What goes on in my head

Hello again friends! Things have been a little crazy around here for the last couple of weeks, but I promise I will get back to it soon. Not that anyone was wondering, or that anything I say is that important, but I guess it makes me feel useful if all my rambling is read by someone, or something I have said impacts someone in particular, or if God has used me in any way to reach/touch someone else's life through my sharing. 

All that to say, I have missed my one-way dialogue! 

So, I received a massage from my loving Mamaw last year for my birthday. I had a one month old at home and I was so excited to use the gift card. Needless to say, since there is just sooooo much extra time after you have a baby, I still had not used it and it is May. It expires in June.  So this past week I was finally able to use it! 

Only, I lost it. 

With the move and all, I remember putting it in a safe place so it would not get lost. Except, it is a little too safe because I have no idea where it is. And believe me, I have searched. So much so that if I had actually unpacked all the boxes I went through, we would be completely unpacked. But, I digress. It is in the house somewhere. 

Enter loving dad who came to the rescue and bought me another one for my birthday! 

So, there I am, laying on the table, receiving a massage that has relaxed me and my mind and I am almost asleep. 

And then begins the transition from upper body to lower body. As she pulls back the blanket to uncover my left leg, my mind immediately perks up. 

And this is how I know I have been married to Aaron for a while. 

I cannot help but think, "I wonder if anyone has ever 'dutch-ovened' a massage therapist. They are moving right along, pull back the covers and BAM, a wall of stink hits them in the face." 

And then I think, "oh my, am I seriously laying here, in the midst of relaxation, thinking about farts?!" 

At this point, any ability to clear my mind and really take advantage of the alone, quiet time, has deserted me. 

Good try, Krista. Maybe next time. 

Have a wonderful weekend my friends!! Many blessings (and no Dutch ovens!)  

The little man that broke my heart

In honor of National Nurses Week, I feel compelled to share a story that I have not been wanting to really share, for the simple fact that it rocked my core.  The interaction and relationship built with one little man, and the eventual traumatic end. 

As I have said before, most of my shifts are done three in a row. Two Mondays ago was no exception. I was nearing the end of my third shift when the nurses aid called to me to help her change one of our patients that had soiled himself. By the time we got there, he was unresponsive. 

Finding a patient in this state is always hard.  Our instincts kick in and we immediately act.

I yelled for help from the other nurses around me. I was desperately trying to feel for a pulse, to no avail. I rolled him on his side and someone put the backboard under him.  I started compressions, pressing into his chest, counting aloud as I went. 

After the first round of compressions, someone else took over. As the patients nurse, it is your job to report to the emergency code team what was going on, who the patient was, his history, what happened leading up to this event, lab values, vital signs prior, etc. 

The report to the code team went something like this:

 

43-year old male. History of mild mental retardation, poorly controlled diabetes, cystic masses found at the esophageal-gastric junction, originally admitted from a nursing facility for low blood sugar and unresponsiveness. En route to the hospital he suffered a PEA arrest (electrical conduction in the heart but no actual pulse). Upon arrival he was intubated and code cool protocol was initiated (a method of cooling the body in order to slow brain metabolism in hopes of preserving brain and cardiac function). He came out of ICU to our floor after successful re-warming and extubation. He had persistent and growing pleural effusions (fluid in the lining of the lung) on both sides, but had been tapped that afternoon and almost a liter was removed off the left.  He was being worked up for possible malignancy as several necrotic tissue masses were found in his left upper chest tissue. 

After almost twenty minutes of coding him, he finally had a pulse. He was intubated and we took him to ICU, where he coded again. After almost 30 minutes of coding him, it was called and time of death was announced at 7:02 pm. 

I stood at the foot of his bed, after witnessing and participating in the trauma that is coding a patient, staring at his lifeless body, replaying in my mind all of the time I got to spend with him in his last days. 

I cried pushing the bed from ICU back to my unit. 

I cried walking out to my car, leaving almost two hours late to finish up paperwork and charting. 

