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!

Night after Snow

        This poem actually has three different themes to it. Sorry it is so vague, it seems like that is the only way I can organize my thoughts.

Inspiration retires with the black and white

In the cold and frostless dark.

Of the wind in the screens and afflictive dreams

A tale is torn apart.

Stars will appear, indifferent but near,

With their rogues spinning freely down.

Shadows rewind with the passage of time

As the moon curves its path through the sky.

The seeping freeze claws an entrance within,

Pricking privacy’s comfort apart.

A sigh steals the silence and takes it to heaven

The chair frees its company and cools.

Let it begin! Let it begin!

The Air Force will be stationing my family and me in Mountain Home, Idaho, our first choice! We’ll be living right by the mountains and the Snake River, in a small town of a few thousand people, and we are SO EXCITED! I think this video sums it up for me:

After My Morning: Colorado Coalition for the Homeless

Metal turned to ice during the night, creaking open with a loud crack as I pulled on my truck’s door handle. An eighth of an inch of frozen dew coated every window, its translucency vague as light particles wiggled through the multiple layers of uneven ice. At -3 degrees Farenheit and a windchill of -12, this was a morning on which I shouldn’t have been running late; after several turns, the truck awoke with a slow, groggy rumble and exhaust sputtered from the pipe.

The ice resisted my removal efforts, and subsequent pitchers of water seemed to freeze again and again on a windshield now as much ice as glass. Finally, fast-acting windshield wipers helped the water from the pitcher slide off before crystallizing, and I was ready to go. With both windows rolled down for visibility to my right and my left, 4-wheel drive kicked in as I drove down our white lane toward the freeway entrance.

The drive to Catholic Charities was as cold, or maybe even colder, than it sounds. My hood and driving gloves were all that saved me from turning into a living ice sculpture, but the hurry was justified when my cohort and I arrived downtown with only a minute or two to spare.

Over 16,000 people experience homelessness on the narrow streets, bridges, and trails of Denver, Colorado. For some of them, alcohol and drugs are both the rescue and the curse; for others, rejection, mental illness, and past histories prevent them from being able to function past the cobblestones and the shelters. It is with this population I have been working over the past month, through the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless.

Colorado Coalition for the Homeless is the first-step organization that helps homelessness find a cure. Case managers essentially become the lifeblood for men and women who are ready to be housed again, who need medical or psychological treatment, or who are unable to perform simple tasks of life by themselves. One of those case managers, a marriage and family therapist with over 20 years of experience, describes her group of homeless as being “for the first time, probably in their entire lives…..being looked at in their eyes by someone else recognizing that they, too, are human beings.” Years pile into the eyes of many of these formerly homeless individuals, testifying of thousands of days of abuse, neglect, and physical or emotional violence that eventually turned into self-abuse, self-neglect, and emotional self-destruction.

Seventeen thousand dollars a year will house a homeless person and provide him or her with a case manager. Otherwise, a city will spend over $100,000 per year housing a homeless person through ERs, jails, and other areas. The famous Million-dollar Murray of Las Vegas was the inspiration needed to begin real programs to help the homelessness at the root of the condition: housing. Though perhaps to our shame, homelessness is only addressed at a systems level after years of exorbitant costs flooding our current system.

At the coalition, small victories are the ones celebrated by a cohesive team of charitable workers. When the situation of a client improves enough for the person to live independently, they are graduated from the program. If the person never graduates from the program, that is okay too. Though alcoholism is still rampant, few of these formerly chronically homeless individuals still use drugs, and most are working harder than you or I would understand to improve their life situations.

The past four weeks were a good experience for me. At first, I did not really understand how a person could work long-term with a population that seemingly did not want or use the help being offered to them; when I inquired of the workers, they all expressed sentiment. One said “I have waited my entire life to find this type of job; now, I will never go back.” Another stated “I have to be creative with each person. Normally, we use tools to complete our work; in this business, we are the tools. The small victories are what we look for, everything from a person holding a job and paying his rent on time to another not inflicting violence on those around her.” Though frustration, hardship, and sometimes illness are simply a part of their vocations, the case managers are all upbeat and seem completely nonjudgmental of those around them.

