Nurse Follies: The Medical Student

Normally, I don't mind medical students. They taste just like chicken!

Seriously, most seem eager to learn, like to ask lots of questions (which is only a problem when you are running down the hall to a code situation), and are pleasant. They know their place in the Hospital Food Chain(HFC)...somewhere below the lady who cleans the toilets and just above the evil troll who works in the parking garage tollbooth. They live their little med student lives forever shaking in fear of the doctors and residents who keep them under their thumbs. Normally, I feel sorry for them. Some seasoned nurses treat nursing students the same way...but much more sadistically. At least we are warned before the actual encounters.

What people fail to the med students is that they should fear the nurses with equal terror.

Case in point...

Curly (named changed to protect the unsuspecting dumbass) is going to Medical School. He also works part time as a lab tech in our hospital. This means he goes from floor to floor, collecting blood specimens. That's it. The lab tech's place in the HFC is only a little higher than that of the med student because they actually do more than take up oxygen. Curly comes to our floor to collect blood. He comes to the desk wanting to know which nurse has patient so-and-so. That nurse is busy, but I ask if I might be able to assist.

Curly: Do you know if this patient is going to get Heparin?
Me: No...why?
Curly: Because I drew this particular test.
Me: Do you need a different colored tube?
Curly: No, but if the patient is not getting Heparin, I don't know why I need to run this test.
Me: (scratching head) If we need more tests, we can just add it to specimen in lab, right?
Curly: (exasperated) Well, I just don't see why they want this test if the patient is on heparin. I don't know why I'm drawing it.
Me: (getting annoyed...it's too early in the morning for this crap) You drew it because the doctors wanted it drawn. What difference does it make to you as to why they want it?
Curly: But he's not getting heparin. I should talk to his nurse because you don't seem to know what going on.

Curly finds the nurse, and he proceded to grill her, and she curtly tells him that the patient is going for a procedure, and that is all he needs to know. I'm still standing at the desk turning a bright shade of purple, my mind reeling in ways that I am going to snatch every curly hair off his head.

Curly makes for the door, but not before I announce, loudly, "It doesn't matter if the doctors wanted a pregnancy test on that man. The lab tech DRAWS the lab. It is the nurse's job to question it."

Dumbass.

The rest of the nurses agree that this kid is going to be a problem when they give him his long coat and turn him lose on the floor. If he is a lab-tech-medical-student, already second-guessing the care that the more experienced staff is providing him, he is going to be a little monster when he's a resident.

And the nurses will be waiting. Apparently, no one has told him what evil little bitches we can be when pissed off. Maybe no one should warn him. Maybe he should be totally oblivious until that day he has to take call for one of my patients, and I call his ass every 10 minutes for every dumb little thing.

One of the few perks of my job...

This...Is SWIMWEAR?!?!

I used to think that women had it rough with the swim season...then I found this website. (Not safe for work!) The folks who design this stuff must not be from the U.S. (unless they are from San Francisco). If I were a wagering woman, I'd have to say they are either from somewhere South America, or Europe.

I also must say, that you probably would be hard pressed to find a guy wearing this in the Midwest. You don this while at Party Cove, some redneck is likely to beat the crap out of you.

There was one item (remember, this is swimwear for men) that I could have swore looked exactly like a training muzzle I bought for Sam.

And I sincerely doubt I will be seeing something from this company gracing the pool area of Lido deck on my upcoming cruise...at least I hope I don't see it...

I remember the first cruise I went on. Kant and I were on a little boat going out to Sting Ray City in Cayman. Directly across from us was a man (mid-40's), his wife and two kids. He was wearing a pair of tan-thru swim shorts. The thing is with tan-thru...sometimes, you can see-thru if you are not careful. Sadly enough, the guy was casually sitting there, oblivious to the fact that everyone could see his junk through his shorts. I don't think Kant knew, and I certainly wasn't going to tell her. I didn't want to alert her to the fact that a penis was bobbing hello from the other side of the boat...it would have scared her. I was just hoping his own kids didn't notice.

Anyway, back to the Koala Swimline...

I think if we expected more men to wear swim suits such as any number of these...I think they wouldn't be so hard on us if we didn't all look like Kathy Ireland in our suits.

Huh?

What the hell kind of name for a girl is Shiloh?

Sounds like a cleaning detergent. Shiloh gets tough stains out AND won't harm delicate fabrics!

Poor kid.

Calgon, Take Me Away (Please!)

