Stethoscope Talks

Eyeballs

2010-02-22T14:09:00.002-06:00

Aren't her eyes pretty? They belong to my baby baby sister. (as opposed to just my baby sister. I have two of them you see.) I see these eyes all the time. Aw, you think, she must be at her parent's house frequently to see them all the time. Mind you, I am home quite often. But I see those eyes even oftener. Do they haunt me in my dreams? Do I see them every time I close my eyes? Nothing so fine sounding, I assure you. It's because she's a thief. Yup, a thief.
Anything that I own that is a recording device somehow, sometime, when my back is turned, when I least expect it, this little monkey scampers around the house taking pictures of her eyes. Then when I upload my pictures, or flip through my phone photos, or go through my ipod tracks I see a familiar eye looking unrepentantly up at me. Much the same when I confront those eyeballs in living color. I suppose she is right. Whenever I'm missing my baby baby sister, I have many opportunities to pull up a picture and gaze into her eyeballs.

Death

2010-01-08T20:29:00.004-06:00

Life really isn't like a box of chocolates. Because even if you get a gross filling, at least the outside was sweet. The outside was covered in chocolate, so there was that moment of "this might possibly turn out okay" before the cherry cough syrupy center implodes in your mouth. Life is often unsweet from bitter beginning to bitter end. Sometimes I can't even wrap my mind around all the pain and all the suffering of this world. I see so much of it, yet I'm sure it's still just a small taste.
Why do people blow their heads off? We try to laugh about it at work, and tell our families the 'best' way to shoot yourself, if you're going to do it. But it's not funny. There is no 'best' way. It's just horrible. It's horrible for your soul, it's horrible for the people you leave behind, it's horrible for the people who take care of you until the final, inevitable end.
I didn't even know you, but I knew your family for a brief moment. I felt their sorrow, I felt their anger, I felt their resignation, I felt their despair, I felt their panic. And I watched you die. And now what's left? A hollow empty shell, I zip into a white bag. It's never like the movies, where the body is white and the mouth is closed. Your mouth hangs slack jawed, your skin yellowed. Your wife wants your mouth closed, but I can't even do that for her. Death has truly taken everything. Oh Death, where is your victory, where is your sting? It is here. Right here with a hopeless family, at the bitter end.

Boxcutter+Stupidity=Emergency Room

2009-08-30T22:01:00.003-05:00

Many things happen by accident. Or as my mother would say, by stupidity. I think this might qualify. I'll tell the story, you be the judge.

It was a normal rainy afternoon, no threatening bolts of lightening hurtling from the sky as the gargoyle statues loom menacingly in the night. It was just kinda dreary, and I decided to do the fairly normal task of organizing my room. No stitching together a living creature from dead body parts with Igor lurching in the background. But stitches were to come.

In a flash of brilliance, I decided to fit a smaller drawer designed for jewelry into a larger drawer designed for my inconvenience. But the smaller drawer actually turned out to be 1/4 of an inch too tall. It was so frustrating to ALMOST be able to close the drawer, but not quite. I was tempted to howl at the moon it was so irritating. But since it was not night, there was no moon to howl at. So I contented myself with having another flash of brilliance. A box cutter! Of course! I can just cut the imposing 1/4 inch off the box and viola, problem solved.

And then the stupidity...er...accident happened. The box cutter decided it liked the taste of flesh much better and slipped right into my finger. Pulsating blood began to ooze everywhere. Being the level headed nurse that I am I quickly rinsed my finger in the kitchen sink, but making a big splattering mess in the process. And then I decided since I was all alone, it would be a good time to meet the neighbors.

"Hi, my name is Julia, I'm your neighbor, would you be able to take me to the emergency room?"

They were incredibly gracious, and I was kind enough not to bleed on their carpet. Four hours of emergency room waiting later, I was seen by a doctor who had his med-student stitch me up. Let's just say, seeing other people's blood for a living does not prepare you to see your own blood up close and personal. Or experience all the excruciating pain associated with it. Moral of the story, don't be stupid, especially when sharp blades are involved.

Independence

2009-07-04T21:32:00.002-05:00

Well, now we can all see how good I am at keeping resolutions. Wasn't this a fun experiment? The pressure was building to keep telling funny, creative stories. But nothing funny or creative was happening in my life, all I could think of was sad things to write about. And who wants to read a sad blog? I know I don't. And so I left it. And now I'm back! And it's the 4th of July. A happy occasion, which I can write about. Unless you start thinking about all the bloodshed which transpired for Independence to come about. All the brothers and sons and fathers dying and all the sisters and mothers and wives grieving. I hear the sound of firework cannons blasting and my windows rattle, and all I can think of are families huddling in their homes, wondering with each blast if it was their family at the receiving end. Because a king wanted to rule a country across an ocean. When will all this death and dying and suffering and grief and loss end? When our true King returns, and calls us home. It can't come soon enough. And that my friends IS a happy thing to write about!

Time is money

2009-05-01T14:17:00.003-05:00

Consider the following conversation:
"I need to go to the time machine first before we go."

"Um, okay Julia, you sci-fi weirdo."

"How is that weird? Or even science-fiction?"

"Time machines don't exist."

"Yes they do!"

"No they don't!"

"Then where else am I supposed to get my money from?"

"The bank?"

"Time machines are at the bank. You've never heard of one before?"

"Only from H.G. Wells."

"No, no, not TIME machine, TYME machine. You know, Take Your Money Everywhere?"

"Never heard of it."

After several phone calls to prove I wasn't off my rocker we finally did a drive by so the proof could be tangible. Because I do know time machines don't exist. But teleportation on the other hand... well, that's a different story.

Ewww

2009-04-17T21:29:00.003-05:00

*WARNING: this post is bordering on the gross, read at your own risk*

Yesterday I dealt with a lot of snot. And I'm not trying to be poetic. There was nothing poetic about the thick and creamy ooze coming out of my poor patient's nose. And snot should not be thick and creamy. Only my Wendy's frosty should be described that way. It was also stringy and sticky. Like string cheese. Or taffy. And it was a lovely yellow color. Like puke. Or cream of broccoli soup. Which, incidentally, is what I had for lunch.

This is why I get in trouble with everyone I know. I can't help but describe the disgusting things I see and deal with, in vivid detail, because it's more fun that way. How am I supposed to help it if it always comes up during times food is present? It's because when it comes to food and bodily secretions, the analogies are endless. Think about it. I'm sure you could come up with a few. And now I'm going to eat some broccoli soup with side dish of string cheese and a frosty for dessert. But hold the puke please.

Worshiping

2009-04-13T13:11:00.002-05:00

The ixthus. I have always liked this symbol. Not in a cool faddish type of way. But in thinking about it in the context of the historical church. How Christians were killed for worshiping together, and so developed this symbol to recognize one another safely. I can just imagine, going to the market place to pick up some fruit and seeing the fish symbol carved into the wood of the fruit stall. I meet the eyes of the stall-keeper with a knowing glance and outline the fish with my fingertip. He understands my meaning and gives an impercebtible nod. "We'll be discussing everlasting fruits at my house this evening, come and join us." Finally found, a place to worship, all through the simple image of a fish.

I have one on the back of my car, the outline of an ixthus. While I praise God for being able to openly worship Him, it is a good reminder to me of all my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ who are unable to do so. May they still have found ways to gather together and praise His name this past Easter weekend.

Tornado!

2009-04-06T11:21:00.002-05:00

Whenever I'm stressed, or some big change is coming along, I dream about tornadoes. It's very predictable. The night before taking my nursing boards... cyclones galore filled my head. Last night was no exception.
I was driving down a deserted road. Roads are always deserted in dreams. I can hear the warning sirens. I see two funnel clouds behind me, meandering destructively close. I see two more starting to form in front of me. There's no way to avoid them all. I pull over on the side of the road, thinking I'll lie flat in the ditch. Then I spy a farm house. There are some children playing in the front yard and their pregnant mother is hanging laundry in the wind. Can't they see the impending doom?
I run over to warn them about the tornadoes, telling them to get to a cellar. Because of course, farm houses never have basements, but they do have cellars. I find out these dream people can only speak Spanish. I know even less Spanish as my dream self than I do as my real self. But the tornadoes are coming closer and speak for themselves. We rush to a cellar. The two little kids, the pregnant woman and myself squeeze in. We close the doors and I magically have a flashlight in my hands. We all crouch on the floor around the light. We hear the wind, feel it rattling the cellar doors and the ground. Then it feels like we're flying. I peer through some loose boards and we're definitely up in the air. But none of us are scared anymore, because as long as we stay in the cellar we'll be safe. And then I wake up. The thing is, I can't figure out what I'm stressed about this time.

Smiley-Face Saturday

2009-04-04T10:43:00.001-05:00

Maybe the basketball was artfully placed... but the swing has always been there, with the ropes knotted just so. Happy Smiley-face Saturday!

Smiley-face Saturday

2009-03-21T20:23:00.002-05:00

Some days, there isn't much to smile about. So all the more reason to have a Smiley-face Saturday! This is a picture my sister sent to me on my phone. She saw a pile of junk mail and sitting atop it a smile! They truly are everywhere when you start looking. Happy Smiley-Face Saturday!

Mighty to Save

2009-03-20T22:44:00.004-05:00

Everyone needs compassion,

Love that's never failing;

Let mercy fall on me.

Everyone needs forgiveness,

The kindness of a Saviour;

The Hope of nations.

Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

So take me as You find me,

All my fears and failures,

Fill my life again.

I give my life to follow

Everything I believe in,

Now I surrender.

My Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

Shine your light and let the whole world see,

We're singing for the glory of the risen King...Jesus

My Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave!

written by Reuben Morgan and Ben Fielding from Hillsong Church

Pain

2009-03-19T13:12:00.003-05:00

I can only say... too true... and I've always wondered how often patients feel this way when we ask them our ridiculous questions!

