It's Who I Am; It's Who We Are

Some days, I don't know why we do it. It seems to hard, too sad, too broken, too heartbreaking. Some days, working in health care seems impossible. And yet, we continue. We fight, we work, we never give up.

Sometimes it's hard. Hard to keep going, hard to fight for so many lives that might not make it. Hard to study, to learn, and remember all the important things about saving lives. It's hard to poke them, and perform procedures on them, and run test after test. It's hard to watch their pain, suffering, cries, and anxieties. Some days it just breaks your heart. 

So, why?

Because there is something inside us that lets us be there for the heartbreaking times. There's something in us that drives us to be the comforter in terrible situations. There's a force within us that let us keep going when everything seems lost. That FORCE, that DRIVE, that SOMETHING is the reason we do what we do. 

It makes us cry when people die, and it laughs with us when our patient can finally tell us a joke. It makes us smile when they eat again, and cheer when they take their first steps after injury. It's the thing within us that lets us leave our families home on holidays, and the thing that drives us to study, to try our best. It is the reason we shed happy tears when a patient rings the cancer-free bell, and when they go home. It's the reason we get so excited when they come back healthy and whole, to visit because they came to love us too.  

It's the love, and the connection we feel for the patients. The way we love their family. The way we care about each and every one of them. The way we learn to appreciate our good times, and have hope during our bad times. It's the miracles we see, the shattered impossibles, and defying the never-will-again's. It's everything we learn, and all the lessons we have yet to be taught. It's the caring, loving, serving, soulful, people that we are. 

Some days, we don't know why we do it, and some days we really wish we didn't do it. But we do. And we will. It's a part of us that we can't ignore. It's a part of us that will never go away, and it's a part of us that we love. Each one of our patients is a part of the quilt that makes up who we are. Each experience, each heart break, each death, each survival, each story. They are why we do it, why we love so great, care so deeply, and fight so hard. It is who we are.

She Was Sick. Really Sick.

She came in sick. They all do. But her? She was a particularly sick child. She came in sick, getting worse by the minute. Her parents brought her in at a good time, they didn't wait too long. It wasn't their fault. She was just a sick, sick kid. 

When we get an admission on our unit (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit), it's like a well practiced routine. Vitals, report, plan of action. We got her vitals, listened to her report, and the brainstorming began. Fluids were given, meds were pushed. I was new, the health care team wasn't. I watched, waited, listened, and did. 

Vein after vein, I.V lines were attempted. A special line to give medication straight to the heart was successfully placed after a couple of tries. We spent hours in that tiny room, crouched over her crib. 

Fluids, meds, ultrasounds, scans, sterile procedures. We tried it all. Because that's what we do. You try what is best, and if that doesn't work you try something new. We. Don't. Give. Up. There's a part of everyone who works in health care that's the same, the part that refuses to give up. Maybe we love a little too hard, and hope a little too much. We get attached-it's inevitable. We see someone hurting, someone sick, and we have to get involved. It's a part of us that you just can't strip away. It's a part of our identity. It's who we are, and why we do it. And it's why we keep doing it, even after the pain, and the loss.

The code alarm went off that afternoon. The sound that makes everyone drop what they are doing and sprint towards a room. The sound that gave me nightmares for the first few months. The sound that means to expect the worst. 

And so I sprinted. We were ready. We've done it hundreds of times. Each of us has a role, we all know it, we all start it. I'm new, but the team isn't. The doctor takes the lead, making orders, ensuring everything is being done. A nurse to push the meds, a nurse to feel the pulse. A pharmacist drawing up medicine, the respiratory therapist bagging the child. One tech drawing labs, another performing chest compressions. And me, standing next in line for compressions. 

I've practiced it dozens of times, been trained over and over on the technique. But there is no way to really be prepared for physically putting your hands on the chest of a person and forcing their heart to beat. Two minutes was up and it was my turn. We switched on a pulse check, and the second they said, "No pulse, continue compressions," my body moved into autopilot and I started my role. The other tech was coaching me, commenting on my recoil and depth, making sure I was going fast enough. Training took over and I did what I had to do. Two minutes later we switched again. 

