Dear Mom,
Tonight, I got to meet Karyssa. This is not the first time, but it is the first time since she's been awake. You should see her, she is beautiful, just like the first time I ever saw her. Despite her injuries and what she went through that morning of the accident, she looked beautiful, and still does!
I was very nervous, and I wasn't exactly sure what to expect. Her mom and dad said she's very ornery and loves to joke around, and they were definitely right! She is so funny and sang goofy songs and acted like her old self, according to her parents.
Melinda approached her first, and Karyssa put out her arms to hug her and said how happy she was to meet her. Melinda told her what a miracle she is. I hung back a little because it was hard to hold it together, but I did a pretty good job. I didn't want to cry in front of her.
I went next. I hugged her, and I felt her kiss me on the cheek. What a sweetheart. She looked at her dad and said, "I get to meet the two women that saved me!" It was amazing. She held out her nails and showed them to us and proudly exclaimed that her mom did them for her. Her dad said, "I'll do them next time." Karyssa crinkled up her nose and said, "No way."
It is a complete and utter miracle to see her laughing and joking and giving her dad a rough time, thinking of how far she's come from laying on the sidewalk being given CPR to being announced brain-dead hours later.
She told me she was coming to my wedding, and that we were going to dance together. Can you believe it?
I have often wondered if you were there that day, helping me have the strength to stop and give CPR. I have questioned if you were there to take her away, or if you were there to keep her here on Earth....If you were her angel, just like you are mine. No matter what side you were on, thank you. Thank you for guiding me, and thank you for giving her the strength to fight for her life and to be with her family. I know you were somehow involved in this. In whatever way it was, thank you, thank you, thank you.
I felt you today stronger than I have in a long time. I was scared to go today and almost chickened-out, just too nervous to see her. I didn't know what kind of condition she would be in, and I am pleasantly surprised and believe in miracles because of her. She is so strong, and she is such a fighter, and she gives me the hope that I can be as strong as her to get through things without you. If I am even just half as strong as Karyssa is, I will be able to do this without you.
Even though I feel like some days I am OK and that I will make it, other days hurt just like the day you took your last breath. Did you bring Karyssa to me? Is this what was supposed to happen?
I believe it happened for a reason, and I am positive I needed to somehow be involved. She has brought so much faith to my heart and so much hope for my life, just seeing the strength and hope and determination she has. I am inspired by her, and I know you had something to do with it. Thanks mom.
Even in spirit, you know exactly what I need and when I need it. How do you do that? Even though you are gone, your love still lives on, stronger with each day we are apart. Thank you for saving me.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Is it really that bad?
Earlier today, I had a great conversation with my sister-in-law Mindy, who is a nurse in a facility very similar to the facility I work in. We were talking about the way in which we take care of our patients, and she asked me," Do you think you're more protective because of your mom?"
"Yes, definitely," I said. I know she is too, because my mom was important to her too, and I'm sure that the whole ordeal we went through has made us better care-takers.
Just now I was thinking about this conversation in my head and I thought, "Is it really that bad?" Her death was painful and one of the most difficult things I'll probably go through in my entire life, but I truly believe that knowing she made me a better person and a more sensitive and thoughtful caregiver would make her very proud. She would be very proud of Mindy too. We are better because of my mom, and I'm very thankful for that.
I work in what most would call a "nursing home" but really is so much more when you examine the type of patients we care for. Your standard "nursing home" patient rarely exists there, and rather, we cater to the just-off-the-vent, shot-in-the-head, massive-stroke-when-you're-fifty kind of crowd. Sometimes, it is very sad. Sometimes, I wish they were not suffering anymore. I used to feel bad about wanting them to go to Heaven, but now, looking back at the lessons my mom has taught me, and to understand that there is a great love that comes with releasing someone from their suffering, I don't feel bad anymore for hoping they are freed. I have patients that are in their forties and fifties that are living after a massive brain hemorrhage, and "living" really isn't an appropriate term to call what they're doing. More like "just existing." I don't think that's a life for anyone, not even for horrible people who deserve to suffer because they murder or rape or steal. I worry about my patients sometimes because they can't always stick up for themselves, and although you hate to admit it, you can occasionally see when someone is tired or having a bad day and they may slack on the care that needs provided. I hate that I see that sometimes, and I hate to admit it now. But it's true.
