Owning It

It's been a while since I've posted anything, a fact that isn't lost on me.  The past month I've been looking to my life for blog-worthy anecdotes and have come up short.  It was just yesterday I told my parents that really nothing has been going on except working and rearing my toddler (it doesn't sound right labeling him as such, but it's accurate!).  No more anonymous donors to speak of (duh! I'm not expecting any more either!), no earth-shattering moments, and no patient interactions that I think whoever reads this would find interesting.

But today...today something happened.  I wore a bikini.

Wearing a bikini to the pool is actually a common practice for many 20-somethings like myself.  After my surgery, however, I resigned myself to a life in the one-piece. After all, I have a hard enough time looking at the bag of intestine and poop hanging from my abdomen; why expose the public to such an atrocity?

In the winter, when all the swimsuits hit the stores in preparation for spring, I bought what I thought was the closest thing I could get to normal swimwear: a very nice mono-kini.  It covered up the bulge from my bag decently and allowed me to feel okay enough about my "beach bod".  As long as people can't tell I have a bag, I'm good.

A few weeks ago my husband mentioned he didn't think it would be such a terrible thing to wear a two-piece.  Oh yeah, and flaunt my most major insecurity? Yeah, right! It's one thing to tell people, "I have an ostomy".  It's quite another to go to a very public place with my body on display, and with it, a bag of my waste that, if removed, will show a stub of my intestine that on first glance looks like a very red male reproductive part. No, thank you!

Since then, I have gone to the pool a handful of times.  Every trip I self consciously look down at my bathing suit, silently pleading and hoping that no one will detect an abnormality with my body. 

Last Sunday, I found myself a prime opportunity to read by the pool.  I couldn't find my one piece.  I looked to my old bikinis which were in a give-away pile; they were challenging me.  Maybe I could...  But, my one piece turned up.  How silly of me to even consider exposing my icky insecurity!

Ian's idea of my wearing a bikini came up again today at lunch with my parents.  "He actually wants me to," I said.  To my surprise, my parents agreed that it wouldn't be the worst or the grossest thing in the world.  When it came time to get ready for the pool, I once again donned my one-piece.  Then I got to thinking:

What is so bad about my bag?  Why do I let it make me feel so...freakish?  Is it so freakish?  Doesn't everyone have that one weird thing that bothers them about their body?

I grabbed a bikini from what had been the give-away pile.  I went to the pool in it.  And you know what?  It is the most confident I've felt in the eleven months and one day since my surgery.  I was finally owning it.

My sweetness and me at the pool!

For you formed my inward parts;

You knitted me together in my mother's womb.

I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Psalm 139:12-14a

 

Anonymous Donor: Tuition Edition

I am rendered speechless, yet again: by the generosity of others and by God's mercy and provision.  Allow me to explain:

The last time I was in school was the fall of 2012.  My idiocy the semester before led to losing my scholarship at UofL, which had completely covered my tuition.  So, pregnant and clueless I began those fall classes not knowing how or when I was going to pay the five thousand-ish dollars.

Somehow, the school let me go the whole semester without paying a nickel.  Then the bills started arriving, reminding me of my debt to UofL.  I worked out a payment plan of the minimum $175 per month, which has been a financial concern and a burden.  Not only has it been a decent chunk out of the bank account, but at that rate, it would take years before I could pay it off and re-enroll.

I was able to use a gift left to me by my Grandfather to pay off a fraction of the debt, and since then I have been struggling to pay the monthly fee.  The debt has rendered me unable to continue and finish my education, no matter how much I want to.

Two days ago I got this text from my Grandaddy:

You know what they say: "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is....or it's a gift from God."  I looked at my account; and there it was.  I called the company and they confirmed that indeed, the thousands of dollars of debt had been paid. Tears of sheer joy, relief, and gratitude followed.  

I don't know who you are, but I truly cannot thank you enough for this.  You have not only lifted an incredible weight from my shoulders (and heart), but you have also given me the gift of opportunity to complete my degree, and the motivation to do so.  I don't know of a clearer way God could tell me to rise to the challenge and finish my schooling.

So, anonymous donor, thank you.  You have paid a debt that was not yours.  Know that I will work so, so hard.  Know that I will give it my very best because I will not let your generosity go to waste.  Just...thank you.  

~

 In remembrance of Good Friday:

And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit.

Matthew  27:50

My New Role Model

My line of work has allowed me to see people from all walks of life in varying stages of their lives, mostly their most trying times, and how they are coping with it all.  There are the complainers, the curmudgeons; there are the people who have resigned themselves to a death sentence (some ready and waiting; some begging for it; some terrified of it); there are the hopefuls who ask, "Do you think I'll be going home tomorrow?"  Humans in different degrees of misery and hardship. 