I just realized that this is a holiday weekend. Naturally, I have work the entire thing (save for Monday), but it's not like my ever-shrinking family has anything planned. No special lake-filled activities...just my mother going down to the lake to pick up more of her junk so she can start her life as a partying 50-something year old.

This whole divorce thing is making things very, very akward.

While I was at the craft store the other day, a very depressing thought occurred to me: I really have nothing to look forward to this summer. All the fun activities that I usually look forward to are directly tied in to my step-father's family. While my step-dad harbors no ill-will to myself and my brothers, I fairly confident the rest of his family cannot remain impartial. We are guilty by association alone.

On paper, I have a large biological family. In reality, I can't stand 85% of them. I told my mother recently that if I ever got married, I would elope so I didn't have to have family there. She wanted to know if I was ashamed of my family.

Isn't this a given? I shouldn't have to answer this question.

As of late, I've been in a fowl mood. Whenever I hear my mother coo on the phone to Sid the Fisherman (the internet guy), it grates like glass shards on a chalkboard, and I want to take her phone away and run over it with my car...multiple times.

It is not going to go well the first time she tries to introduce me to this guy. It might even be in her best interest to not bother at all.

I've been pretty grouchy all week. I could attribute it to PMS, but I could also attribute it to stress that is nearing the breaking point.

My only outlet is arts and crafts. The Rug of Angst. The Baby Blanket of High Blood Pressure.

I need a better outlet.

Music Takes Me Back

I subscribe to Napster. It's quite handy, except that I need a Napster-friendly MP3 player so I can play my tunes at the gym. I happened to be at Wally World and thought I would check and see if such Napster-friendly devices could be found with the Napster label on it. Afterall, I would hate to drop money on something, only to take it home and find out that it's not compatible.

Besides, I already did that.

Standing there at the electronics counter, the Slow Kid in the blue vest approaches and asks if he be of any help. I give him the benefit of a doubt and ask him if they carried Napster-compatible MP3 players. He slurred that Napster was shut down years ago.

With that, I went to Target.

So, I'm sitting here, downloading any song that tickles my fancy. My latest thing is 80's tunes. I hear certain songs, and I am transported to that time where all I did was hibernate in my room and write... which really isn't a whole lot different from now, only I have an entire apartment to hibernate in.

Funny how it seems that everyone has that one song that always conjures up the images of their first love. I am no exception. For me, that song is "Everything I Do" by Bryan Adams...otherwise known as the main song from that Robin Hood movie. You know, the one with Kevin Costner who lost his English accent five minutes into the movie?

Yeah, it reminds me of James (who incidentally took me to see that movie). He was my first boyfriend. He was a twin, and he lived the next town over, his parents were folk/bluegrass singers, and his biggest aspiration was to be a fireman. He idolized firemen so much, he wanted to re-enact that scene from Backdraft with me. Fortunately, I was too chicken to.

For the next two years, we were on-again, off-again in true teen-angst fashion. I thought I loved him. I thought I would marry him. I remember the first time I told him I loved him, and he just looked at me with what I think was a smirk, and said, "I'm not one for sentimentality."

What a douchebag! Is it any wonder why I have never been the first to say "I love you" to any guy I've dated ever since???

Needless to say, we didn't get married. He went on to marry some butt-ugly chick (of whom he was cheating on me with anyway) and have a butt-load of kids. I saw him once when I went home to see the family. He was at the store and struck up conversation with my mother. While time may have been kind to his twin, it certain wasn't as generous as James looked like a bag of chewed up assholes. He's now the deputy sheriff in some dinky little county up north, and his wife is works in the jail. Direct authority tells me that she routinely shags the inmates when she works the late shift.

So you see, it all worked out in Karma's eye.

So now when I hear Bryan Adams crooning that sappy song, I remember James, the crappy First Boyfriend.

And I remember that there are much worse things out there than being single.

(Too Hot to) Hump Day

Yesterday, I went out and got my hair done. I decided I was through with the red and wanted to go back to my natural color (blonde). My cousin doesn't understand why a blonde would ever want to be anything but blonde. I explained it was the same reason everyone changed their haircolor...because they get bored with what they have and want something different. I guess the same could be said about people with a lot of things...it applies to just about anything.

The girl I have been seeing for YEARS set to the task of bleaching and highlighting with enough foil to cover the outside of a lunar space module. I baked under a dryer forever, and when she took off the foil, my hair was fluorescent yellow and orange. Oops. She immediately put a toner on it. After 6 months of adding, adding, adding red to my hair, it wasn't going to go willingly with one salon visit. The toner was enough to make it a nice strawberry blonde, but I have another appointment next week for round two. She also cut about 3 inches off the length. It's too hot for long hair.

