As most of you know, I'm now in Toccoa, Georgia for my integration, and last, semester of the nurse-midwifery program. This semester is meant to let us "find ourselves" as midwives; basically, to let us practice as midwives under the direct supervision of a certified nurse-midwife.
So, here I am... for ten weeks.
The clinic I'm working in is wonderful. It's actually much better than I had anticipated, as none, well, maybe a couple, of the patients I have seen look like characters from 'Deliverance'. (Insert banjo music). The patients are great. The staff has welcomed me with open arms. I am happy there.
The birth situation is going beautifully as well. I have already attended two births (see how my use of words to describe a 'delivery' has already changed?). As my preceptor mentioned, we once said "I delivered a baby". Then we said, "I caught a baby", as in one of my instructor's phrases, "Pizzas are delivered. Babies are born." Now, I say, "I attended a birth." Moms deliver the babies. I make sure they don't hit the floor. That's about it. In another instructor's words, "I am a glorified cheerleader."
As far as all this goes, it sounds as if things are going well... correct? Well... yes and no.
You see, I am a serious homebody. I crave nothing more than to be at home with my husband, "in my dirt" as Grandmuz used to say, with my animals, in my hot tub, washing my dishes, what-have-you. Now, I am in someone else's home (my preceptor's- who I am so grateful to for inviting and hosting me). I'm in a town I've never seen before. I am uncomfortable, but honestly, I can't pinpoint why.
Here's my theory: I asked God long ago to make me into the person and midwife that He wants me to be. I believe He's working on it. I know this sounds terrible, but I don't think I've ever been through anything this difficult other than my mother's death. I've only been here since Tuesday night (this is Friday night), and I am absolutely mentally miserable. My only logic that I can fester up is that God is absolutely breaking me down to my core, as to make me into the person and midwife He wants of me. I cannot explain my misery any other way than this.
In the past, with friends and family members whom I knew did not know the Lord, I have prayed for God to make them so miserable that they have no other feasible choice than to turn to and accept Him. Granted, I have 'known' the Lord for 13 years now. Now He's doing something different. I believe He's stripping me of all of my comforts... breaking me down... and revealing the person I am to become as a result of this nurse-midwifery program and my experiences during it. My beautiful preceptor said to me tonight, "I'm a midwife all the time." I want to feel that way. I crave to feel that way. An instructor said to our class once, "At a certain point, you'll feel like the midwife in the room. It will be a very specific time, and you will recognize it." I am desperate for that moment. I have not felt it yet. I have to believe that God is breaking me down so that when that moment happens, I will notice it. I will be focused on it.
Apparently, there is more to integration than we thought.
Lord, from this misery and into Your perfect will for my life as a midwife, deliver me.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Someday I will be strong enough...
Some lyrics to a new song that features Taylor Swift say, "I wish I was strong enough to lift not one but both of us. Someday I will be strong enough to lift not one but both of us."
These lyrics make me think of my mom and her fight every time I hear them. I was at a point in my graduate degree that I had not yet learned what her symptoms meant, and to be honest, I never thought to search regarding them. She presented with pretty regular bloating and constipation, which I thought nothing of. I wish I had been strong enough in my knowledge of GYN problems to recognize what was happening.
As I dwell on what I was unable to do for her, I am encouraged by the second half of these lyrics. "Someday I will be strong enough to lift not one but both of us." I am strengthened by my knowledge of women's GYN problems and someday hope to strengthen the lives of many women who present with those same symptoms and others. Maybe some day, my ability to help other women will be a memoriam to my mother, who, although very strong, was unable to overcome the cancer that ravaged her body.
Everything happens for a reason. I still believe that. We serve an amazing God Who places us in situations to strengthen us. Sometimes, the reasons are unclear. I am sure there are many reasons why the path of my life has gone the way it has. God has shown me that one obvious reason is so that I will be present to help other women who encounter these problems.
This is one of the many reasons I will soon become a midwife.
Lord, from any doubt as to why I am here and what I am doing, deliver me.
These lyrics make me think of my mom and her fight every time I hear them. I was at a point in my graduate degree that I had not yet learned what her symptoms meant, and to be honest, I never thought to search regarding them. She presented with pretty regular bloating and constipation, which I thought nothing of. I wish I had been strong enough in my knowledge of GYN problems to recognize what was happening.
As I dwell on what I was unable to do for her, I am encouraged by the second half of these lyrics. "Someday I will be strong enough to lift not one but both of us." I am strengthened by my knowledge of women's GYN problems and someday hope to strengthen the lives of many women who present with those same symptoms and others. Maybe some day, my ability to help other women will be a memoriam to my mother, who, although very strong, was unable to overcome the cancer that ravaged her body.
Everything happens for a reason. I still believe that. We serve an amazing God Who places us in situations to strengthen us. Sometimes, the reasons are unclear. I am sure there are many reasons why the path of my life has gone the way it has. God has shown me that one obvious reason is so that I will be present to help other women who encounter these problems.
This is one of the many reasons I will soon become a midwife.
Lord, from any doubt as to why I am here and what I am doing, deliver me.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
I miss her.
