In honor of Terry Fox Run Week....and Glenda, Julie and Michelle!!!.......I would like to send their book FREE - "Choosing to Smile" - to whomever my readers deem in need of the book, or who would best benefit from this book or simply enjoy the book. In other words, fellow Blogarians....I need YOUR suggestions.
It is an inspirational book - the stories of three friends who "happen" to have had Cancer and are choosing to smile despite their diagnosis. It is a good read...over an inch thick....and I know it would make a great gift for someone out there! Check out their website (link under the photo of book to the left)
So.....Just post here who you would like to nominate to get the book......and then I will pick from the suggestions - ONE person who might enjoy/find useful/find inspiring or........???
Don't worry, I won't reveal the name of the person if you or they would like it kept confidential - you can have the book sent to you if you would like to give it to someone (I can make arrangements so that I won't even know the address and real name if you would like that kept confidential from me also) - and I won't post your suggestion/nomination unless you specifically say on your post "ok to post" in your comment.
I will be open for nominations until September 30th......then decide. So let me know - who do you think would like to receive this book ? SEND ME A NOMINATION IN COMMENT SECTION BELOW!
Open to anyone in Canada and the Mainland U.S.A. Let your friends know.....
Here is another story of someone who lost a leg to cancer. My best Girlfriend has a close childhood friend who is an Amazing person. This year I went to a Woman's Show and was fortunate enough to meet Glenda and her two friends - all whom have had Cancer - and buy a signed copy of their book.
She and her two friends have started a worldwide movement for people who have faced any kind of adversity and have chosen to smile in the face of it. It evolved from the book they wrote - "Choosing to Smile".
The book "Choosing to Smile" is the incredible story of these three women.
Glenda was found to have Cancer at age 32, and subsequently had not only a leg amputation but also a Right hemipelvectomy - which is the removal of the leg, hip and the Right Pelvic floor (pelvic bone). Her positive outlook throughout the surgery and afterwards is nothing short of inspirational.
Glenda became pregnant 2 years after her surgery. She needed a prosthesis that would support her body throughout her pregnancy. Here is her story:
Having had an "easy" delivery with her first baby 2 years prior to her amputation, she really didn't know what to expect with this one. She describes her labor in her book:
"The doctors were all wondering what to expect from a delivery where the mother only had a pelvis on one side. Kevin's birth had been so easy. I was expecting this delivery to be a breeze, but four hours after inducing me, the baby still hadn't arrived. My specialist anticipated a long night of labor so he decided to take a supper break. I lay on the bed watching the baby inside my bulging belly move with each contraction. I realized suddenly that with each contraction, the baby's head was pushing into my stump. It was as if he was looking for the door but kept bashing into the wall! I decided to lie on my side and push really hard on my stump every time I felt a contraction coming. Basically, my hands took the place of my missing pelvis and within a few short contractions I had guided the baby's head into the birth canal.
"Where's the doctor! Get a doctor quick! The baby is coming!" The nurses called my family doctor and the specialist, but the baby wasn't going to wait for them to arrive, so a young resident stepped into the room. Dr. S. looked like a deer in the headlights. I'm sure he'd never imagined he'd come on shift that night to deliver a baby to a lady with no hip or pelvis on her right side. Yet, here he was, gloved and gowned, doing just that."****
She delivered a healthy 7 pound 14 ounce baby boy.
To read about how she coped with her baby at home.....you will have to read her book. Go to their website and order a book - $19.95 (plus S&H ).....it is a very good read.
On another note, this past July, Glenda sent out this email to everyone:
"Hiya!
Can you do me a favor - once a day or every other day could you log onto our website- www.choosingtosmile.com - Julie is going through chemotherapy and we put in a 'world map' that shows where people are who are sending her positive thoughts as she's going through her chemo... every time you go to our website the dots grow bigger... it's updated every 24 hours so once a day is great! Pass this along to everyone on your email list - near and far - so she knows people all over the world are sending her positive thoughts and prayers... Thanks thanks thanks! It only takes a second to log on and it will mean the world to Julie...
Love ya!
Glenda"
Julie, by the way, is an RN and a Registered Midwife - and one of the other authors in the book. The third author - Michelle - also is a Cancer survivor and volunteers with the Cancer society.
