from the depths.

It is humid as he tip-toes out of bed on the third story of his farmhouse. Harvest moonlight casts shadows on the wall. Floor creaks as his bare feet walk across the wooden beams.

He kisses his wife & puts the envelope on his pillow—still warm from where his head lay, sleepless. Bare feet tip-toe out the bedroom door, away from the bed where they laid side-by-side for over thirty years. Bare feet scuttle down the hallway, past the smiling children in faded photographs. They creak down the stairways, past the Thanksgiving table & the Christmas Tree corner; feet pause, lungs breathe it in.

Pain catches his breath, head in hands for a brief rest.

He hasn’t been the same since the accident. The pain has taken over. And now he’s made his choice.

Cold, hard metal meets his hand. And bare feet carry him across the dirt to the bed of his rusty old 1967 Ford.

Harvest moon & expanse of stars light the country night sky. Crickets chirp & blades of grass sway with the gentle breeze.

Breath.

Small metal vessels loaded. Trigger cocked. Barrel to temple. Bare feet relaxed, pain free for the first time in months.

He closes his eyes, breathing in the last bit of late-summer refreshment.

INTERVENTION.

The bare feet, naked body in the familiar bed of 1967 decides that life is greater than pain. That love wins to selfishness, commitment to contentment.

Cold metal is left with rust. And bare feet carry him across the dirt again, inside the screened porch, passing Christmas Tree corner & Thanksgiving table on the way to the creaking stairway. Bare feet carry him through the hallway of smiling children in faded photographs & toward the bed where his wife slept soundly, harvest moonlight casting shadows on the wall.

He kisses his wife & feels her warmth, “I love you”.

And five months later I hear his story between tears & sobs & unadulterated gratitude. Old 1967 still sits in the dirt, a cold reminder of the life of pain that once consumed him.

“I have a golf game to get to,” he says with a smile, “I’m playing my best par in years.”

I nod & wish him luck, careful to notice the limp that follows him out the door.

Sometimes life gives us second chances. And because of the bigger choices, the harder road, the more difficult recovery, we often fail to take them. But some of us do take those second chances…& thrive in the alternative route God navigates for our lives.

Some of us are scarred.
Most of us are scared.
Several make full recoveries; others none at all.
A number of us choose to rise above from the beginning.
A few learn to fly after we fall.

Still others walk with a limp.

The point, though, isn’t how we recover…it’s that we are walking at all.

still smiling.

She smiled. And told me her back hurt.

When I asked about her medical history, salty tears dropped.

I was feeling particularly sorry for myself that day…Jon halfway across the world, the stress of boards hanging over my head, residency applications, worries about the future, time management, emails to send, phone calls to make…away from the comfort of my “own space”.

I sighed & tried to show compassion—failing miserably in the process.

Those tears dropped. Tissues soaked. And again, she smiled.

1995: her soul mate died unexpectedly.
1996: her oldest daughter was brutally raped.
1997: her home was robbed, everything of value stolen.
2002: her oldest brother died of brain cancer.
2005: her younger brother died of colon cancer.
2007: her first grandchild came into the world…& left too quickly.
2008: her younger daughter was diagnosed with an aggressive form of thyroid cancer at age 28.

And now, 2009. She is here…talking to me…telling me about the "no big deal" pain in her back. STILL SMILING.

God showed me compassion…and softened my hardened heart with grace.

Because the old adage is true: someone ALWAYS has it worse off than you.

thrifty: the ugly frame-turned-photo-prop

i saw a wall of frames once on Tara Whitney's blog. of course i can't find the picture now to show you how cute it was.

but i fell in love.

almost as much in love as i am with chai. but not quite.

since then, i've been on the hunt for frames. big frames. small frames.

ALL cheap frames.

and while i was on a hunt for chairs (which i found...coming later), i found this frame.

this VERY BIG FRAME.

for $3.

thank you American Legion yard sale...(by the way, American Legion yard sale, you smelled like moth balls...)

and i ripped out the ehem...ugly 70's painting.

sanded it down.

sprayed it.

let 'er dry.

and then used it.

and it turned out exactly as i'd envisioned it.

i love it when that happens.

...if only my butt would follow-suit.

hello, fall.

emergent.

I sit staring at the tocometer strips, bored. The little lines dash up & down. The mama in room 8 is doing well—baby responding to contractions. Room 2, fine. And room 4, in for observation, hasn’t made any changes over the last two hours.