The pain I feel tonight is so great I can hardly breathe. My eyes are nearly swollen shut from the amount of tears I have cried in just a few minutes. When the flashbacks come, they come hard. I cannot stop them, although I wish I could find a way.
I cannot help but wonder the fear that my mom experienced during her entire illness, but mostly during the last few hours. What did she feel when the doctor told her there was nothing more they could do? Did she ever feel alone that night, or was I there enough to comfort her to some extent? As she gazed up at me, gasping for breath during the last minutes of her life, what was she thinking? Was she thinking, or was she already gone? Was she trying to tell me something with the look in her eyes?
I long, desperately, for one last encounter with her. I ache for closure from her about those last days and hours. Was I enough? What were her fears? What would she tell me, if we both had known those would be her last words?
The guilt I feel is sometimes tremendous. Why didn't I call my dad sooner to get to the hospital? Why didn't I recognize the symptoms of her illness when she first started experiencing them? Would that have made any difference?
Why has all this happened? This is not fair. Do I really have to live the rest of my life without my mother? And my dad without his wife? Why us? Why was she the one chosen to become sick and die? What is so great about God's plan that this needed to happen? What in the hell is He trying to teach me? To be stronger? To be prepared for the next huge loss He will present me with? I certainly hope not. Was I such a terrible person that I needed this to slap me awake to what is really important? I could go on...
I try to laugh about some things. As a nurse, I learned that if you don't laugh about things, it will eventually get to you. I try to laugh at the "your mom" jokes... but in all honestly, they cut like a knife. I try to keep silent about our story... I don't want to bore you with the details of my mom's life and death, but I am aching to talk about it. I want you to care. I want you to ask me what it was like, and mean it.
I cannot rehash this anymore. I am worn out.
Lord, from the flashbacks specifically, deliver me.
I cannot help but wonder the fear that my mom experienced during her entire illness, but mostly during the last few hours. What did she feel when the doctor told her there was nothing more they could do? Did she ever feel alone that night, or was I there enough to comfort her to some extent? As she gazed up at me, gasping for breath during the last minutes of her life, what was she thinking? Was she thinking, or was she already gone? Was she trying to tell me something with the look in her eyes?
I long, desperately, for one last encounter with her. I ache for closure from her about those last days and hours. Was I enough? What were her fears? What would she tell me, if we both had known those would be her last words?
The guilt I feel is sometimes tremendous. Why didn't I call my dad sooner to get to the hospital? Why didn't I recognize the symptoms of her illness when she first started experiencing them? Would that have made any difference?
Why has all this happened? This is not fair. Do I really have to live the rest of my life without my mother? And my dad without his wife? Why us? Why was she the one chosen to become sick and die? What is so great about God's plan that this needed to happen? What in the hell is He trying to teach me? To be stronger? To be prepared for the next huge loss He will present me with? I certainly hope not. Was I such a terrible person that I needed this to slap me awake to what is really important? I could go on...
I try to laugh about some things. As a nurse, I learned that if you don't laugh about things, it will eventually get to you. I try to laugh at the "your mom" jokes... but in all honestly, they cut like a knife. I try to keep silent about our story... I don't want to bore you with the details of my mom's life and death, but I am aching to talk about it. I want you to care. I want you to ask me what it was like, and mean it.
I cannot rehash this anymore. I am worn out.
Lord, from the flashbacks specifically, deliver me.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Happy Mother's Day?
I choose my attitude. I realize that. I believe we all choose what emotions we allow ourselves to feel at any given moment. A couple months ago, I realized that not only did I have to get through the 4th of July holiday this year (the day after mom's death), but, well blah, Mother's Day would come sooner. I didn't know what emotions I would feel today, but I wasn't really looking forward to it. I can say all I want that I want to "honor all my mother figures", and "not take any of my mothers for granted", but you know what? I miss my mom. No matter how wonderful all these other women may be, they're not my mom. And today, I miss her so deeply.
I woke up this morning and reset my alarm. I knew going to church and hearing all the Mother's Day hooplah (excuse my term) would not be easy, so I stayed in bed. During that extra two hours of sleep, I dreamt of my mother, something I've only done now three times since her death. I treasure those dreams with her, so I was pleased that I had stayed under the covers and out of the rain. Once I got out of bed, I was in shock mode. "Today is Mother's Day! I have to stop and get my mom a ca...... oh yeah, almost forgot there for a second." I have one of those moments at least once per day. I'll think, "That class was awesome! I need to call my mom and tell her..." And then I remember, and the sting hurts. Today, this morning, the sting was worse. I was left after my initial thought of having to still get my mom a Mother's Day card wondering if all those other 25 cards that I gave her were the perfect cards. Did they say the right things? Did I pick them out with intention? Did I treat her on Mother's Day and everyday like the amazing woman that she was? No. Not every day. I can't put myself through the guilt of knowing that at times I hurt her... at times, I did not acknowlegde her wisdom. I wish I had, but I'm human. I'm forgiving myself of all those times.
