Thanks, Thanksgiving

The turkey has been in the oven all day; its comforting scent wafting through the house, warming everything and everyone it touches. Our friends pop in, one by one, shaking off the Mile-High cold, to grab some food or a glass of red, maybe both. The football game plays in the background. Everyone is at ease, just happy to have a day off work and an excuse to over-indulge. It's perfect, really; one of those Thanksgivings they make commercials about.

At least, I'm pretty sure that's how the scene is playing out at our place in Denver. I wouldn't know, because I'm out here in SoCal, scarfing down a Healthy Choice meal, before heading back into work for Round Two. It's beyond depressing. I think I miss my boys more acutely today, than I have this entire travel stint. The holidays are so unkind that way.

I have to remind myself that this, too, shall pass. It's just another sacrifice that I must make to help build the future we want. Soon enough, I'll be home. This is the only holiday I will be spending alone.

Luckily, I don't really have the time to allow myself to wallow in the dumps. I'm off to work in a few, prepped for a busy night ahead. I can thank the holidays for the insanity about to commence, too. Sigh.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Grumpy Pants

Ok, Ok. It's time for me to stop my whining and take off my grumpy pants. I loathe to admit it, but this weekend was actually fun. (Who would have guessed?) I realize I did a tremendous amount of moaning and groaning as the weekend approached, as I truly did expect the worst, but I somehow proved myself wrong and managed to eke out a good time. Oddly enough I didn't even do anything special to change my mind; just being away from the hospital and with my husband and friends was enough to recharge my attitude and my soul. Besides, how many people get to celebrate their birthday by dancing the night away under the Eiffel Tower? (Never mind it was the Vegas version.) I guess life isn't so bad after all...

Vegas or Bust, I Guess

I'm probably the only person on Earth who dreads going to Vegas for her birthday. Most people look forward to a trip like this for weeks in advance. I constantly hear my coworkers excitedly planning what casinos they're going to hit and what clubs they'll dance in until dawn. Not me. Here I am, ready to hit the road at the break of dawn, sullenly wishing I was going anywhere but Sin City. I don't really expect anyone to feel sorry for me; it's just that I've been there (and done that) sooo many times before, and it's just not my scene.

Why go year after year, then? It's quite the conundrum. I could easily skip it, but if I want to spend my birthday weekend with my Mouse, I have no choice. This is a big work weekend for him; an event he can't afford to miss. And so, I begrudgingly tag along.

The sun hasn't even peaked out over the horizon yet, and I'm gassed up and ready to go. I'm headed east, through the suburban sprawl of inland California, into the Mojave Desert. Maybe my mood will lift along with the fog, and I'll be able to convince myself that this is going to be a good weekend, after all.

Cry If I Want To

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. I know those aren't exactly the words to that old song, but it's where I'm at today. It IS my birthday and I really do feel like crying. I really, truly do. It has nothing to do with aging or wrinkles, either, I swear. I actually like being smack-dab in the middle of my thirties, after all; finally feeling like I'm growing into who I was meant to be. No, this melancholy has more to do with loneliness and disappointment than anything else, and I'm not even sure why.

The loneliness makes sense, I guess, as my husband is hundreds of miles away. It would have been nice to get more than a birthday-morning phone call. A cuddle or kiss would have meant the world. That's all a part of long-distance love, though, and I know better than to dwell on the maudlin. Besides, we're meeting up in Las Vegas tomorrow. Shouldn't that make me excited?

The disappointment is what really baffles me. I'm not even sure how high I've set my expectations to make me feel so deflated. I didn't even have plans for the day, and yet it turned out to be pleasant enough - wine lunch with the roomie, followed by a lax night with the bestie. And still, I'm left feeling thoroughly bummed, like there should have been something more...

Maybe my work-induced exhaustion is just getting to me. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning. In any event, I'm ready to sleep this birthday off, and forget it ever arrived. Humph.

