Didn't I just see you yesterday?

When I am with my closest friends, it is as if no time has passed and we pick up right where we left off. It's like you saw a matinee movie on a Tuesday afternoon and now it is Wednesday morning, and you're chatting over coffee about your date with your latest beau the night before.

So let's pretend that my post 361 days ago was Saturday night when I was dressed up in heels ready to hit the town, and now it's Sunday morning and my mascara has dripped to my cheeks and my hair resembles Medusa's.

Hey blog, can I get an extra shot of espresso in that latte?

Man, my work week in the ER was so exhausting. Don't get me wrong, I really like my job, I strive to learn something new every shift, but I just found the first hole in my Dansko clogs! I stretch my brain and my feet for 12 hours every shift; and I mourn the decline of my leopard print patent leather footwear.

Yeah, I've been studying for the Miller Analogies Test in preparation to apply to graduate school. Standardized tests have never been my forte, so I'm a bit nervous. Want to be my study buddy? You always encourage me to think outside the box, even when it's conveyed in size 12 font, in the style of Georgia.

Isn't this winter weather so strange? It's nearly February and my body is finally sore from bombing down the ski hill! It's nearly February and I finally get to scope out the men who are bombing down the ski hill next to me! No, none of them have caught my eye yet; they're all 5'8" and don't have jobs.

I'm totally digging my own new apartment in downtown Boise. It has me written all over it: bright colors, sparkles and funk. And when I want to watch Pride and Prejudice over and over, I can. And I do. "Oh, dear, I cannot tease you about that. What a shame; for I dearly love to laugh," is still a personal mantra.

Beach Body Spring Break 2012 is in full swing. Sort of. West Valley Medical Center's white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies might be my downfall. I'm hoping dreams of the sandy beaches of Cancun will be more persuasive than the seduction of butter and sugar on my tongue.

Before I've gotta go, dear blog, I want you to know that I'm a happy girl. New black satin Victoria's Secret pajamas, Sean Minor wine, receiving flowers from a patient's family, lazy movie nights with my family, a ring made out of a seashell, starting IV's with the ultrasound machine, passionate and intimate kisses, Anthropologie scented candles, and pounding the pavement in Nike running shoes to new tunes... are just a few reasons why I am a happy girl.

I'll see you tomorrow.. ;)

Early Twenties Renovation

For posterity sake, I guess I need to update my blog about where I've been, what I've been doing, for the past 6 months. Since the cyberspace inanimate object cares so much... I will start from the beginning.

An old friend, who looms around and can sneak up on you and scare you, or who can gradually work its way back into your life and offer some excitement, made its presence known in May 2010. This old friend's name is Change.

Change, meet Meredith.

Meredith, meet Change.

"Oh I know you...," said Change, "remember me?"

Of course I do.

I, reluctantly at first, welcomed Change back into my life.

What Change meant for me was a position in the Emergency Department. A position for which I have always longed.

But this position wasn't in Salt Lake.

This position was in Idaho.

Okay, Change, I accept.

And accept I did! In a matter of days, I packed up my little life in Salt Lake and moved 5 hours northward to a little place I call Home.

Change and Home have kindly offered me a chance to fall in love with the ER and (most) everything about it. From intubating patients who have overdosed on any drug known to man, to cute old men who come in with chest pain, to exposed bones from deep lacerations, to tying people down to beds because they won't cooperate (and are high on any drug known to man), to little kiddos with appendix's that are about to burst.... I have learned so much.

I didn't know I could learn so much!

I have found that ER nurses are jack of all trades, but master of none. Except for IV's.

I place about 5-10 IV's a shift. Vein acupuncture is my new black.

I still can't cook, or sew, or paint my nails... but damn, I can give you an IV....

And I can put really good things through that IV. Like Ativan, or Versed, or Morphine, Or Propofol.

If you are not familiar with such goodies, google it. You'll see why they're goodies.

The ER physically and mentally drains me; but, no matter how exhausted I may be at the end of a 12-hour shift, it really does hurt so good.

