The Burn Unit

I was eighteen years old when I received my job position as a Burn Tech at Saint Elizabeth’s Regional Medical Center.  I was extremely ecstatic and humbled when offered the position, and this attitude remains with me today.  Three years later, I continue to work in the Burn Unit as a Burn Tech, existing as a much changed person than I was three years previously.  My eyes have been introduced to a vast array of experiences, and my heart has been made known a large collection of emotions. 

There are sixteen single-bed patient rooms in the Burn Unit; numbered from 120-135.  The unit is formatted as a large circular square, with the patient rooms encompassing the nurses’ station.  The unit as a whole is not very large compared to other units in the hospital.  Walking twenty-three times around the unit is equal to one mile.  Many times I have walked this path with a number of my patients, sometimes with patients who are walking for the first time after experiencing the restriction of bed-rest for months.  Working with patients who are suffering a great deal of agony can be very challenging at times.  But watching as a burn victim progresses and heals through months of bed-rest, then finally to walk alongside them after being relieved from their bed-rest, is the best feeling in the world. 

I look at my job as though I am a mediator for those struggling; I am there to help my patients endure the physical and emotional pains of burn trauma.  The part I hate and love the most is patient contact.  It saddens me to help someone who has been cursed with the unfair reality of burn trauma.  I wish I would tell them what to expect, what they will endure for the next months or more, to tell them this will be a walk in the park.  But who am I, I have never been burned to the extent of hospitalization.  All I can do is be there for them, lend a hand to squeeze when the pain is too overwhelming, a person to talk to, a shoulder to lean on.  I am there for the patient; patient satisfaction is a high priority on my list.  This does not parallel the attitude that a restaurant would have for their customer, or how a retailer would treat their shoppers.  I do not try to feel for my patients, I try to feel with them: reciprocate excitement when they hear the news they do not have to have any more surgeries; sorrow when they are burdened with the agonizing feelings of homesickness; happiness when they have received a set discharge date.

Working in the Burn Unit can be very difficult, but surpassing this difficulty is the feelings of reward.  It breaks my heart to see someone go through the process of healing their burns, but my heart is immediately put back together when I see them walk out and leave the hospital.  I will only know this person for a short period of time in their life, and then probably never see them again – but this short period of time will be forever remembered by them.  It brings great feelings of happiness to know that I was there for that individual during their moment of greatest suffering.  Hopefully I was the smile when they needed it most.  

                          

Grandma's House

Grandma’s house (period), doesn’t that say it all?  Can you think of a better place: that brought about constant happiness, the best home-cooking, and the most distinct aromas?  My grandma shares her humble abode with my grandpa in Ord, Nebraska.  As a kid, my younger brothers and I constantly anticipated the three hour ride across Nebraska – three grueling hours – impatiently waiting to see my grandma and grandpa and make ourselves acquainted to their vast house. 

Squeezing out of our purple Dodge Caravan as we reached grandma and grandpa’s house, my three siblings and I would race to the front door surrounded by the beautifully mastered masonry.  The winner of the race received the prize of pressing the golden doorbell, which chimed an oddly unique tune.  The sound that always followed this chime was the warm, cordial chuckles of my grandma as she opened her front door, surprised to see her four favorite grandchildren piled before her.  The charismatic aura that followed her was always contagious, and her laughter could pierce heavenly light through a dark, cloudy day.  A warmhearted hug from my grandma and a firm handshake from my grandpa, and then the presence of us four kids was absent.  We would scramble downstairs and plop ourselves in front of the gigantic TV in the basement, saturating our brains with the long missed shows on Cartoon Network.  (At home we didn’t have cable, so half the anticipation of visiting grandma and grandpa was of course seeing them, but the other half was relieving the no cable hiatus). 

Occasionally, we would come upstairs and make our presence known.  Better than cable TV was making grilled-cheese sandwiches with my grandma using her Pampered Chief do-it-yourself sandwich griller.  Grandma always let us add extra cheese and butter; and if the sandwich ever burned, we’d make a fresh one and use the burned one to feed the birds out on the deck.  Food was rarely ever wasted; whatever we didn’t finish or disliked was used to feed birds or the farm dogs. 

It was extremely depressing every time we had to part ways and say good-bye to grandma and grandpa and their wonderful house.  One of us kids always tried to make up an excuse why we should stay longer, or accidently leave behind some article of clothing just so we’d have to return to get it when we were leaving.  This was usually me – I would sacrifice my favorite blue shirt just so we’d have to go back and get it.  But reentering into the beautiful home and rushing into the aroma of lavender, just to find my blue shirt already folded on the kitchen table, was worth it every time.  