Today I went out, got my nails done at one of those places operated by Korean folks. The girl who was doing my manicure kept talking to me, and damned if I understood a word of what she was saying. Something about an ATM machine, or she could have been talking about a cat...I'm not sure. I just smiled and nodded. She drug out the loofah brick and started going at it with my feet. I think she accidentally sheared the top layer of skin off the back of my leg. I secretly said a prayer that I didn't end up like those women you see on the news...who go to a nail place, only to have their legs turn green and fall off because there was a contagious critter in the uncleaned hair trap.

From there, I went to the craft store to find more fabric for my rug. A woman was there with her toddler and infant, both cried and screamed the entire time she was there, which was roughly the same amount of time I was there. I was there for about half an hour. Wherever I went, the Screaming Duo was nearby. There was no escaping them.

By the time I made it to checkout, my left eye was twitching, and I felt compelled to rip the uterus out of my body. I refrained because my hands were shaking so much.

It's hotter than hell outside. It rained this morning, so now it's steamy on top of it. Sweat poured down the back of my hairless neck. Thank goodness I don't have a hairy ass.

Now, I am home. All pampered...and sweaty. For the remainder of the day, I shall remain indoors. I might even take a nap. I have to clean the apartment, maybe even download some music (legally), and do some work on my rug. Right now, the cats are sleeping.

Overall, a productive day...with lots and LOTS of iced tea.

KC Custody Dispute

Kansas City, MO (AP) - A seven year old boy was at the center of a Kansas City courtroom drama yesterday when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him. The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with the child custody law and regulations requiring that family unity be maintained to the degree possible. The boy surprised the court when he proclaimed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and he adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried out that they also beat him. After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him. After two recesses to check legal references and confer with child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the Kansas City Royals, whom the boy firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone.

Another Drug-Sponsored Dinner and Other Blather

Last night I went to another dinner hosted by the same company who hosted the last drug dinner I went to. But this doesn't count the Kona dinner because that wasn't a drug inservice, but rather a drug rep feeling generous with their company's expense account.

Thank goodness for drug reps, otherwise I would have been sitting at home because I depleted my checking account on bills. Without drug reps, I might not ever get out of the house.

This time, dinner was at JJ's on the Plaza (I couldn't find their website...if they even have one). It was a much smaller gathering, and we even had elbow room!

Drunky Drunkerson didn't go.

About 8 nurses from my floor went. The tables seated 6, but we crowded together anyway to avoid anyone being left out to socialize with, God forbid, nurses from other hospitals. We had the appetizer...one if which being brie. I like brie, but brie is an acquired taste, so my enthusiasm was not shared by everyone. The free drinks poured. The speaker was much better...he didn't drag out molecular charts and proceed to bore us to death.

Then came salad, a stellar main course, and dessert of cheesecake. They even boxed up slices for us to take home. Cheesecake doesn't stand a chance in my house...it's already gone.

Topics of conversation varied, I think most everyone in the entire room was discussing the whole 14-year-old-brain-dead-kid. Some items were brought up that I had never even heard before. After having hearing them, I can say that while the mother may be in grief and whatnot, she's really, really dumb. I didn't need anyone else to tell me that...I pretty much figured that one out on my own when I saw her talking on the news going between "he's already expired" to "he's going to walk out of this hospital".

Oh well. I hope everything gets settled early next week.

The manager's office for my apartment complex dropped off a copy of a new lease today. I have no intention of signing it, but I did look it over and see that they were raising my rent by $100 a month. I can afford the increase, but it is hard to see just where the money is going...unless you count all the trees they are chopping down. I'm going to try to make an arrangement to extend my current lease by 3 months because hopefully I will be a homeowner by early fall.

As usual, I work tonight. I hope I have a good night, and I don't have to lay the smack down on anyone.

Fun Facts About Chuck Norris You Probably Didn't Know!

-> Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is based on a true story: Chuck Norris once swallowed a turtle whole, and when he crapped it out, the turtle was six feet tall and had learned karate.

-> There are no steroids in baseball. Just players Chuck Norris has breathed on.

-> Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

-> Chuck Norris once ate a whole cake before his friends could tell him there was a stripper in it.

-> When Chuck Norris was denied an Egg McMuffin at McDonald's because it was 10:35, he roundhouse kicked the store so hard it became a Wendy's.

-> When an episode of Walker Texas Ranger was aired in France, the French surrendered to Chuck Norris just to be on the safe side.