The noise jolts me from daydreams. Flashing green on all monitor screens—FETAL BRADYCARDIA.

We see a steep deceleration of the fetal heart rate in room 6. And five nurses go running.

Organized chaos.

Scrubs on. Hands scrubbed. Hair net. Shoes covered. Gown in place. Hands shaking as I try to wiggle my fingers into the sterile gloves.

Serious.

Scalpel.
Skin.
Incision.
Subcutaneous fat.
Fascia.
Peritoneum.
Uterus.
Placenta.
Amniotic sac.
Fundal pressure.

BABY.

Mama didn’t see the blue baby squeezed out—a tube down her throat. Under general anesthesia in just enough time to save baby, rushed to the NICU.

And just five minutes before, we laughed when we broke her water—the polyhydramnios made a yellow amniotic river on the floor beneath our feet.

I visit the little one later. Microcephaly, just as the ultrasound indicated. IUGR, like the images said. Mental retardation, undoubtedly present.

And yet Mama insisted at a chance she’d be fine.

I thought her foolish, ignorant even. I thought her doubtful, untrusting of the “professionals”. I thought her childish, discounting the obvious truth.

But now? Now I think her HOPEFUL.

Hopeful for those 34 weeks while she grew inside her belly. Hopeful despite our downtrodden greetings. Hopeful amidst the sullen grins, the shaking heads, the “I’m sorry’s” & “You’ll love her the same’s”. Hopeful during the painful realization that her daughter would never grow in the normal sequence of development, hopeful at each pre-natal checkup, hopeful at each 4-D ultrasound.

Hopeful that something might change, that we were wrong the last time.

And maybe, just maybe, hopeful that God can heal to our standards, I think.

I stand staring at that Little One. That little tiny package, breathing & pink, who entered the world in scary circumstance. And now, out to face the world.

And those prior thoughts of Mama, the ignorance & foolishness come rushing back. This time, I’m accusing myself. Because I don’t want to look at that malformed baby. I don’t want to watch her shallow & broken breaths. I don’t want to stare at that too-small-head, those club feet. I can’t manage to interpret the non-axial lines of that EKG…and can’t swallow the guilt that comes with the relief that she isn’t mine.

BUT.

But she is someone’s. She’ll go home to grow up with her Mama. The HOPEFUL Mama who, from the very beginning, thought her to match the World’s Normal. The HOPEFUL Mama who, from the first sound of heartbeat chose to love what she did not know. The HOPEFUL Mama who, despite the prompts & the criticisms gave this child LIFE. The HOPEFUL Mama who defied modern medicine & trusted in Someone Greater.

The HOPEFUL Mama who was unbearably BRAVE, unceasingly LOVING, undoubtedly OPTIMISTIC.

The HOPEFUL Mama who accepted her assignment with Grace & embraced GOD’S STANDARDS instead of the World’s.

HOPE, let me be your student.

dear jon.

One Pound.

One pound, fourteen ounces.

The weight of the jumbo can of pumpkin I used last night to make muffins. The weight of my cosmetic bag. The weight of my running shoes, my coin purse, my water bottle.

The weight of baby Ella at 26 weeks young.

I donned a mask, grabbing the blue face shield before I walked through the locked door of the NICU. The neonatologist stood watch, clipboard in hand, next to a small plastic incubator. The incubator with tubes & tape & cotton & wires keeping this young, fragile life alive.

Her raw skin peeled already—just four hours after birth. Her chest rose & fell in sync with the sound of “whooshing” air, gentle positive pressure airways held her trachea open to allow adequate oxygen exchange. Like a covered birdcage, the yellow elephant blanket draped over the top of the incubator darkened the fluorescent lights above.

And we joined the watch.

“She is doing well,” the neonatologist told us, “But the next 24 hours will determine everything.”

And “everything” wasn’t an exaggeration. Vitals scribbled on the clipboard, the plan of care carefully dictated.

Just two hours earlier, we’d make rounds with a perinatologist—a specialized Obstetrician whose training in advanced fetal care gave him knowledge to recognize, diagnose, & potentially treat fetal diseases. With years of specialized training & over 30 years of practice in high-risk obstetrics under his belt, he knew. He knew that babies born at less than 27 weeks have a significantly decreased IQ. He knew that babies born at less than 27 weeks have increased risk of chronic disease, increased chance of incompetent bowel, and decreased neuronal connections in the brain. He knew that babies this premature, this underdeveloped showed smoother brains & severe neurological deficits. That these babies had a risk seven times greater than a full-term infants for Cerebral Palsy & that their chance of social competence & marriage was less than 25%.

