2016

           It’s hard to believe 2016 has come and gone; it seems like just last week I was starting my Spring 2016 semester but now am getting ready to begin my Spring 2017 semester, which is crazy! Honestly, I think 2016 just might’ve been the toughest year for me; spending two weeks in the Cleveland Clinic after almost being killed by fluid overload and refeeding syndrome as well as infection, having to drop out of my semester and almost not finishing the last semester, four months at COPE fighting for my life and countless hospitalizations after near death experiences left me weary and exhausted, wondering if things could ever get better.

    

          For the first time in almost three years, I was home for Christmas, so I wanted to make it really special. Instead of stocking stuffers, I decided to make candy: I made buckeyes, chocolate covered Oreos, chocolate covered strawberries, Reese’s trees, Oreo balls, mint Oreo balls and red velvet Oreo balls, as well as chocolate candy cane pops. I also made “Grinch hats” for watching “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”, which we never then watched but ended up watching “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” instead, which was hilarious! Everyone loved the candy and it looked so festive, which made me excited! We had a nice dinner together and then opened gifts; I got a gorgeous ring which I am in love with, as well as charms for my locket; my favorite is a crown reminding me I am a Princess, as well as a cupcake which I am obsessed with. I also got a warm sweater, framed picture and glitter Starbucks tumbler. We had such a blast opening gifts and just loving each other and then watched “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation”; I bought everyone their own mug, which they then filled with warm, fresh-brewed coffee as we snuggled in cozy blankets. All in all, it was definitely one of my favorite Christmases; I just love holidays!

           2016 has been brutal, and at times we didn’t know if I would make it through, but God spared my life countless times and I am pleased to announce I am doing well. I found a new dietitian after my stay at the Cleveland Clinic for kidney failure and she has been such a blessing! She gave me a new meal plan, which at first I said I would never follow since it seemed far too excessive, but have been trying my hardest for three days now and couldn’t be more proud, plus I feel a hundred times better! God is good! I also got a new adult doctor, who I absolutely adore! Last week we discussed options for treatment, which really motivated me to “kick it into gear” and get serious about recovery; it has been hard but SO rewarding!

           This semester in college I am doing my preceptorship; I applied for Akron Children’s but still haven’t heard back so am hoping to hear within the next week. I am SO excited to be really getting a hands on approach and get a feel for what it’s really like to be a nurse!

Weddings and Dreams

“The reason why many are still troubled, still seeking, still making little forward progress is because they haven't yet come to the end of themselves. We're still trying to give orders, and interfering with God's work within us" (A W Tozer).

Why does life have to be so hard? I remember the day I got the letter asking me to be a bridesmaid in my best friend’s wedding; I let out a huge scream of joy after reading those words—that I was to be a bridesmaid for the very first time in my life. I remember planning the special day with my best friend and even starting a secret wedding board to organize all of our ideas, since this is, after all, the happiest day in a woman’s life. I remember sitting in a coffee shop as we discussed the bridesmaid dresses and other wedding details, with the excitement rising. Since the bride was in the middle of her most intense nursing semester and I had taken off due to medical reasons, I helped her the best I could and spent a lot of time on Pinterest, pinning ideas for the special day. I remember meeting the rest of the bridesmaids at Applebee’s for the first time, discussing wedding details and getting to know each other. I volunteered myself to help the maid of honor plan the bridal shower and baccalaureate party, as well as help in any other way possible since I had so much time on my hands due to taking the semester off; as we began to plan, sitting at a corner table in Starbuck’s, watching the rain pour, we instantly became close friends & had the majority of the shower planned within an hour. Pinterest was our saving grace, as we could each see each other’s pins & get neat ideas to throw the bride her dream shower. Many months were spent planning this shower and as each day passed, I grew more excited for the special day. I remember shopping for all the bridal shower decorations and supplies with the maid of honor; I had my organized list of items to purchase, as well as the budget to stick to, and we went up and down every aisle, anxiously searching for each item. For months we gathered decorations and supplies and stored them at the maid of honor’s cute apartment; as the items kept increasing and the budget decreasing, the vision of a beautiful pink, white & grey shower became increasingly more real. I spent many days dreaming about the shower, wondering how I could make it more special for my best friend and everything she’d ever dreamed. After we finally decided on a venue and checked it out, familiarizing ourselves with the layout, all the pieces started to come together. Everything was going smoothly, except for my health; one of my greatest weaknesses is serving so much that I neglect my own needs, and this was certainly no exception. As I spent weeks on end in the hospital, my health only continued to decrease and we finally decided I could no longer fight on my own and decided I’d go to an inpatient facility. Days later I boarded a plane headed across the world—my new home for the next ten weeks, at the least. I was determined, above all things, to reach my goal weight in time for the wedding, which was about 9 weeks away; I told my treatment team my plan & embarked on the hardest journey of my life—weight restoration. I never thought I’d be asking for MORE food, but was desperate to hasten the process and reach my goal; weeks upon weeks of eating thousands of calories and feeling as if my stomach would explode from the entrance of one more calorie let me exhausted but determined to reach my goal. After nine long, miserable weeks, I did reach my goal weight; I told God that if I reached my goal weight the next day, which they thought was impossible, it would be a sign that I should go to the wedding; well, I did indeed reach it the next day and was convinced that God wanted me to go to the wedding, despite the rising concerns around me. I was determined to make the wedding—the day I’d been dreaming of for weeks upon end, and nothing was going to stop me! However, my body didn’t agree with me and the experts advised me to stay longer, since I still hadn’t reached maintenance calories & was dropping weight as they decreased; however, I was still determined to make the wedding, regardless of what the experts said, and told my team I’d be leaving later that week, regardless of what they advised. However, after calling my amazing therapist and listening to the warnings of others, something no longer seemed right and I no longer had a peace about leaving. After many tears, sobbing, anger, and frustration, I decided to give up the wedding—the day I’d been planning and working so hard to reach—in order to restore my health. Some things just don’t seem fair; why would God ask me to give up something so important to me? Maybe it was because the wedding had become my idol and there was no more room for God; I was so determined to make the wedding that nothing else mattered. So, as I gave up my greatest desires, I dethroned my idol and made room for God to abide. Now, as I see pictures of the day I fought so hard to attend, my heart is filled with sadness and grief; sadness I couldn’t be there, at my best friend’s side, as she married the man of her dreams. I know God sometimes calls us to do hard things, but never did I expect it to be this hard. I’m hoping beauty will come out of this pain, because now it hurts more than words. 

