I lay flat down on the table, with an excentric doctor and a curious resident looked over me. They respositioned my arm and then the xray, and then tried again. I sighed and then gritted my teeth together as I felt the needle dig deeper and deeper into my shoulder. "OW!" Finally escaped my lips and the resident looked to the doctor. Without a word she injected more nummbing medication and continued.
Everyone stopped at the sound of a crunch. "Well thats abnormal." She said casually.
"What does that mean?" I asked. She had no idea I worked there, she had no idea I understand medicine.
"Means you don't do enough P.T."
"Look, I did 4 years of P.T., one year of P.T. that the ortho doc told me to do. a year of P.T. that a doctor and a weight lifting coach came up with and two years of working as a CNA and an EMT. You can't tell me I am not working out my shoulder. I am." The doctor only stared at me as I defended myself. She said nothing in return.
After thirty minutes I was lying in the MRI machiene, a place I forgot was so tiny. As the tech and the student postioned me I felt my wrist twitch. I asked the tech if that was normal, she said yes and then continued on. As I got into the MRI machiene I felt my wrist twitch.
"Hold still!" The tech bellowed at me. I opened my eyes, coming out of my attempted zen state.
"I'm not?" I asked. Suddenly they pulled me out of the machiene and looked at my shoulder. I sat up and sighed as I realized what had happened. My shoulder was numb, so I didn't feel it slip out of place and now it was spasming. Without the feeling in my shoulder I could not put it back in place.
Two radiologists and a resident later I was lying still in the tube.
Today my shoulder is puffy, no longer numb but I hurt like none other. I know its what the surgeon wanted, and on Thursday I begin to schedule the surgery, but it still sucks.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Before the Tube
The tube. The gray and white tube. The one that only a select few get to go into without a gown on. The big omnious magnetic tube. The one we say we need a deep fried twinkie before we dare get into it. The one the scrubs avoid. The one that has signs looming outside of it, warning us of its wrath.Yep, that tube.
Today I get to endure a contrast MRI. Whoo. I am so excited. Not.
Anyhow, I figured I would post a blog before, and once the swelling goes down on my shoulder I would post after, if I am not allergic to the dye or the contrast. I have family and staff that have psyched me out, but it is for the best, I believe. The nurses say I cannot work afterwards, that my shoulder will be puffy and purple. The family says theres a good chance i'll be allergic to it and be spending the night on the bathroom floor.
The regular MRI wasn't bad. They have headphones they gave me and I laid still, trying not to fall asleep. 'Amarillo By Mornin' played loudly, but not loud enough to drown out the chugging sound of the magnets.
Luckily one of my regular daytime nurses is going to be assisting in the arthogram today and my fiance will be the once to help me once its over. Good company all around- plus I talked him into letting us watch Ladder 49 and the Guardian after. Score!
Wish me luck!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
I am Medicine
(This is a rough draft for one of my essays in my class, and I figured I would share it with you.)
Standing in front of the full length mirror I studied myself. I wore only a tank top and my scrub pants, my hair pulled tight into a ponytail. I looked plain to most people, but as I prepared for a long 12-hour shift it became apparent that plain had so much more built into it. I picked up my earrings and began to put them in, something I only did when I worked. As I did so I could hear the sound of a siren as it passed the apartment outside. Smiling my mind wandered to the first time those ears heard that all too familiar sound of sirens.
"Unit 7 to the shelter for a 21 year old female with unknown cause."
The intermediate in the driver’s seat ground the gas pedal into the floor as the Paramedic in the passenger’s seat radioed back to dispatch. As soon as the call was returned he turned to me with a smile.
"Buckle up." Without waiting to see if I had listened or not the sirens went on and the lights flashed, causing mayhem to release into the streets. It was my first call and my first time seeing people trying and failing to merge right. Pedestrians jumped back up onto the curb and stare at us, falling into the trance that only lights and sirens can conjure. From the back of that ambulance I gripped the seat and closed my eyes, letting the sound echo off of the buildings and return back to me, falling deep into my ear canal before settling there comfortably. I could even feel that sound deep within my chest, as if that was what my soul craved.
Pulling on my scrub top I caught glimpse of my watch, an old plastic Wal-Mart brand that I hadn’t taken off in ages. As always I checked my watch and verified the accurate time with the clock on my cell phone. As I adjusted it by a minute I studied the worn paint and my watch tan that had come from my lack of taking it off.
Graduating from Nursing Assisting School was no big deal to the students, but the teachers wanted our parents there and urged them to give their student a gift. My father was proud of me and wanted to attend, but like me, he felt that the gift idea was stupid. My mother, a sentimental sap like the teachers convinced my father to just do it. Graduation day was busy, crowded and overwhelming as we got our certifications, at the same time we were also awarded our gifts. When my turn finally came I was given a small wrapped box. Other students got scrubs, equipment and even money, leaving me confused. I opened the box and smiled, a gray plastic watch sat inside, ready and waiting for me to wear it. I put it on my wrist and set the time, promising never to take it off.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed I pulled on my sneakers with distain. The plastic that was once white and shiny is now gray and falling off. The fabric is shades of brown and black and looks disgusting, despite many attempts to wash them. The rubber is no longer in tact and the shoe laces look as if they may break, but in the year that it took to get to that point I had seen many miles and more action than most shoes would. As I look up and into that mirror again I realize the only reason those old crummy sneakers are still around is because I don’t have the heart to throw them out yet.
Starting my job at the hospital was the biggest career accomplishment I had thus far in my young career. The hospital held a prestigious title and only hired the best of the best. I had purchased a new pair of Nikes, the first pair of brand name shoes I had ever bought. Sitting in the shadow of the giant building I worked in I tied those new shoes tightly and smiled at the spring I now had in my step.
Driving into work I sing loudly to the radio, trying not to think about the things I will see in the next shift. It’s the way that I block it out, so I sing, loudly and off tune. As I do so I catch a glimpse of myself smiling, taking my thoughts far away from my stress-free commute and into a memory of a smile that speared my soul.
"Can I have a coke?" He asked, being all of six years old with buzzed brown hair and a missing tooth. I smiled at him and nodded, noticing how big that boys ears were. When I returned with the coke he smiled and opened it quickly, drinking it. His mom smiled from the corner and thanked me and I nodded, laughing as he jumped out of the bed and embraced me, flashing his bare bottom to the world as he did so. As I left his room my smile faded, six year olds have no business being Bone Marrow Transplant patients.
As I pull into the parking garage and pull out my bag I begin to load my right thigh pocket with all of my equipment. People think that I carry too much stuff in that little pocket, but each shift I use all of it. As I cram more and more pens into the pocket and attempt for my flashlight a code sits heavy in my mind.
The code button got punched by the Nurse and I grabbed a pen light from my right thigh pocket, beginning to examine the eyes. As they began to identify infection the doctor pulled a blue marker out of my pocket and began to draw on the patient. Without saying a word I pulled my trauma shears out of the same pocket and handed it to the surgeon as they began to strip ‘em and flip ‘em. Nurses pulled pens and highlighters out of my pocket and began to chart. Twenty minutes later the Ambulance arrived and strapped the patient to a backboard and left quickly. As I gathered up my supplies, cleaned and replaced them the nurses smiled at me. "You look like a Paramedic."
Washing my hands at the nurses station I stop and begin to rub on some lotion. As I rub my hands together quickly I study them. In my job it is all about taking care of people, including holding hands for comfort. As I studied my hands, the callouses, the sores and the scars. Compared to most people my hands were well taken care of.
Her hands were worn, feeling and looking like leather as I studied them. Her nails were uncared for and her cuticles looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Those hands clung tightly to mine all night long as I sat in her room with her. She stirred once or twice, barely attempting to speak, let alone move. I stared at the sticker on her board with fear as I felt for her pulse. She squeezed my hand tightly, waiting for me to return the squeeze. After a moment I moved my fingers over her wrist again until I felt it, three beats and then it slipped away. The room was quiet, not even the sound of breathing filled the room as I stared at the big purple DNR sticker on the board. Do Not Resuscitate.
Ears that have heard first cries and last breaths, a watch reading only military time, battered from thousands of hours in the service. Tennis shoes, six months past their expiration date. A smile that has comforted sick and well people alike. It’s a right thigh pocket crammed with pens, markers, flash lights and scissors. Hands that have felt life hanging on and slipping away.
It’s who I am. I am medicine.
