Favorite books of 2017

For the last three years, I’ve made reading goals because I feel that it’s important as a writer to also learn from other writers. Last year was the first year I actually accomplished my writing goals, and I read 47 books in the year of 2017. There were so many amazing books, and I want to share my top ten with you. This is in no order, because it’s hard enough to choose just ten!

Traitor’s Kiss – Erin Beaty

Oh my goodness. I don’t even know where to start without gushing. The story is amazing, and so are the characters! There were some twists that I definitely did not see, and there are definitely sections that I’ve gone back and reread over and over since my first reading.

War Cross – Marie Lu

I’ve read Marie Lu’s books before, and the premise to this book sounded so different than anything I’ve read before. The technology imagined for this was fascinating, and the main character was so much fun! I mean, why wouldn’t you cheer for the person who accidentally hacked into the biggest virtual reality game in the world? Definitely made me think about the direction technology is taking us!

Wraith and the Dawn/Flame in the Mist – Renee Ahdieh

How have I never heard of Renee Ahdieh before? I actually read three of her books this year, and I was blown away by each one. Each one pulled me through so many emotions, and made me love characters I was determined to hate. Her worlds are so fascinating and extensive, and seeped with culture. I’d suggest all of her books!

Heartless – Marissa Meyer

I feel like I can’t go without one of Marissa Meyer’s books on here. This book was not what I expected, and although I knew the premise, my heart was still torn out at the end. Marissa Meyer’s characters are so real that in the end, I only want them to be happy.

Poison’s Kiss – Breeana Shields

I loved the culture here. It’s set in ancient India, and based on a specific folklore about women who could kill with their kiss. It’s one of many I read that were fantasies set in more than just the European culture, and I have to say, I love the trend!

Forbidden Wish – Jessica Khoury

This was an Aladdin retelling that I’m not going to forget anytime soon. Again, this was set in the Arabic culture, and was full of plenty of angst and deceit. I could not put it down. Honestly, go read it!

Caraval – Stephanie Garber

This book was fascinating to read. The rules of the world made little sense. I told my friends it’s like Alice in Wonderland – on crack. So many things going on, and it’s a murder mystery type story as well. I loved all of the twists and turns!

Daughter of a Pirate King – Tricia Levenseller

Okay, I did read quite a few pirate themed books this year. Mostly because I have pirates in my books as well, and I’ve become slightly obsessed. I will say, the pirates don’t play a huge role in this book, but there’s enough seafaring to sate my needs. I can’t wait for the next book to come out!

Unwind – Neal Shusterman

This one is a little bit older, but it definitely made me stop and think for a long time afterward. If you like happy endings, I definitely don’t recommend reading this the same week as Heartless and then going to watch Rogue One. Unless you have no heart. But the science behind it is fascinating, and I loved the concept.

Noble Servant – Melanie Dickerson

I’m a huge fan of Melanie Dickerson’s books. They’re just the right amount of fluff and story, and they always bring me out of a funk. I read several of her books this year, but I have to say that the Noble Servant was probably my favorite. Probably because Goose Girl has always been one of my favorite fairy tales of all time. 

2018 Writing and Reading Goals

2018 means a brand new year with brand new goals!

Reading wise, I’m going to stick to the same goal as always. 45 books. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but I’ve only achieved that once, so I hope this year makes it a streak! If any of you have books to recommend, I’d love to hear it!

Writing wise:

Finish this rewrite of Commissioned. I’ve had several requests, but they always seem to get stuck on page 50. I had an awesome beta reader help me tear it apart, and I’m slowly building back. I think it’ll make the novel much stronger, but it’s a lot of work. I don’t have a set date for this, which is unusual, but the first few months of 2018 might throw me for some unexpected spins. We’ll see.

I’d also like to revise Jackie and the Giants. I had some betas go through it and give some feedback. I’ve finally gone in and fixed the (put science stuff here) sections, and so now it’s time to work on wording and pacing.

I’d like to continue querying Commissioned once it’s polished up again. And possibly get Jackie ready for querying as well.

For NaNoWriMo, I want to write a new book. Which means I have to come up with the idea. I’m not too worried yet, but it’s only January. Ask me again in September.

Also, this year, my awesome group, Rexy Writers, is starting the 500 club, where we write, edit, revise or read 500 words a day. It was suggested by one of my co-coordinators, and I'm already in love with the idea! If any of you want to join us, we would love to have you!

How about the rest of you? What are your goals for this coming year? Need help sticking to them? I’d love a goal buddy or two!

2017 Year End Review

Hello everyone!

Wow. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I think 2017 got away from me near the end of the year. And, to be honest, I’m not expecting 2018 to be much better.

Next year, I’m going to have to focus on realistic goals, and that means cutting back on my blog. Not completely, but enough to give me some breathing space.

Since it’s the end of the year, I want to do a year-end report, and talk about how I did on my goals for 2017.

