Here it is nearly two months later, yet every Sunday I wanted to sit here and write. The BLOCKER: I felt like every story that came to mind made me sound like some heroine or "good deed doer" and I never wanted this to be a place of 'self-praise.' So, let me share with you praise of others; the people of the airways...my encounters 30,000 feet above our Earth, stuck in a massive jet that suddenly feels like tin can, as I battle every claustrophobic moment with a prayer.
"This Seat is Yours"
In the past couple of months I have been on numerous flights and the observation I have made is that somehow my seats are "picked" for me. I fly Southwest, which does not assign seating, and I have discovered that I am drawn to a seat and the person I am seated next to is "meant to be" for me in that exact moment of time. Out of all the seats, all the people, all the possibilities, they each have filled a very important part of me, of who I am, and who I am continuing to become.
Flight One:
Walking down the narrow aisle, nearly all the seats taken, I approach the emergency exit row and two large men stare up at me, both pointing to the seat between them, "We saved this seat for you." I smile, happy to have the leg room and their smiles convey, 'good company' as well.
The conversation started immediately. He was a tall, big man, in his late forties, clean shaven and casual...until the photos he shared where his 'bad-boy-self' appeared on a few of his customized Harleys. He was a professional, a consultant, working long hours, long weeks on end, but he knew how to play just as hard as he worked. Extreme vacations. Motorcycles. Cigars and whiskey. And, out of the blue, an outstanding father as well. He was so proud of his daughter, whom he had raised solely for the first 5 years of her life. She plays pro volley ball and has an outstanding education. She is responsible and respectful. He could have charged for and held a seminar for the wisdom he freely passed along regarding parenting do's and don'ts. We spoke of our daughters, of our careers, and then the subject matter switched to spiritual views, to morals, and judgment / non-judgement. He had a secret, one he kept from his wife, and I was the one he decided to confide in. I am no man's judge and clearly stated this saying,
"If you can lay your head on the pillow at night and honestly answer to yourself and to your God, then that is the real test, that is where your answers lie."
He replied that this was the very place he was the most uncomfortable, because he could not fall asleep in peace at night. The conversation that transpired was amazing. We spoke of honesty, forgiveness, truth, and the big picture of what life means to us individually. I may have been his "confession booth" for that particular flight, but our conversation opened my eyes, my mind, and my soul to ACCEPTANCE; not just of people, but the varied views and compromises that we as humans feel we have to make in order to live this gift of life as sanely as possible. Yes, sanely...not just as peacefully or happily as possible, but sanely. We must not judge. We are only responsible for expressing love toward others and acceptance of one another; for we do not see the big picture of another's life...that is between them and their Maker. I was richly blessed for the perspective I gained that day.
Not only did he impart to me a new perspective, but he kept my frazzled self calm during what is always a challenge for me; landing. It was a rough landing with bumps and dips, and in my mind, an 'out of control' attempt at landing our massive aircraft. He made me stare at him as we counted 1-2-3 and tapped on a pressure point on our wrists. Together. I would focus for a bit then freak out and clench the seat handles and dart a glance out the window. He'd pull me back in with his counting. We landed twice, you know like a stone skipping across the water's surface, but we landed safe. I shook like a leaf in the breeze barely connected to its branch, but I managed a thank you, "You were my guardian angel today, thank you."
Flight Two:
My flight had all together been cancelled only 2 hours before I was to depart. I was stuck in Buffalo and had to be back in Boston at work by 8am the next morning. The airlines' solution was to merely fly me out the following morning, but I wouldn't make my obligations then. Within 20 minutes my sister-in-law and brother-in-law found me a new flight: and the adventure began. Delay after delay, and several adult beverages later, I experienced "flight two".
Another middle seat, emergency exit row again, and a man bigger than the last, early forties, with honest eyes. He was an educator for blue collar workers, teaching a trade; industrial painting. Imparting a skill for the betterment of society and the lives of these men, who given their past would never qualify for a "corporate" position among the white collar class of workers, but yet, he was giving them the opportunity to have self worth and pride in their abilities to provide for themselves and their families.
Another outstanding father. He shared his long story of raising three daughters in an unhappy marriage and then finally leaving when the youngest was in high school...the sacrifices he made for the sake of his children, moving and job changes, and the lessons he had learned along the way. The choices his daughters made regarding education and career...successful in the eyes of many. Then the daughter who already made him a grandfather and how his grandson lights his world with love and laughter and how he wouldn't change any of that. He showed off a picture of his 5 year old grandson, his pride and joy. His eyes lit up with happiness as he spoke of him. He gave me a glimpse into his world. A life. Selfless, yet proud. He inspired me.
He remains in my heart as a reminder that when life presents us with an obstacle, a challenge, a disappointment; that it really just comes down to our perspective and the choice we make. How can we make the best of what is presented to us? He was proud of his life. No real regrets. He had done and was doing the BEST he could.
Flight Three:
Baltimore airport...crowed with stranded travelers. Delayed flights and chaos. Not a shop open. No bar stool to refresh my mind and calm my nerves. Nearly midnight and exhausted I find my way onto my last flight of the night. My seat is picked for me; like a magnet to the fridge, or the tides to the moon, I am drawn in. Again, the middle seat of the emergency exit. Again, both passengers are big men, but the one by the window is who I instantly connect with. I don't remember asking him what he did or him asking me, but I quickly learned. Softly he said,
"I am a horse doctor."
I heard doctor just fine, but repeated what I thought I heard,
"Did you say you are a HORSE doctor, like a horse vet?"
I informed him that right then and there my dream came true, because I was now seated next to my hero. "Some people dream of sitting next to a celebrity or meeting someone famous, like a rock star or the president. Not me, I am your biggest fan! and you are my all time hero."
Never knew such a statement could make a man blush, but he did. I told him how ever since I was a very little child I wanted to be a veterinarian, and how at 10 years old I told this to our vet and then he shattered those dreams when he held my face in his hands and said,
"Oh, that is great, Stephanie, so you like math then?"
I shook my head no. Then he asked,
"Well, you must like science, huh?"