-> When taking the SAT, write "Chuck Norris" for every answer. You will score over 8000.

-> Chuck Norris invented black. In fact, he invented the entire spectrum of visible light. Except pink. Tom Cruise invented pink.

-> Chuck Norris and Mr. T walked into a bar. The bar was instantly destroyed, as that level of awesome cannot be contained in one building.

-> There are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, Chuck Norris lives in Oklahoma.

-> The original draft of The Lord of the Rings featured Chuck Norris instead of Frodo Baggins. It was only 5 pages long, as Chuck roundhouse-kicked Sauron’s ass halfway through the first chapter.

-> In a recent survey it was discovered the 94% of American women lost their virginity to Chuck Norris. The other 6% were incredibly fat or ugly.

-> Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table, because Chuck Norris only recognizes the element of surprise.

-> Chuck Norris is the only person to ever win a staring contest against Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder at the same time.

-> Chuck Norris’ sperm is so badass, he had sex with Nicole Kidman, and 7 months later she prematurely gave birth to a Ford Excursion.

-> Noah was the only man notified before Chuck Norris relieved himself in the Atlantic Ocean.

-> Chuck Norris once invited all of the other badasses from TV to duke it out in order to see who was the supreme badass. Only two showed up-- Jack Bauer and MacGyver.
MacGyver immediately tried to make a bomb out of some Q-Tips and Gatorade, but Chuck Norris roundhouse-kicked him in the solar plexus. MacGyver promptly threw up his own heart.
Jack Bauer tried to use his detailed knowledge of torture techniques, but to no avail: Chuck Norris thrives on pain. Chuck Norris then ripped off Jack Bauer's arm and beat him to death with it. Game, set, match.

-> There are no such things as tornados. Chuck Norris just hates trailer parks.

-> The agent of Chuck Norris asked Chuck if he wanted to be in Brokeback Mountain. Chuck Norris' agent has been missing for almost 2 years now. Never ask Chuck Norris to be in a gay cowboy movie.

A Night of Sushi and Stupid Football Players

Last night, I went to an inservice on a new drug we will be using on the floor. The drug sounds horrible. We start giving it next week.

The plan was for me to go home from the inservice, but some of the day nurses talked me into going out with them as they were having a going-away dinner for another nurse who was smart enough to transfer to another floor. I hesitated, but they wouldn't take no for an answer, even going so far as to take my keys away.

So, I went.

We went to The Kona Grill...which is on the Plaza. For a Wednesday, the place was PACKED. Fortunately, we had a table reserved.

I had heard once that a lot of Chiefs players hang out at Kona. I can validate this rumor as truth as I saw a couple of them there. For every one of them, there were at least 6 ho's clamouring to be the date for the evening. Shameless skanks...their Johnson county parents must be so proud. Their little girls with their advanced degree in party-planning, going out to score some big rich football player, so they can get pregnant and suckle off the tit that is the Chiefs payroll. They wouldn't have to go too far...I hear a handful of players have their DNA on permanent record with the Division of Family Services for paternity purposes.

Because purposely getting knocked up by a footballer is such a lucrative venture! Just ask the five women who had Derrick Thomas's kids. They are just RAKING in the dough.

One table over from us was Larry Johnson. Him and his friend (who I am assuming is also a player) were busy eating and texting on their little phones. Women at my table we all agog.

Please! I might have been more impressed if the Chiefs actually made it to the playoffs.

Aftewards, the majority of the nurses wanted to go to this whole in the wall dive. I declined. A hot bath sounded better. As a pleasant surprise, the drug rep (who was invited to come along because she was all alone), paid the tab for our entire table...on her company account. God bless drug reps!!!

18 nurses + sushi + $10 per drink = insane final bill

It can't be!! It just can't!!!

With heavy heart, I just heard that some schools have out for the summer today!! Today!!! Others will certainly follow within the next couple of weeks.

Annoying kids will be out in full force...clogging the streets, whoring themselve out in front of your local AMC, lounging around the malls, driving around with fresh drivers licenses, and pissing off the general population.

They should have school all-year round!! American kids lag behind in education anyway.

Year-long school! It's good for America!! It's good for the sanity of adults everywhere!!!

Sing Me to Sleep

Usually, I can sleep anytime. I prefer naps to most other activities (save a few that won't be mentioned). Naps are wonderful. I think if more politicians took more naps, the world would be a better place.

As of late, my sleep has been disturbed. I attribute it to the amount of stress I have going on in my life. Usually, I'm a pretty laid back person. Lately, I've been bitchy, and I am certain my blood pressure is up.

