Sharing and Caring: It's What Nurses Do

Nursing students will always have a special place in my heart.
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.

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.

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.

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.

“You must always document what you do. Because if it isn’t documented, then it wasn’t done.”

“Never take someone else’s information as gospel. Always follow up.”

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.

“I feel cursed,” she says.

I turn to her. “It is just the devil trying to get in your way. You have to move on.”

She nods and says, “I know.”

“What would your mother say to if she were here?”

“She would tell me to finish school.”

I smile and reply. “And that is what you will do.”

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.

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.

It makes my heart smile and it becomes just as contagious as laughter.

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.”

She smiles and says, “Yes, I know.”

They say their good-byes and head off to complete their day.


(note: This is one of the short stories that will appear in my next book on dialysis nursing.)

Moving to a Still Point

Your body is a temple.
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.

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.

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 www.stillpointmindandbody.com, and make sure you tell Dewaynia that Karen sent you.

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.

And now, I must write.

In the Land of Lacrosse

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.

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.

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!)

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."

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.
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.

And it still isn't about me.

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.

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.

They made history.

And so will Jordan.

Being a People Watcher on the Metro

I 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.

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.

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!)
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.

Now that my people watching is done, I must write!

Holiday Blessings

In 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.
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.
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.


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.

Baby Blues

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Now go wash your hands!

Another Day in the Life of a DIVA

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 fierce 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.

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 my dear friends, family, and fans wanting more.

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 On Writing, 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.

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 And the World Comes Tumbling Down. 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 erotique noir. 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.

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."

And so, my friends, the DIVA has landed.