Good-bye Newport, You Will Be Missed

Our place is stripped bare. Our trucks are fully loaded with all of our earthly possessions. It's really hard to believe, but Moving Day is finally here. We watched our last sunset at the beach last night, and I felt a slight twinge in my heart. This has been one of my favorite places to live. I'm truly going to miss it. But now it's time for us to move on and re-establish ourselves in Denver. But, first, a little adventure...

California Dreams

Tonight is my last night of work in the OC. Unbelievable. It seems like just yesterday I was still in Australia, coordinating with my recruiter to get myself up and running out here. (Or was yesterday the day I was freaking out about glitches in my wedding plans? I can't seem to remember now.) Life is pitching forward at such a disconcerting speed that it makes my head spin, setting me slightly off kilter. None of this seems real. I am in utter disbelief that I'm wrapping up my life here. But yet, it is happening. Soon, very soon, my California life will be nothing more than a dream; a whisper of nostalgia bringing a secret smile to my lips. Tonight is just one more "last" in the upcoming week of finalities, as I say good-bye to SoCal and all I've grown to love. This would be the appropriate time to shed a proverbial tear, but I'm too excited for such nonsense. Tonight's going to be great, as is everything that's waiting for us on the other side of the door, so let's get to it...

It's Really Happening, Isn't It?

I can't believe it's really happening. Everything is coming at me so fast, my head is spinning.  I have so much to do, and a very short time to do it.  But, in all reality, I shouldn't be surprised.  We've been planning this for months, after all. We started laying the groundwork back in January when Mouse relocated his business, condemning him to an out-of-state commute every week.  But since my life went on as per usual, I was lulled into a sense of complacency.  Now, the end of our time in the OC is upon us.  Our beach bungalow is half-empty and in shambles.  Boxes are piled up everywhere.  The walls are stripped bare.  More than half of our furniture already sits in a storage unit, waiting for its counterparts to join.   The future tenant has even moved her stuff into our spare bedroom.  Reality is truly beginning to set in.  We really are moving back to Denver.

Even though this is something I've been wanting since the day I left, this move is not without stress.  I still have had to get all of my nursing credentials in order, and am in the process of finding a new job.  Applications, exams, and interviews are always so nerve-wracking.  Packing has not been a picnic, either.  It might be easier, if I would share some of the responsibility, but I don't trust anyone other than myself.  But most importantly, as our move-out date approaches, I have to admit I'm beginning to feel quite bittersweet about the whole thing.  Yes - I'm ecstatic to move back to Denver, but I'm going to miss this place, too.  I might not always love my boisterous neighbors, but I love living by the ocean.  I love waking up to the ocean breeze and jogging along the beach.  I love riding my cruiser along the boardwalk and grabbing drinks at a beachside bar.

Most importantly, I've appreciated the chance to live so near my best friend for the past year and a half.  It isn't often one finds such a good friend in adulthood, and the prospect of being separated by so many miles is sad.  I'm going to miss our jogs around the Back Bay, and breakfast at Cafe Panini.  Of course we're going to remain friends; it's just that doing so is going to require a little more effort after the move.

I just need to remind myself that we've bounced around enough the past several years to be pros at this whole moving thing.  We've learned to take all of the roadblocks and annoyances in stride, and roll with the punches.  This is just another chapter in our crazy lives, and I really am looking forward to all of the adventures it will bring.  So I need to stop being so sappy and start getting excited about our life outside of the OC.  Because Denver is calling, and I can barely wait for the fun to begin.

ICU Exam-aphobia

I'm not sure why I was so scared.  I'm a smart cookie and a solid nurse.  But, for whatever reason, the thought of taking this ICU exam sent me into a panic.  I had flash-backs of nursing school, cramming for exams until my mind was numb, and the dreaded NCLEX.  The thought of sitting down and taking the test actually sent me into palpitations.  Ridiculous, I know, but I couldn't help myself.  So, I procrastinated.  I should have bitten the proverbial bullet and taken the test long ago.  I shouldn't have waited until the very last minute when I'm overwhelmed with packing, plus all of the other stuff one tries to squeeze in before moving to another city.  But, of course, that's exactly what I did.  So, tonight, I finally forced my own hand.  It won't be long before we're out of here and I'll be needing that new job, so I knew I couldn't wait any longer.  It wasn't fun.  It certainly wasn't a practical assessment of my knowledge, either, but it wasn't all that bad.  Over the years, I've grown accustomed to being tested on sh** that doesn't matter.  Besides, the built-in Mulligan provided me with the safety net I needed.  (And I DID need it.)  So, I passed.  It's another box I can tick off my list of pre-moving "to-dos".  Whew!

P.S. - For those of you studying for the HCS ICU exam, it's totally eclectic and random.  It includes basic stuff like ABG interpretation, ICU drips, and common signs/symptoms/complications of conditions that will land a person in the ICU, but it also includes stuff I haven't thought about since nursing school, and have never encountered working in the unit.  Nothing on hemodynamic monitoring or Swans.  And I'm pretty sure a couple of the answers were wrong.  I emailed my recruiter with my educated fact-based protests.  Feel free to comment if you have specific questions.