Standing in front of the full length mirror I studied myself. I wore only a tank top and my scrub pants, my hair pulled tight into a ponytail. I looked plain to most people, but as I prepared for a long 12-hour shift it became apparent that plain had so much more built into it. I picked up my earrings and began to put them in, something I only did when I worked. As I did so I could hear the sound of a siren as it passed the apartment outside. Smiling my mind wandered to the first time those ears heard that all too familiar sound of sirens.
"Unit 7 to the shelter for a 21 year old female with unknown cause."
The intermediate in the driver’s seat ground the gas pedal into the floor as the Paramedic in the passenger’s seat radioed back to dispatch. As soon as the call was returned he turned to me with a smile.
"Buckle up." Without waiting to see if I had listened or not the sirens went on and the lights flashed, causing mayhem to release into the streets. It was my first call and my first time seeing people trying and failing to merge right. Pedestrians jumped back up onto the curb and stare at us, falling into the trance that only lights and sirens can conjure. From the back of that ambulance I gripped the seat and closed my eyes, letting the sound echo off of the buildings and return back to me, falling deep into my ear canal before settling there comfortably. I could even feel that sound deep within my chest, as if that was what my soul craved.
Pulling on my scrub top I caught glimpse of my watch, an old plastic Wal-Mart brand that I hadn’t taken off in ages. As always I checked my watch and verified the accurate time with the clock on my cell phone. As I adjusted it by a minute I studied the worn paint and my watch tan that had come from my lack of taking it off.
Graduating from Nursing Assisting School was no big deal to the students, but the teachers wanted our parents there and urged them to give their student a gift. My father was proud of me and wanted to attend, but like me, he felt that the gift idea was stupid. My mother, a sentimental sap like the teachers convinced my father to just do it. Graduation day was busy, crowded and overwhelming as we got our certifications, at the same time we were also awarded our gifts. When my turn finally came I was given a small wrapped box. Other students got scrubs, equipment and even money, leaving me confused. I opened the box and smiled, a gray plastic watch sat inside, ready and waiting for me to wear it. I put it on my wrist and set the time, promising never to take it off.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed I pulled on my sneakers with distain. The plastic that was once white and shiny is now gray and falling off. The fabric is shades of brown and black and looks disgusting, despite many attempts to wash them. The rubber is no longer in tact and the shoe laces look as if they may break, but in the year that it took to get to that point I had seen many miles and more action than most shoes would. As I look up and into that mirror again I realize the only reason those old crummy sneakers are still around is because I don’t have the heart to throw them out yet.
Starting my job at the hospital was the biggest career accomplishment I had thus far in my young career. The hospital held a prestigious title and only hired the best of the best. I had purchased a new pair of Nikes, the first pair of brand name shoes I had ever bought. Sitting in the shadow of the giant building I worked in I tied those new shoes tightly and smiled at the spring I now had in my step.
Driving into work I sing loudly to the radio, trying not to think about the things I will see in the next shift. It’s the way that I block it out, so I sing, loudly and off tune. As I do so I catch a glimpse of myself smiling, taking my thoughts far away from my stress-free commute and into a memory of a smile that speared my soul.
"Can I have a coke?" He asked, being all of six years old with buzzed brown hair and a missing tooth. I smiled at him and nodded, noticing how big that boys ears were. When I returned with the coke he smiled and opened it quickly, drinking it. His mom smiled from the corner and thanked me and I nodded, laughing as he jumped out of the bed and embraced me, flashing his bare bottom to the world as he did so. As I left his room my smile faded, six year olds have no business being Bone Marrow Transplant patients.
As I pull into the parking garage and pull out my bag I begin to load my right thigh pocket with all of my equipment. People think that I carry too much stuff in that little pocket, but each shift I use all of it. As I cram more and more pens into the pocket and attempt for my flashlight a code sits heavy in my mind.
The code button got punched by the Nurse and I grabbed a pen light from my right thigh pocket, beginning to examine the eyes. As they began to identify infection the doctor pulled a blue marker out of my pocket and began to draw on the patient. Without saying a word I pulled my trauma shears out of the same pocket and handed it to the surgeon as they began to strip ‘em and flip ‘em. Nurses pulled pens and highlighters out of my pocket and began to chart. Twenty minutes later the Ambulance arrived and strapped the patient to a backboard and left quickly. As I gathered up my supplies, cleaned and replaced them the nurses smiled at me. "You look like a Paramedic."
Washing my hands at the nurses station I stop and begin to rub on some lotion. As I rub my hands together quickly I study them. In my job it is all about taking care of people, including holding hands for comfort. As I studied my hands, the callouses, the sores and the scars. Compared to most people my hands were well taken care of.
Her hands were worn, feeling and looking like leather as I studied them. Her nails were uncared for and her cuticles looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Those hands clung tightly to mine all night long as I sat in her room with her. She stirred once or twice, barely attempting to speak, let alone move. I stared at the sticker on her board with fear as I felt for her pulse. She squeezed my hand tightly, waiting for me to return the squeeze. After a moment I moved my fingers over her wrist again until I felt it, three beats and then it slipped away. The room was quiet, not even the sound of breathing filled the room as I stared at the big purple DNR sticker on the board. Do Not Resuscitate.
Ears that have heard first cries and last breaths, a watch reading only military time, battered from thousands of hours in the service. Tennis shoes, six months past their expiration date. A smile that has comforted sick and well people alike. It’s a right thigh pocket crammed with pens, markers, flash lights and scissors. Hands that have felt life hanging on and slipping away.
It’s who I am. I am medicine.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Worst. Week. Ever.
Lost 2 patients. Literally felt one of their heartbeats as it slipped away. Not fun.
Had to deal with the D.A. and the military over someone from my past. Not fun.
Dad and Mom put the family dog down. 13 years and loosing a fight to cancer. I knew it was coming, I would be able to deal...if I hadn't found out via Facebook. Not fun.
Family Drama {and other bullshit that fits into this category.} Not Fun.
Had a couple crazy psych patients that got out of control, slapping hitting and even lewdness. Not fun.
Time for a sleeping pill and a looooong weekend.
Next week is full of hospital visits and all those crappy add-on's. Not looking forward to my contrast MRI, let alone setting a surgical date- it means that I have to commit to it and be really scared!
I don't generally do this but if y'all could keep me in your thoughts and prayers I would appreciate it. I don't wanna go into detail, but I will say that I just haven't been doing well lately. Trying to hide it best I can- but finally decided I need the extra help.
Until next time - BSI
Had to deal with the D.A. and the military over someone from my past. Not fun.
Dad and Mom put the family dog down. 13 years and loosing a fight to cancer. I knew it was coming, I would be able to deal...if I hadn't found out via Facebook. Not fun.
Family Drama {and other bullshit that fits into this category.} Not Fun.
Had a couple crazy psych patients that got out of control, slapping hitting and even lewdness. Not fun.
Time for a sleeping pill and a looooong weekend.
Next week is full of hospital visits and all those crappy add-on's. Not looking forward to my contrast MRI, let alone setting a surgical date- it means that I have to commit to it and be really scared!
I don't generally do this but if y'all could keep me in your thoughts and prayers I would appreciate it. I don't wanna go into detail, but I will say that I just haven't been doing well lately. Trying to hide it best I can- but finally decided I need the extra help.
Until next time - BSI
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Just Do It
You haven't heard alot from me lately bloggers, and with good reason. It's been a busy week or two, working with school, picking up extra shifts and working longer ones than expected and having long sleepless nights just to talk about life and all those damn in-betweens that go on from your goal and where you are now.
The job is good, the job is great. Lately it's been a big stress and an even bigger hassle. At my hospital we have an extra unit called a 'float unit' where we hire RN's, CNA's and LPN's who go to any unit that needs extra staff. It's a helpful unit, however recently we had an issue with a float CNA at my unit. She was causing problems, being snitty and even yelling at patients. She wanted to order food, so we okayed her to order in a pizza. Both nurses told her no meat and I told her no heavy garlic (I am allergic.) She ordered a chicken garlic pizza. We all ate one piece just to make her feel better, but I was sure regretting it. She rode equipment around and sand loudly in spanish, making it hard for the patients to sleep. I work nights, you don't make noise. At the end of the shift everyone was appaled when management offered her a job. Needless to say we panicked and had to speak up. Luckily they listen to us and she will not be my new partner.
Monday I am set to get a contrast MRI done. I am really nervous but am glad that I am doing it where I work. My co-workers are all awesome people, and I honestly do trust them to do a good job. They do it whether they know I am a patient or not. Wednesday I am all set for a follow-up with my shoulder surgeon.
