Oxycodone and halloween don't mix. Those who dressed up threw the patients for a loop. One patient complained of seeing batman the night before and wondered who the hot flapper girl was who was passing meds. He thought it was a part of his high- when in reality, he was talking about the doctor and his nurse.
"What are you dressed up as?" The patient asked me.
"Myself." I replied, at a loss for something clever.
"Well thats not very scary." She replied.
"I'm only on an hour of sleep." I offered, trying to get her to smile.
"Still not scared." She replied. "Happy freakin halloween Dani."
Driving home today some jack-off was driving like a clown. I was on speakerphone with my fiance and told him this. As the guy pulled up next to me I burst out laughing- he was dressed as a clown also.
Happy Halloween folks- hope y'all have some fun.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Changes to the Blog and Pics!
Hey there! When it snows and its a lazy day, I always look to update my blog for you, my loyal and faithful readers. Lately I have been looking to update the blog with new headliners, photos, quotes and more- and thought that step one- the headliner turned out to be a really fun experience.
Here are the final four cuts that I created for the blog. All of these were made on microsoft paint and with NONE of the fonts I wanted- but thats life. The quote on the backdrop of the middle two are the lyrics to 'How to Save a Life' by the Fray, an amazingly inspirational song that hits home to me. The skylines are actual photos from my hometown, and were actually quite hard to find without completly giving away my position.
My favorite is the one I posted at the top, however I wanted to leave this one open to my readers. So, you can vote on which of these four headers - or none- should make the final cut when the blog changes are finished! Leave your comment below and number them 1,2,3 or 4. If there is a reason why you like it, let me know! Keep an eye out for more changes, 
posts, quotes and qips every day! I am looking forward to blogging a little bit more before they cut me open, and then after that you get to hear about all my rehab struggles! (I really do feel bad for whoever decides to keep reading during that period- It'll be boring!)
posts, quotes and qips every day! I am looking forward to blogging a little bit more before they cut me open, and then after that you get to hear about all my rehab struggles! (I really do feel bad for whoever decides to keep reading during that period- It'll be boring!)Until then readers, BSI!
Snow
Snow is beautiful- cold, and I hate it for that- but still a lovely thing to enjoy. However, drivers who think they know how to drive in snow, bug the HELL outta me!
Last night my car slid on some black ice. Why?
Well, to give you a little background on me, I was raised and taught how to drive by drivers. Growing up with parents in safety and transportation, I learned quickly how to drive CORRECTLY. I am not your typical young female driver.
Now that that has been said, let me continue.
In my neighborhood there is a roundabout. For those of you who don't know what it is, it is a circular turn. In Spain they installed all of these and then quickly removed them because of all the accidents. I am waiting for the US to catch onto this and go back to 4-way-stops there.
Last night as I was going into the roundabout I slowed down to yield for a police officer, who was going FAR too fast in that turn. His car slid, but he got it corrected and continued on. His car was heading north, I was heading south. Suddenly he lost control again as my car started to move, and was heading towards my car. Quickly, I hit the gas and tried to get out of the car's way, and ended up hitting a patch of black ice and loosing control onto the curb.
The cop didn't stop, didn't even notice, and kept speeding on. My fiance and I had to get my car un-stuck from the mud and snow. When I find that cop I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!
Last night my car slid on some black ice. Why?
Well, to give you a little background on me, I was raised and taught how to drive by drivers. Growing up with parents in safety and transportation, I learned quickly how to drive CORRECTLY. I am not your typical young female driver.
Now that that has been said, let me continue.
In my neighborhood there is a roundabout. For those of you who don't know what it is, it is a circular turn. In Spain they installed all of these and then quickly removed them because of all the accidents. I am waiting for the US to catch onto this and go back to 4-way-stops there.
Last night as I was going into the roundabout I slowed down to yield for a police officer, who was going FAR too fast in that turn. His car slid, but he got it corrected and continued on. His car was heading north, I was heading south. Suddenly he lost control again as my car started to move, and was heading towards my car. Quickly, I hit the gas and tried to get out of the car's way, and ended up hitting a patch of black ice and loosing control onto the curb.