I finally reached my reading goal! I guess third year’s the charm. I ended up reading 47 books in 2017, and that’s not counting the unpublished ones. I’ll write a post on my favorite books from 2017 soon, I promise, but I’ve got to say, there’s so many good books out there! And if any of you have recommendations for this year, I’d love to hear it!

My writing goals were a little more specific. I ended up rewriting Commissioned in the beginning of the year, and then worked on revising book 2. I also queried Commissioned and I’ve been getting some requests, which has been quite exciting. I also smashed my NaNoWriMo goal for this year, which was to write more words than I did last year. There’s some changes coming into my life, and I had a feeling that 2017 might be the last year I’d be able to get that many words written. I ended up taking a vacation the first two weeks of November and my grand total was 271,568 words in 30 days, which ended up spanning 4 books.

So I’ve got to say, it’s been a good year. A hectic year, but definitely good. And I honestly can’t wait to see how I do next year!

How about the rest of you? How did your goals for 2017 go? Any exciting news?

Living with Racism

I wanted to write a post in response to everything that I've seen over this past weekend. It's going to be a long one, so fair warning.

I'm a Japanese American. My mother was adopted, which means that as much as I wish, I don't have a strong connection to my Japanese heritage. I don't fit people's expectations. I love pasta and I love bread. I eat a lot of rice, not because of my mom, but because of my Bolivian husband. I watch a lot of cartoons, but until I married my husband (an anime aficionado), I'd never watched a single episode of anime. (Though I might have binged a whole series last week.) I was good at math in school, but I preferred English. I took Spanish in high school, and although I tried to audit a college Japanese course, I didn't learn much. At home, I speak Spanglish.

I feel like a fake. I feel like I'm not 'Asian enough' for the Asians that I meet. Yet, when it comes to the American culture, I'm too Asian for them.

I'm quite lucky, actually. My whole life, I dealt with very little racism. At least, that I noticed. Most of my friends didn't act like I was different, other than a few jokes here and there, and I think I was too shy to put myself in a situation where I met a lot of strangers.

That all changed when I became a nurse.

On a daily basis, I'm exposed to complete strangers, some of whom are incredibly nice. Others who aren't as much. But even when someone's nice, there's still an underlying difference in the way that they treat me. I would say probably about 80% of my shifts, I have at least one patient who asks me some version of 'who are you.' They may ask where my family comes from, where I come from, what my heritage is, or who my 'people' are. (That last one tends to be a little harder to take than the others.) I try and stay positive and pleasant. Usually, I just say Japan or let them know that my mom is Japanese and they drop it.

Then there are those that don't.

I've written a few posts in the past about things my patients say, but I'm going to condense this into things my patients say that refer to my race.

Are you here all night? And you're Chinese? Oh, Japanese, interesting. Well, we'll enjoy each other tonight.

There's my dark-haired beauty

How do you say pee-pee in Japanese?

Am I in a Chinese hospital?

Get out of here, Yoko!

There's my little Indian girl.

Oh, are you sisters with that other Oriental girl?

I see 'you people' didn't waste any time.

Good job, Short-round!

I had a vision I was going to marry a little Vietnamese girl.

Those are just a few that I've written down over the years. It's nowhere near everything I've heard.

I've had patients who have asked not to have me because I make them flashback to WWII. (A much older lady with confusion. Apparently, I scared her every time I went into her room.)

I've had patients be especially vulgar to me because of my race. One patient told me he had a 'vision' he was going to marry a 'little Vietnamese girl' and then attempt to get me to hold his hand.

I've even had coworkers unwittingly leave things for me because they assume that it will be easier for me. The moment when this was most apparent was one night when I came on shift, and the previous shift told me that they left an admit for me because the patient didn't speak English. When I asked what language he did speak, they told me Laotian. He was Asian, I was Asian, so obviously, it would be easier for me to communicate with him. (By the way, I don't speak Laotian, or any other Asian language, for that matter.)

I can usually laugh it off. In fact, I try and beat other people to the punch, so that they know that I'm not offended by their comments. I tell my coworkers that I work nights because my ancestors lived on the other side of the world, and that's what time they were awake.

Honestly, I don't get offended easily.

But it gets tiring. Being treated as 'someone else' isn't fun, no matter how you spin it.

Recently, I had a super sweet patient who was a little confused. She made a few comments, which were fine, and I even joked about them with my coworkers.

At first.

The comments never stopped. Every single time I went into her room, she referred to me as 'The Japanese.' When I went into her room while she was on the phone, she told them to wait because I was in the room. Except she didn't refer to me as her nurse. She referred to me as 'The Japanese.' Like I said, she was sweet, and she was confused. As a nurse, I try not to be confrontational with people, especially when I know I'm not going to see them again after a few days. If they want to ask about my heritage, I'll tell them. But this sweet lady was my undoing. After two nights of being addressed by my race, and not my name, or my profession, I broke down crying on my way home from work. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t see me as just her nurse. As just another person. It was always different, and she always had to point it out.

