When I started my nursing career I took care of many WW2 vets. I loved and appreciated every one of them. They are truly a great generation of men. They fought evil and won. They avenged America from a terrible loss and they rescued thousands from persecution and ethnic cleansing. They were labeled, the Greatest Generation and rightly so. They were solid and stoic. They buried their trauma so deep that it rarely surfaced. They walked into the face of evil and they won. The ones lucky enough to come home from war went back to work, raised their families, and built a wall between soldier and civilian life. As they aged healthcare providers like myself began to see that wall crumble. Age and dementia quickly broke a hole in the wall so carefully constructed. For these precious ones we hold their hands and offer comforting words in the night. Their war was never truly over.
As the WW2 and Korean War generation ages and dies I’m faced with a new group of soldiers in the ER age related medical problems. The Vietnam Vets of the 60s and 70s are now frequenting ERs like mine with heart disease, chest pain, COPD, cancer, liver and kidney failure and every other age related malady known to man. They also have emotional scars but this generation was expected to cover it up and move on like their fathers. Some used drugs and alcohol others used food, reckless behavior and other vices. They went for years trying to cover their trauma before there was even a name for what they experienced. A Vietnam vet once in the ER for chest pain told me he still suffered from “that PTSD.” He told me that the VA put him on a couple of pills for it. He said the pills helped him sleep. I told him I could not begin to imagine what he had lived through. He shrugged and told me that he would have done it all again even though no one threw him a parade when he came back home. He seemed embarrassed to talk about why he was on an antidepressant but at the same time he wears his veterans cap proudly. He carried on after his tour in Vietnam to retire from the army. I told him that I believed any service in the name of our country is admirable in my opinion. When he was discharged from my care I thanked him for all he has done and sacrificed. He shook my hand and looked me in the eyes and thanked me for thanking him. He thanked me. I still don’t understand but my heart was warmed with the gesture.
I see another group of veterans in the ER from time to time. These men and women are my peers. I look at their birthdays and am astonished that they are the same age as me because they seem older due to the emotional weight they carry. I see men and women that were in high school the same time I was. Our generation had not seen evil up close. We were sheltered and protected. When our country was attacked my friends along with men and woman our age across the nation were called to action. Some were already enlisted but so many went to recruitment centers just like our grandfathers did in the 40s.
The difference with those eager enlistees from the ones two generations before was that the nations love for them and the war they fought was flippant. We were totally dedicated to the cause one minute but before the mission was accomplished we at home had lost interest. Our passion for eradicating evil was quickly replaced with a passion for reality TV and the latest tech devices. When these men and women returned they weren’t met with ticker tape parades. They were met by a few family members in a lonely airport and expected to go back to life as they knew it before. How could we who have lived every day with every convenience offered in the first world begin to comprehend how these soldiers felt the first time they walked down the cereal aisle at a supermarket again?
The younger vets that I see in emergency situations are the ones that have been crippled by addiction or mental health crisis. They, like the embattled Vietnam Vets before them, were under appreciated and mistreated when they returned from combat. They couldn’t get the career placement or emotional counseling that they needed. Their country had moved on while they were fighting and wasn’t there for them when they returned. I respect and honor these vets just as I do the ones that are healthy. I respect these just as much as I do the ones who came home to a proud family and work environment. The ones who came home alone just as much as I do the ones that came home with their whole unit intact.
When your life is on the line there is no “level” of service. You all count. You all play a vital job. You all keep us safe. You are loved and valued by me. Thank you, Veterans. And God Bless the USA.
Monday, November 11, 2019
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
A Good Physician
When Sam was a baby he had Medicaid. I was a teen mother married but with very limited income. I had been a patient At the Greater Meridian Health Clinic for all of my pregnancy and his medicaid approved physician was there as well. He was very sick one day and we took him to the public clinic that he was assigned to and they were closed for some reason. Sam was listless and his fever was very high and not relieved by Tylenol or Motrin. I didn’t know what else to do so I took him to Dr McEachin’s clinic at Medical Arts Pediatrics. Dr. McEachin was my pediatrician when I was a kid and I trusted him. They saw Sam immediately. Dr. McEachin saw on his x-ray that Sam had pneumonia and he called us to his office. He told us that our insurance wouldn’t cover an admission from his office. He told us that Sam was very sick and that we needed to be in the hospital. He put his notes and x-rays in an envelope and sent it with us to GMHC (Sams Medicaid preferred provider) and told us to tell his preferred provider to admit him to the hospital.
