Crossfit?

I started doing Crossfit (crossfit.com) and it is absolutely kicking my trash. I think that I may have permanently damaged my hips in the last workout (just kidding, of course, but it still hurts every time I take a step or try to get up from a low seat). It's insane. I have realized, however, that I am in terrible shape. Here's to a new year of getting into the best shape of my life, hopefully!

Sorrow’s Echoes

“What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.”

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

I couldn’t hear her very well. Maybe it was the wind, or my 19-year old cassette player set into the dusty dashboard of my Chevy. Maybe it was her tears.  Nevertheless, I understood what was going on, and I quietly told her to immediately call the ER and then call me back. No, it was okay; she didn’t have to look and she didn’t have to get up from the toilet if she didn’t want to.

          

          Everything I had said, all of the jokes I had made; all of the moments that I had stubbornly ignored; it all rushed soundlessly through my mind and settled into my chest. Well, all of the difficulty of recognizing the reality of a new life had suddenly dissipated, leaving me feeling like man standing alone, with his hands open and empty.

          The water was too red to really see what had settled at the bottom, but I knew it wasn’t clots. I had seen clots many times before. Forty-five minutes later, a quiet, grey-haired, soft-spoken doctor told us that she was diagnosed with a threatened miscarriage. It was minimally better than a confirmed miscarriage.

            

         Our formal dinner was no longer an option, but we decided to drop by the Gunfighter Club and find out whether or not we could get the food to go. I stepped inside, still in full uniform; no one was at the ballroom doors, and for some reason I felt really uncomfortable entering them into the room filled with quiet, well-dressed couples enjoying their dinner. I kept walking, drawn by the squeals of the children being watched by volunteers in the next room. I knew the volunteers.

            

         A1C Karley Karlson was there, and I briefly explained to her that my wife may have just miscarried and if she would mind finding someone I could ask about getting our food wrapped. She left me watching the little kids in her absence, and I joined in chasing them around the room. Actually, I only chased one of them around the room; he was so little, and reminded me of my own little son, the one who loves dancing and is obsessed with the word car.

            

           Karley directed me toward the back of the ballroom, where a woman waved to me. I approached her and she said that they were getting my food. I conversed for a moment, and when she asked how I was doing I answered and told her that it was pretty hard on my wife. Obviously trained in subtle tools of effective communication, she closely looked me in the eyes and repeated the question: Yes, it must be very difficult for my wife, but how was I doing?

            I guess I didn’t want to think about it. An invisible vice clasped around my throat, and I wasn’t able to answer her, and the gentleman who approached and introduced himself also didn’t get a response other than a nod. He then asked me a simple question, but I didn’t answer that either; instead, I just looked at him. He backed into a chair, perhaps realizing that I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

           It was a long two minutes before the vice loosened enough for me to shakily say “Well, I guess this is life sometimes.” She was quick to respond, “Yes, but it is one of the suckey parts of life.” My eyes were still too wet for me to focus properly, but I automatically refused to draw attention from other parts of the room by raising my hands to correct it. I was sad; sad for all of the times that I had felt frustrated by an inability to feel my connection to a pregnancy that had most likely just terminated, sad for the joke I had recently made about how pregnancy tended to make women “crazy,” sad for hardly ever talking to Steph about our coming baby, sad for so many things that can’t change now. How was I doing? How do I explain that to someone? You can’t explain sorrow, or guilt, or even the peace in a storm. Music may sometimes express it, and art depicts it, but words simply describe, leaving only the echoes to be heard by a choice few.

           When we arrived home, the water had settled and we could get a better look at what Stephanie had lost. It looked like a miniature version of something I see often, during the fourth stage of labor. I closed the toilet lid and put my arms around Stephanie, and we finally talked about how it may very well be a miscarriage. I told her that it looked like a miniature placenta, and that whatever it was it was tissue and not clots.

           We just stood there for a while, and Steph cried on my shoulder. I didn’t know what to do. I asked Steph if I should flush the contents, but she had no answer for me. What if our embryonic son or daughter, who would have been termed a fetus in just a few days, was in with that placenta? Of all the parts to this, this was the part that made me feel worse than ever before, in a way I can’t describe. I considered burying it, but that didn’t seem appropriate either. Finally, after the lid had been closed for a long time, I reached over from where I held Stephanie and I pushed the handle, just enough to hear water slowly filling the toilet bowl. It flushed softly, and I pulled Stephanie into the hallway with me as it did so.