The Thorn in My Flesh

“I am forever engaged in a silent battle in my head over whether or not to lift the fork to my mouth, and when I talk myself into doing so, I taste only shame. I have an eating disorder” (Jena Morrow, “Hollow: An unpolished tale).

I sit here in complete confusion, wondering how I let myself get this low again. As I look at the IV in my left forearm, feeling the intense burning of a high concentration of potassium diluted IV fluid flowing into my shriveled veins and looking at the monitor showing each beat of my overlooked and abused heart through the five leads placed on my chest, I wonder how I could do this to myself once again? My mind had forgotten the tormenting and nearly unbearable pain re-feeding requires—there’s no way around it, as hard as I may try. Extreme bloating, a desiccated stomach now stretched to its limits, stomach pains from a body so used to starvation and unsure of what to do with the now foreign food, orthostatic hypotension (blood pressure drop and subsequent heart rate increase upon standing up), constipation, and infinitely more complications overwhelm my frail body. Why would I do this to myself after knowing from previous experience the absolute torture called re-feeding? The torture doesn’t end there, as it’s not only a physical battle but also emotional. Raising the fork to eat seems far beyond my ability as I glare at the food with eyes that could pierce through the strongest tower, thoughts race through my mind reminding me I’ve failed to meet my (ED’s) goal which only increases in unrealistic expectations, forcing myself to swallow seems impossible yet I have to do it—there’s no other choice but a NG (nasogastric) tube forced down my throat directly into my stomach. Why does food—even the very thought—bring such engrossing fear to my emaciated body? Why does the sensation of piercing hunger pains and the feeling of razor sharp bones piercing through the paper thin layer of skin bring satisfaction to my twisted mind?  I see the doctors pacing the floor and the nurses pushing carts with electronic health records, reminding me I am safe—I don’t have to count every calorie, plan every meal with absolute perfection, or measure each ounce to the tiniest mill equivalent because it’s all done for me; all I have to do is eat, which seems to be the hardest part far beyond my own insufficient power. How did I get here, in this prison once called home—hooked up to innumerous cords and wires camouflaging my wasted body?

