Exponent II's Blog, page 160

Sacred Music Sunday: God So Loved the World

[image error]Grand Canyon National Park – Arizona, USA

We hear a lot at church about “The World”. The World is used as a bogeyman – a shorthand for anything bad. We’re told not to be like the world, as if the world is something separate from us. The World is full of evil people doing evil things, devoid of any virtues whatsoever and is to be viewed with suspicion.

This tendency can lead to insularity and cliquishness. I had a mission companion who had never met anyone not a member of the church until she arrived in the mission field. I know parents who won’t let their kids play with non-LDS neighbors.

As I was sitting in church on Sunday, the speaker made a disparaging comment about “The World”. Instantly, the Spirit brought to my mind John 3:16-17. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.”

God loves the world. Jesus is not here to condemn the world. If the world is something that God loves and that Jesus does not condemn, then why do we as a church hate and condemn the world? It’s not Us vs Them.

God created the world and saw that it was good. There is so much beauty out in the world, both in nature and among our fellow humans. During the pandemic, I’ve had a chance to explore more of the natural world as I’ve had less of a chance to interact with other humans. And when the pandemic subsides, I look forward once again to being with more people. Rather than condemning them as a bogeyman, I will love them, like God does.

Illuminating Ladies 2nd Edition

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Under other circumstances, dozens of women would right now be arriving at a camp deep in the woods of New Hampshire, ready to spend two too-short days sharing and listening to Mormon women’s voices. While we desperately wish the state of the world allowed for us to gather this year, we—like you—are willing to make this sacrifice. 

Fortunately, today has a bright spot, as we have a new offering that is continuing Exponent II’s dedication to sharing women’s stories: a second edition of Illuminating Ladies: A Coloring Book of Mormon Women, now available to pre-order here: https://exponentii.org/product/illuminating-ladies-a-coloring-book-of-mormon-women-2nd-edition

The first edition was printed in 2017 in honor of the 175th anniversary of the founding of the Relief Society to celebrate the lives of Mormon women from the Restoration to the modern day. The first edition has since sold out.

Illustrations and full-page bios include figures of pioneering women who are both familiar and less well known, like Jane Manning James, Amy Brown Lyman, Julia Nompi Mavimbela, Emma Smith, and Eliza R. Snow. The second edition includes all 25 women from the first edition as well as two new women: Olene Smith Walker and Perla del Carmen Sepulveda Rivera Garcia. 

Beautifully illustrated by Molly Cannon Hadfield with accompanying biographical sketches written by members of the Exponent II community, this coloring book offers both the young and young at heart a lovely new way to learn more about these inspiring Saints.

Pre-orders will be open until October 10th. After that, we will have a limited number of copies for sale on our website. The expected ship date for all pre-orders is the first week of November. Please understand there may be printing or shipping delays beyond our control due to COVID-19.

Purchase personal and gift copies now!

https://exponentii.org/product/illumi...

 

The COVID Thoughts of an ER Nurse: 2020 WHO Year of the Nurse and the Midwife

 

“I get to take care of everyone and everything,” my sister Paige says. “Everyone ends up in the ER at some point.”

Paige works as a travel nurse and fills a shift that few other nurses want to take: nights in the emergency room. She considered medical school, but decided against it because, as she says, “The kind of medicine I’m interested in, I never wanted to be the primary care provider. This way I get the challenge, I get to do all the hard work th[image error]at comes with critical patients, but I also get to spend time with them, reassure them, and put them at ease.”

And she’s wonderful at it. When I had a heart attack a year ago, Paige flew out to keep an eye on me while I was in the hospital. She ended up scolding a lazy night nurse and giving me a much-needed bed bath herself. And the moral support? Off the charts.

“I did a couple of job shadows,” she says. “I really enjoy getting to know people. I also enjoy the detective work it takes to track down what’s wrong with someone, but as a doctor it’s the exception rather than the rule to be able to spend that time and build that relationship. That’s why I do bedside nursing, why I haven’t become a nurse practitioner.”

With COVID, she’s finding that her relationships with patients are even more meaningful. “I’m their emotional support, their sounding board, and their port in a very rough storm,” she says. “When we don’t allow visitors, it has forced us to become the emotional support–even more than before–for our patients, for everything and anything they’re going through. It allows me to create bonds with my patients that I don’t otherwise have the opportunity to create.”

To be fair, I should also include that Paige enjoys the roller-coaster ride that is the emergency room. Day shift, she says, is a lot of broken bones and falls; night shift is “You put what where?” She’ll call me many mornings with hair-raising patient antics: the man who tried to light a cigarette while he was on oxygen; the prisoner who offered to shiv another patient for her; various attempted sexual acts gone hilariously wrong. Her favorite scrub cap is made of blood-spatter fabric. But she really is charmed by the people.