This morning, I prayed that I would never forget these homeless people with whom I have worked over the past month. I hope I will never walk along the sidewalk and pass a homeless man sleeping on the ground without making sure he is still alive. I hope I will always feel the need that these people have of being respected, of being understood, and of being viewed as children of God. Too often, we determine the worth of those around us by the choices they have made; instead, perhaps we should focus on determining our own worth, and realizing that in our imperfect circumstances God has deigned to caress our lives with the care and love of eternity. Can we not remember the worth of souls, of bodies and spirits united together?
Mosiah 4:17-21, The Book of Mormon

17. Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—
18 But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.
19 For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?
20 And behold, even at this time, ye have been calling on his name, and begging for a remission of your sins. And has he suffered that ye have begged in vain? Nay; he has poured out his Spirit upon you, and has caused that your hearts should be filled with joy, and has caused that your mouths should be stopped that ye could not find utterance, so exceedingly great was your joy.
21 And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing that ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another.

Soon to Post

Okay, so it's been a long year. And I'm done this Friday, clinicals and all; the only thing that remains is processing for the USAF, NCLEX, and Utah application for licensure. It was pretty sad to be in class for the last day with my Group C from Regis. Soon, I'm going to start posting again on this blog.

Nowadays

So, it’s almost two A.M. and I am awake (I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep a few minutes ago). I’ve decided to write a little something on here about what’s been going on lately, since I seem to abandoned every sense of my writing self in the last several months.
Senior practicum has been filled with placing, maintaining, and discontinuing every type of tube imaginable in a patient; my experience thus far has been very positive, and I have a good time with my preceptor and the other nurses on the floor. Matter of fact, this is by far the most fun I’ve had in nursing during this entire year! That’s probably because my preceptor (Danny) is so hilarious without ever seeming upset or judgmental about anything.
Otherwise, I hopefully get the truck back tomorrow from the shop it went to after the head-on collision. I’m excited to have it back, not so excited to be driving it around town though; I feel like a paranoid driver now, not comfortable with other drivers on the road. It’s weird, because the accident itself wasn’t traumatizing; the effect is traumatizing, where now I try to never have to change lanes or I’ll double back in order to avoid thinking too quickly on the road, or how I seem to hate turning left anymore or can’t stop thinking about other people turning left in front of me. It doesn’t make me a better driver, that’s for sure; it just makes me paranoid. I wonder how to get rid of that feeling….

New Pictures

I posted a few new pictures at the bottom of the blog....

Missin' You

Morning glow of the un-risen sun
Sounds in the whir of white plastic blades
Empty beside me, nothing to say.
Bleak of the walls stares down to my face.
Too long without you, the time doesn’t pass
Thoughts of the games and the days that we have.
Love you as always, miss your little smiles
Want to hear my little man’s talk and see the funny way he walks.
I hope you know I love you all the same
In every little, quirky old way.

Brushing

The sound of brushing, faintly heard
Surrounding silence invites the peace.
Some walls straight, some walls blind, leave a trail of whitened wood
Times for reflections here are stirred.

Car's Fixed!

Our car is fixed! I think that it was just being a little slow deciding to finally take the plunge toward proper functioning. I changed the spark plugs, cleaned the throttle body, cleaned the fuel system, changed the brakes, and replaced the spark plugs again (they’d given me the wrong type). And now it finally works properly! So that is good news.
I am plugging along in this mundane year of nursing school. Every day brings with it a renewed sense of complete classroom boredom, but in roughly 20 weeks I will be finished with my classes and receiving my BSN degree. I can hardly wait!
Stephanie, Braeden and I haven’t been on very many adventures lately, unless you include seeing an enormous rat snake over by the Platte River. Stephanie and Braed are flying to Utah this week; I’m staying here because of school and I’m working part-time mowing lawns and helping take care of rental properties. Yesterday I mowed a couple of lawns, and my hands feel like they’ve been shaken half to death from the several hours I spent pushing a lawnmower over grass that needed some serious chopping.
Anyway, that’s my boring blog entry. I figured I should at least put something in here, since it’s been so long!

A Few Reflections

Last night, I was working in the ED of The Children’s Hospital. We had a number of trauma patients, all of them of Hispanic ethnicity and many of them in pretty serious condition. I stood by their bedsides, using stacks of gauze and liters of saline solutions as I irrigated and cleaned the crusted and caked blood that covered the children, victims of irresponsible driving, dangerous animals, or simple accident. I don’t know how to say this…..there is just something special about being able to help families and individuals in trouble.