We went on to Jeremy's parents home to spend lunch with them and his grandparents. I love Jeremy so so very much, and, Lord help him, he has no idea what I'm going through. He's never lost anyone close to him, and I've lost everyone in my family except my dad. I don't expect Jeremy, or anyone else who still has his or her parents, to understand how days like this feel. Heck, I didn't even know how it would feel. Something about today, though, didn't feel as special as I thought it should have felt. Seeing Jeremy interact with his mother, although a perfectly fine and normal way to act, didn't seem like enough to me. I just kept thinking of what I would say to my mom if she were standing in front of me at that moment... how long I would hold her in a hug... what would I say? I still don't even know. You never know when any holiday is going to be your last with someone. But, think about this for a second... What would you say if you knew it was the last?
What would you say? Please think about that question, and then, say it.
Lord, from my hesitancy of saying exactly how much people mean, deliver me.
I woke up this morning and reset my alarm. I knew going to church and hearing all the Mother's Day hooplah (excuse my term) would not be easy, so I stayed in bed. During that extra two hours of sleep, I dreamt of my mother, something I've only done now three times since her death. I treasure those dreams with her, so I was pleased that I had stayed under the covers and out of the rain. Once I got out of bed, I was in shock mode. "Today is Mother's Day! I have to stop and get my mom a ca...... oh yeah, almost forgot there for a second." I have one of those moments at least once per day. I'll think, "That class was awesome! I need to call my mom and tell her..." And then I remember, and the sting hurts. Today, this morning, the sting was worse. I was left after my initial thought of having to still get my mom a Mother's Day card wondering if all those other 25 cards that I gave her were the perfect cards. Did they say the right things? Did I pick them out with intention? Did I treat her on Mother's Day and everyday like the amazing woman that she was? No. Not every day. I can't put myself through the guilt of knowing that at times I hurt her... at times, I did not acknowlegde her wisdom. I wish I had, but I'm human. I'm forgiving myself of all those times.
We went on to Jeremy's parents home to spend lunch with them and his grandparents. I love Jeremy so so very much, and, Lord help him, he has no idea what I'm going through. He's never lost anyone close to him, and I've lost everyone in my family except my dad. I don't expect Jeremy, or anyone else who still has his or her parents, to understand how days like this feel. Heck, I didn't even know how it would feel. Something about today, though, didn't feel as special as I thought it should have felt. Seeing Jeremy interact with his mother, although a perfectly fine and normal way to act, didn't seem like enough to me. I just kept thinking of what I would say to my mom if she were standing in front of me at that moment... how long I would hold her in a hug... what would I say? I still don't even know. You never know when any holiday is going to be your last with someone. But, think about this for a second... What would you say if you knew it was the last?
What would you say? Please think about that question, and then, say it.
Lord, from my hesitancy of saying exactly how much people mean, deliver me.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Sometimes God gives second chances...
I was driving home from my dad's late yesterday afternoon, and got caught up in traffic at the split that goes around Nashville. I finally made my way to the Shelby Ave exit, and as we were all creeping along, suddenly, just three cars in front of me, a car whipped around, hit the guardrail, hit a truck, flipped, and then skidded into the grassy area between the interstate and the exit ramp we were on. When the car came to a stop, a big black dog jumped out of the passenger window, and took off. Traffic simply went around what had just happened, and the first thing that crossed my mind was that this guy might be drunk and I didn't want to be involved. Plus, by the time the car had come to a stop, I was at the top of the exit ramp, and had no where to park and go help the man. I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw others stopping to help him, and suddenly I felt terrible. I'm a nurse. I should have stopped. I stop at little wrecks all the time, but I just didn't stop this time. The feelings of guilt were getting the best of me.... fast. As I turned right onto Shelby Ave, still creeping along with the traffic, I looked over to my right at the sidewalk, and there was the dog that had jumped out of the car. He was terrified and running away from the scene. I rolled down my window and whistled at him, thinking if he was friendly I could get him into my car and take him back to the scene and let the officers handle him. He wouldn't come near me. I pulled over into the right turn lane, and so did a lady in front of me. Together, with the help of another man who had stopped, we got the Rottweiler into the backseat of my car, and headed back to the scene. We parked, left the dog in the car and carefully crossed the exit ramp to get to where all the officers, EMTs and paramedics were. We told them what had happened with the dog, and that we had him. One of the officer's wives works at animal control, so he came and picked the dog up. I spoke with animal control last night and if the man does not recover (he had a seizure which caused the accident), the dog will be available for adoption in two weeks, otherwise, he will be put down. Harry the Rottweiler was the sweetest dog, and I have every intention of going to resuce him should his owner not come to claim him.
I believe the moral to this story, and the reason I wanted to share it, is because God wants us to do good and be an example of His love at every chance He gives us. Sometimes, however, we might be having a bad day, be in a negative mood, or, like me, simply miss our chance. But, God gave me a second chance to help someone and show the love of Christ. He brought that dog up that ramp and right beside my car so that I could help rescue the dog. If we are presented with a chance to show God's love, we should take it, even, and especially, if it's the second chance.
