Upside-Down Again

It was after the Super Bowl. I was sitting on my bed, watching Glee and reading status updates on Facebook when I decided to check my work email. I usually check work email on Sunday nights, just so I know what to expect when I come in on Monday.

I saw an email from our nurse manager with the title of “P’s Services”. I was distracted as I clicked on the email, turning my head to watch the Thriller/Heads Will Roll mashup and then glancing back to my laptop screen.

“As most of you have heard by now, P passed away unexpectedly this weekend,” was how the email began.

I quite literally gasped, as I realized that my friend and colleague P was dead.

*********

P started working as a nurse in my ICU years before I was born. About the time I was graduating from high school, P transitioned from the ICU to work in the new family resource center at the hospital. The Center provides housing for families from far away, parking assistance for inpatient families who can’t afford it, computers and internet so families can stay connected, and a library of books, movies, and games to keep patients and their families entertained during lengthy stays. They also help to coordinate a parent-to-parent support network, and run two annual events that the hospital hosts for bereaved families – events that P took the lead in coordinating.

I don’t remember the first time I met P. I think perhaps the person whose job I was taking over made a point of introducing us. “P used to work on our unit – she’s one of us. Go to her anytime you need anything – she’ll take care of you.” I was told.

Indeed. When I needed the go-ahead to reserve a room for a family that couldn’t make it home, P was there. When a family needed parking assistance and was only a few hundred dollars over-income from qualifying, P approved them so they wouldn’t have to go one day without the assistance they needed. I knew P had my back, and would often go to the Center to ask a favor. She’d see me coming and say, “You again! Uh oh – what do YOU want?!” with a twinkle in her eye, and I’d plead my case.

P had an incredible combination of compassion, enthusiasm, and determination that drew me (and many others) to her. She greeted everyone with a wave and a smile, and always made time to talk. Of all aspects of her job, the two annual bereavement events were the ones about which she was most passionate, and I was fortunate enough to serve on the planning committees for both events.

But it was our nightly check-ins that really grew our friendship. I’d leave work each night at 6:30, and P would work the front desk at the Center until 7. To leave the building after exiting my office, I had to walk by the Center. I’d look for P on my way out each night, and if she was there I’d drop in and chat for a while.

It was through these conversations that I learned more about P’s life outside of the hospital, and that she learned more about mine. She shared stories about her family and I told her stories about bad dates and the perils of single life. And when I was having a rough day, I’d go to her, She’d ask how I was doing, and I’d shrug and give her a look that said, “If I talk about how hard this work is right now, I’ll probably start crying”. And she’d give me a look back that would say, “I understand, and I’m here for you if you need anything.” And then she’d make me laugh with a story about families breaking the rules in the sleep space.

*********

It has been over twelve years since my world was turned upside-down when my friend Christine died suddenly. She was just a few days shy of 20 years old. One minute she was singing with us and laughing, and the next, she was gone.

I had forgotten what it felt like… this strange, surreal feeling as though I’m in a dream, but with regular horrible, gut-wrenching realizations that I am not. That a person I have loved and cared about is suddenly and unexpectedly gone, and I am left going through the motions and trying to make sense of a life ended too soon.

I deal with death on a regular basis at work, but P’s passing has hit me hard. In an ICU, I feel prepared for death. I know that it is part of what happens in such a critical setting, and that it is my job to support the families and help prepare them for that which they can never truly be prepared. The larger hospital setting outside the ICU is my safe zone. It’s where I go to escape the intensity of the ICU. The Center was my safe zone. P was my safe zone.

Once again, I find my world turned upside-down. The Center is where I have always gone to take a break from the intensity of my work. Now it is a reminder of a dear friend who is gone and a trigger for the deep pain of a sudden and unexpected loss.

My heart breaks for P’s daughter who is my age, her husband who is not much younger than my father, her parents who have already grieved the loss of another child, and her co-workers in the Center who must be reminded every day of her absence by an empty chair at a desk full of task lists not yet completed.

