On Pain

Hello all. This post is a departure from my usual ramblings on travel and life. I've been mulling over how to begin writing about my experiences as a PICU nurse for quite some time. Years, to be exact. Recent events, both in my own life and in the world at large, have prompted a great deal of introspection on pain, dark as the subject is, and these events have finally opened an avenue to write about my time as a nurse. As you know, we all feel pain at different times, in different severities. So here you have my thoughts on and experience with the subject. 


Pain. As a PICU nurse, pain was part and parcel of my experience on the job. Physical pain manifested itself in screams, writhing, crying. Emotional pain looked much the same. The pain I witnessed in my seven years as a nurse still haunts me, so much so that I rarely revisit those days, those parents, those patients. It is a special black box of sorts, that if found and opened, brings back such vivid and visceral memories that I can hardly bear it without weeping. Sometimes these memories surprise me in the midst of my daily life--a song, a scene from a movie, a phrase--and suddenly I'm in the midst of that patient's pain all over again. It was pain and the burden of carrying another's that contributed to a professional burnout so severe that I am only now recognizing the breadth and severity of it. Uncontrollable anxiety, a burden of responsibility that often paralyzed me, flashbacks so real that they sent me running to the nearest bathroom for privacy as I sobbed, horrific dreams of dead and dying patients, and emotional fatigue that I could not shake. Even a year after transitioning to another career, I would dream of a patient coding and dying, down to the last vivid, physical detail, when I was stressed about my office job, a move, or my family. 

I'll never forget walking into the unit one day and seeing the ongoing code of a baby who had recently returned from the operating room following open heart surgery. The room was full of people--sharp orders being given, monitor erratically beeping, the surgeon methodically pumping the tiny heart--as each team member attempted to bring the infant back from death. And watching from outside the glass door was the baby's mother. I saw her, standing there in the midst of all the chaos, with such a look of quiet desperation on her face. And she slowly sank into a small heap onto the tile floor. And she laid her head down. And she curled herself into the fetal position. And she watched her baby. And she waited. And to this day, when I think of pain, of the physical embodiment of what pain means and looks like, it is this woman that I see.  

There are many such stories to share. Someday I will share them, because I need to--for myself and in the memory of those who suffered such pain. I need to bury them myself; I need to give my own eulogy. But not today.

Today, I am struck by the persistent nature of pain. Even as the parents of each dying child were only at the beginning of their painful journey, so I realize that pain is not a momentary phenomenon. Each day brings its own iteration of pain. It is a persistent ache, a breath that cannot be caught, a visceral clenching of the heart. It is always present, behind smiles and even joy not faked. It is in tears that surprise me when I thought I was doing just fine. It is in a weariness that makes me want to block out anything but mindless entertainment. It is isolation, because no one else, no matter how much they might try, can understand or experience pain in the way that I am experiencing it. It is a longing for something that will never be, an expectation crushed. It is a journey, one that requires wading through such a quagmire that I wonder if I will ever be able to take a step and be free of its cloying. It comes in waves, so that when the tide is out, I am amazed at how little I hurt, at how well I am doing. And when the tide rolls in, perhaps a day/week/month later, I fear I may drown. 

And yet. 

You see, there is an "and yet." An "and yet" that gave me hope even in the midst of burnout and dying children. An "and yet" that provides a balm in the midst of this pain, rest in the midst of this turmoil, sustenance in the midst of this famine, a long, cool drink as I am parched, and a deep understanding of human pain as I am alone. And the "and yet" is Christ. Because this is not all there is. Because if it were all there is, all this suffering and dying, I could never hope again. If I did not believe in a God who promises to redeem both body and soul from this present death and decay, what futility did I witness in the death and decay of children? Is this all there is? God forbid. In my present pain, I hope in a God who has defeated sin and death through the person of Jesus Christ. A Redeemer who redeems and reconciles. Who looks at decay-- that festering, graying, putrid thing--and makes all things new and alive. Who redeems my soul from the grave and gives me a song to sing. Even in the midst of pain.

