Puzzle Pieces

It was, quite honestly, the perfect long weekend. We didn't go out for fancy dinners, or even do anything remotely romantic. We didn't book a room at a plush hotel, opting for more budget-friendly options instead. All of the schmancy stuff would have been nice, but it wasn't necessary. We both knew this weekend wasn't about the trappings of a typical vacation. Instead, it was about being together, about being us. And that is exactly what we did.

As soon as my boys arrived in town, all was right with the world. It only took a moment for my loneliness and apprehension to melt away. There they were - my husband, grinning the biggest grin I could fathom, and the puppy, wagging his tail so vigorously his body quaked. My own joy could barely be contained. After weeks apart, it was as if there had never been any distance between us. We were instantaneously a family again.

There's something to be said about our ability to fall right back into being us, about our ability to bounce back from long separations. I suppose the absence might make our hearts grow a teensy bit fonder, and help us appreciate each other a little more, but I swear that nothing truly changes. For better or worse (mostly better, I think), we land right smack dab in the middle of our old habits. We might bicker the same, as per our established patterns, but we also love the same, which overrides it all.

In retrospect, this weekend was, actually, a whole lot of nothing. We laughed by the campfire. We ribbed each other along our hike. We watched the puppy chase the waves along Newport Beach. Individually, each activity seems small and insignificant. But together, they help construct the puzzle of who we are. And after weeks of being apart, I realized that is exactly what I (and we) needed.

Lucky Me

There are times in my life when I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for the here and now, and can't help but feel so incredibly lucky for all of my blessings. Sorry for the sap, but this morning is one of those times. I woke up as the sun peaked over the horizon, snuggled in between my Mouse and my Butters (aka the puppy), to the sound of the waves crashing into the beach below us. It was so perfect, my heart just melted. I couldn't have dreamt a better start to my day.

My boys rolled into town yesterday afternoon, so we can spend a long weekend together. We've set up camp at the San Clemente State Beach campground, perched high above the Pacific Ocean. We spent last night around the campfire, making s'mores and drinking wine. Today we've got beach play and hiking on the schedule. My raging allergies aside, this is going to be an ideal day, and a well-deserved weekend together.

A Desert Oasis

One of the best things about being able to consider myself a Las Vegas semi-local is that there is always something new and exciting to discover.  And I'm not just talking about exclusive nightclubs or over-priced restaurants, either.  As I've mentioned before, my trips back to Vegas tend to be more low-key and usually include an outdoor element.  This weekend's trip was no different.  Saturday, of course, was dedicated to the Pumpkinman Triathlon.  Come Sunday, my tri buddy and I were too exhausted to do anything too crazy, but we definitely wanted to get outdoors and enjoy the beautiful autumn day.  This is how we stumbled upon Wetlands Park.

A wetland in the desert?  What??? The notion simply seems counterintuitive.  But, believe me, it exists.  (And I definitely had my doubts.)  This nature preserve, which is located just miles from the strip, off Tropicana, is proof that life can spring from the most barren of environments.  There are ponds with ducks, a rushing river (or run-off, whatever), and much more greenery than one ever gets to see naturally in Clark County.  It was a refreshing departure from the usual harsh landscape of the desert.  The "hiking" trails are more akin to nature walks, so exploring the park was cake, but we were okay with simply enjoying our laid-back day.

If you frequent Vegas, this park is worth checking out.  You can visit the Clark County Parks & Recreation page for more information.

Tri, Tri Again

I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  I really haven't been training.  It's been tough to get myself into any sort of groove since I took this travel assignment in SoCal, after all.  I've been able to (somewhat) keep up with my running, but my biking and swimming have definitely suffered.  If I had been logical, I would have expected my Pumpkinman time to correlate, but I had high hopes.  (Or delusions of grandeur.)  I had my newer, fancier, faster bike, and was (seemingly) getting stronger with every race.  Despite my usual pre-race self-doubts, I really thought I was going to beat last year's time by at least a few minutes.  No such luck.  I still set a PR, but only by 20 seconds.  How humbling.

