I went into all of this praying that God would show me where I should be in relation to nursing. At least so far, I feel confident that he'll provide those answers. All I know right now is that I'm having fun and not paralyzed by fear of misstep. I tell myself as long as they'll put up with me and I keep getting the support from friends like the ones I've made so far (Lariam, stress, and sleep-induced neurosis notwithstanding), i'm pretty sure God has some fantastic nursing ahead of me! There's nothing magic here, but I do suddenly feel relevant to a team of Godly workers. Weird. I like it. Honestly, my biggest fear is that they'll give me more credit than I deserve. What if they get frustrated when I continue asking "do what? with what? why? how?" What if I miss something important? Sure, the numbers don't scare me anymore (well, with the exceptions of the ones that should scare me), but every year I learn how much I don't know. It's a particularly harsh battle for me.

It has always been this way. Every success I tell myself, "well good, you're finally getting it right. It's about time." And every failure big or small I tell myself, "when will you finally get it right? Maybe you're not fit for this work." I feel like an impostor, no matter how many times I hear, "You're intelligent! You're going to get this and be great!" Self doubt. It's not healthy. God doesn't want it.

And then I remember, it's not about me. It never was about me. We are here to be the hands and face of God. my shortcomings will be picked up by the rest of the team- I'm learning to trust that they graciously will. I should let them. As frustrating as I might sometimes be, it's not as often as I fear, and we're all here to be in the floating hospital off the coast of Africa because God has called us individually here and we answered with an undeniable "yes!" To live and work in community. His community.

So yeah, I'm going to fail at work sometimes. I'm going to spend a lot of time making connections and being taught by amazing medical staff. But I'm still an important part of this team and gosh darn it, people like me! ;) What more permission do I need to loosen up and enjoy being a nurse?

So where do I stand in relation to nursing outside of my hospital on a ship in Africa? How does this translate to all the questions waiting for me back home? I don't know. But I've just been here a week, and I'm going to consciously set that aside for a while. For the next few months, I'm going to enjoy learning how to be a nurse on a floating hospital off the coast of Western Africa. I'm going to enjoy it because for the first time, I believe God has me nursing for a reason.

Madness

I haven't been sleeping more than an hour or two at a time for days now- at first I thought it was because of the change and I chalked the vivid dreams up to the Lariam, but once the nightmares started, I was done for. I thought I was going crazy last night. I mean, seeing things and paranoid crazy. Lariam is freaky, freaky stuff. Had some amazing people stay up with me throughout the night, though. It was so scary! I spent most of the night in the wards. Ironically, there was something strangely comforting about the blips of the monitors and sighs of the ventilator in the other room as the night staff kept checking in. Hannah even spent some time holding me in the bed- a comfort to be close to someone when you're not entirely sure which way is up and afraid to either close or open your eyes.

The crew doc mercifully bombed me with benzos today for some much needed sleep- nine hours of it in a kindly charge nurse's cool, quiet room. Hopefully I'll find some more restful sleep this weekend as the Lariam slowly makes its way out of my system.

To be honest, I don't know if I'm feeling the leftover benzos, lack of sleep, or Lariam at the moment, but it's eleven pm and I feel like I'm thinking through mud. Everything around me is overwhelming- the noise, colors, and smells. I think I'll go retreat to my bunk and continue reading Peleke's book about the Battle of Gettysburg. If that doesn't work, maybe I'll go visit D ward and the nurses keeping watch there tonight.

I wish you could all experience God's overwhelming love here on the Africa Mercy. I would recommend bypassing the Lariam Experience though.

I actually had a cup of coffee today. Yuck.

Day two in the ICU (with the only patient). Only this time without my rockstar buddy. The thought of working in an ICU that is physically separated from the wards and all the other staff gave me the heebie jeebies, but again, I don't know why I worried. The vast majority of the time I wasn't alone- a veritable smorgasbord of nurses and doctors. A lot of cooks in the kitchen to be sure, but I enjoyed it and in the end it worked out well. I spent somewhat less time frantically searching for supplies and more time pushing fluid boluses and trying to keep an SBP above 75 (Fail. Hello central line and levophed.). Can I just say one more time how much I enjoy the staff here for putting up with my questions and blank stares ("you use what? where? how?") and investing so much quality time in me as the patient's nurse- with orders, moral support, and just plain help with it all?

As I mentioned before, the ventilators here are positively ancient. In my other hospitals, nurses don't touch the vents except for maybe a tweak or two- depending on the respiratory therapist on at the time. And here? We do it. The anesthetists are here to direct and oversee, but I find myself looking at the machine thinking, "if this thing malfunctions, there are only a handful of us onboard who can work it- apparently now I'm one of them." Out of this world. But I'm ok with it- it's exciting and we're all starting from the same spot, so double and triple checks are expected.

