Don't it make my brown eyes blue

Last year I worked Christmas. As a nurse, you just accept that you will be unavailable every other holiday. Babies like to come 24-7. This year I have Christmas off, and that's a good thing because I'll be gone for the next two Christmases. Last year I worked from 2pm to 10pm on Christmas Eve, and then I came back from 6am to 2pm on Christmas day. I knew I wasn't going to be seeing my family at all, so that didn't really bother me. I didn't get a lot of sleep, but it didn't come too easily that night anyway. There were a few babies born that night, but my delivery was one that I will probably not ever forget. I can't legally say much, but the baby was born too early to be saved. I remember crying as it breathed slower and slower while I cleaned it off and wrapped it in warm blankets. I counted the heart rate every few minutes over the next hour. It was very peaceful. It died in it's mothers arms, wrapped in a blanket with little blue bears on it. And then I came back to work eight hours later and pretended I was happy that it was Christmas morning. I was working with three patients the night before, and so I saw the other two for a bit, then I handed over their care to another nurse as my other patient got more serious. They both saw me on Christmas morning, and both remarked with surprise that I was back so soon, and we laughed and talked about all the things their friends and family were planning to do so that they could be included in all the celebrating. I remember checking her cervix and crying when I felt how dilated she was. The tears started rolling down my face right then, and I tried to sound calm as I told her that the baby was going to come very soon. We all knew why I was crying. Then I called one of my favorite doctors at his house on Christmas Eve to tell him that everything we'd been trying to do over the last three weeks wasn't working, and could he please come to deliver this baby. And I asked the family if they were sure that they didn't want to attempt to resuscitate the infant, as it was always their right to try. They had conferenced with the teams of doctors working with them and knew the probable outcome at that gestational age. I still remember their names. They wanted their other kids to come and spend the night in their mom's hospital room. They wanted to bring all the presents and do Christmas morning around the little tree she had. Earlier that day, we'd told them to wait and see, because things weren't going too well. She did get to go home that night. They were all together on Christmas morning. And I was back at the hospital, saying Merry Christmas to my other two patients. One of them shared the crepes and fruit and fresh-squeezed OJ that her neighbor brought by. My parents managed to patch my little brother's Christmas Day missionary call through from Russia to the hospital. This year I've got a whole week off, and I'll be in Vegas with most of my family. We'll probably make cookies and go find people to deliver them to, along with a few Christmas carols. I think that, of all our family traditions, that is my favorite one. We'll decorate our tree with all our old homemade ornaments. The little green plastic motorcycle will be at the top somewhere. We'll laugh a lot and tease each other, and I'll get crazy with my niece and nephew. But I know that on Christmas Eve I'll have to find a quiet place and cry for that small little baby and his family. Their Christmases have forever changed. All those stories about the true meaning of Christmas are great, but for me this will be my constant reminder of the real point of it all. And a reason to keep doing what I do everyday. I have the greatest job in the world. I think that's why it makes me cry sometimes.

Nobody Does It Better

Makes me feel sad for the rest.... I'm thankful for: Sleep. Even when it refuses to last long enough. People who are willing to be a part of the medical community. Doctors who are willing to still practice obstetrics. People who realize that you can't opt out of grief with a lawsuit. EMTALA. That means that even if you are a single mom who left her kids in Mexico, and your water breaks at 30 weeks, and you can barely write your own name, let alone read in your native language, you can still get appropriate medical care if you show up at the hospital. The little spanish I DO know. The ability to read spanish, even when I don't understand exactly what I'm saying. Bleeding hearts. The freedom to be really grumpy sometimes on my blog and not explain every little bit of my motivations. My ability to find a song to fit almost any emotion, and to know most of the words to it off the top of my head. The realization that I haven't got time for the pain.