            After that, the blood and clots increased tenfold, and we knew then that there was no possible way our tiny baby had survived. We just sat together on the couch, with the TV on and our thoughts elsewhere. I felt very close to Stephanie, which brought an enormous amount of peace. We just sat together through the whole evening, even when Steph soaked in the bathtub in an attempt to relieve the cramping. I was on the closed, padded toilet seat, and we talked quietly about lots of things.

           I don’t grieve very often in front of people. I have an inordinate difficulty in expressing my feelings, even though I seem to constantly attempt it. This afternoon was full of grief for our tiny family, but also gratitude. My boss had asked me to attend a company grade officer commander’s call to represent our unit, essentially approving me in leaving work two hours early so that I could also go to the formal Dinner for Two that was being sponsored by the Airman and Family Readiness Center. If it hadn’t been for these circumstances, I wouldn’t have been able to answer my cell phone and wouldn’t have already been driving home when Stephanie called and needed help. I suppose it is one of Heavenly Father’s tender mercies that he lets us experience through times of sorrow.

            It’s like losing a loved one that you never knew. Except, normally we don’t love those we never know; in this case, the perplexity is loving them, and the not knowing them just makes it all the more difficult. Today we grieve, and tomorrow the world continues, though not quite like before. 

I went backpacking yesterday and today; it was a complete blast. I think it was the most difficult hike I've ever done, but I survived and posted a bunch of pictures on Facebook if you want to see 'em. The climb was terrific, over 4000 feet in a matter of less than two miles (I'm already sickeningly sore) after the initial four-mile grind. I've always had switchbacks, but this trail just up and decided to brave the mountainside in a straight line: vertical line. Aaaah. I manufactured a tent using a tarp, then broke my lighter this morning so ended up not eating breakfast. The weather was beautiful, although the Sawtooths brought the temp down to near 15 degrees Farenheit or so, but luckily I had my military socks and a good sleeping back. I hiked part way up yesterday afternoon, camped, and then hiked from about 5 am to 9 am to make it to the top of the ridge. Steph's out of town, so I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing!

FIRST IMPRESSIONS (from my job)

1.       The Good

a.       I will have the opportunity to work in the ER/UCC for four months out of next year.

b.      Whenever I have time (which will probably be most days), I cross-train into the OR.

c.       I can get certified in TONS of things here.

d.      ACC bases get lots of money.

e.      I really like the nurses on night crew.

f.        My schedule will be consistent and fair, once I am finished with all of my in-processing appointments that are taking up all of my free time.

g.       I can work out almost every day in the FCU exercise room.

h.      Email is easy to set up.

i.         The NCOIC is extremely competent (that makes a huge difference with the techs).

j.        A lot of new blood is coming in to replace/supplement the OB side of my floor.

k.       My main preceptor/rater is recently from Langley and seems like she will be completely awesome. I only met her for a total of about 10 seconds, but that’s my impression.

l.         There will be lots of opportunity for leadership roles while I am here.

2.       The Bad

a.       My boss is not married with kids (anyone in the military will understand that one).

b.      It will be the most challenging thing in my life to become more and more skilled as a nurse (time management, skills, experience) over the long-term here.

c.       Someday I’ll be a real nurse (for the fourth time in six months).

d.      There are barely any patients here (mostly post-partum, with three to five med-surg pts per week).

e.      I have to wear a very womanly-looking scrubs jacket whenever I walk anywhere else in the hospital.

f.        My orientation is scheduled to be insufferably long (10 weeks?! Seriously?! I just finished a 12-week program at Wright-Patterson!!). Of course, this will probably change, so maybe this shouldn’t have made it onto the Bad list….

3.       And The Ugly

a.       People with poisonous attitudes are to be avoided at all costs. 

Good Things to Come

Right-click and select "Show all" if you want to shrink the video to see it properly.

My Dentist Appointment

“You’re class III, did anyone tell you that?” the dental technician asked me, after leading me into the somewhat cramped but clean examination room.

