A New Year, A New Look

Welcome back! I'm back, and I'm better than ever! And that means that I've decided to move everything on here, over to my new WEBSITE :) I'll keep everything here, but I'll also upload everything here on my new site and keep a link to this blog! All future content will be posted on laughing-life.weebly.com so go check it out!

Somehow, Someway, We Just Do

I thought I knew what pain was, I was wrong. I thought I knew that working in the medical field could be hard, I had no idea what I was about to learn. As I stepped into the room that day, I experienced something I never could have prepared myself for. 

I remember his name, I remember his face, but most of all, I remember his scream. The look of absolute misery on his face, the way the tears streamed down his cheeks, the way his eyes pleaded with us to stop. His scream, his last desperate plea for the pain to end, for his only way of letting us know that he needed something more than our help. 

His cry filled my ears, as I helped hold him down while we took care of him. It was necessary, needed, and yet, so horrible. I had tears in my eyes, and pain in my heart. Knowing that he needed this done, and knowing that it felt like torture to him, but a necessary evil. Realizing that sometimes you have to help hurt, in order to help heal. I went home that day, my thoughts filled with the sound of his scream, wondering how I was going to come back tomorrow, and deal with it all again.

I was astounded, seeing that his pain didn't affect anyone to the extent it did me. I didn't understand. Was I too mushy, too soft? Would I be able to survive there? And then one day, I got it. 

One day, I held another baby down, as they screamed, so the nurse could do what she needed to. I saw tears in her eyes, rolling down her cheek. I saw the way she pleaded with me with her soul. And I realized that we weren't immune to her suffering, but rather, we were used to it. 

Their pain, their sorrow, their struggles, had become a part of me. Somewhere along the line of my work, I realized that I had grown accustomed to hearing, seeing, feeling pain. Somewhere along the line of helping them, I learned to accept the necessary evil of causing a little pain, to relieve a lot of pain. 

Their screams still bother me as much as they did that first day, and yet, somehow, I am used to it. It pains my heart, and yet, makes it stronger, allows me to do my job. Because they need me. I can still hear his screams in my sleep, but I can see his smile too.

There's something special about nurses or nursing assistants. Something special about everyone who works in healthcare. Something that you only see if you're in healthcare, or if your sick. There's a different kind of resilience, a kind that perseveres regardless of situation, emotions, or fears. It's something that your average Joe won't notice, but everyone who works with it does. 

They are superheros, in every sense of the word. 

Hospital Doors

Here's the thing about hospital doors. If they could tell you what they've seen, you would be amazed.

These doors don't discriminate. They have seen wonders and miracles. They have seen tragedies and heartbreak. Sometimes they barely open in time for a trauma to run in. Sometimes they can't open soon enough for a parent to see their child. Every person who crosses that archway has their own story. 

If only these doors could talk. They'd tell you of the horrors of accidents and crashes. They'd tell you of the tangible heartache from the mother sobbing on her knees. They'd tell you of the secret tears of the staff and the way their heart breaks every day. They'd tell you of the struggling lungs' each raspy breath, the babies hearts that never beat, the old mind that will never recover. They'd whisper the heartache after heartache, and death after death.

They'd shout the new lives they saw come into the world. And tell of the lives that were saved. They'd show you the smiles and laughs and hugs. They'd play movies of steps being taken again and of families being reunited. They'd show you the love and the peace that surrounded the rooms. They'd tell you of the millions of miracles they see every day. 

If only you could hear what they hear, and saw what they saw. Maybe then, you'd realize just how special a hospital is.

Ted talk from a sick person

As someone who's currently struggling with a health issue, let me give you a piece of advice:

The reason we (chronically sick people) don't usually tell people what's going on isn't because we don't want anybody to know (in fact, it's really nice to talk about it and tell people). We chose not to bring it up because most people don't know how to react. They usually say, "that sucks," "I'm sorry," or "what can I do to help?" 

We don't need you to tell me that "it sucks," because believe me, WE ALREADY KNOW! And everyone is always "sorry" but that doesn't make the situation any better. Rather, listen to and VALIDATE our feelings. Tell us "that sounds like a rough situation," or "that's a hard thing you have to go through." Ask us about it more, let us help you understand rather than you giving us your prejudged sympathy. Ask us specific questions rather than the generic "what can I do." There GENERALLY isn't anything you "can do." 