Again I shook my head no. He stood up with his hands on his waist,
"Then, Sweetie, you should probably do something else."
I hate how at such a young age my dream had been ripped from me...I just didn't know any better or didn't have the fire in me, yet, to prove that man wrong. So, here at 35 years old, a horse doctor was telling me it wasn't too late. Already having a medical background gave me a head start. He lit a fire inside. I talked his ears off. I asked question after question. Due to weather we were stranded on the runway for an additional 45 minutes, and I was happy about it, even sitting there in that tin can.
I learned that he never flies commercial, and the only reason he was on that flight was (of course to make my night) because one of the engines on his plane, yes, his personal plane, was in the shop getting some work done. I sat there like a sponge soaking in every word that came from his mouth. He listened to me too though. I had no idea why he wanted to hear my stories when he was the hot topic here!!! I learned why the horse went down and landed on me when I gave him his shot all those years ago...the carotids take it right to the brain, but I was aiming for the jugular. Apparently I missed. He laughed. I was humbled...and instantly asked if that was why the horse ended up dying a few weeks later. No, he assured me it was not. He put me at ease when he said every one who has to give a horse a shot has either done that or will. We were comfortable. We sat there and I wished the flight was longer. I never felt claustrophobic. I never panicked. Didn't even realize we landed until after the fact. I didn't want the night to end...I wanted to keep listening. He traveled all over the world. He had clients in countries I could only ever imagine visiting. I hung onto every word.
We walked out of the airport together. I had a shuttle coming to take me to the extented parking and I was nervous...it was nearly 2am and I felt safer with this horse doctor, my hero, that I had just spent nearly 2 hours getting to know than the stranger who was going to be taking me to the spooky parking place. I asked him to accompany me to my car and then I would take him to his hotel. Less than 15 minutes later I was saying good-bye to my real live hero and I instinctively stood on my tip toes to hug his neck and he leaned in and kissed my cheek. He informed me that he was not easily impressed and I had now left a lasting impression. I hoped he knew how much meeting him had meant to me. He sparked an ember that I thought had died out long ago...but now something burned.
He had created an amazing life; he was an accomplished horse veterinarian, a business man, a leader, a scientist, a healer, a teacher passing on his knowledge to his interns and then freely sharing with me. He was humble, ever so humble. Of course I did my research! The very next day I looked him up online. He didn't even begin to tell me all that he has done and the awards he has received, or the details of the practice he owns. What a man! I have to admit, I think my type of hero is amazing and I felt so lucky, so blessed, to have met him, face to face, and to have shared the time we did.
INSPIRED: the travelers along my journeys have taught me so much and have inspired me on numerous occasions, but on this night particularly, something in my heart changed. I found a new belief: not necessarily to return to school and become a horse doctor, not yet at least, but to BELIEVE that ANYTHING is possible. To BELIEVE that a GREAT LIFE can be created, one decision at a time, one effort at a time, one accomplishment after another. Thank you, "Doc."
Flight Four: To be continued...for this opens another chapter. The chapter of travel and work has ended. Stephanie as a traveling sonographer is no more...I begin a new chapter the 19th of this month. But it all began on "Flight Four" on my way to the Keys.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Home of the Brave
Li Tong walks into the facility where she recently had her ultrasound of her unborn child. She simply wanted a photo of her baby, which she felt she had been promised, but was never given. In her best attempt at the English language, she stood at the receptionist's desk trying to explain why she had come. No, she didn't have appointment, which aggravated the front desk girl, but, patiently, and with a smile on her face, Mrs. Tong tried her best.
I was covering as a temp tech in an out patient diagnostic center and the schedule was typically very full, but this afternoon, there was a lull. In the hope of finding something to do, I walked to the front office to find the discussion with Miss Li taking place. I offered to pull up her previous ultrasound and print up some pictures for her. Surprisingly, they let me bring her back with me. I was happy to have her tag along and I brought her into the ultrasound room and closed the door for privacy. She explained herself all over again, of how she just wanted a picture of her baby. Today was the only day she could come by, because she worked 6 days a week, sometimes 7, in a nail salon. Her husband worked 7 days week and was unable to be with her when the ultrasound was done, so she just wanted a picture to show him. Li seemed fearful, yet brave at the same time. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
As we talked, and I tried my best to understand her broken English, I found the exam and viewed image after image, looking for a "cute" picture of her baby. None. There was not one profile picture, not even a "boy" image, even though she had been told she was having a son. I went through all of them again, hoping I had missed something. Still nothing. Diagnostic images only. Not even a hand or a foot image to "awww" over. Nothing to print for her. I felt terrible. What was I to do? I asked if she could stay for a bit and offered to scan her right then and there and get some new cute pictures of her baby boy. She agreed, but wished her husband could be there with her. I promised to take as many pictures as possible so she could show her husband their son and some extras to send to family if she wanted.
Family. I scanned and she told me her story. She didn't have any family here, only her husband. They had come here from Vietnam to start working and save up money so they could bring the rest of their families over; her parents, sisters, and brother, his parents and sisters. They had both received their education in Vietnam and were accountants. They thought finding work would be simple since they both had college educations and marketable skills. Once here, in the United States of America, they learned that the accountant degree from Vietnam was not recognized, whatsoever. Neither of them could find work as an accountant, so her husband was going to go to college again in order to obtain an American college degree in accounting and she would work, then she would go to college once he found work as an accountant. They had a small studio apartment and she had found work at a nail salon. Then she ended up pregnant. She and her husband were both in their thirties, not just "kids" who didn't know better and screwed up; they actually had a plan, they actually were trying to do things right, they actually had a realistic dream of building a home and a life here in America, and bringing the rest of their families over to join them. Actually. Actually, they were thrown a curve ball. Her husband quit school once they learned they were having a baby and he went to work in the same nail salon so they could save as much money as possible in order to bring a family member over to help with the baby once he was born. They were struggling and hoped to be as prepared as possible once their son arrived. I told her that what mattered most was that their child felt love and I was certain he was going to have plenty of that.