We went to the clinic he was assigned to and spoke with the triage nurse. On triage his O2 sat was 84 and his HR was 184, his resp rate was 40 and she couldn’t get his bp. (I wasn’t a nurse at this point and I had no idea how serious these vital signs were) We gave her dr McEachin’s notes and all the labs and x-rays. She told us it would be at least 2 hrs before he could get back to see the dr. While she was telling us this our cell rang and it was Dr McEachin telling us to come straight to the Er at Anderson’s and that we could be admitted under our coverage if we went through the ER. We arrived at the ER and Nurses were waiting for us because he had called ahead. They put sam on breathing treatments immediately. He stayed in the hospital for 12 days. We saw Dr McEachin a few times during that stay. We saw his colleagues the other times. I later found out that Dr McEachin waived his physician fee and allowed us to be admitted to him for free despite our Medicaid. We were admitted under the ER and he saw us for free as a pediatric consult. He didn’t do this because he had to. He did this because he saw a child in need and he wanted to help. He loved his patients. He didn’t see medicine as a dollar sign he saw it as a calling.
God bless Dr. John McEachin. God bless the doctors that follow in his foot steps.
Thursday, February 28, 2019
Notes on Loving an ER Nurse
A side effect of all this time off to be in the brilliant white light of my family was that I lost the cynicism and dark humor that is common of nurses in my field. I was away from it. I didn't see the tragedy or the horror of first line emergency nursing on a daily basis anymore. I didn't have to compensate with humor or a refined coolness of emotion. I was free.
But now I'm back and just as cynical and dark as I ever was before and I want to take this time to give you a few words of advice for living with an emergency room nurse...
1. Listen to us. We are tired and we are emotionally frazzled. We need you to listen. We don't need you to be the advocate for the patient, doctor, respiratory therapist, family member, lab tech, x-ray tech, paramedic, or receiving nurse. At this point, one or all of those are butt holes and we just need you to listen to us rant and be on our side. In fact ALWAYS take our side.
2. If we say that something is "cool" or "awesome" or even "badass" please accept that this is a way to compensate or compartmentalize some emotional things...Unless it's something lodged into a living human body... that's usually bad ass awesome and we aren't scared to tell you.
3. Be prepared for us to be acutely and expertly familiar with the genitalia of the opposite sex. It's part of the job. If I need to tell you about a penis that I couldn't find, a vagina that was especially malodorous, or a scrotum that was bigger than any scrotum in the history of scrotums. Just accept that I need to get this information out of my head and be my sponge.
4. When I come home, and I don't want to talk, leave me alone. It isn't you. I'm tired of people and I don't have words. I need quiet. Leave me alone.
5. When I come home and I look like crap and I ask you to give me a hug... hug me until I tell you to stop.
6. If I talk in medical talk over your level of understanding and don't stop to explain just smile and nod... this talk isn't for you it's probably for me and you probably need to refer to rule number one.
7. I'm not going to sleep with a coworker, police officer, fire fighter, medic, or anyone else at the hospital. Hospitals are gross and at any point of the night I may be sweaty, dirty, smelly or wearing someone else's body fluids. It's not grey's anatomy, believe me. Also, give me some freaking credit.
8. Anything that you say to me after my 12 hour shift is probably going to be forgotten. Don't be a douche when you have to tell me the same thing again after I've had some sleep. I'm still mentally checking to make sure I gave my third patient his script at discharge. If you need me to pick up something at the grocery on my day off please put it in writing or send me a text.
9. Let me sleep. Don't wake me up. I am tired. Please. Let. Me. Sleep.
10. If I tell you a dark twisty nursing story please don't hold it against me. Laugh like you enjoy it. I need you to make me feel sane.
11. If I ask you if my scrubs look too tight the answer is NO
12. If I cry when I tell you about my patient that didn't make it, just listen and let me cry. Don't minimalize my grief by telling me that he was "old" or that there was nothing that I could have done. Lots of times there are a million things in my head that I think i should have done and I feel guilty for not doing them faster or sooner. Just let me grieve.