Ask how you can help them in certain situations or ask them if there is anything you SHOULDN'T do around them (for instance if someone has chronic pain or fatigue maybe suggest an activity that isn't very active). Be willing just to listen to them talk or vent without interrupting with something you think is relevant when you really don't know what it's like. Your validation, kindness, and friendliness is often enough to bridge the gap of isolation and struggle we feel. 

And DON'T START ACTING WEIRD AROUND THEM. Just because you know more about them doesn't mean they are any different than they were before you knew.

Hospitals Have SuperHeroes

My hands are locked together in the all-too-familiar grip of CPR. The rhythm, the depth, the pace-they all feel natural to me, something I never knew I would become accustomed to. I know, by heart, exactly how the chest feels as it compresses under my arms. I know what it feels like to have ribs cracking under my pressure. I've learned to never look at the face of a child when you are performing CPR; it's too heartbreaking. The sound of the code alarm rings through my head, making me react every time I think I hear it. The beeps of the defibrillator are the beat to a CPR song. Butterflies that used to be beautiful are now a reminder of death-because every dying child gets a beautiful butterfly on their door frame to let us know of their loss. The adrenaline, what once gave me jitters and butterflies, now gives me the strength, clear mind, and the drive to keep going. Knowing exactly what blood tests to run, knowing what meds to give and when, knowing exactly what to do and when to do it-we know.

Our teamwork is flawless, our minds focusing on what matters. Each child is different, and yet, each child is the same. We've done this so many times we don't need to think twice. Each person knows their place and gives a flawless performance. Cardiac arrest, respiratory arrest, code blue. The things we fight against to keep you alive. When your body fails you, we take over. We make calculated moves, giving medicine, breath, and life to a tired body. You fight as hard as you can, and when you can't go on any more, we PROMISE you we will go on for you. We will fight the gods of Hell for a child we just met. We will be covered in blood, sweat, and tears to save your life. We will stop at nothing to give you your life back. We will have nightmares about codes and spin on our heels in the store because we thought we hear a code alarm. We cry and mourn and swear because sometimes this job is harder than anything. We have flashbacks, PTSD, and anxiety. We can stress at the littlest thing because we've seen what it can do at it's worst. We are superheroes. Superheroes who wear capes in the form of scrubs. 

Nurses, techs, doctors, respiratory therapists, pharmacists. HEROES. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. 

Kirsten Creates

Contact kirstenlake3@gmail.com to order a custom commission, craft, or premade print.

Hey, friends!
I'm so glad you found me! Take a look at some of the designs I offer and shoot me an email if I can create for you. I'm just a lover of hand lettering and crafting and I would love to make something you can enjoy too. :)

Happy trails
Kirsten

Hand Lettered Phrase:
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Hand Embroidered Hats: $30.00

Because I Know

You know why I'm so passionate about vaccinations and wearing seat belts? You know why I'm such an advocate for being an organ donor? Because I know what it feels like to try and save a life when their death could have been prevented.

Because I know what it feels like to perform CPR. I know what it feels like when someone's chest caves inward from your pressure. Because performing CPR is now second nature to me-something I wish I would never be so good at. Because I have seen tiny. little. humans. DIE. Because I have watched hearts break when parents hear that there is nothing more we can do for their child; because I have heard the sound of a grieving parent. Because I have seen 10 perfect little fingers and toes lay completely still. Because I have seen beautiful little porcelain white faces that will never smile, move, eat, or breathe again. 

Because I have watched dozens of people try so very hard to resuscitate someone and fail. Because the image of the girl spewing blood everywhere as we did CPR after a car crash will be forever embedded in my brain. Because I can't drive 30 miles per hour without knowing that even that speed kills. Because I know what it looks like when a cancer patient gets the flu. Because I know what it feels like to do chest compressions on a infant less than a month old. Because I have zipped up a body bag for a perfect child that should still be playing. Because I have cried in my car for the lives lost. Because tiny little coffins that hold tiny little humans exist. Because children have irreversible damage done to their bodies when they shouldn't. 

