Day in and day out, life in this house and at my work can take it's toll. My defense is not in the form of a multivitamin, but instead, a sense of humor (an occasional xanax may help too). I find humor in just about every situation. In my mind, I can't avoid it. I know a few people who don't laugh, have no sense of humor and wallow in misery. Pffft. I can't live like that.
A few days ago, I was in the car with my favorite co-conspirator, Fannette. We were driving along
gossiping our little hearts out minding our own beeswax when the woman driving the car in front of us stopped. Her brake light situated below her rear window lit up in big red letters BITCH. Damn if we didn't laugh our asses off in complete admiration mixed with envy. We both want that brake light.
It isn't easy to follow an agency nurse in the hospital-even if your "agency" is an in-house float pool. They just don't have the ownership of our unit the way we do (and are expected to). One of our nurses followed such a nurse recently. She covers everything that isn't quite right with "shoot, my bad". This is my new mantra. If it works for her, why not me? I plan to see how far it gets me. If it gets me fired, I'll join the float pool.
When dealing with a cardiac emergency in which the patient is demonstrating shock from an arrhythmia, one must work quickly to resolve it. The procedure is to zap the heart with a jolt of electricity and hope it converts the patient's rhythm to one more conducive to life. If the patient is awake, proper preparation does not include telling the scared fella- "AHHHH, this is gonna sting a bit" followed by aforementioned jolt. This was the sentence of the week. I feel some compassion toward the patient but appreciate the droll wit of the cardiologist who is renowned for his mumblings.