Monthly Archives: September 2018

An Open Letter to Dr. Christine Margaret Blasely Ford

**Note- I was hesitant to post this here since for the most part, I’ve kept his related to all things nursing. The longer I pondered it, the more I leaned away from that decision. Nursing is not the safest profession to be in. According to OSHA, “From 2002 to 2013, incidents of serious workplace violence (those requiring days off for the injured worker to recuperate) were four times more common in healthcare than in private industry on average”. In the health care and social assistance sectors, 13% of days away from work were the result of violence in 2013, and this rate has increased in recent years (U.S. Department of Labor [DOL], Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2014).  Examples of workplace violence include direct physical assaults (with or without weapons), written or verbal threats, physical or verbal harassment, and homicide (Occupational Safety and Health Administration OSHA, 2015). So while this might feel like a partisan appeal, the fact is that nurses and healthcare workers remain at risk of assault and battery so I feel it’s relevant and compelled to write about it.  

 

An Open Letter to Christine Margaret Blasely Ford,

Today we the women of the United States and victims of assault, rape, and abuse, listened intently as you relived your attempted rape, publicly and painfully. Today you endured a different, although no less traumatic, kind of assault. Today our country failed you. As each angry white, aged male questioned your judgment, your memory, your confidence in your answers, and the impacts of your experience, through the eyes of a sex crimes prosecutor, you remained composed. No victim should be expected to endure what you have today, let alone by their elected officials.

These same men claimed they wanted nothing more than to give you a right to speak and “be heard”, but there was no listening that took place. Instead, well-rehearsed lines filled with vitriol and pestilence were hurled at you as if to cast stones, each one labeled “drunk”, “mixed up”, “confused” … While they weren’t cast at you in the courtroom, they were in the hallways to any camera that would listen, during the breaks provided to give you a brief reprieve.

Today the very men that question your judgment, hid behind a thinly veiled trial to which a prosecutor kindly provided shelter. Today these men indirectly sent a clear message that they could not be trusted to question you fairly. Instead, they chose to paint a picture of fairness and objectivity by having a woman ask you their questions. Yet somehow a woman is not to be trusted with her own memory.

Today you talked about how you insisted there be two front doors on your newly renovated home. A fact that you remained deeply fearful of a lack of exit route be available as you were during your assault. Your fear was dismissed and deflected.

Today you said your most vivid memory was the laughter you heard between two men participating in your nightmare. Laughing at the expense of a woman not to be trusted to be telling the truth; a woman not to be trusted to be able to identify her assailant even after claiming she was 100% certain of who it was. A man you requested not even be in the same room as you, to this day.

Today a courtroom was used as a means of escaping truth and facts, a stark contrast to a whose walls were built around a foundation of justice and due process. Today, you were tried for being a victim of something unimaginable by most but sadly, experienced by many. Today, our hope for what is right and just, lacked any resemblance of morals and ethics as senator after senator claimed you were a part of a leftist conspiracy or smear campaign and everything to gain by doing so, even though you, in fact, had everything to lose.

Today you were questioned countless times as to why you never reported this crime, by those that have no background in assault or extensive knowledge around the long-term impacts to victims.

Your privacy has been invaded both personally and professionally so much so that today you required bodyguards. No doubt, not a first time since all of this unfolded. While all of these years you kept your secret behind closed doors, today the intimate details of your assault, your trauma, and pain were on display for all to see. The grotesque sideshow of a display created today is both inexcusable and certainly a heavy black mark on the history or our judicial system.

Today, I hope that you don’t look back on this experience as being a mistake or lapse in judgment, but rather as a means of giving a voice to women and the many victims whose voices have been quieted for so many years.

Sincerely,

We who stand to support you.

Tree Dandruff

As we wandered through our neighborhood walking path you could see the leaves beginning to fall (or tree dandruff as my hubby calls it). I’m over the moon happy as fall is my favorite time of year, particularly in the PNW. Hoodies, boots, and scarves are at the ready and a hot chocolate or espresso drink sounds heavenly.

What’s also starting is school. I picked up my books and most of what I need supply wise (I LOVE new school supplies #geek). All the newbies at the bookstore stuck out like a Husky fan at a suck (I mean .. Duck) game. Deer in the headlights look everywhere. Routines are not yet established and I happily escorted a couple to the bookstore to show them where it was. I not so happily purchased a code (yes, a skinny piece of branded cardboard) for a link to an ebook for the bargain price of – wait for it…. $65.00. Yes folks, you too can be the proud owner of an overpriced not so shiny 6″x4″ piece of paper you’ll never use again. I digress.

