Pass the Emesis Basin--I Feel Sick

I had another kerfuffle at work last night and I'm beginning to think I'm a shit magnet. (Close your eyes Sister if you're reading this).

I've always been assured of who and what I am, but according to the man I met last night doing a home visit, I may be something entirely different. According to him, a learned man of the world to be sure and one with an impressive vocabulary to match, I'm a, what did he say? Oh yeah..."filthy tramp." He was not some demented patient who couldn't see past my clean cut image or someone in the throes of delerium. No, indeed, he was not the patient at all...just a relative who is royally pissed at the world. I'd buy the line that he's just grieving, and verbal abuse is nothing but an expression of his grief, but that's complete BS. I'm convinced, since I'm not the only one he gave unique names to this past week, this guy is nothing but a misogynist. In fact, I'd bet my lottery ticket with a jackpot of 121 million dollars that this guy would NEVER speak to a man like he spoke to me last night. Not in a 121 million years.

I've taken everyone's advice here and when I go into really bad neighborhoods these days, I've been taking armed security escorts. Lord, I wonder what kind of hits do you think my site will get using the words escorts and tramp in one post? I'll have to be extra vigilant in the comment section. The problem with last night is I wasn't in a "bad" neighborhood and I was blindsided by the abuse and people yelling at me. While we're on the subject of neighborhoods, when I'm in really bad ones, it's not the families and patients who are a problem. It's the areas that are dangerous. Indeed, most economically disadvantaged people are so thankful for help and very gracious while I'm there. I have, knock wood, never left a home in the city fleeing like I did last night because in addition to the name calling, three adults, all bigger than me, were yelling at me. And scaring me to death. It wasn't just their verbiage and loud tones of voice I found threatening, it was their body language that screamed to me, "get the hell out, NOW!"

When I got to my car, my hands were shaking so bad I had a hard time getting the key in the ignition. I drove around the corner and called my supervisor. It took six attempts to land the tracking ball device on the number I wanted to call on my Blackberry. I wanted to cry and puke at the same time.

Suffice it to say, I've had enough of this. This is incident number three in as many months, and I can tell you that though I feel this work is still where my heart is (when it isn't in my throat), I am losing the stomach, not to mention the nerve, to do it much longer. I'm on the hunt for a work situation that while it may not be better, at least it may be safer. I say may be safer because under-reported workplace violence is nursing's dirty little secret. Nurses get assaulted every single day and in every type of work situation you can imagine. They get hit, kicked, bit, spit on, threatened with "reporting to a supervisor"and sworn at routinely. Because the perpetrators are usually patients who may not be in their right minds, nothing usually ever comes of it. Ever.

For God's sake people, when we nurses are visitors in patient homes, those domiciles become our place of employment. Think about it...how would you feel if someone came into your workplace and starting screaming at you and calling you despicable names? How would you like to feel fear for your wellbeing in the place you earn your living?

I need to find something else before I lose it completely and start dishing back what these rude people are handing out.

What in the world has happened to common courtesy and manners?

And so you know and won't worry, we do have zero tolerance for abuse. Zero. I don't think my abuser thought about that before he opened his mouth. Too bad, so sad.

Miracles Happen

For years, I've suffered with terrible feet. The skin is dry, flaky, calloused and the skin on my heels cracks. I've tried everything under the sun including pedicures, a ped-egg, daily application of lotions, potions, creams, tea tree oil...you name it, I've tried it. I've even tried antifungal remedies thinking it could be a sort athlete's foot. It isn't.

Sometimes, even though my feet get routine attention, the cracks become so deep and tender that walking becomes painful.

The other day, I Googled cracked heels and came upon a site full of testimonials about a remedy from an Australian company called, Flexitol Heel Balm. I thought, what the heck, I'll give it a shot and I picked up a tube from the local Rite Aid on Thursday.

It works. It's a miracle. In fact, I saw and felt a difference OVERNIGHT. It was worth every penny and I'm about to stock up. I think the last product endorsement I did was for my Tempur-pedic bed. I'm still geeked about my bed, but this may be even better.

