The Importance Of Journaling

This is kind of a “Heads up!  Things might get boring, soon!” post.  Today, I was looking back at my son’s very first day in the world.  I don’t even remember him looking so tiny.  When I think about holding him, I picture an entirely different person.  The Jack I know morphed into himself around six months old.  So, I started thinking about other events in my life and wishing I remembered exactly what my thoughts were in that moment.  I’ve found a few journals from my childhood that are absolutely fascinating.  At the time, I was just writing about my day.  Who I played with.  Why I am grounded.  Who I have a crush on, etc.  Now, though, it’s so interesting to read my mindset as a twelve year old.  I want to document my life somewhere so that one day, I will have left a record of my existence.  Maybe I’ll be able to see the moment I changed perspectives or turned directions on my path. Continue reading

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Why You Should Tell Every CNA How Great They Are

I’ve never liked the term “nursing assistant”.  Some places call them PCT (Patient Care Techs).  That makes a little more sense.  While CNA’s have certainly “assisted” me with wound care, blood draws, and catheterizations, they are so much more than a “nurse’s assistant”.  CNA’s are the heart of nursing.  CNA’s are really the original nurses.  Before medications and paperwork came the old school one-on-one just plain old taking care of sick people.  If you want to know what your loved one ate today or whether or not they’re feeling good, ask their CNA.  There is no closer a relationship than that of a patient and their regular aid. Continue reading

Parenthood: When You Think Your Life Is Over

The first three months of Jack’s life were the worst three of mine.  Because I was the one with the boobs and without a job, I had to wake up every 2 hours of my life.  I didn’t have postpartum depression.  I had postpartum exhaustion. When the nurse left me alone in my hospital room with Jack, I had a total panic attack.  I didn’t know how to breastfeed, soothe, or even hold my baby.  I didn’t know I was supposed to be changing him (I assumed they were doing that).  I didn’t know ANYTHING.  In that moment, with my husband passed out on the couch, I felt so alone.  It was seriously terrifying.  A week later, my mom left and it was just me and Jack, every two hours, non-stop.  I remember thinking my life was over.  What had we done?  This was my life now.  It didn’t help that every day from four to seven, Jack would scream.  He just screamed his little heart out for no apparent reason.  The only thing that calmed him was being swaddled so tight he couldn’t budge and walked around the house briskly.  So, when I wasn’t sleeping, I was either nursing or bouncing around the house singing “You Are My Sunshine” in the happiest voice a walking dead person could muster. Continue reading

The Nostalgia Of The Hawkinsville Opera House: Bringing Back Our Childhood

 

FullSizeRender (8)Just driving by the Hawkinsville Opera House hits me hard with sweet nostalgia.  Whether attending events or participating in them, The Opera House provided me with something I will always cherish: a genuine love for the arts.  Backstage or stage center, putting on a show was one of the most fulfilling activities of my entire life.  Hearing the audience laugh during a funny part of The Music Man or give a standing ovation after a great show gave me (the girl with one line in the entire show) a sincere feeling of accomplishment.  Even a small part was important because a town scene could only be perceived as so with multiple bodies.  Each one doing its own job.  You wipe windows.  You hold a basket.  You talk to your friend like you’re gossiping.  All the pieces came together.  The curtains went up and down when they should.  The lighting crew knew exactly when Ms. Marion would be walking out.  Beautiful sets were built and positioned appropriately.  It was a well-oiled machine.  Not one person wasn’t important for its success. Continue reading

God Never Said Life Would Be Easy

In the midst of another tragedy, the age old question is recirculating: “Why does God let bad things happen?”  If God is real and great and powerful, why does He just sit back and watch as our lives take what seem like meaningless, harsh twists and turns?  Why did He let my grandmother get Alzheimer’s?  Why did He let my friend get murdered?  Why did He allow 9/11?  Why did He let a psychopath go through with a mass shooting?  Why does He allow a woman carry a baby and then let it be born without a heartbeat? Continue reading