My heart breaks for all of those people, and it also breaks for me. P was my colleague, my mentor, and my friend. Last week, we laughed and swapped stories of our experiences working in the ICU. Tonight I left my office at 6:30 as usual, and passed the Center on my way out. I willed myself not to turn my head, not to expect to see P smiling and waving me in to talk. But my brain still can’t believe she’s gone, and so I glanced in. And then I turned away as tears pricked my eyes and a lump rose in my throat.

I miss her so much already.

Colleagues from the NICU and the Center wrote some words about P that were shared with the hospital staff today when her passing was publicly announced:

Today we grieve the loss of our dear friend and colleague. P was loved by all who knew her. She extended her warmth, knowledge, caring and support to patients, families, staff and all who were blessed to know her.

P had a long list of admirable attributes. She was the "core" of the hospital; thoughtful, kind, compassionate, and endearing. She was a mentor to all who worked with her regardless of age, position, and experience. She was never easily flustered, and intimately understood the depth and chaos of working with families in crisis. She had a refreshing sense of humor, including the ability to laugh at herself. Her humility balanced with invaluable wisdom made her an innate mentor for colleagues at all levels who would frequently seek out her advice, support and her tidbits of invaluable guidance. Caring for others sustained P and we've all had the privilege of benefiting from her warmth and love.

Each one of us has our unique memories of P and our individual beliefs about where she may be now, looking out upon us. The one thing we're certain of is that she would embrace us and tell us not to worry for her. Her stressors are now a thing of the past. She would definitely want us to carry on in our work in caring for each other and the patients and families whom we serve. That is something that we all must do, in honor of our dearly loved and respected colleague.


P, I miss you so much already. None of this makes sense to me, but I trust that somehow this is what was supposed to happen, even if I may never know why. Thank you for your support, guidance, humor, and caring over the past 2 1/2 years. There is no doubt in my mind that I am a better person for having known you. Rest in peace, my friend.

Complications

I'm going on vacation this weekend. Taking 5 days and heading south to New Orleans where I've never been to meet up with good friends from college and their friends. I'm using a free flight that had to be used before February 2nd, and staying at someone's house, so I'm hoping the budget part of the trip is relatively manageable.

I remember thinking when I booked the trip, "I will have just taken time off from work for Christmas - it seems kind of silly to take more time so soon."

As it turns out, this trip could not be planned for a better time.

Work has been tough these past few weeks. A family I became very close with had to make difficult end-of-life decisions for a family member they loved so dearly. I attended the funeral for that person yesterday, and then returned to work to have a very difficult conversation about DNR status with another family. I went home exhausted and hoping for better today.

Alas, that was not to be. I had thought I was mentally prepared for what today would bring, but I forgot about the x-factor. The fact that one never knows what patients will be admitted overnight, how very sick they can be, and how complicated their family dynamics can be.

As the social worker, fixing and/or managing the sickness never falls to me. But managing and putting band-aids on broken, messy, and/or complicated family dynamics is most definitely in my job description.

Throw in my more typical (but still required, even on crazy days) tasks of introducing myself to new families and orienting them to the unit and the hospital, and my day went from predictably bad to unpredictably miserable. I didn't leave until 8:30pm.

I feel like this always happens when I'm working a short week and gearing up for a vacation. All the chaos that might have been spread over 5 days somehow knows to squeeze itself into 3. On one hand, I'm glad I'm dealing with it all, as I always hate to leave a mess for my coworker who covers for me when I'm out. On the other hand, I'm exhausted, and unsure how I'll rally to make it to work tomorrow... especially given that I'll be walking to work in a snow storm.

It's as though every ounce of my energy must be drained before being able to go on vacation to replenish it.

I don't even have the energy to pack.

And yet...

I still wouldn't trade this job for any other in the world.

I held him.

Disclaimer: Sometimes my job is unbearably sad. This was one of those times.



After the crowd dispersed and the room was still, I held him.

After the monitors were turned off and the bright lights dimmed, I held him.

After the controlled chaos turned to silence, I held him.


