Now, I am not the type of person who walks around, looking at the random stranger and wondering if they are saved. I have never approached a person at a gas pump, asking if they have Jesus in their heart. (This has happened to me.) But  when confronted with death, I pray for that person and their family. I have been praying for the nation of Japan, choosing not to dwell on a statement made by a relative of mine that “they have no hope” because of their religion.

Whenever I consider the idea that I chose God, that I made a decision for Christ, I realize the folly of that statement. I was reared in a Christian home. Was told bible stories as history, not fable. This is the way things are. Never questioned it, until I was an adult. Yet I have questioned it. So think of a person not reared in the faith. How absurd it must all seem. Yet there are new converts to Christ daily. And their faith is strong. It has to be, considering how dangerous it is to be a Christian in some parts of the world. How is it that a person who grows up not even conceiving of the concept of Christ can choose to believe. To believe in something that their own relatives may kill them for believing. Christ chose us, not the other way around. He made me alive, when I was dead. Sometimes this fact just hits me out of the blue. To quote a line from a famous hymn, “I scarce can take it in.”

How can others express themselves so easily? I have been reading some blogs posted by christian women on the topic of their faith. Young women. I am 45 years old and don’t feel qualified to discuss Jesus or Christian growth with others. Its not that I am insecure in my faith, but… I pray. Every day gives me new reasons to love God, new examples of His greatness, power and sovereignty. I do, or abstain from doing, things because I am a Christian. Yet I don’t go around quoting scripture, posting Bible verses on Facebook or the like. Do people know that I am a Christian? When I discuss things with friends and family I feel awkward referring to our faith as a basis for my advice/comments. Who am I to pull the God card?

I am reticent to share books, blogs and such that I have found helpful and edifying. What if I am criticized because the source isn’t biblically sound? People I know go after that sort of thing. I have discovered that I am less discriminating. Is it so wrong not to do a theological background check before reading someone?  Recently I told someone that I really liked, and gained a lot from, a particular book. “Who wrote it?” was the first question. Not “what is it about?” or “what did it say?” Not even a vague promise to look into it.

I am not a wife. I am not a mother. I never learned to cook. I don’t entertain in my home. I do give money to charities. But how else am I living as a Christian? I am so insecure in new ventures. Perhaps because others in my life do things so well. And have been known to talk about others who do things less well, or even differently. Mean thing to say, I know. But is this why I have chosen not to “compete?”

I am not on my own computer, or a photo or two might have made it.  Must remember to do that .  Photos of what? Well, I have done one or two things in the past 12 months.  Worked, naturally. Perhaps a story or two may be remembered at a later date. (Yeah, right.  You probably won’t post  again until next November!)  Got a new dog, not Fluff, but a new shelter dog.  Her name is Sally.  Went to Washington, DC for a September 11 tea party.  Yes, I can now say that I have marched on Washington.  Drove to see Biltmore House.  More on that later.

Menopause is progressing nicely.  My hormone patch protects me from the worst of the hot flashes.  But they do keep it awfully warm at work some nights! 

The babies are growing up so quickly.  Yet I can’t imagine how life was without them.  Syd is almost four years old! And such a girly girl, sitting with her legs crossed, gesturing with her hands as she tells you about her day.  Morgan is her size already, and into everything puppies and dinosaurs.  MBQ is only three, but seems six!  So busy and intent on doing everything just right.  Briggs is a happy, content baby most of the time.  Although he is only four months old, he wears 12-18 month outfits.  Baby Q2 will be here in a few weeks.  MBQ has assured us that she will take good care of her little sister! Imagine, five children by Christmas.  We are so blessed.

As for my household, it is just me and my tiny menagerie.  Two dogs and a cat.  Although, by the amount of dog hair covering everything, one would think that I am running a shelter!  Freddy is Freddy.  Sally is a rotweiller mix who hates cats, but loves me.  I wouldn’t exchange her for anything, but she is not what I had planned to get.  Fluff went back to my sister as I couldn’t lift him following my surgery.  I got Sally last January.  It started simply enough.  I called my vet to inquire about a small dog they had posted on Petfinder.com.  That dog was already adopted, but they had another sweet child in need of a home.  Well, it was just as I knew it would be.  I could not refuse her, especially when I saw her.  I am such a pushover that I could not say “no” to any animal offered me.   She smells.  She sheds a lot.  She eats my shoes.  What’s not to love?

Well, enough for this year I suppose.

