Words

The other day I was helping a patient.  She looked at me and said "I remember you.  You took care of my husband. He died, and you were wonderful with my family."

I was a little taken aback, to be honest.  This lady was relaying one of the hugest moments in her life and I was racking my brain to remember it.  She remembered me, even though we were both at an entirely different hospital than the one her husband died at.  I would have expected "You look like the nurse that...." but no, she knew it was me, she didn't have a doubt.  Yet, I couldn't place her face.

She told me "You said something to my daughter; who was angry when someone told her my husband was "in a better place", and I will never forget it.  You said: 'A lot of people will come to you with cliches that you will hate to hear.  Try to remember that these people don't understand that it's normal and natural for you to be angry, in pain and that you need to heal.  Don't hate them for their words, love them for their effort to comfort you'."

Wow.

I do remember saying those words, to an angry woman who was distraught that she lost her dad.  In moments of grief and shock, I try hard to be real.  I refuse  to succumb to cliches, preferring silence if I have nothing to say.  I felt honored that this woman remembered my words and that they helped her when she needed it.

That led me to thinking about our words, and the words of others.  I thought about how words we speak and hear impact our lives and relationships.  I thought about how we need to choose our words wisely and learn how important silence is, as well.

My mom's words, for example, are not words that I can rely on.  I have accepted that fact, and from it I have learned that I will try to always stand behind the words I say to my children. My Grandpa's words were wise and while I didn't always agree with him, I honored him and find comfort in the memories I have of the things he said to me.  My Dad struggles with words, so I treasure the ones that he offers in his uncomfortable, touching way.  My husband has learned, I believe, how important his words are to me and because of that, makes an effort to say them when he would rather be silent, believing I already know them.  My friend's words encourage, inspire, evoke laughter and passion and tears.

I think of the words of relative strangers that have impacted me.  "You really aren't college material" led me to graduate in the top 10 in my nursing program.  "You have a gift" makes me push through when I want to walk out the door of the hospital and never look back. "Your smile is beautiful" makes me put that smile on in moments that I want to wear a pout. "It's such a shame you've let yourself go." led to a moment of clarity and a promise to persevere and finally get healthy.

The words of loved ones are what ring in my ear when I am lonely, scared or unsure of myself.  "You are my best friend and I want to spend the rest of my life with you" spurs me on when I am overwhelmed with the work and the bills and the responsibilities that come with "the rest of my life".  "Be amazing" is what I say to my children when they are unsure of what lies next.  I know they will be, because they are.  "Be Here Now" takes me back to the moment, this moment, since I have a tendency to always be thinking of the future and what it needs to give me. "

Sometimes there are words that slip out of my mouth, that I meant to only think and not say.  Often those are the words that result in laughter as well as mortification.  I thank Nana for that, it seems that I inherited that trait from her.  It's what helps make me, well, me and that's OK too.  I love my words, I love the words of others and I hope I always grow older, wiser and more content by living with them.

Farewell, Tooth Fairy

Of all the Special Guest Star roles you play in parenting, Tooth Fairy is my favorite.  Santa - overrated.  You do a boatload of work and He gets all the accolades.  Easter Bunny - seriously? That's the one she blew up first.  "I am not going to that Dressed Up Person, Mommy.  He is a big fake rabbit, he does not talk and he scares me."

But the Tooth Fairy - now there's a rockin' job.  As Tooth Fairy you are: pretty, sparkly, tiara wearing, wand brandishing and loaded with cash flow.   It's simple work; staring in awe at your sleeping child, which I believe is one of the most beautiful sights on Earth. You also get a keepsake; an adorable little piece of enamel that you save simply because you would never part with it.

