An Agency Nurse Rant.

Do Unto Others as You Would Have Others Do Unto You



Generally, I tend to stray away from reglious posts and tendencies, not wanting to offend others. There are two subjects I have learned young not to talk about, religion and politics, but this stuck out as I saw this patient.

The nurse was an agency, continously bitched about her patients, our unit and her life. Our unit spoils its staff frankly, which pissed me off. You don't come to my home and piss on the carpet- you know what I mean? So as I took report I tried to shake the nurses bitching and try to see past it all- but I heard one of the patients were difficult. The aide urged me to write 'mean and snotty' but I simply wrote difficult, wanting to see for myself.

When I began working with the patient she was the farthest thing from, and when I asked this nurse to simply care for her patient she flipped at me and got mean and snotty with me. The patient asked that her medications and times be explained to her. I know nothing about this, having no knowledge in pharmacology and told the patient I would talk to the nurse about this. When I asked the nurse to do so, the nurse told me to go do it.

"No." I said firmly, feeling myself wanting to jump to boarderline bitch. "I have no knowledge in this and I am not about to go bullshit to a patient. This is YOUR job. Do it." My pulse was racing, I have never stood up to a nurse before like this, let alone an agency nurse.

"God Damnit!" The Agency Nurse yelled. "What is wrong with you aides!?" Then threw her papers down and stormed off into the room, only to return two seconds later, she went into the wrong room. As she emerged she snarled at me, "I have a life and I intend on getting to it."

"AFTER you care for your patients. You took an oath, now keep it or get out of here and let us get a real nurse, one who is actually decent at her job."


I'm glad I simply wrote difficult, because my patient was the sweetest person I had the chance to work with all night.

I am NOT a Patient!

I love doctors, they are generally funny, smart and comforting. However, this is only when I work with them do I like them. When I am the patient I HATE them, knowing that they have no idea that I work in healthcare.

Yesterday I had an appt with a doctor that I actually work with (actually his non-surgical colleague) about a shoulder injury I have. She ordered xrays, and while I was getting them my shoulder was slipping from socket. The X-ray techs kept begging me to make it stop, but the injury consists of a slipping from socket, painful spasming until it falls back into place and then pain throbbing and shooting afterwards. As they went to hold my shoulder in place for one of the xrays the tech placed her hands on my shoulder and her eyes widened. "WOA!" She said, beconing the other tech over. "You have got to feel this." They both played with it and then looked to me. "Doesn't that hurt?" I shook my head and they both looked at each other with a look I could read like a book. "If that doesn't hurt I would hate to see it when it does hurt."

The doctor did her basic assessment and I could tell she thought I was full of crap until she started to do comparisons with the other shoulder. As she stood behind me and wiggled my shoulders she too exclaimed. "Woa, there is a definite difference." She had her student feel and I suddenly realized what was going to be said.

An hour later I was lying in an MRI machiene, headphones blaring a crappy excuse for a country radio station and trying not to breathe 'too big' as the scan kept chugging away with the constant 'thud thud thud thud.' My mind was racing as fast as the imaging was and I was not thrilled with what needed to be done, but it had to be if I ever wanted to be a paramedic. My mind wandered back to the conversation after all my options had been reviewed.

My fiance and I stared at each other, both sharing the same expression of frusteration and despair. I had two options 1. another 3 months of PT after I had done 6 months before and then a year of weight lifting with a routine that was made for rebuilding torn muscle. or 2. get an MRI and then go talk to the shoulder surgeon. Little did this doctor know that the shoulder surgeon was actually in a room with a patient as I was hooking this patient up to a shoulder CPM. As I tried to attach him to it my shoulder rolled and the surgeon told me 'you need to schedule an appt with me ASAP.' After a long conversation I realized I had to do the MRI and the consult if I ever wanted to safely continue to care for patients.

I have yet another appt today, with a whole different doctor, and I am NOT looking forward to it. Next week I meet with the surgeon. I am not a patient patient!