I am at peace with my chosen career. School is sometimes filled with busywork, nurses can be the biggest backbiters, and hours can be long and hard, but somehow I feel a certain sense of satisfaction about the fact that as a nurse I will always have the opportunity to learn a little more patience, a little more calmness, and a little more empathy.

Yesterday was the fifth clinical day in a row, making a grand total of 80 hours of clinical rotations and classroom time throughout last week. It’s made me pretty tired, and I suppose that in my fatigue I feel a lot older than I am. There is a song playing quietly in the background of my computer, sung by Trace Adkins called “Then They Do.” It makes me think of how quickly the time goes.

Enjoy the moments, everyone. It’s all about enjoying the journey. This week, if you see a pretty view when you’re driving somewhere, why not stop and enjoy it for a few moments? Take a look at the beautiful creations around you, give a smile to somebody who may not be smiling himself. We’ll always miss the things we took for granted, but we’ll never take for granted the moments we do not miss. I love you all! I miss you, Mom and Dad. Rachel, Emily, Daniel, Blake, you are the best siblings a man could ever have. Stephanie, you’re the reason I love life so much; Braeden, you are the reason I treasure life so much!

Time Warp, Ankle Anger, and Boulder Dreams

This week I got a little ahead of myself….on Wednesday, I thought it was Thursday. Thursday then seemed to be Friday, and Friday was Saturday. I was about to finish preparing my lesson for church the next day when Stephanie informed me that it was only FRIDAY, not Saturday, and I was utterly confused. I’d gone three whole days without knowing what day it was! But that was okay, since I ended up feeling like the recipient of some sort of Time Bonus, getting an entire extra day in the week to do whatever it is that I do.

That’s what happens when all of my friends are in clinical and I’m just chillin’ at home, still unable to walk on my cursed right foot without pretty bad pain. My patience is gone, but I’m still trying to provide my ankle with a bit of a rest so that the swelling subsides from my severe ankle sprain. Last night I woke up all in a sweat, worried out of my mind that my ankle wasn’t going to heal properly and my USAF plans, Regis course completions, and general activities would be drastically affected. I obviously did some serious damage to the ankle vasculature (probably due to the fact that I was so far away when I sprained it, resulting in a long time period between the incident and being able to rest, ice, compress, and elevate my ankle. Made for a heck of a lot more swelling), so I’ve still got pitting edema and a very swollen ankle even 10 days later. Luckily, no fractures, and the doctor thinks everything is at least partially intact. My question is this, though….tendons attach muscles to bone, right? And ligaments attach bones to bones, which means that by testing my ability to evert, invert, dorsiflex and plantar-flex my foot the doctor was actually only testing my tendons, not my ligaments. So now what happens? I suppose I wait another week and see if this swelling gets better and allows me to walk more easily. If not, I’m demanding an MRI and I’m getting a new doctor.

Okay, so after an hour of laying awake, I finally convinced my brain to allow for a bit of REM sleep. I ended up having a dream that in a ridiculous attempt to celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, I hauled a ginormous boulder up a mountain in our little Rav4 (this was definitely a dream, since the car practically rolls backward just trying to ascend small hills). Well, for some reason I left the car out of gear….next thing I knew, I was watching our most important possession careen down a cobblestone road (yes, it was cobblestone) and off the edge of a precipice. After the boulder smashed everything of the car’s interior, the engine suddenly erupted in a fiery explosion of gasoline, oil, and compressed pressure, and all I could think was “My cell phone!”

Moral of the story: don’t celebrate July 4th by hauling boulders up a mountain in your car. Rolling ‘em down the mountainside is over-rated. And cell phones are the devil.

Laaazy-butt

So, this week has been terribly exciting for me. My friend (his name is Right Foot) managed to try to get himself killed on some ridiculous sidewalk, leaving me on crutches for a while and some amazingly colorful bruises painted around my ankle and toes. Right Foot looks like he belongs to a blotchy-purple Shrek now, or maybe Barney, because he’s been quite swollen for a few days now.

Let’s see, now, what else has happened this week…..I found out this morning that I seem to have lost any ability of making finite movements with my left foot. You see, today was the first time I’ve been able to drive our stickshift (his name is Maxim Omar, a Toyota Rav4), and since Right Foot is still quite sore from his fight with the cement I decided to try braking with my left foot. That idea ended as soon as I realized that our car doesn’t have anti-lock brakes (you wouldn’t believe how suddenly I can stop the car if I use my left foot. There’s nothing in between a stop and a go, no “slowing down.”).

