The Most Wonderful Time of the Year... ~ Or ~ When Things Look Bleak (But Aren't Really That Bad, Right?)

A happy and blessed Christmahanukwanzakah and New Year to all! Pardon my hacking as I make it through the six weeks of dust being knocked off the blog as I start typing through this post *blush* ... (I guess it's been a while. Oops.)

Where've I been? Bouncing between the new-found freedom that comes with ((drumroll please)) no more schooling, the excitement of two Mini's and impending snowflakes and thoughts of Christmas time, and the gnawing concern that my baby-catching days are becoming further distant with each day that passes with no job opportunity at hand.

(Now, this post isn't meant to be a mopey, woe-is-me sort of thing... what fun is that?? As you may have gathered from previous ramblings, it may just lazily wander around this topic and - hopefully - come to some sort of resolution by the end. Over the past week or two, these thoughts have built into a strong mental blizzard, worrying at me like a six-year-old wiggling a loose tooth. It's amazing, though, how cathartic putting such thoughts out into the universe can be... I'm looking forward to that sense of peace that I know I'll find after hitting "publish" and sharing this with the world, even if no one actually reads this blog any more.)

Anyway - back on track. No time for anxiety or worrying too much about the job situation in the first weeks of December; our family celebrates Christmas, so between the holiday preparations themselves (taking the Mini's out to my dad's to find the 'perfect' tree, then trimming the tree and decorating the house, etc) as well as holiday concerts for both girls, cookie baking, the traditional trips to see the big red man, and all the other festivities, I was content to wait. (As of the first of December, I had contact with both Dee and the physicians I work with considering adding a CNM; I also had an interview lined up for a part-time CNM position at a family planning clinic...) It was only after all of the "fun" ended - including the last-minute shopping runs, an unexpected slippery couple of inches of snow (pretty to give us at least a bit of a white Christmas, festivily enough --- but oh-how-slick!), and a surprise attack of fevers, aches, and slug-mimicking for the Mini-est - that everything caught me. And by everything, I mean everything. I realized that just about ALL of my student loans were suddenly coming into repayment (which, considering I have not only my graduate school loans to repay, but also those for my ADN-to-BSN bridge program, and my ADN program, and the assortment of loans I had as I was waiting to get into a program... it sucks. Did I ever tell you the story of how it took me six years to get my 2-year associate degree, by the way? Good times, good times....). My student loans, and the Christmas bills (which, of course we tried to go low, we ALWAYS do... but isn't this how it is every year?! Suddenly *someone's* favorite team is selling 'stock' - which by the way is non-transferable and pays no dividends, but does look good on the wall... and who else owns a piece of America's team, right? - and this other thing is on the best, most SPECTACULAR, *AwEsOmEsT* SALE EVER!!! so it needs to be bought now... but if s/he gets that, then of course this one needs this, and yadda yadda.... Oh hey, isn't this Brazil?! How'd we get so far off track here, and can I even use these sweet new snowshoes south of the equator? Where's that map?!) are coming in, and no one was as excited with the gifts that I worked so hard to get *just right* for them, and I was exhausted, and my schedule at work wasn't right and I ended up bawling like a baby because I was exhausted when I saw it to begin with (and I HATE crying, especially when I'm upset/angry/trying to discuss something...) and why was I on a night shift to begin with on Christmas Eve night - my holiday is Christmas Eve, evening, arrrgh?!? and it was just the longest week ever.... and so on, and so on.

And it just kept going. And the family planning job, that I thought I had interviewed fabulously for, apparently was a big bomb. Was it exactly the perfect job I wanted, and was I a wonderful candidate who interviewed like a rockstar? Uh, not so much probably - but on the other hand, I thought I was pretty good and would (all in all) fit in well and enjoy the job. The biggest downside, of course, was the no-baby-catching. My biggest downside - I thought - was that in my typical fashion (ha, ha, pun ahead!) I neglected to actually try on an outfit for the interview until 11:30 p.m. the night before, and the outfit I planned to wear - a sweet little black and teensy, thin blue pin-striped suit... - had somehow gotten a couple of sizes too big (!%@^*), leaving me flustered in the wee a.m. hours trying to decide if I would try to pull it off with some sort of cinching (sans belt loops, of course) or go a little more casual. Anyway, it's starting to look like we're in the tropics again here, so I'm going to leave the interview territory and my fashion deficiencies (for proof of my fashion sense, see right), and go back to my other worries now.

I was assured that I would hear back in about a week about the position, and truly did expect to; the clinic had been short-staffed for awhile, they needed help, all the signals I picked up were a 'go'. I waited... and waited... and waited... (and sent a 'thank you' email...) and waited some more... and nothing. No "thanks, but no thanks" call, no polite "we've gone another way" rejection letter, nada.

I've also just been hanging with both of the nearby clinics; I emailed Dee a few days ago, gently hinting that I'd love any updates if she had any from her clinic administrator (who had started the process of checking into adding another CNM around the end of November, and had thought she would know more one way or the other in three weeks...). Checking my email neurotically - the one where messages from either Dee or my current physician group would contact me - doesn't seem to be doing much more than giving me little blisters, so I'm at a loss. It seems to be a fine line between being pushy, persistent, and the perfect amount of persuasive... it's just so difficult to read where things are at.