Over the summer, Casey asked for clarification about the Tooth Fairy and other parental lies she has been told.  Because I believe the straight dope is best in both my personal and professional life, I told her the truth.  She walked away satisfied that her hunches were correct, and I walked away feeling a tiny bit emptier inside because I realized the older I get, the more my Super Powers as a Mom are fading away.  While cleaning the other day, I unearthed a wand at the bottom of Casey's toy box. I put it away with my treasured things, just so I could remind myself that at one point in my children's lives, I was their Sparkly Fairy.

This morning while we walked to school, Casey stopped short, put her hand to her mouth and spat out a bloody tooth, which she promptly handed over to me.  I looked at it, and the realization hit me: my Tooth Fairy Days had come to an end.

Casey watched me staring at her tooth and said "Mom, if you want, you can give me money for that one.  I will put it under my pillow for you."

I wasn't sure who was getting the better end of the deal; Casey, who would get a dollar, or me, who got to pretend she was a believer one more time.  As it turned out, Bill put the dollar in her tooth fairy bear's little pocket. I looked in on her sleeping and felt tears well up in my eyes knowing that Tooth Fairy Bear's job was done for now. I would pack her up and put her away for my someday Grandchild.

When your babies are babies, everyone tells you that "they grow up so fast".  At times, you are so mindless and exhausted that you wish those days away.  But tonight, as I sit here and wonder where Motherhood will take me next, I want to stop the clock and keep my babies in their beds, safe, loved and happy.  My blessings are many, and being the Tooth Fairy is one I will treasure the most.

The Office and other thoughts...

Sometimes I think I miss out because I don't watch a lot of TV.  I don't know crap about "LOST", I have never seen "Glee", and thought "Friends" blew.  (Apologies to Alida). Fortunately for me, however, I live with TV Man.  TV Man believes that five TV's in our little house is only OK, because there still isn't one in the bathroom.  With the help of TV Man, I gave birth to TV Boy.  And between TV Man and TV Boy, I get exposed to some funny stuff, whether I like it or not.

Seinfeld was probably first.  I found it annoying, they talked too loud and I just didn't think it was all that.  Over the years I would occasionally snort at Kramer or laugh at teeny little Elaine shoving people and saying "Get Out!" Most of my love was reserved for George's parents, and to this day I can get my work friends to laugh when I see an Orthodox Jew and ask them if they like Mahhhbull Ryahhh. But that's about the extent of my Seinfeld love. Eh, not so much.

Next exposure to a sitcom was King of Queens.  Please note that we never watch these shows until they appear in syndication. Why? I am not sure, but that's how it is. Now Carrie Heffernan, I like.  I think if I was an East Coast Girl, Carrie and I would get along fine because a lot of the time, people just piss us off.  And what I love about Carrie (and what I love about me) is that if we're pissed off, the men we love know it. If I had to pick the closest sit com husband to mine, it would be Doug Heffernan (minus the weight problem).  He (pretends to) listen to Carrie and sets her straight when she has crossed the line.  Otherwise, he just allows her to spout off and offend people and generally make an ass of herself. Those who love me will see the connection.  Carrie also has her Dad, Arthur, who reminds me of Nana.  Arthur (like Nana) possesses the radar that knows exactly when to have a crisis, thus sending Carrie (me) into brain explosion overdrive. Thank you, King of Queens, because of you I now have a daughter who uses the phrase "Fatty McButterpants".

Sometime last year we began watching "The Office".  This, by far, is my favorite TV Man gift of all.  I cannot tell you the number of times I have stopped in my tracks and through the magic of DVR rewound the scene to see if they really said what I thought they said.  For instance: "Is this it? I mean is this...two bowls of M&Ms and some balloons? You know what Phyllis? I think you need to step it up. I think you need to get the lead out. Because if I'm not mistaken, we gave you your wedding shower here. We all came into this room and gave you a golden shower. Well you know what? Where's my golden shower Phyllis?" or  this one: "I am greatly concerned about having a convict in the office. And I do not care if that convict is white, black, Asian, German or some kind of halfsie. I do not like criminals."