The cop didn't stop, didn't even notice, and kept speeding on. My fiance and I had to get my car un-stuck from the mud and snow. When I find that cop I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Letter to my first Partner
Dear Em,
I can't believe it has been three years already since we graduated EMT-B class, and high school. Life has changed so drastically since then, and it's hard to believe we've come this far. Some days I wake up, wondering where the time has gone.
We were assigned as partners in our EMT-B class within the first week. Neither of us were pleased- you would have prefered one of the other girls, or even one of the cute guys in our class. You had a few friends in that class- and I was not one of them. I didn't care who my partner was, as long as it was a guy. Soon I discovered that neither one of us got along well with girls and we became excellent friends.
Training became tough, but we exchanged e-mails, phone numbers and spent nights quizzing each other via I.M. since we were so many miles apart (approx 20.). We trained hard with each other and became fearless- overcoming those stupid obstacles that everyone struggled with with ease. Anatomy and Physiology became a breeze. Those papers we had to write each semster weren't as tough for us- we both took lots of college level classes and were able to proof read them with the other. Patient assessments got done quickly and with ease, and before too long we were spending entire afternoons practicing and timing each part of a patient assessment, just to find out who did it better and faster.
When our teacher told us that we would all be good friends, I didn't believe them. I didn't believe that I could trust anyone in that room as much as I came to trust you. When I was sick, you would bring over my homework and cold meds, and I would do the same for you. We told each other crazy stories, secrets and actually were good friends. I have never had a good female friend like you, and still to this day I consider you my best friend.
I will never forget the day we both arrived to school shocked and suprised. My father and your mother actually worked together! We didn't know how to feel, scared, shocked, supried, worried, and we both knew what it meant; we couldn't get in a fight. We never did fight though, and we never argued. Simple arguements were fought like boys, spatting it out quickly, and then forgetting it.
The weekend I lost my grandfather and one of my best friends you let me cry on your shoulder. We had participated in a state EMS competition and we placed 6th. Placing 6th was both of our faults, and we both could have placed 1st. We know it. I couldn't remember all the OPQRST's in order (which the judges required of us) and you couldn't get the oxygen tank completely set up and turned on. I was depressed about the competition, I was depressed about my friend, and I was depressed about my grandfather.
I didn't go to school on Monday or Tuesday, being busy with family plans, viewings and funerals. Once I did come to class though you and Dex pulled together to get me cards and balloons. I cried seeing how sweet the two of you were. It meant the world to me that you guys did anything at all.
Graduation was sad and depressing. I was thrilled to have my EMT-B license, but I was so sad to leave all the friends that I had made. Us Basics were family, and it's hard to leave your family. As we got our certificates and patches I remember our parents having us pose together, taking the one and only picture I have of me and my first partner.
Since then we have stayed in touch. You work at a mall and I work in a hospital. You are a sorority girl who is living and loving the college life, while I took the shortcut to adulthood and is living life opposite of you. My only wish would be that we would've had more time together as EMT-B partners.
Lately you haven't responded to my text messages or my phone calls. We don't e-mail or IM anymore. We have drifted apart. But thats okay, because I can't complain. My first partner was the best partner I could have ever asked for.
Thanks for being amazing Em.
I can't believe it has been three years already since we graduated EMT-B class, and high school. Life has changed so drastically since then, and it's hard to believe we've come this far. Some days I wake up, wondering where the time has gone.
We were assigned as partners in our EMT-B class within the first week. Neither of us were pleased- you would have prefered one of the other girls, or even one of the cute guys in our class. You had a few friends in that class- and I was not one of them. I didn't care who my partner was, as long as it was a guy. Soon I discovered that neither one of us got along well with girls and we became excellent friends.
Training became tough, but we exchanged e-mails, phone numbers and spent nights quizzing each other via I.M. since we were so many miles apart (approx 20.). We trained hard with each other and became fearless- overcoming those stupid obstacles that everyone struggled with with ease. Anatomy and Physiology became a breeze. Those papers we had to write each semster weren't as tough for us- we both took lots of college level classes and were able to proof read them with the other. Patient assessments got done quickly and with ease, and before too long we were spending entire afternoons practicing and timing each part of a patient assessment, just to find out who did it better and faster.
