The Strongest Men We Ever Knew.

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http://www.irishexaminer.com/ireland/special-report-the-increase-of-dementia-in-ireland-video-338853.html

Imagine a rugged, gregarious, elderly man. He is quick to tell a story and flirt with all the ladies. He was the toughest cowboy who ever lived. He has never been sick a day in his life. He does not even notice the cut on his hand. He will blush and admit to some memory problems, however he is quick to reassure you that he is doing just fine. He explains all the help he receives from his family and friends. He tells you about all the things he is still doing. This man is healthy as a horse.

It is easy to assume he is doing just fine, until you realize this is the third recitation of the same story.  He goes to church every Sunday. He spells out his daily routine. He will regale you with tales of his fishing adventure just last week! Biggest fish he has ever seen! He still drives around the town he has lived in for 70 years. All the while, he keeps forgetting about the cut on his hand. He looks down with a puzzled expression every time the bandage enters his field of vision.

He just wants to go home. Yes, he is well aware that his children want him to move closer to them. He is indignant and proud. He can manage just fine.

Sure, he may have had some difficulty managing his bank account- that darned internet is too complicated for him. It’s not surprising he does not remember which way to turn when he drives down that particular street, they must have changed it all up. There is entirely too much new construction around here anyway. It is just a waste of the tax payers money. They keep changing the roads every week!

He just wants to go home. There is nothing wrong with him. He is fine. He has been taking care of himself for 65 years. He raised four children. Of course it has been more difficult since his wife died. She had always cooked the meals, taken care of the house and laundry, and managed all the finances. He sure does miss her.

Keeping all his medicine straight is difficult, his doctor gives him too many darned tiny pills, and have you ever tried to open one of those bottles? You almost need a hacksaw to get into one of them. It is okay, the lady that cleans his house puts them into a box for him. One says AM and one says PM. Problem solved.

He finds the bandage again. He is getting slightly irritated at the discomfort. He starts pulling off the gauze so he can leave. He does not need to be tied up. Why would he have his hand wrapped up? He needs to get that mess off so he can go home. Besides, that is not his bandage. He doesn’t need it.He does not believe he would care to buy that today. He promises to come buy it another day if I need the sales commission.

He tells you about fishing last week. It was the biggest fish he has ever seen. He reeled in it all by himself. He is demonstrating his manly prowess, and proving he can take care of himself. Sure, he lost his wallet again. Nope, he has no trouble getting where he needs to go. He has never been in an accident or had a traffic violation.

He is quick and sure to answer your questions and concerns.

He can tell the best stories about when he was a cowboy. He still tends all his own fences. He just plowed his garden last week. What on earth could you possibly be saying? Of course he can fend for himself! Besides, he has wonderful friends who drop by and check on him.

He was horribly confused and combative in the night. He pulled out his IV site (more than once.) He spilled his coffee repeatedly. He wanted his pants. What kind of nonsense is this? Stealing a man’s pants? He was not going to stand for this. Fine, you know what? He has money. Where is his wallet? He will buy his pants back from you. He never uses the call light despite repeated reminders. He keeps insisting he is not in the hospital.

You realize he has no idea who you are. You have spent countless hours with him over the past few days, and in fact you were just in his room fifteen minutes ago. Every time you walk through the door, you are greeted joyously. He does not remember the nasty tone of voice he was using with you last time you were in here. He does not remember that you are the one who will not allow him to go home. He tries calling you darlin’ and he gives you a little wink.

It is not too hard for you to redirect him. All you see is a sweet old man. You can even laugh at times. Some of his antics are funny.  He is “pleasantly confused” and you are well aware he does not mean any of it. This is not the man who raised you. You have not witnessed his decline from greatness. You are not the one who will have to go home and feel remorse for not being able to make it work with him at home. This is just another day at the office for you.

His son sits with a resigned expression at the bedside. He never interrupts or corrects his father. He only fills in information when his father looks to him to answer the question. I keep trying to give the son an opportunity to pipe up and let his father know he can’t go home in this condition. I try telling this man he can’t stay at home alone at night. I look to his son and wait for him to tell his dad he has to  come stay with family. He only asks me how long I think his father will need someone to stay with him. I can see the wheels of desperation turning over in his mind. Oh. He is not always this bad. Okay. The infection could explain it. Perhaps a few days or weeks would be sufficient. 

Turns out, Paul Harvey was not going to chime in “With the rest of the story.” (If you don’t know that reference google Paul Harvey.)I am mildly concerned, but feeling a little better. This confusion could be the delirium so many patients experience in the hospital. Nope. Not at all. Charming Grandpa has not been doing well for a while. Ok, no problem. Just get him to go home with his son. Phew. Glad I solved that problem.

It is painful to see adult children struggling with their new role as a protector and decision maker. What do we do when the body still works, but the mind is no longer able to handle the complexities of life? How do you take away your father’s car keys? How do you finally insist they cannot live at home anymore? It is not stubbornness that leads to their insistence to stay home. They are unable to realize and comprehend the reality of their cognitive decline.