Tomorrow begins a new term. New chaos, new material to study, new stress, new excitement as my friends and I near the end of completing our prerequisites to apply to the nursing program. I want to jump up and down and do a jig but I sort of also want to throw up a little. Reality is going to smack us in the face hard in just a few short months. Everything we’ve worked so hard for, sacrificed time for and yearned for is going to be within reach. But we won’t know if we can grab it until June when we’re notified as to whether we’ve been accepted. It’s going to be trying. Our nerves will not get the best of us ( I know us too well) but they will no doubt, test us. Between now and then we’ll consume gallons of coffee and spent countless hours at a local restaurant that will allow us to practically camp out there studying. We know the end is near and although we’ll want to cry at times asking why on earth we’d put ourselves through such hell- it’s because we want this so badly. We’re in this for the long haul and we know this is only a taste of what the stress will be like once we’re in the program. It’s what you do. You suck it up and keep trudging forward.

For now, I’ll keep my eyes focused on that carrot dangling out in front of me and take in all things autumn. I think I’ll save my $65 piece of cardboard and use it for kindling. At least it wouldn’t be a total waste, right?

This Little Heart of Mine

The past few days have been a whirlwind. Dad’s heart procedure went well and he’s now home resting.  After he relentlessly explained what he was feeling was not GERD for the umpteenth time. They, in fact, identified two occlusions in his posterior descending artery and were able to repair one with a stent. It was a lengthy near 3-hour process given the challenging, curved location of it. He opted for no sedation or pain meds, so he could be fully aware of everything which apparently included the Fellow guiding the student through the process.

There is one caveat to the “everything went swimmingly” part though. We had all been wondering how his age, approaching near 70, would affect his chances for a new heart. Up to this point, that had been the plan. This whole thing started nearly 12 years ago so at that age, transplant was never in question. The doctor quickly and in a no BS manner, made it clear that there would be no transplant. He was what we consider getting into “old age”. He stated that 60 was the sweet spot and anything older than that not only created more risks but didn’t make sense when you have so many people waiting for a heart that are far younger, with potentially more years ahead of them. While it all makes sense from a medical standpoint, it was jarring for my dad and those of us in the room with him.

As I digested this information today I got even more excited about applying to the nursing program in January. Being in the teaching hospital around all the nurses and other medical staff, the beeping of various machines and monitors was exciting. With that said, this week I started applying for CNA jobs. The challenge to all of this is finding the right place. Nursing homes and Skilled Nursing Facilities (also referred to as SNF’s) don’t have the best reputation when it comes to healthcare facilities. They are not all created equally when it comes to how they are run, cleanliness, etc.

The place we did our CNA clinicals at was one of the not so great places. It felt like a depressing cavern. I was like that scene out of Beetle Juice where the guy with the shrunken head was muttering things to himself. It was like a waiting room for dying people. There are terminal people there but it’s not an excuse for an environment like that. Death does not have to be all dark and depressing. For some, it’s a transition to something else or an end to suffering. It’s the hope of seeing loved ones. It holds different meanings for each patient. It’s an important time in their lives.

Even though there are bills to be paid, being happy where I work supersedes an extra .50 per hour. CNA work is hard. Plain and simple. It’s hard on your body, it’s not glamorous. But it’s experience. It’s being involved with the daily routines of patients which gives you unencumbered access to their personality, their likes, and dislikes. You meet some of their closest family and friends; their support network. It’s a special relationship you build over time with a patient. Along with the medical side of the experience, this is all the stuff I’m excited about. It’s what drives me.

 

 

The Beat Goes On

i keeping with a level of transparency promised, I’ll be posting this week but today is only an update. My dad, a 13 year left-sided congestive heart failure survivor, is going in for a procedure tomorrow. Knowing full well what the statistics and mortality rates are for what he has, each day is a gift. So tomorrow I will be heading up to the hospital to await news of what the next steps will be.

I’ll write about the experience not just as a daughter, but also from a newly licensed CNA, medical  perspective. Stay tuned.

When Did Fashion Become More Important Than Drive?