I'm gonna do it. I am going to have my surgery. The ideal date to do it on would be in November, right before Thanksgiving. It's not that I want to ruin the holidays, It's that I would get lots of holiday pay while I am out. It's going to be a long 12 weeks, so here is hoping that there are some decent holiday specials. My nurses are amazing and have helped me plan out my leave from the day of sugery to the day I want to get back. They are even trying to get me to work more hours over there, instead of the med/surg unit, so that I don't ruin a fresh surgery.
Meanwhile the boy is still in POST and is loving it. He comes home excited every night trying to convince me to let him do the things he was taught in class. Last night he learned searches, so he felt up everybody he could find, including his grandma. For awhile there, I was worried about him being a cop, thinking that he wouldn't do so great at it, but now, he is doing awesome.
The job is good, the job is great. Lately it's been a big stress and an even bigger hassle. At my hospital we have an extra unit called a 'float unit' where we hire RN's, CNA's and LPN's who go to any unit that needs extra staff. It's a helpful unit, however recently we had an issue with a float CNA at my unit. She was causing problems, being snitty and even yelling at patients. She wanted to order food, so we okayed her to order in a pizza. Both nurses told her no meat and I told her no heavy garlic (I am allergic.) She ordered a chicken garlic pizza. We all ate one piece just to make her feel better, but I was sure regretting it. She rode equipment around and sand loudly in spanish, making it hard for the patients to sleep. I work nights, you don't make noise. At the end of the shift everyone was appaled when management offered her a job. Needless to say we panicked and had to speak up. Luckily they listen to us and she will not be my new partner.
Monday I am set to get a contrast MRI done. I am really nervous but am glad that I am doing it where I work. My co-workers are all awesome people, and I honestly do trust them to do a good job. They do it whether they know I am a patient or not. Wednesday I am all set for a follow-up with my shoulder surgeon.
I'm gonna do it. I am going to have my surgery. The ideal date to do it on would be in November, right before Thanksgiving. It's not that I want to ruin the holidays, It's that I would get lots of holiday pay while I am out. It's going to be a long 12 weeks, so here is hoping that there are some decent holiday specials. My nurses are amazing and have helped me plan out my leave from the day of sugery to the day I want to get back. They are even trying to get me to work more hours over there, instead of the med/surg unit, so that I don't ruin a fresh surgery.
Meanwhile the boy is still in POST and is loving it. He comes home excited every night trying to convince me to let him do the things he was taught in class. Last night he learned searches, so he felt up everybody he could find, including his grandma. For awhile there, I was worried about him being a cop, thinking that he wouldn't do so great at it, but now, he is doing awesome.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Something Exciting!
Ah! I am still feeling pumped so this will be poorly-worded and short lived, but today I got to watch some surgeries, all with the knees and legs. It was FUN! The nurses were worried I would pass out, but I was too excitied to waste time with THAT! More details to come when I quit pumping.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Life Moves On.
Every day in December held a new adventure, mainly because every night after work I got a phone call from my friend Bubba, who was looking for some fun for him and Scott, a friend home from Iraq. Feeling quite lame and wanting to get out for the night I would agree and we would take off, looking for anything to do.
We saw all the Christmas lights possible, we went bowling, played pool, got food, we even went on a search to find the spirit of Christmas and found a Santa look-alike and a Jesus look-alike. They were fun to be around, and they both had broken 'give-a-damns', making it easier to be myself and live with my life as it was. Soon to find out Scott was an Army medic, and a damn good one as that, he was on their Air Ambulances.
I learned a lot from the two of them during that month. I learned that being a dumb ass in public had its benefits as well as its downsides. I learned that learning to laugh at myself was a must. That being a 'scrub*' was only a bad thing by someone higher than you, but that they always need scrubs to stay afloat. More than anything, I learned how a girl should be treated.
Work was going good, I was finally off of orientation and was finally feeling ready to do the job they had me do. I wasn't getting along with one of the nurses, and the other nurse I felt only was nice to me as a pity thing. I learned a lot, quickly. 12-Lead EKG's, the effects of Bupivicane and TIVA, even secrets on how total knees can get in and out of bed easier. The job was perfect and I was so happy with it.
Tim and I tried dating during the first of the month. Many times I got stood up, was forced to wait hours at a time for him to show up, and sometimes we would go a week without speaking. Bubba finally decided I needed an intervention and when Tim stood me up, he picked me up, let me cry on his shoulder, took me on a date and ended the night with a perfect first kiss.
Things got awkward. I liked Tim, but he was frankly an ass to me. Bubba was a good guy, a decent guy, and my best friend. Days passed and we didn't talk about the date or the kiss, but we both knew I had fallen for Bubba, hard. We just kept that our little secret for a little bit. I wanted to take it slow, and he just wanted to enjoy whatever we had.
As the month came to an end we finally had to say goodbye to what we had. We said goodbye to our crazy nightly adventures, our avoiding the truth and more than anything we had to say goodbye to Scott. The night he left I was given a gift from Scott, my first jump kit, complete with sterile bandages, tape, trauma shears and more odds and ends. Tucked up into the big pocket of this kit, was one of his t-shirts. I smiled as I studied all of this, unsure of what to think,let alone say. Finally I found a note. 'Hang in there. You'll get it.'
I never thought we would grow up so much in 31 days, but on New Year's Eve I took control of my young life, and returned that kiss from Bubba, leaving more awkwardness to be had. For some reason, I was okay with it, and more than anything, I came to find out I loved it.
*A scrub was Scott's term for a Nurse, CNA, or any other hospital person wearing 'scrubs', excluding doctors.
We saw all the Christmas lights possible, we went bowling, played pool, got food, we even went on a search to find the spirit of Christmas and found a Santa look-alike and a Jesus look-alike. They were fun to be around, and they both had broken 'give-a-damns', making it easier to be myself and live with my life as it was. Soon to find out Scott was an Army medic, and a damn good one as that, he was on their Air Ambulances.
I learned a lot from the two of them during that month. I learned that being a dumb ass in public had its benefits as well as its downsides. I learned that learning to laugh at myself was a must. That being a 'scrub*' was only a bad thing by someone higher than you, but that they always need scrubs to stay afloat. More than anything, I learned how a girl should be treated.
Work was going good, I was finally off of orientation and was finally feeling ready to do the job they had me do. I wasn't getting along with one of the nurses, and the other nurse I felt only was nice to me as a pity thing. I learned a lot, quickly. 12-Lead EKG's, the effects of Bupivicane and TIVA, even secrets on how total knees can get in and out of bed easier. The job was perfect and I was so happy with it.
Tim and I tried dating during the first of the month. Many times I got stood up, was forced to wait hours at a time for him to show up, and sometimes we would go a week without speaking. Bubba finally decided I needed an intervention and when Tim stood me up, he picked me up, let me cry on his shoulder, took me on a date and ended the night with a perfect first kiss.
Things got awkward. I liked Tim, but he was frankly an ass to me. Bubba was a good guy, a decent guy, and my best friend. Days passed and we didn't talk about the date or the kiss, but we both knew I had fallen for Bubba, hard. We just kept that our little secret for a little bit. I wanted to take it slow, and he just wanted to enjoy whatever we had.
As the month came to an end we finally had to say goodbye to what we had. We said goodbye to our crazy nightly adventures, our avoiding the truth and more than anything we had to say goodbye to Scott. The night he left I was given a gift from Scott, my first jump kit, complete with sterile bandages, tape, trauma shears and more odds and ends. Tucked up into the big pocket of this kit, was one of his t-shirts. I smiled as I studied all of this, unsure of what to think,let alone say. Finally I found a note. 'Hang in there. You'll get it.'
I never thought we would grow up so much in 31 days, but on New Year's Eve I took control of my young life, and returned that kiss from Bubba, leaving more awkwardness to be had. For some reason, I was okay with it, and more than anything, I came to find out I loved it.
*A scrub was Scott's term for a Nurse, CNA, or any other hospital person wearing 'scrubs', excluding doctors.
Monday, September 14, 2009
A Long Wait
Thanks for all the feedback on the last two posts. I am going to keep posting blurbs from this piece until something exciting comes along. I will post a notification when that happens.
To answer any questions, this is from my past. Please feel free to comment, edit and harass if needs be.
________
That Saturday I got online and started filling out paperwork. I had spent all of Friday night at home with my parents, watching kids shows and handing out Halloween candy. It was an uneventful holiday and I was depressed. My friend had sent me an e-mail telling me to check out a new artist, Zac Brown Band. I logged onto Itunes and bought the most popular song, 'Chicken Fried', and then continued on to the legal paperwork.