I went to my doctor's a couple weeks ago to have him look at my foot. I made mention of my sleep disturbance.

Doc: Why?
Me: Too much stress.
Doc: Why?
Me: My family is going down the crapper and I don't know if I'm dating or not.
Doc: Did you ever see the Seinfeld episode about the mansierre?? The Bro?? (laughs maniacally about his own joke)
Me: (blank stare)

So, the doc writes out a script for Ambien. The company recommends not to take it for more than 10 days, and scripts should not exceed one month's duration. He gave me enough for 3 months. (He threw in a script for Darvocet (for my not-broken foot) because they are handy to have also.) What a guy!

And no, you can't have any!

I know other nurses who take Ambien. I've heard a lot of people who work nights have to take it to sleep. My coworkers and I were discussing Ambien the other night during a lull in the shift. One nurse told me the first time she took it, she might have had hallucinations. She apparently told her boyfriend that if he continued to dismantle his face, he would have to go home. Another nurse said that when she took it, she swore up and down that her dresser was flapping it's drawers at her in a threatening manner. I have not experienced such hallucinations, and my experience with Ambien has been quite boring. I take it, I get sleepy, I go to bed and all is right with the world.

Except for last night.

Wide awake and 10pm, I decide an Ambien is in order and take one (I don't take them everyday, just when I can't go to sleep.) I sit on my bed and work on Peanut's baby blanket (almost finished!) and wait for the feeling of sleep to come around. I think it does, so I turn out the lights and hunker down for the night.

I can't explain what happened for the next couple of hours, but I can say it wasn't sleeping. The best guess I can come up with is the mother of all anxiety attacks...and I am not prone to anxiety.

Good think Paul was working, because he would have been ahead of the line for a long procession of ass-chewings. Mom was going to be second, my brother third, my dog in there somewhere, finishing off with the lady who delivers my mail. Oh yeah, and the douchebag at the body shop.

While some people experience hallucinations, I get to have delusions and extreme paranoia. Oh joy!!

I think I would rather deal with the homicidal dresser.

A Belated Birthday Shoutout!

Saturday was Kant's 31st birthday. I celebrated by calling her and singing (okay, more like screaming) the Happy Birthday song. Afterwards, she said she had it on speakerphone, and she was at work, and all her coworkers at the Temple heard her.

I bet that made for an interesting bapstism/sealing interlude.

She's has reflected on being 31. I have had a whole 3 months head start on her, and I reassured her that 31 was fun, and not much different than being 30. At least in your 30's, no one looks at you with the disdain and disgust that you are looked upon in your 20's. However, in our church, you are looked upon with disdain and disgust if you in your 30's and never been married.

Old crones! They are just bitter because they wish they were us. I always remind Kant of this, but I don't think she believes me. Ofcourse, the ones who are married, and don't treat us as if we have some sort of communicable disease, are the ones we call friends and close family...and they love us whether single, married, leperous or otherwise.

So, here's to a rousing 31! And 10 years of that owed to the miracle of modern medicine, not to mention your sister's oversized kidney.

I Stand Corrected

It appears that the story of the 14 year old kid and his mother won't go away as the news outlets are beating it TO DEATH. I drove by KU the other day and saw the news vans parked outside the hospital, and the family clamoured around them like children around an ice cream truck in July.

Oddly enough, the family won't sign a waiver allowing the hospital to discuss the boy's medical care/condition on the news. Meanwhile, they are making all kinds of wild, unfounded accusations on the news...based on medical educational information they may have read in Lady's Home Journal.

While the hospital could defend itself in this matter, their hands are tied so they just have to remain silent. They have said they will have lawyers fight the restraining order, but in the end, they are going to come off looking like the bad guys.

The general population, while sympathetic to the mother, thinks she's an idiot. She has mentioned that if the judge agrees that her son is braindead, she will also concur.

Which is like having a pastry chef give a professional opinion on a water main break.

The courts will more than likely side with the hospital on this matter. The boy will be ultimately taken off the vents (if all the other organs don't stop functioning first), and this story will give way to something more sensational for the media to blather about ad nuaseum. To the Star's credit, they did run a story today that differentiated between being in a coma, and being braindead.

With heavy sighing, I will continue to monitor this story.

On the News

With great disappointment, I saw this story on Channel 9. I looked at other local news outlets, and the only other one that carried the story (the I found), was the Star. Considering that they carry pretty much the same content, I wasn't too shocked.