Two nights ago, we got a new patient who was, for our floor, very young (forties or fifties).  The man has multiple sclerosis and recently lost the job that helped provide for his four children.  I wasn't assigned to him, but when his nurse and aide came out of his room I quickly wished I was. 

They spoke of him with respect and admiration: his nurse sat down in awe and said, "He just radiates....Jesus".  His aide had only praise as well: "I have never seen a man who is going through all that have that joy. He's the real deal. He's the real deal."  This man made an immediate impression on these people by his obvious love for the Lord and resulting peace and joy in what would otherwise be a desolate time in his life. 

All this to say, I would love for people to walk away from me saying the same things.  Sadly, I know they don't.  Not long ago, I mentioned to a coworker that I went to Portland Christian School in my formative years and she said, "Oh really? I would have never guessed you were a Christian."  Yikes!! Granted, she works day shift and doesn't spend much time with me, but her comment was convicting.

I used to want people to say, "She walks like an ace," after meeting me, per the Beach Boys.  (This never happened.  I have an undeniably weird gait that my physical therapist has even pointed out.) My priorities have since changed, and now the challenge is to radiate Jesus like this man did, leaving people hungry for the Holy Spirit. 

JDK Turns One

My sweet, my all, my precious baby is a year old.  Considering how vividly I remember that Sunday he was born, it does not feel like 365 days have since passed. My water broke, I had a few hours of contractions, then, I heard him.  Right before my OBGYN pulled him out, there was a muffled cry as he was about to trade the womb for the big, cold world.  The five minutes it took before I could see him were an eternity; I was waiting for the best birthday present I would ever receive.

February (Whitney Knutson Photography)

March (Megan Hynes)

I have been brainstorming for about a week what all to write about him for his birthday post.  It would be easy for me to go into every intricate detail of his personality and character for hours on end, but for the sake of any readers I will write the abridged description of my little chunky hunky: JDK.

April

May

From the moment he wakes up to the moment I put him down, he is filled with more joy than anyone, and especially any baby, that I have ever met.  There might be some whines and a few crocodile tears thrown in, but even then he'll pause his attempt at being a typical baby to shower me with cuddles and flash his mega-watt two-tooth smile. Speaking of which, he is a SNUGGLER.  Example: tonight after his bath and bottle (now drinking organic whole milk, woohoo!), he laid down next to me on the couch and softly babbled, his head resting on my shoulder.  Almost nothing tops your baby's expressions of love to you.

June

July

The kid is a social butterfly.  He thrives in the nursery setting, where I often find him playing with his fellow babies' feet, or when surrounded by cousins at a family gathering, laughing and basking in the glory of being around those little people closer to his age.  I am thankful he's sociable, but boy is he a flirt.  While endearing to the ladies (of all ages) receiving this sort of attention, it terrifies me.  That dark hair and blue eyes thing he's got going on is a rare, lady-grabbing combo.  Okay, I can't think about this anymore!!! Moving on...

August

September

 JDK loves to eat.  That baby loves eggs, clementines, meatloaf, cheese, potatoes, crab cakes....just about anything you lay before him.  He's never had a carbonated beverage in his life, but if he sees you drinking one he will try to give you a kiss so he can get a taste.  My sweet is standing up for longer periods every day, and has even taken a hesitant step, but he still loves the ease and efficiency of crawling.  As of yet there is no "first word" but he's fluent in imitating nonsense sounds and squealing.  He knows where his nose is (and momma's nose), and loves to play catch with his football.

October

November

One thing I love is that, despite my parents living thousands of miles away and having not been here in a few months, JDK still knows who "Mimi and Papi" are.  We video chat with them frequently and when I ask him, "Want to Skype with Mimi and Papi?" he stops what he's doing and crawls ever so hastily to my laptop.  Granted, he's been known to end a call or two from being too curious with the keyboard. 

December

January

Oh yes, I can't leave out what a ham he is.  This quality is programmed in his genes, straight from yours truly.  There is nothing more this baby loves than a captive audience for whom to put on a show.  If he's crying, a camera flash will magically cheer him up.  If you ask (or if you don't) he will gladly do his silly face or his favorite yoga pose for you...again, and again, and again.