Something between the lyrics of this hillbilly anthem and my emotions I had this sudden urge. Finally I stood up, and began to dance, poorly, but I moved my body, feeling the beat. As the song stopped, so did I, and I stared at the laptop I was using. 'Damn that thing. Damn him.' I thought, feeling empty and sad.
All of it happened so fast. Finally I sent out a message to two of my friends, one a fire fighter in training and the other a friend who was trying to get into POST. Between the two of them, they understood me, because they had their own passions. They were also the only two that knew what happened three days before. The only times I felt somewhat normal were when I was talking to them, shooting the bull and talking about cowboy boots, country music and medical Dramas.
_
Three weeks passed of long hours at work, lonely nights and long hours of orientation at my new job. Only working two days a week I had to figure out the scheduling between the two jobs and school, which was halfway through the quarter. I had no desire to go to school, had no drive. I would skip classes and go into the office three hours early, and make it before anyone else. I would do my job and then leave the office before lunch, driving home in silence. Finally one night my Fire Fighter Friend, Tim, called me.
"Get your boots on, I'll be there in fifteen." He said, before I could ask any questions the phone had been hung up.
My mother argued with me about going out. She called me a 'cheater' and told me that it was inappropriate. I rolled my eyes and put on my jacket as I stepped out and into the drive way, which was blanketed with fresh snow. Closing my eyes I looked to the sky and let the snowflakes kiss my cheeks. After a few moments I was brought back to the present to the sound of Tim's truck as he pulled up. Without saying anything I got in and we drove off in silence.
"So what's up?" I asked uneasily as I put on my seat belt and shook the snow off of my jacket.
"You are depressed." Tim said. "And so I am taking you out." He finished, giving me a smile.
We pulled up to a comedy club on the north side of town thirty minutes later. When we got there we were met by two friends of mine from my EMT-Basic class, friends that were not friends of Tim's by any means, he had arranged it for me.
I laughed that night. We cracked jokes and shared a pitcher of Coke and some fries. We even got made fun of by the comedian, who nicknamed us the 'hillbilly's in the back.' and made fun at our expense.
On the way home I sat quietly in the passenger seat. My mind reeled to where I was and where I am, and I wasn't happy with it, but I had to live with it. Finally I came to a conclusion of what I had to do, I had to return to my roots. My roots was the cowgirl in me.
__
Thanksgiving came and with it so did text messages from my other friend, Bubba. As I finished up Thanksgiving with my family he sent me a text message. Relieved to find a break from the awkward silences and the obvious avoiding of talking about my fiasco, I opened my phone to see a plead for help. He was begging me to come over so that his grandma would behave. I passed my phone to my mom, who smiled and nodded, giving me permission to escape.
He picked me up in five minutes and we took off, heading back to his house in order to save his mom from his grandma, or so his excuse to me was. Once there we talked, joked, played video games and even drove grandma home at the end of the night. It was a different night, but it was a lot of fun.
That following Monday I called the courts to see how my paperwork was going through. I had submitted it ten days before, but I wasn't told whether it was ten regular days or business days. I waited by a bridge, listening to the music they deemed crappy enough for those of us on hold. My heart raced. I tried to focus on anything besides the phone. I watched the train pass in front of me, watched the other cars, even the mucky urban sunset. Finally I heard a voice ask my name.
"Yes?" I replied, almost too quickly.
"The divorce was finalized on December 1st." She said. I smiled, that was today. "At about 10:00 a.m."
"So I am single?"I asked excitedly, happy that it had gone that quick.
"Yes you are." The lady said laughing. "Take care now."
The phone hung up and I sat there in shock. It was over, the drama, the signing legal forms, the worrying over his not showing up to court, it had all paid off for me. I smiled and then put in my new country music mix and turned it up loud as I started the long drive home. I was finally free. The mess was finally over.
I could go back to being me.
To answer any questions, this is from my past. Please feel free to comment, edit and harass if needs be.
________
That Saturday I got online and started filling out paperwork. I had spent all of Friday night at home with my parents, watching kids shows and handing out Halloween candy. It was an uneventful holiday and I was depressed. My friend had sent me an e-mail telling me to check out a new artist, Zac Brown Band. I logged onto Itunes and bought the most popular song, 'Chicken Fried', and then continued on to the legal paperwork.
Something between the lyrics of this hillbilly anthem and my emotions I had this sudden urge. Finally I stood up, and began to dance, poorly, but I moved my body, feeling the beat. As the song stopped, so did I, and I stared at the laptop I was using. 'Damn that thing. Damn him.' I thought, feeling empty and sad.
All of it happened so fast. Finally I sent out a message to two of my friends, one a fire fighter in training and the other a friend who was trying to get into POST. Between the two of them, they understood me, because they had their own passions. They were also the only two that knew what happened three days before. The only times I felt somewhat normal were when I was talking to them, shooting the bull and talking about cowboy boots, country music and medical Dramas.
_
Three weeks passed of long hours at work, lonely nights and long hours of orientation at my new job. Only working two days a week I had to figure out the scheduling between the two jobs and school, which was halfway through the quarter. I had no desire to go to school, had no drive. I would skip classes and go into the office three hours early, and make it before anyone else. I would do my job and then leave the office before lunch, driving home in silence. Finally one night my Fire Fighter Friend, Tim, called me.
"Get your boots on, I'll be there in fifteen." He said, before I could ask any questions the phone had been hung up.
My mother argued with me about going out. She called me a 'cheater' and told me that it was inappropriate. I rolled my eyes and put on my jacket as I stepped out and into the drive way, which was blanketed with fresh snow. Closing my eyes I looked to the sky and let the snowflakes kiss my cheeks. After a few moments I was brought back to the present to the sound of Tim's truck as he pulled up. Without saying anything I got in and we drove off in silence.
"So what's up?" I asked uneasily as I put on my seat belt and shook the snow off of my jacket.
"You are depressed." Tim said. "And so I am taking you out." He finished, giving me a smile.
We pulled up to a comedy club on the north side of town thirty minutes later. When we got there we were met by two friends of mine from my EMT-Basic class, friends that were not friends of Tim's by any means, he had arranged it for me.
I laughed that night. We cracked jokes and shared a pitcher of Coke and some fries. We even got made fun of by the comedian, who nicknamed us the 'hillbilly's in the back.' and made fun at our expense.
On the way home I sat quietly in the passenger seat. My mind reeled to where I was and where I am, and I wasn't happy with it, but I had to live with it. Finally I came to a conclusion of what I had to do, I had to return to my roots. My roots was the cowgirl in me.
__
Thanksgiving came and with it so did text messages from my other friend, Bubba. As I finished up Thanksgiving with my family he sent me a text message. Relieved to find a break from the awkward silences and the obvious avoiding of talking about my fiasco, I opened my phone to see a plead for help. He was begging me to come over so that his grandma would behave. I passed my phone to my mom, who smiled and nodded, giving me permission to escape.
He picked me up in five minutes and we took off, heading back to his house in order to save his mom from his grandma, or so his excuse to me was. Once there we talked, joked, played video games and even drove grandma home at the end of the night. It was a different night, but it was a lot of fun.
That following Monday I called the courts to see how my paperwork was going through. I had submitted it ten days before, but I wasn't told whether it was ten regular days or business days. I waited by a bridge, listening to the music they deemed crappy enough for those of us on hold. My heart raced. I tried to focus on anything besides the phone. I watched the train pass in front of me, watched the other cars, even the mucky urban sunset. Finally I heard a voice ask my name.
"Yes?" I replied, almost too quickly.
"The divorce was finalized on December 1st." She said. I smiled, that was today. "At about 10:00 a.m."
"So I am single?"I asked excitedly, happy that it had gone that quick.
"Yes you are." The lady said laughing. "Take care now."
The phone hung up and I sat there in shock. It was over, the drama, the signing legal forms, the worrying over his not showing up to court, it had all paid off for me. I smiled and then put in my new country music mix and turned it up loud as I started the long drive home. I was finally free. The mess was finally over.
I could go back to being me.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Healing on the Worst Day - Part 2
The next day I wore my business outfit that I had purchased just for moments like these. My hair was pulled up into a tight bun, my clothes clean and wrinkle free and my makeup flawless. I was early, and sat in my old car with the windows down, trying not to look too obvious, while at the same time trying not to kill the car. The sun beat down from the sky and made the temperatures skyrocket from the October day it was to a day in July.
I looked up to see what stood before me, the building is beautiful, apparently new and state-of-the-art and was easy on the eyes as I sat staring at it. Something in the back of my mind hinted that this building was more than just another fancy building, but I could not figure out what it was. After a moment it hit me.