How can you not laugh at that stuff?  It's clever, it's quick and it's the reason women over 40 wear Poise pads.  Thank you TV Man, for the Office.  And thank you, for exposing our son TV Boy to Family Guy when he was nine years old.  Our boldest parenting move ever, I believe.  The lesson we learned there is "Because the child is laughing hysterically at this show should not justify picking up Season One at Costco without ever viewing the content yourself." Oh well, the boy is now an almost man with an amazing sense of humor.  That's so important in this family.  You have to laugh.  You have to make people laugh.  So I guess I will watch a little more TV, because I will expose myself to gems such as: "I've had two men fight over me before. Usually it's over which one gets to hold the camcorder."


And that's the way it is.

Backing In

Bill and I laugh at the fact that we manage to back our way into many things. One example would be letting the rental car agent in Miami change our entire honeymoon itinerary, right down to the accommodations. Mercifully, the Honeymoon Gods smiled down on the newlyweds, and to this day we consider the Island City House in Key West one of the most magical places on Earth. Thank you, rental agent whom we did not know for changing the reservations we held for six months. Eighteen years later we still sing your praises.

In the spirit of our honeymoon experience, I backed myself into a new job last month. After an exceptionally horrific night at work, I began looking for other options. I knew that with a possible twenty years left to work, I could not afford a mental breakdown. I love what I do, but I do not love where I do it and whom I do it for. The hospital I currently work for is not something I want to discuss here, other than to say it's not a good fit for me. (Is that OK, Bill?)

While surfing nursing job availabilities, I applied for a position called "Assistant Clinical Lead" at the hospital I had previously spent 20 years working for. Reading the job description, I ascertained that this was a Charge Nurse type of position, and that I was well qualified for it. Wanting desperately to work somewhere quieter and smaller, as well as for someone I had worked for in the past and admired immensely were the motivators I needed to press the send button that uploaded my resume.

Friends, I got the phone call. I put the heels on. I dressed tastefully. I interviewed. With one group, then another, then some more and I got the job offer. I accepted. And here we are.

I backed my way into my very first managerial position.

My first clue that Assistant Clinical Lead was not a Charge Nurse Position came when when one of the interviewers asked me how I would handle a situation where "both of my charge nurses called in sick"? Well, I thought, no big deal, I am the charge nurse so I must be one of the sick ones. It's not really my problem. Fortunately, I did not blurt this out. The frontal lobe for once cooperated and I was able to recover with a reasonable answer. But while answering I realized that I would not be a charge nurse, I would be a manager. In the middle of an interview. Backing in - mercifully, without the "backing in noise" to alert anyone.

So now, I, who have been told by my new boss that my lack of a BSN is not problematic, that I have a solid reputation and experience and the wherewithal to do this job, am the Assistant Nurse Manager of the Emergency Room. By accepting this task I am leaving my old comfortable job, with the people that understand me and love me despite my many shortcomings, which is enough to bring me to tears. But that's another post.

Will these new job people accept me? Will they return my smile? Will they understand when I say that I don't know something but will make every attempt to find out? It's getting to be crunch time, and I am a little scared and a little intimidated. I am leaning on Bill, who is my Mentor of All Things Zen and Practical, for his knowledge and support. I will be looking for other Mentors, who will help me make the transition from regular sassy ER Nurse to Manager that should watch her sassy mouth and set a good example. I need to breathe, I need to stand tall and I need to make a difference.

I can do this. I backed my way into this job. That in itself tells me it's mine.

The new job conversation

Hello, Nana?

Susan? Is that you? Hello? Hello?

Nana, it's me, Kim. Who is Susan?

Oh Kimi. It's you. I don't know who Susan is. I need some dinners, and no Salisbury steak ones.

Nana, I got the job I interviewed for. The management position. I'm so excited.

What? A new job? Where?

Remember Nana, I told you, at Providence in Novi.

NOVI? PROVIDENCE? Well who is going to take care of me now?