Because I know what it feels like to try and save a life when their death could have been prevented.

GET YOUR DAMN VACCINATIONS. 

WEAR YOUR DAMN SEAT BELT. 

SAVE LIVES.

Life From a PICU Point of View

I worked in a PICU. One of the hardest, most life changing things I've ever done. I see the world differently now, I see life differently now. I see how precious, how short, how miraculous, life is. I went in looking at life as a naive person, I came out looking at life from a PICU point of view.

You start to see life differently when you've seen someone die. You learn that life throws crazy curve balls that no one can hit. You see, in the PICU, everything isn't sunshine and rainbows. It's hail, and earthquakes, and fires all at once. It's pain, and sorrow, and grief that swallows you whole. It's seeing lives being ripped apart, and families broken, and tears of horrible pain. But it's also flowers, and teddy bears, and cupcakes. Because somewhere in the pain of life, of the PICU, you learn to appreciate the small things-because sometimes those are the only things that are left.

I now enjoy feeling the rain dance on my face because I've held someones head still while a surgeon drilled a hole in their skull. I love the sound of laughter because I've heard the harrowing sounds of a parent crying when their child dies. I don't mind the times my husband leaves his socks on the floor because I know there is a mother right now wishing she could pick her son's socks off the floor. 

I love seeing other people happy because I've held down too many tiny humans for procedures while they were crying in pain. The sound of a baby crying is a sweet sound because I've walked the silent halls of a hospital where babies couldn't cry due to tubes in their mouths. I cherish seeing others falling in love because I have seen the power of a mothers love. Hugs from children remind me that life is short because I've seen what happens when a child is hit by a car. Baby blankets always need to be cute because sometimes it's the happiest thing in the room.

I am passionate about vaccinations because I have seen people DIE from the FLU. I believe that running a marathon is amazing because I've had to be the beating heart for a child too many times when their own tiny heart couldn't. I think of all the baby heart warriors who have heart defects when I hear my husbands heart beating when we hug. I am a registered organ donor because I have seen children live because someone was selfless enough to share what they no longer needed. I am an advocate for type one diabetes because I have seen how it can kill or nearly kill a child.

I see a hard working, efficient team when a child is sick. I see coworkers finding anything to be happy about when their patient dies. I see the laughter that we find in everything because sometimes it's the only way to survive in the PICU. I see the friendships made over cleaning up poop and vomit and the after-work drinks shared after a crazy shift. I've seen the infinite love of good people who deserve nothing but happiness. I've seen the selflessness of nurses, techs, respiratory therapists, doctors, and countless others who give their all to keep others alive. I see people who spend nights, weekends, and holidays away from their families to help you spend the next one with your daughter.

The world would be a better place if everyone had a PICU point of view. People would love harder, fight less, smile more, and really appreciate the small things in life. There would be laughter in the simple things, there would be more vaccinations happening, and there would be less hatred. I hope you'll hug a little tighter and laugh a little more; you'll be amazed at how bright the world looks when you look at it with a PICU point of view.

* PICU stands for pediatric intensive care unit. It is a unit in a hospital for critically ill children from 0 days old to 18 years old. 

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!!

Meant for More

I've always felt that my heart could hold more. More happiness, joy, sadness, and love. I'm always amazed at life's wondrous, joyful moments, but as long as I can remember, I've had a feeling that my heart was meant to hold more sadness and more love. And that has never been more true than working in health care. 

Today was a rough day at work. It was my first real Code Blue. We're talking get the crash cart, chest compressions, push Epi, and lots of organized chaos Code Blue. Putting my hands on this child's chest, while wrong in every possible way, gave me a sense of fulfillment in life. Being apart of the sadness, and even greater the love, that comes from working with very, very sick children, that's where I need to be. Comforting families, helping with procedures, doing anything and everything to get these people healthy again. There are so many moments in these jobs that are wonderful. Seeing people that came in so sick and seeing them walking, talking, and breathing is amazing and gives you a sense of joy that isn't felt elsewhere. Like knowing that you can make a difference in people's lives for the better, and that even though you have to poke their hand a dozen times a day, they'll smile when you tell them they are more brave than their favorite superhero.

