WriteRN Ramblings

Writing has always been a healing thing for me. Catharsis. Peace.

It also helps me work through issues or quandaries I am struggling with.

I keep a journal, although I’m more sporadic than I’d like to be.

I feel I have a lot of wisdom to pass on. I’ve been through a lot, and I’ve learned a lot.

I start to write on these subjects, and I have to stop.

The ground is too tender. The air is too thin.

Bottom line, it’s not time.

There will be a time, though. So I record my thoughts elsewhere. I edit them, and clarify. I keep it factual, even though it is loaded with emotion.

I file it away. For another time.

Soon.

These lessons were hard fought.

They will benefit others.

My son said the saddest thing last week.

Being a new dad, he said “you know, this is the first Father’s Day that will have meaning for me.”

He’s almost 28.

His father made a series of poor choices 25 years ago that led to our divorce. I stayed in a state I hated, far from my family, to facilitate his “liberal visitation” – and he didn’t see his kids. His choice.

From the time the kids were 12, 6, and 2, he had nothing to do with them at all. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Finally after he got married the fourth time, his wife found the kids on social media. They were 22, 16, and 12. A lifetime older.

He blustered in and got a court order for supervised visitation. Spent a weekend with them, and disappeared.

Sporadic visits since. Tens of thousands of felony level child support still owed.

My Dad stepped up years ago and has been a rock to the fatherless kids in the family.

Many other Godly men at churches I have attended have been there to mentor my boys and give them advice.

That’s still not their father.

My eldest son calls me every Father’s Day to thank me for filling both rolls.

I never did, though. I never could.

I’m so proud of my good kids, and the great fathers my two sons with children have already proven to be. Despite having no father, a deadbeat father, and a father that abandoned them, they have stepped up, determined to be there for their children.

I remarried eleven years ago to a great husband, who is becoming Dad to the boys, at their pace.

They’ve been hurt. I’ve made bad choices, too.

But they rose above it.

My grandchildren have great parents. My son in law, also from a fatherless background, is one of the best dads I know.

The cycle can be broken.

Happy Father’s Day to J, J, and N.

You make a mother proud…

And more importantly, your children know their father loves them. In word and deed.

You’ve broken the cycle.

Happy Father’s Day.

Ah, Florida.

Ringed on one side with Atlantic Coast, the other with the beautiful Gulf Coast.

When people go to the beach, they daydream of walking along the shore. Building sandcastles. Reading a book while they relax in a reclining chair.

In the vast majority of the state, and our nation, you can do this with no problems. Beach access is cut in between high rise condos and hotels. People of all economic stratum live in surf frolicking harmony.

Customary use laws throughout our great land, and even this state, ensure you are free to enjoy the sandy beach from the mean high tide line down into the water.

Unless you are in stingy Walton county.

Nestled among friendlier towns is a stretch of beach homes for the uppity. Movie stars, famous chefs, politicians…they have their expensive homes perched on or over the beautiful Emerald Coast.

By undoubtedly greasing the palms of Florida legislators, their haughty county is now not a welcome place for YOU, cretin.

Your huddled mass of toes aren’t even allowed to walk across this expanse of beach – they “own” it.

A certain prominent singer and actress tried to ban mere mortals from the stretch of sand in front of her California home…and failed.

Ah, but this is Florida. The panhandle, no less…a destination for the rich and famous. It’s not been exposed to the glare of reality. Most people don’t even know Florida extends up to Alabama.

When I moved here twenty years ago, that hallowed bit of land was not much more than a stretch in the road with a couple of cottages sprinkled about.

Now it’s a pretentious, manicured, elbow to elbow blockade from the Gulf of Mexico.

If you dare try and plop your cooler and umbrella at the mean high tide line, provided you can walk that far, with no way in, between all the pastel perfect homes chained together with fences and forbidding hedges…well, the local police will come and dun you off the beach. You’ll be sent packing. No mega wealthy millionaire wants to see average folks on “their” stretch of white sand.

No, this is not the “Truman Show”, though it was filmed here.

It’s the work of money and crooked legislation.