February

Some call him John, a few "J.D.", but his momma calls him Dash: the name that jumped off the page of the baby name book.  My sweet Dash teaches me about kindness and God's mercy day after day.  My daily prayer is that he will always be as joyful and kind as he is now, that he won't be the type of person who has to learn things the hard way, and that he will delight in the Word and not stray from his Creator.  I love you sweet JDK; you have blessed all those around you since day one and I am so excited to see what our second year with you has in store!

Sons are a heritage from the Lord,

children a reward from him.

Psalm 127:3

Divine Appointments of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

You might have already guessed that, despite the title, this post has nothing to do with a Sandra Bullock movie based on a best-selling book.  Henceforth on my blog, "ya-ya sisterhood" refers to my fellow women who have an ostomy of some sort.  Many call themselves "ostomates", but the term has never quite endeared itself to me. Too sailor-y.

My nursing assistant position at the hospital allows me to work with many new members of the sisterhood, but the population is largely geriatric patients who suffered from diverticulitis.  However, a couple weeks ago I was surprised at the younger age of a new patient who, after suffering from an irritable bowel disease for many years, had gotten an ileostomy.  Over the next week and a half that she was my patient, we traded icky stories and shared experiences which developed that close-knit NA-patient relationship that happens every so often.  At the end of my sixth shift with her (which would be my last), I rushed to meet my five-day weekend and missed the chance to tell her what a pleasure it had been to listen and share with her.

A day and a half into my nice, long weekend a friend texted me asking if I could cover her shift from 3-7 on a Thursday afternoon.  I could always use the extra money even four hours would give, and not wanting to be the type of coworker who doesn't do favors, I told her I could do it.

I was a little apprehensive as I drove into the parking garage that afternoon, as I had never worked during day shift and didn't quite know what to expect.  I arrived early to have quiet time in my car, as is my routine before work.  I sent up a quick prayer for compassion for my patients (something that doesn't come naturally to me) and for divine appointments - something you never quite know what to expect for after you pray for it.

I forgot all about the latter request as I was given report on my patients.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that my ya-ya sister was still there. We could converse more and then I'd be able to give her a proper goodbye.  As it happened there was a lull around 4, so I went into her room to speak with her and pass the time.

I walked in, and she was in a consultation with her ostomy nurse.  After a bit of listening and charting, I let the ostomy nurse in on my secret - that I belonged to the sisterhood as well.  This spurred on a wonderful conversation between the three of us about diet, skin issues, ostomy equipment (Coloplast forever!) and learning how to adapt to the new lifestyle.  After showing off my bag to the two and referring the patient to Ostomy Secrets for bag and stoma-friendly girdles, the nurse requested my information and asked me:

"Would you like to talk to patients about life with an ostomy?"

Now this is an opportunity for which I have been yearning.  There is nothing about my stoma that blesses me more than being able to share experiences with those who are just embarking on the ostomatey journey.  I, of course, gave her a cool "YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES YES!!!" The ostomy nurses only work on day shift, and I couldn't believe how fortunate this meeting was.

At that point my patient chimed in and said, "You know, I really was hoping to go home this morning.  And now I'm glad I didn't.  Isn't it amazing how God works like that?"  She had a point, there.  If she had gotten to go home that morning...if I hadn't taken that afternoon shift...if she hadn't asked her nurse to come back after lunch instead of meeting at the planned time...this whole incident, this "divine appointment", which was clearly meant to be, wouldn't have taken place. 

All this to say, we have a God who has a way better plan for our day than we do and I wish I were more receptive to it everyday.  That time with my patient and her ostomy nurse might seem to my readers as just an anecdote from an ordinary day, but it was an incredible blessing to me and so much more fulfilling than anything else I would have been doing at that time.  I think I'll have to pray for divine appointments more often and see what happens...

Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?

Esther 4:14 NKJV

The Rent That Wasn't Due

Ever since Ian and I paid our first month's rent and deposit for our new apartment (which was, to say, 2/3 of our cash in the bank) I have been thinking about the hit our bank account will take every first of the month when rent is due.  I've never had to pay for lodging in my life, so the thought has been daunting.  In an effort to keep adding to our checking account, January has been a long month of me hardly seeing my husband and son. It's always Ian working another 17 hour day or I'm sleeping off my 12 hour nights...

It's been taxing.

After a nice rare morning with my family Sunday, I begrudgingly went into work that night.  I came home Monday morning to sleep until my shift later that day.  Very routine stuff.