BMT

He was a big eared, freckled face little boy, with gaped teeth in the front and what was left of his brown hair was buzzed by his mom. As I walked into the room I was literally shocked to see a child in the room, I was working BMT (Bone Marrow Transplant). "What can I do for ya bud?" I asked, shutting the door behind me and rubbing the gel-san into my hands.

"Come here." He said, beckoning me with his little pointer finger. I inched closer to him and smiled as a devilish grin spread across his face. "Do you have the yummy brown stuff?" He asked.

"You mean, coke?" I asked.

"As in cola!" He replied, perking up. I nodded. "Well my mommy said I could have some if you guys had it."

"Well it looks like I'll be bringing it in." I replied, and as I turned to leave I heard a 'yippe!' escape his lips.

The night was something no one warned me about, and not even the biggest warnings could have warned me of this. I have had cancer in my family, I have had family members go through chemo, but no one could have warned you for this. When I found out they had transferred me for the night to BMT I kept asking for what I needed to know. The only answer I got was 'learn chemo precautions.' Chemo precautions was nothing compared to the shock I got when I began to take vitals on these patients, and it make me realize how ....healthy....the rest of them are in comparison.

I walked into the room to see a guy who I assumed was at least 200 lbs at one point, but the treatments had killed his body down to under 150. Weak, skinny, frail and starting to bald in patches he kept a smile, and even opened the door for me, explaining that he would not be able to forgive himself if he wasn't a gentleman at all times.

Another patient was a doctor, and it was textbook 'Isabel Stevens' from Grey's Anatomy, but that's where I got angry. Grey's makes fighting cancer look poetic, and makes it look so much different than what it really is. There is no group cancer session where they all get chemo and chit-chat, they do not wear scarves on their heads and they don't have energy to cruise around the hospital. They are bedridden, they loose their hair in patches and they fight like they have never fought before. Watching this patient I realized how strong she is, and she was more than admirable.

Truly, it was hard, and when I got home tears filled my eyes as my body curled up and into a ball. my muscles ached, my mind racing and the inability to sleep kept me waking up with hot tears escaping my eyes, each time I closed my eyes I realized their struggle, their battle and how strong they are. When sleep finally came, I dreamt about the little boy.
__________________
'The higher you climb, the greater the pressure, those who manage to endure learn that the distance between top and the bottom is obscenely great, and those who succeed know this secret...there isn't one.'

A Birthday

It happened.
It really happened.
My fiance turned the big 2 1.

Yep. He is offically a grown man by most peoples standards, however his mother diagrees saying that if you are to be a man you must have these three things: 1. Chest hair 2. Be 21 and 3. Have a child. So, he'll still be mommas little boy, but he's now my big man.

Happy birthday hun- Glad to see you survived the long haul to 21.

"Why Bother?"

My Monday shift consisted of a patient dying. Tuesday one friend lost a grandfather, and the other her father. They say that people die in 3's, 7's, and 12's but is this true if you're the bystander?

Because of who they lost it caused me to lay awake last night, thinking about my life. I too lost my grandfather a few years back, and loosing grandparents is a simple fact of life, but it is incredibly difficult. Back then I lost two people in my life at the same time, the same night, 45 minutes away from each other, and I was out of town when it happened.

I found out about my friend first. A kid I went to school with for years, a kid I had worked with, and a kid who was like my brother. He passed away by suicide, something none of us would have predicted he was planning. He was an outgoing kid, a band geek, smarter than anyone else I knew and was going to an Early-College-High-School for Marine Biology. He was the kid I could turn to when my life got hard, and we spent so many cold winter days sitting on the front porch, talking, thinking and wondering about life. I was at an EMT competition when another girl from our high school tearfully told me. My heart sank and my mind turned off. I couldn't focus on anything, let alone our win. The bus ride home one of my classmates sat close to me, my head on his shoulder and slow, hot, tears falling down my face. When I got home, he would be gone.

