Warning: this was written while I was on Oxycodone...

I have never been able to pee on command. The last time I was asked to do so, at a doctor's office, I ended up having to stay an extra hour. Nothing came out, even after the extra hour, and I ended up having to take the cup home with me and bring it back to the office the next day.

Today was no exception. I was scheduled for a 7:00 am surgery. This meant no food or water past 12:00 AM last night... so naturally, I became pretty dehydrated. This fact, mixed with the fact that I had urinated before I went to the doctor, and the fact that I get really nervous when told to pee pretty much doomed me for the upcoming urine sample.

As soon as I was called back to the pre-op room, I was given a cup and told to pee in it. This is a very standard pre-op procedure; It just assures the doctors and nurses that the patient is not pregnant... if there is no urine sample, there is NO surgery. I took the cup and walked into the bathroom... knowing I would be in there for quite some time. After sitting in there for about 15 minutes, I came out and told the nurse that I just couldn't go.

She decided to go ahead and start my IV to try and get fluids in me to see if that would help. I put on the nice little gown without a back and held my arm out... but I was so dehydrated, she couldn't even find a vein and had to get another nurse to start it. After about 500 mL had been put in me, she took me to the bathroom again.

I sat there... and sat there some more. I turned on the water to see if that would help me out some. Nothing. I put my hand in warm water to see if that would help. Nothing. 30 minutes later.... still nothing. The nurse came in and I asked her what would happen to me if I couldn't pee. She said "then, you just won't have surgery."

... SO... I told the nurse to CATHETERIZE me. I actually told the nurse to put a catheter in. What was I thinking? Not really sure at this point.

I will not go into the details of explaining just how the catheter felt going in... for my non-medical field readers. If you really want to know, just come ask me later. I'll just say that I can now sympathize with my patients when I put one in them. I have never been so excited to get a urine sample before.

The surgery went well. It was a removal of a pilonidal cyst. I will not explain exactly what that is either... it's pretty gruesome. Again, if you want to know, just come ask me.

I'm glad I went through all of this though. I believe it will help me become a better nurse. Would I do it all over again just to gain the same perspective?

Well I don't know about that... I'll sleep on it and say later.

He's got it.

I have extreme test anxiety. There has never been a test that I have not had sweaty palms, increased heart rate, or jittering leg for. Sometimes I even feel like I'm going to pass out. Finals are no exception to the rule. Finals are worse. I worry about them from the very beginning of the semester.

I tend to put everything on the back burner when that dreadful week comes. Exercise, eating, sleep, and devotions are the ones that I worry about the least. I suppose they should be the ones I pay attention to the most... but that doesn't cross my mind when I'm near a panic attack.

Devotions were definitely not on my "To do" list this week... but somewhere in between increased heart rate and gnawing on trail mix, I decided I'd just take a quick look. I got out my Steps to Christ book and this is what God reminded me of yesterday morning:

"If we would but fully believe this, all undue anxieties would be dismissed. our lives would not be so filled with disappointment as now; for everything, whether great or small, would be left in the hands of God, who is not perplexed by the multiplicity of cares, or overwhelmed by their weight. We should then enjoy a rest of soul to which many have long been strangers."
-pg. 86

I need to write this verse on my wall with bright paint so I'll never forget the thing that is the hardest for me to remember:

God's got it when I don't (and even when I think I do).

umm....

I have lack of sleep, crying brain cells, I have a test this afternoon... and I'm writing a pointless blog.

Fortune?

I have received some pretty good fortunes from fortune cookies in the past. I opened my cookie tonight in sweet anticipation, hoping for the best one ever. My mouth dropped slightly upon reading it... this is probably the worst fortune in history:

"Come back later... I am sleeping (yes, cookies need their sleep too)."

Unbelievable.

small talk

I hate small talk. I think it is necessary in some ways to get to know someone better, so deeper conversation can ensue, but I still don't like it. I wish I could just start talking to some stranger about their stance on an issue without having to ask their name, where they're from, what year they are in school, etc... first. I guess small talk is seen as the polite way to go about things in our society, and without doing so can be seen as rude, but sometimes I don't want to do it. There have been times that I just jump straight to a deep conversation right after meeting someone. A while ago, upon meeting one of my roommate's boyfriend, I said "so, what do you think about homosexuality?" I really wanted to know what he thought about the issue and didn't feeling like asking all of the preliminary questions I was supposed to ask to find out.
One of the typical versions of small talk I hate most is this one:
Person 1: "hi, how are you?"
Person 2: "Good, how are you?"
Person 1: "Good."
Person 2: "That's Good."
One embarrassing time, I repeated the previous conversation twice in a row with a person. Awkward.
Today, I almost had an embarrassing small talk conversation. I was washing dishes at the CK with a fellow worker. Conversation was starting to die and I almost asked "SO, where do you work?" Good thing I bit my tongue on that one.