When our teacher told us that we would all be good friends, I didn't believe them. I didn't believe that I could trust anyone in that room as much as I came to trust you. When I was sick, you would bring over my homework and cold meds, and I would do the same for you. We told each other crazy stories, secrets and actually were good friends. I have never had a good female friend like you, and still to this day I consider you my best friend.
I will never forget the day we both arrived to school shocked and suprised. My father and your mother actually worked together! We didn't know how to feel, scared, shocked, supried, worried, and we both knew what it meant; we couldn't get in a fight. We never did fight though, and we never argued. Simple arguements were fought like boys, spatting it out quickly, and then forgetting it.
The weekend I lost my grandfather and one of my best friends you let me cry on your shoulder. We had participated in a state EMS competition and we placed 6th. Placing 6th was both of our faults, and we both could have placed 1st. We know it. I couldn't remember all the OPQRST's in order (which the judges required of us) and you couldn't get the oxygen tank completely set up and turned on. I was depressed about the competition, I was depressed about my friend, and I was depressed about my grandfather.
I didn't go to school on Monday or Tuesday, being busy with family plans, viewings and funerals. Once I did come to class though you and Dex pulled together to get me cards and balloons. I cried seeing how sweet the two of you were. It meant the world to me that you guys did anything at all.
Graduation was sad and depressing. I was thrilled to have my EMT-B license, but I was so sad to leave all the friends that I had made. Us Basics were family, and it's hard to leave your family. As we got our certificates and patches I remember our parents having us pose together, taking the one and only picture I have of me and my first partner.
Since then we have stayed in touch. You work at a mall and I work in a hospital. You are a sorority girl who is living and loving the college life, while I took the shortcut to adulthood and is living life opposite of you. My only wish would be that we would've had more time together as EMT-B partners.
Lately you haven't responded to my text messages or my phone calls. We don't e-mail or IM anymore. We have drifted apart. But thats okay, because I can't complain. My first partner was the best partner I could have ever asked for.
Thanks for being amazing Em.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Ick. Sick.
Wish there was anything worthwhile to report medibloggers, but alas, I am ill. Going to the doctor tomorrow after a long week of feeling like crap. Here is hoping I am a wuss- but then again- I'm the girl who busted her collarbone and didn't know it.
How is everyone else doing?
How is everyone else doing?
Saturday, October 24, 2009
I Still Don't Get the Bird Reference...
But I became a member of Twitter!
Follow me under the username EMTDani to hear about my everyday woes and battles with patients, family, friends and colleagues. I am still figuring it out, but my phone came with a handy widget for it, and I have since fallen in love with the idea!
Thanks guys!
Follow me under the username EMTDani to hear about my everyday woes and battles with patients, family, friends and colleagues. I am still figuring it out, but my phone came with a handy widget for it, and I have since fallen in love with the idea!
Thanks guys!
Level 6.2 Care
EMS 2.0 is taking off in an amazing whirlwind around the medic blogospheres. It's amazing how a simple idea is going above and beyond. I have loved reading about this great idea and about how we as EMT's plan to change health care for the better.
The CEO of my hospital sends out many e-mails, most of which I don't read. I must have been exceptionally bored or in a go-getter mood because I read one of them today that talked about level 5 care in a hospital setting. All I could think about was 'what on earth is level 5 care supposed to mean?' and 'I thought we were a level 1 trauma center- is level 5 care good or bad!?' So I did some research in and around all the hospitals in my state. The scale is 1-5, the lower your score the worse you are. Aiming for level 5 is aiming for the highest. This got me thinking.
During nurses week we had a comment on our poster that said 'thanks for the level 5 care.' Another scribbled message said 'enough of this level 5 crap- I got level 6.2 care here!'
That poster is still sitting in the hallway, staring us down, reminding us why we do what we do. I have no idea what level 6.2 means, but it's much better than level 5!
So folks, I am issuing another challenge to us all. Let's all give level 6.2 care.
The standards that all the hospitals I looked up had in common were:
1. Compassion: As stated in yesterdays post, I am the first to admit that sometimes I am not as compassionate as I need or want to be. Let's all try to genuinely listen to our patients, knowing that everyone lies, but acting towards them as if this rule never existed. Synonyms of the word compassion are; sympathy, empathy, heartfelt and caring. All traits we should work on.