We took some great photos and printed up a string of images for her to show her husband and some duplicates that she could send home to their parents in Vietnam. We were done taking "cute" pictures, and I noticed that she was shaking as she decided to sit down in the chair in the room. We were finished, but she stayed. She started to cry as she told me how scared she was. How much she missed her family and hadn 't planned for this at all. How tired she was. How her hands ached from working such long days and how the fumes in the salon made her head hurt. She quivered. I sat and listened. Then I assured her that yes, it can be scary and overwhelming, but it is all worth while. Her life was changing; she was a mother now, and when she held her son for the first time, when she looked at her boy, everything would seem right and she would know it was all going to be okay. I told her of my little one (not so little any more) and of some of the struggles we had faced and how there were times we ate the same thing for dinner every night for a week, but what mattered was that we were safe, healthy, and had each other. She hugged my neck and thanked me for listening and understanding. Tears filled her eyes as she told me that I was the first person to have listened to her since she came to America.
Before we opened the door to walk to the front office I told her how I admired her bravery and strength and I truly believed that God was with her and her family; that everything was going to turn out just fine.
At the end of my day, I reflected on how much we, in America, seem to expect to have this or that, to have it all, and how we expect to be treated...as though it is our right. We expect a baby shower for our baby. We expect our family members (at least our mothers) to help us out when the baby arrives. We expect to live in a nice house, work a decent job, have days off, and have our spoken language understood. We EXPECT. But, all Miss Li wanted was to know that she would be able to feed her baby and have a way to give him a home. She was happy with her tiny studio apartment and was grateful for the work, even the long hours she and her husband had to work. She didn't complain, she just worried; worried about the kind of life she would be able to give her son and the life her parents and in-laws back in Vietnam would have...and when they would finally be able to come to America, The Home of the Brave.
May we find gratitude for the simplest things in our life...and may we remember people like Li Tong who give everything they can to provide for their family and unborn children. Through courage and bravery they create a good life for their loved ones.
I was covering as a temp tech in an out patient diagnostic center and the schedule was typically very full, but this afternoon, there was a lull. In the hope of finding something to do, I walked to the front office to find the discussion with Miss Li taking place. I offered to pull up her previous ultrasound and print up some pictures for her. Surprisingly, they let me bring her back with me. I was happy to have her tag along and I brought her into the ultrasound room and closed the door for privacy. She explained herself all over again, of how she just wanted a picture of her baby. Today was the only day she could come by, because she worked 6 days a week, sometimes 7, in a nail salon. Her husband worked 7 days week and was unable to be with her when the ultrasound was done, so she just wanted a picture to show him. Li seemed fearful, yet brave at the same time. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
As we talked, and I tried my best to understand her broken English, I found the exam and viewed image after image, looking for a "cute" picture of her baby. None. There was not one profile picture, not even a "boy" image, even though she had been told she was having a son. I went through all of them again, hoping I had missed something. Still nothing. Diagnostic images only. Not even a hand or a foot image to "awww" over. Nothing to print for her. I felt terrible. What was I to do? I asked if she could stay for a bit and offered to scan her right then and there and get some new cute pictures of her baby boy. She agreed, but wished her husband could be there with her. I promised to take as many pictures as possible so she could show her husband their son and some extras to send to family if she wanted.
Family. I scanned and she told me her story. She didn't have any family here, only her husband. They had come here from Vietnam to start working and save up money so they could bring the rest of their families over; her parents, sisters, and brother, his parents and sisters. They had both received their education in Vietnam and were accountants. They thought finding work would be simple since they both had college educations and marketable skills. Once here, in the United States of America, they learned that the accountant degree from Vietnam was not recognized, whatsoever. Neither of them could find work as an accountant, so her husband was going to go to college again in order to obtain an American college degree in accounting and she would work, then she would go to college once he found work as an accountant. They had a small studio apartment and she had found work at a nail salon. Then she ended up pregnant. She and her husband were both in their thirties, not just "kids" who didn't know better and screwed up; they actually had a plan, they actually were trying to do things right, they actually had a realistic dream of building a home and a life here in America, and bringing the rest of their families over to join them. Actually. Actually, they were thrown a curve ball. Her husband quit school once they learned they were having a baby and he went to work in the same nail salon so they could save as much money as possible in order to bring a family member over to help with the baby once he was born. They were struggling and hoped to be as prepared as possible once their son arrived. I told her that what mattered most was that their child felt love and I was certain he was going to have plenty of that.
We took some great photos and printed up a string of images for her to show her husband and some duplicates that she could send home to their parents in Vietnam. We were done taking "cute" pictures, and I noticed that she was shaking as she decided to sit down in the chair in the room. We were finished, but she stayed. She started to cry as she told me how scared she was. How much she missed her family and hadn 't planned for this at all. How tired she was. How her hands ached from working such long days and how the fumes in the salon made her head hurt. She quivered. I sat and listened. Then I assured her that yes, it can be scary and overwhelming, but it is all worth while. Her life was changing; she was a mother now, and when she held her son for the first time, when she looked at her boy, everything would seem right and she would know it was all going to be okay. I told her of my little one (not so little any more) and of some of the struggles we had faced and how there were times we ate the same thing for dinner every night for a week, but what mattered was that we were safe, healthy, and had each other. She hugged my neck and thanked me for listening and understanding. Tears filled her eyes as she told me that I was the first person to have listened to her since she came to America.
Before we opened the door to walk to the front office I told her how I admired her bravery and strength and I truly believed that God was with her and her family; that everything was going to turn out just fine.
At the end of my day, I reflected on how much we, in America, seem to expect to have this or that, to have it all, and how we expect to be treated...as though it is our right. We expect a baby shower for our baby. We expect our family members (at least our mothers) to help us out when the baby arrives. We expect to live in a nice house, work a decent job, have days off, and have our spoken language understood. We EXPECT. But, all Miss Li wanted was to know that she would be able to feed her baby and have a way to give him a home. She was happy with her tiny studio apartment and was grateful for the work, even the long hours she and her husband had to work. She didn't complain, she just worried; worried about the kind of life she would be able to give her son and the life her parents and in-laws back in Vietnam would have...and when they would finally be able to come to America, The Home of the Brave.
