Lakeside
This time last year I was spending most of my time sitting by the lake in Mandeville, Louisiana, as I was on rotation down there and did not know a single soul. My clinic was small, my church was small, the town was small, and no one was interested in making new friends. The most friendship-type interaction I had was seeing the same people at Orange Theory week after week.
No one probably really knew or will ever know how rough that rotation was except for Trish, the other girl in my class that was there at the time, or the two girls that started their rotation there after us and were unable to finish. My patience was tried, my clinical skills, judgement and knowledge were confused more than I ever thought they would be, and my inner moral compass was on high alert for twelve weeks straight. That being said, I learned a LOT about myself in 12 weeks living alone, managing a caseload for the first time, and moving to a brand new city knowing no one 17 hours away from home.
One of the first weekends I was alone in Mandeville I woke up angry. I remember being in such a bad mood and being partly glad I was alone so I didn't have to share it with anyone, but partly angry that I would spend the next ten weeks totally alone. The way my clinic scheduled their patients, I would often see 10-20 kids between 2 and 6 p.m., so I didn't spend much time working. That weekend felt like the beginning to a very lonely and angry 12 weeks, but I didn't realize that things would slowly look up from there. That morning I told myself I was getting out of my apartment and I was taking my bible, my journal, and my homework to a local coffee shop (one of my favorite ways to spend down time). The first shop I picked near my apartment was closed. On a Saturday at 9 a.m. I walked away from the door with tears in my eyes. You know when you're already in a bad mood and stupid things just seem to push you over the edge? Yeah. And then you're mad that something so small made you so mad? Also yeah.
I drove to the next closest one and realized as I pulled up the the street just seemed to 'end' about a block past the coffee shop. I grabbed my backpack out of my car, immediately sweating in the Louisiana sun, and started walking...and I was greeted with this view:
Minus the sunset, because, you know, 9 a.m. It was like God was saying "Lol you THOUGHT I was going to leave you without gifts during this difficult rotation". The edge of the lake was where I spent 90% of my free time. This beach girl could not soak up enough of that goodness. I would go on runs, talk on the phone, take my bible, and just sit and exist. I watched hermit crabs and saw alligators. It was my peace when I didn't have the same immediate support system to rely on because of the distance.
By the end of the 12 weeks, I had mastered (loosely) treating up to 7 kids at a time, being flexible with an ever changing schedule, carrying an umbrella with me because Louisiana storms are not a joking matter, learned how to order a Po Boy and tried Oysters for the first time, hosted several visitors, learned how to ride the Trolley by myself, and could give the cemetery tour to those that visited. I picked Hannah up from the airport on August 3 and we spent three days seeing the sights of New Orleans, shopping in the French Market, and packing my car to get 12 weeks of stuff and two bodies home (and not an inch in my car to spare)
I credit my 2A for getting me out of my comfort zone, relying on God for more, and giving me kiddos that I loved seeing everyday, despite the difficult rotation.
I moved home the first week of August for a 6 week break filled with visiting family, soaking up time with friends I had missed dearly during those 3 months away, and helping Hannah plan her wedding. At the end of September I started a rotation at the rehab hospital living at home, and felt quite sure that I wouldn't care for this rotation. I've known for a long time I wanted a job working with kids, and I thought working with adults would make for a very long 12 weeks. (Spoiler alert: I was wrong)
I spent 12 weeks working with more clinical supervision in a day than I had in 12 weeks in Louisiana. My supervisor trusted me with patients (one at a time, wahoo), let me be creative, and made me fall in love with rehab. I encountered a patient with memory loss who reminded me of my beloved aunt who passed away several years ago, and treating her felt like treating family. I saw a man walk for the first time in 3 months after a debilitating neurological disease. I took people on outings to practice their skills, and had more than one patient cry at their own progress at discharge. I had patients yell at me for bothering them, and I had patients cry as I wiped vomit off of their clothes when therapy was just too difficult. I gently played along to the stories of my clients with dementia and felt proud of the many times I could keep them from getting agitated with redirection. I realized how much I loved inpatient and felt lucky to have landed the supervisor that I did at all her support, help, and teaching.