Smiley-Face Saturday

2009-03-14T16:25:00.002-05:00

French-fries and Onion rings... nutritious lunch and smiley-face fun! Created by Jaimee. Picture captured by Julia

Fire

2009-03-13T11:08:00.002-05:00

When I entered the apartment building a few days ago, the whole first floor was hazy. At first I thought it was just my eyes because I was tired, but then I smelled burning. But there were no fire alarms going off, so maybe it was just someone's dinner? I decided to go get my brother to compare senses. Ignoring the "in case of fire use stairs" sign, I took the elevator to the third floor.
The third floor smelled funky too. Burning funky, not funk funky, if you know what I mean. Jordan came out into the hall, then went to the first floor. Using the stairs. That one has a head on his shoulders I'd say. He agreed it smelled like something was burning but since no alarms were going off and we couldn't see billowing smoke coming from anyone's door we took the elevator back up to the third floor with our ears peeled for sirens. Then we started talking about if there was a fire, what would we grab from our apartment to save?
Jordan said he'd take all his clothes and throw his mattress out the window. He likes his bed. I didn't really know what I'd take. Maybe all my pictures and journals. My purse with my ID and everything in it. You know how it is ladies, EVERYTHING is in the purse. But other than that I wasn't quite sure. What would YOU take?

Whew

2009-03-12T10:51:00.002-05:00

Whew and whew again. Sometimes I wonder why I do what I do. Did I really sign up to deal with exploding urine bags? And let's not forget the exploding poo. Lots and lots of exploding poo. And a patient who knows no English, is highly confused, just had brain surgery, is connected to every type of tube and cord imaginable, has to go to the bathroom and so decides it's okay to get out of bed; with every cord and tube being pulled to its breaking point. "Esperar! Esperar!" I shout, the only bits of Spanish I know coming from deep within the recesses of my brain. Ah yes, I see the problem, exploding poo, okay, gloves on, "Come and help me please!" I shout into the hall. Four nurses come running, you don't ignore a plea for help in the ICU. We push pull and drag the poor man to the toilet, tubes and all. "Sit down!" "Don't pull!" "Don't touch!" we all yell in English. "Ah, su madre! Su madre!" is all he says. He's like a deer caught in some well meaning headlights. Later, through an interpreter, he complains "I'm sick, and everyone just yells at me all the time. Don't they know that I'm sick? I'm going back to Mexico." Ah Mexico. I'd like to go there too, if only to escape the exploding fecal matter.

FOUR

2009-02-27T08:54:00.004-06:00

Here are the rules . . .
1. Go to the 4th folder where you keep your pictures on your computer.
2. Post the 4th picture in the folder.
3. Explain the photo.
4. Tag 4 fellow bloggers to join in the fun!

This picture may not look like much but it has LOTS of memories. This is the alley directly behind my childhood home. Our garage is to the left. This garage was always home to several garter snakes in the summer time. We would always try and see who was the bravest and fish them out from their hidey-hole by the tail. Needless to say quite a few of us got bit. But it was due to youthful exuberance, so it was okay. I was tagged by my lovely mother, who might not know this story. Just remember, youthful exuberance mom, youthful exuberance.

I tag Vicki, Connie, Kiwi Da Fruit and Owan

My adventure

2009-02-26T08:44:00.012-06:00

I have arrived at the age where the stupid things I do can no longer be chalked up to youthful exuberance. Hence my adventure to get my car which had been in the car hospital for 4 weeks after an unfortunate incident involving snow, a sharp turn and a poor little car that never had a chance. The driver shall remain nameless. But we'll call that incident stupid thing NUMBER ONE.

I firstly decided to take a bus, which could only take me so far, as my car was being held in another town adjacent to the one I live in. But I think taking a bus halfway shows some signs of intelligence, so we'll call this smart thing NUMBER ONE.

The bus took me half way and I prepared myself for the four mile trek. Four miles is really not that far. Now, if I had, let's say, not worn a winter jacket and a hat and gloves, and walking shoes, it would've been a stupid thing. But I promise I was in appropriate attire so this can be a neutral thing. I actually enjoyed walking for a time, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and there were pretty little houses for them too:

Oh, and did I mention I had a map? Well, okay, I didn't have it with me. But it was in my head because I had carefully planned my route before I left. I think this was smart thing NUMBER TWO.

But then I came to the highway overpass and realized the sidewalk runs out after going under the overpass. Very unfortunate.

The OVERPASS

The sidewalkless highway. Stupid thing NUMBER TWO.

The closeup of the ditch I got to walk in. It was very muddy and wet.

Stupid thing NUMBER THREE.

The train tracks I walked on. They were less muddy and wet. And no trains were in sight, so can I call this smart thing NUMBER THREE?

After all that walking adventure, I finally made it to my car. I could've wept with joy. I collected my keys, said so long to the car hostages....er, I mean, car mechanics, and what took me an hour to walk took me ten minutes to drive. I love not-so-modern-anymore technology. But it looks like I did three stupid things, and three smart things. Hence they cancel each other out and now I am neither smart nor stupid! Until next time...

A clarifying statement to ponder...

2009-02-24T08:40:00.000-06:00

A true Christian is offended by other's sin only in that it is offensive to God, and not because someone has offended them

A statement to ponder...

2009-02-22T22:05:00.002-06:00

A true Christian is offended by their own sin

and not the sins of others

Smiley-Face Saturday

2009-02-21T22:15:00.000-06:00

The "cooktop" on my sister's pretend stove. I think it looks like a smiley face. And that's all that matters. Happy Smiley-Face Day!

Quilts and Kulots

2009-02-18T13:07:00.004-06:00

When I was twelve years old my mother decided it was time I learn to sew using the SEWING MACHINE. A very big deal as this was the sacred sewing machine. It had crafted curtains, bedspreads, matching dresses for us girls and many other things that I don't even know about. However, it was now my turn to approach the threshold of the mighty stitching one and craft something glorious. A pair of shorts. Kulots to be exact. You know... are they shorts, is it a skirt? One never could tell. They were very tricksy. Much like learning how to sew with a sewing machine. It awed me with it's silent purring power. I sat down with my fabric, which was actually kinda hideous, but it was the 90's, so what do you expect. Fabric under the needle, check. Foot on the pedal, check. Push down really hard and let the machine take over? Uncheck. But it was too late and my sewing lesson was delayed by some 13 odd years. But I am here as a testament that it is never too late! So go and sew, and may all your corners meet and all your urges to push really hard on the sewing machine pedal stay in check.

Smiley-Face Saturday

2009-02-14T13:03:00.003-06:00

And Happy Valentines Day! That's something to smile about, right? Even if you are single, there is still love to share with those close to you. And can be found in places like the basement. In a splattering of paint that was not purposefully created to smile at you, but a happy coincidence nonetheless. (Found by my little sister while roller skating.)

Hematoma

2009-02-10T10:08:00.000-06:00

As a child, my mother said I had banana legs. Of course she meant they were long and skinny like a banana, right? No. My legs were being compared to those slightly rotten bananas that have all those nasty brown spots all over them. But, I can't argue with the evidence. So I decided to make a record of several of the bruises I've received recently. Some of them I know where they came from, like falling on the ice...several times. (Did I mention I'm clumsy?) But some of them I just sorta woke up with, leading me to the conclusion I beat myself in my sleep. Regardless of where they come from, I think we can all concur that they do indeed look like rotting bananas.

Smiley-face Saturday

2009-02-07T21:21:00.002-06:00

Some Smiley-ing-Faces for your viewing pleasure. Not a cop-out, I promise, but I left my camera at my parents house. Until next saturday. Besides, you all know you wanted a close-up of my mercedes teeth.

Cars and Teeth

2009-02-05T21:55:00.003-06:00

I have Mercedes teeth. No, I'm not making it up! My dentist said I have Mercedes teeth. I've never had my teeth compared to a car before. I'm going to take it as a compliment. However, my Mercedes needs an oil change. Again, not making this up! This is how I found out I needed the oil change:
"I am going to take this sharp pointy thing and jam it up into your gums and see if you bleed. If you bleed that means you don't have healthy gums. This might be a tad uncomfortable," so says my dentist.
Well, okay, maybe I'm making up the "jamming a sharp pointy thing into your gums" statement up, but the rest is true. And that is exactly what he did! And it hurt! And I bled! A lot! But wouldn't you if someone was jamming sharp pointy objects into your highly vascular gum bed? It tasted like I'd been socked in the mouth a few times after he was done. But apparently I have gingivitis because my gums bled. Which means my gums need to be planed. Like a sandblaster on a plank of wood. What is it with these metaphors? But since I have Mercedes teeth it was not a depressing day. And that was all I was aiming for.

Missing...

2009-02-04T00:20:00.002-06:00

Okay, so I've let a few days go by, but really only mainly because of work. To tell the honest truth (rather than the unhonest truth) work was a little depressing these past few days. So I like drowning my sorrows in chocolate and books rather than blogging. But I will return with some more humorous stories from my most humorous life. Like about my dentist appointment. Or the mysterious bruises. Or the guy who reads the paper at the same time every night with the light on and the curtains open for us all to gaze upon and marvel at a world of consistency. See, isn't your interest piqued now? So I bid you anon until things are less depressing which will most likely be later today. After my dentist appointment. And only if there are no cavities.

Smiley-Face Saturday

2009-01-31T08:34:00.002-06:00

A picture taken at the foot of my electric drums. I erased the carpet though, in case you were thinking my carpet was this pristine white. Because it's not. Which is why I erased it. Remember to smile today!

Fail

2009-01-30T22:21:00.003-06:00

Can anyone explain to me why my font becomes ginormous when I don't want it to and my pictures stay minuscule when I don't want them to?
Computers... the bane of my existence. I know what they SHOULD do, it's just getting them to do it is where the problem lies. I try and be all fancy and only manage to make things worse. I am feeling inept. And now going to bed.

My brother...the engineer

2009-01-29T12:19:00.002-06:00

Clay

2009-01-28T10:24:00.010-06:00

Sometimes I like to forget that my story is just a small part of God's big story.
I like to think that my story is the ONLY story, and God is just a part in it.
I like to tell the potter He should really shape me in a different way, because the current molding process is no fun and I don't like it.
And it's all about what I like.
And then, when I finally come to my senses, I'm so thankful He does things His way and when my story once again aligns with His big story I can truly become CONTENT.

