Due to the circumstances surrounding Ava's birth it took me a while to get that mother daughter bond. I was fighting the physical aspect of child birth and so much blood loss, along with my undiagnosed maternal mental illness, and the stress of starting nursing school. I knew I loved her, but didn't have that out of your body attachment I felt with my firstborn. I would look at her and wonder if she would notice the love I had for her big sister was different than what I felt for her. I wondered if she would resent me. I wondered a lot of things while I passed her off to someone else's arms who wanted to hold her.
Day by day things got better. Days grew into weeks, and weeks turned into years and my love grew with each passing moment. Now, a few months shy of 3 years, I am head over heels in love with her. She is so much like me its not even funny, which I know isn't a coincidence. I have come to the conclusion that it is ok to love them differently. They are different people who require different love, but that doesn't make one inferior to the other. It is just different, but that's ok.
But the best part of all of this is knowing how much she loves me. Tonight I heard someone coughing so I went to investigate. As soon as my light shined on her face she opened her eyes and gave me the biggest smile and said "kiss?" And of course that is exactly what happened.
And it was exactly what we both needed.
Showing posts with label growth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growth. Show all posts
Friday, April 24, 2015
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Journey of finding strength through postpartum PTSD
The hospital I was at included discharge teaching on postpartum depression. We even got a cute little handout of the signs and symptoms to keep an eye out for. They were even really smart, and the nurse addressed my husband and said that it is often the husband that notices before the mom does.
So when I started to feel out of whack, I got my handy little paper and looked at the symptoms. Lack of joy? Not really. Feelings of inadequacy? Nope, not that either. withdrawal from friends and family? Only because I was in nursing school and had no choice. Thoughts of harming myself of my children? Negative. But really, it all came down to the fact that I wasn't sad. I've been depressed, and this wasn't it. So I just kept going, trying to fight a battle I was unprepared to fight.
I had panic attacks on a daily basis. Flashbacks of my birth haunted me like the plague. My dreams had turned dark. I cried all the time, but not because I was sad, but because I kept reliving those key moments of my birth where I thought I was going to die, heck where I should have died. I hated not being able to go through the day without something hitting me and taking me back there. Even the simplest things, like looking at a clock. Showers were bad, because they were really the only time I had to myself. And so I would go through it over and over in my head, while my tears fell down faster than the water. I was very edgy with my family, and had very little patience for my 2 year old. The worse thing was looking at my sweet baby and all of a sudden flooded with resentment for causing so much terror in my life and guilt for not being the mom I wanted to be.
This was not me.
One day, after leaving class because it was too much for me, I talked to my teacher. She told me that with time, the pain will dull and not hurt as much. And then she told me that it is ok to talk to someone about all this in the meantime. That was the first time that I realized that I needed help, and so I called up my OB office and they referred me to a counselor they work with.
I was diagnosed with postpartum PTSD. Therapy involved some relaxation techniques, that I originally thought was totally dumb. But it turned out it wasn't, as I now do it every day a year and a half later. This helped my recovery tremendously. I finally realized that I wasn't crazy, and that there was something behind the new, post baby me.
Through therapy, on line support such as postpartumprogress.org, and a continual fight to not let it control me, I was able to return to the floor I had my daughter in for my senior capstone and work there for 130 hours. I was not only able to see my doctors face and walk in my room, but witness a birth in there. Were there hard moments? oh, yeah. The bathroom was a great friend for ugly crying those first couple days, and I may have called my teacher to say it was too much. But, when she said she could find me a new place to finish I said no. I had to finish it. I am so glad I did. I have never felt more strong than walking out those doors that last day. I did it. I am stronger than this disease. I will not be held captive by it again.
So, this is my plea to you, dear reader. If you are questioning if what you are feeling is something, chances are high it might be. So please, seek help. It does not mean you are weak. It does not solidify that you are crazy. In fact, it is the opposite. Taking that first step takes great strength, and I know that you have the strength to do so.
Much love. xoxo
So when I started to feel out of whack, I got my handy little paper and looked at the symptoms. Lack of joy? Not really. Feelings of inadequacy? Nope, not that either. withdrawal from friends and family? Only because I was in nursing school and had no choice. Thoughts of harming myself of my children? Negative. But really, it all came down to the fact that I wasn't sad. I've been depressed, and this wasn't it. So I just kept going, trying to fight a battle I was unprepared to fight.
