Mindful Wanderings

Home: Settling Back In

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“Monterey” by Unknown Artist

During our last trip for appointments, as Casey and I drove past the hospital to Family House, we bantered about missing our life during Olivia’s hospital stay. It’s weird to miss a place that we were itching to leave. We desperately wanted our space back. I wanted my family to all be in one room together. I wanted control over our daily schedule. I previously wrote about the beautiful gift that is community at Family House. Since leaving we have been welcomed back with warmth — thanks to Family House we always have a free place to stay when we have appointments. The last two visits have helped me realize how much part of me misses that routine we had created. When we exit the 280 there is a sense of arriving at a familiar home. It’s a mixed bag of feelings — especially for Casey who hates city-living and usually can’t wait to leave after a night or two.

But, the feeling of peace that envelopes my body as we have settled back at home is undeniable. I find myself stunned, still, after being home for two months, at how slow our little village is and how perfect the Spring and Summer lighting is in the early morning in the valley. A rush of nostalgia as the warm light comes through oak trees and wildflowers add a splash of color to the browning California hillsides. A renewed connection to the land as I kick up dirt at Garland Park, my postpartum body struggling to run the trails that I can still navigate with half of my brain while the other half is distracted by fleeting epiphanies. I have found myself in old patterns that have been healing. Patterns that help me remember my core, my self. One afternoon I mindlessly turned down Carpenter and followed the truck route and weaved through Carmel. This particular pattern startled me into the realization of how overwhelmed and sad I was feeling. Both kids asleep in their seats, my soul took me to the beach.

“The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.”

– Isak Dinesen

A rush of gratitude overcame me. This place, my home, has offered a refuge for me for most of my life. The deepest part of me is so intertwined with this place that without any conscious thought it takes care of me. I sat at the beach with my windows down listening to waves crash and tourists chatter wondering how many hurts have been healed and how many relationships strengthened and restored by the side of the massive and powerful Pacific. I used to say that going to the beach was the best thing to do when you have a problem because you are forced into humility as you look into the expanse that holds a hidden world. Little did I know what that would mean to me today.

While I was sitting there by the beach I remembered a picture I had taken in San Francisco when Olivia was still admitted. The day I took the picture, I decided to walk through a different, further entrance into the hospital. Along the hall there was an abstract painting hanging on the wall. I am not one to sit and absorb art, but this piece grabbed my attention long enough for me to translate the streaks of colors into hills, land, and water as I walked past. It struck me how much it reminded me of home. I actually took a few steps backwards to give it another look. As I scanned the painting I noticed the white tag with the word “Monterey” written on it. I did a double take, thinking surely my mind had auto-completed, but it hadn’t. There on that little white rectangle hung the name of the artist and title of the piece, “Monterey.” As I walked away I contemplated home. I questioned how I could so easily associate this painting with a place in such a brief encounter. Is it the pure talent of the artist that the essence of a place could so aptly be captured in a painting? Or does my connection to this place make it so that my body intimately recognizes it through the simple suggestions of ratios of land and sea and the balance of colors.

As I got into the elevator and hit “3,” I could feel my home in my bones. I carried that encounter that rainy morning with me throughout our stay in San Francisco. I actually started this blog post while we were still up there and had written, “It is home and will always be home no matter how long I am gone. I realize how lucky I am that I so keenly have a sense of belonging. And lucky me: I feel I belong to a place that has astonishing beauty. I look around at views that could easily be paintings hanging on walls in far away places. And so often I walk past and forget to observe and absorb it.”

Since being home I have made every effort to absorb it all. To memorize the hillsides and the shadows. To remember the nuances of our coastal seasons. To honor the power of place.

+JMJ+

 

Mindful Wanderings

Dear Nurses, Thank You #nationalnursesweek

In honor of today being both Mother’s Day and the final day of National Nurses Week, I have some things on my mind.

First to my mom who is both a nurse and a mother: it’s like today was made for you! Never could any of us have anticipated a year in which both of your daughters would need you as both a nurse and a mother in such an intense way. But you showed up for both of us with a strength that only a mother could muster.

And I have a confession: Until this experience at the hospital, I really didn’t understand the fullness of what my mom did. I knew that she did a bulk of the work that shows like ER and Gray’s Anatomy would leave you to think doctors did. And now I certainly understand why people felt the need to come up to us at the grocery store to tell me how great of a nurse my mom is. I kind of thought people just said that kind of thing to me as a way to be polite. But now I understand the importance of the social-emotional side in addition to the technical side of my mom’s job. And I mostly feel like a jerk for all of the times I gave her a hard time after a long day at work.

And I can’t help but think about the nurses today that acted almost as surrogate mothers to Olivia. They offered care for her when I couldn’t. They taught me how to love and connect with her before I could see her. Before I could touch her. It is because of these nurses that I am even able to be a mother this baby in front of me today at all.

The nurses cared for her gently and passionately, learning her cues and the subtleties of her personality – much like a mother would in the first few months of any baby’s life. Simultaneously they respected and honored my role as Olivia’s mom.

