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.