One Year

Photos by Aimee May Photography <3

Dear Little Lambs

Dear Little Lambsons,

This is your mother. I miss you.

I don't remember how many of you there are, or who comes first and last, or how many brothers and sisters there are. But I know you are mine, and I miss you.

I wish I could have you all RIGHT NOW. I wish I could've had you months ago. People tell me I'm crazy for wanting you so badly, people say your dad and I haven't been married long enough. I don't care what people say. I want you.

I'm trying to convince myself that leaving you where you are and me where I am is the selfless thing for right now. It might not be safe, you see, for you to come and grow while we are learning and serving in Africa. I have to take some medications to protect myself from those nasty mosquitoes, and unfortunately, those meds would hurt you.

Also, I'm learning how to be a nurse right now. It is tough stuff. Tougher than I imagined. In my whole life I only ever wanted to be three things: a wife, a mom, and a nurse. There is a proper order of things in this world and I've done what I can to do things in wisdom and order. But it makes my heart ache. When I'm studying the different kinds of baby cries or how explaining something to a four year old is different than a fourteen year old, all I think about is you.

Hopefully, the waiting will make it all the better when you do come. Hopefully, you will always know how deeply you are loved and how anxious we were to meet you. Hopefully, this period of waiting is helping me become more of the mother you need.

Until then,
Mom

Coping words

Sometimes, I have a desire to just write.

I haven't had that desire in a few months, so I didn't. I just lived. But today, I desire. Share my feelings with me.

This is another nurse post.

I went into nursing for one reason. I wanted to become a pediatric nurse and work at Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake. Two of my siblings are alive because of that hospital. And I just love it. I literally get giddy when I see the sign: "the child first and always."

Some people are obsessed with shoes or TV shows or etsy shops. I'm obsessed with a children's hospital. It's fine.

I used to work there. I remember when the manager called me for an interview. I had applied for so many CNA jobs that I had to ask her where she was calling from. She said, "Infant unit at Primary Children's" and my eyes bugged out of my head. I don't even remember applying for that job. I believe it was truly a tender mercy dropped into my life.

And then, I finally (FINALLY) got in to nursing school. And it wasn't feasible to keep my job there, an hour and a half away from school, with twelve hour shifts starting at 6 a.m.

So I quit. And I cried when I did. And I told her I'd be back.

AND TODAY I WENT BACK. For clinical.

You would have thought I had springs in my shoes and a motor in my mouth. I could hardly sit still or stop talking. I started rehearsing inside my head Bethany. Seriously, stop talking. I felt like a proud mom showing off a new baby or something, because I was there with many of my nursing friends and I just wanted to shout "SEE?! I TOLD YOU THIS PLACE WAS MAGIC."

So I don't really know why I'm writing. I have all these feelings. Happiness because I get to spend time as a nursing student at my hospital this semester. Fear because I am so worried that I won't get a job there when I graduate. Guilt because I'm supposed to be working on living in the moment and not worrying about the future.

When I got home, Benji could sense how pent up I was. We talked about trusting Heavenly Father with our lives and working hard in the here and now and not worrying about after graduation. (He is THE best. I don't know how he stays so patient.) And I started to calm down and then we went to our inner tube water polo game (a story for another time).

Someday, I hope I get to work at that hospital as a nurse. I hope I get to do for other patients and families what was done for mine. I hope I get to feel excited to go work again. But for now, thanks for listening to my discombobulated thought process.

And I will continue to strive to be present and Trust.

Periods.

We are currently sitting on the couch, trying to accomplish homework.
I'm being cranky and said, "Benj, I just feel like I'm on the verge of tears."
He said, "Oh. Are you going to have a period?"
I said, "Probably."
He said, "Oh. Has it started yet?"
Me, "No."
Him, "do you want it to?"

Me:

Somehow, I still find him absolutely darling and perfect.

First comes love, then comes marriage...

Then comes....

Uganda??

(Not a baby, sorry. I wish.)

We are moving to Uganda! For three months!

As I mentioned in this post, husband is stellar and was chosen as a PEAT intern for this coming summer. (Info about that here). Obviously, his heart would love to go back to his mission in Sierra Leone and/or Liberia, but considering the health turmoil there at this time, BYU would never let us. Neither would our moms. 

What I didn't mention was that the BYU College of Nursing also does health internships. Read all about it right here.

So there we were, Benji going abroad and me going abroad. And we thought to ourselves, well that's silly, we should go abroad together.

So I wrote a lot of emails.
And did a lot of research.
And talked to a bunch of people.
And Benji did the same.
And we both prayed.

And they said YES.

Yes you can go to Uganda for three months.
Yes you can be the first BYU nursing student to ever do an independent global health project.
Yes you can plan your own projects, clinical hours, homework assignments, and find a way to meet all the course requirements.
YES YES YES.

And for all of you worried that we are going to get Ebola:

Kampala, Uganda is 98 hours away from Sierra Leone. We be fine.

We will be working with an organization called Days for Girls. The more I read about them, the more excited I become. I'm all about women's and children's health and what a wonderful way to blend these two passions? Also if you are looking for an awesome service project, click that link up there. Perfect activity for Young Women's or Activity Days or a Christmas project. And you know it will actually reach the people there, because I will take it there myself! 

