do i hafta?

School starts Monday. And it starts with a bang, the kind of slap-yer-ass welcome I've come to expect from UCF School of Nursing. Before I get too comfortable in the rigors of the semester, I am greeted bright and early on Monday morning with a dosage calculations test: you must pass this with 100% or else be removed from the program. Then, the next two days consist of skills checkoffs: remember all those things you did in the lab, maybe once each, like inserting a foley catheter and trach suctioning? Well, you have to remember and pass those, too, stuff you haven't done in over a month because you were busy doing all those Christmasy/New Year's things (and, for some of us, working our side jobs). Not passing these skills also means your place in the program is jeopardized. Then, at the end of the week, there's a comprehensive psych exam, filled with content you barely understood last semester because the teacher talked rapidly and in hushed tones, and you just couldn't hear her over the girl next to you who would not, in the name of all that is holy, stop pressing the buttons on her cell phone, making all sorts of high-pitched beeps and "woo-woo-woos". If you don't pass this exam, you don't get kicked out, but you are blessed with a mountainload of homework and paperwork on top of an already-crammed semester.

To those of you intimately acquainted with nursing school, I'm sure this is all bringing a smile to your face - or, if you are in the thick of it with me, making you just as anxious as I am. And for you readers not familiar with all of this, yes, it does seem a little extreme and barbaric. I understand the logic behind it all: no one wants the nurse who is bad with decimal places, because there's a big difference between 0.1 mg and 10 mg, and you could potentially kill your patient if your math is off. Still, must we do this all in one week? Sheesh.

I know that these next months will really test the strength and breadth of my inner character: no one said this would be easy, and more than a few people have mentioned how hard nursing school is, particularly when you shove it down into a condensed form like this. And I know that personally, the challenge of these two semesters is a bit greater for me: I'm trying to graduate with a degree, keep my marriage intact, keep my health somewhat intact and at least not undo all the good work I've done so far to lose weight. I have to say how grateful I am for the long runs I take about 3-4 a week, for the ability to just pound the pavement and have great "me" time to think.

For many reasons I cannot fully unfold just yet, Weight Watchers is going on hiatus. Not that I plan to park myself at the nearest Bob Evans and habitually gorge myself, no - I've come too far for that - but the weekly weigh-ins, the night-before panic and deprivation, the sectioning of my weight loss into neat little weekly segments... it's on hold for now. Weight Watchers, like any weight loss program I've done, has always inspired a brand of neuroticism in myself that I don't like, and no matter how much I try and convince myself otherwise, if I do not lose weight one week (or not as much as I think I should), I am despondent and the neurotic thoughts escalate. It's not fun. For now, I'm continuing running because I love it, adding yoga for flexibility and strength, and trying to apply the good principles I've learned regarding food, even when I'm not running to a meeting center each week.

weird, disturbing

Our neighbor next door passed away. He was pretty young - in his 40's - and had apparently been under chemotherapy. We came home from work last Friday night to find our apartment surrounded by cop cars and the medical examiner's van, where they stayed most of the night until they finally wheeled out the body, covered in a sheet, and took off. We asked the coroner guy what was the cause of death; he said he didn't know for sure, but it looked like he bled pretty well out of his chemo port. Today, we found out he'd had a stroke, though I'm not sure of the mechanics of how that makes one bleed profusely onto the carpet. I'd made the mistake on New Year's Day of peeking my head around the fence corner, thinking that in a few days they'd already cleaned the place up. Nope. Even from the street, you could see the massive dried area where the poor guy had bled out... and it made me nauseous and disturbed and upset all at once.

I think it disturbed me, not because it happened so close to us, but how easily it could have been me or Jason or my brother or whomever. This guy lived alone, and, I'm ashamed to say, not once in the year and a half living next door did Jason or I ever introduce ourselves or say hello when we (rarely) crossed paths outside our fence doors. Once, I was babysitting the Boo when I did run into him... and he sort of creeped me out, for whatever reason, so I answered in as few monosyllabic words as I could and scooted out of there with my young charge. He lived alone, unmarried, with a small yappy dog and a very loud stereo, and the only reason anyone found him was because his mother didn't receive her daily call from him and sent the security guy to go check on him.