The best thing Change has given me is the chance to be closer to family. I get the opportunity to see Tanner and Abby grow up right in front of my eyes!

Have I told you in awhile that Abby is only one inch shorter than me? And that she is wearing my old clothes from high school? Do I need to remind you that she is a mere twelve years old?

Have I told you that Tanner is 5 inches taller than me? And that he broke his collarbone during football season, but still received a scholarship offer from Boise State? Do I need to remind you that he is an aged seventeen year old?

I am constantly on the road of Change. I will be applying to graduate school in the fall, with 14 schools in mind scattered about the country. I am single. I do not have any children. Looks like Change and I will be remaining close for awhile.

However, there are a few things that my friend Change has not, and will not, alter.

I am still 5'10". Still a brunette. Still love to run. Still love to ski. Still love Diet Coke. And I still turn one year older every June 25th.

And I still sleep with my baby blanket.

Mortal Vitality

I am well aware I have stepped away from my blog for over half a year.

I allowed life to continue, and I unintentionally allowed myself to not chronicle it.

I certainly have been enjoying life these past months; and though I have had more time on my hands because I blog less, I have found I have enjoyed life less because I have not blogged more.

When I take the time to pause, reflect, and write, on ideas and events that I find passionate, those ideas and events become something even greater.

Though I have been encouraged by the few blog fans that I may have to start writing again, what spurs me to write today is an event where, within its borders, I found passion and was significantly moved.

I was motivated to write because of the deaths of two young people, who departed this world too soon. One person whom I knew, and the other I did not.

A childhood friend passed away in her sleep, and she returned home to Boise, to be celebrated and mourned by her family and friends. I was fortunate enough to attend her funeral, and feel of the passion people felt for her. And I was much more emotional that I had anticipated. She was beautiful, kind, quirky, artistic, never judged another, and saw the technicolor side to life.

By remembering Aubri, I was reminded that I need to be more like her. I need to learn how to be slow to anger; to have more patience; and to exhibit more kindness to others. I want to touch others, as Aubri did in her short time here.

It was a beautiful memorial service honoring Aubri and I felt so fortunate to be able to share it with my parents. And it was a beautiful car ride home with my mother, as I cried, and so did she.

It was later that same evening, when my thoughts all day had been turned to Aubri, and death, and living with passion while we can, I learned of the second death. A boyfriend of an old soccer teammate was killed in a motorcycle crash in Honduras. He had been traveling the world, living a life long dream.

My heart ached, more than it already had, for my friend and her loss. I was privately overcome with thoughts of losing such talented individuals from this earth and not knowing when others, those who are closer to me, may have the same fate.

I laid in my bed silent, alone, until the early hours of morning thinking, pondering, wiping away tears, inquiring, about how fragile life is, and always will be.

Though I was tempted, I never did ask the question, "Why?"

"Why so young? For what purpose?" For we will never know why, and I have never been one to drown myself in something that cannot be solved.

The question I did find myself asking was, "How?"

"How can I live more like them? How can I find, search, and live the passions that mean most to me?" For this question has an answer.

I started with hugging my mother a little bit tighter and longer. I played with my little sister's hair and scratched her back. I told friends that I loved them. I offered more smiles to patients who walked through the Emergency Room doors.

Though death is painful, tragic, scary, and sometimes seemingly unbearable; I found that Thursday, January 20th, as I learned of death, was filled with passionate moments and emotions that I will never forget.

And now that I have chronicled those moments, they are even greater.

Thank you Aubri Chance and Matty Lee; for you have touched others, and me, in more ways than you thought possible.

Patience is a Virtue...

...as defined by Benjamin Franklin.

He also routinely practiced what he preached. How else did the lightbulb come to be?

Welp, this virtue is on my list, too

My one-day-someday list.

Right now, as I recover from ACL surgery, patience is not my best attribute.

To read how I am trying.... go here.

Warrior Status

So I had that date with the doctor. Wanna know how it went?

Read here.

With love from the girl with new battle wounds...

Take Action

It is Emergency Medical Services (EMS) week.