When I arrived home I realized my grandmother was at our house. This was so weird for our home, we were remodeling, and the house was a mess. After kicking off my shoes and letting out a deep breath I shakily told my dad why I was crying. Sadly, he had me sit on the couch with my grandmother, all she had to do was say my name. I knew what happened. I locked myself in my parents office. Simply staring at the wall. Finally I turned on ITunes, and put it on country, hoping to find some comfort from the crazyness, instead Emerson Drive's song 'A Good Man' came on, and I sobbed even harder.

Two days later I picked up a friend of mine,(a man who still struggles with this to this day), both of us dressed in black. We were headed to our friends viewing. I would be unable to make it to the funeral, and I promised him I would drive. We both stood in that long line for two hours, just to pause for a moment and finally say goodbye. I closed my eyes and shook my head. You just cannot say a true goodbye to a corpse. Tears filled our eyes and my friend and I left, having no desire or intention to meet up with everyone else later. We stayed up til 3 a.m, talking and laughing about the 'good ole days.' But it still didn't seem real.

When I was 16 my grandfather made me a promise I haven't forgotten. He promised me that he wouldn't leave this world until he saw me get married. When I was 17 the doctors helped us realize how sick he really was, and at various trips to visit him I had to use EMS care to help him til the hospice team came. He was in pain, and now he isn't, but it still doesn't change the fact that I miss him, and I hate that he won't be around to see me get married. Its hard, going to see your grandmother and expecting to see him there, yelling at the soccer game on TV and laughing with that hearty belly laugh.

Last night I finally broke down and cried. I hate crying, I feel like it shows weakness, but I am so frusterated with my job, with the people I take care of, and my personal life. It seems like all anyone does is die.

"Why bother?" I asked my fiance last night with tear-filled-eyes. "All I do is take care of people who die."

"Because your the strong one who CAN take care of them before and while they do, and how many honestly die compared to the ones you have saved?" We talked for about an hour, and finally I was done trying to explain, and done keeping him awake all night. We turned in and fell asleep, but I awoke this morning to the same thoughts.

I'm guessing its something that everyone goes through, something that everyone thinks at one point or another. Today I saw that my friends have posts all over facebook and myspace, they too are wondering the same thing I was; 'why bother?'

Suicide, Attempted and Accomplished

They were the same age, had the identical diagnosis and were from completely different places of life. One was a wealthy woman, who wore more jewelery than any patient I had ever seen in my life. The other was a poor woman, who wore a motorcycle jacket and had no teeth. Both had ODed on over-the-counter drugs in an attempt to end their lives, and I was taking part in their 1:1. Both patients lived, both patients were going to be fine, but both patients were upset, the consequences of their actions made them regret everything and they vocalized their depression and anxiety about all of it.

Oddly enough I love working 1:1's with psych patients. If they are alert and oriented, we can talk to them like old friends and not like patients, but if they are not alert, oriented or even close to, they are fun because they say things and do things that simply make your day better. For example, we had one of them on a NPO diet, and she wanted Ice chips so badly. We tried to explain to her as we swabbed her mouth- but she didn't understand. "So do only the pregnant women get ice chips then?" She asked me, her big blue eyes looking into mine with genuine worry. I tried so incredibly hard not to laugh as I tried again to explain, but she was long asleep by this point.

Its something we deal with day in and day out. Life and Death. When you get a bunch of EMT's, CNA's, Nurses, Firemen and even Cops together eventually the subject will be brought up. How will we go? Going through schooling we always laughed at those kids who slashed across the street and were 'too stupid' to go down the river. We laughed at those people who thought a handful of baby aspirin would do them in, didn't they know that a whole bottle was needed at least? More than once have I talked about how I would go, and I always imagined myself doing something heroic. I'm not one who has ever wanted to be a old person, sure, I want to see grandkids, but I don't want to be that old that I only see them on Sundays when they come to the care center.

