And now....straight from the transcript of my life.
Riding in the car. On the way to the zoo.
Emily: Momma, Sara said I should pee in my carseat.
Me: Do you think that would be a good idea, Emily? Sara, if Emily pee's in her carseat, you have to sit in it on the way to the zoo.
Sara: Did you know that when I get mad, I turn into a dragon? (Dragon howl)
Two minutes later.
Sara: Don't mess up my hair with your silly giraffe.
Cooper has a snot bubble popping.
End scene
What am I going to do when there's no more tiny toes to tickle? When "th" is pronounced properly? When the smell of opening a package of new diapers is gone? When hair will wash itself?
Will her sister always be her best friend? Will they always stand up for their brother? Will he always look at them in amazement?
What will I do when Dora is gone? When I can't kiss them in public? Or clean their dirty face with my thumb? What will I do when they start to take themselves seriously?
Will I be able to sleep at night if they're not home? What if I go one day without hearing "I love you." What if I can't fix their problem with kisses or changing the batteries in something?
Will they ever understand why I stare at them? (Not only 'cause they're funny.)
What will I do when Dora is gone? When I can't kiss them in public? Or clean their dirty face with my thumb? What will I do when they start to take themselves seriously?
Will I be able to sleep at night if they're not home? What if I go one day without hearing "I love you." What if I can't fix their problem with kisses or changing the batteries in something?
Just some observations...
Those with low IQ must make up with it with high decibel levels.
If you think to yourself that this might be stupid question and are afraid to ask it out loud, then it's probably OK to ask it. Stupid people don't have that type of discernment.
You can't make something work, that you don't want to work.
If you don't like it, what are you doing to change it? And if you can't change it, how are you changing how you think about it?
Anything worth having is worth fighting for. If it comes easy, it's probably not worth anything.
Those with low IQ must make up with it with high decibel levels.
If you think to yourself that this might be stupid question and are afraid to ask it out loud, then it's probably OK to ask it. Stupid people don't have that type of discernment.
You can't make something work, that you don't want to work.
If you don't like it, what are you doing to change it? And if you can't change it, how are you changing how you think about it?
Anything worth having is worth fighting for. If it comes easy, it's probably not worth anything.
Do you remember your first patient? The first patient that was assigned to "your care". Mine was Mrs. Satan. (Names have been changed. Of course.) She hated where she was, she hated life and more importantly she hated me. I should have known I was in for trouble when the nurse that was supervising us students, laughed out loud in my face when I told her who I had picked.
I remember going in the day before clinicals and being very meticulous in my decision for my first patient. I didn't want anything too difficult. I tried hard to steer away from anyone with a trach or foley catheter. The truth is I was scared to death at the thought of touching people and I didn't want to overstimulate myself on my first exposure. She seemed simple enough. No major health concerns besides dementia. Recently had a carotid endartectomy. I was going to have to look that one up when I got home. Comfortable in my decision, I headed home to prepare for a sleepless night. Mostly sleepless due to the ridiculous busy work associated with making sure nursing school clinical instructors felt important and were able to chastise you and humiliate you in front of your peers. (Not that I was treated that way. By no means, but I have heard the stories of some.)
3:30 a.m. came early the next morning. My clinicals were an hour away and I had to be there at 5:30 am. After our briefing and demonstration of lame excuses for prep work, we were released like hounds upon the floors. I'm sure to the outside spectator it looked like a bunch of idiots wandering around trying to be useful and to be honest that's what it felt like. Seasoned nurses weren't interested in helping you develop your skill because for all they knew you were after their job. So we spent the morning assisting the aids who soaked up all the help they could get. All I wanted to do was blend into the wall paper and pray my NI forgot I was there.
I had a whiff of bravery and went to meet my patient. She wasn't awake yet. Oh, Lord. What if she's dead? I remember standing in the doorway to her room scared to walk in. I did not want to be the one to find someone dead. Screw it. I'm going home. What the crap am I doing here. Nope...must keep going. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What if I can't wake her up? Do I yell real loud? Do I poke her with a stick? Stick of dynamite?
No need to worry. She got up. We got dressed. She glared and snarled at me. She yelled at me for putting her hearing aids on wrong, for not being able to find her remote for her TV, I picked out the wrong clothes, I was stealing her clothes. I had the audacity of suggesting a shower. My butt still hurts from that one.