Monday morning, I awoke with excitement to turn twenty-one years old, but this excitement was superficial and short-lived after recalling I had yet to get through an exhaustive nursing exam. Days upon end had been spent studying for this comprehensive exam yet I felt as if I’d learned nothing—my malnourished mind failed to retain the information to its optimal ability since I failed to feed it for days upon end. How much more of a hypocrite could I be: instructing patients to take care of themselves, therefore promoting optimal health, while at the same time intently abandoning and even compromising my own health? Once the test was done, I could finally breathe—the crippling stress once sucking the life from within me now vanished. There was one more thing I had to do before celebrating my long-anticipated twenty-first birthday: see the doctor for a physical exam. Due to the constant stress of nursing school as well as tightly-gripped perfectionism and perpetual sickness from a compromised immune system, I have lost a significant and absolutely unhealthy amount of weight, which has consistently only kept dropping; to help me gain back the weight, which is further compromised by a history of severe anorexia nervosa, I have been seeing a primary physician and dietitian weekly but setbacks seem more prominent then progress. After my vitals were recorded and my weight confirmed, the doctor entered the room with a sense of urgent alarm encompassing her voice as well as expression: I’d lost even more weight, which seemed to be the continuous trend we’d been trying to avoid. After admitting my anorexic behaviors, I agreed to hospitalization since I so obviously needed help, for gaining weight was too much for my weak and vulnerable mind to embrace. As much as I wanted to celebrate my birthday, I knew my health was far more important and undeniably at risk. Immediately after I agreed, a room was prepared and all plans cancelled; memories of the past flooded my mind as I relived a past far too abominable for this world to ever know—a past devoted to the demon of anorexia nervosa residing within my vulnerable body. Upon entering the hospital room I’d call home for the next five days and reliving countless hospital admissions in that very room (or at least nearby, within the very same hospital), shame gripped my heart and fear overwhelmed me: I’d have to face head on the excruciating pain, both physical and emotional, of re-feeding once again and the absolute shame accompanying my condition. After being asked an illimitable amount of questions, I was admitted, for the first time in over two years, for the life-threatening disease of anorexia nervosa—the thorn in my flesh. Immediately, an IV was inserted into my truncated veins and blood was drawn to determine the exact extent of harm I’d inflicted; IV fluid was immediately hooked up and administered at a maximum pace to get some form of nutrition into my malnourished and dehydrated body. Once a steady infusion was being administered, a dietitian was sent to see me in order to promote adequate food intake by allowing me to partake in meal planning (undeniably my least favorite thing to do); the dietitian entered with a set format for each of the six meals required daily and gave me a menu to pick what I wanted to meet each requirement. My eyes, filled with adamant fear, glared straight through the menu and my mind whirled with anorexic thoughts as each food choice overwhelmed by compromised mind—why was this such torture? After managing to plan a day’s worth of meals, she decided to come back the next day since I was so obviously vanquished (mentally defeated).

Once the results of the blood test came back, I was confirmed severely hypokalemic with a serum concentration of 2.0 (the minimum range for survival is 3.5), as well as deficient of all other electrolytes. Extremely alarmed, the doctors decided to perform an EKG to evaluate my heart rhythm since it was very possible for an arrhythmia to be present, not to mention cease to beat since electrolytes are required to reside within a very small inflexible range for survival. The EKG came back positive for arrhythmia, so a Holter monitor was ordered to constantly monitor my heart rhythm, allowing for quick detection of any further abnormalities. Upon re-feeding, a dangerous heart rhythm began to appear on the screen and the doctor rushed into my room with alarm covering her face; my heart rhythm was severely abnormal, forming a nearly flat line which further indicated a compromised ability to pump blood to the rest of the body, which was also confirmed through decreased vital signs and cyanosis (blue skin color). Potassium was ordered in the highest concentration allowed in an IV (causing an intense burning/throbbing pain in my arm, where the IV was infusing) but could only be administered at a rate of 80 ml/hr. due to my malnourished condition; I was then ordered to eat 2 bananas and threatened to be directly sent to ICU had I not. After plugging my nose, I managed to get both bananas down to then avoid admission into the Intensive Care Unit but anger and fear overwhelmed me at the thought of consuming two bananas more than my planned 2200 calorie diet required. The dietitian also required me to eat at least one “fun food” (to an anorexic, there’s nothing fun about them) a day, so a mini birthday cake was ordered for me to “enjoy”, or more like antagonize over Constant medicine, obtaining vital signs every four hours, as well as frequent blood draws have been only but a glimpse of my reality these past few days: confined to a bed and enclosed within four walls of prison. The nurses here are absolutely outstanding and leave me longing to be one of them. As a student nurse, I find myself closely evaluating every aspect of my care, well on top of why each aspect is performed/included as well as alert to any mistakes. It’s strange to be the patient rather than the provider, as I’ve gotten so used to caring for patients during clinical practice, so a part of me is going “stir crazy” within these four walls, longing to be released.