I hate it when patients attempt to kill themselves, and they succeed. I really hate it when they attempt, we care for them for nearly a month and they pass unbelievably quickly. Its terribly sad, and horrible for all of those who are doing the post-mortem care. I wasn't the one to do it- but it was terribly sad to know that another soul had passed on and that two of my colleagues, who had put their blood, sweat and tears into caring for him, had to now place him in a bag with a tag on his toe.

Not many people know this, but I pray when we loose someone, locking myself in the locker room or taking that extra few minutes before turning over my engine and heading home. I pray that their soul can find its way home and to peace. That all of their pain and suffering will disappear and they will finally find rest. At times I feel like the only person who does this, and I know my colleagues would laugh if they knew this, but its what I do to give myself clarity and peace of mind. Maybe I am crazy for doing it. Maybe I am just a believer.

Going Shootin'

"Wait, so your trying to tell me I'm gonna have a gun-slinging, jump-kit-carrying, talking-like-a-cowboy, daughter-in-law?" I laughed and smiled at my future mother in law as she said this. We had just spent the day trying to teach me all about guns, ammo and the big noises they make when you shoot them off.

The day started out perfect and we made it safely out to the boonies and my fiance and his older brother taught me all the mechanics of shooting a gun. By days end I could clean, load, aim, shoot and reload a 22 rifle. The boys seemed very impressed when I shot out 10 of the 15 clay pidgeons within my first few attempts. The shotgun (seen in the photo above) was not actually attempted (I have a shoulder injury and I was NOT about to go see a doctor to put it back in place after shooting that sucker off!)

At first I got incredibly frusterated, grumbling and firing off before aiming correctly and even switching arms, trying to get the feel of it. Before too long my fiance wrapped his arms around me, and tried to help me aim the gun, position it in my shoulder and talk to me about the mechanics of this. "Hunny, its not gonna come as easy as you hope it will." He said, placing his hands on the gun and pressing his cheek against mine. "Think of it like the last hardest thing you had to do, like trying to start an IV or doing a 12-lead." I looked over to him and he took the gun from me. " Tell me how to do a 12-lead."

As I instruced him on how to do a 12-lead he took one step at a time on how to shoot a gun- then handed the gun over to me. As the instuctions for each lead placement ran through my head I found my target, inhaled and then blew the clay pidgeon to nothingness. I high-fived my fiance and smiled. Who knew that would be the outcome?

Back to work and to your regular programming today - and I'm hoping for some great stories!

You know Its Love When...

You know its love when your fiance willingly goes to party and craft stores with you just so you can BS and wander around for no apparent reason. You know its true love when he reminds you to pick up the items you need for a quilt your future mother in law is making, and helps you decide on this. Back when we started dating, I thought this was rather....well for lack of a better word, gay. Now, I think its sweet.

You know its love when your fiance picks up a 'Grey's Anatomy' Trivia game while running errands and immediately has it out and set to play as soon as he arrives home. This honestly suprised me because we were out to get a birthday present for his nephew and I thought that the poor kid was gonna get a used Grey's game- no! It was actually a gift for me! Knowing its my favorite TV show and that I liken my primary unit to it, he was very excited to get playing, and actually played about 6 rounds with me, all of which I sadly dominated. I even tried to let him win!

You know its love when you show your fiance your 'Bucket List' and he starts looking for ways to get some of them done; locating a local 'wind tunnel', finding skydiving rates, trying to teach me to ride the motorcycle, and setting up an entire day to go shooting- just so he can teach me how.

Having the last two days off work has been incredibly boring, but we actually had quite a bit offun with the boring days, we washed all the cars, visited with both sets of parents, went on a mini-road trip, saw a movie, went to party stores and dollar stores, watched two movies at home and played lots of Grey's. Just thought I would post a quick blog before we headed out for more domestic adventures! (Plus I figured these pics would be fun to post, at least y'all can have your way and make all the fun you want.)

My Escape

After way too many hours in bed I decided that I was to escape and find some fun. At first I figured I would try to help my brother and mom, but all sorts of plans kept falling through. After an hour of simply driving aimlessly I ended up coming to a conclusion. 'I want to go to the beach.'