I cried the whole way home. 

You see, what that report, and the handwritten "code blue sheet" that gets filled out after each code or the "discharge" summary after a patient passes, what they all had missing were all the moments in between.  What they failed to capture were the real time events, the most important details. 

He was regaining orientation and able to converse better. He was still very simple, almost childlike and I honestly felt maternal caring for him. He was making jokes and eating. He was beginning to understand the severity of what was happening to his body and the picture of poor prognosis the doctors were painting. 

Those factual occurrences missed out on the three days I spent with him, feeding him, talking with him, bathing him, helping him stand and get to a chair.  

On my second day with him, right before I was supposed to give report to the oncoming night nurse, I went in to check on him and he seemed sad. 

"What's wrong, my friend," I asked. 

Tears began to fill his eyes.  He had a hard time forming words and would stutter at times, so he was having difficulties. 

"I...I...I...I'm worried."

I was standing to his left and immwdiately knelt down beside the bed so that we were face to face. Something inside me took over and before I knew it, I said, "My friend, we serve a big God. He knows what is going on with you and He loves you. He is in control and He knows you need Him."

"I hope so," he stammered. He closed his eyes and a few giant tears rolled down his cheeks. 

"I know you are worried, and God knows you are worried. I am going to pray that He gives you comfort and peace tonight. I pray that you will feel His presence and His big arms around you."

All he could say was, "Thank you."

I will never forget those precious moments with him. I will forever picture his face in my head, closing his eyes to fight back tears. He was worried about the procedure he was undergoing the next day, the one that would precede his death.  

I will never forget holding his hand before I left for home the second night. I will never forget praying for him. I will always wonder if it was enough, if my words were the right words to impact a simple mans life. I will always wonder if I will see him again in Heaven. 

The written, summarized facts and lab values and report sheets and vital signs do not accurately depict the relationships built. They do not adequately capture the bond between nurse and patient.  They do not reflect the mark our patients make on our lives, or the trauma to our psyche that occurs when one of our patients passes. 

Rest in peace, my sweet little man, until we meet again.  

Infant no more: happiest of 1st birthdays!

At this time a year ago, it was a Sunday morning somewhere around 10:00, I was finishing up my chocolate chip pancakes.  Aaron, Abi, my dad and I were eating breakfast at the Original Pancake House off Kings. After getting up at 6:00 am in order to make it to Greenville, SC, for the second day of a two-day soccer tournament, the weather was on our side and it was cancelled that morning due to rain.  However, they did not make that call until after we had gotten up early, gotten ready, picked up my dad on the way, and were headed down the highway.

Mom, Mamaw and Me

Saturday, the day before, spent in the rain, freezing and completely uncomfortable!

Dad and Abi

Sunday morning, before we got the "cancel" call. 

Nevertheless, Aaron looked at me and said, "What do you want to do?" "Chocolate chip pancakes!" was all I could think of and I had a feeling that was going to be one of my last meals, so I had better make it count.  You see, Saturday was not a good day for me.  I was uncomfortable, I mean being nine months pregnant you are uncomfortable anyway but this was different. My back was achy, I could not find a good position.  At one point, under the umbrella on the soccer side lines, Mamaw looked at me and asked if I was alright.  I assured her I was fine but I knew we were getting very close. 

So, we turned around and headed to the Original Pancake House, which has the most fantastic chocolate chip pancakes ever.  No syrup needed, just a lovely portion of whipped cream on top.  Ordinarily I could have eaten the whole stack and not think twice, but I was hurting.  

I had been having Braxton-Hicks contractions my entire pregnancy.  You can ask anyone I work with, how many times they saw my big belly turn into a hard basketball.  So, sitting in the booth at breakfast I would just breathe through them, I was used to these.  I did not think that I was "in labor" yet because none of my contractions were regular and the length of time in-between did not shorten.