It's OK Nana, my friends will take good care of you when you have to come in, and I will bring you to Beaumont when you need to go there.

Well, that's no good. You won't have any friends. They will all be mad at you for leaving that nice hospital. Now what will I do?

Nana, really, it will be fine.

Well, you just go ahead and do what you want to do.

Click.

Nana? Nana?

Dial tone.

Facebook Groups I Would Like to Invent...

Join The Group: Guess what? Millions of women have been pregnant before you. Yes, it's an event. But it's really only a big deal to you and about 4 other people (or 8 or 16 if you have one of those massively divorced families).

or you could sign on for...

Is she an elephant? Because it seems like her gestation has been that long. (A sub group of : Announcing your pregnancy the day after conception)

Become a Fan of: I don't want to see your naked pregnant belly every week. Or ever. Is nothing sacred anymore? Save it for the man who inflicted you.

(Is there a theme here? Yes, friends there is. I am letting off some steam in the semi-privacy of my blog as to not offend or be branded the Pregnancy Ruiner.) This girl is just a smidge weary of cervical effacement, mucous plugs, morning sickness and public display of your pee sticks.

Become a Fan of: Kindly stop threatening me with being the 97% who won't post that:

They believe in God.

They support the Troops.

They want a cure for autism.

Someone died of cancer.

Rest assured, I am still upright after every email I deleted that swore I would be struck dead if I failed to forward it to another ten innocent victims. Most likely I will be here until said God decides it's my time to leave. I love my country and support my troops. Autism is a crushing horrible disease. I have loved many who have died of cancer. Saying it here hasn't changed a thing. Neither will posting it on Facebook. The End.

I hereby also refrain from playing games that include posting my bra color. How exactly did that "help" breast cancer awareness? Do a self exam, have a mammogram. Do something but for God sake do not make Facebook responsible for your breast health.

Biiiiggggg Breaaattthhh. There now, that's better. I feel somewhat lighter in the lobe now.

It rubs the lotion on it's body...

Remember that line? In Silence of the Lambs? (One of the greatest movies ever, BTW so if you haven't seen it you should.)

It must be January. Because I wish I had someone to tell me what to do and how to do it. Granted, I prefer not to be in a hole in the basement with the orchestrator of my life being a serial killer, but you get the idea.

I am the worst winter person ever and I find it so difficult to get motivated. My house needs to be completely lit with those Seasonal Affective Disorder lights. I need them spotlighted on my noggin to trick me into thinking it's Spring. Right now? I have boxes all over the living room surrounding a tree that needs to come down and Christmas crap that needs to be put away. I have sheets that need changing and a Nana that needs to be visited in the rehab center. (She is doing great, by the way). I need to go to the gym and sloth on the elliptical and oh, P.S.: we have no groceries. I have to work in two days and also have some dude coming on Wednesday to fix our TV, which takes about six minutes to turn on. (I find it somewhat amusing to watch the TV try to start, I will it to just grunt because if it grunted, it would help. Please note that the boy people in the house do not share my amusement). I am getting Cable Guy reminiscent hives in apprehension for Wednesday. I curse the people who cut our combined time off at work, I desperately need a mental health day.

I am digressing. I need Ritalin. I need to get going. I would make a list but then I would start drawing on it and then I would want new pens and then I would go to Casey's art box for them and then I would notice she needs her quilt washed and then and then and then...

OK - regroup. Slacker Radio to the rescue. My "Clean the House" Compilation. Prince, The Time, Michael Jackson, George Clinton "Do Fries Go With That Shake?" All the musical gems that make me unable to sit still.

WHOOP - I am momentarily motivated. So long holidays - come on May. You can get me moving but you can't make me like Michigan in the winter.

She Fell - The Nana Chapter

Well, I knew it was coming. And it probably makes me a bad person to be relieved that it didn't happen on my watch. Nana fell, and she one upped me. She really did break her hip.