I had panic attacks on a daily basis. Flashbacks of my birth haunted me like the plague. My dreams had turned dark. I cried all the time, but not because I was sad, but because I kept reliving those key moments of my birth where I thought I was going to die, heck where I should have died. I hated not being able to go through the day without something hitting me and taking me back there. Even the simplest things, like looking at a clock. Showers were bad, because they were really the only time I had to myself. And so I would go through it over and over in my head, while my tears fell down faster than the water. I was very edgy with my family, and had very little patience for my 2 year old. The worse thing was looking at my sweet baby and all of a sudden flooded with resentment for causing so much terror in my life and guilt for not being the mom I wanted to be.
This was not me.
One day, after leaving class because it was too much for me, I talked to my teacher. She told me that with time, the pain will dull and not hurt as much. And then she told me that it is ok to talk to someone about all this in the meantime. That was the first time that I realized that I needed help, and so I called up my OB office and they referred me to a counselor they work with.
I was diagnosed with postpartum PTSD. Therapy involved some relaxation techniques, that I originally thought was totally dumb. But it turned out it wasn't, as I now do it every day a year and a half later. This helped my recovery tremendously. I finally realized that I wasn't crazy, and that there was something behind the new, post baby me.
Through therapy, on line support such as postpartumprogress.org, and a continual fight to not let it control me, I was able to return to the floor I had my daughter in for my senior capstone and work there for 130 hours. I was not only able to see my doctors face and walk in my room, but witness a birth in there. Were there hard moments? oh, yeah. The bathroom was a great friend for ugly crying those first couple days, and I may have called my teacher to say it was too much. But, when she said she could find me a new place to finish I said no. I had to finish it. I am so glad I did. I have never felt more strong than walking out those doors that last day. I did it. I am stronger than this disease. I will not be held captive by it again.
So, this is my plea to you, dear reader. If you are questioning if what you are feeling is something, chances are high it might be. So please, seek help. It does not mean you are weak. It does not solidify that you are crazy. In fact, it is the opposite. Taking that first step takes great strength, and I know that you have the strength to do so.
Much love. xoxo
(horrible picture. But this was me in going in the hospital to have my sweet baby!)
Monday, February 10, 2014
Recovery
Recovery. At what point can you say you are fully recovered?
I don’t know. But as every moment passes I become ever so much closer to that
point, if it really exists.
Birth is notorious for ravishing its victims, even if
everything goes as planned. But what happens when things don’t go as smooth as
you would like? Here is my story of recovery.
After a nearly perfect natural birth my placenta decided to
give everyone some problems and failed to detach, consequently my uterus came
out inside out with the placenta still attached. My doctor tried to fix it in
the room, all the while nurses were multiplying to help out, some giving me
shots to stop my bleeding, some putting oxygen on me. My uterus wouldn’t go
back, so I got rushed to the OR where I was put under and they were able to fix
me without surgery. I came to and was back in my room, listening to the nurses
and my family talk. I had an oxygen mask on, a new IV on my left arm where my 4th
blood transfusion was running, and a blood pressure cuff hooked up to my other
arm. I was too weak to move. So I had no way of communicating that I was awake,
so I just laid there looking at the clock periodically. And thus my journey of
recovery started.
After about 30 minutes of being back in my room, my nurse
gave me a mug of ice water. It was too heavy for me. She poured out half and I still struggled
with it. I told her I was fine because I didn’t want her to know that it was
still too heavy. So once she left I made my husband pour even more out. I ended
up just giving up on the water and went to sleep.
I was able to hold my baby and try to feed her 5 hours
later. It still kills me that I was too sick to even register that I had
another daughter for half of that time. We had to use a billion pillows for her
to be on since I still had no strength to hold much of her weight.
I stayed in the hospital for 2 days. The whole time I was
there I would get episodes of feeling very light headed, dizzy, and almost pass
out. They questioned if I would need another unit of blood, but the blood work
said I was ok, so they just gave me more IV fluids. When I got home the
weakness and light headedness stayed. I refused to hold the baby while standing
for several weeks. I would be fine and normal, and then all of a sudden it was
like the floor fell from under me and my head was spinning. The only relief I
could find would be to sit down and close my eyes. It was a horrible way to
live for over a week. Eventually, the lightheadedness turned into headaches. They
became a very constant part of my existence for several months.
