September is sepsis awareness month, a time for me to talk until I’m blue in the face about deadly infections that sneak into all sorts of bodies right in front of us in the hospital, deadly infections that take our friends and family and total strangers, deadly infections that often start out looking like nothing more than a subtle shift in blood pressure. September is a time for me to call to arms the power of knowledge and timing and a sharp eye. September is a time for me to wage war on a scourge that simply ought not be.
Today, I started yet another journey. Fridays are gonna be extra full and extra fun this semester.
Got to write my first board bio…
Born and raised in the Carolinas, Rachael Kincaid visited Homer during college. While she fell in love with the town and hoped to return someday, her boyfriend told her there was no way he’d ever move. Her boyfriend became her husband, though, and fifteen years plus a handful of kids later, they moved to Homer. A nurse practitioner by trade, Rachael Kincaid is the Chief Nursing Officer at South Peninsula Hospital. She holds a doctorate in nursing from the Medical University of South Carolina. Her background ranges from psychiatric nursing to medical-surgical, but the bulk of her career has been in hospice and geriatrics. Rachael’s husband, Christopher, is the worship pastor at Church on the Rock. They share six kids, two of whom are grown and four of whom are growing up in Homer. In addition to evidence-based and holistic healthcare, Rachael loves talking about marriage and motherhood, skincare, the practice of tenacious gratitude, slow fashion, books, politics, pro basketball, and houseplants. She’s 5’2″. She drinks iced coffee every morning. She’s honored to serve on the board at Hospice of Homer.
What’s wild is being the gal who isn’t afraid to say true things in front a crowd and also the gal terrified to have a hard convo in a one-on-one meeting. This is leadership?
Turns out, parenting and leading in an organization aren’t too different from one another. What people need is a psychologically safe space to show up, try their best, and fail forward.
Voting is perhaps one of the most magical, fulfilling, intense emotional community experiences I’ve had as an adult. At any point in time, I can flash back to fond memories.
I can remember the feeling of the fall breeze at my first college campus, as my roommate and I nervously giggled and shoved heavy absentee ballot envelopes into the box.
I can remember times I’ve painstakingly confirmed my voting location, only to arrive at the wrong place and receive helpful instructions from a kind and patient poll worker. It happened when I was new to the civic duty game, and it happened again tonight.
I can remember the man standing out in the rain, quietly holding the sign of the guy he thought may lead us to new and better places. I can remember standing in line as a tired young mom on food stamps, baby on my back and hope in my heart. I can remember the girl snacking in the back of her Subaru as if at a picnic, wearing blunt bangs and funky nose ring.
I have voted with my gut, and with my conscience, and with the masses. I have voted Republican and Democrat and Independent and Nonpartisan and Undeclared. I’ve tried to split the vote before, and I’ve been frustrated the vote gets split.
I do not believe a vote is thrown away unless it is not cast. To use my voice and exercise my right has become one of the most cherished honors of my life. Let freedom ring.
This morning, I got to announce that we are down to only two residents with COVID-19 in Long Term Care. This evening, I got to make supper with my daughters. Today was a good day.
