Dream Big.

When did you stop dreaming?

When did I stop dreaming?

At some point in this thing called life, I stopped letting myself want things.  Marriage, kids, ponies, lavish international travel…any number of things I simply write off as impractical and thus impossible.

Except now I’m married to an incredible man who reminds me every day that dreams – even if you try to quash them – can actually come true.

But kids?  I can let myself want kids?

A farm?  With oversized ponies?  I can actually want that?

Whoa.

I can want to be fit and capable of running for a mile without feeling like death?

Hold on.  Let’s not get too crazy.

I think I’ve been overwhelmed by the harshness of reality rather than the dauntlessness of hope, and it’s high time to change that.  I don’t entirely know how to go about making all of my dreams into reality.  But I do know that I need to at least start letting myself want things.

Even if it does seem crazy.

And expensive.

And scary.

Wow.

Scratching at the surface of what’s been bugging me

Nine years ago, I was a different person.

Ok, not really. But in a lot of ways, I was.

Death changes a lot of things. The day my dad died was the day I grew up.  The safety net was gone and I was truly flying solo. Or, in the words of Woody, from Toy Story, “falling with style.”  Sometimes less style and more falling, but that’s life.

After the death of my father, I became more involved with emergency medicine. It fit. Rescue became my second family and I discovered that I was good at something that I found interesting.  A rare feat.

Like I said, that was nine years ago.  Today, I find myself reflecting on who I was then, who I am now, what happened last week and the fact that I’m not going to have nearly enough sleep before my day starts in 4.5 hours.

Death changes everything. And nothing.  People die and the world keeps turning. That’s the toughest thing I think I face in my profession. The thing that follows me home when I leave the hospital.  On any given day, someone just had the worst day of their life.  Someone who meant the world to them is gone, and now they’re stuck here in this world, going from day to day for however long with only the memories to keep them company.

I know what that’s like. And I hurt for every family member I see who faces that knowledge for the first time.  Nine years later, it’s still going to hurt.  Sure, things will be different.  You’ll have new people in your life, new experiences.  You might feel guilty for still hurting. Get over it already, right?

This is why faith is so vital. Why there needs to be more than the here and the now.  Because the here and the now is not always sunshine and butterflies and amazing kickass experiences.  It’s not even always the drudging day to day that, when compared to the shattering loss that death brings, might as well be sunshine and butterflies.  Sometimes, the here and the now is a bloody, gruesome mess that all of the best doctors and equipment and science in the world cannot fix.  Sometimes, the here and the now is broken in such a way that it will always ache, even after the healing happens.

I have faith because I cannot have anything else.

Do What You Know is Right

That was the mantra my parents put into my head on an almost daily basis.

“Do what you know is right.”

I think I applied that with too broad a brush. Or something.  Because somewhere along the line, I stopped asking myself what I want to do and instead asked what I should do.

Sometimes that’s necessary.  Finances and all of the obligations that accompany adult responsibility mean that we can’t simply run around doing whatever we want all of the time.  But when it comes to careers, emotional health and generally being happy?  It’s time to move up the ladder of Maslow’s Heirarchy.

And that’s where I find myself today.  My physical needs are met.  Many of my emotional needs are met.  But I’m finding that the career path I’ve followed recently has been one of obligation rather than desire.  When I first started this journey ten years ago, I found the place where what I enjoy and what I’m good at merge.  That’s what made it great.  I need to remember that.  Because if I leave either of those components out, it becomes just a job.  And there are plenty of jobs out there with a better sleep schedule, less stress and higher salary.

But they’re not what I want.

How Are You Going to Sleep at Night?

It’s an honest question. And a good one. After seven years of being a nocturnal squeaky bat vampire, I’m going to the light side.

Day shift.

It’s a completely foreign concept to me, and further evidence in defense of the whole “never say never” thing. Because I’ve always said I’ll never switch. I love my crew too much. I love the independence of night shift, the camaraderie that develops with fewer resources as you treat patients from silly to sick at 4AM when the rest of the world sleeps. Night shift is my family.

But, in order to grow up and develop professionally, I need to leave home. Tonight will be my last night shift for three months – possibly/probably longer. And I’m more than a little bit sad about it. After a year of working as charge, this past Monday night I finally felt like I got it. I was able to manage the department, collaborate with everyone and effectively treat an ER full of patients during a full moon high volume, high acuity shift. It was awesome. I left feeling good about my job, rather than defeated by it. And now I’m stepping away from that to face a new challenge that is pretty much guaranteed to have me questioning almost every step I take.

I know it’s not all bad, and I am excited to be moving forward.

But I’m really gonna miss my team.

And I honestly don’t know how I’m going to sleep at night. If I go to bed before midnight now, I wake up at 0100 ready to go.