Well, Stephanie went to enjoy helping Braeden get his shots….hopefully she won’t realize that I wrote this while she was gone, since I promised to be studying dutifully throughout the afternoon. In reality, I just didn’t want Braeden to associate the pain of his injections with his father. Let’s face it: Moms have innumerable opportunities to make up to their children for putting them through so much misery. I didn’t bring him to get his shots because I wanted to preserve a budding relationship, it had nothing to do with being a lazy-butt.

Speaking of being a lazy-butt, I had a patient once who was as deaf as a post. His wife was deaf, too, and I would go through heck trying to communicate with those two. Anyway, every time I entered his room he would see my name-tag and in a drawling, extremely loud voice he told me “Ben? My son-in-law’s name is Ben. He’s a laaaazy-butt!” If you can imagine how many times I entered his room throughout the day (at least 20 times a day), then you’ll be able to figure out how many times I got to hear about his lazy-butt son-in-law. Also, he would tell me that his driveway was made of 8-inches of thick concrete. Yeah, I’m not sure he got out much….

Monster Squirrels

So, we now have a little cucumber and tomato plant (well, actually that would be two plants….I’m not sure they sell the hybrid version) growing in our old laundry bucket out back. I still need to poke holes in the bottom to prevent root rot, but I’m having trouble convincing myself that it is acceptable to destroy the water-holding capacity of such a nice, faithful bucket; it has served me and my car on many an occasion. Ahh, the sadness to see it go! It’s like neutering your dog….you know he’ll still be your dog, but some things may never be the same!

I read on an extremely good website (ehow.com) that tomatoes need 6-8 hours of sunlight per day to maintain optimal growth, and I think that I must be a distant relative of the tomato plant. I mean, I actually think that I need closer to 10 hours of sunlight per day to maintain optimal-ness, but unfortunately I spend most of my time squeezed into a desk, trying to prevent the uncomfortable feeling of having the circulation in my legs cut off right above the knee for hours at a time. If I die of a blood clot, it was because whoever designed the seats at Regis University must have grown up attending a school that drove him insane with its terrible seating. This designer is now sitting in a LaZ-Boy somewhere, heaving great guffaws about how miserable he has made the lives of thousands of over-studied, over-charged, and over-SAT students at Regis. I hope his LaZ-Boy makes him morbidly obese and that he dies of complications related to GERD (I have GERD).

Anyway, I’m watching the sunrise and this monster squirrel is climbing the fencepost outside of our house. Colorado does not grow normal squirrels; these are mutant killer squirrels. I am constantly being startled by their violent jabbering on campus, and I swear the other day one JUMPED at me from his tree! They’re like those rabbits in Monte Python, you know the ones that are huge and end up eating the knights and killing them by biting their jugular veins? These squirrels are going to do the same thing. Where are all of the predatory animals when you need them? HELLO, WE HAVE A SQUIRREL PROBLEM!

So, in lieu of something constructive, I leave you to ponder the meaning of life, especially since we know that at any moment the squirrels could unite, attack, and leave us gasping for air as our jugular veins bleed. In the end, we’ll be lying on our backs in an acorn-chip-strewn field, staring up as the evil squirrels gather ‘round and gaze their monstrous faces into our eyes.

P.S. Don’t come to Colorado. Run for your lives.

Skylights

Not too long ago, I was driving into the mountain roads north-west of Denver. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the temperature was—well, perfect. And, of course, I was in the perfect mood….especially after jamming down to the Eli Young band singing “Always the Love Songs” in my little Rav4.
A lot of days have been like that one over the past couple of months; I find myself sitting at home or riding my road bike, all the while experiencing some sort of emotional high while I gulp in the sensations of watching Braeden throw a blanket over his face to “hide” and then throwing it down to his tummy with an enormous, mouth-open-wide grin on his face, or observing a heron’s body slowly raise itself straight up and down to slow its flight before breaking the smooth surface of Clear Creek.
Today was interesting, probably because a man working on our roof accidentally fell through our bathroom ceiling. Yes, that’s what I said. I was taking a nap with Braeden when Stephanie came in the room and told me that she had just watched a man’s leg smash straight through our bathroom ceiling, releasing a veritable deluge of moldy-looking insulation, pain chips, and sheetrock all over the bathroom and into the hallway. They eventually cleaned up most of the mess, and I drilled a big piece of pressboard to the ceiling to seal our new skylight against any overly-interesting roof critters.
I’m working on my application to join the United States Air Force. I am so excited! I figure this type of opportunity only comes when you’re young, so I’m going for it with all I’ve got. I’ve been running and biking every day for the last week or so, preparing for the medical exam for which I’ve got to lose three or four pounds to meet the qualifications. I’ve got huge blisters on both feet from a bad arch in my shoes, but they’ll go away eventually.
Any other interesting things going on around here...nope

