tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28923971255485583292024-03-05T06:53:28.093-08:00The Writing DIVA Has LandedMy online writing journal, following my journey along this road of becoming an author. I am traveling this road, and accept life's challenges along the way.Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-25089437356371547642013-05-03T06:55:00.000-07:002013-05-03T12:57:21.420-07:00My Breastfeeding Journey with Baby #2 Five years ago, when my husband and I experienced the birth of our son, we had made the decision to breastfeed. My husband, who was adamant about not giving our baby formula, was my support system throughout my pregnancy, encouraging me to do it and being my cheerleader along the way. I can honestly say that my fear stemmed from our son having problems latching on instead of the pain of childbirth itself! This was my second child, and the first child we have together, and he shared articles with me about the benefits of breastfeeding. Because he insisted on it, and I was excited about it, I also felt that he didn't quite understand that little Caleb would be dependent on me and that he (my husband) would not be able to feed him with a bottle until he was past six weeks of age. This was the age at which babies have less tendency to get nipple confused, but Nakia was proof positive that even if all he did was bring the baby to me in the middle of the night for feedings or stay up to burp him afterwards, he was determined to help me be successful.<br />
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While in the hospital, and minutes after Caleb was delivered, he took to the breast and did what came naturally. It felt weird at first, but my nurse gave me two thumbs up and continued to encourage my choice to breastfeed. To better prepare myself, I inquired about seeing the lactation consultant before my discharge to ensure that my technique was efficient and that once I left the hospital, I would know what to do. When the ladies made rounds, they showed my the various techniques that may work (football, cradle, side-lying) to allow for the milk to be expressed with ease as well as comfort for me. It was a learning process for both myself and Caleb, but we worked as a good team and became successful. But there still lingered a bit of fear of being able to continue once we got Caleb home.<br />
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As Caleb continued to feed on demand, I obliged but noticed that he would not always nurse from both breasts, leaving me full on one side and to the point where I became engorged. My breasts swelled from the size of navel oranges to Florida grapefruits, with milk all the way up to my clavicle and under my armpits. I was in pain and didn't know what to do. I called my girlfriend Sandi who nursed her babies and she told me to get in the shower and let the warm water run over my breasts while expressing the milk to come out. This was very painful, and although I was taking Ibuprofen to help, it wasn't enough. I put packs of ice inside my nursing bra, used lanolin cream to ease the cracked nipples (yeah, I got those too), but my breasts were gynormous! (Is that even a word? It doesn't matter, because that's what my breasts were!!!!)<br />
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I went online in search of a lactation consultant in my area, and like angels singing in the background, I came across Becky Butler of Milky Way, www.milkywaybreastfeeding.com, in LaPlata Maryland, and she was truly heaven sent. We set up an appointment and my husband and I packed up our little guy to go for a visit. Becky showed me, hands-on (literally) how to initiate contact and to ensure Caleb had a good seal on the areola and not just the nipple, which is what he was doing to crack my nipples. He favored one breast over the other, and I needed to train him to nurse from both. She also told me that I had an overabundance of milk, as if I was producing milk for twins and even asked if I was told that I had a pituitary problem (which I did not, I just produced an abundance of milk that could have been sold!) I began the pumping process to get as much of my milk out as possible and start my storage and got myself on a routine that worked and the engorgement went away (still grateful for ice packs and ibuprofen).<br />
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My breastfeeding regimen worked well, and even when it was time to introduce our little guy to the bottle, my husband was even more a part of the team. When he tried to give him a pacifier to soothe him before I returned home from an errand, Caleb refused. He never took a pacifier and found soothing in the thumb of his right hand at three months old. <br />
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I returned to work when Caleb was ten weeks old with my Medela Pump In Style bag and cooler, excited that I would be able to continue giving my baby the best. This experience proved tragic for me, as I will explain to you how insensitive and negative my coworkers were towards me and my choice to breastfeed. Working as an acute dialysis nurse requires long, hard hours and a lot of one-on-one patient to nurse ratio time. However, there are times when you can take care of two patients at a time. Because I needed to pump at least every four hours, I would need to be relieved so another nurse or tech could watch my patient. One particular Saturday, it was myself, an LPN, and a technician. There was a patient needing dialysis in ICU, which meant that if I left to dialyze the patient, it would be at least four hours more that would go by before I could pump, as no one would relieve me. Thus, putting me at an almost five hour mark, causing me discomfort and not to mention the leakage. The other nurse on duty suggested I "pump now" before going to care for the patient, which I found absurd being as though I had just nursed my baby at 0630 and it had only been an hour. She didn't understand this and huffed off to the ICU to take care of the patient. There were many other incidents and comments that I recall that eventually took their toll on me AND my milk supply, and I would come home upset and crying to my husband with my decreasing amount of milk, causing me to supplement with formula. <br />
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The gossip and negative comments floated back to me on a daily basis, and one day when the nurses were in the manager's office, I challenged them to speak up about my desire to pump and that by law, no one could refuse me to do so. In other words, shut up about my breast pumping unless you want to take up a collection and purchase formula for me to feed my baby. Silence rung out, and a few of the nurses feigned words of encouragement and even suggested I give them a schedule of when and how long I needed to pump. I rolled my eyes and reminded them that since they didn't have children nor knew anything about breastfeeding, it was best to keep their suggestions to themselves. In other words, deal with it you B word, and leave me to do what I need to do. No one took into consideration that the area in which I needed to pump was in the labor and delivery area, which was downstairs and all the way on the opposite side of the hospital, taking me about ten to twelve minutes to get there. Once there, I had to make sure the room wasn't occupied and then had to get set up. Pumping required at least 15 minutes, making my entire time off the unit 25 to 27 minutes in which someone else had to watch my patient. I had to still be considerate of the breaks my coworkers needed to take, and a lot of times I chose to use my breakfast and lunch break to pump instead of to eat.<br />