These past few weeks have been a roller coaster ride, leaving me on stress overload due to the fast approaching nursing finals. Stress seems to bring out the worse of anorexia, as I’ve struggled to force even a crumb into my mouth without all-consuming fear overtaking me. The more weight I lose, the harder it is to think straight, so school only seems to get harder thus adding more stress—creating an overwhelming downward spiral I can’t pull myself out of; indeed, I’ve tried but things only seem to get undeniably worse since the war is far beyond my own feeble strength. The devil attacks me with relentless aggression, leaving me desperately gasping for breath within the whirlwind of his lies—why me? Ever since I’ve agreed to publish my story, he attacks me with daggers far too sharp for this world to comprehend, leaving me near nonexistence. A part of me has been angry God would allow such aggression, pain, and temptation, but I know that there is a purpose for every aspect of it and I must lose sight of the shore before I can cross the ocean. Whether I like it or not, I have to swim with all my might, upheld with the right hand of the One who holds me up. 

In a Matter of Seconds

I’ll be honest…I’ve been running from God—running out of adamant anger & fear because I hate His plan; the inconceivable joy once inside me has vanished, with life-stealing perfectionism taking its rightful place. I know I shouldn’t, but a part of me is angry He’d call me to something so significantly over my head—then I hear His still small voice saying, “Chelsea, I have not called you to do this on your own; when you do, absolute frustrations and burn-out are well within your reach because you are not the exception, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself elsewise”. I’ll admit, I do like to think I am the exception to all the rules, as obvious in my quick return to competitive sports short after a seven hour spinal fusion and many other things I’ve so taken for granted; my stubborn will is my absolute downfall. As I see countless patients holding, indeed grasping desperately to the last speck of hope left, I question “Why me, God? What can I do?” As I devote all my time to studying yet my test scores seem to show elsewise due to the reality of many possible “correct” answers but only one chosen as the “most correct”, I wonder “Why even study?” Through today, as my life flashed before my very eyes, I am reminded that this life was not meant to be easy because if it were, there’d be no need for God; when life is comfortable & I feel I can get through it on my own nearly nonexistent strength, that’s when there’s a problem. God has not called me to live comfortably but instead recklessly devoted—yes, fully surrendered to Him.