2.Responsibility: Being on the bottom of the food chain is easy. Being at the top is hard. Either way we are loaded with responsibilities for another human life, and sometimes its a life we aren't fond of. It's easy to love your child and care for them, but it is very hard to have a psych patient and keep calm around them. Stepping up is the hardest, biggest thing any of us in a hospital can do, and its a rare occurrence when anyone does it. I personally am vowing to always do my glucometer checks, fridge checks and take the equipment out of the rooms on Friday nights, even though that's not my job to do.
3.Diversity: Everywhere I go there is little to no diversity. I live in a VERY white state, and I am not just talking about snow and minerals here, I mean to tell you that in my high school there were roughly 2500 students. 300 were Hispanic and 5 were African American. That leaves 2295 white kids. Diversity comes in many different packages, in skin color, in religion, in political beliefs and so many other ways. It wasn't until I got my second job that I got to dealing with different kinds of people. Until then I had never met anyone who spoke Somalian, Iranian, dialects of Chinese and heaven only knows how many other languages. I had never seen anyone wear a turban in real life and thought that I would see so many different forms of religion through clothing choices. Each day I see and learn more and more about the world I live in, but I cannot become a better health care professional if I don't try to learn. Let's all try to talk to our patients about their lives, their beliefs and themselves, which will not only lead to better care, but more comfortable relationships with their caregivers.
4.Quality: When we play the alphabet game we always look for this word, and are always so sadly disappointed when it becomes a hard word to find. It's a hard word to find because its a rare thing for anyone to have or to give. Quality. We work in a devastating field. People who should live, die. Children get incurable diseases. Families are torn apart. We see this happening right before our eyes, so who am I to ask you to give more quality of care? I know I'm asking for alot. But the patients deserve it.
Whether it be giving a patient an extra can of soda, or taking five minutes to help them apply some lotion to their back, the little things are the things that our patients like the most. I am vowing to take 5 minutes of free time on shift to spend with each patient, talking with them, fetching them odds and ends, even straightening up their rooms for them. I am vowing to hold more hands, pass more tissues, sit at more bedsides and to listen to more stories. If I was a patient that person would be a quality aide, and that is who I want to become.
5.Trust: We work with them from anywhere between 4-16 hours. We may or may not see them again the next shift we have. There is no consistency in the hospital, but we can still gain trust with a patient. Trust is an incredibly hard thing to gain, the world is full of mean, horrible people and whats worse, the media makes doctors, nurses, even aides out to be the bad guys. In television shows the nurses are the mean grumpy ones, the aides are ditzy and worthless. We need to fight barriers to gain a patients trust. I have no idea, no advice and no words of wisdom as to how to accomplish this, I just hope that as level 6.2. care givers we can.
I am taking a vow to be a better caregiver and to do a better job. To focus more on my patients and to see what we can do to not only save a life, but to change a life.
If you're with me, leave me a comment and set yourself a goal as well. We may be thousands of miles apart, but that doesn't mean that we can make a difference inside the hospital while these Paramedics are making a difference on the streets.
The CEO of my hospital sends out many e-mails, most of which I don't read. I must have been exceptionally bored or in a go-getter mood because I read one of them today that talked about level 5 care in a hospital setting. All I could think about was 'what on earth is level 5 care supposed to mean?' and 'I thought we were a level 1 trauma center- is level 5 care good or bad!?' So I did some research in and around all the hospitals in my state. The scale is 1-5, the lower your score the worse you are. Aiming for level 5 is aiming for the highest. This got me thinking.
During nurses week we had a comment on our poster that said 'thanks for the level 5 care.' Another scribbled message said 'enough of this level 5 crap- I got level 6.2 care here!'
That poster is still sitting in the hallway, staring us down, reminding us why we do what we do. I have no idea what level 6.2 means, but it's much better than level 5!
So folks, I am issuing another challenge to us all. Let's all give level 6.2 care.
The standards that all the hospitals I looked up had in common were:
1. Compassion: As stated in yesterdays post, I am the first to admit that sometimes I am not as compassionate as I need or want to be. Let's all try to genuinely listen to our patients, knowing that everyone lies, but acting towards them as if this rule never existed. Synonyms of the word compassion are; sympathy, empathy, heartfelt and caring. All traits we should work on.