Death makes me intensely examine my own situation, and it also lends itself to glorifying the deceased: suddenly, this man who I only remembered prior to this as having the ugliest feet in America and who made me feel uncomfortable is now, magically, this angelic, humble saint whom I failed by not being intimately involved in his daily life, because if I had been, maybe he wouldn't be dead now. I mean, I don't even know his name, but man alive, I am sorry he is gone.

It just makes me thankful for the bed I climb into every night next to the man I happily married and the good health I carry, along with a legion of caring friends and family. But I am sad it was too late for this man. Requiescat in pace, dear stranger.

a to z

I've seen this on several blogs so I thought I would join in. This was an indirect tag. I encourage anyone else who wants to participate to consider yourself tagged also!

A is for age: 29 - I will turn the big 3-0 in May.

B is for beer: Not a huge beer drinker - if I have some, it's usually Strongbow or Killian's.

C is for career: I am, quite happily, a nurse-in-training - I graduate this August.

D is for my dog’s name: No dogs. I have a stinker cat named Missy, and I might possibly consider a small dog in the future. Big dogs make me cry.

E is for essential item used everyday: Aside from the obvious essentials (toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, etc), it's my cell phone and my laptop, no contest.

F is for favorite color: Pink. All the way. But I like lots of others, too, like sage green and chocolate brown and robins-egg blue and purple...

G is for game: Scattergories, Outburst, Taboo - anything encouraging making a fool of yourself in front of others :-)

H is for hometown: Birmingham, Alabama (that's right, y'all - I'm a suthenah!)

I is for instruments: singing, piano, violin, viola (just 4th grade), cello (just 6th grade), trumpet (disastrous attempt in college), and hopefully harp soon.

J is for favorite juice: definitely apple, ice-cold.

K is for who’s butt I’d like to kick: each and every exam, including the NCLEX, that I will take over the next 9 months before finally becoming an RN

L is for last place I ate: Rossi's - big ol' chicken parmigiana sub.

M is for marriage: Married a year and a half - best thing I ever did.

N is for my name: Anne Carol. Carol is my mom's name, and Anne was just a favorite name of my parents.

O is for overnight hospital stays: Not yet.

P is for people I was with today: My husband, briefly, before he crawled out of bed to go to work.

Q is for quote: "Just because you can reproduce doesn't mean you should."

R is for biggest regret: God has really worked through every situation and decision of my life... so I'm not sure I would change anything.

S is for sport: I like to run, if you can consider that a sport. Otherwise, I am the most athletically-disinclined person EVER.

T is for traveled to: Florida, Georgia, Alabama, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Washington DC, Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island (briefly), Massachusetts, Illinois (stopover in Chicago), Texas (stopover in Dallas), Alberta CA, Dominican Republic

U is for current underwear: Yes, I'm wearing some and I hope you are too; just don't tell us if you aren't!

V is for vegetable: Of raw veggies, I like lettuce of all types, carrots, cucumbers, grape tomatoes; cooked, I like grean beans, edamame, corn, and broccoli

W is for wish: That my heart becomes more united with God's will, that I continue to run and put my health first, and that the remaining two semesters of school do not completely break me

X is for x-rays: I'm sure I had some as a child, but I don't really know when or for what

Y is for youthful ambition not fulfilled: Well, I wanted to be a giraffe when I was young. Hasn't exactly happened yet, but I am hopeful.

Z is for zodiac: Western: Taurus. Chinese: snake (haha).

my Boo

She kills me.