This is gonna be rough.

Night Life

I work night shift. That means I don’t sleep at normal times, so I’m awake doing random things like playing fetch with dogs at 1AM.

Until the fire alarm in another building goes off and the engine coming in with lights and sirens scares one of the dogs to the point that I have to chase her down to capture her and get back inside.

So then I’m back inside, wide awake, procrastinating. I could do laundry, but I don’t really want to. Homework? Meh. I did that already (though of course there’s always more…)

And then I smell something that I should not smell in the house.

So puppy is now in the kennel feeling very chagrined, by the look on her face as she slunk into her place. My bathroom floor is significantly cleaner than it’s been in a few weeks. I AM doing laundry, as part of the bathroom floor had rugs on it that puppy saw to it require washing. And I learned a valuable lesson about walking out to the dumpster:

If life requires that you walk trash out to the dumpster on a cold winter night, you should wear shoes. If you wear socks, because, hey, nobody’s around, shoes take effort, and it’s really not that cold out….well, things happen. The salt on the sidewalk is not comfortable to walk on. It’s like little rocks. And it’s fairly successful in melting ice, which means water. So now I’m trudging out to the dumpster, carrying a trashbag stinking of doggy doo, wearing a hoodie, pajama shorts and wet socks that are half freezing to the ground as I trudge.

And then there’s ice that didn’t get salted.

Let’s just say I’m glad that it was around 0145 and there weren’t people wandering around to see all that.

That Place

Where you’re super tired AND super sleepy. The perfect combination of relaxing into altered consciousness, drifting peacefully and cozily….except you’re on the couch. And the couch is not your bed. And you should really get up and go to bed, or you’re going to have kinks in your back when you jolt awake, wondering where you are at 2am.  Except…you don’t want to go to bed, because that requires moving. And moving requires waking up.

That’s where I am right now. Well, I was. I’m now in bed, but I’m tired and not sleepy anymore because, hello, muscle activity inspiring consciousness.

I survived another finals week. Research paper, done. Psych final, done. Stats final, done. Passing grades? Well…I got a B in stats, and I’m good with that. Verdict is pending on psych.

Tomorrow morning, my baby sister is going to have a c section.  Happy Birthday, little niecelet! I can’t wait to meet you!

This is when I wonder if I’m really where I need – or even want – to be.  I don’t want to be that weird aunt who lives far away and sends $5 or an ill fitting sweater for Christmas every year. But I feel like I’ll end up being that because…I’m a weird woman who lives far away from her family.

Oh well. It’s where I am right now. And I’ve got a plan of sorts. With goals and everything. It’s pretty great.

I haven’t posted on here since May? Good grief. Quick update: still single. still fat. (the latter probably contributing to the former, let’s be honest. I’m a catch if you take the whole fat thing out of the equation :P) still working ER, though with more confidence in the charge position, even though sometimes I feel like I’m screwing up in ways I can’t quite understand. New things: in grad school for a masters degree in nursing, working Falcon under saddle and in a new apartment with a new roommate.

I’ll write more later, actually having time to write and read for fun is going to get utilized during winter break. Tomorrow is mass cleaning and Christmas shopping day.

Ahhhh, the sleepies are coming again. Yay!

From the Outside

I’m a little cynical about guys and relationships. Not gonna lie. If Facebook would expand its relationship status field to include “Single and likely to remain so” I’d set myself firmly in that category.

There are several reasons for my position, but there are a very few things that makes me reconsider.

I learned early in my career that, more often than not, pregnancy in the ER typically means miscarriage. Bleeding, cramps, conversations punctuated with awkward silences and apologetic pelvic exams typically concluded with instructions to “follow up with your OB” or, in more severe cases, a trip to the OR.

This patient came in with her husband, vaginal bleeding at 14 weeks. I was starting her IV and talking to her and quickly ascertained that she knew she wasn’t pregnant anymore. I started some fluids, made sure her vitals were good and sent her off to ultrasound.

Every now and then, it strikes me how I sit on the periphery of so many lives every time I go to work. Patients all have lives outside of the ER. They [hopefully] find the experience of triage, treatment and dispo a unique and different episode in the saga of their days. And I sit on the edge of that, nudging them from one section to the next and getting glimpses into their stories.

The expressions I was privileged to see my patient and her husband exchange while he held her hand as she underwent an uncomfortable exam were enough to make me question my cynicism, just a little. A look that said “we’ve gotten through worse, we’ll get through this.” The fact that they were a team, two people who loved enough to build a home and a life together, was almost tangible.

It’s things like this that make me feel honored to work in the field that I do.

