It is 3:00 on my day off, and I had been sitting in the conference room with my Nurse Manager, waiting for a meeting to begin. Now I’m one of the several nurses rushing to the doorway of room 16.03, where we find Mr. Smith, a 360 lb. middle-aged man, lying facedown on the floor, unmoving and unresponsive.  It takes about half a second for us to realize that Mr. Smith, who is hyponatremic, has heart failure and bilateral DVTs, hasn’t simply fallen.

Someone shouts, “Call a Blue 100!” and we’re off, scrambling to find items like a backboard, wall suction, the code cart and defibrillator.  I hear the Code being called over the paging system, and before we’ve log rolled Mr. Smith on his back and begun compressions, the room has filled with various responders from across the hospital.  Pharmacists, residents, respiratory therapists, and nurses from the ICUs.  We shove the bed and as much furniture as we can into a corner, trying to make room for as many people as we can.

In my kitten heels and stockings, I climb over the bed and set up bedside suction, effectively trapping myself in the corner for the next 45 minutes, as the room fills with more and more people.  I help the respiratory therapist, kneeling on the floor, suction blood from Mr. Smith’s mouth and keep him ventilated with the ambu bag.  People are shouting things like, “What’s his pressure?” “Do we have access?” and “Everybody clear!” when the defibrillator advises to give a shock.  At one point, on of my coworkers catches my eye and asks, “Weren’t you supposed to be off today?”  I can’t help but smile.

After 2 attempts, a central line is inserted.  There’s blood, and tubes, and needles, and the packaging from various medical supplies strewn about the room.  The doorway is crowded with staff, all passing supplies in as the attending provider shouts for them.  A pulse is established, and we begin the process of rolling a sheet beneath Mr. Smith and then hoisting him onto the bed so we can transfer him to an ICU.  I can hear the demented woman from down the hall, slamming her hands on the counter at the nurses’ station and yelling, “I hate this f***ing place!  I want out of this d*** s***hole!” and I’m amazed at how oblivious some people can be.  It’s inappropriate, but I want to burst into laughter.

Mr. Smith is stabilized for transfer, and is wheeled off the unit.  The room clears out as quickly as it was filled.  We are left to bag up his personal belongings, pick up needles and packaging from around the room, and restock the code cart.  Some of the patients stick their heads out of their rooms, wondering if it’s safe to come out.  One of the men with schizophrenia asks me if I can get him a ginger ale.

I know I’ve stepped in blood, and I’m pretty sure I’ve also knelt in some urine.  And I still have to sit through this stupid meeting, and then go straight to dress rehearsal.  It’s amazing how things go right back to normal, whatever normal is.

“I think we’re going to have Thanksgiving dinner at your place this year.”

Oh. Wow.  Thanks for the heads-up.

Can anyone tell me, please, how to cook a turkey?

When you’re on it, nothing matters, nothing exists, outside of the stage.  Your world is comprised solely of yourself and the other players.  The stage lights warming your face feel like the sun, and it’s such, such fun, to pretend to be someone else for a bit.

I had another audition last night.  Fingers crossed.

If there’s any piece of technology that I absolutely loathe, it is the cell phone.  I hate how that one little device makes me continuously accessible.  That I’m always available, no matter where I go, no matter what time it is.  I hate that, when my phone chimes that I’ve got a new text message, I feel obligated to answer it, no matter what I’m in the middle of doing.  I hate that people no longer call me, but text me incessantly, and do so with poor grammar and improperly spelled words.  Honestly, I think that is one of the reasons I love Lake Ontario so very much; Area #5 has no cell phone reception, and it’s one of the few places I can go and just be.

So yesterday, as a present to myself, I turned my phone off.  All day.  I turned it on once to make a doctor’s appointment, and again to call Susan and ask what time we were meeting for dinner.  That was it.  There was no ringing, no vibrating, no chimes going off.  All. Day. Long.  No one knew where I was, or what I was doing.  Freedom.  Independence.  Bliss.

I think I’m going to start going phone-free once every week.

Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life.  By all appearances, I’m doing pretty well for myself.  A college education, a job that pays the bills, my own apartment.  Leadership positions at both my work and in the community.  Possible love interests, if I’d allow myself to actually be interested and consider being in a relationship.  Sometimes, I look at my patients and compare my life to some of theirs, with all the hardship they endure and the garbage they suffer through, and I wonder what is wrong with me that I cannot seem to be happy.

How does one develop purpose?  Because, with all that I am blessed with, I feel like that’s the one thing I am lacking.  I still feel like I’m just drifting.  I’m disconnected.  And for all my asking, for all my begging of God to just give me something… Nothing’s surfaced yet.  And I can’t help but wonder and ask myself, what’s the point of it all?  Why am I here if I’m not doing something?

Happy Birthday to me.

For me, some of those times are when I do something out of character.  When I go out on a limb.  Typically, I am very shy.  I’m uncomfortable in front of people and don’t often enjoy being the center of attention.  I dislike crowds.  I have trouble speaking in front of people.

For years, I’ve harbored a secret desire to be in a play.  I went through highschool watching my little sister perform in musicals.  My adopted neices and nephews are ridiculously talented, and they’re always in one show or another.  I’ve spent my life in the audience, thinking about what fun it’d be to stand on stage, and wishing I was brave enough to try. 

I auditioned for a play last week.

I signed in, was given a script, and was told to read a certain part.  Stumbling over words, struggling to speak slowly and not let nerves get the best of me, I was certain I’d made a fool of myself.

But I was pleased with myself for trying.

I got a part. 

Practice begins on Thursday, and I’m psyched.

Jan. 10, 2009

Will you be with me, God?  Susan says that you walk with me through everything, but there are so many times when I don’t feel you at all.

I get angry with you a lot.  I am angry with you a lot.  Most of the time, there’s no reason; I don’t know why I’m angry, and  the God that I can’t see seems like the perfect target for my anger.  It’s not right, I know, and not fair.  And I’m sorry.

I feel stuck.  I know that’s not your fault, and that I’m trapped by this eating disorder because of choices I’ve made and continue to make… but I can’t help feeling like I’d be free of it all if you’d just help me a little more.

Maybe I deserve to be slapped for saying that. 

I know that you help me whenever I ask for help.  I know that you’ve put countless relationships in my life, and have surrounded me with people who love and care about me.  But I also know that you promised to change me.

And I don’t feel any different than I always have.  And I still want to do all the same things that I’ve always done. 

Susan says that you change everyone at the appropriate time.  So I want to know when the “appropriate time” is going to be.

I’m so tired of disappointing everyone, God.  I’m tired of disappointing you.  And I’m tired of feeling disgusted and bad about myself. 

Please change me, okay?  I’m trying my best to be patient, but please change me, okay? Thank you for being a God who always keeps his promises.

Love,

   Melissa

And I’m still so thankful…

I took Colin and Eryn hiking yesterday.  This was the last picture I took before accidentally dropping my camera in the creek.  My adopted neice and nephew, and two of my favorite short people in the whole world. 

So, after hiking and playing in the creek for several hours, we stopped for ice cream.  Somehow we got on the subject of ghosts.  Eryn is adament that they exist. 

Colin – “Don’t tell me that.  Now I’m scared.”

Eryn – “Colin, do you know Jesus?”

Colin knods

Eryn – “Well then you don’t have to be afraid, ‘cuz Jesus is in your heart.” *makes slashing motions with her hands*  “Doing super-killer ninja moves to keep you safe.”

And all I can do is smile and knod in agreement.  Ain’t that the truth?

Still Needing some more Rocks to finish Edging.

Cannot *Wait* for things to start Blooming!