My boo and I

This morning, I called into work, but wouldn't you know it, that darned cat hopped right onto the bed at exactly 6am, just as I had fallen back asleep and the normal time I would have crawled out of bed, and started yowling. I mean, the neighbors probably heard her and wondered what sort of sadistic kitty abuse I was performing on her. I tried to get her to cuddle with me. I tried to push her off the bed. I even got up, went downstairs with her little paws eagerly trotting after me, and checked to make sure she was stocked up on food, water, and an unexploding litter box. All good. Go back upstairs, only to find her back on the bed, yowling at me as if to let me know I have officially and egregiously Missed My Alarm and I must get up NOW so that she may do whatever she does when Jason and I are not around to interrupt her. Mind you, she never does this yowling thing on weekends, even when Jason has to get up early and leave to do whatever he has to do. But she was intent on getting me up. So I did. I putzed around a bit, then went back to bed after an acceptable amount of time, and I guess she had decided I wasn't really going anywhere today, so she hopped onto the bed, kneaded a cushy spot on the comforter next to my butt, and snuggled with me for the rest of the morning.

And when I finally did get up, she yawned, looked at me offensively, and made a half-meow, informing me that I had Disturbed Her Beauty Sleep and I was no longer welcome. Oh, really?

fa la la la la...

Christmas this year was sweet. We spent the day with my dad and stepmom and basically ate our way through the day. There were presents - I will say that for as much as I loved opening up my presents (an Old Navy gift card, a new bicycle and helmet, a fuzzy blanket), I especially enjoyed watching everyone else open up the gifts I got for them. Jason finally got an iPod nano, plus an armband (a not-so-subtle hint that I like him to join me when I run) and the entire CD library of Waterdeep, a Christian jam band. He was also really psyched about the frostable beer steins I got him - an extremely worthwhile $10 investment!

My dad and stepmom got pictures, pictures, pictures: a set of two picture frames with pictures of my dad and I from our wedding, and then the piece de resistance, a wedding photo coffee table book.


Dad and Judy viewing the coffee table book

They loved it. I loved that they loved it. I also got them two framed pictures of my dad and I, ones that I absolutely loved and captured the two of us, serious and goofy.


My dad laughed so much when he saw these photos - he just loved them

Christmas with my mom was this morning, actually, though I completely forgot to bring our camera, so you'll just have to go on my lovely descriptions of everything. It wasn't quite the orgy of greed as it was at my dad's house: Don was in Miami today with friends, and since Jason and I had already opened our gifts to each other, it was just the gift exchange between my mom and us. Still, there was no lack of generosity, and the same photo gifts I gave my dad, I gave to Mom, only of course her book was personalized to her, and the three photos I got her were of me and her. Jason got a new John Eldredge book he's been wanting, I got a book called "Simple Living" on creating your home to be the home God designed for us to have (welcoming, inviting, not stressful because you haven't maximized all your space or have too much clutter), and we both got Willow Tree Ornaments, a yearly tradition from my mom, only these were the first Willow Tree ones we got and I LOVED them. Love, love, love them. Thank you, Mom!

And so, a New Year begins, and in so many ways, I know this year will have such dramatic impact on our lives. I graduate nursing school, Jason graduates seminary, and (gasp) I turn thirty years old. Actually, I'm delighted: the older I get, the more "street cred" I seem to have - I'm starting to hear less of my least-favorite phrase, "Oh, you're such a baby - you're too young [to understand that]." Though I am sure I will have many years to come where I wish to hear those words, right now, I'm enjoying embracing being a real adult, and I am so positive for the future and what God holds for me.



May you all have a wonderful, blessed, joyous, Christ-filled New Year.

many reflections

I have a lot to catch up on here, don't I?

First, our trip to DC and Chambersburg was wonderful. Too wonderful, in fact, because it was actually physically painful to come home to Orlando. The mobs of harried holiday travelers we encountered at OIA versus the cool organization of Dulles did not enhance the comparison in Orlando's favor, either. I really feel as though I have lived in this city too, too long, and if it weren't for coming back to my dear friends, my degree, and my snugglebuttons cat, I might not have come back at all.