So I did! I went to the gas station and loaded up on goodies and then made the way down to the beach, where I took off my shoes and let my toes wiggle through the sand. However, anyone who knows me and where I live, I don't live near an ocean, I don't live near a lake I can swim in. But I found this body of water (an exceptionally large one) the perfect place to escape. Even though its not an ocean the makeup was just like one; a salty breeze, seagulls crowing overhead and the water calmly lapping up and onto the sand.

It was the rejuivnation I needed to get me through the rest of the day, through my 4 hour shift, the visit to see my friends newborn baby (who is adorable BTW!) and even to our nightly 4 mile walk. Sadly though, I got sick and had to quit walking after about a mile and a half.

Today I have been exhausted, wondering if I overdid it. The stomach bug had seemed to past but today the nausea was still there. I'll blame my aunt, according to my mother she had this last week. From the looks of the work schedule you bloggers will have to read about my stomach bug and about my attempt to learn how to shoot a gun.

The Rantings and Ramblings of a Sick Person

I hate it when I am sick. Let me repeat that one in case I wasn't clear enough; I am not good at being sick, I don't know how to handle it, I get in the way and just plain out hate being sick. This hate grows when it is something lame like the stomach flu (which is exactly what I have).

It was a nice excuse to call in sick to my Monday unit, but unfortunately I got bored rather quickly. The camping out in the bathroom became fewer and farther between and my fiance made me chicken noodle soup and agreed to chick flicks with me, but I still needed stuff to do. When I got caught folding clothes, I got in trouble. When I got caught tidying up the room, trouble. When I got caught helping put away the food and clean up the kitchen, trouble. It is a food posioning bug, I'm not gonna contaminate it all as if it was swine flu!

Since the uneventful events from yesterday I have held down an english muffin and am very much looking forward to more solids, and less time spent BSing on the computer and in bed. Not even reruns of Scrubs are doing it for me this time- I'm rearing to get back into action!

"You must be good at your job." My future mother in law commented as we spoke last night. I looked up to her, confused and asked her why. "Cause you suck at the other part of the equation." I looked to my fiance and smiled sheepishly.

A text of all the wonderful things I can do before attempting to get ready for work just beeped in on my phone and I sighed, sadly. All the bridal mags that are available have been purchased and read. I'm sick of using the computer, because after so long I get a headache, and excedrin doesn't sit well in an upset stomach. I have read both Peter Canning books that I own, and have watched enough Discovery Health and Tru TV to get me through the rest of the month.

I guess people don't understand me, don't understand what I do. I help people, and I do it because I don't need the help that others do. My job is not about me, my life isn't about me, its about everything else. Its incredibly hard for me to be selfish, to even think about being the patient, because I'm not the patient, I am the white coat, the blue scrubs and the stethoscope around the neck. But alas, as I migrate onto real food and attempt to feel better (still an upset tummy, but no vomiting!) I will have to stay in bed for at least a couple more hours to please the fiance and the mothers- something I REALLY hate to do.

2 Panic Attacks, 2 Saves

After a lot of deliberation I decided to be candid and post it all

Thursday we had a weird shift, an extra aide and an extra nurse added to our mix and a lot of stress as we tried to teach them the ways of our unit and take care of our patients appropriately. A certain patient had been on the call light asking for pain meds continuously, and I reminded the nurse to remember his pain meds before too much more time passed. The nurse flipped out and got angry with me, claiming that I was telling her how to care for her patient. The extra aide walked into the patient room (it was her patient) and helped him settle again and stop the screaming and moaning, while the nurse went ahead to ream me a new one...and I wasn't sure why.

" You don't tell me how to take care of my patients. He can't have pain meds for another hour. Can't you read these? Let me tell you what I'm doing, I'm dealing with a little girl that could be dying." She said standing nose-to-nose with me. I'm not allowed to touch the pain meds, access the Omnicell they come in let alone suggest that pain meds are coming. I am not allowed to read the medicaion reports, meds are strictly for nurses. I was amazed that she was assuming all of this.

