Me Before You

The last book that made me ugly cry harder than The Fault In Our Stars, was Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. I found out on Goodreads that apparently there is a sequel. I have VERY mixed feelings about this. VERY MIXED. But I do think this comment from the Goodreads page  probably sums it up the best. 

Now I think I'll go grab some Kleenex. You, go read the book, and be prepared to feel ethically unsettled by the content in a way that will leave you more uncomfortable than I could possibly explain. But in like a good/bad way. Also, bring Kleenex. I have never cried so hard from a book, never. But really, read it. And when you finish sobbing, give me a call. 

Clipped

Clipped in yesterday for the first time in at least 12 months. 

And what's more, I did it wearing (gasp!) horizontal stripes.

 #rockingbody 

Six year old sympathy

The great news about having a six year old is that if you ever want sympathy for having to get say, bilateral hip injections, you can just tell the kiddo you had to get TWO shots, and their little sympathies will be all over it. 

Why can't adult life be more like that sometimes? Where are pains can be worn like shots on our sleeves and the sympathies of those we love like band-aids trying to take that pain away? 

Amazon

How does Amazon know me well enough to recommend that I purchase timers? Also, why is it that I love timers? Because I do. I absolutely love them. 

That extra five minutes

Talking myself into swimming today was not easy, and when I got to the pool, I looked at the clock the entire swim.  Sometimes it is a battle, like really, a battle to get myself to workout. But sometimes on days like today, I reach my allotted time and then keep swimming for an extra five minutes just to prove to myself that I can. And sometimes, just sometimes, that last five minutes is the best part of my swim. 

I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere. 

A Followup Post On Insomnia

No one is sadder about my difficulties sleeping than this guy. 

"Liz, it's one a clock in the morning. Will you please just let me sleep?"

But actually, I guess you could include the hubs or even me above ye old puppy  on the "Votes Against Insomnia" petition that I'm sure someone will be starting up any minute. 

My New Alarm Clock

Yesterday I was sleeping in (I've been working a lot of nights lately). Little man was ready for me to get up, but I was stalling. Finally, he came in and said, "Liz, I'm going to tickle your feet until you get out of bed." 

And then he did. He climbed right up in my bed and started tickling my feet. When I tried to move them or hide them, he pulled the blanket off and tickled my little toes until I got myself out of bed.

I think it goes without saying that he makes me happier than I could possibly explain. 

When Moms Say Stuff

Yesterday little man wanted to open a package before we got home from the store. He asked me if he could, and I said, "If it were me I wouldn't because I wouldn't want one to get lost or broken, but if you want to open it you can." He said, "You know what my mom says? She says that when moms say something you should listen. So that's why I choose not to open it." 

Good choice buddy. 

Jane Austen

I think this means I'm officially a grown up. Not only am I reading Jane Austen, thanks to Mrs. Nixon who told me to remember that it's a social satire, but it's in LARGE PRINT. Thank goodness. 

Now, let me go get my spectacles.

Bleeding to Death as a Mechanism of Standing for What You Believe.

Tonight on my desk there is a folder: Clinical Strategies To Avoid Blood Transfusion. Provided to our trauma office by a Jehovah's Witness minister in Salt Lake City, whose card is in the cover.

A few years ago I had my first experience caring for a Jehovah's witness patient who was bleeding. In nursing school this had come up, in discussions of childbirth, of ethics, of cultural awareness and sensitivity. Of the way that Jehovah's Witness patients do not believe in accepting blood transfusions. Of my friend who cared for a woman who was bleeding to death and chose to accept blood, and then felt that she had lost her eternal soul.

But this was my first real life encounter. The man was bleeding internally. Bleeding excessively. I walked with my surgeon into a room full of the man's family and listened to my boss explain to the family that he was going to bleed to death. That we could surgically stop the bleeding, but that without a transfusion, the man would die. The surgeon had discussed this with the man and the man looked him straight in the face: that would be okay with me. The family, without hesitation agreed. And the man promptly and quietly bled to death.

I sobbed. I sobbed so much that I had to leave work early that day. I wanted so badly to tell his family how blessed I felt by having been able to encounter someone who acted with such conviction. But I was sobbing. So I did what I often did in such situations, I called James, who has always been a great supporter of my sobbing, among other things. I had to tell someone that a man just died for what he believed, and that he had done it stoically, unwavering and unflinching.