“I had this really sweet patient that I took care of in July, a late-80s-early-90s-year-old woman who used to be a nurse at the hospital I was working at. She used to be the charge nurse in the ER when the ER was two beds in one room. It was neat to have that little tie with her. I admitted her and we talked about her career as I came in and out of the room and took care of her. She was absolutely adorable and she commiserated when the guy in the room next to her was yelling and cussing me out. I handed her off to day shift. And then maybe a week ago I came into work and heard I had a very sick patient I was going to take over from another nurse. There were three nurses in the room with her as she was getting a blood transfusion, one giving me report and the other one doing pressure bag and fluids, and another managing her transfusion, and the patient was head-down in the gurney with her blood pressure in the 70s. When I came in her head popped up off the gurney and she said, ‘Paige? I think you took care of me a while ago. I’m so glad to have you as my nurse again.’ And the other nurses said, ‘Well, forget the blood. All she needed was Paige.’ The woman said, ‘I meant to write you a card last time and it slipped my mind and I’ve thought about it every day since I went home from the hospital. I want you to know it’s not going to slip my mind this time.'”

During COVID, with a sharply increased risk to medical personnel and hospitals unwilling or unable to cough up funds for sufficient PPE, she finds herself reusing N95 masks for multiple shifts, heat-sterilizing them over and over until they’re unusable. Her advice to everyone else: “I’m not saying don’t go do things, but be careful and do your best to protect others and show your love for them. Wearing that mask and social distancing–doing your part–that’s the love and support solidarity we saw after 9/11, and that’s what I think this pandemic could bring us, if only people would buy in.”

Divinity, Service and Gratitude: WHO Year of the Nurse and Midwife

Guest post by Aislynn

Aislynn is a pediatric nurse and will soon graduate as a psychiatric nurse practitioner. She loves finding glimpses of God on hikes, while baking, and in Mumford and Sons lyrics.  She lives with her husband and two crazy kids in Northern Virginia. 

 

Nursing is a unique blend of science and people skills.  Combining knowledge with practical, fast paced skills is what first led me to a career in nursing.  Now, six years after passing the infamous NCLEX, I stay in nursing for a different, selfish reason.  My shifts at the hospital are how I wrestle with God.  Soon after graduating, I entered the rocky spiritual pilgrimage of a faith crisis.  Three hours of church on Sunday during a faith transition leaves much to be desired.  God became stale to me, served on prepared platters of patriarchy each Sunday.  In my first hospital job after licensure, I readily agreed to work weekend shifts to avoid getting pressure ulcers from sitting in cushioned pews.

 

I read an article titled “Helping, Fixing, Serving” years before I was a nurse in preparation for working in a Romanian children’s hospital.

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“Holding Sorrows” by Caitlin Connolly

The article delineated differences between the three verbs: “Fixing and helping create a distance between people, but we cannot serve at a distance.  We can only serve that to which we are profoundly connected.” (Reference: Remen, R.N., Kitchen Table Wisdom, September 1999).  Nursing, at its core, is about connecting with humanity emotionally and physically.  This definition of service defines my work as a nurse.

 

Vibrancy crept back into my faith as I worked weekend night shifts.  God became alive again through the miles walked on my unit.  I learned what it was to connect with infants unable to breathe: to feel anxious and utterly confused, then the sweet relief of flowing oxygen.  I strategized with weary parents on how to avoid waking up a chronically ill toddler in the middle of the night: to preserve a sliver of quiet in an otherwise chaotic rotation of needles, drugs, and loss of control.  Advocacy became a hallmark of my nights, finding strength amplifying patient’s needs in the wee hours of the morning.

 

Connection is not at all glamorous nor quietly spiritual.  Connection is gritty, mortal, and bold.  Bodily fluids of all textures and colors are heavily involved.  The human body has a myriad of secrets only divulged under deep stress: the smell of a wound freshly stitched and cauterized, the sight of a swollen body filled with tubes, the sounds of illicitly obtained Hot Cheetos being regurgitated into a colostomy bag.  I was heavily pregnant with my daughter about a year after starting weekend night shifts.  I lugged her around inside me, a witness to these secrets. We would waddle down the halls fetching ice water and convincing stubborn baby hearts to continue beating.

 

My experience with connection as service was not limited to the physical.  There were many difficult social situations with patients and families on the unit.  Sometimes, babies would be left alone by family members due to economic pressures or a logistical inability to be present.  One weekend I was assigned to care for such a baby, who I’ll call Sam.  Sam was a beautiful baby, a head full of dark hair and gorgeous eyes.  Weekends tended to be shorter staffed and I had a full assignment. I was trying to complete my tasks as efficiently as possible, multiple needs and deadlines competing for priority in my mind.  I was bending over Sam, giving medication through a tube when I felt a little hand grab at my sleeve.  The hand would grab and let go, grasping for something.  Throughout my experiences in Romania and other nursing opportunities I had felt little and big hands like that before: hands reaching for love, for something they know they are missing.

 

I picked Sam up and held them close for a moment.  My back was kinked.  I was hot and stressed about my other patients.  But I picked this baby up, grasping their hands in return for their reaching.  I watched as Sam’s eyes closed in a tired respite, just wanting to feel comforted by another being.

