Heavy Lifting Required

The phrase "heavy lifting involved" does not adequately sum up my day.

Patient #1:
Okay, so no, my patient was not wearing a Santa suit, but they were about this size... They have a BMI of 58. The surgeon had to order a special table that cost over $58,000 to perform the surgery, and they wanted ME to get them out of bed post-operatively!! EEK! Fortunately, the occupational therapist assigned to this patient is a strong guy, so between the two of us, we were able to sit at the edge of bed for about 10 minutes.


Patient #2: Okay so my first patient of the afternoon was a patient who had a total hip replacement over 10 months ago and in the last 10 months has dislocated their hip over 8 times... There is only so many times a surgeon can put the hip back in and revise a total hip replacement. So the only alternative is a spica cast. A spica cast is a cast that is put from the mid-abdomen all the way down to just above the knees so a patient's hips can't move. So imagine this cast: On a 60-something-year-old. And they asked ME to get the patient up! So I again teamed up with an occupational therapist to figure out how to get a patient, who can only bend about 25 degrees at the waist and has both their hips totally immobilized, out of bed. We decided that the best way to accomplish this was to just turn the patient so their legs were hanging off then leverage the patient up into standing. It was a little scary I'll admit. I slid the patient off the bed from essentially a laying down position and leveraged them into standing. Fortunately, the patient has a great sense of humor and we laughed all the way through the treatment. Especially when the patient referenced the surgeon as "the butcher".

My third tough patient of the day was a completely dependent transfer x 2 people. It's a really sad case of chemotherapy gone bad for a young patient with 2 small children. This patient can do nothing, and is not consistently responding to questions with blinks or hand squeezes. My days can never seem bad, when I have a patient who's greatest accomplishment of the day is coughing up a huge blob of sputum out of their trach when I have them sitting edge of bed for 3 minutes.

That's my day in a nutshell. 9 hours. I'm tired.

Happiness

My happiness is not determined by:
-numbers on a scale
-what I'm having for lunch
-if my patients like me or not
-if I'm having a bad/good hair day
-what kind of home I live in
-if I have someone to spend my life with
-what kind of clothes are in my closet
-who returns my phone calls
-who doesn't return my phone calls
-how much money I have in the bank
-my family's happiness
-where my parents live
-how many people honk at my driving


Obviously the list can go on for awhile... In this season when it's easy to get consumed by things, and pleasing other people, and ourselves, through momentary distractions, I just wanted to remind myself where my joy comes from.

"You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore." Psalm 16:11

One month

I've been at the hospital for a month now, and its been a good month. I've had 3 people get lightheaded on me and have to sit down. I've had one person pass out on me. 2 people have vomited in the bucket I was holding. I've eaten cafeteria chicken strips and curly fries once. I've had 3 people ask me if I am in high school. I've had 5 people point out that my eyes match my scrubs. I have cried zero times at work. It's been a good month.

I had the intention of writing a long post about Sabbath. And how I just recently was given the revelation of what Sabbath truly means, and that man WAS NOT made for the Sabbath, but Sabbath was made for man. But I'm tired now, and I will write it later. I've got work tomorrow, and as you see in the list above, that may involve some heavy lifting, or heavy dry heaving...

It was the best of times....

In the last 9 years since I moved out of my parents house (the first time), I've had 12 different roommates (including my current two). Of those 12, only 2 of them have been bad roommates. I'm not going to give those two any space on my post, but I would love to talk about my current roommates, and why they are keepers.


1. I asked Colleen and Allison if I could move in on a temporary basis only. 9 months later I'm still here and I have thus decided to stay permanently and they've been completely cool with it.

2. I only knew one of my two roommates before I moved in, and Allison was gracious enough to let me move in when she didn't even know me... props to her.

3. A month and a half after I moved in I brought home a 6-week-old boxer puppy, un-housebroken and whiny. 6 months after that, my brother moved in during his furlough from school. They've welcomed both with open arms, both literally (as in the puppy) and figuratively (as in the brother).

4. They've both put up with my unintentional, yet not-so-subtle rudeness.

Exhibit A: One of our first all-inclusive roommate movie viewings was "slumdog millionaire". I apparently talked it up a little too much because it didn't become an all-time favorite by either of the girls. However, in the middle of it, Allison asked me a question about the movie and I (according to her, and she is very truthful), stated, "I don't like to talk during movies" and went back to watching it... ouch! how rude am I? What I meant to say was that I don't like to give away things about the movie plot that will become evident later. Needless to say, I'm still working on my communication skills.

Exhibit B: If you've slept withing 20 feet of my room, you've likely experienced my annoying habit of not hearing my alarm at all. at all, at all, at all. After a couple months of hearing my alarm go off without any response from me {please note that Colleen and I sleep only about 3 feet apart, it's a small room}, her alarm goes off one morning for about 2 seconds, and I wake up long enough to say "Yours". End Scene.

That's just a couple reasons why these girls are definite keepers when it comes to roommates.

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The weather is changing, getting slightly cooler, and its perfect weather to read. Here's two of my recommendations.

The Covenant by James Michener. It's a fictional account of the history of southern Africa. I wanted to visit South Africa before reading this book, but now it's a definite MUST in the next couple of years, specifically Cape Town. Don't let the size of this book and the smallness of the font deter you, it's a great read.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. A classic, and so much better in novel form. I've read this book countless times and I plan to read it again before the year's end. This time I'll try to read all of the book, but secretly I love to skip ahead and just read the parts that involve Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. It's like eating just the icing on a cupcake. The whole thing is good, but the icing is always extra delicious.

Where's Waldo?

