I guess it's safe to say now, I am going to start moonlighting back in Mississippi. There was a war going on within me as to what to do for work while we're in Chicago. I had an absolutely perfect job lined up in Chicago, but it wasn't right. I have a very clear sense that it is not where I am supposed to be. People are great. Job is fantastic. It is a really smoothly functioning unit and would've been an amazing opportunity to grow professionally. It wasn't right. Charlie's appointments were overwhelming me. The thought of leaving them even two days a week burdened me, particularly with Jack's development of separation anxiety. Above all, though, I had a clear indication from the Holy Spirit that it wasn't right. Didn't know what would be right, but that was not it. Ever felt that? Well, it was causing way too many tears and stomach aches, so I called the nurse director, and she graciously understood my struggle. She had felt it. What a disappointment but coexisting incredible relief.
So I called Tanya and, thankfully(!), it is working out for me to head back home one weekend a month to do work I love, where I love, and then be home with my boys the rest of the month. There is rest in that. The ability to be fully present when I'm home, not recovering from yet another interrupted stretch of days, but just being mama and wife. Kissing the booboos. Seeing the bed head each morning. Picking out recipes and having the time to work my hands to nourish those three bellies. Gathering the clothes and trying my hardest to keep it clean. Pushing my own body to the limit to get and stay strong. Having time to sit and rest in the sweet presence of Jesus. Ignoring the chores and playing outside. Taking each sweet fleeting childhood moment in. I can't bear to miss it. My God knows that deep Mother part of me.
And then being fully rested and looking forward to a short, isolated stretch of days to work a craft God has given my mind and hands. I miss computing nutrition, labs, ins and outs. I told the girls today, I miss intubating. Working with my hands. The intricate work of dilating the tiniest umbilical artery, as small as a hair, and praising Jesus when it finally opens and that catheter slides in. Rooting the other NP or resident on who gets that tough UAC. Teaching a new mother the importance and life-saving gift of her milk. Or throwing off the sterile garb, covered in sweat, after (another) failed LP, but thankful that fragile child slept through it all. Giving breath to a child whose brain isn't ready to instruct the rhythm, lungs too delicate to hold that responsibility. Not yet time. Sitting in the holy threshold between life and death. I love my job. There were days before I left in January when I stayed up typing until 5:00am, having fallen asleep nursing my infant. Jarred awake afraid that the next day had already started and I was again behind. I remember it. It wasn't fun. The spitefully ignored advocating on behalf of a voiceless infant who shouldn't have that consultation or procedure or the other who desperately needs it. It's aggrevating and maddening. But the rest of it, oh how I love it. I look forward to the hard, fun, playful, overwhelmingly exhausting days ahead. And the wonderful, true rest that will follow when I get back to my cuddly, unconditionally loving boys. This is where I am supposed to be.
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