Note: if you access our blog through an RSS feed/reader (such as Google Reader), you need to delete it and add it again! Making the switch made the old updates stop coming.

Otherwise, you can still access it using www.isaacandcamber.com. Simply as that.

See you over there!

Here’s one way.

Stairwell beverage night.

6 people. 6 mugs. Cherry apple cider. Some weird hats, scarves, and pajamas. Some high-brow poetry reading.

No hangover.

My silences happen when too much goes through my brain for my mouth to convert into coherent English expression.

Like when a patient asks me how long I’ve been married.

Four years.

Kids?

Not yet.

You guys are so smart to wait to have children until you have more money and have your career established.

Silence.

What I want to say is, actually, you’re wrong, we’re not waiting at all. This may surprise you, but 20-25% of all couples will have problems at some point in bringing the old stork around to visit. We are one of them. I want to explain about how yes, we’ve been to the doctors, and no, I’m not exactly interested in hearing that so-and-so adopted and that made them get pregnant right away or that so-and-so just stopped stressing about getting pregnant and then got pregnant, or that I should just be glad to have time to myself for now before I have kids and it ruins my life and my marriage. I want to tell you all about the agony of hoping each month, of knowing that this month it’s really going to happen and then learning that it’s not. I want you to understand but I don’t want you to drown me in sympathy, nor tell me last when someone you know gets pregnant. I want you to tell me that having kids is wonderful, and that it’s worth it–all of it. I want to tell you everything so we can understand each other. So you please, please won’t think that I’m a selfish person who hates babies.

I think all this in my brain, but by the time it reaches my mouth it’s turned into “Ummmm…”

And a little more silence while I scramble to change the subject to painkillers.

Out Parking Lot

Clearing Our Walkway

Our Car

Moving here, I thought snowstorms like this one were par for the course–I expected a couple giant storms a year. Turns out, this one was kind of a big deal.

Here’s the problem: nurses don’t get snow days. I thought about bemoaning that fact, but the truth is some great things came of the day:

I woke up to our parking lot deep with snow and the buses cancelled indefinitely. Now, there are a finite number of ways to transport myself from my apartment to the hospital 2.2 miles away. In fact, there are four: drive, bike, bus, or walk. The first three were effectively annihilated by the unreasonably high mounds of snow. I therefore, burdened with the guilt of sick patients and stranded coworkers, was motivated into employing method #4 of getting to work: walking through some rather deep snow. 2.2 miles of it. A blessing: some poor soul had walked most of the path before me, making the going much easier for yours truly. Thanks, whoever you are.

0.2 miles from the hospital, some good samaritans in an SUV gave me a ride the rest of the way. Thanks, mother of a baby in the NICU.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I’d forgotten my shoes. The only footwear I had available to me were Isaac’s snow boots, two sizes too big.

Oops.

A coworker lent me her shoes, just my size. Thanks, Becky.

That night, Isaac shoveled the car out to come get me so I didn’t have to walk back home. Thanks, dear.

I came home to find our parking lot plowed and all the sidewalks shoveled. Meaning someone else out there also had to work on a snow day. Thanks, shovel man.

I’m positive that I’d rather be a nurse than the shovel man.

It’s hard to wake up early and get home late. To never see daylight on those days. To deal with confused old people or people that can’t do anything for themselves that also happen to be on isolation. Being on isolation means we gown and glove up before going in the room. To make that person feel like a living biohazard. And also to bring out the color of my eyes. I struggle with the barrage of foul language that assaults my ears, the rude doctors, and that always, always present feeling of having more to do than my merely mortal body can accomplish. It nags at me like a sticker in my sock that I can’t find to pull out.

I’ll admit, after work one day this week, I confessed to Isaac that I don’t think I can do this job anymore. We talked about options.

And then I went back. And I had, yes, a needy old lady on isolation. And in another room, a confused old lady who swore at me and told me to leave. I started dreaming about a long-overdue career change. And then, moments later, she apologized profusely and begged my forgiveness. I gave it. And my other patient said, “I’m so glad you were my nurse today. You made this day so much better.” And I took my third patient for a walk in her leopard-print slippers and listened to stories about her grandchildren.