2.Responsibility: Being on the bottom of the food chain is easy. Being at the top is hard. Either way we are loaded with responsibilities for another human life, and sometimes its a life we aren't fond of. It's easy to love your child and care for them, but it is very hard to have a psych patient and keep calm around them. Stepping up is the hardest, biggest thing any of us in a hospital can do, and its a rare occurrence when anyone does it. I personally am vowing to always do my glucometer checks, fridge checks and take the equipment out of the rooms on Friday nights, even though that's not my job to do.
3.Diversity: Everywhere I go there is little to no diversity. I live in a VERY white state, and I am not just talking about snow and minerals here, I mean to tell you that in my high school there were roughly 2500 students. 300 were Hispanic and 5 were African American. That leaves 2295 white kids. Diversity comes in many different packages, in skin color, in religion, in political beliefs and so many other ways. It wasn't until I got my second job that I got to dealing with different kinds of people. Until then I had never met anyone who spoke Somalian, Iranian, dialects of Chinese and heaven only knows how many other languages. I had never seen anyone wear a turban in real life and thought that I would see so many different forms of religion through clothing choices. Each day I see and learn more and more about the world I live in, but I cannot become a better health care professional if I don't try to learn. Let's all try to talk to our patients about their lives, their beliefs and themselves, which will not only lead to better care, but more comfortable relationships with their caregivers.
4.Quality: When we play the alphabet game we always look for this word, and are always so sadly disappointed when it becomes a hard word to find. It's a hard word to find because its a rare thing for anyone to have or to give. Quality. We work in a devastating field. People who should live, die. Children get incurable diseases. Families are torn apart. We see this happening right before our eyes, so who am I to ask you to give more quality of care? I know I'm asking for alot. But the patients deserve it.
Whether it be giving a patient an extra can of soda, or taking five minutes to help them apply some lotion to their back, the little things are the things that our patients like the most. I am vowing to take 5 minutes of free time on shift to spend with each patient, talking with them, fetching them odds and ends, even straightening up their rooms for them. I am vowing to hold more hands, pass more tissues, sit at more bedsides and to listen to more stories. If I was a patient that person would be a quality aide, and that is who I want to become.
5.Trust: We work with them from anywhere between 4-16 hours. We may or may not see them again the next shift we have. There is no consistency in the hospital, but we can still gain trust with a patient. Trust is an incredibly hard thing to gain, the world is full of mean, horrible people and whats worse, the media makes doctors, nurses, even aides out to be the bad guys. In television shows the nurses are the mean grumpy ones, the aides are ditzy and worthless. We need to fight barriers to gain a patients trust. I have no idea, no advice and no words of wisdom as to how to accomplish this, I just hope that as level 6.2. care givers we can.
I am taking a vow to be a better caregiver and to do a better job. To focus more on my patients and to see what we can do to not only save a life, but to change a life.
If you're with me, leave me a comment and set yourself a goal as well. We may be thousands of miles apart, but that doesn't mean that we can make a difference inside the hospital while these Paramedics are making a difference on the streets.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Depression
This week has been full of this topic, starting with my trip to the ED on Sunday night. A friend called Sunday afternoon asking questions about a visit to the emergency room about crisis evaluations and how she should know when to take her 'sister.' I answered all questions dutifully and left it at that. Knowing her family, including said sister, it was a plausible story. Three hours later she called me in tears asking to be taken in to the ED. As I stated in an earlier post, it was a long night and by law I had to take her in. It's not the same scenario if you call the cops, and I knew calling in the cops wouldn't help her. So, we loaded up the car and took her to whichever hospital she chose.
It ended up being mine.
Because my hospital is the only level 1 Trauma center around, we got the joys of sitting out on a gurney in the hallway until they could find time for a measly crisis evaluation. GSW's to the face, stabbings, heart attacks, MVA's and MCI's rolled past us from the helicopter pad. I tried to be supportive to this person who I sat with, but we weren't that close and I wanted to see these traumas.
Because of what happened Sunday night I think I caught something from a patient in the ED, because I got sick. However, when I am down I have time to think about things. One thing I got to thinking about was depression.