“Well, yes,” I responded uncertainly.

“So you must know that because you are Class III, this sheet must go to your commanding officer. A follow-up appointment must be made before you leave the dentist’s office, and only your commanding officer is authorized to change your appointments and you may not miss any of your appointments without prior approval from him or her,” she said briskly, as she attached the waterproof napkin with what I always refer to as the “stainless steel necklace.” 

“Oh! No, I didn’t know that. But okay.”

Everybody knows that a soldier is not a soldier, or an airman is not an airman, without a brilliant smile and a painless grin. The military will not deploy a person to a remote location if they have dental problems (like a crown that has to be replaced, as in my situation) severe enough to warrant “Class III” status. Well, not like I would have been sent anywhere in the next several months, anyway, I thought to myself.

The dentist came in, did his thing of explaining the absolute minimum with what was wrong in my mouth, and the technician and he immediately teamed up on either side of me. They had me pry my mouth open, and they began poking around with their metal dentist utensils. I suppose he found where he was going, because before I knew it he had that scary-looking anesthetic needle out, and (I know everybody loves this part) I could feel him sticking my cheek and filling it with numbing fluid. Unfortunately, it wasn’t before he had dropped some topical anesthetic in the back of my throat, making me feel like I had lost whatever semblance of swallowing ability I had left after being laid flat on my back.

It was only minutes until they slapped a 6-inch by 4-inch rubber band (the texture of a popped balloon) over my mouth and were literally flossing it between the teeth on one side. It was completely unexpected, and I thought they were trying to suffocate me, but by this time I had so many things in my mouth all I could do was flail my arms and gasp.

“Are you all right?” the dentist asked, pulling away from his task for a moment to look at my wild eyes. (Actually, he couldn’t see my eyes, because I had on those dark glasses that I would normally wear when operating a weed-eater.)

All I could do is make some completely jarbled noises and gestures. I tried, very unsuccessfully, to demonstrate to the doctor that I couldn’t breathe; I did this by placing my hand over my chest and moving my hand up and down, then giving him the “cut off” sign like I was asking him to just stop right there and let me go home. He didn’t get it.  I couldn’t breathe, dang it all! In retrospect, my gestures could have been more enlightening, but I think my brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen at the time to be thinking clearly. If it had, I probably would have just tried to breathe through my nose.

The dentist was very sympathetic to what he thought was my plight: “I know it feels very numb, but you are able to swallow. The medicine doesn’t take away your ability to swallow. If you need any suctioning, just raise your left hand,” he commented, as he returned to his task of working on my teeth. My hand went straight up, and in the split second between when she lifted up the suffocating mask and placing the suctioner in my mouth, I managed to say “I CAN’ BREE!” She was very nice and suggested to the doctor that they cut a small hole in the plastic so that I wouldn’t have hyperventilate solely through my nose. How considerate.

It was a long appointment. I had to use all of my energy to concentrate on breathing through my nose, and every once in a while I would begin to panic when the plastic would creep up and cover my right nostril (which was completely numb, by the way, along with that entire side of my face). The blasted technician only suctioned when I “asked” her to, and I promptly realized that the more I needed suctioning, the longer this process was going to last.

The dentist was very optimistic about my mouth, and told me that he would never have known it to be seven years since I had seen the dentist. I agreed, with at least three tennis balls’ worth of equipment in my mouth. However, I am 75% certain that, as he was finishing the fillings, I saw him take a closer look at something and say “Damn!” under his breath, before asking the technician for a different tool. I’m not sure what he was swearing about, but I was in no position to question him at that point.

When they finally finished, he shook my hand and said he would see me at the next appointment. I asked him what they still had to do in my mouth besides the new crown (the old one was installed incorrectly); he said that they would need to finish giving me fillings for the four cavities on the bottom teeth. I kind of gasped, and said “What? I have four more caries? Nobody told me I had any cavities at all on my bottom teeth!”

I’m sure he commiserated with me regarding the lack of communication, but he didn’t have time to respond. It’s all right; I’ll eventually get my teeth problems corrected. Until then, I’d better not miss an appointment. 