Farts

I have been sitting here farting and realized that today they stink. Yesterday they didn't, but they were definitely a presence in my life. It makes me wonder if I was just congested yesterday, and those people I sat next to in church were really disgusted. I don't know them, but they didn't seem to have any reaction to my flatulence. It was all silent, by the way. I almost never make noise when I fart. I'm not sure why. I was commenting on this the other night at work, much to my co-workers' delight, and said "Sometimes I wonder why I don't make noise. What if there is something wrong with me? What if my anal sphincter isn't tight enough? I guess it really doesn't matter. I don't even know why I worry about it. I guess I'm just anal." hahahahahahahaaa!!! I love puns. Especially ones that come out of nowhere. The reason I am concerned about my farts at present is that I had a similar experience on a plane ride. I was going back home to MD for something. I think it was Christmas, and I was with my sister and my brother. The plane was extremely full, and I was getting over a cold and I had gas. As the majority of my farts are silent, I happily let them out during the five hour long flight. I wasn't smelling anything noxious, or noticing anyone around me grimacing. It was only later that my brother (who sat in the same row) said something about the "awful farts" someone had been releasing. AAAAAh!!! I really thought I could've smelled enough to smell them. Especially if they were that bad. Not so.

My Sister is The Bomb

A few summers ago I asked my sister to give me a list of good books to read, kind of like a summer reading list from school. I enjoy reading, but I have a hard time finding stuff to read. I just don't know how to find books, I guess. Anyway... my point is that I always love the books my sister recommends. I was reading through a website she recommended I look at and saw this statistic: The vaginal canal can also be ruptured by violent rape. In 2003, thousands of women in eastern Congo presented themselves for treatment of traumatic fistula caused by systematic, violent gang rape that occurred during the country's five years of war. So many cases have been reported that the destruction of the vagina is considered a war injury and recorded by doctors as a crime of combat. The website is: http://www.endfistula.org/ A fistula is basically when the bladder and/or rectum are perforated due to some sort of trauma. This is mostly caused by prolonged labor (6-7 days) and no available C-Section. I want to force all the people who choose to labor at home because "they had a C-Section the last time they went to the hospital and don't trust those doctors" to read through this website, and reconsider the health risks of a complicated vaginal childbirth. C-Sections are a medical necessity in many cases. The women featured are the "lucky" ones who didn't just get infected and die right away. Sorry. off-track. I get a little frustrated with people who insist on putting their innocent fetus's lives at risk by attempting home birth when they are not suited for it. And then they come to the hospital and criticize me because "modern medicine has failed them" or is somehow "unneccessary". Some things cannot be fixed. Anyhow. way off-track. I am aware of fistulas, and I am aware of the use of rape as a Weapon of Mass Destruction in the Congo. I shuddered after reading this passage and I am thankful that one day there will be a day of reckoning. I just wish that we did more with the power we have to fight this kind of inhumanity. One of the most motivating forces in my life is just the awareness that a problem exists. If I know there is this kind of suffering, I cannot be content to live my life unless I know that I've done something to help. We cannot leave each other to suffer without being held accountable for it someday. I suppose that I ought to look at that annoying roommate in a different light after a post like this....

Truth Restored

I was visiting another blog and happened upon a few ads from the Church's new ad campaign. I really liked them. I love how they are so simple and direct. Just the gospel. No one else's opinion or their friend's old roommate's story about how she heard this one time in some fireside that she really went to so she could sit next to Jarom in the hopes that he would pray really hard and ask her out and then propose three weeks later-- and that's why drinking Coke is wrong and you're supposed to go out on a date with everyone who asks you just to be nice. I love the simpleness of the gospel. It's all the other stuff that pisses me off and makes me get angry and bitter. I have a hard time separating the Gospel from The Expectations of the Rest of My World. I have expressed these frustrations from time to time and I always get that It's All Utah's fault. I find it hard to believe that a geographical location has anything to do with ignorance and closemindedness. I think those things are found everywhere. I resent the fact that people tell me that solely by changing my location I will escape The Expectations of the Rest of My World. I believe that there are Expectations everywhere, as long as there are people who believe they Have It Right. I just want to live my life as I see fit. I do have a small problem. I have lived for the last seven years primarily in Utah. I was a kid in the other places. I don't know if it is the same for a young adult in the church elsewhere. Maybe it is just me. That is the most likely answer, as most of the problems in my life are my own fault.

