My Bootsy - Your Nurse

I stood with you today. 

I stood silently next to your bed and watched you as you tried to process the devastating words, “I’m sorry. There’s no heartbeat.” 

I moved you to a room away from the cries of babies being born. 

I held you up as you labored and encouraged you when you said you couldn’t do it anymore. 

I held your hand as you delivered your beloved child. 

I spoke words of support as you did what you never thought you would have to do. 

I sat quietly with you as you held your baby for the first and last time. 

I ached for you as the tears streamed down your face in heartbreaking grief. 

I watched the Father struggle to be a part of this woman’s work and try to be strong for his partner, all the while fighting back his tears and grief. 

I captured moments some never wanted to remember, and some never wanted to forget. 

I carefully chose the tiny gown, hat and crocheted blanket lovingly knitted just for your baby - pieces that represented your heart, bruised and broken. 

I gently imprinted your love’s handprints and footprints into the soft clay plaque so you would have something tangible to remember them by. 

I did all of this with a reverence for the journey I was on with you. 

I sat on the edge of your bed as I handed you the pictures of your baby which brought on a fresh wave of tears. 

I gently handed you the death certificate for you to sign and gave you time to do the unthinkable. 

I carefully observed your face as you stared at the pen because to see it in black and white was a brutal reminder of all you lost. 

I slowly helped you into the wheelchair and took you to the entrance of the hospital - the same door you came in through with hopes and dreams. 

I saw the hesitation cross your face as you climbed into the car. Terrified to leave for all you would have to face at home, yet too painful to stay in the place where you lost something so precious. 

I hugged you and reminded you to take care of yourself; to seek the support you would need. 

After you left, I turned to make my way back into the hospital.

You didn’t see me find the nearest bathroom and lock myself inside. 

You didn’t hear my muffled crying. 

You see, I was your Nurse. 

I see you, sweet Mama. 

I see you.

Grief and loss is something that all people will experience in their lifetime. The loss may be actual or perceived and is the absence of something that was valued. Nurses may experience this personally, or they may need to be the support system for patients and their families going through grief and loss. It is the nurse's role to provide compassionate care to their patient and loved ones, and this care will be different from person-to-person. It is also important for the nurse to maintain emotional resiliency, so they are able to provide the best care for those grieving.

It is important for the nurse to assist the patient and loved ones in their coping with their grief to include anticipatory grief. Educating them on what is expected to include the stages of grief and what are some normal feelings as well as what are some resources to help adjust to this loss they are experiencing.

But who is doing this for the nurses themselves?

When you work in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), patient lose is part of the job. Bootsy is a NICU nurse. Part of her job is to focus on the needs of the dying and their families setting aside her own feelings in order to tend to theirs, it comes with the territory. In this, losing patients would become almost normal, the cycle of life and death, and part of her job, but in her heart of hearts she knows that it is all affecting her in ways she may not be able or willing to acknowledge.

Still, Bootsy does her duty as a nurse, comes home to tend to her family, and tries not to think about the toll that so much grief may be taking on her.

To break down is not an option, I would guess, I don't know, I'm not a nurse - a nurse in the NICU. But, on the other hand, you have to allow yourself to be human. When losing a patient gets to my nurse, she will use coworkers to vent and to lean on. I see very little of this at home. Most settings in this modern world don't encourage outward grieving. Not even between a man and his Bootsy, when he could never begin to understand the process.

So for all you do for the community, and for what you bring in making our house a home...

I see you, sweet Bootsy.

I see you.

Life With a World Class Athlete.

"Grief never ends but it changes. It's a passage not a place. Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith. It's the price of love." - Unknown

There are many memories that seemingly sneak up on me. But as of late, his memory has been especially present, his absence painful. The fact is  - I miss him. If you choose to read the enclosed, which is from early 2011, you may learn something about me, and what we, meant to one another. Who should NOT read: people who think 3 years is too long to write about lose, love and the missing of a loved one; anyone who thinks this type of exercise would be viewed as 'living in the past' by revisiting writings from long ago; and those who believe one should simply rise from the ashes in some kind of lost love resurrection. A phoenix I've never claimed to be.

My training partner is tireless, never grumbles, never heads home early and always beats me in a sprint across the park. Born with a marathoner's heart, he can run all day. Of course I can whip him on the bike and in the pool, but I have to admit I have an unfair advantage. His little legs don't quite reach the pedals and his Siberian breeding means that he never really wanted to learn how to swim. 