"Everyone is someone who could be dying." I replied, meaner than what I wanted to be. "I am just asking that a patient be taken care of, if it aint time for meds, it aint time. Thats fine, do what you were doing, I'm just doing MY job." The nurse pulled in closer to me.

"Listen to me you little shit, you're being inappropriate." I looked to our other nurse, who was called in to assist who shook her head and mouthed to me 'no your not, no your not'.

"Me doing MY job is inappropriate?!" I asked. "Well then do tell me what is appropriate." I said leaning back in my chair, just waiting to hear her explaination.

"I'm gonna write your ass up!" She yelled going into the patient room. "I am gonna have your license revoked. You are a worthless aide and I have no honest idea why they hired you!" I shook my head and fought back tears. 'What a bitch.' I thought, then gathered my things. I was off in 1.5 hrs anyways, I figured she was gonna send me home. As she returned from the patient room she glared at me. "What do you think your doing?" She yelled.

"I'm thinking ahead." I said, setting my bag down and organizing a few items.

"Don't think your going anywhere." She snarled and I lost it. I felt a hot tear hit my cheek and I looked up to her. The day had been rough. First my biological mother had gotten mad at me, my future mother in law was not happy with me, and now my co-workers and adult example was pulling this off-the-wall stunt. She heard me sniff and watched me excuse myself from the unit, then grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me outside to yell at me some more.

After it was all said and done, I don't remember the entire conversation, I don't remember what was said or done, but I do remember having my first set of panic attacks. I do remember realizing what was wrong with me and trying to focus on just calming down as she yelled at me some more. I sat on the floor, thinking 'inhale, exhale, breathe Dani, breathe.'

___________

Friday I wore a set of scrubs I never wear. My hair was out of place and my makeup was only half done. I was still in a funk from Thursday night and I had no intention of trying to get out of it alive. After a long pep-talk from the nurse who yelled at me I started to work.

I did everything I needed to do and then more. Glucoses were done, rechecked and noted correctly. Vitals were done for my Q4's and Post-Operatively and the patients had lots of ice packs and snacks to keep them comfortable. Urinals and foleys were emptied and I had even help a few patients walk the halls before going to bed for the night. Things were going well. The nurse and I had nothing more to say to each other about last night and we even joked about wedding dresses (I was browsing at our slow points) and my fiance wearing a kilt to the wedding. Things picked up again at 0200 and I jumped back into action.

The patient we had gotten in the arguement over the night before was yelling in pain, gripping the bed rails with white knuckles and yelling loudly. Either he had bad nerve receptors or the bupivicaine block simply wasn't working, either way we had to take care of him. I decided to pack both of his surgical sites (they were casted) with gel packs, figuring the more ice, the better to help his pain. I never touched his cast, but I touched the blankets and pillows around it gently and he screamed loudly in pain. "STOP!" He yelled. "You're killing me! I am gonna die here!"

I hurried to his head and held his hand, encouraging him that he wasn't going to die on my watch or at my hospital. As he calmed down I heard his pulse ox machine beep loudly and I looked up. The kid was on 2L 02 and had his sats drop to 60 and his pulse was 100 before, was reading 210 now. I yelled to his nurse who didn't help me, so I started to asses him before I dared push the code button.

"Breathe!" I yelled to him pushing his O2 up to 6L. "Hey!" I yelled, shaking him and making him focus on me. "You are gonna need to breathe." In all honesty, he was breathing, and it was an adequate inhale and exhale, which is what scared me. We got him breathing normally and I shouted to the nurse again, his pulse was 164 taken manually. Either way, for a healthy young man, that was bad. As I continued my assessment on him and tried to help him stablilize the nurse busted in and I gave my quick report on him. She told me to go get a face mask and more ice packs and I did so, by this time he was stablilized. She had the ambu bag lying out at the head of his bed and he was breathing normally. I grabbed his hand and rubbed his back, he really wasn't satting....his hands were ice cold and looking pale.