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Needless to say, after more months of the snide remarks and evil looks, I continued to pump and nurse Caleb at night. By the time he was nine months old, I was exclusively pumping as he chose to no longer take to the breast, but I managed to pump three more months until his first birthday. I vowed to myself that I would never allow myself to be subjected to such negative women who cared less about the well being and importance of breast is best for a nursing mother. Although I supplemented with formula, Caleb grew well. I should have not been surprised by their nasty ways, being as though when I was well into my eighth and ninth month of pregnancy, no one except for my dear friend Toya assisted me with pushing my dialysis and RO machine to the units or carry my supplies for me. I continued to take on-call, and the staff in the unit always helped me bring my machines back upstairs once I was done, even into the wee hours of the midnight hour. Even the nurse manager of the ICU complained if I dared to leave equipment behind from the night before, knowing that I would return in the morning to continue treatment on a patient.<br />
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This journey really sucked for me, but I really learned a lot.<br />
One, I don't like working with a bunch of females. They are unstable creatures, catty, and jealous, especially when you have things going for you. I never asked for handouts, and I never once called out sick during my pregnancy; I showed up with swollen ankles, full bladder, and leaky breasts.<br />
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Two, there are some good people in the healthcare field that will look out for fellow nurses, and the ICU and CCU nurses and staff always made sure I was comfortable and even had water to drink and food to eat during my breaks. (There are so many of you to name, but if I miss anyone, charge it to my head and not my heart; however, this was almost six years ago. Ally, Brenda, Karen, Shelly, Renee, Tammy, Jan, Barbara, Jeania, Amanda).<br />
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Three, don't sweat the small stuff, although it didn't seem small at the time. You see, not too long after that, I became a better person and was able to shake off the mess that could have caused me to use ungodly words and cuss a few folk out.<br />
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And lastly, I am loved by my family and friends, and that love outweighed any of the foolishness with which I had to deal with. I vowed to myself that I would NEVER go through this again, and I didn't. And now, as I am nursing my third child, I can really see God's got it. He took me through the storm so that I could see the rainbow that he put there when it was over. (Read my next blog on Breastfeeding Baby #3).Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-50401647563663018462013-04-19T22:18:00.001-07:002013-04-20T07:14:07.791-07:00Reflecting on the birth of my children<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Tomorrow we will celebrate the birth of my second born, my son Caleb. He will be five years old. As I write this, I am consumed by the sound of the rain, beating against the screens of my window and streaming down the siding of my home. It reminds me of the Sunday, five years ago, when I first met Caleb face-to-face. His round face and straight, jet black hair was all you could see. He immediately took to my breast, and began nursing as if it was going out of style, easing my fear of not being able to encourage my infant to latch on. But this was not the case. And with my husband by my side being my biggest cheerleader, I knew it would work as mommy and son bonded instantly.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Caleb waited to enter the world until his big brother Jordan arrived to meet him. While my mother was in the background snapping photos of my Va-jay jay, I focused on my pushing and was anxious to see my firstborn with his little brother. Their bond was instant, and even now as they fight, I can smile when I hear big brother recite prayers with my pre-kindergartener before bedtime and it makes my heart dance. Caleb was born at 40 weeks, right on the day he was due, weighing 8 pounds 4 ounces. He shares a birthday with Luther Vandross and Stephen Marley.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Thinking of the protective spirit of Jordan, I recall the day he came into my life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I was a senior in college, studying nursing at The Catholic University of America in our nation's capital. One of about a half dozen brown girls in my graduating class of 1996, I had my doubts about finishing school. But my reason for completion came in the face of my brown chubby-cheeked baby boy, who was born during the blizzard of that same year, on a Tuesday afternoon. I went into labor early Monday morning, the day recognized as Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, a federal holiday. Concerned about missing too much school for fear of not being able to graduate, I focused on giving birth to my little person. As I dozed off and on, I recall how my sister sat in the room with me, eating McDonald's while I starved during my laboring process, only able to munch on ice chips. Jordan was born at 39 weeks, weighing 8 pounds 0.5 ounces. He shares a birthday with Sade, Aaliyah, and Debbie Allen.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">McDonald's was also being eaten by my husband during the labor of my third child, a girl, Gabrielle. She was born on Wednesday morning, on an overcast day, with the night sky being lit up by the full moon that helped guide our way to the hospital. A rough pregnancy led to an even more challenging laboring process, as my baby girl emerged face-up as opposed to face down, causing the intense back pain that I experienced before and during my labor, to include the Braxton-Hicks contractions. Gabrielle was born at 40 weeks, exactly on her due date, weighing 8 pounds. She shares a birthday with Berry Gordy, Trey Songz, and Judd Nelson.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-78705997688996844852012-02-25T14:14:00.002-08:002012-02-25T14:14:23.913-08:00<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>W</b>hen I started out in nursing school, there were a few fears that I had, but kept them to myself. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was afraid that I wouldn't be good enough. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That my patients wouldn't like me. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That I would make mistakes when it came time to pass my medications. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Or that I simply would struggle to make it through.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>AND I WAS WRONG IN ALL INSTANCES!!!</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My patients loved me, even when I couldn't read the expressions on their faces. When one of my clinical instructors grilled me to the tenth power while my palms were sweaty, I was able to regurgitate the names of my patient's medications, the side effects, and even the lab values that you would be cautioned for. (Needless to say, this was an instructor who treated all of the "brown" nursing students in this fashion, and through it all, I managed to get a B in that class.)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here I am, years later (sixteen to be exact), still in the nursing field, working the education side of nursing, which is what I found myself doing through my various fields of nursing. As a "people" person, I found myself being recommended to be a preceptor while on active duty as an Army nurse at Walter Reed, and I loved it!</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This preceptor role followed me as I embarked on the civilian side of nursing and now, as an Education Coordinator, I am able to continue in this role.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I was cleaning out my basement, I came across an old file that contained a lot of the things I held onto during my "juvenile" years as a nurse fresh out of school. I found a small card, about the size of a business card, lying on the floor next to the file. It contained the <i><b><u>Principles of Hospitality</u></b></i>, which I will share with you.</span><br />
