Lame Tired Ass Nurse

I'm feeling rather whipped today. I'd promised my brothers a wonderful meal like mom, or grandma would cook and in the end, I was too tired. I cancelled on them. It was all I could do to knit and purl very simple stitches today, let alone cook. I had a hell of a week at work. Every day started early and wrapped up late. It's hell not knowing my ass from a hole in the ground. I get it that everyone is dying and I wonder what exactly the emergency is, but the nurse within me hears anxiety and heartache in every phone call I get and despite the way I feel, she is there to rescue.

As I listened to the night nurse's phone reports every morning, I was envious I hadn't elected to work midnights. Damn. The only work they had to do (this week) was check the answering service to be sure they hadn't missed calls they thought they should get, but didn't. Me? I ran my ass off. It's typical for me. Why shouldn't my cloud follow me from one venue to the next? In addition to my normal bad luck, there was bad luck for newbies week. The schedulers at work said "Oh, you had trial by hellfire" and other such things in a thinly veiled attempt to make me think my work week was out of the ordinary. So, my days started around 2 PM and ended around 1 or 2 AM. Every single day. I woke up every morning and made phone calls to cover my ass because I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. It sucks to go from the top of my game in critical care to new kid on the block. I had my ass soundly kicked the first week out on my own.

Enough whining. I'm off to drink a bottle of fabulous red wine I forgot I had. I found 6 of them when cleaning today. Remind me some day to share what it's like to be present at the death of a Chaldean with a ginormous family. Imagine a person who thinks self flagellation is the only appropriate way to express loss and grief. Multiply by 20 in the living room and another 10 or so family members screaming and hitting themselves in the front yard. Not. Pretty. Even the local police that responded to my report asked if it was OK to leave me alone there. That was Monday. My ears are still ringing and today, is Saturday.

This was my kitchen cleaning music today. It's comforting to think that "after changes, we are more or less the same".

Get A Real Man to do the Job

"I just use my muscles as a conversation piece, like someone walking a cheetah down 42nd Street"
Arnold Schwarzenegger

I have a strong suspicion that our Detroit mayor is a complete narcissist. A week or so ago, he assaulted a police officer who was serving a subpoena for a case in which this mayor has been implicated. He was charged and arraigned for this assault. The other night, he violated the terms of his release and crossed the Canadian border. For this, he spent Thursday night in the hooskow. He was released today on a $50,000 personal bond.

The subpoena was issued to a friend, or relative or crony who was somehow involved in the mayor's other shenanigans. I don't have the time nor the will to tell you the entire list of complaints against this thug (the mayor.) Suffice it to say he is out of his mind. If you really want to know about this man, you can read about it here.

I'm completely perplexed as to why this man still has supporters in this city. I drive through this city on a daily basis and I'm appalled at what I see. There are pockets of truly beautiful neighborhoods in the city, but there are some devastated areas that make me wonder if I'm not in some third world country. The main reason I bought my gps device is because I can't find street signs on many of the roads I travel in the city. Why do people tolerate this? Why don't they demand propriety and professionalism from their leadership? Since the mayor is a lawyer, how could he think his actions would be tolerated? This guy is in a free fall.

Next month, the governor of our state will hold a hearing to determine if the mayor should be removed from office. Damn Jennifer, just call your gubernatorial colleague from California. Maybe he can get the job done.

The Coolest Gift

I belong to a group of nurses who knit on Ravelry.  There is a question on that group that asks "what's the coolest work gift you've received?"  It's really a question of what is the best gift an employer has given but I interpret that question a bit differently.

When I'm treating an older patient, I ask many questions that aren't medical in the least.  I want to know what they did when they were young.  I'll ask what they did for a living.  I'll ask if they served in the war.  I'll ask about their families.  People want to talk and work their lives out.  Often, the end is approaching and they're questioning their value on earth; asking these questions allows them to talk about it and work things through.  I do hang around for the answers.  It helps that I'm truly interested and incredibly nosy.  I can't help it, people fascinate me.