NPR and Chocolate Chips

2009-01-15T18:17:00.011-06:00

I was listening to NPR this evening. Not really because I'm interested in the current happenings of the world, I rely on Yahoo news for that. Seriously, NPR was discussing the recent Hudson river airplane crash (I bet seat belts made a big difference, by the way) and lo and behold it was on the front page of Yahoo news, with pictures and everything. Who says Yahoo isn't a reliable source of news?

So, maybe I wasn't itching for the news, but I was listening mainly for nostalgia's sake. My entire growing up life I remember waking to the "morning edition" music. Da da da da da da da da da da da da da da da! For those of you not familiar with the morning edition music tune, then all of those da's were completely random and useless. If you are familiar then please sing along. I know I did. I also remember listening to morning edition while eating a bowl of oatmeal. Not the pansy kind of cinnamon, spice, sugary oatmeal, but the real deal. The bland, tasteless real deal. Which is why my dad would let us stir in chocolate chips. FIFTEEN to be exact. Really, really exact. My dad was a wise man. He quickly learned children can spot a miscount in chocolate chips very quickly. Vitamins, no. Peas? Hardly! But if one sibling gets even ONE extra chocolate chip the offending parent will very quickly hear about it. So we each got FIFTEEN, our eagle eyes made sure of it.

While waiting for the oatmeal to come to its fruition we would line our chocolate chips like little teardrop soldiers around the edges of our bowls. Of course my brothers would make wailing cries of the fallen as they snipped each chocolate man into the boiling sludge. I wanted to be like my brothers very badly, but somehow my chocolate chips always seemed to make pretty melting chocolate patterns on the top of my oatmeal. Funny how listening to NPR can trigger childhood memories. And now I'm sorta craving some oatmeal. The REAL kind, with exactly FIFTEEN chocolate chips.

Stress

2009-01-13T22:31:00.000-06:00

I found this post in my draft file. I think I was waiting to post this a little farther from the actual incident when my sister might be more inclined to think it funny rather than insulting. Hopefully now is the time, because here it is:

I work in a hospital. People die. This is stressful. Two weeks ago, two patients of mine died in two consecutive days. This was stressful.

My sister works in retail. People are rude. This is stressful. Last week, my sister says "I had such a hard day, it was so stressful." I reply, "Did someone die?" For some reason, my sister missed the humor in this.

Time-Space Continuum

2009-01-11T13:30:00.005-06:00

I was out shopping yesterday. Stay with me, this is exciting. Or more like, a rare insight into my mind. Which can be exciting. So, I was out shopping. I was looking for a particular game, namely, the Game of Scattergories. (Terrific game, if you've never played it and you're looking for a terrific game to play.)

I stand looking at this massive wall of games. Floor to ceiling, every game ever made, from chutes & ladders to cranium, it's all there in it's glorious game delight. My eye's scroll up, they scroll down, left right. Where is the terrific Game of Scattergories? My mom is always telling me I don't look for things hard enough and can't expect them to just jump out at me. That's mainly when I'm looking for a pair of shoes I've left at their house. And then they're usually found underneath something and I was really only wandering around the house expecting them to jump out at me. I mean, they belong to my feet, so you'd think the shoes would want to be reunited. The whole jumping out thing makes perfect sense to me.

But remembering my mother's advice I crouch low and read each game title. I peer high, looking behind boxes of different games. Finally, finally, I must admit defeat. No games jumping out at me. My eyes aren't detecting anything. I ask for help from the red-shirted worker-helper man. He gets out his cool scanner ray gun.

"According to this, it should be right here." He says, pointing to a space not filled with the terrific Game of Scattergories, while gazing into the digitizing main frame. I'm totally having a Sci-fi moment. And I almost, ALMOST, say in return, "Maybe it's been lost in the time/space rift that is located at precisely this point. So it IS right here, but in a different dimension. Cue Twilight Zone: Doodoodoodoodoodoodoodoo..." but I refrain. No point in scaring the poor salesman. But maybe someday, when I least expect it, it WILL jump out at me from that alternate dimension...along with my missing sock.

Smiley-face Saturday

2009-01-10T13:25:00.003-06:00

My baby sister is always helping my mom find hearts for her blog. So I ask her to help me find smiley faces for my blog. It's only fair, right? She grabs my hand and a pen, and before I know it, I have a smiley face for my blog.
Happy Smiley Face Saturday! :)

Fear of Bugs

2009-01-07T23:35:00.004-06:00

Often when working in the medical profession one can get a case of hypochondria. I have a headache equals I have a brain tumor. My toe aches equals bone cancer. A sore throat automatically equals strep, and don't even get me started on chest pain. We love to diagnose our friends and family, and they are more than happy to share their aches and pains. It's a win win situation really. But sometimes, if you let it, it can start to fester and grow in your mind. A little bit like an infection. Which is the source of my post, an infection. And the source of the infection was my poor patient's urine. It was diagnosed with VRE. Vancomycin-resistant-enterococci. Say that ten times fast. That's why we in the medical world like to shorten everything into acronyms. Much more convenient. Anyway, VRE is an especially potent little bugger that likes to share it's defences with other bacteria. Kind of it, don't you think? I went to some websites to see the likelihood of someone exposed to VRE becoming a carrier or contracting the disease, like myself. Basically, the only documented cases of VRE have happened in a hospital. If you don't want to get VRE, don't go to a hospital. Well, that's lovely. Another website says to avoid contact with people who have VRE. That's rather a no-brainer, but thanks. Today, being my day off work, I keep thinking I'm feeling ill. I'm warm... do I have a fever? I feel a bit achy. My stomach feels queasy. Am I infected? Or is it all in my head? All this to say I'm a bit paranoid I'm a carrier and if I ever take antibiotics for anything it'll attack me. And one more thing, if you ever shake my hand, you might want to strongly consider washing yours quickly after.

Ice, treachery...doughnuts!

2009-01-04T22:11:00.011-06:00

I was driving to church early this morning. There was a beautiful glazed doughnut look to the world as I made my way on the sandy sprinkled road. But it very quickly changed from a pastry world into a dark and treacherous vegetable world. The asphalt roads began to take on an eggplant sheen with no fun sprinkles in sight. Unlike my usual self, I was exercising caution and restraint by going UNDER the speed limit. Cue surprise gasps.

It played out like a horror movie. The oblivious driver, singing to happy-go-lucky tunes on the radio, as ominous music begins play. This is to let you know something ominous is about to happen. And then it did! My car swiveled out of control and hit the snow! Then my car made it's very own snow-car-angel and I was facing the wrong way in a ditch of frozen snow.

Here is where I began thanking God for many things. First, I wasn't dead or injured. Second, I hadn't hit the tree three feet away from me. Third, I wasn't wearing heels or flats or a skirt like I usually wear to church. Fourth, a kindly farmer in his big sturdy truck stopped about two minutes after the horror moment and was able to push me out of the ditch with the help of three teenagers also in a big sturdy truck. In fact, I think I was the only one not in a big sturdy truck who was braving the back roads. This should inform everyone of the intelligence of my decision. But I was soon on my way again and left the eggplant behind me and everything became spun sugar and sweetness again. The End.

Moral of the story: Don't eat eggplants.

Smiley-face Saturday

2009-01-03T22:21:00.003-06:00

My mom takes pictures of hearts occurring in life every Thursday. I see smiley faces occurring in life everywhere. I now declare Saturday as smiley face picture day. :) Okay, so maybe it's a one eyed smiley face, but maybe that's because it's eye was poked out in a tragic accident as it saved a little girl from certain death! So don't stare, it's impolite. Poor, brave smiley.

Question

2009-01-02T23:00:00.002-06:00

Why do Airplanes have seat belts but Buses don't? Think about it. Please fasten your seat belt as we prepare to plummet to the earth. The seat belt will save you from the impact. Riiiight. But buses, because they own the road, will NEVER get in an accident.

Any other ideas why this discrepancy exists?

Resolution

2009-01-01T22:25:00.002-06:00

New Year's resolutions. You know, the ones you make sporadically as you start the ten minute count down: 10-9-I-vow-to-loose-ten-pounds-2-1... happy new year! Or the premeditated list of top ten things you WILL do this year that you had been planning to do last year but only managed to read a third of war and peace and then just gave the whole list up as lost. Speaking of which, LOST, I mean, not new years resolutions, but the show, I vow to not miss an episode this year. So I will actually understand whats going on. Like when they zoom up on a face and a look of significance is exchanged, and if you'd seen the previous episode you would've known why there was a look of significance and then you can scream at the television : "I knew it all along! Whuahhahahahah!"
Back to resolutions. I'm easily distracted. Maybe I vow to become more focused. Or go to bed on time before work. But I'm not doing that right now because of my actual resolution. Which, I almost forgot to do and the new day of the new year isn't even over yet. Sad. So here's to my chances of keeping this one: I vow to blog every single day. Excited, aren't you?

Tag, I'm it

2008-10-16T15:36:00.002-05:00

SEVEN weird and crazy things about me, tagged by Veralee

7. I cry at Hallmark commercials

6. Ask me to name any song from any musical and I most likely can, and then I will sing it for you without being asked

5. I used to believe God made the wind blow with me when I sang

4. I get ear zits from my stethoscope

3. I've eaten a goat eyeball

2. I enjoy wound care

1. I sigh in my sleep

Digressions

2008-09-04T15:25:00.006-05:00

I was riding home from work last night on the bus. Not an unusual occurrence, I know. The bus and I, we're good friends. We have an understanding, you see; it arrives on time, I arrive on time. But sometimes one of us doesn't hold true to our agreement. When that happens, I feel more like how a dog feels when it chases a car. You know you'll never catch it, but you simply must try. But I digress.

So, I was riding home from work last night on the bus. And two "gentlemen" were sitting behind me. I use the term "gentlemen" loosely because they didn't seem all that gentle and were certainly not men. They were more like rough hooligans. But I digress again.