So, what happens when they refuse to go to an assisted living, nursing facility, or even to live with relatives who can look after them? How do you compel someone to leave the home they built and raised their family in, when they feel fine? I somehow managed to convince myself patients with dementia actually understood how confused they were. Oh! This is why we perform mental evaluations. People do not know when they are confused. They truly believe everything is fine. Now what? You seem fine in short conversations, you are not physically debilitated, why would I say you need to be forced from the home you built with your own two hands. Yes, I remember you still mend your own fences. Yes, you used to be a cowboy. A real cowboy, not one of those fancy boys. 

This is not an easy process. We don’t like to hold people against their will. You can’t just kidnap grandpa because you decide it is the right thing to do. Furthermore, NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU HOW TO DO THIS! Maneuvering through all the rules, insurance regulations, and red tape is maddening. Now, imagine trying to handle all of this if you live and work somewhere else, compounded by the fact that your parent has everyone fooled. He looks great! He is at church three times a week. He does not realize how severe the problem is, and neither does anyone else, until something happens. He gets lost and drives 3 states away. He leaves the stove on and starts a fire. He takes all of his money out of the bank and no one can find it.

There is no easy answer.

However, your grandpa with dementia may be entertaining a group of nurses tonight. He will keep them on their toes. They will watch over him while you try to sort out his affairs. They will nurse him back to health from whatever ailment landed him in the hospital. They will make sure someone is keeping an eye on the guy who likes to Pole vault over the bed rails while they rush to take care of their other patients. There will probably be a bed alarm that shrieks out every time he tries to get out of bed. A gaggle of nurses will rush to the door to protect him from harm. He will not remember the instructions he received 2 minutes ago to use his call light.  These nurses will quietly ask you about discharge planning, and express concerns about him going home alone. They will be there to support you while you go through the hardest experience of your life.

He will vacillate between irritated and charming. When he turns on the charm in an attempt to manipulate his way out of this situation, he will capture a few hearts. He will demand he be released from this prison. Charming grandpa will constantly interfere with all attempts to treat his medical condition. He will forget he is sick.

Dementia is hard.

The aging cowboy has no idea this is happening. He will tell you again about his fishing trip. He will rip the bandage off his hand, and try to get the string, actually, those are sutures and I really wanted them there, out of his hand. We have only had this conversation 27 times in the past three hours. The cowboy will become furious at his wrongful conviction, and as soon as he gets distracted the situation never existed. He will politely ask to go home. He feels fine. There is nothing in the world wrong with him.

His son will tell me how his dad is the strongest, toughest, and bravest men he has ever known. He is facing a tough battle. He will have to overrule the ruler. No one will be able to convince him he is not a terrible son for taking his father from his home. Worse, it may not even be safe enough for his father to come live with him. The son will have to vigilant to prevent the cowboy from absconding into the night.

If they live long enough, even the strongest men (and women) are at risk for developing cognitive decline. It will happen in bits and pieces. Things will appear manageable even after they are careening through a mine field. We have to support the families of these super heroes. We have to reassure them, offer guidance, and listen most of all. It is heart-rending to watch.

Basically, there is no easy answer. It is difficult to prepare for this situation because you want to believe it will never be that bad. Your dad is the strongest man in the world, why does he have to lose his independence?

It must be hard to parent one’s own parent.

My Tribe did a Tough Mudder yesterday.

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Ahhhh. The hopeful expressions of the innocent. Just kidding. They know what this is all about. It’s Mudder Time! Colorado is the hardest course in North America. Yeah, I obviously stayed home for this one.

I bet you thought you were going to get away with never hearing about another Tough Mudder again. After all, remember how hard the last one was? Have you seen me at boxing lately? Hey! I have been working! And traveling. And resting. . . I know. I have to find a boxing gym. More about the latest in Adventures in Employment later. This is about my friends. 

Tough Mudder in Snowmass, Colorado. Right after Mesa, I had considered trying to train for this one. Here’s the thing, it is at a ski resort. Yep. They were climbing up and down mountains. Right. So, after my training plans fell through I graciously opted out of this adventure. My Kick-ass, awesome, brave, tough-as-nails tribe have never looked back. They had things to do.

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Wishing I were somehow there with them. #jealous

Details are sparse at this point and it is not my story to tell. However, I was having my butt kicked at work, all the while trying to sneak a peek for their progress occasionally. I was living vicariously through my Muddy Buddies.

My Tribe is filled with great people. We have no problem being authentic with each other and this is one of the best parts of having a group.

For your viewing pleasure: can’t wait to hear or hopefully even read all of their stories. 

IMG_0098 IMG_0097 IMG_0094 IMG_0093 IMG_0092 IMG_0091 IMG_0089 IMG_0087 IMG_0086 IMG_0085Trust me, the beer at the finish line is a big deal.

Hydrate and heal your broken bodies my friends.

The great thing about Tough Mudder is the way everyone even complete strangers, end up as part of a big family. The physical challenge is such a small part of this adventure. There are mental and emotional obstacles for so many of us.

In case you are wondering, my next Tough Mudder is in about a month. I am taking my son to experience this adventure with a HUGE group of lovely people. I know some of them, the rest I am excited to meet. Yep, it is still going to be hard. I am still terrified of heights. I am still fraught with self-doubt and anxiety. None of that matters. We have totally got this. 

Growing up in the information age.

Anyone remember the Duran Duran song Too Much Information?