I'm disappointed that Channel 9 ran this story without doing a little research on the matter of organ donation. Had they did their homework, they would have discovered the following things:

1. In the event of any death, medical staff is legally obligated to contact the transplant people. It doesn't matter if the death in question involves someone young, someone as old as dirt, full-blown AIDS, filled with cancer. Even if we, as medical professionals, know that there is no way on God's Green Earth that said patient is a candidate for transplant...WE HAVE TO CALL.

2. The family always has the right to say no. If they are absolute in their answer to not donate, no courts can override this choice and just arbitrarily procure organs without consent.

3. The doctors will treat any case aggressively, whether the patient is a candidate for organ donation or not. It's not a question of the medical community just wanting to keep the patient alive so they can have their organs...being aggressive with treatment is simply the right thing to do.

4. Doctors don't just throw around the words "brain dead". There are tests they can do to determine this sort of thing. I know this from firsthand experience when my own father passed away.

I understand the family is going through a difficult time, I can understand that the family is feeling desparate, clinging to every shred of hope...because 14 is far too young for a life to be cut short. But I also know the ins and outs of organ transplant and the people who work for them; enough to know that the mother is this 14 year old boy is gravely mistaken.

I know what it is to be approached. I know exactly what the family is thinking as they ponder this in their minds: the death of their loved one so that others may live. It's so easy to see a family member on a vent, breathing and heart beating, and have hope that they will make it, even though it's the machines keeping them that way, and nothing more. It's easy to become entrenched in bitterness because you are being asked to make, in what could be, one of the most daunting sacrifices that no person should have to make. It's also easy to see that when you are asking for a miracle, you don't see that the miracle is being asked of you.

I'm sure we will never know the outcome of this story, as once a news organization gets their sensational story, they seldom follow up on it unless it involves more drama. I cringe when I think of the reprecussions of something like this. Somewhere out there, someone will see this story, and make decisions based on false information. As a result, I will probably not watch Channel 9 anymore. I knew their journalistic integrity went to hell in a handbasket the first time they recapped a reality show on their channel...during the 10 o'clock news.

I just hope people out there will have enough sense to seek out the right information. With thousands of people waiting for second chances, many dying before it even happens, organ donation is something that everyone should become well informed about.

Share your life, share your decision.

Late Night Blather

Well, work isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe if I go in each night expecting it to be the worst shift ever, I will have a good night. Reverse psychology...that's the ticket!!

However, I am apparently allergic to something I use because I have been itching all night long. I am usually seen scratching my arms, legs, neck, hands, hands, etc, to the point where I am beet-red and covered in hives. It could be my bubble bath, which is sad because I love bubbles. I'll try just showering and using glycerin soap and seeing how I fare. For the time being, I'll just be miserable and itchy.

The friend who will be cruising with me next year called earlier today and announced they had just seen a preview of Poseidon and decided not to go on the cruise, to which I said they would be cruising, even if it meant I had to keep them sedated all week. I have always been under the strong belief that when it is your time to go, it doesn't matter if you are on a cruise ship, an airplane, or on the toilet...you're going in for the God Consult and there is nothing you can do about it.

(On a side note...I will not be going to see Poseidon. I've already seen Titanic, and one sinking ship story is enough for me. I do have to wonder, though, Kant went and sat through Titanic about 8 times...I wonder how many times she will go see this one...)

My younger brother popped by today, announcing he had a $700 check in his pocket, and can he borrow $5 for gas? I yelled at him for waking me up and asking for money. Why is it that after 13 years of working night shift, my family can't seem to comprehend the notion that I am not to be disturbed until after 5pm?? Peak sleeping times 9am-4pm. I'm going to start calling everyone at 1am and see how they like it.

Mom moves out June 1st (a separate post unto itself), and an opportunity has presented itself for me to buy my own place...so I told my brother that his mooching days will be coming to an end as neither of us will be in a position to supplement his income. Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I just moved far, far away and no one could just stop by and bilk me out of gas money.

I'm fairly certain that in the event I ever married, my husband will not be receptive to me shelling out any more money to the Family Charitable Fund. I'm not exactly receptive to it either...I can't wait to get married so I have a good excuse to say no.

Now taking applications for potential husbands. Must be somewhat neat, cooking knowledge not mandatory, boat preferred.

Please send picture of boat.

Heather Goes Out

Some people from my floor were having dinner out last night for Nurses Week. Ofcourse, we had to buy our own meal. I was vacillating as to whether I wanted to go or not, until a friend (of whom I worked with) called me. We made the pact "I'll go if you go", so my plans for Thursday night were cemented. Oh joy.