Still, the 2013 Pumpkinman Olympic Triathlon will go down as a good race in my book.  The weather was perfect.  The water was calm.  The winds remained tranquil, and the often-blistering Vegas heat cut us some slack.  My swim was a little slow, but strong.  My ride was more of the same.  The bike course was brutal, but that's a given when racing at Lake Mead.  My run felt great, but I should have pushed my pace just a little more.  In truth, my only real criticism of my performance is that I didn't take enough chances, or push myself hard enough.  I guess that's a lesson I needed to learn.

All in all, it was a good day.  I got to race and hang out with friends on a picturesque fall day.  What could be better than sprawling in a park post-race, downing cold beers?  It was truly everything a race day should be, so, despite my lackluster performance, I really can't complain.

Tomorrow I make the long, hot drive back to the OC.  But I have more than work, work, and more work to look forward to this week.  Yup, at the end of my three, my husband and puppy will be in town to spend some time with me.  So I'm more than ready to tackle this week and the challenges it may bring, as there is an incredibly bright and comforting light at the end of this tunnel.  I guess this is when countdown begins...

Vegas Bound

After three long nights of work, and one really good night of sleep I'm off to Vegas. The Pumpkinman Triathlon is tomorrow, and, as is my tradition since living there, I'm competing in the Olympic distance. I'm praying for a cool, calm morning, but the desert weather can be unpredictable and unforgiving, so who knows what tomorrow will bring? Wish me luck!

All In a Day's Work

Have you ever left work convinced you smell like poo? That you've been around the offending substance for so many hours, and in such large quantities, that the stench has diffused into your pores and stubbornly clings to each and every strand of your hair? That, no matter what you do, you cannot get the rancid scent out of your nostrils?

Chances are, if you're not a nurse, you probably haven't. Lucky you.

I, on the other hand, am not so fortunate, and today is one of those mornings. Which, of course, means last night was one of those nights. I'll spare you the gory details, but it would be safe to assume there was an abundance of poo. Think overflowing rivers. (Sorry for the visual. I couldn't help myself.)

I'm not sharing this to complain or make anyone feel sorry for me. If anything, I hope it makes you laugh. Believe me, I laughed all night at the grotesque ridiculousness of the situation. I couldn't help myself, because, quite honestly, it was the only thing I could do. (That and clean my patient many, many times.) I couldn't get mad; it wasn't her fault. The poor dear wasn't even conscious to realize what was happening. Even if she was, it would have been out of her control. It was the perfect storm of tube feedings and bowel meds. Besides, as all nurses know, sometimes (and all too often), poo just happens.

So, now that my night in fecal hell has come to an end, I'm headed home to scrub myself from head to toe. I've never been so excited to step foot in my shower and wash away the evidence of my unfortunate night. Oh well - eventually I'm bound to come clean.

Kind of makes you reevaluate your definition of a "bad day", right?

Scarred for Life

**Disclaimer - If you are not a nurse, you may not want to read this. You could very well be scarred for life. No joke. You have been warned...**

It happened so quickly, I didn't have time to react. I stood there, as if frozen in time, unsure of what to do next. I couldn't just drop the patient and run for the hills, screaming in horror. He was my responsibility, after all. I was mortified and disgusted, but what could I do? So I held back a shriek, maintained my composure, and finished the task at hand, all the while fighting the urge to take steel wool to my face.

Seriously?!? This was how my work week was going to begin?

Up until that moment, I honestly thought I was ready to take on last week and all the craziness that comes with working in my hospital. After a few days off, and some much-needed pampering, I was recharged and rejuvenated. My head was clear. My outlook on life improved. I felt like a new woman, confident nothing could get me down. Ha. All that bravado went out the proverbial window almost as soon as I clocked in and hit the floor. No kidding, it took less than an hour to realize I was oh-so-very wrong. On this day, life, karma, whatever you want to call it, had other plans for me. I still haven't figured out what it wanted to teach me, but I am certain it wanted knock me down.