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<li><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Smile and greet every patient.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Speak to the patient in a warm, friendly, courteous manner.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Display genuine and enthusiastic interest in the patient; pay complete attention.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anticipate patient needs and be flexible in responding to them.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Be knowledgeable about your job. (This is a biggie!)</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">LEARN to take ownership of patient problems and resolve them.</span></li>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In preparation for a preceptor class that I will be co-teaching, I plan to make copies of this and pass on to the preceptors for them to remember 1) why they are preceptor in the first place and 2) how they can groom new employees to give their all and put their best foot forward.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is always key to remember that you don't get a second chance to make a first impression, and it always helps when you can put yourself in the shoes of your patient. They may be nervous, scared, confused. Or they may just want you to listen and give a warm smile.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I will leave you with The Learn Process:</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">L = Listen to the patient</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">E = Empathize with the patient</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A = Apologize</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">R = Respond</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">N = Notify the tracking process (and this may vary in your different positions)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is also wise to have a mentor. While sharing your stories and situations with a fellow nursing student may be helpful, keep in mind that some people may not be happy to see your success and may harbor feelings of jealousy. (I learned this the hard way, too.)</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Having someone who will ALWAYS take your side is not a good thing...you need someone who will be the devil's advocate, in a sense.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Surround yourself with positive people.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Take time away from your studying, or your job, to do something fun.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Keeping a journal may prove helpful, as it was for me. (And I still have it to this day.)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My goal is to one day write my nursing journey to share with those who will come after me.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="color: blue;">Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does. ~William James</span></span>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-81787418287589774492011-12-29T22:12:00.000-08:002012-02-25T14:18:13.470-08:00Sharing My Love of WritingAs I share my love of writing with my dear friend Nathan Seven Scott, I recall telling him how awesome it would be if he shared his stories with the world. A lover of E. Lynn Harris myself, I was wondering who would give us books of his caliber. Unfortunately, we had to lose him so that the work of Nathan could be born. I find it amazing that after all these years, we have maintained a friendship that has taken us through our own little worlds, and as I embarked on my writing journey, I pushed Nathan to go for it as well. (My unwavering confidence in Nathan has helped me to push myself to continue on with my writing as well. More about me later!)<br />
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I reached out to a friend from middle school, only to find out that through her own busy life, she would be able to help me with the editing of my book. Khadijah Ali-Coleman gave me such wonderful feedback and pushed me to add just enough drama and hot, butt-naked sex (yes, she really did!) to give me the page-turner I knew I could create. I had no idea what to expect when we sat down to discuss my book, but I can say that she put a stank on my story that only SHE could do! And so, I had to share her expertise with Nathan, and he has been pleased with what she produced.<br />
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As I reflect on my journey, I mentioned before how I wrote poetry while in college, and that my professor Dr. Acklyn Lynch pushed me to get that hobby of mine going. Writing was my outlet, and I didn't always want to share what I created. My love of reading is what really pushed me to write my first novel, and I have been addicted ever since. I have the perfect team and the 'write' tools to get me there. Artist, life coach, editor, mentor, publisher, fellow writer friends, family, sistah-girls, and FANS! <br />
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I have decided to further share my passion to write with middle school students, and have challenged them to participate in my first ever writing contest. You can find the info at <a href="http://www.wordslingerz.blogspot.com/">www.wordslingerz.blogspot.com</a> for more information. Any and all middle to high school students are encouraged to participate. My goal is to have a writing camp specifically for those interested in putting their creative minds to work. I am grateful for this opportunity, and for those who want to write and just don't know how or where to start, you can always reach out to me. I am sure that Khadijah will welcome the eager writers as well, and you can find her at <a href="http://www.khadijahonline.com/">www.khadijahonline.com</a>. And don't forget to tell her that Karen Minors sent you!<br />
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And now, I must continue to write.......<br />
<br />Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-6391134220592736352011-01-14T19:45:00.000-08:002011-01-14T21:24:12.925-08:00He Keeps on Blessing Me<span style="font-family:verdana;">He keeps on blessing me</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">even when I'm not worthy</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">even when I doubt</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">even when I fail.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He keeps on blessing me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I looked far and wide</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">when He said to look near</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">when He said to listen</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">when He said to surrender.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He keeps on blessing me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">When I couldn't see the light</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">at the end of the tunnel</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">when I closed my eyes</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">at the end of each day</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">as the tears ran down my face;</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">when I forgave myself,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">because He forgave me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He keeps on blessing me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He keeps on blessing me</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">answering every prayer</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">hearing every cry.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He keeps on blessing me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Last year was a challenging year for my family, but we kept the faith. When we thought all hope was lost, the Lord stepped in right on time and picked us up. Stress had become my new best friend, and bitterness was my passenger in the car. I carried my hurt and feelings of "why me?" day in and day out. While wearing a smile on the outside, I was crying on the inside. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Yet, I pushed forward and I leaned not on my own understanding.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I cried out and waited on Him to hear me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><em>Are you there? Do you see me struggle? Lord, please help us. Help me. I don't like feeling like this. Where do I turn? Show me the way.