Big Ju who?

I'm going to the gym today. Actually, I've been going for the past four months. So far I've lost a whopping 40 lbs. You'd think that would be exciting. Well, not so much--at least not for me. Believe it or not, it almost feels like a piece of me is missing. I'll try to explain...

You see, for as long as I can remember, I've always been "big"--not fat, but big. People would ask if I played football or lifted weights. I just had this look, they'd say. And, hey, I liked the attention. Some even said I was pretty intimidating. What guy doesn't what to hear that? I know I do. But today, I don't get that anymore. Today, I'm just another normal guy. And I'll tell you what really got me going.

Remember Let's Pretend Hospital? Well, that day the school provided everyone with a shirt. Mind you, I've worn XL since I was in middle school. (Hey, I still wear XL, although surprisingly enough I may have to change that pretty soon. My clothes are really starting to hang. But, digress.) So, when I went to pick up my shirt, the girl behind the counter asked, "Do you need a large or a medium?" Do I need a large or a medium!!? What the hell? The only thing I could think of was, "Do I look like I could fit into a medium shirt?" I was livid--heck, and insulted. In my mind, it was inconceivable to even ask me that. I was Big Ju, right? I politely told her I needed an XL, while trying my best not to reveal my frustration. Not only were they out, but the girl looked at me like I was confused or something--like I couldn't appreciate the differences in shirt sizes. Then she proceeded to give me the large shirt with no hesitation. "Have fun," she says. I couldn't believe it. What was I supposed to do with a large shirt, I thought. I figured I'd give it to my girl friend, no biggie.

Well, that night I tried the shirt on. And would you believe the stupid thing fit. And it wasn't like I had to suck in or try really hard to make it fit, no way. The shirt just fit, perfectly. I couldn't believe it.

Now before I go on, I would like to say that I'm all for being healthy. Hey, that's why I did this. And I'm not saying I'd rather be fat--although, I never was fat. Once again, I was "big". And for most of you out there, I don't expect you to understand. After all, this is kind of a weird thing to vent about; but, nonetheless, these are my thoughts. I honestly feel like I've lost a little bit of what made me who I was.

Having said all that, I don't plan on quiting the gym. Truth be known, I'm addicted, which brings me to my dilemma. How in the hell, do I stay "Big Ju" while at the same time staying in shape? The answer, I'm afraid, isn't what I want to hear. It seems I can't. I'm going to have to come to grips with this new me--this much smaller me. I don't stand out anymore. People aren't as intimidated. And no longer do I look like a middle linebacker. Damn, that part really stings. Oh well, such is life. I'll get over it eventually, I guess.

Four miles, here I come!!

I need a break

I've been studying now for about four hours. My eyeballs hurt. I have a cramp in my neck--you know, from laying on my bed while I study--and I still have over fifty pages left to read. It sucks being such a procrastinator!

I officially hate Medical-Surgical Nursing, too. The chapters are way too long, and the material couldn't be any more boring. I don't know who wrote this book...well, wait a minute, yeah I do. The author's name is on the cover; but nonetheless, I'm pissed that I have to study during my spring break. Granted, it is cold as heck outside, and I don't plan on going to the beach for another two days, but still. It's the principle of the matter. We get breaks so that we don't have to study, duh! Can I get an amen!?

I've also decided I'm done with school. Seriously, after I graduate--for the second time, mind you--there is no more school in my future. This is it! Nursing it is.

You see, before I started nursing school, I thought it would be cool to become a CRNA (Certified Registered Nurse Anesthesist). They make really good money; and the job market is great. And, get this, the program is only two years. So, that plan was: I would do nursing school, which, for me, is only two years since I'd already completed my prerequisites (remember, I have another degree), and then I'd start the CRNA program. Hey, it was gonna be a piece of cake, right? Wrong!