I'm a person. I'm a nurse. I'm a wife, and a sister, and a daughter. I play the piano and I hate to exercise. I've got a weakness for cream puffs and I'm terrified of ghosts. But when people see me, they don't see that.

That's what racism is for me. When no matter who you are, no matter what you do or what your interests are, you're classified by what you look like. Who your ancestors were. The stereotypes you fit into. 

Maybe that's why I joke about it with my coworkers. Why I write about it on my blog. Because it exists. Even if not everyone sees it.

Shiny New Ideas

Two years ago, I was starting to get worried. It had been a while since I’d had a ‘shiny new idea’ and I knew that NaNoWriMo was coming up. I try and write something brand new for NaNoWriMo, and by the middle of the year, I usually had a basic idea for what I would work on.

I really didn’t need to worry. It’s amazing how stress can affect the creative muscle. By the end of July, I had a full-fledge idea, one that turned into four books, and sustained me for two years of NaNoWriMo.

You’d think that I’d learn from that experience, but here I am, two years later, again worried about NaNoWriMo. The rest of the year, I know I’m set. I’m editing and revising to my heart’s content, but the closer I get to November, the more my brain starts to panic, thinking that I won’t be ready.

Most of my panic is because I’m a planner. I need a thick and detailed bible ready before I can even start writing the first word. I want to know the direction the story’s headed, and the character backgrounds. I need to know the culture, their beliefs… I even tend to draw out the setting so I have a feel for the world.

I had a basic idea, but it wasn’t fleshed out, mostly because it was so generalized and so vague that I didn’t even know how to flesh it out.

Here’s the secret to shiny new ideas:

Always pay attention to everything. You never know what will start a spark.

Last time this happened, hubby and I went to the museum for our anniversary. Not because either of us were particularly interested in pirates, but because we wanted to get out of the house. The entire experience was a fodder for ideas, and pirates played a heavy role in my later book.

This year, all it took was an article on Pinterest, with a title that was much more interesting than the article itself. It was the spark that I needed to turn my vague idea into something that keeps me awake at night, planning and plotting for November.

How about the rest of you? Where do you get your ideas? Are you already planning for NaNoWriMo?

Visualization

It’s amazing how brains work. Sometimes, it seems like we’re all on the same page, and then other times… we see things very differently.

When I was probably 12 or 13, I remember reading the Robe by Lloyd C. Douglas. I really enjoyed the story, and I thought one of my parents’ friends would like it too. I’ll never forget my mom’s response when I suggested it.

She told me that he doesn’t ‘see’ when he reads. She thought he wouldn’t enjoy the book because he wouldn’t be able to visualize the images that the author used.

For little twelve-year-old me, this was an absolute breakthrough. Mostly because I never knew that anyone could see the images in their heads. I assumed the description was just there to give the story more depth. I had no idea that it meant something to a lot of people.

So yes, I’m a writer who can’t visualize anything. Every once in a while I can pick out shapes in my mind, but usually, it’s blank. You know what I can do though? I can hear sounds. That’s what draws me into a book – sparkling and realistic dialogue because I can hear it. I love the back and forth, and it’s a lot of what I focus on in my own writing.

Even now, when I write, I have to remind myself to put in physical descriptions. If I didn’t collect pictures of my characters on Pinterest, I would have no idea what they looked like.

I’m curious about what other readers focus on. Do visuals draw you in? Or do they just leave a blank?

Nursing Necessities

Last week, I mentioned that things have been a bit crazy for me. There have been several different things that have thrown me off balance, but not all of it was bad.

During the end of April, and the month of May, I became a preceptor for a student finishing up her nursing degree. The program requires that she work 120 hours with a nurse, and they wanted her to take on a full load by the end of the 120 hours. I know that was the same requirement for me when I was a student nurse, but to be honest, I barely remember my own preceptorship.

It was a blur, and except for a few memories that stand out, I don’t remember what kind of a student I was. I have a feeling that I was shy and withdrawn, mostly because that’s my normal personality. 

This student was not that way at all. I was quite impressed with her knowledge and her work ethic. It was an interesting experience for me, to watch her learn skills that have become almost second nature to me. There are so many things that I do without even realizing, and after having to stop and think about it, I’m kind of amazed by much I’ve changed since becoming a nurse.

For example:

Assessments:

I remember the first time that I had to do a full body assessment. I went textbook, asking the questions in order and stopping to record every single answer. Now, I do it while I’m working with the patient. If I’m preparing their medications, I ask them how their day was. I ask how their appetite’s been, and if they’ve had any nausea. If I get them up to the toilet, it’s a great opportunity to check skin, instead of making it a completely separate assessment. I can also check to see if they have any swelling in their legs when I’m swinging them back into the bed. Every interaction with my patient is a chance to assess, and most of the time, I forget that’s even what I’m doing until it’s time to chart.

