Family

My mom stood at the microphone, in front of tables full of candles, sunflowers, and empty plates spotted by bar-b-que sauce, surrounded by people as I and my husband of a whole 30 minutes stood at the back of the room. She gave out some incredibly deserved thank-you's, then launched into a story. My brow furrowed as her monologue veered toward bride prices and selling daughters, and I cast wary glances at the faces around me, wondering where this all was going. Then her story came full circle with the declaration that "I'm not selling my daughter, I'm buying a son!"

In that moment, her words brought tears to my eyes and made me grin at the man holding my hand (the bought son in question).

In the weeks following that day, her pronouncement has morphed and expanded in my mind as I have realized more fully what being married to this man really means.

She bought a son, and I gained a family.

I am pulled in by twice as many arms that open up for a tight hug when they haven't seen me in a while.

I am congratulated by double the cheering squad when I complete my first shift as an independent nurse.

I am part of a new group text, through which I am included in planning family activities and get to share in each of our small daily victories.

In my kitchen sits a whole book of new recipes, each with stories and faces to go along with their rich flavors.

I have a quilt stitched together by hands full of care.

Traditions spanning decades are now widened to include me.

Scattered across the country, I have new people offering their homes and beds and kitchen tables in open invitations.

When people talk about marriage, they talk about the unique bond between two people, about living life with your best friend, about partnership and trust and love - and believe me, I have all that in greater measure than I could have imagined.

But the part that surprised me the most was gaining a family. In all the warmth and fullness of the word, with enthusiasm and impatience, not taking the place of but augmenting my own - I have gained a family.

A week ago, we hosted both sides of our family for Thanksgiving. After finishing our seam-popping meal of fondue, my mom ushered us out to go for a walk around the neighborhood - all of us, the two newlyweds, all four parents, both big sisters, and a boyfriend to boot. Joking and laughing, we felt more comfortable together than expected, given the short length of time since we had all first met. We meandered down the sidewalk in clumps, pointing out the first few houses that had already put up Christmas lights, while my eyes swam with tears and my heart felt ready to burst with sheer joy.

My marriage has doubled my family, and I am so grateful.

How to be a Camp Nurse: A step by step guide

1) Pass meds.

2) Pass meds at every meal.

3) Also at snack time, and whenever they are requested.

4) Always pass meds.

5) Do everyone's laundry. This makes sense, because you have access to the only washing machine, but it also will take forever because the machine is ancient. Be startled by a sound akin to a dying mouse trying to take flight. Realize it's the ancient washing machine. Become so used to the this horrid sound that it is almost comforting.

6) Sweep the floor in the first aid station. Get it into the dust pan fast before your "dirt" pile crawls away.

7) Forget to warn new guests about the washing machine sound. Freak them out.

8) Tell yourself that you will walk up the hill for every meal (refer to #2), because it's good for your muscles. You know that there are golf carts, but you will not use them.

9) Carry your first aid kit everywhere you go, because if kids see the nurse, they will become sick or injured immediately. Fact.

10) Sign out a golf cart just this once, cuz you have a lot of meds to carry (refer to #1) and you're tired. But its just for this one time.

11) Try to ward off the "summer staff cold" by encouraging rest and hydration and pumping the counselors full of vitamin C drops.

12) Fail. Attempt to push the counselors through the rest of the week on cold-buster pills and orange juice while they continue to be in charge of 10 kids for 24 hours a day. Wash your hands incessantly, because the nurse cannot get sick.

13) Sign out a golf cart because you might have to run back down the hill for something quick.

14) See a camper with allergy symptoms. Find out that they are allergic to cats. Find out they have just been cuddling the camp cat. Try not to roll your eyes. Medicate the allergies and encourage them not to touch the cat. Know that they will still touch the cat.

15) Fawn over the tiniest campers. Plot to lure them home with you. Recognize this is very illegal and illogical, but they are just SO CUTE.

16) Sign out a golf cart because your knee hurts.

17) Eat the same exact meals at the same exact times on the same exact days for 7 weeks in a row. Begin to hate chicken.

18) Wonder how many shapes of breaded chicken exist at the mysterious bulk freezer supply store where camp food comes from. Crave fresh fruit.

19) Sign out a golf cart because you're the only nurse at camp this week and you need to be everywhere.

20) See a camper for a headache. Realize it is actually homesickness.

21) See a camper for a stomach ache. Realize it is actually homesickness.

22) See a camper who is dizzy. Realize it is actually homesickness. Marvel at the connection between body and spirit. Send them to bed.

23) Sign out a golf cart because you've given up on making yourself walk. Fail to return it for a full 24 hours.