And he knew that he had to tell the parents.

So while we stood watch over this one pound baby now growing & developing outside the womb, this one pound baby with red peeling skin in a bed of cotton & tubes, he made his way to the ICU…the ICU where Mama lay in a medically-induced coma.

Young & vivacious, mom’s body was suddenly a mirror of little One Pound—limp & red in a bed of cotton, tubes, & wires.

“She lost so much blood,” he said, “and the next 24 hours will determine everything.”

And “everything” wasn’t an exaggeration. Orders written for more platelets, more medication, more bed rest.

Her six year old waited outside, hand firmly in the grasp of wet-eyed husband. Her two-month hospital stay with complete bed rest for placenta percreta had come to an end—the end everyone whispered about & no one hoped for.

The surgery was emergent. Four specialists waited on the sidelines of the main O.R. Blood bank was on alert. The NICU was ready. LifeFlight was warned. And we lingered by the phones for the updates.

And so on this day, we wait. We ALL wait.

We wait for little One Pound to grow. To develop. To breathe on her own.

We wait for Mom to recover. To heal. To grasp the news of that this was her last baby because her uterus had to be removed to save her life.

We wait for the tubes, the wires, the cotton; we wait for the compassionate nurses, the wise physicians.

We wait for the grim news. We wait for the miracle.

Sometimes I think we wait too much—for life, for death, for lab results, for transport. We wait for the bad news…& sometimes the good. We wait for the right time to deliver the diagnosis, to counsel the patient, to give the medication. And in the midst of that waiting, I too often forget to recognize the sensational people I’m surrounded by: Little One Pound. Brave Mama. Skilled physician. Well-versed nurse. I too often forget to notice the miracle of the present moment: A 26-week-fetus—ALIVE. A severely compromised Mama—SAVED. An incredibly skilled physician—MY TEACHER. Those amazing compassionate nurses—MY MENTORS.

The First & Final Physician—MY SAVIOR.

“I think they look good,” I say, “and the next 24 hours will determine everything.”

And “everything” isn’t an exaggeration. A whispered prayer makes its way heavenward & The Physician whiddles the "everything" into a miracle.

fringes of hope.

She told me she felt fine. “Just tired,” she said.

So we transfused blood to bring her dangerously low hemoglobin up. Hoping that the fatigue would subside.

She told me she felt better. “Still tired,” she said.

So we stole a vial of the blood we’d given her & ordered more lab tests. Hoping that we could find some answers.

She told me she felt hungry. “Just no appetite,” she said.

And so we took a picture of her belly. Hoping that the “tired” & the “hungry” would all make sense.

She told me she felt anxious. “I’m just not feeling well,” she said.

******

I looked over those lab results. And so did the residents. And so did the attendings.

And we made the appropriate phone calls.

Oncologist.

Hematologist.

Endocrinologist.

Gastroenterologist.

And we told her that she had cancer. “Everywhere,” we said.

So she started crying, because she’d ignored her body. She’d lied about her vaginal bleeding. She’d forgotten to tell us about her anemia over the last 4 years. She’d skipped her doctors appointments & forgone annual check-ups. She’d deceived herself into thinking that she was fine. When she knew better. She said she knew better!

And we smiled. And tried to console her. And tried to pass along hope on the fringes of anger & resentment & acceptance.

She wiped her tears. And asked if she could “Please go home.”

So we signed her discharge orders. And there was nothing left to say.

snuggle time.

They sent her up to the 4th floor. To the people who specialize in ultrasounds. They sent her up to the 4th floor because they thought something wasn’t right.

And something wasn’t right.

That baby inside. That cute, precious baby inside. The one that jumped around on the ultrasound last week. The one she’d told her friends about. The one she’d announced with anticipation. The one she’d bought white onesies for as Target yesterday. The one she’d invested her thoughts in, her dreams in…the one she’d share blood with for the next 9 months & life into the next World.

She would have plenty of time to gather her thoughts. A whole lifetime, actually. And the gathering would start now.

Because from the 4th floor, they sent her down to the third floor.

Where we gave her anxiety medication. And oxygen. And a bed to lay on for the next 28 hours while she birthed that baby.

That baby inside. That cute, precious baby inside. The one whose ultrasound showed anencephaly. The one whose white onsies would still wait at home, package gathering dust. The one who would be buried in its first home just two days later. The one who would be cried over, mourned, & terribly missed.