 

Often, nursing is filled with charting, running around, and simply completing tasks.  But that weekend, cleaning up Sam whenever they vomited and anticipating their need for pain meds, slowing down a tube feeding, or diarrhea diaper changes, nursing was service.  Dr. Naomi Remen stated: “Service is a relationship between equals… Fixing and helping are draining, and over time we may burn out…In helping we may find a sense of satisfaction; in serving we find a sense of gratitude.”  Sam was a child of the Divine, just as we all are.  Sam’s core needs reflected my own needs: a need to be seen, to be felt, to be heard.

 

Service through nursing rarely answers my existential questions flung towards the heavens.  Every shift, I wrestle with the problem of pain, suffering, and injustice.  This is the truth I’ve found: God is in the space between two hands reaching for each other.  The Church denies me hierarchical authority to serve sacraments of bread and water between church pews.  Instead, I find gratitude through serving a sacrament of antibiotics, ice chips, or fresh diapers to glimpses of God in the rooms of a hospital.

Mormonads for Mitt

Frustrated by Utah Sen. Mitt Romney’s caving to the Republican Party and supporting a vote on a new Supreme Court justice? My friend Ashley made these handy postcards just for you.

Mittens wouldn’t be Mittens if he didn’t flip-flop, and you can help! Print out one or both of the linked pre-addressed postcard sheets (use heavy cardstock and be sure to print the address page on the back), cut into four, share with three friends, and tell him exactly how you want him to flip. Throw on a 35-cent stamp and the Postal Service will get your message to Mitt in a jiffy.

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If for some reason you aren’t able to print things out, mention it in the comments and we’ll send you pre-printed postcards for a nominal fee.

Ashley Hoffman is a graphic & web designer, animator, and singer living in Denver, Colorado. You can see more of her work at ashleyhoffmandesign.com. 

Calling the Midwives: A Personal Essay: WHO Year and the Nurse and the Midwife

Guest Post by MarieC

 

Marie C is mother to one human, two felines, and a husband, living in Gippsland, Australia. She does aerial fitness in her spare time and has picked up Bullet Journaling as a COVID hobby. She hopes to become a teacher sometime this century and maybe publish a book if she ever finds the time. Her favourite colour is purple and one of her many obsessions is Doctor Who. 

 

January 31st, 2020. 1:46am. That’s when I became a mother.

 

This is not my birth story though. This is my midwife story. That is, my experience with all the many midwives who contributed to bringing my son into this world safely.

 

The first midwife I dealt with was actually a Nurse Practitioner at my local clinic. Due to my BMI and a family history of diabetes, I was tested at 10 weeks pregnant for Gestational Diabetes. I tested positive and was hauled in the very next day to discuss the diagnosis. This particular nurse started as a midwife and so she worked closely with the obstetric cases within the clinic and that’s why she’s included in this story.

 

Now normally after the first trimester I would have all or most of my appointments with the midwives at the hospital. [image error]For whatever reason, which thoroughly confused the hospital staff, I didn’t. All my appointments went through my general practitioner (GP), who was also one of the GPs for the maternity ward. For this reason, the next midwife I saw was for my booking in appointment for the hospital and then I didn’t really see any until my 3rd trimester.

 

In my third trimester, before the birth, I saw a total of 3 midwives. One was for a movement check. I had read all these things about how much your baby should be moving and how not enough movement is the first sign of a problem. My son always had been (and still is) the chillest baby you ever did meet. My husband got to feel one kick the entire pregnancy. Even when he was born the midwives were worried and trying to get him to cry because he only gave one soft little cry and they thought something was wrong because of it (As his mother, I knew he was fine, he just isn’t as much of a loudmouth as me). It was because of the hype around movements and his total lack in that department that I found myself getting hooked up to the monitor and spending an hour poking, jiggling, drinking cold water, talking, and singing just to get this kid to MOVE. The midwife was lovely and encouraging and giving me ideas to get him moving and laughing with me as he continued to not move. She was less than impressed when I referred to him as stubborn though. (Just an FYI, in my family, stubborn isn’t an insult. Saying he was stubborn was like saying he was going to have blue eyes or brown hair. It’s just a genetic trait in our family.) After an hour or so, he finally kicked, real hard, just above my belly button where one of the monitors sat.

 

The second time I saw a midwife before the birth was for a pre-eclampsia check.

 

Spoiler Alert: I did not have pre-eclampsia.

 

One of my husband’s colleagues misconstrued a check to mean that I definitely had it. That was awkward. I had stupidly swollen feet and nothing I did was really helping so just to be safe, off we went at 10’o’clock at night to pee in a cup and again wait for this kid to kick. It was a quiet night on the ward so we got to sit and chat with our midwife and she was just lovely. I remember walking away that night and saying to my husband: “Her. I want her at my delivery.” Another spoiler: I was in hospital for 6 days for the birth with 3 shifts of midwives every day. She probably was there at some stage but I met so many midwives I can’t remember all of their names.