Fat and Happy

I am one well-fed girl. I'm not kidding; there is a distinct possibility I may have packed on a few extra pounds over the weekend, thanks to the overabundance of amazing food at my fingertips (and lips.) That is the blessing and the curse of only being back in Denver for a long weekend. If I were there full-time, I'd have been much better at practicing moderation, but with only five days to cram in my favorite places, there was no time for prudence, of any sort. So this weekend became all about the food and drinks, and I dove right in. It started as soon as I hitched a ride from DIA, ceasing to end until my flight departed on Sunday evening. And despite feeling more than a little gross about myself right now, I am one (fat) happy girl. Belly rolls be damned, that was some good food. Thank heavens I'm active, because I ate enough to feed several grown adults over the course of my visit. But, believe me, it was all worth every extra crunch and extra mile I'm going to have to put in to make up for all of those extra calories.

All moaning and groaning aside, here's a synopsis of my dining escapades:

Pinche Taqueria - 1514 York Street -
Recognized as one of Denver's Top 25 Restaurants by 5280, and one of the 50 best new restaurants in the US by Bon Appetite, this small eatery completely won me over. So much so, I ended up eating there three times over the weekend; twice for happy hour and once for brunch. Yes - Their street tacos were that freakin' good.

Solera - 5410 East Colfax - This cozy eatery continues to be one of my favorite neighborhood joints. The ever-changing Mediterranean-influenced menu never disappoints. This visit, we stuck with a bottle of the house red and a big bowl of mussels nestled in a delicate tomato broth, the perfect remedy for a chilly, November night.

Parallel Seventeen - 1600 East 17th Avenue Parkway - I don't even like lychees as a fruit, but I'm obsessed with P17's lychee martini. Too bad it's not on their latest menu. Lucky for me, I was able to score the last one in the house that night. I imagine I won't be so lucky next time. The duck pot-stickers may just make up for that loss, though. I'm pretty sure they're my new Asian-fusion obsession.

Thin Man Tavern - 2015 East 17th Avenue Parkway - No visit to the Mile High City is complete without drinks at Thin Man. With its hipster crowd and low-key vibe, this Uptown bar is quintessential Denver. I've been bellying up to their bar since my early twenties and imbibing their infused-vodka martinis way before infused vodkas were the rage. I always give the bartenders creative license with my drinks, and have never been disappointed. This weekend's mixed berry vodka press was no exception - simple, effervescent, and perfectly un-sweet. Yum.

The Berkshire - 7352 East 29th Avenue - Every once in a while, Mouse totally surprises me and introduces me to a spot that is exactly my style. The Berkshire is just that place. Truth be told, he was drawn to this eatery for its unabashed love of swine, but I was taken in by their brunch menu. Any Sunday that begins with bottomless mimosas and lobster eggs Benedict is an excellent Sunday in my book. Delicious!

All That is Good

Ahhh... Being home is like breathing a long sigh of relief. I'm finally back in my own place, utterly at ease in my own space. I can sink into my own couch. Snuggle in my own bed. Chop with my own knives. Cook with my own stove. (Oh - and spend some much-needed face time with my own husband.) Silly, I know, but it's the little things that make me feel at home.

As nice as it is to be back, this long weekend is almost a conundrum. It's reminding me of how much I love Denver, and of everything I'm missing by being gone. It's five days of bittersweet, knowing I'll be back to SoCal, and my cot in a cramped apartment, before I know it.

I refuse to focus on the melancholy for now, though, rather choosing to savor all that is good. It's a weekend filled with good friends, good food, and good wine. We're hitting up some of my favorite restaurants, new and old. We're taking a day trip up to the hippie Mecca of The Republic of Boulder. (What could be more Colorado?) We're getting in a good hike to tire out the puppy and take in the autumn hues. And during our down time, I'll stretch my legs and enjoy the spaciousness of our house.