The one whose 17-week-life was written by the fingertips of God.

The one who makes us ask the hard questions about life & death & reason & God’s love. The one who challenges our faith to accept what the World deems unacceptable.

The one who reminds us that sometimes God writes in snuggle time with us through the most unfortunate of circumstances.

project 365: 09.14-20.09

because i am SO BEHIND on posting my Project 365 photos, i uploaded all of them into an album on Flickr here...you can catch up on your own if you really care about my day-to-day that much :)

{monday: 09.14.09} in a last hurrah of studying, i spent all day at work & came back to Rusty & Gay's house to 'enjoy' a quiet evening of review. i managed to fit in a bit of photo editing & rotation-planning...& in the process seemed to get a small glimpse of life-around-the-corner from my test.

[no photo]

{tuesday: 09.15.09} the "BIG TEST!!" began at 9am. i showed up 30 minutes early & was allowed to start early. i promised myself before the test that i would not change my answers, as most of those changed during practice tests were changed to incorrect options. without using the extra time to review my questions, i was finished a whole TWO HOURS!!! earlier than expected! the new bethany dillon CD was first on my list to find, but none of the stores in town had it in yet. and so i settled for a new magazine instead (something i rarely, if ever, buy for myself). Gay & i ran a couple of errands together, stopped for dinner at Didier's (a local "diner"), & headed to see "Julie & Julia" (which will soon be added to my "feel good" movie collection when it comes out!). i returned to the house after my test to find that jon sent me flowers & chocolate--what more could i have asked for?!

{wednesday: 09.16.09} the first day back to work, our patient load was light! what a blessing! this cart is one frequently found in the hallways of the hospital--we gown-up, glove-up, & mask-up for the patients with current infections or a history of MRSA. ...and we wonder why our landfills are filling up so fast, stop getting sick, people!

{thursday: 09.17.09} my family (minus sisters) drove into town to take myself, my cousin, & a friend out to dinner. my mom was hilarious...& her jokes were even more funny because ALL of us were exhausted. it wasn't the first time we've caused a scene in a restaurant because of our laughter...

{friday: 09.18.09} one of the pretty "contact precautions" gowns that comes from the carts {09.16.09}. aside from working on saturday, it was my last day of internal medicine for this sub-internship...i don't think i'm meant to work in the hospital....

{saturday: 09.19.09} After finishing work earlier than expected, I hooked up with Korryn & friends & hit some of the local thrift stores for photography props. We had a great time...& God gave us an incredible sunset on Saturday...& the location of Rusty & Gay's house makes the colors all-the-more amazing!

{sunday: 09.20.09} With church in the morning, errands, & then breakfast with Korryn & Kyle, I spent a bit of time driving on Sunday. and since my recent purchase of the Colbie Callait CD, my car CD player has been playing the same 5-favorite-songs for the past 2 weeks. ...haven't gotten tired of them yet!

hiatus.

i'm alive, i promise!

i'll be gone for another few weeks...studying.

{yeah, i know...you can tell i'm excited}

big test is september 15 from 8am-4pm (ish).

prayers are welcome (& quite appreciated).

photography is super busy (a blessing!).

my super secret reveal is coming soon (give me a few more weeks!).

and i've got a hankering for scrapbooking & sewing...

which will have to wait until Boards are over (finally!).

in the meantime...

you can picture me doing this:

when all of this is over :)

{pixels}

new photo shoot up (part 2) @ the photography blog!!!

thrifty: the transformed suitcase FINISHED!

so remember this suitcase? (of course you do...i just told you about it yesterday!).

i am pretty proud of myself...this being my first ugly-to-adorable transformation (teenage years aside).

the suitcase is made out of tin. it was a fiber-looking pattern with gold trim.

the little guy was $6.95.

i raided my parents' stash of spray paint & found exactly what i was looking for.

i propped the suitcase up on a bucket & small box & got to spraying. i think i ruined the grass...sorry!!

i knew i was planning on covering the "body" of the suitcase & only needed to spray the edges.

i let it dry overnight (& in the 100-something-degree heat).

meanwhile i searched my mom's craft room for some generic spray adhesive. and i went to the craft store & bought some scrapbook paper that was gender neutral...

and cut & traced & spray that adhesive (on both my hand and the suitcase).

and VOILA!!!

you can see that it is far from perfect. my cutting wasn't precise. i missed some spots with the spraypaint. i even scratched the paint job already.

but all in all, i think it will be PERFECT for what i had in mind!

and watch out, i think this making-ugly-things-pretty business is addicting :) you might just see a little more of this on here...