Throughout my 2B I was living at home (Thanks, mom and dad) spending time with my college friends, seeing family, and enjoying my favorite season in the whole universe, K-State football season. I spent a lot of time in Silver Lake with Cole and Mikayla and got to attend Chloe and Izzy's soccer games and school events. I made several trips to Omaha to visit my best friends from OT school, who were all living exactly 3 hours from Omaha in different directions. We would spend one night together, talking about fieldwork, school, our patients, and life in general. I got to visit Emma on my trips to Omaha and get her snuggles - all while feeling excited to go to work because I got to treat each patient for who they were as a person.
2B taught me about compassion, as I encountered many clients who had come to a rough patch medically. I learned more than ever that my job is about transfers and muscle testing, but even more about knowing the people you work with and healing them from the inside, too.
In the fall I got confirmation that I would be headed to Dallas for my final rotation at their inpatient rehabilitation hospital specializing in feeding therapy. The path to Dallas had been laid out so easily without much work on my part that it seemed like God was guiding me that way. For some reason, I have always loved Dallas, and I felt so, SO excited to do a rotation there. Many people asked what my plans were for after graduation, and for some reason staying in Dallas felt like the answer, even though I am not someone who makes those types of decisions lightly. Again, I assumed it was God directing my steps towards that way. The first week of January I made the drive on a cold, cold day and prepared for my last five months (or so I thought) of clinical.
It was less than a day in Dallas before I felt overwhelmed. My anxiety built up quickly with lots of factors, both within the rotation and external to the rotation. Somehow this rotation seemed vastly different from every other OT setting I had ever been in, and the fieldwork expectations were nowhere near what I'd previously experienced. I felt like a failure day after day with every single session or activity I tried - I honestly cannot think of a single thing I did right the entire time I was there. I felt frustrated at my inability to keep up but also frustrated because I couldn't understand what the true issue was. At the end of week 7, a mutual decision was made that I was not going to be passing the rotation, so I packed up and headed home. I cried more on the drive home from Dallas than I think I have ever cried in my whole life (which says a lot because I'm a crier) at my own incompetence. I wrote about this transition in a previous blog so there's really no need to rehash it, but it was not my favorite few weeks of life.
Despite the tough times at the hospital, I loved exploring another new city. I made friends through my church and attended a bible study. I even went to a K-State event in Dallas and got to meet Coach Klieman. I loved being able to go for runs outside in February because of the weather, and I loved being surrounded by Tex Mex. I loved going to Reunion Tower, seeing downtown lit up when I was driving anywhere, and being proud of myself for mastering driving in a big city and using public transportation. I felt so at home, and never wanted to leave.
In Dallas I learned perseverance. I learned that God doesn't just send you places he wants you to stay, He sends you places to grow you. My skills grew in Dallas despite doing very little correctly while I was there. I learned that getting a job won't mean I'm good at it, and education has to be an ongoing process to learn to be good at what I do.
On March 11, I started at a new site in Manhattan. I was really not looking forward to starting my rotation completely over, not graduating on time, and driving an hour one way for a clinical - but I was more relieved than I realized I would be to finally be home, with both of my best friends living in the area, and I told myself that I can do anything for 16 weeks to get this degree. I told myself I could move back to Texas after graduation like I wanted, and everything would work out and be the same, it would just be later than planned.
Remember when I thought that I made the plans for my own life, and that I directed my steps, not God? That was funny.
In 16 weeks in Manhattan I think I made more progress as a human and as an OT than I ever thought I could have. I fell in love with my job at this clinic and had a supervisor who magically took away my doubts about myself and my choice to join this profession and reminded me daily by her actions and compassion for her kiddos why I wanted this job in the first place. I slowly accepted the fact that God had been changing my heart and that I wasn't going to be going back to Texas anytime soon. I accepted my first job at the clinic in May and bits of my 'grief guilt' as I lovingly refer to it, returned - moving on in life or taking another big step without someone who is supposed to be taking the step with you. I processed through many things both personally and professionally during my time in Manhattan and am excited to be moving back to the Happiest Place on Earth next weekend.
In Manhattan I learned what it feels like to truly love what you do. I learned why each of my rotations, especially Dallas, hadn't worked out. I remembered why I started dreaming about being an OT almost ten years ago and was gently reminded that the Lord directs my steps despite the plans I make for my own life. I took the perseverance I learned in 8 weeks in Dallas and applied them to the kids in outpatient therapy who might be there for several years. I remembered how tough it was for me to care about going to the hospital every day when I knew everything I did would be wrong. I applied that frame of mind to a child who struggles with so many skills, and more than ever, I want to be a therapist.