24) Evaluate a camper who has fallen while hiking. Practice your calm nurse face while you clean up a lot of blood and wonder if they need stitches.

25) Remove tick from camper.

26) Google what Lyme's disease looks like. Realize it looks like literally anything, and sometimes nothing at all. Become paranoid about ticks.

27) Try not to take on a motherly sense of personal responsibility for every camper and staff member. Fail.

28) Drive a golf cart everywhere.

29) Receive great appreciation from the other staff. Chuckle because you secretly have the chillest job on camp.

30) Pass meds.

On Self Reliance and the Lack Thereof

I stood in my kitchen and stared at the plate in front of me. I had managed to ditch my crutches and use the counters to boost myself to the fridge and back in order to assemble a sandwich, but now I had reached a more difficult step: getting the sandwich to the table. You see, crutches require that you hold on the the handles to propel yourself. The fact that I was still using two crutches meant that I was left with zero hands with which to hold the plate. I was stuck.

After puzzling for a bit, I picked up the plate with one hand and used my armpit to squeeze the crutch on that side so that I could lift it when I took a step. I turned and made it about three paces in this limping, uneven, almost-gait before I was blocked by one of my roommates.

"Mariah. Stop it. Give me the plate."

She had been sitting in the next room over the entire time, an open doorway the only thing separating us. Despite this nearness, it had never occurred to me that asking her to carry my plate was an option. I assumed that the only way to accomplish the task was to do it on my own. 

That's ridiculous.

The fact that I was on crutches made the lesson that much more pointed, but the moral of the story continues even now that I have two (almost) fully functioning legs. Independence is a good thing, a goal to strive for. But, while it is needed, it should not be the ultimate objective of my actions. Sometimes I need help.

I needed help to carry my plate to the table when I was on crutches.

I needed help to study for exams through nursing school.

I needed help to find calm and peace the night before I took State Nursing Boards.

I will need help to move into my new home.

I will need help to plan my wedding.

I will need help for the rest of my life. And there is nothing wrong with that.

In fact, I would venture to say that we are wired to need help. We are not solitary creatures. While complete dependence on another is not healthy, isolating myself from any assistance whatsoever is also unhealthy. Relationship, support, encouragement - I need all of these things. 

But I'm still learning. Learning to not only accept help when it is offered, but (and this is even harder) to ask for help when I need it. 

I can't do this by myself, and that's okay. 

Sidelined

I watch the tiny, blurry figures dart around the turf square on my computer screen. A team dressed in white is pushing the ball through to the other side of the field when a pass is suddenly intercepted. A girl in red receives the next pass wide to the left and begins a fast-break down the sideline. One defender in white makes a quick change of trajectory to cut off a path to the goal cage. The two figures run towards the corner of the screen side by side, both sprinting at top speed. As they pass the 25-yard mark, the defender turns towards the sideline in an attempt to get in front of the fast-break and slow her down, but in the moment where she should have stepped in front of the ball, the player instead falls to the turf. She doesn't get back up.

"I heard it pop!!" I gasp between sobs, "I heard something in my knee pop!". The athletic trainer tries to bend my leg, but stops when I curl into a full-body cringe. She and my coach, who had also run onto the field, pull me to my feet and help me hobble to the sideline.

. . .

An ACL tear is a fairly common injury for those who enjoy athletic activities. The knee is one of the most complex and unstable joints in the human body. The femur and tibia are joined by a plethora of ligaments and bend across a half-moon of cartilage. To understand the role of the ACL, picture the two bones as vertical posts in a section of fencing with two cross pieces forming an "X" between them. The PCL runs cross-wise from the femur to the tibia, preventing the joint from hyper-extending backwards. The ACL runs from the end of the femur to the front of the tibia, preventing the joint from extending too far forward. Injuring the ACL is like losing one of those cross-braces.

When I planted my left foot to turn in front of the other player, my tibia remained straight while my pivoting momentum turned my upper body and my femur towards the sideline. The force of slowing suddenly from a sprint pushed these two bones together while at that awkward angle. The "pop" that I heard in that moment was my ACL tearing apart as it was ground between my two bones.

. . .

Being the atypical person I am, I did not display the usual symptoms of immense swelling, loose joint, and non-specific soreness. It took a week and a half to eliminate diagnostics down to an MRI, which showed a complete ACL tear and deep bone bruising in the tibia (which explained the point tenderness which had lead to a wild goose chase for the athletic trainers).

I am medically minded, so hearing all these things was interesting, but the overwhelming thought that entered my mind as soon as I was told was simply: I'm done.