May we find gratitude for the simplest things in our life...and may we remember people like Li Tong who give everything they can to provide for their family and unborn children. Through courage and bravery they create a good life for their loved ones.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Broken Wings Can Fly
Working late, on a travel assignment in a level 1 trauma community hospital, the worklist piles up with ER patients, one pelvic ultrasound after another. Phone calls back and forth with each of their nurses to make sure the patient fills her bladder and DOES NOT go to the restroom until I do their exam. Busy. So busy that transport is too far back up that waiting for them to bring me my next patient only makes the night grow longer. The phone rings, and I am informed by the nurse, that bed 17 is ready, her bladder is full.
Arriving in the ER, I find the nurse to inform her that I will be taking bed 17 for her ultrasound now...
"Wait!!!!" she says, "she's bat shit crazy, a real bitch, you're gonna want me to medicate her first."
SERIOUSLY, quote on quote. Instantly, I got defensive for the patient's sake, even though I had never met her, but who are we to judge...we don't really know them. I asked the nurse not to bother with the meds and that I would be fine. She looked at me like I was the crazy one, "Sweetie, you are really going to wish I had." I smiled and told her it was okay.
Room 17: "Miss Janelle?"
"Yes."
"I am Stephanie from ultrasound and I am going to take you for your exam now."
She looked a bit rough, but there was light in her eyes. Tall, lanky, gaunt, younger than me, but not by much. She was tender and sensitive to me. She apologized for not having showered before coming in, she was worried that she would offend me in some way. We chatted all the way down the hall and into the ultrasound department. Everything seemed basically normal.
We started and she talked and talked. I listened. My heart started breaking for her, for her pain. Abandoned by her mother as a baby she was adopted into a very religious, striked, abusive family. They'd over medicate her with this drug or that, in the attempts of making her completely submissive. She felt dopey and out of it all the time. Confused. By the age of 12 they sent her away, unwanted, to a boarding school where she experienced things a child should never have to endure. Her parents never came to see her. Eventually she ran away from school and survived on the streets. She had an adoptive brother, whom she only really spent time with later in life, as an adult, because they had done the same to him. Druging him, abusing him and sending him away. She was close to him for the very fact that they both had been through hell, but he was messed up over it as well. She continued,
"I just wanted to be wanted. So I did anything to be liked. I thought that maybe if I found my birth mother, she would want me. So, I went looking for her. It was good to 'see' her, to find her, but the things she told me were devasting. She blamed me for her life being so horrible. She told me I was the worst thing that every happened to her. She did not want me."
If anyone had a right to be "bat shit crazy" this poor girl did. But she wasn't. Surprisingly, she found a way to survive. She told me that one day, at rock bottom, after having been rejected time and time again, she simply decided that she had a choice. She could choose to be angry and feel sorry for herself, or she could choose to make her life the way she wanted it to be. She chose to LIVE and to make it the best life she could.
"Everything is a choice." She told me.
She admitted to being a "wreck" somtimes. She admitted to feeling "overwhelmed" sometimes. She admitted that it was not easy, she still struggled. She had been sober for nearly a year and was very proud of herself. She said she refused to the pain meds the nurse had wanted to give her, because she had had problems with addiction to pills in the past. She said she would rather feel pain and know she was alive and aware, then to numb the pain and risk slipping into the fog of the life she used to live. She was the group leader for a support group at a home for recovering addicts. Everyday she worked with people who she understood because of the hell she herself had been through.
"Janelle, so if you hadn't experienced the horrible things you did, you would not be able to help these people. You have obviously decided to take your bad times and turn them into a positive, a positive not only for yourself, but others." Then I asked her, "Don't you find it to be true that when we take our attention off ourself and put it on another, in the hopes of helping them, that we end up being helped as well?" She agreed, "Absolutely!"
I told her that I believed God had a special purpose for her and He was using her as an angel in the lives of many broken souls. I encouraged her and told her how proud I was of her choices. We talked and talked. There was not one crazy moment and I don't know who the nurse thought the patient was, but she was far from any form of a 'bitch' if ever there were one. I was blessed to hear her story. Tears filled my eyes, for I saw a beautiful delicate bird who had been tossed right out her nest, by her very own parents, then kicked around, stomped upon, her fragile wings broken into a hundred pieces, and yet, she had found the strength to mend, to heal, and was learning that even broken wings can fly. She made the choice.
There is a book I appreciate and use often, Heal Your Life. I told Janelle of this book and thought maybe she would like to use it with her groups. She sounded excited about it, but had a lot of questions as to where she could find it and what would it cost. I was impressed to make an offer, "Janelle, if you are comfortable giving me your address, I will mail one to you. Only if you are comfortable with it though." She couldn't ask for pen and paper fast enough.
In her vulnerable state, in her weakness, in her pain, I helped her to the restroom and assisted her in getting all cleaned up. New gown, new sheets, a new smile!
It was going to be her birthday at midnight...and when we returned to the ER it was officially her birthday! As I pushed her bed, I sang Happy Birthday, loud enough that everyone turned and stared. "It's HER Birthday!!!!" I cheered. She laughed. I laughed...totally embarrassed, but didn't mind, because I knew it made her feel special, like she mattered! As we passed the nurses' station, I chuckled inside as I imagined what the nurse for bed 17 was thinking now, "Now, they're both crazy!" Oh well.
As I was leaving her room, Janelle squeezed my hand and thanked me. I said, "I enjoyed every minute with you this evening, and thank you for sharing your story with me. Thank you for reminding me that the life we live is up to us and the decisions we make. I will never forget you. Have a very Happy Birthday..."
On my way back to the ultrasound department, I passed the nurses' station again, and there stood an ER physician lecturing the nurses. I have no idea why or for how long he had been talking to them, but what I heard was profound. He said with determination and authority (almost in frustration), "Remember...they are ALL God's Children."