So instead of wasting any time being sad, I'm going to use this weekend as a reminder of the life I'm working so diligently for. It won't be long before this travel stint is over and my cot-sleeping days are nothing but a comical memory. And when my life returns to status quo, I'll appreciate it all that much more.

Broken Record

Here I am again, counting down the hours until my shift ends and I can catch a flight to see my man. It's tortuous. The hours seem to drag by, as if in complete defiance of my selfish desire to rush the evening along. I want nothing more than for this night to be over, the clock to strike seven, and my relief to arrive. It doesn't help that I'm mentally and physically exhausted, navigating this shift in a zombie-like state of utter indifference. It's been the same patients, with the same issues, and same medications for seven shifts in a row. It's the dreaded ICU treadmill, and, in truth, I'm just over it. All exhaustion aside, I'm ready to be home, to relax on MY couch, and fall into the arms of my long-distance husband.

After Australia, I thought I would be done with this nonsense. I really didn't foresee myself revisiting this scenario ever again, especially after returning to Denver. But life and the lure of travel-nursing happen, interfering with my love life, and forcing me into old habits. I remember counting down the hours, just like this, so many times during my stint Down-Under, and now I just feel like a broken record.

This is the life I continue to choose for myself, though, so I must take the bad along with the good. Every adventure has its price. I may miss my Mouse, and spend many nights pining for him, but I am also reaping the benefits of this latest assignment. (I must repeat this mantra over and over.)

Soon, the sun will peak over the horizon, and this dreaded shift will come to a close. I'll board the plane and wake to find myself descending into the Rockies. And then the real fun begins...

Shattered

"He passed away. I'm shattered."

That was the text I received from a friend the other morning. My stomach dropped and eyes welled just seeing the words. The he was her husband. Her world had just been turned upside down, smashed to pieces. Her pain resonated in each and every word. He had been in a motorcycle accident the night before; hit by an oncoming car right before her eyes. She was following a mere car-length behind. The medical team did their best, but it didn't matter. Even though they worked tirelessly for hours, his injuries were just too massive. He slipped away in the wee hours of the morning. He was only twenty-eight.

I've cried for days for her. The tears won't stop. The strange thing is, we aren't even that close. I've never even met him. Still, I was the one she called after they rolled him into the OR. I suppose it's because I'm the only nurse she knows. She needed to hear a voice of reason; someone to help her make sense of all the medical-speak. I'm OK with that. I'm just glad she thought to reach out, although I'm not sure how much help I actually was.

I was working that night, so we texted until nearly dawn. I did my best to reassure her. There wasn't much else for me to do, not being privy to the extent of his injuries. My experience made me think the worst, yet I hoped for the best, and I told her to do the same. When the texts stopped, I knew it wasn't good. As I drove home in the morning rush-hour, her heart-breaking text appeared on my phone. There was nothing more to say, no more hope to give. He was gone.

I'm not sure why this is hitting me so hard. I see accidents and tragedy every day. I've spent my career objectifying and de-humanizing death, making it clinical rather than emotional, in order to become more proficient at my job. I think all of us in the medical profession do, to a certain extent. We build up walls to get through our days, so we can maintain perspective and keep coming back for more. I've seen my share of families grieve, but I always do so with a sense of detached professionalism. If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to get anything done, and wouldn't do anyone any good. But this was different. All professionalism was set aside. There were no walls. I guess that's why it's affecting me so. His death and her grief caught me off guard, bursting my professional bubble. This time, I couldn't help but to feel her fear, her loss, her utter sorrow. Each emotion hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything hit so close to home. And that's when the waterworks began.

I'm not sure what lesson there is to be learned from all of this. Maybe that I am more human and susceptible to emotion than I'd like to believe. Or maybe just to be thankful for my family and all of our blessings, because everything can be taken in an instant. Either way, I'm going to give Mouse the biggest, longest hug possible when I get back to Denver next week.