What with it being the 30th anniversary of the Terry Fox's run......and Cancer still not beaten.....I thought it appropriate to post a link to my blog about his run again and encourage people to do what they can in the Fight against Cancer. I can't stress it enough.
On one final parting note - each of the gals who are in "Choosing to smile" have a blog so you can keep current with their daily lives.
****excerpt posted with permission from author (copyright)
Both Grandparents on both sides of my family were born in the 1800s. I can't imagine what life was like back then, but certainly it goes without saying that it is a lot different than now.
My Grandfather's Grandparents Circa 1890
I don't talk much about my Irish side of the family in my blog - yet - because there isn't much written down. Most of what I know doesn't even come from my Father....it comes from my Mother - the Dutch side. She was best friends with my Father's sister, so all I know about the Irish side, came from my Aunt via my Mother.
On the other hand, my Dutch side is well documented, thanks to my Grandmother....and also my Mom's sister, who loved to ask a lot of questions, and perhaps encouraged my Grandmother to write everything down.
I recently came into contact with a distant Cousin in the Netherlands who sent me the family's unofficial pedigree....which traces back to "Karel de Groete" or his more popular name - Charlemagne - on my Grandfather's Mother's side. My Grandfather's Father's side goes back to only the 1500s.
I have always found history incredibly fascinating. If you haven't looked into your past and dug around into family history.....do it before any of your family members pass on, because by the time you get to the age where you *want* to know these things....they won't be there for the telling. There are so many things I would love to ask my "midwife" Grandmother.
Rien Poortvliet's book
Anyway. When I was living in East Bay, CA area, I bought a book for my Grandfather. It was called "In my Grandfather's House" by Rien Poortvliet. It is the story of Rien's family history, complete with illustrations....all the way back to the mid 1500s! It tells of the life of your every day person in the Netherlands - Dirksland and Rotterdam to be specific - which are in South Holland - where my Grandparents hail from. I am sure his descriptions accurately portray how my own Grandparent's began their lives.
Bassinet on the floor
Only 100 years before G&G were born, it was not unusual to have most of your children die within months of delivering - if not during the delivery. Giving birth was probably the most dangerous thing a woman could do in her entire life. But they would do it routinely. Looking back on my family's genealogy, I find at the turn of the century, 100 years before my Grandfather was born, approximately half - or more - of the children didn't live past age 2. Some families only one baby survived. Of the ones that lived, few reached 16 years. Statistics weren't any better when my Grandfather was born.
In the book "In My Grandfather's House" - the grandparents (4th generation removed) lost EIGHT babies before the author's Grandfather (3rd generation removed) survived. They would try everything to prevent this - laying their stockings in the form of a cross when they went to bed, Apothecary's wares, quack medicines and donkey's milk.....nothing changed the situation. It really makes me wonder at the grief some of our ancestors went through....not knowing why their babies wouldn't live....
Once born, babies spent the first few days tightly swaddled so they couldn't even move a muscle. The baby was usually put in a cradle close to the ground - which was a very drafty place back then. At night the child would sleep in a built in bed on the wall just above the foot of the parents bed...just above the unwashed feet of his parents. When he cried, his mother gave him a "flokker" which is another name for "soother".
They made it by soaking a piece of bread in milk, then adding sugar. This mixture was piled on top of a square piece of cotton and then tied shut with a thread. If the baby continued to cry after given a "flokker" - it would be dipped in brandy. When the baby was about four months old, poppy seed would be added to the flokker mixture....in other words - the baby was simply drugged.
I remember as a student nurse in the 1970s - attending a circumcision (and I will have LOTS to say about that subject!) that they made a similar little "flokker" with a gauze square and a sugar cube in it - dipped in brandy!!! - given to the baby to suck on while the circumcision was being done - with NO anesthesia whatsoever. Torture and drugging of babies several hundred years later. Talk about lack of progression! However, at least in Europe, circumcision was and is not the norm.
Back in the early 1800s, the WET diapers were not washed out....they were just hung to dry in front of the stove (along with the dirty wet socks!) and then reused. Knowing what a pail full of wet diapers smell like...and then let sit for a few days......I can just imagine the stench!