Same with medications- the concentrations are variable day by day (depends on what brand is available), so there are a lot of "hey, does this look right to you? Will you triple check my math?" I mean, levophed was ordered today in mL/hr, not mcg/min. Because we mix our own drips (maintenance fluids down to the pressers!) and it's ordered differently in various locations, I'm learning to get a grasp on different prescribing methods. Fun :)

So I'm brain dead. I miss sleep and it feels strange to be only a few yards away from my patient but not responsible for their care. The proximity is strangely disconcerting. Then again, maybe it's just the rocking of the boat and lack of sleep. Sleep. Ah, sleep. Oh how I miss it. One hour last night plagued with nightmares. The Lariam can't clear my system quickly enough.

Surprisingly, I was able to stammer out a few intelligible things in French to my patient's aunt today. I'm afraid to think how my grammar and pronunciation has fared over the years of lying dormant in my brain, but apparently I was understandable. A nice little confidence booster- especially after the one and only disastrous episode of using French in the healthcare setting years ago. It was gratifying to make her smile despite the sobering situation two feet away.

I honestly don't know what to expect for our patient, coming in with a disease process as advanced as his. Say a few prayers, would you?

On a random note, I wonder if the rocking of the ship has much of an impact on the transducers for the art line and CVP. Thoughts?

Overload, day two.

Although I have a million and one things to write about, I'm just too tired. I wish I could adequately describe to you my day, but I just can't.

I did an evening shift for my second (and last) day of orientation. I was a little bummed because they had me in a different ward than the day before, and I had really enjoyed that one. This ward ended up being cool too, though, and my preceptor was cool. I have to be honest though- I got pulled into the ICU by chance to help admit a patient and get him settled after a surgery for a terribly advanced case of Ludwig's angina. There's no way it would ever possibly get this far along in my country. I find myself in a constant state of disbelief, reminding myself to shake it off and get to work. He is not fine and he is not healthy and he has a difficult recovery ahead (if at all). But that's it- he has that chance for his body and spirit to heal. And God has allowed my measly two cents and skills to maybe count for an irreplaceable something.

Nursing here is different. I would describe it as more "relational nursing" because it's not as technical and fostering relationships is critical. Those relationships are always important, but it just doesn't happen on the level that I believe, that most of us believe, should in the states. There's never enough time- too much charting, too many protocols and checklists, too little funding. Much as I like the technical aspects, I've always felt that void. But here in Benin, it happens. It's emphasized not just in theory but in practice. You will hold hands. You will play with toys on the floor. You will watch movies while cuddling a patient on your lap. You will say I love you to patients... because you can, and more importantly, you want to.

I've heard three different people describe nursing here to Florence Nightingale. Now, I laughed to myself when they said that because really, how cheesy is that? But it makes sense. We can do more than she could, but it's still more relational on a deeply personal level than much of modern hospital nursing. ICU today was different, but then again it always is- it's the nature of the job. And yet still. Can you imagine admitting a critically ill patient and getting report to a background of prayers of thanks and pleading for more healing?

I think what was pretty cool today, among other things, is that I felt that while I perhaps wasn't contributing in the ways I'd like to, I came away feeling like I was an essential part of the day. I mean, I got to read an EKG strip and explain something about it because somebody came to me asking if it was ok. I got to explain some things about arterial lines because a nurse just wanted to know. I got excited because people wanted to know, and I got to explain. It's a cool feeling. Let's be clear here- I learned much, much more than what little I got to pass along, but I contributed uniquely in a decidedly positive way. Hey, Ali even thought I made a good birthday present!

I'll have to save more concrete descriptions of what it's like in the wards for another day. I need more time to take it in, to contribute, to hopefully understand the enormity of it all. I can't remember people's names. Shoot, I can't even keep straight what they're doing here most of the time. I find myself laughing at my chair rolling across the room with the rocking of the boat. I find myself incredulous, watching the patient's stretcher rolling across the room as the floor tilts back and forth to the rhythm of the waves, straining against the thick ropes binding us to the dock- it brings a whole new importance to locking the wheels. We use a hodgepodge of tubing, medications (including vinegar and honey to treat infected wounds), and supplies in any number of languages- whatever makes its way to us. And yet we have an iStat, three (ancient) ventilators, the only CT scanner for thousands of miles, and undeniable success in our medical endeavors.

God must be smiling somewhere, everywhere. He must be cracking up at us in our little floating community, a hospital in a ship off the coast of West Africa.

...and then..

In more normal fashion, some of us went out for ice cream after work. Shift change starts at two, then after report and a short prayer, we take the patients who can up to deck seven for some fresh air and sunshine (there are no windows in the wards). After hanging out for a bit, four of us walked into town for ice cream sundaes and parfaits. Yum!

Cotonou is a heart attack in a city- loud, crowded, and busy. You have to move for traffic and be purposeful where and when you walk. It was overwhelming but fascinating... and the company and ice cream was good.

Thoughts on the first day of work

My brain is on overload. There's no way I could find the words to describe what I saw and did today because they just wouldn't do it justice. One of the nurses today said "we are first class medical providers in a third world country working in a second class hospital." I'll be honest, I don't agree with the latter third of that statement, but the Africa Mercy certainly is not as robust a hospital as most American hospitals.