You, wealthy sir and ma’am, do not own the ocean or surf. No one does.

Everyone was supposed to be able to enjoy the ocean or gulf, no matter how rich or poor. That’s what the customary use laws protected.

It’s just too unseemly for you, mostly interlopers from Atlanta or North, to let locals mar your view of the Gulf of Mexico.

I hope some sense, combined with the outcry of the local taxpayers, will reverse this trickery that has cause such heartache for average folk in Walton County…and everyone who foolishly tries to vacation here.

In the mean time, shame on you. The waves and wind are owned by no one.

Remember that come hurricane season….when you’ll be crying for taxpayer money to repair what nature has wrought.

It cuts both ways.

For 20 years I was a registered nurse.

Working in critical care and labor and delivery, I loved what I did, and loved teaching.

I saw my job as a ministry as well as a career.

All those years in hospitals before safe patient moving equipment was prominent has trashed my lower back.

I tried to keep exercising and stay at a healthy weight to keep pressure off my back.

Two years ago I left the hospital life. I had an added complication of newly diagnosed insulin dependent diabetes to my challenges, so I decided to step down from the hospital setting.

I went into an office setting.

It did not go well. Between my struggling health instability and a hostile work environment, I gave a two week notice after nine months of work. I worked out my notice despite some serious challenges, and took what I had learned and moved on.

Discouraged.

I had twenty years of overall great memories and reviews, culminated with a lot of kudos.

It was amazing how nine months could really throw me.

But it did.

I was ready to never work again.

After much prayer and discussion with my husband, I recently took a travel nursing contract in a nearby state.

I’m so glad I did!

I’m up and running, at work 15 minutes early every day. I’m training new nurses. I’m ministering to the local population. I’m a resource. I’m appreciated. I’m thanked.

I’m back.

In five weeks, that nine months -that was disappointingly capped off by the industry verboten bad reference by an office manager- had been erased.

I’m grateful for all the experiences that have made me the nurse I am. I have learned something everywhere I have worked.

That nine months in the office was the worst medical time of my life. It really shook me, emotionally as well as physically.

Over time, I have learned to deal with my diabetes, one day at a time, and my back is a journey of stretching, exercise, and rest.

I’m grateful for this travel experience, and look forward to completing my contract, and going home to my family.

Will I work as an RN again? Time will tell.

I have my confidence back, though, and I am forever grateful for this experience that reminded me of the big picture.

I’m a registered nurse. And I matter.

Hold your horses, people.

I remember all that I went through after a painful divorce from a sociopath.

I moved south to be near family. I began counseling to heal whatever drew me to that sick psycho.

The first piece of advice I heard was this – wait at least three years before you start dating.

I didn’t like that advice at the time, but it proved itself out as true wisdom.

For several years now, I’ve been involved with a divorce recovery program.

One of the first lessons – don’t start dating again until you are healed. This takes time…and years. Don’t jump from the frying pan to the fire.

Has your spouse passed away? Wait. Wait before you date.

There no more vulnerable time for someone who has divorced, lost a spouse, or escaped an abusive relationship, than the first year post divorce, leaving, or loss.

Sure, you may be grateful to be free of the chains of stress and dysfunction.

Yes, you may be alone and want company.

Don’t do it.

Hold your horses.

If you’ve been divorced and you have kids, any new relationship will be hard for them. Get yourself healed. Forgive your cheating psycho spouse. Spend time getting strong.

After at least a couple of years, carefully start dating again, if that’s your wish.

Has your spouse passed away? Give your heart time to heal. You can’t see how much you’re hurting when you’re jumping out of the gate to find a date.

You’ll hurt yourself, you’ll hurt your dates, and you’ll hurt your kids.

Hold your horses.

Spend time being grateful for what you have. Healing from what you lost. Loving those who are in your life.

Alone doesn’t have to mean lonely. Find something to do. Get a hobby. Join a club.

Take care of yourself.

In due time, if it’s meant to be, you may find love again.

In the mean time, appreciate the love you’ve got.

It’s a million degrees outside, and despite my wishes to honor Memorial Day, I’m exhausted from my three day work weekend. I woke with a stiff back, and the body followed. The headache was – and is – the cherry on top.

