Baseball Wife

So, this past weekend I woke up on Saturday, drove to New Orleans, ran a little half-marathon on Sunday and then turned around and came home.

At least that's what it felt like.

This race was very, very different than any of my other races...for several reasons.

Reason #1 - my signature photo of late.

I feel like nursing school + moving + new job + being 31 + my last race being in 2008 has kind of made my athleticness disappear.

She IS on her way back though. Never fear.


And I didn't really care.

What's another five miles?

(A lot, I discovered, when at mile 9 I wanted to punch a guy in the face for screaming - from the sidewalk - "Keep running!! You can walk to your car after the race! Keep running!!" Seriously. Almost punched him.)

Reason #3 - I wasn't nervous. At all.






 

Hi.

My name is Addie, and I have a secret addiction.

Secret even to me, apparently.

I wasn't even aware of this until I started cleaning out purses and bookcases and bags and my china cabinet.

What do I do, buy a cute notebook every time I walk into Target or Barnes and Noble?

Yes. Actually.

They all start out with good intentions. Track weight and calories here, chart workouts there.

You can imagine how long that lasts.

But tonight I was issued a challenge: to read the Bible and pray every single day without ceasing until June 25. I mean, I can keep reading and praying after that, but June 25 is a special day this year.

The day before I leave for Honduras.

I know what you're thinking. I should already be reading the Bible and praying every day. Let me be perfectly honest - I try, I really do. But I get selfish and have my own pursuits and sometimes my quiet time with my Savior turns into more of a loud, rambunctious quick "hey there!" shout to God as I'm rushing out the door to work in the morning.

So here's where my little notebook fetish is going to come into play. One of my little pretties is going to get chosen as my mission trip book - my Honduras Notebook - and from now until the trip I'm challenging myself to every single day find a couple verses in the Bible, jot them down and write about what I think those particular passages are saying to me and how I believe it pertains to this trip.

Check in with me every so often and see how I'm doing, ok?

Tonight's Honduras meeting was encouraging. We were given the task of bringing our testimonies into versions where we could give them in the span of one to two minutes. What made it extra-special is that several of my co-workers were there - it's so great to know that I work with other doctors and nurses that aren't afraid to live out their faith.

Mine's not the most exciting story in the history of life-changing testimonies, but it's special to me. It's about me and my Jesus, and only me and my Jesus, and no one and nothing can detract from that very first time I met Him. While not flashy, it's the story of the beginning of the most meaningful, fulfilling relationships I've ever been in.

Is it ok if I share my story with you?

On a dark and stormy night...

Not really. I think it was the middle of summer on a sunny, hot afternoon. Not a lot going on. I was probably bugging my parents about being bored on summer vacation.

When I was in middle school, my little sister came home from a Vacation Bible School session at one of the local Baptist churches. I didn’t know what she was all excited about – she was my little sister after all – all her annoying jabbering usually went in one ear and out the other. The pastor of that church came over and explained to me and my parents that my sister had “invited Jesus into her heart,” something about being “saved” or whatever. My parents were thrilled, and at the prompting of that pastor, we all knelt as a family there in the living room to also get saved.


Slight problem. I didn’t know what the words meant. I didn’t know what just happened. I just knew I didn’t want to be left out of what everyone else was doing. So like a big, saved happy family, we all went to that baptist church for a couple Sundays, then went forward in church to be baptized…but I still didn’t have the slightest clue as to what all this was about. I knew Mom and dad were happy and proud of me, and that’s all that mattered at the time.

My family became very active in that church after that, and I was usually in the building whenever the doors were open. Bible studies, youth group, all the stuff that you're supposed to do in church. As I grew up, I took pride in not being one of the “bad” kids –I was pretty good to the point of being a fairly boring teenager. God had nothing to be worried about with me, right? I didn’t drink, do drugs, or even stay out (too) late past my curfew. I somewhat obeyed my parents. Somewhat.

Here’s where the story starts to get interesting. When I was 15, I went with my church’s youth group on a summer retreat to a church camp where I remember singing the song “Lord I Lift Your Name on High.” But there was a problem with one of the verses – I couldn’t get out the words “I’m so glad you’re in my life…I’m so glad you came to save us." My mouth wouldn’t work, my arms wouldn’t work…all I could do was stand there crying and trying very hard not to fall down on my knees in front of everyone. I just couldn't get those words to the song out!