I thought about her the other day. I googled her and found her obituary. She passed away a couple of months after clinicals. I hope some day, I'm someones first patient.
I remember going in the day before clinicals and being very meticulous in my decision for my first patient. I didn't want anything too difficult. I tried hard to steer away from anyone with a trach or foley catheter. The truth is I was scared to death at the thought of touching people and I didn't want to overstimulate myself on my first exposure. She seemed simple enough. No major health concerns besides dementia. Recently had a carotid endartectomy. I was going to have to look that one up when I got home. Comfortable in my decision, I headed home to prepare for a sleepless night. Mostly sleepless due to the ridiculous busy work associated with making sure nursing school clinical instructors felt important and were able to chastise you and humiliate you in front of your peers. (Not that I was treated that way. By no means, but I have heard the stories of some.)
3:30 a.m. came early the next morning. My clinicals were an hour away and I had to be there at 5:30 am. After our briefing and demonstration of lame excuses for prep work, we were released like hounds upon the floors. I'm sure to the outside spectator it looked like a bunch of idiots wandering around trying to be useful and to be honest that's what it felt like. Seasoned nurses weren't interested in helping you develop your skill because for all they knew you were after their job. So we spent the morning assisting the aids who soaked up all the help they could get. All I wanted to do was blend into the wall paper and pray my NI forgot I was there.
I had a whiff of bravery and went to meet my patient. She wasn't awake yet. Oh, Lord. What if she's dead? I remember standing in the doorway to her room scared to walk in. I did not want to be the one to find someone dead. Screw it. I'm going home. What the crap am I doing here. Nope...must keep going. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What if I can't wake her up? Do I yell real loud? Do I poke her with a stick? Stick of dynamite?
No need to worry. She got up. We got dressed. She glared and snarled at me. She yelled at me for putting her hearing aids on wrong, for not being able to find her remote for her TV, I picked out the wrong clothes, I was stealing her clothes. I had the audacity of suggesting a shower. My butt still hurts from that one.
I thought about her the other day. I googled her and found her obituary. She passed away a couple of months after clinicals. I hope some day, I'm someones first patient.
Sara. My Sawa. She woke me up this morning by shoving her arm in my face. "Momma, Momma......it hurts." Well of course it hurt. Her left wrist was red, puffy and had what looked like a 15 year olds greasy pimple in the middle of it. Spider bite. It had a temperature of 117 at least, so I called the Saturday clinic and asked who the doctor was today.
This is an important question. If I wasn't impressed with who the doc was today, I have been known to drive 30 miles to the kiddie doc-in-a-box. Dr. Kalil. Haven't met him yet, so looks like he will be having his audition today. We've had a hard time finding Dr. Jodies (that's Dr. Lipscomb for those of you not on the in) understudy. Can't stop the show if Dr. Jodies not in, so we'll try this guy out. (And gas is $3 a gallon.)
After prying Sara off the ceiling with promises of a shot free encounter we make it to the office. I can't help but become mesmerized by the card scanner at the receptions desk. I sneak a picture of it with my phone. I'm putting it on my wish list.
I can't help but listen to the other Mom that checked in after me. She's asking where the restroom is because her daughter just puked in the bushes outside. I unconsciously grab the alcohol gel out of my purse and give myself and B (Sara) a quick shower. We don't do vomit.
We escape the waiting room vomit free. Enter Dr. Kalil. He's South African. Others might think he's British, but I have a keen ear for accents so I was immediately entranced by him. I had to try hard not to speak in a British accent. I couldn't keep my brain from talking in an accent though. It was hard to process language for a while. My brain is speaking British English, must transfer to American English before it comes out of my mouth = lag time in Christina's speech. Dr. Kalil must think Christina is an idiot.
"So, Sara, what brings you here, or did you just come to see me?" Sara turns into catatonic feral child whose never been out of the house. She resorts to pointing and grunting. I explain about the spider bit and it's hideousness and how I'm surprised her arm hasn't fallen off already. About that time Sara raises her sleeve and there's........NOTHING. Nothing, but a little freckle. It's like when you take your car to shop for the "vibration in your rear-end" and it doesn't do anything. The clogged toilet that works fine when the plumber shows up.