Yes, last night, I was riding home on the bus, from work. And two rough hooligans were sitting behind me. They were, I might add, talking at the top of their lungs for the whole bus to hear, whether they wanted to or not. And trust me, no one wanted to listen to this conversation. I was privy to "hiding-pot-and-smoking-paraphernalia-from-the-police 101." I do not lie. Nor do I digress. So, if you're in the market for this type of information, see me after the show. And as a preview, I'll leave you with this little jem: dealers don't like when you pay with singles.

Needles and shaking hands don't mix

2008-07-09T17:54:00.004-05:00

I see a worried mother, standing outside her daughter's hospital room. Tears are beginning to well from her lacrimal ducts. "What's wrong?" I ask, responding to the silent plea for help that is blasting across the open space of our ICU.
"That nurse is being needle happy with my daughters arm," she snaps at me.
I look into the room. It's one of our newer nurses. She's a good nurse with killer instincts, but like all of us, we have to practice on someone before our butterfly needles slip into veins with ease. It's so easy to take sides. Yes, I want to say, how dare that nurse poke your daughter so many times. You're tired and scared and helpless and all you can see is a nurse inflicting pain and it's too much. On the flip side, the poking is necessary, practice is necessary and only through it will experience be gained, making a good nurse a great nurse.

So I can't pick sides, I know both too well. Instead I say, "let me see how I can help." I walk into the room. The daughter is crying, the husband is crying, the mother is crying. The nurse looks up. "Could you please help me?" her eyes and her mouth ask me. I see now the purpose of the poking. Not for an IV, but we're aiming for the artery in the wrist to test the blood being pumped out from the heart rather than the blood returning. These are much harder and make me nervous. I feel a movie moment coming on, where all you can hear is the beating of my heart as four sets of eyes focus beseechingly on my face. The pressure is on. I gather my supplies. I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. The pulse of the girl preparing to be poked matches my own. I clean the site.

This is no big deal, I've done this a million times before, I've never missed, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. Somehow, having a traumatized audience watching over your shoulder makes all of those rationalizations fly out the window. My hands are visibly and uncontrollably shaking. Adrenaline is a weird thing. I'm sure the mom is freaking out at this point as she sees the shaking hands with the sharp pointy needle heading towards her daughters wrist. I hold the tip of the needle against the skin for a brief moment to steady my aim, then push through. "Oh fuuuuu....." is all I hear.

And then, bright red blood pulses steadily through my syringe. I feel euphoric, relief floods through me much like the blood is doing in the syringe. Funny the metaphors you find in a traumatic situation. The specimen is sent, I'm hailed as a hero and the rest of the day nothing can truly go wrong enough to take away that feeling.

Mother Duck vs. Crows

2008-05-07T09:57:00.004-05:00

Nature is sometimes cruel. I was driving home this morning into my underground parking and I saw several crows circling above. Probably some dead squirrel carcass, I think, how gross. Instead I hear low pitched chirpings and see an anxious mother duck with her 12 ducklings trying to shield them all with her body. I almost started crying as I saw the crows hopping towards her. There was no way those fuzzy little ducklings were going to make it all the way to adulthood. And where was that absentee father to help out? I just wanted to scoop them all up and carry them to safety. I honked my horn and waved my hands at the crows like a madwoman but I only managed to scare the ducks. The crows just stared at me malevolently, biding their time. It made me really hate crows. And then I had to laugh at how I assign human, malicious feelings to animals. And then it made me really want Christ to return all the more so we don't have to see the evidence of sin even in creation. And then I cried.

To smoke or not to smoke...

2008-04-28T07:23:00.007-05:00

The hospital where I work just became smoke free. No smoking in the hospital, around the hospital, under the hospital, above the hospital. All space occupied by the hospital, all property owned by the hospital, no cigarettes allowed. While some may rejoice in seeing the dingy little hovels where the clear paned glass had turned a lovely nicotine brown removed from the hospital premises, those who looked to them as a haven from hospital woes aren't as thrilled. But seriously, if you are a health care worker and you smoke, well, this little order won't stop you. Think about it, not only are you bombarded with education (we practically throw "quit smoking today!" packets at every patient that walks in the door) but you've also withstood seeing firsthand evidence of what smoking can do to you in the patients you care for. So, where there's a will there's a way, and I stumbled across the way this morning. Across the street from the hospital, there is a little grove of trees that screen you from the all seeing eyes of the hospital's many windows. And behind these scrawny little trees is a make-shift garbage bag ash tray with several hospital employees furtively inhaling and exhaling as quickly as possible before their shift begins. I catch an eye and the look is of sheer desperation, a silent plea to not report this misdemeanor. I won't, but maybe someday when they're my patient, I'll make sure they're educated on the perils of smoking. Because they must not know.

End Game

2008-03-21T10:21:00.003-05:00

We stare at each other, gridlocked.
"Please let go, I don't want you to hurt yourself." I plead.
"Well, then stop hurting me." she retorts. I'm slowly prying her fingers one by one off of the arterial line. I look at all the tubes we have her hooked up to, the oxygen mask, her incisions. If I didn't know I was in the hospital, I guess I'd think everyone here was trying to hurt me too. As I'm filling with sympathy, her hand gripping my wrist lunges at me. I instinctively jerk back, but not in time to prevent getting two long scratches down my hand. I think I see some drops of blood pooling to the surface. My 72 year old, sweet-as-could-be patient, just drew blood! I manage to loosen the last of her fingers from the A-line and without loosening my grip I tie her arm down to the bed with a restraint. The next hand quickly follows, though I stay far out of reach from those dagger like nails. Once securely fastened, I ponder this paradox. I tell her we're not trying to hurt her, and now she's tied to the bed like a criminal. I have a feeling she's not going to trust me again. I go to call the doctor and scrub some Purell on my hands. The stinging I feel reminds me of the battle just fought. Well, score one for the 72 year old, I think.
___________________________________________________________________
Update: This patient was suffering from delirium, which is pretty common in older patients in the hospital, especially when medications and lack of sleep are involved. She is now doing fine but remembers our little adventure, and thankfully no longer thinks I'm trying to kill her.

When Patients Attack

2008-03-15T09:36:00.003-05:00

"Help! Help!" My patient croaks from her freshly extubated throat.
"What's going on, what's wrong?" I ask my once perfectly sane patient.
She glares at me with all the menace she can muster.
"You know what's going on," she accuses.
"Where are we right now, {insert name here}?" I ask, wondering if this is the dreaded neuro status change.
"I know where we are right now, don't talk to me like I'm stupid."
"I don't think you're stupid {inserted name}, I just want to make sure your head is doing okay." Wrong choice of words.
"Well, that is not.... that is so rude to say my head is not okay. You are just not a very nice person. I want my lawyer. Now. And the police."
I try to smile reassuringly. "{name} you're in the hospital, you hurt your head, you don't need your lawyer."
"I don't trust you!" If looks could kill, I'd be in the morgue.
"Why don't you trust me?" I try to get a reasonable dialogue going again.
"You smile too much." She states, perturbed. I gulp down another grin.
"You can't hold me here against my will!" She starts to panic and I try to keep her from hurting herself as she becomes entangled in all the different tubes and wires we have her connected to. She grabs her arterial line in a vice like grip and I can just envision the bloody mess, not to mention dangerous blood loss, if she manages to pull that out. I grab her hand as she grabs my wrist with her other hand. For a 72 year old woman who's been laid up in a hospital bed for several days, she's surprisingly strong. And while I don't want to hurt her, I can see in her eyes she doesn't care one whit about hurting me. We are locked in place. If I pull, the A-line could go. If I let go, it's coming out anyway. Just as I'm hoping for some innocent passerby to see my predicament and help, my patient makes the first move. Too be continued...

The business of dying

2008-03-04T18:14:00.002-06:00

I see death often where I work. Not the grim reaper with his scythe and black cape. Less fantastical, but just as traumatic, watching someone take their last breath. Here is something I wrote awhile back after just such an experience...

Rasping breaths, the unmistakable sound of death slowly becoming victor, filled the quiet calm of the room. Loved ones gathered around united for a moment in the face of a common enemy, mortality. Every face showed signs of a different struggle, bitterness, anger, sadness and grief beyond words. You could almost here everyone counting the seconds between each breath, wondering which would be his last, half hoping the struggle would just end, yet pleading for one more breath. Just one more. We're not ready to let go, not yet, please.. quiet prayers lifted up to an unseen God. It never got easier, watching a family go through death. Old, young, expected or unexpected, it was never easy. A cold tear slipped down my cheek, I let it linger. It didn't matter if I was too emotionally involved, I wanted the family to know I grieved with them. How can I not hurt with families, when I already know what they are feeling all too keenly? A breath is exhaled. We wait... It's over.

Mortal Combat

2008-02-29T10:36:00.006-06:00

A great and terrible war ravaged the country. Households were being torn apart as young men turned from their parent's ideals, creating enemies between Father and Son. Much blood was shed, with a perpetual call for more. As is the way with most wars, each side believed they were in the right, that God, the true God, was on their side. They would be rewarded in the end, if anyone was left alive to receive it. Yet, those dead and dying men were not hideous, faceless, monsters the "other-side" portrayed them to be. These men were fathers, brothers, sons, loved ones, dear to many. But who would let themselves stop to think on this? It was easier to kill a faceless monster. And still the battles raged on, children becoming fatherless, bothers brother-less and the wide-eyed hopeful lovers became despondent and bitter as news eventually came that their happy ending would never unfold. Unbeknownst to the masses, in spite of man's follies, God uses these mistakes of mortal man for His infinitely good purposes.

Bus rides and Bullets

2008-02-21T23:04:00.006-06:00

I used to make up dreams when I was little. Shocking, isn't it? To be fair, my brothers would always have the most interesting dreams, and being the little sister, I had to try and keep pace with them. So I had to lie. Didn't I? Luckily I've outgrown that, I was only five you know. But now, whenever I have a real, legitimate dream, my WHOLE family quickly dismisses it to "Oh, look at Julia, isn't that cute, she's trying to be all imaginative and interesting again." Well people, it's time to put a stop to that! Especially because I do have the weirdest, vividest dreams ever, and it's a shame they're wasted on an audience of one. So, here's one I dredged up from the memory banks.