And then there are days like today. Where no matter how hard everyone tries, that sick little body just can't handle any more. Where you put your hand on that child's chest and push with all your emotional and physical strength to hear the doctors tell you to stop compressions. Where the parents are sobbing, as a piece of their heart has just been torn from their body and beaten to a pulp and you have to clean up and let them grieve. In the midst of all that sorrow and pain, is peace. 

There wasn't a part of that room that wasn't filled with either people fighting to save a life or guardian angels. And I can tell you, without a shadow of a doubt, the clarity that was in all our minds and the steadiness of all our hands was no coincidence. There is divine intervention in every single inch of every single hospital; I felt it today more than ever. 

Even though I may have cried when I sat in my car at the end of the day, I know that my heart can handle all that sadness. I could cry every single time I code a child, but there will still be room in my heart for more. More love for children, more love for serving them, more happiness at seeing them get better, more sadness for when they don't. Because deep, deep down, my heart isn't content unless I am helping someone. 

This job may be rough, and today will most certainly not be the last time I cry from it, but I can assure you that I can handle it; it's what I was meant to do.

***They tell you to find an outlet for your stress, and unfortunately for all of you reading this, writing is the way I best unwind my brain.

Death Isn't Scary, If You Live

I had a somewhat unsettling remembrance today as I sat scrolling Facebook. I was wasting my time doing something that doesn't bring me much joy for no reason at all. There are dozens of things I could have been doing that I would enjoy more than turning my brain to mush. So, why wasn't I? 

At the beginning of this year at work, I was assigned to help take care of a woman who was in her final hours of life. While I was sitting with her, I had the chance to take another look at my life and the way I was living it. I decided I wanted to change. After a while, I forgot. But today, sitting there, reminded me of who I want to become.

Last semester, in my English class, we were tasked to write a personal memoir on something that had a significant meaning in our life. I chose to write about the day I watched someone die because I felt it changed my life and could change other's too. It's not very long and obviously there are a few parts that I embellished for the sake of my homework assignment (I do not now, nor have ever, had death anxiety but it is a very real condition) but the message is the same.

It was her last breath that gave me my first. It was her final view of this mortal world that opened my eyes. It was her loss of temporal memories that reminded me of mine. You see, there’s something about watching a person die that changes you.

                To me, death was like a black hole. It sucks everything into a black abyss leaving nothing but cold, darkness behind. I feared death like some people fear heights. My hands began to shake and my stomach churned. As often as I could, I avoided it. I had what you call death anxiety, or the fear of death.

                Now, considering my fear of death, I am familiar with it. I worked in a nursing home, a place where death makes permanent residents. In all my time there, however, I managed to only encounter it twice. Although I had dealt with death closely for years, I was not comfortable in the least.

I was working as a CNA that momentous day and the report I received was anything but ordinary. I had to do the seemingly impossible: end of life care. My only task that day was to make my patient’s transition from life more comfortable. At my first glimpse of my patient, all I could see was death. I was looking death straight in the eyes and I was scared. And then something happened. I realized my sweet patient was alone. No family, just me. My fear of death, I decided, could wait until my shift was over, because no one should die alone. She turned from a dying patient, to a patient that needed me more than ever to care for her.

As I was sitting there, running a brush through her matted, black hair, my mind began to wander randomly to a time when I was younger. I was playing with my older brother and laughing hysterically. That was the day he taught me how to climb up a tree.

My patient moaned and I helped her change positions. My thoughts were brought back to reality as I wondered what she did with her life. Where did she travel? How did she change the world? Who did she love? What were her happiest memories?

My thoughts strayed again as I began to braid her hair. I remembered the time I went fishing with my dad and caught my first fish. I remembered cutting my hair and donating it to kids with cancer. I re-watched myself as I performed in my first band concert, and played my first solo. I thought of the days I spent in other worlds as I finished dozens of novels. I thought about laughing with friends, traveling to other countries, and spending time with family. Hundreds of joyous memories flashed through my brain.

As the memories flashed by, they slowly changed from things I loved and enjoyed to dull, unfulfilling ones. I remembered more Netflix, Facebook, and Instagram in almost a lifeless pattern. Phone, T.V., laptop, iPod, phone, laptop, iPod. Years passed on in my brain and it was a blur of discontent. If I were here, laying on my death bed, is this what I would remember? Facebook statuses and Netflix binges? I realized my life had become overrun by things that would never create true happiness. Death anxiety causes you to be “less satisfied with life,” and it claimed me for a while.