After I shared tears over the phone with a mother who couldn't be there, I held him.

After I helped to bathe and swaddle him, then make footprints of his tiny hands and feet, I held him.

After we prayed around his bedside - for him, for his family, for ourselves - I held him.


I held him in a rocking chair, and as we rocked together I stroked his downy hair and sang to him.

He was not alone.

I held him.

She Said

"It's been five months last week," she said.

I couldn't believe how much time had passed.

"It's been a tough week," she said.

My phone call had made her cry.

"People tell me I visit his grave too often," she said.

I told her they were wrong.

"I often wonder what might have been," she said. "Did we make the right choices? Did we do what was best for him?" and then an urgent plea - "Please tell me that we did."

I comfort her and reassure her as best as I can, because I was witness to his final days and I know that he was loved beyond measure.

And as she remembers, so do I.

And for a moment, there is no talking. Just silent tears between us.

***********

I was witness. I sometimes forget what an incredible honor and responsibility that is. And I sometimes forget how important it is to remain connected to these families. To remember with them. To talk about their angels when no one else knows what to say.

More often than not, I don't know what to say. I get overwhelmed by the idea of picking up the phone to make that call, so I put if off until "later", though of course I have no clear plan as to when "later" might be.

But on my brave days, I pick up the receiver and dial the number. And on those days I am rewarded with a raw and most pure form of human connection. Those days remind me more than any others why I do the work I do.

I want to be brave more often, because it feels good to listen. It feels good to talk. And it feels good to remember the angels.

Pure Joy

Despite what you may think from reading through my posts, my job is not all doom and gloom. 

For over seven months, I've gotten to know a very special family. Our patient has faced more challenges in the past year than many people face in a lifetime. He has met some challenges with success, and has had some significant disappointments as well. Throughout it all - even at the lowest points -  his family has remained strong in their faith that he would be healed. 

Today, this patient got one very significant step closer to being able to go home. I can't share more information, other than to tell you that today's events are life-changing in a positive and nearly unfathomable way and I am so very happy for him and his family. 

Yes, sometimes my job is difficult and sad. But sometimes I'm witness to incredible miracles here on earth. I am so very lucky to do the work I do.

Letter to an Angel

Dear Christine - 

There is another little angel flying around up there tonight. Please find him and look over him. You two share an anniversary - the kind of anniversary that people your ages should never have. And just as I will never forget that night 11 years ago, I will also never forget today. 

I thought of you all morning. And as I stood with the family during his last moments, I sent a silent plea to you to take care of him up there as lovingly as his parents have taken care of him here on earth.

I miss you, Christine. I wish that you were still here to talk to and spend time with. But it's also so reassuring to me each time a patient dies to know that you'll be up there to greet them and look after them. If you can keep up that end of the bargain, I'll stay down here and look after the ones they leave behind. 

Ever loving and ever grateful for your presence in my life both then and now,

Fibby

She

She asked me with tears streaming down her face why this had to happen to her and I had no answer.

She told me the story of how it had come to this and I listened.

She shared secret truths with me her own family didn't know and I kept them as my own secrets.

She held him and wept as he took his last breaths and I held her arm and wept with her.

She is strength and beauty and fear and calm and sadness and hope and I will never forget her.

Singing Clowns and a Dancing Nun

Today at work there was a retirement celebration for one of our chaplains, Sister C. And at the end of the ceremony, our in-house clowns (yes, we have in-house clowns) stood up on stage and led all the attendees in the hokey pokey. There we were, a room full of mostly adults, singing and dancing the hokey pokey together to celebrate this incredible woman. 

It's moments like those that make me realize how lucky I am to work where I do.

Bad Blogger

I know, I know. I've been a bad, bad blogger. 

I could say that there's been nothing to blog about, but after blogging every day for the month of November, we all know that even blogging about nothing is more interesting than no blogging.

So I'm sorry to the three readers who are left out there. I'll try to do better in July.

In the meantime I'll catch you up on my life...