At my 6 week check-up I was given the go ahead that I was
completely healed. If only it had been so easy. I was being tormented daily by panic attacks.
My uterine inversion was constantly on my mind. I started nursing school, which
gave me a large distraction. But when I wasn’t thinking about school, my mind
was reliving the whole event. My husband would try to cuddle with me and I
would see my doctor’s bald head. That bald head soon became a sign of
frustration, sadness, and anger. I would
feed my baby and remember my first time holding her with contentment. And then
I would cry. The littlest things would bring on a panic attack. This is not how
my life was supposed to be.
Several months later, we were learning about labor and
delivery in school and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit there and listen to how
birth was “supposed” to be, I couldn’t look at the happy family with a new
baby. So I left class, and just ran. I ran from everything. I ran from school,
I ran from the trauma, I ran from life. …But eventually I had to come back. By
that time, class was over. My teacher noticed me walking in to get my book bag
and gave me a hug. Then she said something that I will never forget—that I was
not crazy. I went through a traumatic event, and this is how my body happened
to process it, but eventually there would be enough time that it wouldn’t sting
so bad. She also suggested that I talk to a counselor. Recovery.
This was the turning point to my recovery. I saw a counselor
who diagnosed me with PTSD. He taught me coping mechanisms to help calm my
attacks before they controlled me. Soon I found myself going from multiple
attacks a day to one a day and then weekly. I learned what a lot of my triggers
are and what to do when they come up. Now this is recovery.
My PTSD has changed my life. I still have a lot of guilt over
not being with my baby for her first few hours, and consequently her first few
months because I was in the depths of this creature. A lot of my flashbacks
stem from this guilt now days. I get strange panic attacks that are different
than my PTSD attacks. I don’t know what is worse, because they just pop up for
no apparent reason. Luckily, I am prepared with better coping skills to help
calm them down before they turn into something more. I also have spent a lot of time crying. I
thought I had done a good job hiding it until my 4 year old asked me why I cry
all the time. How do I explain that my tears come from somewhere deep down that
yearns for an escape of this madness? Recovery.
About 14 months after my baby’s birth, I had an awesome
opportunity to pick a floor to do my senior capstone for nursing school. I
picked labor and delivery at the hospital it all happened. I had to do it. I
had to prove to myself that I am stronger than my situation. My PTSD was not going
to control me. Walking in those doors and staring down the hall to my room was
the single hardest thing I think I will ever have to do. My 135 hours there
brought back so many flashbacks. Some just by walking in my room or the OR, and
some by the experiences I witnessed. However, with each one I got stronger and
their hold on me got weaker. I learned that I am not ready to be a labor and
delivery nurse, which is what I needed to know. But I also learned that my
experience came to me for a reason.
Recovery.
Now, 18 months later my attacks are very mild compared to
where they used to be. They still sneak up on my when I least expect it, such
as reading a blog about newborns, but they don’t have that hold on me anymore.
I actually welcome them for a moment because it reminds me of what I have gone
through and that I am, in fact, a warrior mom.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
restored
you know, life is strange sometimes.
I don't really talk about this very much. It is a pretty sacred part of my soul. But I feel like I need to share a little. I have had to cope with life after nearly dying. Often times I have had to question why I was saved. Why did I choose to stay here? Why didn't I take the road with less pain? The road of comfort and happiness? You would think that with those options I would have done something different. Anyone would, you would think?? Especially in the place and pain I was at. But for some unknown reason it wasn't my time. But it could have been. I believe when I was in my white tunnel (yes, I saw a white tunnel. I know.) that I had the choice and I chose here. I was searching for which way to go. And I followed my daughters voice.
So I have come to the conclusion that I am here to be her and Ava's mother. And not just their mom, but someone who teaches them. Who helps show right from wrong. I need to lead by example. Lately I haven't done so hot. I have been more focused on me and my problems. I realized today that I need to spend more time living life, instead of waisting it away wallowing away in self pity self absorbed on my phone.