I'm waiting at a bus stop. I'm always waiting at bus stops in reality, so in dream-land it's rather predictable. It's a busy part of the day, lots of people milling around. I recognize a co-worker and wave hi. We board the bus together. A man, without a face, as dreams often go, boards behind us, and quickly pulls out a gun. I'm always the peacemaker in my dreams, I try to talk him out of whatever he's going to do. I even manage to share the gospel with him. It's all fairly tense. Then he fires and hits my co-worker. Now I go into "nurse mode." I start holding pressure and scream to the bus driver to head for the hospital. The faceless shooter disappears. Justice is not the focus of this dream. I continue holding pressure, but there's a lot of blood. I can feel it, warm and dark. It pulsates out of the wound, I'm sure it hit an artery. My co-worker is still talking to me, and I realize I don't know much about her, where her family is, who her family is. We just work together and we're pleasantly polite, it's never gone much deeper than that. I get personable now, because of course it's perfect timing, with my hands steeped in her blood. She has a daughter, and a grand baby. Now it will be much harder if she dies. We're at the hospital and I'm riding on top of a gurney with her, still holding pressure. Dream travel, I suppose. They tell me to keep holding pressure until they can get to the OR. Her daughter shows up with the baby, they're able to say goodbye. We're in the OR and I'm wearing scrubs and those weird seafoam-green surgical caps. They tell me I can let go now. I lift my hands up and all I can see is a bullet wound that's almost half healed over. I'm ushered out of the OR and the swinging doors close behind me. I know everything is going to be okay now. But my hands are still red and sticky, the adrenaline of the moment still pulsating through my arteries. I wake up with that same feeling. When I see my co-worker later that day, I tell her I saved her life. In my weird messed up dreams. Oddly, it's brought us closer... maybe someday she'll truly be saved, I only hope it won't involve bus rides and bullets.

Headaches and brain tumors

2007-09-13T14:04:00.002-05:00

I have a headache. I've had a headache for the past three days. It's not debilitating, it doesn't interfere with my day to day life in any way other than being annoying. But being a nurse in Neuroland makes me suspicious. "It started with a headache," my patients always say. They ignored it. Until their faces started twitching.

Should I ignore this headache? My sane voice in my head tells me I should, I'm overreacting. But maybe my sane voice is being affected by my headache? Maybe it's really my insane voice that I'm hearing, but is usually repressed because I didn't have a brain tumor...er...a headache before.

Now I know I'm overreacting. It's just voices I'm hearing in my head. Little tiny voices convincing me it's all in my head. Well, that's kinda the point, isn't it? It is all in my head. I think I'll go take some Tylenol.

The Pose

2007-09-07T18:52:00.000-05:00

I was a model for a day today. It's not as easy as it looks. Don't smile. Smile. Part your lips. Keep your lips closed. Turn your shoulders towards me. Look more relaxed. Look less happy. The photographer quirks his eyebrows and smirks every time he looks at your digital photo. I inwardly cringe. What does that mean? Is his lighting bad? Or do I look like a hideous ogre and he's asking himself who let this person in?
It's amazing how quickly all of your image issues come glaringly to the surface. My nose is to big, my chin is too fat, my eyes are too wide, my mouth is too small. Is that a blemish? Not to mention over-the-top makeup and hair. You stop feeling like you and start feeling like a specimen. Under a mega-watt glare of light, I sit, I attempt to look serious but not sad, happy but not joyful. Sweat is breaking out on the photographer's head. He perches on a ladder, now he crouches on the floor, now the lens is directly in my face. It holds my gaze and dilates and constricts like some giant eyeball. Now I know how bugs feel.
I try and make jokes between shots and poses because that's what I do when I'm uncomfortable. I think I'm incredibly amusing. All I get is a pained smile for my efforts. I'm not acting very professional. I curb my tongue and work on my relaxed but not slouchy pose. I won't be changing careers any time soon.

Sunny Summer with no Snow in Sight!

2007-07-19T14:19:00.000-05:00

The giraffe stared at us benignly as we drove by, gawking tourists with flashing boxes. You can almost see it smirk, thinking "crazy short-necks." Nevertheless, it was quite exciting to be on an African Safari in the middle of San Diego California.

Here we are taking a much needed break after a long day walking through "Africa"

Our names written in the sand The last time you'll see my pirate headband..sigh...a roller coaster snatched it awayOur signature pose when you don't have a photographer with you, thank goodness for long arms!
I forgot that with my new computer I could actually post pictures. Which means I don't have to write as imaginatively anymore, because pictures are worth a thousand words, right? I thought I'd add some sunny perspectives since my last post was about snow. I love summer!

SNOW!!!!!!

2007-04-11T20:24:00.000-05:00

This post is not for creative writing/juice flowing purposes. It is simply to yell at the world: I HATE SNOW IN APRIL!!
There, it's out. But I don't feel much better. This morning I woke up and the wind was howling. I rummaged out my winter coat that I had gleefully put away. I trudged through the bitterness to the bustop. I heaved huge sighs of woe all day at work because every time I looked out the window all I could see was white and wind. It was very depressing. We all felt it. Even our patients. All in all it was a very sad day, and now I'm going to go crawl under my warm covers and dream about a real April with showers and flowers rather than snow.. and.... dead flowers.

Why I can't Pee

2007-04-03T22:19:00.000-05:00

Now, don't worry. There is nothing wrong with my urinary system. But my mother, and others, are having a hard time understanding why I find it difficult to use the restroom more than once in a twelve hour shift. This is like asking why a basketball player doesn't have time to eat tea and crumpets during a game. Or why a marathon runner doesn’t have time to play a game of chess during a race. It just isn't possible.
Let me try to map it out.
6:00am - Alarm goes off. Depending on how tired I feel, I may or may not hit snooze... more than once.
6:30am - I trek to the bus stop in the dark (before daylight saving. after we can see the first tint of dawn)
6:36 - My bus comes. It should be more like 6:38 because it's always late.
6:50 - I arrive at the hospital. I join the general melancholy trudge of traffic as we make our way into the building.
7:00 - I get report from the off-going shift. Depending who is giving report and if I've had any of these patients before, it can take 30-45 minutes.
7:30 - I plan my route of attack on my unsuspecting victims...I mean patients. Depending if I work on the floor or in the ICU that route can differ greatly. We'll go with the ICU today.
8:00-8:55 - I usually have two very sick patients, both intubated (breathing tube), needing neuro checks every hour. This means every hour I literally have to yell at my patient to show me two fingers, or a thumb up, or a wiggle of a toe. Level of consciousness is what we’re looking for, and often, neuro checks can take 20-30 minutes each, if sedation needs to be turned off and they're slow to respond.
Then there's full body assessment, heart, lungs, stomach, etc.
Then it’s time to get morning meds, which invariably all need to be crushed and flushed down an NG (nasogastric) tube. This also can be time consuming, as each patient has 15 meds in the morning. And IV drips. And injections. And eye drops.
Then there is the writing down of the vital signs, which is usually every hour for both patients as well. Heart rate, temperature, respiratory rate, pulse ox, blood pressure (by cuff and arterial line), intercranial pressure and cerebral perfusion pressure are the main ones. Sometimes depending what they're in for, other things are monitored.
Also, depending on what type of drips their on, or a special parameter the doctors want followed, I’ll have to draw blood every 4 hours or so.
The first morning hour usually flies by.
9:00am - Vital Signs and Neuro checks all over again. Sometimes more meds.
9:30am - Sign off orders, look at labs, usually something comes up that I need to call the doctors for.
10:00am - Starts again. Oh, and every even hour I have to measure how much fluid I've given the patient, and how much they've gotten rid to make sure they're not getting too much or too little. I also forgot to mention that every even hour (at the very least) we must reposition the patient to prevent bedsores. (Our unit rocks at this, by the way) Not to mention oral cares. If a patient’s mouth isn’t cleaned frequently the risk of pneumonia increases.
11:00am - Okay you say, you probably could've gone to the bathroom around 10:30ish, right? Well, I reply, you're right, I probably could. But you're assuming that everything is hunky dory. But between the hours of 10-11am is where everything, inevitably, starts going downhill.
It's called the dreaded: NEURO STATUS CHANGE.
This cascades into a series of events that always leads to a stat head CT. ALWAYS. And, just last week, it happened to both of my patients, AT THE SAME TIME. This is every nurse's worst nightmare. It's okay if just one of your patients is having issues. But both at the same time makes you want to scream. Or at least get really flushed in the face. Luckily, we work as a team in Neuro Land. One nurse takes one patient, I take the other, and we have a race downstairs.
This is called: A ROAD TRIP.
These are not the breeze blowing in your hair, sun beating on your skin, sunglass-wearing types of road trips. This is a scramble around madly, unhook a bazillion cords from the stationary monitor and plug them into the portable monitor. Call respiratory to bring their portable ventilator. Bring the IV pole with the bazillion drips and cram it all into the tiniest elevator possible (that they claimed to have enlarged for us) type of road trip. The scan itself takes approximately 2 minutes. I'm not exaggerating! But to get down there and then back up usually takes an hour. And you're just praying nothing bad has happened, that you don't have to tell the family their loved one has just gone to the OR, or they've stroked again, or any of the numerous things that could cause a neuro status change.
So it's 12:00pm now. Maybe later. Depending on what went wrong during the 10am-11am hours of doom, you're either way, way behind with no hope of a potty break until kingdom comes, or you foresee a potty break at least before the angels start trumpeting. Don't forget, you have to chart absolutely everything. "Chart like you're going to court" is a favorite saying of ours.
1:30pm (or 1330 in military time) - I usually get to go to lunch. During which, I get to use the bathroom. Technically we get half an hour, but if I want to catch my 7:36pm bus on time, I really don't want to be gone that long.
2:00pm (1400) - It all starts again.
3:00pm (1500) - And again
4:00pm (1600) - Usually the time when lots more meds pop up. And when family starts to visit. This is usually my favorite part. It does tend to take up lots of time to talk with family and explain things to them, but if I can make things any easier for them, I'll take that time.
5:00pm (1700) - The homeward stretch, usually. Sometimes it's the "Holy Guac-the-moly, I only have two hours to get all this done!"
6:00pm (1800) - The final reposition of the night. If I’m lucky there won't be any little "surprises" under the patient, but one never knows. With all the medications and tube feeding we give these poor people, we either put them into a constipation or a diarrhea mode. Never a happy medium.
7:00pm (1900) - The on-coming shift arrives. Depending on whether they've had the patients or not, report can take anywhere from 30-45 minutes. And then I’m free! Unless I have last minute charting to do, which is often the case.
7:35pm (1935) - I'm running for the bus stop. If I'm lucky, the bus is late. But the bus is never late going home, unless I'm late getting to the bus stop. At least it seems to be the case. But let’s just assume for this little literary exercise, I get to the bus on time. It's crowded with weary workers such as me, but I can usually find a seat.
8:00pm (2000) - I trek back to my apartment in the dark, even with daylight saving. I take a shower, scrubbing off the hospital scum I know to be covered in.
9:00pm (2100) - I might waste a few moments on the computer or read a little to unwind.
10:00pm (2200)- I make sure my alarm is set. I am asleep before my head hits the pillow.