I had one such patient in end stage heart failure about four years ago.  He was so sick and although I don't know what happened to him, I'm quite certain he isn't with us anymore.  His heart failure was so severe, I don't see how he would have lived more than six months from the time I met him.  I'd been pulled to another unit for the day.  One where people aren't on life support and therefore, they're able to talk.  I asked my patient if he'd served in WWII and his face lit up.  My patient had been a flyboy in the war and had served in the Pacific theater.  I'd just read James Bradley's newly released book, Flyboys: A True Story of Courage.  Although the book didn't make me an expert,  I knew a bit about these men and their service.  My patient was thrilled to talk about his life as a flyboy.  He was proud of this time he'd given to his country.  We spent a long time talking. 

A few weeks later, I received a package at work.  It was from my Flyboy.  There was a letter that was quite lengthy in which he thanked me for taking such good care of him.  There was  a video copy of a documentary about flyboys and he was featured in the documentary.  What an amazing life this man had lead!  He included a photo of himself, his fellow servicemen and a plane.  They were so handsome in that picture.

I think about this man every once in awhile.  On occasion, I come across the package he sent to me.  He was a gift that was sent my way by my employer.  I don't need anything extra for doing my job.  Placing me in the right place, at the right time, is gift enough.

What do you get the man who has everthing?

Soap on a rope, of course!

Every year, I ponder what I should get my father in law for his birthday. He has everything he could ever want or need. He is a bitter, 81 year old man who seems to think the rest of us never get it right in the gift department. He may be right as I think we've all just stopped trying; he is impossible to please.   I think soap on a rope is perfect because if it isn't enough that he isn't ever grateful, he hasn't had a shower in years. He refuses. We know he hasn't showered because we set traps on the shower heads. If they aren't moved or aren't wet, they aren't used. Simple as that.

Every day, he takes a nice little necessity bath as though he lives in the bush. He misses spots. The house smells elderly, sweaty and sort of like a boy's gym bag. It also smells like powder, athlete's foot powder.

To say we have our hands full, is an understatement. You can't tell him he stinks because he can't hear us. He steadfastly refuses to buy hearing aids that work-too much money. It wouldn't matter because they'd just sit there anyways. Unused.  We are his hearing aids.

I know that resorting to soap on a rope is subtlety he may miss. For anyone else, it'd probably be a WTF moment. Not him. In addition to being a cranky old man, he is head injured. Two years ago, he cracked his skull on the marble counter at a casino and wound up incredibly traumatized. He survived, but with more quirks than prior to the injury. Showering is one of them. He is afraid to get his ears wet. The same ears he won't put hearing aids in. Talk about stubborn. So, after two years, it can get aromatic. I'm tempted to just turn the hose on him and have at it-like they'd do in the military if you stunk. I can't though. Deep down, I'm a chicken shit and nobody can scream like he does.

After his head injury, it fell to me to take him to the first neurologist visit. He wanted the go ahead to drive. Me, I was praying the doctor would say no. My prayers were answered. No. No and no. He couldn't drive. The doctor left the room and my FIL asked me what the doctor said about driving (of course he didn't have his hearing aids in.) I told him what he'd said. I've never seen such a transformation in the man. The next thing you know, he sprouted horns from his head, grew a tail, turned the deepest shade of red I've seen and screamed BULLSHIT at the top of his lungs. I think I suffered hearing loss that day and almost had an accident in my pants. He scared me. When we were out in the parking lot, he asked if he could take me to dinner. Just like that-I'm supposed to break bread with the man while my ears are still ringing. A little later, the neurologist called me at home, concerned for me. He increased my FIL's "mood stabilizer." Yeah right, like that'll work in a possessed human. I think I should have slipped him some holy water for all the good the Depakote did.

I think I've struck on the perfect gift for the man who has everything. Just in case he goes ballistic, I'm planning to be absent from the celebration. I'll have the rest of the family wear ear plugs-just in case.

One word of advice, if you're driving in the metropolitan Detroit area and see a crazy man with horns in his head, driving a silver Lincoln, get the hell away out of the way.  You didn't think a man like this would take no for an answer, did you? 