Being a student was more stressful than I ever dreamed it would be but immensely more rewarding than I ever imagined. I did rotations in three states, four cities, met tons of incredible people, and learned so much about myself and my career. Most importantly, I was reminded that I am not the one who makes the plans for my life - the same God who directed my steps to the lakeside over a year ago has known His plans for me for longer than I could have planned them myself - and that is so, so, relieving.
No one probably really knew or will ever know how rough that rotation was except for Trish, the other girl in my class that was there at the time, or the two girls that started their rotation there after us and were unable to finish. My patience was tried, my clinical skills, judgement and knowledge were confused more than I ever thought they would be, and my inner moral compass was on high alert for twelve weeks straight. That being said, I learned a LOT about myself in 12 weeks living alone, managing a caseload for the first time, and moving to a brand new city knowing no one 17 hours away from home.
One of the first weekends I was alone in Mandeville I woke up angry. I remember being in such a bad mood and being partly glad I was alone so I didn't have to share it with anyone, but partly angry that I would spend the next ten weeks totally alone. The way my clinic scheduled their patients, I would often see 10-20 kids between 2 and 6 p.m., so I didn't spend much time working. That weekend felt like the beginning to a very lonely and angry 12 weeks, but I didn't realize that things would slowly look up from there. That morning I told myself I was getting out of my apartment and I was taking my bible, my journal, and my homework to a local coffee shop (one of my favorite ways to spend down time). The first shop I picked near my apartment was closed. On a Saturday at 9 a.m. I walked away from the door with tears in my eyes. You know when you're already in a bad mood and stupid things just seem to push you over the edge? Yeah. And then you're mad that something so small made you so mad? Also yeah.
I drove to the next closest one and realized as I pulled up the the street just seemed to 'end' about a block past the coffee shop. I grabbed my backpack out of my car, immediately sweating in the Louisiana sun, and started walking...and I was greeted with this view:
By the end of the 12 weeks, I had mastered (loosely) treating up to 7 kids at a time, being flexible with an ever changing schedule, carrying an umbrella with me because Louisiana storms are not a joking matter, learned how to order a Po Boy and tried Oysters for the first time, hosted several visitors, learned how to ride the Trolley by myself, and could give the cemetery tour to those that visited. I picked Hannah up from the airport on August 3 and we spent three days seeing the sights of New Orleans, shopping in the French Market, and packing my car to get 12 weeks of stuff and two bodies home (and not an inch in my car to spare)
I credit my 2A for getting me out of my comfort zone, relying on God for more, and giving me kiddos that I loved seeing everyday, despite the difficult rotation.
I moved home the first week of August for a 6 week break filled with visiting family, soaking up time with friends I had missed dearly during those 3 months away, and helping Hannah plan her wedding. At the end of September I started a rotation at the rehab hospital living at home, and felt quite sure that I wouldn't care for this rotation. I've known for a long time I wanted a job working with kids, and I thought working with adults would make for a very long 12 weeks. (Spoiler alert: I was wrong)
I spent 12 weeks working with more clinical supervision in a day than I had in 12 weeks in Louisiana. My supervisor trusted me with patients (one at a time, wahoo), let me be creative, and made me fall in love with rehab. I encountered a patient with memory loss who reminded me of my beloved aunt who passed away several years ago, and treating her felt like treating family. I saw a man walk for the first time in 3 months after a debilitating neurological disease. I took people on outings to practice their skills, and had more than one patient cry at their own progress at discharge. I had patients yell at me for bothering them, and I had patients cry as I wiped vomit off of their clothes when therapy was just too difficult. I gently played along to the stories of my clients with dementia and felt proud of the many times I could keep them from getting agitated with redirection. I realized how much I loved inpatient and felt lucky to have landed the supervisor that I did at all her support, help, and teaching.
Throughout my 2B I was living at home (Thanks, mom and dad) spending time with my college friends, seeing family, and enjoying my favorite season in the whole universe, K-State football season. I spent a lot of time in Silver Lake with Cole and Mikayla and got to attend Chloe and Izzy's soccer games and school events. I made several trips to Omaha to visit my best friends from OT school, who were all living exactly 3 hours from Omaha in different directions. We would spend one night together, talking about fieldwork, school, our patients, and life in general. I got to visit Emma on my trips to Omaha and get her snuggles - all while feeling excited to go to work because I got to treat each patient for who they were as a person.