Flashback: The Packing Challenge

I had every intention of posting this while we were in the UK. But that obviously didn't happen! So here you go. Pretend it's two weeks ago and read on:

I had lofty intentions of writing down Deep Matters of Great Importance today. Buuuuuut--we're leaving at 4 AM tomorrow morning for our ten-day UK extravaganza and I just don't have the mental energy to even think deep thoughts, much less write them down. Instead, I'm going to write about what has been consuming my every thought for the last three days: trip preparation. Lucky you.

The Challenge: Three people. One toddler. One suitcase. 20 kg weight limit for said suitcase. Ten-day trip. Traveling by plane (Ryanair--notoriously stringent when it comes to weight/pieces of luggage) and car (necessitating a carseat). 

I've found that the past few times I've prepped for a trip, I've more or less waited until the day before to even begin the process. Bad idea. I always end up exhausted, stressed, and in bed way too late. This time, I decided to start my preparations three days in advance. I made lists three days out, went to the store and did other miscellaneous tasks (like printing documents, downloading pictures from my phone, etc.) two days out, and saved the day before our trip for packing. No last minute trips or random tasks, just a whole day at home to pack. The result? The most stress-free day-before-a-trip ever! I was done packing (except for Ben's stuff, that is) by 4 PM. 

I thought I'd share my mental strategy for packing. I'm always hesitant to give travel tips because I figure you guys already have your own strategy and expertise. But hey, if it helps you great, and if it doesn't, it has helped me think through my own approach to packing. 

The way I pack is really simple. I just go room by room and gather the items I need. This is my organizational strategy: the rooms in my house. At the end of the process, I know I'm done if a) there is a big pile of crapola on the floor of my room and b) I've visited each room in my house. I've found this mental approach to be really helpful. I have to have some sort of mental schema, and thinking "what are all the things I need for Mac for ten days" overwhelms me. But, if I've gone to each room in my house and grabbed needed items, odds are I'm covered--the bathroom holds his toiletries, scant though they are, his bedroom yields clothes and diapers, I come away with his coat from the entry way, and I grab snacks from the kitchen. Simple.

The Pile - no rhyme or reason, just everything from each room dumped on the floor

Once I have The Pile, I start sorting. One pile for Mac's clothes, one for mine, one for toiletries and extras (like our camera and laptop), one pile for my purse, and one for the backpack (Mac's diaper bag). I inevitably wean items through the sorting process. The hardest part of traveling these days is packing light while traveling with tons of baby gear. We're allowed a 20 kg suitcase, two baby gear items to gate check, two carry-ons, and one diaper bag. Technically we get two "personal items" but I never use this option, figuring that we'll inevitably bring extra stuff back on the return trip. The baby gear items are Mac's travel car seat (the lightweight and narrow Cosco Scenera NEXT) and his stroller. Carry-on #1 is Mac's travel cot, the absolutely amazing Guava Lotus. That leaves one suitcase, one backpack, and my purse to actually get us through ten days. Sooooo. Trick #1 is to stuff the travel cot with diapers. This will get us through a few days, then we'll buy more wherever we happen to be. Trick #2 is to use packing cubes. They organize and limit the urge to overpack. 

Everything organized into appropriate piles

Empty suitcase, travel-day outfits for Mac and me (wear your heaviest shoes), travel car seat, travel cot (with diapers tucked inside)

Mac's pile: raincoat, stroller rain cover, three sets of PJs (short sleeve + pants), one fleece, one pair of socks, three pairs of shorts, two pairs of pants, five lightweight t-shirts, one long sleeve onesie. Layering for variable temps is key.

Two oversize bottles of hair product (don't make 'em travel sized), Mac's toothpaste, baby meds, instant coffee, two brushes, travel sized laundry detergent, travel sized Febreze, toiletry bag, camera. Every other toiletry besides what I listed is in the toiletry bag, including my makeup. TIP: pack light and do laundry/refresh your clothes on the go with detergent/Febreze.

My pile: One pair of jeans one tank, pjs, scarf, three short sleeve T-shirts, two 3/4 sleeve shirts, two long-sleeve shirts, one sweater, perfume, sports bra, six panties, meds, jewelry, expandable bag, journal, book, one pair shoes. Keep in mind, I'm wearing the heavier shoes and the other pair of jeans on the travel day.