Mimi

Three years ago, I was deeply engrossed in training for the Breast Cancer 3 Day walk.  It was to be my second 3 Day event in 9 months and I was ready.  I'd raised my money and helped others raise theirs.  It's so much easier to walk 60 miles in three days versus raising $2,200 for the entry commitment.  That is much tougher.  

The first walk I did in San Francisco in October 2004 was so hard to raise money for.  I had no balls when it came to asking people for money to donate to this cause.  I'd gotten creative though and came through with enough extra that I was able to donate my excess funds to other walkers who hadn't yet reached their goals.  The second walk was a little harder to ask people to donate for, but I'd grown bold in the asking.

Two weeks after my return from  the SF 3 Day, my mother in law, Pat, was diagnosed with metastatic adenocarcinoma.  We think it may have been from the breast or possibly the lung.  She was not a smoker.  There were hormonal characteristics of primary breast cancer and primary lung cancer.  The tumor in her lung had cells so poorly differentiated that the doctors here and pathologists at the Mayo Clinic couldn't tell where it had originated.  It didn't matter-it was in stage IV with metastasis to the brain, bone and liver by the time it was found.  You could have knocked this whole family over with a feather the day she was diagnosed; we were devastated.  This woman was the soul of our family and she was leaving us, sooner than later.

This was perhaps, the hardest eight months of our lives.  That's how long we had until cancer took her from us.  Truth be told, it took her much sooner.  Christmas that year was bittersweet.  We knew it would be our last with her.  By that time, she'd completed her whole head radiation treatments and fatigue from radiation had laid her low.  By the New Year, she'd begun chemo treatments and didn't tolerate them well.  The cancer cells were sensitive to chemotherapy all right, the problem was her tumor burden was huge.  I don't think she had more than three chemo treatments before she was completely bed bound because of them.  She developed tumor lysis syndrome from this massive shedding of cells.  There were clots in both legs from ankle to groin that resulted in a huge pulmonary embolism.  It was all over but the waiting.

July is the month we lost her.  In May 2005, she knew she was close.  She asked me to make lunch for her neighbors.  She wanted to get dressed in anything but pajamas for this big event but had lost so much weight that nothing fit her.  Pehaps, she'd lost as much as 60 pounds in just 6 months.  I dressed her in my own jeans.  She used her walker and made her way to the dining room table on her own.  She was saying goodbye to her friends of many decades.  By June of 2005, we tried our last ditch effort to improve her strength by getting her into a rehab program.  When she got to the inpatient rehab unit at the hospital, she'd completely exhausted herself and had no more to give.  We went from rehab to hospice-just like that.

The hospice nurses were my colleagues and they were wonderful.  They were so compassionate in their care for our entire family.  Especially, my sister in law, Lori. Lori still talks about these nurses to this day.  She is still thankful for them and so am I.  At my first breast cancer fundraiser in a local bar, Pat had told a friend of mine that she wanted to die in her sleep at home in her bed.  And so she did.  Peacefully.  Hospice made that happen.

I feel sad and melancholy during the summer months.  Sometimes, I think it's just July that makes me feel this way.  She was more a mother to me than my own and I miss her.  Intensely.  She helped me raise my children and with my youngest child's disability, I couldn't have done it without her.  I'm grateful that I had the time to tell her how I felt before she left us-not that she would let us directly say goodbye.  She'd have none of that talk.  

So, Patty, this post is for you. Lori and I put away a bottle of red for you tonight.  You are thought of, remembered and desperately missed.

What Do I Pack?

A better question is what don't I pack?

One day, maybe Saturday if I win the lottery Friday, I will pack reasonably for a trip.  I tend to take everything because I can't make up my mind what I think I'll want to wear in one day or two.  I just know in my heart that I'll get to my destination and want for something I forgot.  For this trip, I packed way too much for a country vacation.  The only thing one really needs are shorts, tees, flip flops and maybe, one nice outfit.  A jacket or sweater always comes in handy for the air conditioning.

The reality?  I packed a dress, a skirt, jeans, 3 pair of capris, 2 pair of shorts and enough underwear to last a month of Sundays (you never know if you'll need them all.)  I wasn't done with the list. Four bras (color choices are important), 2 pair of pajamas, a pair of cargo pants, 2 jackets, one sweater, 8 tee shirts, 4 tank tops, one raincoat, 2 pair of flip flops, 2 pair privo shoes, 1 pair of keens, one pair of brown shoes and a partridge in a pear tree.  What the hell?  Am I nuts?  Of course, I didn't even use 20 percent of what I brought.  

