Well my supervisor reached a breaking point and finally expressed his frustration with me. The ledgers from the Monday assessments had not been posted. The one from the black man did not have a diagnosis. Neither one has been fully completed and one had several missing sections. I had not collected a debit or credit card, why? I was handling all of it with a steady voice until the words “I’ve gone over this with you 4 or 5 times.”

I mean, I can’t fault the guy. I would be frustrated too, and I was, that I was looking stupid, that I had tried to ask for help and he had tried to give it and I still wasn’t getting it. I’d tried to tell him on the day he ditched me for the secretary that I was forming bad habits that I knew I needed to correct, specifically with the assessment charting. I’d tried to tell him also before that I need to physically do it for the tech instructions to stick.

So that kind of sucked but I mean I partly deserved it. I mean it really did suck but you also cannot expect these bosses to not have their own frustrations that they deal with. On Wednesday I accidentally busted a hole in the wall when I was opening the closet door to replace the soap in the bathroom. It is what it is and all I can do is try to do better and do what I can still. Today I did at least meet my direct client hours requirement.

Every evening feels like a slow creep toward the empty nest. I don’t remember when I first started feeling it, but when my first one entered double digits there arose an awareness that our time together was hypothetically more than halfway over. In the previous house the evenings brought with them the urgent countdown to bedtime.

Since we’ve moved here bedtime comes with an ache. It’s a subtle knowing that another day has passed that we will not have a chance to relive. It is the motivator for going downstairs and giving the boys their goodnight hugs. At the very least, if a goodnight hug was all I was able to do for them that day, it was enough. Last night they didn’t want me to leave, as we had started a mini conversation. They are intelligent and humorous.

And fun to be around. Tonight we skipped the games and had a talk about assassinations and history. Dad is more of the history person, though I too like the figures and stories. Last night they wanted to sleep outside again but I told them no. When they asked me why, I hesitated to tell them, but they did not push me too hard.

That last part wasn’t right because I was trying to hurry up and finish. It’s not that I’ve got this and will do a good job. It’s more akin to what Dallas Jenkins says when he talks about bringing his five loaves and fishes. It’s more like saying, “This is what I have…so…here” and then offering what I have. I wouldn’t even use the word give. Giving to me gives me a vision of pushing something forward to someone in front of me.

Offering to me is more of a lifting up. It’s a vertical motion. I think the point that I was trying to make with the two previous stories was that “It might not always be comfortable but I don’t want to hold back”. That was the thing about Charlie K as I have watched and listened to his videos. I actually thought he was kind of a butthead sometimes. But he was courageous, and unafraid to be who he was without fear.

So I guess I’m hoping to be a little bit more like that. All the doubt and second-guessing can be crippling at times. Like I truly do not even care about “excellence” or “mastery” anymore in these days. Or changing the dressing on the PICC line or working on REACH. I resist change so much sometimes because the projected outcome in my head does not match up with what I want. But the burning inside is not livable either.

“Free me from a divided life that I might be the same person on the inside that I am on the outside.”
~Peter Scazzero, Emotionally Healthy Relationships (devotional prayer)~

I resonate with this but I would change around the words. Instead I would say, “Free me from a divided life that I might be the same person on the outside that I am on the inside.” That is my struggle and where I feel the oppression. For as much as I think I am an open and vulnerable person, there are a lot of things I refrain from saying. There are a lot of ways I hide myself and refuse to come forward as my truest, most genuine self.

Two recent experiences come to mind. Over the weekend at work there was an incident on another wing where a resident needed an antibiotic. It needed to be administered through the PICC line in his arm which is something that in this facility, only RN’s are qualified and authorized to do. The evening staffing includes one nurse per wing. The two most difficult wings were being covered by LPN’s who could not hang antibiotics.

There is some sense in all of this. The 30+ year LPN has more experience in skills and assessment than the less than 5-years of experience RN who has been more comfortably working in long term care for coming up on two years. Long story short, I had to spend an hour sorting out a situation where a resident didn’t get his antibiotic because part of his PICC line was broken off and his daughter had tried to fix it herself.

And in my head there was this part of me that was like, “This is an easy fix. All we need to do is replace the injection port with our own port taken from the in-house supplies.” But stuffed on top of all of that was 1) the initial lack of enthusiasm over having to mess with another person’s problem, 2) The fear of not wanting to screw something up, and 3) the lack of comfort, confidence, and knowledge in how to use the facility’s IV pumps.

The second incident occurred at Thrive. I thought I was a doing a new patient assessment for a person wanting to begin individual therapy services. He walked in–a black man. Immediately my heart sunk thinking this could be the day I died. But somewhere in me also is a person who does not see color, not as a reason to fear or favor a person. He wasn’t coming for therapy. He needed a mental health assessment.