I decided to get a much needed manicure and pedicure, to get moving and accomplish at least one thing on my list of things to do before I work again.

It takes over an hour to get these things done, and I didn’t have a TV to watch or a phone to distract myself with, so I reflected on where I was instead.

There were ten clients in the salon, including myself. Eight were either obese or morbidly obese. I am in the top of the healthy weight category.

All the employees were Asian, and all were slight to slender in build.

I know that’s their genetic leaning – but I also know that they must not have taken to eating the average American diet.

I’d wager that most Americans would be a healthy weight if they ate what these employees presumably eat – lots of fresh vegetables, lean meats, fish. Not fast food, prepared food, etc.

Our culture is killing itself. It’s hard to look at that. I wonder what the employees think of their American clientele?

By the look of the clients, they were not wealthy – nor am I, but my husband and I are blessed to both be working at careers that keep us comfortable.

When I was a single mom, I never got my nails done. I didn’t start getting them done regularly until I was well into my forties, with my career established, and I was in a two income home.

Honestly, what got me going to the nail salon was my anxiety – I’ve been a nail biter since I was a child. No cuticle was safe from my prying fingers, and often my fingers and toes looked like a war zone.

Once I became a nurse, this became hazardous to my health, as each open wound was a pathway for bacteria.

Add to that my diabetes, and they turned into ticking time bombs.

Taking care of my nails did not come naturally to me – I’m not good at DIY home mani/pedi’s. I tried to do it when I was younger, but it looked a mess, and as soon as the paint started to chip, I’d help the paint by picking at it. And the vicious cycle began again.

It made sense to go to the salon instead of staying on that hamster wheel of destroyed cuticles.

But knowing I can easily afford it and knowing its good for me to have injury free nails doesn’t stop me from feeling a little awkward every time I go.

It feels strange to have people literally waiting on me – today my hands and feet were done simultaneously.

In my mind I think what am I doing here? There are two people pampering me right now.

It humbles me. It’s a job I can’t see myself doing …but even as I type this, I remember I’m a labor and delivery nurse. I can’t immediately think of a more intimate job than caring for women in labor. I’m sure my patients feel awkward.

As I got up to leave today, the girl that did my manicure said “Wow, you’re really tall!” I laughed and said “Yes, I am.”

I thanked both employees and tipped them well.

I don’t ever want to get to a place where going to the nail spa is routine or expected. I certainly don’t feel entitled to this.

I’m grateful.

I’m a couple of states from home on a travel nursing contract.

This is my first time doing this – and my first time away from the home I’ve lived in for almost eleven years, for this length of time, at least.

I’m a nurse with a lot of work rituals – ways to make sure I get everything done, etc.

I’m not a ritual person at home, but there is comfort in knowing I can just “be” there. There is no pressure.

Up here, I’m a fish out of water.

I brought my Australian Shepherd with me – some of the rituals are centered around her.

On days I work, I come straight home. She already has a long day locked in the house, so I want to get her out in the yard ASAP! Grocery shopping is for days off. When I work, I eat what I have here on hand.

I come home and let her out. Then I feed her, right before I feed me.

Now that the evenings are so nice, we sit outside and watch fireflies after dinner. Well, I do – Mitzi explores the edges of the tree line.

We come in when it starts to get dark, and I get my work stuff ready for the next day. I make my overnight oats and place them in the fridge. I set out my clothes.

Mitzi and I will play tug or fetch a few minutes, then I take a shower. I moisturize and do my R+F routine (I’m getting older so I can’t skip this part). Brush the teeth, do a little internet, then watch a quick show on my iPad. There is no tv here.

One more outing to the yard for Mitzi and I’m locking up. Then it’s bedtime, falling asleep to a podcast.

In the morning, I get up at 0500. I pack my lunch bag, get dressed, brush my teeth, maybe put on makeup. Out the door after breakfast with Mitzi – then I tell her goodbye, and leave for work at 0530.

On the way to work, I pray. For our country, for my family, for myself. Then I listen to Christian music so I have a good attitude. The traffic starts quick, and is crazy almost the entire route.