I believe the moral to this story, and the reason I wanted to share it, is because God wants us to do good and be an example of His love at every chance He gives us. Sometimes, however, we might be having a bad day, be in a negative mood, or, like me, simply miss our chance. But, God gave me a second chance to help someone and show the love of Christ. He brought that dog up that ramp and right beside my car so that I could help rescue the dog. If we are presented with a chance to show God's love, we should take it, even, and especially, if it's the second chance.
Monday, April 9, 2012
God is changing me...
It's strange and unexpected what God has been doing in my soul lately. Things about me that I didn't think would ever change, are changing.
For example, Jeremy and I have kind of been at odds with each other lately because I had decided that I did not want children. My reasons for this were realistic... I didn't want the commitment. I wanted to be able to pick up and go whereever, whenever. I wanted to focus on us. I wanted to travel. I didn't want to be the mom at the restaurant with the screaming brat that everyone stares at. But in the last two weeks, God has honestly changed my heart. There's no other way I can explain it than this. I have a strong desire to become a mother in the next year or two. I have been dreaming about our children. I have seen their faces. It's creepy, but it's suddenly nice to think about.
I have also had a change of heart about midwifery. I almost switched to Women's Health instead of Midwifery two weeks ago because I found myself developing an aversion to pregnancy. The patients I was caring for in clinical mostly had unplanned and unwanted pregnancies. Not only was that enough to turn me off, but I know how much I am going to wish my mother was here to guide me when I do become pregnant, and more importantly, when we are trying to raise that child. I was comparing these unwanted pregnancies to my own future pregnancy, and it scared the bejeebies out of me. Thanks to a little counsel from Jay, I realized what my mind was doing, and had an Oprah "ah-ha" moment. I knew that I had gone into the field of midwifery for a reason, and that I could put my future pregnancy aside and care for all women, throughout the lifetime, pregnant or not, wanted or not. This is my duty as a midwife, and my calling as a follower of Jesus.
Another change of heart that I have had very recently is the type of music that I find myself no longer enjoying. Not to worry, I am still a huge Lady Gaga fan. ;-) It's some of the other music that I can no longer listen to and enjoy... music like Rihanna's and Nicki Minaj's latest albums simply disgust me. The foul language, the explicit sexual references, are simply not appealing or easy to listen to anymore. I don't want that negativity flowing into my brain and continuing to be a part of my life. Lady Gaga, however, who I believe has a higher purpose than just selling records, can stay. She continues to make positive differences in the lives of many.
I guess this is all just a part of becoming more of a woman than a girl, more of a professional than a student, and more independent than not. As the matriarch of my family, it's my responsibilty to develop into a mature and Godly woman, someone my mother and grandmothers would have wanted me to be. I'm trying harder everyday to be a better wife, daughter, friend, student and follower of Jesus. As long as I keep this up, I believe God will keep up His part of molding me into the woman I should be. He's not finished with me yet, so please be patient, people!
For example, Jeremy and I have kind of been at odds with each other lately because I had decided that I did not want children. My reasons for this were realistic... I didn't want the commitment. I wanted to be able to pick up and go whereever, whenever. I wanted to focus on us. I wanted to travel. I didn't want to be the mom at the restaurant with the screaming brat that everyone stares at. But in the last two weeks, God has honestly changed my heart. There's no other way I can explain it than this. I have a strong desire to become a mother in the next year or two. I have been dreaming about our children. I have seen their faces. It's creepy, but it's suddenly nice to think about.
I have also had a change of heart about midwifery. I almost switched to Women's Health instead of Midwifery two weeks ago because I found myself developing an aversion to pregnancy. The patients I was caring for in clinical mostly had unplanned and unwanted pregnancies. Not only was that enough to turn me off, but I know how much I am going to wish my mother was here to guide me when I do become pregnant, and more importantly, when we are trying to raise that child. I was comparing these unwanted pregnancies to my own future pregnancy, and it scared the bejeebies out of me. Thanks to a little counsel from Jay, I realized what my mind was doing, and had an Oprah "ah-ha" moment. I knew that I had gone into the field of midwifery for a reason, and that I could put my future pregnancy aside and care for all women, throughout the lifetime, pregnant or not, wanted or not. This is my duty as a midwife, and my calling as a follower of Jesus.
Another change of heart that I have had very recently is the type of music that I find myself no longer enjoying. Not to worry, I am still a huge Lady Gaga fan. ;-) It's some of the other music that I can no longer listen to and enjoy... music like Rihanna's and Nicki Minaj's latest albums simply disgust me. The foul language, the explicit sexual references, are simply not appealing or easy to listen to anymore. I don't want that negativity flowing into my brain and continuing to be a part of my life. Lady Gaga, however, who I believe has a higher purpose than just selling records, can stay. She continues to make positive differences in the lives of many.