 

Finally the third was when I went to the breastfeeding clinic for a prenatal class. The clinic is run by specialist midwives called Lactation Consultants (LC). The LCs I dealt with were also lovely and very sweet and gentle. They gave me everything I needed, both in knowledge and equipment, for expressing colostrum pre-birth (not a necessity for all pregnancies, but I was considered high risk due to the diabetes and so it’s recommended so my baby could just have my milk instead of formula should something go wrong, which it did). I also met with them after the birth when I was having feeding issues and they watched me nurse him and gave me tips and suggestions to make things easier!

 

At 38 weeks, on a Tuesday in January, I went in to the hospital for an induction. My birth story is another essay on its own so I’ll keep it simple. The induction took 3 days. They used the Cervadil tape, Syntocinon drip, and artificially ruptured my membrane TWICE and after 3 days, including 17 hours of labour, my son was born via an emergency caesarean. As previously mentioned, I met a LOT of midwives during my hospital stay. Generally they would come in 2-3 times during a shift to check mine and the baby’s vitals and write down some observations. I’m not going to detail every last midwife I had, but there are 4 that really stood out among the rest.

 

First was Heidi. Heidi had about 3 shifts at least during my stay. I first met her on day 2, when I was really frustrated and sorely uninformed. The midwife that morning had introduced herself and then never came back for any observations. I had been under the impression we would be delivering that day and was laying there waiting to be taken across to one of the delivery rooms. Finally I let my mum in because I clearly wasn’t going. Then we were told 3 different stories as to why I hadn’t been taken over and also when the doctors would be coming to check my progress. Heidi was the supervising midwife that day and also the following day. Heidi is very good at her job and friendly too. She managed to calm me and my mother and get to the bottom of the mix up. She constantly would check on us and inform us throughout her shift both days. Her third shift was a couple days later and so she got to meet my son before we left.

 

The second was the midwife who looked after me for the worst part of my delivery. Unfortunately I can’t remember her name, but she was a miracle worker and I’m so glad she was there. During active labour, one midwife is assigned to you for the entire shift so nothing goes unobserved and there is continuity of care. I was the only person for her to look after and she was the only person looking after me. She also had been doing this for 20 odd years and was now training others to do it too. She wasn’t just kind and gentle like the others, she also protected me. The doctors were instructing her to increase the hormones again, but she fought them on it. She saw this poor girl, having her first baby, doubled over and crying from the pain that was not ebbing and flowing like it’s supposed to and who was trying every possible suggestion to cope with it: Nitrous oxide, moving, changing positions, exercise ball, water therapy in the shower, massage… She saw me and she put her foot down for me. She taught my husband and my mother a massage technique that was the ONLY thing to truly relieve the pain for even a moment. When I couldn’t do it anymore and I asked about the epidural, she (and my mother) told me that it was okay and that I wasn’t a failure for making that choice. This woman was my hero.

 

[image error]The third was Courtney. Courtney actually knew my husband from school. She was with me in the last hours of birth. She was there as the decision was made that we had to go for a caesarean. She was in the operating room with me and my husband during the surgery. She stayed with my husband as he went with our son to the resuscitation table. She was there talking to me as they took me into recovery and placed a warm blanket on me and told me I could sleep now if I wanted to. She was there when I woke up and rolled me up to the nursery to see my baby. She even made me the best ham and cheese toastie I’ve ever had at 4 in the morning.

 

I’ve left Vicky for last. I want this to be an honest account of my experience with midwives and if I only wrote about the superheroes, then it wouldn’t be honest. Vicky was one of the midwives I had after the birth and she was the complete opposite of everyone else. She didn’t ask permission to come in or to touch me. If my son didn’t latch straight away, she would grab my breast and his head and make him latch. She spoke of her strong political views and often complained about her work to me. I have never before submitted a complaint about someone, but I did submit one about her.

 

There are just a few more I’d like to mention:

The night-shift midwife from my second night who came when I called because I was breaking down and couldn’t handle the combination of Baby Blues and cluster-feeding. She took my son and looked after him while I got a whopping 2 hours of sleep.
The same night-shift midwife who the next night picked up on a heart murmur that no one else had noticed in 3 days.
The midwives who came to my home everyday for an entire week while we battled jaundice and waited to hear from the Maternal Child Health Nurse.
The midwives on the ‘Pregnancy, Birth, and Baby’ hotline who listened to my sometimes ridiculous concerns and advised me whether I could take certain medication or should contact the hospital or sometimes just assuaged my anxious Mum-brain.
And last but certainly not least, the two student midwives who assisted either through support throughout the pregnancy or during labour itself. They were learning but still so helpful and kind.

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Basically, midwives are amazing. It takes a special soul to support an expectant or new mum and to help guide our children into this world safely. Like in any industry or role, there are the sour ones that ruin it for others, and sometimes they’re fine at the job, but the personalities clash. Whatever the reason, you’re perfectly within your rights to ask for another midwife. 99% of them, though, are superheroes and guardian angels. I don’t know where my son and I would be today without them.

