untitled.

Sometimes it is really busy at work. REAL busy. And when the business passes, maybe a little time for reflection. Upon this reflection, it seems we have had an unusual stretch of poor outcomes. Weird stuff. I'd like to say "out of the ordinary," but the reality is, complications happen every day around the world, and my little slice of the world really isn't that different or special. But this week, I had to pause. Because it hit me...you know that cliche people always say, "it could have been me or you" when referring to some horrific event? Well, it kind of hit me in a way that it hasn't before.

I can't explain why seemingly normal labors go awry. I will never understand why some mothers go home with their new baby in their arms, while other mothers have to endure having their very soul ripped from their bodies and then have to go home empty-handed. Yes sometimes complications arise that we maybe saw coming. Mom went into pregnancy and labor with a host of medical problems. But other times, labor could be progressing along as normal as can be (even without any intervention by doctors or nurses or midwives...yes, it does happen that way in hospitals sometimes, contrary to what some people would have you think) Anyone who works in medicine knows that for all the science and "predictability" of our ways and means, sometimes there is just no explaining catastrophe. That whole thing about, "it could have been me..." really is so true. Because it could have.

Being a mother has changed me. Not just in that I am a momma. But it changed the way I see my job and do my job. It changed EVERYTHING about me. I'm still me, to be sure. But along with the joy of motherhood, I have also picked up incredible heartache. Because I have been at the heart of loss (I still say there is nothing more profound than losing a child) with families, I know that sometimes these catastrophes happen without warning. Its random. And inexplicable. And I can't shake the feeling that because my child is well and healthy, that my catastrophe is still lurking out there somewhere, waiting to strike. Its an awful feeling, one that luckily isn't at the forefront of my mind all the time (that would be my idea of hell). But it does seep in from time to time to visit. Like when I am faced with tragedy at work. Those are the reminders...that life is so fragile and precious and wild...and that even though we live in a civilized, modernized world, things happen that are beyond our control. I could always accept that for myself, but the thought of having to accept that for my daughter...that's a tough pill to swallow.

So I am thankful today for so many things. I am thankful for this day. I am thankful for my daughter and husband, my parents and in-laws and all my family. I am thankful for my amazing co-workers, who do SO MUCH with SO LITTLE and come back every day. I am thankful for the mothers who entrust us with their care, and the care of their unborn. I am thankful for having made it this far in life.

North Shore

We made a trip up to Beaver Bay, MN (population 175) over the long weekend. For such a sparsely populated area, we actually stayed in a rather luxurious cottage right on Lake Superior. It's a nice little place called Cove Point Lodge, and we've been going there since I ran Grandma's Marathon back in 2008. The week before was pretty stressful, and when Friday came around, we almost decided to hold off the 3.5 hour drive until Saturday morning. But we rallied, and Colette seemed like she would sleep most of the way up. So around 8pm, we headed north. Our Subaru looked like the total cliche....roof rack with two bicycles and a Burley wedged in the back.

We hit massive storms for the first part of the trip, and then sailed through Duluth with none of the traffic we expected of a holiday weekend (thank you state government shutdown?). Unloading the car was quick, and Colette seemed like she would settle back to sleep (she did, after an hour and a half). Completely spent, Nate and I sunk into a very plush bed and went comatose. Of course, way north...the sun rises veeeery early. So we were awoken by one word being shouted over and over, "duck!". We arose to a spectacular view of the lake...one that takes my breath away each and every morning I see it. Colette shouted "duck!" over and over until breakfast (apparently anything and everything that floats in the water is a duck. Monty Python logic).

The weekend was spent alternating between complete laziness eating heavy meals and bursts of activity. A nice bike ride on the trails, a quick run while swatting away biting flies, hikes along the rocky shoreline. We also got some bad news. Those storms we passed through on the ride up had spawned a tornado that hit near our cabin in Wisconsin. Nate's parents were spending the week there and called to report massive amounts of trees down, no power (which means no power to operate the pump in the well) and several trees on our cabin, their cabin and several neighboring cabins. The roads were impassable in areas. But everyone was okay. Just stinks that their relaxing week at the cabin was now going to be spent cutting and hauling wood.