5 am Musings

Sooo.... I have my cell phone back!! Yaaayyy!!! I am thoroughly enjoying my weekend off. I went to "Walk the Line" on Friday. It was excellent! I sent in my last bit of paperwork for Medical Clearance this week. I just realized that next week is Thanksgiving, so the US government is probably not going to be getting to my humble little doctor's note before that. Soooo... I'll probably call and bug them in a couple of weeks, if I don't get any email updates. I've been perusing the websites of Morocco Volunteers and I'm getting excited. I'm also getting very nervous to tell my coworkers. I was very excited to tell my friends and family, but I don't expect everyone at work to be happy I'm leaving or to understand what I'm doing. Well, my manager told me that she wished she was able to do something like this, but she couldn't because she had a family. Maybe everyone else will think it's cool, too. Maybe they won't stone me for lying to them about it for so long. I am going to miss my job so much. I get very sad at work sometimes, just for a moment, when I realize that I'm probably not going to do this anymore. I'm not sure of my plans for post PC. I think I really need to get out of UT. I kind of want to be closer to Dawn, but I don't know about living in Klamath Falls. They do have a nursing program at the college there. I can get a job anywhere. Maybe I'll decide to stay in Morocco forever. Maybe I'll change my mind and go to law school. Sometimes I think I'd make a good lawyer. I can be pretty hard nosed if I want to. I'd have to wear suits all the time, though. Pantyhose. Do my hair. I'd probably have a very hard time doing lawyering and motherhood. It's hard to be a stay at home mom when you have to go to an office 9-5. That's all just assuming I actually have the desire to date ever again. I can't really think of any torture greater than going on dates with people I barely know. You have to look "acceptable", without looking too hot. If you're too hot, then they either turn into stalkers or get stuck gazing at your rear and their brain shuts down and there isn't anything else about you that is worth noticing. You have to eat enough not to be put in the category of "stupid woman who's entire focus is her weight" but you can't ever be full and stop eating after claiming to not be one of those women. Then there's the movie, which both of you will go to and one of you will hate and the other one will love and gush about. Then, one will think the other is in idiot and has no appreciation for real cinema, or the other will cringe at the thought of spending the rest of her life going to movies with someone who thought "National Treasure" was NOT AT ALL predictable and mind-numbing. And then there's the cologne. Bug spray. Yesterday at the grocery store I happened across those "Axe Body Washes" that have all those commercials featuring drooling long-limbed boob racks fawning all over the guys who use the aforementioned body wash. I smelled them all. Each was more offensive than the last. The last one actually made me grimace. I wish some French-cuffed, bleach-tipped man would've walked up to purchase some of the magic babe serum and seen the true reaction of a babe to that stench. Bug spray. I suppose there are women out there who like a man to smell "good". I think men smell "good" the majority of the time as long as they've showered in the past 72 hours. I think cologne shouldn't be noticed by someone unless they are within hugging range. And then, it shouldn't be something you can buy next to the Q-tips at the supermarket. Enough of that tirade, I suppose. It is Sunday, and I'll be going to church today. I'll try not to sit by my engaged roommate, as she is rather annoying. Her Future Eternal Companion is the Executive Secretary, otherwise she'd be glued to his side throughout the three hour block. She feels the need to be glued to my side, as I am the "inactive" one because I don't go to church every week. I suppose by definition she is right. I just really hate being someone's project. I just try to get up to the bathroom and then come back too late to find my way to my old seat once class has started. I know she means well, but I just don't like to sit next to someone who is being my friend out of a sense of pity and obligation. It doesn't help me to feel the spirit. I enjoy sitting alone in church because I can think about what is being said. I also enjoy going to the temple alone because I can think more clearly. Spirituality is such a personal thing to me. I can't understand people who have to have someone to talk it all over with. I enjoy talking about spiritual things, but I don't feel the need to. It doesn't matter to me what anyone else thinks about my testimony. It is between me and God. If I am struggling, it isn't anyone else's soul on the line. It's mine, and if I don't want to share then people should respect that. I guess that goes against the idea of fellowshipping others, and feeding the sheep. What if the sheep want to be left alone? Maybe I do need other people in my spiritual life. I used to love to talk about spiritual things with my friends. I guess I've just gotten less sure of it all and I don't feel like I've got any answers for anyone. I barely have any answers for myself these days. Man, these posts are getting more and more melancholy as I go on. I'm just trying to be honest, and it really feels good to get it all out there.