I guess this is all just a part of becoming more of a woman than a girl, more of a professional than a student, and more independent than not. As the matriarch of my family, it's my responsibilty to develop into a mature and Godly woman, someone my mother and grandmothers would have wanted me to be. I'm trying harder everyday to be a better wife, daughter, friend, student and follower of Jesus. As long as I keep this up, I believe God will keep up His part of molding me into the woman I should be. He's not finished with me yet, so please be patient, people!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
My Mama's Battle and Victory over Cancer
In spring of last year, mom started having some gastrointestinal symptoms (I won't go into detail). Anyway, after a while of nothing helping that she could get over the counter, and not having had a primary care provider in years, she decided to look up the OBGYN that delivered me 25 years ago. She found him working at Vandy over at 100 Oaks. So, she went to see him and he did a routine exam including a pap smear.
Jeremy and I went to buy new bedding one day at Kohl's, and mom called while we were sitting in the parking lot. "The pap smear came back abnormal," she said, "So he wants me to come back in next week." I was frozen. I was taking the classes at school that explained abnormal paps. I knew what it could mean. I remember going to work that night. I was still on orientation with Jay. He was the first person, other than Jeremy who was with me when I got the news, that I told.
Jay ended up switching shifts with me so that I could go with mom to that next appointment. As we sat in the exam room at 100 Oaks, Dr. Zimmerman put his hand on my mom's knee and said, "It looks like cancer, Carolyn, but we're going to beat this. You're going to beat this." Again, I sat... frozen.
We drove home, not in silence, but coming up with ways to tell my dad. She left that up to me since I'm a nurse. Great. I remember driving through Captain D's on the way home to grab dinner and I said to her, "If this is really cancer, I'm getting pregnant. I'm giving you a grandchild." Obviously, I never did.
We told dad. He was frozen, but we all stayed very optimistic about everything. Mom would have the hysterectomy in May and do chemo after that. Everything went well and as planned. She tolerated surgery like a champ, although she had some recovery issues with fluid. Chemo never made her nauseous. She didn't mind it at all. It did not slow her down much at all, and I was so proud.
Mom was fine at Christmas. Her Ca125 (cancer indicator lab) had come down to normal. She was regaining strength and was able to do almost whatever she felt like doing. She got tired easily, but other than that, everything was going great, and we were happy.
This May, almost suddenly, it seemed, mom started to deteriorate. She had worked during the annual Studebaker Show like it was nothing. But, something was changing. Mom was getting weaker, and her Ca125 was climbing. In early June, Dad called me at work one night just before it was time to clock in and told me that mom's Ca125 was over 1000. I knew at that point that this wasn't good. On June 25th, Dad's high school reunion took place. He had bought tickets for himself and mom, but mom was too weak to go, and also too weak to be left at home by herself, so I stayed with her while he went to the reunion. We watched TV, I painted my nails, and everything was as normal as it could be. The next night, a Sunday, a had a singing gig at a local church, but mom was too weak to attend. My parents never, ever, missed me sing. I knew she would have come if she were able, but it still hurt that they couldn't be there. Jeremy, my in-laws, his grandparents, and my friends Evelyn, Jay, and Mark came to hear me. After church, Jay and Mark stopped by to see my mom, which none of us really figured would be the last night she ever spent at home.
On Monday morning, dad took her to the Vandy emergency room and she was admitted to the hospital. I was on my way to the hospital when dad called and said that she had gotten a room on 4 round wing, the floor on which I began my nursing career. I knew at least some of the people that still worked there, and knew she would be in good hands. I stayed with mom from that point on, every night, only leaving for a couple hours a day to eat, sleep, or get clean clothes. She was able to get up with my assistance to go to walk to the bathroom, but had a really hard time getting comfortable in the bed. That lasted all week. Friends stopped by to see us, brought food, flowers, and cards. The support was overwhelming. Still, I felt so alone. Dad stayed with us during the day, especially during the couple hours a day when I was gone to keep my sanity, but he left around 6pm every day. As mom would sleep, I would stay up and just look at her, thanking God for giving her to me to have as a mother, but already mourning because I knew what was coming quickly. One night it stormed, and although I knew I was probably about to lose my mom, the storm felt, to me, like a showering of God's provision and love. I knew I was not alone in that room.
I made a couple trips up to the SI, and as one of the charge nurse asked me how mom was doing, I responded back with, "I give her a year. I don't think she'll be with us in a year."
Doctors came and went. They had found a mass on mom's liver, which I found out on Wednesday, so the ideas of a liver resection, or trying to increase her strength with TPNTPN, it was never started. I still don't know why, and I will wonder why we didn't at least give it a shot for the rest of my life. I wonder if it could have made her stronger.