It almost seems silly to compare and contrast the nursing I've known with the nursing I see here. There are over thirty nationalities serving on the ship, and that includes the medical staff. There isn't uniformity with what nurses have been doing prior to coming here (for a small example, some European nurses don't use stethoscopes for their assessments- that's for the doctor). Our patients are not as medically complex as what I'm used to, and consequently assessment and treatment are very different. There's no need for continuous cardiopulmonary monitoring (ack! ACK!), I&O's, labs, and even blood pressures with routine assessments- much of what I've considered routine is only done if it's immediately relevant to the patient's wellbeing. I'll be honest- the simplicity of it scares me because I'm used to a lot more numbers and monitoring (helloooooo ICU). I'm realizing the extent of comfort those numbers provided- and I'm not entirely sure it's good. My concept of what medical care is needed versus nice (or even helpful) to know is being tested.

I should point out that our pediatric census and acuity is notably low, so I'm aware that we do usually have more complex patients, but even at that we don't have the capability to monitor every patient in the way that I'm used to- and many still won't need it. That's not what we're here for. Our patients should be relatively straightforward medically, if not surgically. The types of patients we see are dependent upon the types of doctors aboard. Orthopedic surgeon for a few weeks? Club feet and mal-union repairs. Maxillofacial surgeon? Cleft palates, facial reconstructions, and tumor removals. General surgeon? Hernias, hemangiomas, and thyroidectomies. The list goes on.

One of the things that really struck me today is the language barrier. Okay, so I get the interpreter thing- my previous jobs have had interpreter phones, staff, and online resources. But imagine translating through multiple languages and therefore interpreters- English to French and then/or to Fon and sometimes again to a regional dialect (though it appears here that "dialect" actually means a completely different language). Actions speak decibels louder than words. And that's just talking about language, let alone cultural communication. I haven't the faintest understanding of our differences yet- I've only just scratched the surface today. I do know that put in most of these situations, I would be doing and saying whatever I thought would make Mercy Shippers happy- whatever it took to get life changing and/or saving treatment they might offer. Through Ali, here were my patients today.

Working with these patients is going to be an eye opener to what we can do to help people- and what we can't do. And, perhaps most importantly, what we shouldn't presume to be able to fix. The thing is, we all know it- we all know and acknowledge who is really in control. I don't even understand why, but I'm finding this liberating and relieving. I'll tell you what, though. Watching a patient wake up from a transformative surgery in the swirl of colors and noises of the ward is pretty exciting. I've only had eight hours of orientation (with only eight more tomorrow), but I'm strangely ok with that. Oh, I'll be struggling and feeling stupid and lost and even make some mistakes to be sure, but I'm ready to help out. I'm on a floating ship off the coast of West Africa with a community of Christians here for the purpose of helping reconstruct the bodies and spirits of the forgotten poor. I suspect there will be a fair bit of reconstruction done on all of us as well.

How cool is this?

clothes! things!

Hooray! My luggage came! My roommate is still sleeping, so I haven't gotten to unpack (there are no ports in the rooms so they are pitch black when the lights are off), but I'm happy! I'll admit I'm a little sad to give up Hannah's skirt I've been borrowing and my roommate's top because it's a very comfortable outfit, but my own clothes will be nice...

That was the Defender we took for our first tour of Cotonou and the HC. There is a row of white MS vehicles all up and down the dock for the outreach programs (dentistry, opthalmology, orphanage, and prison among others). It's quite a sight when they're all pulled up. When the AFM sails, all the vehicles are brought aboard on deck- apparently they're packed tighter than sardines!

In other news, I decided to switch anti-malarials. While I'm sure I have lots of reasons to be emotional, I do think the Lariam is doing a number on me. As I talk with more people, I'm learning that many of them started on Lariam as well and then switched after too many complications. Bad drug. Bad, bad drug.

I'm about to chop those sticks

There's an area on the Africa Mercy that's midway between bow and stern on levels five and six. This area is called the, well, midship lounge (duhr). The ship is a converted transport vessel, and so this particular area was a social area I'm guessing. There's a stairway that divides to the port and starboard, leaving an open atrium for Starbucks, the shipshop, and sitting area. On deck six around the periphery are the computer cluster and open air lounge areas with tv's and couches. By the stairway downstairs there is a piano.

The dorm I stayed in at Culver in the summers (Deck Six, actually) had a piano in its lounge. Not many people ever played it, but one year I had a room nearby. Most of the time that was not a great thing (hard to sleep when people were hanging out), but I noticed that people would play the piano when they thought nobody was around. Nobody thinks they're any good at an instrument, which is really too bad for the rest of us who really don't know how to play. Even if it is just practicing, for the most part I find it enjoyable to listen to people on the piano and guitar.

As Hannah and I joined our first nurses' devotional group in the midships lounge today, a young girl sat down to play "I can show you the world" from Aladdin. As we started praying, the thin little girl sent the soft tune floating up into the lounge into our quiet circle. I'm sure she had no idea, but the little serenade was fitting for the brief meeting we'd just had.

runnin' low

"Ladies and gentleman, I'm just going to give you an update on our... um... standing by situation. We are still... standing by."

