james and his poor heart.

now i've told you before, there is something about the smell (and sound) of walking into a patient's room who has an air mattress....

the air mattress is there because they can't turn over themselves and this is supposed to lessen their chances of getting bedsores....

however, many people likely already have bedsores and there's just something about the smell of bedsores on an air mattress when you walk in the room....

the sound of the machine that's attached to the foot of the bed....

it's a constant blowing sound.... like a muffled dustbuster (if you can imagine that)....

that's what it sounds like.... so you walk into the patients room and hear the sound of that machine.... i walked over to the sink to wash my hands, before i put on my gloves.... while washing my hands, i'd wondered what he'd look like...

would he look older than he was? would he look younger than he was? would he be able to talk? did he have his family here? were they nice? hopefully they weren't rude and bossy and mean....

and then i walked in.

"knock knock. can i come in?"

"hello good morning. yes. yes you can come in," i'd heard in the softest sweetest feminine voice ever....

i pulled the curtain back and there was a tall, slim woman with brown shoulder length hair, getting up out of her chair that was pulled up next to james.

she called him jim.

"hello jim," i said as i touched his hand. "my name is ashley, and i'm going to be helping to take care of you today."

he slightly moved his head, as if he was making an attempt to look up at me.

"that's okay. you don't have to get up. i'm just going to take your vitals okay?"

he didn't say anything, just rolled his head back down.

his wife said it was fine. he was just really tired.

so i'd taken his vitals.

i couldn't help but to notice his breathing....

it made the most awful sound when he'd breathe.

it was like he was gurgling water in his throat....

but that was his heart failure.... it wasn't as bad as it would become, but it was still very much noticeable to anyone who'd come in to the room.

i took his vitals, well what i could, and he was stable.... he was okay....

his wife wanted him to get some rest, as he hadn't had much good sleep the night before.

so i let them rest.

i went and cared for a few of my other patients and returned to check on them, as i hadn't been paged or heard from them for a bit.

his eyes were open now....

i'd cleaned him up and changed his clothes....

while cleaning him (and removing his socks), tons of flakes of skin came out of his socks....

he was nice and fresh.... but his skin....

his skin was sooooo dry....

his feet were flaking skin onto the air mattress....

when was the last time anyone had removed his socks?

didn't anyone else see how dry his skin was?

how long had it been like this?

i took extra special care of his feet....

cleaning them thoroughly and in between his toes.

i remember him smiling when i'd dried them and rubbed lotion on them.

i felt like a little lady in the nail salon, giving him a massage like that.... his skin was just sooo dry....

his wife said that was one of his most favorite things....

having his feet rubbed.

he LOVED it.

so i massaged his feet with lotion and wiped off the mattress and he was stylin....

he was fresh, and no more dry skin or flakes!

for the next few weeks, that was my treat for him....

after his bath, i'd massage his feet....

and then one night (while i was sleeping at home),

he'd made a turn for the worse....

i came in and his dear sweet wife, Jan, was there.

his sons were there.

and of course he was there....

his gurgling was the only thing you could hear....

it was so loud and just the most awful sound....

it's one of those sounds that stick with you forever....

he was on a morphine drip....

at this hospital, you could always tell who was on a morphine drip and who was going to pass away at the hospital....

the hospital would wheel in this wooden cabinet with a marble top.

it would have bags of chips, and bottles of juice... things like that on it....

it was as if to make it as comfortable and nice as possible (and usually the patients were too far out of it to know it was there, but their guests could enjoy the treats too)....

i would get that same gut-wrenching feeling when i'd walk into a room with the marble cabinets that i would get when i'd walk into a room with an air mattress....

i knew they wouldn't make it much longer....

and that made me sad....

i'd rubbed and lotioned his feet with his family for the very last time.... he'd passed later that night (during the night).... his family was gone when i'd returned the next day.

i was so sad i didn't get to say goodbye to them for the last time....

and then a few months later, i'd received a personal call on my floor.

i'd answered the phone, having no idea who would possibly be calling for ME personally, but it was Jan. she'd called to ask if she could come by and bring me lunch one day.

i told her she didn't have to, but she wanted to come so badly.

her voice, is still one that i can't ever get out of my head.....

she came one day while i was at the hospital, to have lunch with me.

we went to the cafeteria and this was in january sometime....

she had a small bag (gift) for me and said she'd wanted to see me sometime before Christmas, but she'd been so busy and unable to get ahold of me....