Destroyed by MTV, I hate to bite the hand that feeds me so much information. The pressure’s on the screen to sell you things that you don’t need. It’s too much information for me. Hey TV child look into my eyes. Here by intervention I want your attention. Promotion boy in a suit and tie. He wants you to use it. You’re too shot to lose it. It’s pumping down the cable like never seen before. A cola manufacturer is sponsoring the war. 

071017_jessica_mcclure_470The first big news story I remember seeing on television is when Jessica McClure fell into a well in Midland, Texas in October, 1987. I was seven years old, and I do not think I understood what I was watching, but I knew “Baby Jessica” was in danger. I mostly remember the footage of the bright search lights and I am pretty sure the sun never rose during those almost 3 days. This was IMPORTANT. Everyone was talking about this well and how tragic the situation was. I imagined this well to look like the wishing wells of fairy tales. A brick circular structure with a bucket and a rope, and I could not for the life of me fathom why they did not just lower the bucket and have her climb in. I could be wrong, but I believe this was one of the first big media circuses to be played out on live TV with the plight of regular people as the main attraction.

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http://abcnews.go.com/topics/news/tiananmen-square-massacre.htm

The other story I remember from my childhood is the Tiananmen Square Massacre in June, 1989. I assure you I had no idea what was going on. I simply remember a morbid curiosity because they were talking about students. I was imagining a military takeover of an elementary school, that in my imagination was eerily similar to my school. I remember feeling a sense of worry that kids were not safe in schools. Ironic, since school safety is one of the hot button topics in the news today.

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Oh, look he did have brown hair… I thought he was so cool.

When I was in 6th grade, we had this news program played in home room, Channel One News. The school had been given televisions and VCRs for the classrooms in exchange for 12 minutes of our day. Seems like an okay trade to me. I do not remember much about the program except for Anderson Cooper dashing all over the world and a vague memory of Lisa Ling reporting as well. There were Pepsi commercials. There has been controversy surrounding the ethics of providing so much advertising and commercial content to kids at school, but I remember advertising on our “free” book covers the school required us to use too.

The Persian Gulf conflict (war?), the attack on the World Trade Center, the Branch Davidian standoff,  the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City. . . the list goes on. These events impacted the way I viewed the world. I was acutely aware of the danger waiting for me if I strayed too far from home. It is like all the fables and fairy tales were true, if you leave the safety of your home you are bound to find trouble lurking in all the dark corners of the world.

I was lucky I lived in West Texas, and nothing bad ever happened. I do not recall many of my teachers trying to make sure we were comprehending the nature of the current events shaping the world we lived in. I feel like we were shrouded in a blanket of cotton candy, every thing would be fine as long as we stayed dry and sheltered. How do we make sure our children have access to age appropriate current events? How do we teach them to utilize all this information into something they can learn from?

My iPhone gives me all the news I could want. I get news alerts and notifications. Amber Alerts from across the state lead to a shrill and at times frightening alarm that startles everyone in the room. Every weather alert comes via text and several app notifications. There are days I am so bombarded with information I cannot help but to tune it all out. Everywhere I look someone is trying to capture my attention and sell me more crap I don’t need.

Furthermore, has anyone else noticed that Facebook seems to be a stalker? How does it determine who I may know? I only met that person one time. The ads are freaky too. How did it know I was googling green protein smoothies? I have instant access to so much data, I no longer have to remember any details. I can google it. I have not purchased a newspaper in ages. I read the news online. I have to be honest, sometimes I just get my news via other people’s posts. I know, I know. That is lazy and a good way to be misinformed. 

So, what is the first news story you remember? Looking back now, did you understand the implications of it? Did it shape the way you viewed the world?

New experiences are scary. It’s NORMAL!

We used to practice on each other and on dummies. I mean, mannequins… We even had ones that moved, talked, and ALWAYS died. Simulation helps- it does not ease the dread of the first time. I have never grinned and posed for a photo when I was defibrillating a real person.

Hospitals are horrible, awful, no good places. Not really, obviously. Well. Kinda. I hate hospitals. I am filled with dread and anxiety when I enter one as a patient, family member, or visitor. The difference in my feelings is astonishing when I am walking those same halls as a healthcare provider.

I am a nurse. I was a nurse first, and I will always be a nurse. The only thing change is I am now an Advanced Practice Nurse, aka- Nurse Practitioner, or midlevel provider. The point is I am still a nurse. I love nurses. They are quite basically my heroes. What other profession is filled with people who constantly provide care for complete strangers? I know, there are lots of them, that is not the point. I am talking about nurses here. Just bear with me. I love all the other service positions too. 

Nurses have this uncanny ability to make some of the most humiliating, unbearable, uncomfortable situations tolerable. Imagine being at your most vulnerable state, unable to walk or take care of your most private needs. Nurses step in and deal with the issue. It is no big deal. They have seen every body type and dealt with more situations than you can possibly imagine. All in a day’s work.

I remember the first time I had to give a patient a bed bath. He was a gloriously demented elderly man in a nursing home. Let me just say, it was a MESS. I had never removed clothing from a grown person before, at least not in this manner. They actually teach you how to do this in class. In the class, the patient is always cooperative, docile, and helpful. The process is easy then. Now imagine a 150 pound man, who wiggles around like a toddler. Following directions? Not going to happen. That was the first time I genuinely believed I had made a mistake. Why would I want to do this? It was one of the hardest things I had ever done. For one thing, I was embarrassed.