My New Life

The link below goes to a very special video that I watched this morning:

My New Life

You know, I have never been through this type of thing, so really I can only imagine the difficulties of surviving a plane crash as serious as theirs. But this story touched me, and I wanted other people to hear it, too.

Too many bananas with hot fudge....

A drop spatters onto the desk. Too valuable to waste, I automatically send a furtive glance over my shoulder, wary that someone might see me as I


use my finger to recover the treasured chocolate fudge. The four-and-a-half pounds of bananas have magically disappeared over the last 24 hours, piling up their peelings in the trash can like an incomplete reminder of how good this snack has been. In my mind, I can't help but try to calculate the risk of hyperkalemia and the subsequent occurrence of heart dysrhymthias; I rationalize to myself that it is okay, that the enormous amounts of sugar from the hot fudge topping will cause enough insulin release to counteract any abnormal electrolyte imbalances. This nursing stuff is really making me a weirdo, I have to admit.

Has it come to this? I ravenously down bananas and hot fudge while watching my wife's favorite teen soap opera, Vampire Diaries? The worst part is that I am enjoying it immensely, with a sort of subtle satisfaction that is evidenced best by the fact I don't feel even a tinge of regret. This is my life today; who knows what it will bring tomorrow! Actually, tomorrow is a 5k run in which I will probably not distinguish myself, not unless bananas and Original Goldfish have some secret athletic ingredient.

I'm going for a run, now. Hopefully the extra potassium helps me out.

My thoughts for the day

                The  housekeeper was doing it again, trying to guide me into habits that I really didn’t want to adopt. The white towel lay asymmetrically folded on the floor outside the shower, an obvious sign that whoever “cleaned” the room did not want to see any more wet on the old, gray tile. Well, if they get rid of the cockroaches that scurry out of the mats and towels on the floor, then perhaps I’ll begin using something like that after I leave the shower, I thought to myself with a hint of exasperation. Forty dollars per night amounted to a nice-looking bedroom, 1960’s-style bathroom, and a tiny sitting room with an uncomfortable loveseat. The trash was taken out every day, but sheets were changed on a weekly basis and apparently I was responsible for cleaning the sinks and toilet, unless I was willing to wait until utter filth took over and the housekeepers decided to do their jobs. The internet worked well before 9 am, after which it became miserably slow and inconsistent. In other words, I was a little bit peeved at the thought of staying here for another two months.

                The negativity turned around a little bit after glancing at my work schedule. I was to work with Captain Chhoeung today, a 50-yr old Cambodian with a thick accent that halted the dynamic expression of a very short, personable man with a life story worth the work of writing a historical novel. At the age of 29, after escaping years spent in Cambodian camps under the Khemer Rouge, he found himself in America, presented for the first time with the opportunity of any formal education. He learned to read and write, not only English but also Cambodian. Twenty years later, he is a medical doctor (with a Cambodian degree), a doctor of chiropractic medicine in the US, and a nurse captain in the United States Air Force. All of his children old enough to be in college are either doctors or en route to receiving their doctorate degrees, and his wife is also a BSN graduate.

                The nurses on the floor here at Wright Patterson AFB work very smoothly as a team, always offering each other assistance and advice where necessary. Roles are clearly defined, practices are standardized, and doctors corroborate effectively with the nurses. Salaried employees ensure that tasks are completed on time, and preceptors offer prompt and precise feedback on improvements to be made. I am able to look up disease processes, pharmacology and kinematics, and patient histories throughout my shift; never have I felt so enthusiastic about being able to continue my education while on the job! Patient census can become pretty high, but since the military doesn’t downsize their staff when census is low, I get more opportunities to learn throughout my shift than previously in civilian hospitals, even as a nursing student.

                Every day I focus my education on learning the metabolic pathways, chain reactions, and biological processes that affect my patients. Inflammation, hypersensitivity reactions, infection response, hormonal changes, and myriad other topics are becoming part of my daily routine whenever I find a free moment. I am trying to understand the mechanism of actions of each drug I administer, not only for better knowledge regarding the drug itself but as a resource for learning how the body works on a cellular level. Someday in the next several years I will find myself as a Doctor of Nursing Practice, prescribing drugs, diagnosing patients, and educating families regarding how their diseases work and how the treatments can affect their lives, and I am determined to have mastered as much education by that time as any medical family practice doctor.