At this point, honestly, I'd just love to not be in this no-man's land. If all three (really, just the clinic groups - I've more or less written off the family planning clinic, although I may call the director just to touch base) facilities would just give me an answer, one way or the other --- I'd be happy, even if it's not the answer I really want to hear.

Even working as an RN in L&D is getting to be a struggle now. It's difficult to not step on toes, and to remember my scope of practice... and I miss being the midwife, making the calls, being able to do (and not do - or to be able to say, "we're not going to do this - we don't have to do this, everything is fine.") ... or if a baby is coming too quickly for the physician to make it, having to try to stay back and have another nurse 'catch', or have a mama try to not push --- one of the worst feelings in the world, and not good for mama or baby --- to provide the assurance needed to everyone that I wasn't trying to "take matters into my own hands" on some level. Awkward, awkward....

Soooooo, about the IHS.... 23 pages of application for *possible* loan reimbursement, if funds are ever available? Oh heck, why not. What else do I have to do???

This One's Not About Midwifery

Most of midwifing is about joy, whether subtle or overt – the excitement of a new pregnancy, the welcoming of a new life into the world, the beauty of a woman as she blossoms throughout the stages of life. The days when things aren’t so easy – long, drawn-out labors, difficult clients, or struggles to understand vague symptoms and nagging ailments – pale in comparison to the wonder of a mother gazing into her firstborn’s wide eyes.

This post, though, is about those days, few and (thankfully) far in between… as a nurse, a friend, and a family member, I’ve seen grief. Grief that sneaks up alongside you, taps you on the shoulder, and then takes you out at the knees; finally helping you up and keeping pace with you, step for step, until you feel as though you can no longer take it. I’ve worked with families who’ve had babies born still – babies born fully developed, perfect in every way; other babies have been lost far too early, months before they were expected to arrive, yet already eagerly anticipated and much loved. I’ve known and cried with families as they mourn the loss of babies diagnosed with terminal illnesses, not compatible with life, and supported them as they honored their loved, tiny infants the best way they knew how. As a midwife – remember, I have only been able to claim that title for two weeks – I have yet to embrace women and their families in those desperate, dark hours… but I will be there.

My grandpa died.

When it comes down to it, that’s what this post is really about. Barely two months ago, my grandpa – my Mini’s “Puppa” – was diagnosed with Acute Myelogenous Leukemia – and given a prognosis ranging from moderate to poor (depending on the treatment regime chosen and the response of the disease to it, of course). One dose of chemotherapy didn’t significantly improve Puppa’s counts, but didn’t drag him down at all, either; he still fought like hell. Even a nasty, raging infection to his IV port didn’t take the fight out – it was only when his oncologist really explained why he had recommended hospice care (rather than continued chemo treatments) that he just gave in, and let go… within a week, he was gone.

To me, Puppa was larger than life – he wore Brut cologne, farmed his entire working life, fished and hunted like a “real man” in the Midwest would, and ate headcheese and liverwurst (ewww). My memory is flooded with treasures from my childhood; this is the man who taught me how to bait a fish hook (and get a fish off the hook, once caught), climb up on a tractor to ride beside him, play cribbage, and to open a glass bottle of Sun-Drop with a bottle opener. I could go on and on – like any good granddaughter – but I’ll keep those memories as seeds to plant for the Mini’s, or if nothing else, for a day when I’m a little more awake, and it’s a little earlier. Memories that they may lose (or have never experienced) like how Puppa always had a teeny Tupperware container in his shirt pocket for them, with just two jelly beans or marshmallows in for them, or how on birthdays, he had a special card just for the birthday kid with exactly the number of crumpled dollar bills as years old you were turning, the envelope and card addressed in his loopy writing… his love of Diet Sun-Drop – but *only* in the old glass bottles, not in cans, and not in the ‘new’ glass bottles. And the dimes – always the dimes…

When death comes, it’s amazing how fast/slow things move. I swear it was just yesterday that my grandpa walked into my living room, showed me the lab results from his recent hospital stay, and asked me what I thought of them (as my heart dropped to the floor). And, just a few days before that – it had to have been – we were all out on the pontoon boat, with everyone healthy and happy. But it seems like it’s been months and months of watching him slowly fade away….

I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child, or a spouse, or a parent… yet I can’t fathom thinking that I’ve “only” lost my grandpa. How do you compare this hurt? I feel selfishly grateful that this is really the first time in my memory that I have lost someone close to death; I’m also so grateful that my family is so close to begin with, and that the Mini’s know their greatgrandparents so well. The very last words that my grandpa really said to me, a few days before he passed away – looking me right in the eye, with a squeeze of his hand – were, “Thank you.” When I asked what he was thanking me for, he said, “For it all.”

To everyone who has gone through this grief, whether the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, a sweet child, or the whisper of a child yet to be --- let yourself be embraced by the open arms of those who care. Open yourself to the friends who can offer words of comfort, hope, and love; to the family that shares your memories and knows stories outside of your own. Realize the true beauty of the people who will forgive you when you 'disappear' for a few days or weeks, lost in your own world of clouded thoughts and reminiscences. I feel so blessed and have so much appreciation for everyone who made the last few weeks, especially the last few days, easier than they might ever have been otherwise.

Thank you… for it all. XOXO

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

(P.S. This post formed in my head as I finally took a hot, hot shower, letting the past few days and weeks rinse over me; as I got out and wrapped myself in warm pajamas, I was overwhelmed with the scent of Brut…. *tear* Things always end up all right, don't they?)