I was 25 years old and had never seen an elderly person without their clothes on. I felt like I should be giving this man some privacy. He was gleefully not embarrassed, which exacerbated my discomfort. I had no idea of the appropriate social protocol in this situation. Do you avert your eyes? Apologize? Give them a compliment? The answer there is a resounding NO! Do not compliment your patient’s genitalia. It’s not necessary. Now, there are situations outside the professional world where that is welcomed. Just in case you wondered…

I finally went and got some help from some other students, and we were able to complete the task more efficiently. Let me tell you, I felt like a failure. Why was this so difficult? This is only my first clinical experience. I was never going to be a good nurse. This was the first time I considered dropping out of nursing school. I considered it every single semester. I felt incompetent most of the time. I wish they would warn you about those feelings. Turns out, every one feels that way at least part of the time. 

Fortunately, I figured it out. There are tricks and processes passed on by experienced nurses. A certain method to the madness of making a bed while a patient is in it. You learn efficiency in your movements. It gets better.

The reason I tell this story is to reassure myself that every thing is hard the first time you try to do it. I am branching out professionally, and I may be placed in the position where I have to learn a new set of skills. These things intimidate me a little. What if I cannot do it? What if I embarrass myself?

Then I take a deep breath and deliberately exhale slowly. I tell my restless mind to calm down and stop borrowing trouble. Then, I go to YouTube and watch another how to video. Yep. There are How To videos on YouTube for medical procedures. If that does not make you feel better, I don’t know what will. 

Here is the thing. You learn every thing you can about something, and you pay attention to the person teaching you. You have to trust your knowledge and abilities. Every one had a first time for new skills. I imagine they were scared and felt a sense of dread. Except for those weird adrenaline junkies who love new experiences, but I think they are freaks. 

I am working diligently to quell the voices that scream inside my head. I am preparing and telling myself to man up and just do it. I am working to trust and believe the people who tell me I can do anything I put my mind to. I am reminding myself of all the things that used to scare me and are simply routine now. I must remember I am either growing or dying. Today, I choose to grow.

It is Important. Or is It?

Important. Just what exactly does that mean? Valuable? Rare? Earth shattering? Perpetual?

Aside from the things society tells us we should place value on, how do we go about determining the importance of situations and objects. How do we assign value to people?

We are programmed to believe we have to achieve importance in order to be complete human beings. If you stop to think about it, this prerequisite to achieving personhood is almost unbearable pressure.

Perhaps the real question is: what is this unseen force doing this programming? For me, I think it is all on my own accord. Waiting for the world to change? Waiting for a sign indicating I matter? 

Whatever. Seriously, why do I put myself through all that nonsense? When do I get to be good enough? I have days where I am confident, which are interspersed with just as many days with zero confidence.

I am starting to think this is normal. I don’t have to be so hard on myself for the bad days. Everyone has days, weeks, or even months where life seems to be a wreck. Of course their ego suffers. Only a true jackass would not feel like they needed to regroup or reevaluate their lives.

It is perfectly acceptable to not have all the answers.

It’s alright to be nervous when you are entering strange territory.

There is no shame in admitting you need help or guidance.

This is the view from my streaked hotel window. Big day today. Tulsa is interesting.

I am learning as I go. The future is bright as long as I allow it to be. Let’s see what new adventure life has in store for me. Worst case scenario? I have to change direction later. No big deal.

Signs

IMG_9943There are signs and notices everywhere. They eventually blend into the background, and we are left with a colorful world of words and images we don’t even acknowledge, much less heed their advice.

I have a motor running just under the surface. It is like an internal voice, quiet at times and menacingly roaring  at other times. Imagine a mild anxiety that never completely quells but can slide seamlessly into full-blown panic without warning. This is my little motor. Constantly telling me to hurry up and figure all this out. Hurry up before it is too late. Hurry up before you miss it all. Pay attention. Nope, wrong way, you turned the wrong way! You are missing it!

I am not quite sure what it is I am missing, but it is IMPORTANT! LIFE AND DEATH! hmmm. Probably not. It is just the little part inside of me which remains so fearful of making the wrong choice. It is not a fear of failure, or even a fear of loss. It is simply a fear of choosing wrong.

So, I look to the world to give me a sign.

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I may be invited to come along and park, but I am the one assuming all the risks. I am not sure what these risks are and they must be grave indeed. They posted a sign every few feet in this parking lot. Avoiding some unknown litigation can be alleviated by posting a sign? It is not like I have a choice, I have to park somewhere. After all, I am sleeping in this hotel. Warning noted. I must admit it does leave me feeling a little less welcomed.

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This notice left me wondering about the history of this eating establishment. What on earth happened? What manner of foul play necessitated this kind of post? Those darned eleven year olds. The magic age must be twelve. The possibility of injury for the littles is a bit concerning. Only the unsupervised ones though. I wonder is in that Orange Chicken.

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Photo by: Tracy Spencer

Finally, there is this sign. I needed this reminder. It is okay for me to just be me. I can dance if I want to. No one ever claimed I was one of the ducks walking in a row. I was always the one messing up the procession. I like to be the dancing duck.

I can take a step back from the motor and give myself a break. I am doing a good job. I am slowly but surely figuring it all out. I do not have to know where I am going to be fifty years from now. I just have to do the best I can today.