Lake Ericson: Family Cabin

At a young age, the age when you start to recollect the acquaintances in your life, I was introduced to Lake Ericson, Nebraska.  Lake Ericson is the name of a small, small town located in the sand hills of western Nebraska.  There is your local bar (The Hungry Horse Salon), a small gas station off the highway, and a giant water tower; everything a town needs.  The population that dwells here is so minute, though this population size in no way is correlated to the land that constitutes Lake Ericson, NE.  This is because smack-dab in the middle of the town exists a vast body of water.  Encompassing this lake, many residents have nestled into small cabin-like cottages.  Many of these cabins are rugged and rusty, built by past family members that once inhabited them but are now long gone. 

This is the case for the cabin imprinted in my mind.  Off the southeastern shore of the lake, the Edwards’ Family cabin rests, illustrated by its placidity and simplicity.  There my great-grandfather built a shelter for his family; this shelter today is labeled as the garage on our plot.  Adjacent to the garage, we have constructed a more modernized cabin.  Here the idea of modern is understood through the conservative perception of the town, which would oppose today’s traditional definition.  I can remember when I was a little kid – our cabin did not even have indoor plumbing.  We would fetch drinking water from local spigot that was connected to a fresh underground spring; the water was always cold as ice, clear as crystals, and rejuvenating as it slid down my throat.    Getting used to the idea of using the outhouse instead of a toilet was also a fun experience as a kid, though today the idea would seem all too foreign to me.  Since then, the outhouse has been demolished; and in its memory a shower and toilet have been added to our “modern” cabin. 

This is the consistent atmosphere at Lake Ericson; it is kept as an idea of placidity and simplicity.  Venturing out to our family cabin has always been, and continues to be a wonderful experience.  It provides a much needed escape from this world.  No TV, no heating or air-conditioning, and the constant fetching of fresh drinking water have never seemed like a punishment.  Instead they have grounded me; taught me to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, and not to get focused on the extravagant.  

My Backyard Vacation Spot

Ever wish your family vacation spot could be as far away as the sweet, simple steps into your backyard?  Well, I have the privilege and blessing to say, mine is.  I am a native “Lincolnite” and Nebraska has been home soil for many of my ancestors.  I live in the west part of town, down a little street to which I have become so fond, Laguna Road.  Driving by you won’t notice anything too extravagant about the neighborhood; we don’t all own $500K houses with the greenest fresh cut lawns saturated with the finest décor (if you’re looking for this, head south in town).  But what those neighborhoods lack, that ours makes up for, is a small private lake situated perfectly into our backyards. 

Spring Lake, as it’s formally known by, has provided me with the greatest childhood experiences of which I could have ever dreamed.  The greatest benefit of having a lake in your backyard, is that it’s constantly changing, changing with the seasons that this.  Summer is probably the best time to have a lake in your backyard.  We don’t wait in long lines and pay heaps of money to swim for a couple of hours in a chlorine saturated pool.  We hop into our trunks, race into the backyard, and plunge face first straight into an earthly, chemical-free lake.  After hours of swimming, the neighborhood kids and I would congregate to my backyard, where the biggest sandbox in Lincoln exits.  We would spend hours digging huge “damns” into the sand, filling them up with buckets of lake water, and creating “gates” to allow the water to flow back into the lake (we were mini-engineers).  “LEAK!” was always the code word for when one of the sandy walls would collapse, spewing water in all directions. 

Beyond swimming during the summer, fishing was also a recreation many of us neighbor kids excelled at.  Every summer when school got out, we would start our annual fish catching competition.  The name of the game, whoever caught the most fish that summer was crowned the Fishing Champ for the remainder of the year.  We even built our own fishing dock where we would spend all day and hours into the night catching fish after fish.

 This only scrapes the surface of my high pile of childhood memories spent on this beautiful, sentimental territory.  The lake has been entangled into my memory of home.  Many of my life’s great moments, learning and recreational, have been experienced at my vacation spot that’s located only a couple sweet, simple steps away.  

