The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak

I just finished it. The writing style perplexed me at times, though unquestionably remarkable. Allow me to draw a parallel: Here in San Antonio, winter delves into the warmth of our natural climate, confusing the plants, leaving trees barren except for the rebellious branches that provide a shock of flowers against a brown backdrop. Grey is part of the air itself as fog seems to have made a temporary home here. This book is that shock of flowers among the barren branches of books, that distracting breakthrough of light after hours of fog weighing down the literature in monotonous repeats of paltry authors.

I don't feel like I read the book; rather, I feel like I started with a tentative nibble, unsure of my own taste, wary of the bitter jolt that I sometimes get when I am unable to comprehend the characters fully. The nibbling continued in brief episodes of time-filching, whenever I had a moment away from the distractions we constantly create for ourselves. Slowly, the nibbles transformed into a feast of delicacies, leaving the taste of The Book Thief's words in my mouth for hours after every reading.

Soon, I acquired a fondness for the writing style, and began to connect a little better with Death (The Book Thief's narrator) and our reluctant Nazis. This book bleeds the story of a poor, hungry, conflicted community that never survived the greatest work of peer pressure the world has ever known; a tale chronicled and immortalized by a girl spellbound by the haunting friendship formed with words painted on a basement wall; nightmares that bring her closer to a dead brother a new father; a boy whom she refuses to kiss; and despicable women who make all the difference.

The Book Thief. To use a hated, hackneyed phrase: it's a must-read.

Too Loud

The sounds grab at all of my senses, making me physically twitch at the incessant grip on my ears. Silence itself seems to struggle for oxygen, drowning in the constant varying of man-made noises of radio, television, cars, hospital alarms, sirens, loudspeakers, and conversation.

Holiness, it is said, speaks when there is silence. There is certainly reverence in being able to discern the breeze, or the magic of a distant insect's buzz, or the quiet rush of water's constant crashing against rocks in the frenzy of a small mountain stream.

I need some holiness. Life is too loud.  

Roles

                My eyes blurred and my concentration began to slowly fall away from the words of the neurosurgeon. The pain in the room was too great, rendering the area too sacred for flippant discussions about interventions that would not be performed. I couldn’t leave the room for care of my very sick patient, but I allowed for a lull in the bustle of a CCU so that the real victims of a horrific accident could grieve for a brief moment at the bedside. I do not try to comfort those people, for my watery condolences would end the fate of drizzle in the mouth of a seething volcano. Instead, I simply tell them “I’m sorry. I know this is a terrible thing to be going through.” I ask each of their names, and remember them, and they are now my patients in a different way, because at the beginning I will be the one to give gentle reminders to eat, or let them know it is okay to touch and talk to their loved ones, or encourage them when they decide to leave for a while to perform other essential family duties. I do that, and they leave knowing their loved one is still with caregiver and companion.

                Such is my role. 

It's a very rainy day, and the road is slick. Rivulets of water scurry down in their miniature pebble-lined creeks, crisscrossing the mountain path that we are driving up. I am afraid to stop for fear of the soil eroding beneath us, as directly to our left we look down hundreds (maybe thousands) of feet into the drizzled Utah valley below. 

I'm afraid to stop, but as we cross the ridge and look at the even sandier road that leads us steeply down the side of the mountain, I'm also afraid to proceed. Better that we should have never started this little outing. We slog ahead in our blue Pilot, using the lowest gear possible to help us stay on track. 

Now, instead of a wet mountain road, I see a hospital. I see a commander who expects me to prioritize my career ahead of everything else in life. I see a future riddled with deployment, politics, and expectations that I honestly do not care to meet. And there is no way back, nowhere to pull over and turn around, because the way back would be just as treacherous as moving forward; and the worst part? The worst part is that I feel like I am not being allowed to succeed how I normally would. Instead, I feel like I'm driving with my left foot, and steering only with my hands crossed.  Growth is meant to come when we are out of our comfort zone, but right now I think the comfort zone would be the only thing between me and potentially serious failure. 

All I can do is hope that the rain will stop, the clouds will clear, and the road will widen. 

Here's to the future.

Been awhile! I'm not even sure I was the one who posted the bit about our jon-boating (I think it may have been Stephanie; or perhaps I'm just beginning to talk like she does). At any rate, I've been keeping busy with all kinds of projects at home, getting ready to move next month, and keeping up with my classes that I have to complete before starting the trauma fellowship in August.

I've recently been reading a lot of teen fiction (I keep trying to find quality adult fiction but have so far failed; it's either been mind-numbing boredom or inappropriate drivel. Plus I don't get any of their adult references). Mostly it is the dystopian-type genre, which really appeals to me because I think we're all kind of headed for either total government control or an apocalyptic event; either way I am constantly trying to convince my wife of the need for things such as large guns, battle axes, and quality camping equipment (I'm not going down without a fight). Oh, and we also need to move to some forsaken community in the mountains where we can melt into the wilderness as soon as the world goes totally berserk. Really, this is all the fault of The Hunger Games series, which after devouring set me on a literary rampage resulting in the complete slaughter of at least six more books/series including Uglies, The Mortal Instruments, The Immortal Rules, Divergent, and a bunch of other sub-par literary endeavors that had me mildly entertained but totally unimpressed.