Our captain is funny- he even laughed over the shipwide PA at the announcement. Apparently there's a dispute between the tanker that just filled up and the gas people about the amount just taken. We were supposed to leave hours ago, though we were supposed to fill up last week I guess. The A/C has been adjusted and they are limiting resource use I hear.

chasing sleep

So much for sleep. I slept solid for three hours and then found myself wide awake at 2am. After an hour I slipped out of the cabin and am camped out in the mid-ship lounge for some 3am blogging. I'll be honest, I was sort of hoping to catch Peleke online, though I don't think he is able to chat these days. It's funny, though, we have some sort of mind meld going on where we're pretty good about knowing when the other person is online. It would be creepy if it wasn't so helpful! My mom seems to have that sixth sense about me too.

It wasn't surprising to see that Peleke had emailed me half an hour into my tossing and turning. It's so good to hear from him. While I'm pretty ok with my bags being gone (it's kind of liberating actually), I will admit I almost cry when I think about his t-shirts in the bags that I had brought for pajamas. I know they're just things, but they're his things, and it's nice to having something tangible to make you feel closer to someone. Oh well, streeeetttttcccchhhh and grow. Think I'll be doing a lot of that.

I was feeling pretty emotional before I left for Benin, though I feel like things are beginning to even out a little bit. With the start of work this week and the sleep change catching up to me, I'm sure there will be another wave of emotionality, but I think it'll be fine. When I told my parents last week, I was trying to figure out if it was maybe related to the malaria prophylaxis I'm taking (noted for causing depression, anxiety, and trouble sleeping in a laundry list of other complaints). My dad said, "Wenikio, in the past six months you have quit your job, moved 3000 miles from Seattle, gotten married, given up your dog (temporarily), had your new husband deployed overseas, and travelled to Africa to work with a desperately needy population. I don't think it's the Lariam*." He has a point. So we'll see.

Talked briefly with my mom today on Facebook. It seems they had a big thunder storm the other night that literally scared the poop out of The Beast before she hopped into bed and buried herself between my parents. Dad apparently gave her the boot when he got the infamous paw in the face while sleeping.

I'm working on pictures, but my cable to link the camera to the computer was in the bag. I need to track one down.

* I know, right? Freaky stuff!

some thoughts on the beginning

In my effort to stay up another hour before crashing for twelve, I feel like this is a good time to answer some questions I've gotten from friends and family on here. So in true nerdy, bulletpoint form here we are:

• Mercy Ships is not affiliated with any of the armed services. It is an American company, but it's staffed by volunteers from around the world. The accents and languages I've overheard so far are overwhelming. The ship itself is actually registered in the country of Malta for some maritime reason, so technically I'm in Malta when I'm aboard.
• If you would like to send letters, I would love it! Just ask and I'll send you the address. Packages are a little tricky because they must be shipped by boat here, which is expensive. I pay about $6 a pound to receive a package, let alone what you pay to send it (though you only pay to send it to Texas). Mail is received a few times a week.
• There are phones in the rooms, but since I have five roommates, timing is essential. For you, it's as if you're calling Florida (where the communications hub is). Same for me too, actually. If you are flexible when you'd like to chat, we can give it a try. We are five hours ahead of the East Coast and eight ahead of Seattle. What makes me super excited is that this means Peleke and I can talk! :)
• I didn't know what to tell people when they'd ask what there was to do when I wasn't working. I was amazed during our tour this morning at the number of opportunities to keep busy. The other newbies and I all commented on how it would be easy to get overly involved. In what, you ask? Well in the realm of athletics, there's at least ultimate frisbee, water aerobics, running, and the usual assortment of opportunities in the small workout room. There are always trips ashore to see Cotonou- the markets, restaurants, stores, hotels (for their pools), and its churches on Sundays. Believe it or not, there are camping trips too! On the ship, you can "adopt" a patient and there are of course Bible studies and small groups. You can also volunteer in various ways; for example, the lead eye surgeon here (with quite the impressive resume, I might add) served me my white chocolate Starbucks frappucino tonight!
• While I do, in fact, get quite seasick, the ship is docked. With the exception of moving ports about once a year and filling with fuel every forty-five days or so, she doesn't move. I mean, she rocks a bit and rises and falls with the tide but not enough to make anyone seasick, me included. Tomorrow we will get fuel. I don't know how far it is, but it's an all day affair. I will let you all know if I get seasick. No? Ok then I won't. But I'll let you know what it's like.
• I don't know what my schedule is yet. Because we came in late Friday night, we got a small welcome meeting for the essentials and a ship tour this morning. We have tomorrow free to figure some things out for ourselves and then have general and job-specific orientation on Monday.
• I will try to start uploading pictures soon. I haven't even been on the ship twenty-four hours, though, so please be patient! Plus I'm trying to figure out when it's ok to take them. The culture is different here, both onboard and ashore, and I don't want to be obnoxious or overstep any bounds.
• The Africa Mercy is not a boat. She's a ship.

Nous sommes arrive

Wow. Where to even start!

