practicing the pause

Several years ago I was learning how to surf. No, not all Californians are born surfing. The second hardest thing about surfing, after balancing on moving water, is the timing. I would paddle out into the wake and turn my board toward the shoreline and wait. I wanted to catch every wave that came, but my instructor would tell me, "Not this one." The waves were either too big or too small. If the wave is too big, you dive under it. If you try to stay on top, it'll just take you. If the wave isn't big enough, you just let it pass. Once you pick the just-right, Goldilocks wave, you still have to time when to begin paddling and when to stand up. I'm laying belly down, head turned to watch the waves come from behind me. "Wait... wait... GO! Paddle! Faster! Go, go, go! Now stand up!"

I've never been good at timing things. I'm kind of an all or nothing girl. In swimming, I was a sprinter. I loved to swim HARD for a short period of time and be done. Every now and then, my coach would sign me up for long distance races. There would be much lamenting on my part. The more I complained, the longer the events got until I found myself signed up for the 1650 (66 laps!) My coach told me it would improve my sprint times because I needed to practice pacing and stroke length. It was good for me, but I wanted to go fast.

I always have. Catch every wave. Sprint. Work hard, play hard, sleep hard. (My Fitbit tells me I can fall asleep in two minutes.) I have tried and given up yoga on many occasions. There's too much pausing, breathing, "being." I can't sit still for that long.

But I have found myself many times in seasons of life in which I'm being told to wait, to not catch a wave, to practice my pacing, to sit and just be. Ecclesiastes says, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens." Some waves are too big; I'm not ready for them. Some are too small to carry me where I intend to go. Sometimes we are signed up for long-haul journeys we don't want to be on. I'm learning to live in these seasons and practice the pause. We are asked to stay in these places not for distance, but depth. Our growth changes from horizontal to vertical. We can dig a little deeper and grow areas that might not get tended to when we're running full speed ahead.

This isn't a skill inherent to me. I must practice the pause. I must learn that "not right now" doesn't mean "never." What is to be learned in these moments of slowing down, pacing ourselves, and learning to choose which waves to ride? How does this season ready us for the sprint that's ahead?

the blue-eyed boy

Many people can go very far back into their memory, but I'm not one of them. At best I can remember places like the house on Adams Court or my kindergarten classroom, but I often wonder if I remember them from pictures more so than memories. The earliest memory I can recall is sitting on the couch in our apartment with my family on Christmas Eve watching the Santa Tracker on the news. My younger brother was not yet born, so I must have been four or five years old. However, most memories from grade school are just small snippets, too quick to catch. They are flashing images, someone rapidly changing the channel in my mind. A fleeting moment, or a smell, or a feeling- all without much context. Surely there are plenty of stories. Stories told and repeated over and over again until they become recited memories. One tends to remember the formative moments though, when things were exuberant or frightening.

We are in the gymnasium, awkwardly dolled up in our mothers' lipstick for our first dance as middle schoolers. More time is spent in the bathroom primping, squealing, and gossiping than there is dancing. I'm disappointed that only boys that I'm not interested in have asked me to dance. I'm jealous of my best friends who seem to be more charming and can easily catch the eye of boys I like. There is one boy in particular. I first met him in sixth grade. He had dark curly hair that was perfectly gelled, blue eyes, and a smile full of braces. He knew I had a crush on him and used it to his advantage. In the lunch line one day, he said my name to get my attention and then put his arm around my friend and kissed her. The twinge of jealousy was quickly replaced with a detestation for that blue-eyed boy. I'd later grow up to learn there were many of his kind and that some never outgrew their abhorrent ways. And now, a grade older, he's paying close attention to me.