{pixels}

new photo shoot up @ the photography blog!!!

thrifty: the transformed suitcase.

so i hurt my neck this week. lifting weights. trying to be tough, i lifted a too-heavy barbell with one hand. apparently my temporary lapse in memory seared itself into my muscle memory--i've had neck spasms all week.

and yesterday i finally broke down & paid for my own stupidity: i got a massage. i'll just put it out there that i hate massages. rub my feet & i'll be your friend forever...but my neck & back (& other nether regions) are off-limits.

i endured the 30 minutes of torture.

and today? my neck is worse.

BUT!! there was a thrift store right up the street from the spa (how ridiculous does that sound?!). and my car just drove me there! can you believe it?

i've been looking for chairs to either reupholster or paint for photography props. they didn't have any. but i did spot a poor little suitcase & picnic blanket, c. 1976.

I BOUGHT THEM.

let me just interject here...lately i've been drooling over blogs about interior design & repurposing ugly items. i've listed my favorite sources of inspiration at the end of this post.

here is our picnic blanket...i'm thinking that jon will refuse to lay on it with me. he'll just have to buy me fabric to make a picnic quilt to his liking, then. :) problem sovled!

and here is our neglected little suitcase sitting in the yard.

ready to see what i did with it??!


...that'll have to wait until tomorrow. :)


Make-you-love-every-ugly-piece-of-furniture-blogs:
Design*Sponge (click on the before & after category)
Just a Girl
Centsational Girl
Bower Power
Young House Love
Nesting Place
Thrifty Decor Chick

frames.

i've always loved taking pictures. in the old days of film, i'd waste 10, twelve rolls snapping shots of my little sisters in princess garb, sitting on plastic chairs in the middle of their playroom.

they were horrible pictures.

but i've stuck with it. and my love for that viewfinder has only grown.

something amazing happens when you capture moments, unexpected & frozen. because we learn in life, moments don't last forever.

this project is nothing short of amazing. when i wrote this blog post back on my geriatrics rotation, i couldn't help but pour my heart of sadness into the thoughts of those "forgetful" people roaming the halls of the nursing home.

but then i learned that they don't miss their loved ones. and just as soon as they forget where they are, who they are, what they are--they don't remember what they've asked in the first place. they aren't lonely. they don't process our presence or absence. they have no sense of time.

but pictures do. snapshots of moments. frozen.

and now, more than ever, i am inspired.

inspired to take more photos. catch more moments. frame more views.

memories are fleeting. pictures are forever.

{pixels}

new photo shoot up (part 2) @ the photography blog!!

project 365: 07.27-08.02.09

{monday: 07.27.09} see this couch? it calls to me. seriously. i walk in the door from work with good intentions...& two seconds on that couch leaves me in a deep dreaming slumber that throws all studying good-intentions aside. NOT GOOD!!

{tuesday: 07.28.09} it was a HOT week here...the dry heat almost unbearable even in the backyard lap pool. and smart me decided to take a hot (long) bath after being on my feet all day. typically i wake up after 1 hour in a tub of frigid water....not so much this time....i leapt out & stood in front of a fan to cool off....

{wednesday: 07.29.09} my mom bought fruit loops. BAD IDEA, mom. i LOVE fruit loops. and cinnamon toast crunch. and cereal in general (which i'll admit i eat for dinner sometimes when i'm home alone). fortunately, my parents have a plethora of small bowls...so 20 fruit loops later & i'm totally satisfied :)

{thursday: 07.30.09} after my success in finishing my cardiology-specific-study-book, i gave myself a goal to be through my OB/GYN study book in 10 days. i was done in FIVE!!! go me!

{friday: 07.31.09} i admit it: i had ice cream. but only because my mom made huckleberry pie. jon still talks about the huckleberry pie we ate for my birthday (i prefer pie to cake) back in 2006...it is that good. see??! i told you i had an excuse!

{saturday: 08.01.09} with it being so hot, my parents decided to turn up the A/C...giving me no choice but to walk around in a thick hooded sweatshirt, draped in a fleece blanket. you can't see my feet but they are wearing winter-thick fuzzy socks.

{sunday: 08.02.09} rusty & gay (jon's parents) drove down for the day to say hello! we had a great time together...they treated me to lunch & a FREE! trip to Toys R Us. you can tell me your jealous...it's okay ;)