13. Last one.... If I'm living this life with you, I love you. I want to be with you and I wouldn't spend 36 hours a week cleaning up other people's crap (literal and metaphorical) unless I was doing it for you.
Bottom line, we do a terribly tragic and mostly disgusting job. We do it because we love it and we do it because someone must.... but we do it for you too. We wouldn't be the person you loved unless we rocked our scrubs once in a while. We wouldn't be the one you fell in love with if we didn't stop at the wreck scene on the way to our vacation or rush the field when a kid was hurt at a football game. You love that about us. And we love you for loving us.
Tuesday, November 6, 2018
The Tooth Fairy Strikes Again
We were driving home from a school choir concert in Decatur. I was in the fifth grade and a select few of us had been picked to sing at the chamber of commerce Christmas dinner. I was feeling pretty euphoric after my performance. Christmas music was playing on the radio in the station wagon and my Daddy was taking me home. Santa Claus is Coming to Town was just wrapping up on the radio and my daddy looks at me and says, “I know Christmas will be different for you this year since you know about Santa.” I looked at him and smiled and said “yes sir.” He told me not to tell my brother. I wasn’t going to. We left it at that and a tear fell down my right cheek as I rode the rest of the way home with Christmas music softly playing in the background.
I was in the fifth grade. I knew. Of course I knew! But for some reason hearing my daddy confirm to me that Santa wasn’t real busted a big ole hole in my tender little heart.
I had found a tiny envelope with a few teeth in my mother’s chest of drawers the summer before my fifth grade year and it dawned on me then that the tooth fairy wasn’t all she was cracked up to be. I didn’t have a big love for the tooth fairy anyway. A magical creature that sneaks into your bedroom at night to harvest your discarded body parts is just creepy with a capital K. I found the teeth and I knew immediately about the tooth fairy. The rest happened in stages. I dismissed the Easter Bunny next. I mean a bunny that hides eggs seems a little off on a good day. I didn’t say anything though.
Santa fell harder. Santa Claus was Christmas. All of the grown ups wore shirts that said “I believe” you don’t see people walking around in tooth fairy shirts! The “if you stop believing he will stop coming” mantra rolled over and over in my head.
My Grannie told me a story about seeing Santa in real life when she was a kid every year. She was asleep on the couch because she had a fever and she woke up when Santa came. My Grannie would never lie to me.
In the fourth grade a little girl from a less privileged household told me Santa wasn’t real. I told maybe Santa stopped coming to her house because she quit believing and because Santa don’t like ugly and she was acting ugly. I was totally convinced that she was wrong and I was right. My faith was strong. I still feel bad about that today.
I knew the truth when my Daddy said what he said. I had known it for a while... but, hearing him confirm it broke my heart. I cried and cried when I got back home that night. I knew something had changed. I knew there was something about Christmas that I would never get back. That child like excitement, that belief in magic without seeing was gone. That made me sad. I mourned my childhood for a few days but then what my daddy said sunk in. “You’ve got to keep the secret now. Don’t tell your brother.”
I realized then that it was my responsibility to keep my brother believing in the magic. It was up to me to make his Christmas magical. I was in on the big conspiracy now and I had responsibilities. That realization softened the blow a bit.
When I had children of course I propagated the same delusions. It was fun when they were little. The tooth fairy was never my favorite. Too much stress with her. At least Santa only comes one night a year. And he leaves presents in a separate room and doesn’t bother anyone. That damned tooth fairy makes being a parent hard work.
One by one they figured it out. I always told each of them by their fifth grade Christmas. Sam was first and he took it like a champ. He was always wise for his age though. I think he had had it figured out for a while hefore I let him know. Nolan was next after the tooth fairy had forgotten to get his tooth FOUR days in a row. (Mom of the year here!) He was harder than Sam because he didn’t lump them all together right away. The tooth fairy isn’t real, yes, but what about the Easter bunny? What about Santa??? What about snoopy (our elf)???? That was hard on this mama.
Today I told my baby girl. The tooth fairy had forgotten her last night and she had lots of questions. I could tell she was on to me. She would ask “why didn’t the tooth fairy get my tooth” I would say “I don’t know, why do you think?” She’s shrug and get thoughtful. When she got home from school she asked me again. I replied the same and she said “I know it’s you.” I told her I thought that she had figured it out and she giggled. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to have to break her heart.