Which of course leads to the next part of nursing –

Charting:

I don’t remember much about charting during my preceptorship. I do know that the system that they used was more user friendly than the one I’m using now. It honestly doesn’t matter, because charting in itself is pretty standard. Making sure to focus on all the systems, chart the irregularities, focus on their diagnosis. When you know what you need to chart, then it’s easy to store that information for the time you have a chance to sit down at the computer. I feel like it took me several months before I fell into a rhythm, and knew what needed to be the focus of my charting.

Projecting:

Now this is something they didn’t teach me in nursing school, but there should totally be a lab on projecting to mostly deaf patients. Not yelling, because that increases the pitch and doesn’t always work, but speaking up so that you can be heard. Especially for people that are naturally shy like me. I call it my nurse voice.

Growing thick skin:

People aren’t always pleasant when they’re sick. Sometimes, they can be downright frustrating. It’s hard not to take everything personally, especially when you have a patient who’s being particularly difficult. I will be honest, sometimes, I still struggle with this one, but I still try not to take everything personally. I’m sure I would lash out if I were a patient as well.

What about the rest of you nurses? What are some things you’ve picked up over your years of working?

I'm Back!

Hey everyone!

It has been a while since I’ve posted here on my blog.

Things have been a little off for me lately. I’m used to things being off. I’m a night nurse, which means that half of the time I’m awake during the day and half of the time I’m awake during the night. I never work the same days of the week. Sometimes I work one shift by itself. Sometimes I work four in a row.

I’m used to that. It’s part of the job, and I’ve done it for long enough that I’ve learned how to adjust.

Unfortunately, too many irregularities have made it difficult for me to focus on even the smallest things. Not all of them were bad, but when added up, my body, my brain and my emotions have been on the fritz.

After two months, I finally feel like I’m getting semblance back. Last week was the first time I was able to work on a large chunk of my writing without losing interest or focus.

So yes, I’m back, but I’ll be starting slow.

Here’s to a great summer, with structure and regularity!

Patients that Changed My Life: Carol

As a nurse, I have the chance to meet a lot of people from all walks of life. Some are fun, some are not so fun. Then there are those that change my life, and changed the kind of nurse I am. For privacy purposes, I won’t use real names, but I want to tell you their stories.

To read about previous patients, click here.

In one of my first ever nursing jobs, I worked in a facility specifically for Alzheimer’s and Dementia. I didn’t really know what to expect, but I found that I loved working with them. They kept me guessing, and usually laughing. We had this one lady, who I will call Carol. She was active, even though she was declining rapidly. She used a merry-walker, which kept her safe when she would suddenly get tired and need to sit down.

She had almost no short term memory. You could have a conversation with her and seconds later, she wouldn’t remember it.

That doesn’t mean that she didn’t remember anything.

She had an issue with me almost immediately. No matter what I did, she got angry, and she would scream at me. It wasn’t that unusual, since she had a temper, but she did seem to single me out more often than not. I had no idea why until a few months into the job when she said something that surprised me.

“Get off my husband!”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I let her know that I wasn’t on her husband. Over time, she kept making comments that made me believe that her husband must have cheated on her with an Asian woman. Comments like:

“Get out of my house!”

“Get out of my husband!”

“They’re my kids, not yours!”

“Tell me it didn’t mean anything and you didn’t enjoy it.”

Most people don’t really think about it, but it’s the emotionally traumatic events that seem to stay with Alzheimer’s patients. They may not remember that they just ate, but they remember how people made them feel. Those memories stick with them longer than anything else, even if they don’t even know my name.

Just because they’re confused, it doesn’t mean they aren’t there, and that they don’t notice what’s going on around them. 

Self-Published Vs Traditional

I participate in a lot of writing groups online. I guess the right phrase is that I lurk in a lot of writing groups online. Depending on the group, I may or may not write anything, or participate, but I always learn. It’s a great way to interact and build relationships with other writers. Most are super positive and helpful. We’re all learning the craft after all. There’s always something new we can gain from the interactions.

A little while ago, I read a post that just floored me. It was deleted pretty quickly by the admins, but the commenter asked if there were writers in the group who were serious about their craft or if they didn’t care and planned on self-publishing no matter what.

Over the past few years, I’ve interacted and met multiple self-pubbed authors, and I’ve got to say, they know what they’re doing. They’re putting themselves out there without support of a publisher, and all on their own. They’re brave, and they’re definitely serious about their craft. If they weren’t, then they wouldn’t bother.

Of course, that doesn’t apply to all self-published authors. Years ago, I gave away free critiques, and one of the girls I gave a critique to asked me what she should sell to make the most money. This was around the time that dystopias were big, and she made the comment that she should probably write that because she heard vampire stories are out.

It’s pretty easy to tell which author is serious about their craft, and it has nothing to do with traditional or self-published. It has to do with the effort they put in. Whether or not they’re willing to learn about the craft, and whether they’re willing to take criticism. Those are the authors I admire, no matter which path they choose.

Last month, I read a book by a self-published author, and I was very impressed. In fact, I had no idea it was self-published. The cover was professional, the writing solid, and I fell in love with the story. For those of you interested, it was the Unfortunate Fairy Tale Series by Chanda Hahn.