Where Two or Three are Gathered #CopingWithCOVID19

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” Matthew 18:20

My ward resumed sacrament meeting two Sundays ago. We’re currently meeting twice per month, on the second and third Sundays. Attendance is capped at 99, but there are few enough people attending that no one is turned away and we haven’t had to divide the services. The meeting, with the exception of the administration of the sacrament, is livestreamed for people who can’t or don’t wish to attend in person, and home administration of the sacrament is still authorized.

Since I’m single, female, and do not live with other church members, the cancellation of church services was very challenging for me. I sometimes went weeks without being able to take the sacrament, until the father of one of the kids in my primary class became aware of my plight and took it upon himself to bring me the sacrament. So when I found out that I would be able to attend church again, I was overjoyed.

[image error]Plastic face shield – clear in the eye area and black paisley design in the nose and mouth area

The email that the bishop sent out indicated that “face coverings” are required. I appreciated the inclusiveness, since I have a disability that prevents the wearing of a cloth mask. On doctor’s orders, I wear a plastic face shield instead, and I was relieved that no one would be turning me away at the door.

When I arrived at the chapel, I was warmly welcomed. I went to find a seat, and that’s where the first bit of weirdness started. Before the pandemic, there was a pew on the left side of the chapel, about halfway back, that we jokingly called the “Beyoncé Bench” because it’s where all the single ladies sit. With the new rules, only people who live in the same household are permitted to sit together, and someone else was already on that bench. So I took a seat in the back corner of the last center pew and watched the smiling happy families around me. I felt alone and isolated, but at least I was at church.

The meeting began. There was piano prelude but no congregational singing. After the non-singing opening hymn, there was the opening prayer, and then we did ward business. I generally find ward business to be a bit dull, but being back at church was such a rare treat that I enjoyed it. Yes, I do sustain these ward members in their new callings, even if I don’t know them because I haven’t seen anyone in 6 months and we’ve had a dozen move-ins.

In order to accommodate the video stream, the order of the meeting was changed up a bit. Instead of administering the sacrament, we had a special musical number – a cello duet. Then the bishop gave a talk. He spoke about hope. I don’t remember much of what he said, but I remember the joy and relief at being allowed to gather in communal worship again. More than two or three were gathered in the name of Jesus, and Jesus was in our midst.

After the bishop’s talk, the video feed was cut and the sacrament was administered. I really like having the sacrament last. It made it feel more central and momentous. I attended a Catholic university, so on occasion I visited mass. I liked that everything in mass led up to communion at the end, making it clear what the main event was. By having the sacrament administered at the end of sacrament meeting, everything likewise built up to the crowning piece of the service – the memorialization of the Atonement.

The bread was in cups. We were spaced every other pew, so the deacons walked down the empty pews to give the sacrament to each congregant. No one but the deacon touched the tray. Rather than dispose of our used cups in the trays, there were paper bags at the end of each pew for us to put our cups in. After the meeting, we took our bags and put them in a trash can in the foyer.

There was a closing song, once again without singing, and then a closing prayer. The meeting took about 40 minutes total.

There was nothing particularly special about the meeting, but at the same time, everything was special about it. The Sabbath was truly a holy day that day.

The next Sunday, I arrived early and sat in my usual pew. Although I was alone instead of with friends, it felt comforting to sit somewhere familiar. And instead of piano prelude, we listened to a pre-recorded choral number, so even though we weren’t singing, I got to hear communal singing nonetheless. Stake conference online this week, general conference online next week, and then back to sacrament meeting, almost, but not quite normal.

I look forward to when I can sit with friends, sing, and see people’s faces. But until then, I’ll relish in the fact that at least I can go to church. I’ll never take it for granted again.

VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE

What’s your voting plan?

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The coming election in the United States is one of the most important in our history. As a feminist platform, we are encouraging all our readers to register and have a plan to vote. But we’re asking you to not just be thinking about yourself. Ask your friends and family: Are you registered at your current address? What’s your voting plan? We all belong to circles of communities: friends, workplaces, families, and social groups. Check in with your people and make sure they know their options.

This website will give you the state-by-state resources you need. You can check your registration status, request an absentee ballot if available, look up your polling station, and even look at your voting history. If you’ve voted by mail, you can check to verify that your vote has been counted.

This election is likely to proceed unlike any before. Intersectional feminists have a responsibility to be informed and engaged citizens. Make sure you’re ready to do your part. Vote early and bring your people with you.

Migrating into Midwifery and Nursing: WHO 2020 ear of the Nurse and the Midwife

Guest post by Tori.

 

Tori loves living in Australia, but travelling around the world taking in all the different cultures, scenery and food gives her life. She has a Chinese, Samoan and English heritage, that has resulted in crazy curls. She enjoys anything outdoors, rainy days, playing any sport and learning new crafts.