We got home and I tried to lay down, I was exhausted already after being up early two days in a row and going to bed late the night before.  That did not happen.  No matter which position I was in, I could not rest.  I knew this was it.  Standing up and having to brace myself on the back of the couch to breathe through the contractions, yeah that was a good sign.  So, I did what every normal woman would do, I jumped in the shower to shave my legs! And of course, I had to fix my hair!  I was NOT going to be in labor, for all to see, with hairy legs and bad hair. 

Around 5:30 pm we loaded into the car and headed to the hospital, me on the phone with my doctor's office.  Being Sunday, I got the answering service.  The conversation that ensued was quite comical.

RN: "Ok, so how far apart are your contractions?"

Me: "They are at least every four to five minutes, but they are not regular.  My contractions were not regular with my first child either."

RN: "Ok, but would you say they are four OR five minutes apart?"

Me: "I don't know, I've been on the phone with you now for almost ten minutes and I have already had two."

RN: "Ok, but are they four OR five minutes apart??"

Me: "I do not know! We are pulling up to the hospital now.  I was just calling to make sure the midwife knew I was coming."

RN: "Ok, well, someone from our office should call you back within ten minutes.  If you do not receive a call back, feel free to call us back again."

Me: "Ummmm, I am literally at the hospital door.  You are telling me you want for me to sit and wait outside in the car until someone calls me back?"

RN: "Yes, you should receive a call back within ten minutes. If you do not, call us back."

I got off the phone and looked at Aaron, who had only heard my side of the conversation, and was sitting with the most puzzled look on his face.  "So, I guess we wait?" he asked.  It was not two minutes later that the midwife called.  When I told her we were outside in the car, she laughed, "Why on earth are you still outside?!"  And inside we went. 

We wanted one more picture of the belly.  This was in the car, after my bizarre conversation with the answering service, before heading in. 

After being checked in, before being taken to our room.  Last picture as a family of three (notice my hair looks wonderful!)!

So ready to meet our little Brayden boy!

When we got to the hospital and settled down a bit, around 6:30 pm, I was checked and was six cm and 100% effaced.  It was time to get this party started.  Paperwork done, epidural in place, I was resting a little more comfortably.  An hour and a half later I was eight centimeters.  Another hour and a half after that and I was feeling the urge to push.  I was exhausted already and still had not done the hard work yet.  I pushed for about thirty minutes and it was all I could do.  My positioning was not right, his positioning was not right, I was not effectively pushing.  I remember the last big push I could hear my mom to my right, whispering, "You can do this, Lord, give her the strength, she is tired Lord, help her." 

And then he was out.  

And then I saw my perfect baby boy. 

And then he cried. 

The whole world falls away when you see your baby.  Nothing else matters. 

And he was perfect.  

Brayden Baker Wilson, 7 lbs 5 oz and 19 inches long.  

Abi seeing her baby brother for the first time. 

The situations going on between Aaron and I melted away after his birth, not completely, but they were insignificant in comparison to the miracle of life.  We spent more time as a family during my maternity leave than I think we had in probably the two full years prior. 

Our Brayden, our little cinco de mayo baby boy, was finally here.  I love his birth story.  

A wonderful friend of mine explained the concept of a "rainbow baby" after he was born.  You see, after a storm (a pregnancy loss), a rainbow will emerge, as a symbol of hope and promise that there are beautiful days ahead.  A baby born after a miscarriage is termed a rainbow baby.  Brayden was our rainbow.  Our storm was not only the loss of a child, but the entire year and a half that followed, where our marriage almost self-destructed. 

But God showed us His love and mercy.  He gave us a rainbow, fulfilled his promises to never leave us or forsake us as His children.    

The past year has been full of love, fun, excitement and countless memories.  Brayden is an undeniable blessing and our lives without him would be incomplete.

He must have known mama needed a little loving today.  While rocking him before laying him down for his nap, just like every other time, he actually fell asleep, which he NEVER does.  So, we were able to cuddle, me rubbing his almost-bald head, tearing up, and him drooling down my chest. 

Happy birthday, my sweet little man.