I had the opportunity to be involved in something truly amazing today. My friend in school is pretty sick. Not cancer sick, but close. I entered her story to win a free cake back in the beginning of October. Well she won and it snowballed into this crazy thing I would never have imagined. Between the cake lady and my class we were able to get over $1000 in donated things. Gift cards up the wazoo like family pictures, hair and nails, gas card, food, movies, essential oils, scentsy among other things. This basket was huge!!!! Not to mention the cake was downright awesome. It felt good to help someone. For the first time in a long time I wasn't sitting in my little pity party. I was actually excited for something! And that hasn't really happened for a while. It was great.
It really got me thinking, my near death experience is behind me. I have experienced something that not very many people have. (which is a good thing, obviously) But I can use that and take it with me in my future endeavors. There are people who are looking death straight in the eyes. I know that feeling. Mine might have been minutes compared to months, and for that I'm grateful. But I do know what if feels like. I understand. And I hope that just for a moment that that burden is lifted for my friend.
Maybe I need to go into hospice.
I don't really talk about this very much. It is a pretty sacred part of my soul. But I feel like I need to share a little. I have had to cope with life after nearly dying. Often times I have had to question why I was saved. Why did I choose to stay here? Why didn't I take the road with less pain? The road of comfort and happiness? You would think that with those options I would have done something different. Anyone would, you would think?? Especially in the place and pain I was at. But for some unknown reason it wasn't my time. But it could have been. I believe when I was in my white tunnel (yes, I saw a white tunnel. I know.) that I had the choice and I chose here. I was searching for which way to go. And I followed my daughters voice.
So I have come to the conclusion that I am here to be her and Ava's mother. And not just their mom, but someone who teaches them. Who helps show right from wrong. I need to lead by example. Lately I haven't done so hot. I have been more focused on me and my problems. I realized today that I need to spend more time living life, instead of waisting it away wallowing away in self pity self absorbed on my phone.
I had the opportunity to be involved in something truly amazing today. My friend in school is pretty sick. Not cancer sick, but close. I entered her story to win a free cake back in the beginning of October. Well she won and it snowballed into this crazy thing I would never have imagined. Between the cake lady and my class we were able to get over $1000 in donated things. Gift cards up the wazoo like family pictures, hair and nails, gas card, food, movies, essential oils, scentsy among other things. This basket was huge!!!! Not to mention the cake was downright awesome. It felt good to help someone. For the first time in a long time I wasn't sitting in my little pity party. I was actually excited for something! And that hasn't really happened for a while. It was great.
It really got me thinking, my near death experience is behind me. I have experienced something that not very many people have. (which is a good thing, obviously) But I can use that and take it with me in my future endeavors. There are people who are looking death straight in the eyes. I know that feeling. Mine might have been minutes compared to months, and for that I'm grateful. But I do know what if feels like. I understand. And I hope that just for a moment that that burden is lifted for my friend.
Maybe I need to go into hospice.
Friday, November 8, 2013
1 year
** I wrote this for my personal blog July 20 2013. I decided it should be on this blog too as it is very much part of my journey of postpartum PTSD.***
I have tried to write this blog for a while, but it never came out right. Maybe tonight it will.
Today I just finished my RN1 semester. It is hard to believe that a year ago at his time I was at my deepest low. And that's saying something... A year ago at this time I had a 1 week old baby. I felt ugly. Not only did I have normal new mommy self image problems, I was ridiculously puffy still from my body going through shock. I had thought pregnancy was bad.... wrong. I was so weak at this point that I still was afraid to carry Ava upstairs by myself. I was so blessed that Chris decided to take the week off after the baby was born. I honestly don't know how I could have done it alone. I had a hard time even looking at Ava without busting out in tears. I had so many emotions. Regret. Sadness. Hatred. Most of my time was spent downstairs sleeping or silently crying. That was me. A mess, right?
Somehow, I miraculously got everything ready for nursing school. I had to have my dad come over to carry all my books upstairs, but we made it through. We then miraculously moved my now family of 4 out of our HOME and into my dads so I didn't have to worry about working while in school. There were a lot of sudden changes in our lives in such a short time.
