When I grow up I want to be a nurse in Africa.... or a ballerina

In sixty days, I will once again pack up whatever portion of my life will fit into a backpack, pray that my luck has not yet run out, and head east. That means there are just over....



60 days until I will hold a beautiful baby on my chest that I havn't even met yet and breath in his scent and melt inside just a little.



60 days until I will begin to yet again pay $700.00/month for my own personal unlimited supply of Nutella.



60 days until that big ocean no longer separates me from friends whose recent absence have left significant holes in my life.



60 days until I embark on the daily struggle of trying to communicate with patients in a language that, despite what the Ontario Secondary School System may have tried to teach me, I am far less than fluent in.



60 days until I go from someone who did something cool once in her life to someone who has a lifestyle that reflects who she wants to become.



60 days until I get to once again witness miraculous transformations in the matter of hours, literally before my eyes.



60 days until "going to work" will mean 25 steps down the hall, instead of a 60 minute commute through a snowstorm.



60 days until I will get to bargain and haggle for rides on slightly less than safe vehicles with only slightly above completely hazardous drivers.



60 days until my heart begins to break in a way that I know I cannot yet begin to imagine.









And I can't wait.

I am one of the lucky ones who actually stayed friends with their university roommates. Miraculously, all of the “best friends forever” declarations stuck, and eight years later (give or take a day or two), I spent the day with the same girls I met in frosh week at Wallingford Hall. Our ever-changing and improving, yet still so kindred-spirited selves, and the next generation of McMaster grads spent the day welcoming Joshua, the newest member of our club, into the world.

The funny thing about our gang (the “Westside Story” kind – not the “hood” kind….none of us would last 2 minutes in the hood) is the fact that we have all ended up in some degree of the same place. Despite significantly different paths of life, we are all proud contributors to the crazy world of health care. And after taking the longest, most atypical routes imaginable, we nurses have all found ourselves living the nurse-to-George-Clooney dream (minus George – he has yet to show up in my ER – but he will).

As always seems to be the case, our experiences in healthcare drove the majority of the conversation today (between pauses to debate whether or not Joshua really could be any cuter. He couldn’t).

Kate has been an ER nurse for a year. I have been an ER nurse for about 5 minutes. Becky has been an ER nurse for minus 2 days. We’ve all got a lot to learn. This predicament provided the groundwork for my second-favourite moment of the day:

Jenn: It’s overwhelming. I feel like in the ER, you have to know everything. And, that’s a hard skill to learn.
Sara (Social Worker….but still pretty cool): How do you measure your progress toward knowing everything? How do you know when you know 50% of everything?

She was mostly being funny….but 10% serious. She’s probably working on the measurement tool right now. That’s why Sara’s great.

And, what would a second-favourite moment of the day be, without a first-favourite moment of the day???

Jenn to Becky (yep, again, I set the stage): How come you don’t wear your wedding band with your engagement ring?
Becky: Did you ever see a Disney princess with two rings on?

It finally happened.

Saturday afternoon. Mid-shift 2 out of 3. I was walking down the hall and one of the attendants asked me if the patient in Fast Track 3 had gone home.

And I, with all of the competence and confidence of someone who works in the ER and actually knows what she is doing, responded "YES!"

At which point I knew....there was no turning back. I was now officially and functionally part of the team. I knew what was going on. I didn't have to ask anyone else the answer. I didn't doubt for a second whether or not *Mr. Adams* had been discharged or not. I answered the question with absolute brilliance and continued on to do one of the eight oh-so-important tasks that where on my to-do-list.

And that one moment - amidst the thousands of "I wish I had some clue what was going on right now" moments that occurred that day - made me realize that it is only a matter of time before more ER light bulb moments occur. And that before I know it, I will wake up one day to find myself feeling like I belong there. And that once that happens, it will only be a matter of time before it all makes sense and the whole reason I decided to climb this crazy mountain reveals its beautiful purpose.

Because now that what I believed to be impossible has happened, I know the miraculous is possible.

*name has been changed to protect patient privacy. Obviously. This isn't Liberia.

Growing up, I was as close to a wannabe princess as a little girl living in middle-class North America can get. I lived for dolls, ballet lessons, Disney movies, dresses, lipstick, pretty dresses, and birthday parties that revolved around me. I remember loving that there was an entire day (or entire season, if I got my way) when everyone’s attention was devoted solely to me.

Maybe we get out of our system as children what won’t be conducive to our lives as adults. Or maybe I just grew up.

Either way, I know that my 10-year-old self wouldn’t have settled for the day I just had. And more importantly, my now 27-year-old self wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. On the general theme of love that I seem to be rolling with these days, I had so many more opportunities to give and receive it than the 10-year-old could have ever imagined. And, if I had the chance, I am pretty sure I would tell her that what I get to experience now is so much greater than what she thinks she desires.

This grand revelation requires a bit of background and thus the story of yesterday evening: After tucking in my nieces and nephew (aka – the loves of my life) last night, I was watching a rerun of Sex and the City. It was the one where Samantha finds out that she has cancer. Amidst the hype of Miranda’s wedding, Samantha’s rather earth shattering news comes out. Initially they try to hide it from Miranda – because she is the bride, and they don’t want to ruin her day. The scenario goes as follows:

Miranda: Tell me what you were talking about.
Samantha: I'll tell you tomorrow. I don't want to ruin your special day.
Miranda: Forget about my special day and be normal, please. I beg of you.
Samantha: I have breast cancer.
Miranda: What?
Charlotte: See, this is what we were afraid of. Go back to your people. We'll talk about this later.
Miranda: You are my people and we'll talk about it now.Now start at the beginning.