Read my article, "CPR Certification for Every Capable Citizen" here.

Are you prepared?

xoxo,

Nurse Mer

The Low Down

I promised more details were to follow my last post, didn't I?

Well, because I never break a promise made on my blog, here are the dets....

My column is up and running on Examiner.com! Go here to take a look. And then take another look. Hey, while you're at it, might as well go for a third trip!

(And no, of course I would never ask you to make several stops at my column because it means I get paid more. Psssh who does that. Not me. Nope. Never.)

Happy Examining, folks!

Drafted into the Pros

Dear Blog,

May I reintroduce myself to you not as your keeper, but as your professional blogger extraordinaire.

Humbled and excited, I have landed a cool new (part-time) gig. A gig that doesn't involve needles and answering gastrointestinal questions, but that involves a computer keyboard, the internet, and stringing sentences together.

I recently applied for a professional writing position for Examiner.com, as their Health and Happiness Examiner (not a blogger, but an examiner) for the city of Salt Lake.

And welp, I got it!

Compensation is based purely off of generated revenue from site hits and advertisements. So the hope for you, dear blog, is to decrease hits to you and increase hits to my page for Examiner.com. I know this may hurt at first, but it is for the best. You'll see.

More details, like my personal URL, to follow...

Your Partner in Success,

Examiner Mangum

Did I seriously just personify my blog and write a post specifically dedicated to him/her?

Thanks, Mr. Whitby....

You know this was for you.

No Such Thing as a Stupid Question

Working in an office, I don't experience the hands on stories that many hospital floor nurses do. But I am just fine with that. Actually, I prefer it.



Teaching classes to patients pre-surgery and moderating our online forums, I get asked a lot of questions. And without fail, those questions turn gross, or socially inappropriate, but they make my job so much more interesting.



Even though I don't really want to hear about what's coming out of one of your orifices, I actually maybe really do. So.... what's your question? Oh that's gross, but here, I can't wait to give you my answer...



Sometimes the questions are straight sassy and sarcastic, and those are, by far, my favorite. I get to be sassy and sarcastic in return.



Oddly enough, I have to sensor my responses to females. if I am sassy and sarcastic to a woman, she hates me. And I have to follow it with, "I'm just giving you a hard time...." accompanied by the biggest smile I have ever produced in my life. But if a male receives my response? He laughs and dishes it right back. Oh, gender dynamics!



Well every Monday and Wednesday mornings, I teach a lengthy pre-surgery class. Yesterday was no exception. I gave my lecture on appropriate diet measures the day before surgery, including that the definition of a "light" lunch does not mean steak and potatoes. I then mentioned that nothing but clear liquids should be consumed after 6pm. After defining what fits into a clear liquid category, a patient (male, of course), then asks,

"Does Corona count?"

Fair game, sir.

Fair game.

Show Me the Money

There have been many valuable lessons learned as I have entered the real world post college. Some were more grand than others. Some were more difficult than others. But a common theme amongst many of the lessons learned was money.

I have said this before and will continue to release it from my lips into the air...

Adulthood is expensive.

It's always been a strange idea that we have to make money to simply survive. If I want a roof under which to live, I have to make money. If I want to make my bi-monthly trip to Smith's Marketplace for groceries, I have to make money. Gas for my car? Money.

I also know that I am certainly one who works to live, and does not live to work. I love being a nurse and the many ways I get to help others find better health, but the job title is not at the crux of who I am.

With a pricey knee surgery and school bills headed my way, I have felt the need to create a more concrete budget and follow it closely.

Oh, look, another adult life lesson. Budgeting.

Like my mother mentioned the other day, "What has happened to Franklin Covey? They make such great daily planners. I would like an app for that."

Because we all want "an app for that," why not get a budget app?

So I did! It's called Budgetroid. And it rocks.

Now I can forget about saving receipts (like I did much of that anyway), and having to record each purchase into a Word Document, or Quicken (if I had that...). I simply whip out my cool new 3G android phone and access my app.

My uber cool Budgetroid app.