 

[image error]Before becoming a senior in high school, we had a careers day which encouraged us to look into various careers for after high school. In this, we were given an aptitude test that searches for your strengths, what you enjoy, what you are good at. Maths wasn’t a strong subject for my family and as I was good at sports, it was presumed that I wasn’t mathematically minded. Surprising to everyone I was great at maths and science.

 

I love helping people. I also enjoyed little babies. The things that combined helping, babies and maths were nursing and midwifery. Thankfully my perspective rank and grades were setting me up for admission into the university I wanted. I thought about what my life would look like as a nurse and midwife and doing that forever would look like. I thought it would be amazing.

 

How right I was.

 

I could not have chosen a career better suited to my personality. If you work a job you love it’s like never working a day in your life. I just didn’t get to that path the way I had envisioned. But Heavenly Father knows exactly the way we need to get there.

 

The school careers counsellor informed me of a program that I could start while in high school. It would be tertiary level education while still managing secondary school load. It would require me to go to a university campus one day a week. But it guaranteed a spot and direct entry into the registered nursing program once I finished the diploma course. After discussion with my parents, I decided to do it.

 

But not everything was given. The course opened earlier than I expected–  and it was filled by the time I was originally told that enrollments would open.  I was crushed. I didn’t know what to do.

 

 

But My father did. Or maybe he didn’t. But he wasn’t going to stand by and watch me miss out. He wrote to the minister of health and the minister for education. All of a sudden, the limited 40-place course had room for one more. Me!

 

It was important to me to have parents who supported my dream. Without them,  I don’t think I would be a nurse or a midwife. Of the class of 41 that we started, only 6 finished the course. I was one.  It was not easy.

 

My senior school years were busy. One day each week, I would go to tafe (college), then the other 4 days I spent at my high school. I managed a solid GPA, plus, I was on the netball, volleyball and swim teams for school. On the side, I coached the under-15s netball with another student, I volunteered one day of the week as a tutor and had a part time job at the movies.

 

It was a busy time, but I was lucky. I had a lesson when I was in senior primary that taught me to put the important and vital things first in my life, then the other things would settle into the cracks of time you had left. I found this to be true, and through this,  I learned the importance of time management and work life balance.

 

The vital things for me were Heavenly Father, Family, School, my commitments. So, I made sure I went to early morning seminary every day. This was good because I had something every night of the week. Monday was family home evening. Tuesday was coaching, Wednesday was mutual, Thursday was work, Friday was practice for my commitments to the various teams. While my family supported my dreams, it was not an excuse to not be present in the family. Family time was expected every night and chores were expected to be completed by the time my parents returned home from work. This meant over my senior year, I watched maybe an hour of TV a week. My time was tightly balanced. My time with friends was spent at the extracurricular activities, seminary and mutual.

 

Although sometimes it feels like you are on  the right path, it does not mean that path will be  easy. I found this out when my family needed to move out of state  in my final year of high school. If I left with my family all of my hard work would go down the drain. My parents and I decided that it would be best that I stayed in Brisbane with my grandparents to finish high school, then move down to Sydney with them. This would mean that I would lose my spot I was guaranteed at university. But I would be able to be with my family.

 

So I had a choice: open-door into university, or the more challenging route, but being with my family? I chose family. I had missed them a lot in the months I had spent without them. I was always so close with my family. While a career is important, my faith and family will always be a higher priority. Being truly rich in this life is not money related to me. It is how much you love and are loved.

 

 

When I moved interstate, I did not get into nursing at university. I was, however, given a job in a nursing home. I managed to gain love for these people and their stories. As the residents left this life, I would pop into a room and say a little prayer to Heavenly Father. It really brought me closer to Him.

 

 

It was also where I heard from other staff members about an opportunity. I could finish my diploma that I had started at high school. I was also informed that it was highly unlikely to get into the course close to home as if was a scholarship position and I would be better off just applying an hour away and paying. But with Heavenly father everything was possible. My family was not rich and did not have the money to pay for the course. I needed the scholarship. I needed to be close to work to continue to work as I studied and to help my family. I was financially providing for my family at this point. I applied and got in the first round. I finished the diploma in 10 months and was given a job at the hospital as part of the scholarship. I was placed on the general surgery ward. This specialised in colorectal, breast and endocrine, plastics and ear, nose and throat surgeries. They provided education sessions weekly, I learned team work and post-operative care for so many surgeries. This job not only helped my family as it doubled my income, but I knew it was part of Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I could not have known that I would have needed this experience. I didn’t know that the path that I was on would lead me to where I am now. I worked that job for 18 months before wanting to continue my education.

 

In my nursing program, all students begin interning in geriatrics; almost all first placements are in nursing homes. It is one of the most neglected areas of nursing that a lot of nurses avoid. It is often not really considered a real nursing by other nurses working in the hospital. It is not acute, there is very little input from other health professionals and it is long term care with little to no nursing skills or intervention required. It requires a lot of hard work, patient basic care with very little time for real patient interaction and teaches time management in one of the most ruthless ways.