What could be so bad, you ask? I do work in an ICU, after all. I'm bound to run into some gnarly, stomach curdling stuff from time to time. And you're right, I do. I can stomach gunshot wounds, head traumas, and unbelievably gross abdominal wounds any day of the week. Bring them on. But this was much, much worse. I may even be scarred for life. That night, I was the one the other nurses were shaking their heads in sympathy for.

First off, let me set the stage for my drama. This was a comatose, end-stage renal failure patient. He was third-spacing and oozing from every inch of his skin. The little urine he was producing was thick, red, and smelled horrible. (See? I told you that you might not want to read this entry if you're not a nurse!) In short, he was really, really ill. He didn't have a good prognosis, so my goal was to keep him as clean as possible and as comfortable as possible during my shift. This is where the horror of all horrors comes into play.

I was cleaning him, with the assistance of my aid, getting him into a dry gown, and replacing the bodily-fluid-soaked linens with fresh ones. It happened when we turned him. It only took a second. There was really nothing I could have done to prevent it. As we rolled him to his side, there was a slight tug on his Foley catheter. Normally, this wouldn't mean a thing. But, this time, there was a defect in the catheter, and that one little tug led to disaster. The catheter came apart at the hub, allowing the concentrated urine to escape the tubing. Droplets of urine flew through the air, landing upon whatever surface was in their trajectory. Can you guess where they landed? Yup, quite unfortunately one of said surfaces was my lips. Yes, his blood-red, nasty, concentrated pee landed on my formerly clean, well-moisturized lips. It took a moment to register what had just happened. When it finally did, my eyes widened with shock and my stomach churned with disgust. But I couldn't just drop my patient. Doing so could harm him. So I wiped it off with the sleeve of my gown, finished caring for him, and then promptly scrubbed my lips with alcohol wipes. What else could I do? Sigh!

Bloody pee on my lips. That was a first. And, I pray to all that is holy, a last. Ugh. It's not blood or guts, but the thought of it makes me gag. And, even though I did my best to eradicate it from my skin, I'm convinced that it soaked in and I'm now contaminated. I'm going to live with this memory forever. Now do you see why I had such a bad night??? Thanks, karma.

Rainy Days and Thursdays

I know I've mentioned this before, but I cannot help but reiterate how much I love a nice, grey, rainy day. If I weren't working tonight, I might be a little disappointed by today's turn in the weather, but since my only goal until 5pm is to sleep, this dreary day is a welcome break from the usual nonstop sun. The pitter-patter of each rain drop lulls me to sleep, urging me to burrow deeper into my blankets and shut out the surrounding world. The rain is my own, personal "hall pass" to stop feeling guilty about slumbering away my entire day. So, I'm going to take full advantage of this lovely fall day and sleep like a champ. In fact, my eyelids are already heavy...

Away From the Grind

Ahhh... I feel like a new woman. Two days off was just what I needed. Yes - I know. My prior level of exhaustion was my own fault. No one forced me to work all of those consecutive shifts. I've been a woman on a mission these past few weeks; a mission to work as much as possible. I have my reasons, of course. The extra money is nice. (And that's why I'm out here, right?) But, more than anything, I need to keep working so I don't have time to think about how much I miss my Mouse and my life back in Denver. But even a workaholic like me needs a couple of days to relax and unwind, which is exactly what I did.

Working so many nights in a row has a way of making me feel horrible about myself. Most of it can be attributed to my lack of sleep and jacked-up circadian rhythm. And I'm sure the 2am junk food intake doesn't help, either. But I also start to feel utterly antisocial. When I'm working, there is no time for me to hang out or catch up with my friends. I work and sleep, and that's about it, disappearing into the strange and twisted world of ICU-land. So, when I finally grant myself a couple of days off, I make sure to take full advantage, which is exactly what I did these past couple of days.