It wasn't until after the weekend was over and we were back home, did I realize how much relaxing I actually got in. Being home, we are once again bombarded with the airplanes flying overhead, and are faced with many many house projects. And work.

So as much as I grumble about disliking the cold and missing New Orleans, I have to say...Lake Superior in the summer is one of those magnificent sights and experiences that is not to be missed. The sheer size of it confuses the mind. You look at it and think "ocean? sea? what the hell is it?" because "lake" doesn't even enter the mind. I spent many hours sitting on the deck staring at the water, expecting to see a whale breach the surface or dolphins frolicking near the shore. If you have the chance in your lifetime....get thee to the North Shore of Lake Superior. I promise you will not be disappointed.

Lesson from a 9 month old

It is amazing what one can learn in 37 years. And even more amazing what one can learn in 9 months. Or what one can learn from a 9 month old person. I sit here scratching my head. My daughter has left me without much sleep for the past week. I can only gather that she has been just as sleep-deprived as I am. Yet while I sit bleary-eyed and barely able to focus on the ceiling, she sits on the floor, examining the wonder of her hand, the dog, the cat, the plant on the mantle. She is exploring her surroundings, and letting little shouts of joy escape every time she pulls herself to standing. Meanwhile, snot is running down her face and she has a bad case of the hiccups.

These days for me, a rough night of sleep requires 3 cups of coffee. Sinus congestion leaves me whimpering. A rainy day sends me into a sea of depression. But for my daughter, she plugs on...doing what she does. She laughs at just about anything. The same toys that she's been playing with for months bring her new joy every day, as if it was the first time she'd ever seen that wooden rattle. Actually, she can make do with an empty paper towel roll.

So I am sitting here on the sofa, contemplating how I am going to find the energy to get through the day...wondering how I am going to pack for my trip, get to work again, make some groceries. I found myself actually thinking about how little sleep I am going to be getting over the next few nights. Ridiculous, I know. And I look over at Colette, and she's busying herself with a set of stacking blocks. I decide (after a cup of coffee, of course) that I am going to try to take a lesson from her and just not worry about it. Maybe even just live in the moment and try to take every experience for what it is. Maybe there is hidden joy in taking out the trash. Maybe I will find the next great adventure at Whole Foods. You never know. Today, I am going to seek out the wisdom of a 9 month old.

Birth

Today is a weird day for me. And for a lot of other people. I woke up today thinking about birth. Not an altogether weird thought, given that I am a labor & delivery nurse. But then I turned on the computer and read that Osama bin Laden was dead. In a flash, I went through all sorts of emotions. Started with, "finally, they got that monster" and ended with "I am so sad for our world." I started to see postings from various people...and news reports that people were celebrating in the streets. At face value, this did not surprise me...or even bother me right away. But the more I sat with it, the more it began to bother me. And I want to try and explain why:

I work in an inner-city hospital. The population we serve is primarily poor or new immigrants. I love where I work. By working with so many people from so many parts of the world, I have seen birth in so many different ways. Every culture births their children in their own special way...but at the core, they also birth the same. No matter the culture, there is rejoicing at the entrance of new life. Time and time again, women enter into labor...they sweat, they cry, they moan...they swear. And at the end of their toils is new life. Fresh and unspoiled by the misdeeds of mankind. Pure innocence.

I have labored with women from almost every culture. American, Mexican, Equadorian, Hmong, Nigerian, Liberian, Somali...and there is one unifying element: the strength of the women...and the love of the families that welcome this new life. It has pained me so in recent years with our country's "war on Islam." Because there is nothing more intimate than birth. So I have sat with Muslim women through some incredibly long and hard labors. I have cried with them during their losses. I have been brought to tears at the sight of a Somali father leaning down into the curved ear of his new daughter as he prayed over her. It sounds like song to me. I have struggled when I hear people make statements like, "they do not respect life the way we as Americans do." Nothing could be further from the truth.