As we left his room and had him settled again the nurse looked at me and nodded. "Thank god your an EMT." She said. I looked at her, confused. "You saved his life, Dani. You may not consider it a save, but it is." I smiled and nodded. "Good work." She said, patting my back.

About an hour later I was taking an early blood glucose, figuring why not take it early, the patient slept all night and was doing well all night, little to no pain, no worries, not even a need for a potty break. As I took it she was talking to me, smiling, laughing at my lame jokes and talking about going home. I looked at the beeping glucometer and sighed. 'RRLO.'

I grabbed an orange juice and gave it to her, then reset my glucometer for a retest. After five minutes I took it again, 'RRLO.' This time I gave her a cranberry juice and reset the glucometer again. Grabbing her chart I remembered she had high blood sugars before she went to bed and I felt bad, she wanted to go home so bad and this may compromise this. I took a third blood sugar. 'RRLO.' I ran to the nurse and notified her of this and made the patient breakfast, complete with MORE sugar and fruit. She ate it and the nurse spoke with her. I gave it ten more minutes and tested a fourth time. '166.' I sighed a breath of relief and as I charted it the relief aide walked in, smiling from a well-rested night. I laughed at this and smiled at the nurse as she walked past.

"Dani made two saves tonight on her own. We need to just have her as an EMT and not a CNA, get her a pay raise and better benefits so that we can get more done, she's done really well tonight."

"She's rocked this shift." The other nurse said as she glanced up from her chart. I smiled.
2 Panic attacks, 2 Saves.

Glued to Glucose

It seems like everytime I work its all about me and my glucometer.

This time the patient, who wasn't diabetic but was a transplant patient looked odd. When I entered his room to do routine vitals for new admits and he was sleeping, bundled under about 5-6 blankets. I heard him, and realized something quickly, something I will never forget. There's a difference between snoring (sleeping) and snoring (respirations). His was the second. I quickly left the room and for whatever reason grabbed my glucometer. The nurse stopped me and asked me what I was doing, and I informed her that I felt it needed to be done. She nodded and then grumbled about me as she walked away.

I tried to wake him, and he woke suddenly, but went immediately back to sleep. I took the finger prick and had to milk the blood out, but got the reading. The glucometer beeped frantically and his wife, a nurse came running to see what the reading was. I felt my stomach drop and quickly locked the glucometer and ran to the galley.

I grabbed two apple juices and a grape juice, then notified the nurse that the reading was below what the glucometer would read. The patient downed both apple juices and laid back in bed, falling asleep again. I opened the window to let in some light and turned on the televsion, then returned five minutes later to get a new reading; 52.

Handing him the grape juice I again notified the nurse, who then looked to me with worried eyes. "Looks like we're gonna give him the D-50." She said. "Page his doctor." I nodded and did so, then returned to his room for a third blood sugar; 70.

"You must be good with diabetics." The wife said to me as we stepped into the hallway. I sighed and placed my glucometer on the shelf and wrote down the readings, nodding my head.

"Seems like they are everywhere." I said, looking up to her, relieved that he at least had a reading. "Has this ever happened before?"

The wife shook her head. "No, he was just nauseated and vomiting all day." Stopping, I looked to her, watching her carefully.

"And the ER didn't check it?" She shook her head no and I sighed. A problem and an admit could have been prevented. A note to self was made and I charted his glucose levels, and strict monitoring from me all night.

I swear, I am glued to the glucose cases lately.

It's About People

Luckily I had the weekend off and got to enjoy it and all of the festivities with my family. My fiance and I made it to a total of two parades (both of which he marched in), visited a pool party, and a BBQ, as well as our tiny fireworks display. It turned out to be a fun night and I was so glad I didn't have to work. Since then, I've been worried about life, about what I'm doing.