 

When I went on my first placement I was 16. I was a lifelong church member,  raised in a conservative Mormon family of all daughters. Because of this, I had never seen a naked male —until my first day nursing placement. That day, the staff had given me an elderly gentlemen to help with his cares. He was normally independent and just needed prompting. However he was ill this day. And he was sexualising me. I had no idea what to do. They had left me alone with an elderly man that instead of following my direction, was trying to grope me. This was my first experience with what many nurses face. I placed the elderly gentleman in a safe position and went to go get help. The man was suffering from a urinary tract infection, that causes confusion and makes people act out of character. This was picked up when I reported how he had responded when I went to get him ready that morning.  In trade-off, the senior nurses asked for help with their current job—which was in  bathing a paraplegic gentleman. As a conservative Mormon teenager, I was inexperienced with some sexual anatomy things that the nurses expected me to know. This day was a baptism by fire. Had my dad not fought so hard for me to getting into this nursing program, I honestly would have quit nursing right there. But having family support, and knowing that this was not reflective of all nursing, I knew it would get better.

 

I understand why my nursing school does this. It teaches you the foundational skills you will need in a hospital. But I also understand why nursing jobs in aged care are neglected and why often there is a shortage of nurses. With an aging population, life expectancy being extended as we learn more about health and have access to modern medicine. Nursing care in aged care homes or assisting people in their homes needs more attention. While some of the softest and kindest people dedicate their lives to nursing in nursing homes, due to the high demand of staff it is often where people who have more nefarious intentions can end up. They are not staffed correctly and so the residents and patients are the ones who suffer. Especially if the facility places importance on their bottom line as opposed to the quality of life for their residents.

 

 

I always wanted to work in midwifery. But I also found a passion for surgical nursing that I never thought I would. In Sydney, you need to do your Registered Nursing first and then apply to do a postgraduate in midwifery. But due to the popularity, getting into midwifery in Sydney would be hard. Most Registered nurses who were amazing apply every year for 5 years and are still unsuccessful. I wanted to do the dual degree, to complete both a lot faster. However, they only offered the dual degrees back in Brisbane. I was aware that I was also a huge support to my family financially. I also loved my job and could have continued to work while I studied if I stayed. I prayed and fasted on what Heavenly Father had planned for me. My family also did the same. However, our answers did not match. This broke my heart. But I decided to leave the decision with the Lord. Getting into a dual degree would not be easy. It required a high rank and was highly unlikely I would get it. Whereas nursing in Sydney at this point was a given. I sent in applications to both Brisbane for the dual and Sydney to do my registered nursing. If Heavenly Father wanted me to the dual I would get in. If not, I would stay, do my registered nursing.

 

The Sunshine Coast University granted me a spot to do the dual degree. Heavenly Father wanted me to do the dual degree. I packed up my belongings, and travelled back to Brisbane. Not before I had a huge car accident that used up half of my savings I had for when I first got to Brisbane. I got a job within the first week of getting to Brisbane, but I was 2 weeks behind in my classes. I had to catch up and had no idea what I was doing. The dual degree program was cancelled the next year as not a lot of people were completing it due to the difficulty. My intake was the last intake, they needed to teach it out. But that meant if I gave up, there was no way to get back into the dual at my university. A lot of my friends in the dual dropped one degree. Some just did nursing and others just midwifery. The things expected from each degree were completely different. In midwifery you give it a go under supervision. In nursing, if you aren’t taught it you can’t do it even if you are supervised and sometimes you are taught it but not allowed to do it. It needs to be taught but until you have your qualification and are employed you can’t attempt it.

 

After all these trials. I know it is exactly what I want to do. After helping multiple women bring their babies into the world. Educating them to be the strong powerful women they are. It was not without heartache. But I couldn’t see myself in any other job. Having completed the dual degree finally, I am hoping that for the next step in my journey will be in rural and remote midwifery and nursing. To empower people to champion their own care with the information I can provide.

 

I feel like Heavenly Father has called me to be a nurse and a midwife. I see his hand leading and guiding me constantly. This profession has strengthened my relationship with my father in heaven. In this profession I am able to share his love and be the tool I pray to be in other’s lives. People are vulnerable when I meet them in my line of work. When I communicate with love, people feel safe and are able to trust me. Heavenly Father knew this career was for me. He knew exactly how I needed to get here. He has placed certain people in my path to assist and make me the person I am. Often we don’t always understand our purpose, why death is necessary or why such kind people are taken from us. While these moments hurt, I have never been so sure of Heavenly Fathers plan as I am at those moments. I feel the spirit so strong at those moments. The more I learn about the human body and the incredible way Heavenly Father has designed this world, the more I know He Lives,  and He loves us.