You have cancer. I don’t know what to say.

I have entirely too many friends with cancer. Some have treatable cancer, while others have stage IV cancer requiring constant palliative treatment. It is horrible and scary.

Now, I see a lot of articles describing cancer from the patient’s POV, and a few from the perspective of the spouse whose world is forever changed from their loss. What about the friend? What about the coworker, who really likes you, and wants to help?

I am one of those people who has spent entirely too much of my life saying exactly what pops into my head. Most of the time this is not a problem. Well, not too much anyway. The part of me who would never intentionally say something insensitive kicks in, and I become frozen. I don’t know what to say. Typically when I learn of your diagnosis, my first thought is Are you going to die? 

I am a person who likes to have a problem or a puzzle to solve. Give me a task, and I will do everything in my power to help you out. I want to offer advice, but I do not know a lot about cancer and cancer treatment. It is not my specialty, and I do not like thinking about it. Cancer. That is a scary word. I have a new understanding of why the little old ladies whisper when they are gossiping about people who have cancer.

I wonder if other people feel as useless as I do when my friends or coworkers are going through this. I simply have very little to offer. Sure, I can be available if you need to talk, but wouldn’t someone who knows more about your situation be better? One of my friends made a poignant statement once, “Everybody loves you when you are dying.”

Yikes. I do not want my friend to think I am only there because they are sick. So, I don’t call. This leaves me feeling guilty. What are the rules? What can I do?

Some of the articles I have read have admonished well meaning friends not to ask “what can I do?” This person has had their entire life turned upside down, and they do not have time to find a task to feed your ego. Good point.

This leaves me with the same problem. I want to help. I would do anything if I could just make you not have to go through this, and I am powerless. I have seen my coworkers rally around our work family, raising money, and in general just being available. I find myself pulling back and suffering from intense insecurity. I do not want to interfere.

Even writing this makes me feel strange. My feelings should not matter, I am not the one with cancer. The thing is, I have feelings. I am sad, shocked, scared, and somewhat lost. If I have lost touch with you over the years, and I hear you have cancer, I want to reach out. However, then I am doing that annoying thing where people come out of the woodwork when there is a crisis. So, I just think about you, worry for you and your family, and reflect on the person I used to know. I stay silent.

There is no rule book for going through life. Now, we manage to stay connected to everyone we ever knew via social media. We are able to turn the world into that small town where everyone knows a little piece of everyone’s business. I wonder if this is part of why it seems like there is so much suffering in the world. We are exposed to more of it.

It is difficult to know how to offer support to someone who you know, but do not know well.

I remember people trying to comfort me when a very close friend died. They were using the common polite expressions. The one that infuriated me, “she is in a better place,” was not meant to upset me. I was infuriated. I wanted to scratch out their eyeballs. She was not in a better place, she was never coming back to the people who loved her.

Realizing the polite sayings can hurt, I am left with not knowing what to say. I want to ask so many questions. Are you scared? Is your family handling things well? Do you like and trust your doctor? What are you going to do? What are they telling you about the treatment? Are you in pain? How did you find out you have cancer? Did you suspect it was cancer before you went to the doctor? Did you miss the warning signs? Do you have a family history of cancer? Did you do something that caused your cancer? What are we going to blame this on? Why did this happen to you? SELFISHLY, is this going to happen to me? 

My intentions would be to simply find out where you are. I want to understand, and in my naiveté, I truly believe if I understood, I could help. It is unfortunate that it is really none of my business.

So, I am left with nothing to say. Fear leaves me paralyzed. I do not want to get in the way. So, I will throw some cash into the collection jar, buy a plastic bracelet to prove my support, and wish I could help. No, it is not enough, but sometimes it is all I have.

Here is my promise to all my friends:

If you need me, I am here. I may not know what to do but, I will figure out something. I may not know the socially correct things to say, and I may accidentally make an inappropriate joke, but I will care. I will not assume to know what you need from me, and I will not do things unless you ask me for something. I will not call you constantly to check on you, but I will answer the phone if you reach out to me.

I guess the best thing I can offer is a willingness to be there for whatever need arises.

 

I am only a nurse practitioner

As I walk through the side entrance of the hospital, my white coat flapping in the Texas breeze, I am quiet and introspective. What will the day hold for me? Do I have the knowledge and skills necessary for assessing and diagnosing my patients? Will I know the current evidence based guidelines? Am I good enough to do this job? 

When my patients enter the hospital, they have a problem which is causing them physical or psychological distress. They did not come into my professional realm for a social call, they need me to intervene and fix the problem. Usually, by the time they are admitted to the floor, they have already been examined and assessed by a physician in the emergency room, and it was deemed necessary to admit them to the hospital for further evaluation and care.

I look over the information obtained in the ER and try to come up with a list of questions I need to have the answer to. I have to evaluate past medical history, family history, personal habits, current medication, and finally complete an interview which is followed by a physical examination. Sometimes, if I am lucky, there are symptoms and risk factors that are glaringly obvious and I know an effective treatment for the malady. Other times, most of the time it seems, I am handed a vague list of complaints which fail to give me a concrete diagnosis. Now, I have to evaluate the things I cannot see with the naked eye or hear through my stethoscope. Subjective complaints are the most difficult to assess. Is the patient telling me the entire story? Are they being truthful? What am I missing? How do I get more information? How can I get this quantified? Is this part of the story pertinent? What else do I need to know? How do I avoid offending or embarrassing this person that came to me for help? How do I bring up sensitive topics? How do I reassure this person that I care? How do I facilitate communication, while using time wisely?