Which he had willingly submitted to do for some authorities. I’m thinking, gulping, “This is not what I am here for, I don’t even know if I am qualified to do this.” And I again I faced the same thing, 1) the initial lack of enthusiasm over having to do this task, 2) the fear of being killed by the man, and 3) the lack of comfort, confidence, and knowledge of how to officially do a mental health assessment that someone else is going to read.

Namely, whatever authorities need to read it, and also my supervisor because he is the one who has to sign it. And I was mad at him for putting me in this un- asked for situation. And I still have not, on my own, ever uploaded the new patient info from the computer system and had it go smoothly without any issues. And thankfully he was free in his office to be able to show me what else I needed to do or it would’ve been left out.

One time in group he said to a patient, “Show me a woman who does not expect a man to be the hero, and I’ll show you a woman who’s done an awful lot of work.” That sounded pretty cliche to me. But then I thought about more, wondering, “How do I expect the man to be my hero”? The main thing I came up with is that we (I) can expect for men to have an unlimited, superhuman capacity to deal with our (my) bull@*&^.

Because if they (he) can deal with my weakness then that means they (he) love(s) me. And people have shown up for me, and people have tolerated me. And somewhere inside of me is this person who wants to show up more truly to my genuine abilities. To say, “You know what, I’ve got this, and I will do a good job.” And then in turn whatever it is I do will help a person, and they will be able to rest easier because the load is halved.

The CNA held the phone while I Facetimed with the nursing supervisor on call and she talked me through how to program the pump. She would come in the morning to replace the dressing and re-enter the orders to make adjustments for the time. Maybe I will be able to do that another time without it being a bigger deal but for now I was relieved that she would handle it herself and that I still could be there in the meantime.

I generally try to not write when I feel like this but I did not follow that particular rule this time. I just have not been myself and have felt horrendously depressed and more emotional for days. The waterfall of tears keeps coming and it’s like sometimes they’re holy and sometimes they’re not, like it’s this combination of just ruthlessly saying whatever I want and then later regretting it, and trying to find my way back to sanity.

People with cancer will endure the chemotherapy because they have the willingness to trade temporary discomfort and hardship for the chance that the hell they will go through will give them a second chance at life. Yes we are wired to avoid pain and discomfort, but given a higher cause and a noble reason, we will choose to endure pain and even knowingly walk into it if it means somehow, somewhere, God can make it clear again.

That analogy falls apart when the chemotherapy ends up killing people. In one case chemo was a healing agent, and in another it was the opposite. So I don’t know sometimes when the human will is submitting to something it doesn’t need to submit to, or when I’m just foolishly believing that the killing agent is going to heal me. Like I don’t even know what this is, or why I keep believing that God is sealing up my heart.

“The Lord answered Moses, ‘Is the Lord’s arm too short?'”
~Numbers 11:23~

The boys had a cross country meet at Lincoln Park this morning. We arrive early so I decided to walk the course. The kids unanimously agree that this course is not to be desired. None of them like it, and in fact, they think this course sucks or is terrible or however one would like to describe it. But I’ve only stayed one side and never ventured across the way because I was not able to at one time, or it would weaken me too much.

It still weakens me. And I temporarily have lost my ability to nap before work. So I am writing instead about the devotional I read this morning where the Israelites were weeping because they didn’t have any meat. This completely stresses out Moses because he doesn’t know what to do with them. God tells he will put his Spirit on other men so that there will be others to help him and that he will also send some meat.

I’m not sure if the above verse was in reference to the provision of the elders or sending of the meat that will eventually make the Israelites wish they’d never once complained. But the whole thing was convicting me about a stupid sadness I’ve been feeling about starting over on the career ladder and going to school for four years to not have even gotten ahead…yada yada yada. The Israelites are really good at showing us how we

sometimes need an attitude check. Like, if this road is the place where God has brought me then why am I wondering, comparing, or feeling sorry about money or being another pawn in the system who is being forced to conform. Would not God have a plan that would somehow be a blessing to me, whatever that looks like? Like if I am killed and never work it doesn’t mean it was all a waste. God still used me and gave me a life.

I talked to Ethan and Elianna during the races. Both are now the veteran runners with plenty of advise, words of wisdom, and sympathy. I didn’t camp at the horrendous hill this time. Instead I was over by a shaded flat land underneath a row of pine trees. Dad kept his spot running back and forth across the land. Grandma was there in her chair cheering the runners on the school camp. Somewhere the cloud of witnesses cheered.

Zorro is gone at a board and train program. My brother’s friend is a dog trainer and gave us a half price deal for him to stay there for a month. Elianna was up there for a few days at the beginning and was able to attend some training sessions each day. This eventually came about because Zorro had started showing aggressive behaviors toward everyone in the household except for Elianna. Again, I don’t know anything about dogs.