When a child got sick, the medical profession was no help. If infectious diseases were making the rounds, people would sprinkle vinegar in front of the bed. In order to avoid infections himself, the MD would smoke a pipe of strong tobacco. People would put a dog in the bed of a child with a "weak chest" in order for the dog to "take over the ailment".
It's funny to think that only 2 decades before my Grandfather was born, there was no such thing as an Oil Lamp - the main means of lighting for my Grandmother's night time deliveries!
My grandpa died at age 100 on my birthday. He would be surprised to see what progress our world has made.
I reworked and reposted my blog entry that I had deleted about Medication Errors....originally posted on May 11. As you can see by the Graph nicked from Wikipedia - who obviously stole it from JCAHO, medication errors make up a fair chunk of the Sentinel Event's pie.
As you can see my taste for music varies from one end of the spectrum to the other. I would have loved to be here when this was pulled off! (it is very close to where my sister lives! maybe she was there!)
I secretly used to spend my afternoons watching opras on tv when I was in my Late 20s/early 30s.
I am also rooting for the Opera singers on America's Got Talent! Love them!
So here is a Woo Hoo for these singers who randomly popped up in every day life..... :)
The marriage ceremony (one of the several!) was delayed for the funeral of the area's midwife. She passed away right when Grandma moved to the area. As she stated in her memoirs ....
"People thought it natural that I would start with this work" - meaning, she would be the area's next "midwife".
The first baby she helped deliver was September 1926 - the Roos family's second baby - a boy. Grampa helped the father in the field while Grandma helped with the delivery and the baby. "I stayed there for about 3 weeks, did mother and baby and all the work, housework and washing and I remember I burned two diapers by warming them at the top of the stove"she wrote in 1958.
Most houses did not have water. I know that G&G's house didn't. Grandpa had to haul water by driving the democrat down to the river - into the river - then fill a great barrel. I can't imagine what they would do in the winter. I suppose there was enough snow to gather and melt, so they wouldn't have to make that dangerous and freezing trek to the frozen river very often.
Her story continues. "From there I went to Mrs. Bosch who was blessed with a pair of twins, a girl and a boy. After a couple of weeks I went home again and could do some work in my garden." She grew vegetables for the fall harvest and got milk from their cow which they separated and then churned themselves to make butter.
They took the butter into town and along with the eggs from their chickens - traded it for other necessities such as sugar. The trek into town to do their shopping was 11 miles away, which is not far for us and our vehicles - but for them was an all day trip - packing their lunch for a picnic along the way. In the summer it was so hot the butter melted, in the winter it was so cold it was unbearable...even the blankets and the hot water bottle they took along with them couldn't keep them warm.
That winter, besides delivering another two babies after the twins, Grandma actually helped Grandpa finish the interior of the little house- ceiling and walls, buying what lumber and beaverboard they could in town and hauling it home. She also told of how she helped Grandpa with the machinery repairs.
All this she did while pregnant with her own baby.
The First December baby, she delivered on her own. The next December baby, she did all the work during and after...and stayed with the family for several weeks once again. In her own words:
" It was harder for me because I was expecting my own first baby. I was there over Christmas and New Year, and I was supposed to go to the next party [meaning next baby delivery], Mrs Howard who was expecting, but then I could [not] do my work any more. I had swollen ankles and I didn't feel so good, so I had to see the Dr in Clairsholm and the Dr told me to stay right away in the hospital. I didn't like it but the Dr told me that he wouldn't help me if I didn't wantedto stay and I had still 2 month to go yet. The hospital was 22 mile from home and this days was not so easy to go by car, and the buggie with horse took to long, we went by train."
So my grandmother was coerced into staying at the hospital with 8 more weeks left in her pregnancy. And what did the hospital do for her?
"I stayed in the hospital and I've got treatments hot steam baths every day and medicine*** and milk, no salted food at all for 5 weeks. That took so long, in the first place I didn't feel sick, second so far from home, no visitors, and no English (Grandma didn't speak English at this point). I was in a room of 3 or 4 lady's, they just came, get their babys and went again."
some of the old medicines used long ago
Put into a room with laboring moms who came and went...it must have been discouraging to be stuck, not only in a hospital far away from family and friends....but also, not able to communicate with anyone. I suppose some people at this point would say - "so learn English - you are in your New Country"...well it isn't that easy.