Break's Up

Glenwood, Utah sits in a tiny valley surrounded by low mountains that rise quickly to cut into the blue sky with their brown ridges. Beyond those hills is a massive giant known as Cove Mountain, and last Tuesday it loomed particularly large while I trudged along a dirt trail leading to the Glenwood Fish Hatchery. Cove Mountain seemed to taunt my instincts as I walked, and I contemplated the possibility of someday climbing to its peak. As I continued, I decided that the opportunity probably wouldn’t come again for several years. I had an apple, an orange, and a liter of water in my black German medic shoulder bag, which seemed to be sufficient as long as I made it to the snow line where I could melt some snow for water.
The first thing to fail was the shirt on my back. It is a black, long-sleeved sports shirt that wicks away the sweat and is made for temperatures of below 60 degrees Farenheit. Today was much warmer than that, probably closer to 80 degrees, so I stowed my shirt and decided to hurry so that I didn’t get too sunburned as I went up the mountain.
Four hours later, I stared at the enormous expanse of southern-Utah valleys, encased on the opposite side by cliffs painted red and yellow by thousands of nature’s years. I hadn’t reached the summit, but if I didn’t turn back soon then I was sure that my good friend Dehydration would eventually catch up to me. I jogged back to the house and this hike turned out to be the best and only hike I have done so far this year….
On another note, my last day of “break” was spent in a rather “creatively planned” clinical (meaning the hospital couldn’t give us enough hours) that involved babysitting developmentally disabled children for 9 hours. It was a growing experience, but I did manage to get half of my head literally drenched in saliva from one of the participants….I can’t block the memory of the shirt-staining drool oozing down the left side of my head and onto my ear.
Back to school, now!

My Dysfunctional Life Pattern

So, every morning I get up really early. I go into the bathroom to take a shower, and out of pure habit and a decreased mental state I usually turn on the water and immediately pull the “converter” to make the water shoot out of the showerhead. The problem is that I usually still have my head bent over the bathtub, so I get completely doused with freezing water and end up sputtering and gasping for air as I try to escape the icy deluge. It’s quite the accidental wake-up technique, and I know that normal people would learn to pull back before switching the water track but I seem to be immune to such normal behaviors. It happens to me about three times a week, and I don’t see myself getting any more intelligenter in the future.
I decided two days ago that life was not worth living in a constant state of mental anguish caused by my nursing instructors. I took an exam yesterday, and for the first time this entire year I turned in my finished copy without first discussing with her the various “mistakes” on the test (sometimes I think she rode the short bus as a child). Kudos to myself for trying to not always be anal, right?
Anyway, life is going well since I decided that some classes just aren’t worth the stress. I’ve been spending more time with Steph and Braeden, who are quite the characters. Braeden and I went exploring the other day around the house, hunting for buried treasure. He held my little LED road bike flashlight, I carried the “gun,” map, and a protective paintball mask while we searched the downstairs. Stephanie kept getting on our cases because she was trying to cook in the pitch-black (Braeden and I wouldn’t let her turn on the lights; that wouldn’t have felt very realistic), but we were more than happy to help her see with the use of our flashlight. For some reason, though, Braeden liked to have the flashlight on “disco mode,” and the spinning illumination finally drove Steph batty and she essentially told us that if we didn’t stop then she just might have to sell us to the garbage-man. Lucky for us, though, we had just found our buried treasure; it was remarkably similar to the green fishing net I have in the closet. What a weird coincidence, huh?
That’s my dysfunctional life pattern, and I’m stickin’ to it.