I was in a meeting at work when a friend walked in to tell me "your Grandma's in triage". ( To which half the room exclaimed "Nana? Oh no - she's constipated again?") These friends know Nana well since they got to spend my 18th anniversary with me and Nana in area C while I had her worked up yet again for belly pain only to find out that she doesn't take her Miralax like she should. For the record, this year's anniversary sucked on many levels, and the ER with constipated Nana was simply the cherry on top. Digression complete.

So I grab my stuff and go out to triage where I see Nana on a stretcher all Christmased out in her festive sweater, Christmas tree necklace and other assorted bling. She begins to cry when she sees me and I sense that this time, it is not constipation but something that is going to suck worse than Anniversary Belly Pain ever did. And I was right.

I peel back the blanket at the same time she is saying "I fell off the senior bus and it's not Steve's fault so don't you be mean to the people at the Senior Center because they made us spaghetti and I fell and it was my fault and I know you told me to make them help me off the bus and now you are mad at me I can tell by your face". I heard all this, but I didn't hear all this, because all I could see was a skinny little leg facing the wrong way and all I could think was Shit Shit Shit Shit. This, I thought, is going to change everything.

I took Nana to my work area trying to kill two birds with one stone: take care of Nana and my assigned team at the same time. I popped an IV into her arm and gave her some pain meds, drew the blood for the surgery I already knew was going to happen, whether she was 92 years old or not. I ran around taking care of my other patients, and blessedly, got tons of help from my coworkers who alternately entertained Nana and covered my patients when I was at Nana's bedside. Nurses, the ultimate multitaskers. Never underestimate us.

Xray showed that Nana had a broken left femoral head, and a bad one at that. I went with my attending doctor to tell her this in time for her to vomit up her spaghetti dinner that the Senior Center so lovingly prepared for her. After this event, I will not eat Chef Boy-ar-dee products. Ever. Anti nausea meds, more pain meds, more vomit, more vomit and finally the moment I am dreading the most. Call my Mother. My turn to vomit, but only in my mouth.

Let's recap: Fall. Break. Trauma. Vomit. Vomit. Vomit. Phone Call to Sandra.

Now let's add: Drama.

Me: Hey Mom.

Sandra: Oh my God I am so tired I am never going to get packed and your father...

Me: Mom. Nana broke her hip, she is here with me.

Sandra: Expletive Expletive Expletive. I am coming up there. No one is going to say I didn't come help her. Click.

So the nice orthopaedic resident that everyone has a crush on goes to talk to Nana. Nana says "Well, you are a nice boy. Do you work with Bill?" Because in a hospital that employs over 10,000 people, Nana assumes that everyone knows me or Bill. But alas, Dr. Pifer endears me for life by saying "No, I work with your amazing Granddaughter; Kim". And Nana says, "Well, then you must be real good". And pats his hand. Nana may have a broken hip, but she can still work the floor.

Surgery is explained and goes in one hearing aid and out the other. I close out my team and drive Nana to her room on the 9th floor. As Karma would dictate, Nana's room is at the furthermost point of the hospital from where I work. I help get her settled in and my Mother takes her post in the chair in the corner, muttering things I don't care to listen to, as her attitude with Nana is about as joyful as a Bin Laden video.

Nana spends her first night flat on her back, refusing pain meds since they make her throw up. Which doesn't stop her from continuing to throw up. My Mother ends up joining the ranks of spaghetti haters, too. 23 hours after her fall she is finally taken to surgery, where an equally handsome Orthopaedic surgeon puts a new femoral head on Nana's femur. This takes one hour, long enough for me to fall asleep in a drooling mess on the waiting room chair. My mother delights in telling me to wipe my mouth as the cute Surgeon comes out to give us report. I listen to how well it all went and I fall back asleep until I am told Nana is in her room.