He follows me around on the dance floor, smiling as he dances with other girls. He gets other boys to join in on the taunting. I roll my eyes, walk away, and continue having fun with my friends. The end of the night quickly approaches and we make our way outside of the gym to be picked up by our parents. I hear the blue-eyed boy say my name again, and before I can respond, I feel someone grab my backside. I whip around and his braces are sneering at me as he lets go of my behind. My left hand clenches, my foot steps forward, and I land a perfectly placed left hook to his right eye. I'm just as surprised at my action as everyone around me. The blue-eyed boy loses his balance and I watch in slow motion as his arms flap out as he falls backwards. On his way down, he hits his head on a handrail. It's lights out for the blue-eyed boy. All I can hear is my own fast breathing. Everyone rushes to his side and I'm standing there shocked at my own power. My fight turns into flight and I take off running. Hot, embarrassed tears are streaming down my face as I run down the dimly lit street in my purple satin dress and black heeled sandals. Victorian-style homes are whizzing by me and I realize I don't know where I am. It looks like my friend's neighborhood and I think I should try to find his house, but it's dark and I've only been there once.

The memory fades after that point. I know that my dad couldn't find me and went home hoping that I got a ride with someone else. I know that I eventually did. I came home to a very angry father. He was in a rage that I wasn't where I should have been. Now I know that he was scared. Anger is like that; it's a powerful, strong feeling that often covers up the more vulnerable ones like fear and insecurity. I explained everything to him and listened to him lecture me. I should have stayed. I should have made sure the boy was okay. I should have found him and gone home with him. I shouldn't have run. He let out a big sigh and gave me a warm hug and said, "But I'm very proud of you. Don't ever hesitate to defend yourself, especially if someone puts his hands on you like that. Just be prepared for the consequences you will probably face at school on Monday. I would expect a call to the principal's office. Your mom and I will be there." And they were. They made me respectfully listen to the no violence policy and accept my punishment of suspension from school. The blue-eyed boy was also suspended and ended up with a black eye and concussion, and I never heard from him again.

better days

John and I recently have had a series of cute photos posted online in which we look really happy. People have commented things like "Beautiful couple" or "You two are adorable" or"Y'all are perfect." We are really happy, but sometimes those comments make me cringe because things haven't always been so great in our marriage, and I feel as though sometimes we maintain a facade.

In our short five years of marriage, we have gone through what seems like a lifetime of difficulties: A combat deployment, an unplanned pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage, nursing school, a separation, new professional roles/careers, three moves, countless months apart for training, and many careless mistakes by both of us. During our separation, things were so bad that a marriage counselor looked us in the eye and told us our marriage was over and to move on. There have been some dark days, friends.

We are firm believers that our problems shouldn't be blasted on social media. We try to maintain some privacy, but in doing so it can lead to the misconception that we are just adorable and fun and "perfect." My desire to share some of our struggles is twofold: to give hope to marriages that are in dark days, and to give testimony to what the Lord has done in our lives. After a marriage counselor told us that our marriage was over, I went home, took off my ring, and sat in my office holding my wedding dress sobbing. But I didn't give up. I had a list of about 30 people that knew of our situation that were praying for us. When I was too exhausted to pray for myself, I looked at that list and reminded myself that it wasn't over just because an old lady said so.

We decided to seek a second opinion. A Chaplain and marriage counselor from the Fort Hood Resiliency Campus said to us, "I'm surprised you are even here. You communicate so well and show respect to one another. I think we can have this worked out in no time." He then picked up a dry erase marker and began devising a plan with us on his whiteboard. Chaplain Baumann spoke life and hope into our marriage, and I'm forever thankful for him. But it took us remaining committed to our vows and willing to do the hard work to even set foot into his office.

We have had to recommit ourselves to one another and to God's plan for our marriage several times. John is my best friend and the love of my life, but marriage hasn't always been easy for us. It's been toilsome, and requires the grace and mercy of God on a daily basis. To those who are single and may have misconceptions about what married life is like, or those who are newly married and feel shocked by what you are enduring, or to those who've been in the trenches for years, I hope that we can be a source of hope and life to you. That through our struggle and triumph, you may have renewed hope for your marriage. That we may be an example of the sacrifice and labor required to have a fulfilling relationship - not because we are so good at it, but because we've struggled to learn the hard way. That if you are currently in those dark places, may you not look at our happy photos with jealousy or some false assumption that we have it all together, but look at them as a source of hope of better days.

"Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5

You are not a Superhero

Dear Nurses,

You are not a superhero. You are not immune to the hardships of this profession. While it is a calling and a privilege to care for those who are ill and dying, it isn't easy. Oftentimes you deal with horrifically tragic cases. Sometimes young lives are destroyed in a senseless crime. Sometimes health is taken in an instant because of a split second decision that resulted in an accident. Sometimes patient's are frustratingly complex because of multiple comorbidities. Sometimes a patient who is quite ill is desperately afraid of dying, even when you know it's pending.

But you don't have to be the superhero. You do the job the best you can. You lovingly and sacrificially care for your patients. You carry the weight of their hardship on your shoulders with a full bladder and an empty stomach. You listen to the wailing of family members when you have to bear bad news. You hug them and console them while wondering if there was anymore you could have done.

We deal with unique experiences depending on our speciality, but we all know each facet of nursing is difficult in its own way. And yet, we often aren't kind to one another. There's a culture of "that's the job; suck it up." But we've all been there. We've all been cussed at and yelled at by people we are earnestly trying to help. We've had the confused patient spit on us or attempt to hit us. We've had the ventilator tubing pop off and sputum fly in our face. We've been peed on, pooped on, bled on. Not too long ago I cleaned stool off a patient and when I was done she looked me in the eye and called me a "f----ing bitch." And I see my fellow nurses smirking, thinking, "Yep, I've been there."

As someone who has "been there," let me say this right now: It's okay to say you're exhausted, emotionally and physically. It's okay to say you feel gross after cleaning up someone else's body fluids. It's okay to say you're worried about what germs you may bring home to your family. You cannot be anyone's superhero. You are human. Sometimes the job just plain sucks. It does not mean it's not your calling, or you aren't cut out for the work. It means that you are human. You have enough weight on your shoulders; you don't need to also bear the burden of a cape. Leave the cape for those with superpowers, and humbly put on your scrubs to go and do a hard job well.

Love,
A fellow nurse

wild child

Sometimes I have to hang out of moving vehicles at midnight to hear the dirt and rock kicked up by wheels, to feel wind tangle hair, to see stars and moon dancing overhead. Sometimes I have to drive fast and roll down windows and scream at the top of my lungs. Sometimes I have to listen to loud music and sometimes I need nothing but the sound of my breath escaping my lungs accompanied with the distant chirp of crickets. My nights look like running with horses, hopping fences, and "what's past that tree line?" It's sitting on a bridge with a creek raging under my bare feet.  It's falling into unseen holes in the dirt, and laughing until it hurts. It's danger and drama, not the kind that harms or tears down, but the kind that stirs life and challenges routine.

Mama, I'm sorry I climbed without stopping, and leaped without looking. Daddy, thank you for scrubbing gravel out of my road rash and for teaching me how to fight. Raising me was endless bruises, scrapes, and knotted hair. It was wild stories, imaginary friends, and vivid dreams. It was calming me when the storm raged inside, and knowing when to let me roam free. And to my love, my best friend, my partner in this dangerous life, thank you for loving me without cages, without boxes, and without clipped wings. Your love is twinkly eyes that watch as I dance, and a gentle reeling in when I've gone too far. It is laughter that penetrates walls and ignites fires in deep, dark places. It is a lightness, and yet a depth. Thank you for loving this wild child well.

for the good of the patient

Nursing is a profession rife with difficult decisions. Should I give this med? Should I call the doctor? It is both a science and an art. It requires analytical, mathematical logic as well as creativity, communication, and compassion. It takes individual initiative along with a large dose of teamwork. To do nursing well is to walk a tight rope. It's a juggling act with the most precious objects: people's lives. 


One such difficult scenario is when the nurse becomes a patient. I recently became ill with influenza and I felt this visceral war in my conscience: Do I call in sick and leave my coworkers in a bind? Do I suck it up and fulfill my obligation to work? What if I expose others- including my patients? It got to a point where it would have been impossible for me to work; I could barely lift my head off my pillow. But during those times when symptoms were just starting, or I was beginning to feel better but symptoms still lingered, that the decision to go into work or not became difficult. 