It's hard. You can't think about it. You have to focus on your job until it's done. And so, while I waited, I watched, focusing on the technique and pace, making sure I was ready to imitate when it was my turn. And then it was and I let my training take over once again. I watch my hands, memorizing their movement, because the second I look away, I'm going to look at the face and you can't look at their face while you are doing chest compressions. You just can't. 

It was during that round of compressions that the doctor turned to talk to the parents. To tell them that there was nothing more we could do. It was then that we were told to stop everything, and the time of death was called. It was then that the parents' hearts were crushed as they fell to the floor in pain. It was then that I have heard some of the most painful cries I've ever heard. 

We quickly and quietly moved our things to let the parents have some time. The strange thing about after a code, is that we don't have time to stop and think about what just happened. There are still sick people and we still have to do our jobs. And doing my job was the only thing that kept me from crying at work that day. Everyone checks on you after a code, because no matter how long you knew the child, or how long the code took or how it went-it. is. hard. It's hard to know that despite the teams best efforts, a child still died. It's hard to know that your hands were the beating heart for a child that is no longer alive. It's hard, and it sucks. It really sucks. For the parents, for the family, for us. 

I sat in my car and cried that day for a long time. I cried for the child, for the loss, and for the pain of that family. I cried for all of us that spent so much time trying to save that child, and I cried for myself, and for the very real pain that I was feeling that day. I learned more lessons about life in that one day that I ever have before. And every time I put my hands on a person and am their beating heart, every time I walk past a room where a person is about to die, every time I come to work and hear of a child that has passed away, I cry. It might not be a lot, but it's what I do. It's how I feel and how I care. It's who I am. No matter how long I've known them, no matter my role in their life, I hurt, and that's okay. 


This article was featured on the website, Love What Matters, along with the article "I'm More than Just a CNA."

http://www.lovewhatmatters.com/its-hard-to-know-your-hands-were-the-beating-heart-for-a-child-who-is-no-longer-alive/

http://www.lovewhatmatters.com/13-31-thats-how-much-i-make-an-hour-because-im-just-a-certified-nursing-assistant/

More than JUST a CNA

"Push a little deeper...watch your recoil...1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and...good pace, good rhythm...pusle check hold compressions...no pulse continue compressions...switch on 3, go a little faster and a little deeper....good waveform... not an ecmo candidate...pulse check hold compressions...no pulse, talking to parents, resume compressions...stop compressions, time of death: 1430." I was there. I worked with all the others, being your child's beating heart for an hour, praying so hard they would come back just to hear those 3 words that would crush your world.

$13.31. That's how much I make an hour. Because I'm "just a CNA."

But I am so much more than JUST a CNA. I'm more than just someone who changes briefs and feeds people. I'm more than just the stuff getter and the linen stocker. I've done moret things than you can imagine, loved more ways than you know, smiled more than I can count, helped more, hoped more, cheered more, worked more, healed more. I've done all the things no one wants to do, so people can heal again, love again, live again.

I've helped strangers relearn to walk, taking each painful and slow step right by their side. I've cheered them on when they surpassed their goals, walked these now friends to their cars to never see them again.

I've changed dirty brief after dirty brief for hours and days just to make sure my sweet old people are well taken care of. I've held their hands when they hurt, hugged when all feels lost, rubbed backs, sung songs, listened to the same story day after day after day. I've learned love and patience and humility from these people whose story they allow me to hear. I've been family on holidays when they had no other. I've combed their matted, smarled hair so they can look beautiful one last time before they pass. I've sung songs, told stories, held hands so they didn't die alone. I've learned love and then watched it die over and over and over again.