4am Musings

Sometimes I think I hear my cell phone buzzing, even though it probably isn't even in this state. I really hate listening to women complain about how fat they are. Last night I was scrubbed in on a tubal ligation and I almost felt like passing out for a few moments. I've never felt like that during a surgery. (No, I'm not pregnant.) I hate the song "You Were Always On My Mind". I think that if some guy treats a woman like crap, he means it. If he didn't he wouldn't do it. I am very inclined not to believe the singer, and I want to spit in his face when he says "Tell me that your sweet love hasn't died." You killed it, you moron. If he can admit that she was "always" on his mind, then what does that say about her worth to him? He can go around thinking about her but it doesn't have to stop him. He is just a born asshole and she's supposed to roll over and be thankful he actually admits it? Sounds like true love to me. My apologies to anyone who holds tender feelings associated with this song. I am not a man-hater. I just hate being asked to be treated like crap and like it.

Chain Bogging

Two names you go by: Skee (only one person in the world is allowed to call me that), Skylark Two parts of your heritage: bikers, hand-cart pioneers Two things that scare you: making a mistake that kills someone, singles wards Two things that you are wearing now: a Peace Corps t-shirt, white underwear Two of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment): Dwight Yokam, George Strait Two favorite songs (at the moment): Vincent-Don McLean, I'm Gonna Love You Forever-Randy Travis Two things you want in a relationship (other than real love): good conversation, comfort Two truths: I am really scared to join the Peace Corps. I am not becoming someone I hate. Two physical things that appeal to you (in the opposite sex): Teeth, smile Two of your favorite hobbies: watching movies, art Two things you want really badly: to know when I'm leaving for the Peace Corps, to know what I'm going to do when I get home Two places you want to go on vacation: A tropical island with white sand, the Isle of Skye, Scotland Two things you want to do before you die: Be a mom, find a best friend I can spend eternity with Two ways that you are stereotypically a dude/chick: I have and wear with pleasure many pairs of four inch heels, I love to talk on the phone Two things you are thinking about now: Chocolate, my impending Peace Corps Volunteer invite Two stores you shop at: Macey's, Rite Aid Two people you would like to see take this quiz: I don't think the people that I want to see take this quiz have blogs. I'm not even sure they read this blog.

Borrowed Wings

A line in a movie I just watched hit a nerve. The character said he felt that he'd been flying on borrowed wings, that his acheivements weren't really his own. I feel like that sometimes. I'm not saying that I feel I am worthless, I just really feel like people make judgements about me that don't fit. As a direct consequence of those judgements I get benefits I don't deserve. Or perhaps I do deserve them, but I resent them because they aren't really benefits. I feel that I need to prove to myself who I really am before I can truly feel at peace with my life. The problem is that I'm really not sure who I am. I'm not even sure who I want to be sometimes. I do know that I enjoy helping people. I love working with people. I hate living with people. I hate having roommates. Well, there are very few people that I'm really comfortable living with. I much prefer living alone. I don't enjoy socializing with random people I don't know. I truly love working with my patients, and I enjoy the challenge of connecting with them to be able to serve them better. I guess I'm more comfortable not being myself with people. I feel like I am too much of an oddity to be really liked. I feel like most people just look at me and wonder how a person can be so not like everyone else. I like being not like everyone else. I guess I've just chosen to enjoy being different because the alternative sucks. I'd have to hate every minute of every day and that is no way to live. I can't really choose to be something I'm not, so I choose to like who I am and embrace it. The problem is that it gets lonely. And everyone else seems to think that it should be easy for me to connect with someone and ease that loneliness. I think that a real, true connection is so hard to find.