i opened the gift over lunch and it was a beautifully colored, wooden angel ornament.

the card had said "you were jim's angel.... you treated him so wonderfully and i know that he just loved that last foot massage you gave him. i know he was holding on until you were there that last day.... you will forever remain in my heart as having taken the absolute best care of him. thank you ashley."

okay, SOB!!!!

this last Christmas, as we all decorated our tree, i hung that angel, just like i have done every year since, and thought about Jim and Jan. It warmed my heart, just as it always does, to remember her sweet voice, and Jim's soft feet. I know that sounds a bit weird, (about the feet), but it reminds me of my dad, and that was one of his very favorite things for as far back as i can remember.... up until his passing.

when i'd gone out there to see him a few weeks before he'd passed, that's what he wanted me to do all day.... put hot wet washclothes on his feet and then rub them with lotion... he'd fall asleep to me doing that.... funny they both loved their feet rubbed like that.... they both passed of congestive heart failure (my father's being a complication of cancer).... jim's brother was from a small town just next to grand junction, TN, where my father was from.... such a small small world.... maybe it's just me and my overthinking.....

i love my angel ornament, and i'd loved that family.....

such sweet souls, branded my heart....

you wanna eat my shoes? have at it!

yes.

it's one of those days.

lewie was up FOUR times last night....

count that...

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

FOUR!

he's almost 8 months old and there is absolutely NO reason he shouldn't be sleeping through the night.

now i KNOW that there are mommies who are going to not agree with me and say that all babies are different and blah blah blah.

and there will be other people who tell me it's my fault (and i'll actually AGREE with you guys)....

you see, we moved into this house.... where we get this brilliant idea to put the kids in a room together....

the 2nd and 3rd bedrooms are right next to each other and well, away from the master bedroom.

i couldn't choose who was going to have the bedroom that was "closer" to ours.... and plus, off the 3rd bedroom, there is a sliding door to another patio, and that scares me.... because what if a burglar broke in through there or exited through there and took one of my babies with them? i would feel so incredibly guilty that i picked that child to be in that room.... AND the 3rd bedroom is hardwood flooring like the rest of the house (with the exception of the 2nd bedroom and the master bedroom which have carpet)

i thought it was only fair to put both kids in the 2nd bedroom (with carpet) and put all of their toys in the 3rd bedroom so it would be like a guest bedroom/playroom. and that way i wouldn't have to decide and they'd both be "closer" and the whole world would just be happy and merry (or at least i would be)

anyway.... lewie was doing GREAT sleeping through the night before we moved. well, he'd grunt and stuff, (and that would wake me up) but he wouldn't WAKE UP and SCREEEEAAAAAMMM like he does here....

i wonder if there are ghosts here. i mean i DO hear creepy noises alll day (and night) long.... maybe that's why he screams....

ugh! i HATE it!

so he and taylor are sleeping in the same room.... so when he wakes up screaming, of COURSE i go running in there and sweep him out of there (after many failed attempts of trying to just give him his binky and get him to go back to sleep)

yes, we are those parents that you just grind your own teeth over.... the ones that jump to their child's needs... and i HATE IT! i would put ear plugs in my ears and just let him cry it out until he learned that he needed to just sleep through the night, but my guilt will NOT allow me to do so until we have a baby monitor for him at least.... AND because i don't want taylor to wake up from him screaming (which usually she doesn't wake up if he's just crying, but when he starts his full throat and lung screams, she does wake up) and i feel horribly guilty.

and i hope it's not affecting her school, which so far, i don't think it is, but we'll see....

so i am thinking of purchasing another one of those large area rugs and putting it in the 3rd bedroom and setting up lewie's crib (and baby monitor) in there and letting him just cry it out again. we did the whole, bring taylor into our room and let lewie cry it out for a night or 2, and he did great, but then went back to crying again.... i don't know what to do.

i get sooo fed up in the middle of the night, i feel like i'm having an out of body AND mind experience. like i'm not even ME.... it's the strangest and crappiest feeling ever....

i know i can't be alone with this, but all the perfect mommies out there aren't going to admit to this, i'm sure....

i finally just broke out into tears on the couch last night at 1233 while holding lewie.... i just cried sooo hard and called for jason to please come out and help me.... to just take him! and i crawled back into bed, crying.... but barely remember that.... i fell asleep on a wet pillow and woke up a few short hours later to him screaming again....