I had to respond. I admired his attitude. I respected his motto...and the fact that he insisted on having his staff keep this in their minds as they treated their patients. The worse of the worse come to that ER; the homeless, the drunks, and a ton of inmates, shackled and escorted by guards. BUT, here, they are ALL to be treated equally, as "God's Children."
"Amen to that." I said as I walked by. By the time I reached the ultrasound department, I had to turn around. Something inside of me said to go back and speak with this physician. I had never seen him before and had no idea who he was. But, I HAD to speak with him, a voice inside was telling me to. I reasoned, "Fine, if he is all alone in the physicians' work room, then I will. Fine." The chances of that were slim, since there was usually several physicians on, PA's, and numerous residents. But, as I came around the corner, there he sat; alone. Deep breath in, I approached, introduced myself, and shared the story I just shared with you. I started with how the nurse assumed the patient was a "crazy bitch" and how it offended me that someone would make such an assumption, for I held the same view as he, "They are ALL God's Children." I have no idea why I needed to talk with him, why I was impressed to share Janelle's story and to tell him the impact his words had had on me and the pricise timing of them as well, but God knows why. I know that when we were done speaking, I felt peace. I had followed what I was led to do, and I can only hope that our conversation had a ripple effect, like a pebble in a pond. I hope he keeps reminding those he works with that no matter the patients' status or sitauation, "They are ALL God's Children."
Janelle was a blessing to me that night...she has wings, and like an angel she graced me with her presence and shared her bravery and strength with me. Thank you, Janelle. Thank you Universe. Thank you, God.
(*names and places have been altered to protect the patient's identity)
Arriving in the ER, I find the nurse to inform her that I will be taking bed 17 for her ultrasound now...
"Wait!!!!" she says, "she's bat shit crazy, a real bitch, you're gonna want me to medicate her first."
SERIOUSLY, quote on quote. Instantly, I got defensive for the patient's sake, even though I had never met her, but who are we to judge...we don't really know them. I asked the nurse not to bother with the meds and that I would be fine. She looked at me like I was the crazy one, "Sweetie, you are really going to wish I had." I smiled and told her it was okay.
Room 17: "Miss Janelle?"
"Yes."
"I am Stephanie from ultrasound and I am going to take you for your exam now."
She looked a bit rough, but there was light in her eyes. Tall, lanky, gaunt, younger than me, but not by much. She was tender and sensitive to me. She apologized for not having showered before coming in, she was worried that she would offend me in some way. We chatted all the way down the hall and into the ultrasound department. Everything seemed basically normal.
We started and she talked and talked. I listened. My heart started breaking for her, for her pain. Abandoned by her mother as a baby she was adopted into a very religious, striked, abusive family. They'd over medicate her with this drug or that, in the attempts of making her completely submissive. She felt dopey and out of it all the time. Confused. By the age of 12 they sent her away, unwanted, to a boarding school where she experienced things a child should never have to endure. Her parents never came to see her. Eventually she ran away from school and survived on the streets. She had an adoptive brother, whom she only really spent time with later in life, as an adult, because they had done the same to him. Druging him, abusing him and sending him away. She was close to him for the very fact that they both had been through hell, but he was messed up over it as well. She continued,
"I just wanted to be wanted. So I did anything to be liked. I thought that maybe if I found my birth mother, she would want me. So, I went looking for her. It was good to 'see' her, to find her, but the things she told me were devasting. She blamed me for her life being so horrible. She told me I was the worst thing that every happened to her. She did not want me."
If anyone had a right to be "bat shit crazy" this poor girl did. But she wasn't. Surprisingly, she found a way to survive. She told me that one day, at rock bottom, after having been rejected time and time again, she simply decided that she had a choice. She could choose to be angry and feel sorry for herself, or she could choose to make her life the way she wanted it to be. She chose to LIVE and to make it the best life she could.
"Everything is a choice." She told me.
She admitted to being a "wreck" somtimes. She admitted to feeling "overwhelmed" sometimes. She admitted that it was not easy, she still struggled. She had been sober for nearly a year and was very proud of herself. She said she refused to the pain meds the nurse had wanted to give her, because she had had problems with addiction to pills in the past. She said she would rather feel pain and know she was alive and aware, then to numb the pain and risk slipping into the fog of the life she used to live. She was the group leader for a support group at a home for recovering addicts. Everyday she worked with people who she understood because of the hell she herself had been through.
"Janelle, so if you hadn't experienced the horrible things you did, you would not be able to help these people. You have obviously decided to take your bad times and turn them into a positive, a positive not only for yourself, but others." Then I asked her, "Don't you find it to be true that when we take our attention off ourself and put it on another, in the hopes of helping them, that we end up being helped as well?" She agreed, "Absolutely!"
I told her that I believed God had a special purpose for her and He was using her as an angel in the lives of many broken souls. I encouraged her and told her how proud I was of her choices. We talked and talked. There was not one crazy moment and I don't know who the nurse thought the patient was, but she was far from any form of a 'bitch' if ever there were one. I was blessed to hear her story. Tears filled my eyes, for I saw a beautiful delicate bird who had been tossed right out her nest, by her very own parents, then kicked around, stomped upon, her fragile wings broken into a hundred pieces, and yet, she had found the strength to mend, to heal, and was learning that even broken wings can fly. She made the choice.
There is a book I appreciate and use often, Heal Your Life. I told Janelle of this book and thought maybe she would like to use it with her groups. She sounded excited about it, but had a lot of questions as to where she could find it and what would it cost. I was impressed to make an offer, "Janelle, if you are comfortable giving me your address, I will mail one to you. Only if you are comfortable with it though." She couldn't ask for pen and paper fast enough.
In her vulnerable state, in her weakness, in her pain, I helped her to the restroom and assisted her in getting all cleaned up. New gown, new sheets, a new smile!
It was going to be her birthday at midnight...and when we returned to the ER it was officially her birthday! As I pushed her bed, I sang Happy Birthday, loud enough that everyone turned and stared. "It's HER Birthday!!!!" I cheered. She laughed. I laughed...totally embarrassed, but didn't mind, because I knew it made her feel special, like she mattered! As we passed the nurses' station, I chuckled inside as I imagined what the nurse for bed 17 was thinking now, "Now, they're both crazy!" Oh well.