I've been the force that makes people's heart beat while doctors and nurses try endlessly to save them, doing chest compressions for minutes and hours. I've watched parents fall down in grief knowing their child was dead, keeping my composure together while knowing the dear child I've grown to love is no longer here. I've watched people take their last breath, done chest compressions so much my arms are shaking and sore, helped with procedures while knowing they probably won't make it. I've held heads while doctors drilled into them, helped with sterile procedures, drawn blood vile after blood vile for necessary labs,  and watched slowly as all our effors were in vain.

I've changed linens, washed bodies, and shaved faces. I've combed hair, pushed wheelchairs, and brushed teeth. I've laughed time and time again, heard hundreds of life stories, grown to love thousands of people, sobbed with patients and families, gone home and cried alone for the life's I've known and lost. I've rubbed backs, massaged muscle cramps, held hands, and been cried on. I've calmed babies, holding their small bodies for hours, I've comforted the middle aged woman whose father just passed, and I've been the last face the your grandmother would see.

I'm what you don't see. Serving, helping, learning, loving. I'm running for 12 hours straight and coming back the next day for another shift. I've worked through the night, and every weekend. I've given up countless holidays with my family so that one day you might spend them with yours again. I've had my heart grow hundreds of times taking care of people and had it break hundreds more when people die. I can't tell you the amount of miracles I've seen or the amount if times my life has been touches and changed. I see life differently. Life is something precious, something we are never guaranteed. I've learned to charish moments and to savor the love, because one day it might not come anymore. I've seen and gone though things most people couldn't handle. And I'd do it all again if I could. I love, and learn, and grow, and try as hard as I can every time, because I've seen life. I've known death. And I am here.

I am so very much more than JUST a CNA. I AM a CNA.

A Meaningful Life?

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Some of them good thoughts, a large portion of them anxious thoughts. I've thought about a lot of different things and a lot of different scenarios. But, here's the thing:

We've all only got one shot at this whole life on earth thing. So why are we wasting so much of it not doing things that make us feel alive? 

I don't mean we should be out there doing crazy things 24/7. But maybe we'd feel like we're living a little more if we had a little less screen time and a little more life time. 

In the past year, I've had way more anxiety attacks than I've experienced before. I keep thinking about a whole bunch of stuff, both things inside and outside my control. I've come to learn a lot about myself, and about humans. I've been thinking about the kind of person that I want to be, and how I'm not there yet. I worry that I may never get there. But the only road there is through hardships, learning, laughter, and love. 

In February of 2017, at work, I watched someone take their last breath on this mortal world. That got me thinking a lot about life. And since I started working in a pediatric ICU, I've had to use my hands to be the heartbeat for a child more times than my past self would have realized. 

I realize, now more than ever, that I want to live a meaningful life. I don't want to remember the hours I spent watching t.v. without being productive. I want to remember the hours I spent on art or craft projects, or the hours I spent hiking outside, or reflecting at the temple or being with my family. I'm super guilty of not being meaningful though, I do it all the time. It's not a bad thing, in any way, to use social media, or binge watch t.v., but I notice the more I do, the less meaningful my actions feel.

One thing I love about spending time with my fiance is that we're conscious about whatever we're doing. Even if we're just watching t.v., we are watching it because we want to and because we get to do it together, although it does usually just happen near the end of the day after we've done other things.

I've noticed that doing my actions meaningfully, makes me feel more "alive." I feel like I've actually lived and not just gone through the motions. It's the times when I've watched doctors tell parents that there is nothing else they can do to bring their child back, and the times when I've watched doctors brainstorm everything they can do to save someone that remind me that I want to live. 

I went on a hike with my dad yesterday, and while he was taking pictures of the beauty, I decided I needed to remember I was alive. So, I faced my fear of heights and climbed to the top of a pretty tall rock (it was just a LITTLE sketchy to get up there). It was a good moment and the feeling of accomplishment while I was up there was worth the fear. And when I came home I watched Netflix, and still felt alive.

I want to live a meaningful life, don't you?

*Picture of waterfall at Ferguson Canyon last night.

Wait, What?!