And make me think that maybe my relationship status is really “Willing to be convinced”

Oops

I just went through, thought I was cleaning out unwanted drafts from my blog and ended up deleting every post I made this year.

Granted, that’s not too many, but I’m thankful for WordPress’ strategic little “send them to a trash bin from which they can be retrieved” feature.

I have been in a funky mood for the past week. Well, really, all month. Typically I get all angsty and whatnot before the anniversary of Dad’s death, but I almost consciously didn’t this year. Apparently I’m dealing with it afterward.

I hate grief and emotion and all the twistedy tangledy things that I end up going through that get mushed together. Death, romance and the lack of it, being away from family, finances, what I actually value in life, whether or not that’s apparent in the way I live, whether or not I even know anymore because I’m so frickin conscious of public opinion…

That’s not entirely accurate. I honestly don’t care about public opinion. It’s just that I interact with such vastly different contingents within the realm of opinion that voicing my own thoughts about things that really . . . .don’t matter in the grand scheme of things…seems pointless.

Everyone dies, people. Everyone breathes the same air, gets rained on by the same sky. Democrats and Republicans both get cancer. Hetero and homo both deal with financial stress.

But we all think that kittens are cute and like lists of 27 things that we wish we knew in our 20s, so that’s good.

 

….I’m really tired.

 

 

You’ll outgrow it

That’s what my dad thought when I started asking him for a horse at the ripe old age of 8.

After four years of begging, pleading, arguing, reasoning, asking, he realized I wasn’t outgrowing it and gave in.

One horse somehow turned into nine over the years. The arabian/saddlebred gelding I named Shadow was just the start – we bought a solid chestnut Appaloosa mare named Rosie, she had a foal. Then a dark bay mare from a sale barn made her way into my sister’s heart and three months later we were greeted with a tiny bay filly. My days were full of horseness. Summer day long trail rides, 4H horse shows, trainings, cleaning the barn, painting the tackroom, throwing hay, everything came back to the love of horses.

And then I left for college. And after a year of being away, Dad said “your siblings aren’t into like you are. Time to sell”

My yearling filly who was already winning halter classes and was smarter than anything? Gone.
Her half sister with the flashy markings? Gone.
The five year old mare who was finally, FINALLY getting fun under saddle and had so much promise as a jumper prospect? Gone.

All I had left were memories of riding bareback through the hay field with the moon lighting the way, the smells, the sounds…

That was ten years ago now.

And last month, I finally admitted to myself that I’m not gonna outgrow it.

I bought a horse. A two year old gelding I call Falcon. He’s amazing. And while I would rather have him in my backyard, I get kinda giddy with the fact that he comes up to the fence – and away from his lunch! – when he sees me coming. He gets more excited about grooming than any horse I’ve known. Hit the right spot and you have to bend over to keep scratching his ears. He’s crazy smart and has the most beautiful natural movement. I can’t wait to start working him under saddle.

Ever since I knew what three day eventing was, it was something I wanted to do. Rural Minnesota isn’t exactly known for its cross country courses and dressage trainers.

But Virginia?

I’m finally in a place where I can chase my dreams with a horse who has the tools to chase them with me.

And I am so, so excited.

My inner eight year old is beaming.

the drama i make in my head.

I could say it.

I’ve gone so far as to type it in a text box, only to delete it twice as quickly. Seeing the words is almost enough.
Almost.

I could say it.

And it would be true. It’s been true for awhile now. Over the recent past it’s changed a bit.

This is why i got so flustered during those three days of texting about what i didn’t want to tell you. I knew then: emotional inequity only leads to heartache eventually.

One could argue that it was too late then and it’s too late now. They’d be partially right if they did.

The fact is, i love you.

I do. I love you so much. I think you’re amazing in a million ways. And I don’t mean that I’m *in* love with you. I just…love you and care about you as a person. I want all the best for you and would give whatever I could to make you happy.

But all of the good things i want for you and the butterflies that overwhelm me when our eyes meet?

I feel somehow that they’re broken.

I want to really fall for you, and I can’t. Something stops me. Probably the knowledge that you don’t feel that way toward me, but it’s more than that.

I’m broken. I don’t trust that you won’t hurt me. The pain of keeping my mouth shut (and it is pain, of a kind) is far more tolerable than actually facing your seeming inevitable rejection. But if that were somehow miraculously avoided?

I’m broken. I don’t trust that i won’t hurt YOU. I did hurt you, dammit.
And in the process….ugh. I can’t go there again. Just….I’m an idiot. And I’m sorry.

So i won’t say anything for now. Maybe later. Maybe something will change.
I don’t know what. Maybe nothing will and I’ll just get sick of not saying anything. Then I’ll say it, things will be awkward and I’ll lose you.

I’m just not gonna say anything.