Loss

2007-02-26T14:25:00.000-06:00

I think if I thought more about what happens at work, I'd never be able to go back. So I numb myself. I distance myself. These are the tasks I must accomplish, I must keep this person alive, I must keep them clean and comfortable, I must be pleasant and calm when inward I'm seething, I must know the whys and the what’s behind every task. I do this very well.
Yet, I had this beautiful, noble purpose about becoming a nurse. I could help families through the same struggles. I'm one of the few who can say, "I know what you're going through. Really."
But I just can't make myself that emotionally available. I can't. I thought working where I'm working would promote healing, give closure. All I've done is replace old feelings with newer ones. Horrible memories with less horrible. So there it is. And here I am. Stuck. I do my job, I do my duty, but was I able to ease the pain?
I can't even remember, except small snippets, the pain I went through, my family went through. I almost feel brainwashed. I've almost erased this huge experience. And when I try to bring back those memories I mentally cringe and can't bring myself to do it. So, I go through the motions of my day, I do my work very well, but if I ever once try to go back and put myself in their shoes I hit a wall.

Needles

2006-10-30T12:50:00.000-06:00

I hate needles. With a passion. The first time I went to Mongolia I had to get five different vaccinations. The last one made me pass out. Sharp pointy thing overload. I still donate blood, though the grimaces on my face makes the phlebotomist nervous. "Are you sure you’re okay?” and “Do you need some water?" and "Are you going to pass out on me?" is the final question they usually ask as I scrunch my eyes up and probably turn deathly pale. I can't help it. It's the fight or flight response in over-drive. However, I have no problem putting sharp pointy things in other people. Yet, I can definitely empathize with the look of panic that crosses my patient's face before I make the plunge into their skin.
Why all this sharp talk? Well, today I received the most beautiful TB skin test and flu vaccine ever. I was lucky number 300th poke, so this lady was a pro. I didn't feel a single thing. Usually when I get a TB skin test, I end up with a ginormous bruise on my forearm within a matter of minutes. This time... nothing. My deltoid usually aches for days on end after a flu shot. This time? Nothing! I'm as surprised as you are. I didn't even flinch. Maybe I’m conquering my fears after all. Or maybe I just need to be number 300 more often.

To market, to market...

2006-09-23T10:59:00.000-05:00

I went to the farmer's market with my friend after work this morning. I love the farmer's market. It's what living in this semi-big city is all about. On every corner, you’ll see a different musician or street player, from a classical violin to bongos on a bench, trying to outplay each other, but creating a pleasant mixture of sound together. Among the noise floats the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon roles and the smell of earthy-ness from the various veggies and herbs in mouth-watering arrangements. Calls from vendors that were perfected in the days of Newsies also vie for attention. Food for the stomach: "get your warm, hot, spicy cheese bread over here, fresh from the oven!" and food for the soul: "get your peace, everlasting peace over here!"
I love this open market atmosphere and the good-natured heckling and banter you can eavesdrop on between booths. The one thing that's different in this open market than from other open markets around the world is that there are fixed prices. No haggling over how much you're going to pay for a pound of spinach. (Though you can pretty much be handed the I-swear-it's-safe-spinach free these days.) Don't get me wrong, the prices are more than reasonable, but sometimes it's fun to barter. Though I'm very much a softy, so I'm the sucker most vendors would pray for. It’s mostly just the remnants of Mongolia speaking now.
After walking around the square twice, I decided on some beef jerky, grape tomatoes, raspberries, sunflowers and these weird magenta flowers that look like coral from the ocean. I have no idea what they’re called, but I had to get them because they’re the coolest looking plants I’ve ever seen. I should also mention I got some green beans, green peppers, pears, apples and cheese curds. As you can see, I just randomly grabbed things that appealed to me. That’s my favorite type shopping, just spontaneous buys rather than an agenda. And the market is the perfect venue for that. Especially after working all night and everything begins to look blurry in the daylight. Now I’m off to eat some raspberries and cream. Well, raspberries and skim milk… but that’s almost the same… right?

Found

2006-09-20T07:45:00.000-05:00

My journal that is. One word: yay! With my personal rantings, outpourings of angst and the odd dream or two, I'm sure if offered some interesting summer reading to the people who happened upon it. But as long as I never have to meet them, I'm totally okay with strangers reading (and most likely laughing about) my innermost thoughts. I had just resigned myself to never seeing my beloved book of candor again, and was starting afresh when my mom told me it had been discovered and was now racing its way in the mail to my house. Again: yay! Now I can write my most intense feelings into a book with a front and back cover, feel the pen flow across the page, and write about the more trivial things on my blog. Finally: yay!

Messed Up

2006-09-06T13:17:00.000-05:00

I am completely messed up. Well, let me rephrase that, I am completely messed up sleep wise. But maybe I'm just completely messed up too. I wouldn't doubt it. Last night I had off from work, and usually it's no problem for me to stay awake all night and then sleep all day in order to prepare for work the next night. But last night I totally closed my eyes on the couch, knowing full well it would come to no good, and sure enough five in the morning rolls around and I wake up. Instead of prepearing for bed, like I should have been doing. So I'm messed up. Now it's one in the afternoon and I'm wide awake. Luckily I don't have to work until 11pm tonight, or 2300 in good 'ol military time. So there might be a moment or two for napping later this evening. I think I'm going to go and enjoy the sun, in the middle of the day, which is something I rarely get a chance to do. This might not be such a bad turn of affairs after all.

In light of previous post...

2006-08-31T16:35:00.000-05:00

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"I can pass this guy."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

Sirens, Lights, Ticket!

2006-08-24T16:43:00.000-05:00

Okay, before everyone starts cheering about this because, I, a well known speeder and escaper of tickets, finally got one, let me explain the inhumanity of it all. I'm not one bit repentant. Well, maybe a little. But definitely not a lot. All the other times I've been pulled over, if I HAD received a ticket, I would have nodded acceptance to my obvious guilt and taken it without a single iota of resentment. The police officers, in their graciousness, deemed me to either be
1. a learner from my mistakes
2. a nurse who should know better
3. a really sad, pathetic little girl, who needs to drive away fast before I get really annoyed with her crying
4. an offence worthy of a written warning only OR
5. to have such a good record, it would be a shame to mar it with a ticket.
Yup, I think that's all of them. But this time was different. This time I was not speeding. Technically. In my own opinion.
I was in a 55mph speed zone, I'll admit it. But I could SEE the 65mph speed sign in front of me. So I felt at liberty to increase my speed. And of course, RIGHT before I reach the 65mph sign, a police officer, just waiting for it's speeding prey, pounces like a chimpanzee on a cheeto. There was no pleasant banter, no small talk like I had grown accustomed to. It was all business. This was because he knew it was a cheap trick and wanted to get me out of there as soon as possible because he was so shamefaced. It was written in his every move. Or perhaps he just wanted to get back quickly to his same sneaky position and catch another unsuspecting bug in his venous fly trap.
I have my ticket, and I'll pay my dues, but there is no way I'll feel contrite about this one! Um...but it's made me a safer driver. And better observer for stationary squad cars.

Return

2006-08-16T08:34:00.000-05:00

I'm back from Mongolia.
I'm not sure how I feel about that.
People ask me how my time was, and say it must have been so much fun. But that's not how I would describe it. It had its fun moments, but it definitely wasn't fun. It had its exhilarating moments, but I wouldn't fully describe it that way either. There were time-to-go-back-to-America moments, and I-wish-I-could-stay-here-forever moments. Emotionally grueling moments, physically trying moments. God ordained, Holy Spirit filled moments.
I try to explain these things to my family, my friends, my co-workers. It's like trying to describe a sunset to a blind person. You can tell them about all the brilliant shades of colors, but unless you actually see it, unless you are actually there, you will never fully understand the immense experience of it all. But of course, that will never keep me from trying to use all my descriptive ability to impress upon my audience how two weeks can have such a lasting impact on life.

Theological Talks

2006-07-20T23:40:00.000-05:00

I'm back from working my "princess shift" a four hour filler shift from 7pm to 11pm. Don't ask me why I have to work this ridiculous period of time, I just suck it up and do it. But now I have a long empty, sleepless night stretching out before me and so I thought I'd bare my soul on my blog because I don't have my journal. Yes, I know I could start a new one, but I'm still holding out hope that it will be found in the near future. Hopefully. I hope. Really, really hope. A lot. A lot of hoping. Sniff.
Last night I had a very long talk with a fellow co-worker about my Christian beliefs. It was, in fact, a three-hour conversation. (It was a slow night, what can I say?) It provided the opportunity for basically everyone in the ICU to hear about my devotion to Christ. Our debate ranged everywhere, from creation vs. evolution to the divinely inspired word of God vs. a book written by a bunch of drunk men to heaven and hell vs. ascending into another plane of existence to God's sovereignty in suffering vs. happenstance to Predestination vs. Free Will, we're talking some very heavy issues here.
The majority of instances when I have these types of conversations I am always so afraid. Afraid of what other people will think of my stance, afraid of being shunned by friends, afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of not knowing what to say. Last night I was bold in my conversation, I was always able to answer his questions (not to his satisfaction of course) but it didn't matter. Scripture I had just read the other day was coming to me right when I needed it (albeit I discovered I miss-quoted once, after I rehashed the conversation out with my father.) But still, I'm not discouraged. Do I have it all together? Of course not. Can I convert someone with my own silver tongue? Of course not. But what I loved the most about this experience is that the reason I didn't care what anyone thought of me was because I was filled with an inexpressible joy for my Savior, and I wanted to tell him about it. It overflowed out of me! It was the most amazing thing... may it always be like this, that I would be forever emboldened to share the Good News of Great Joy to all who will listen, and to those who listen, Lord, help them believe!