Professionalism has nothing to do with pathway. It has to do with the end result.

Learning from Point of View

A few weeks ago, I posted about dealing with racism in nursing. It’s something I have to deal with on a regular basis, and I wanted to share my own experiences.

I’ve been quite lucky. I don’t deal with too many overtly rude comments. Most of them are done quite innocently. After sharing that blog post, I had someone make a comment that just floored me. He identified himself as a white male and then told me that he doesn’t see racism where he works. He told me that I’m being overly sensitive and that my patients were trying to make small talk.

Which might be true, I’m not negating that. Except there have been enough situations where I’m positive that’s not what they were trying to do.

I’ve never had someone tell me that I’m not experiencing racism. That I’m being too sensitive. To be honest, I’m one of those people who’s grown so accustomed to it that I didn’t even notice it until it was pointed out to me. But for someone to tell me, as a white, male, that it doesn’t exist just felt wrong. And it made me wonder how many times I’ve done the same exact thing without realizing it to someone  of a different culture, race or gender than me.

Here’s the thing. I may not agree with you. I may see things through a different lens, but from here on out, I’m not going to negate your situation. I’m not going to say that you’re not feeling what you are. Because here’s the thing, I don’t know what you’re feeling.

As a nurse, I’m taught that pain is subjective. A patient may look like they’re in no pain, but if they’re telling me that they’re in pain 5/10, then that’s what their pain is. I can’t tell them that they’re not in pain. I’m not qualified because I don’t know. I’m not them.

I love learning about other people’s experiences. That’s why I share my own, because I want people to see from my point of view. So please, no matter who the naysayers are, please share your stories. There’s always someone out there who needs to hear it. Someone who can learn from you.

Hospice

After working for years in long-term nursing, I’ve become very familiar with hospice. In fact, my first nursing job was on the hospice floor of a facility for Alzheimer’s/Dementia. Not all of our patients were on hospice, but there were quite a few that were. I loved the hospice we worked with. They were involved, and they always worked with the nurses on the floor to make sure that we all agreed on the plan of care.

Often, we had a patient who would go on hospice and would be diagnosed with ‘failure to thrive,’ especially if they suddenly lost weight, or wouldn’t eat.

Here’s the thing though, they didn’t stay on hospice until they died. Often, the doubled effort between the facility and the hospice caused the patient to have increased care and as a result of that, their health usually improved. As a floor nurse, I let the hospice nurse know whenever I had concerns, or if I thought something would be more beneficial. Increasing their protein shakes, or switching them to finger foods.

More often than not, after a few months on hospice, the patient would start to improve to the point that they no longer qualified, and hospice would discharge them into our care.

For me, hospice wasn’t an end of life kind of thing. Of course, it’s for those who have a poor prognosis, or who have been given a short time to live, but that doesn’t mean that they will die within weeks of going onto hospice. Hospice was an assist for the patient and the family so that they could cope, and, most importantly, to make sure that they were comfortable.

Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that my first experience with hospice was the exception rather than the rule. I’ve worked with multiple other hospices since then, and it often feels like the program is created to transition into death. Too often, they’re cut off everything they might need to extend their life because they’re just going to be ‘comfortable.’ All blood pressure, thyroid, or even heart medications are discontinued. They’re cut off because those medications aren’t necessary if they’re going to die. I’ve even seen hospice nurses hurry the process because they want to go home for the night.

Hospice was create for the patient and family to have support. So that they’re not alone in the experience. I’ve been there, and it can be scary, especially when you don’t know what to expect. But in the rush to help with death, I fear that too often they forget to allow life.

Critique Partners

I know I’ve talked about this quite a bit, but I just want to talk about it a little more. I love my critique partners. They’re really just some of the most awesome people I work with.

Here’s the thing, I love what I write. On most days. There’s also the days where I think I’m writing just plain crap. On both kinds of days, I need someone to pull me to reality. I need someone to pull me off my pedestal and point out my shortcomings, or pull me out of my funk and help me see my strengths.

Writing is an art. It’s a very subjective medium, and at some point, there’s going to be someone who hates it. There’s going to be someone who loves it. To be honest, that’s not what’s important. What’s important is that I create the best kind of art that I possibly can. Most of the time, I’m so involved in my story and in my characters that I don’t necessarily see all of the flaws.

I’ve had some amazing critique partners over the years who have pointed out character inconsistencies, or plot holes or even just a lack of voice. Seeing my manuscript through someone else’s eyes is so absolutely essential and I appreciate them so much for putting in the time and effort.

I’ve been thinking about this recently because one of my critique partners, Valerie Bodden, posted something on Facebook that I absolutely loved. She commented on how she appreciated my critique and feedback because I get her book.

It’s true. There’s been many critique partners over the years, but not all of them have been long term. I need someone who can see the end goal. Someone who loves my story as much as me, and is willing to let me bounce my ideas off them.

So for all my critique partners, thank you! You’ve made me the writer I am today.