Work:

June was a really difficult month for me at work. Many people think that the worst part of my job is having to deal with death. Though that's true sometimes, there are other parts that can be just as bad. This past month we've had multiple patients admitted after being home. This means that they were sent home seemingly healthy and then admitted later for some reason or another. That isn't the worst part. The worst part is that after being admitted, they end up being diagnosed with chronic and debilitating conditions that are a huge shock to their families. I've witnessed so many families being told this kind of horrible, devastating news this past month and truthfully, it's been exhausting. I still love my job and wouldn't want to be anywhere else, but there have been fewer rewarding moments recently. Here's hoping that July brings many more feel-good moments.

Dating:

It isn't that I haven't been online. I have. And it isn't that I haven't received ridiculous emails from boys who can't compose a sentence. I have. And I'm sure there will be another post somewhere in the future to share more ridiculous emails. But for now I'm trying to focus on actually going on dates, and that has proven harder than I had originally thought. Turns out, lots of the guys who write to me are looking for penpals and notsomuch actual dates. I, on the other hand, am looking for dates. So there's a bit of disconnect there.

Also, what I've realized over the past few months as I've really come into my own in my work is that I'm really happy with where I am in my life. This isn't to say that I don't want to find someone to be my life-long partner in crime, but I'm not in a place where I feel like I need that person, and that feels very healthy to me. So it's not that I've lost my enthusiasm for looking for a significant other, but I guess I've lost some of the urgency.

Life:

I've really been focusing on self-care in this professionally trying month, and it's been paying off. I have managed to reconnect with a few old friends and get to know some new ones. I hosted a mini camp reunion last week the day that camp opened and helped a friend paint her new bedroom this past weekend. These connections also help me to feel whole and healthy and it has been wonderful for me to have new energy around my formerly-stagnant social life.

So that pretty much catches you all up on the happenings of Fibby. Thanks again to the few hearty readers who are still out there. I'll try to post more often next month.

At the End of the Day

There are some days when I leave work feeling energized and elated, and there are some days when I leave work feeling as though I've been punched in the gut. Particularly difficult are the nights I leave work not knowing if patients who were in critical condition when I left will still be there when I return. 

In professions that deal regularly with matters of life and death, there is a significant amount of self-care that practitioners must do in order to keep from burning out. People often think of self-care as being something extravagant like getting a massage. But actually, self-care can be as simple as turning one's pager off and leaving work on time.

At the end of days like today, I have a lot of ambivalence about leaving my work behind. I know that the only way I can continue to do my job well is to take time away from it and all of the intensity and stress it brings, but I get so invested in the patients and families that it's difficult for me to leave them when I know they are struggling. Can they get by without my support? Of course. But if I can relieve their stress or ease their sorrow or help in any way, I want to do so, and it's difficult for me to walk away. But in order to have the energy and strength to return to work each morning, I must leave work at night and try to put out of my mind the scary and sad realities that these families are facing 24/7, with no option to escape. 

It has taken some time and practice, but most of the time I can do it. However, some days I find that my walk home at the end of the day has not cleared my head, and I am still weighted down with the reality of what I see every day. 

Last night, after a difficult day at work, I returned home and checked blog updates before I went to sleep. I clicked on flotsamblog - one of my favorites - only to find this post. It was a punch-in-the-gut reminder to me that even when babies survive through prematurity and families bring them home from the hospital - even when they are many months and even years out from having been in a hospital - they are still fragile, and there are no guarantees.

When I returned to work this morning that reminder weighed heavily on me. And as I saw my patients struggle with their individual battles, I said silent prayers for each of them that they might leave our hospital healthy and never return. 

I never knew Maddie Spohr or her parents, but from what I have read, there was a lot to love. The online community of Maddie's friends and supporters has raised over $22,000 in her honor for the March of Dimes as well as additional funds through PayPal to support her parents during this unthinkably difficult time. I am moved to tears when I think of the loss of such a small and joyful little life - and then moved to tears again to see the widespread reaction and incredible outpouring of support and love within the blogging world. 

Last night my work and my outside life collided, and at the end of today I am left still reeling from the impact. 