The End.

I hope to write more, sometime soon!

Jon Boating

Yesterday was such a beautiful day. We recently bought a Jon boat and so yesterday we went as a family in our new (new to us) boat.  We all had out life jackets on, and Emerson sat in his car seat in the boat while we all had a blast.  Braeden loved putting his feet and hands in the water and we actually caught two big fish.

I am really sad that I didn't get pictures.  We will be going out soon though so I will have to get some then. I did get a picture of the lake where we boated.  So beautiful.

My Son Will Be A Con-Man

My son has figured us out. Instead of saying, “No” when I tell him to do something, he says “Not yet.” Instead of admitting to Mommy that he drank all of the Diet Dr. Pepper in her cup, he says “Daddy took it.” Instead of sitting obediently with his back to the wall during timeouts, he says “Can I have a hug?” and does it in such a way that I can barely stand it if I don’t walk over and ruin his disciplinary moment with a hug and conversation about how wonderful he is.

I’m raising a manipulator, the type that is going to be a great success on and off the playing fields of life by charming or talking his way into everything good and out of everything bad.

Actually, I’m kinda proud of him. How many two-year olds seem to fully grasp the concept of avoiding conflict or punishment through passing the buck or re-focusing the attention? Don’t spoil it, I would like to think my little mischief-maker is extra-special.

Meanwhile, I have to figure out how to thwart him today. 

March 31st Post

There’s something inexplicably therapeutic about watching that black line move smoothly underneath you as you’re swimming a lap; maybe it’s just the satisfaction of knowing that you have your face in the water and have finally managed to coordinate breathing with large movements.

Anyway, that therapeutic feeling was replaced this morning with a weak left shoulder and a relatively large amount of unnecessary gasping. I finally realized that today just wasn’t the best day for swimming; I pulled myself out, feeling like I was supposed to apologize to the lifeguard for tricking him into thinking that I was actually going to get an effective workout today.

Since then, I’ve been  at the hospital where I am precepting a new nurse who is doing all of the work, leaving me with worrying about more important things in life such as stalking old friends on Facebook (you know, the kind that I want to know what they’re up to but have no intention of ever establishing communication with) or calling my wife to offer moral support after Braeden managed to practically flood the kitchen (he had a hayday with the refrigerator water dispenser for about ten minutes).

So, here’s to another productive day! I think Steph might be here now….she’s bringing me Taco Bell food….

Just FYI, kayaking in a lake is much more exhausting than it appears. You remember that paddler who effortlessly glides along in the movies at a clip that could outpace a fish? It’s fake. In reality, there’s a red-faced, stocky guy wearing an 8-mm wetsuit; the water’s way too cold for him to actually get wet (the wetsuit is supposed to save his life if he was to capsize, then lose the boat, then lose his life vest, then suddenly become incapable of swimming for more than the 5 minutes it would take to get to shore). Anyway, so this red-faced guy is heaving along, sweating bullets, trying to make sure that his fishing pole hasn’t suddenly freed itself from the fishing-pole-holder in the back of the 12-foot fishing kayak. The lake is a whole lot longer than it appeared from the cliffs, so that easy four-mile route that he’d planned on having done within an hour has suddenly become TWO hours, mostly due to the fact that enormous fish keep jumping clear out of the water next to him, distracting him. Consequently, he can’t seem to paddle in a very straight line.

At least he caught a fish (by the tail, incidentally, not because it actually bit anything), the biggest one he’s ever even seen in a lake in real life. Unfortunately, he dropped the dang thing literally as he was putting it in the boat, and flopped back into the water, breaking the hook off in the process. That’s okay, it was a carp anyway so I’m not sure how exciting it would have been to eat in the first place.

Well, of course I am that stocky guy , and that was my adventure on Friday. It was actually a blast, and I can hardly wait to tackle the river/lake again; this time, however, I think I will put in closer than two miles from the place where I want to start fishing, since it’s obviously no silly jaunt to get that far.

I’m into month #2 of my triathlon training, so it’s going to be getting a lot more intense soon! I am feeling good about it, though, and I think that it will be a good month to start losing some of this extra poundage that I’ve packed on over the holidays. I haven’t lost any yet, probably more due to the fact that (1) I can’t seem to eat less and (2) I think I must be building some muscle mass with all this exercise. Mostly #1, though.

