Mixed Emotions

I was a young girl in my early 20s and had just graduated nursing school. I had just finished interviewing for my first nursing job at the hospital I had worked at for the last four years as a Certified Nursing Assistant. I had verbally accepted the job and was just waiting to sign the official paper work. And then I decided I was going to move. I was filled with exhilaration. Looking back on that time in my life nearly 11 years ago I can safely say I was running. I was running from familiarity. I got on the plane, to my parents dismay and concern, needing to spread my wings and find myself on my own terms. And because of that there was little sadness, mostly excitement. Of course I missed my family but there was something about figuring life out on my own, not in arms reach of anyone I knew or loved, that drove and forced me to be quite independent and self sufficient.

Over the last several months my husband has been interviewing for jobs. They have taken him all over the country, to nearly every corner except the corner of my beloved Pacific Northwest. When he started down this path into this sub-specialty we knew that jobs would be limited and so would limit where we went next. I have enjoyed the last three years of having time with my family, knowing that we would likely be saying good bye again. This time though it is definitely harder. This time I am not leaving on my own terms but rather the job's terms. The prospect of new beginnings is very exciting and saddening. It means this chapter is coming to an end. The weekend visits with the family on a whim will no longer be possible. Summers spent at the lake at the family property will not be something my children will grow up knowing as I did. Our little family of four will make new memories wherever we go and will certainly make the best of our next city but I can't deny that it is weighing on my heart to leave this beautiful state but most importantly my family.

Salty and Sweet

I come from a long line of chip mongers. My grandpa, mom and I can sit around and visit over a bag of chips....or three. We don't discriminate when it comes to the deliciously salty snacks. We love them all. Plain, BBQ, Cheese Doritos and thanks to Lays (and my sister-in-law for introducing them) mom and my new addiction, Dill Pickle! If I'm being perfectly honest it was probably even the first food I ate and my first word (OK not really but you get what I'm saying). For years I didn't keep chips in my house because my will power seems to weaken when I know they are around. But when you throw kids into the equation things change.

When it comes to sweets I can take them or leave them. I enjoy a good piece of dark chocolate every once in a while or a few peanut butter m&ms but really they just sit and collect dust. Well they used to, that is, until I met my husband. I'm fairly confident that if you were to check his DNA you would see a piece of chocolate in there. As long as my family history of chip eaters is, his family history of chocolate eaters may be even longer. I remember the first time I met his late grandmother. I loved her as soon as I met her. She reminded me so much of my grandma-great. Even in her late 80's my husband's grandma could recall every one of her 80+ grandchildren (they have an impressively large family) and their birth dates. Like my grandma-great, I could sit and listen to her recount her many years as she lead a very fascinating life. And her first story she ever told me was when she would sew clothes for the people in her village she would always keep three pieces of chocolate near her, every day, to eat while she sewed. And so it was then that I knew it was definitely genetic.

I'll never forget one day in the ICU one of our Cardiac surgeons brought in a huge box of one of the local, favorite doughnut shop doughnuts. We chided the doctor about a Cardiac surgeon feeding the nurses doughnuts, to which he replied "job security" and then laughed and walked off. It was often a running joke to those that visited us about my husband's "chocolate cupboard." From the time we were married we have had an entire shelf designated for his chocolate stash. Everyone would joke about the future cardiac surgeon with the chocolate cupboard. There were all kinds of chocolate from milk to the darkest of dark chocolates. We had Cadbury (his personal favorite), Lindt, Belgian, Swiss. It was like a world tour of chocolate in our cupboard.

Well they do say chocolate is good for the heart right?

Since we will be moving in three short months our chocolate cupboard, that has come to be loved by all of our visitors, has started to dwindled down a lot. Not to be replaced. Wherever we go next though I am confident that when our visitors come they will be pleasantly surprised to see a well stocked chocolate cupboard again......

Quiet Moments

In the early years of formal residencies physicians would reside in the hospital and that is where the name originated from. Over the course of time that has changed. Although, sometimes it feels like it is still in that era.

It was a huge adjustment for us when we moved for my husbands Cardiothoracic Surgery residency. The biggest adjustment was for our son. Though General Surgery kept my husband very busy he still had one-on-one time with our son. Back then I used to work night shift on the nights he wasn't on call. I would make them dinner and head to work leaving them to their bonding time. When we moved here however he got very little time with his daddy. It took a little while but our son and I found our own routine and enjoyed our days together. It became painfully obvious one day when my husband got called back to the city for a transplant on his weekend off.

We decided to drop him off at the hospital when we got back to town so our son and I could have the car to run some errands. As we pulled up to the hospital my son utters from the back seat, in his quiet little voice "is daddy's visit over now? We have to take him back to his home." My husband looked at me and all I could do was shrug. They say children speak the truth. Their inhibition and honest thoughts come sputtering out of their mouths without a second thought. And so there it was, out on the table. He viewed the hospital as my husbands home because that was where he spent 98% of his time during those two years.

After that little comment we decided we needed to make an effort so that he could still see his daddy some nights, no matter the time. There were days I would give him a late afternoon nap so that he would be awake at 10 or 11 at night when my husband would get home. And then there were the more special nights. Nights when he would be woken up by his daddy's touch and offered ice cream and a late night visit. One night I captured a picture of the two of them sharing this moment together. My husband asked how his day was and he sleepily rambled off our activities. And then he would ask his daddy if he helped anyone that day. To which my husband would tell him how his day was and what he did. I am quite confident that the medical terminology and procedures went right over his little head but he sat there in his daddy's lap and soaked up every single word that he said.

It was in these quiet moments that I realized that it would be OK and, as long as we made the effort life wouldn't be missed by either of them.