The saddest thing I have seen in a long time is my tiny little Nana in the big white bed, matching it in color since her hemoglobin is down to 7 and she needs blood. She looks old and frail and lost and frightened and I want to cry. And that's where we are folks. Four days post op, two blood transfusions, a couple clueless nurses and a bunch of nice ones. Nana is up to the bathroom with a walker and having physical therapy twice a day. She is pissed because they make her eat protein all the time. She is starting to realize the enormity of the situation. I can't tell if she is confused from pain meds or if she has also had a stroke, so I count the days til I can evaluate her from a drug free perspective. My mother is stepping up and standing guard, although I know in the end when the novelty wears off and we are thick into rehab, this will be my baby. I think of my fall last February, of lying on the cold ground wondering if I could get up. I think of Nana in the cold waiting for an ambulance. My old lady hip still hurts me. But far and above that; Nana's hip can kill her. Please fight Nana. This is not how I want it to end.

Cable Guys - Spawn of Idiots

Oh, Cable Guys of the World. I am trying not to lump you all into a gargantuan pile of stupidity, but you are making it difficult for me to refrain. I have had more than my share of Cable Hell. Here are a few examples why:

To the Cable Guy who arrived at my home, bypassing the warning tape and wood blockades placed to keep you off my freshly rebuilt front porch: I do not apologize for the profanities I spewed when I opened the front door to find you standing there in your giant work boots, sinking into my freshly poured concrete. I do not apologize for taking pictures to show your boss because "really, Ma'am, could anyone be that ignorant?" Yes Siree, Mr. Boss of the Cable Guys, your staff is that ignorant. Even the Cub Scouts figured out to leave their bottle drive fliers at the back door. Maybe you should hire them instead. Yes Sir, Mr. Cable Guy Manager, I am asking for 6 months of free cable and for your company to pay for repairs. And yes friends, I received what I asked for.

To the Cable Guys who stand in my basement, gazing at the drop ceiling like it holds the 7th Wonder of the World, there is a splitter in there somewhere, and it's your job to find it. Thanks for cracking the ceiling tiles and leaving them on the floor for me to replace. Thanks for making me supervise you like a three year old after you comment about the cool sports memorabilia and copious amounts of wine in the rack. I need that wine after you leave. You stress me.

To the Cable Guy from AT&T who dicked around in my home for SEVEN HOURS before leaving and saying "I'll have to come back tomorrow, the outside hook up is not working": Newsflash! You NEVER came back. It's TWO MONTHS LATER! I have a box of your AT&T shit in the basement that I will allow my children to make a robot out of because you, yes you, were by far the biggest jackass ever to enter my home. And trust me, there have been many. You stole a friggin' dollar from my bedroom floor. You lied about it. You badmouthed your colleagues, who pranced across my newly seeded lawn despite signs asking them not to. (Can't any of you people read?) How did you pass the Cable Guy Bar Exam? For that matter, how did you pass the drug test, as I suspect most of you are on crack?

AT&T customer "service" (note the oxymoron usage): You need to be included in this post because you too, are in the running for the Cable Guy Jackass Award. We appreciate the recorded message you sent after 6 weeks of silence informing us that "your AT&T wiring problem has been fixed and we are ready to complete your installation!" Seriously? Send me a human to my (now really pretty) front porch and I will be happy to give them their AT&T robot to stick in their anal canal. You are the scourge of all cable. Do not send your moronic sales reps to my home to sing your praises again, lest I lock them in the basement and make them look for splitters until hell freezes over.

In the spirit of sharing, I encourage you to look in the lower left corner of my blog. There you will find the link to "Pantsless in Seattle" a brilliant blog by my friend's daughter. In it you will find "The Legend of the Bath Mat". Read it friends, it will not disappoint. And it will assure you that the nectar of stupidity is not only drunk here in Michigan, but by Cable Guys all over the nation.

Peace out, cable customers.

The Gifts...

the people that make it worthwhile...

Right now I am in a vague, fuzzy spot in my career. A gray area, if you will. When that happens, I like to step back and analyze a little. Often I walk away with more clarity and a better frame of mind. So, here we go.