ugh. these bad (nights and) days just do me over....

so needless to say, i'm in the WORST mood today.

i don't have that "awww let me cuddle you" feeling....

i have the feelings like, "go ahead and crawl around.... bang on the remote.... oh, and you wanna eat my shoes? go ahead.... have at it!!!"

can you hold on just a sec? i think Child protective services just knocked at my door....

mr allen

he had the first room on the floor.

he'd been there before.

he just wasn't mine.

but i'd look after him when they'd go on break.

boy was he grumpy.

he was so grumpy.

his room was always overheated.

he'd always be under the sheets and blankets.

his windows were always closed.

the blinds were always pulled.

he always looked dead when you'd walk in.

one day,

he became my patient.

i don't know how that happened, but he just did.

i normally didn't get that side of the floor, but i did today.

and he was my patient.

i went in and "woke him up."

he was mad at me for that.

i said, "i'm sorry mr allen. this is the 3rd time i've come in. i let you sleep the first two times. you can even go back to sleep as soon as i'm done."

he said, "no i can't. i'm awake now."

me: "well then great, let's get you cleaned up and change your sheets and get you eating and all that good stuff."

mr allen: "no. i don't want to. i don't want to do any of that."

i was a bit of a pushover the first day i'd had him.

i'd pleaded a little bit, but he was as straight faced as they come and he wanted NOTHING to do with me or my ideas or assistance.

okay, fine.

but then he was my patient again the next day.

this morning when i went in to check on him, he was sleeping of course.

i didn't let him sleep through his vitals today.

nope.

for all i knew, he was faking it.

he just wanted to be left alone.

so i turned the light on and took his vitals....

he grumbled.

i fixed his breakfast tray.

and he ate. (although not much, he still ate)

there was no bargaining today.

this is what you were GOING to do.

i was not asking.

i was not suggesting.

yes, in fact, i was TELLING you this is how it was going to be.

he wasn't the happiest camper for sure.

i set up his tray halfway across the room

away from his bed and next to a chair.

we moved him to the chair.

it was all nice and cozy for him.

i pulled back the blinds,

let some sun in.

and i went to change his bedding.

i noticed a brown paper grocery bag next to his bed and a picture with him and a woman.

in his paper bag were some clean socks and underwear and an empty KFC container.

i asked who was in the picture with him.

it was his wife.

funny.

i didn't know he was married.

where was she?

she certainly wasn't there.

and if she were working,

then how come i'd never seen her before?

certainly she'd get weekends off? or SOME day during the week....

or at least nights....

certainly she had SOME free time,

but she was NEVER there....

the paper bag...

that was when she was there.

she came to give him a paper bag with clean socks and clean underwear and some KFC.

did she even bother staying with him to eat it?

nope.

just dropped it off and left.

REALLY lady?!

REALLY?!

was it too emotionally difficult for her to stay and watch him like this?

i don't know.

i wasn't in her head.

i wasn't in her heart.

but i'm married now.

i know what our vows were.

i remember them like i just vowed them yesterday....

i remember our vows...

in sickness and in health....

he was sick.

she was not there.....

and i (being the codependent person that i am)

decided he was my mission.

i was going to tackle this bitterness he carried, if it took all of me....

the next day he had a fever.

it wasn't just a little bit of a fever.

it was a lot a bit.

wife?

nope, not there.

i'd filled up his basin with some cold water.

i'd filled up some gloves with ice.

i sat there for a good 35 minutes wiping his forehead, neck, chest, and arms down.

we were going to FIGHT that damned fever....

he hated me for the coldness of all of that.

but that's fine.

he could hate me all he wanted to.

i turned the heater off and i took the blanket off of his bed.

he despised me by now....

he wanted his blanket.

he wanted the heat.

he didn't want the blinds drawn

and he didn't want the cold.

OHHHH WELL MR ALLEN!!!!

i didn't say that, of course, but i was DETERMINED to fight his fever.