You can't be with families through this without feeling a connection. No, I don't pretend to have any special insight into the cultures of others. I don't need to. Because during labor, we find the commonness of our humanity to relate to each other. Even our lack of a common spoken language doesn't matter. So, I guess I have been going about my life with a world view where I seek to find what we have in common instead of where we are different.

And this is where I come to my troubles today. I am in conflict. I cannot celebrate. At core, I cannot find "joy" in the day. Instead, I just feel sorrow. Sadness that the world is continuing to operate out of a stance of "separate."

I can only pray for peace and for a day when we will seek out what we have in common.

On waiting for spring (and summer)

Today is May 1st. May Day. In years past, back in New Orleans...I would be sporting a tank top, shorts and flip flops. I would be drunk with sunshine. I would have already gone swimming.

But this is not New Orleans. This is Minnesota. And my new life (okay, not really new...I've been here 4 years) consists of a lot of waiting. Waiting for the snow to melt. Waiting for the wind to stop howling. Waiting for the thermometer to get into a reasonable range of comfort. Waiting for...spring. Or what I knew of spring. Spring here is messy. And cold. And wet. I am slowly coming to understand that really, what I am waiting for is summer. Because spring in Minnesota does not register as one of the seasons I enjoy. So I am waiting for consistent temperatures above 75 degrees. Which may or may not arrive in June. And then, we may get a heat wave...with temperatures in the 90's..for a week or two....and then poof! Its gone. My waiting all year....for a few glorious weeks of weather. (admittedly, the summers in Minnesota are quite beautiful, but I feel like we get a raw deal. 5 months of snow and ice for a few weeks of warmth? Something's not quite right about that.)

So, I am a southern girl. There is no way around it. I have purchased about 10 pairs of gloves and mittens in 4 years, and still my hands go numb after 15 minutes of being outside in winter. I have three pairs of winter boots. More hats and scarves than can reasonably fit in our hall closet. I have those silly hand warmer things. And silk insulated underwear. I always have two ice scrapers in my car...in July. And no matter what, it still seems like I am in the wrong place....now with way too much stuff.

This is tricky. My husband is from here. He loves the winters. (Really, he says he loves the four distinct seasons...but I have only been able to identify two of them). My inability to acclimate to the weather here brings him great sadness. I hibernate for 5 months (and I am not even using this term lightly...aside from going to work, I pretty much do not leave the house for 5 months...I even have my groceries delivered). I would say though, that this winter was the first one where I really just threw my hands in the air and gave up. I had tried for four years to find some enjoyment in winter. Sure, I complained. A LOT. But I still made efforts to find beauty in fresh-fallen snow. I tried to get outside for a walk. But when the thermometer plummets to minus 25 degrees, well...I can't do it. And so, my husband has to live with my unhappiness. I recognize that this is unfair. It's unfair to both of us.

So the discussions have begun again. Should we move south. Or, rather...I NEED to move south. For the sake of my sanity. I know that he doesn't find enjoyment in heat the way I do. So we are seeking a compromise. Now, there are reasons beyond climate that I want to move back south. Family, friends, way of life. And those are reasons for him to want to stay here. And his reasons are valid. And important. So he is not jumping at the idea of packing our stuff and moving. Understandably so. I mean, he sees my unhappiness, and I am sure he is thinking to himself, "If we move, is that going to be me?".

As of right now, we have no answer beyond the recognition that there must be some form of change. We love each other very deeply, so going our separate ways is not even in the conversation. Instead, we are researching. Using this as an opportunity to say, "Hey...let's find a place for both of us." Is it out there? Who the hell knows. But the fact that the conversation has started has lifted my spirits considerably. We'll just have to see where the conversation takes us.