God has strange ways of calling us back to Him but in all honesty, I don’t mind because at His feet is where I belong. This morning, as I prepared to receive my last required shot for clinical practice, never once did I anticipate what was about to happen. On my usual drive to the well-known Akron Children’s Hospital, the day seemed to be going smoothly—first red light that something must be wrong. It may have been pouring rain & utterly miserable outside, but I was used to these roads & thought nothing of it—just to be more alert. As I turned onto the last bend of the route I’ve worn a path on through my countless visits to Akron Children’s Hospital, it never occurred to me that I was about to literally leave my mark along this road. A huge semi with a flat bed and monstrous “backo” or “cherry-picker” strapped atop was diagonal to me in the other lane when before I knew it, he was crashing into my little and oh-so-faithful car Duke—the impact driving my head into the nearby window/dash where this truck & I had become one. The first thing that ran through my mind was, “No God, not now! I cannot afford to buy a new car with all of the skyrocketing nursing costs” & "I don't have time for this, but have to get home to finish my homework" (obviously oblivious to the fact He'd just spared my life); then fear overtook me as I’ve never been in an accident of any sort (aside from crashing our four-wheeler into a tree—oh yes, and the dreaded water pipe) and my family is literally thousands of miles away on vacation. Oh yes—and I was sitting along the dangerous streets of Akron, alone and vulnerable without any means of escape, and a large rough looking man heading my way. Shaking, I exited my car—the one he’d so effortlessly driven into & even atop the curb—with absolutely no idea what to do. I told him I’d never had anything like this happen before but I knew we needed to exchange information, so I got mine out & convinced him to do likewise; it was definitely no coincidence I’d stopped at Dollar General merely minutes prior to this event & happened to pick up a journal (ironically, on the cover it read, “Everything has beauty but not everyone sees it”) of which was now becoming drenched as I scribbled in the rain. He proceeded to tell me that his company had him working long hours & he had no idea where he was, so had been consistently looking for places to make a right hand turn in attempts to find a coffee shop—I guess this is what caused him to merge into my lane without any fore-warnings (I still wonder if he even looked since it happened so fast) and drive me into & above the curb just before a local business. After receiving my information and taking pictures of the car he’d trashed without any signs of concern, the man informed me he had to leave to deliver his equipment on time—I guess my health was the least of his concerns—and that I could drive my car home, despite the fact it was so obviously totaled. Knowing I couldn’t force him to stay and quite frankly being afraid to attempt to do so to such a large man, I somehow drove my car into the driveway following the curb he’d pushed me into/atop.  As I sat in the parking lot, alone in my un-drivable car with the rain pounding against us, all I could do was stare; once reality hit, I pulled out my cell phone and first dialed Akron Children’s Hospital to let them know I would be late, if not absent & why; as I explained what happened, tears welled up in my eyes as they calmly told me it’d be alright and that I should come to the Emergency Room to be checked out due to the hard impact, pounding headache and elevated abrasion covering my forehead—as much as I knew what may have been wrong, I refused to go by insisting I was fine & it was only a slight headache and bruise—after all, it couldn’t be that bad if I was able to walk. After hanging up, I proceeded to dial 911 for the first time in my life & began sobbing as they answered; I told them I’d like to report an accident & apologized for bursting into tears, after explaining I had no idea what to do, & they proceeded to ask where I was—the worst possible question for a person as bad with directions as I; I told them where I was, along with the local surroundings, & then waited…and waited for an officer to arrive. Upon waiting, I called the insurance agency & gave them the info I had, all the while sobbing yet again only to be comforted over the phone by the kind soul of an angel; she told me everything would be alright & said it wasn’t my fault (even though I was convinced elsewise)—that she’d do her best to take care of me. I could not have been more grateful for her inconceivable kindness—in fact, for everyone else’s throughout the day. Then I called my parents, despite the fact they were literally thousands of miles away, & began sobbing yet again as I told them the dreaded news...I'd been in my first accident; contrary to what I expected, they told me they were just glad I was ok & not to worry about the car--that it wasn't my fault. I am blessed with the absolute best family, who despite all of this informed me they were proud of my perseverance & taking responsibility, as well as just "being me". Upon hanging up, I then called my aunt, saying “You’ll never guess what just happened”—she guessed and so selflessly agreed to pick me up, since no one else was around, despite the fact she was in the middle of her work shift—yes, that’s how cool she is! As I put down the phone, noticing it’d been over thirty minutes since I’d dialed 911, a wild idea came to my mind: I knew very well where I was—merely several miles away from the place I’d once called my habitat for survival—so why not walk to this hospital & get my own cop? As I got all of my belongings out of my car, I locked it up & took off for my next adventure to Akron Children’s Hospital, alone & sopping wet along the streets of Akron—not my best move. As I power-walked along the side of the road, I came across an old African-American man (fear overtook me as I remembered where I was) who asked me how I was; I replied, “I’m alright—how are you?” only to hear him say “absolutely wonderful”; after rejoicing with him, I then said I was just in an accident & he so kindly said, “”Oh, that’s terrible; I am so sorry--that must have been traumatic” and that accidents happen all the time where it’d occurred. Once we parted ways, I walked through the ER doors of Akron Children’s Hospital & made my way to security to plead my case, only to be told they couldn’t help me. So, I ventured back into the pouring rain along the freshly trodden sidewalk, which seemed to only get longer as the seconds passed by. After arriving once again at my car, with no police in sight, I got in & started sobbing: how could anything else get worse? I decided to call 911 yet again, since there were no signs of any cops and my own attempt had fallen short—they immediately knew my crazy voice & said the cop hadn’t been able to find me, so I explained my surroundings yet again, since there was no address on the local building. Shortly afterward my exceedingly selfless aunt arrived, beckoning me into her heated vehicle with arms of love; seriously, at this moment a familiar face could not have been more needed! Being the go-getter that she is, my aunt courageously went into the building I’d been parked in front of, only to come back out with good news—there were people in there who could help! The owners/workers of this business absolutely overwhelmed us with hospitality and compassion, offering chairs & internet access as we waited—they even pulled up the “hit and run line” which we then called to once again report the accident as well as the information for the company the faulty driver worked for; shortly afterward, the kindest cop I’ve ever met arrived, making the experience even more beautiful—yes, I did say beautiful. As I gave him all the info I’d received, my aunt proceeded to call the company this man had been driving for in attempts to see if they knew his name; getting nothing out of them but the fact that he worked there & other things not worth repeating, I was left alone to write my “statement”; the cop was an absolute life-saver and without him, as well as my aunt and the kind business owners, I very well may have lost my sanity. The day ended alright & I even received several calls from Akron Children’s Hospital out of concern, reminding me yet again why I will always undoubtedly love this place! Akron Children’s Hospital—you will always hold a special place in my heart and for your unceasing kindness as well as quality care I will forever remain entirely grateful; one day I pray to do for others what you have done for me! And yes, I will be seeing you in a matter of hours, as I have agreed to come in (against my pride) to be checked out! “If God is for us, then what could ever stop us; if God is with us, then what can stand against?!”Through this all I am reminded that life truly is but a vapor & can disintegrate at any moment, so what am I living for? What really matters? If God has called me to a reckless life of abandon, even that being the medical field, then I will go because without Him I am nothing and entirely miserable. 