We spent 4 days pounding the pavement around DC and northern Virginia. The only other time Jason and I were in DC was back when we were dating and in the city for my cousin Jen's wedding in October 2004, and he only saw Georgetown University and about 45 minutes of one Smithsonian museum. So, I was determined to show him "my" DC, and we covered just about everything: the memorials and monuments, the museums, the White House (outside only, as we didn't know you need some sort of special clearance from your local congressperson to get in), the Capitol Building, the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, and of course, probably a hundred miles total of the Metro system. We must have walked between 5-8 miles a day, trying to get everything in - my legs have never been so sore. But we got some amazing photos from it all, which you can see here. Staying with my Aunt Carol and Uncle Tim was also a treat: their house was always the home you wanted to come home to when all was said and done.



Our time in Chambersburg was really incredible, even though we only had a few days to spend there. Chambersburg is this little-but-growing town in southern Pennsylvania, about an hour from Gettysburg and 20 minutes from the Maryland state line. It is home to Martins Potato Rolls and hundreds of acres of manure-scented pasture. When I was growing up, it was always cool to go to DC - endless hours of stimulation and entertainment awaited me. However, I never liked going to Chambersburg: nothing there to entertain me. I loved all my uncles there, my mom's Amazonian brothers, who towered over me and made me squeal with delight when they tossed me into the air. I loved seeing my Nana. But those cow pastures get pretty old, and to boot, there weren't any kids my age on that side of the family. I had 3 cousins whom I hardly saw, two of whom were boys and therefore Infested With Cooties, and the one girl, a few years younger than me, decided that it would be great fun to lock me in the trunk of her dad's car, giggling outside and making me sure I would die a slow, carpeted death. She got me out after 15 minutes, but I never got over it and vowed to never, ever play with her again.

So it really, really surprised me last week when I found myself falling in love with the town after so many years away but so many vivid memories still playing in my mind. It is small, quaint, miles away from anything resembling bad traffic, filled with families and cute antique shops and some newer development, like the Target store being built and the Hagerstown outlet mall just minutes away. My Nana is still there, my uncles are still there (and still very, very tall), the cow patties are still there. Two of my aunts are there who are both wonderful, down-to-earth people, and there's the addition of my most precious cousin, Kiana, who delights me with her 8-year-old girliness and giggles (you can see her about a year and a half ago here). After about 6 hours there, Jason and I looked at each other and then to the town where we saw everything we had been looking for: a small town with wide open spaces, a great community to raise a family, all four seasons plus some snow. The job market is wide open, as is the real estate market, and Chambersburg Hospital is a great place that desperately needs good nurses. We're hoping to visit again during my next semester break - possibly early May - and we're submitting all of these revelations and deep desires to God in the meantime.



And I came home to Orlando after several large, butter-laden meals financed by my relatives, only to find that I had lost 1.2 pounds. It was pretty astounding, I tell you. I am only .2 away from reaching the 150's, numbers I saw only for a brief while as I was growing up. And even more amazing than that was the shopping day in Hagerstown at Ann Taylor with my mom: I instinctively reach for size 12s, thinking that they're going to be tight anyway. This cute skirt I found in a size 12 nearly fell off my hips, so I assumed they sized them big and reached for a size 10. Still didn't fit: it was just too long and didn't hang right. My mom insists the size 10 is too big and gets a size 8 for me, and I protest because no way am I a single-digit size in anything, especially not at Ann Taylor. Still, she makes me try it on... AND IT FITS.



I think I'm still in shock. I'm in shock over all of it, really: the knee-length boots that zip without tugging, the tops in sizes not containing the letters "XL" or "L", the butt that is both smaller and rounder, the delight in seeing myself in the mirror reflection. I'm not yet where I want to be - I'm about halfway - but I love that I am smaller and am finally enjoying the process and not just the anticipation of the goal. People compliment me a lot these days, and though the weight isn't dropping off as quickly as it used to, I'm at a miraculous spot right now, and anything in the losing-weight direction is just more icing on the fat-free cake.

