Healthcare

We Always Need Our Moms

First, before going too far, I want to wish everyone a very happy Mother’s Day. Being recognized once a year is not nearly enough. Being a mom is a 24/7, 365 days a year job.

Speaking from the standpoint of someone who grew up an only child, I may be a little biased. My mom was the most important person in the world to me. She was my everything, my best friend, my cheerleader and my comforter. I swear she could make anything in life better. Was she perfect? No. I didn’t expect her to be.

We would go on trips and even as I went through college, she would sing Girl Scout songs in the car the entire way. That alternated with the Beatles, so overall it was a good exposure to music appreciation. At least that’s what I always thought and still do.

She was an amazing cook when I was younger. As I got older I discovered that either my taste-buds weren’t fully developed, OR she was losing her knack for making everything taste good. She was the only person that I had ever seen put baking soda in spaghetti sauce. P.S. I would NOT recommend doing that. It tastes absolutely disgusting but makes for good stories years down the road.

As a teacher in a one-room school when I started Kindergarten, she was my teacher through second grade. Some days it felt like I had to be the luckiest kid on the face of the earth and others it seemed like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Mom and teacher could be a little much to handle sometimes. But I wouldn’t have traded that experience for anything.

Our house burned down when I was five. My sixth sense saved us as we went to visit friends, literally minutes before our house was engulfed in flames and collapsed. It was then that I learned what really mattered in life. It wasn’t the material possessions. We were both alive and that was all that was important. It was one of the worst experiences of my life, yet she managed to help me get through it, while I helped her.

She had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when I was in High School. My invincible mother suddenly was losing her magic touch. Changing more into a caregiver and less into the one being cared for was a difficult transition. Moms aren’t supposed to get sick. They are supposed to have super human powers or at least we grow up thinking that.

In 2010, once again I helped her. She had a surgery that ultimately ended up with her on life support, clinging by a thread. For two weeks, I did everything in my power to will her back. The first night in ICU, I watched the defibrillator used on her. Being a nurse is one thing but being a daughter who knows exactly what is going on is heart-wrenching. Separating out the nurse and the daughter roles were the only way I knew how to focus.

Ultimately, we lost the battle. She was finally free, and, in that sense, we won. No longer dealing with a disease that ultimately would have beaten her at some point, the invisible ropes tying her with so many symptoms were gone.

Although the hardest time in my life was the final few moments, knowing that she had already gone. It was just a shell that remained. My superhero disguised as a mom was no longer here.

What I’ve discovered in the past seven and a half years continues to get me through each time that I want her here with me. Our mothers live in our hearts long after they have passed. We are a part of them and always will be. There are signs everywhere that give me every reason to know that she never left my side. Why? Because believing in something is better than having no hope.

We always need our moms, no matter how old we are. Happy Mother’s Day to the best mom that ever walked this earth..

If Roses grow in Heaven
Lord, please pick a bunch for me.
Place them in my Mother’s arms
and tell her they’re from me.

Tell her that I love her and miss her,
and when she turns to smile,
place a kiss upon her cheek
and hold her for a while.

Because remembering her is easy,
I do it every day,
but there’s an ache within my heart
that will never go away.

– Unknown Author

 roses

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holiday

Easter Whimsy

When was the last time that you received an Easter Basket or went hunting for eggs? For me it was probably in fourth or fifth grade, at least when the whimsy was still there. So, it’s been quite a few years for me and most likely you too.

Yesterday we had friends that came to spend the night. As supper was finishing up, my husband and I were told that there was an Easter basket hidden for each of us in our yard, along with 48 eggs. The challenge: find your basket and then go after the eggs. If you found the other person’s basket and said something, then you were done.

I must admit that after everything that has gone on the past few months, this was a really nice surprise. Off we went, and that whimsical feeling returned. Suddenly I remembered how exciting it was to try to get the most eggs and see what was in my basket. Admittedly, the baskets were filled with much different items than when we were kids. My husbands–a flashlight, beer, a bottle holder and a lot of candy. Mine contained a spatula, candy, large chocolate rabbit and the best thing of all, was a small, wooden sign. It read, “Swearing because sometimes gosh darn and meanie head just don’t cover it.” That is appropriate here.

We did find all 48 eggs and probably could have a sugar high for at least a week. It wasn’t the material items that made the magic. It was getting to feel like a kid again. Imagining racing for the eggs before anyone else could get them. The memories and getting to reminisce on the age of innocence; that was precious. We needed a dose of childhood again.

Being an adult has its perks but so does being a child. For thirty minutes yesterday, we got to be children again and it was delightful. We also happen to have quite a few rabbits running around here. Last week I was mentioning that ‘Peter Cottontail’ and four of his friends were running laps around a bush in our yard.

For a child, it is moments like these that we remember; also, for adults. We all need to take time to enjoy the view from the youngest generation. There is plenty of time to be an adult…

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Healthcare

Quilting Medicine

Each day as I gaze across the room, I smile at a picture of a quilt. That may be seemingly simple, but to me it is beauty in every meaning of the word. The following quote is next to the picture.

“Families are like quilts,

lives pieced together,

stitched with smiles and tears,

colored with memories,

and bound with love”

That quote may seem simple to some but is so meaningful on a lot of levels for me. A family isn’t just born. Everyone has a different relationship, interacts with others slightly different and naturally finds that perfect mix of people. Events in our lives change the shape of families but love always takes precedence.

As someone who quilts, truer words have never been written. There is something about how precise each cut of fabric must be. The precision of sewing each seam and having a work of art come together right in front of your eyes.

The other day as I was working on a quilt, I was pondering the quote. It struck me how easily this could also be applied to healthcare and medicine. The precise cuts for each square or border can be compared to a surgeon making opening incisions for an operation.

Healthcare truly is a work of art. It may not seem like it many days, but a very large majority of the caregiver population, truly love the profession that they have chosen. I know that choosing nursing was something that I always wanted to do. There was never a doubt in my mind.

The process that takes place when a provider is assessing us, providing a treatment plan and follow-up recommendations can be compared to sewing a quilt together. All the pieces must be in place before it can be completed.

Many times, there are issues with our healthcare or health status and we are forced to take a step backwards or several. The same is done with a missed stitch or crooked seam on a quilt. Until the other day, I never had thought of healthcare this way. It is true though. Look at a quilt or blanket on your bed. The intricacies and character.

This takes us right back to “lives pieced together.” Every member of our family will eventually have an encounter with the healthcare community. Losing a portion of that quilt can be earth shattering. Then we are forced to pick up the pieces and move on, figuring out life once again.

quilt flowers