"The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight... but every time we think we've measured our capacity to meet a challenge, we look up and we're reminded that that capacity may well be limitless."   -TWW

Slow Times

There are 27 beds on my unit, and usually we have around 20 that are filled. Last week we had numbers in the mid-teens, and today we had 12. Tomorrow, four of those kiddos are going home or back to the hospitals from which they came, which means that if we have no admissions overnight, we'll be down to eight.

So what I'm saying is things are a little slow at work. 

Things have also been slow outside of work. The cold that I got almost two weeks ago kept me in bed for the first weekend I had it, and then kept me from making social plans that following week so that I could get home and go to bed. Just as the sickness was leaving, it came back for Round II: The Sinus Version, so I've been fighting that for the past few days. 

Highlights of this mostly-uneventful past few weeks include:

- Learning to tie a bow tie. My dad, my uncle, my cousin and I all stood around the computer screen, watching multiple videos on how to tie a bow tie and then practicing on ourselves and each other. My mom and aunt watched with amusement. 

- Cleaning my room. A real top-to-bottom cleaning that included mopping the floor. It makes me happy to come home to a clean room. A simple, inexpensive gift to myself.

- Scheduling a second date. Yes, Good First Date Guy (GFDG) will be making a second appearance in this fair city in the later part of this week for date #2. 

As you can see, there's a reason I haven't posted much lately. Hopefully things will perk up soon. 

Peace

It happened today and I am left with a mix of emotions unlike any I've felt from a job before. I am relieved and I am sad, but mostly I am grateful to and proud of the incredible team of medical professionals who came together to support this family and who spent the past two days tirelessly at their side, so that they would not face this death alone. 

I have so much more to write, but am falling asleep at the keyboard from exhaustion.

Thank you all for your wonderful words of support these past few weeks, and for the face-to-face time with friends that has helped me practice self-care and get through this all in one piece. 

A Day in the Life

6:00 - alarm clock goes off. hit snooze once, then get up, shower.
6:35 - stand in the middle of my room for a ridiculously long period of time wondering what to wear
6:50 - outfit decided, change out of "work top" into "walking to work top". fold work top nicely and put next to bag. blow dry hair.
7:05 - make and eat breakfast
7:20 - transfer all items from yesterday's work purse into today's bigger work bag (thinking ahead for when I have to carry home the rain boots I left at work yesterday)
7:25 - start thinking "I should leave now or I'll be late"
7:35 - actually begin walking to work
7:50 - realize I have left my "work shirt" neatly folded on my bed. grateful for the fact that I've done this once before and have an emergency shirt stashed at work. appreciate the irony of all the time I spent picking out an outfit this morning.

8:05 - arrive at work. change into emergency shirt that smells strongly of mint, due to being stashed in a drawer next to some seriously strong mint gum
8:10 - check email, read electronic chart notes to catch up on overnight updates
8:45 - head up to the unit with a to-do list
8:55 - fill out timesheet, cross one thing off list
9:05 - accidentally stumble upon the medical team rounding. stand in for a while to see if they say anything interesting. they don't.
9:35 - am told of birthday tart in the break room. go to check out birthday tart. decide that a birthday tart from shop 'n save is not worth splurging on and do not partake.
9:45 - socialize with ladies at the front desk
10:00 - leave meal vouchers at bedside for a family. check another thing off list.
10:10 - once again stumble upon medical team rounding. decide again to sit in. regret decision again.
10:30 - realize i had promised a family i'd meet with them at 10:30. leave rounds. hear sounds of breast pump from behind curtain where parents i am meeting are sitting. decide to return later.
11:35 - back down to my office to eat lunch. starving. inhale all food leftover from various lunches packed throughout the week. wonder if food purchased from whole foods deli on sunday should perhaps be eaten before friday but am too hungry to worry much.
10:40 - mom still pumping. go to meet with another family to share some information they had asked for. hear pumping from behind their curtain.
10:50 - mom from family #1 is ready for meeting. we meet.
11:30 - meet with family #2 to share information. sound like useless loser when all i can say is "sorry, there appear to be no support groups that would suit your needs in the entire metro-boston area" feel stupid saying it, but know (after two days of research and phone calls) that it is true. promise to continue to look.
11:45 - realize i still haven't met with charge nurse who will share with me information regarding high-need families and information about scheduled family meetings. meet with her. wonder how i feel i've been so busy all day and still feel as though i've got just as much work as i did this morning.