Having just arrived 8 months previous from a country that spoke Dutch (nowadays there are plenty of people who speak English in the Netherlands)...and having a husband that spoke very little English also - because they lived in a community of mostly Dutch immigrants....how do you go about learning English in the space of a few months? I suppose this is why I have a little more compassion for those immigrants that do not speak English very well...or at all. I am sure, given the choice - they would give anything to be able to communicate their needs. It certainly isn't because they are stupid or ignorant......
"Some ladys try to talk with me but I didn't not a word. Pop (Grandpa) brought me the English-Dutch dictionary but that wouldn't help. If I wanted to ask something I took the wrong word with another meaning. Once I asked a lady if this door was before and the other door after instead of front and back, the lady never knew what I meant so she shook her head."
Grandpa did get to visit a couple times, but only for a very short visit and only when he could hitch a ride in with a neighbour on their way in to town for supplies. One time the Domine (pronounced Doh-min-ay, meaning 'minister' in Dutch) came to visit her to tell her that her marriage wasn't legal. I suppose he must have felt sorry for her in the hospital for so long - and after Grandma adamantly told him she wasn't doing the marriage over again, already having gone through it three times already....a fine of $2 was levied against the minister and it was allowed - "but with a stern warning".
I can see why my Grandmother was frustrated. I have taken care of women in the hospital for periods of time with PIH and preterm labor - and it isn't fun for them. Plus - life does go on at home - and it is difficult to maintain bed rest in the hospital - away from everyone. But I suspect much of Grandma's problem was due to the extensive work she did around the farm, the edema was exacerbated by constantly being on her feet. I can just imagine how swollen her poor ankles were at the point of admission to hospital.
Ten days after her baby was born, she was allowed to go home. Ten days! So Grandpa accompanied a neighbour with a car to pick Grandma up.....and the car broke down and had to be fixed. Grandma was waiting and waiting all day for him to arrive......and no Grandpa. She was frantic with worry.
Thanks to the City of Claresholm's website.
"I couldn't understand why they didn't come, and so I asked the nurses please phone home, I said question! question! instead of ask what the matter was. O I could cry! At last the nurse told me about the car trouble and they would come the next day. The next day came and there was Pop to bring me home, with our baby. It was 22 miles, Pop was proud of his first daughter, so he carried her all the time. On the way we stopped at some friends place in Granum, so it was late in the day before we got home. When we came home Mrs Bosch and Mrs Kroll were there to clean up the house before I came, but they were surprised that everything was so clean and tidy already. Pop did it all by himself, before he came to pick me up. So when at last we came home, they made coffee and stayed for a while"
How things have changed! And to think that my Grandmother went through 5 more pregnancies, including one set of twins!
There is still more to my Grandparent's story.......
*** treatment of the day: possibly anticonvulsants/sedatives [morphine] which have been used for >80 yrs, purgatives and bowel washes-chloral and bromide per rectum. Milk was also a "treatment" because of the calcium which was thought to help.
Holy cow. Or as my uncle (may he rest in peace) - always said "Holy Mackerel!"
I can't believe that! When did I get this old? Where did the time go? WTFlip????
It was just yesterday that the first blush of nursing took hold of me.....and I was afraid of killing patients. Now I just want to get through the day without killing myself. Funny how the old body just decides to turn on me. I used to run relays and was the Interior Provincial Javelin throwing champion. I hiked up mountains, biked where I wanted to go and walked miles and miles.....
It could be worse. At least I have all my faculties about me. The neurons are synapsing in an orderly fashion - for me, anyway.
I was just having this convo with my Nurse Cousin from Texas.....
When I was a young thing, I used to wonder how the old people I looked after couldn't see all those hairs growing off their nose or out their nostrils or ears, the extra huge eyebrows that were never plucked and wondered how they didn't know there were growths coming out of their face......you know, all that grooming that needs to be kept up with.....
And now, with the help of my 25X mirror.....I *know* why......
They couldn't see anything up close. Glasses can only do so much. When it comes right down to it....ya really need a 25X mirror to see everything .....
And..... Holy Mackerel. FIVE DECADES...............