Responsibilities

2006-07-15T17:34:00.000-05:00

This is something I would most likely write about in my unrecovered journal which I'm still crying on the inside about, and venting on the outside about. Anyway, my parents have changed their will and made me their POA's and given me custody of any minors if they die. Even though I'm surrounded by death often, and I glory in death because it brings us face to face with our Savior, I still don't like to think about my parent's dying. And that I might have some say in that. All the time I see families torn because the person who is the POA wants to do one thing while people who don't have the final say in the decision making are trying to persuade the POA do something else. It's heart breaking for families. It's heart breaking to watch even. There are so many variables when it comes to keeping someone alive and when it's time to withdraw care. I know how my dad feels and I know how my mom feels but it's not always so cut and dry when you're faced with a real scenario. But, it is something useless to worry about, and it shows my lack of faith in Christ. I'm not saying it'll never happen, but these are choices I don't have to make on my own, Christ's strength and comfort will fortify me. I'm not being dismissive of the responsibility, or even fatalistic, but I know with great certainty that I don't need to worry about that bridge until I come to it. May "the peace of God which transcends all understanding guard my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus" Philippians 4:7.

Lost

2006-07-15T17:28:00.000-05:00

No...not the tv show, but something very near and dear to me. My journal!! Sure blogging has it's moments, but the hand-written word can be so much more satisfying at times. Not that my handwriting is gorgeous or anything, or even legible for that matter (unless on legal documents;). But when I'm in a real rage, or despair, or any extreme mood, flying over paper with a pen is definitely more therapeutic than that tappity-tap of the keyboard. My poor, poor journal....sniff. It had so many personal stories in there, plus some of my best dreams were recorded there...it feels like I lost a little part of me. Or maybe a big part of me. I'm sure I'll get over it but for now I need to find a piece of paper to scrawl my angst across.

Symptoms

2006-06-29T16:24:00.000-05:00

Just once I want the doctors to actually be concerned about what I am concerned about, when I am concerned about it. Last night my patient became tachypnic (pronounced "tah-kip-nic", a word that's more fun to use instead of "rapidly breathing") and tachycardic (also a superb replacement for a racing heart). Using these big medical terms I was sure would reach to the brain of the neurosurgeon. My mind is already rapidly racing (um..tachycerebral?) through all the possibilities (or differential diagnosis). PE? Mucous plug? MI? Well, as is always the case, the Doc comes to check my patient out and all of a sudden these symptoms resolve. I swear, this happens to me all the time!! So, because he didn't witness it then it's not a big deal. Well, when the team came to round in the morning I did describe my little episode (well, the pt's episode, not mine...I'm more professional than that. I had my episode at home.) These symptoms seemed to stump even the team, even while using their collective brain powers. Then tests were ordered just to rule out any of the aforementioned conditions. I am however glad it was stumping the MDs and not just myself. Is this trivial of me? Most likely, that's why I love medicine so much, so many mysteries...

Dreams...?

2006-06-19T17:47:00.000-05:00

Now that it's daylight, I'm trying to figure out if what happened last night actually happened. This occurs occasionally while working the night shift...it's almost like you're in a surreal state with a foggy sense of reality. You're body is telling you over and over again you should be sleeping and dreaming, and so sometimes what happens over the night feels like a dream. I was sitting at my station, minding my own business, writing some numbers down, prioritizing for the rest of my shift. Then a fellow (male) co-worker comes up to me. I give him a glance and ask “what's up?” He says to me, "let me preclude this comment I'm about to make by saying it's not a come-on or anything." "ooookay" I respond, not quite sure what this is about.
"I have to tell you, you are absolutely gorgeous."
Ummm, even with the scaly skin, bags under my eyes and stylish scrubs?
"Well, thank you very much," I manage to get out. I would not have expected this comment from this particular co-worker. I'm a bit stunned.
"I wanted to tell you yesterday, I thought you should know." He walks away. Um...
"It's a good thing you started this conversation out the way you did, or I would've wondered," I quip, trying to make light of a situation that's very quickly making me feel very awkward. He laughs, I laugh and then no more is said about the matter.
Yet, it's amazing how a compliment like that can make you feel. I have to say I was flattered, a little creeped out, but still flattered. And my mom thinks I should curl my hair for work! Imagine the comments I might get then....

Cooking 101

2006-06-16T23:56:00.000-05:00

Eggs are definitely an important part of a brownie recipe. Salt...you can most likely do without. Vanilla too, if you're really hard up. But eggs, well, eggs are very necessary. Otherwise you're left with something that is trying really hard to resemble brownies, but looks and tastes more like chocolate sand. And not very good chocolate sand either. So let this be a lesson to you all, if you're going to make brownies, and you're going to forget an ingredient, make sure it's not the eggs.

Skin

2006-06-08T08:04:00.000-05:00

I think my skin is confused with my new schedule. Since I'm awake mostly when it's dark out, and winter is usually dark, my skin believes it is winter. And thus, my eczema is slowly turning me into the lizard lady. Seriously, I could be part of the freak show at the circus. I am a scaly beast. Normally, summer humidity soothes the skin, it's the dry winter that cracks the already dry parts and I start flaking my own snow everywhere. Now, both of my inner elbow creases, my temples, my right cheek (facial), the back of my neck, my left eyelid...all have scales. I was reading a book about these people who associated with dragons and because of that contact started growing scales themselves. That's how I feel. Except these aren't "bejeweled scales that glisten in the sun", these are white and flaky patches that shed in the sun. Time to crank out the thick as butter hand cream and slather it on. I will not let it get the best of me! Did I mention my hands are scaly and nasty too? There is no hope...

Silver Linings

2006-05-07T15:37:00.000-05:00

Erg. I did not sleep very well today, it was too sunny, and people, who shall remain nameless, kept calling me...on purpose. (I can sense your gasps of astonishment, but it's true!) What’s even worse is by the time I get adjusted to the night routine again I'm going to have to switch back over to days. Ah well, such is life. Work was intense last night, or I should say this morning. My patient started emitting bright red blood from his OG tube, it completely freaked me out. Of course, I kept my calm and did the necessary things and everything turned out okay, but I always get scared around GI bleeds. Another one of my patients a while back had a massive GI bleed, dropped his pressures to 80/40 even with vasoactive drips. Pretty scary stuff. Emergent surgery and all that.
But the title of this entry is silver linings. So I should start with the good stuff. Emergent surgery guy is home with his family doing fine. My current patient was stable when I left, always good news. Now I must expose my materialistic side and admit the other silver lining is I made a mistake on my taxes but the IRS fixed it and I get a bigger tax return. Whoohoo!..ahem, I mean, that's nice. Also, I was able to get vacation days so I can go on my family's annual Door County excursion for five days. YAY! Finally, I'll be working straight nights for a straight month, which means an end to the flip-flopping for a time. Life may not always be good, but I'm fairly content at the moment.

Confession

2006-05-05T10:17:00.000-05:00

I have a confession to make. I love to look inside people's cars and imagine what sort of lives are exhibited there. For instance, there is a silver car (I'm a girl, I don't pay attention to make and model) that parks next me in the parking garage. I had just pinpointed this person to be a hockey player slob. The bags of chips strewn across the front seat plus the mounds of hockey gear in the back gave it away. Then yesterday evening as I gave a cursory glance in the back end of his car I was confusingly surprised. Sheet music! What kind of hockey bum was this? Stacks of sheet music now served as a coating for the hockey gear. Was he transporting it as a favor? Or did my conception of him need to be radically reassessed? Yes, I do believe this is a musically talented hockey slob. So driver's beware. What you leave in your car may lead me to make assumptions about you, true or otherwise.

Encouragement

2006-04-20T20:14:00.000-05:00

Finished with my griping, I was checking my e-mail and discovered a letter of encouragement from one of my dear friends. The beautiful thing about this letter is that I haven't spoken to her in awhile and so she hasn't heard my tirade of despondency, yet she wrote me this poem. It was just exactly what I needed to bolster my heart and remind me why I do what I do, to bring honor to the name of Christ and give Him the glory. To know Christ is everything! I only hope I am able to be an imitation of His love towards my patients and their families.
Here is the poem my friend wrote:

There once was a little frog,

who said "dear mommy, what is wrong?"

She replied, "my work is so very hard,

trying to hop along the yard,

chirping this never-ending song."

The little frog sat for a time,

pondering his mommy's ryme.

Then he cried,

"Mommy, I know what is making you so drawn!"

"You forget that we were put here,

by a Big Man who has a big ear.

And he likes listening to your song.

I think you should remember,

that his Great Son was born in December,

So don't stop singing your song."

"The Big Man will listen,

and his Son's eyes will glisten,

as they think of their great plan for us.

Please don't get so weary,

and do not be so query,

of your job here in this little yard."

"Remember that I'm here today,

to hug and listen and help you pray.

So do not be discouraged!

The Big man and his Son will help you through it.

This makes your tough job in our little yard,

not so very hard."