Despite being a so-called “good” kid, I didn’t feel like I had the right to sing those words to God. It hit me that being good just wasn’t enough – it would never be enough. God didn’t want my good – God wanted me. God died for me. He didn't have to, but he did. An overwhelming feeling of need and unworthiness rose up. I needed forgiveness. I needed a Savior. I needed the unfailing love only God can provide.

Tears streamed down my face as I looked at my youth pastor. “Do we need to go talk about Jesus?” he asked. “Yes,” I whispered. This time I meant every word as I prayed.

I won't lie and say that life ever since then has been full cupcakes and glitter. It's been hard - harder than I ever imagined. But you know what? At least now I'm not alone in those struggles.

The world disappoints and backstabs and causes more problems than solutions. But my Jesus? He's a steadfast rock that loves me for eternity.

I don't know about you, but I need stability like that in my life.
And cupcakes. Those too.

November? Was that really my last post?

Oops.

Nothing like baseball season to bring this thing back to life, right? After all...

I am the Baseball Wife. So it's time for some more confessions from the bench.

Confession #1: I'm still a little homesick.

Our first baseball game was last night, and while I'm very excited about our new school and new team and not having to wear my ginormous poofy coat and mittens to spring ball games, it was a little sad to look out at the boys on the field and not know their names. To not know parents in the stands. To not have the people at the gate recognize me as the Coach's Wife.

I know I will eventually get to know everyone, but you know me and my patience level.

And if you're wondering, we won the game 12-10. And M still looks amazing in his baseball uniform. (You can follow the team on Twitter: @nfeaglebaseball.)

Confession #2: I had another patient ask me today, "You're from the North, aren't you?"

You mean hanging out with all my southern-drawly co-workers hasn't rubbed off already?

Confession #2.5: It officially feels weird to say "you guys," and I've found myself saying "ya'll" more and more. Not on purpose. It just slips out.

I've also said the phrases "All up in my business" and "Don't you be hatin'," which is usually followed by multiple eye-rolls from my beloved.

I know.

Don't judge me.

Or take away my English degree.

Confession #3: I'm afraid of losing my midwestern roots.

I particularly miss being able to order things baked instead of fried. This is seriously the land of All Things Fried in Butter and Fried Again. I also miss - now that it's baseball season again - the hometown feel of rooting for your hometeam...I'm lookin' at you, my sweet St. Louis Cardinals! It's all football and Saints down here. Yay...a sport I know nothing about. Fabulous.

Confession #4: I'm running the New Orleans Half Marathon next weekend and I haven't run in about three weeks.

What better way to get to know the area than to run all around it? It seemed like a good idea at the time... Between work and travelling and just plain not wanting to get out there and run, I've majorly slacked on this one. I'm basically in it just for the swag. I'll hang back and walk/jog it with the back of the pack - that's usually where the crazies hang out any way, so I'll fit right on in.

Once again. Don't judge me.

Ya'll.

I keep having family and friends ask me what unit I work on at the hospital and what we do. As a brand-new, career-changing nurse, it's been a little hard to explain, even to myself. Now that I'm officially out of orientation and some (just some) of my naivety is gone, I figured I better know where I am and what I'm doing.

I didn't have the slightest clue as to what a hospital observation unit was when FGH hired me. I was just grateful for a job offer in a city that has one major university and several community colleges, all whom had just graduated their own gazillion nursing students who were looking for jobs in the Hattiesburg area at the same time I was. That, and I could finally move out of my parent's guest room and join my husband who had moved down to our new digs several weeks earlier.

No offense to mom and dad. It was a great time having mommy do my laundry again, but this 30-year-old was ready to move out of the proverbial basement and get on with her life.

Honestly, I was so proud of my title as "RN-Medical Oncology" back in Missouri. Caring for cancer patients? Totally worthy occupation. Outpatient Observation? It sounded weak at first, like I would be putting band-aids on boo-boos and sending my patients home with a lollipop.

Some days, I wish that's all I did.

I didn't really know what an observation unit was. I was like, do I just watch the patients and make sure they don't get worse? What are we observing for? Am I going to be bored to tears?

Today's Hospitalist explains observation units like this: "As Emergency Departments are increasingly stretched by capacity constraints and lack of specialist support, hospitals are turning to observation units, also known as clinical decision units, to fill those gaps without taking up inpatient beds. Patients admitted to observation units are expected to be evaluated and treated and rapidly improve within 24 hours."

“The setting is geared toward patients who require more management or attention than can be given in the traditional ED, but do not need the length or level of services provided in the inpatient setting,” says Russell Holman, M.D., senior vice president of Cogent Healthcare, a national hospitalist firm based in Irvine, Calif.