During report today I caught myself rolling my eyes and sighing, making a comment similar to 'everyone has depression and anxiety'. It was wrong of me to say. I shouldnt've said it, i shouldnt've thought it. But when we work in medicine we seem to overlook that diagnosis. We seem to look for anything better when in reality, depression is a serious illness.
Everyone has had a down point in their life. A bad day, week, or month. A time where that damn raincloud follows them everywhere. The thing about depression is that alot of the time people don't realize they have it, and once they find out they do, they are over medicated and treated. Sometimes the treatment s appropriate other times its inappropriate. Either way, depressed people get help. That's a step.
I have sat in many 1:1's. Many suicide precautions and many depressed people. We roll our eyes at the 21 year olds who claim they don't want to live anymore, we sigh at the thirty-one year olds who are loosing their minds in a mid-life crisis. But what we don't realize is that their pain is real.
This post is not just an information post. I want to send out a challenge to everyone to quit overlooking depression. Shame on me for not watching the girl with the crisis evaluation. Shame on me for what I said. Shame on the doctors for not taking time to really look into someones depression and their medications. Shame on us, for not knowing enough about this totally painful and out of control disorder. Let's do better y'all.
It ended up being mine.
Because my hospital is the only level 1 Trauma center around, we got the joys of sitting out on a gurney in the hallway until they could find time for a measly crisis evaluation. GSW's to the face, stabbings, heart attacks, MVA's and MCI's rolled past us from the helicopter pad. I tried to be supportive to this person who I sat with, but we weren't that close and I wanted to see these traumas.
Because of what happened Sunday night I think I caught something from a patient in the ED, because I got sick. However, when I am down I have time to think about things. One thing I got to thinking about was depression.
During report today I caught myself rolling my eyes and sighing, making a comment similar to 'everyone has depression and anxiety'. It was wrong of me to say. I shouldnt've said it, i shouldnt've thought it. But when we work in medicine we seem to overlook that diagnosis. We seem to look for anything better when in reality, depression is a serious illness.
Everyone has had a down point in their life. A bad day, week, or month. A time where that damn raincloud follows them everywhere. The thing about depression is that alot of the time people don't realize they have it, and once they find out they do, they are over medicated and treated. Sometimes the treatment s appropriate other times its inappropriate. Either way, depressed people get help. That's a step.
I have sat in many 1:1's. Many suicide precautions and many depressed people. We roll our eyes at the 21 year olds who claim they don't want to live anymore, we sigh at the thirty-one year olds who are loosing their minds in a mid-life crisis. But what we don't realize is that their pain is real.
This post is not just an information post. I want to send out a challenge to everyone to quit overlooking depression. Shame on me for not watching the girl with the crisis evaluation. Shame on me for what I said. Shame on the doctors for not taking time to really look into someones depression and their medications. Shame on us, for not knowing enough about this totally painful and out of control disorder. Let's do better y'all.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The 'What on Earth's' continue!
Click to Enlarge. . .
So apparently- now if you type in shittycop.blogspot.com it will take you to my blog. Who knew? Good thing bub is the cop and not me. I would be a shitty cop.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Missing Scott
Dear Scott,
It's days like today that I miss you the most. Days where the clouds cover the sky and the rain and snow fall, causing a cold and bitter mood over the city. More than anything I miss how you would play your instruments on days like today- and how it didn't matter what instruments you knew how to play or not, it came so easily to you. I envied you for that- and you shrugged it off, not knowing what honest potential and talent you had. You could play the piano, the tuba, the trumpet, the guitair, the banjo, the fiddle, the saxophone and any other instrument you held in your hands.
Days like today remind me of when we were Juniors, and I was getting abused by the boyfriend I was with. You knew it was happening, and you were the only one I showed the bruises to.
Days like today were the worst when he would hurt me. I was in physical pain and emotional- but I knew I could come talk to you. We would sit on the front porch and talk about everything, you would make me laugh and I would cry on your shoulder. You would wrap an arm around me and hold me there until I was safe to go. When I was in my lowest point- you were the one there for me.