</em></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></em><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He never left me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He blessed me with a new job.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Then he blessed me with a second new job and a promotion.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He blessed my husband with a job offer. Hallelujah!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">My best friend, Stress, left me and Bitterness was ejected from the car.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">A smile remained on the outside, but the crying stopped on the inside.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Sometimes we feel like all hope is gone.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">But there is hope.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He told me so.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">And He keeps on blessing me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">And now, I must write....some more.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-85542141859155151882010-12-28T20:41:00.000-08:002011-01-14T21:02:21.559-08:00Christmas 2010<span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">Christmas 2010 was different this year.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">We decorated and put up the tree on Christmas EVE! (Caleb had fun passing us all of the ornaments and just putting them anywhere on the tree.)</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">I had recruited Jordan to help me decorate the dialysis unit where I work.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">(Well, I had to bribe him with a few candy canes in order for him to help out.)</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">But, it worked.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">And since he did such a wonderful job, I knew he would love to decorate the tree with his 2 year old brother! And they had a fun time. Caleb stayed up until right before midnight and still woke up at seven a.m.! I just made him get in our bed and watch Sprout until we were ready to get up.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">This Christmas we were not able to spend the holiday with my aunt and uncle like we do every year, because my aunt had pneumonia. It was hard for her, as well as us, to not be able to be with the family, but we needed her to get well and not get anyone else in the family sick. Our day was smooth, and quiet, except for the drum set that we got for Caleb! He played along with Sesame Street and Veggie Tales, putting on a show for us. We had a nice breakfast and for dinner, we had one of my husband's favorite dishes: curry shrimp. Yummy!</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">I didn't get to cook! Aww, man! (said with a smile on my face :)</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">Later, that evening, we drove to the home of one of my Army nurse buddies from Walter Reed. She was surprised to see us, and another dialysis nurse was there, also. It was good to get out for a little bit and it was good to be off from work for four days straight! Working outpatient dialysis can really wear you down, from the long days that turn into long nights! Whew! So, it was a welcomed blessing to be able to have my family time all at one lump time.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">My husband, Nakia, surprised me with a Kindle. He knew that was all I asked for, and I knew he couldn't get it for me because it was practically sold out. Loving to read until the wee hours of the morning, this was a gift that he would be getting his money's worth! </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">The time that we shared this Christmas meant more to me because we were all together, I didn't have to be on call, nor use vacation time just to be home. Family members participated in holiday devotionals and we were able to read each other's memories about past holiday times. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">Christmas is not about the gifts we give or receive, but of spending quality time with family and friends to reflect on the reason for the season: Happy Birthday, Jesus!</span>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-5738174387751871842010-11-22T19:27:00.000-08:002011-01-14T20:05:58.051-08:00On Becoming an Author<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipamiQ8pljGoWTpoCn2hyUKSPgnvmmFYmQVVcdKn2ADy4IxWmvAcZRULWBnY8uKMOvsf3mGMDPBb8ssiycWlnafrJ6dxc9PPB0UmovzXxxU6NkIbLOhcBuV2jjAaIEtLaGyFVV-afiZU/s1600/035-003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562258807640978546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 256px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipamiQ8pljGoWTpoCn2hyUKSPgnvmmFYmQVVcdKn2ADy4IxWmvAcZRULWBnY8uKMOvsf3mGMDPBb8ssiycWlnafrJ6dxc9PPB0UmovzXxxU6NkIbLOhcBuV2jjAaIEtLaGyFVV-afiZU/s320/035-003.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>I </strong></span><span style="font-size:130%;">have been on this journey since 2007, when I began writing my first novel while visiting my future husband's family in Bermuda. <em>It Is What It Is </em>was birthed while I sat on the seashore and my son and future husband were fishing. This was a story I held on to for some time, and my desire to write never waned.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">This journey has been like a roller coaster, mostly with ups and not many downs, fortunately. I was blessed to have the TEAM that my mentor Ananda Leeke spoke about last year when I first met her. In addition to her recommendations, I was blessed to have an artist for a husband, who I let design my book cover and website. I also reconnected with a childhood friend, Khadijah Ali-Coleman, who is the editor of my novel. </span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The excitement that I feel now as I felt when I first started is still the same.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">To see my book in its final stage has been absolute feelings of exuberance and a HUGE sense of accomplishment. I started my story to tell my "love story" and it turned into a fiction with much drama. When Khadijah told me that I was "holding back", I hung my head because I knew she was right. By following her direction and listening to her pointers, I just jumped in and moved forward. She pulled it out of me, and when I read my book from start to finish, I screamed. My actual words were "This is the freaking <strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">BOMB</span></strong>! SAY WHAAAAT!"</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">My sentiments were shared by three special people who were given a pre-release copy of <span style="color:#ff6600;"><em>It Is What It Is</em></span>. One of them said "I love your quotes and a true reader will have no problem immersing themselves in the story."</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">I was literally tickled pink.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Another reader said she visualized the places I describe in the book, placing herself there as she read along.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Like Kem says in his song "Matter of Time" from his latest CD:</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">"You are right where you are supposed to be</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Everything is in divine order.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Nothing happens under God's creation without His eye upon it.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">There is a divine appointment for everything that takes place in your life.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">So just relax, let it flow.....it's a matter of time."</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Thanks to everyone who has followed me on Facebook, Twitter, and recognizing my desire to get this book done. There is more to come. Thanks for being patient and waiting on me. This was truly a journey that I will never forget.