He's gonna be a cop. He is gonna work long shifts, but not nearly as long as Paramedics. He will be able to go to work and come home to a family. How will I be able to actually raise my kids? I don't want to rely on daycare systems, and I know family won't be available when I have to work 24's. Maybe I'm thinking too far into the future, then again, its still a worry heavy on my mind.

We had an aide float from another floor to help our unit last night. She was very pregnant, and she showed it with her cute walk that came with it. She tried her damndest to get the job done, and did it well. I watched her with awe, she had to be nearly ready to burst, but if you're gonna go into early labor, why not at a hospital?

"Why do you keep doing it?" I asked her as she walked into the breakroom.

"Do what?" She replied.

"Do this job, your gonna have a baby. Why not switch careers?" I asked, and she smiled.

"Because I love taking care of people." She said, then sat down next to me. "Everything we do is about people, and people are what matters." I nodded and looked at my cup, soaking in everything she was saying. "Like our Intern Nurse, we had a young CF patient who missed her prom, so he created her room to be a prom and came to work in a tux just to dance with her at her own prom." I smiled as I remembered this, it was my first week on the job and I kept smiling, thinking about how happy it made our patient.

Maybe I'll drown my worries in my job tonight and focus on what really matters, people. Eventually I will have to figure it out, but until then, I'll just keep going.

Learning from my MLS Team

At first, I was incredibly sad that I didn't get to work this weekend, I generally love my job, however this evening was so much fun, that I didn't miss it. HECK I didn't even sit and envy the medics who were there working!

I went to a MLS soccer game!

This was a suprise, compliments of my dad. The whole family came and we all had apparel and gear to match it. We didn't sit together, but we sat close and it was alot of fun!

Let me just take a moment to whine about some of these athletes. When you lay on the field, waste game time and grab your knees, ankles, shins and chest, yelling in pain, you better at least LIMP off the field, instead of running like nothing is wrong.

Anyhow, it was alot of fun and definitley worth missing work for. Plus I got a snazzy jersey to go with it. Every now and then we need a break from the same old same old, and I actually learned something from it.

The last few days have been crazy, have been hectic and have been incredibly hard, emotionally, physically and mentally. This helped me come to the realization that we need more than just medicine, because if its our job, and if its our life, we cannot escape it, we need something more to get us from hard time to time. We actually do get to be like normal employees, who clock out and have other hobbies, and its about time that I build on mine while I have the time to.

I love it when I learn something new, it really makes me realize how quickly life goes and how fast we all grow up. Even my brother was spouting off lifes ponderings, and making me seem like the stupid one, and he's two years younger!

We opened the envelope and....

I watched him as he walked slowly to the mailbox, both of us having a gut feeling it wouldn't be there again. I felt my stomach drop as he dug through the mail and then held one envelope alone in a seperate hand. From what we had heard the results come in two ways; if you pass its a large envelope, if its a fail its a small envelope. He was holding a small one.

He jumped into the car and his hands shook as he started to open the letter and I immediately realized that it was the test results. I watched him, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my body, hearing my heart beating in my ears, all I could focus on was what happened when he opened the letter. He paused and looked at me.

"This is it." He said, then took a deep breath. We both knew that either way, one of us would win, but I really wanted him to get in. I wanted him to get his career started, but I also wanted to go to Paramedic school.

He opened the letter and let out a yell, then leaned in and kissed me. I pulled away and grabbed at the papers, looking to see the result. There is was in big bold black letters; PASS. I yelled in excitement and we kissed again, both feeling so excited. The results came, and they were good results to boot!

Some people would consider this a loss on my part, but its the farthest thing from it. I love my job, and this is what he wanted, so while he's studying up on laws, practicing traffic stops and attending classes I can put my focus on other things for a little bit (like a wedding and work!). Depending on the waiting list I may go to a 2 Month EMT-I class, but thats all in the future, and thats all after the paperwork is submitted. But now we know, and now we know what lies ahead...at least for a little bit!