Situational Crisis
I spend a lot of time teaching our new nurses about situational crises in NICU. Most of our parents experience a crisis when they are first introduced to the NICU (we're never on anyone's birth plan!). Over time, they adjust and adapt and navigate their way through the process, and they learn to work alongside the staff to care for their baby. But there's a second situational crisis that most of our families face, and it usually comes as they prepare to leave the NICU and go out into the "real world." They'll no longer have the support of staff close at hand, the routines of the intensive care unit. They'll be more or less on their own to care for this baby who's been so medically fragile for all these weeks or months.
My experience is far from a NICU parent's experience, but I've been finding myself in a somewhat similar place the past few days. I've worked through the initial crisis of this disease, and I've even learned to navigate and work around my new limitations. But for the past month and a half I've had the benefit of adjusting from the safety of home. I could rest when I needed to rest. I've been far from the stress of my job. I've limited my time spent with others.
Time is quickly running out on my leave of absence, and next week I return to work full-time. I love my job, but it is absolutely not without stress and challenge. I'm a nurse educator for three hospitals, so as I go about my work, I am constantly juggling the very different needs of three sets of staff, three sets of administration, three sets of schedules. I have some very long days when I get back, jumping right into annual competencies, core classes, and digging through all the emails and phone calls that have stockpiled while I've been off. It would be exhausting to consider at any time, but I'm pushed to the limit by a forty-minute stint at the grocery store these days. I'm having a bit of my own situational crisis.
It's not just work. I've spent a lot of time lately wondering how I fit into my own life now. I love our house and our neighborhood deeply, but our home consists of three floors. The main floor is small, and only has a living room, dining room, and kitchen. There are no bedrooms or bathrooms. We have small steps up and down in a few places, and whole flights of stairs everywhere else. I'm constantly climbing stairs--or planning my day to maximize my time on each floor between flights. Stairs have become a real challenge for me, and the more I'm up and down, the more exhausted I become. It's been a frequent topic of conversation.
My hobbies, outside of crafts and writing, are hiking and bike riding. From the first day, I've been determined to find a way to continue to hike and enjoy the outdoors. It's the reason my in-laws bought me the walking sticks this week. The need to be able to enjoy the outdoors is precipitated by the plans we had already laid out for this summer. For over a year, we've been planning a vacation to eastern Canada with my parents. The trip originally included lots of opportunities to hike and explore national parks, although some of it may need to be amended as we get closer. It's been booked, paid for, and planned for months, and I'm constantly aware of how those plans are impacted by my health.
The reality is that diagnosis and treatment have the potential to lessen my symptoms--that's always been our hope, anyway. But a lot of time remains between now and then, with increasing demands in the meantime. The next few weeks will be especially challenging as I enter back into my life with worsened symptoms and no more answers. I'll be testing just how much I'm capable of in this season, and finding new ways to work with (or around) my limitations. And through it all, more waiting. This may be the hardest stage of our journey in some ways. One step at a time. One day at a time. Often, one hour at a time.
My experience is far from a NICU parent's experience, but I've been finding myself in a somewhat similar place the past few days. I've worked through the initial crisis of this disease, and I've even learned to navigate and work around my new limitations. But for the past month and a half I've had the benefit of adjusting from the safety of home. I could rest when I needed to rest. I've been far from the stress of my job. I've limited my time spent with others.
Time is quickly running out on my leave of absence, and next week I return to work full-time. I love my job, but it is absolutely not without stress and challenge. I'm a nurse educator for three hospitals, so as I go about my work, I am constantly juggling the very different needs of three sets of staff, three sets of administration, three sets of schedules. I have some very long days when I get back, jumping right into annual competencies, core classes, and digging through all the emails and phone calls that have stockpiled while I've been off. It would be exhausting to consider at any time, but I'm pushed to the limit by a forty-minute stint at the grocery store these days. I'm having a bit of my own situational crisis.
It's not just work. I've spent a lot of time lately wondering how I fit into my own life now. I love our house and our neighborhood deeply, but our home consists of three floors. The main floor is small, and only has a living room, dining room, and kitchen. There are no bedrooms or bathrooms. We have small steps up and down in a few places, and whole flights of stairs everywhere else. I'm constantly climbing stairs--or planning my day to maximize my time on each floor between flights. Stairs have become a real challenge for me, and the more I'm up and down, the more exhausted I become. It's been a frequent topic of conversation.
My hobbies, outside of crafts and writing, are hiking and bike riding. From the first day, I've been determined to find a way to continue to hike and enjoy the outdoors. It's the reason my in-laws bought me the walking sticks this week. The need to be able to enjoy the outdoors is precipitated by the plans we had already laid out for this summer. For over a year, we've been planning a vacation to eastern Canada with my parents. The trip originally included lots of opportunities to hike and explore national parks, although some of it may need to be amended as we get closer. It's been booked, paid for, and planned for months, and I'm constantly aware of how those plans are impacted by my health.
The reality is that diagnosis and treatment have the potential to lessen my symptoms--that's always been our hope, anyway. But a lot of time remains between now and then, with increasing demands in the meantime. The next few weeks will be especially challenging as I enter back into my life with worsened symptoms and no more answers. I'll be testing just how much I'm capable of in this season, and finding new ways to work with (or around) my limitations. And through it all, more waiting. This may be the hardest stage of our journey in some ways. One step at a time. One day at a time. Often, one hour at a time.