When I first met Butch, he was a skinny little pup with ears and paws way to big for his fluffy little body. He quickly won me over with his piercing blue eyes and his endless puppy kisses. Watching him over the years, I have realized something: We human athletes just might have it all wrong. Our canine friends may hold the secret to health, happiness and optimal endurance training.

I have never seen anyone as excited to get up for a morning run as Butch. Being a dog, his life is pretty routine: run, eat, sleep, chew on stuff, eat, sleep and so on. But Butch bounds out of bed like there is no end to the wonderful possibilities that might be in store for the day. Like humans, dogs crave the structure of a daily routine, but in Butch's mind, every day is a potential lottery-winning day.

Dogs have an instinctual need to exercise every day; otherwise they become destructive and antisocial. I find it hard to believe that humans have evolved so much that this doesn't apply to us as well. Many of us have just become better at suppressing the instinct.

Butch treats his exercise sessions like a reward. All day he looks forward to the time when he can go running and he takes full advantage of every minute outdoors. He runs and plays hard and then he stops when he's tired. It may be simplistic, but there are worse models which to base your training program. Too often training becomes a chore rather than a reward. If only we could re-frame in our mind the idea that the track workout is really just a giant game of tag and a chance to run around outside with our friends.

If Butch had a motto, it would be, "Run long; nap often." Dogs don't have coffee or deadlines and responsibilities; their days are instead dictated by their internal clock and therefore are more in tune with their bodily needs. When Butch is tired, he doesn't grab a latte and keep plugging away. He flops on his rug and takes a nap, belly exposed and feet twitching as he dreams of chasing squirrels. It's not always feasible at the office, but if you have the choice between a quick nap and a double shot, take the nap.

If there is one thing that dogs have mastered, it is nutrition. After every run Butch diligently laps up a few ounces of H2O, in keeping with his instinctual need for hydration. And every time we return from a run, without fail he trots past his food bowl to make sure no one has secretly slipped in a treat while he was away. No one taught dogs about the glycogen window, but millions of years of "eat or be eaten" still resides in the mind of even the most complacent dog. Of course, he is not the choosiest eater, outside of what he is supposed to eat, he chows down anything that looks delicious only to barfs it up in the back yard an hour later. So perhaps we should use caution with the eat-like-a-dog example.

While many may think of dogs as impulsive, haphazard trainers, they actually demonstrate in their daily lives the components of a complete training regime: endurance, speed, agility and even mental skills.

Dogs seem to have an inexhaustible and innate optimism toward life from which human athletes could benefit. Even though he was not breed for smarts, Butch still chases after the cute whippet at the dog park. He won't ever catch her, but he never stops trying. Hierarchies exist within packs of dogs that may seem arbitrary from the outside. Sometimes the Chawawa rules over the Great Dane with an iron fist. So go chase that greyhound, even if you feel like you're more of a St. Bernard. Sometimes the race doesn't always go to the fastest dog but rather the one that just keeps on running.

This time of year I often reflect on the things, large and small, I feel are in need of change or the things that are important to me. There are times or occasions in life that ask me to ponder things such as "the hourglass turning now into the past". These occasions can pull at the fibers of who I am, even though it's part of life itself.

There are few things impacting my daily life that don't leave me with second thoughts. Trust me when I say Butch has an impact on my daily life. But he may be one of the only things that has never left me second guessing. Never! Not once! Now he has the ability to anger me, don't get me wrong. But every day as he nudges me with that wet nose or cuts me with those piercing blue eyes, everyday is better because he is around.

As Butch begins to show age, I have had to limit his long runs. About an hour best suits his body where he at one time was running as long as 2.5 hours or up to 18 miles. Seeing his bodies need to slow down pulls at my heart, but his spirit has never wavered. His endless zest for life is still intact.

In the end Butch is a dog. What I mean by that is, in the grand scheme of things his role in my life is relatively small. This has brought into focus the fact that I to often let the little things in life be over shadowed by life itself. So thank you Butch for yet another life lesson learned.

Well got to go…Someone is resting his head on my knee. It must be time to head out the door. 

I love to take photographs. While it can be hard to organize photos, it can be joy-filled to fish through them in an effort to categorize or frame them to remember those lost. I find it soothing to "see" them each time I walk past and sometimes I stop to take a closer look.