It was when I was fifteen years old, if that, and was with my dad as we drove up to Huntsman to visit my aunt. Road work prevented us from getting up there in a timely matter so my dad made an early turn and headed up the hill. We were talking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Ignoring his question I asked him what ‘Orthopedics’ was, reading the sign as we passed it. My dad explained that it was a profession of medicine that studied muscles and joints. I sat back in my seat and thought about it, about casting, and physical therapy and surgery, then smiled and told him I wanted to work in ‘Orthopedics’. He laughed and made a wise crack about my grades, but when I returned to school the following week I was determined.
I had thirty minutes til my interview and could not wait any longer to get into the building, so I locked up my 86’ Volkswagen Jetta and headed in, feeling completely out of place as my heels clicked against the tile. Physical Therapists and patients alike turned heads, all apparently disapproving my choice in footwear.
The second floor was all clinics and I walked into the elevator as I had done before, pressing the ‘1’ button that would lead me down to the surgical floor. As I rode by myself I started to feel my heart race. The elevator dinged and the door slid open, releasing an aroma I knew I was in love with, the smell of sterile, clean, bloody, gory surgery.
Checking my watch I knew I had time to burn, so I called my mom and tried to shoot the bull with her, instead questions about my feelings from yesterday came up. I grew quiet, not wanting to talk about it.
“Did you remember to buy Halloween candy?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Yes I did.” She replied, catching on. “Have a good interview.”
Walking into the surgical lobby I walked confidently up to the front desk and told them I was here for an interview. They told me that Manager would be right up and I sat down, holding my head high. Being a person who believes in signs I felt like the stars were aligning for me, the timing, the building, and even the job itself.
Manager was a sunny woman with short brown hair and a big smile. She too wore heals, making us both stand out like sore thumbs. Getting me with a big smile she led me back to her office, which was right next to the O.R. As I followed her I saw the surgeons, tall strong men walking past me in blue scrubs, the Nurses, also in blue scrubs but had cute scrub caps. Manager knew all their names, and they knew hers. We sat in the office for about two minutes before she led me back to the inpatient unit. As we got to the unit she introduced me to two of the staff. I smiled and shook their hands politely, curious as to how many other potential aides had been introduced to them today. The rest of the venture around the Orthopaedic center with Manager went well and she requested I leave at least three of the four resumes I brought with her.
On the way out she told me that she would call me tomorrow, and then mentioned that I need to let my employer know that I got this job. I smiled and used all my energy to hold back the dance I wanted to do.
When I got home that afternoon I was met by my brother who had beaten me home by about five minutes. He asked how my interview went. As I started to make some food for the both of us I went over the details of the day, finally ending the story and both of us sitting quietly.
“Are you okay?” He asked me, looking quite serious. I paused, biting my lip.
“No.” I said honestly. “But I will be.” He nodded and shifted uncomfortably on the stool he was sitting on. “I have to face the fact that he is never coming back. All of his stuff is gone. All of it.” I paused as I sat down on a bar stool also and we began to eat. “He didn’t want to work it out. So I got to clean up this mess before it gets worse.” Taking a bite of the Mac ‘n’ cheese I made I sighed and shook my head. “89 freakin’ days.”
I looked up to see what stood before me, the building is beautiful, apparently new and state-of-the-art and was easy on the eyes as I sat staring at it. Something in the back of my mind hinted that this building was more than just another fancy building, but I could not figure out what it was. After a moment it hit me.
It was when I was fifteen years old, if that, and was with my dad as we drove up to Huntsman to visit my aunt. Road work prevented us from getting up there in a timely matter so my dad made an early turn and headed up the hill. We were talking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Ignoring his question I asked him what ‘Orthopedics’ was, reading the sign as we passed it. My dad explained that it was a profession of medicine that studied muscles and joints. I sat back in my seat and thought about it, about casting, and physical therapy and surgery, then smiled and told him I wanted to work in ‘Orthopedics’. He laughed and made a wise crack about my grades, but when I returned to school the following week I was determined.
I had thirty minutes til my interview and could not wait any longer to get into the building, so I locked up my 86’ Volkswagen Jetta and headed in, feeling completely out of place as my heels clicked against the tile. Physical Therapists and patients alike turned heads, all apparently disapproving my choice in footwear.
The second floor was all clinics and I walked into the elevator as I had done before, pressing the ‘1’ button that would lead me down to the surgical floor. As I rode by myself I started to feel my heart race. The elevator dinged and the door slid open, releasing an aroma I knew I was in love with, the smell of sterile, clean, bloody, gory surgery.
Checking my watch I knew I had time to burn, so I called my mom and tried to shoot the bull with her, instead questions about my feelings from yesterday came up. I grew quiet, not wanting to talk about it.
“Did you remember to buy Halloween candy?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Yes I did.” She replied, catching on. “Have a good interview.”
Walking into the surgical lobby I walked confidently up to the front desk and told them I was here for an interview. They told me that Manager would be right up and I sat down, holding my head high. Being a person who believes in signs I felt like the stars were aligning for me, the timing, the building, and even the job itself.
Manager was a sunny woman with short brown hair and a big smile. She too wore heals, making us both stand out like sore thumbs. Getting me with a big smile she led me back to her office, which was right next to the O.R. As I followed her I saw the surgeons, tall strong men walking past me in blue scrubs, the Nurses, also in blue scrubs but had cute scrub caps. Manager knew all their names, and they knew hers. We sat in the office for about two minutes before she led me back to the inpatient unit. As we got to the unit she introduced me to two of the staff. I smiled and shook their hands politely, curious as to how many other potential aides had been introduced to them today. The rest of the venture around the Orthopaedic center with Manager went well and she requested I leave at least three of the four resumes I brought with her.
On the way out she told me that she would call me tomorrow, and then mentioned that I need to let my employer know that I got this job. I smiled and used all my energy to hold back the dance I wanted to do.
When I got home that afternoon I was met by my brother who had beaten me home by about five minutes. He asked how my interview went. As I started to make some food for the both of us I went over the details of the day, finally ending the story and both of us sitting quietly.
“Are you okay?” He asked me, looking quite serious. I paused, biting my lip.
“No.” I said honestly. “But I will be.” He nodded and shifted uncomfortably on the stool he was sitting on. “I have to face the fact that he is never coming back. All of his stuff is gone. All of it.” I paused as I sat down on a bar stool also and we began to eat. “He didn’t want to work it out. So I got to clean up this mess before it gets worse.” Taking a bite of the Mac ‘n’ cheese I made I sighed and shook my head. “89 freakin’ days.”
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Healing on the Worst Day -
Lately I have been working on what I hope will one day be a book. Since I've got nothin good to report, I figured I would post this for your pleasure and feedback. Enjoy!
_______________
I had found him the car and helped him finance it. My mother and I had helped clean it up and destroyed the smell of cigarettes from the upholstery, my father had taken him to teach him how to drive a stick shift. Now that little red car was sitting in our drive way full of his belongings and he stormed past me multiple times, cramming even more of his stuff in it. Watching, I felt numb, unsure of what to do, how to react. There was no manual for this part, no instructions, no in case of emergency back up plan. There was only me watching what was supposed to be the rest of my life walk away.
As he slammed the trunk shut he snarled at me, apparently disgusted at the mere sight of me. I looked to the ground and had only one thought enter my head. ‘Give him one last hug, you know you are the better person, do it so that you have no regrets later in life.’ I followed my gut and approached him, giving him one, quick last hug. He stepped into the car and quickly took off, barely missing one of the neighbors kids on their tricycle as he sped down the road.
I don't know how long I stood there before I realized that my brother had appeared next to me and had put a hand on my back. I kept standing there, not sure what to do, not sure how to feel. I waited for the rush of emotions that I knew were coming, but they never did. The cold October wind sent a gust through our little neighborhood and I sighed, feeling goose bumps cover my body.
“Dani, you need to come inside,” My brother said, grabbing at my arm. “It is freezing out here.” I looked to him and tried not to cry as I studied his face. Nodding I started inside and headed back downstairs to what once was my basement apartment.
Sitting cautiously on the stairs I looked at the mess that was once my life. Clothes were scattered from the bedroom to the living room, movies and CD’s had been thrown across the room. Blankets that were folded an hour before now covered even more damage and more misplaced items that had been strewn around during his rage. All I could do was stare as the numb feeling blanketed me, protecting me from my own emotions.
After thirty minutes I stood and picked up the first item, it was my stethoscope. I hugged it to my chest as I walked over all the other items and then found my way to my bed. I dug into a pile that was once my neat closet and found an old pair of scrubs and put them on. Once warm enough and emotionally strong enough I turned on my radio and began to pick up the pieces of my now broken life.