My dying patient shifted one final time. I vowed to never take a moment for granted again. I would create a life I would enjoy remembering. I would make memories with those I loved, laugh at everything, go on adventures, change the world.

As I watched her chest rise and fall one last time, I realized death isn’t scary if you live.

Grateful For Bacon

Gratitude to the mind is what bacon is to the body. Everybody loves a good strip of bacon with their breakfast (and lunch and dinner). We all know it can add some delicious flavor to any meal and let's be honest, we always crave some good bacon. 

But really. Bacon is just the same as gratitude. We all feel better when we are grateful ( and when we add bacon to a meal) and we (at least me) think about how grateful we are all the time. But if we expressed gratitude every time we thought about it, I believe the world would be a much happier place, just like our taste buds (not our arteries though) would be a lot happier if we ate bacon more often.

This past week I've been doing a gratitude challenge. I've done certain things each day to remind me of who, and what I am grateful for. It's made me come to realize just how much in our lives there is to be thankful for. Like bacon. 

My favorite day of the challenge was when I had to pick two people (and only two) who have made an impact in my life and tell them why. That was hard! I picked the first two people that came to mind, but really I wanted to send a little note to all of you. As I thought of all the people in my mind who have helped me along this earthly journey, I was awestruck. I am so amazed with how much people are an influence in our lives! 

There is so so so much in our live to be grateful for, and if we are thanking all the people in our lives that have blessed us, then we absolutely have to thank the one who has given us more than anything. And can I just say, gratitude prayers are the best. God has given us SO MUCH, so how can we not thank Him for everything! My testimony has been strengthened this week, because GOD IS SO VERY GOOD. He is amazing! He blesses us with so dang freaking much! Believe it or not, He is better than bacon (after all, bacon doesn't posses the infinite amount of love Heavenly Father has for us)! 

That being said, THANK YOU! Each one of you reading this has touched my life somehow, I promise! When you feel gratitude, don't let it go unnoticed. Speak up, change someone's day, love more. 

We're Surrounded!

Miracles are real. Like really real. Like so crazy real. Guys, MIRACLES ARE HAPPENING AROUND US CONSTANTLY! And oh how amazing your world can get when you realize this. 

My institute teacher recently encouraged us to take a closer look at our lives and acknowledge as many as we can. I've tried to keep a "miracle journal" to do this. There are so many freaking miracles surrounding us all the time. It's amazing. I have been reminded of how good God is, and how much He truly cares about us. The fact that we are all here, living, breathing, existing in this exhausting world is proof. 

I believe that we are more surrounded by miracles than we realize and if we take the time to notice them we will come closer to our Heavenly Father. If you think about it, biologically we are all crazy luck to even be alive. From conception to birth and all the other dangers in this world we should probably be dead. But here we are! All thanks to miracles. 

I believe our lives are made up of hundreds of little miracles all the time. The random person that compliments your clothes on a day when your self esteem needs some help-miracle. Listening to the little voice in your head that tells you to drive this way instead of that, unknowingly saving you from a crash-miracle. The fact that you decided to buy cereal the day before and then wake up late and being able to eat breakfast because you had said cereal-miracle. The chance you had to sit by someone new in class and you end up being best friends-miracle. Things as simple as having your hair turn out the way you want so you feel more comfortable for your big presentation-MIRACLE. 

So many miracles! And even more throughout the day that we don't even recognize. I believe that it is a miracle that you and I are here on earth, and I believe that there are things we will do in our lives that will be miracles to others. Why? Because God is good. He will never let us down. In all the trials we have there are miracles above and beyond. I believe that God puts us in places to be miracles for others. So, don't put off a prompting; you could be a miracle in someone else's life.

We Can Do It

Isn't it funny how the more you try to live the gospel and try to be like Christ, the more Satan tries to worm his way into your life? The harder you try, the harder he tries. But it's in those moments, when life seems to be crushing you at all angles, that you must push back hardest. If Satan tries to one up you, go two up on him! Why? Because he can't stand the though of someone as strong as you out in the world. 

