I'm Still Here

I haven't lost my way, but I'm still living the U.S.

Hmmm.

According to my master plan, I should have spent the last 8 years traveling in developing regions, devoting my time and energy to helping those affected by HIV.

But "should have" is a very harsh thing to say about yourself; like something a catty old woman says to you at your baby shower. "Well, honey, you probably should've waited until after you finished school to have this baby, but I guess I'm not tellin' you anything new. He he." So passive-aggressive, that catty old woman inside all of us!

My story (so far) is real simple. I am a registered nurse. I am a mother of two. I am a wife. I am a sister, a daughter, a fighter, a lover, a friend. And I am changing the world, just not exactly in the way that I pictured.

I'm a home-visiting nurse. My clients are first-time moms with low income. I listen to my clients, care for them, answer their questions, help them bathe and feed and hold and soothe and nurture their children. For two and a half years I guide them through their first pregnancy, first graduation, first miscarriage, first broken heart, first sobriety, first apartment, first birth, first milestones, first break down, and their babies' first breastfeedings, first teeth, first words, first birthday. And then, when their baby is suddenly two years old, I say goodbye. Their little toddlers, at this point, can usually say goodbye too, or at least, "bye-bye!" I gather up the courage to hold them in my arms one last time and then let go of both mom and baby. And what did I do? How can I prevent them from getting hurt? How can I help them find the resources and the courage and the self-confidence they need? I can't. I have to let them go and hope that they fly. I work and live and do this somewhere in the space between friend and mother and counselor and mentor and sister and teacher.

I am Nurse. Hear me roar.

I never imagined myself working in this capacity, especially not 12 years ago. I visited Chambella, Haiti soon after my 18th birthday. For all the cliche reasons you might think, the trip changed my world:

1) I was an American teen
2) I grew up with middle-class values, comfort, and views on the world along with a lot of Christian ideals (with a little bit of sassy feminism thrown in the mix - in my mom's kitchen, a sign read, "The woman slaving over this stove has a college education.")
3) I could speak a whopping ONE language at the time
4) The trip to Haiti rocked the boat, folks.

The extreme poverty affected me, yes. But something else reached inside me and pulled out the person I am now. That something was a ten minute tour of a small health clinic. I followed the clinic's director around the facility, listening to what services they offered. He described how patients dealt with the stigma and suffering associated with HIV (a subject I later pursued relentlessly in graduate school). I sat down on the front steps after the tour and cried my little eyes out. A girl that went with me on the trip, Katie, once told me that it was amazing to see my "heart explode." That's a perfect description of what happened. I remember so vividly thinking, I have to do something like this or my soul will curl up into a ball and wither away.

I still tremble thinking about that moment.

I thought about that moment as I walked down the aisle toward my husband. I thought about it when I held my daughter for the first time. I thought about that moment when I walked across the stage at my nursing school graduation. I sobbed about it after my first exhausting and exhilarating 12-hour night shift at a children's hospital. And when my whole family followed the nurse carrying my son to the newborn nursery, leaving me alone, I was back on those steps in Haiti.

They're a flicker, these thoughts - a blip on the radar most days. But sometimes I am consumed with a feeling - it's not quite guilt, but almost - that I am doing a good job being a human the way I am supposed to, but not a great job. Sometimes I bargain with myself and God, saying, "I haven't forgotten my promise. I didn't even get lost. I'm just... I'm on my way."

I live in the U.S.

I never thought I'd still be here. But you know, I think my master plan would've led me somewhere else too soon.