A few months back I joined a Facebook group called Women of Impact, an incredible group of women passionate about making their mark and share their stories. Reading through the comments and stories has been enlightening. Women from all walks of life, various fields, and decades-spanning age groups are inspiring. There was a different feeling that I felt though that has not sat well with me. It shook me enough to post about it on the page and I’ll get into that here.

Among the stories were prefacing comments such as “I waited to post here because I don’t really have a story” or “I hadn’t posted until now because I haven’t done anything on the level that you all have”. It extended beyond this at times to, “ I’m not seeking a degree but…” or “I’m not in the STEM or biology field but…”. Every one of these comments- these “rationalizations” for somehow feeling less deserving of any recognition or attention- made me sad and frustrated.

I wrote that as women, we’ve been groomed through print, digital, and now social media that we are not enough. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough. Not successful enough. Not educated enough. Not enough. ENOUGH. That word seeps into our communication, our demeanor, our self-confidence far too often. Raising a child is enough. Speaking out against inequality is enough. Voting for change is enough. Rather than foster an environment of asking what is enough, why not focus on WHY you’re enough?

It doesn’t take a master’s degree to spread kindness or start a meal train for someone fighting an illness. A high paying job doesn’t guarantee that you are a good human give a damn about the well being of others. Our status should not define what is enough. We as a person should define it.

I recently read a post on LinkedIn posted by Arianna Huffington, CEO of Thrive Global. It was a survey prefaced with the words, “The culture of work is changing, and with it, our office dress codes. What we wear impacts our creativity, productivity, and self-image, so we want to hear from you: what are you wearing to work these days?” Suddenly I was taken back to the 1950s where working women were secretaries and responsible for putting dinner on the table. Am I really reading this? I saw comments referring to females in hiring positions preferring closed-toe shoes and pantyhose to gauge how serious someone is about the position they are interviewing for. Being presentable for the job you’re applying for is common sense. If you are hiring me for my covered legs and toes, I will judge your character.

As a STEM major, this comes in to play. In a field where men are the predominant presence and women only hold around 25% of STEM jobs, it begs the question- why on Earth are we still focusing on what women wear to work? When was the last article you read about what brand shoe men are wearing to their interviews?

“What we wear impacts our productivity and creativity”? My self-confidence is born of experience, knowledge, and training, not my scrubs.  My creativity is fostered by imagination and life experiences, not the outfit I chose this morning. This is precisely why we need to change the questions we are posing to our future workforce and focus on ability and what drives your passion, not your wardrobe. We need to move beyond aesthetics if we want to level the playing field. Tell me what drives you or what excites you about your field? Tell me WHY. Why is far more significant and akin to job performance than the handbag you wore to the interview. Hire someone that is invested personally; someone that is motivated by their field.

Discussions of dress code should be no less inappropriate than age, marital status, or whether you have kids. If equality is something we truly strive for in the workplace, then perhaps we need to look at the questions we are asking and the subject matter of the conversations driving them.

The Value of Study Groups- Undefined

This won’t be a sappy post with motivational quotes, lamenting the ups and downs of the ties that bind us. You won’t find pretty pictures of friends smiling at one another and walking on the beach planning their next weekend getaway. None of that shlepy crap. Those things are great, don’t get me wrong. But there’s so much more to it than that when it comes to the friends you make when you’re in the trenches of preparing for nursing school.

It’s about trust. It’s about humor when you feel like you’re just about to crack. It’s about that friend that will show up at any hour when you’re at your breaking point. It’s the one who gives it to you straight when you ask for their honest opinion instead of telling you what you would like to hear. The one that looks you in the eye and tells you you’re overthinking things (not that I’d know anything about that one…). It’s the one that has the balls to jump in and take control when the study group is spinning or losing direction. It’s the one that says something absurdly stupid to break the tension when we’re all at our wit’s end and can not figure out a biological process to save our lives.

The friends I’ve made -the ones that started out as my study group and grew into the people I hope to know the rest of my life- are…Hell,  I can’t even find the one word that encompasses what they are.  They are single moms. They have dealt with death and loss in addition to the severest form of adversity, they balance a full-time real estate career with school and manage a smile every day. They have twins and changed careers midlife. They travel hours to and from class and although both are young, they are wise beyond their years. Two not even 20 made the class laugh their asses off when the going got tough. They have reined me in when my test anxiety rears its ugly head. They have listened to me rant. They are not afraid to expose their darkest, twisted, borderline questionable, unacceptable humor, knowing full well we will all laugh anyway. They say “it’s gonna be OK” just when you need to hear it. They meet you for coffee whether to study or to catch up and talk about more science stuff since we’re all AP nerds.