If you have feet as bad as I've described, get thee to a drug store. I have heard that Target sells this potion for much less than I paid for it, like 50% less, but like I said, it was worth what I paid and more.

I wish I had taken before and after pictures so I could show you the proof, but I didn't think about it. Besides, I've spent a lot of time trying to cover up my feet as they weren't my best feature. I have a feeling that with summer coming, I'm going to have an awesome time shopping for sandals and flip flops.

A word of warning...less is more and you need to put socks on after application.

Go forth and make your feet happy!

Training Day

With the weaving soundly in time out for a bit, I've embarked on a training project for Ravelympics. I've been spinning the yarn I'll use for the mittens I'll make in competition and I was stuck not knowing if I wanted to use the alpaca singles or ply them. I had enough wraps per inch to use singles, but I spent yesterday swatching a plied sample while my wheel sat idle at my spinning circle. As is the case on Saturday mornings, one conversation led to another, and Sue asked if I'd seen the new Piecework Magazine. I had not, so Marilyn promptly put an issue under my nose.

The swatching tasks at hand fell instantly out of my mind as I paged through the annual historic issue of Piecework. Once I came to the article on Latvian mittens, it was all over but the yarn selection.

Last night I cast on for the Birch Mittens and today I've started the color work all in leftover Blue Sky Alpaca. I may have bought the magazine, but I've stayed on my yarn diet.

Interestingly, the knitter who was famous throughout Latvia for her mittens was initially limited with the yarns she could use. I think it's possible that some of her techniques for weaving in strands of yarn for detail, may have been done to conserve her stash. For instance, though I didn't do it on my cuff, the directions call for splitting the plies of yarn for the weaving of contrasted stitches (those sideways slashes that look like Morse code).

I'm usually not thankful for the rain, but I am today. It gives me an excuse (not that I need one) to stay indoors and knit. Rachel is watching Winnie the Pooh and I'm engrossed in a complicated, historical pattern. Since this pattern involves color work, I'll just chalk it up to a day in training for the events that start in just a couple of weeks.

Pattern: Birch Mittens from Jan/Feb 2010 issue of Piecework by Barbara Plakans

Yarn: Blue Sky Alpaca from my stash

Needles: US 1.5 (2.50 mm)

Those Who Can...Do

I've been overwhelmed lately with all of the news coming out of Haiti. Some of the rescues have been amazing and I look on in what has become a detached sort of way. The news reporting has bothered me from a particular aspect. One reporter spoke about how someone came to him begging for water and he felt badly that he could not give this person any. Why not? The reporter didn't appear dehydrated or malnourished and so his words bothered me. Perhaps it was just the way he said them, but I pictured the news crews, who, although they are obviously roughing it, have parent companies like CNN, FOX or MSNBC seeing to their basic needs. Most likely, they have food, water, tents, cots, porta-potties, toilet paper, etc. You get the picture. I find it hard to believe they're going with as little as the earthquake survivors seem to be. Some of the stories the news stations have shown are exploitative to a degree and if I see one more TV personality doctor working only with his mouth, and not the skills he has been trained in, I think I'll scream. While they're reporting, there are suffering human beings who need those skills.

Because I've donated to MSF, the agency sent me one doctor's slide show, and watching this, a clearer and more emotional picture of the utter devastation is laid bare.

Next pay day, they'll be getting another donation from me because I've no doubt they're sharing what they have--even if all they have is technical skill. Though the photos still trouble me, I feel hope when I see the work they do. It can't be easy and on top of all of the thoughts and prayers I send out to the people of Haiti, I'm adding all of the relief workers to my prayers, too. Their burden must surely be heavy.

Getting My Money's Worth

You know you've made a sound decision when the home inspection team is excited about what they're seeing and not in the sky is falling way.