I packed speakers for my Ipod and left my Ipod at home.  The camera did get remembered.  I packed 4 books (5 if you include the sweater pattern book) and read none of them.  I took a pair of socks I'm knitting and didn't work on them.  I took an extra skein of yarn in case I got productive.  I took all my interchangeable knitting needles and forgot I'd brought them.  I borrowed a pair from my sister to make a purse from yarn I bought while I was there.  The stash I took remains untouched.  I was led astray at the yarn store, yet again.

I wasn't done with the packing inventory as we've not yet discussed "products."  That would be the shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, 3 kinds of moisturizing creams, makeup, more makeup, hair gel, hair wax, no hair brush (it is short, short, short), more makeup, perfume, a razor, advil, benadryl (I can't sleep in a hotel), thyroid medication and a thermal coffee cup.  I remembered my laptop but so did everyone else.  It was sort of redundant and I can only say, thank the heavens for wifi. 

Let me see, I left Saturday and came home Wednesday and  was traveling alone.  There was enough packed for a month long stay.  In case of a clean panty emergency, this was a home complete with washer and dryer.

After I win the lotto Friday, I'm leaving town with nothing.  I'll get what I need once I get to my destination.  The buying spree will begin at a car dealership  with the purchase of a  Ford F350 for packing materials.  Certainly, that truck could be filled like the Clampett's truck in no time at all.

Are other people as crazy as me?  I hope so.  I'd hate to think I'm the only one who packs this way.

Faux pas

Monday, I started the third phase of my orientation. I spent the day and will finish up my week following a nurse who initiates hospice within the hospital. Patients are evaluated by her and equipment is then ordered to be in the home by the time the patient gets there. It'll be up to the dayshift nurse or myself to do the start of care in the home.

This particular hospital is the only one within our fairly large system that I had not been to see in the past. It's huge. If I'd worn a pedometer, I think it would confirm that I'd walked at least 10 miles going from one unit to the next and back again. Tomorrow, I'll have to find my way to a classroom at 8 AM for a team meeting. I'm doubting my ability to get there on my own without a guide.

I saw quite a few people I know from within the system. Several were from the roving gang of dialysis nurses that hospital hop and a couple were former colleagues. It's a very small world, you never really know when you'll bump into to someone from a past job. Sometimes, I could kick myself in the ass for being bad at recall of names and faces and I find this flaw to be embarrassing. I'm really bad at it. So bad, that it was noon by the time I realized I'd been orienting for four hours with a woman I knew from my days in the urology practice. I really felt sort of foolish when she said she was wondering if I'd recognized her since she knew me. Well damn, if she remembered me, why didn't she say so? I'm completely perplexed.

So now, here I am wondering if in some way, I'd hurt her feelings in the past. Or maybe she was hurt I hadn't recognized her immediately. People, especially women, can be so sensitive about such things. Why are we so emotional about things like this? I didn't work with her daily and really only knew her by telephone conversations and brief visits. It's not like we worked in the same office day in and day out. In consultation with MBF, who has a better memory and also worked with this woman, I've been assured that I never would have had the sort of interaction with her that could have caused any sort of hard feelings. I'm left with the only possible explanation that she was offended by my lack of total recall. Oh well, if that's the case, she needs to take a number because there are probably a boatload of people miffed at me for this slight.

I've A New Man in My Life

That's right! I'm in love. After 3 consecutive days of getting lost in the city of Detroit last week, I finally made the decision to buy myself a gps navigational device. I don't want you to think I'm a bit of an idiot getting lost in a city I've lived in all my life. I'm really not. I am a fairly good naviguesser. But guessing is pretty much what I do and when I need to get specific about driving through some of these neighborhoods, guessing isn't good enough.

