So Over It

My contract is over. My work here is done. It's amazing how quickly the thirteen weeks flew by! Goodbye, SoCal! I've put in my time, and worked my fingers to the bone, so now it's time to play. First, a weekend in Las Vegas, which includes my first triathlon of the season, Rage in the Sage. Then the grueling drive back to Denver, where I'll reside for the summer months. It's been an interesting, chaotic, and exhausting thirteen weeks, so I'm relieved for my life to return to normal, to have dinners with my husband, and to sleep in my own bed. Travel nursing has it's perks and is certainly exciting, but, for now, I'm ready for the mundane.

Exhausted: Training for Ironman Canada, Week 6

Only six weeks in, and I'm already exhausted. It's like I've become a hamster in a massive wheel of triathlon training, continuously spinning myself into a frenzy, in hopes of whipping my body into Ironman shape. Everyday is a new challenge, whether it be running, biking or swimming. It's always something: speed work, hill repeats, strength and distance training. It never seems to end. My shoulders ache. My quads are incessantly fatigued. My appetite is out of control. And this is only the beginning...

All whining aside, I'm actually enjoying myself. With every workout, I feel myself getting leaner and stronger. Thanks to my coach, and the plan she's developed, every workout has a purpose and offers a new challenge. The days of simply going out for a run, a ride, or simple laps at the pool, are long gone. Now I'm forced to think about each and every training session. I focus on form. I concentrate on stride, pace, cadence, and RPMs. It's all become so technical, I almost feel like a real athlete.

Despite this shift in my training style, and my newfound fatigue, I have to admit that the workouts aren't really THAT hard. Yes, I'm pushing myself much further and harder than I have in the past, but it's nothing my body can't handle. The real challenge has been fitting the required sessions into my insane work schedule. Finding time to squeeze in six separate training sessions per week has not been an easy task while I'm working four, twelve-hour, overnight shifts each week. And convincing myself to get up early enough to jam in a short training session between shifts has been next to impossible. But, somehow, I'm making it work. I've made peace with the new reality that every day off from work is a day fully committed to my training. And I've even managed to occasionally peel myself out of bed in time to go for a run before heading into the hospital. It's exhausting, but I know all of this hard work is going to be worth it in the end.

So, that's where I'm at six weeks into my Ironman training. Just plain tired. I don't expect the exhaustion to ease much as the weeks wear on, but my work schedule will lighten significantly soon, which should help immensely. So, for now, I just have to grin and bear it. Preparing for Ironman is a labor of love; I guess I need to learn to love all of the labor it entails.

Perpetual Motion

I know. I know. It's like I fell off the face of the earth without any warning. It's been an entire month since my last post, and I can't really give a good reason as to why. It's not as though I haven't had things to write about. If I think about it, I've actually had a great deal to discuss: work has been crazy, my living situation interesting, and my training schedule insane. I could have written so many posts. I just haven't.

The only way to explain it is that it's as if I've been living my life with blinders on since our Bahamas trip. As soon as I got back to Cali, I put my head down, dug in, and began concentrating on nothing but work and training. My focus has been intense. So, life has become a blur of nights spent in the ICU and days spent running, biking, or swimming. (Some days, a combination of all four.) Everything else has fallen to the wayside. My social life is nonexistent. My personal life has been limited to phone calls and texts. Sad, but true.

In all honesty, I don't mind this current state of perpetual motion. I may be mentally and physically exhausted, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. At least, then, I'm also too spent to feel lonely for my life back in Denver. Instead of falling into any sort of melancholy, I simply fall into bed, too exhausted to feel anything but an overwhelming desire for sleep. I guess that's the overriding reason why I haven't been posting much, I've simply been too tired.

I'm so grateful all of this is almost over. I still have months of training ahead of me; that much won't change. But, at least, in a few short weeks, I'll be doing it from home. This contract will be over in a few weeks, and my time in SoCal, away from my Mouse, will come to an end. It's time for this adventure nurse to take a break and rest her weary bones. (Relatively speaking, that is.)