The house, which I'm beginning to allow an emotional attachment to (especially after today), passed the home inspection with only minor glitches. Since the structure is 84 years old, that's not too shabby. We had a camera inspection of the plumbing out to the street and while not as clean as the colon of a human who consumed a gallon of golytely, there were no obstructions. The glitches were mainly electrical and require only minor fixes. Somebody, and not this particular investor, used the wrong outlets (three prong) for outlets that should be two pronged. We're asking the seller to fix all of this and one problem with the hot water heater release valve. All in all, it's a great house.

Though I didn't take a photo of my yarn room, the picture of it is firmly affixed in my mind. The room is about 100 square feet with two windows on the northern exposure and has two large walk in spaces for storage. A little TV, my IPOD, an ergonomic chair or two, locks for the door and I'll be good to go up there. I'm stalking sites for decorative storage solutions and plan a trip to Ikea, soon. Target has those cute little Itso storage options, but Ikea may have more.

Because of mortgage requirements on a house that's being flipped for investment purposes, we can't close until the beginning of March, but that's right around the corner.

I'm dreading another move in such a short time, but at least this time, it'll be my own home...a place where I can hang what I please on my walls and look at dog scratched hardwood and take it all in with a grain of salt.

But first it needs a gate.

Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come For You?

Driving home from a patient's house tonight, three cop cars passed me. Being, generally speaking, a good girl, I checked my speed and tapped on the breaks. Ahead of me, I could see all three make a left and head north on a main road. I approached the intersection where I see a helicopter up above with a spotlight. It's heading south. While I'm contemplating this, a cop approaching from behind me makes a right hand turn in front of my car that I'm prepared to make a left in and heads south. Just as I begin to enter the road, the three cops heading north make a U-turn in the middle of this busy road and follow the rest of the gang heading south.

By this time, I'm getting a little nervous. Not one of these guys has his flashers on and they're out in the dark speeding, pulling U-turns and dangerous driving maneuvers without regard to the safety of the rest of us poor schmoes out there with them. Now I'm annoyed.

I stopped at a Starbucks to let it all die down, get my drink and head back out on the road. Since I'm the one heading north, I kind of let the southbound cops leave my head. Just as I got on the street, I see two cars behind me with no lights on and a posse of cops chasing them. For God's sake, they were all heading north now. With me!!!

I couldn't wait to get home and lock my doors.

I won't be surprised to see someone dead from a high speed police chase in the news come morning. I'm just glad it won't be me.

Weaving Wednesday?

Sloppy on the left, no?

The first ten rows of my sample were perfect. After that? Well, let's just say I'm glad I warped the loom with a ridiculous amount of yarn so I could do some sampling. I mean, who needs a one hundred inch long scarf? Not me. I'll be satisfied if there is enough for a nice and drapey 5 foot scarf.

This is the right side with a rather neat selvage.

I'm having both tension and selvage issues and I'm trying to figure things out. In the first place, though it really helps to blow off steam, I don't think I need to beat the yarn so hard with the heddle (the innuendo doesn't escape me and I think this terminology could be linked to other topics. I'm having a hell of a time choosing my words because I think the male readers of this blog, given half a chance, would run with it: beat the heddle, indeed). In addition to the cruddy looking selvages, it made for some incredibly dense fabric. I'm a tight knitter, so it tends to reason that I'm going to have the same issues weaving.

I don't know what I did to get this, but obviously, it was really wrong.

In the second place, I haven't been pinching the yarn at the point where I'm wrapping the weft yarn to pass through the shed in opposite direction and this may be contributing to my messy selvages on just one side of the fabric. I didn't think I was doing anything differently, but obviously, I was. I had a nice right sided edge and on the left, a bundle of sloppy loops.

This would be a nice design feature if I'd meant it. I didn't see it until I took the sample off the loom. Here we have an area where the shuttle passed over and under the warp and this space was not woven in.

I cut the sample from the loom, but it's still warped for a return engagement. Not today, though. Today was for working until 2:30 AM and then getting up at 9 AM to chart on what I couldn't get to last night. 3/4 night shift nurses ran their butts off last night. The other one slept all night. Lucky wench. I'm hoping that tonight is better, but I'm not going to hold my breath.

The moon won't be full for another ten days. What gives?