Searing Pain

I’ve been running, indeed relentlessly sprinting as far away from God’s call as possible because my failures and complete incompetence haunt me, mercilessly dragging me back into their deplorable depths of annihilation; the pain I’ve become accustomed to has left me consistently on edge, assured life is too good to be true amidst the absence of pain because, after all, we were once the best of friends and impenetrably intertwined. When the world came relentlessly crashing down upon my helpless being, the one thing that stuck by my side was pain; its presence was never absent among the torture called life. So, when all things are “fine and dandy”, so to speak, I tend to run away out of adamant fear—because pain is no longer my companion and protector. This all sounds so twisted and completely warped, I can only imagine, but to a girl who has known pain—especially that of rejection—all her life, it makes absolute sense. Pain never rejected her but remained the one constant in life—the one thing she could wholeheartedly count on to stand beside her. After hearing from a young age that I’d never amount to anything—as hard as I fought against it, these cruel and life-stealing words remained instilled within my shattered mind, overtaking each crevice so as to never let me forget these lies; why would the God of the Universe pursue me—the least of these—amidst the rest, I still question? I want so desperately to be loved and accepted despite my countless faults and incompetencies, and to know most of all that I am worthy of love, apart from the all-too-comforting presence of pain—but when these very things are within finger’s reach, with all of my strength I turn to run the opposite direction because it seems to be a trap and my heart is too fragile to trust again. Yes, my mind is twisted and undeniably wounded but that certainly doesn’t make life any less real. A life without pain scares me to death because it’s all I’ve ever known.

Nursing school has been the greatest blessing yet my worst nightmare all at the same time; saving lives and spreading joy is a dream come true but the unknown chasms awaiting me along with the cluelessness accompanying has become my worst nightmare. I’m the type of person who likes to have things “all planned out” and organized yet at the same time spontaneity is my middle name, which makes for an ever-present battle. Yes, I know I specialize in making life harder than what it truly is but in my opinion, the easy way is less appealing and absolutely terrifying.

Countless hours of studying leave me exhausted and repulsed because sitting still is the exact LAST thing I enjoy doing but it’s become reality, as much as I hate and run away from it. I know that one day it will all be worth it and time will once again make its long-lost appearance in my life but impatience overtakes my fallen being, leaving resentment only to fester within the depths of brokenness. Sacrificing a past and what I once hoped to be future committed to whole-hearted and hard-core fitness does not come easily but indeed each moment far exceeds excruciation; giving up everything I once counted on for the sake of truly living may be excruciating but it’s the only way—what I was created to do. The Christian walk is a constant battle—a roller coaster ride—but when I arm myself in the Armor of God, losing is not an option. The hardest part is giving up control—especially when risking rejection once again.

Once again, I’ve been fighting the battle of life on my own despite the fact I know it’s impossible and the mountain completely insurmountable on my own insufficient power; my sinful flesh takes over, convincing me God’s abounding grace and love are too good to be true—that pain is what I was created for. Some days I am too weak to fight back against these lies but when I am too weak to stand, God carries me and protects my nearly lifeless heart. My miniscule mind may never comprehend why He never ceases to pick me up right where I am and mend the shattered pieces into an image of beauty, but for now I will rest in the calm assurance that I do not need to know—that the unknown is a beautiful thing.

Confessions of a Broken Girl

Life can be so cruel yet I’ve come to realize that I am the cruelest one in it; my own expectations are unrealistic and completely unreachable yet I still gruesomely strain to attain these very things—but why? I fight against God even though I know for a fact His plans are far beyond my own feeble comprehension—why? The only person on this earth I can trust is the very One I most often neglect and fight against—why? Because debilitating fear has overtaken me—heartlessly wringing my neck out like a dish rag and leaving me helplessly gasping for breath. No, this most certainly does not sound pleasant and indeed, it is not—yet its reality. As I face two seemingly insurmountable mountains, exposing to the world the abominable wounds inflicted upon my fragile soul, I ask God why He would ask such a thing of me. Battling through the pain once was enough to incapacitate me but now I have to face head on the past I NEVER want to relive, nonetheless share—yet God has called me to do this very thing. Anger and resentment overtake me even though I hate their volatile presence, yet it reminds me of the pain that was real and in fact withstood. The hardest battle I’ve been facing is the battle to forgive myself and accept the overflowing grace momentarily bestowed upon my imperfect being. I know the unthinkable things I’ve done—the pain I once inflicted upon myself—and no amount of grace seems big enough to cover these abysmal scars. What frustrates me most is seeing the emotional and psychological abuse of which undoubtedly wounded me most still being inflicted upon those absolutely undeserving; the pain I put myself through was merely done in attempts to numb the heartless wounds inflicted upon me.

