Flat bread

I have never been completely with it first thing in the morning. This morning was no exception to the rule. I stumbled out of bed and found myself in the kitchen, where I made an egg and cheese sandwich and cut up some grapefruit. For some reason, I forgot I was carrying two things in my hand when I went to the living room to eat. I subconsciously set the plate with the sandwich down on the couch and thinking that it was still in my hand, promptly turned around and sat down... right on top of my sandwich. My day only got better from here.

A bundle of sticks and a substitute teacher

"Okay guys, it's time to read from your story books... everybody go get one, they're in the back" I said, as I scanned my classroom of 12 bright-eyed 7 and 8 year olds. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a little one at my side, looking up at me with that little blond head and sparkling blue eyes saying, "Miss Beth, can we pleeeeease go pick a partner?" Well, how could I resist?

They got into groups of two and the reading began. I went around the room, making sure Donavon and Lecyrus weren't at each other's throats again, and making sure the kids were actually reading. As I went from group to group, sitting at each for a couple of minutes, the story unraveled. It was called "A bundle of sticks" and as I began to piece the story together, from segments at each group, I found that it was about two brothers who were fighting over who was the better of the two. The father, saddened by the constant bickering, gave the boys a task. He gave them a bunch of sticks and told them to break them all at once. They quickly realized that they were, seperately, too weak to break them and had to do it together to accomplish the task.
After every group finished reading, I called them all back together to discuss the book.

"Do you guys ever fight with your siblings?" To see all the hands that went up in the air, you would think they were a gospel choir at a Baptist church. As I picked on the hands that were raised, I got the full lowdown of exactly how it was between these kids and each one of their siblings and exactly how their parents punished them. They would tell stories of, "... well, this one time, I pushed my brother, and my momma came and gave me a whoopin'!" or "... I couldn't play with my x-box anymore." Some even had stories of an infamous "spank spoon" or a certain corner they had to go sit in.

Then, I asked them this question: "Who do you think it hurts when you fight with your brother or sister?" I thought of all the different responses I could get... and the one response I actually wanted to hear. The kids answered about it hurting their mom, dad, sibling, or grandparent. Not one of them said that it would hurt God- that was the answer that I was fishing for.

This was a public school and the name Jesus or God was obviously not to be spoken by me as a teacher. It was okay to talk about God if a kid asked a question about him... but even then, I was to clearly state that it was only my opinion. I guess I asked that question because I wanted to see what they had been taught about Jesus, if anything at all. All throughout the day, I had seen snapshots of their home lives and this was just another picture.

One teacher told me that day that she could never be a nurse and she doesn't know how we do it. I told her that I could never be a teacher and I didn't know how she did it. What I actually meant by my statement though, was not about how hard it was to teach a class full of rambunctious kids. It was that I could never work in a place that didn't allow me to speak about God. I felt like I was about to burst when I asked the kids that question. I can't imagine feeling like that every day!

... so, I have a question for my readers. Why must teachers refrain from speaking about God in the classroom?

Not just any school day...

I was in Adult II in the new nursing building, just like any other school day. We had just finished an hour of lecture and were on a 15 minute break.

A couple of hours earlier, I had looked at my pilonidal surgery spot (where there were still 8 stitches) and it just didn't look like I thought it should. "I should talk to someone experienced about this," I told myself.

On this 15 minute break, I decided to find my Adult 1 teacher and ask her about this. I found her in another nursing teacher's office and asked them if they were knowledgeable in the area of pilonidals. One of them had even had one and the other had worked with a surgeon who used to remove them. I told them what I had seen that morning and asked them if that was normal.

Their response?

"Oh, girl! You want us to look at it?!" (in a slightly southern accent)

Well, I didn't really know what to think of this. For them to see it, I'd have to take off my pants. THAT, I DID NOT want to do. At the same time, I wanted to make sure it was alright, so...

Off they went. Right there, in her office, in the new nursing building.

The result?

It was fine.

This just goes down as the most embarrassing moment for me this week. Hopefully it doesn't get topped.

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.