The straw that broke the camel's back (note to self: find out where that saying originated), was asking two rather interesting looking fellas, who more or less scared the s#!t out of me, where a certain street was. For the life of me, I couldn't find it. Not surprisingly, the street sign had been stolen, removed or whatever, but probably stolen. That's why I can't naviguess my way anywhere in this city. There aren't any road signs!

I decided to buy the TomTom. I programmed it first with a woman's voice but then changed it to Tim. I like Tim and his sexy accent. He gets me from point A to point B by the fastest route and usually without a glitch. Unlike the other men in my life, so far, he has never been wrong.

Boldly Going Where I Haven't Gone Before

There is something I do that I dislike more than anything else. I spend a FORTUNE on my hair. I don't do it because I want to, more often than not, I feel I need to. This is because I have very stubborn gray hair. Hair that takes an hour to process in order to get 3 weeks of coverage out of it (if I'm lucky.)

Because of this, I've pretty much stuck with blond. I have a darker base and blond highlights. When my gray grows in, the blond hides it for awhile. The damage that years of processing have caused are great. My hair is not very healthy looking though I can smooth a lot of that over with products. Beneath that product, my hair is frazzy: fragile and frizzy.

I am reluctant to tell you the cost of this maintenance. It's frivolous spending at it's best and all because I think I'm too young to be so gray. Who tells us this? Why do we feel so compelled to look so youthful? What in the world is wrong with looking my age? I know that with my back problems, I feel older than 51. What's wrong with looking 51?

There is another aspect to the finances of hair color that annoy me. While I'm sitting in the stylist's chair, I'm acutely aware that he or she is making twice the amount of money that I do. No offense to any stylists out there, but do you really need to charge what you do? During these rough economic times, salons have not dropped their fees at all. Why should they? "They" have us feeling that if we don't keep this up, we'll be old and haggard looking. When I went to the salon yesterday to complete step 2 of my boldly going places project, there was not a single empty chair in this hip establishment. Not one. The only people getting just a haircut were me and the men. Everyone else had some sort of color concoction on their heads.

So, there you have the why of it. The how of it all has been a long time coming. For the past two years, I've let my hair grow. It was super short (think Sharon Stone short) and very blond. In two years, it got just past my chin. This mop was curly enough that I could diffuse it and hide the gray that is at the root. This allowed me to ignore my color issues for 6 weeks instead of the 3 I was used to. Since December though, I've been thinking it's time. Time to stop this. That was about the time I read Oprah's October magazine issue about gray. Jamie Lee Curtis was also making the talk show rounds and sporting her short gray hair. These two things were liberating events for me. I had my last run in with a colorist in March and had now acquired close to 2 inches of gray growth at the top. Yesterday, I let Tiffany have at it. It's all gone. Hair. Blond. Gone. The only things that aren't gone are my self esteem and the money in my bank account.

Hold Your Lamp Up

"Preconceived notions are the locks on the door to wisdom"

Merry Browne

Prior to nursing, I had many different types of jobs like waitressing, accounting and sales clerk. In all of those positions, I rarely came across the types of people who don't want to encourage, nurture or teach new folks like I have in nursing. This is unfortunate because although there is plenty of theory prior to ever laying a hand on another human, so much of my kind of work is learned at the bedside.

There is a dog eat dog mentality that is pervasive in my profession. All of us in this field have heard the statement "nurses eat their young." At times in my career, I've found this to be true. Nurses, during a time of such critical shortage, should be kind to one another but often, are not. They will refuse to help another nurse or be difficult to approach. Instead of offering pearls of wisdom when asked a question, they will tell a new nurse to look it up and provide as little assistance as possible. They will gossip. They will belittle one another in a public manner. They will overburden the weak among them with the hardest assignments. Not infrequently, the recipient of this subtle, or sometimes outright hostile treatment will be a new graduate. Make no mistake, whether subtle or overt, this bullying is a form of violence in the workplace.

This type of abuse has been given the name of lateral violence. Finally, nursing professionals are beginning to band together to at least discuss this problem. My Michigan Nurse Association publication came in the mail yesterday and included the following article: "Lateral violence: Calling out the elephant in the room." It's about time. Isn't our job tough enough without being cruel to one another?