Hello Kitty

Growing up, I never really dealt that much with Racism. People knew I was Asian, but they didn’t mention it that much, and they didn’t use a lot of stereotypes around me. Probably because I wasn’t raised as an Asian.

When I moved to Spain, all of a sudden, I was treated very differently. People came up to me on the metro and started speaking to me in an Asian language, and I would have no idea what they were saying. I earned the name “Chinita” among a lot of my friends because that’s how I looked to them. Like a little Chinese girl.

I think the most bizarre situation though, started a few months after I moved to Spain. I walked to school every day, and halfway there was a newspaper stand. The guy who worked there was very friendly and would wave to me, and often make odd and suggestive comments. After a few weeks, when obviously I wasn’t responding to his advances, he started yelling at me every time he passed.

“Hello Kitty! Hello Kitty!”

After our multiple interactions with one another, I knew that he didn’t speak English, but I think he’d figured out that I did. Except it didn’t feel like an English thing, it felt like him trying to get my attention by calling out the only thing he knew from Japanese culture.

I started taking a different route to school soon after that.

Never Enough

This week, I'm talking about Jodi Picoult's Small Great Things, a book about a nurse who was sued because a family member saw her performing her job and didn't understand what was happening. They saw what they thought was abuse and because they had already asked for her not to touch his son (because she was black), they thought she was hurting him on purpose.

On Wednesday, I talked about how this book made me think from a racial standpoint. Today, I want to talk about the nursing side of it. Ironically, this is the side that I'm more nervous talking about. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I'm very cautious about what I say online about work. I'm very conscious about HIPPA, and about protecting the integrity and reputations of where I work and where I used to work.

Here's the thing, I've worked in multiple facilities, mostly long term, as a nurse and CNA. When people are sick, they're not themselves. I understand that. Patients are dealing with pain, dealing with a new diagnosis that has flipped their lives upside down, or with loss that they can't quite accept yet. In a way, it makes sense to lash out at the people taking care of you. They're right there, after all. But in many other ways, it doesn't make sense.

At least, not to me.

My typical workday consists of a twelve hour shift. I usually get to work half an hour early so that I can read up on charts. So that I can prepare myself and know the information necessary to properly take care of my patients. After my shift, I give report to the next nurse, so that they know what's changed, and to promote the best possible care for my patients. Some days, things get hectic. I might have to stay late to chart, or to finish my responsibilities. Maybe one of my patients had a sudden change in status right before I leave. Either way, my typical shift tends to be closer to thirteen and a half hours -- on a good day.

I'm there all the time. It may not seem like it, especially if I'm in someone else's room, but that doesn't mean I don't see what happens.

The problem is I'm only one person. Just one nurse, and even though most of the places I work have great support systems, a lot of the responsibility falls on me. I understand that and I accept it.

There are just too many days when I feel I'm not enough. With my knowledge, with the skills that I'm still perfecting, I'm still never exactly what my patients need. There's so many instances in my shift when I have to make a decision, when I have to choose between two patients who need me. Maybe it's more than two. I can't count the number of times I walk out of a room to see the entire hall lit up with call lights, and know that no matter how fast I work, no matter what I do, I won't get to them in the time that they want.

That's when it sometimes feels like it's too much. When I already know I'm doing everything I possibly can, it's hard to hear patients and families complain that I should be doing more. I'm not allowed to tell you what I'm already doing, or what the other patients need. There's no way for me to tell them that I have a patient next door that's going septic and might need more serious intervention in the next few minutes. Or a patient who's confused and jumping out of their bed, and I want to keep them from falling and getting seriously injured. I can't tell them about the patient who broke my heart because no matter what I do, I can't seem to control their pain. Or the patient who's detoxing from drugs and hasn't stopped screaming at me since I arrived on the floor.

Nurses carry a lot of what they experience in their hearts. I've seen it in so many coworkers. It's a taxing job, and there are times we snap. I know I have, though I've been fortunate that it's never been in a patient's room. There are moments when I have to leave the floor because I can't deal with it anymore. It's frustrating, and often not because of the patients but because of the situation.

My husband often tells me that either you cry or you laugh. He tells me that whenever I'm angry or annoyed. He says "Do you want me to cry or laugh?" That's how it is with nursing too. We have to get these emotions out. Often, it comes out in the form of jokes, in a way of relieving the pressure that we feel. It has nothing to do with what we're really thinking, it's a coping mechanism, one that helps us to be the best we can be with the circumstances around us.

I think the hardest part is knowing that often, the most memorable experiences are the bad. If a patient is upset with their care, it doesn't matter how much we've done for them. It's what more they wanted us to do. Often, I feel like I'm measured by my shortcomings, rather than by my actions.

Racism in Nursing

On Monday, I mentioned how I wanted to talk about Jodi Picoult's Small Great Things this week.

When I first started the book, I honestly thought it was from the 50's. The white supremist family felt off to me, because I don't deal with it on a regular basis. Ruth seemed to take offense with everything, and acted like people treated her differently because of her race.