I asked, “so do you have any questions about any other magical late night visitors?”
I saw the cloud fall over her face. I witnessed the end of her childhood innocence. It fell like a curtain across her face. She didn’t cry though. She said “I know you are Santa too”. I said “yes I am. And I’m snoopy too. But you can’t tell anyone. You have to keep the secret” she nodded and we were home and she got out of the car.
1 hr and 45 minutes later it hit her. Full on ugly crying and some hyperventilating. It was heart breaking. She said she knew but hearing me say it made it real. My child was mourning and I was responsible.
Eventually she calmed down and now she’s fine. She’s excited about knowing the truth around her younger cousins and friends. She will be ok.
I’m not ok.
She was my last one. Christmas will not be the same for our little family now.. There won’t be anymore magic or mystery. It won’t be the same and I’m sad. I’m sad that my babies aren’t babies anymore and I’m said that I’m not the 10 year old kid in the caprice classic wagon two seconds before daddy confirmed what I already knew. I’m just sad.
But Emily made me better. I told her I was sad and she said, “well we will still have fun celebrating Jesus’s birthday no matter what.”
That one tiny sentence confirmed that the magic was still there. My baby knows without a doubt that Jesus is real and He is Alive and That He LOVES her. The loss of Santa in her mind did not for one second shake her faith in Jesus. She knows he is real and she knows he is coming back for her one day.
I hope you know that He loves you and is coming back for you too!
I was in the fifth grade. I knew. Of course I knew! But for some reason hearing my daddy confirm to me that Santa wasn’t real busted a big ole hole in my tender little heart.
I had found a tiny envelope with a few teeth in my mother’s chest of drawers the summer before my fifth grade year and it dawned on me then that the tooth fairy wasn’t all she was cracked up to be. I didn’t have a big love for the tooth fairy anyway. A magical creature that sneaks into your bedroom at night to harvest your discarded body parts is just creepy with a capital K. I found the teeth and I knew immediately about the tooth fairy. The rest happened in stages. I dismissed the Easter Bunny next. I mean a bunny that hides eggs seems a little off on a good day. I didn’t say anything though.
Santa fell harder. Santa Claus was Christmas. All of the grown ups wore shirts that said “I believe” you don’t see people walking around in tooth fairy shirts! The “if you stop believing he will stop coming” mantra rolled over and over in my head.
My Grannie told me a story about seeing Santa in real life when she was a kid every year. She was asleep on the couch because she had a fever and she woke up when Santa came. My Grannie would never lie to me.
In the fourth grade a little girl from a less privileged household told me Santa wasn’t real. I told maybe Santa stopped coming to her house because she quit believing and because Santa don’t like ugly and she was acting ugly. I was totally convinced that she was wrong and I was right. My faith was strong. I still feel bad about that today.
I knew the truth when my Daddy said what he said. I had known it for a while... but, hearing him confirm it broke my heart. I cried and cried when I got back home that night. I knew something had changed. I knew there was something about Christmas that I would never get back. That child like excitement, that belief in magic without seeing was gone. That made me sad. I mourned my childhood for a few days but then what my daddy said sunk in. “You’ve got to keep the secret now. Don’t tell your brother.”
I realized then that it was my responsibility to keep my brother believing in the magic. It was up to me to make his Christmas magical. I was in on the big conspiracy now and I had responsibilities. That realization softened the blow a bit.
When I had children of course I propagated the same delusions. It was fun when they were little. The tooth fairy was never my favorite. Too much stress with her. At least Santa only comes one night a year. And he leaves presents in a separate room and doesn’t bother anyone. That damned tooth fairy makes being a parent hard work.
One by one they figured it out. I always told each of them by their fifth grade Christmas. Sam was first and he took it like a champ. He was always wise for his age though. I think he had had it figured out for a while hefore I let him know. Nolan was next after the tooth fairy had forgotten to get his tooth FOUR days in a row. (Mom of the year here!) He was harder than Sam because he didn’t lump them all together right away. The tooth fairy isn’t real, yes, but what about the Easter bunny? What about Santa??? What about snoopy (our elf)???? That was hard on this mama.