Then, when Ava was only 5 weeks old I started on this journey called Nursing School. I was told I was to have clinicals in Labor and Delivery that semester...REALLY?!? Can't a girl catch a break? We learned all about pregnancy, labor, and childhood. It was a struggle to sit through class sometimes. Sometimes I didn't. More than one occasion I had to leave. It was too much hearing about what "should" happen. What should have happened to me!!! The day we talked about delivery was my turning point. We watched a movie about the "miracle of birth." blah blah blah. I could sit through the pregnancy park ok. The labor part was fine, even the delivery. But when the movie said "the mother now delivers the placenta" while showing a happy family with a newborn, I had had it. It is such an overlooked part of pregnancy that they didn't even show anything and merely mentioned it as the mother was cooing over her baby. I snapped. I ran outside and just kept running...and crying. I went outside and just ran. I still remember looking down at my white shoes and blue uniform pants. I must have needed to go to the hospital that night for preassessments. I didn't know where I was going. But I couldn't think of anything else to do to get all my emotions out. I must have looked like a true crazy person running around my school in my uniform with tears streaming down my face. I had planned on going in and telling my teacher, who also happened to be the head of the department, that I was dropping out. I couldn't do it. It was too much. Too soon. But what she did was probably the best thing of my life. She gave me a hug and just let me cry. and cry. and cry. It was the first time since it happened I was able to abandon what I "should" be like and just let go. She assured me that with time and distance I would get better. (she was right. imagine that). She also encouraged me to maybe see a counselor, and that that was ok.
As soon as I left school that day I was on the phone finding someone to see. Counseling was probably the single best thing I did this whole year. I got diagnosed with PTSD, which totally made sense. The flashbacks. The panic attacks. The nightmares. It was all me. He was able to teach me what to do once these panic attacks start. Throughout our sessions the goal was for me to be able to think of the whole situation. Each day I could get further and further until I needed to stop and had had enough. Then one day I was able to do it!! I used my relaxing techniques to get me through it. It was an amazing day. I don't know if I have ever felt more accomplished in my life.
I was able to go through my L&D clinicals, and not only survive them but leave with a renewed love for it. That has always been my goal when I started the process to become a nurse. I had momentarily been scared that I would have to find somewhere else to go. I will be a labor and delivery nurse.
The months following had their ups and downs. Trying to juggle the riggers and drama of nursing school while trying to stay on top of my illness was rough. Sometimes I was better than others. Sometimes I was better to others. And my husband. Poor Chris has had to deal with psycho-stressed-out wife too many times. He has had the brunt of it. We have struggled as a couple on a few things. But we have made it work. I love him.
As each day goes, I am left with a deeper passion that this is my calling. I was made to be a nurse. Before nursing school I wanted to be a nurse. Now I NEED to be a nurse. I can't think of myself as anything but one. I don't know why I never thought of nursing growing up. It was never on my radar as anything. But I am so glad that it got there somehow.
And so now, here I am. 3 semesters down. 1 to go. I am mentally stable. I am so blessed to be in the program I'm in with teachers who are more than understanding. I would have walked out and never come back. I love my class. I love my friends that I have made. I was really worried that I would be that awkward girl in the corner that was just kind of there. I guess I have grown up since high school. lol. But I have made friends, who will probably stay friends my whole life. Its kind of strange coming from me.
For the past year I have lived, breathed, and drank nursing school. It is hard to believe that in a few short months it will all be over and it will all be a distant memory.... or nightmare depending on what test I'm thinking about. Ava's birth changed me more than I ever thought possible. I am a much more independent, confident person. Life is a gift. literally. It has taught me that humans are more resilient that I ever thought possible. I mean, who goes from their deathbed at the hospital to being at the bedside of others in a hospital in a matter of weeks. The human body is amazing. It can put up with so much. Some doctors are stupid. ....its up to me to stand up to them!! I am not the weak and timid Alicia of the past. I am strong. I am Alicia RN....ok. maybe not yet. But oh so soon!!!!!
I have tried to write this blog for a while, but it never came out right. Maybe tonight it will.
Today I just finished my RN1 semester. It is hard to believe that a year ago at his time I was at my deepest low. And that's saying something... A year ago at this time I had a 1 week old baby. I felt ugly. Not only did I have normal new mommy self image problems, I was ridiculously puffy still from my body going through shock. I had thought pregnancy was bad.... wrong. I was so weak at this point that I still was afraid to carry Ava upstairs by myself. I was so blessed that Chris decided to take the week off after the baby was born. I honestly don't know how I could have done it alone. I had a hard time even looking at Ava without busting out in tears. I had so many emotions. Regret. Sadness. Hatred. Most of my time was spent downstairs sleeping or silently crying. That was me. A mess, right?