 

Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Ordaining LDS Women

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I was riding in the car with my family Friday evening when my phone popped up the news alert that Ruth Bader Ginsburg had passed away. I told my husband, who immediately jumped to discussing politics and whether Republicans will nominate someone before the election or not. I didn’t want to talk about that. I wanted to just stop and think about her for a minute. I looked at my husband and realized that she meant so much more to me as a woman than she ever could have to him.

A couple years ago I went by myself to see the movie “On the Basis of Sex”. On the drive home (while thinking about the movie) I began sobbing unexpectedly. It was weird. I wasn’t expecting that to happen.

I was also involved with Ordain Women a few years ago (which you can hate or love, but read some of my experience HERE) and I guess the portrayal of RBG on screen brought up so many memories of my own experience that the emotions bubbled up and overflowed until I was crying so hard I couldn’t see the road. 

You see, Ruth Bader Ginsburg worked very hard to get the ball rolling towards gender equality under the law, and everyone told her it was unnecessary and ridiculous and would cause many, many problems – up to and including ending the American way of life. I was surprised at the similarities between what people said to her as a young woman and what people said to me as part of Ordain Women. For example…

Here are some things people told RBG:

Women are special and should be protected from having to do the things men do – like serving on a jury and hearing the details of terrible crimes.
If women start doing manly things like engineering, fire fighting or law enforcement, the men will feel emasculated and stop doing anything at all. 
What woman would even WANT to be an airline pilot, work overtime, or get credit cards in her own name (unless it’s to hide purchases from her husband)? 
No woman we’ve talked to has a problem with women’s role in our country. 
This is the way our society has worked for thousands of years – women stay at home and take care of children, and men go to work. Why do you want to change what has been working for humankind for millennia? Have you ever considered there was a good reason for why it happens this way? 
If you had things your way, it would hurt women and single mothers! These laws are in place specifically to protect them from things like military service or paying child support. 
Jury duty is such a pain! Women are so lucky they don’t have to be a part of it. Fewer women commit crimes anyway, so it’s not like women are being sentenced by an all male jury very frequently anyway. 
Men are naturally better at math, science and politics and do better in the working world, but women have the most important job of all in society – being homemakers!

Here are some weirdly parallel things people told me about ordaining women: 

Women are more spiritual and shouldn’t have to do uncomfortable priesthood duties – like hearing terrible confessions of sin.
If women are ordained and become bishops, ward clerks, and can give their kids blessings themselves, the men will quit serving and let them do everything.
What woman would ever WANT to be a bishop or called as an apostle?  And why would a woman want to get called at midnight to give someone a blessing? Those are all really hard jobs! 
I’ve talked to my sisters and my wife, and none of them want the priesthood.
Jesus ordained twelve men as his apostles, and only men have ever been called as apostles since. Are you arguing with Jesus and how he did things? 
Giving women priesthood power would hurt them. We have enough responsibilities as it is. Can you even imagine adding even more to your plate?
Sitting in on disciplinary councils is the worst. Why would any woman want to be part of one anyway? Only men with the priesthood are judged at the stake level anyway, so while it’s true a woman will only have men on her council it’s a much smaller group – just her bishopric and the ward clerk. 
Men are much better at this kind of stuff – compartmentalizing what is going on with members of the ward from home and work matters. Women would stay up all night worrying, but that’s what makes them such good homemakers and mothers. 

IT’S ALL SO MUCH ALIKE!

There was a powerful scene in the movie where the dean of Harvard tried to convince RBG that American law was set up to help women, as it ensured they wouldn’t have to do all the difficult things that men have to (like earn a living, for example). In frustration she responded to him emphatically, “It’s not a privilege, it’s a cage. And these laws are the bars!”

I sat in my bishop’s office one day as he told me he believed Latter-day Saint women are the most privileged women on earth. He said we are admired, respected and adored by the priesthood holders in our lives, and honored for our femininity and ability to nurture children. I remember thinking, “So we should be happy with zero authority because at least we’re popular and nice?”. That Harvard movie scene brought that bishop’s office memory back to me so vividly.

RBG tried repeatedly to get into places reserved for men only, and she faced laughter and verbal abuse for it. She was one of the very first women ever allowed to attend Harvard for a law degree. She was often the only woman in the room, with all the men looking uncomfortably at her, bothered that she was intruding her femaleness into their previously all male sanctuaries.

I remember when my group with Ordain Women was finally allowed into a priesthood session at the Marriott Center at BYU. We were a tiny island of dresses in a sea of suits. It felt exciting (and also a bit weird), knowing that most men in the huge room were unhappy seeing us there, encroaching on what had always been a men’s club before we demanded entry, too. Somehow knowing about all the other women in history who have felt the same emotions we were feeling that day made it easier to be there. We weren’t the first women to challenge gender barriers like that by a long shot, and I for one was comforted to see that history usually proves those challengers right in the end.

 

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Women joining the men in priesthood session at the Marriott Center for the very first time, (kind of) like RBG heading into Harvard law classes in the 1950s. (She’s still way cooler than us, but we did our best.)

Rest in peace RBG – from all the women in our church who are hoping for a better future, just like you always did.