One of many beautiful blooms

I have camellias again! Throughout my  childhood I associated camellia blooms with Christmas.  The two camellia bushes that grew in the yard of my youth would inevitably bloom around Christmas. I love their blooms, and have always wanted a home with a camellia bush. My new house is almost as old as the house in which I grew up, but with better landscaping! I knew about the azaleas and the crepe myrtle trees. My dogwood tree sits to the side. It wasn’t until I saw other bushes blooming that I remembered seeing a bush with some familiar leaves in the rear of my yard last summer. Did I have blooms as well?  What a wonderful surprise to discover my deep pink and white blossoms.

I don’t claim to know anything about gardening, but I am going to have to learn to keep up this yard. There is simply too much to enjoy in my new space. Now to just locate a blue hydranga…

My beloved cat, Portia, died a few weeks ago. She was 16 years old. So I knew it would not be long before the canine bug hit. Now that I have a large, fenced yard a second dog should be no problem. The plan was to get a dog from a shelter. A female, as Freddy is so alpha male, would do nicely. I wanted a normal dog. One large enough to jump on my bed by herself, but not so large as to knock over everything when she came barrelling through the dog door.  I still have one cat that hangs out outside, so tolerance of felines is required. While I have taken to walking several times a week, I wanted a basic “couch potato” who didn’t bark and was not picky about her food. One with little grooming requirements.

Enter Fluff. While walking my dog and listening to my sister plead with me to take her dog, I heard myself saying “bring him over.” Male. Not female. But he and Freddy play together fine.  Well, one out of seven….

He barks. Several years ago he required surgery when one of my cats almost took out an eye.  The dog door isn’t an option yet, as Fluff’s head does not reach the bottom of the flap.  Needless to say, my bed is certainly out of reach! And he is allergic to everything but the most expensive prescription food and treats. Not to mention daily pills and periodic injections for scratching/itching.  Freddy is so possessive about food it is a constant challenge to keep them apart when eating.

Little grooming? Well…

But he is so happy when I put him on the bed with me. He loves to have his belly rubbed. And I get doggy kisses. Freddy plays and such, but he isn’t much of a cuddler.

Now if I can just ignore my boss, who has been telling me about her mistreated dog…

How do people get that way? In what world is this type of behavior acceptable? He wasn’t mad at her. “She’s just like that. Its her way or hell to pay.” Indeed.

We started this process in April, aiming for a June first ready date to put on the market. I am well aware of the current date, thank you very much. I keep writing it on the many checks required to repair this “little work” that needed doing.

My main frustration stems from people not doing things properly, or not keeping their word. If it isn’t going to be ready by Friday, don’t tell me that it will be. Don’t send a contracted man out to install my cable, appropriate work order in hand, who doesn’t have the CableCard listed on said work order because contracted techs can’t be issued them. Don’t send a handyman to hang a ceiling fan who just injured his back that morning. Don’t let me think about the landscapers. Don’t let me go there.

TEAM

• Training, Education, Assessment, and Measurement
• Together Everyone Achieves More
• Time, Energy and Money

Can’t we just be excited about a project?  Does it have to have a contrived name? Not to pick on one, but if you were to guess what the HOPE project was? Could you? In this case HOPE stands for “Healing of People Everywhere.”  Nope. A worthy cause, but a misleading name.

The OR team said she was making threats, screaming about Jesus and the devil. Calling one doctor “devil-man” when he approached. She was actively psychotic, obviously.

She arrived in our unit still asleep. We planned to keep it that way for as long as possible. Monitors were carefully attached. Oxygen mask on. Vital signs all looked good. The OR team was still warning us to be prepared for when she woke up, laughing at how crazy the whole thing had been. L–, the circulator told us he made sure to get the staff anesthesiologist to write for Ativan for us.

We were ready, it was all under control. Between my partner and me we have over 35 years of experience at this. Then the anesthesia resident approaches the bed, checks her oxygen saturation (95%), and proceeds to perform a sternal rub while yelling for her to “wake up.“ I physically pushed him off the patient and asked him what did he think he was doing? As an afterthought, I did say that I did not mean to “get physical” with him. He said he wanted to make sure she was breathing, but that we needed to enjoy her the way they had pre-op!

The patient’s primary nurse had to stand guard until he left about 15 minutes later. Until he gave up. She had to threaten him as well.

When the patient did awaken, we found her to be loud, yes, but cooperative. She was sad and pitiful. This woman was scared of us. She knows she is crazy, which is more than I can say for her physician.

This past week I had a teenager ask me if they were able to save his leg, and I had to tell him no.

I listened to a woman admitted for emergency surgery tell me about the fire that had destroyed her home and all she owned the day before.

A quadraplegic with no family confided that his strength and will were fading.

I cared for each of these people for less than two hours, but I was allowed to witness some of their most intimate moments.  I am a stranger. I am privileged to be a nurse.