12:00 - return to office. see that i have voicemail. listen to 4 voicemail messages and wonder how two of them are from yesterday but did not show up until now.
12:05 - detective work. research what it takes to establish residency in massachusetts, more support groups (of a different type this time), and book a room in the sleep space for a mother coming in to spend the night with her baby after being discharged from a local hospital. call and/or email people to tell them all these things have been done.
12:55 - head back upstairs to the unit. meet mother for whom sleep space has been obtained. offer to walk her there to show it to her. do so.
1:35 - check in with parents throughout the unit. discover one family will be moving to the floor in a few hours. offer to give them a tour of the floor. give tour and become jealous that the floor has a large selection of bread and english muffins in their kitchen that my unit does not.
2:00 - check in with father (husband of mother #1 i met with in am). he wants to meet, but cannot now. promise to return in an hour or so.
2:10 - chat with mother who is returning from grabbing some breastmilk identification stickers from the staff closet. think mom has been here too long if she's breaking into the staff closet. chat with mother about yesterday's family meeting.
2:35 - realize that my goal is to leave on time (4:30) today and chart as many notes as possible so they will not keep me at the end of the day.
3:15 - receive phone call from social worker at referring hospital letting me know that we will be getting a child who is in the custody of the state. obtain contact information for state worker. call state worker to clarify custody arrangements and parental rights.
3:35 - run into father (of the "afternoon mtg with father") in the hall. sit down with him to talk because they will most likely be transferred to the floor before monday and he would prefer to talk to me instead of monday's new social worker. wonder how long this will take because i have to work on state custody case. think i'm a bad person for wondering this when dad is pouring his heart out to me. decide to focus on being with him in the moment and worry about the other case later. within two minutes of sitting down, his wife calls and wants to speak with him. we chat briefly. he returns to his wife, and i return to...
4:00 - make multiple copies of official custody letter and distribute to appropriate people. while distributing note, run into another father who i've been seeing daily. say hi and pass on information he had asked for, but then rush off to...
4:15 - send out alert to relevant weekend workers about this family. wonder out loud how i will write a note in the pt's chart about these arrangements when pt does not yet have a chart. person who overhears me wondering out loud tells me to check the "temp" chart and - voila! - a place to write a note. note written. attending doctor notified.
4:35 - finish writing notes for the day. recognize that there is at least one family i should have seen but could not, and give self permission to follow-up on monday.
4:45 - run back into the unit to apologize to the father i had said a rushed hello to. wish him a happy weekend.
4:50 - head down to office to change back into "walking home from work top" (same as "walking to work top")
4:55 - walk home
5:25 - purchase burrito to go for dinner

5:35 - arrive home, change, eat dinner
5:55 - drive to babysitting job, play with two tired but happy kiddos
7:25 - begin bedtime routine
7:55 - both kiddos sound asleep. begin typing blog entry.

Matters of Life and Death

After 3.5 weeks of relative quiet at work, the end of last week brought some pretty intense situations. I sat in on my first family meeting at which the medical team told the family there was nothing left that could be done. I watched another family struggle to come to grips with the fact that their child was not going to live. And I witnessed intense grief of a family going through an unthinkable tragedy outside of their hospital stay.

All in one day.

It was the kind of day in which I kept feeling heavier and heavier with the weight of these families' stories, and that ended with me sobbing in my office at the end of the day. This is my dream job - helping people through impossibly difficult times and helping them navigate the delicate balancing act between heartache and hope. It is everything I want to be doing, but sometimes, like last week, it becomes difficult for me to separate a family's grief from my own.