An ACL tear is repaired by surgery, which requires recovery time. In the meantime, dynamic movement can easily cause further pain and injury to the joint. Dynamic movement like running, cutting, pivoting, jumping. Dynamic movement like field hockey.

My season was over. My field hockey career was done.

. . .

I've tried out many things in my few years. Softball, piano, guitar, jewelry-making, crocheting - even one season of long-distance track and field. But field hockey is the only thing that has ever stuck this long. I've played ten seasons of field hockey. Ten years. That is half of my life.

As a senior in college, I had already begun the process of letting go. I was in the first stages of grieving the loss of something that had formed me, taught me, carried me. I never imagined that loss would come before we even entered conference play.

The formal diagnosis began a flurry actions and questions: When should we do surgery? Should it be here or at home? Will I be able to finish my academic semester? Will I be able to do clinicals?

After many phone calls home, an appointment with the doctor who had been following my case, and a few text conversations with the athletic trainers, it was settled: surgery over winter break, pre-hab for surgery with the athletic trainers, and a hefty brace to get me through clinicals. It felt like a best case scenario, all told.

And so the dust has settled. And I feel a hole gape in my chest.

I do my exercises to strengthen for surgery while my teammates do sprint workouts and shooting drills. I absentmindedly weigh myself in the training room and find that my ten pounds of "hockey weight" - muscle that I put on during season - is gone in just three weeks. I glance to the back seat of my car and the hockey stick laying there with a new, bright green grip that I applied two days after the injury, before I knew I wouldn't be playing again. I walk out to practice with my lopsided stride and watch as drills and line-ups adjust to fill in my position. I join the team huddle to listen to plays that I will never be part of.

I know that field hockey has given me gifts that will last a lifetime. I know that the lessons I have learned and friendships I have made cannot be taken away by this injury. I know that field hockey will always be a part of me.

But right now all I can feel is what I've lost.

photo credit: Scott Eyre

Act IV: The End of the Beginning

It still blows my mind to think that this is my last year of undergraduate school. The past three years seem to have flown by, yet I feel miles ahead of the eager freshman I was in 2013. I guess that's the whole point of college.

When I started this journey, I was convinced that I'd never want to be done with college. I remember an excited conversation with a fellow extrovert in which we decided that between the freedom of managing our own days and the constant availability of people to hang out with, extroverts were made for college. However, contrary to my expectations, I have reached a point where I'm okay with college ending. More accurately, I'm okay with nursing school ending, as it is on the verge of becoming soul-sucking, and I want to just BE a nurse.

Regardless of all this, there is one year left, and I want to live it well. So here we are at the final installment of "my goals for this year":

1) Be present.

Don't wish away these two semesters, no matter how weary I grow of studying. Be where my feet are.

2) Connect beyond graduation.

Weave pieces into my life that won't evaporate as soon as I toss my cap and call it a wrap. This looking forward while being planted in the here and now will require balance, but don't many important parts of life reside in the tension between two good things?

3) Eat well.

Form habits that will stay, so when I'm in a rush or out of my routine I will still care for my body. If nursing school has taught me nothing else, I know that what you put in your body determines how well and long it will work for you.

4) Listen/watch/read the news.

Being in a college bubble may not be a valid excuse for obliviousness, but it happens to be my excuse. I am putting aside this excuse in order to be a more involved and aware citizen of this earth and with the idea that this awareness will draw me towards needs that I can care for.


So there you have it: the goals of senior year.

photo credit: Hannah Daley and the three other beautiful women and I get to share a house with this year: Leona Good, Maddie List, and Abbie Luther :)

Anything at All

"Make me pretty"
she pleaded into the night,
hands clasped together,
brow drawn tight.

"Child," a voice answered
from deep in the dark
"you are now just beginning,
a bright little spark.
Why do you ask
things so plain and so small?
For hollow and simple,
when you can have anything at all?

Ask for eyes as wild
as the tossing seas,
as eager as the tide
when it reaches for the shore.

Ask for legs rooted deep,
like a tall branching oak
that stands so strong,
yet bends in the breeze.

Ask for arms as wide
as the sun's rays reach
and as strong as the winds
that come before a storm.

Ask for a spirit unyielding,
like a mountain steadfast,
but a heart just as soft
as the morning's first light.

No, my child,
don't ask for plain and small,
don't ask for simple
when I can give anything at all."

My writings posted elsewhere...

I had the privilege of writing again for the Mennonite Church USA blog, this time around the theme of "Love is Verb". Check it out at the following link:

http://mennoniteusa.org/menno-snapshots/love-is-a-verb-doing-what-you-can/