Tide pen, contact rewetting drops, hand sanitizer, lip glosses - in plastic bag. Coins, wallet + five passports, glasses, guidebooks, itinerary + papers, tissue, GPS, keys, chapstick/lipstick/Tums. Earphones, GPS cord, pen - in white case

Books, toys, bubbles, diapers, sippy, window screen, fork/spoon, snacks (squishes, granola bars, goldfish), bib, travel high chair, wipes, iPad

Toys, bubbles, and snacks in baggies. TIP: I found some teeny tiny bubble dispensers - they'll be great for long car rides!

This brings me to the next-to-last step: actually putting items in the cubes/purse/backpack. This is the true test of whether or not I've chosen too much to pack. Usually I have, and even more things are put in the leave-behind pile. I use plastic bags to organize Mac's toys, his snacks, my toiletries, and really just about anything that would otherwise be loose in the suitcase.

Purse and backpack + two raincoats

The finished product - camera, laptop, toiletries, shoes and clothes for three

The last step is waiting for my husband to come home and pack his own cube. Once that is done, I then (and only then) place everything in the suitcase. And then I make Ben weigh the suitcase on our home scale, baited breath and everything. 

Ta-da! 20.9 kg - let's hope the Ryanair peeps take pity on a preggo

Whew. Let's do this.

Tomorrow morning (at 3:30 AM), I'll water the plants, close the rolladens, start the dishwasher, and head out on our grand adventure. I've got a frozen pizza waiting for us on our return, because let's be honest, I won't be cooking that day.

And there you have it. Updates on our trip when we return!

'til next time.

"And though she be but little..."

I've been mulling over this post for quite some time now. It all started several months ago when my mom advised me to think deeply about my approach to parenting in all its various aspects: discipline, media consumption, food, instruction, etc. What did I want my children to love? Know? Believe? How would I cultivate that? How would I discipline and, more importantly, why would I discipline in a certain way? Why teach Mac a certain schedule? Why encourage certain food habits?

I admit that, at the time, I was overwhelmed by the prospect of writing my own personal Parenting Manifesto. I flagged the email and every day, as it sits in my inbox, I vow to sit and write down my thoughts on these Deep Matters of Great Importance.

Time has passed and quickly. Another child on the way, planning to do, meals to cook, husband and child to love. And then one night, in the not too-distant past, I found myself flipping through the latest edition of Restoration Hardware (I say "edition" because it is literally volume-sized). I was eagerly looking for their nursery collections. After I laughed hysterically over their $69 crib sheets (organic, mind you) and marveled that every room was, in fact, the same palette--oatmeal + one other pale hue of your choice--I noticed something that really, really bothered me. 

You see, I had ventured into the children's section of the magazine, complete with meticulously organized, color-coordinated, and basically perfect rooms. (Before I continue, let me be clear: I love the idea of a meticulously organized, color-coordinated, perfect room and half of my disdain over these designer rooms stems from the fact that I will never attain them). I flipped very quickly through the girl rooms and noticed the usual ballerinas, flowers, princesses and butterflies, all in different shades of cream, pink, purple, and sparkle (less of the latter because the mantra of RH is Never Flashy, Always Monochromatic). And then I slowed down, as I saw page after page of really cool boy rooms. Gone were the chandeliers and ethereal angel wings. Instead, these rooms were decorated by maps, constellation charts, sports memorabilia, and vintage airplanes. These were active, imaginative, adventurous rooms. The girl rooms? Passive. Sweet and lovely, but very passive.

Now let me stop you right there. This is not a treatise on gender equality or nature vs. nurture or any of those other issues. And guess what? I'm going to decorate Little Girl's nursery in shades of white and pale pink. There won't be airplanes hanging from the ceiling. There will be flowers, and all sorts of pretty, feminine things, although NO butterflies. They are insects, thank you very much. No, I think what bothered me was that I wanted my Little Girl to be just as adventurous and inquisitive and active as any little boy. And the girl rooms in RH were just plain BORING compared to their boy counterparts. I want to encourage Little Girl to be brave and strong and true and honorable and adventurous and inquisitive and intellectual. And I want her room to be a reflection of that.  I want Mac to be brave and strong and true and honorable and adventurous and inquisitive and intellectual. She is a girl; Mac is a boy. How these traits manifest themselves will be different in each of them because they are different. But I don't want her growing up thinking that adventure and action are Mac's domain. 