My Compatible Companion

I take refuge in an oversized rugged, brown coat that protects me from the jagged darts of Nebraskan winds. Dust and autumn air oversaturate the breeze, whirling in harmony with the harsh winds.  Cornstalks and soybean leaves provide constant background music, scraping and crunching against each other.  The poignant stench of cow manure permeates my little nostrils, an exuberant and non-forgetful odor.  I am seven years olds again, breathing in chunks of good ‘ol farm air, digesting serenity before my eyes. 

My father was raised on a family farm, inhabited by a family comprised of six labor intensive sons, one hard-ass father, and an ever-warm-hearted mother.  Its beauty and labor was passed down from my great-grandpa to his son (my grandpa), who has now bestowed it to the hands of his oldest son, my uncle Jim.  Situated in the “middle-of-nowhere”, Nebraska, in between Loup City and Ord, I have grown fond to the pleasure, labor, and joy this place constantly brings to my heart. 

The farm has become iconic to my extended family as a place of gathering.  Every year, Thanksgiving stuffing and Christmas clam chowder are perfected at the expense of my grandma’s and aunts’ good cooking.  These dinners are accompanied by card games, rallied up by my grandpa and uncles in adjacent rooms.  Cribbage, Rummy, and cussing are the activities they excel in during these festive gatherings.  But the real excitement is located outside amongst us grandchildren, perpetuated by the vastest playground a kid could ever dream of.

Racing four-wheelers across the unending acres of the farm always aroused the dare devils inside us.  There was just something so exuberating about their reckless speed counterbalanced by choking winds smacking you in the face from every angle, oozing tears from the creases of your eyes, that made us kids pile on for the ride.  But the destination was half the anticipation.  After the fulfillment of riding, we’d group to the hay bales located in distinct spots on the farm.  These bales rested in long paralleled rows, allowing for us to spend hours of tag as we ran across the maze of their bumpy surfaces. 

These memories bring to me nothing but happiness, but my favorite moments spent on the farm have also been in solitude.  Nowhere in the world exists a better place to contemplate and exercise a clear mind.  A new path reveals an undiscovered corner within its vast campus.  And whether this takes a couple minutes or a couple hours, the placid atmosphere of the farm provides reassurance that everything will be ok during depressing times; that the anger inside my heart is extraneous; that the tears on my cheeks are only temporary; that the happiness inside my soul can endure forever.  Beyond the iconic gatherings experienced with my family members, the farm has been my hug when needed, my high-five when asked for, and my secret-keeper; it has been my compatible companion. 

Nuevo Durango

Last spring break, my eyes were opened to a world of adventure, melancholy, prosperity, misfortune and tribulation.  Rising above these adjectives, this world exuded a sense of joy and optimism.  It will be hard for me to find another place that parallels these characteristics, and the exotic beauty that dwells within Nuevo Durango. 

Cancun, Mexico is the optimal destination for many college students to spend their week of freedom during the spring semester.  Money is wasted as late night drinking and beach swimming become the main source of activity.  But what many people do not know is that some hundred miles away from this hoopla, poverty imprisons the land. 

Last spring break, I flew into Cancun accompanied by 12 other man.  We did not take part in these spring break rituals, but rather ventured into the heart of this poverty to reach out to its patrons.  Our assigned village was named Nuevo Durango, and was inhabited by no more than 25 locals.  Mayan descendent established the native tongue among the village, but many of them spoke in a Spanish dialect. 

When I arrived in Nuevo Durango, the sun was high casting small shadows throughout the place.  Brightly illuminated, I perceived the village through my eyes, eyes not thoroughly mastered to detect beauty and poverty within the same field.  The houses were made of tree trunks tied together, and the roofs had been plastered down with layers upon layers of palm leaves.  House does not correctly define these shelters, they were more like huts.  Children raced around the tan streets made of fine rock and sand.  In the middle of the village was a playground center.  There was a seesaw, some swings, and a jungle-gym. Many children congregate there to be relieved from their daily chores.

This village was exotic; located in the heart of the tropics of Mexico.  I experienced so much beauty, and became acquainted to many new creatures once foreign to me.  But the locals are what made this place so unforgettable.  They were all so compassionate and optimistic in the face of what seemed like so much poverty and misfortune.  I will forever cherish the friendships and connections I engaged in while on this mission trip. 

Parting ways from Nuevo Durango and the villagers was a difficult task.  Leaving behind their sorrows and poverty made a sense of guilt rest within my heart; but resulting from this experience, a new attitude has been formed in my mind.  I strive to live the humility and simplicity the villagers made known to me through the examples of their daily lives.