might be in trouble

Jason and I acquired something I've been fantasizing about for years now: a steam cleaner. It's actually a loan from my friend Wendy, but nevertheless, it is in our possession for the entire weekend. I was so excited about the reality of having clean carpets, I mean really stinkin' clean carpets, that I could barely contain myself during church today. People probably thought I was having some sort of Advent-inspired religious experience. I mean, our carpets have gotten so bad that when I apologize in advance to visitors for our messy carpet and they sort of brush me off like, "oh yeah, we have the same issue at home..." and they walk in our door, they actually stare at the various spots under their feet as if being hypnotized by some primitive Rohrschach test. One of my friends, upon seeing the disaster, actually muttered, "Wow... yeah... whoa..." and sort of tripped out on all the spots and stains. So, this steam cleaning we're doing is actually a purification of my renter's soul - I am no longer an Untouchable and can live amongst those who have sparkling, all-white carpets and never ever rub Coke into the carpet with their sneaker, surreptitiously, during dinner with their husbands.

While Jason was steam-cleaning my carpet (and my soul, mind you), I wandered into the kitchen for a snack. I have weigh-in tomorrow and am anticipating a loss, so I don't want to pig out on anything tonight and have to include its remains for the numbers on the scale tomorrow. I'm drinking a LOT of water, needless to say. Anyway, I'm in the kitchen, and I decide to have a bite - yes, just one - of ice cream. Now, Jason's favorite ice cream in the whole world is actually the one I despise: espresso chip. If it was espresso-flavored ice cream with chocolate chips, that would be pretty okay. But the chips themselves have coffee grinds in them (Jason argues they are chips of espresso beans, which is pretty much coffee grind to me) and that's just gross to me. So, having half-gallons of espresso chip in the house doesn't hold much temptation for me. However, there was a sale - a 2-for-1 deal - and since there was only one tub of espresso chip left, I also got him peanut butter cup. He normally eats the generic version of this from our local Publix, and it's not really that great: the fudge tastes too dark, the ice cream isn't that great, and there are maybe 3 miniscule peanut butter cups for the entire tub. Hmph. I'm expecting the same from this new tub I get from Edy's, so I go to have my one little spoonful, just enough to satisfy that cold-creamy-sweet craving and go on with my life.

Holy freakin' cow. It was, quite possibly, the most spiritual experience I've had outside of accepting Jesus and getting married. With the whirr of the steam cleaner in the background and chunks of perfect fudge and peanut butter (and HUGE peanut butter cups) in my mouth, I thought I was being lifted by St. Peter himself to the pearly gates. I had the simultaneous conflicting thoughts of wanting to pledge my not-yet-conceived firstborn to the Edy's corporation and visions of a massive hate-mail campaign against them for being Diet Ruiners and Fat Packer Advocates. It took every last iota of willpower in my body to put the spoon down and not shovel the rest of the tub into my mouth in a last-supper experience.

Damn you, sweet ripples of fudgy, peanut-buttery evil.

giving it away

I donated my wedding dress, crinoline (aka Big Puffy White Nightmare), and shoes to Goodwill this afternoon. I have to admit I was feeling like Mother Teresa, driving down to the donation site. However, I think I was more relieved to just have the space in my closet back. It was the last remaining clutter of the closet after I had cleared out all the clothes that no longer fit, and now my closet looks all clean and roomy and pure. I have to admit I was a little nonplussed when the lady accepting the donations just took my bagged wedding dress, folded it over, and plopped it on top of some dusty puzzle boxes, Danielle Steel books, and stuffed animals of indeterminate breed (is it a dog? a horse? or a "dorse"?). But I hope it can bring someone else joy for their wedding day and perhaps take up large amounts of space in their undersized closet, too.

I took my exam Wednesday morning. I walked in confident, hoping for an A, and left terrified, praying that I had not failed badly enough to have a bad grade for the course. As it turned out, I scored a B - miraculously - and earned myself a good, solid B for the class. I was so relieved when I found out - I think pharmacology/pathophysiology was the hardest class I've taken to date. And now I have a whole four weeks to relax and recuperate before starting it all again for another 4 months.