We met in middle school, when I returned in eighth grade from a private school. We had U.S. History together and you defended me when Dale made fun of me for being a girl. He told me to get back into the kitchen where I belong and you threw a punch. Our teacher broke up the fight, and I thanked you for defending me. We shared stupid jokes and added friends to our group. Each year we had more and more classes together and by the end of sophomore year we had four classes together and we even worked together.
It was the three of us. Bubbalicious, Rudy and Tuba. Me, Wes and you. I remember the first day they called you Tuba- the band teacher in middle school couldn't remember names to save his life and so he called you Tuba- because it was what you played. To this day we still call you Tuba, remembering how much you didn't like to be called Scott.
I can only imagine what pain your father went through when he found you in the basement like that. You mother was upstairs sobbing, your father not letting her actually see what had happened. He stormed down there to ask you to turn off the loud music- a simple request when dealing with teenagers- to discover that horrific sight. The story was told to me that you planned it our pretty well, and that by the time we could have helped you it was far too late and you were far too gone.
When I saw your father four days later he stood tall- just like you did. Not a tear to be seen- bragging about what an amazing man you are- about your big heart. He embraced me, tears filling my eyes. The only thing he could tell me was something I will never forget. "Not all big men have big hearts- but Scott...his heart was gold. He loved everyone. He didn't have a mean bone in his body." You died 45 minutes before my grandfather died- and I hated the world for it. I could not attend your funeral- and over the last two years I have walked the cemetry trying to find your headstone so I can finally say goodbye. Not knowing where you are is the hardest thing in the world.
I was out of town, by the air force base, competing at a HOSA tournament. You talked me into it- telling me that it wouldn't hurt any and I could only gain recognition. I forgot my phone charger and my phone died within the first day. I called my grandfather- who was placed in a care center and was in bad shape. That night the dead phone was receiving multiple voice mails from you. At the awards ceremony a mutual friend had to tell me the news. One of my EMT classmates saw my tears and donated a phone charger. What happened next stopped my world.
"You have seven new voice mails." The voice said, then led to the first one. You weren't well. You were upset- you needed someone to talk to you. The second one was the same, thirty minutes later. The third one was an hour later- this time you were crying. As I kept listening goosebumps covered my body and I buried my head in my hands. Guilt swept over me like a wave in this emotional ocean and I couldn't face myself and hung up before I could hear the last two.
Wes married Cassie after the joined the army. Wes and I still don't ever talk, and I don't think we will now that you are gone. I met Bubba, who you were good friends with through band. You would've gone on double dates with us- because we both liked you and your girlfriend. You would've been the first to congratulate us when we got engaged.
If you were still alive you would have married Clarissa. She made a mistake, and she regrets it all the time. I still see her from time to time, and she is in bad shape. The whole school blamed her for it. I wish I could talk to you, just to find out what happened between you two. It's her word against your actions, and everyone took it to heart. She graduated and then fell off the face of the earth.
Your myspace pages still exists, and is full of comments from friends, including me. We know there is no myspace or facebook in heaven, but we still post on there, getting the pain and the emotion out there, even if there is no where. They post about how much they miss you, about how they wish you could've made it two more months, about how much it hurts to have you gone. It's been well over two years, and still, the friends who were true still post. You can feel their pain, read the haunting words, and we all wonder why you did it.
You brought us together Tuba. You made us believe all over again- where we would normally doubt god, religion and heaven, you made all of us believe it- and we do.
You never ceased to make me laugh, and your talents were so different and you were so great at it. When I started dating a cowboy you brought a banjo to school and played 'Dueling Banjos' with Dale, just to harass me. You refused to get contacts, because you loved being 'the guy with the glasses.' You dreamed about being a Marine, and you would have made an excellent one.
Days like today I pull out my yearbooks, my old photos and your myspace and try to feel you around us for one more day. You left too soon Tuba- and you left a lot of us hurt.
I love you, and miss you more than you will ever know.
See you soon man.
It's days like today that I miss you the most. Days where the clouds cover the sky and the rain and snow fall, causing a cold and bitter mood over the city. More than anything I miss how you would play your instruments on days like today- and how it didn't matter what instruments you knew how to play or not, it came so easily to you. I envied you for that- and you shrugged it off, not knowing what honest potential and talent you had. You could play the piano, the tuba, the trumpet, the guitair, the banjo, the fiddle, the saxophone and any other instrument you held in your hands.