(he'd had it since the night before, but they hadn't been able to break it even after medication)....

it just amazed me that no one really took any extra effort to do anything else besides meds....

i mean, i'm no DOCTOR, but sitting there those extra clumps of 30 minute increments helped.

he was a long term patient.

he'd go.

he'd come back.

he'd go home.

he'd come back.

one time, i had the lovely opportunity of meeting his wife.

she was just as quiet and grumbly as he....

i talked with her in the waiting lobby for a few brief moments,

and i cannot tell you exactly the words we exchanged.

i don't remember them that well.

but i remember feeling my face get hot,

and my heart racing and wondering if at any time my superior would walk in and catch me talking to her...

i wondered if i was entirely out of place for what i'd asked and for wondering why she was never there.....

mr allen had gone home.

it was a few months before he came back.

i hadn't been disciplined for talking to her,

so maybe she didn't complain....

i'd HOPED she didn't complain.

but i only felt it was right.

you know, mr allen came back.

he was in poor shape, but he was in suuuch better spirits.

he was in one of the last rooms this time.... i think it was 514.

i'd walked in to check on him, and he smiled.

he WELCOMED me in to his room,

and INTRODUCED ME TO HIS WIFE, (who was THERE in the room with him, sitting next to him this time!)

that made me smile....

that made my heart warm....

i remember he'd asked for a piece of paper and a pen....

i didn't know what for, but i got him a piece of paper and a pen....

and i watched him shake as he wrote....

it took allllll of his effort to write out just a few short sentences.

my eyes watered, and as much as i wanted to jump in and write whatever he needed to get out, i just let him write....

he kept smiling at me.

he smiled at her.

he struggled.

and of course, my eyes watered some more.

i walked out.

for whatever reason, i didn't want him to see me soft.

i had fought like hell, and appeared FAR more tough than i really was, but i wanted to get to him.

i wanted to get in to his heart and "un-grumpy" him....

his letter was to the hospital about me.

he said, "i thank Ashley for taking such good care of me. she made it all worth it."

that's it.

(okay, *bawl!*)

i wondered everyday if he was just going to snap at me,

or complain about me,

or just flat out swing his fist at my face.

i was that rough on him.

"okay, i understand you don't want to get out of bed mr allen, but you have to. okay, come on, get up." i'd pull the sheets back.

oh he HATED me, i knew he hated me.

it was no secret....

but deep down inside,

he needed that.

he needed someone to PUSH him to do it,

because his wife wasn't there pushing him,

i did.

i pushed him.

and then i pushed his wife.

and then she was there.

and then to see him write.

i'd never seen him put forth ANY effort to do ANYTHING aside from grumbling at me....

grumble no more.

no more brown paper bags with kfc and clean socks and underwear.....

that warmed my heart, more than you can ever imagine.

folks, where would you be if your loved one ends up sick and in the hospital?

would you bring them food in a paper bag because the emotions would be too much to deal with?

i mean, really....

it's easy to say you'd be there....

would you go home every night smelling of hospital?

would you hold their hand?

would you kiss their face?

what if they couldn't talk anymore?

what if they couldn't clean themselves anymore....

where would you be?

i'd like to believe that whatever raw emotionally driven speech i gave to mrs allen is the reason she was there the next time.

hell, i don't know.

maybe she lost her job and now had the time to be there (if she'd had a job at all)....

whatever it was, they were together.

exactly where they should have been to begin with.

in sickness,

they were together.....

situation #3: the alibi.

we didn't really talk much, he and i.

she would say she was with me, because she knew he wouldn't call.

what a perfect alibi.

me.

but she wasn't with me.

and how do you choose....

morals or blood?

i chose morals.

Tennessee.

first of all, i'm no photographer, nor will i ever claim to be.

in fact, my pictures just fail to ever really capture my feelings for any given moment.

so i usually just rely on other people to capture those moments for me....

however, the following pictures are all taken in TENNESSEE.

when my father passed away, i didn't think i'd be able to speak at his funeral. i really didn't... but then it hit me. the poem i had written for him when i was 7. (and no you can't steal it, because it's far too awesome, and i know you'll want to)....

but it went like this....

When i look upon a tree,

what i think is Tennessee.

when i sit and think of dad,

i sit and cry and feel real sad.

when i think of all my fears,

i try to hold back all my tears.

what could possibly make me feel better?

probably if i wrote him a letter.

these pictures are all of Tennessee.