Just in case you get the idea that I'm having a rough time orienting in my new role, I'm not. When I met my preceptor at the death pronouncement of our patient Monday night, she greeted me with a hug. A welcome to the fold kind of hug. Now this is what I'm talking.

WaterOnboarding

I am very familiar with the corporation I work for. After all, I've been an employee off and on since 1992. For others though, it is my health system's first impression on a new employee and I find some of the things we do to new people, right out of the gate, to be foolish. I'm quite certain this process of hiring and training a new employee is quite expensive. A decent effort should be made to try to retain new employees right from the beginning. More often than not, this opportunity is squandered by placing education into the hands of people who aren't teachers but instead, long term employees who have slipped into these rolls.

Tomorrow is my fifth straight day of orientation, which is now known as onboarding. Just as I suspected, this is a term made up by inhumane resource worklife service types to disguise just what it is newbies will be doing. Since Monday, I have been alternating between extreme back and butt pain, mind-sucking boredom and overwhelming fatigue. There is never a really good process for doing this, at least I've not encountered that, but I do have some observations I believe would be worthwhile for employers to consider.

• Don't bombard your new employee with corporate double speak for 8 straight hours and then repeat it for three consecutive days. After a certain amount of time, you are only inducing a semi-comatose state and I'm quite sure, after 7.5 hours, your listener only has eyes for the clock. They certainly aren't paying attention to your outdated videos.

• Make an attempt to have your expert speakers slow the hell down (it may help if you'd allot more time for them to say what they need to say.) My brain can't process what my ears are sending as fast as needed when you present me with a speed speaker. Especially, if that speaker is from benefits. What I heard the other day sounded like someone trying to pull the wool over my eyes (not that I mind wool.) Please don't present me with someone who wants to scold me for my aversion to the stock market at this time. Been there, done that. I unfortunately know intimately what terms like "Black Friday" mean. No speed talker can convince me otherwise, especially when I suspect this person gets a commission if I sign on. There is not enough wool in the world that could get me to sign up after hearing the speed spiel.
  

• Please make an attempt to provide your new employees a comfortable chair in which to sit during your horrifically long sessions. Just today, a knowledgeable speaker (who happened to be really interesting) lectured about skin wounds and the path to no skin breakdown in the hospital and home care setting. Jeeze! Nurse Rudee could barely listen because I was solely focused on the intense pain over the bony prominences of my gluteus most maximus. I am beyond certain if I looked, I'd find non-blanching red spots over my ischial tuberosities. Damn, I hurt. If you are intent on torture being a part of this process, you are succeeding.

• Please don't hand your employees "new" cell phones and make them sign a contract to replace them if lost at the full market price. Savvy cell phone users know these items were not too gently used AND quite old since that particular cell phone company no longer sells that model. 

I don't think I can offer more at this time. To be honest, I can't deal with my back and butt pain right now. I'm wishing I had one of those morphine pumps I learned so much about today. That might work. Tomorrow, sitting on my ass is not on my agenda.

My Bum is Numb

I'm off to sit through another 8.5 mind and butt numbing hours of orientation. Even though I've worked for this organization for many, many, many years, I still have to be oriented in a process they no longer call orientation; it's now known as onboarding. I'm sure this is because they want it to seem like a much more exciting process than it is. I've had all of this information, much of it annually, several times. Yesterday, the entire day was spent discussing corporate expectations. ZZZZzzzzzzzz.

I don't think I'll be getting to the meat and potato portion of this process until Wednesday or Thursday. I hope it's a bit more stimulating than what I've been through so far. The hardest part of yesterday was the fight to keep my eyes open. I didn't want to be rude, but after they served us pizza for lunch, I had an overwhelming desire to slip into a carb induced coma. It took every ounce of energy I had to keep my eyelids from closing.

Today, I plan on Espresso loading as a strategy. Maybe I'll take my laptop so when I slip off to Panera for lunch, I can at least see how interesting today is for other bloggers. I'm also completely wrapped up in As The Sock Turns on Ravelry and I don't want to miss a thing.