Tri Crazy

I think I'm ready to admit that I'm completely out of my mind. It's not like people haven't been telling me this for years, it's just that I've been in complete denial. But it hit me the other morning during my ride. There I was, only a week after running a marathon, my quads burning as I cranked away, pushing myself up one of the many hills that comprise the PCH, when it dawned on me that instead of doing this, I should be resting. A marathon is fairly tough on the human body, after all. Most people use the weeks immediately post-race to recover. Not me. Nope - I brilliantly signed up for a Half Ironman June 9, which means I don't have the luxury of recovery time. Instead, I have to immediately throw myself into swimming, biking, and brick training. I'm taking the old adage, "No rest for the wicked" to a completely new level, and my poor body isn't sure what to make of this abuse. My hunger has kicked into overdrive and I'm definitely more fatigued than usual. Despite all this, I love the training process. I love pushing myself and learning what I'm capable of. (I also love being able to eat anything and everything I want.) Besides, it will all be over in a few weeks. Afterwards, I can truly let myself rest. So, for now, all I can do is embrace my newfound craziness and see this through to the end.

One of Those Nights

Last night was one of those nights all nurses dread. It was one of those nights that chews you up, spits you out, and puts you in your place. It's been a long time since I've felt so helpless, lost, and brow-beaten. Last night definitely took its toll on me. One thing after another went awry, in a never-ending cascade of complications. It wasn't anything I hadn't dealt with before, but there was no relief, not even a moment to catch my breath or my thoughts. And to top it off, I was at a new facility, with a foreign charting system, and no one familiar to rely upon. I was a little fish floundering in a sea of computerized confusion and mental disorganization. It left my head spinning, my body aching, and my spirit crushed. It isn't often that I have to fight back tears of frustration, but that's exactly what I found myself doing in the wee hours of the morning. After twelve hours of chasing my tail, and never getting caught up, I was ready to throw in the towel. But that's not really an option when your patient stubbornly refuses to stop coding, now is it? So I kept stubbornly plodding along, too, doing my best to put out the fires that continuously sprung up. It wasn't how I like to do my job, constantly being on the defensive, rather than the offensive, but it was the best I could do. Miraculously, I made it through. The clock struck seven and my relief arrived. No one died and I had managed to hold on to my sanity, even if only by a precarious thread. Like I said, it was one of THOSE nights...

Big Sur Conquered

I thought I knew what I was getting myself into when I signed up for Big Sur. This wasn't my first rodeo, after all. I knew what it took to run a marathon. I remembered the fatigue and emotional drain that even the easiest course can produce. And, yes, I even knew that Big Sur was known for being one of the most gnarly courses around. And still, I fooled myself into thinking I was prepared. After training at Red Rocks and countless hill repeats, I thought I would conquer this course without a problem. In short, I was cocky.

All of that swagger went right out the door, though, as soon as I saw the course up close and personal. My confidence dropped even faster than my stomach. I knew right then this was NOT going to be good...

Cut to race day. I started the race fast and strong, falling into an easy pace. Unfortunately, that easy pace became steadily slower as the route's elevation began to rise. By the time the killer hill presented itself around mile 10, my quads were begging for mercy, and my pace resembled that of a snail. But I kept on going, one foot after the other, until I conquered that hill.

Then came the frigid winds, descending over the cliff edges and into the never-ending stream of runners with such force that we had to huddle in packs, using each other as human shields against the hostile elements. When the winds finally died down and the frozen mist dissipated to reveal the breathtaking coastline, another hill was waiting in plain site, almost certainly to torture us. As my legs threatened to buckle, I began to wonder if this course was ever going to cut me a break.

Despite all of this, I actually felt fairly good until mile 20. But I guess this is fairly common among marathoners, considering they do call 20 "The Wall", after all. My wall was decidedly more mental than physical. I had stuck to my nutrition plan and hydrated well, so my body held together, despite its fervent protests. My mind, on the other hand, was beginning to fall apart. Mile 20 brought another daunting hill along with it, which only managed to plunge me into a pit of despair. At that weakened and vulnerable state, I could only think of how totally unfair that hill was. (Completely logical, right?) But I forced myself to take it one mile at a time, which was the only distance my feeble mind could digest at that point.  And so I pushed on, ticking of one slow mile after another, until I could finally see the finish line.  At that moment, nothing in this world had ever felt so rewarding, or so absolutely necessary.

Even though I felt as though I had run at the slowest snail pace ever, my time turned out to be fairly respectable at 3 hours, 41 minutes.  That landed my the number 15 spot (out of 284) in my division (women 30-34), and 79th overall for women (out of 1586).  So, even though I finished more than an hour later than the winner, I'm happy with my results.  I set out to conquer Big Sur and I did.  Now on to my next challenge...