Conference was awesome, as usual. I really miss those times as a kid/college student/missionary when I would listen to General Conference and be like, “That is awesome counsel for someday if I ever need that type of counsel.” Nowadays, it’s more like every talk addresses something that I need to be fixing in my life! But that’s ok, I love listening to the talks and feeling so uplifted by all of the messages. I commented to Stephanie the other day that there are so many people in the world who seem to bring out the worst, it is wonderful to be with or influenced by people who when they talk make you want to be a better person. 

Moustache March Madness finally came to an end, for me anyway. My prolonged stint of shaving-strike culminated with BYU’s loss to the Gators, and the next day I surprised my wife on her birthday by removing the terrible-looking growth on my face. I don’t regret it, obviously.

Braeden and I are in the process of finishing our deck in the backyard. My two-year-old is getting pretty adept at handing me screws; instead of intently watching my every move (with me reiterating that he get his head out of the way so I can drill), he now plays facing the opposite direction. When I say “screw, please!” he says “Got it!” and hands it to me from over his head, not even bothering to look. It’s hilarious.

I am training for an Olympic triathlon (1500 m swim, 40km bike, 10km run) for the end of June. I’m several weeks into my program and it’s pretty intense; I suffered my first injury (turned my ankle GETTING OUT OF THE CAR) yesterday, but hopefully in a couple of days I will feel good enough to run on it again. That’s ok, I need to focus a little more on the swimming anyway! The workouts are totaling about five to six hours a week so far, and will gradually increase over the next three months. It’s definitely the most intense and consistent working out that I have ever done!

I can’t wait for the warmer weather. I’m got plans to take Braeden and Steph camping (probably just Braeden a few times, too, to give his mommy a break); kayaking always will make the list, along with fishing; we are going to take a lot of exploratory drives, too, since Steph will be pregnant until September! I hope to start taking pictures again, too.

I just got a calling as the Young Men’s Secretary (assistant scoutmaster), which I am really excited about! I’ll have to figure out exactly what that entails, but either way I am stoked to finally have a calling again. Work is not taking up as much time as last year since we have more staffing so I’m not on call every week any more, and I am enjoying it more as I get to know my job better and accept new challenges such as precepting some of the new nurses that are coming on. I’m still banking on being able to switch to the UCC/ED soon, but it’s pretty sketchy trying to figure out when or if that is going to happen.

We find out in two weeks what we’re having! It’s good to know all of the OB docs so well (I work with them every day), even if all of them are good so I’m not concerned about who will be delivering our baby. We’re trying to get some vacation time in before the baby comes, but it’s not looking very promising yet. Mountain Home is a great place, though, and my schedule lets us have a few days off at a time so we get to spend some good time together!

Well, I know that this is a boring post, but I’ve had a really hard time lately trying to figure out what to write. Maybe if I start writing more often, I’ll start at least entertaining myself again (you know it’s bad when you bore yourself with what you write, haha!).

Sun's Out!

The sun came out today, scattering the fragments of a very long, drab spell that had locked up our little town of Mountain Home, Idaho.  The constant drizzle and dampness has been a stark contrast to the unending sunshine and dryness of last summer; it seems that this area experiences a seasonal split personality that tricks the resident into believing that the current state of the weather will never change.

                Well, with the sunlight finally breaking through the clouds I have decided that it is time for at least a small entry on this blog. Whoever reads this hasn’t really missed a whole lot, since most of the past six months has been swallowed up under the ravenous appetite of that two-headed monster, night shift work and sleep.

                We bought a house, an uncomplicated Idaho-style single story home with three bedrooms, a large kitchen, and beautiful family and living rooms.  So far, it has been our favorite part of living in Mtn. Home. We are so excited for the warmer weather to arrive and allow us to complete some of the fun projects around the house!

                I have been grappling with the prospect of possibly starting school again. I have applied to the Idaho State University’s grad program to start my Master’s of Science as a Family Nursing Practitioner. If I get in, I would start in May. We have yet to really get the spiritual go-ahead, but I am just moving forward in the best direction that I can figure out right now.

                Stephanie is as beautiful as ever, and has been a real support to me while I have stressed over my job and grown more accustomed to military life. She wears multiple mother/wife hats as entertainer, dancer, Thomas the Train fanatic, chef, babysitter, reluctant disciplinarian, diet advocate, and family glue. Braeden is the recipient of most of these things (she doesn’t feel very reluctant when disciplining me, for example, and it would shatter Braeden’s world if he learned the truth about how we really don’t care all that much for Thomas the Train).

                I have a remote-controlled helicopter that I got from my mom for Christmas. In danger of sounding like an eight-year-old, I will admit that I play with it on a daily basis and sometimes dream about owning more of them (bigger, very expensive ones of course!).

                Well, my eyelids are beginning to twitch as my cerebral lights commence their nightly automatic shut-off. It is 2 a.m. and I must change gears in order to find an activity that will maintain some semblance of wakefulness throughout the rest of my shift.  Apparently, I am still unable to feel normal at this time, even after working night shift for six months.

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.