Ten reasons why I love my wife:

Ten reasons why I love my wife:
1. She can find anything around the house (I lose everything)
2. She threatens me on an hourly basis
3. She recounts every dream she has in the morning
4. She is obsessed with Diet Dr. Pepper but refrains from buying it very much
5. She gossips to 3-month old Braeden, usually beginning with “Braeden, there’s something you need to know about your dad….”
6. She listens to middle-school teenage girl music (as far as I can tell, that phase doesn’t end for most girls until they turn 26, after which they still listen to it because it is nostalgic for them)
7. She doesn’t text on dates. She just calls people
8. She reads my blog and makes comments
9. She loves holidays and is constantly trying to get me to join her festivities
10. She has racy chats with me on instant messenger (did I just tell people that??)

In short, she’s wonderful. I love coming home to her every day; the longer we’re married, the more I love being with her. Unless she is trying to give me purple nurples; I keep telling her that she’s going to cause me to get breast cancer, and that will be very embarrassing.

My Alternate Lifestyle

I recently decided that the plural form of “fox” must be “foxen.” That sounds right, so don’t try to dissuade me. I have seen many foxen over the last few days, usually on my frigid, romantic sunrise walks by myself each morning. Stephanie has abandoned me for a week, hopefully not because she feels that our chemistry has turned to toxic waste. Lol. Just kidding, she went to visit her other family in Utah. I’m supposed to be getting a lot of schoolwork done while she’s gone, but in reality I am just eating a lot of ice cream and bananas. They’re good, by the way.
I am, once again, changing my life plan. Nursing is too dominated by women. I have instead decided to become an international spy. This way I can get rich, retire early, and still be incredibly cool while applying my nursing techniques to the people around me who seem to frequently take bullets, but not the same types of silver bullets that nurses use. I have hereby decided to be a spy. I wonder if they offer that major at Regis University….guess I’ll have to check it out. I’ll just work on being cool and calm in the meantime.
Anyway, don’t worry about me when my identity suddenly changes and nobody can find me. Just know that I’m daringly walking to death’s door each day in my new career. Matter of fact, just act like nothing’s happened; it’s what I do.
The End.

Backdrop's Blind

It’s there, it’s somewhere inside this head of mine. I just can’t tear it out without ripping out the roots. I’ve always got so much to say, but I’m never able to just dump my soul’s contents on the table like that; it always has to be basted in some sort of situational sauce that keeps me comfortable. That’s one reason why I like to write these stupid poems. They get it off my chest, they’re crammed with my own personal expression and meaning that only I can know. It’s like a parable that’s never really meant to be understood except by the producer.

Background’s tinkle, backdrop’s blind
Overcast sighs and tears in your eyes
Gist of a chronicle too young to be told
Furrows too thin, but lines are yet old.
Perhaps time appreciates a modest disruption
Ardor’s incentive to finish its junction.

Please Don't Be a Hater

For the record, the previous post was completely a joke and I really am planning something special for Stephanie, and I have very much enjoyed Valentine's Day since I've been married. I do admit that I'm a Scrooge in some areas, but anyone who knows me also knows that I can be very romantic and considerate at least one day per year (Valentine's Day). Yes. Please don't be a hater. Stephanie, I love you!

Valentines and Veracity

Ok, so my brother recently began a blog filled with his inconsistent memories (he claims them to be authentic because he was so anal-retentive that he kept a journal EVERY DAY since he was like four or something). Well, to be fair I decided that I should write a couple of events myself, though my memory isn't quite as intact as it once was (I think Ecuadorian ameobas ate my brain cells for lunch while I was taking illegal siestas on the mission). However, I am not going to write one today just because I have a test in the morning and I need to study. Plus my wife is talking to me from the bathroom and I can't focus.
So, tomorrow is National Single Awareness Day. I remember a time when I would scramble for a date on this holiday. Okay, tomorrow isn't, but my wife has designated as our “Valentine's Day” because she is abandoning me for a week to visit her folks. I keep telling her that she should ask her sisters to be her valentines; I mean, she's going to be with them after all. Anyway, I have planned something extremely special for us to do and have an amazing gift for Stephanie, because Valentine's Day is a very important holiday and I consider it to be an important predictor of our eternal relationship's success.
All joking aside (was I joking??), if there is anybody out there with a particular suggestion in the next twelve hours of what we should do for Valentine's Day, please comment on this blog. Actually, I don't really think anybody reads my blog, because nobody ever comments, but that's probably due to the fact that my discussions are either way too soap-boxy (which I think scares people away) or they are just poems that are completely incoherent to the average person (actually, more like to every person except for me. I think they are wonderful, but then again the other day I was holding a conversation with an extremely long arm-hair of mine that I had named Alexander; Stephanie eventually ripped him apart).
Ok, this blog is done but I just wanted to insist that I love Valentine's Day. Nothing quite beats spending money on pink paper and giving caffeine-laced chocolate to your wife. Gotta admit though, I just about have the dry heaves when I walk through the purple-plastered candy aisle in Wal-Mart. Kudos to St. Valentine, the saint of love (but haven't Catholics historically believed that the highest form of reverence is through celibacy? What did this Valentine person know about love?).