I am very proud to say that I do not let myself have days like this, and I know that I have my mom to thank for that. Whenever I'm having a bad day or a challenging time at work, I ask myself, "What if that was my mom laying there?" and I have no problem gently reminding anyone else either!
What's very scary to me is to think that my mom could have ended up like one of my patients, practically brain-dead and laying there in bed, drooling on herself without being able to eat, to speak, to cry out for help, and it makes me sick. Losing my mom was beyond heartbreaking, but when looking back on what could have happened to her and in what state she could have been left in, I can't help but think, "Is it really that bad?"
Yes, and no. She's gone, and for whatever reason, it had to happen that way. But....she left many things behind and even to this day, a year and three months later, I am still finding things from her and lessons that need to be learned. Even in her death she continues to teach me and nurture me and her job is never done, and I love how she reaches out to me so that I can reach out to someone else during my day. I hope she is proud of me, and I'm happy to still have her in my life whether I can see her or not. Today especially, I feel there is no greater gift than the gift of compassion, no matter how it finds its way to you.
"Yes, definitely," I said. I know she is too, because my mom was important to her too, and I'm sure that the whole ordeal we went through has made us better care-takers.
Just now I was thinking about this conversation in my head and I thought, "Is it really that bad?" Her death was painful and one of the most difficult things I'll probably go through in my entire life, but I truly believe that knowing she made me a better person and a more sensitive and thoughtful caregiver would make her very proud. She would be very proud of Mindy too. We are better because of my mom, and I'm very thankful for that.
I work in what most would call a "nursing home" but really is so much more when you examine the type of patients we care for. Your standard "nursing home" patient rarely exists there, and rather, we cater to the just-off-the-vent, shot-in-the-head, massive-stroke-when-you're-fifty kind of crowd. Sometimes, it is very sad. Sometimes, I wish they were not suffering anymore. I used to feel bad about wanting them to go to Heaven, but now, looking back at the lessons my mom has taught me, and to understand that there is a great love that comes with releasing someone from their suffering, I don't feel bad anymore for hoping they are freed. I have patients that are in their forties and fifties that are living after a massive brain hemorrhage, and "living" really isn't an appropriate term to call what they're doing. More like "just existing." I don't think that's a life for anyone, not even for horrible people who deserve to suffer because they murder or rape or steal. I worry about my patients sometimes because they can't always stick up for themselves, and although you hate to admit it, you can occasionally see when someone is tired or having a bad day and they may slack on the care that needs provided. I hate that I see that sometimes, and I hate to admit it now. But it's true.
I am very proud to say that I do not let myself have days like this, and I know that I have my mom to thank for that. Whenever I'm having a bad day or a challenging time at work, I ask myself, "What if that was my mom laying there?" and I have no problem gently reminding anyone else either!
What's very scary to me is to think that my mom could have ended up like one of my patients, practically brain-dead and laying there in bed, drooling on herself without being able to eat, to speak, to cry out for help, and it makes me sick. Losing my mom was beyond heartbreaking, but when looking back on what could have happened to her and in what state she could have been left in, I can't help but think, "Is it really that bad?"
Yes, and no. She's gone, and for whatever reason, it had to happen that way. But....she left many things behind and even to this day, a year and three months later, I am still finding things from her and lessons that need to be learned. Even in her death she continues to teach me and nurture me and her job is never done, and I love how she reaches out to me so that I can reach out to someone else during my day. I hope she is proud of me, and I'm happy to still have her in my life whether I can see her or not. Today especially, I feel there is no greater gift than the gift of compassion, no matter how it finds its way to you.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
What doesn't kill us...
Sometimes I worry that I have seen a lot with only being 25 and that I have become too "hardened" to what goes on around me. And sometimes, on the other hand, I worry that I am too sensitive to people's problems and they weigh me down too much, because I have been there like they have. I have been following a story of a young girl, only six years old with neuroblastoma. She was in remission and just found out that she has cancer again. In fact, it's what she and her family got for Christmas. My heart hurts for them so terribly I can't even put in words really how it feels. And I don't even know them. I wonder if this is a problem that I feel this way, or if it's the way more people should feel? I'm not sure.
Life deals us such shit sometimes, and I think it's really interesting how people deal with it. Sometimes people have a hard time finding good in what they've been dealt, and I definitely have been there once or twice. But I later realized that trying to find good, no matter how hard that may be, is a lot more productive and a lot healthier. Even the darkest, most difficult cloud has a silver lining. It may be hard to spot, but it's there.