And yet, I returned.

I spent the weekend practicing some self care, hanging out with friends and babysitting, and then returned to work on Monday. Yes, I was a little bit scared of what would be waiting for me, but I was also determined to find new families to remind me of the hope and resillience that can be found on my unit that can help to balance out the tragedy.

So "balance" was the key word of the week, I guess. This week, I supported another family through the death of a patient. I also made dedicated time to support the staff, who are impacted by these losses (both individually and cumulatively). And in the middle of all the grief that surrounded me, I found hope. Hope in some of the new familes who have arrived on the unit. And hope in the patient who moved to a non-ICU floor and who is now one step closer of returning home with her family.

Every night, I am exhausted when I get home. Every morning I'm nervous about what the day may bring and my capacity to handle it. But multiple times a day, without fail, I am honored and humbled to work in such an incredible place.

It's the Little Things

When one works in a hospital, there are many alerts and codes to learn. There are alerts for spills and security and other such emergencies. There's "Code Red" which indicates a fire, or "Code Pink" which indicates a potential patient/child abduction, or "Code Brown" which may or may not be an official code, but the nursing staff can tell you you most definitely don't want to have to deal with one.

I was browsing through the internal hospital website today and came across a page describing this alert:

Linen Service / Lost "Lovey"

Purpose
To alert the individuals who can activate a well organized search for a patient's item of significant emotional attachment ("lovey"), which is believed to have been mistakenly removed with the soiled linen.


I love where I work.

Good Stuff

I was talking with someone recently about how the couple I hope to be most like in my own life partnership is Cliff and Claire Huxtable. There just seems to be such a good combination of love and laughter and respect between them.

Tonight I turned the TV on and saw the clip where Cliff and Claire are making up after an argument. He turns on some jazz, they sit on the couch together, and then he cuts up an apple and feeds it to her. Doesn't sound like much, but it made me smile. Looked for it on YouTube but couldn't find it. 

In other news, I think I'm getting sick, so please send me some healthy vibes because I can't take care of families of tiny little people who are sick if I'm going to make them all sick.

Without Words

Tomorrow marks the start of my third week at my new job. I haven't managed to write about it yet not because I don't have any thoughts to share, but because every time I sit down to write I find myself at a loss for words. When I am able to come up with words, they aren't able to capture the experiences I've had. But it's now been over two weeks since I've posted, so I've got to fight my lack of words somehow.

For now, as long as I'm at a loss for words that turn into paragraphs, I'm going to share little bits and pieces from my work life. I will warn you ahead of time that some might be upsetting. I don't plan to share any graphic stories, but I know that the line of work I'm in is one that many don't like to think about. Ultimately, this blog is for sharing bits and pieces of my life and this work is a significant part of my life. Read if you like, skip it if you prefer.

Things I Learned in My First 2 Weeks on the Job:

- I'm out of practice introducing myself and my role as a social worker in a hospital setting.

- I am surprisingly unphased by the insanely high number and types of beeps that surround me on a daily basis.

- I have to wear a belt at all times so that the combination of pager+hip phone won't pull my pants down.

- I am surrounded by incredibly talented and compassionate people

- A baby born 3 months early is unbelievably tiny and fragile.

- The most beautiful eyes on the unit belong to the baby who supposedly can't see.

- Walking to work is a really nice way to start the morning.

- Walking home from work is a good way to transition from work back to home.

Little Blond Munchkin Love of My Life

Today is my last regular babysitting day with my little man, Clyde. Those of you who know me know that Thursdays have been the highlight of my week for the past year because of him. In honor of our final day together, I made him a book (he loves books). It won't look nearly so nice or well-organized on blogger, but I'm sharing it here anyway.

Thursdays with Clyde and Phoebe

Every Thursday for a year,

Clyde's friend Phoebe would appear,

Ready for a day of fun,

In the rain or in the sun.

In the park were many things -

Clyde's favorites were the swings.

"Little push, little push, big push!" he'd cry,

And after the pushes he'd go "So high!"