I backpedal and try to explain what I saw this morning, but Dr Kalil pats me on the back and says "There's no need to explain, what you saw this morning alarmed you. Never feel sorry for bringing her in." He wins the part. He can be Dr. Jodie's understudy.
He finishes up the exam and asks me what I do. Ummm....I don't want to tell him. He'll think, no this will confirm, I'm an idiot. Now listen people, I'm a who-ha nurse and though I have been dealing in a lot of pediatric who-ha-ery lately it does not make me more conscious of pediatric issues. Pediatrics, that's Meredith. That's Leigh Ann. That's not me. Let's talk about hormones, bleeding and being pregnant. Pediatrics. I'm just going to go over here and scrub some specs and feel stupid.
"I'm a nurse." And I didn't even feel the need to justify my answer. We engage in pleasant conversation about Dr. Turd and carry about the rest of the visit. Turns out it was not indeed a spider bite, probably some sort of bite, but not anything that's going to turn into a major debilitation.
This is an important question. If I wasn't impressed with who the doc was today, I have been known to drive 30 miles to the kiddie doc-in-a-box. Dr. Kalil. Haven't met him yet, so looks like he will be having his audition today. We've had a hard time finding Dr. Jodies (that's Dr. Lipscomb for those of you not on the in) understudy. Can't stop the show if Dr. Jodies not in, so we'll try this guy out. (And gas is $3 a gallon.)
After prying Sara off the ceiling with promises of a shot free encounter we make it to the office. I can't help but become mesmerized by the card scanner at the receptions desk. I sneak a picture of it with my phone. I'm putting it on my wish list.
I can't help but listen to the other Mom that checked in after me. She's asking where the restroom is because her daughter just puked in the bushes outside. I unconsciously grab the alcohol gel out of my purse and give myself and B (Sara) a quick shower. We don't do vomit.
We escape the waiting room vomit free. Enter Dr. Kalil. He's South African. Others might think he's British, but I have a keen ear for accents so I was immediately entranced by him. I had to try hard not to speak in a British accent. I couldn't keep my brain from talking in an accent though. It was hard to process language for a while. My brain is speaking British English, must transfer to American English before it comes out of my mouth = lag time in Christina's speech. Dr. Kalil must think Christina is an idiot.
"So, Sara, what brings you here, or did you just come to see me?" Sara turns into catatonic feral child whose never been out of the house. She resorts to pointing and grunting. I explain about the spider bit and it's hideousness and how I'm surprised her arm hasn't fallen off already. About that time Sara raises her sleeve and there's........NOTHING. Nothing, but a little freckle. It's like when you take your car to shop for the "vibration in your rear-end" and it doesn't do anything. The clogged toilet that works fine when the plumber shows up.
I backpedal and try to explain what I saw this morning, but Dr Kalil pats me on the back and says "There's no need to explain, what you saw this morning alarmed you. Never feel sorry for bringing her in." He wins the part. He can be Dr. Jodie's understudy.
He finishes up the exam and asks me what I do. Ummm....I don't want to tell him. He'll think, no this will confirm, I'm an idiot. Now listen people, I'm a who-ha nurse and though I have been dealing in a lot of pediatric who-ha-ery lately it does not make me more conscious of pediatric issues. Pediatrics, that's Meredith. That's Leigh Ann. That's not me. Let's talk about hormones, bleeding and being pregnant. Pediatrics. I'm just going to go over here and scrub some specs and feel stupid.
"I'm a nurse." And I didn't even feel the need to justify my answer. We engage in pleasant conversation about Dr. Turd and carry about the rest of the visit. Turns out it was not indeed a spider bite, probably some sort of bite, but not anything that's going to turn into a major debilitation.
Wednesday morning...4 am...puking. I NEED Phenergan. If you have a headache, you take Tylenol right? Why not take something that can make you stop puking? So, I wait (not so patiently) until 6 am when Dr. Turd usually wakes up. Please, please, please...I'm dying. Need miracle drug! Dr. Turd obliges in my request. Thank GOD for 24 hour pharmacy.