Now, I am not usually seeing only one patient at a time, and all the information I need is not handed to me in a nice little package. I am waiting for diagnostic results and other professional opinions. I am also juggling the needs of the hospital, insurance regulations, personalities of the patients, their loved ones, other hospital staff, and a ticking clock. I make a decision based on the information at hand, and I have to trust my skills to obtain all the information.

I have taken my time to listen to the patient, asked invasive questions meant to probe and uncover the secrets their body keeps hidden in a shroud of mystery. I explain my plan of care and explain the results I am seeking from my interventions. I walk out of the room and sit down to record in the official medical record my findings. I have to maneuver my way through an electronic medical record that seems to have been designed to make finding the details of care difficult to find. I am granted peace and quiet, and no one ever interrupts me and breaks my train of thought. Oh, wait that is not true. I am constantly bombarded with questions and requests for my time, attention, and energy.

Constant terror that I missed some potentially fatal condition, or that I will not order the proper intervention or screening lies just under the surface. I find myself double checking and reviewing medications and test results. I discuss the case with my supervising physician. I waiver at times in my resolve. Then, I have to make a decision. I find myself reviewing the case with other members of the health care team and asking for their insight on the patient’s condition. I attempt to make sure the nurses concerns are addressed. I seek to educate and give them insight to the rationale for proposed treatment. I have to give them options and hope they are agreeable to the plan. I have no power to force compliance. So, my argument had better be convincing. I have to be able to communicate with people regardless of the language they speak, their cultural biases, and their education and intelligence level. I have to provide care that is accessible to everyone regardless of the barriers to knowledge. I have to find a solution for any roadblock. This requires extensive knowledge and comprehension of an unending list of resources and rules for utilization. It also requires the ability to overcome whatever social issues arise. I am tasked with having difficult conversations, while maintaining a professional manner.

One of the biggest issues I face is discharge planning, which actually begins the moment a patient enters the hospital. What has to happen in order for the patient to be deemed stable for discharge? What kind of follow-up care will they need? How am I going to plot a course of improved health for this individual? What are the financial implications? What resources are available? What are the rules for the care I seek? How do I properly justify medical necessity?

Oh! Don’t forget patient satisfaction scores affect every thing I do. If the patient is not happy with the proposed treatment, or if they feel something else would be more enjoyable, they can affect the amount of reimbursement the hospital receives in the future. How do I satisfy someone when they are sick? How do I explain the difficulties with pain control? Is it my job to somehow make you pain-free, when there is some part of your body malfunctioning? How do I make the patient understand they have to get out of bed when all they want to do is sleep through this process? How do I make them happy about the dietary restrictions for their particular condition?

Sometimes, I go and speak to a patient and spend a considerable amount of time with them, I explain my role and that I am going to be providing their medical care. Yes, I am operating under the supervision of a physician, and I would not have it any other way. After I have gone over every thing and I have documented the encounter adequately, and met with all the members of the healthcare team, I hear this statement, “The patient and their family are upset because no one has talked to them today.” I am sorry, but WHAT? I just spent an hour with this patient and their family IN THE ROOM. This is not including all the time spent with care coordination and other necessary actions. OH…. you want a DOCTOR. Okay. No problem. Now, I have to approach the physician who I have reviewed the case with, assured them I have it under control, and review and recap the entire case, explain exactly what I have done, and reiterate the entire conversation I had with the patient and the family. The doctor walks in the room and spends a couple of minutes, and magically every thing is right with the world.

I am left feeling moderately unimportant. I have spent time to pull up a chair, listened compassionately, and truly worked so hard to take good care of you. I feel like all of my hard work was for nothing. The patient and their family were not pleased with my efforts. They wanted a doctor. I get it. I really do. The problem is… if I am being honest, at times it hurts my feelings. I know it shouldn’t. I am able to think through it and brush it off, but I am left with a little bruise on my ego.

You see, I am only a nurse practitioner. I am not a physician. I am competent to provide medical care, and I know my limits. I have no qualms with admitting when I do not know the correct answer, and I am not afraid to ask for help. I crave and value the education my supervising physicians provide for me on a continual basis, and I am never offended when they provide alternative treatment plans or point me in a different direction. I am a physician extender. They are ultimately responsible for the care I provide. I respect that role. I respect my role.

I work hard to gain new information and to learn more about caring for patients. I like to gain new understanding from other specialities perspective. I look up the things I have never heard of or don’t particularly understand. I am exquisitely curious, and I am driven to constantly be better. My professional goals center on providing the best care possible for the patient. I am here to provide safe, competent medical care.

Due to my professional path, I am still a nurse. I have a complete grasp of the realities and responsibility of this role. I was also a unit secretary. I understand the complexities of the relationships between all the people on the team. Sometimes this is a hindrance. I held myself to high standards, and sometimes I find myself judging other people as harshly as I judge myself. I have to work continuously to encourage and promote open lines of communication. I want the other people involved in providing care to feel they can come to me with any issue or question that arises. This is difficult at times because I am entrenched in my own inner battle with my own insecurities.