You spend countless hours studying together and see one another at our worst. Sick, healthy, caffeinated, not yet caffeinated, dieting, feeling fat, looking fashionable, completely disheveled and unrested, crusty. Crying, pissed off, hysterical from a lack of sleep or loopy from being indoors buried so deeply in books that you forgot it’s now dark outside. Untethered, got their shit together. Bubbly or full of piss and vinegar.

This is a large piece of how I got A’s this past year plus. I know I put in the work and I’ll likely write more about study habits and tools later, but it’s these crazy ass, fiercely loyal, hilarious, whip-smart people that helped get me here. Well established study groups that evolve into these kinds of friendship are a necessary part of school just as much as any number of flashcards or books.

They are a lifeline to making the experience doable, let alone memorable. They are the roots that keep your feet grounded. to put it less Hallmarkish, they are also badass bitches including the guy that can churn out flashcards in handwriting that would make a Catholic school nun quiver. They are the rockstars that make this nightmare level of studying so much damn fun and I love each and every one of them. 

Ouch!

As I sat and listed out my (what felt like) random ongoing but often cyclic symptoms to my new primary care provider, she listened intently. She then read aloud some additional things. With each one, I nodded and responded “Yes! ”  It was as though someone read my mind. We reviewed the plethora of tests I’ve had over the past 7 years after my post-surgical complication nightmare of 2011; autoimmune diseases to thyroid issues, x-rays, and multiple visits. One mention of something came up around that time but was brushed to the side because of all the other challenges I was facing for those 14 months- Fibromyalgia.

The Mayo Clinic defines Fibromyalgia as “a common chronic syndrome defined by core symptoms of widespread pain, fatigue, and sleep disturbance. Researchers believe that fibromyalgia amplifies painful sensations by affecting the way your brain processes pain signals.” Your nerves essentially become overreactive.

A few weeks back my hubby sweetly put his hands on my shoulders to (albeit lightly) massage them as I was making dinner. I nearly jumped through the ceiling and let a squeal of pain.  He was pretty surprised given that he was barely putting any pressure on my shoulders. I explained that this is what I feel on various parts of my body.

After reviewing my symptoms, I hopped up onto the table and she touched what is referred to as pressure points, that while by themselves are not a diagnosis but when paired with my other symptoms- hit the nail on the head. Every time she lightly touched those points I wanted to jump off the table. In her words, “Without uncertainty, this is what you have. Let’s get you feeling better.”

There is still much that is unknown about it and it’s difficult to diagnose because there’s no lab test for it and it’s mostly by means of exclusion. It’s common in middle age persons and more common in women than men. We also don’t really know what causes it although surgery, trauma, psychological stress or even infection could be plausible causes. I can pinpoint when my symptoms began. To call that 14 months a nightmare is a gross understatement. My Vagus Nerve was disturbed but I also had other symptoms happening that made me feel as though I might die. The pain and overall discomfort were indescribable. Some days it felt like electrical zaps and others it felt like I’d been put through a spin cycle in a dryer. While I recovered from the immediate gastrointestinal issues, the overall pain, difficulty sleeping, and other symptoms ebbed and flowed in cycles. The peaks make me feel lethargic. The “down” time makes it somewhat tolerable but it’s not a fun way to live.

Our plan of action is holistic, the first priority being quality sleep and dealing with the nerve pain being a close second. The past few nights of sleep on the new medication have been the best I’ve had in years. I’m very active which is also a good thing with this, so I plan to continue to do what I can as I’m able. I’m making some dietary changes that should help as well. I like her approach which is of course, science based, but she has some thoughts based on other patient’s experiences that she’s passed along to me as well that I’m experimenting with.

Time will determine whether it’s helping with the nerve pain but I’m hopeful since I’ve taken for similar symptoms after one of my surgeries with good results. At the end of the day, I’m relieved. While flare ups of this are not a walk in the park, it’s livable and symptoms can be managed with a good doctor and a lot of patience. Right now my sights are set on working part time as a CNA during school and being as well physically as I can manage now and to stay that way for the long term.