I select which category the purchase falls under, I type in the purchase amount, and wah-lah! I have a color coded, organized, and efficient method to keep on track.

Though often my blog posts are simply for me to record my own thoughts and experiences, I think this was subconsciously written for my parents.

See mom and dad? Your coaching has paid off. Cha-ching!

November Baby

I have this girlfriend. Well, more like a sister.

She is tall and blonde and pretty.

She has a delightfully funny potty mouth and can make me laugh more than anybody else.

I have often told her that if she were male, she would be my soul mate.

She is super athletic and loves to road bike.

She is kind, sweet, and sarcastic.

Her name is Jessica.

A year ago, she married a guy named Tony.

And today...

she is ten weeks pregnant.

Congratulations Jessica and Tony!

And thank you for making me an aunt. Cannot wait to meet the little person this fall...

Tough it Out

I am a healthy individual. Lately, I have filled out so many health questionnaires for doctor's offices and surgery centers that I know when asked the question, "Do you have a history of..." I say no. To everything.

Same goes for seasonal colds and flu's. I rarely get sick.

Well, last weekend, my older and wiser brother, Parker, graduated from Brigham Young University.

My immune system must have known my family was coming into town, thinking it would be alright to let down its guard because outside help would be close by. More specifically, my mom would be there. And moms make the best nurses.

During Thursday's commencement proceedings in the Marriott Center, my body began to ache all over. It made me think, "Is this what fibromyalgia patients suffer from everyday?" But then I began to fidget so much from feeling so uncomfortable, I felt bad for the people sitting behind me. Maybe I should have popped a Ritalin just to appease their judgmental eyes.

As we made the drive from campus to a neighboring city for dinner, I stepped out of Jamal (our black Toyota Sequoia) and knew this was more than a flighty case of body aches. Sans bathroom, my lunch made it's reappearance next to a silver truck, with my mom and little sister standing guard. Needless to say, I had to constantly divert my senses away from the meatball sandwiches and pesto chicken pasta ordered that night by family members to prevent any future gravity defying stomach spills.

The saga continued, including Friday morning when I received a phone call from a friend, Derek, to ask an important question at 8am. He told me to suck it up and put my game face on. I responded with a good laugh and I fell back asleep.

With a little bit of luck, I made the trip back to Provo for the convocation ceremonies with my mom at the wheel of my car. Despite getting to know the Marriott Center's bathrooms a little too intimately that afternoon, it was an absolute pleasure to watch Parker strut across the stage and receive his diploma.

What. a. stud.

That night my mom made an emergency trip to Albertsons for the necessities and my little sister helped peel off my knee high boots and crawl into a cozy Boise State soccer sweatshirt.

Hopped up on Tylenol PM and a belly full of Sprite and Saltines, my fever broke that night.

Thank goodness, because I had to get up the next morning to teach a weight loss surgery class to potential patients.

Now how's that for a game face, Derek?

Medical Courtship

Wednesday, May 12th, 2010... I have a date with a surgeon.

No, not that guy.

This guy...

He technically is the same age as my dad.

He happens to be married. (But apparently these days that doesn't matter.)

I will be asleep for the duration of the date.

I may even wake up from said sleep and vomit all over him from nausea.

I am also planning to wear a sexy cotton backless gown.

And I will pay.

In 15 days I will be going under the knife for left ACL repair, for the third time.

Despite my date giving me a swollen and incredibly pained knee, he does give me some good drugs out of the deal. (But then again.. he prescribes, I pay.)

Until then, I'll ice my knee and pop ibuprofen like candy. It's like going on a carb-free diet before swimsuit season. (But then again.. I've never done that.)

Wish this gimp luck.

Be Positive, Lose an Electron

I'm not going to try and be eloquent, here.

It's torn. My Anterior Cruciate Ligament (ACL) is torn. Again, times three.

Dr. Kirk Lewis' repair didn't hold. Now Dr. George Wade's repair didn't hold either.

Will Dr. Michael Holmstrom's surgical gift be the one to survive until the day I am laid to rest in the ground? (Or burned to ashes? Haven't yet decided which, but I think I have time).