Panorama Incomplete

Cold-pricked ridge, jagged shards of bluff
Back across the boulder rough.
Immeasurable lights draft development's design
Distance muffles civilization's whine.
Nature's oblivion crushes the grip of inclination
Invisible tremors quaver my affection.
Camera's tremors cloud combination's clarity
Hazed ring of fire encircles my feet.
Person intact, panorama incomplete.

You Can Always Make It to the Top

Recently I've started biking with a group of true, hard-core road cyclists who are taking me to my limits every Thursday and Saturday. Yesterday it was a 40-mile bike ride, culminating with an 8-mile mountain climb to the top of a peak overlooking the entire Denver area and a good part of the Rockies.
We had made the climb on Thursday as well, and since I was sore from that trip I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it. I mentioned it to my buddy Sam, and he said something that could probably be applied to a lot of situations: “You can always make it to the top.” Well, I did it, and I'll do it again this week, because it's all about heart. We've got the strength, we've got the guts to make it to the top; we've just got to believe it. When our last little bit of energy is spent, we turn around and realize that we've got tons of energy stored up for that very moment, that all we have to do is let ourselves dig it up. The only way to find your limits is to push yourself so far that you realize that you set your own. That's why we get up every day and study. That's why we keep doing whatever necessary to live our lives and become better people. That's why Jesus Christ showed us he had no limits, because he wants us to realize that our limits are in our minds, that we have no idea how great we could become .

Annoyed

So, today I spent a long time on the phone with a woman who works for the Department of Human Services in Colorado. Let's spell the situation out for you: I am taking 20 credit hours per semester in nursing school, and cannot work. Stephanie is at home, currently looking for a part-time job in which she could continue to care for Braeden, two months old. We have no income. Health insurance costs about $350 per month for our family for plans with a $2,000 deductible, which means that we are currently underinsured or not insured at all.
I disagree with our current health care system. I think it is a robbery. I wish everybody had quality health care, and that there was no such thing as health insurance to cover the costs of healthcare, that it was just another business. Instead, it is a business that robs insurance companies blind, who in turn rob their clients blind, who finally have to turn to government for aid in programs that are robbing everyone in the United States and putting our country in insurmountable debt.
Well, starting in January of next year we'll be paying for our own healthcare, one way or another, once I graduate from school. For the next twelve months, we are applying for Braeden to be covered with Medicaid so that he can continue to receive healthcare. We will also spend the rest of our lives paying at least 6% toward FICA and “Social Security” to fund the welfare and Medicaid programs.
The phone conversation was very indicative of how our government works: apparently, federal loans intended to pay for tuition costs qualify as “income.” Now, I'm positive that if I could somehow speak with the right person (someone who speaks English and has been in the country for more than 2 years), I would be able to help him see that those loans are different than income. If a person went and applied for food stamps, and the worker asked if they had any credit cards and received an affirmative answer, then the worker is most likely not going to say “Well, then! Just use those for food! Why are you applying for food stamps if you have credit cards?”. That is basically what I'm getting from the social worker, because I have the option of receiving all the loans that my little heart could possibly wish for, regardless of the fact that if I actually did so then I would be paying 50% of my paycheck for ten years after graduation.
You see, this is the entire of having government pushed into every part of our system; while there are benefits, like receiving healthcare for a child (well, not that we qualified, but you get my meaning) when unemployed, we have to be okay with the fact that whatever moron on shift that day is running our lives. Let's face it; if the government hadn't guaranteed student loans to everyone, it would be virtually impossible for colleges to be charging so much tuition because none of the students could afford it, which means that I wouldn't be in the situation of not being able to live without some sort of loan, which apparently disqualify me from receiving the same aid I have been paying for over the course of the past ten years (yes, everyone pays FICA and SS; nobody is exempt except for our upcoming treasurer, according to his track record).
Yes, I'm in a somewhat terrible mood about this. Fine. We'll play the game. We'll suffer the loss in origination fees, but we'll pay back our loans that were originally meant for tuition in two months. But next year, I'm going to learn so much about the loopholes of paying taxes that the government is going to be grappling thin air in an attempt to bury us. Thanks, social worker, for helping me see the light; now, go fetch.