I'm being watched....

Ahh!! You people are reading my blog! I guess that's what happens when I tell everyone that I'm starting one. It is a little erie to know that people read this, becasue I think of blogging as like a journal, and I'd never dream of letting other people read my journal. That was always the sticking point for me on actually starting this thing. But, I suppose that is what also drew me to it in the first place. It's a way to connect. A very unique way to connect. Work was work. I really need to take a Spanish class. My poquito is muy poquito. At least I don't have that much of a gringo accent.

4am Musings

Last night, when I was apparently supposed to be at work, I watched the movie "Crash". It piqued my interest slightly when it came into theaters, but I never got around to going to see it. It was on my Netflix list and just showed up last week, so like I do in my free time, I popped it in and watched it. It was very real. I loved it, but it made me cry. Growing up in So Cal and then rural Maryland, I saw racism. I felt racist feelings. Thankfully, I was raised better than to live by them, but there is no doubt in my mind that they are there. I think most people have certain types of discomfort with certain people. Whether it is right, deserved, moral, whatever. We all do it. Even when we hate that we do it. I wonder if people who haven't lived in very diverse settings can relate to that movie? I wonder if not ever seeing the bad parts of a person of another culture prevents one from judging others from that culture more quickly? I think not. I think that the negative experiences we have with others cloud our judgement, but do not influence us as much as the positive experiences we have with others. I think that we as humans are drawn to self-serving things by nature. The beauty of our nature is that we try to fight against those things and triumph over our natural selves. In that struggle, we grow into better, happier beings. We are drawn to the goodness in others, and that is why being able to experience diversity is so important in our development as humans. We need the variety of opportunities to see goodness in others. We unfortunately get the bad along with the good, as is human nature, but this is the beauty of life. There is a constant challenge and constant opportunity to grow. I cannot imagine my life if I'd never met anyone different than me, if I'd never tried something new. Ooo! I can't wait to go to the Peace Corps! I wish it was next week, then I'd be able to get my dermatologist's note and send it in. I really hope I can get my credit card paid off in time. I am so excited about getting out there and seeing a whole new world. I hope that I can be someone that fosters positive stereotypes of Americans. I hope that I can help the people I get to serve in at least that way.

The Pains of A Damned Soul

Ordinarily I'd be at work right now, cheerily guiding someone through the process of labor. Due to a few malfunctions with the accessories that run my life, I am actually supposed to be at home. So here I am. Long story short- I thought I switched shifts with someone. I didn't. Last night I was supposed to be at work, except no one could call me because my phone is (hopefully) en route from Sacramento. I left it there last weekend while at a wedding. Soo.... I didn't know about the shift mix-up, didn't show for work last night, and now am short hours this week because I am NOT actually working tonight. rrr... So, I'm sitting here teetering on the edge of mindlessly staring at the t.v. all night. Not quite there yet, have to blog first. Somewhat frustrated. And I'm ovulating/have recently ovulated. So begins the descent into madness. Actually, so begins the progesterone phase of my cycle, wherein I get depressed approximately 5,000 times more easily than any other 2 weeks of the month. So now it's time for some cognitive behavioral thinking!!! I'll spare the blog audience this little exercise and just leave you all with the assurance that, yes, Skye will be fine in a few minutes. Until the next disaster happens. Then, she'll be mad/sad/nervous/etc. until she quietly ponders life and gets a grip.

Back In The Saddle Again

Hmm... I just wrote a rather lengthy entry and then I magically made it disappear. New to blogging, I am. It is my bedtime, now. I'll be working the entire weekend it looks like, so perhaps I'll have time for a proper introductory post in a few days.