Although we were trapped in the NICU for 102 days, I was hesitant to leave when the time came. Some days I even find myself kind of missing the hospital now. I joked with one of the nurses before discharge that maybe it was a subtle form of Stockholm Syndrome. In reality, I know that the reason for this is because of the support and friendship that was extended from the nursing staff at UCSF to our family. I knew that it was going to be isolating to go home (it kind of is). I also knew that it was going to be exhausting to have to re-explain Olivia’s condition to every new person we meet, professional or not (it definitely is). But, my joke about Stockholm Syndrome came more from the fact that I actually had grown to really care about the nurses. I’m not even mad about how much we failed to cluster appointments because I get excited just thinking about giving Olivia’s nurses a hug.

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Saint Agatha – Patron Saint of Nurses

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I’ve been thinking a lot about what I have learned from this season of life and my biggest piece of advice is to get to know your nurses. The nurse that discharged us was a nurse that I affectionately named “Coach” because every time I was having a hard day or trying to figure out how to convince the team that something wasn’t working, I would just troubleshoot ideas with her. Nurses know the system and can truly be your best ally.

So, hug your mom and hug a nurse because there is a good chance they would appreciate a little love to fill up their tank!

– Natalie

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Mindful Wanderings, NICU Updates

Today’s Mindful Wanderings

Olivia has been out of the womb for 11 weeks and 2 days, but she was 8 weeks early so her corrected age today is 3 weeks and 2 days or 43 weeks and 2 days. 🙃 She looks like an entirely different being, but her soul – her spirit – that has been a constant. My dear @melissalflower came for a visit this past weekend and reminded me of one my absolute favorite Shel Silverstein poems:

Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS

The IMPOSSIBLES, the WONT’S
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me –
Anything can happen, child,

ANYTHING can be

(I’m not crying. I just have watery eyes from the dry air in the hospital. Why? Are you crying?)

I think we all need to hear this piece of wisdom for the times that we doubt ourselves, our intuition, our calling, our vocation ordained by God. This time, I needed to hear it for Olivia. Because what’s weird about moms and babies is that even though she is no longer in my womb, we are still so intimately connected. That will continue past this postpartum stage. But right now it is as if I can translate and transfer this wisdom and encouragement to her simply by my knowing it in the same way I was able to pump blood and nutrients to her.
I’m coming off of a few heavy weeks of negativity and frustration. Yesterday, after a family meeting with Olivia’s primary teams I left the hospital feeling defeated again. Right when I thought I was out of my funk. On my walk back (to our temporary) home I remembered the Shel Silverstein poem. For Olivia we have heard our fair share of shouldn’ts, impossibles, won’ts, and nevers. We have heard them. And Olivia has shown us anything can happen, anything can be.

Mindful Wanderings

Today’s Mindful Wanderings

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Friday was this guy’s 29th birthday. I’ve been mulling around and crafting words for this post since Thursday. Warning: this is a long one! We met when we were 17 and never could either one of us ever have imagined what was in store for us. I know, what a cliche, right? But how do you express the loyalty and growth that started as two teenagers and developed into a marriage, and a family of four, that has asked each of us to simultaneously grow out of and into ourselves. The growth can be gentle and slow, but mostly the growth busts through the walls we each carefully built. What I admire about Casey, though, is that when that growth decides to crash into his life he looks at the pieces and continues to move forward. What has resulted is a person that takes being a father and a husband and a Catholic very seriously. All things that ask you to surrender who you thought you were supposed to be. Surrendering to the unknown is something Casey and I both have continually done along this path we have forged together muttering, “I don’t know. We will figure it out.” A set of phrases we have had to become very, very comfortable with – especially in the last 2.5 months – but a concept that comes much easier to Casey than to me. This mentality, has shaped Casey to become a person that I am incredibly proud to call my husband and my friend. Olivia and Oscar are very lucky to have him. I am lucky to have him. I am so glad that we are doing life and family together because he isn’t afraid to have the tough conversations and to put in the hard work. The best part though, is that even in the midst of what has been the most stressful and trying time in our life thus far, I still find myself in tears from laughter – even in the NICU surrounded by monitors and sick babies and sterile rooms. Happy birthday, Casey. Here’s to many more years of figuring it out!

Mindful Wanderings

Today’s Mindful Wanderings

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Casey and Oscar came back today from a short trip home taking care of a few things. It wasn’t easy being away from Oscar for a few nights. This NICU experience actually forced my first nights away from him. He can’t come on to the floor Olivia is on until flu season is over so he hasn’t even met her yet. Until this protocol is lifted, I am forced to figure out how to split my time between my two kids. I long for the moments that I can be holding Olivia constantly like you do with any newborn, and watch Oscar play with his trucks. When I was pregnant I daydreamed about slow afternoons snuggling both of them or watching Oscar play while soaking in small fingers and toes.

I know that I still will get those moments (peppered with moments of realizing Oscar is a giant toddler that doesn’t know how to handle an infant), but these current moments of having to split my time tears my heart apart. And each day Olivia is more alert and I feel more connected to her and I can’t stand leaving her. But Oscar needs me, too. Each day brings a new schedule as I figure out this balance. Tonight I got to put Oscar to sleep after dinner and then hopped onto the shuttle back to the hospital to practice breastfeeding and to give Olivia a bath. If tonight is like last night, I will put her back in her isolette and watch her root around to which I can only offer a pacifier to soothe her, until tomorrow when I get to hold her again. This month has brought out the complexity in life and made us face it head on — the thin veil between life and death: grief, sorrow, sadness and joy, delight, and warmth all simultaneously sharing a space in our hearts.