                The military will provide me with a lot of those opportunities to learn. I can serve my country, and my family, by using this time to better educate myself and participate not only in my career but in making it my field of expertise. Nursing care comes first, of course, but I find that the two go hand in hand. For example, I recently taught a patient specifically how to use sterile technique and proper drug administration through a central line. She demonstrated it for me, and explained that in all of her years using central lines on herself she had never really understood about how to do it (and she has suffered an incredible number of infections related to the central lines).

                I am tired of being alone. I need Stephanie with me, I need to feel like I live somewhere again. Church has become almost a chore, since I barely know anyone and am very unmotivated to meet people under conditions of only being able to go to church meetings several more times (on my days off) over the next seven weeks. I look forward to getting to Mountain Home, settling in, getting a calling, and going home-teaching again! General Conference online gives me much-needed familiarity, as I listen to the GA’s talks in the morning during my daily preparations.

                I have made a couple of friends, however, who have invited me to work out in the gym. This morning I played tennis, ran, and did some calisthenics; I am in much better shape than two months ago, even if I still hover at the high end of the weight range for a healthy BMI. I hope to score over a 95% on the physical fitness exam, eventually a 100% if I can decrease my 1.5 mile run time by about a minute. We will have to see how that goes, and if I can keep up my workouts between now and then.

                Stephanie and I have had a hard time communicating, mostly because neither of us are very good at telephone conversations. Why does it seem so hard sometimes to talk to your spouse, just normal conversation? We did it all of the time when we were dating, and when we are together we often have really good talks! Hopefully, we will soon get through this little phase and not feel like something is “lacking” when we are talking to each other on the phone. I am not sure how I am supposed to feel about being separated from Braeden; it’s not like how I miss Stephanie. I miss Stephanie herself, everything about her, but with Braeden I miss the experience of being with him, instead of just missing him. The everyday things, the little things that are impossible to convey through an email or webcam, those are the things that are hard to miss in a little 18-month old.

                Anyway, these are my thoughts for the day, as boring as they are. This is really just kind of a record for me, so I can eventually print it out and have it as sort of a publicized journal of this moment. I wish I could do more than give you a snapshot of my life, but for now this little slice will suffice until I can share the entire cake, so to speak. Goodbye for now!

-Ben

                So, I’m living in Ohio, snacking on MREs and becoming good friends with the Syrilankan (I have no idea how to spell the name of that country, apparently off of the coast of India), the shuttle driver from the Wright-Patterson Billeting (Inn) to the Commissary, where I can buy food to smuggle into my room and cook in my awesome electric skillet. Suffice it to say, I’m not exactly eating very well around here, but at least now I have a mountain bike I can ride to various locations on and around the base.

                I am thoroughly enjoying my time spent in the classroom, bugging my companions by constantly raising my hand and asking basically the same questions regarding how I am supposed to get reimbursed for the thousands of dollars I have already shelled out to pay for military stuff. I keep getting answers, and I will sit and think on them for a minute, then decide that they are either incomprehensible or contradictory to previous answers. So, as soon as I talk to somebody else about finance, I’ll ask the same question. I imagine the information is written down somewhere, but frankly I have no idea where and nobody ever seems to volunteer that sort of information.

                Computer training was pretty comical, since I always seem to get behind a step and eventually end up in a completely different spot than my fellow students and the instructor. You see, I kind of get stuck on things that I don’t understand, so a teacher had better be pretty darn clear in their instructions so that I don’t think too much about anything in particular while we are going through a lot of information. Plus, the fact that the Air Force has decided that it should still be using a computer program that is over 30 years old doesn’t really help much, since I run much better with user-friendly, color-coded menu-items that have explanatory pop-ups when the cursor moves over them.