I have been a nurse for 15 years now. I am one of those people who can say "When I was young, I wanted to be a nurse and help people". That was a discovery I made when I was 14 years old. I was visiting an Aunt in the hospital. I sat down on the bed and massaged her hands with lotion after she said how badly they hurt. No one told me that sitting on the bed was not proper etiquette or that cancer patients die horrible, painful deaths sometimes and a hand massage was not going to make that any less so. I just knew that it felt good and right and I wanted to make people feel better all the time. The gift of realization.

Nursing school was a journey. A tough diploma program, non existent in this day and age, a six week old son, and new home and marriage, full time job and a full time school schedule left me spent. I am proud of my journey, which started with 120 students and graduated 72. I lost my Gramps during school and gained knowledge, strength and the realization that I could accomplish so much more than I ever thought possible. The gift of perseverance.

My nursing career started in the NICU. The patients there were like little baby birds who fell from their nests too early. Babies that weighed a pound or less slept next to big, beautiful babies who were expected to go home after their birth and grow up strong and healthy. That is, until something went terribly wrong. The NICU

babies touched my heart, and I had no problem putting myself in the mindset of their parents. I was the nurse you wanted caring for your baby. I made them name tags and dressed them up on Halloween. I took pictures, made cards and left them for their moms. I worked all night long. Sometimes I never sat down because we were working together to keep these babies alive. Some nights I sat down a lot - in a rocking chair with a baby who would scream from intracranial pressure if I put him down or stop breathing if I didn't stimulate her. I learned patience from my tiny patients. That was one of my first nursing gifts.

Sometimes the plans for these babies failed. Parents who never had a chance to hold their babies turned to me and I guided them through the shock of losing their dream. When I read back that sentence, I think I sound cocky. But I am not deleting it. Because I really did do that, and I am blessed because I received a gift from from those parents, too. The gift of compassion and strength. The gift of empathy as my heart broke wide open hearing a woman beg God not to do this to her. I did everything I could to make them look back on that horrible time and find some peace. I helped them bathe and dress their baby, made hand prints, took pictures that they keep forever and cut locks of hair that are touched and smelled and treasured. I tried to give them the gift of memories. To this day my chosen path is helping those through the journey of grief and loss.

That led to Hospice. A brief stint cut short by finding out I was pregnant with my daughter, and thus unwilling to drive alone around Detroit in the middle of the night with a box of narcotics next to me. (The gift of common sense). I did love it. I loved telling a wife of 60 years to get in the bed with her dying husband and hold him because they never slept apart. I loved telling little ethnic women to stop stuffing Jell-o down their dying loved one's throat. I did not love taking the Jell-o back out when they left the room. I loved educating and enlightening families. I saw amazing lives end in the most peaceful, spiritually moving ways I have ever known. I will go back to Hospice nursing someday, when I have 100% to give, because that is what people deserve when they are terminally ill.

Onwards to the mecca. After 20 years at one hospital, I moved to a Level One Trauma Center because hey, if you want to be an ER nurse you have to go big. The gifts I received from Emergency are some of my favorites. The gift of laughter is one. I work with people who are so warped they make me laugh until I cry. I have nights that are so difficult and emotionally draining that I cry until I laugh. I see things that leave me so incredulous I have no choice but to scream in hysterics when describing them to my friends. Through all of this, I have my comrades, my people, my fellow ER staff to lean on. The gift of support. The gift of belief. I see miracles. I watch still hearts start back up, I see talented men and women put the Humpty Dumpties of the world back together again. I share the frustration of dealing with addicts and the mentally ill, as well those who are faking both to manipulate us. Tolerance. There's a good gift.

Many gifts are not meant to be wrapped in a pretty ribbon and given in pomp and circumstance. You should take the ones that aren't, and treasure them, for they are the basis of your spirit. They will make you strong. I am so grateful for mine.