As a child, my parents did a wonderful job of cultivating these very things in me. My room decor in junior high (and dare I say, high school--I was not popular) consisted of vintage Yankee pennants, historical memorabilia from the American Revolution, the Felicity American Girl doll (because, guys, she saved the day and helped the Americans against the British!), and books books everywhere. A book about a girl who ran away from her aristocratic family to become a sailor. Books on Molly Pitcher, Florence Nightingale, Clara Barton. Classics such as The Lord of the Rings, Jane Eyre, Anne of Green Gables, The Chronicles of Narnia, Little Women, The Princess and the Goblin. Books by Jane Austen, George MacDonald, William Shakespeare. I read and read and read, and when I took a break from reading, I ran outside with my siblings and played Adventure. I wanted to be a heroine of the tallest order, to Do Something Great. Of course, now I realize that Doing Something Great may look very inconsequential and ordinary indeed. But I digress. 

I think I have Restoration Hardware to thank for spurring me on towards my Parenting Manifesto. I have realized that I want to create a beautiful and feminine room for Little Girl. One with pink and flowers and gold accents. But also one that imbues strength, bravery, adventure, and an inquisitive mind. Just like Mac's room, and yet, so different.

And so, I have come to the point, however convolutedly, where I can start to write down these Deep Matters of Great Importance. But you'll have to wait to read them

'til next time.

Going Dutch

The Daxon Clan headed to the Netherlands over the July 4th weekend and a) we had an absolutely wonderful time and b) we literally almost melted in the heat. A heat wave hit Europe over the weekend of the 4th, reaching triple digits and nearly killing every expat used to turning on the A/C for temps higher than 75°F. Newsflash: what makes a normally semi-sane toddler stop sleeping and cry incessantly? Unmitigated, sweltering, sweat-pool inducing heat. In our genius, however, we decided to visit friends of ours in Rotterdam, who had the brilliant and generous idea of getting out of the urban sauna and escaping to their family's beach house on the North Sea. It. Was. Glorious. And for more reasons than the constant, cool breeze.

Eat your heart out, Don Quixote.

Mac n' cheese

But let's go back to the beginning of our trip. Our first night was spent in Delft, which is so quintessentially Dutch I'm not sure I need to describe it. A few words will do: 17th century architecture. Canals. Boats on canals. People in boats eating food on canals. Bikes. People on bikes. Tall, beautiful, blond people on bikes. Bikes and beautiful people everywhere. The End. I highly recommend Delft, but only if you can get over the fact that you will never be intrepid enough to bike at high speeds in narrow lanes and will never look impossibly attractive while doing so. If you can get over the fact that you'll never be Dutch, you'll love Delft. And the Netherlands, for that matter.

Blond people. Eating. Boat. Canal.

Sugar-dusted perfection 

Visiting William of Orange

On Friday, we headed to Rotterdam, where we met up with the Vissers (impossibly Dutch; see above). We met the Vissers about three years ago when they were visiting D.C. and attended our Dutch Reformed church. They were generous enough to invite us for the weekend and it was honestly the most refreshing weekend of fellowship we've had in a long time. Jan Jaap and Christine have three young boys and they took to Mac instantly (and vice versa). I'm not sure what was more fun--watching Mac play his little heart out with his new besties or having stimulating and meaningful conversations with friends. As mentioned above, the Brilliant Vissers led the way to the beach on Saturday (where we stopped sweating after 48 hours of nonstop moisture), and we had the privilege of meeting their entire extended family. Mac was in heaven, specifically owing to a tot-sized, fully automated Audi and loads of kids right around his age. We went to the beach for a bit and Mac had his first ocean experience! I felt like we had somehow managed to end up at a resort with good friends. The whole weekend was a deep, restful sigh.