I get to work at 0625. I drive to the front entrance of the hospital and sign in on a clipboard. Then I drive around to the women’s center and park.

After I change into my scrubs, I take my morning meds after I have a yogurt or protein shake. I get my paper out to write report on. At 0645 I get my assignment. Work all day, and go home…to do the same things, in the same order, every time I work.

It comforts me in a weird way – it makes it a home away from home.

I vacuum on one of my days off, do laundry on another.

The routine gives me peace, and the structure calms my nerves. Getting to work early every day helps me mentally prepare for what is coming that day.

So far I’ve really enjoyed my assignment…but I certainly will be ready to go home!

Tomorrow I commute north, eventually merging back into the frantic city traffic.

Before I spend five hours in the car with my Aussie as my guard and companion, I’m rocking my grandson.

When I accepted this contract, I was spending two days a week with my newest grandson.

I’ll resume that precious venture when I return from my travel assignment next month.

For today, though, I’m enjoying each moment.

I took my grandson from the arms of my middle child this morning when I arrived, and he told me his firstborn was very tired and should sleep for me.

Instead, my grandson spent over an hour smiling and baby babbling to me – I told him how much I missed him, and I’m sure he was responding in kind.

How I’ve missed his giant, gummy smile, and the way his whole face lights up when he sees me.

I hold him while he sleeps, carrying him like I carried his father almost three decades ago.

Time is fleeting. Precious. Merely a breathe. Everything they say about the days being long and the years being short has proven true.

So I’ll soak up every soft baby breath. I’ll cherish his fingers on my neck, grasping my necklace as he dreams.

I’ll smile and laugh with him when he wakes up.

And we will play.

It’s these moments of time that I’ll make last all day, turning them over in my mind as memories to sustain me until I return.

I’m on a six day break from work.

I didn’t ask for it – I’m on my first travel nurse assignment and I’m trying to be as flexible as possible.

The scheduling came together in wonderful alignment, and I drove the five hours home on Thursday.

My ever traveling corporate giant spouse arrived home that same night, and we spent all the time together we could until he left again to fly across the pond yesterday.

That left me with today and tomorrow to myself.

I’m relaxing at home. Doing laundry. Walking the dogs. Cleaning at a leisurely pace.

Today there were places I could be, but I wanted to be here. At home.

Home.

Tomorrow I will spend time with my newest grandson, almost four months old now, and I’ve missed him terribly. I’m looking forward to hugging my son and daughter in love.

Tuesday I leave early to drive back to my Airbnb. Back to the work mindset. Back to caregiving, and commuting.

But for now, I’m enjoying the absolute peace of being at home, surrounded by the people and things I love.

It’s what makes everything worthwhile.

I’m grateful.

After three weeks of travel nursing in a nearby state, I had six days off in a row.

I packed my dirty laundry in the trunk, and put my Aussie in the front seat, securing her seatbelt as she settled onto her blanket.

I put my GPS on “go home”, and we were off. Twisting and turning, I drove the circuitous country roads near my temporary home. I had no idea where the GPS was taking me – I just trusted it to get me home.

Imagine my surprise when the first ramp onto the interstate was the one I used every day I went to work!

Evidently from the view of the GPS, the route to that exact same spot was completely different, based only on what the ultimate destination was.

It got me thinking as I continued my drive south.

How much faith I had put in my GPS – I admittedly have no sense of direction, and most definitely need guidance.

Furthermore, as I continued my route home, my dad called and suggested I use another program, which shortened my route by almost an hour.

I immediately programmed the new route into my phone and changed course. No questions asked.

If only it was so with my faith in God.

How many times have I asked for direction, and ignored the Book that has clear, definitive answers.

How many times have I sought the advice of others, with no background data on their qualifications to give said advice.

How quickly I trusted the GPS to guide me home.

Just input and go.

Lord help me to read your Word and really absorb it. Breathe life into me through Your Word, each and every day, that I may take it and GO!

For You made all, see all, and know all. I can ride in complete security if I just trust in You.

You gave me the roadmap to life.

I just need to use it.