We ate at Buca di Beppo on the Plaza...and it was really, really good, despite me having to sit by a nurse I absolutely can't stand. Lots of people had signed up on the list to go, but half of those people actually showed up.

After dinner, a small number of us sauntered over to George Bretts for after dinner drinks. Originally, I wasn't going to go, but then I thought about what I had to come home to, and changed my mind. There, we sat at table and talked about what most nurses talk about when they go out: work. There were some people-watching opportunities as the night went on, from the shaggy homeless guy who came in, to the obligatory drunk guys in the corner who were making asses of themselves. One kept staring at me. I successfully averted my gaze because all women know that when you make eye contact, a drunk man will take this as encouragement, and stagger over to your table where he will engage you in "clever witticisms" and "intellectual banter"....which consists of him laughing at his own jokes, spilling his drink on you, and talking so loudly that everyone in Cass County can hear him.

There was one girl there. She was fairly attractive from the neck down. Neck up, she had the biggest nose I had ever seen, and we guessed her home address was a tanning salon because her skin was so sun damaged, she looked like she could score some work on the side as a saddle.

We stayed there until about midnight. A couple other nurses decided to go elsewhere, I decided to call it a night and go home. That was enough people-watching for me.

I work tonight, and I hear it's hell. Yay.

Happy Nurses Week!

Yeah...so, ummm, this is Nurses Week. The hospital and my floor have cooked up all kinds of stuff to "celebrate". Most all those activities entail the day shift, while as usual, night shift is left to fend for themselves.

My some bright minds on my unit designed these t-shirts for us to wear during Nurses Week. How the Bosshole managed to approve them is beyond my level of comprehension. The shirts are plain white, our hospital logo/mascot on the back, and on the front of the shirt is the name of our unit. Underneath that, "Penthouse Crew" (because we work on the top floor and it is rather posh).

Most everyone bought a shirt, even though most have said they will not wear them (to work) because of the whole "Penthouse" thing. I told some folks if they wanted, I could design an extra applique to go under that which would read something like, "Beaver Hunt" because anyone who sees these shirts, who doesn't know the inside joke, is naturally going think we have some sort of centerfold spread agreement with the porn mag Penthouse.

Oh joy. I can't wait until my turn as Miss March! Then I can wear a naughty nurse outfit.*

Most of the activities slated for the week (where I work), usually have something to do with food. So, Nurses Week will mostly consist of grazing, followed up by our first Weight Watchers meeting on Saturday.

So far, I have celebrated this week by planting a garden, cleaning the apartment, shampooing the carpets, doing laundry, trying to figure out what "having potential" means in the dating world, and arguing with the body shop. I can't wait to see what the rest of the week has in store for me!

So, if you have a nurse in your life, honor her/him this week by not telling them about your draining open wounds, or that "rash" that won't quite go away. Give them flowers, balloons, and dorky little teddy bears dressed up in nursing costumes (I think I have five of them).

Don't forget to keep your eyes peeled for our Penthouse spread!

*Real nurses usually don't have Naughty Nurse costumes. We play them in real life, so we are not all that interested in indulging your fantasies by playing a fake one. Sorry!

My Day Thus Far

I took the car back to the shop to point out a couple things that were missed and needed attention. One of which, being the pinstriping on the car. I was originally going to just leave it as it was, but then I noticed the moonroof deflector was pulling off the car.

I pulled in the same time as an adjustor with Farmers. I went and sat in the waiting room, the generously proportioned adjustor made a beeline for the bathroom, which was right next to the waiting room.

I will never forget the sounds I heard until my dying day.

I waited for 15 minutes to be seen by the body shop guy. The Farmer's adjustor waited the same amount of time, but on the toilet. He came out of the bathroom just as it was my turn, and I am disappointed to say he didn't leave the fan on in the bathroom. Within minutes, the waiting area smelled.

Thankfully, I had a reason to go outside.

I pointed out the flaws in the car to the body shop guy who first tried to tell me that my pinstriping being ripped off in chunks had nothing to do with hail. Bullshit. I told him the pinstriping was intact before the hailstorm, and it should have been replaced when the rest of the car was fixed. He conceded and told me a good time to bring it in so my little flaws could be corrected.

Later, I'm supposed to go an plant. If it gets cancelled again, I'm just going to Walmart and buy big pots and soil and plant my own damn tomatoes. Just as you can feel a big storm coming, I sense a DLT on the yonder horizon (my friends will know what I am talking about), probably tonight.