I suppose the beginning is as good a place as any, so here I am in Africa! After 37 hours, 26 of which were enroute, I landed with about ten other Mercy Shippers here in Cotonou, Benin! Sadly, I can't say the same for either of my bags. With any luck, they'll find them this week, but in the meantime people have been amazing here! All I had last night was my computer, a small supply of carry-on toiletries, a book, a water bottle, and ID. Actually, that's still all I have, but bunkmates and new friends have me well-supplied with shower stuff and clothes. Life is so much easier knowing I won't go stinky and grubby.

And speaking of stinky and grubby, I was certainly not the only one who had been up for an absurd number of hours (and flying internationally to boot) when we got in late last night. After our mini welcome (here's your room, here's some food, here's where you go), we were then sent to get ship ID's. And let me tell you how flattering those turned out. And this time, people are looking- your ID picture is brought up on a big computer screen at security each time you swipe in and out! It's no big deal, I just think it's amusing I guess :)

I share a six person room and one bathroom with five other girls. It is cramped, but maybe not how you'd expect. I'll get around to pictures eventually, but basically the room is partitioned into three sections, each with a bunkbed, desk, and wardrobe concealed by a black-out curtain from the hallway. Somehow I ended up on the bottom bunk (hooray!), and given my lack of luggage, the room seems probably bigger than it really is. I met my bunkmate briefly this morning as she was returning from work and I was leaving. She had left word for me last night to use what I needed and to extend a warm welcome- a very, very nice way to end a loooooong day! She very kindly lent me some clothes (fortunately we're about the same size!) and is now hopefully deep asleep! Good thing I don't need to unpack anything...

I can relate- I'm exhausted. Starting to recover but feeling a bit woozy. Of course, that could be the ship rocking... I don't have the energy (or mental capacity for that matter) to even begin describing the Africa Mercy right now- it's overwhelming! We took a tour of it this morning- eight decks, six OR's, a Starbucks (run by volunteers on the weekend), internet cafe, shipshop, forty student school, and a bazillion cabins (that's right, count them- one, two, three, bazillion!). There's even a pool for water aerobics on the eighth deck... right next to the jungle gym and kids' bikes.

We also took a brief tour of Cotonou today. Mainly we went to see the "hospitality center" where patients wait pre-op and sometimes stay after they've been discharged from the ship but need to stick around for checkups. The HC, as it's known, is a warehouse given by Benin to be converted and used by Mercy Ships, thereby allowing more room onboard for medically necessary patients. Our guide said the bathrooms were put up over a weekend, and the there are several rooms with rows of beds- an amazing use of space and resources. That's a recurring theme even so far- efficiency. As a Christian organization, the mission is to give hope and healing with the Africa Mercy. As a medical ship, that means providing the most care, most successfully, to the most people in need. Given that about a thousand volunteers will rotate through in the ship's ten month-ish stay in Benin, efficiency is key.

I really only saw Cotonou from the jeep today, so it's difficult to describe. The market area is loud and crowded, and the motorcycle taxis ("Jimmyjohns") are aggressive. We saw one accident where a motorcyclist was sprawled out and bloody in the road. It was shocking not to see the usual Western reaction- panic and an ambulance. At lights and when we were going slow, many people approach the jeep to sell things and ask for assistance. Kids dance along the streets smiling and waving, calling us "yovo," the term for a white person here apparently. I don't know how many people here know what Mercy Ships does, but a good number of them appear to understand and recognize the white jeeps.

Shoot, even I don't quite understand what we do here yet. But I do know that I'm going to go walk around on deck for a bit.

Benin bound

Leaving here shortly to Houston, London, Paris, and finally Cotonou!

Total travel time: 25 hours. Total flight time: 18 hours

See y'all in Africa!

Up, up, and away! To Idaho.

Captain Puget (sometimes known as "Dad") took a plane camping trip this summer. This time he went to Idaho for the Johnson Creek Fly-In. Ahhh Idaho. One of these days... Peleke is coming around to the idea.

For the trip, Dad got a spot. We could follow his progress throughout the trip, and then he put together the pictures below (a work still in progress, I believe). Warning: the following photos may cause tail-dragger buying behavior and strong urges to fly into the backcountry.

2009 Johnson Creek Supercub Fly-in

Fun!

Last one, I promise

Proof that Peleke did indeed have a great beard:

And now he's beardless and my hair is shorter. Ok, enough with the kissing pictures. Maybe one of these days I'll get some wedding pictures up...

In other news, I got in contact with the friend of a friend (thanks Shelly!) who served with Mercy Ships in 2007 and got some much needed help with packing! Whew!

Relief

I love iChat :)

The visual was terrible this morning (Peleke's face had eyespots like a Euglena cell) but it was a relief to hear his voice. They're almost done getting to where they're going, and that (perhaps strangely) makes me feel a bit better. As I understand it, video chats aren't available on the Africa Mercy (too much bandwidth?), so with the exception of one or two more chats before Thursday, we'll be emailing and instant messaging for the next three months. We're not sure if we'll be able to coordinate sat phone calls from the boonies of two foreign countries, so that's still an unknown.