Today I told my baby girl. The tooth fairy had forgotten her last night and she had lots of questions. I could tell she was on to me. She would ask “why didn’t the tooth fairy get my tooth” I would say “I don’t know, why do you think?” She’s shrug and get thoughtful. When she got home from school she asked me again. I replied the same and she said “I know it’s you.” I told her I thought that she had figured it out and she giggled. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to have to break her heart.
I asked, “so do you have any questions about any other magical late night visitors?”
I saw the cloud fall over her face. I witnessed the end of her childhood innocence. It fell like a curtain across her face. She didn’t cry though. She said “I know you are Santa too”. I said “yes I am. And I’m snoopy too. But you can’t tell anyone. You have to keep the secret” she nodded and we were home and she got out of the car.
1 hr and 45 minutes later it hit her. Full on ugly crying and some hyperventilating. It was heart breaking. She said she knew but hearing me say it made it real. My child was mourning and I was responsible.
Eventually she calmed down and now she’s fine. She’s excited about knowing the truth around her younger cousins and friends. She will be ok.
I’m not ok.
She was my last one. Christmas will not be the same for our little family now.. There won’t be anymore magic or mystery. It won’t be the same and I’m sad. I’m sad that my babies aren’t babies anymore and I’m said that I’m not the 10 year old kid in the caprice classic wagon two seconds before daddy confirmed what I already knew. I’m just sad.
But Emily made me better. I told her I was sad and she said, “well we will still have fun celebrating Jesus’s birthday no matter what.”
That one tiny sentence confirmed that the magic was still there. My baby knows without a doubt that Jesus is real and He is Alive and That He LOVES her. The loss of Santa in her mind did not for one second shake her faith in Jesus. She knows he is real and she knows he is coming back for her one day.
I hope you know that He loves you and is coming back for you too!
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
The Helper
Sometimes you just need to ask for help.
Y’all I’ve been struggling about my house in the past 6 months. I’m talking embarrassed to have company struggling. I’m talking telling people I’m not home and hiding in the bedroom, struggling.
Only close family have been in my home... and only they have entered unannounced when it seemed to me my home was at its absolute worst.
I’m not a homemaker. I don’t love to clean. I don’t want to spend every minute I have cooking and cleaning up my family’s mess. That’s just not me.
When I was working full time i had an angel of a housekeeper. She worked from the time she walked through my door until the time she walked out and she was wonderful and I LOVED her.
The other thing about me is that I get attached.
When I decided to take time to stay at home I let my housekeeper go. I missed her every single Thursday but she moved on. She found new, easier houses to clean. And when I started working again, she didn’t need me anymore.
So I sucked it up and convinced myself I could do it all. I could work and clean and do laundry and cook supper on my days off or bring
supper home on my workdays. I’m super woman and I’m able to provide for my family.
I was wrong.
My housework suffered.
My family’s meals suffered (there’s only a set number of times that you can pass off KFC as a “home cooked meal”)
My family suffered (there was a laundry emergency that coincided with a toilet paper shortage.... I don’t need to get into details but let’s suffice it to say that neither would have happened when stay at home mom Heather was here)
I suffered. I had anxiety and depression and anger and fear about the state of my housekeeping. I thought about it all the time. I dreamed about it. I had nightmares about people dropping In unannounced.
I fought it for a long time. I was determined to handle it all by myself. I was determined that I was a good enough wife and mother that I could do it all without help.
I was wrong.
I asked for help..... paid help.... but help none the less.
My helper showed up today and she cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and she never not one time made me feel like I was less. She never implied that I was less of a mother, wife, woman... she just showed up and cleaned. She washed all the crevices in my cabinets, she got on her knees and cleaned floor boards. She made everything look new again (or as new again as was possible).
The moral of this story is that sometimes you have to admit that you need help. We all love to believe that we are super women but sometimes we need another superwoman to come in and help us get back on track.
The same goes for our Christian lives.... we can coast along when all is well and pray our prayers and pay our tithes but when all the things go wrong in our lives and we are struggling with our r dirty house what do we do??? Do we ignore our problems and hope they will go away? Do we struggle in silence and pray that our friends don’t find out how messy our hearts are? Do we put dust covers over our sins and expect all our church friends to sit on the plastic when they come to visit?