It was a rude awakening--to say the least. And the thing is, it's not that nursing school is tough; the problem really is that I've lost all drive and ambition. Apathetic is the word. Four years ago, I would've been so gung-ho about the whole thing; but today, things are way different. For one thing, I'm older, which means I ready to grow up. I'm ready to have my own, experience life, make some money, and--most importantly--get the hell out of my parents' house.

Now don't get me wrong, I love my education and I'm all for higher learning. But, at some point, you have to stop being a student. I've definitely reached that point. I'm ready to grow the F up. The most frustrating part is, however, I still have three more semesters to go. Damn! Pray that I don't drop out.

Time for more studying. (Stupid Med-Surg!)

Let's Pretend Hospital

Well, spring break is here. You'd think a guy would be more excited. Unfortunately, for us nursing students, excitement isn't much of an option. One of our professors decided it would be a great idea to give us an exam over the break. Granted, it is Monday, which still leaves us most of our break; but, fact is, spring break started the day after the last class. That means, for the next week, we shouldn't have to think twice about anything school related. Seriously, where does she get off giving us a test the first official weekday of spring break. Come on!

Oh, and let's not forget about Let's Pretend Hospital. What is Let's Pretend Hospital, you ask. Well, for starters, let me just say, I think some of the things they make us nursing students do is just plan ol' ridiculous. Having said that, let me explain Let's Pretend Hospital.

My school decided twenty-five years ago that they would collaborate with one of the local hospitals and put together a day long show for first graders. The show's purpose would be to simply educate kids on the hospital. The idea was to keep them from being scared of the medical personnel--which, by the way, I think is a great idea. The problem is, however, that they make, or better yet, force nursing students to produce and set up the entire show. Yeah, that's right, they make us do it! And, get this: it's for a grade. All of this, by the way, has nothing to do with nursing. Can you say complete waste of time!?

So, there you have it. I spent my entire day Friday teaching 16 classes about the emergency room. I was exhausted. Seriously, I've actually started to rethink this whole having kids thing. Those little boogers wore me out. And not to mention the fact that I had to act--Lord knows I'm not an actor.

We had one little girl who threw up; and another little boy who was scared to death of the ambulance. I couldn't help but think, "Seriously? I mean, what first grader hasn't at least heard the sirens of an ambulance." Well, anyway, it was an interesting day, to say the least.

Now I'm off to study for my test, as oppose to hanging out with my girlfriend. God, I hate school, sometimes. Then again, I wouldn't have a job if I didn't stick with it. It's most definitely a love-hate thing. Hope I ace this bad boy.

Nursing with Ju

I think I'm going to try something different, especially when I consider I haven't written on this thing in quite some time. I figure my writing should have a theme. That way I would have a little direction when I write. The idea is I'm giving myself something to work with you--as oppose to just a blank canvus, which, for me, just isn't working.

So, I've decided to write about Nursing School. My life kind of revolves around it right now. And, let me tell you, it sucks--badly. It's not that I hate nursing, it's just that I don't have much time for anything else. My girlfriend, who lives an hour and a half away, isn't complaining or anything; but Lord knows I miss the crap out of her. And not to mention the fact that I can't seem to get my study habits on track. And, get this: my clinical instructor completely called me out today. She questioned my motives for being in school and is wondering if nursing is truly for me. Let me tell you folks, that is not a good thing.

So, here I am: a semester and a half into this thing and I'm just trying my best to stay afloat. And all of you guys are invited along for the ride. I hope you enjoy my stories.

Ju

Grandma

Grandma Earnestine was a christian. She loved the Lord. And every Sunday morning, rain or shine, she was in church -- front row. Pastors from all over Alabama knew her, too. Heck, I think everyone did. She'd always be the one praying and shouting the loudest, which, of course, is how they loved it. They couldn't get enough.

I used to love going to church with her. Not because of the preaching so much, but because seeing my slightly obese grandma run around the santuary was more than amusing. It was downright histerical. They'd put that holy music on, and that was her cue. She was gone, baby. I'm talking jumping, and shouting, and singing.