On Friday afternoon, mom started getting a little worse. She was just barely jaundice, but she started smelling like a liver patient to me. I would sit on the bed with her and rub her back where all the fluid was collecting, and I could smell the ammonia coming through her skin. Her heart rate began to increase, her blood pressure dropped slightly, and she was so full of fluid that she could barely breath. I started texting my friend Jay, and another nurse that happened to be working in the SICU that night to get their opinion. The nurse on my unit talked to the charge nurse and he walked over to the round wing to see mom. Before he left, he told me that he only had one bed on the unit, but that if she needed it, it was hers. After repeatedly mentioning to mom's current nurse that I thought she needed albumin and Lasix, and getting no reasonable response, I asked the charge nurse to call a doctor. Finally, a doctor came to see mom. I had told mom to act extra pitiful, because I wanted more than anything for her to be transferred to the SICU where I knew she would get the monitoring that she needed. The doctor agreed that she did, in fact, need albumin and Lasix (go figure), and consulted with the attending physician on call. She explained to mom that because the combination of albumin and Lasix could sometimes cause a drop in blood pressure, she wanted mom to be on a monitored floor, and she put in 'transfer to 9 north' orders. The SICU's back hall is the same as 9N, so I immediately called the charge nurse in SI to let him know and to see if mom could be transferred to one of our back hall beds. He said he was sorry but that it turned out the only bed he had open was an ICU bed and he could not take mom. I was heartbroken, but I figured that at least we would be just across the hall from the SI, so I knew my friends were there if I needed them. We started packing up our stuff to transfer, and in 5 minutes, the 4 round wing charge nurse came in and said they had opened up a back hall bed in the SICU for mom. I was ecstatic.
We got mom moved over, and all my coworkers in the SICU seemed shocked to see me as a patient family member. Mom was transferred to room 9645, and Hollie assumed her care. I tried to stay out of the way, but it was difficult. Mom was tired, so as soon as she drifted off to sleep, I crept around the unit, got something to eat, and went back into the room to stay with mom. But I never slept. I couldn't sleep. They always say, "Sleep when the baby sleeps." But I couldn't. The next morning, I left the hospital around 8 am, drove to Jay's, started a load of laundry, drove home, got some more clothes, went back to Jay's, tried to sleep for 3 hours, finished my laundry and went back to the hospital. When I got back to mom's room, I think it was around 3pm. My mom's friend and her husband, who is an attorney, were there. They were signing mom's last will and testament. DNR/DNI paperwork had been filled out, and the attending physician had told my parents that there was nothing else that could be done. I knew this conversation was coming, I just didn't know how close it would be until the end.
Our preacher came by and talked to mom about her salvation, making sure that she was as peace with her life after death. She was scared. So scared. She said that as many times as she had asked Jesus into her heart, and believed it with her mind, she never felt it to be real in her heart. We prayed with her one more time, and asked God to alleviate her fears of death.
Mom started to get super uncomfortable. The night nurse gave her some Ativan, and it knocked her out from 7pm until 1am. I could not sleep. When I finally tried to lay down at around 1, mom woke up from the Ativan. The effects of it made her feel funny, and she didn't like it at all. She kept saying, "My head feels so fuzzy." It was funny, but I know she didn't like the feeling. I could not keep her comfortable. It didn't matter what position I put her pillows in, she hurt. We tried Lortab and Dilaudid, but they didn't help much. All night long, we were up and down with her. I stood her up, even got her to the chair once, but that only lasted about 10 minutes. She would sit on the side of the bed and rest her forehead on my chest and I would rock her back and forth. This seemed to be the most comfortable position for her, but it was heartbreaking to me. You never want to have to hold your mom like that. In that position, we had truly switched roles. I was rocking and consoling her, the kind of stuff that a child should never have to do, but I did it with love and respect for her and all she was. It was in that position that she said to me, "Pooh, you don't deserve this." No, I didn't. She was right, but more so than that, she didn't deserve to be in that position. But, when in this life do we ever get what we deserve, good or bad?
At around 5am, she was resting pretty peacefully, so I tried to close my eyes for a few minutes. A brand new, still wet-behind-the-ears doctor came in to see her. I secretly listened to their conversation. He was there to check on her medically, but he asked her if she felt sure about her salvation. She said yes, and he asked if he could pray with her. There, in the still of the morning, I listened to the sweetest prayer come out of that doctor as he prayed for my dying mother and held her hand. I will never forget that moment. Then around 6, mom's attending came in. He sat with us on the bed and told us we were going to ignore her blood pressure, which was 60's/40's at that point. Mom said, "Oh. Is it low?" "Uh, yeah, kinda low, but we won't worry about that," he said. He told her if she wanted us to push the bed down the hall so she could see the view, or whatever she wanted, to consider it done. She didn't want any of that. She just wanted to be comfortable. I decided to shower at around 7, and while I was in the shower, the charge nurse, Joe, came to check on mom and me and hollered at me to make sure I washed behind my ears. I realize that's random, but he said mom laughed at him when he said it through the door to me, so it's important to me. When I got out of the shower, I sat with mom and tried to keep her comfortable. The dayshift nurse came in and held my hand and prayed with me over mom, which I will also never forget.
The rest of the details of mom's death bring up too much emotion for me to jot down. They will remain only in my heart and mind. Dad and I were there with her, each on one side, holding her hands as she passed at 10:10am on July 3, 2011.
It's taken me almost 5 months to write this. It's not perfect. There were moments spent with mom that last week that I did not include. Death is a very intimate experience, and as I would not allow you to video my wedding night, I simply cannot share all the details of mom's death experience. It was an amazing week. I was touched by God that week in a way I never could have imagined. You never know how strong you can be until it is required of you. If you read this, and you had anything to do with that week, the time during which mom was sick, or even praying for us recently, know how grateful I am for you. My mom was an incredible spirit, and it is my intention to carry on the mixture of wit and class that she exemplified. Please take me seriously when I say to never take friends and family for granted, and to, each day, LIVE PASSIONATELY.