One of my readers made a comment about Float Nursing - how the thought makes her cringe. My reply? If you start doing it at the beginning of your career....it is a lot easier.
You see, as you get more comfortable with nursing....and it becomes routine...and you stay in the same hospital, the same ward, the same shifts.....the less comfortable you feel when taken out of that comfort zone. That's only normal. I have always been the restless type (I guess that is why I have moved 10 or more times in 10 years! Since married four years ago...this is the longest I have stayed in one place!) so I suppose that is why I have always felt the need to move around. I am actually almost envious of those nurses that have been able to stay in one place. But that is just who I am. A restless soul.
Or - at least I was.
Now, I am quite content to do the same job, the same house, the same thing......OK - well - not always. Sometimes I must admit that familiar feeling of restlessness creeps up on me and I tell my husband - "Let's move....I don't want to live here anymore".....but he has learned to ignore me and just let me rant and rave.....because I will always settle down again. Back to the routine.
Old habits die hard.
AND - I am much too close to retirement at this point to start jeopardizing my pension. Meanwhile, here is my old post from May 12 :
Tattoos and Float Nursing
I gotta rush through this. It's a nice day outside - my outside thermometer says 90F - and I want to take advantage while it lasts.
When I started working casual (part time hospital, part time department store nurse) I was floated around the hospital wherever I was needed.
Floating around is fun and interesting. You get to go different places and it keeps you on your toes, you learn a lot of new things and it definitely isn't boring or routine. Problem is, though, the end of the day leaves you wondering what the heck you did. There is no assignment per say and although you know that you just took care of pretty well every dirty assignment that no one else wanted to do on almost every unit, you just feel like you accomplished nothing. The only thing that reassures you that you actually worked was your complete exhaustion at the end of your shift.
The up side was, you usually got off on time because there was no report to give and no patient assignment that you had to keep an eye out on while the oncoming staff was taking report. I really quite enjoyed the freedom to float around. There was always something to do everywhere you went and the nurses were usually really glad to see you.....and having worked in that same hospital for 12 years, there was pretty well no place I hadn't been and no one that I hadn't gotten to know. It was a social type job, in other words. For me, anyway.
When I was a student, because I knew the RNs that were preceptoring me from my working-as-an-LPN stint, I got tons of opportunities to start IVs - even difficult ones, and I became quite proficient as a result.....so one of the things I would do as a new nurse and a float was to run around starting IVs that other RNs couldn't get. This skill would later come in handy for when I dabbled in Prison Nursing (ya that too - I will tell you about that later)
Occasionally you got to replace a staff member that called in sick and work the entire day on one unit. Telemetry was one of them. I took a course on reading strips and was starting to get pretty good at the monitors before I escaped town for California. Like I said before, I loved to learn new things. It was interesting to say the least. However, the patient that I most remembered wasn't the usual step-down-unit-type. Here is the story:
Three kids decided they were going to get tattoos. I am not adverse to tattoos. Quite the opposite. I can appreciate a well placed tattoo and having worked OB - I've had the privilege of seeing LOTS of those-not-seen-by-others.
On the other hand, my girlfriend Jan is appalled with the appearance of that type of artwork, but I am suspecting it has a lot to do with the "connotations" in her mind (prison). Much to my girlfriend's chagrin, her son is covered with Lovely Tattoos (yes, and even the name of his mother on his back-she should at least appreciate that! I think it's sweet...) and for a while, he owned a tattoo parlour that I would later tease her to come visit with me for matching BFF tattoos.
Esthetically, tattoos can be quite pretty. Or interesting. Or "fun". I once had a patient on the Surgical Unit that had a tattoo of a naked woman on his arm. Interestingly enough, the only vein available that I could get at easily was right between the legs. He thought that was amusing. I was just doing my job.
Personally, the functional tattoo is my preference. I admit at this point that I have tattoos - albeit not the traditional type - eyeliner and lip color. Sounds funny for someone that has a needle phobia to wish a tattoo on themselves - but I was desperate.
I am a hazel eyed blonde. I naturally lack skin color where it should be. Without makeup, I look sick. I have absolutely NO natural color in my lips. None. Zip. It was a chore getting up early to put on makeup pre-shift just to keep concerned colleagues from constantly asking me - are you OK??You LOOK SICK!!! - so when I found out you could have makeup applied permanently - I jumped on it.