Slides to slide down and tires to climb,

There was never enough time,

To do all the things Clyde loved so much,

Like sniffing roses, puddle jumping and such.

Clyde was fond of things with wheels -

Fire trucks had the most appeal

So they'd walk (they'd never drive),

To see Tower 1 and Engine 5.

Lights went on and sirens wailed,

While trusty Sparky's watch prevailed.

Those trucks were big - they were not tiny,

And their wheels were always shiny.

Then Phoebe would say, "Hold my hand!"

And Clyde would reach up just as planned,

And they'd head home to eat their lunch,

Getting messy as they'd munch.

After nap it was time to venture,

Back outside for more adventure,

Looking at flowers all around town,

And stepping "Up!" and stepping "Down!"

On their walks they loved to play

With their shadows on sunny days.

When shade came, shadows would hide,

And Clyde would say, "Where's Phoebe and Clyde?"

Often they would walk some more,

To the library or bookstore.

They would sit and read together,

In sunny or in rainy weather.

At the library, Clyde liked best

The "Oops! Book" and "Froggy Gets Dressed".

But at the bookstore he'd request

"Yummy Yucky" and "No no Yes yes".

Then at the end of each Thursday,

After lots of fun and play,

Phoebe had to say "goodbye"

And head back to her home nearby.

So Clyde would from the window stand,

As Phoebe smiled and waved her hand,

And Clyde waved back each afternoon,

Knowing they'd play again very soon.

To Bling or Not To Bling

Yesterday I got the official offer for my new job, which included a start date (September 22) and a salary. The salary isn't huge but it's definitely decent by social work standards, and anything is going to feel like a lot after having no income for the past two years.

Today I had to run some errands that required that I go to a mall where there is both a Gap outlet and an Ann Taylor outlet. Naturally, I had to stop into both and see what kind of deals they had for some new work clothes. Though I don't have the income to purchase a lot of new clothes now, I definitely felt that I could justify a few new things - especially a new "first day of work" outfit (thank you, H, for putting that idea into my head!).

Sitting around tonight watching the Sox game, I found myself online browsing jewelry on craigslist (I accidentally clicked on the "craigslist" tab and then decided I should click on something I had never clicked on before, which is how I got to "jewelry"). Most of the pieces listed were entirely forgettable. But this one caught my eye:

It wasn't the gold band that did it for me (I'm more of a white-gold/platinum gal myself), but the setting. It's interesting. It's different. And according to the post, the diamonds were hand-cut by the seller's grandfather in Kentucky. That's pretty cool. 

However, despite using the change in my employment status to justify my clothing shopping spree earlier in the day, I did not use that same logic on the ring. I determined that only if my salary were 3-4x larger could I justify purchasing celebratory bling, and so the ring remains online. My two pairs of new pants and three new tops, on the other hand, are hanging happily in my closet.

Fill in the Blank

It's been a rough week.

Despite the high of graduating last week, I think the low of not getting the fellowship has followed me into this week. Couple that with slow days at work and too much time to think and it makes for some not-so-good headspace. I have been left feeling like I no longer know which way is up. The trajectory I thought my life was taking is no longer an option, and I am overwhelmed at the infinite choices that are before me.

I was at a friend's house the other night and when I went into the bathroom, I saw words written on the bathroom mirror. At the top was the phrase "_______ is my antidepressant" and below was a list of items and activities. Each day, my friend would write something new, and focus on that, plus the items on the rest of the list, to keep from sliding into a funk. I liked the idea, but hadn't made time to put it into action for myself.

Today, in an effort to keep my life in perspective, I began my own list. Coming up with something today was admittedly tough - a long day of work followed by a night of babysitting that may or may not be a positive experience, depending on the older child and whether or not he's willing to refrain from wrestling with his baby brother (who is not even one and most definitely cannot fight back). But I did finally come up with something, and today, "walking to work" is my antidepressant.

I've already got tomorrow's picked out: on Thursday, "G" is my antidepressant (because "N's beer" probably shouldn't be featured on this kind of list).