She was adorable.

My career change is back on hold.

It was summertime, and I had just returned from a study abroad during spring term. I needed somewhere to live for about 8 weeks. So I moved to the apartments where my dear friend and long-time roommate Freda was living.

Short on time to make friends, I hung out with her friends. I joined her dinner-group. And I met Isaac, her running buddy that she talked about constantly. When I asked her about guys that might pose potential interest, Isaac was one of the first mentioned–because they were already good friends.

One weekend I felt bummed because a planned trip to Arizona had fallen through, and so consented to go on a camping trip with, among others, Freda and Isaac. Freda and Isaac talked the whole time, another couple flirted the whole time, and the remaining other boy and I looked awkwardly at each other in silence. Not my favorite camping trip.

The next night, Freda and Isaac talked me into a late-night hike to a nearby summit to watch Fourth of July fireworks. I was a little worried about again being the awkward third wheel. Rather, Isaac and I started talking and kept finding things in common. I had never talked to him before (I thought of him as Freda’s friend) but we had a great conversation. That night, as Freda and I had a final, half-asleep conversation before drifting off, she said, “Camber, if you ever want to go for Isaac, you can.” Whatever, I thought. He’s not my type.

The next week, four of us planned to fly kites together in the evening. One guy bailed, and Freda decided, last-minute, to go to California. That left Isaac and I alone to fly kites. There wasn’t any breeze. So we talked instead. And talked. And talked. Until 2 AM. By the time Freda got back, only 4 nights later, we were dating. And the rest, as they say, was history. We married 5 1/2 months later.

How did Freda react? She was true to her word. She stepped aside, expressed sincere happiness for me, and never once even hinted that she was mad at me for stealing away a potential interest. We remain good friends to this day.

After 4 very happy years of marriage, I still give Freda credit every time I tell our story. I am positive I would not have my wonderful husband now if not for our mutual friendship with Freda. And I still marvel that today I have her friendship instead of a grudge.

Thanks, Freda.

–A note to readers: Freda later married a great guy and now has an adorable baby. So maybe her husband should also be thanking me?…

Shotguns, skeets, and the sexy smell of gun powder.

The only thing that could make it more perfect would be if we were in Arizona and it was a balmy 65 degrees.

Oh wait, we were, and it was.

Merry Christmas!

Best.Four.Years.Ever.

Isaac and I often talk about how neither of us felt there were any big “surprises” when we got married, despite our VERY short courtship–our transition to married life was pleasant and smooth. But now that we’ve hit four years, I am pleasantly surprised about a few things:

1) We still love to hold hands, cuddle, smooch, and say “I love you”

2) Isaac is, if anything, handsomer than the day we got married

3) I still get excited when Isaac comes home at night

4) Isaac has never yet raised his voice at me

How did I get so blessed? I love you Isaac!

Meet:

Rupert

Otis

Horace (Isaac’s)

Waldo (Camber’s). He used to have pupils…

Gonzo

Clarence

And Wilbur, Camber’s deaf ear.

Turns out it’s hard to take a picture of one’s own ear.

And, to be helpful, the definition of anthropomorphism, in case you’re too embarrassed to ask:

Anthropomorphism: Any attribution of human characteristics  to animals or non-living things, phenomena, material states and objects or abstract concepts. –Wikipedia

Some of you scientific types may wonder, “What does that do to a person?”

I can tell you what it does to a Camber.

10:30 PM: Go to bed at the same time as Isaac. Oh boy!

10:30-2: Sleep happily.

2 AM: Isaac wakes me up by hitting my face while turning over (no hard feelings, dear). My stomach starts growling.

2:30 AM: I am still WIDE awake, and my stomach is STILL growling. Really?

My stomach thinks it’s dinnertime.

2:35 AM: I grudgingly crawl out of bed and yes, eat dinner.

3:00 AM: Still wide awake. And reading every blog in creation.

5:45 AM: My body is finally ready to think about going back to sleep.

6:30 AM: My body actually gets around to going back to sleep.

11:20 AM: I wake up almost 13 hours after going to bed.

Please, think twice before deciding to have chest pain at midnight. Think about your nurses.