I am not certain if the fear of making mistakes is normal for all healthcare providers, but I believe this fear keeps me on my toes. The balance between humility and confidence is sometimes difficult to achieve, and I fear I may fail to provide the necessary reassurance that I will do every thing in my power to meet your needs. It is difficult to be confident when every thing is so gray. I think this may be one of the most difficult parts of my job.

I have learned healthcare providers are just human. We are attempting to unlock the mysteries of your body, and there are infinite factors that must be considered. We are bound by limitations of medical knowledge, as well as the logistical nightmare of resource utilization. We can offer suggestions and proposed treatments, and we can attempt to forecast the results of those treatments. However, we are left powerless as to the actual outcomes. We do our best. We do what has worked the best in the most number of people possible.

Nothing is guaranteed, yet we are held responsible for the end result. If you live, God saved you. If you die, we killed you. This is a huge burden. The emotional toll it takes on me when there are bad outcomes has to be faced head-on. I have to process the feelings, evaluate the situation, and hopefully learn a lesson. Sometimes the lesson is simply a reminder of human limitations and the fact we are all mortal.

So, I live in constant fear and feel an enormous amount of obligation to provide the best care for my patients. I have to push my ego aside and bury my pride. I have to portray myself as competent to facilitate confidence in my abilities. I have to remember my limitations, while simultaneously trusting my skills and intuition. I will chase every resource available to improve your health or quality of life. Sometimes, the patient or their family’s wishes are in direct opposition to the best treatment. We are tasked to keep someone alive on life support when their quality of life is dismal. Or, we keep providing measures that simply prolong suffering when there is no chance of survival. These cases are distressing. Running a code on someone when in reality further care is futile seems like torture. However, we are not in charge of what care the patient receives. We offer advice and suggestions, everyone is allowed to make their own decisions. It is difficult to keep every thing in perspective when we are held responsible for the outcomes when the proposed plan of care is not carried out or the patient refuses to comply with instructions and advice.

Please do not forget the required tasks involved in maintaining licensure, hospital privileges, and employment. I have continuing education, certifications, privileges, and meetings I am required to attend. I have to juggle the business of being employed with providing patient care. I have to put my personal life on hold, and out of mind while I focus on life and death issues. I also have to make time for the people in my life who need me to be there. I cannot be preoccupied with work stuff. The amount of compartmentalization required to be a healthcare provider is enormous. I have to remind myself to put work on a shelf sometimes. It is difficult to not be consumed by it all. 

Please, just remember: The physicians and other members of your healthcare team are only human and we cannot perform magic. We do the best we can. I have to be remain constantly vigilant. After all, I am only a nurse practitioner.

Journalists are first responders too.

My heart is heavy today. Another senseless act of violence perpetrated in the most public forum possible. This shooter apparently had a long history of feeling persecuted, and he suffered professionally as a result. According to an article in Newsweek, Flanagan had sued a previous employer for discrimination in response to reported comments disparaging him because of his race. The case was settled for an undisclosed amount of money in 2000. A copy of the complaint is available on the Newsweek article. That’s enough about this dude, I want to talk about the parts I understand.

Yep, that is me- in the dog suit. Went to the fair, pep rallies, and even the MDA Telethon. The ice packs only helped a little. I complained bitterly about it, but who does not secretly dream of wearing “fur” in 100 degree weather? I secretly enjoyed it, but don’t tell anyone that.
I was incredibly fortunate as a teenager. I had a news director at my local TV station allow me to complete an internship in the news department. I was the first high school student to be granted this privilege. I learned so much during that semester, and the opportunity allowed me to gain employment as an associate producer at KLBK when I was 16. Most of my responsibilities were similar to my responsibilities when I was an intern, I ripped scripts, ran the teleprompter, pulled a few stories from the AP wire, and edited some of the video. Sometimes I got to tag along for special events, and I was the mascot (I actually wore a dog suit) for a short time.

I loved my job. It was exciting and fun. I learned a lot of skills which have proven useful in my current career. One of the most important skills I learned is how to deal with people who have (for lack of a better word,) strong personalities. I believe performing on air requires a certain amount of self importance, and self confidence in order to be convincing as a talent. Most of the people I worked closely with were (and still are) amazingly generous people, and I am a better person for having them in my life at such a young age. Tensions ran high frequently in the newsroom, and it is not a place for sensitive people. There are deadlines that cannot be missed, and you have to please a fickle public and more importantly, you have to please your advertisers. The ratings have to be considered, AND you have to use integrity and ethical reporting while not offending the public. Sure, it is a high stress environment.

While our journalists are not often considered “first responders” in the way healthcare providers and police officers are, they do put themselves in harm’s way in order to provide a public service. They are the information centers of our society. Even in our social media crazed society, we still turn on the local news when the weather is ominous. When there is a developing story involving active shooters or bomb threats (just an example), our journalists do not seek cover, they rush to the scene and deliver the most current updates. I like to believe they are acting to keep us safe.

Journalists are tasked with gathering information, and the public is constantly demanding more. We expect in-depth reporting, and exciting video to stimulate our constant craving for adrenaline. We reward the most daring journalists with our hits, tweets, and shares. Only the most exciting (or perhaps adorable) video goes viral.

I am one of the worst critics, and I tend to hold people (especially professionals) to high standards. I frequently forget to express my gratitude, and in light of this public tragedy, I want to now.