Lord, thank you for delivering my mama.
Jeremy and I went to buy new bedding one day at Kohl's, and mom called while we were sitting in the parking lot. "The pap smear came back abnormal," she said, "So he wants me to come back in next week." I was frozen. I was taking the classes at school that explained abnormal paps. I knew what it could mean. I remember going to work that night. I was still on orientation with Jay. He was the first person, other than Jeremy who was with me when I got the news, that I told.
Jay ended up switching shifts with me so that I could go with mom to that next appointment. As we sat in the exam room at 100 Oaks, Dr. Zimmerman put his hand on my mom's knee and said, "It looks like cancer, Carolyn, but we're going to beat this. You're going to beat this." Again, I sat... frozen.
We drove home, not in silence, but coming up with ways to tell my dad. She left that up to me since I'm a nurse. Great. I remember driving through Captain D's on the way home to grab dinner and I said to her, "If this is really cancer, I'm getting pregnant. I'm giving you a grandchild." Obviously, I never did.
We told dad. He was frozen, but we all stayed very optimistic about everything. Mom would have the hysterectomy in May and do chemo after that. Everything went well and as planned. She tolerated surgery like a champ, although she had some recovery issues with fluid. Chemo never made her nauseous. She didn't mind it at all. It did not slow her down much at all, and I was so proud.
Mom was fine at Christmas. Her Ca125 (cancer indicator lab) had come down to normal. She was regaining strength and was able to do almost whatever she felt like doing. She got tired easily, but other than that, everything was going great, and we were happy.
This May, almost suddenly, it seemed, mom started to deteriorate. She had worked during the annual Studebaker Show like it was nothing. But, something was changing. Mom was getting weaker, and her Ca125 was climbing. In early June, Dad called me at work one night just before it was time to clock in and told me that mom's Ca125 was over 1000. I knew at that point that this wasn't good. On June 25th, Dad's high school reunion took place. He had bought tickets for himself and mom, but mom was too weak to go, and also too weak to be left at home by herself, so I stayed with her while he went to the reunion. We watched TV, I painted my nails, and everything was as normal as it could be. The next night, a Sunday, a had a singing gig at a local church, but mom was too weak to attend. My parents never, ever, missed me sing. I knew she would have come if she were able, but it still hurt that they couldn't be there. Jeremy, my in-laws, his grandparents, and my friends Evelyn, Jay, and Mark came to hear me. After church, Jay and Mark stopped by to see my mom, which none of us really figured would be the last night she ever spent at home.
On Monday morning, dad took her to the Vandy emergency room and she was admitted to the hospital. I was on my way to the hospital when dad called and said that she had gotten a room on 4 round wing, the floor on which I began my nursing career. I knew at least some of the people that still worked there, and knew she would be in good hands. I stayed with mom from that point on, every night, only leaving for a couple hours a day to eat, sleep, or get clean clothes. She was able to get up with my assistance to go to walk to the bathroom, but had a really hard time getting comfortable in the bed. That lasted all week. Friends stopped by to see us, brought food, flowers, and cards. The support was overwhelming. Still, I felt so alone. Dad stayed with us during the day, especially during the couple hours a day when I was gone to keep my sanity, but he left around 6pm every day. As mom would sleep, I would stay up and just look at her, thanking God for giving her to me to have as a mother, but already mourning because I knew what was coming quickly. One night it stormed, and although I knew I was probably about to lose my mom, the storm felt, to me, like a showering of God's provision and love. I knew I was not alone in that room.
I made a couple trips up to the SI, and as one of the charge nurse asked me how mom was doing, I responded back with, "I give her a year. I don't think she'll be with us in a year."
Doctors came and went. They had found a mass on mom's liver, which I found out on Wednesday, so the ideas of a liver resection, or trying to increase her strength with TPNTPN, it was never started. I still don't know why, and I will wonder why we didn't at least give it a shot for the rest of my life. I wonder if it could have made her stronger.
On Friday afternoon, mom started getting a little worse. She was just barely jaundice, but she started smelling like a liver patient to me. I would sit on the bed with her and rub her back where all the fluid was collecting, and I could smell the ammonia coming through her skin. Her heart rate began to increase, her blood pressure dropped slightly, and she was so full of fluid that she could barely breath. I started texting my friend Jay, and another nurse that happened to be working in the SICU that night to get their opinion. The nurse on my unit talked to the charge nurse and he walked over to the round wing to see mom. Before he left, he told me that he only had one bed on the unit, but that if she needed it, it was hers. After repeatedly mentioning to mom's current nurse that I thought she needed albumin and Lasix, and getting no reasonable response, I asked the charge nurse to call a doctor. Finally, a doctor came to see mom. I had told mom to act extra pitiful, because I wanted more than anything for her to be transferred to the SICU where I knew she would get the monitoring that she needed. The doctor agreed that she did, in fact, need albumin and Lasix (go figure), and consulted with the attending physician on call. She explained to mom that because the combination of albumin and Lasix could sometimes cause a drop in blood pressure, she wanted mom to be on a monitored floor, and she put in 'transfer to 9 north' orders. The SICU's back hall is the same as 9N, so I immediately called the charge nurse in SI to let him know and to see if mom could be transferred to one of our back hall beds. He said he was sorry but that it turned out the only bed he had open was an ICU bed and he could not take mom. I was heartbroken, but I figured that at least we would be just across the hall from the SI, so I knew my friends were there if I needed them. We started packing up our stuff to transfer, and in 5 minutes, the 4 round wing charge nurse came in and said they had opened up a back hall bed in the SICU for mom. I was ecstatic.