It might seem like you are all alone, struggling by yourself. YOU ARE NEVER ALONE! Christ is with you. ALWAYS. Isn't it amazing that we can have the Holy Ghost, a little piece of heavenly guidance, with us at all times? You never have to go a second of your day without knowing that you have Heaven on your side. 

And not only do you have Heaven cheering you on, you have me too! I don't care if I don't know you, or if we've butt heads a few times. I am here if you ever need it! Sometimes we need a little someone to give us a pep talk when we're a little bruised up.

We need to fight back, but we need to fight back in the most loving, patient, Christlike way possible. We need to fight back like the children of royalty we are: with outward love and virtue, but with inward passion and truth. Even princesses have to throw a few punches. 

I read an amazing scripture a little while ago, and it's been stuck in my mind since then. "...And they bore with patience the persecution which was heaped upon them" (Alma 1:25). There isn't a person in this world who doesn't have persecution HEAPED upon them. And there isn't a person in this world who isn't capable of not only persevering, but bearing it with PATIENCE.

So, when life is fighting you hard, keep your  a crown of patience on your head held high, and a sword of truth and light balanced in your hand. 

Intolerant, Not Allergic

"I'm not actually allergic, I'm intolerant."

I can't even begin to tell you the number of times I've corrected people with this statement. And I can tell you the three types of responses I always get. 

"Oh, I know how that is, my friend has Celiac's Disease."
"So, you can eat dairy you just don't like it?"
"Oh, well that sucks."

Let me tell you, dear reader, that none of these are appropriate response, but thanks for trying anyway. Being intolerant (or sensitive) to foods is not the same thing as being allergic to foods or having Celiac's Disease. Being intolerant means that your body can't digest part of the enzymes in the food, ie lactose in dairy or gluten in wheat. In allergies, there is an autoimmune response, meaning the body basically attacks its self when you eat these foods. This is the very simplified version, but you get my point.

So, when you say you know how that is because someone you know is allergic, you don't. And just assuming that they say that because they don't like the food is also wrong. And yes, it does suck. I would know because I have to deal with it, I'd rather not have you remind me that it sucks.

So, what do you say? Try something like:

"What is it exactly that you can't have? I'll try to remember that."
"What are you favorite things you can eat?"
"Tell me more about it; I want to avoid those foods when I'm around you."

Why are these so great to say? They don't make you feel isolated. It already feels bad enough not being able to eat things and they make you feel like your tastes are still important. They make you feel like a person, and not just a symptom. MORE MORE MORE

Living with food intolerances is hard. There aren't very many outward signs that you had something bad to eat. Unlike getting hives, you'll just often have bad pain, nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea. Sometimes people just assume that because you don't have to have an Epi Pen on you, that means it doesn't matter if you eat it or not. And sometimes it doesn't feel like you really have an issue with food, because you are the only one who really knows your pain. But, it is real, and you are 100% okay in feeling it.

It's discouraging to go to the store and see delicious things that you can technically have but will just make you sick. Is it worth it? And sometimes you feel as though the pain is worth it just so you don't feel so out of place. 

Going to restaurants is great, just not as great when you have food intolerances. Sometimes it's a guessing game if you can eat anything there or not. And when people want to get stuff and share it, it's hard not to feel bad about making them eat your different stuff. And it's hard when you just want to be like everyone else and eat the same things.

But, DO NOT EVER FEEL BAD ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO EAT THINGS! You shouldn't have to feel sorry about your body; it is not your fault that you have this to deal with. Your food intolerance is just a little part of you, and those people who truly love you won't be bothered by it. And those people who refuse to listen about it, you don't need in your life. 

And when you go to a party that has food already planned, bring a surprise dessert that you can eat. Not only will it make you feel included, but you'll be able to show everyone that not everything that you eat tastes bad!

I know it might seem silly, and you might not feel like you have a right to feel so down sometimes about your relationship with food, but it is okay. We all have those moments. And if you need to cry for a moment in the store because you are just so dang hungry and can't find anything that won't make you sick, CRY! You don't have to hold in your feelings. You aren't the only one; YOU WILL NEVER BE ALONE!