthless and unloveable." and he said, "exactly." we were washing an intubated, mildly sedated man as tears rolled down my cheeks.

in other news, i've had some crazy shifts lately. two weekends ago i got floated to another unit. i was completely out of my element. and of course, the day was a shit show. i had a quadriplegic patient with blood pressures in the 210/110s (for those of you that don't know, this is an emergency). and another one of my patients returned from a smoke break outside without the IV pole that he had previously been attached to, bleeding hepatitis B AND C blood all throughout the hospital because he had pulled out his IV and the heparin gtt attached to him (a medicine that was helping to save his life from a potentially lethal blood clot in his lungs). once the mess was cleaned up, the same patient decided he hated me and threw a tantrum at the front desk, asking to be transferred to another hospital where the care was better and the staff listened to patients' needs. the bright side, i made 1.50 more per hour because i was floated. note my sarcasm. NOT ENOUGH.

i'm hoping june is better. i'm working less. i have two 8 hour class days where instead of caring for humans, i will be sitting on my rump, learning about death and dying. sounds depressing, but this is right up my alley. i'm also running my first half marathon. and i plan to fill my time with life-affirming things and amazing friends. june, here i come.

cancer is a reminder

there's nothing like CANCER to remind you that your own life ain't so bad.

i've been having a really rough time these last few weeks. the relationship that i have put my whole heart into for two years is dissolving before my eyes. my future looks different. bleak. sad. and lonely. and although i don't know what's going to happen in the long run ("there is no crystal ball," my partner says to me), i feel scared and devastated.

but then, there's work. life must go on, right? so, i force myself out of bed in the morning. and i show up, faking bright eyed and bushy tailed as best as i can at 7AM with swollen eyes and a broken heart. i do my best hollywood impression of a cheerful, kind nurse and take care of a woman my age. a mother of two. she had a transplant almost one year ago and is now facing the effects of skin graft versus host disease and long term steroid use. her once healthy body now looks old. haggard. her skin is beat red, like that of a burn victim. she is peeling everywhere. her hands are shedding what looks like gloves of skin.

mostly she lies in bed all day. sometimes crying. sometimes angry. but when she asked to take a shower (one of my least favorite things to help someone with), i decided to give it my all. we carefully readied her for a shower. i placed a towel on the bench seat. we warmed up the bathroom with steamy water and the heat lamp. and i left her alone, hoping she could wash away some of the hurt.

but a few minutes later, as i was just a few feet away from her, making her bed, i heard a sob. nervous that she had fallen or hurt herself, i busted into the bathroom to find a woman, curled in a ball, crying because she is so weak that she cannot even hold the shower nozzle. "it's okay, we'll do this together," i said. as if it is no bid deal. as if lots of 30 something year olds can't shower on their own. what proceeded was a very intricate ritual. scrubs with cetaphil. then shampoo. coconut oil. and burts bees lotion. baby powder in creases. and lace panties. all the intimate details we carried out together, because she is vulnerable. because likely, she is dying.

by the end of the 45 minute ordeal, i was sweatier than if i had run a marathon. in my plastic gown, glove, and masks, rivulets of sweat dripped down my healthy body. my broken heart ached, but instead of aching for myself, it ached for her. for pain. for illness. for families torn apart by tragedy.

CANCER is a good, horrible reminder.

hospital birthdays

my patient celebrated her second birthday at UWMC. to be born there is okay. lots of people celebrate their first birthday in a hospital. but a second, well... that's just a bummer. and when i say a second birthday, i don't mean a regular birthday. i mean a second "birth" day. like a re-birth. a second chance at life with a hematopoeitic stem cell transplant because otherwise you will surely die of cancer.

i gave a 30 year old two tiny bags of umbilical cord stem cells yesterday. and when my colleagues and i sang happy birthday to her, she and her mom cried. a few minutes later, my patient's mother said to me, "you know, she is my miracle, million dollar baby. she was not only born here. she was saved here. she was born at 25 weeks and spent her first days, weeks, months in the NICU. now, we are hoping you will save her here again."