The CK

I work at the Campus Kitchen ("CK"). Every so often, I get some customers that really make me chuckle. At the beginning of the year, it was the freshmen who had no idea what to order and would stand in line for an eternity asking about every single option on the list. There are those other people who change their order about a million times and still don't really know what they want. Then, there is a different breed of people who mean to say one thing, and it comes out the wrong way and it sounds absolutely hilarious. I had one of those people order from me this last Friday. This is how the conversation went:

Me: "Hi, What would you like today?"

Customer: "I would like to order, uh, Crap!"

Me: (laughing) "You would like to order what?"

Customer: "Uh, Oh no!"

Me: (Laughing quite hysterically by this point... it had been a long day) "You want to order Crap?!"

Customer: (Laughing and shaking his head) "no, no, no!!"

... Customer then looks a little worried and says "You don't serve that here, do you?"

Me: "I don't think we serve that here, but if and when we ever do, I'll let you know."

The List

This summer, I've made up my mind about the thing I'd like to call "the list." Let me clarify what exactly it is. It is a LONG list of qualities and "deal breakers" that I have wanted in my future husband. Almost every girl I know also has one of these lists... either a mental one or on a piece of paper.
It's not bad to have a list of qualities and characteristics that we want, but the problem lies in just how big the list is and what exactly is on that list. A lot of the things I had on my list were unreasonable and unrealistic. To prove my point, I even had such nit picky things as this, on the list: "doesn't have a motorcycle, doesn't pick his nose, has clean toe nails..."
I think one of the largest problems with me having a list was the simple fact that I was limiting God. I was making and creating the perfect man for myself on a piece of paper; but do I really know who the perfect man for myself is? I don't think I completely do. “And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” – Phil 4:19.
God knows me so much better than I know myself. If he knows me so well, I believe he would have a better idea of the husband for me than even I would. According to this verse, it says that he will meet all of my needs; I would put a husband in that category- as long as God doesn't plan for me to be celibate. This doesn't mean that I can now have a laissez-fair attitude toward the choosing of my future mate. It definitely doesn't mean that I'm going to date just anyone that comes off of the street. I'm just giving God more room to do his job.
I haven't physically thrown out "the list," I'm keeping it so I can look back at it and laugh at myself a little. I have a small mental list of things God and I both jive with; a list I can count with just one hand. It was a hard process to go through; one I don't even think I'm through with yet. It is a scary process, because it involves me giving up things I think I need, over to God. Little by little, I'm trusting more in God and I have faith enough to realize that by the time this process is through, I won't be saying "I do" to some ax murderer on my wedding day.

not so fearless.

The other day, my family was over at our neighbor's house. We were all talking about the fact that I was going to be a substitute teacher this summer. I stated that I was a little scared about this whole concept of teaching and Mrs. Parrish (my neighbor) shot me a stunned look and said, “Beth, are you really afraid of anything?” I realized then that some people, not just my neighbors, may have the notion that I am fearless.
I try not to show my weaknesses, just like every other living, breathing human being. My fears are known to few and far in between… and even I have yet to completely understand some of them.
When I was younger, I didn’t fear monsters in the closet, but ones that hid under the bed. I believed that they would grab my toes if they were uncovered and drag me to my death. To fix this problem, I would keep my feet covered at all times when in bed, no matter how hot it became underneath the covers. I would also run and jump into bed, so these crazy little goblins wouldn’t reach out and swipe at my toes. This was a crazy fear, but even to this day, I keep my toes hidden and yes, I sometimes run and jump into my bed.
I am also afraid of the dark. It makes me feel like something is going to jump out and abduct me. It really freaks me out to have all of the lights off in my house, when everyone else has already gone to sleep. I have this little system prepared so at least one light is always left on downstairs so I can walk upstairs without darkness enshrouding me. When it comes to things like the dark, who cares about conserving energy? Not me.
I have never liked elevators. If I could choose to take the stairs every time, I would. I absolutely hate it when the elevator doors close. I have always been afraid of someone sticking their hand in, at the last minute, to try and stop the doors before they close. I actually stare at the doors while they are shutting, just holding my breath and praying no one sticks their hand in the way. I’m not scared of them getting their hand cut off, it’s more a fear of them actually getting on… I’m afraid of the person who owns the hand. Axe murderer? Sure, could be. Crazy, Psychotic person? Sure, always an option. Now I know this is strange because, anyone who just walks on with me could be those things; so why is it the poor person who’s running late and sticks his hand in? I don’t know. It just is.
Am I fearless? Absolutely not. Keep in mind: these are just three of my many fears too. I try not to let them ruin my life though; if I did, I don’t think I would have much of a life. I just found this verse tonight, shortly after dealing with another dark house episode:
“The Lord is my light and my salvation: Whom shall I fear? The Lord Is the Strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked came against me to eat up my flesh, my enemies and foes, They stumbled and fell. Though an army may encamp against me, My heart shall not fear: Though war may rise against me, In this I will be confident.”
Psalm 27:1-3.
Take that, you little goblin toe grabbers!