I think of this young girl and her family dealing with the thought of another tumor, more chemo, lost time spent in hospitals. But how much more they must appreciate Christmas. How much more they love their daughter. How special even the simplest thing must be to them. Because they don't know if they'll have it next year. Or maybe they'll have many more years. It's scary not to know these things, but when it's tested or put on the line, it's amazing how much more enjoyable things can be.
I can definitely relate to that. From the second I heard "leukemia," I questioned my remaining time with my mom. Often, it was on my mind how much longer I would have her, or if there was a possibility it might not end the way I feared. I already appreciated and loved my mom to an unexplainable amount, because we had already been tested with breast cancer, so naturally, our love was a lot stronger than it had been before. So the fact that my heart and my love for her grew even bigger, even stronger, was almost hard to deal with. Meaning, I cared for her so much, that I lived in a constant state of fear of losing her. Despite that, we enjoyed each others company, spent a lot of time together, made jokes, laughed, watched movies, and what seemed like everyday things turned into monumental events for us. A phone conversation is all of the sudden a chance to spill your heart out. Watching a movie becomes possibly one of the last times you'll snuggle in bed together.
I can't tell you how much I miss snuggling in bed together on a Saturday morning watching Paula Deen on the Food Network. That was our favorite. Or how much I miss listening to her hum along to the oldies on the radio. Or how much I miss calling her, hearing her voice, hugging her, knowing that at any moment of the day, she was a short car drive away. And now she is gone. And all of those things are lost and no longer anything to me but memories.
I think about this little 6-year old girl and wonder if she knows that her life is in jeopardy. Cancer is such a horrible thing for anyone to deal with, but it is completely sickening when a baby has to deal with it and maybe even worse for the parents to watch, helpless. But, on the other hand, cancer patients and their families are some of the most appreciative, most resilient people I know. When your life suddenly becomes limited or you can no longer function like yourself and the question of whether or not you ever will again is in the back of your mind, you start to process things a little differently.
My patients who are so sick they need tube feeding come to mind. Just imagine not being able to eat, to taste, anything ever again. A hole in your stomach with fluid being pumped through it to serve as your "meals." The joy of seeing this tube be removed, to see my patients eat again, to see them taste their food and feed themselves and enjoy it....there is nothing better. Because they know what it's like to wonder if they'll ever have that again. It truly is a blessing when they can.
Sometimes I think we need to be challenged in this way. I think about my family and how many times we have been challenged by cancer and all of our losses, about my friend Cheryl who will no longer have a sister because of cancer, and about the young parents of the little girl who will lose all of her pretty blond hair because of cancer. While we are all struggling and ask "Why is this happening?" we are learning to appreciate and to hold on to what we have left. While it's hard, some people are not lucky enough to have this kind of lesson.
I have been thinking a lot about Karyssa, the young girl from the motorcycle accident I witnessed. She is quite a miracle. After having no brain waves and being kept alive only for her organs, she is now out of her coma, eating, talking, answering questions, enjoying her family, and participating in therapy three times a day to regain her life. I can't imagine the heartache a mother would feel, tohave to hear that your sixteen year old daughter is brain dead...and to go from that to realizing she's alive and going to be ok. Can you imagine the appreciation that comes with that? I can't. But it's amazing. I got a Christmas card from her mom: "Thank you for helping Karyssa. This is our most meaningful holiday. Karyssa said one day she would love to meet you. Karyssa is doing very well." Wow. To read that, no matter how many times I already have, it gives me chills.
I am so happy for them that they have their daughter. I'm sure everything, no matter how small, seems like a miracle to them, and my heart is so glad for their miracles. They have been tested far more than a family should have to be tested.
We all should be so lucky to have this kind of appreciation for our families and our loved ones, and it shouldn't take something like cancer or nearly being brain dead to bring about this "new-found" appreciation. It shouldn't be "new-found" and it shouldn't come out the moment we are challenged. Why can't it just be there?
Although I am heartbroken to be without my mom and my life has drastically changed in her absence, I am blessed to have had this experience, to learn from it and to be a better friend, niece, wife, and healthcare provider. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger" may really have some truth in it.