As I was leaving her room, Janelle squeezed my hand and thanked me. I said, "I enjoyed every minute with you this evening, and thank you for sharing your story with me. Thank you for reminding me that the life we live is up to us and the decisions we make. I will never forget you. Have a very Happy Birthday..."
On my way back to the ultrasound department, I passed the nurses' station again, and there stood an ER physician lecturing the nurses. I have no idea why or for how long he had been talking to them, but what I heard was profound. He said with determination and authority (almost in frustration), "Remember...they are ALL God's Children."
I had to respond. I admired his attitude. I respected his motto...and the fact that he insisted on having his staff keep this in their minds as they treated their patients. The worse of the worse come to that ER; the homeless, the drunks, and a ton of inmates, shackled and escorted by guards. BUT, here, they are ALL to be treated equally, as "God's Children."
"Amen to that." I said as I walked by. By the time I reached the ultrasound department, I had to turn around. Something inside of me said to go back and speak with this physician. I had never seen him before and had no idea who he was. But, I HAD to speak with him, a voice inside was telling me to. I reasoned, "Fine, if he is all alone in the physicians' work room, then I will. Fine." The chances of that were slim, since there was usually several physicians on, PA's, and numerous residents. But, as I came around the corner, there he sat; alone. Deep breath in, I approached, introduced myself, and shared the story I just shared with you. I started with how the nurse assumed the patient was a "crazy bitch" and how it offended me that someone would make such an assumption, for I held the same view as he, "They are ALL God's Children." I have no idea why I needed to talk with him, why I was impressed to share Janelle's story and to tell him the impact his words had had on me and the pricise timing of them as well, but God knows why. I know that when we were done speaking, I felt peace. I had followed what I was led to do, and I can only hope that our conversation had a ripple effect, like a pebble in a pond. I hope he keeps reminding those he works with that no matter the patients' status or sitauation, "They are ALL God's Children."
Janelle was a blessing to me that night...she has wings, and like an angel she graced me with her presence and shared her bravery and strength with me. Thank you, Janelle. Thank you Universe. Thank you, God.
(*names and places have been altered to protect the patient's identity)
Friday, June 22, 2012
Live Your Best Life
I have a bracelet I have worn every day for the past four years. Each morning I put it on. Each morning I smile. Each morning I am reminded of this particular day...
I was just a student then. Dressed in all white. Another early clinical day, but lucky this time to be at the local hospital just 6.5 minutes from home, not the typical hour plus drive away. Mid-morning. I was walking a patient out to the lobby, after learning, once again, how to thoroughly scan the liver without being intimidated. Phew! We arrived at the lobby.
Wait...who is that? I recognize a face sitting off to the side of the lobby. "Susan!" Let me say here that my town is a small town, and when you work in a local pub in the evenings and weekends while going through school, you end up seeing the same faces quite frequently. Susan owned an eclectic, homey, hippie shop just above the pub where I worked. We'd often chat. She'd frequent for lunch and on the evenings she and her friends would gather. We weren't close, but familiar. She looked tense. I walked over and sat next to her. "I hope you are here waiting for someone", I said. As she explained, I learned she was there for a consultation with one of the radiologists to schedule her lung biopsy. She was scared. I was scared, but did my best not to show it. "They", as we refer to whoever it is that makes these dramatic decisions, had told her "they" thought she had cancer all throughout her body, based from her PET scan. The biopsy was to determine what type of cancer so "they" could treat her accordingly. I was in shock. She seemed fine. Maybe a bit pale, but that was probably from the stress and worry of everything she was being told. I sat and listened to her talk about how her father had died of lung cancer...tears crept into the back of my eyeballs, but she was stoic. I held back the salt that was beginning to burn my eyes. I did my best to assure her that I knew she was strong and I knew her friends would be there for her...for she had a tight group of wonderful friends. She asked if I would be there the day of her procedure. I said I would try. Hugging her neck, I reminded her that God was in control, and I went back to the ultrasound department, walking the corridors in a fog. Did I just hear everything correctly? Cancer? Everywhere. So young!
The following week, I heard laughter coming from down the hall in the recovery area of radiology...it was Susan and her closest of close girlfriends. Susan was being prepped for her lung biopsy. Happy faces surrounded her. Coffee in their hands, they kept the conversation flowing, not allowing a moment of worry to rudely break its way into their strong fortress. I popped my head in around the curtains and smiled, "I see you brought your troops!" They were welcoming and I recognized each one. They asked me if, since they were being kicked out once she was taken back, that I update them on how she was doing; they would be waiting in force, in the lobby. I promised. Their love and devotion to Susan was powerful. I wanted to do more. I wanted to see it all first hand. I found the radiologist scheduled to perform the procedure, and ventured to ask, what probably a student should NEVER venture to ask. I informed the doctor that his patient was an acquaintance of mine and I asked to be present for the procedure. I was an ultrasound student and this was CT, but I wanted to be there. I told him I thought it would be beneficial for me since I had never seen this type of procedure before. Surprisingly he agreed. Unheard of. A protocol stickler. But he smiled and agreed.