                Steph is doing great in Utah, having fun with her folks and with Braeden. She is excited to be finished with her classes soon, which I don’t really understand because I was under the impression that she just loved them all to pieces and wanted them to last forever. She managed to buy herself a long-coveted camera in celebration of me finally receiving a paycheck that wasn’t equal to 30% of our cost of living. I keep telling her that she should drive out here to visit me and bring me Milk Duds (that is the name of my truck), but so far I have been thoroughly unsuccessful in convincing her that a 30-hr drive with Braeden in my enormous machine “wouldn’t be that bad” (Busey, B. April, 2010). J

                COT was great, and now I seem morally impelled to call everyone “Sir” or “Ma’am” and respond to personal inquiries about how I am by stating in a ridiculously loud tone “OUTSTANDING, SIR!”  I also keep trying to convince my fellow students to column up and perform the ludicrously loud and elaborate building-entrance column procedure on the way into the hospital every morning. So far, no luck. Maybe I can convince my family to do it at the grocery store, instead. We’ll need more kids, though, to make up a proper formation. Steph, let’s get going on that; we’ll have a Flight instead of a family.

                So, why did nobody tell me that if I had driven to COT and Ohio then I would have been reimbursed like over $3400 for the trip? Geez! It’s like I forewent thousands of dollars for the pleasure of being able to go absolutely nowhere and do nothing fun by myself for four months, plus the hassle of dragging around ten thousand pounds of gear through six airports along the way.

Photo of Daniel Prather, 2d Lt; Ben Busey, 2d Lt; COT Class 10-03, March 2010

               

Military nursing seems MUCH more laid back than civilian nursing. Everybody is on salary, they have plenty of nurses on staff stateside, which translates to being a pretty low patient load most of the time. I’m excited for the opportunity to train techs, educate patients, and do a quality, detailed job with my patients! It will be an awesome learning opportunity to not spend 100% of my time scrambling just to complete the bare essentials of my job on the floor, like I would if I was doing floor nursing in the civilian sector. No wonder all of the military nurses I’ve met have been so competent; they actually got a good start in their career. 

Saints

Is Nausea a Probable Sign of Pregnancy?

So, just a few boring updates….since we moved to Utah, we are renting a house about five blocks from my in-laws. It has been great to be close to them, especially for Stephanie as I prepare for a 4-month absence to Alabama and Ohio. Our house is wonderful; it is an “elderly” home, with an orange and green theme throughout, decorated with flowery wallpaper and adorned with ancient applicances (the refrigerator and stove are the same ones seen in the black-and-white Andy Griffeth Show episodes). It’s great.

                I rebuilt a desk from our basement, putting new trim and a new top on it. We gave talks last Sunday in church, and we have been working as substitute teachers in the primary (every Sunday, pretty much). I got to teach Priesthood once, also, which I enjoyed. Our ward is full of very nice, sociable folks.

                I took the NCLEX….hence the title of this blog, since I was so nauseas before taking the exam that I worried I might be pregnant or something.  After 75 questions, it shut off, and the very next day my Utah RN license was posted online. I am still working as a CNA in an assisted living center in Monroe, Utah, but very soon I will be finishing up there and entering the Air Force as a nurse.

                My commission as a 2^nd lieutenant begins with four and a half weeks of officer training in Montgomery, Alabama, focusing on studies (not physical training, unfortunately, like they do in Basic). Because of this lack of physical training focus, I’ve been trying to get into the best shape possible before I leave. I still need to lose about three pounds or so to be completely comfortable with their weight requirement, so I have been running a few times per week, anywhere between four and eleven miles at a time. I had to stop working out my upper body, because every time I do I start gaining muscle weight pretty fast so if I can’t match it with my aerobic weight loss then it becomes counterproductive.  I’m just a stocky guy, so even though I feel like I’m in very good shape I am right on the edge of their weight requirement for officers. It’s a fun topic around here.

                Braeden keeps very busy, and has recently begun to inconsistently say a word here and there, such as “bye” and “uh-oh” and other simple things like that. He is so much fun to play with, and his aunts enjoy playing with him as much as he enjoys playing with them.

                Stephanie is working very hard in school, hurrying to finish as much as possible before I leave. She sends off her application for graduation today; she will graduate at the end of the summer with her Associate of Arts (general studies), and she is excited to finish her time at Snow College.

                Life unwinds a little more each day for us, each twist revealing a different pattern in the fibers. Sometimes I feel like it unravels too fast for me to keep up, and other times I feel like a frustrating knot is keeping us from progressing. In the end, something always knocks it loose and it keeps going. Here's to a  new week!