As the afternoon progressed my parents came home from work. My brother having told them what had happened they sat on the stairs, watching me. We didn’t speak. I could smell dinner cooking on the stove, but I had no interest in it. My dad put on one of my favorite movies and turned the volume up loud, hoping to entice me to watch it with them. Instead I began to rearrange the furniture in my bedroom, pushing the dresser around.
The sound of a siren that was my ring tone cried out and I uneasily grabbed my phone and answered it. “Hello?” I asked, feeling quite apprehensive.
“Is this Dani?” I heard a friendly voice say from the other end.
“This is.” I replied.
“Hi Dani, my name is a Manager from the Hospital.”
“Hi…” I said, feeling my voice start to shake as I began my dig for a pen.
“I interviewed with you last week.” She said, wasting no time. “And I understand you cannot work the job I interviewed you for, but would you come in again tomorrow for a interview as a CNA?” She asked. “The job just literally opened up and I think you would be great at it!”
I stopped. “Of course!” I said, trying to sound as excited as I felt. I was ecstatic, thrilled, in shock. The conversation flowed well, I got the address and information I needed and we hung up the phone. I laid on my bed and sighed, looking up to the ceiling.
When I finally had the strength to sit up I jumped as my little brother walked into the room and flopped down on the bed next to me, a risky move on his part. At any moment I could burst into flame, animal form or even simply acting as a bitch, yet he looked danger in the eye and entered anyways, a move I was glad he made. “Who was that?” He asked.
“A gal from the Hospital .” I said, smiling a little bit. He smiled and put up a hand, I high-fived him. “I have a job interview tomorrow.” I said.
“Cool!” He said sitting up. I then sighed and nodded. “What?”
“I can’t move my dresser.” I said sheepishly. He stood and threw a shoulder into it and it began to slide easily across the carpet. I admired my little brother because he helped me, not only with the dresser, but the bed and with putting the clothing in high places.
At seventeen my brother stood almost five inches taller than me, the 5’1 nineteen year old. He had the same sandy blond hair and I did and same blue eyes, but had taken after our dad when it came to his nose and jaw line. He smiled at me as I finished putting the fresh sheets on my bed. Without saying a word, and without complaining about my taste in music he helped me put everything away and got my room re-organized. When it was done I smiled, taking in a small breath of the fresh smell.
“Thank you.” I said, throwing my arms around him.
“Your welcome,” He whispered, embracing me, “Now will you please come eat dinner already so mom can quit griping about it?” I chuckled and nodded, then sat down and forced myself to eat something.
It was 10:30 by the time I got done eating, and my parents had already gone to bed, both not wanting to take on the beast quite yet. I grabbed a blanket and turned on Discovery Health, and without saying a word my night was spent watching reruns of ‘Trauma; Life in the ER’ with my little brother.
As we watched he did imitations of famous actors and how they would react if they were doctors in the show. Before too long I was holding back tears and laughing to an impersonation of Sean Connery dealing with a car accident
I always knew family was important, I had always loved my family, but it wasn't until that moment that I realized that my family 'gets' me better than I think they do. They understand how I tick enough to understand how to let me heal, and that, is honorable.
_______________
I had found him the car and helped him finance it. My mother and I had helped clean it up and destroyed the smell of cigarettes from the upholstery, my father had taken him to teach him how to drive a stick shift. Now that little red car was sitting in our drive way full of his belongings and he stormed past me multiple times, cramming even more of his stuff in it. Watching, I felt numb, unsure of what to do, how to react. There was no manual for this part, no instructions, no in case of emergency back up plan. There was only me watching what was supposed to be the rest of my life walk away.
As he slammed the trunk shut he snarled at me, apparently disgusted at the mere sight of me. I looked to the ground and had only one thought enter my head. ‘Give him one last hug, you know you are the better person, do it so that you have no regrets later in life.’ I followed my gut and approached him, giving him one, quick last hug. He stepped into the car and quickly took off, barely missing one of the neighbors kids on their tricycle as he sped down the road.
I don't know how long I stood there before I realized that my brother had appeared next to me and had put a hand on my back. I kept standing there, not sure what to do, not sure how to feel. I waited for the rush of emotions that I knew were coming, but they never did. The cold October wind sent a gust through our little neighborhood and I sighed, feeling goose bumps cover my body.
“Dani, you need to come inside,” My brother said, grabbing at my arm. “It is freezing out here.” I looked to him and tried not to cry as I studied his face. Nodding I started inside and headed back downstairs to what once was my basement apartment.
Sitting cautiously on the stairs I looked at the mess that was once my life. Clothes were scattered from the bedroom to the living room, movies and CD’s had been thrown across the room. Blankets that were folded an hour before now covered even more damage and more misplaced items that had been strewn around during his rage. All I could do was stare as the numb feeling blanketed me, protecting me from my own emotions.
After thirty minutes I stood and picked up the first item, it was my stethoscope. I hugged it to my chest as I walked over all the other items and then found my way to my bed. I dug into a pile that was once my neat closet and found an old pair of scrubs and put them on. Once warm enough and emotionally strong enough I turned on my radio and began to pick up the pieces of my now broken life.
As the afternoon progressed my parents came home from work. My brother having told them what had happened they sat on the stairs, watching me. We didn’t speak. I could smell dinner cooking on the stove, but I had no interest in it. My dad put on one of my favorite movies and turned the volume up loud, hoping to entice me to watch it with them. Instead I began to rearrange the furniture in my bedroom, pushing the dresser around.
The sound of a siren that was my ring tone cried out and I uneasily grabbed my phone and answered it. “Hello?” I asked, feeling quite apprehensive.
“Is this Dani?” I heard a friendly voice say from the other end.
“This is.” I replied.
“Hi Dani, my name is a Manager from the Hospital.”
“Hi…” I said, feeling my voice start to shake as I began my dig for a pen.
“I interviewed with you last week.” She said, wasting no time. “And I understand you cannot work the job I interviewed you for, but would you come in again tomorrow for a interview as a CNA?” She asked. “The job just literally opened up and I think you would be great at it!”
I stopped. “Of course!” I said, trying to sound as excited as I felt. I was ecstatic, thrilled, in shock. The conversation flowed well, I got the address and information I needed and we hung up the phone. I laid on my bed and sighed, looking up to the ceiling.
When I finally had the strength to sit up I jumped as my little brother walked into the room and flopped down on the bed next to me, a risky move on his part. At any moment I could burst into flame, animal form or even simply acting as a bitch, yet he looked danger in the eye and entered anyways, a move I was glad he made. “Who was that?” He asked.
“A gal from the Hospital .” I said, smiling a little bit. He smiled and put up a hand, I high-fived him. “I have a job interview tomorrow.” I said.
“Cool!” He said sitting up. I then sighed and nodded. “What?”
“I can’t move my dresser.” I said sheepishly. He stood and threw a shoulder into it and it began to slide easily across the carpet. I admired my little brother because he helped me, not only with the dresser, but the bed and with putting the clothing in high places.
At seventeen my brother stood almost five inches taller than me, the 5’1 nineteen year old. He had the same sandy blond hair and I did and same blue eyes, but had taken after our dad when it came to his nose and jaw line. He smiled at me as I finished putting the fresh sheets on my bed. Without saying a word, and without complaining about my taste in music he helped me put everything away and got my room re-organized. When it was done I smiled, taking in a small breath of the fresh smell.
“Thank you.” I said, throwing my arms around him.
“Your welcome,” He whispered, embracing me, “Now will you please come eat dinner already so mom can quit griping about it?” I chuckled and nodded, then sat down and forced myself to eat something.
It was 10:30 by the time I got done eating, and my parents had already gone to bed, both not wanting to take on the beast quite yet. I grabbed a blanket and turned on Discovery Health, and without saying a word my night was spent watching reruns of ‘Trauma; Life in the ER’ with my little brother.
As we watched he did imitations of famous actors and how they would react if they were doctors in the show. Before too long I was holding back tears and laughing to an impersonation of Sean Connery dealing with a car accident
I always knew family was important, I had always loved my family, but it wasn't until that moment that I realized that my family 'gets' me better than I think they do. They understand how I tick enough to understand how to let me heal, and that, is honorable.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Officer Bubba and Creative Non-Fiction
"Stop, stop, stop!" The teacher said placing a hand in the air and looking at me coldly. I stopped reading aloud and looked up from my paper, confused as to why I was asked to stop.
"What is it?" I asked, setting my paper down.