SoCal State of Mind

And then I get to have a day like this; a beautiful, sunny, mild day in the middle of winter, in which I have all the time in the world to do whatever I want, and I remember how nice it is to live (even if somewhat temporarily) in SoCal. It was the perfect day to pack a picnic lunch, grab a good book, and settle into the sand for some much-needed beach time, so that is exactly what I did. It was my own form of therapy, easing the loneliness of being so far from home for just a little while; my mind soothed by the rhythmic crashing of the waves and smell of ocean hanging in the air. I couldn't help but be happy. It was an ideal afternoon, after all, my mind immersed in my book, my toes digging into the warm sand. It made me appreciate the freedom my solitude affords, to be able to laze about, without guilt, on my free day. I'll be back in Denver soon enough, I suppose. So, for now, I'll take my beach days and appreciate the life I'm in. It's not hard to do with scenery like this...

Settling In

I'm glad I waited a full week to write this next post. I'm glad I gave myself time to settle in and absorb the reality of my new living situation. If I had written anything last week, it would have been angst-y and full of remorse. It would have exposed me for the emotional wreck that I was. Even though I've done this before, last week was a shock to my system. I felt utterly lost, convinced I had made the wrong decision. Strange house. Unfamiliar neighborhood. Horrible commute. It all added up to misery. I don't know how many times I called Mouse, my eyes filled with tears, telling him as much.

One would think this travel thing, being away from the husband and home, adapting to new environments, would get easier with each assignment. It doesn't. It always takes me time to adjust. So, last week, I had to wrap my head around the idea of being so far removed, once again. It wasn't a happy time. But, once I got back into the swing of things, and back to work, everything got a little better. And, I'm pleased to report, that each day since has steadily improved. I still miss all the comforts of my home, but I'm coming to terms with my new, temporary living situation.

So, instead of writing about how sad and lost I feel, I can write about how confident and content I am. Yes, I miss my husband, but this assignment is going to fly by more quickly than I can even imagine, and will amount to nothing more than a teeny tiny blurb in the story of my life. It will be over and done before I know it, so I need to appreciate it for all that it is: a chance to grow as a person, an opportunity to become a better nurse, a great way to make some extra money, and the perfect excuse to spend as much time as possible at the beach.

Strange Days

It's a strange life I've been living these past few months.  Camping out in a cramped one-bedroom apartment with a friend and her neurotic dog.  Sleeping on a cot.  No television.  No Internet.   I may be living and working in The OC, but trust me, nothing about my current situation is glamourous.   At best, I feel like a broke college kid again, couch-surfing and partially living out of my car.   Although, even then, I lived more luxuriously than this.  The whole thing is so pitiful, it's almost funny.  I'm not sure what I thought life would be like when I signed up for this travel stint, but this certainly isn't it.

And yet, despite all of my whining, I have to admit, it's not really all that bad.  I'm making due.  Sure, the cot isn't doing my back any favors, and the whole situation is far from ideal, but it does remind me to be grateful for all I have back home.  It reminds me why I work so hard, and make the sacrifices I do.  It makes me appreciate the life I have temporarily left behind, and keeps me focussed on why I came out here in the first place.  Besides, at least I have a red wine buddy on my rare nights off.

Luckily, the countdown to the end of this nonsense has begun.  Nine days until Mouse arrives to bring me home.  Nine days and seven shifts, to be exact.  I'm so excited, I can barely contain myself.  Soon, all of this will be a thing of the past, a comical topic to bring up at dinner parties.  We'll all have a good laugh at my days sleeping on a cot, fending off a dog who likes to eat my underwear.  Soon, very soon, I will be back in my own house, with my own bed, and my own husband in my arms.  I guess that's another plus side to all of this, it's highlighted how the simple things are what truly make me happy.

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...

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.

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.

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.