Clearly the surgeons are not to blame, as they each gave me 3-4 years of high school and collegiate soccer. I even "medically retired" my career at Boise State a year early to prevent any more ACL tears.

Well, call me crazy, I decided to join an indoor coed league in Salt Lake because I didn't think the level of competition would be as intense. Just as previous tears have proven, the competitive nature of the game doesn't really matter.

All three tears have stemmed from planting and cutting and ZERO contact.

Hell, I can be shopping and tear my ACL! The sudden marked decrease in my walking speed can be seen as soon as I hit the sale rack at J. Crew and can cause a tear. It's true.

But this go around really hurts. Really devastates. Really disheartens.

The second play into the game late Thursday night, I came from behind and stuck my left leg out in front of a guy ready to release the ball. I planted with purposeful force and my weight plunged forward all onto my knee.

And snap.

I felt and heard the tear. Sounds like the loudest knuckle pop in the world.

The pain was unprecedented. And I knew exactly what I had done (even though I still paid the $25 copay to hear it from an MD's mouth).

As soon as my teammates helped me to the bench, I immediately began to feel physically nauseous and I began to hyperventilate. A combination of knowing the road that lie ahead of me and the actual response to the physical pain, I had to lie down to prevent throwing up or passing out.

For the next 40 minutes, I had to rest on the chipped paint bench and stew over what had just taken place. It felt unreal, like a bad dream that I couldn't wake up from. Or like I could somehow pretend that this actually didn't happen. Well unlike Michael J. Fox, I myself cannot go back in time and reverse unfortunate events. What's done was done.

As Dashboard Confessional's "Vindicated" played through the facilities speakers, I stared up at the high ceiling and cried.

And I cried some more.

I called my parents later that night (nearing midnight) and I cried even more.

I threw on some freshly washed undies and my Harvard Medical School t-shirt and hobbled into bed.

And I cried myself to sleep.

But like most things in life, time heals wounds and my emotional strength is already gearing up nicely to tackle a third surgery and the long arduous consequential recovery.

Tomorrow at 8:45am, I see Dr. Holmstrom at The Orthopedic Specialty Hospital (woohoo for SLC having a plethora of surgeons readily available) and the journey will begin.

Your Official Plans for Saturday Morning

Saturday morning, April 17th, Salt Lake City is hosting their annual marathon races! Full 26.2 mile marathon, half marathon, 5K, and a bike race make up the events for the spring morning. The half marathon starts at the University of Utah and finishes at the Gateway mall. With the race starting at 7am, you should expect runners, one in particular, to cross the finish line around 8:45am.

If you love to run or enjoy sports in any capacity, this is where you should be Saturday morning.

If you want to see a particular blogging brunette running the streets of Salt Lake in Nike and Aasics, this is where you should be Saturday morning.

Or even if you don't give a damn about exercising and adrenaline and me, this is still where you should be Saturday morning.

Find a copy of the half marathon route here.

Your Official Plans for Saturday Night

Saturday, April 17th, @ 7:30pm, Salt Lake Community College is hosting their annual Raw Couture Fashion Show at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center (138 West 300 South).

If you love fashion, this is where you should be Saturday night.

If you want to watch a particular blogging brunette strutting a runway, this is where you should be Saturday night.

Or even if you don't give a damn about clothes or couture or me, this is still where you should be Saturday night.

For $19, buy your ticket here.

Embrace

So just for fun, I do a little bit of modeling. The occasional gigs I actually get do pay some green stuff, but the art form is more like a hobby of mine. Like crafting or sewing or cooking or walking on a runway or posing in front of a camera. They're all one in the same, right?

If you disagree, the questioned posed is rhetorical.

My hobby is defined as a hobby because I don't get paid nearly enough to make it more of a source of income. I do it because it is so fun and even produces the same adrenaline created in playing a game of soccer or running a race.

My jobs are few and far between. And I am more than okay with that. I have a college degree for a reason.