Hello, world! Braeden has recently taken to flipping himself over at will, from his stomach to his back. Good job Braeden!

Ah, Fort Arvada it is!

Ok, so it's been a really long time since I've written on here, mostly because of the hectic moving atmosphere and adjusting to a new place in my life. Right now, I'm listening to a wonderful song by Faith Hill (yes I'm a nerd), and appreciating how much art is involved in song-writing. Speaking of song-writing, we somehow acquired a copy of David Archuleta's new CD, and I was dismally disappointed. The songs aren't him. They're obviously written by someone else, most of them have virtually no meaning whatsoever, and I think it is a disgusting waste of his incredible talent. What good is it to have the best voice in the world if you're not expressing yourself when you sing? I mean, seriously, a meaningful song performed by a nine-year-old is better than an empty deluge of pre-teen fantasies.
Ok, off my little rant. Things are great here in Fort Arvada, right next to Fort Denver (I've decided to prefix every Colorado location with the word “fort”). I made a bet with Steph yesterday that I'd beat her to the next city on my road bike, but was robbed the victory by a ludicrously busy hill the size of Mount Timpanogas that forced me to the dirt roadside. I was riding over 40 miles per hour going down the other side, which should tell you at least something about how bit this hill was. Nevertheless, it put me behind schedule and I made the 12 mile bike ride in more time than it took my wife to drive through traffic. Rats.
I took a walk the day before, nearly taking a swing at a man who startled me so bad I thought I was going to faint from the change in blood pressure. You see, I was trolling along with Braeden in the ATV (meaning his $140 stroller) and this guy comes jogging up beside me, under a bridge, wearing dark clothing and a black hood over his head. This is Denver, guys, and the graffiti combined with my normally jumpy self contributed to the scare that pushed its way out of my chest in the form of an Indian yelp. I actually think I may have startled the jogger as much as vice versa.
Last item: once upon a time, there was a place in Tennessee named Lafayette. Unfortunately, the residents there were fifth-generation folks whose ancestors never spoke French in the first place, so the name had somehow become twisted to be “La-FAY-et,” as in “That woman, La Fay is her name, et it!” If one ever attempted to pronounce the city's name correctly, any nearby loyal, law-abiding citizens would immediately jump on the correct-the-stranger wagon, and thus the city is not known by its original pronunciation.
End of the story is that Arvada is pronounced with the “a” as in “add.” Thus, arvAda is our new home, bright and beautiful. I washed and waxed our car three days ago and it snowed today. Thanks, weather-man, I'm going to egg your house tomorrow. Merry New Year, everyone!

A couple of poems....

Here are a few poems that I thought I'd post. I figure poems are supposed to be interpreted differently by everyone, which is why poetry is so fun to read, and these ones make perfect sense to me when I think back on the topic I was writing about. Merry Christmas!

Sunflower's path: for Steph

A sunflower's path across the sky
Warmth of a smile and my heart feels high
Every day a new beginning
Every night the same bright feeling
You're my ray that leads my life
Thank you for being such a wonderful wife.

Father's Self-expression

Descriptions of beauty unimaginable pass my eyes
Their images melt into my mind
Conjure up pieces of puzzles never solved
How can I speak for a sunset?
When does a word depict a song?
Life seems to come in so many forms
Breath only represents a portion
Weaved into eternity are endless creations
Myriad hosts cry hallelujah to His throne.

Swirling Links

Swirling links climb toward the sky
Every one a separate length of steel
Nets strung empty across an open space of green, now white
My soul searches a way into another sight
Barricades will cease with the slow sunrise
Yet here I remain, fingers entwined and eyes toward the ice.