A part of me has been resisting God, as well, because of a big old B overtaking my GPA I’ve strained so hard to maintain; behind this B, however, I envision the dying girl hopelessly lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to countless wires and tubes keeping her alive: I was once this very girl and the past mercilessly haunts me as I now approach the other end—the one hooking up the dying to countless wires and tubes keeping them alive. I recall all too well the innumerable student nurses who remained in charge of my care, despite the fact I hated every minute of it. Now the tables have turned, leaving me at the distributing rather than receiving end, which scares me to death.

This morning, as I put on my whiter than snow (literally) Kent State scrubs, it all seemed like a dream (although my vanishing bank account knew elsewise): too good to be true. Why would God love me, an undeniably imperfect being, enough to distribute such blessings? My life literally seems to be a blur, both past and present, and sometimes I have to pinch myself to bring me back to the reality staring me straight in the face. As I prepared last night for my very first patient, flashbacks came racing into my mind, mercilessly piercing each delicate crevice; I remember all too well the feeling from the patient’s end and my mind cannot and very well may never fully wrap itself around the reality of a past I have survived with relentless determination.  I am so humbled yet exceedingly grateful to call this story my own. As I put the finishing touches on my outfit at six o’ clock this morning, envisioning the absolutely dying teenager desperately grasping onto what was left of life, the passion within me was revived—a passion and confidence not my own. Upon arriving at the hospital this snowy morning, I realized that no longer was I the patient but instead the one responsible—the professional (weird, right?!). The lobby was filled with crisp white uniforms and stethoscopes both bright and dull, disguising the anxiety churning within each student nurse. As we journeyed through the foreign hospital, eliciting stares everywhere we went, a glimpse of the future was within sight—a lifetime committed to nursing. After receiving the “low down” on my patient, I knew God had something great in store—a predestined future awaiting me. After receiving devastating news merely hours before I arrived, my assigned patient was low in spirits, so to speak, and in need of a glimpse of hope, no matter how small. When introducing myself to her, I instantly knew our paths crossed for a reason and I only hope I left her with even but a speck of hope. As I allowed her to unload the fresh wounds bottling up within, God took over and undeniable optimism transformed her once lifeless face; my heart has never been happier and more satisfied than when it is doing what it was made for: to serve.  Getting the patients needed supplies; dragging the IV pump behind the patient as she merely tried to walk (I remember this all too well amidst my countless hospital admissions) to the bathroom; holding her gown as she lost control, so to speak; assessing her from head to toe and removing a bothersome bandage left on for weeks too many; comforting her to the best of my incompetent ability and willingly doing anything else I could, was the exact remedy my wounded heart required, absolutely satisfying my soul. Nursing is nothing like I envisioned and I cannot even begin to put into words the incomprehensible experience; truly no words can do justice the feeling of saving lives and advocating life. My day may have been exhausting as well as undeniably intimidating (reporting off to a licensed professional nurse is not exactly right up my alley), but it was far beyond beautiful, leaving me on pins and needles to do it again next week! The day has finally arrived to step foot onto the hospital floor as a professional rather than helpless patient and I could never be more grateful! God specializes in miracles, that’s for sure! 

Beauty Amidst Absolute Chaos

Last week is over and I am still alive—how is that possible? At times I felt as if I’d spontaneously combust from stress overload. Last week was one of the busiest of my entire life: three tests, one nursing lab simulation, volunteering, working, a five-page essay and last of all, teaching (yes, I did say teaching) one of my nursing classes. Honestly, as much as I fight against and deny it, speaking comes naturally, leaving me at ease in front of a crowd when it comes time to “do my thing”; the time leading up to it is not so easy, leaving me feeling as if I could collapse. Ever since first grade I informed God I would have absolutely nothing to do with teaching since endless scars camouflaged my fragile and overlooked soul as well as body; school as well as the medical field personified the essence of hell in my relentlessly wounded mind, bringing to the surface wounds too abominable for this world to ever know. Once I surrendered the little I have to the God of the Universe, nursing evolved into my undeniable passion and now the same may be true for teaching, as much as I hate the thought of it. I’ve never thought I have what it takes to be a teacher but as I was sitting in church today, I was overcome with a calling to equip future nurses with the tools they need to be successful in nursing school and eventually nursing as a career; as I go through college my eyes are opened to the laziness and absolute selfishness surrounding me and I cannot help but feel unfalteringly disgusted. Nursing is to some people merely a good-paying job with disregard to the impact of each client interaction; nothing has become more stressed than the concept of impatience and unaltered selfishness. My heart raging with disgust is furious because nursing is not merely a job but a passion and commitment to forever change lives in an absolutely positive way—the patients’ lives are literally in our humanly imperfect hands and this is nothing to take lightly. Patients don’t exactly want to be stuck in the hospital, at least most, so we as nurses need to encourage as well as teach; nursing is about influence and living by example. Caring is the essence of nursing—the core of its endless identity. Selflessness rather than selfishness is the key to satisfaction—the very essence of servant-hood of which we were created.  I long, above all, to allow God to change and “beautify” this crooked and depraved world through my mere existence and I wholeheartedly believe it is possible—God’s love never fails so what better place to start? If teaching is part of God’s plan for this beautifying process, than I will take up my cross and follow Him in absolute surrender and brokenness. I truly believe with all of my wounded heart that God’s love never fails because I am a living example; this world desperately needs this incomprehensive and unfailing love, so what are we as disciples waiting for? As TJ, my childhood and present role model, would say, “Let’s give it all we got”.