Knowing these were going to be the only two days of respite in my foreseeable future, I went for broke. I primped and pampered, treating myself to a haircut, facial, and massage. I went shopping. I drank wine with friends. I ate street tacos at the Huntington Beach Tuesday night market. I even managed to squeeze in a decently long run along the San Clemente beach. I couldn't have planned this mini-break better if I tried. These last two days provided a much-needed recharge for my mind, body, and soul.

Now that I've squeezed in all of my R&R, it's time to get back to the grind. I'm looking at another four grueling nights of dealing with the aftermath of car accidents, gang activity, and unchecked infections. Such is the life of an ICU nurse. But, this week, I'm ready for it. Bring on the sickies!

Another Crazy Night

Uh oh. I knew last night was going to be trouble the moment I stepped onto the floor. The air was just charged with that frantic tension that always seems to precede complete and utter chaos. I could see it in the day-shift nurses' eyes. I could sense it in the way they franticly scurried around, responding to alarms and paging their respective docs, rather than waiting patiently to give the change-of-shift report. The phones were ringing off the hook. Someone was barking at me to talk to a doc regarding a patient about which I knew nothing. In the background, as if to emphasize the symphony of catastrophe that was threatening to erupt, were the high-pitched wails of two patients on the verge of psychosis. And, oh yeah, it smelled like poo. Ahh... Welcome to the ICU.

It's nights like this that make me want to walk away before my shift even begins. I've been around long enough to sniff out a pending night from hell. I know I'm going to spend the shift putting out one fire after the next, chasing my own tail, and doing my best to keep the insanity simmering at a manageable level. I'm never going to sit, eating a meal will be an impossibility, and I'll be catching up on my charting long after my shift is over. Yup - I could foresee my future before I even had a chance to glance at my patients. And once I did, I knew my fait was sealed.

Of course, I was right. It was a bad night. I ran. I put out fires. I kept our intensivist up all night. But, ultimately, it turned out to be a halfway decent shift. Partially, because we caught things in time. Even more so, because I work with a great team. Yet, I couldn't help but breathe a really long sigh of relief when it was finally time to go home.

One night down. Only three more to go...

All Work, No Play

Wow. I just powered through five twelve-hour night shifts, which is never an easy feat. I've felt like a zombie nearly the entire time, making my way through each night as if I'm one of the walking dead. I'm pretty sure, by the end of last night's shift, my eyes were glazed over from total lack of sleep; my pupils fixed and dilated just like a neuro case gone bad. My throat hurts. My back aches. Even more depressing is the way my feet and ankles have morphed into the ever-so-attractive tankle-ish look. But, despite the wear and tear on my body, and my complete and utter exhaustion, I feel good. I feel useful and accomplished. I finally did exactly what I came out here to do - work hard.

I knew this is what I needed, less play and more work. It's a rare occasion when I feel this way, but too much idle time can sometimes be my enemy. Early last week, I caught myself slipping into a deep funk. I just couldn't shake the loneliness of missing my Mouse and my life back in Denver. Self-doubt had set in, making me wonder if I had made the right decision in coming back to SoCal. Not that my feelings weren't valid, or my introspection absurd, but I definitely had way too much time to brood. So, I did the most logical thing I could. I threw myself into work.

One week later, here I am, exhausted but content. I'm too tired to worry about the "what ifs". And I'm actually relieved to have a bed all to myself. (And by bed, I mean either air mattress or camp cot, depending upon which friend I'm bunking with.)

So this is my new plan. I'm going to keep myself so busy I won't have time to think about all the negatives. I'm going to work. I'm going to run. And I'm definitely going to make sure I have things planned on my off days. (Oh - and I definitely have some fun husband-and-puppy-filled weekends in the works.) If I can keep that up, my thirteen weeks will be up before I know it. Yup, I can definitely do this.