So, am I nervous? Yes. I just put a whole lot of responsibility on myself, hot on the heels of a whole lot of unknowns. 

But I can be brave. If that is one thing that Benji has done for me, its that he helps me be brave. I have done so much outside of my comfort zone since I met him, and I'm grateful. Life has gotten bigger and brighter because he doesn't let me limit myself with fear, anxiety, or uncertainty. 

Or oceans, or countries. 

Scars

Today marks 8 years since my brother was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. Bone cancer.

The older a scar gets, the lighter and less visible it becomes. Some become so faint you forget they are there.

Andrew has scars, some I haven't even seen. He has scars up and down and around his leg, and other places on his body from skin grafts. Once, we sat on his bed and joked about how his scars formed a map. "This one could be the river, this one could be the valley..." because yes, some of his scars are not just lines, but deep craters and rivets.

There are other scars that no one can see, and they mark all of our family. I imagine my mother's heart is an entirely new shape and color from all the wounds that have been bound up watching her children hurt. I know that some of Andrew's inside scars affect how he perceives colors, smells, and the media.

My inside scars throb when I hear the clicking sound of crutches moving down a hallway. I remember they are there when people make light of suffering. My scars feel fresh when I notice the bulge of a port-a-cath inside one of my patients, when I see a nurse being insensitive or when I see a nurse being the kindest she knows how.

But I am proud of my scars. Without them, I might not be who I am today. I might be earning a different degree, have a different job, and care more about superficial things.

Without my scars, I would not have such a deep appreciation for the scars that were kept so that I could never deny that Christ suffered for me. In His perfect, resurrected body, He let those scars remain as a testimony to His love. "Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands." Isaiah 49:16.

He suffered beyond my comprehension of suffering so that when Andrew felt alone, broken, and lifeless, someone would know how to help and heal. He kept His scars so that when I was home alone as a fifteen year old with three little sisters while my parents were with Andrew over night, I would feel safe. He kept His scars so that when my mom had to sign papers allowing her children to go into surgery, she would have the strength to do so. When my dad split his time between the office and the hospital, sleeping on a reclining chair for 200 days and passing a kidney stone in his son's cancer treatment room, he was assisted with the divine love of someone who had felt it all before.

Elder Holland once said, "Do not be afraid of scars that may come in defending the truth or fighting for the right, but beware scars that spiritually disfigure, that come to you in activities you should not have undertaken, that befall you in places where you should not have gone. Beware the wounds of any battle in which you have been fighting on the wrong side."

Although we are scarred, our scars make us stronger. Our scars show our strength.

So today, 8 years later, I'm thankful for my scars. I'm thankful for the growth they represent. I'm grateful for my brother, who taught me how to fight and how to hope, and I'm thankful he lived.

And above all, I'm thankful for Jesus Christ and His scars, and that He lives.

Walmart Run

I'm a winner.

The evidence of this statement includes (but is not limited to) the fact that I brought home dinner tonight from the hospital cafeteria (they were serving Thanksgiving dinner and I just wanted something warm and comfy that I didn't cook myself) and that I went to Walmart at 6 a.m. last week. In my socks.

You see, I have clinical at 6:30 at Alta View Hospital in Sandy. Since the hospital is exactly in between my parent's and Benji's parents, we simply go home Thursday nights and sleep over. The issue here is I have to remember all my critical clinical attire: BYU scrubs, BYU name tag, Intermountain student nurse name tag, watch, stethoscope, white shoes. Must be white shoes.

Welllllll since I function on about a minute to minute basis these days....it wasn't until 5:30 a.m. in Benji's parent's basement that I realized I forgot my white shoes. All I brought were my flip flops. You just can't wear flip flops to a MRSA-ridden, high needle-stick potential, professional hospital. Ya just can't.

So I grabbed Benji's car keys and felt a little robber-ish as I spun away from his house with the plan to get home to Emily and steal a pair of her shoes.

While driving I began calculating: 15 minutes to my house. 15 minutes to creep my whole family out as I break into the house and try to find some decent shoes. 15 minutes back to Benji's house. Wake up Benji. Eat breakfast. Drive to hospital. Dang it.

And then I remembered. The commercials of my childhood, that grinning bouncing yellow circle knocking down prices that was replaced with a shining star logo of hope: Wal Mart. Siri. Please give me directions to the closest Wal Mart. Pronto.

(kidding I don't have Siri.)

So I drove to the Wal Mart that was only 7 minutes away, in my socks and BYU scrubs, parked, ran across the parking lot, AND THE DOORS WERE LOCKED. Great. Now I have even less time and still no shoes.

So I returned to the car, dreaming of the invention of a 24 hour Payless, when I saw a blue vest-clad Wal Mart employee walking towards the doors. I'm sure I scared him to death when I veered over to him and rolled down my window, asking when the walmart opened. "It's a 24 hour Wal Mart", he said "but only one door is open." I grinned and cackled and spun around, re-parked, and re-sprinted across the parking lot in my socks.

I would pay big money for the Wal Mart surveillance video of that morning, as a blue and white scrubbed up girl wearing socks ran into the store, grabbed the first pair of white shoes off the rack, put them on, sprinted back to the self check out, swiped the price tag and the credit card and ran back out the door.

The good news is, I made it to clinical on time. And Benji got his car back. And now I have two pairs of white shoes.

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