Mac has exquisite taste.

Heading to the beach.

Christine and I

Melt-in-your-mouth stroopwafels

Besties

On Sunday, we attended church with the Vissers. A few observations: everyone goes to church, at least in the town we were in. On the drive to church, we saw people everywhere biking to church. All the women wore hats, much to my delight. Older women wore any variety of hat, while the younger girls wore white, knit berets. We loved singing Psalms with our brothers and sisters even if we had no idea what we were saying and were most definitely butchering the Dutch language. I will say, Ben and I were deeply confused when, right before the sermon, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, opened a small sweet or mint. The sanctuary was overtaken by a distinct rustling noise as everyone reached for their treat. Ben and I were obviously not in the know and were the only two in the large congregation to remain mint-less. 

Mac was thrilled by wooden shoes.

The town of Marken displayed an excellent sense of humor.

That afternoon, we said goodbye to our friends and headed north to Waterland. We spent the next day exploring Marken, a traditional fishing village frozen in time; Edam, where cheese reigns supreme; and the Zuiderzee Museum, an open-air museum where traditional Dutch ways of life from the turn of the 20th century are recreated. The day was accented by long drives through polders (did you know that nearly 17% of the land mass of the Netherlands is reclaimed from the sea?), old windmills (historically, they controlled water levels in the polders by way of an Archimedes' screw), peaceful canals, and dairy cows galore.  The towns are reminiscent of Holland's economic and maritime supremacy during the Dutch Golden Age in the 17th century, with most boasting harbors and architectural remnants of vibrant trading centers. Now, however, the towns are quiet if beautiful, and the overwhelming sense is one of peace and a relaxed quality of life.

The fishing village of Marken 

Hand-knotted fishing nets

Traditional Dutch clothing

Tuesday marked the last day of our trip. I managed to pick up what will doubtless be one of my most prized possessions--a Dutch oven with a Royal Delftware lid. Cooking has never been more beautiful. And with that, we sped home. Actually, I lie. Our demon-possessed GPS took us through the heart of Utrecht for some ungodly reason, adding an hour to our journey. Mac decided that road trips are for the birds and screamed approximately 75% of the five-hour trip home. I started crying because Mac was crying and because that is what I do when pregnant. Ahhh the restful family vacation. All ended well and we (I)  have been busy every since planning our next adventure (starting in t-minus 13 days). 

Stay tuned.

'til next time.

Get To It

I think Travel is a lot like Style. It is a personal reflection of who you are as an individual. And each person has a unique Style. A unique approach to Travel.

I see this and I get the travel bug every time.

Let's take Ben for instance. This guy is 100% action from the time he wakes up until the minute his head hits the pillow (and of course he falls asleep immediately...how?!). A typical conversation with my husband goes something like this: 

Him: "Hey babe! I've got a three-day weekend next week. Where are we going?" 
Me: "Ummm, well, I'd thought that it would be nice to stay at home and sort of relax. You know, since we got back from our previous trip yesterday."

As our date of (another) departure approaches, my nerves slowly coil themselves into tense springs, ready to explode at any moment. I obsess over the lightest possible packing method, plan our route to the last detail, and fall asleep thinking about how much I hate packing for three in one suitcase. I worry about leaving the house clean, do last minute loads of laundry, and, the night before we leave, I usually have a teensy weensy panic attack because Ben just wants me to sit down, relax, and watch an episode of The Wire instead of worrying or packing. His response to my fretting? "You've got plenty of time!"

Ben is the Energizer Bunny of travel. And I'm not so bad myself. I just need a good recharge, where Ben just keeps on going. We make a good team, actually, because I balance out the insanity in him and he pushes me to relax and enjoy life moment by moment. We've developed our own travel style...types of places we prefer to stay (apartments via Airbnb), what we like to see (historical sites or food-related attractions), our own pace (walk walk walk explore explore explore eat eat eat), and things we really have no interest in (guided tours for instance).

The look Mac will give you if you suggest staying home this weekend.