</span></div>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-28593708401714272282010-11-15T21:04:00.000-08:002011-01-14T21:23:19.666-08:00Grandma Freestyling<span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;">My seventy-six year old grandmother has decided to learn how to swim. She has never been afraid of water, and will don a swimsuit and jump right in. She just didn't have the technique that my sister and I possess. And as much as we tried to show her the proper way, it was to no avail. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;">So, I was not surprised when she shared with me her news of taking swimming lessons. Listening to her speak of her Beginner's class, I can hear her excitement burst through the phone. "People in my class can't believe it when I tell them my age," she says. She continues to tell me how her instructor had the class go down the slide. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;">"And I did it!" she exclaims, with even more enthusiasm. "If I could just get that kicking thing down.....it's so hard, Pooh!"</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;">"Grandma, keep in mind that we took lessons when we were very young, so it is easier then as opposed to now. You just gotta keep practicing. It will come. You'll get it," I reassure her.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;">I am just glad that my grandmother takes the time to do what she likes to do. See, my grandmother has been caring for my grandfather who has Alzheimer's disease. She has put a lot of her desires on hold to make sure that he is taken care of, but we stressed to her that she not put her desires on the back burner. She has had some rough days, and being a nurse myself, I knew what this could do to her health, if she didn't continue with her life. I don't think it's a selfish thing at all. Caregivers have to be strong mentally and physically to do what we do. If our health and well-being is challenged, then we will be doing no justice to those we care for in the long run. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;">Grandma has taken hand-dance lessons, continues to participate in her church group activities and NAACP meetings, exercises daily, swims, and still cooks and cleans.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;">I missed getting over to the pool to see grandma swim, but I still plan to do that. I would love to swim a lap with my grandmother, and even come down the waterslide with her. I know she would enjoy it as much as I would!</span></span>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-41742359543501489982010-05-14T22:06:00.000-07:002012-02-25T14:18:51.093-08:00Sharing and Caring: It's What Nurses DoNursing students will always have a special place in my heart.<br />
I used to be one, so I know what it feels like to observe and soak in your surroundings. Coming to clinical prepared, while clad in crisp white uniform pants and top, wearing white Nursemates and decorated with the most colorful stethoscope around your neck, I recall the butterflies of uneasiness in the pit of my stomach that would eventually float away. Being a minority in a private university, I had no choice but to work even harder to attain my goal: B.S.N., Bachelors of Science in Nursing.<br />
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So I recognize the newness of a student, arriving to her clinical to learn about what dialysis does to the body. I am prepared to give my lesson on hypertension and diabetes and how they cause kidney failure. And how my job is to help save lives. See, that’s what I do. I hook my patients up to a machine that is calibrated to remove fluid and damaging electrolytes in the body. My machine does for the dialysis patient what our kidneys do for a normal, healthy person: it removes toxins from the body by way of excreting urine.<br />
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My students for the day include two young women of Bowie State University’s Nursing Program and my goal is to help them understand terms such as dry weight, dialysate, bicarbonate, and dialyzer, just to name a few. The inquisitive mind of Mikkel and the humble spirit of Tiphany make it even easier for me to explain what I do. These women maintained professionalism and expressed a genuine concern for patients.<br />
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Before Tiphany arrived, I was able to give one-on-one attention to Mikkel and explain to her the portion of fluid removal and how the “new” weight affects the dialysis patient. I also made sure to let her know that it is very important to inform the doctor if there are any changes or if you feel there is cause for question.<br />
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“You must always document what you do. Because if it isn’t documented, then it wasn’t done.”<br />
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“Never take someone else’s information as gospel. Always follow up.”<br />
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Tiphany arrived late, due to unforeseen circumstances, but her spirit never appeared broken. She asked appropriate questions, and listened attentively as I explained the answer. As we talked throughout the morning, I learned of her mother’s recent death, just one month prior. She was still able to maintain her composure as she talks about it with Mikkel. And she was in the right mindset, in spite of her tragic loss.<br />
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“I feel cursed,” she says.<br />
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I turn to her. “It is just the devil trying to get in your way. You have to move on.”<br />
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She nods and says, “I know.”<br />
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“What would your mother say to if she were here?”<br />
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“She would tell me to finish school.”<br />
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I smile and reply. “And that is what you will do.”<br />
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I learn of Mikkel’s Nursing Program funded by the Navy that allows her to gain education while still receiving military benefits, and I smile as I recall my days in the military. Both of these women have touched me in a way I would not have thought, and I am so excited to be able to share with them what someone once shared with me. <br />
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You see, it’s about opening doors for others. Passing on knowledge and sharing stories that will impact someone in their career. Someone allowed for me to attend Dialysis Nursing Course while in the Army, and my training has allowed me to be where I am today (along with the grace of God.) Being able to share with others to help them along the way is what I do. I like to see others succeed, and if I have something that will make the difference in their world, I will share it with them.<br />
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It makes my heart smile and it becomes just as contagious as laughter.<br />
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As Tiphany and Mikkel prepare for post-conference with their clinical instructor, I am inclined to share with them my email address, as I want to keep in touch with these impressionable women, in hopes of attending their graduation from nursing school one day. I turn to both of them and wish them well, and Mikkel writes down her email address, followed by Tiphany. I let them know that they are going to be fine, and I tell Tiphany, “You will have some valley moments, but you know you can get through them. You KNOW why you have to do this.”<br />
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She smiles and says, “Yes, I know.”<br />
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They say their good-byes and head off to complete their day.<br />