Kant, you can probably expect a phone call...

I've been fishing long enough. It's time to cut bait.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad night.

The state of extreme relaxation lasted a good 5 minutes from the time I clocked in to work tonight. In a nutshell, it's been hell on rye bread.

We ended up working short. The Bosshole's only solution (instead of coming in to help out), was to tell me that last year we worked short most of the time, and therefore were no strangers to adversity on the floor. He wished me luck.

I immediately crossed him off my Christmas card list after I hung up the phone.

In the time I have been here, I have almost burst into tears at least 4 times out of sheer frustration. We have new cardiac alarms and whenever they sound, I feel my blood pressure go up by ten points.

The really depressing part, I still have two more shifts of this crap.

I can feel the muscles in my neck tense up. The very same muscles that were pliable and squishy just yesterday.

We are all on edge tonight. The most commonly uttered phrases:

"I need to update my resume."

"I wonder if such-and-such hospital is hiring."

"Is there a market for travel agents?"

A State of Extreme Relaxation

Yesterday, I was supposed to Garden with Paul, which sort of sounds like a show you would find on public television. Last year, he never got the dirt tilled in his yard, so we had no fresh tomatoes for fresh garden salsa. This year, I altered my tactics and started nagging a whole three months early.

The dirt has been tilled (or so I am told), some tomato plants of differing varieties have been purchased. All that needs to be done now is to plant the damn things. The plan was to do it yesterday afternoon, but in grand form, he called and begged out. To his defense, however, he just finished working a three-shift stretch and was tired. I can relate...I'm pretty worthless on Mondays, which is why I consider it my Recovery Day.

My Thursday night wide open, I called a massage therapist friend and asked if his offer for free massage was still on the table. God Bless him, it was! So, I announced to the world that I was going to get a massage, and drove out to Independence (it pays to have all kinds of friends who know how to do all kinds of things).

I've had 3 massages in my life. One being in Roatan at a lovely dayspa that was owned by a former nurse practitioner. One being at some spa in Liberty by a guy who damn near dislocated my knee, and the third on a beach in Costa Maya, which really shouldn't count because it wasn't a true massage...but give enough people free alcohol, and they will think anything is top notch.

After my delicious massage by masterful hands, and managed to float out to my car and navigate home, feeling like my entire body consisted of jello sans the carrot shavings. The sounds of that relaxation music still echoing in my ears (a pan flute and running water), the smell of some oil that smells like something organic still on my skin and wafting in my nose.

I should pamper myself more. I might not be so bitchy if I did so. I work the next 3 nights, so hopefully I will be in such a relaxed state, that I won't be easily annoyed. However, I know the first time I have to move someone in excess of 400lbs, I'm going to undo everything that my friend did...I will have no choice but to have another massage next week.

Which really doesn't sound like a bad idea.

On another note, I've decided to be more proactive in my getting in shape. My cruise is 8 months away, and I am in no condition to be seen in a bathing suit. I need a Body for the Beach, instead of a Body for the Buffet. I've been considering starting up with the Hot Yoga again, and maybe trying to get back into running...so we shall see how it works out.

I need to have an affair with the treadmill. Tomorrow morning I shall go flirt with it and see what kind of response I get.

He May Look Innocent...

Yesterday, Sam got his new summer 'do. He's been pretty bushy lately, not to mention he had some dingleberries hanging from his back fur. I kept trying to get my mother to clean them off, but she wasn't biting.

I dropped him off at the vet's office...a very bushy, wild-looking dog.

When I picked him up, he was this nice, clean little puppy. Now, he looks like a little angel.

Too bad everyone knows different...

Suddenly, My Life Looks Rosey!

No, I'm not referring to the shit-ton of Ambien and Darvocet my doctor gave me yesterday (but it was nice to actually sleep for more than 3 hours at one time).

I know I bitch a lot about life. Yes, I had a shitty childhood growing up, but you'll never see me out robbing banks and whatnot because I didn't get enough Barbie dolls when I was a kid. Sure, I grew up with an alcoholic father, we were welfare kids, and my mother jumped into the shallow end of insanity for a couple years after my parents split up, but overall, I can't complain. I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, clothes on my back, and a life time of experience that offers more than enough motivation to not ever be in that same situation again.

It could have been much, much worse. I could have lived with this family instead.

(Disclaimer: the above mentioned blogger grew up in an RLDS family...not to be confused with an LDS one...although I am certain there are members of my church who can be just as crazy.)