Late nights

I knew I would be staying up late this week, but not this late. It is currently 2:41 am and I can't go to sleep. I went to bed a little after 1:00 and pretty much stared up at the ceiling for more than an hour and a half. This has been a common occurrence for me, for about the last month. I go to bed, stare up at the ceiling for and hour, finally fall asleep, and wake up early (before my alarm goes off). This may be what is called insomnia. Initial, and terminal. Initial, meaning: not being able to fall asleep and terminal: waking up really early. I learned about it in nursing this last week.

Anyway, after staring at the ceiling and turning over for the millionth time, I decided it was time to get up. Studying for finals time? Nope, that already took up a lot of my Saturday evening. Blogging was obviously the next best choice. So, here I am. Sitting in the chapel. I'm not really sure why it is open, but I'm glad it is.

I've realized that there are few things as thought-provoking as solitude. This is probably why I don't like to spend a lot of time alone. Sure, I like thinking about things and pondering different areas of my life, but it makes my brain stay in constant motion... and my brain is already filled with paperwork and medications, molecular structures and formulas. I have been, in what seems like, constant isolation this semester. Studying, clinicals, and responsibilities have taken over and I just haven't had time to spend with the awesome people that I call friends. As soon as I realize all this, I also see that the semester is coming to a close. My friends are graduating, going as student missionaries, task force, or just leaving Southern. Missed opportunities, forgotten promises to hang out, and delayed reunions all come to mind. It makes me sad that I placed studies as my highest priority this year. Good grades? yeah, I want those. Graduation? Sure, I want it to come sooner... but when I look back on college, I don't just want to remember how much time I spent studying and good grades I achieved. I want to remember faces and memories. Faces of people I grew to love and memories that I made with them.

... I guess I also want to remember that I got some sleep somewhere between freshman year and graduation. Here's to staring at the ceiling for another couple of hours. Hoorah.

Deodorant

The other day, I realized I was out of deodorant so, off to Wal Mart I went. After I had made my purchase, I started thinking of all the deodorant smells that would be atrocious to have. Among those, I thought of grapefruit. I like the taste of grapefruit but I don't like the smell. It just isn't one of those really pleasing, sweet smells. When I think of a grapefruit, I think of the taste, which is sour. Who would want sour deodorant? not me.
As I was putting away my Wally world goods later that day, I realized that I had not even looked at the scent of the deodorant before I purchased it, so I looked. straight across the front, the odor that was clearly written in orange-colored font was "Grapefruit."
Ironic? Maybe. Returning it? Nope... I'm going to make myself try it out and if I smell sour in the process, so be it.

breaking and entering

As I drove home this beautiful Friday night, after an intense day of teaching during acrofest, all I could think about was enjoying the solitude of my home and playing the piano. My parents had already taken off to go to a different church for the weekend... so it was going to be just me and my dog, Bucky, for the night. My excitement was dampened slightly upon finding the door locked. "This is no problem," I thought to myself, "I can just call the parents and find a hide-a-key." This would've been a fine idea, if we owned a spare key, but we don't, so the next mode of action was obviously the windows.

As I jumped on the roof to try and lift window #1, I noticed my neighbor arriving back home from work. It was dark outside and I didn't want to look like I was breaking and entering,so I cast my dark shadow on the side of the house and stood there until her car's lights passed me. I proceeded onto window #2 after finding the previous one locked. Our windows are kind of strange in that, when you open them from the outside, pressure must be put on the glass instead of the frame. I have done this way too many times to count, for good reasons that we can discuss later, and didn't think twice about it. Whether it was from the brute force of my weight against the glass or from the weakening of it(from the harsh winter, and quickly warming weather), I have no idea, but the window gave way to the pressure and my hand went through the glass.

I stood on the roof with very differing emotions for the next couple of seconds. My first thought was of guilt that I'd broken the glass, the second thought was that of relief and pride that I'd actually found a way into the house, the third was of worry and fear that I'd done something to myself in the process, and then of alarm after I'd shone my cellphone light onto my hand and panic after I saw all of the blood dripping from my wrist and fingertips. I really had no idea what the condition of my hand was, my finger could be close to falling off, for all I knew. Regardless of my fears, I finally managed to make it inside the window without any more cuts. After taking some pictures of my hand and washing the ever pooling blood off, I drove to a nurse friend of mine's house. She took one look at my hand and said I'd need stitches. What an adventure that was. I can't even begin to tell you how enthralling it was to watch the needle weave in and out of my skin. Call me crazy, but I had pain meds, so I wasn't feeling the majority of it anyway.

I am now all stitched up and bandaged up and I realize just how important it will be for me to ask others for help, since I can't really use my right hand. I absolutely hate asking for help... most of this is my pride speaking. I want to do things by myself so I can #1: assure myself that I am competent and able to accomplish things ranging from small to colossal and #2: prove to others much of the same. At times, asking for help almost seems like I'm admitting defeat; which I am not always humble enough to do. I also just don't like being a burden to anyone; it drives me absolutely crazy.

Maybe this is why all of this crazy stuff happened, so I will learn to drop my pride and ask for help. I just hope the next time God teaches me something, it won't take a hand through glass and 5 stitches.