Ellie Mae you bring up a great question, where in the world is Emilysandiego? the answer is, where haven't I been? Actually that's not true. I came back from a wonderful trip to Africa and spent about 2.5 weeks finding a job. I'm fortunate to work in a field where there is always a need, so on October 12th, I started working. I'm at a local hospital, working as an acute care therapist. It was not where I wanted to be, but so far its been good. Crazy things happen. I start at 8am, I finish at 430pm, and I don't have to stay late unless I want to work overtime. Yes, overtime, as in I actually get paid for work I do beyond my hours! It's really nice.

Lately, I haven't felt like I've had anything worthwhile to say on here, so I haven't. Here's something worthwhile to say: For the past month a half, I've realized that I'm happy where I'm at, and I'm even happy being single.... AAAhhh! Yes! I said it! I'd like to blame all my past, "woe is me", blog entries about my unhappiness being single on hormones, but I'm not sure that will fly. Nonetheless I'll say it again, I'm happy being single. I can do whatever I want, I can go wherever I want, I answer to no one but God. And that's kind of cool....

my archenemy

Thanks for all the nice comments about my recent change in haircolor. It's lightened a little, and I'm no longer jumping out of surprise every time I look in the mirror.

My archenemy, who showed his ugly face this past spring in Austin, has done so again, only here in Windhoek. I thought I could out run him, well, at least outsmart him changing hemispheres and all, but he found me nonetheless. Cedars, blooming bushes, trees I never knew existed while growing up in dusty West Texas, all have joined forces to keep me down for a week. Allergies. What a puny sounding word to describe something so miserable. I used to (have prayed for forgiveness for this), roll my eyes at people when they said, "I'm sick with allergies". Boo hoo I thought. No big deal. I now have great empathy for them.

I feel like I've been run over by a steam roller. I'm sneezing, runny nose, stuffy head, sinus headache, itchy, sore eyes.... the list goes on. For one week my archenemy, the allergen, has been beating down my door. Allegra has made a small, temporary dent in my symptoms, but no lasting relief. I need something more powerful! Like all the bushes and trees removed from Windhoek!! Too extreme?

My years growing up in West Texas, where nothing grows on its own, did not prepare me for life among the flora and fauna. I lived in a bubble, blissfully sneeze and itching-free. Alas, I shall pay for those years of innocence... or at least buy a life-time prescription to claritin and flonase...

In other news, I was informed that the female missionaries who come to Windhoek are warned that they should carry a condom in their wallet.... WHAT?!? Yes, you read that right. Here's the idea. You can survive a rape, but you can't survive HIV. Sounds harsh, but its a reality. And while it may seem silly to think about shoving a condom in the face of a rapist, its worth asking. A recent study published by the government-funded Medical Research Council of South Africa, found that 1 in 4 South African men admit to committing an act of rape. And with over 15% of Namibia's population infected with HIV, it may not hurt to wave a condom in front of his face....

A little update

My parents and I spent 5 days at a conference center located just outside of Windhoek that had no internet capabilities, therefore I wasn't able to send my weekly update. The conference center is run by an Austrian, now Namibian, with a beer belly and no capability of buttoning his shirt completely. We were there for an annual conference for African Inland Missions of Namibia. There are about 25 missionaries in the country of Namibia that are with the same organization that my parents are here with. Those 25 couples/individuals represent the States, Cananda, Germany, the UK, and Scotland. Within those 25 couples/individuals are 25 children... Missionaries do know how to raise up families! Of those 25 children that we spent 5 days with, 3 little boys were from Scotland, and I was ready to take them all home with me, however their parents were attached to them pretty well. Children with little accents are cute. One little girl, Erin, who has an adorable British accent, started crying because she "can't get my pants over my tubby bottom".

Poverty, no matter what form it is in, is disheartening to see, but so much more in children than adults. While making rounds with my dad at the local hospital, I met a little 10-yr-old boy David. David had been brought to the hospital by his 18-yr-old brother who was desperate for help. David, and his 11 siblings, were left home alone for days on end as their parents went back to the farm where their extended family lives, and David had no food to eat for 5 days. David's parents are part of a particular tribe in Namibia that have no qualms about leaving their children. David also had a fungal infection on his head that left open sores on his head. I met another boy named Vernon. Vernon had idiopathic esinophilia. A disease in which his white blood cells attack his body for no reason. I met Vernon on a Friday and his grandmother was the only family member there. Katatura hospital, where my dad primarily works, is the last resort for children in the country. It is common for children as young 4 years of age to be put on a bus from their local village and will travel alone for hours on end to get to the hopsital for treatment. To Westerners, this may seem appaling, however many parents have children to care for, farms to run, and jobs to continue in order to put a meager amount of food on the table for the remaining children at home. They call it survival. I met Vernon on a Friday, and by Monday he had succomb to the disease. Even in the States, the disease has a greater than 95% fatality rate. My dad has had to become accustomed to 6 or 7 children dying a week. I still think its difficult for him, even though this has been his reality for more than 9 months.

In other news... despite it being the middle of the dry season, there are still bougainvilleae every where, beautiful, and the clumps of them look like velvet. Its pretty common for fires to break out around town in the fields, but all the homes are made of cement, so no one really gets too excited. Maybe the one fire station in town will respond.... maybe not... :)

I have 2 more weeks here, and I hope to spend some one on one time with my parents. Part of their ministry over here is to host people in their small flat. Currently the front door is a sliding glass door, but I really think a revolving door is more appropriate.

American Football season is starting and I'm ready to get back to the states to watch it! We have a lot of cricket, rugby, soccer, and Australian Rules Rugby. If you ever get a chance, check out Australian Rules Rugby. Very cool. Very rough.

That's all for now. Take care. Eat some Mexican food for me. :)