Discouragement

2006-04-20T20:03:00.000-05:00

Work has been, in a word, depressing. Discouraging. Agonizing. Draining. Exhausting. Fatiguing. Emotional.
Okay, so that's more than one word. But this is how I've been feeling. I almost cried a couple times last night..or was it this morning? I don't know. There's been talk about withdrawing on one of my patients. This is distressing in and of itself. But to top it off, this person who has had extensive trauma is getting absolutely nothing for pain or comfort. Nothing. Yet all of his vital signs are exhibiting discomfort of the most serious kind. My sorrow quickly was turning into anger, yes the MD might have had his reasons for no pain medication, but I wholeheartedly disagree with him. So I called the good 'ol resident on call for the night and painted the picture of discomfort and demanded something...anything! I got my morphine and was able to give the poor patient some rest for the night, at least as far as his vital signs exhibited. It was just so tragic, it is so tragic, and unfair, and I felt and feel so powerless. What is the point of being a nurse if we can't advocate for our patients and get results?

Awakenings

2006-04-17T19:47:00.000-05:00

Imagine this: everytime you as a service tech go to peddle your company's wares to a customer, said customer is in pajamas with bed head and the look of an angry bear awoken from hibernation. It's also 6:30pm. And you've come accross this twice. What would you be thinking about this customer? Well, since I've been this said customer twice, I certainly hope they jump to the correct conclusion of a person working hard during the night hours and thus sleeping 'til 6:30pm is a natural and correct occurance. Hopefully this is what the Charter communications guy is thinking. And hopefully he'll start coming at a more decent hour! Because 6:30pm for me is 6:30am for the rest of the world. Sheesh.

Wall and Art Showdown

2006-04-13T19:54:00.000-05:00

I have conquered my fears of putting holes into walls. Blank walls everywhere rejoice! I will now fill you with art to make you laugh, to make you cry. Emote walls, emote! With screwdriver and hammer in hand and neat little anchor thingies the salesperson said would hold anything I had to throw...er...hang at them, I will conquer the blandness that has made up my apartment these eight long months. I would also like to inform the world that I have the gift of eyeballing. Yes, this technical term refers to the most extraordinary gift I have to visualize the potential hanging place of art and make it perfectly centered and astonishingly symmetrical with all it's surroundings. No need for applause, your silence speaks volumes. I will gladly lend you my gift of eyeballing if ever the need should arise. No empty wall is safe from me now!
Hung to date:
1) Very large ancient map
2) Iron scrollwork clock
Well, I didn't say all my blank wall space would be covered in one night. But I assure you, my walls are trembling in anticipation.

Telemarketing

2006-03-29T19:35:00.000-06:00

I refuse to be sympathetic to these poor unfortunate souls. I was before, not so much anymore. I was called by my school's alumni association looking for pledges of devotion towards the university, by monetary expression. This Sophomore, or so he claimed to be, was good at what he did. I really hate hanging up on anybody, and I understand it's their job, but I wish I would have. I feel...used. Here is the strategy...

1) Bring up fond memories of your time at the university so you'll feel gratitude towards the institution
Telemarketer Joe: So ma'am, did you enjoy your time here?
Me: Yes, I did.
Telemarketer Joe: What was your favorite part?
Me: Finishing.
Telemarketer Joe: (nervous laughter) Oh, ha ha, being done, well, yes, good for you, ha ha, well I'm a Sophomore and my favorite parts are (insert long pre-printed list here)

2) Ask for a very large sum of money first, you’ll be more inclined to acquiesce to smaller sums by the laws of telemarketing endurance (they’re going on half dozen cups of coffee; they caught you just getting out of the shower).
Telemarketer Joe: Because of above fond memories, can I put you down for $500 so these memories can be shared for generations to come?
Me: Um, no. I feel I did my part with tuition.
Telemarketer Joe: Oh, ha ha, well, you know, we are not a state supported school and blah blah blah, can I put you down for $200?
Me: Still no. (I am perversely staying on the line to see how long this will continue)
Telemarketer Joe: (rattling right along) if you've been on campus lately you'll see all the fine renovation projects in progress, last year we raised 1.5 million dollars by contributions from faithful alumni like yourself, and most of this was made up of smaller gifts, can I put you down for $100?
Me: that's a smaller gift?
Telemarketer Joe: How 'bout 50$?
Me: I give you credit for being so persistent, but at this point in my life I really don't foresee myself giving anything to this organization, but thank you for the call. (I can smooth talk with the best of them)

At this point Telemarketer Joe knows I'm going to hang up on him, so he saves face by thanking me for my time and mentioning something about keeping the foundation in mind when I next get a big fat paycheck or something...he was talking so fast it was hard to make out. I looked at the clock, 20 whole minutes! That must've been a record for him, I know it was for me. The whole thing felt so insincere and underhanded, trying to be my friend for the nano-second I talk to you so I'll give you money. Honestly. Which is wasn't.

Ageism

2006-03-29T07:35:00.000-06:00

Announcement: I, regardless of appearance, am truly 22 years of age. Yes, I have a four-year degree. Yes, I am a licensed nurse. Yes, I am qualified to take care of your loved one. Yes, I am sure I am not 15.
Most people say I'll be thankful I'm considered younger than I am when I get older. Well, to be perfectly honest, when families and patients look at me like I’m an unqualified Doogie Houser, I wish I had a couple of wrinkles on my face and a few gray hairs. It's not that they don't respect me, they do finally understand that I've been fully trained and equipped to be a professional nurse, and I eventually win them over with my excellent technique and skills, but that initial first impression is a tough hurdle to jump every time I enter a patient’s room. (Unless you're the pleasantly confused gentleman who is in love with me and thinks we should elope. I can deal with that sort of discrimination.) I suppose this is just a soapbox of mine and should stop being so sensitive, but it really does get trying sometimes. And there...I'm over it. I'm so mature for my age...

First Day....Night

2006-03-21T07:59:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was my first twelve hour night shift ever, and my first any shift ever, where I worked all by myself. Filled with some Type A personality anxieties, I brought my gianormous lab book with me...just in case. Bring on the traumas! I was ready. Instead, I got a ventriculostomy with possible shunt on one side and sticky sputum on the other. Not altogether the most exciting experience in the world... but then I got to thinking. Your misfortune means my learning experience. Your tragedy means my exciting night shift. Er, please, bring on the sticky sputum! I never thought I'd be sitting on this side of the fence...I have so many competing emotions, it's exhausting sometimes.
To continue the night saga, both of my patient's had icky things growing in their central lines and were quickly yanked. Then came the interesting part of trying to draw nightly labs with no quick access. I'm afraid to say my phlebotomy skills have gone down the tubes (pardon the pun) since I switched to the ICU. It's so much easier to suck blood from an A-line; one forgets the rigors and techniques of poking. So, I get out my handy dandy butterfly needle…I love those things. They're so much neater than the other kind, they have "wings" you can hold onto and a pigtail already attached, so no messes. (Yes, these are actual medical terms used by trained medical professionals.) I even used bacteriostatic water to deaden the pain. Success? Nope. After an hour (I am not exaggerating) I prevailed upon the more experienced. It turns out the more experienced is just willing to poke the patient more times. No wonder their success rate is so high. Blood was drawn, labs were delivered, results computed in, and I left the fixing of the critical values to the next shift. Good luck hanging five supplements through one IV! I'm for bed...

Clocks

2006-03-16T12:52:00.000-06:00

My bedroom clock, for some reason not wholly known to myself, is half an hour fast. This mysteriously happened one evening, maybe the power went out, I'm not really sure. But I have yet to set it back to the proper time. I feel it's a mental exercise for me and determines when I'm really awake because I have to look at a clock saying 5:52 am and mentally subtract 30min for the real time and know that I have extra minutes to sleep. It really can be quite difficult for the sleep addled brain but seems to do the trick of mentally preparing me for the day. Try it sometime; you'll know what I mean. And somehow when I lay in bed all day, like I did today, I can make excuses for myself when looking at the clock. Well, it *says* its 12:30, but I know it's only 12, so it's okay to lie here a little longer. It's amazing what the mind does to defend oneself. When I have days off like this it's so nice to just do...nothing. Well, I did re-read one of my most favorite books, so it wasn't nothing nothing, but pretty close. But now I've finally resigned myself to get out of bed and get my day started. I'm switching environments and will be doing nothing on my couch.

Sunrise

2006-03-14T06:45:00.000-06:00

This morning as I was witnessing a spectacular sunrise with the rosy edges of dawn curling over the gleaming white dome of the capital building, I was struck by two thoughts. First, I should not have consumed that can of mountain dew, I will be awake forever. Second, while gazing upon the beauty of pink rays merging with the still midnight blue of the sky, was my heart set on the Creator who created it? And I actually wasn't even struck with this thought until driving home still dwelling on the beauty only an insane few who get up/stay up that early are privileged to view. Why did my heart not instantly leap for joy and in adoration of my Creator? Why did I not highly anticipate the even more glorious splendor of His majesty, in comparison to something he so wonderfully wrought? For, "the heavens tell of the glory of God. The skies display his marvelous craftsmanship. Day after day they continue to speak, night after night they make him known...the sun lives in the heavens where God placed it." Psalm 19:1-2. Oh Lord, "may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer." Psalm 19:14.

Sleepless Days

2006-03-12T14:10:00.000-06:00

After a week of night shifts, I've been having sleepless days. Don't get me wrong, when I stumble into bed at 8 in the morning I'm out like a light. It's waking up at 11 in the morning to beautiful sunlight streaming on my face and birds chirping out my window and everything in me saying I'm wasting the day! Get up! is when I find it hard to go back to sleep. I rejoiced on the few days when it was dark and rainy, everybody stays indoors when it's dark and rainy, so I didn't feel guilty for being in bed. Even when I've been up all night. And then there's the dreams. I always dream even when I'm sleeping regular hours, but there's something about sleeping during the day that makes the dreams more vivid. Or perhaps because I'm never very deeply asleep I can remember them with greater accuracy. And they're mostly about work, conversations with doctors, listening to lungs, giving medications, drawing blood. They're the kind of dreams you wonder if you really had... or maybe they happened sometime during that hazy night that was your work "day". The point of all this is... night shifts are not for me. I don't care how many people have told me I'll get used to it, used to living on diet coke and coffee, taking Benadryl to help you sleep at day, covering your windows with thick heavy material, eating lunch at three in the morning, becoming pale and sickly with lack of sunlight, asking your friends why they're going to bed already, it's only two in the morning. No, I don't think I'll get used to it. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to try.