I don’t know what this guys problem was. Frankly, I don’t care. I think he is most likely an asshole with a mental illness. Keep in mind, not everyone who is mentally ill is violent. I could spout a bunch of crap on here about the need for gun control and reform for mental healthcare, but I am not.

I just want to thank all the journalists who provide this public service for me. I appreciate the work you do. I also appreciate all the people who took me under their wing when I was just a kid, and taught me so much about looking for the story. You were my first mentors.

Lastly, my thoughts are with the coworkers, families, and friends of the victims of this crime. I am so sorry for your loss. I appreciate the service your loved ones provided for the public.

Dashing Dirty through The Land of Enchantment

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Before the mud bath. I thought we were going to a spa. Where is my facial? You forgot the champagne. What is wrong with us?
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I had no idea there would be this much mud in our friendship.

This weekend I got to go play in the mud with my friends in Albuquerque. For those of you who do not know, New Mexico’s state motto is The Land of Enchantment. For me, it is simply where some of my muddy friends live.

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Don’t worry- I am only moderately terrified.

The race location made it easy to choose a meeting up point, the 505 also happens to be convenient for the Texan, Coloradians, and Arizonians. (Is this the right way to say that? Coloradian? Arizonian? I have no idea.) I think I underestimated the altitude difference. Lubbock is about 3200 feet above sea level. The park where the race was held is about 6700 feet above sea level. I believe that would not have felt as different, except I have been spending most of my time in Mount Pleasant, which is about 350 feet above sea level. I did not know I would be craving supplemental oxygen in the last mile.

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Even my shirt knew! I am a princess! Thanks Rebecca for making the shirts. You are magic.

Now, this is ONLY a 5K, this should have been a cake walk. Yeah, right. Someone did not get the memo. I am a princess. Where were my gladiators who were supposed to carry me? Oh, I know. They were on top of the swing set with the rope ladder that is my new nemesis.

It could not have been that tall, maybe just 8 feet or so. I did climb up high enough that all I needed to do is swing my leg over and crawl down the other side. It is so easy! Damn. There is no way I am climbing over that. Why am I so paralyzingly afraid of heights? People try to be supportive and nice. “You can do it!” “Almost there!” “Go Nyki!” Grrrr. Bite me. I don’t do well with supportive comments. They leave me all angsty and resentful. Climbing over things kills me. I have no idea why I am so petrified of this. Someday I will figure it out.

Now, if you have been reading my blog, or even just talking to me since I started all this muddy fun, you know I did a Tough Mudder with my health club friends. You know what a big deal it all is, and you know I am doing another one in October. This little 5K should have been easy! It kicked my tail! The Tough Mudder is 10-12 miles with about 20 obstacles, and this was a little over 3 miles with about 20 mud pits, and maybe 7-8 other obstacles.

This is a good picture. We were muddy and having a blast. There are still many more chances for face plants. I was still naive about how much muddy fun the course had in store for us.

Let me be completely honest, being a fat chick rolling around and trying to climb out of muddy pits with a slew of other people poses certain hazards. There is no traction. A little part of you dies when you go sliding backwards from the top back into the slimy abyss. Then, you slowly realize you are holding your friends back. Now, it is time to push yourself on. You stop laughing and joking. You are concentrating on not looking like a fool.

I suppose I may have looked like I was dying. Complete strangers were offering words of support. I get it. You are trying to be nice. There was not one word of negativity spoken out loud. It was all in my head. In spite of the negative mantra playing on repeat in my head, it was FUN! I had to remind myself I was having fun, and I have come to the conclusion this is what it takes for me. I have spent years telling myself what I CAN’T do… and this new way of life is still foreign to me. That’s just fine. I always wanted to see foreign lands.

There were a ton of mud pits. I climbed through a lot of them, then I was just trying to get through the darn course. I was tired. I was grumpy. I desperately wanted to take my shoes off. There was mud caked in places mud should never be. Then, we got to the end. There was a giant ladder thing that led to a slide. No big deal right? WRONG! It looked like a straight drop down to certain death. There were people behind me, so there was no way to edge my way back down. I was facing mortal humiliation or mortal fear. So, down I flew. There were most likely (I know there really were) obscenities spewing from my mouth. It was one of the scariest half seconds of my life. When I came crashing off the end of the slide, I was laughing so hard. It was so much fun.

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I survived. It was fun. The Under Armour compression shorts were the best purchase I ever made. (There is not a pic of me in my underwear. Sorry folks.

Then, we were done. There was none of the crying and sheer relief that came from finishing Tough Mudder. This was just a short jaunt in the park. I woke up a little sore the next morning, but my body was not in severe pain, simply wishing for death. Nope, just a few groans when I had to sit or stand.

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See? Mud washes off.

So, what is the big deal? I am learning to go out and do harder things. I am learning to quell my inner mean girl. She is mostly just mean to me anyway. I don’t need that girl hanging around. She interferes with my adventures.

I have friends all over the country, and even a few in other countries. It is so great to be able to go experience new things with these people. I am so excited to keep finding new adventures. It is a little bittersweet to leave my new friends behind for the trip home, back to reality. No worries though, I am headed back to the 505 in a couple of weeks to go to a brew fest… hopefully, there will be no mud.

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On my way home!