Why we chose a working dog breed that is capable of killing is not something I was particularly aware of or thinking about at the time. So that’s a whole thing and I’m just hoping that this will work out and he can be integrated rather seamlessly back into a family life, however that looks for him. Growling, barking, and being protective are what we want in certain contexts but I’d really prefer he not do it to me, Josh, or the kids.

Or anybody else for that matter. I don’t know. How this doesn’t disrupt the dog and owner’s bond is not something I can wonder about right now. It was still a pretty awful day in terms of being debilitated by the news and thinking people are terrible. It doesn’t happen very often but I can feel a real disgust toward the human race at times where I can feel like certain people are not worth helping and it seems pointless/foolish to try.

I realize no one needs my negative energies being forwarded. I just don’t now why, that when it comes down to it, so much of what we do with our times and lives just does not seem to matter. Things like killings and assassinations happen and you just want to live under a rock and never enter the world again. And even when you’re just trying to live your peaceful and quiet life you still have to deal with a s***** world that’s too much.

Okay I know I’m being hopeless. This too shall pass and people will forget and we’ll eventually bounce back and we will keep moving on, as Jesus promised, with our lives.

Arya and I were in group together today. I like it so much better when there are other students there. She and Alexis are close friends. I do feel kind of silly driving past them in my minivan when we get out of our Monday or Wednesday class. I truly do not like having to walk to my car after classes or in-between Tuesday ones, especially once it gets cold and totally dark. It definitely does not have the same safer feel as Lincoln.

After group we went up for the processing that actually took almost the full hour this time. Arya stays at Thrive for a full 8 hours. I have no idea how she does it, the boredom and loneliness were way too much. We went back downstairs and I showed her how to chart group. We searched through the cabinet for one of the patient files.

The news was particularly awful today. They even mentioned things in class and we were let out a half hour early. Not because of the news but because there was nothing more to talk about. I walked to the car alone again and was glad to be going back home. I just wanted to be with my family and somewhere I could ride out the building wave of emotion. The news and the people affected me more this time for whatever reason.

The house is quieter these days. I have never in my life, since my memories began, lived in a house that was not busy and full of people. Maybe I’m missing an exception somewhere. But overall the point stands. The big kids are even bigger and the little kids do not exist anymore. People have joked about being a grandma and I think I can see why people think it’s so wonderful. I will not have a special name. I’ll just be grandma.

It makes me laugh out loud to type it. I’ve got my schedule figured out where I at least have Tuesday mornings off for homeschool time. Instead of history this year my son is working on Geography. I stole the idea from the Classical Conversations handbook that I had momentarily where the 7th graders are tasked with labeling everything continent, country, and capital along with rivers, oceans, and lakes. At the end of the year they are supposed to draw a map of the world.

So I already had a geography book for him to use. It only has the maps and the names of whatever you’re supposed to label. It does not provide a picture where things are already filled in. So we went country by country through Eastern Europe. I always thought I was good at geography. But I didn’t know where the Danube River was or Albania or Serbia. It’s so crazy to think I’ll probably never even set eyes on these places.

The last thing he said to me on Wednesday was something like, “On Monday I will have time to train you.” So I showed up in the morning thinking that might be what was going to happen but also understanding that things can change. I walked in and he asked if I had my tax papers, which I did, but I wanted to talk to him about that first. He said he wanted to talk to me about that too, that doing the 1099 is going to be a better deal.

The 1099 is the form we fill out to get paid for the clinical work. I haven’t been getting paid for that because 1) I wasn’t seeing enough people to make the paperwork hassle seem worth it, and 2) It doesn’t feel right to be getting paid for what doesn’t feel like all that much work. The balance is still very heavy in his direction where he is the one giving and I am the one, from my perspective, already being paid just from being there.

(I didn’t say that)

So now I don’t have to worry about desk work because he hired an 18-year old nursing student who used to work for him two years ago. She is apparently brilliant and very organized. So that was a relief to me because the whole thing was causing me too much anxiety. Yes I could’ve learned it, but in the meantime I will just focus on not slacking and developing better habits with the Compulink software and the charting processes.

Because at some point I’m not going to have the student excuse. So instead of learning how to do daily reports I brought up my issues, which basically went fine until I brought up the Buddha heads. I had not felt self-conscious about it until I was in there with another Christian. If the downstairs room is going to be my office, how much freedom do I have in arranging or changing the decor? I have a Bible verse wall art piece in mind.

That’ll have to be a talk for another day if it comes to that. So I went downstairs and waited for the client who I realized at seven minutes past the hour had sent me a text on Thursday saying she was going to have to reschedule her Monday appointment. How I missed that, how I can’t seem to get it right no matter how much I try to change and try…So for 50ish minutes until the next person I took notes while researching DBT.