The more I thought about it though, the more I realize that it still happens. I don't deal with the same kind of racism, just because I'm Asian, not black. Even so, I do deal with prejudice from my patients constantly. Not just my patients, but from my workplaces as well.

I honestly can't count the number of times that someone has said something that I've blown off. I heard them, and I always assumed that they didn't mean any harm by it. I've had patients call me the 'Little Chinese girl' and 'that Asian one,' and I even had one sweet patient call me his 'Little Indian' every single night. For me, it almost felt like a distinction. I am Asian, I'm not going to deny it. If they don't remember my name, then it's an easy way to describe me.

Then there's the ones who aren't quite so nice. I've been screamed out of a patient's room and as I left, her closing comment was "Get out of here... Yoko!" Which for me, didn't hold quite the same impact. I wasn't alive during the Beatles' time, and I have no idea if people actually hated Yoko Ono, or if it was the only Asian my patient knew. I've been called a Jap before, which, again, because I was exposed to very little racism growing up (I think in large part due to my parents), it doesn't sting the way I know it should.

I had one patient who was very sweet to me, but when I returned to work the next day, I was given all the same patients back -- except for her. Her family had stated that no Asians could take care of her. It wasn't put in the chart, I don't think, but it felt a little strange to me. She'd let me take care of her the night before, and I felt I had done a good job. Her family took me aside and told me that I didn't need to feel bad, because for some reason, seeing me gave the patient flashbacks to WWII.

Here's the thing. I never feel guilty. If someone has an issue with my race, or the way I look, I'm not going to apologize. I'm not going to assume that it's my fault. It's such an odd way to look at things, to think that the person who's receiving the prejudice might feel guilty.

Along with the obvious signs, there's also some odd things that have happened with some of the management that I've worked for. I remember very clearly arriving to work one night when a patient had been admitted. No one had started the admission, and they decided to give the patient to me. The reason? He didn't speak English. Which is fine. I speak Spanish, but it turned out the patient didn't speak Spanish, he spoke a very rare dialect from a South Asian country. He couldn't mime because he was blind, and it was assumed that I would have an easier time doing his admission.

Why?

Obviously because we're both Asian.

I'll admit, I joke about it a lot. I don't get offended. I tried, about a year ago, and it was exhausting. To assume that everyone has an ulterior motive, or to assume that everything that someone says is a jab at my race or said to be rude. My husband and I enjoy being different, and we accept that we are. I believe that's why, when I started Small Great Things, I was confused. I didn't see racism because I didn't focus on it, even though it's all around me.

I'm sure there's a fine line. I do need to recognize when it's inappropriate, but in the workplace, a lot of times, there's nothing I can say or do to change it. My patients... well, they still need care. In a day or two, I'll probably never see them again. Besides, I need them to like me, just so that I can get good reviews and avoid the situation that played out in small Great Things.

Small Great Things

This week, I want to try something new. In February, I started reading a book called Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult. When I was in college, I read her book My Sister's Keeper, and I was quite fascinated.

My tastes tend toward fantasy and science fiction when I read or watch movies. I also like crime shows, like Bones and Criminal Minds. One thing that I don't tend to read or watch is anything medical related.

That's what I do on a regular basis. I've been a nurse for six years now, but even before that, I was a CNA and I was in nursing school. I know what it's like behind the scenes. I deal with death and sickness and on really difficult days, the whole spectrum of human emotions. I know what it's like to be talked down to -- by family members, by patients, even my coworkers at some point. I understand more than I want about the politics behind every decision made.

When I read, or when I'm watching a movie or TV, I want to escape. I want to leave the world that I know and enter a world that I don't.

When I read the description for Small Great Things, I was intrigued. It sounded like something I would be interested in, and after some recent misses in books, I wanted something I could connect with. I just didn't expect to connect quite so well. Small Great Things is a book about a nurse who is black and has to deal with prejudices of a family who is incredibly racist. At first, while I was reading, I thought the book was set in the 50's or 60's. Ruth speaks about racism in a way that made it feel real, that made it feel like it still happened. But then there were small references -- to Tiana from the Frog Princess, and even to Elsa from Frozen.

Suddenly, instead of reading an interesting book, I felt like I was reading about my life. I've been in her situation before. Not to that extreme, but I've been 'fired' by patients before -- just because of how I look. Because I'm not white. I've never stopped to think about what could have happened if an emergency had arisen like the one that Ruth faced.

I'm going to be honest, I had to stop reading. It was horrific to read, and mostly because I'm a nurse, I'm a minority, and I know exactly how she felt. I know what it's like to be treated like that by patients, and I've lived with the terror that maybe I didn't do enough, or that a family member would take me to court for something that I did. I didn't want to know how it ended. Good or bad, I knew that it could be me, and I didn't want to live it if I didn't have to. Maybe that's the coward's way out, but I'm okay with that.