Here's the thing, though. That's just us! My good friend, Leah, and I were talking the other day. We have different travel styles and we both know it. And she made the excellent point that people just travel differently and that that is just fine! She is right. When I read travel blogs or articles, I am often really intimidated by that person's Travel Approach. The person that intimidates me the most is the laid-back-yet-effortlessly-chic traveler. Gah. One, I'm not laid back. Two, although I dream of looking super fashionable when I travel, often I'm rocking whatever I have that is mildly in fashion (that I own) and some shoes that are comfortable (if unfashionable). But I always feel like I should look a certain way, relax a little bit more, and be more savvy at this because, after all, we do this a lot!

There's no right or wrong way to travel. As long as you are respectful of the host culture, avoid being rude to locals, and leave flora, fauna, and national treasures the way you found them, you're good to go. Granted, a desire to blend in and experience the true culture of the place never hurt anyone.

By plane, train, or automobile - it doesn't matter where you go, just that you do.

If some of my friends traveled with us, they would not like the way we travel. They would never choose to prioritize the things we do, stay where we do, eat what we do. And guess what?! That's great! The point is, just travel. Just get out there and do it, wherever you are, no matter how small the day trip or how grand the destination. It doesn't matter if you're visiting Tishomingo, Oklahoma or Paris, France. It doesn't have to be expensive or exotic. It doesn't matter if you have children or not (granted, they make the process infinitely more complicated...but still worth it). It doesn't matter if you are the super laid back crunchy traveler with the cool yet annoyingly massive backpack (there should probably be commas and hyphens somewhere in there, but oh well). It doesn't matter if you want to lay on the deck of a cruise ship and not move for seven days. It doesn't matter if you couldn't care less about history (well, maybe we should have a chat). Who cares if you're not effortlessly chic in Paris (trust me, I agonized over this one...how do they do it?!). You're traveling. You're getting out into the world and experiencing part of it you haven't before. Well done. Now get to it.

'til next time.

So It's Been a While

Yes. Over three months to be exact. So before I dive back into writing brilliant posts worthy of the next Pulitzer, here is a brief update. You know, what's gone on in the past 70-some-odd days.

London, baby!

April was a month of insane traveling. We went to London and Bath with my good friend Lauren, who was wonderful enough to come visit for two weeks. A few days after she left, Ben and I headed to Belgium for a friend's wedding. It was beautiful (partly because Mac had no part of the celebratory fun) and the reception was held at a chateau-like venue that was way too posh for the likes of me.  Friends of ours from DC then visited for ten days and we went to Rothenburg Ob der Tauber, one of our favorite spots in Germany. It was so nice to see Galen and Annie, and they deserve great praise for braving an international trip with two young children.

No groceries + stir-crazy = dinner date with toddler

Then, a week later, Ben left for five weeks. I could narrate, in detail, the events of those five long weeks, but you'd be pretty bored. I survived by eating horribly, by daily contemplating how to both exhaust Mac and talk to another adult, and by watching a lot of TV in the evenings. There you have it. Thank you to all my friends here who helped me stay sane and fed me real food. And thank you to the Landstuhl Post Office, which provided me with a reason to get out of the house and with the hope that maybe, just maybe, I'd get something in the mail. 

Exhaustion in the making

Ben returned home a week ago and it is truly wonderful to have him home, as you can imagine. For one, I'm beginning to get too large to carry a 30 lb. toddler. OH. Did I mention we're having another baby? Because we are! Due November 23rd, to be exact. We're thrilled: Ben has us traveling at three weeks postpartum, Mac has no clue, and I alternate between euphoric thoughts of "We've got this" and slightly darker thoughts of "What the &*%# were we thinking." I'm already trying to figure out how in the world we are going to manage traveling with two under two. Boy will I have some tips (read: stories of epic stress and failure) for you. It should all be great fun!

Mac is thrilled to have Dad back.

Mmmkay. Mac will probably wake up from his nap in t-minus 30 minutes, so I'm off to accomplish something Monumental. We're heading to the Netherlands on Thursday and I look forward to sharing stories and pictures yet again. 

'til next time.

Peas: The Second Taste

Don't worry. There's no third taste.

Happy Friday.