Click here to view my very own Professional Nursing Profile

Now, for all of you who are wondering how my first college teaching experience went, here is the story and let me warn you—it’s not so pretty! At the beginning of the year we were split into groups of three and assigned a topic to teach and spend the whole class period on; my group was assigned “Teamwork/Group Process and Development/Facilitating Group Discussions”. We’d been preparing for weeks on end and the day before our presentation one group member informed us she hadn’t done her part but in fact decided to go out on a limb by piecing together bits and pieces of a jumbled mess—it was pure and utter chaos to say the least! Even though my other partner and I had done our part and were all prepared, we had to completely change everything the night before because the other person wasn’t willing to cooperate to put it bluntly. We were literally sitting on the bookstore’s floor, in the middle of Kent State clothing and memorabilia, desperately trying to figure out how to make this monstrosity work. My one willing partner than later came over to my house so we could at least attempt to smooth over this monumental disaster, despite the fact we were missing the most crucial part: the information that was “set in stone”, unwilling to be altered by the one who caused this mess. The power point I’d worked endless hours perfecting had to be torn apart and reconstructed from basically nothing in a matter of hours. Two speeches were ripped to shreds and completely reconstructed in less than five hours while one remained unknown yet absolutely untouched. My body kept screaming “Sleep, I need sleep!” but was silenced by the effects of coffee—my lifeline. Finally, after reaching a conclusion that we were getting nowhere and needed to be able to function at seven o’clock—merely six hours away—we called it quits and allowed our brains to recharge. Seven o’clock AM came way too fast but in all honesty, I just wanted to get this nightmare over-with before I spontaneously combusted. The entire time I felt like a chicken running around with its head cut off but tried to remain at least remotely functioning (I do not like feeling unprepared in any essence). The only positive thing that came to mind was my cute outfit I’d prepared—the one thing I had absolute control over; since we were required to appear professional and dressed up (we were actually graded on this), I had to come up with a new look of which was absolutely foreign to me: how on earth could I be a professional yet still fashionable, remaining true to my identity? I bought a pair of dark grey dress pants (yes, my very first time wearing such a thing) to pair with a black sheer button down blouse, black chunky sequined belt, silver sparkly pumps (high heels), black sequined infinity scarf, a black and silver flower and of course...color—a hot pink camisole to shine through my boring, black top. Walking into college was quite a trip; the wind nearly blew me off my high-heeled feet, reminding me of why I rarely wear such things: I remain a victim, unable to run away or even walk fast which is my worst nightmare. Minutes before our seminar was to begin, the coffee came into effect and I had to rush to the bathroom; my only choice to do this fast was to run barefoot through the halls (which I would prefer to do every day), so I took off my “chains” and sprinted for the door, nearly taking out one of my own classmates but for today my student—way to start off an already chaotic day! I miraculously arrived before eight o’clock AM, when we were scheduled to begin, attempting to appear “put together” and disguise the fact I had no idea what I was doing. Being the last person to speak just very well may be the worst possible feeling as I was forced to remain calm all-the-while increasingly freaking out about the speech I’d never gotten a chance to recite. Once my turn arrived, a sense of peace overcame me (undeniably the peace and confidence of God) and the rest is history; God took my absolute brokenness and shame, turning it into undeniable beauty. Once the much-anticipated nightmare was over, I was free to go home and do what my aching body desired most—sleep, only to be awakened to study for two tests the next day. Yes, my life is in fact insane but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I trust that putting myself last, forsaking competitive exercise and sports—my one love and past identity, will be worth it, even though I hate every second lost! Since my first teaching experience is finished, I’ve had time to get my head back in place, as well as my belongings (I cannot function properly in a chaotic, messy, and unorganized  atmosphere) and even slightly relax—a foreign yet much appreciated feeling!

Despite this previous chaos, I discovered a new talent of which I once thought completely out of reach: teaching. Organization and technology remain two things I cannot live without (or at least not for long) as well as learning and research—the very things required to be a Nursing Professor. If God calls me there, I am no longer unwilling but whole-heartedly surrendered.