This first week is dragging by, what with missing him and getting ready to head out. I hardly know what to think anymore, so I find myself not doing incredibly much of it. While being careful not pick pick up the pregnancy bug, I've been enjoying getting to know some of the other wives. You might be surprised at the number of expectant mothers in the squadron- there's no way it's not contagious! By the time I get back, we'll be in Baby Central! I told Peleke not to get any ideas :)

My sister headed back down to Texas today from Indiana. Apparently it was quite the full house this week with my parents, sister, brother, and a total of five dogs! I hear Gazza is completely at home now- and why wouldn't she be? She swims in Lake Michigan, plays frisbee golf with my brother, runs through the back woods, cuddles with my parents, and wrestles with the other dogs. Although it doesn't change the fact that our local cat will be put down, I take some comfort in my dad's words that I at least made a big difference in one animal's life.

I can't wait to have her back this winter! I'm also can't wait to grow her mohawk and beard back- she looks so naked without them!

Right, on with the packing...

Closet raid

Still packing. I decided to take a bigger bag, but I guess that's not saying much. It's so hard to know what to bring! Benin's weather seem to be consistently warm, but I'm uncertain how cool they keep the ship (yours truly is perpetually cold). The dress code doesn't allow for spaghetti strap tank tops, so that eliminates most of my summer wear. I'm a little surprised at this part of the dress code actually, although I realize you have to draw the line somewhere. I don't want to bring many t-shirts and I don't think I'll need many long sleeved shirts. As for pants, I'm going to go for a record and go 100 days without jeans- wow! I figure it'll be mostly shorts and skirts.

As I'm going through my clothes, I'm realizing again how much more cold weather stuff I have than warm weather clothes. I find myself trying to wear them here too out of habit. Who knew dressing a certain way is so engrained in us? Anyway, still struggling with what clothes to pack. Suggestions would be warmly welcomed (pun definitely intended).

Like little sunbursts. Fitting!

I decided this time around I'd get a fun license plate, so I got the state wildflower tag. It's nice and bright, and the flowers make me smile. The state wildflower (I didn't know state's claimed wildflowers) is coreopsis. I've been seeing a lot of them along the roads.

Pretty, aren't they?

Testing, testing, is this thing on?

Holy buckets, Batman! Somebody somewhere got my blog plugged in into a website that keeps directing visitors here! When I said there were new readers, I was referring to a mass email I sent out, but, um, hi to all of you others! See you around!

Another goodbye

I realized I didn't post about the cat who showed up at our place on here (because I posted the pictures on Facebook). As most of you know, I abhor cats. Over the years I've gotten better- I mean, I won't run out of the room glancing over my shoulder to make sure the homicidal psycho jungle cat isn't hot on my trail. I'll even pet some of them if they come to me, but I still deep down suspect that they're just waiting for the opportunity to go for the jugular. My heart usually kicks it up by ten or twenty beats a minute. So much for animals being a calming influence.

So the cat on our porch. As I was running up the front steps about a month ago, I saw a cat sprawled out underneath and about jumped out of my skin. Goosebumps and all! She was watching intently, and I was terrified that she'd reach through the steps and tear off my leg in one fell swoop. I told you- scared of cats. It was hot out, though, and I got to feeling bad for her since she was so skinny, so I put out some sliced turkey (five big slices in all) and bowl of water.

Yeah, I know now. She spent the next five hours yowling at the front door and brushing against my legs when I walked out. In fact, she even sat in my lap for a little while and sprawled out on her back next to me as I sat talking on the phone. I've never heard such a vocal cat. I had to go somewhere that evening, though, and was reluctant to leave her. I figured she'd come back.... which she didn't (after Peleke accidentally scared her off the porch when he came home, that is).

So for the past month I've been secretly hoping she'd show up again. The Beast might enjoy the company when she gets down here and the cat isn't too bad as far as cats go. I had resigned myself to enjoying just the company of her for that one day until today. On this hot afternoon, she was there under the stairs again. She followed me up for some water and a little bit of food, but she looked much skinner (hips poking through skin) and had a sore on her neck. I called the shelter and they said if I couldn't bring her in to call animal control. So I did.

Now I feel like the worst person ever. I even connected with Peleke way up north via iChat to introduce them and ask for his help. We can't take her, though. By next week, we won't be around to care for an animal, and realistically a feral cat likely won't get along with a dog even if she does enjoy human company. What is really tearing me up is that she will almost certainly be put down. They put the animals down after five days if nobody adopts them and are picking up twenty to thirty a day. We're in a touristy area that is being hit hard by the economy as well, so nobody is really looking for another animal (perusing the "free" section of Craigslist is sobering).

I'm just not sure I did the right thing, and she was such a neat cat (an ocicat, I think).

Stay tuned!