'Good byes' and 'see you soons' were said and her comrades filed down the hall to the lobby. Susan was groggy with minor sedation and taken to the CT room. What was about to transpire, I could not have even imagined. There I stood, led gown on, standing at her head, leaning over her, cheek to cheek, and holding both her hands, whispering softly in her ear. "You are doing so good. Breathe in with me...hold it with me. Hold it. Hold....good, breathe out. Good job, Susan. One more time." How did I end up in here doing this, when moments before I was standing at the controls with the CT tech on the other side of the big glass window? There I was standing moments earlier, watching as she lay on the CT table and it slide into the big donut and images were taken. The spot in her lung was located. The table slid back out. The doctor entered the room. The largest needle guide and needle I had ever seen, went into her chest. He proceeded. Took a sample and left the guide in her. He and EVERYONE else stepped out of the room and joined me in the "safe" room and her table slide back into the donut. Again, it slid out. Again the doctor went in. Again he attempted obtaining a sample. Again she was left along as her table went back into the donut. The doctor said, "She just isn't taking in big enough breaths, I can't get to the nodule with her shallow breathing. The meds have her sedated too much for her to realize what exactly I am asking her to do." Then I spoke up, offering to help her breath. Surprisingly, again, the radiologist agreed. I went in with him. I spoke to Susan. She looked into my eyes, scared. "I am here with you. Right here." I leaned over her wavy brown halo of hair, took her hands, and the doctor tried again. We breathed together. When it was time to leave the room and slide her table back into the frequented donut hole, she didn't want to let go of my hands. She held me close and I didn't resist. The nurse, John, told me that I couldn't stay unless I wore the protective led gown. "Then hand it to me." I never let go of Susan. One arm at a time, I donned the heavy led shield and stayed. Again, EVERYONE left, and this time it was Susan and me. I moved with her and the table, taking little steps forward, and then little steps backward. Holding her close and helping keep her still. Then doctor, nurse, and staff entered, and the guide was finally removed. Finished. I hung the gown on the hook waiting next to the door and left only as she was being taken to recovery.
I reported to her friends that she had done very well. That I had been allowed to be with her during the procedure. They were relieved and gracious. I knew that deep down, they each wanted to be there holding her hand, and their faces told me how grateful they were that someone had.
Several hours later, I returned to Susan's recovery curtain and found her friends faithful at her side. Susan recalled more of the procedure than I thought she would have and she proceeded to tell her friends of the "angel" who was sent to her to hold her hands and cheek to cheek breathed with her, calming her fears. She asked her friend to reach in her back and take out the last bracelet. She had closed the shop and had some special bracelets saved back, 5 to be exact. She and her three friends had put theirs on that morning, each containing a different engraved phrase. She had picked which she felt was appropriate for each of her three friends and for her. One was left...one. "Now," she said, "I know why, it was meant for you, Stephanie. Ruth can you get it out of my bag please?" Ruth handed it to Susan and I was motioned to approach. I sat on the bed next to Susan, and she handed me the bracelet I have never forgotten to wear since. Nearly four years later...a daily reminder. 'LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE"... and it still shines just as it did on that day. Everyday when I slide it on, I smile and remember. I am filled with gratitude. Susan helped me find why I love what I do; it is because of the patient. I can hate needles and the sight of blood. I can be stressed, saddened, even scared. But, all of that goes away when I focus on why I am truly there; the patient. For Susan.
The next day I visited Susan in a hospital room upstairs. Her lung had collapsed and she had to stay for several days. It hadn't gone as planned, but she had the best support circle anyone could wish for. Her spirits were high and she thanked me again for being there with her. I graciously said, "I wanted to be. Thank you for letting me."
Several weeks later she had a liver biopsy. That time I was not there; in class instead.
Then, there she sat in the lobby again. She was beaming! Glowing! I sat with her once again and listened as she told me how "they" had been wrong. There was no cancer in her body after all, but rather fungus. The house she lived in was invested with mold and had made her sick. She was moving and was going to make a full recovery. I was relieved. I was happy. Now the tears could fill my eyes. "God had you all along, Susan. Thank you for letting share this part of your journey with you."
Everyday, I am grateful for Susan, not just for the bracelet that reminds me, but because she gave me something even greater; she gave me the understanding of true compassion. Because of her, I am reminded each day, literally, to LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE.
I was just a student then. Dressed in all white. Another early clinical day, but lucky this time to be at the local hospital just 6.5 minutes from home, not the typical hour plus drive away. Mid-morning. I was walking a patient out to the lobby, after learning, once again, how to thoroughly scan the liver without being intimidated. Phew! We arrived at the lobby.
Wait...who is that? I recognize a face sitting off to the side of the lobby. "Susan!" Let me say here that my town is a small town, and when you work in a local pub in the evenings and weekends while going through school, you end up seeing the same faces quite frequently. Susan owned an eclectic, homey, hippie shop just above the pub where I worked. We'd often chat. She'd frequent for lunch and on the evenings she and her friends would gather. We weren't close, but familiar. She looked tense. I walked over and sat next to her. "I hope you are here waiting for someone", I said. As she explained, I learned she was there for a consultation with one of the radiologists to schedule her lung biopsy. She was scared. I was scared, but did my best not to show it. "They", as we refer to whoever it is that makes these dramatic decisions, had told her "they" thought she had cancer all throughout her body, based from her PET scan. The biopsy was to determine what type of cancer so "they" could treat her accordingly. I was in shock. She seemed fine. Maybe a bit pale, but that was probably from the stress and worry of everything she was being told. I sat and listened to her talk about how her father had died of lung cancer...tears crept into the back of my eyeballs, but she was stoic. I held back the salt that was beginning to burn my eyes. I did my best to assure her that I knew she was strong and I knew her friends would be there for her...for she had a tight group of wonderful friends. She asked if I would be there the day of her procedure. I said I would try. Hugging her neck, I reminded her that God was in control, and I went back to the ultrasound department, walking the corridors in a fog. Did I just hear everything correctly? Cancer? Everywhere. So young!
The following week, I heard laughter coming from down the hall in the recovery area of radiology...it was Susan and her closest of close girlfriends. Susan was being prepped for her lung biopsy. Happy faces surrounded her. Coffee in their hands, they kept the conversation flowing, not allowing a moment of worry to rudely break its way into their strong fortress. I popped my head in around the curtains and smiled, "I see you brought your troops!" They were welcoming and I recognized each one. They asked me if, since they were being kicked out once she was taken back, that I update them on how she was doing; they would be waiting in force, in the lobby. I promised. Their love and devotion to Susan was powerful. I wanted to do more. I wanted to see it all first hand. I found the radiologist scheduled to perform the procedure, and ventured to ask, what probably a student should NEVER venture to ask. I informed the doctor that his patient was an acquaintance of mine and I asked to be present for the procedure. I was an ultrasound student and this was CT, but I wanted to be there. I told him I thought it would be beneficial for me since I had never seen this type of procedure before. Surprisingly he agreed. Unheard of. A protocol stickler. But he smiled and agreed.