Imagine my surprise when I wake up to a text from my husband saying, "We got an invoice on our door and our rent for next month was paid anonymously".  That woke me up quicker than my alarm clock does, I'll tell you what.  "Is this real?" I texted back. "What?"

the invoice

I ran to the door and picked up the invoice.  After seeing it for myself, I broke down into tears.  Tears of relief, tears of joy, tears overwhelmed by the generosity of our anonymous donor.  We hadn't asked for this.  (If you're asking for someone to pay your rent you should probably live at home, by the way.) We hadn't asked for it, but we are very grateful and indebted to whoever did this for us.

On behalf of the family in apartment 6, I want to thank our anonymous donor.  It means more to us than you know, and we will be putting that money away in a "rainy day" fund, as rainy days are as sure to find us as this sunny day was.  And whether you meant to or not, you have impressed upon me that God provides the daily bread.  As hard as we work for our money, we're not the ones taking care of ourselves (although we try).

When we have the means, I would like to do this for someone else one day.  In the meantime, we'll pay it forward in some other way. What I'm trying to say is thank you, thank you, thank you.  I truly wish I could thank you personally.

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, 

and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. 

 Are you not much more valuable than they? 

Matthew 6:26 NIV

Slicing the Apple

Anybody who has been around me or any of my social media within the past 24 hours knows that my son turned eleven months today.  I flood my Facebook and Twitter with pictures recounting this day, along with reflective anecdotes posing the question: HOW HAS THIS MUCH TIME PASSED BY?!

Let's face it.  This time a year ago, I was an unhappy, lost, broken, and very selfish, little pregnant girl.  They say pregnancy'll make you grow up quick -- they're wrong.  Motherhood makes you grow up quick.  Being someone's lifeline makes you grow up quick.

Before I had my baby, my naïveté led me to believe that carrying him around in my belly was difficult.  I kind of thought that part would spurt the whole "coming-of-age" chapter in my life. However, if I'm really honest here, my only act of selflessness throughout the 36 weeks of pregnancy was trying to eat right (ha ha) and avoid anything that could physically harm the life inside of me.

~

For years, it's been a running joke in my family about my inability to slice and peel an apple.  At sixteen, my mom told me that before I could get my license, I had to be able to slice and peel an apple on my own.  Admittedly, it's a pretty basic skill.  I tried a couple times (okay, once) and did it clumsily enough that my mom was just like, forget it.  The new standard was to be able to do it before I got married.

With this new deadline and my yearning to someday find a husband, I practiced slicing an apple once at my grandmommy's house.  After observing my abhorrent attempt, she took the apple and the knife away from me and said, "Maybe you aren't ready for this."  It then came up a few times during my pregnancy that I still couldn't slice an apple, which is a little deplorable for a mother-to-be.

Grandmommy was right.  I wasn't ready.  I could have given it the ol' college try and actually worked on it.  But I never followed up because a) I didn't really care to, and b) I could really always get someone else to do it for me. 

~

Back to the present.  Ian and I recently moved into our very first apartment, and with it all my crap came out of storage and into our new home.  Going through my boxes, I found an old apple slicer/peeler contraption that my mom got a hundred years ago (maybe fifteen years ago).  It did all the work for you!  Hooray! I thought.  I can finally feed my child real apples!!!! I quickly ordered my husband to get a bunch of apples from the grocery store.  

the "Back to Basics: Peel Away"

This evening I decided to whip out the apple slicer for my baby's 11-month-old big boy dinner.  It was time for a change from the routine banana.  I stick the apple on the contraption and started turning the...(turning the what? Is that a knob? a handle?  I'm not sure, but surely you can tell what I'm talking about from the picture).  Just as the first of the peeling begins, the apple breaks off.  I didn't screw it on quite well enough.  This led me to what was truly an epiphany for me:  I am a mother.  I need to get a knife and slice this baby up. Without supervision, without aid, without a kitchen tool as a cheat. 

And I did it.  I sliced that Fuji apple. I sliced it realllllll good. I peeled it.  And, if you can believe it, I diced it.  It was a cathartic moment for me.  I felt like supermom.  Oh, bless her, my readers are disdainfully thinking.  The poor girl is celebrating something very pathetic.  

Pathetic as it might be, slicing the apple was symbolic to me.  It showed me just how much I've grown up in the eleven months that my baby has been around.  That 24 pound smiley little chunk has been the driving force I always needed to transform my life and become the woman I need to be.  And for that, I feel indebted to him.

So, thank you, sweet baby boy, for spurring change in Momma's life!  I love you and in one month I fully expect you to dunk your head in your cake!!!
   

When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: 

but when I became a [wo]man, I put away childish things.

1 Cor. 13:11 KJV

Yay! He's reaching for the apple!!