Accidents Happen

Before my morning coffee today, my multitalented and always multitasking best friend fell off her porch. She called me while her boyfriend was driving her to the ER. She told me she had lost consciousness and had been vomiting. Far be it from her to call 911 after such a tumble. This is exactly who should be calling for emergency services. Hello! Head Injury? Time is Brain?????. I can't begin to tell you how many 20 year olds go to the ER by ambulance for menstrual cramps. Not my friend though. She is testardo which is Italian for STUBBORN.

She waited for her pony express rescue squad to get to her. Her rescuers had been notified by smoke signals. Really. The girl she had been talking to when she fell, called my friend's boyfriend who lives several miles away. He was still in bed as was my BF's son-so they called his cell phone to wake him up so he could help his mother who was in agony and only 20 feet away from him. Sheesh. When she called me she was on her way to the ER saying stupid stuff-like half assed good byes, so I got scared and got my ass over there.

When I got to the ER, she was in CT so I waited (and waited) and thanked the heavens I'd taken my knitting with me. Iris will be happy to know that my first square for her 3 Day blanket is done. I had no idea what I'd see when she came back from xray. I took comfort in the fact that her monitor was in the room and that although in a trauma room, she hadn't been in a BIG trauma room. I saw no blood on the floor and no trash cans overflowing or other signs that a terribly unstable patient had inhabited this room. So, I patiently waited.

While knitting, I couldn't help notice all the people (visitors) wandering the halls and looking into all the exam rooms as though the patients lying on gurneys were animal exhibits at the zoo. This is a pet peeve of mine. If it isn't your loved one, please don't stare. Don't look, just think tunnel vision.

Call me next time Fanny, I'll rescue you.

Anyways, MBF is only slightly the worse for wear. Jesus she is good for at least one scary frigging event every couple of years. I hope she is done for awhile now. You hear that Fanny? At the end of the morning, we knew she had failed her bone density test as evidenced by her fractured humerus which isn't so funny to break. She had a soft cast applied. She has a honking huge hematoma on her forehead and tends to bruise badly. She should be many shades of purple later on. No fracture, no bleed in her brain and more importantly, she has her wits about her and was shmoozing everyone. Thank God. Thats my BFF I know and love so well.

The More Things Change....

About a decade ago, I was at work after hours with a couple of my female colleagues. We were discussing our different experiences with childbirth, each trying to top the other with horror stories. The phone rang and caused a brief interruption in conversation. The doctor the caller was looking for was paged overhead and we girls went right back to the task of discussing our tales of postpartum woe.

Several minutes had gone by and one of the gals, OK-me began discussing how during the birth of her youngest, she'd had a terrible laceration in her nether-regions and had asked the doctor to take a few extra stitches to tighten it all back up down there. She figured since he was in the area, why not make it look like it belonged to a teenager again? About that time, the doctor who had taken the call that had interrupted us came running down the hall, laughing her ass off and yelling simultaneously for us to hang up the phone. It seems the conversation had been broadcast overhead for everyone still in the building to listen in on. There were quite a few. Truth be told, just about the entire office heard that conversation.

It's one of my best rocking chair memories. I'll cherish the look on this doc's face as long as I live, standing there laughing with tears running down her cheeks. I love a good laugh, even if the laugh is on me.

I am the woman I am today because of the experiences I've had in life-including horrific childbirth tribulations and embarrassing slips of judgment. Some of my experiences have been good, some were bad. I'd rather some things had never occurred, but I don't suffer intense remorse or regret over decisions I've made. They are what they are and I do try hard not to repeat mistakes. I guess that's why I have such a hard time imagining what it must be like for women, in this day and age, to feel driven by shame over mistakes made. Enough so that they feel pressured to get back what they've already given.

Do a few extra stitches make the truth go away?

Rudee Lite

I've come down with a curious ailment. It seems I have acquired Short Timer's Syndrome. This problem began when I submitted my resignation at work 2 weeks ago. Symptoms include an unusual lightness of being and a smile that can't be wiped from my face. No matter what work throws at me, I'm down to my last two shifts on this incredibly heavy unit and I'm enjoying my ailment immensely.

Saturday is my last day as an ICU nurse. I've pretty much cleaned out my locker and just have my mailbox to clear out. I've given away a few things and I've bequeathed my locker and lock to the lovely new nurse I've been orienting.