"Your writing is way too morbid." She said. I stopped and tilted my head, trying to figure out what she was talking about, I had written about a bike crash, no blood, just a shoulder dislocation, and how sad it was. The essay hadn't even gotten to the dislocation yet, so far it was all technical BMX writing.
"How so?" I asked, trying to figure out what she meant.
"Next essay please." She called out.
I think I'll be in trouble, my 'This I Believe' Essay was on 'How bilateral 14g IV's in the antecubital will solve ANY fake emergency from the homeless shelter.' That one, is admittedly more gory, as well as harsh!
In other news, we had the Officer start school this week! He was VERY excited to get his uniforms, some of his equipment as well as his ungodly heavy textbooks. So far he is loving it, but I'll ask that one again in a few weeks!
"What is it?" I asked, setting my paper down.
"Your writing is way too morbid." She said. I stopped and tilted my head, trying to figure out what she was talking about, I had written about a bike crash, no blood, just a shoulder dislocation, and how sad it was. The essay hadn't even gotten to the dislocation yet, so far it was all technical BMX writing.
"How so?" I asked, trying to figure out what she meant.
"Next essay please." She called out.
I think I'll be in trouble, my 'This I Believe' Essay was on 'How bilateral 14g IV's in the antecubital will solve ANY fake emergency from the homeless shelter.' That one, is admittedly more gory, as well as harsh!
In other news, we had the Officer start school this week! He was VERY excited to get his uniforms, some of his equipment as well as his ungodly heavy textbooks. So far he is loving it, but I'll ask that one again in a few weeks!
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Some Things Just Don't Make Sense
Like why Discovery Health plays baby TV all day, and Trauma shows all night. At one point it said it was to cater to the appropriate people, but don't most cool Traumas happen at night? So then you would play it all day!
Or like why random shots of pain just appear and disappear; thoracic, pelvis, lumbar region, neck, ribs and shoulders. Not so random, but when they show up in odd places for hours at a time they obtain that claim.
Or like why random shots of pain just appear and disappear; thoracic, pelvis, lumbar region, neck, ribs and shoulders. Not so random, but when they show up in odd places for hours at a time they obtain that claim.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Death- Part of the Job
A tale from Awhile Back....
___________________
The room was quiet and still as I wandered in and out, frankly it was depressing. Silence hung on the air and you could cut the tension with a knife. My footsteps echoed into the room as I walked in and out, waiting to watch for that breath of air, knowing that each breath could be her last.
I talked to her, telling her that I was going to reposition her, that we were going to do different cares for her. The other aides called me crazy. The nurse told me I didn't have to do it. Even the doctors rolled their eyes at me. I didn't care, she was a human, a person, and she deserved to know, whether unresponsive to us or not. Hearing is the last sense to go, and I was set on making sure she was taken good care of.
"What are you scared of?" One of the male aides asked me as we washed up. "Why do you keep talking to her? It doesn't matter."
"She is human dude." Was all the response I could muster. "We owe that much to her."
The night ended on a sad note, as I gave report and wanted to go into her room with the new aide, who looked so scared when I told her the diagnosis and prognosis for this patient. I strongly felt that it would be a good idea to show her who it is and what it is we are working with. She was warm and looked like she had all night, but gone.
"So, I have to do the cares?" She asked. I nodded and offered to help. She shook her head. "No. You are tired, you have been here for over 8 hours caring for her, you need to sleep because I know you and you will be up all night." I smiled softly and embraced the aide. "Just let me know how I do post-mortem care."
Just then one of the Nurses I don't completely like or trust approached us. The aide turned to her and asked her for her help doing post-mortem care. She nodded, agreed and then told us to wait for the doctors, the call, and for the HUC to begin to find the call lists and wishes from patient and family. She touched my arm. "You did good." She said, "Now please, go home." I tried to argue but she stopped me and frankly, I was too scared of her to keep arguing. As I walked away to clock out I overheard her talking to the other aide.
"This is part of the job Hun. The first time is always the worst, but it will get better, and so will your skills. If you believe in a religion or are spiritual, stick to it, because in this job we need as much of both as we can get."
___________________
The room was quiet and still as I wandered in and out, frankly it was depressing. Silence hung on the air and you could cut the tension with a knife. My footsteps echoed into the room as I walked in and out, waiting to watch for that breath of air, knowing that each breath could be her last.
I talked to her, telling her that I was going to reposition her, that we were going to do different cares for her. The other aides called me crazy. The nurse told me I didn't have to do it. Even the doctors rolled their eyes at me. I didn't care, she was a human, a person, and she deserved to know, whether unresponsive to us or not. Hearing is the last sense to go, and I was set on making sure she was taken good care of.
"What are you scared of?" One of the male aides asked me as we washed up. "Why do you keep talking to her? It doesn't matter."
"She is human dude." Was all the response I could muster. "We owe that much to her."
The night ended on a sad note, as I gave report and wanted to go into her room with the new aide, who looked so scared when I told her the diagnosis and prognosis for this patient. I strongly felt that it would be a good idea to show her who it is and what it is we are working with. She was warm and looked like she had all night, but gone.
"So, I have to do the cares?" She asked. I nodded and offered to help. She shook her head. "No. You are tired, you have been here for over 8 hours caring for her, you need to sleep because I know you and you will be up all night." I smiled softly and embraced the aide. "Just let me know how I do post-mortem care."
Just then one of the Nurses I don't completely like or trust approached us. The aide turned to her and asked her for her help doing post-mortem care. She nodded, agreed and then told us to wait for the doctors, the call, and for the HUC to begin to find the call lists and wishes from patient and family. She touched my arm. "You did good." She said, "Now please, go home." I tried to argue but she stopped me and frankly, I was too scared of her to keep arguing. As I walked away to clock out I overheard her talking to the other aide.
"This is part of the job Hun. The first time is always the worst, but it will get better, and so will your skills. If you believe in a religion or are spiritual, stick to it, because in this job we need as much of both as we can get."
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Operation.
It hasn't hit me yet. I wonder when it will hit me, or if it will until I finally decide to go with it. The entirety of it all still makes me believe that it was a dream. I am known to have vivid, colored dreams jam-packed with drama and bad news. Maybe it was just a bad dream.
The surgeon I visited for my shoulder surgery came by today and spoke with me and the nurse for a few moments. Knowing he was still here I was waiting for his patient and dismissed the thought of him being the one I needed to meet with to discuss my surgery further. As I got the supplies for a new admit ready I thought back to one of the many reasons I don't want to do the surgery yet.
___
It was six in the morning, time for residents to come by and review patient information and situation. After letting them do their rounds with their assigned patients I approached one. "You are Dr.Shoulder's resident right?" I asked.
"Yeah, what do you want?" He asked harshly, never looking up from his paperwork.
"I was wondering if you knew where I could find a shoulder stabilization brace. Preferably one made out of neoprene. Does that have to be written as a prescription or-"
"What the hell makes you think you need one of those?" He asked harshly looking up to me. "You don't need one." He said and returned to his paperwork. Angry I stepped towards him and put my hand on his chart. My pulse raced, my adrenaline began flowing through my veins and my mind was geared on one thing.
"Dr.Shoulder told me I need a shoulder stabilization procedure. I cannot have this surgery done. I need a frickin' brace so that when I get your patient out of bed I wont injure them or myself further. You gonna help me or you gonna be an ass?" I snarled, feeling my orneriness taking over. He slammed the chart shut and walked off. He decided he was going to be an ass .
____
As I heard the voices of Nurse California and Dr. Shoulder I stopped and smiled, saying a quiet hello.
"Yeah, Nurse Cali, I agree, she needs it done soon so that she can be more beneficial as an aide, but it will also improve quality of life." He said, almost an exact quote from what he had told me when I sat in his office. They both looked to me as they leaned against the Nurses station.
"You need that shoulder surgery." She said, giving me a knowing look. I smiled and felt guilty for not even trying to pursue it yet. "We are gonna help you figure out a time when you can do it."
As I looked at the calendar and tried to plan out dates and times and how exactly to make this happen I kept letting my mind wander. It is something I have learned to live with. It is something that is a part of my life now, and I have adapted to it. Not even the MRI and the Xrays have let me know that it is real, and at this point I am positive I won't be feeling reality until I am in a gown going under TIVA.
Sometimes being young and naive isn't as awesome as we all believe it to be. This is one of those cases I wish I was more grown up and could handle this like one.
How can I make it more real? And how can I convince myself that I need to do this, and soon, before I shred it up even more?