Wait, what? Someone pinch me, because I'm having a hard time comprehending the fact that it's 20*freaking*18! I guess that means I get to be one of those cliche people who does a blog post as an end-of-year recap. Before I begin, can we just take a moment to appreciate the fact that we survived another year?!

*Side note: As much as this post is for all you crazy people who like to hear about my hectic life, it is probably more for me, a reflection for now and a way that I can always look back and remember how my life is now.

Let's face facts here: While 2017 might have been the best year I've lived thus far, it was FREAKING hard! But, man, was it amazing!!

The first half of the year was a little bit miserable because of my dear, sweet stomach. It made it more than painful to eat ANYTHING. I'm pretty sure I kept a brand of granola bars in business just because that was literally all I ate. After a few tests and doctors visits, we decided that I had a little demon inside of me that had to come out. So now, 6 months later, I'm one organ down and have a few cute scars to prove it.

Summer happened, and I thought for sure I was going to die. Chemistry. The suckiest class to exist. Holy Hannah, good golly Miss Molly, gosh darn it, that class sucked! It didn't really help that I decided it was a good idea to take a class I already knew I was going to struggle with during a shortened semester and online. But hey, I passed! Okay, let's be honest, it was the large amounts of extra credit that even let me be close to passing!

Summer flew by and before I knew it, it was August. To say a lot happened in August would be an understatement. To start with, I got a new  job! I loved working at Alta View, and I miss it all the time, but I think you would have had to put me in a psych ward if I had to work with old people any longer. I saw, and learned so much there. I got to make some amazing friends there, meet some pretty great people, and learn a lot about myself (there's something about watching someone die that changes your life a little bit). Working there was definitely a highlight last year.

And then I got to work at my dream job. I've literally been dreaming about working, as a nurse eventually, in the PICU at Primary Children's Hospital. And now, I do!! I truly love working there! The first few days, weeks really, I went home having no idea what happened because I was learning so freaking much. Okay, okay, I still feel like I know nothing. There is so much to learn, and experience there. Some of the saddest things I've ever seen has been there. But, some of the most amazing things I've seen has been there. In the craze of it all, some of the most peaceful feelings I've felt have been there. It's crazy how close heaven feels when there are angels in the room helping you all save a life. But those are stories for another day.

Fall semester was an interesting one. I've never gotten a grade lower than a B in my entire life, so you can definitely say that I felt like a failure this semester when I got a C- in anatomy. I. HATE. FAILURE. That class had me feeling defeated in so many ways. Knowing that I wasn't going to pass with a good enough grade to get into nursing school was almost harder mentally than the class itself was! I did get to take a fun class that was my saving grace, though. Jewelry making. Although, I'm 100% positive that my teacher helped with at least 50% of all my projects, it was really fun. I got to make some cool stuff and now I know how a large portion of jewelry is made.

October was probably my favorite month of it all. It's my favorite holiday month (where we carved super cute pumpkins and dressed up as Mickey and Minnie Mouse), AND I got to go to Disneyland with some of the best people. That was seriously one of the best weeks of my life. Disneyland is MAGICAL. It's like being in a fairy tale for an entire day. It was so so so much fun. *Okay, I know I've got a lot of blog posts to catch up on, but I've been writing them in my head until I have time to put them down on my blog so this week long adventure is going to have to be one too.* On our last day in California, we went to the beach. At sunset, the most amazing, sweetest, kind, handsome man who I am lucky enough to call my best friend sang me a song and got down on one knee and asked me to be his eternal adventure buddy. I would be the world's biggest idiot not to have said yes! You guys, the amount of love I have for him is crazy! We're so happy! Definitely the best ending to the best week. 

And to end the year, I got to spend lots of time with my family, and friends. Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's were all amazing and I loved every second of getting to spend time with my friends and family. 

2017 was hard. Like really, really hard. But it was oh, so good. I wouldn't trade this last year for the world. And I don't think that I've ever looked forward to a year more than I look to 2018. So, cheers to a new year and new adventures yet to come!!