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(note: This is one of the short stories that will appear in my next book on dialysis nursing.)Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-61701185888793636012010-05-14T21:46:00.000-07:002010-05-14T22:00:34.517-07:00Moving to a Still PointYour body is a temple.<br />Taking time to cleanse the body and mind is a must in our lives. We work hard, we live hard, we love hard. So, when I decided to become a member of Groupon.com to partake of the many splendid discounted services offered throughout the metropolitan area, I was pleased to see an offer for a facial. Women love to be pampered, and I knew it would come in handy one much needed day.<br /><br />Today I redeemed my coupon for that much needed facial, and it was heavenly. I drove from my home in southern Maryland to Takoma Park to The Still Point Mind & Body. This place was quaint and the customer service was superb! I was greeted with a warm welcome and sat for a few moments for my esthetician. Dewaynia Wilson was very professional, and made sure that I was comfortable. She explained in detail the products she used on my face and educated me on the process of correct cleansing, exfoliating, and moisturizing of the skin. I am in the habit of giving credit where credit is due, and I am pleased to say that I will be doing so and pay homage in my upcoming novel.<br /><br />I plan to return in the future to my new best-kept secret. If ever you are in need of services, check out their website <a href="http://www.stillpointmindandbody.com/">www.stillpointmindandbody.com</a>, and make sure you tell Dewaynia that Karen sent you.<br /><br />So, as I keep constant watch of my surroundings, I am creating images in my head and developing a way to include my experiences in my novel.<br /><br />And now, I must write.Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-68543479176231626732010-04-05T19:05:00.000-07:002010-04-05T20:07:00.892-07:00In the Land of Lacrosse<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnHA57-mb1uL-msQ8mKoleMqjM2lOkKHPbHDeSH9O5bttHElYHXq3Y2qQQRMVFaQ-RYiXB9n2vle-KOMuwO6cwFCBah8Gl2P7R9e48XwKeiEP6m8nb4HBShTRTBgqLlslDpSnkm_UI68/s1600/003-+Minors94.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 143px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnHA57-mb1uL-msQ8mKoleMqjM2lOkKHPbHDeSH9O5bttHElYHXq3Y2qQQRMVFaQ-RYiXB9n2vle-KOMuwO6cwFCBah8Gl2P7R9e48XwKeiEP6m8nb4HBShTRTBgqLlslDpSnkm_UI68/s200/003-+Minors94.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456854460246207634" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsSkCQDb5wZIpJC9tazAdgCXMCwq_buqZprXSkmYWc3MkOvvezCNIgWIAsAlwTz6zSmlGZfp8o5qeb6TmHuDRdgmhk2ly-q7lBFWRoH5M7pEHI6pQiZAzxvIfujSyqT55-75j6vVR-ww/s1600/lacrosse+stick.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsSkCQDb5wZIpJC9tazAdgCXMCwq_buqZprXSkmYWc3MkOvvezCNIgWIAsAlwTz6zSmlGZfp8o5qeb6TmHuDRdgmhk2ly-q7lBFWRoH5M7pEHI6pQiZAzxvIfujSyqT55-75j6vVR-ww/s320/lacrosse+stick.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456852580778223170" /></a><br />I decided to stay and watch my son's lacrosse practice on Easter Monday, a day I took off from work. I know absolutely nothing about the game except what he has taught me: it originated with the Native Americans who would play the game as part of religious rituals as well as prepare for war. And it is a full body contact sport.<br /><br />Great! Like that's just what I needed to see. My barely-ninety-pound teenager getting slammed and knocked all over the field. Nurse mom is kicked into first gear and I have the first aid kit fully stocked and ready to go. Just in case. Not to mention the mini cooler with plenty of drinks to keep him hydrated.<br /><br />As I sit and watch my slender-framed and underweight son warm up and practice drills with his team, I can only smile and be proud that he chose a sport that is not dominated by our race. It is evident as I am the only African American mother on the field, and I am not met with such friendly faces, as I smile and set up my space to get comfortable for the next two hours. I stick out like a sore thumb, and I feel that my son will feel it, too. I am about as lost in this game of lacrosse as a Chinese man at a Ludacris concert. (Or about as lost as I was when learning how to use chopsticks for the first time!)<br /><br />But, this isn't about me or my uncertainty and insecurity of this game that my son loves so much. I recall his words to me when I asked him why would he want to play a game that not many of his friends play. "Mom, I don't wanna play what people expect me to play. I like being different."<br /><br />I have long recognized the difference in my son as he has grown and matured over the years. And I have not always been accepting of it as I struggled with the challenges that he placed upon me. My first challenge was his choice to leave a private school and join the ranks of his fellow neighborhood friends and go to public school. <br />I recall what he said to me, "I just wanna be normal and ride the school bus like the other kids." I battled with the decision for weeks, and after much prayer and many talks with my sister, dad, and close friends, I agreed to let Jordan enter public school. <br /><br />And it still isn't about me.<br /><br />So, as I sit in my folding chair off to the side, with my runny nose and itchy, watery eyes due to my allergies, I can only smile. It is funny what we sacrifice for our children. I sneeze, blow my nose, and continue to look on as my son keeps up with his teammates.<br /><br />Jordan is "having the most fun playing lacrosse than any other sport I have ever played." His role models are none other than Jim Brown and Ernie Davis.<br /><br />They made history.<br /><br />And so will Jordan.Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-81791753792689652532010-02-28T06:42:00.000-08:002010-05-14T21:43:02.586-07:00Being a People Watcher on the MetroI swipe my SmarTrip card, walk down the stairs and wait for my train to take me to L'Enfant Plaza. I grab a window seat, turn on my iPod to my favorite song to get me pumped for the work day ahead of me: Trey Songz "Say Ahh". I bob my head to the beat and begin to people watch. This is how I gather characters for my stories. Looking at the well-dressed men and women on their way to corporate jobs; the young security guard finishing up her night shift; the teenagers on their way to school, clad in uniforms, Jordan tennis shoes, and North Face jackets; military officers reporting for duty; medical personnel in scrubs and Birkenstocks; the homeless man "moving", with all of his life's belongings. Different hairstyles: cropped cuts, locks, weaves(some well done and others jacked up), braids, twists; streaks, spikes, straight, or spiraled; combed or uncombed. The different fragrances (or lack thereof) that burn my sinuses, while some tempt me to decipher and purchase for myself.<br /><br />You can listen to young adult women speak of the drama from the weekend before, to include a "baby fawvah not calling me back" and not having enough pampers to make it through the week; you can see people on Facebook, Twitter, and other blogs, clicking away on Blackberry or iPhones, trying to keep in the know and see what other friends and family members are doing.<br /><br />I use the time to just watch. Taking in my surroundings, trying to figure out what is going on in the minds of commuters. I look forward to my time on the train, because it allows me to leave the driving to someone else (I know that's a motto for Greyhound, but you know what I mean!)<br />Being among the Metro rail commuters has strengthened my thighs and gluteals, as I walk in the "passing" lane up AND down the escalator, in a hurry as the rest of the common folk, to arrive at my destination: work or home or school or play.<br /><br />Now that my people watching is done, I must write!Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-1234210898749775472009-12-28T20:35:00.000-08:002009-12-28T21:00:11.119-08:00Holiday BlessingsIn the month of December, we say good bye to cooler days and accept the not-so-welcoming cold days as the seasons change. Autumn ends and winter begins. We winterize our automobiles and homes, pull out the thick wool coats with scarves and gloves. We prepare our holiday menus and make plans to spend with family and friends. We may even attend our company Christmas party to "shake a tailfeather" or two. But what many fail to realize is that giving a fellow coworker a gift around the holidays leaves much to be desired when you have treated that person like the dirt on the bottom of a shoe throughout the entire year. And then some. The constant backbiting and utter lack of respect shown on a daily basis cannot be atoned for by a simple gift wrapped box. To say Merry Christmas and accept freely is not the same as saying "I am sorry." Cruel intentions and blatant untruths towards anyone, coworker or not, cannot be erased with a candy cane or Christmas card and gift.