Jesus is my help. He is my soul’s housekeeper. He knows my messiest part. He knows when my heart is dirty and he rejoiced when my heart is clean. He sees right through that plastic and loves me anyway. If you don’t know that love and forgiveness I implore you to talk to me, message me. Cause no matter how messy or dirty you think you are, Jesus will be your savior, he will be your house keeper, he will clean up all the dirty corners in your heart and he will make you feel new again.
“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.” John 14:26
Y’all I’ve been struggling about my house in the past 6 months. I’m talking embarrassed to have company struggling. I’m talking telling people I’m not home and hiding in the bedroom, struggling.
Only close family have been in my home... and only they have entered unannounced when it seemed to me my home was at its absolute worst.
I’m not a homemaker. I don’t love to clean. I don’t want to spend every minute I have cooking and cleaning up my family’s mess. That’s just not me.
When I was working full time i had an angel of a housekeeper. She worked from the time she walked through my door until the time she walked out and she was wonderful and I LOVED her.
The other thing about me is that I get attached.
When I decided to take time to stay at home I let my housekeeper go. I missed her every single Thursday but she moved on. She found new, easier houses to clean. And when I started working again, she didn’t need me anymore.
So I sucked it up and convinced myself I could do it all. I could work and clean and do laundry and cook supper on my days off or bring
supper home on my workdays. I’m super woman and I’m able to provide for my family.
I was wrong.
My housework suffered.
My family’s meals suffered (there’s only a set number of times that you can pass off KFC as a “home cooked meal”)
My family suffered (there was a laundry emergency that coincided with a toilet paper shortage.... I don’t need to get into details but let’s suffice it to say that neither would have happened when stay at home mom Heather was here)
I suffered. I had anxiety and depression and anger and fear about the state of my housekeeping. I thought about it all the time. I dreamed about it. I had nightmares about people dropping In unannounced.
I fought it for a long time. I was determined to handle it all by myself. I was determined that I was a good enough wife and mother that I could do it all without help.
I was wrong.
I asked for help..... paid help.... but help none the less.
My helper showed up today and she cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and she never not one time made me feel like I was less. She never implied that I was less of a mother, wife, woman... she just showed up and cleaned. She washed all the crevices in my cabinets, she got on her knees and cleaned floor boards. She made everything look new again (or as new again as was possible).
The moral of this story is that sometimes you have to admit that you need help. We all love to believe that we are super women but sometimes we need another superwoman to come in and help us get back on track.
The same goes for our Christian lives.... we can coast along when all is well and pray our prayers and pay our tithes but when all the things go wrong in our lives and we are struggling with our r dirty house what do we do??? Do we ignore our problems and hope they will go away? Do we struggle in silence and pray that our friends don’t find out how messy our hearts are? Do we put dust covers over our sins and expect all our church friends to sit on the plastic when they come to visit?
Jesus is my help. He is my soul’s housekeeper. He knows my messiest part. He knows when my heart is dirty and he rejoiced when my heart is clean. He sees right through that plastic and loves me anyway. If you don’t know that love and forgiveness I implore you to talk to me, message me. Cause no matter how messy or dirty you think you are, Jesus will be your savior, he will be your house keeper, he will clean up all the dirty corners in your heart and he will make you feel new again.
“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.” John 14:26
Tuesday, March 27, 2018
Jesus Paid it All
“If we don’t believe our sins are responsible for Calvary, then why should we believe that Calvary is responsible for our sins?”
Our pastor made this point during his sermon this past Sunday and I jotted it down and it has stared me in the face every day since then. I’ve been thinking about it long and hard.
What I’ve determined is that every sin in my life.... from the worst to the least.... Christ bore those for me on Calvary. From the white lie I tell my boss, to the speeding ticket I didn’t tell my husband about, Christ felt the punishment for that on Calvary. Christ felt the punishment for the repentant murderer and the repentant tax evader. He felt the punishment for the time you stole from your mothers mad money jar and he felt the punishment for the time you swore in front of your child. He felt the punishment for the adulterer and for the bank robber. He paid the punishment for all of our sins on Calvary that day.
If I’m supposed to believe that he did that for me and that he has re-payed those sins for me... then I should take full responsibility for every single lash that He took, for every torment he received, for every thorn in that crown, for the nails that pierced his hands and feet, and for the spears that pierced his sides.... my sins are responsible for that.