Chances are a few people may have just started reading this repository of ramblings. So... hi there. As most of you now know, Peleke (the XY representative of this marriage's online pseudonym) is abroad on a deployment with the Air Force for a while. We decided that this is the opportune time for me to head overseas to work with Mercy Ships. It's something I've always wanted to do, and with the exception of a few hiccups all systems are a go. With both adult and pediatric ICU experience, proficiency in French, and the great timing, I find myself getting ready to head out in one week. So without further ado, here is the rundown:

Benin. According to Wikipedia, Benin is a country in Western Africa bordered by Togo, Nigeria, Burkina Faso, and Niger. It sits between the Tropic of Cancer and the Equator on the Atlantic Ocean. Half of its population lives below the international poverty line of $1.25 a day. The life expectancy is fifty-three years old. Elementary schooling is done in the local language and then continued in French. Why has Mercy Ships docked there in the port town of Cotonou? Because entire villages are without basic medical care. Things we don't even think about in developed countries are devastating (and sometimes deadly) because there just isn't any way to correct them without the infrastructure. Things such as cleft lips/palates, head and neck benign tumors, encephaloceles, TMJ ankylosis, cancrus oris/nasalis, cataracts, club feet, improperly healed fractures, contractures, severe keloids, VVF, and a handful of general surgical cases that are routine in the US.

Mercy Ships. I'll sum it up with a cut & paste from their site:

Mercy Ships is a global charity that has operated hospital ships in developing nations since 1978. [They] bring hope and healing to the world's forgotten poor by mobilizing people and resources worldwide, and serving all people without regard for race, gender, or religion. Our crew of both professional medical and non-medical volunteers have chosen a very powerful way to share their blessings. Mercy Ships has chosen to follow the 2,000 year old model of Jesus: the blind see, the lame walk, the mute speak, and the Good News (the nature and character of a loving God) is proclaimed and demonstrated among the poor.

I'll be back stateside on Halloween if all goes according to plan. I plan on updating frequently since the ship, the Africa Mercy, has amenities you might not expect on the coast of Western Africa- wireless internet being one of them (then again, considering they have one of the only CT scanners there maybe it's not so surprising).

I can't believe it's finally happening :)

Swing swing from the tangles of my heart

Peleke was supposed to leave earlier this week. We showed up, and I struggled to keep my wits about me and emotions in check (at least until after the final goodbye). There was a delay with a few things, so I got to walk around a bit and observe the hustle and bustle (more bustle, less hustle). Not expecting to get out of the car for more than a few moments in the parking lot, I had dressed in jeans, clogs, pajama top and sweatshirt. So I was forced by the cruel sun to shed the sweatshirt and walk around in the t-shirt and bed head (thankfully still long enough to pull into a pony tail). Nobody was really looking, though, amidst the fanfare. I also got to watch the "birds" take off (I still feel like an impostor calling the planes "birds")- that was neat.

I'll admit to having a cry session in the car after saying goodbye, but I made it home okay... and then I'll admit to turning off the phone and crashing for a couple hours. When I woke up, I saw that Peleke had called. Curious, I tried calling him back and learned that he would leave the following day. So I gathered my wits about me and drove back to base to pick him up. Then we decided to make beef jerky. Now, I just got hooked on Lost (I know, I know, but at least it's not that Twilight series, right?). The episodes are conveniently forty-five minutes long- just the amount of time between flipping the pieces of meat over on the smoker! So we watched an embarrassing number of Lost episodes and made quite a bit of beef jerky. Honestly, the day was very restful and allowed for a lot of quality time together.

The Goodbye 2.0 was significantly easier and less emotionally exhausting the next day. Was it because of all the time spent within eye sight? Was it because most of the emotions had already been purged? Actually, I think those helped but weren't the real reason.

I realized after our false start that it's not really the separation that worries me, although that will be hard. We'll have fun doing our respective services and of course we'll miss each other terribly, but that's ok. We'll be better than fine- it's a growing opportunity and I suspect we'll ironically grow closer as well as individuals. Anyway, what I mean to say is that I worry most about his safety.

It's one thing to trust God in matters of your personal well-being (and even the well-being of patients), but I'm having a hard time trusting God with Peleke's safety. As if I have any bearing on it anyway. So here's to learning how to give over fears for his safety- both to God and to Peleke himself. Maybe I should give him some more credit after all the training and his gifts and talents for what he does ;)

But I wouldn't mind your prayers and thoughts for him.

And trouble neglect you

I don't believe in karma, but I do believe in the golden rule.

I don't believe in fatalism or predestination, but I do believe there are things out of our control.

I also believe in small miracles. Call them what you will (blessings, etc), I do think God gives us subtle nudges and encouragement. Driving home tonight from dinner with some friends, I heard a song on the radio that I really like but have never actually heard on the air.

Peleke headed out this morning. I'm surprised at how okay I am about it all so far, but the song was a nice little surprise too.

May the angels protect you

Trouble neglect you

And heaven accept you when it's time to go home

So when hard times have found you

And your fear surrounds you

Wrap my love around you

You're never alone

Epic fail

Hehe. Too funny not to post. You nursey folk might appreciate this:

Some things just don't know when to quit.

(Thanks to GruntDoc)

Things and such

When does the new stop being, well, new and become the familiar? Is there an overlap?

Yesterday hit hard. For some reason the conversations, music, and things that I saw all day reminded me of the people, places, and things that aren't here. By far the most homesick I've been since leaving Seattle. It caught me by surprise, but today is better.