We got mom moved over, and all my coworkers in the SICU seemed shocked to see me as a patient family member. Mom was transferred to room 9645, and Hollie assumed her care. I tried to stay out of the way, but it was difficult. Mom was tired, so as soon as she drifted off to sleep, I crept around the unit, got something to eat, and went back into the room to stay with mom. But I never slept. I couldn't sleep. They always say, "Sleep when the baby sleeps." But I couldn't. The next morning, I left the hospital around 8 am, drove to Jay's, started a load of laundry, drove home, got some more clothes, went back to Jay's, tried to sleep for 3 hours, finished my laundry and went back to the hospital. When I got back to mom's room, I think it was around 3pm. My mom's friend and her husband, who is an attorney, were there. They were signing mom's last will and testament. DNR/DNI paperwork had been filled out, and the attending physician had told my parents that there was nothing else that could be done. I knew this conversation was coming, I just didn't know how close it would be until the end.
Our preacher came by and talked to mom about her salvation, making sure that she was as peace with her life after death. She was scared. So scared. She said that as many times as she had asked Jesus into her heart, and believed it with her mind, she never felt it to be real in her heart. We prayed with her one more time, and asked God to alleviate her fears of death.
Mom started to get super uncomfortable. The night nurse gave her some Ativan, and it knocked her out from 7pm until 1am. I could not sleep. When I finally tried to lay down at around 1, mom woke up from the Ativan. The effects of it made her feel funny, and she didn't like it at all. She kept saying, "My head feels so fuzzy." It was funny, but I know she didn't like the feeling. I could not keep her comfortable. It didn't matter what position I put her pillows in, she hurt. We tried Lortab and Dilaudid, but they didn't help much. All night long, we were up and down with her. I stood her up, even got her to the chair once, but that only lasted about 10 minutes. She would sit on the side of the bed and rest her forehead on my chest and I would rock her back and forth. This seemed to be the most comfortable position for her, but it was heartbreaking to me. You never want to have to hold your mom like that. In that position, we had truly switched roles. I was rocking and consoling her, the kind of stuff that a child should never have to do, but I did it with love and respect for her and all she was. It was in that position that she said to me, "Pooh, you don't deserve this." No, I didn't. She was right, but more so than that, she didn't deserve to be in that position. But, when in this life do we ever get what we deserve, good or bad?
At around 5am, she was resting pretty peacefully, so I tried to close my eyes for a few minutes. A brand new, still wet-behind-the-ears doctor came in to see her. I secretly listened to their conversation. He was there to check on her medically, but he asked her if she felt sure about her salvation. She said yes, and he asked if he could pray with her. There, in the still of the morning, I listened to the sweetest prayer come out of that doctor as he prayed for my dying mother and held her hand. I will never forget that moment. Then around 6, mom's attending came in. He sat with us on the bed and told us we were going to ignore her blood pressure, which was 60's/40's at that point. Mom said, "Oh. Is it low?" "Uh, yeah, kinda low, but we won't worry about that," he said. He told her if she wanted us to push the bed down the hall so she could see the view, or whatever she wanted, to consider it done. She didn't want any of that. She just wanted to be comfortable. I decided to shower at around 7, and while I was in the shower, the charge nurse, Joe, came to check on mom and me and hollered at me to make sure I washed behind my ears. I realize that's random, but he said mom laughed at him when he said it through the door to me, so it's important to me. When I got out of the shower, I sat with mom and tried to keep her comfortable. The dayshift nurse came in and held my hand and prayed with me over mom, which I will also never forget.
The rest of the details of mom's death bring up too much emotion for me to jot down. They will remain only in my heart and mind. Dad and I were there with her, each on one side, holding her hands as she passed at 10:10am on July 3, 2011.
It's taken me almost 5 months to write this. It's not perfect. There were moments spent with mom that last week that I did not include. Death is a very intimate experience, and as I would not allow you to video my wedding night, I simply cannot share all the details of mom's death experience. It was an amazing week. I was touched by God that week in a way I never could have imagined. You never know how strong you can be until it is required of you. If you read this, and you had anything to do with that week, the time during which mom was sick, or even praying for us recently, know how grateful I am for you. My mom was an incredible spirit, and it is my intention to carry on the mixture of wit and class that she exemplified. Please take me seriously when I say to never take friends and family for granted, and to, each day, LIVE PASSIONATELY.
Lord, thank you for delivering my mama.
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