The skies there are beautiful....

the way the sun hits the clouds,

and all of the trees, and the leaves....

this picture is one of my favorites, and that's probably just because it was one of his favorites. i took this picture at a bridge right by his house. i'd asked him to pull over so that i could take this picture, and he did. and he liked it so much, he blew it up and framed it, and he hung it in his bedroom. that made me happy.

now i'm not sure these pictures can capture the REAL beauty of these skies....

i'm not sure if can put you in the moment.

but they sure take me back.

when you're driving up the 2 lane roads

all you can see are treeeees....

no matter which direction you looked,

forward or back....

and the trees are just soooo tall.... these tiny little pictures don't show their height. but they are all so beautiful....

trees, trees, treeees....

all the different colors and shades.

of red, green, orange, yellow and brown....

it's so beautiful.

and when the air is crisp,

and you crack your windows,

and the fresh air circulates throughout your car,

it's just enough to send chills over you....

and i slowly drove all the way back to their home.... to spend one of my very last days with him....

the sun would set on these beautiful skies,

and God knew that in just a few short weeks my father would no longer be here on earth....

he was headed.... home....

i treasure these (Tennessee) photos.

glasses.

i have a confession to make.

it's been years since I was in the 7th grade, but i still feel horribly guilty about this....

we were watching a film in our 7th grade english class.

lights were out.

tv was loud.

this goofy looking kid sat behind me....

he kept kicking my chair and it was slowly driving me nuts.

i'd asked him to stop a bunch of times.

he wouldn't stop.

i even threatened him and told him that if he didn't stop, i was going to punch him.

yeah.

that's what i said.

"if you don't stop, i'm gonna punch you!!!!"

he didn't stop.

in fact, he kept kicking and LAUGHED while he did it.

i remember his shoes left shoe marks on my clothes and that was it for me.

i turned around and slugged the guy so hard, right in his face.

i knocked his glasses off of his face and onto the floor and he cried.

i felt horrible.

speaking of glasses....

it reminded me of when this kid named jonathan guerrero and some other bully played keep away with my glasses in first grade, and when they dropped them (somewhere) on the playground, i couldn't see them, and i remember asking people in passing if they saw a pair of glasses on the ground....

is that absolutely pathetic of me that I remember 2 boys playing keep away with my glasses in the first grade?

you'd think you'd let the small stuff go, right?

i think this was the beginning of my caring heart....

i never wanted to intentionally make someone feel that bad....

well that started the caring heart thing, but why, at SUCH a young age did i start hoarding things?

(fear of abandonment?) i don't know.... but i still have EVERY single pair of glasses i've ever owned.

i have a totem pole that i made in 1st grade.

i have a doll that my dad gave me when i was five.

since then i've thrown up in her hair, attempted to wash it, and when that failed, i just cut her tangled hair and then attempted to brush the rest. (that was at about 7 years of age, and i stillllll have this doll. her name is pamela.)

i think i'm going to take a picture of all of these belongings (dysfunctions) and post them on here.

THEN i just might start feeling embarrassed that i still actually have all this stuff and start getting rid of it.

anyway.... sorry brian wooten for punching you in the face and knocking your glasses off.

now i'd probably better go help jason. he's outside pulling weeds by his lonesome.

what a great husband.

i hate yardwork.

i could have cut his achilles tendon.

i'm not even joking.

our new yard wraps around the house like a big "U"....

there are 2 gates. one at each tip of the "U."

and our house is in the middle.

well asia runs around that whole U, multiple times a day. she usually likes the side that our front door is on. yes our front door is on the side of our house and you have to go through the front gate to get to it. it's kind of a different set up, but i really like it. ANYWAY....

the OTHER side of the U is where we have the huge side yard and where we line up the trashcans. it's the side of the garage and the other patios and such. i can't explain it very well (which is the REAL reason i'm not a teacher.)...

anyway, as soon as i find a way to make little pictures on my computer, i will, or perhaps i'll draw a picture and scan it and post it on here. then you will be able to see why i am not an artist either.

anyway, back to the gate story....

jason left the side gate open (the one with the trashcans) and let the dog out without checking the gates. i don't know when he did this or how long she was out before we realized, BUT, he was leaving to go to home depot and while he was driving down the street to get onto the main street, he sees asia trotting back towards our house from the BUSY street.... UGH!

it is a SUPER busy intersection and the speed limit is like 50 which means people go like 65 or 70.... she would have been road kill if she stepped foot onto that main street.... i wonder if she got to the main street and thought "oooh! i might not eat if i go out this way." i wonder what she thought when she got out there that kept her from heading away from us, but back to us instead.... i just wonder.

now my stepdad will tell you that she didn't think anything because he thinks dogs are stupid, but something brought her back here.... and whatever it is, i'm glad....

i bet she thought, "if i don't go home, mom's gonna cut dad's achilles tendons," which in fact she would have been right.

i probably would have....