2B taught me about compassion, as I encountered many clients who had come to a rough patch medically. I learned more than ever that my job is about transfers and muscle testing, but even more about knowing the people you work with and healing them from the inside, too.
In the fall I got confirmation that I would be headed to Dallas for my final rotation at their inpatient rehabilitation hospital specializing in feeding therapy. The path to Dallas had been laid out so easily without much work on my part that it seemed like God was guiding me that way. For some reason, I have always loved Dallas, and I felt so, SO excited to do a rotation there. Many people asked what my plans were for after graduation, and for some reason staying in Dallas felt like the answer, even though I am not someone who makes those types of decisions lightly. Again, I assumed it was God directing my steps towards that way. The first week of January I made the drive on a cold, cold day and prepared for my last five months (or so I thought) of clinical.
It was less than a day in Dallas before I felt overwhelmed. My anxiety built up quickly with lots of factors, both within the rotation and external to the rotation. Somehow this rotation seemed vastly different from every other OT setting I had ever been in, and the fieldwork expectations were nowhere near what I'd previously experienced. I felt like a failure day after day with every single session or activity I tried - I honestly cannot think of a single thing I did right the entire time I was there. I felt frustrated at my inability to keep up but also frustrated because I couldn't understand what the true issue was. At the end of week 7, a mutual decision was made that I was not going to be passing the rotation, so I packed up and headed home. I cried more on the drive home from Dallas than I think I have ever cried in my whole life (which says a lot because I'm a crier) at my own incompetence. I wrote about this transition in a previous blog so there's really no need to rehash it, but it was not my favorite few weeks of life.
Despite the tough times at the hospital, I loved exploring another new city. I made friends through my church and attended a bible study. I even went to a K-State event in Dallas and got to meet Coach Klieman. I loved being able to go for runs outside in February because of the weather, and I loved being surrounded by Tex Mex. I loved going to Reunion Tower, seeing downtown lit up when I was driving anywhere, and being proud of myself for mastering driving in a big city and using public transportation. I felt so at home, and never wanted to leave.
In Dallas I learned perseverance. I learned that God doesn't just send you places he wants you to stay, He sends you places to grow you. My skills grew in Dallas despite doing very little correctly while I was there. I learned that getting a job won't mean I'm good at it, and education has to be an ongoing process to learn to be good at what I do.
On March 11, I started at a new site in Manhattan. I was really not looking forward to starting my rotation completely over, not graduating on time, and driving an hour one way for a clinical - but I was more relieved than I realized I would be to finally be home, with both of my best friends living in the area, and I told myself that I can do anything for 16 weeks to get this degree. I told myself I could move back to Texas after graduation like I wanted, and everything would work out and be the same, it would just be later than planned.
Remember when I thought that I made the plans for my own life, and that I directed my steps, not God? That was funny.
In 16 weeks in Manhattan I think I made more progress as a human and as an OT than I ever thought I could have. I fell in love with my job at this clinic and had a supervisor who magically took away my doubts about myself and my choice to join this profession and reminded me daily by her actions and compassion for her kiddos why I wanted this job in the first place. I slowly accepted the fact that God had been changing my heart and that I wasn't going to be going back to Texas anytime soon. I accepted my first job at the clinic in May and bits of my 'grief guilt' as I lovingly refer to it, returned - moving on in life or taking another big step without someone who is supposed to be taking the step with you. I processed through many things both personally and professionally during my time in Manhattan and am excited to be moving back to the Happiest Place on Earth next weekend.
In Manhattan I learned what it feels like to truly love what you do. I learned why each of my rotations, especially Dallas, hadn't worked out. I remembered why I started dreaming about being an OT almost ten years ago and was gently reminded that the Lord directs my steps despite the plans I make for my own life. I took the perseverance I learned in 8 weeks in Dallas and applied them to the kids in outpatient therapy who might be there for several years. I remembered how tough it was for me to care about going to the hospital every day when I knew everything I did would be wrong. I applied that frame of mind to a child who struggles with so many skills, and more than ever, I want to be a therapist.
Being a student was more stressful than I ever dreamed it would be but immensely more rewarding than I ever imagined. I did rotations in three states, four cities, met tons of incredible people, and learned so much about myself and my career. Most importantly, I was reminded that I am not the one who makes the plans for my life - the same God who directed my steps to the lakeside over a year ago has known His plans for me for longer than I could have planned them myself - and that is so, so, relieving.
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