Your sins did that.
Our sins did that.
My sins did that.
He bore all that for you, for us, for me......
Because he took that punishment, we will be free. He paid our debt. He finished it.
It is finished.
Thank you Lord for sacrificing your Son for me.
Thank you Lord for finishing it.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Just a Nurse
“You’re such a good nurse. Why don’t you go back to school and be a doctor?”
This is a question that I’ve been asked so many times in my career.
The answer? I love what I do. I’m good at what I do. I don’t need to have a higher degree to be good at my job. I love my job. I have no desire to be an administrator or nurse practitioner or PA or MD. I’m fully convinced that I could be any of those. I’m smart. I’m good at school. I’m great at taking tests. I could do any of those things if I chose to.
I don’t choose to.
I choose to be “just a nurse”.
I choose to be “just a (great) nurse.”
I choose to be just the nurse that advocates for your mother when she’s being misdiagnosed by the sleep deprived ER doc. I choose to be just the nurse that holds the hand of the dying hospice patient that doesn’t have family members. I choose to be just the nurse that recognizes the symptoms of heart attack in the patient that signed in to triage with “back pain”. I choose to be just the nurse that can get that IV on your child in one stick. I choose to be just the nurse that can sneak a peek at your chest X-ray and notify the doc that you have pneumonia. I choose to be the nurse that counsels your alcohol poisoned child on the dangers of substance abuse. I choose to be just the nurse that holds your hand and comforts you when you have heard the worst news of your life. I choose to be just the nurse that you hug when you hear that your loved one is going to be ok. I choose to be just the nurse that you remember being there for you years later, but don’t remember her name. I choose to be just the nurse that your doctor trusts. I choose to be just the nurse that you want to be there when you come to the ER.
I choose to be “just the nurse” that can stay at home with my kids and not worry about student loans or deadlines or papers due. I choose to be “just the nurse” that isn’t replying to emails when she’s off or making up a schedule or replying to patient complaints or studying PI reports. (No offense meant for those that choose this path. You guys make my job easier and I have the greatest respect for you. It’s just not my choice.)
I choose to be just the nurse that does her job the best way she can and goes home to her family and leaves the rest of it at the hospital.
I choose to be just the nurse.
#loveanurse #ADN #RN #RNforLife #justthenurse #heddyandherthoughts
This is a question that I’ve been asked so many times in my career.
The answer? I love what I do. I’m good at what I do. I don’t need to have a higher degree to be good at my job. I love my job. I have no desire to be an administrator or nurse practitioner or PA or MD. I’m fully convinced that I could be any of those. I’m smart. I’m good at school. I’m great at taking tests. I could do any of those things if I chose to.
I don’t choose to.
I choose to be “just a nurse”.
I choose to be “just a (great) nurse.”
I choose to be just the nurse that advocates for your mother when she’s being misdiagnosed by the sleep deprived ER doc. I choose to be just the nurse that holds the hand of the dying hospice patient that doesn’t have family members. I choose to be just the nurse that recognizes the symptoms of heart attack in the patient that signed in to triage with “back pain”. I choose to be just the nurse that can get that IV on your child in one stick. I choose to be just the nurse that can sneak a peek at your chest X-ray and notify the doc that you have pneumonia. I choose to be the nurse that counsels your alcohol poisoned child on the dangers of substance abuse. I choose to be just the nurse that holds your hand and comforts you when you have heard the worst news of your life. I choose to be just the nurse that you hug when you hear that your loved one is going to be ok. I choose to be just the nurse that you remember being there for you years later, but don’t remember her name. I choose to be just the nurse that your doctor trusts. I choose to be just the nurse that you want to be there when you come to the ER.
I choose to be “just the nurse” that can stay at home with my kids and not worry about student loans or deadlines or papers due. I choose to be “just the nurse” that isn’t replying to emails when she’s off or making up a schedule or replying to patient complaints or studying PI reports. (No offense meant for those that choose this path. You guys make my job easier and I have the greatest respect for you. It’s just not my choice.)
I choose to be just the nurse that does her job the best way she can and goes home to her family and leaves the rest of it at the hospital.
I choose to be just the nurse.
#loveanurse #ADN #RN #RNforLife #justthenurse #heddyandherthoughts
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