I have a duty to my coworkers and my employer. I owe it to them, and to my own integrity, to be a hardworking, reliable employee. Because of this duty, I hate calling in. I want to do my part. I know what it's like to work short-staffed. But what about my two other duties- to myself and, more importantly, to my patients? I can't be very effective as a nurse if I don't take care of myself first. And an even bigger concern, especially in cases like influenza, could I potentially do harm by caring for patients? 


While I have a duty to my employer, coworkers, and self, my biggest duty is to my patients. The Board of Nursing, which grants licenses to practice nursing and is designed to protect the public, charges nurses with the responsibility of doing what's right for the patient in all situations. Sometimes what's right for the patient isn't always what's best for me, my coworkers, or my employer. However, I took an oath to "devote myself to the welfare of those committed to my care," and while the flu may be something minor to a young, otherwise healthy person, it could be a death sentence for an elderly, immunocompromised patient. So when faced with a difficult decision in nursing, it must always come back to one question: what is best for the patient? I would rather lose the affection of my peers or lose my job than lose my nursing license, or worse, lose a patient.

an honor and privilege

It wasn't long before I noticed them sitting there. Little white envelopes near the time clock. "The Such and Such Family" written on each one. When I had first started my internship, I didn't understand what they were, until I recognized a last name. "Did So and So pass?" I asked. Of course, I would learn that I wouldn't have to ask that question the next time I recognized a name on a card.

Slowly, the more I started working there, each and every name was familiar, as were their stories. I work in a Long Term Acute Care facility which means we often have very sick patients whose stays can be quite long. We come to know our patients and their families well. Many get better and it's exciting to watch them grow stronger each day. It's a triumph when they come off the ventilator. It's heartwarming to hear their voices for the first time. It's a proud moment to watch them get out of bed and take their first steps. But not all of them get better. Sometimes it's a painfully slow process as they deteriorate and the family struggles to make a decision regarding continuing their care. Sometimes it's peaceful and quick, with lots of loving family at the bedside. And each one that passes gets a sympathy card sent to the family.

At first, I didn't know what to write on the card. "I'm sorry for your loss" seemed insufficient, though it was genuine. Then we lost a patient whom I had grown quite fond of, I wanted to say something more personal. As a nurse, how did I feel about caring for this patient? Then it came to me; it was an honor and privilege. And so that's what I began to write on each card; "It was an honor and a privilege to care for your loved one.  Peace be with you during this time. -Carsen, RN" In essence, it is a cliche because it's what I always write. But it's the most genuine thing I can think of.

Medical professionals have some of the most crass humor of anyone I know. Curse like a sailor? Try curse like a nurse. When we are uncensored and in the company of other medical professionals, we make morbid jokes and effortlessly "cross the line." It's a hard exterior to protect our ooey, gooey, mushy insides. Death is a normal part of life. When we watch people suffer, we also know that it is often a welcome reprieve. We come from a perspective that death isn't always the worst thing that could happen. However, losing a patient is still hard. It isn't uncommon to see a nurse cry after a code, even a seasoned nurse who has heard "time of death" a hundred times.

This job isn't an easy one. The hours are long, the pressure is big, and people are often rude. However, nurses often come into people's lives at their absolute worst. Especially in the setting where I work, we are not seeing people at their best. Being hospitalized is a very vulnerable state. We see and clean parts of the body that only a small handful of people have ever seen. We administer medications that could potentially harm or kill, and patients put their trust in us to do it correctly. Family members look to us for answers or comfort during an exhausting and confusing time. And the truth is, to be that trusted person is a huge responsibility, but it's also an honor. Nurses are often the last face someone sees when they pass. The last kind word or warm touch. The last hand to hold. So from nurses everywhere, it is an honor and privilege to care for your loved one, in sickness and in healing, in life and in death.