But it made me think, which is exactly why Ms. Picoult wrote the book in the first place. It's supposed to make us reexamine our lives, and the society that we live in. So this week, I want to look at myself, at my race and at my profession, from the eyes of this book. I'd love to hear your comments, especially if you have stories to share as well.

Being a Patient

As a nurse, I deal with a lot of sick people. In fact, I don’t deal with people unless they’re sick or unless they have something going on with their body that they can’t control on their own. As a person though, I’m fairly healthy. I don’t tend to get sick very often, and when I do, it’s not bad enough that I feel the need to go to the doctor.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining about that, not by a long shot, but sometimes I wonder if it makes me less empathetic with my patients. I understand nausea, and I’ve dealt with it on a personal level, but other things – pain, broken bones, etc – I haven’t experienced, so I can’t exactly know what my patient’s feeling.

That’s not to say I don’t try. I know that pain is a very subjective thing. We have no right to tell someone when they are or are not having pain. Someone who never deals with pain might have a lower threshold than someone who has chronic pain. I understand that, and I try to put it into practice.

Last year, I had my first chance to be a patient in a long time. I had a UTI, and after several days not being able to pee, I finally went to the doctor. He gave me antibiotics, and I figured that was it.

Several days later, I ended up with a rash. It was one unlike I’ve ever experienced, and it covered every inch of my body. Behind my ears, between my fingers, on the bottom of my feet… it was excruciating. I tried ice packs and hydrocortisone cream, but nothing worked. I ended up going to the doctor again, and he gave me a steroid shot, and as much as I hoped it would work, it didn’t.

I still had to go to work. I wasn’t contagious, and I couldn’t find a good reason to call off. If I was going to be miserable and itchy at home, I might as well be miserable and itchy at work, right?

The only thing that helped was time. After a few days, the rash started to disappear, and the itching subsided. It was excruciating, and it was eye-opening to me as a nurse. We give meds and treatments, but they won’t always work. I understand the impatience when you just want it to stop hurting, or burning or itching, and nothing seems to work.

Unfortunately, time is the only key in some instances, and as well intentioned as we are as healthcare workers, sometimes, all we can do is empathize. 

No More Lonely

In February, I went to LTUE, which is a writer’s conference for science fiction and fantasy writers. It’s an amazing conference, but the best part is the human interaction.

For some reason, a lot of people think that writing needs to be a lonely thing. Sure, I have to sit and write the words on my own, but that doesn’t mean I don’t interact with others.

Last year, when I went to LTUE, my writing partner and I were planning on going together, and we had someone ask if she could go with us. We ended up bonding through the experience, and now all three of us get together to write as often as we can.

This year, we had two of our friends from our writing group going, and they had a mutual friend who asked if she could join us. The best part about being with other writers at a conference is that you can be yourself. You can talk about the stuff that makes other peoples’ eyes gloss over. Plot and story structure? There’s actual classes on that. You can analyze your own with your friends and work out the kinks in your own story.

Writing is a private thing, and you always put a little bit of yourself in your writing, no matter what it is. When you share your writing with someone, you’re sharing a part of yourself. The other great thing is that they’re a natural support group. They know what you’re going through. Writing queries? Pitching to an agent? They know how nerve-wrecking that is. Finally figuring out your villain’s motivation? They know what kind of a breakthrough that can be.

I love my writing friends, the ones I’ve had for years, and the ones I’ve made recently. And I know that each one of them has influenced the kind of writer I am now.

Accents

Today, I want to talk about accents.

Hubby is still learning English, though he’s definitely picked up quite a bit. A few weeks ago, we were talking to my uncle about hubby’s difficulty finding an internship. (Side note: If any of you know if any electrical engineering internships, we’d love to hear about it!)

After talking to hubby for a while, my uncle said something we hadn’t actually thought about. He mentioned that hubby’s accent might still be too thick for people to understand. I don’t really notice his accent anymore, mostly because I live with him, and I have to communicate with him on a regular basis. But my little bro, who just moved into town, still has to have him repeat some of his words.

Then there’s the whole issue with rice. Hubby loves rice, but whenever he orders a side of rice, he inevitably gets a side of fries.

Every single time.

I’ve been thinking about accents a lot because of it. When I first started taking Spanish in high school, my dad came home from a parent-teacher night looking a little concerned. He didn’t say anything until near the end of the year, when he heard me practicing Spanish.

My dad knows Spanish, and he served a Spanish-speaking mission for our church. He heard my Spanish teacher talking, and he was worried I would pick up her accent, which was, admittedly, quite bad. He was right to be worried. There’s a tongue twister that I learned from her, and even though I lived in Spain two years, and learned Spanish from hubby, if I recite it, her accent comes out.

It annoys hubby so much that he’s asked that I stop saying it. It’s not that I don’t know how to say it correctly, but it was ingrained into my mind, and it’s muscle memory at this point.

Which means that right now, hubby and I need to work on his English accent. We need to make sure that his muscle memory is one that people can understand. It’s not a question of whether or not he can speak the language. It’s a question of whether they can understand him.