Despite their overt promiscuity, those trendy new yorkers are just sometimes so insightful and profound that I have a hard time not idolizing them. (Sometimes, I think Carrie lives inside my soul…but, that’s beside the point). The important part is that I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams to be like Miranda and have “people”. I am privileged enough to be in relationships that can not only withstand, but are essentially founded upon the fact that we can say “screw the special day. I don’t want to pretend that you aren’t hurting”. I don’t ever want to be the bride if that means pretending that things are different from what they really are. Little by little, I am learning that the opportunity to give love is so much more valuable than the opportunity to receive it. And that idle attention and flattery quickly fade in comparison to true relationship and that ultimately, I couldn’t be more blessed.

Maybe I am becoming less of a princess, and more of a Miranda. Either way, it's been a very Happy Birthday to me

I don’t cry very often. Despite my tendency to purposely plunge myself into environments that lay claim to more than their fair share of human suffering, pain, and tragedy, I have become increasingly good at keeping it together. I suppose it comes with the territory. You don’t do it if it wrecks you every time.

But, every once in a while, my heart breaks. Into 17 pieces. And when it does, I cannot – for the life of me – keep it together.

Last night, it happened. Driving home from work, I absolutely fell apart. And whatever that snowball metaphor is and what it is supposed to represent happened somewhere deep inside my soul. The thing that always happens…happened. One patient reminds me of another. One sorrow-filled story brings to memory something else that broke my heart and I tucked away for a "more appropriate time". And the alligator tears and hysterical sobs become so overwhelming that I seriously question how on earth I will ever regain any degree of composure. Even when my good sense tries to get the better of my internal drama-queen and I make the effort to “accentuate the positive”, I end up overcome by the feeling that there is nothing positive to focus on because one person’s gain is another’s loss.



Irrational. Overwhelming. All-consuming.

And every once in a while, when my heart is breaking, I can’t help but ask my God why he made us so raw. Why are our hearts so fragile? Why do we feel emotion in such an intense way?

And then I experience this:







And it all makes sense. If our hearts didn’t have the potential to be broken, we wouldn’t be able to love. If we didn’t care about anyone, we would never be able to experience the intense satisfaction of relationship. If nothing was personal, then nothing would be personal. If we didn’t feel true sorrow, we would also never feel true joy. It’s what makes us human. And alive. And us.

I’ve always been pretty proud of my resume. One of my life’s biggest confessions is actually that I look a lot better on paper. Seriously. I have being toiling with the idea of going on "The Bachelor" for quite some time now, for the sole purpose that it would make my resume more diverse.

The majority of the time, I am overwhelmingly content with the path that my life has traveled down. With some degree of regret, I will admit that there are times when I even feel proud of my accomplishments. And, if I am being perfectly honest, most of that has less to do with academics and career than it does with the whimsical nuance and overall philosophy which infuses the majority of my decision making and social interactions. I like climbing mountains that are clearly too big. I like jumping in without being totally aware of what the water is like. I like having a story that no one else has.

Most of the time, it is enough.

Which is why days like today and feelings like this always throw me for a freaking loop.

There’s no real explanation for why it happened today. No particular critical incident. Maybe it was too many consecutive night shifts and my defenses are just low. Maybe it’s too many muscle relaxants. Or maybe it is just the reality of my resume and what deep down I know it lacks.

Because today, being a nurse, a best friend, a coworker, an aunt, a daughter, a sister, a disciple of the God of the universe, and an all-round fabulous person didn’t really seem to cut it for me. The things that were missing seemed so much bigger and more important. And, I am not even implying that I want a house, a husband, 2.5 babies, a puppy, a dishwasher, a winning 649 ticket, more expensive clothes, a personal chef, and a white picket fence. Given the option, I would pass on most of those. But today, given the option, there are a few that would entice me into a second glance.

I know it all comes with a price. I know it. I know that the life God has given me is mine and it’s mine because it is what he knows is best for me, right now. I know it. I know that when presented with this particular hypothetical fork in the road, 363 days of the year, I would chose the path I have chosen. And that my particular road less traveled is the only road where I can experience God’s true desire for me.

Unfortunately, every once in a while, knowing doesn’t make what is usually enough feel like anything close to enough.

by Jennifer Louise Carrol (ya, Louise...I know, it's "pretty")

1. I was making a grilled cheese sandwich today at my brother and sister-in-law's and set my plate down on a pile of papers which, upon being stirred, began singing "What a Feeling" from Flashdance - only the number one dance tune of all time! (disclaimer: the pile of papers turned out not to be alive, prophetic, or infested with a choir of 80's dance-loving dwarves. The pile of papers was, instead, covering up one of the most inspired singing birthday cards ever made) (side note: if anyone was planning on acknowledging my own upcoming birthday, please try to find this card)

2. My most favourite human being out there is 39-weeks pregnant. Which, in the baby-delivering / saving world, means she is gonna pop another human out any second now. As if having the world's most stunning child wasn't enough, she's gonna go off and do it again. I can't wait - Good luck Hamberger!