Somehow, I miraculously got everything ready for nursing school. I had to have my dad come over to carry all my books upstairs, but we made it through. We then miraculously moved my now family of 4 out of our HOME and into my dads so I didn't have to worry about working while in school. There were a lot of sudden changes in our lives in such a short time.
Then, when Ava was only 5 weeks old I started on this journey called Nursing School. I was told I was to have clinicals in Labor and Delivery that semester...REALLY?!? Can't a girl catch a break? We learned all about pregnancy, labor, and childhood. It was a struggle to sit through class sometimes. Sometimes I didn't. More than one occasion I had to leave. It was too much hearing about what "should" happen. What should have happened to me!!! The day we talked about delivery was my turning point. We watched a movie about the "miracle of birth." blah blah blah. I could sit through the pregnancy park ok. The labor part was fine, even the delivery. But when the movie said "the mother now delivers the placenta" while showing a happy family with a newborn, I had had it. It is such an overlooked part of pregnancy that they didn't even show anything and merely mentioned it as the mother was cooing over her baby. I snapped. I ran outside and just kept running...and crying. I went outside and just ran. I still remember looking down at my white shoes and blue uniform pants. I must have needed to go to the hospital that night for preassessments. I didn't know where I was going. But I couldn't think of anything else to do to get all my emotions out. I must have looked like a true crazy person running around my school in my uniform with tears streaming down my face. I had planned on going in and telling my teacher, who also happened to be the head of the department, that I was dropping out. I couldn't do it. It was too much. Too soon. But what she did was probably the best thing of my life. She gave me a hug and just let me cry. and cry. and cry. It was the first time since it happened I was able to abandon what I "should" be like and just let go. She assured me that with time and distance I would get better. (she was right. imagine that). She also encouraged me to maybe see a counselor, and that that was ok.
As soon as I left school that day I was on the phone finding someone to see. Counseling was probably the single best thing I did this whole year. I got diagnosed with PTSD, which totally made sense. The flashbacks. The panic attacks. The nightmares. It was all me. He was able to teach me what to do once these panic attacks start. Throughout our sessions the goal was for me to be able to think of the whole situation. Each day I could get further and further until I needed to stop and had had enough. Then one day I was able to do it!! I used my relaxing techniques to get me through it. It was an amazing day. I don't know if I have ever felt more accomplished in my life.
I was able to go through my L&D clinicals, and not only survive them but leave with a renewed love for it. That has always been my goal when I started the process to become a nurse. I had momentarily been scared that I would have to find somewhere else to go. I will be a labor and delivery nurse.
The months following had their ups and downs. Trying to juggle the riggers and drama of nursing school while trying to stay on top of my illness was rough. Sometimes I was better than others. Sometimes I was better to others. And my husband. Poor Chris has had to deal with psycho-stressed-out wife too many times. He has had the brunt of it. We have struggled as a couple on a few things. But we have made it work. I love him.
As each day goes, I am left with a deeper passion that this is my calling. I was made to be a nurse. Before nursing school I wanted to be a nurse. Now I NEED to be a nurse. I can't think of myself as anything but one. I don't know why I never thought of nursing growing up. It was never on my radar as anything. But I am so glad that it got there somehow.
And so now, here I am. 3 semesters down. 1 to go. I am mentally stable. I am so blessed to be in the program I'm in with teachers who are more than understanding. I would have walked out and never come back. I love my class. I love my friends that I have made. I was really worried that I would be that awkward girl in the corner that was just kind of there. I guess I have grown up since high school. lol. But I have made friends, who will probably stay friends my whole life. Its kind of strange coming from me.
For the past year I have lived, breathed, and drank nursing school. It is hard to believe that in a few short months it will all be over and it will all be a distant memory.... or nightmare depending on what test I'm thinking about. Ava's birth changed me more than I ever thought possible. I am a much more independent, confident person. Life is a gift. literally. It has taught me that humans are more resilient that I ever thought possible. I mean, who goes from their deathbed at the hospital to being at the bedside of others in a hospital in a matter of weeks. The human body is amazing. It can put up with so much. Some doctors are stupid. ....its up to me to stand up to them!! I am not the weak and timid Alicia of the past. I am strong. I am Alicia RN....ok. maybe not yet. But oh so soon!!!!!
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