In other news, Peleke heads out of the country on Tuesday for a while. In the following nine days, I'll pack and my family is coming to visit before I head out to Africa! I plan on returning on Halloween with all the ghoulies and ghosties. I'll write a more in-depth post about that trip shortly, but for right now I'm going to enjoy the time I have left with my husband and help make the house more familiar.

woot

Hey, it's 04:05:06 on 7-8-09.

I'm betting you slept through it. Partaaaaaaay Central!

PSA

I was excited when my sister helped me get the Chocolate phone this past summer- it was blue, sleek, took good pictures, and was slide open as opposed to flip. Thinking anything had to be better than my pink Razor (which did, incidentally, limp through two years with me), I was excited to have a trustworthy phone again.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was in line to receive a fifth Chocolate... in nearly as many months. We won't talk about the first phone. The second and third both died in short order of speaker malfunction. The fourth one died over the weekend when the touch pad decided to stop working. This is me not happy (and refusing to pay for a new phone). Upon learning that I was only eligible for yet another Chocolate, I explained that I wouldn't accept another one, wanted something dependable that won't break down, and that I won't be paying for it. I was prepared to put up a fight.

Now, here is what I really wanted to write- if you are ever in my neck of the woods and have trouble with Verizon, I'll send you right down the road to this particular branch (giving you directions with my fancy new phone... that works). They are fabulous. Yes, yes, it's the evil Verizon, but I'm seriously impressed with my service from every visit (of which there have been many). It's one of my new years resolutions to openly praise and write notes to the proper people about good service, so there you go internet!

Side note: people in line at phone stores appear the most miserable when it comes to waiting in line. Apparently people feel awkward and exposed without a cell phone/palm pilot/blackberry/iphone to hide behind. It was actually pretty amusing. Making eye contact with them was one of the few times I've actually enjoyed doing so because some of the customers obviously are as uncomfortable with it as I am!

Love the sound effects

Too funny. Bold little monkey!

Case closed- beer has been removed

Dear neighbor down the street,

Your used carton of cigarettes wedged in the window to keep it from sliding down into the door frame is charming. I especially like how more empty cartons are scattered throughout your back seat with the colorful assortment of stuffed animals, baby gear, and trash. My only question is where does the baby sit? Because the box of beer in the car seat might pose a problem. Just curious.

Wenikio

I won... this time

Caterpillars don't generally bother me.* In fact, there were some fat and juicy ones in Indiana that were neat. But when one is creeping up my door frame with spines sticking half an inch off its back... they bother me.

For fear of being gored through a paper towel, I scooped him up with a piece of paper and did the dance/walk thing to the toilet. Yeah, the dance/walk thing. You know, where you don't dare take your eyes off of the thing you're carrying (and trying not to touch) and hoping the breeze from walking doesn't blow it onto you? Anyway, it was a success.

*Note that I said general. I reserve the right to freak out and proclaim how disgusting, vile, and freaky any insect (or insect-appearing life form)

Oops

I went to a class on the base yesterday. The base Peleke is stationed on is huge, and consequently there are a lot of resources for families (kids or not). So this class was basically "Welcome to Base Whosiwhatsit! Here is what you need to make sure is updated! Here is what is available to you! Here is what you can expect being married to a guy here!"

While there were some wives of servicemen who had been married 13+ years (a few 20+), the majority of the twenty-some odd participants have been married less than four years. In fact, I was one of three who got married this past May 30th- not to mention two other May weddings. Anyway, I digress. The point was it was a helpful class, I think, for everyone. I'll admit the transition is definitely just that (Mirriam-Webster: a movement, development, evolution from one form, stage, or style to another) but not bad. So for my purposes, I met some other newcomers who are feeling the same way about the new realities, and that helped. Plus I got out of the house and interacted for a day with strangers ("Danger, Will Robinson! Stranger Danger!").

One of the things the coordinator for the class did was that cheesy, well, thing that doesn't have a name that coordinators like to do**. For example:

--The nature of the work is on its own schedule- you will learn that no meeting, date, appointment is ever a sure thing. And to remind you of that... here is a pencil!

--Things are going to be more fluid than you're used to- you will learn to go with the flow and become more flexible. And to remind you of that... here is a slinky!

--It will be easy to get caught up in keeping your family's stuff in working order (especially during deployments)- you will learn to also take care of yourself. And to remind you of that... here are bubbles!

You get the idea. Cute in an amusing sort of way, but we all ended up walking out the door with an assortment of random stuff. While I declined the chocolate bars (cleverly printed as zero calories), my bag did contain the above mentioned stuff plus a yoyo, plastic cup, stress ball, some sort of soap/shampoo/lotion concoction (that 3-in-1 combo scares me), handkerchief, coin (the military likes these), and stuffed bear.

Which brings me to the point of this post (finally). I find it endlessly amusing that if you count out the petals this little guy is plucking

... that you end up on "He loves me not." Some intern at Boyd's just got fired (and we got the results of his handiwork). Hehe.

**To be fair, I did keep the yellow crayon we got during our intro to The Hospital as new grad nurses. "To remember the sunny days," they said. And boy were they right- sunny days were only a memory during that year.