Well, yesterday I met with a world-renowned modeling agent, Paul Fisher. Sir Paul has personally represented supermodels with names like Naomi Campbell, Brooke Burke, Janice Dickinson, Kimora Lee Simmons, and Nicky Hilton. Yes, I am totally name dropping.

He chose to meet with the models within the McCarty agency and evaluate where we could fit in with "The Network." This is a business method for models/agencies who normally are offered local bookings to achieve larger, more profitable jobs.

As usual, when I walk into modeling auditions, I know that no one cares about how well I can articulate and express myself. It's more about the cheekbone's altitude, the fullness of the lips, or the choreography of an outfit. Understandably, auditions feel shallow.

But this time, as I walked in to meet Paul, he looked at me and studied me, as if I were a geometry equation and the angles of my facial features needed to be determined. It felt mathematical; and moreover, non-judgmental.

He asked me what types of jobs I typically get for McCarty. I responded with commercial and runway. He nodded in agreement and then said, "And I bet those jobs are few and far between."

Not offended, I also nodded in agreement. I trusted his experience and his ability to see something and know where it belongs.

And he knew where I belonged.

"You would be PERFECT for my Natural Beauty group."

I'm wearing loads of make-up right now. I'm calling BS on that one.

"Currently, there are really only two categories of models: Twigs and Plus-Size."

Yes. I am following. Continue.

"The Natural Beauty group is for sizes 6-8 who fall in the middle ground. Don't lose any weight and don't gain any weight. You are perfect."

Will you repeat that? I don't think I heard you right. I think you just used the P-word.

And with that, Paul Fisher became my personal saint.

I have always valued my opinion of myself and my ability to find confidence from within. But to hear my thoughts echoed from an experienced professional's mouth was so satisfying. Redemptive. Exciting.

I am not sure what bookings will come from this interview, if any.

But what I feel to be the most gratifying element from meeting Paul Fisher is that perhaps our social standards are expanding. One body ideal is not another's body ideal. And that encouraging women to love their bodies just as they are, and to describe them as a "natural beauty" is a fantastic thought.

I am a firm believer that if a woman humbly thinks of herself as beautiful, she looks beautiful to those around her. Confidence speaks, and people listen.

Rock on my lovely lady friends!

Dub-Ya

Last night, our indoor coed soccer team experienced the first sweet taste of victory.

The key to the game? Have half the team either go on a Mexican cruise or to Las Vegas the weekend prior, and make sure they come home with severe needs of recuperation. This will ensure total domination on a Thursday night in the competitive arena.

Seems irrational?

It works.

We know.

Can it be?

When I turned 2, my parents thought I was getting too old to use a binky. And apparently, I agreed, because I didn't put up a fight. Or so legend has it.

When I turned 10, I thought I was getting too old for curly perms (until I turned 19, and thought a "hair wave" for a trip to Italy would be tres chic, but that's another story).

When I turned 16, I thought I was too old for church dances.

And now at 22, I think I am getting too old for three consecutive nights of fun in Vegas.

Did I really just say that?

Too old?

Well, when I came home with a head cold the size of America's budget deficit (it made it's evil return from one week prior), and fatigue that couldn't be satiated by a straight 24 hour rest (I'm just guesstimating here), I realized....

Yes.

I might just be too old for this.

I'm definitely not complaining. I had a fantastic time spent by the pool under a 75 degree sun, with long time girlfriends at my side, eating sushi and drinking mojitos by day, and rockin' dance clubs and Denny's breakfast by night.

Great memories were made. And there's a quote I like that says this....

And I definitely like looking back at this past weekend. And with a plethora of pictures snapped over 72 hours, it sure makes it easy to wax nostalgic.

Still...

when DayQuil is the only thing pushing me through this first day of my work week, I think it's safe to say,

that, yes, indeed,

I am getting too old for a 3 day crusade.

But... I don't think I heard anybody discount aging bodies taking it to the mattresses 2 nights in a row....

Sweet.

Like a Bird

And so I will.

I will land at 5:20pm in the rockin' city of Las Vegas.

Reality, I will see you on Monday at 3:40pm. Don't get too excited, because such an emotion will not be reciprocated.