Phenergan on board!! Good to go right! Wrong. Dear Husband, skips into the bathroom, brushes teeth and is off to work. Seriously. No offer to be late to take kids to school, no offer to call someone to help. Nothing. Off to work. Well... I can't take kids to school because I can't move more than 2 feet from the toilet. I crawl to the living room. Girls are entertaining Cooper who's in his high chair. They're such good girls! Dad lives close, so Dad and Brenda (Lifesavers!!) come and rescue the kids from me.
Kids gone, I'm home...alone. Wait, what is that tightness in my chest? Wait, why do I feel a little wheezy??? Holy Crap! God hates me. Me: Um..I think I'm having an allergic reaction. Dr. Turd: Do you have any benedryl? Me: NO! Dr. Turd: Where do you live?
Knock on the front door. My land-lady is there with the plumber to check for a water leak. Seriously. I'm not leaving the bathroom. Starting to feel a little light headed. Heart racing. Karen shows up with benedryl. I chew up two and shove the wad under my tongue. Mouth and throat go numb. Why did no one warn me of this? Start to feel faint, really tight chest. "We gotta go Karen!!"
Karen whips into the ambulance bay at Jones. She runs out of the car, banging on the door to open. I casually walk to the regular ER entrance. The registration clerk looks at me strangely and opens the door to the back. I find a nurse, and this is the sight she see's. I am foaming from the mouth pink stuff and talking with a very thick tongue because my mouth is numb. She looks and me and says "Why are you drooling?!!" "I pfthink I'm haffing an allergic reashun to Phenergan"
So, 2 giggly ER nurses get me hooked up, IV started (I did tell them that I hated them because they didn't numb me) Tagamet, prednisone, Zofran in. I'm feeling better. Dr. Turd is threatening to post this on utube. I threaten to kill him in his sleep. Turd admits me to the floor, so I can "rest" and get fluids. One of the S.E. of prednisone is insomnia. So, I am staring at the hospital walls. Nothing to do. Can't see. Left glasses at home. Going crazy! Then, I hear the Lullaby song. A baby is born. And that's why I do what I do!
Phenergan on board!! Good to go right! Wrong. Dear Husband, skips into the bathroom, brushes teeth and is off to work. Seriously. No offer to be late to take kids to school, no offer to call someone to help. Nothing. Off to work. Well... I can't take kids to school because I can't move more than 2 feet from the toilet. I crawl to the living room. Girls are entertaining Cooper who's in his high chair. They're such good girls! Dad lives close, so Dad and Brenda (Lifesavers!!) come and rescue the kids from me.
Kids gone, I'm home...alone. Wait, what is that tightness in my chest? Wait, why do I feel a little wheezy??? Holy Crap! God hates me. Me: Um..I think I'm having an allergic reaction. Dr. Turd: Do you have any benedryl? Me: NO! Dr. Turd: Where do you live?
Knock on the front door. My land-lady is there with the plumber to check for a water leak. Seriously. I'm not leaving the bathroom. Starting to feel a little light headed. Heart racing. Karen shows up with benedryl. I chew up two and shove the wad under my tongue. Mouth and throat go numb. Why did no one warn me of this? Start to feel faint, really tight chest. "We gotta go Karen!!"
Karen whips into the ambulance bay at Jones. She runs out of the car, banging on the door to open. I casually walk to the regular ER entrance. The registration clerk looks at me strangely and opens the door to the back. I find a nurse, and this is the sight she see's. I am foaming from the mouth pink stuff and talking with a very thick tongue because my mouth is numb. She looks and me and says "Why are you drooling?!!" "I pfthink I'm haffing an allergic reashun to Phenergan"
So, 2 giggly ER nurses get me hooked up, IV started (I did tell them that I hated them because they didn't numb me) Tagamet, prednisone, Zofran in. I'm feeling better. Dr. Turd is threatening to post this on utube. I threaten to kill him in his sleep. Turd admits me to the floor, so I can "rest" and get fluids. One of the S.E. of prednisone is insomnia. So, I am staring at the hospital walls. Nothing to do. Can't see. Left glasses at home. Going crazy! Then, I hear the Lullaby song. A baby is born. And that's why I do what I do!
Haven't blogged in over a year and 1/2!! Oh well, better start now!!