I always did wonder where she got the energy. Grandma was a big lady. Stout. Heavy. Fat, even. Picture this: Obese, elderly, black woman running around the church screaming, "hun nan na nan." Yeah, it still gives me the giggles.

She definitely knew who her Lord and Savior was.

Even when she was dying from cancer, her faith never wavered. Now for us, it was devastating. We couldn't bare seeing our grandma -- our big mama -- dying. Amazingly enough, though, while we were all crying and begging God to save her, she was praying for us. On her death bed, my grandma was more concerned about her family than herself. God, she was an amazing woman.

That was who she was. Her life wasn't complicated, at all. She cooked during the holidays, worked for the rich, and worshipped Jesus Christ. Her goals were simple: Pray for her family, pray for her friends, pray for her enemies, and live the way Jesus would want. She was four for four.

Love you, Grandma.

The Beach

One summer, my roommates and I decided to take a trip to the beach. Now, mind you, I had never been to the beach. So I was more than thrilled.

The drive was long -- five hours, actually -- but we made it.

The first girl I saw was wearing what had to have been "The World's Smallest Bikini." I kid you not. I think dental floss comes with more string. Now don't get me wrong, here. I like half-naked women just like the next guy; but this girl looked way too young. She couldn't have been more than 16. Part of me wanted to cover her up, like a big brother. But the other half, well, let's just say covering her up was the last thing on my mind.

So there we were, at the beach. We found a nice spot to chill, unpacked our stuff, and enjoyed the "scenery."

After about fifteen minutes, I got in the water. Now, this is where the story takes a turn for the worse. Remember, I told you this was my first time at the beach, ever. Well, I really didn't know what I had gotten myself into. And to make matters worse, I couldn't swim. Yeah, I'm sure you see where this is going.

So I get in. "Hmm, this isn't too bad," I think to myself. The water was calm. I felt like I had lots of control, so it only made sense to venture out a little further, right? Well, unbeknown to me, there was a steep drop about five feet ahead. (God, I wish I had known that before.) So, as I walked along, it happened. I started to sink, baby!

I screamed to the top of my lungs.

No one was coming, either. Well, it seemed like no one was coming. And I just knew I was going to die. Then, just like that, little bikini girl was grabbing my massive head. Now, just so you can get a good picture of this: Little bikini girl probably weighed no more than 100 lbs, wet. I -- former high school jock -- weighed in at a whopping 250. You should have seen her. She man-handled me like I was nothing, and flung me on the sand like a pro.

"Are you okay," she asked.

Besides the bruised ego, I was more than okay. I just hated the fact that there was this huge crowd standing around. "Yeah, I'm fine, " I whip back, trying my best to sound nonchalant.

The crowd eventually cleared, and my roommates never let me live that little experience down. I never saw little bikini again; and I haven't been to the beach since.

It's something about that whole drowning thing that really gets me.

Uncle Jimmy

Uncle Jimmy was funny. He joked. He danced. He sang. He did whatever he could to brighten your day. And, man, was he good at it. He was a natural. With perfect comedic timing and a flawless sense of wit, it seemed bringing a smile to my face -- or anyone for that matter -- was his sole purpose. He was a good guy. No, wait, he was a great guy.
Unfortunately, though, Uncle Jimmy was also an ex-convict. With six felonies on his record, he was constantly worried about his future. "Who's going to hire a man with six felonies," he'd say. And at 42 years old, he was single, never married, a father of three (who, by the way, he rarely saw) and an ex-drug addict. Crack. Cocaine. Marijuana. You name it, he did it.
Child support payments, court appearances, and unwavering thoughts of an eviction notice placed ever-so-carelessly on his door plagued him constantly. Jobless and with no money in his pockets, he was stuck. Stagnant. And there was nothing any of us could do to help.