The surgeon I visited for my shoulder surgery came by today and spoke with me and the nurse for a few moments. Knowing he was still here I was waiting for his patient and dismissed the thought of him being the one I needed to meet with to discuss my surgery further. As I got the supplies for a new admit ready I thought back to one of the many reasons I don't want to do the surgery yet.
___
It was six in the morning, time for residents to come by and review patient information and situation. After letting them do their rounds with their assigned patients I approached one. "You are Dr.Shoulder's resident right?" I asked.
"Yeah, what do you want?" He asked harshly, never looking up from his paperwork.
"I was wondering if you knew where I could find a shoulder stabilization brace. Preferably one made out of neoprene. Does that have to be written as a prescription or-"
"What the hell makes you think you need one of those?" He asked harshly looking up to me. "You don't need one." He said and returned to his paperwork. Angry I stepped towards him and put my hand on his chart. My pulse raced, my adrenaline began flowing through my veins and my mind was geared on one thing.
"Dr.Shoulder told me I need a shoulder stabilization procedure. I cannot have this surgery done. I need a frickin' brace so that when I get your patient out of bed I wont injure them or myself further. You gonna help me or you gonna be an ass?" I snarled, feeling my orneriness taking over. He slammed the chart shut and walked off. He decided he was going to be an ass .
____
As I heard the voices of Nurse California and Dr. Shoulder I stopped and smiled, saying a quiet hello.
"Yeah, Nurse Cali, I agree, she needs it done soon so that she can be more beneficial as an aide, but it will also improve quality of life." He said, almost an exact quote from what he had told me when I sat in his office. They both looked to me as they leaned against the Nurses station.
"You need that shoulder surgery." She said, giving me a knowing look. I smiled and felt guilty for not even trying to pursue it yet. "We are gonna help you figure out a time when you can do it."
As I looked at the calendar and tried to plan out dates and times and how exactly to make this happen I kept letting my mind wander. It is something I have learned to live with. It is something that is a part of my life now, and I have adapted to it. Not even the MRI and the Xrays have let me know that it is real, and at this point I am positive I won't be feeling reality until I am in a gown going under TIVA.
Sometimes being young and naive isn't as awesome as we all believe it to be. This is one of those cases I wish I was more grown up and could handle this like one.
How can I make it more real? And how can I convince myself that I need to do this, and soon, before I shred it up even more?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
A Personal Favorite
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLqMFsoqe1I
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbSC83Y27Y4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nM5zi_tnzfU
These are clips from my favorite movie, Elizabethtown. I loved this collection by the other fans.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbSC83Y27Y4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nM5zi_tnzfU
These are clips from my favorite movie, Elizabethtown. I loved this collection by the other fans.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Reminder
This semester I am taking a 'Creative Non-Fiction' course to hone in on my writing skills while going to Paramedic school is on hold. The class is very interesting. My classmates are all English majors, almost all of whom had no idea that schooling was needed to be a 'Paramedic.' When I told them that was my major at my transfer college I laughed as jaws dropped and a kid called me out on it.
"I wasn't born yesterday, 'Paramedic' isn't a major." He said. I laughed and logged onto a computer and pulled up several colleges that offer it. Quietly, he sat back down and avoided eye contact with me as I held a proud smirk on my face.
My teacher then went over the syllabus, over the instructions and over the most important detail. "You cannot fictionalize anything!" She said loudly to the class. No one said anything and the gears began to churn in my mind. My hand shot up.
"What about HIPPA?" I asked. Another kid tried to convince me that HIPPA didn't apply when your writing about it, because by the time you write about it, its over. She also tried to convince me that HIPPA doesn't apply to EMT's or Paramedics, and that I had nothing to worry about. It is too early to decide, but I think I am going to fail this class because of HIPPA laws.
I posted this because I wanted to remind my readers that while I am an EMT, I am a CNA, I do have laws that say I cannot post the true stories, so while some of this is made up, there is also some that isn't. As the notice in the sidebar states, names, dates, locations, and even diagnoses' are changed to protect the patient. Remember, we are patient advocates and our paying job is to help the patient. Our hobby is this, and we have to remember where the line is drawn.
"I wasn't born yesterday, 'Paramedic' isn't a major." He said. I laughed and logged onto a computer and pulled up several colleges that offer it. Quietly, he sat back down and avoided eye contact with me as I held a proud smirk on my face.
My teacher then went over the syllabus, over the instructions and over the most important detail. "You cannot fictionalize anything!" She said loudly to the class. No one said anything and the gears began to churn in my mind. My hand shot up.
"What about HIPPA?" I asked. Another kid tried to convince me that HIPPA didn't apply when your writing about it, because by the time you write about it, its over. She also tried to convince me that HIPPA doesn't apply to EMT's or Paramedics, and that I had nothing to worry about. It is too early to decide, but I think I am going to fail this class because of HIPPA laws.
I posted this because I wanted to remind my readers that while I am an EMT, I am a CNA, I do have laws that say I cannot post the true stories, so while some of this is made up, there is also some that isn't. As the notice in the sidebar states, names, dates, locations, and even diagnoses' are changed to protect the patient. Remember, we are patient advocates and our paying job is to help the patient. Our hobby is this, and we have to remember where the line is drawn.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Burning out
We burn out quickly in medicine. We work out asses off and for what? Crappy pay, long hours and feeling emotionally raped at the end of the day. Bad eating habits, weird sleep schedules and health problems, and we are expected to stay happy.
Lately the thrill of the job isn't there anymore. The medicine doesn't excite me like it once did. Maybe I am in a short temporary rut, or maybe I am burning out. I hope I am not.
I sat down with a good friend for lunch today, an EMT-I who has been one of my best friends for years. As we sat down we started with the gruesome battle tales, the long nights in the ER, our own injuries and illnesses, and jokes about the 'swine flu' cases we have seen. As the conversation continued there was an awkward silence as he played with his drink, then quietly admitted that it wasn't as fun for him anymore. I watched him as he tried to describe what he is going through, but the right words didn't seem to come.
"Hell Dani, I dunno anymore."
"How the hell can't you not know anymore?" I asked in return.
"Its just not fun anymore." He said, flipping his cup around. I stared out the window, trying to think of anything inspirational to say. He said nothing and we sat in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. Finally something came to me.
"You cannot be burned out. You are twenty-frikin-one years old. You cannot be burned out yet. I won't let you be. You need to get your ass inspired again- get back in the frickin saddle and remember why you love medicine." I said, louder than I would have liked to.
"I just need a trau-" He started.
"Bull-shit!" I replied before he could finish. "You never had traumas to excite you back then." I said to him. "You find what that is and get back in that groove. You're too young to burn out, and too damn good of an EMT to get out of the game already."
We changed the subject and left our lunch on good terms, exchanging hugs and stupid EMT quotes and jokes. Before we got back in our vehicles he smiled at me, and thanked me. As I nodded and began to leave he started again. "Dani, that may have been what I needed to get back in the saddle. Thank you."
We don't always get to save lives, but it makes the same amount of difference if we change them. I'm glad we try to do both.
Lately the thrill of the job isn't there anymore. The medicine doesn't excite me like it once did. Maybe I am in a short temporary rut, or maybe I am burning out. I hope I am not.
I sat down with a good friend for lunch today, an EMT-I who has been one of my best friends for years. As we sat down we started with the gruesome battle tales, the long nights in the ER, our own injuries and illnesses, and jokes about the 'swine flu' cases we have seen. As the conversation continued there was an awkward silence as he played with his drink, then quietly admitted that it wasn't as fun for him anymore. I watched him as he tried to describe what he is going through, but the right words didn't seem to come.
"Hell Dani, I dunno anymore."
"How the hell can't you not know anymore?" I asked in return.
"Its just not fun anymore." He said, flipping his cup around. I stared out the window, trying to think of anything inspirational to say. He said nothing and we sat in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. Finally something came to me.
"You cannot be burned out. You are twenty-frikin-one years old. You cannot be burned out yet. I won't let you be. You need to get your ass inspired again- get back in the frickin saddle and remember why you love medicine." I said, louder than I would have liked to.
"I just need a trau-" He started.
"Bull-shit!" I replied before he could finish. "You never had traumas to excite you back then." I said to him. "You find what that is and get back in that groove. You're too young to burn out, and too damn good of an EMT to get out of the game already."
We changed the subject and left our lunch on good terms, exchanging hugs and stupid EMT quotes and jokes. Before we got back in our vehicles he smiled at me, and thanked me. As I nodded and began to leave he started again. "Dani, that may have been what I needed to get back in the saddle. Thank you."
We don't always get to save lives, but it makes the same amount of difference if we change them. I'm glad we try to do both.
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