Thursday, June 13, 2013
List, the First
First: Things They Don't Tell You in Nursing School: your schedule is a lot like waitressing - you are never done at your scheduled time. 3 - 11 shift? 2:30p - 1:00a. Also, you get called in to cover weird shifts. Unlike waitressing, they adjust your schedule so you don't get overtime. 3 - 7 tmro, 2:30 - 8, if I am really, really lucky.
Second: First time on the roof this summer watching storms. NICE. Sadly, although I actually have film in a camera, I couldn't see the settings and it's been so long since I used it I couldn't do long exposures without seeing the settings. SAD.
Third: Deck and roof are nice things to have in an apartment. And summer storms are excellent. The second wave of this one seems to be coming through, and I am no longer on the roof. Camera + rain = sad.
Fourth: Cats are funny.
Fifth: Totally hypothetically, if you are not breathing more than six times a minute, I am not going to, nor can I, give you more opiods. You would do really well to accept the ice pack and tylenol until you can breathe 18 times a minute. I wish your surgeon had given you a nerve block.
Sixth: Cats continue to be funny.
Seventh: While I am glad that you are no longer puking, I really wish that you had not pulled out both of your IV's. But I am really, really, really, glad that you are no longer puking. Because that was rather worrisome and upsetting for both of us.
Eighth: I pulled all of the potted plants into shelter before I went to work. This storm as of yet is not living up to its purported drama. That said, I really hope that serious hail does not happen because that would be sad for the un-potted plants, and also, possibly, my car.
Ninth: I thank all of the universe that my schedule got mangled and I do not have to be at work at 6:30am.
Tenth: Is that how 'tenth,' is spelled? It looks wrong. Did complete, "Book Re-organization Project 2013." Half-price books, here I come. That was an extremely anxiety producing project. It pales, however, to the disturbingly anxiety producing project, "Photo Re-organization Project 2013."
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Today in the cemetery there was a funeral. An ambulance was in attendance. Which would be a serious bummer. Either it was a small funeral, or mostly everybody had left because there were only four cars/trucks/suv's there. All white. But you're putting someone in the ground, hopefully someone who has led a long happy life and died quickly and without undue trauma at the end of it, and then, BAM! someone else hits the ground.
I would assume the spouse of the deceased, equally aged. But who knows. So then, as the child, you have just buried a parent and now you have to go to the hospital and hang out instead of going to someone's house and eating and drinking too much.
Also, it was yet another cold gray day in a seemingly endless string of cold gray days here in a mid western town.
I found a rock, which I needed, and also some good sticks. I am building a tree. A small tree. From which this clay bird guy may or may not hang. He may end up in a cage. I was making cages and making birds to put in them, but someone pulled a Portlandia on me and confirmed by secret fear that yes, indeed, birds were not necessarily the thing I wanted to put in cages. Even though I finally made a bird that matches my Platonic ideal of what a tiny ceramic bird should look like.
Oh, well. So this bird like guy has a bird head and a man's body. It is not out of the realm of possibility that what I really want to put in cages is boys, and not birds at all.
On the floor yesterday there was a really mean and nasty man. He came in with a foley and it was draining profoundly foul smelling cloudy urine with much sediment. He was in to get a HUGE wound on his foot debrided and a toe amputated. I did not see the wound, but it was on top of his foot and apparently you could see tendon. ICK. I do not like wounds in which I can see muscle, let alone tendon.
He was not very nice, which all things considered, is understandable. His wife came in in the afternoon. She said he was like that all the time and, "she believed in her vows, or she would have left him years ago." She also said that he had met a nurse at another hospital and she was all calling him...personally I found this hard to believe, profoundly stinky urine aside. Diabetics - mind your feet. You will lose feeling in your feet, and your body does not heal well. Foot ulcers are terrible. Avoid them at all costs because they will turn into horrible wounds. Mind Your Feet. This is not said lightly, or tongue in cheek, keep your feet safe.
On the subject of feet - I do not know what happens between sixty - some and eighty with with feet - but my parents' feet look like one would expect feet to look, and my grandma's feet looked like one expects feet to look - but yet I see people in their sixties to nineties with wicked fucked up feet. What the hell were we doing to feet forty years ago?!
I expect that my funny fat feet with their star tattoos will remain fairly intact into my dotage. Unless there is this cataclysmic event that happens with menopause that warps then.
So, hi, I am a nurse. And things are funny.
I would assume the spouse of the deceased, equally aged. But who knows. So then, as the child, you have just buried a parent and now you have to go to the hospital and hang out instead of going to someone's house and eating and drinking too much.
Also, it was yet another cold gray day in a seemingly endless string of cold gray days here in a mid western town.
I found a rock, which I needed, and also some good sticks. I am building a tree. A small tree. From which this clay bird guy may or may not hang. He may end up in a cage. I was making cages and making birds to put in them, but someone pulled a Portlandia on me and confirmed by secret fear that yes, indeed, birds were not necessarily the thing I wanted to put in cages. Even though I finally made a bird that matches my Platonic ideal of what a tiny ceramic bird should look like.
Oh, well. So this bird like guy has a bird head and a man's body. It is not out of the realm of possibility that what I really want to put in cages is boys, and not birds at all.
On the floor yesterday there was a really mean and nasty man. He came in with a foley and it was draining profoundly foul smelling cloudy urine with much sediment. He was in to get a HUGE wound on his foot debrided and a toe amputated. I did not see the wound, but it was on top of his foot and apparently you could see tendon. ICK. I do not like wounds in which I can see muscle, let alone tendon.
He was not very nice, which all things considered, is understandable. His wife came in in the afternoon. She said he was like that all the time and, "she believed in her vows, or she would have left him years ago." She also said that he had met a nurse at another hospital and she was all calling him...personally I found this hard to believe, profoundly stinky urine aside. Diabetics - mind your feet. You will lose feeling in your feet, and your body does not heal well. Foot ulcers are terrible. Avoid them at all costs because they will turn into horrible wounds. Mind Your Feet. This is not said lightly, or tongue in cheek, keep your feet safe.
On the subject of feet - I do not know what happens between sixty - some and eighty with with feet - but my parents' feet look like one would expect feet to look, and my grandma's feet looked like one expects feet to look - but yet I see people in their sixties to nineties with wicked fucked up feet. What the hell were we doing to feet forty years ago?!
I expect that my funny fat feet with their star tattoos will remain fairly intact into my dotage. Unless there is this cataclysmic event that happens with menopause that warps then.
So, hi, I am a nurse. And things are funny.
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