“Placing one patient in the observation unit frees up about three beds in the ED,” says Sandra Sieck, R.N., president of Sieck HealthCare Consulting, Mobile, Ala. "Observation units can help avoid unnecessary and costly inpatient admissions by aggressively diagnosing and treating patients’ symptoms, allowing them to go home in a timely manner."

Our unit works closely with the ER doctors - but when emergency department orders run out after eight hours, care is usually handed over to one of the on-call Hospitalists...which means a whole new set of orders to implement. In the meantime, the physicians and case managers are trying to determine - in less than 23 hours - whether the patient needs to be converted to inpatient status.

So it's very true we move at a rapid pace.

Yesterday alone, between transfers, discharges and admissions, I had 11 patients.

To give you a bigger picture, our unit is only 14 beds. I take seven, the other nurse on shift takes seven.

Seven beds. 11 patients.

Lots of coffee. And aspirin. And charting.

Our floor sees everything from sickle-cell crisis to cellulitis, COPD exacerbations to dehydration. Patients come from outside clinics for blood transfusions. We see a lot of patients with renal failure - I've gotten to know our nephrologists really well. We get a lot of funky wounds, and we also serve as a recovery floor for patients coming out of surgery.

PACU delivers us lap-chole patients, (seems like everyone and their second cousin has had their gallbladder removed lately) hernia repairs, thyroidectomies...just about any same-day surgery where the patient just needs to stay the night and be discharged in the morning. I call those my "eat solid food and drink with out throwing up, pee, walk the halls without passing out and be cleared to go home" patients. We've also had a run of PEG placements lately, and I feel like I can do tube feedings with my eyes closed.

(Which I once said to a co-worker, who told me she would hope I wouldn't. Southern people still don't get that when I say things like that, it's called sarcasm.)

A typical 12-hour patient rotation can look like this: a patient is admitted to the floor from post-surgery around noon, only to be discharged four hours later...who's room was rapidly cleaned and assigned to a new patient who arrives no less than 20 minutes after the previous patient was wheeled out the door.

Or a patient gets to the floor from the ER, and ten minutes later surgery is calling for them (no joke...this happened to me this week). To get a patient to surgery, you have to complete a whole checklist of items, have surgery consents signed - which you can't have the patient sign if they've taken narcotics (morphine, dilauded), which of course the ER gave them just ten minutes earlier - draw labs, make sure the patient has removed dentures/jewelry/glasses/clothes off/gown on, plus call surgery to give report on the patient you're sending them.

Giving report on a patient you've seen for a total of five seconds to the same-day surgery nurse who's been around the block a time or two is nuts. You better have your stuff together. Or at least make it sound like you have your stuff together.

And speaking of drawing labs, PCRMC spoiled me. We had phlebotomists who would come and do a simple stick for an H&H. Not so here. We grab our trays and tubes and trot off down the hall to play vampire.

PS: I love central lines and chest ports. The end.

It can get exhausting. Halfway through orientation I decided I didn't like the floor, it was too fast-paced and that I just couldn't get my day organized with all of the admission orders, discharge orders and general care orders going on in between. One patient coming in while another is going out...I seriously felt I was drowning trying to keep on top of everything. People wanting to be discharged want to go home NOW, not in 30 minutes...at the exact same time the PACU nurses are calling you into the room of the patient they just brought up because they need to hand off the chart and have lifting help from the stretcher to the bed. And then that new patient wants something to drink and their family is hovering and their IV is beeping and....

And people wonder why I'm still broken out in stress-related hives.

(Sarcasm again, my southern friends. But not really.)

Now that I've been on my own for two weeks, I'm realizing that I'm not as incapable as I first felt. I can do this.Yes, it's incredibly stressful. Yes, it's rapid work. But I feel like I know this floor now, I know where things are, and I know who to ask if I don't know something. I'm getting to know the doctors - most of whom are fairly approachable and easy to talk to.

I really like my co-workers and feel that we all work well together. They bring cake to celebrate birthdays, and I like cake.

This floor is growing on me. Once in awhile I still miss my cancer patients and the five-patient, steady, unchanging workload in Missouri, but honestly, this is now starting to feel like home. I don't want to bail ship and leave this unit anymore.

I get it now. I get the point and purpose of observation, and I'm proud to be an RN in the middle of it.

Oh, and my scrubs are cute too.