<br />The holidays are meant to be shared and it allows for us to reflect over the past 11 months and to remember that a boy child was born in a horse stable, who would bring men to their knees and save the lost. WWJD - what would Jesus do? Well, I will tell you what he wouldn't do. He would not falsely accuse a colleague of a senseless act. He would not lie to their face. And he would not kick a man, or woman, when they are down.<br />Michael Jackson made corrections to his band in his final rehearsal and what many people can relate to as the Last Call. He said "this is all in love.L-O-V-E." And a lot of what we do should all be in love. So as we wrapped those gifts and prepared to share with loved ones and friends, are we doing it all in L-O-V-E or is some of it in G-U-I-L-T? We are to be of good cheer and be sincere when we give gifts, not just at Christmas, but whenever we give. If people believe that wrapping a present and giving it to someone with whom you can't even get along with at work is a way to DO THE RIGHT THING or make good at Christmas, it is not. It is just a way for the giver to feel good and free them of the guilty conscience.<br /><br /><br />The real holiday blessings come in the face of remembering the reason for the season. And it isn't about giving a gift just for the sake of it. Sharing love. Jesus.Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-1370321431628326312009-11-01T19:41:00.000-08:002010-04-05T20:17:39.720-07:00Baby Blues<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0r5kiXxc_flcXvzxlYIGl6gZcKtUEOdxUav3GOQF3WDcVlh5nin-BX4f39K1tAFgJop4wBHbigMi0abN0QK5lahrd6gb1GTi_X6hpTkjWA_v7pGwnFJmHTXrZ_9yKGEJW38DUrCwoD0/s1600-h/ear+thermometer.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0r5kiXxc_flcXvzxlYIGl6gZcKtUEOdxUav3GOQF3WDcVlh5nin-BX4f39K1tAFgJop4wBHbigMi0abN0QK5lahrd6gb1GTi_X6hpTkjWA_v7pGwnFJmHTXrZ_9yKGEJW38DUrCwoD0/s400/ear+thermometer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399358756413662274" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlL0_0jvXMXegWQJiBLRnA7Q9gUL8d7Xkxpha6o49ZvrcO1fQV9nZW7I9NQ4TL_hV4ZR8nuQ5nkWpuoH426KemzFMxg2yKFXRshHUkOhy0zt8TH4_zAp7PWH2R2Gm9bjJklp26bMSgI8/s1600-h/handwashing.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 84px; height: 78px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlL0_0jvXMXegWQJiBLRnA7Q9gUL8d7Xkxpha6o49ZvrcO1fQV9nZW7I9NQ4TL_hV4ZR8nuQ5nkWpuoH426KemzFMxg2yKFXRshHUkOhy0zt8TH4_zAp7PWH2R2Gm9bjJklp26bMSgI8/s320/handwashing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399358055990714658" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQq4THiyl4ihCLUCK5pMFRTFUdjWWPzGFHEyHdwXzfaI6EHo7lw9-D7xULAFK2u5E2DEVAVNVwOVSXXIV_PWoq1bgEKxlOlDMqeOxBQztWSDRcWa2ktzp_uRAbKNEkglJsXaDjk3YMWg/s1600-h/motrin.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 116px; height: 94px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQq4THiyl4ihCLUCK5pMFRTFUdjWWPzGFHEyHdwXzfaI6EHo7lw9-D7xULAFK2u5E2DEVAVNVwOVSXXIV_PWoq1bgEKxlOlDMqeOxBQztWSDRcWa2ktzp_uRAbKNEkglJsXaDjk3YMWg/s320/motrin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399357809839582866" /></a><br /> You awaken to find your 18 month old baby boy hot to the touch. He remains playful, but refuses his ritual breakfast of hot oatmeal. WHAT! This child NEVER turns down food; something has got to be wrong! Temperature: 101.4. Tylenol immediately, followed by Motrin, plenty of popsicles, and shed those one piece PJs. As a nurse and a mother, the nurse flies out the window and mommy kicks in gear. Panic-stricken and feelings of helplessness as your sad-eyed toddler looks to you, whining and wanting you to hold him throughout the day. You fear of letting him sleep, because you know the fever will continue to climb. Taking a tepid washcloth, you place on his neck, only to get a howling scream in return. Throughout the day, Caleb consumed about eight Pedialyte popsicles, snacked on a few goldfish crackers, and continued to run around and be the mischievous and curious little boy he usually is. A call to the pediatrician yeilds being placed on hold, then a message taken and the famous "the nurse will call you back as soon as she gets in." Hours go by, and you continue to give as many popsicles as you can, praying the temperature will not climb. But it does. So, here we go. Every four hours Tylenol, every six hours Motrin. Anything to keep Caleb quiet is all that matters now.<br /><br /> Rushing to Walmart to get more probe covers for the ear thermometer and to purchase more popsicles and Tylenol, and oh, let's throw in the new thermoscan temporal thermometer so I don't have to wake him once he falls asleep. Finally, the temp appears to be under control. The nurse calls, and we play phone tag. When I call back, the office is closed. How about that?<br /><br /> The pediatrician finally calls after I leave another message. He could be teething again, just watch his temp throughout the night. Time for daddy duty. "Check his temp at midnight," I tell my husband, as I crawl into bed. I can finally get some sleep.<br /><br /> Five hours later, when I go check on Caleb, you can fry an egg on his forehead and my thermometer is reading "High". OMG! I pick him up immediately, grab a washcloth and begin to cool him down. The thermometer is now reading 102.5. He gets a dose of tylenol and motrin, I put on some pants and grab some socks. I shake my husband awake and tell him we must go now to the emergency room. In the meantime, Caleb is playing and smiling, not knowing why in the world did mommy and daddy wake me out of my sleep for this. I sit in the backseat of the car next to my little one, praying and holding his hand all the way to the hospital.<br /><br /> Fast forward. In the emergency room, we are seen very quickly. Rectal temp 101.6. Taken to the examination room, Caleb is whining but very alert, grabs the doctor's stethoscope, follows commands. His only ailment is the temp that will not break. Diagnosis: H1N1 flu. Treatment: Tamiflu. There is no test to determine the H1N1 anymore because of the false negatives it gives. Since treatment is the same for the flu, it is given. I run outside of the hospital, leaving my husband with Caleb, to call his pediatrician. I am a nurse; I need to understand that what I am being told is the truth and not just some bull shiggity. His doctor confirms what we are told, and I feel somewhat relieved. Discharge instructions given and we are on our way to the pharmacy at 7:05, after having signed in at 6:07! How amazing is that! God looks out for babies, and we were not about to let anything happen to our precious little boy. We shared the news with close friends and family, and the prayers began pouring up to heaven. <br /><br />Please be mindful of the germs that are everywhere. Wash your hands when you sneeze into them or blow your nose; if you can't get to soap and water, keep hand sanitizer on hand. Do not touch babies on their faces or hands, unless you are their parent. Wipe down high chairs in restaurants and carry your own seat cover. My oldest son told me of a lady who touched Caleb's face at Famous Dave's where they dined out one evening while I was working. The H1N1 virus can live two to eight hours on an inanimate object. Wipe down grocery carts and keep your hands away from your eyes, nose and mouth as much as possible. I have always been very uneasy about shaking hands with people anyway; not so much as a paranoia as it is a germaphobia. I was once offered a hand to shake by a reputable woman while serving in the Army. She had just sneezed into her hand and offered me that hand to shake. Eww! I got out of that easily, and have had problems with touching other people's hands. Period. <br /><br /> Having a toddler with eczema and food allergies, and now flu, was not making me a happy camper. I wished I could place him in a bubble to keep him away from germs, but such is not life. We must do our best to protect each other and our little ones. <br /><br />Now go wash your hands!Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-44053774015196521922009-10-12T20:25:00.000-07:002009-10-13T18:52:25.113-07:00Another Day in the Life of a DIVA<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7TNhFF8Bw7xRDQ3_Qj9hNN9amTNEOGtqzyehSSvGhC02HW_xzhraVh5f7fjSST5a8e6M1Bw-J8VHIeItMsJIVv2L8I_iqjdI-HPc3cwQZ6RhwHQj88nwDSyrIt51R8Z8X7-OynXaj8w/s1600-h/After+Wedding+Photos+in+Bermuda074.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391947590083084386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7TNhFF8Bw7xRDQ3_Qj9hNN9amTNEOGtqzyehSSvGhC02HW_xzhraVh5f7fjSST5a8e6M1Bw-J8VHIeItMsJIVv2L8I_iqjdI-HPc3cwQZ6RhwHQj88nwDSyrIt51R8Z8X7-OynXaj8w/s320/After+Wedding+Photos+in+Bermuda074.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><font color="#000000">A Diva has many meanings. Beyonce says a diva is a female version of a hustler. Many of us may equate it to being a prima donna, a goddess, or just that <strong><em><font color="#ff0000">fierce </font></em></strong>woman. As for me, I am that DIVA: Determined Individual with a Voice to become an Author. This was once a dream deferred, but now I embrace the negativity and channel it into something positive. Every day, we may face challenges on our jobs, in our relationships, at the store, or pretty much anywhere we go. We must choose how we react to these challenges and accept that once we roll down that hill, we have got to get up and keep it moving. For it is because of these challenges that we become stronger. I would have never coined myself as a Diva, but as I sat and thought about it, I realized I CAN be whoever I want to be.<br /><br />I accepted the challenge by author Ananda Leeke, who suggested I start a blog. I was very skeptical, thinking "what is a blog", "how would I blog" and "who on earth would want to read it". Ananda said that you must have a team to help you along the way, and one of her key people is a life coach. I wanted to jump from my chair and cry out "I have a life coach and his name is Nathan!", but I just smiled to myself and called Nathan as soon as I could. He is my dear friend and life coach and he got me on the phone and actually walked me through the steps on starting my blog, and here I am. Every day I set aside time to write a chapter of my manuscript, and I took the advice of author/publisher Jessica Tilles and leave myself a "writing assignment" or plan for the next night. This has helped me quite a bit, but at times I find myself stuck or even too exhausted after working a 13 hour shift at the hospital, then coming home to play with the children and watch the late news with my husband. Time is valuable, and it waits for no one. I have dreamt of writing a book for some years now, and for 2 years I have given birth to various characters who will, I hope, keep</font> <font color="#000000">my dear friends, family, and fans wanting more. </font><br /><br /><font color="#000000">In addition to much coaching and encouragement, to include "get your butt off the couch, turn off that TV, and go write", Nathan suggested I pick up a copy of Stephen King's <strong><em>On Writing</em></strong>, which I have been reading and it is giving me more insight on my writing style and how I can improve and enhance my manuscript. I also continue to read, read, read everything I can get my hands on, and spend at least a day every week at the library gathering more resources for myself and my teen aged son, who is also writing a book.<br /><br />Many of the papers and grueling work done in Ms. Gutman's English class at LaReine High School helped me keep a constant 'A' in college. (If you had Ms. Gutman, you would understand how hard it was to grasp her style! Thank you for being so hard on us!) As I recall my days in Acklyn Lynch's Introduction to the Black Experience class as a freshman at UMBC, my creative juices began to flow, and my first poem was born <em>And the World Comes Tumbling Down</em>. He made me read it in front of the class, and later, as I and other students talked in his office, encouraged me to pursue writing instead of my dream which was to go to nursing school. My response was "but I just write for fun; it's my outlet, my hobby." He told me that writing could be my hobby, and I could get paid, too. I continued to write poetry, and even assisted my roommate Sandi with her English papers, who loved to read my poetry. When Acklyn introduced us to the art of Black Erotica, another side of erotic poetry, I was excited and accepted my own personal challenge to write about struggles within myself of failed relationships and unworthy "bed mates". I wrote Haikus of naive sexcapades and cheaters, and my own spin of <em>erotique noir</em>. I even participated in a poetry reading across the microphone from Nathan, as our friends and colleagues supported us in the audience. I was nervous; but I received much congratulations, even from women who were old enough to be my mother! My writing continued to be my outlet, and I used it as a way to journal and make note of lost love, disappointments, and even abortion. My inner DIVA was coming alive, and my duty was to let her "do her thang". But the broken girl who was told "I can't help you" by a self-proclaimed poet and author got lost in the rejection, and hid from the DIVA within.<br /><br />Like Ananda said to me, "Karen, it wasn't your time. Your time is now." She hugged me and gave me a sense of inspiration that has kept my writing engine fueled and ready to GO! Nathan sent me a text: "I believe in you Karen. I want to see you finish that manuscript so if you get stuck, call."<br /><br />And so, my friends, the DIVA has landed.<br /></font></div></div>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2892397125548558329.post-19245780680160041752009-10-04T16:33:00.000-07:002009-10-12T21:10:10.130-07:00My Very First Blog<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59XXRj7-EXCws2wyATX8SFTZrL8A0InG-DauiyaDlemRELX7KxK7kzqWNgQgGMYuhDi3V9Gnx9LYhyojEnyQ7Pkv89YINb3J3ogJTV1ZsuyEvNjSusOyWKRIrs5-9n5kaW4pgC6tJMCU/s1600-h/Stormy+sky+in+NC.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391929453597898450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59XXRj7-EXCws2wyATX8SFTZrL8A0InG-DauiyaDlemRELX7KxK7kzqWNgQgGMYuhDi3V9Gnx9LYhyojEnyQ7Pkv89YINb3J3ogJTV1ZsuyEvNjSusOyWKRIrs5-9n5kaW4pgC6tJMCU/s320/Stormy+sky+in+NC.JPG" /></a><br /><div>This is my very first blog, and I am nervous and excited all at the same time. I am travelling on this journey of creative writing and am FINALLY putting myself out there to get my voice heard. About 15 years ago, my very good friend went with me to the Black EXPO in Washington, DC and she encouraged me to approach a young woman to ask her about getting my work out there. I was told, "Well, I had to do it all by myself, so that's all I can say." I walked away with so much discouragement, and I stopped writing soon after that. I couldn't believe how mean a person could be, but I remembered the "crab" theory of life. All the crabs are trying to get to the top of the pot to get out and will pull and drag down the others so they can keep it moving, so to speak.<br /><br />In 2007, I visited my fiance and his family in Bermuda, and while he went to work, I sat outside with the view of the Atlantic Ocean, and gave birth to my present manuscript. It is 2 years in the making, and it is really taking off now. I am so excited, even after being shot down after all this time. My experience yesterday at the Capital Book Fest just confirmed it all for me. And when I got in my car to drive home afterwards, I was so emotionally overwhelmed that I cried tears of joy. It just sat right in my spirit. I met authors Donna Hill, Tinesha Davis, Ananda Leeke, publicist Ella Curry, author/publisher Jessica Tilles. These women are awesome, and they embraced me and shared with me so much to help me put my time in and get my voice out there. Thanks Ananda for telling me to blog! And thank you, Nathan, for believing in me and keeping me motivated and encouraged.<br /><br /><br /><br />And now, I must write.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Karen Minorshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11486106794469369200noreply@blogger.com6