In my excitement to have permanent lips and liner - I was in denial as to how one gets a tattoo. For some reason, right up until I sat in the esthetician's chair, I shut out that little piece of info - to have a tattoo done, they have to use a needle. Eighteen years ago I got my lips tattooed - and not just once, but Twice - because the first time didn't fully take and I had no base color to start with.
YOUTUBE TATTOO PLAYLAND AD:
I happened to have a little tube of Emla, a handy little topical anesthesia, to numb my lips. Unfortunately, my memory isn't so good for non-nursing things or self medication, and it overrode my needle phobia. Five minutes outside of Sausilito, I realized I had forgotten to apply the Emla. Coming out of the esthetician's office, I ran into another gal who *loaned* me a vicodin which I promptly washed down with a glass of white wine supplied by the esthetician. I might have well popped an M&M and washed it down with a glass of water. At this point I was questioning the irrational decision to decline the offer for an anesthesiologist's services. A second glass of wine later, I braved the worst.
I have to say, I have never felt anything so painful. Of course, I have never experienced childbirth so my experience of the pain spectrum probably isn't at it's most upper limit. But, at the time, it seemed that every single nerve ending was located in my lips. The gal used 10% lidocaine as she went along but nothing really touched that "discomfort" -a nurse's synonym for outright excruciating pain.
The stupid thing about this is...knowing how much pain is inflicted, you would think I would do anything to avoid a repeat. I guess I developed selective amnesia over the years, and 12 months ago, decided it would be great to have permanent eyeliner applied. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ok, so now I understand some of my clients who do dumb things more than once.....
I tell you this story because, getting back to the three kids getting tattoos.....they did them themselves. Unfortunately, they decided to share the tattoo needle. Not very bright. In my time working in a prison, you see what happens when tattoo needles are shared - half the population end up with Hep C and if you are really unlucky - you get Hep B - which IMO is almost as bad as HIV.
I guess the kids thought they were safe since they were only sharing the tattoo needle between themselves. What these kids didn't realize was - it was more than the needle they shared. One kid was a diabetic. The other was healthy. The third had Hepatitis B. Not smart. We only got two of the kids because the third one, the "healthy" one - died within a week. The diabetic gal was very very sick and spent a long time recovering. I got her right near the end of her hospital stay.
I am not sure what happened with the one that was the carrier, but I believe he was one of her many "visitors". It was interesting to see their non-reaction to the death of their friend, the constant partying and tomfoolery that went on in that room. Maybe it was denial, and I can understand that. But - It didn't seem to click that what they did was downright dangerous and why. I think it has to do with how invincible you feel when you are young. That feeling dissipates with age. The "it will never happen to me" starts to turn into "when is it going to happen to me".
Moral of the story today is, if you have kids that want to get a tattoo.....it is better to buy them a "proper" one...maybe negotiate a smaller one that they can hide or remove easily when they get older and wiser... and inspect the facilities and ensure that they are getting one that is going to not only have appropriate placement, but that the equipment used is properly sterilized.
As much as you hate it.....it will protect them from themselves. There are always people ( like me) that - no matter how much evidence is present - they're gonna do it anyway. Which - reminds me.
I have to phone my esthetician and get my permanent eyeliner touched up. I have been putting it off for a year now.
Time to pay the piper.
Posted by A NURSE at 6:52 AM
Once again, lucky for me, this time the comments were saved:
2 comments:
newnurseinthehood said...
Amen. My husband has a sleeve and half of beautiful work, and people always seem to want to talk to him about it, but the majority seem to freak when he answers about what he paid for it and then throw out the name of some nasty shop or mention that they know a guy who does it in his living room. Seriously? It's worth it to pay for good, custom work. Not only do you not want hep C, but that is going to be on you forever. Why not pay the money for an artist who is actually good?
Also- eyes- zoinks. I thought getting my ribs and side done was bad.
May 12, 2010 12:22 PM
A NURSE said...
I paid $400 for my lips. And that was almost 20 years ago. I think it was $300 for my eyeliner. What we do for "beauty" and convenience. But definitely - It pays to do it the "right" way....:)
May 12, 2010 1:23 PM
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