The Sarasota trip was good. We ate at Yoder's, an Amish restaurant about 5 minutes from his grandparent's home. The Amish restaurant experience is pretty great: a mom-and-pop style restaurant with quilts everywhere, friendly teenage girls in plain frocks, and massive portions. Jason and I shared a slice of apple pie the size of your average barnyard animal, and our dinners could have each fed 4 people. So much for portion sizing!

I'm gonna poison all my patients

This morning's weigh-in: down 1.4 for a total of 26.6 lost. I've lost my cat... twice. (her dead weight feels like the whole 26 pounds, though) What I didn't understand, though, were the ladies just behind me who talked the entire way through the meeting, only to stop the leader every 5 minutes or so and bark, "Huh? What did you say again? Can you repeat that?" in nasally-toned New England-y accents. Why? Maybe they think they'll burn more calories with all that constant whiny talking. I don't know.

As motivated as I am to be in shape and lose weight, I am just not feeling the motivational vibes for school, and I only have one exam left to go. One. Tomorrow morning, for my super-hard Pharmacology & Pathophysiology course. We took some standardized, generalized, lobotomized testing last week - ATI tests for those of you in the know, supposedly to simulate the NCLEX experience - and I just found out I scored somewhere in the 10-40th percentile. Now, it was a hard test, I know, but you have to realize that I grew up as this test-taking wunderkind, scoring in the 99th percentile of, like, every freaking subject, even when I was making mediocre grades in high school but still managed to crank out an obscenely-high SAT score. So scoring in the 10-40th percentile in anything except perhaps my body weight, well... my whole world just got shaken. I know it's pathetic, my obsession with perfection even on the stupidest crap like a test that doesn't even count for a grade. The pharmacology part of the NCLEX is only a very small percentage, anyway. Or at least that's what they tell me. If I get to the actual test and the only questions I get are asking me about the contraindications of Depakote and the method of action of adrenergic antagonists, someone's gonna have to pay.

Tomorrow, after the exam, I get to be prettied up by my stylist, and then J and I set off for Sarasota to see his family. I have spent so very little time with his family that going to see them is like the first time, every time, and I start getting nervous and chatty and Avon-lady smiley in anticipation, forgetting that we've already broken bread together a handful of times and I have no reason to be uptight. And as far as in-laws go, I lucked out: no horror stories here. But I still get wigged out. We're bringing them gifts, and they're taking us out to a Sarasota phenomenon: Amish restaurants. I was so enthralled by the idea of an Amish restaurant: I imagined a large wooden house with no electricity, and you have to leave your car in the next block over and walk, or else come by horse and buggy, and you are served all sorts of amazingly hearty culinary delicacies by candlelight, served by women in frocks and austere hair arrangements. My friend Rachel, a Sarasota native, tells me that it's really more like going to Cracker Barrel, but I hold on to my other-world fantasy.

Oh, and the singing went well. No high-note-itis or glitches here, except for perhaps a small moment of amusement as I launched into the second verse and saw a small boy vigorously arm-farting his appreciation to me. Very reverent.

you know it was... divine night

As I prepare to deliver another heartfelt rendition of this loveliest of Christmas songs to an assembled crowd, I am always struck by my panic, left over from my singer-in-training days, that I will not get the high note. The one everyone waits for, and the one that makes the song. The version tonight is in a fairly safe key, but like most people's fear of public speaking, I too have the fear of Public High Note Shaming. Kelly, my realistic, ever-grounded fellow singer, always tells me that we are our own worst critics and that the majority of people don't know from bunk if you mess up. Maybe I have too much faith in my fellow man, for I imagine everyone in the audience with a pen and paper in hand, writing extraordinarily-crafted, detailed critiques of my every diaphragmatic offering. (A flair for exaggeration? Yes, I do have that.)

However, nothing makes me feel more at ease - or makes me nearly lose control of my bladder - than this. There is no possible way that anything I could sing tonight could come remotely near it. And if it did, I would sell it and make millions off of my comedic genius, like this singer should have done a la William Hung and Florence Foster Jenkins.