Life deals us such shit sometimes, and I think it's really interesting how people deal with it. Sometimes people have a hard time finding good in what they've been dealt, and I definitely have been there once or twice. But I later realized that trying to find good, no matter how hard that may be, is a lot more productive and a lot healthier. Even the darkest, most difficult cloud has a silver lining. It may be hard to spot, but it's there.
I think of this young girl and her family dealing with the thought of another tumor, more chemo, lost time spent in hospitals. But how much more they must appreciate Christmas. How much more they love their daughter. How special even the simplest thing must be to them. Because they don't know if they'll have it next year. Or maybe they'll have many more years. It's scary not to know these things, but when it's tested or put on the line, it's amazing how much more enjoyable things can be.
I can definitely relate to that. From the second I heard "leukemia," I questioned my remaining time with my mom. Often, it was on my mind how much longer I would have her, or if there was a possibility it might not end the way I feared. I already appreciated and loved my mom to an unexplainable amount, because we had already been tested with breast cancer, so naturally, our love was a lot stronger than it had been before. So the fact that my heart and my love for her grew even bigger, even stronger, was almost hard to deal with. Meaning, I cared for her so much, that I lived in a constant state of fear of losing her. Despite that, we enjoyed each others company, spent a lot of time together, made jokes, laughed, watched movies, and what seemed like everyday things turned into monumental events for us. A phone conversation is all of the sudden a chance to spill your heart out. Watching a movie becomes possibly one of the last times you'll snuggle in bed together.
I can't tell you how much I miss snuggling in bed together on a Saturday morning watching Paula Deen on the Food Network. That was our favorite. Or how much I miss listening to her hum along to the oldies on the radio. Or how much I miss calling her, hearing her voice, hugging her, knowing that at any moment of the day, she was a short car drive away. And now she is gone. And all of those things are lost and no longer anything to me but memories.
I think about this little 6-year old girl and wonder if she knows that her life is in jeopardy. Cancer is such a horrible thing for anyone to deal with, but it is completely sickening when a baby has to deal with it and maybe even worse for the parents to watch, helpless. But, on the other hand, cancer patients and their families are some of the most appreciative, most resilient people I know. When your life suddenly becomes limited or you can no longer function like yourself and the question of whether or not you ever will again is in the back of your mind, you start to process things a little differently.
My patients who are so sick they need tube feeding come to mind. Just imagine not being able to eat, to taste, anything ever again. A hole in your stomach with fluid being pumped through it to serve as your "meals." The joy of seeing this tube be removed, to see my patients eat again, to see them taste their food and feed themselves and enjoy it....there is nothing better. Because they know what it's like to wonder if they'll ever have that again. It truly is a blessing when they can.
Sometimes I think we need to be challenged in this way. I think about my family and how many times we have been challenged by cancer and all of our losses, about my friend Cheryl who will no longer have a sister because of cancer, and about the young parents of the little girl who will lose all of her pretty blond hair because of cancer. While we are all struggling and ask "Why is this happening?" we are learning to appreciate and to hold on to what we have left. While it's hard, some people are not lucky enough to have this kind of lesson.
I have been thinking a lot about Karyssa, the young girl from the motorcycle accident I witnessed. She is quite a miracle. After having no brain waves and being kept alive only for her organs, she is now out of her coma, eating, talking, answering questions, enjoying her family, and participating in therapy three times a day to regain her life. I can't imagine the heartache a mother would feel, tohave to hear that your sixteen year old daughter is brain dead...and to go from that to realizing she's alive and going to be ok. Can you imagine the appreciation that comes with that? I can't. But it's amazing. I got a Christmas card from her mom: "Thank you for helping Karyssa. This is our most meaningful holiday. Karyssa said one day she would love to meet you. Karyssa is doing very well." Wow. To read that, no matter how many times I already have, it gives me chills.
I am so happy for them that they have their daughter. I'm sure everything, no matter how small, seems like a miracle to them, and my heart is so glad for their miracles. They have been tested far more than a family should have to be tested.
We all should be so lucky to have this kind of appreciation for our families and our loved ones, and it shouldn't take something like cancer or nearly being brain dead to bring about this "new-found" appreciation. It shouldn't be "new-found" and it shouldn't come out the moment we are challenged. Why can't it just be there?
Although I am heartbroken to be without my mom and my life has drastically changed in her absence, I am blessed to have had this experience, to learn from it and to be a better friend, niece, wife, and healthcare provider. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger" may really have some truth in it.
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