The past seven years is the longest I've stayed in one nursing position without getting bored and feeling driven to move on. This ability to move to a different job and still do what one excels at is the beauty of nursing. I'll miss aspects of this job and I'll miss the friendships I've made, but I am ready. And I'm feeling lite, lite, lite.

What Can I Say?

To my friend Sandy: every fiber of my being is with you in thought and prayer today as you begin this journey.  

I thought you may like this mantra written by Kristen Haugen, a survivor like you. "Everyday I have to believe with a magnitude so deep that my belief becomes a reality."

May you be especially blessed during this day Sandy, and may your surgeon get clean margins.

Welcome Home Stanley

HOCKEYTOWN! CUP COMING TO DETROIT

Getty Images

PITTSBURGH - JUNE 04: Nicklas Lidstrom #5 of the Detroit Red Wings celebrates with the Stanley Cup after defeating the Pittsburgh Penguins in game six of the 2008 NHL Stanley Cup Finals at Mellon Arena on June 4, 2008 in Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania. The Red Wings defeated the Penguins 3-2 to win the Stanley Cup Finals 4 games to 2.

Just In Case

In the event the wings need help with the Penguins, I've called on someone who has experience.

Department of Redundancy Department

Today I get to do one of my favorite things and interact with human resources folks at my new job.  This has left me in a reflective mood.

I am wondering, if my new job is a transfer within the same health network, why I need to provide my credentials all over again.  Is this not a waste of resources?  

Why do I need to provide my CPR certification for a job in hospice? I don't plan on resuscitating the dying.  Will I need to provide Advanced Cardiac Life Support certification along with the Fundamentals of Critical Care Support Provider certificate as well?

Why did I not consider gas costs and the mileage spanking I'm about to take on with this new job?  Did I want change so badly that this was not even a fleeting thought?  It's a hike to the west side of town which is about to become my new territory.  Note to self: renew XM radio and scout all the Panera Breads between here and there (free internet.)  The Dingo's got a new slogan on the header of his home page and it fits me to a tee: "he who laughs last, thinks slowest."  That's me.  Slow.

If I ask my husband where something may be, he'll counter with "I don't know, where did you file it?"  Obviously, if I knew, I wouldn't be asking him.  Subsequently, I don't ask where he may have put something anymore, I jump right to the accusation that he threw it out.  This is not always the case and I must work on getting better organized.  I just never knew I'd need to reproduce the documents I need for today to the same organization I've worked for on and off for the last 16 years!

Do work places change the name of human resources to Work-Life Services because people like me always called that department Inhumane Resources?

Where the hell did I put my social security card?  I'd put money on a burglar being able to find it, but I'll be damned if I can. 

Immigrants ( I Love the Swedes)

Detroit Red Wings rely on heavy Swedish contingent to reach Stanley Cup final

DETROIT - The Detroit Red Wings would be in rough shape without Sweden. In fact, their general manager insisted the Western Conference champions would've been knocked out of the post-season long ago - if they even made it - without their seven Swedes. Thanks to Nicklas Lidstrom and several countrymen, Detroit is set to meet the Pittsburgh Penguins in the Stanley Cup final at home in Game 1 on Saturday night. "It's a big deal back home," Lidstrom said Wednesday in an interview with The Associated Press. "They call us the Swedish NHL team because there's so many of us. "As we get deeper in the playoffs, more people are staying up late and going to work after watching us play." Sweden is six hours ahead of Michigan's Eastern Daylight Time.

(You can read the article in it's entirety by clicking on the title link. It's interesting, but I do appreciate that not everyone is all that interested.)

While driving home late (again) from work tonight, it struck me how unfair it is to only play the U.S. National Anthem at the beginning of the game. I was listening to the start of the game on the radio and sure enough, only the Star Spangled Banner was sung. I realize these days that it would be hard to play the anthems from all the countries that NHL players come from; there wouldn't be time for the game.

Instead (and in honor of the Swedish contingent), I propose the NHL institute the playing of this song at the beginning of all hockey games. Immediately. I'll go first.