'Good byes' and 'see you soons' were said and her comrades filed down the hall to the lobby. Susan was groggy with minor sedation and taken to the CT room. What was about to transpire, I could not have even imagined. There I stood, led gown on, standing at her head, leaning over her, cheek to cheek, and holding both her hands, whispering softly in her ear. "You are doing so good. Breathe in with me...hold it with me. Hold it. Hold....good, breathe out. Good job, Susan. One more time." How did I end up in here doing this, when moments before I was standing at the controls with the CT tech on the other side of the big glass window? There I was standing moments earlier, watching as she lay on the CT table and it slide into the big donut and images were taken. The spot in her lung was located. The table slid back out. The doctor entered the room. The largest needle guide and needle I had ever seen, went into her chest. He proceeded. Took a sample and left the guide in her. He and EVERYONE else stepped out of the room and joined me in the "safe" room and her table slide back into the donut. Again, it slid out. Again the doctor went in. Again he attempted obtaining a sample. Again she was left along as her table went back into the donut. The doctor said, "She just isn't taking in big enough breaths, I can't get to the nodule with her shallow breathing. The meds have her sedated too much for her to realize what exactly I am asking her to do." Then I spoke up, offering to help her breath. Surprisingly, again, the radiologist agreed. I went in with him. I spoke to Susan. She looked into my eyes, scared. "I am here with you. Right here." I leaned over her wavy brown halo of hair, took her hands, and the doctor tried again. We breathed together. When it was time to leave the room and slide her table back into the frequented donut hole, she didn't want to let go of my hands. She held me close and I didn't resist. The nurse, John, told me that I couldn't stay unless I wore the protective led gown. "Then hand it to me." I never let go of Susan. One arm at a time, I donned the heavy led shield and stayed. Again, EVERYONE left, and this time it was Susan and me. I moved with her and the table, taking little steps forward, and then little steps backward. Holding her close and helping keep her still. Then doctor, nurse, and staff entered, and the guide was finally removed. Finished. I hung the gown on the hook waiting next to the door and left only as she was being taken to recovery.
I reported to her friends that she had done very well. That I had been allowed to be with her during the procedure. They were relieved and gracious. I knew that deep down, they each wanted to be there holding her hand, and their faces told me how grateful they were that someone had.
Several hours later, I returned to Susan's recovery curtain and found her friends faithful at her side. Susan recalled more of the procedure than I thought she would have and she proceeded to tell her friends of the "angel" who was sent to her to hold her hands and cheek to cheek breathed with her, calming her fears. She asked her friend to reach in her back and take out the last bracelet. She had closed the shop and had some special bracelets saved back, 5 to be exact. She and her three friends had put theirs on that morning, each containing a different engraved phrase. She had picked which she felt was appropriate for each of her three friends and for her. One was left...one. "Now," she said, "I know why, it was meant for you, Stephanie. Ruth can you get it out of my bag please?" Ruth handed it to Susan and I was motioned to approach. I sat on the bed next to Susan, and she handed me the bracelet I have never forgotten to wear since. Nearly four years later...a daily reminder. 'LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE"... and it still shines just as it did on that day. Everyday when I slide it on, I smile and remember. I am filled with gratitude. Susan helped me find why I love what I do; it is because of the patient. I can hate needles and the sight of blood. I can be stressed, saddened, even scared. But, all of that goes away when I focus on why I am truly there; the patient. For Susan.
The next day I visited Susan in a hospital room upstairs. Her lung had collapsed and she had to stay for several days. It hadn't gone as planned, but she had the best support circle anyone could wish for. Her spirits were high and she thanked me again for being there with her. I graciously said, "I wanted to be. Thank you for letting me."
Several weeks later she had a liver biopsy. That time I was not there; in class instead.
Then, there she sat in the lobby again. She was beaming! Glowing! I sat with her once again and listened as she told me how "they" had been wrong. There was no cancer in her body after all, but rather fungus. The house she lived in was invested with mold and had made her sick. She was moving and was going to make a full recovery. I was relieved. I was happy. Now the tears could fill my eyes. "God had you all along, Susan. Thank you for letting share this part of your journey with you."
Everyday, I am grateful for Susan, not just for the bracelet that reminds me, but because she gave me something even greater; she gave me the understanding of true compassion. Because of her, I am reminded each day, literally, to LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Traveling Sonographer ~ Happy Trails
As a traveling sonographer there are many unknowns, new adventures, some challenges, and always an array of new experiences. New people. New places. Always something new to learn. Every place has their own individualized culture, their own methods, and own characters. I have grown to love the varied encounters: from small town, 150 bed, hospitals where I am the only tech, day and night, and the day before Christmas, three different patients invite me over for Christmas dinner in their home with their families, to normal hours at a high risk ob center, where the majority of the patients speak only Spanish, and I do not. A little now, though...thanks to that adventure. Then onto level one trauma facilities where at any moment you can be called to Critical Care to perform a STAT scan on a mangled body. Femurs fractured in two. Pregnant carrying twins. Run over by her boyfriend in his truck. Intentionally. Or the not so mentally stable guy who strangles his testicles with a rubberband, while hanging himself from the ceiling for sexual pleasure. He is forced to wear a mesh mask since he tends to spit at you when upset. Grossly swollen testes, but never spit at me; thank God. Then the Burn Unit floor...that's another story all together. Case after case. The baby boy who has been raised in the hospital because he parents already have too many kids and he has too many health issues for them to tend to. I held him, stroked his air, sang him songs and whispered stories in his ear so the other sonographer could scan him without too much upset. Precious boy, in need of LOVE. They are ALL GOD'S CHILDREN!
Always a new experience to learn from. The trails are not always smooth and they get lonely at times, but I must say they are happy.
Happy Trails, Stephanie
Always a new experience to learn from. The trails are not always smooth and they get lonely at times, but I must say they are happy.
Happy Trails, Stephanie
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