Days like today remind me of when we were Juniors, and I was getting abused by the boyfriend I was with. You knew it was happening, and you were the only one I showed the bruises to.
Days like today were the worst when he would hurt me. I was in physical pain and emotional- but I knew I could come talk to you. We would sit on the front porch and talk about everything, you would make me laugh and I would cry on your shoulder. You would wrap an arm around me and hold me there until I was safe to go. When I was in my lowest point- you were the one there for me.
We met in middle school, when I returned in eighth grade from a private school. We had U.S. History together and you defended me when Dale made fun of me for being a girl. He told me to get back into the kitchen where I belong and you threw a punch. Our teacher broke up the fight, and I thanked you for defending me. We shared stupid jokes and added friends to our group. Each year we had more and more classes together and by the end of sophomore year we had four classes together and we even worked together.
It was the three of us. Bubbalicious, Rudy and Tuba. Me, Wes and you. I remember the first day they called you Tuba- the band teacher in middle school couldn't remember names to save his life and so he called you Tuba- because it was what you played. To this day we still call you Tuba, remembering how much you didn't like to be called Scott.
I can only imagine what pain your father went through when he found you in the basement like that. You mother was upstairs sobbing, your father not letting her actually see what had happened. He stormed down there to ask you to turn off the loud music- a simple request when dealing with teenagers- to discover that horrific sight. The story was told to me that you planned it our pretty well, and that by the time we could have helped you it was far too late and you were far too gone.
When I saw your father four days later he stood tall- just like you did. Not a tear to be seen- bragging about what an amazing man you are- about your big heart. He embraced me, tears filling my eyes. The only thing he could tell me was something I will never forget. "Not all big men have big hearts- but Scott...his heart was gold. He loved everyone. He didn't have a mean bone in his body." You died 45 minutes before my grandfather died- and I hated the world for it. I could not attend your funeral- and over the last two years I have walked the cemetry trying to find your headstone so I can finally say goodbye. Not knowing where you are is the hardest thing in the world.
I was out of town, by the air force base, competing at a HOSA tournament. You talked me into it- telling me that it wouldn't hurt any and I could only gain recognition. I forgot my phone charger and my phone died within the first day. I called my grandfather- who was placed in a care center and was in bad shape. That night the dead phone was receiving multiple voice mails from you. At the awards ceremony a mutual friend had to tell me the news. One of my EMT classmates saw my tears and donated a phone charger. What happened next stopped my world.
"You have seven new voice mails." The voice said, then led to the first one. You weren't well. You were upset- you needed someone to talk to you. The second one was the same, thirty minutes later. The third one was an hour later- this time you were crying. As I kept listening goosebumps covered my body and I buried my head in my hands. Guilt swept over me like a wave in this emotional ocean and I couldn't face myself and hung up before I could hear the last two.
Wes married Cassie after the joined the army. Wes and I still don't ever talk, and I don't think we will now that you are gone. I met Bubba, who you were good friends with through band. You would've gone on double dates with us- because we both liked you and your girlfriend. You would've been the first to congratulate us when we got engaged.
If you were still alive you would have married Clarissa. She made a mistake, and she regrets it all the time. I still see her from time to time, and she is in bad shape. The whole school blamed her for it. I wish I could talk to you, just to find out what happened between you two. It's her word against your actions, and everyone took it to heart. She graduated and then fell off the face of the earth.
Your myspace pages still exists, and is full of comments from friends, including me. We know there is no myspace or facebook in heaven, but we still post on there, getting the pain and the emotion out there, even if there is no where. They post about how much they miss you, about how they wish you could've made it two more months, about how much it hurts to have you gone. It's been well over two years, and still, the friends who were true still post. You can feel their pain, read the haunting words, and we all wonder why you did it.
You brought us together Tuba. You made us believe all over again- where we would normally doubt god, religion and heaven, you made all of us believe it- and we do.
You never ceased to make me laugh, and your talents were so different and you were so great at it. When I started dating a cowboy you brought a banjo to school and played 'Dueling Banjos' with Dale, just to harass me. You refused to get contacts, because you loved being 'the guy with the glasses.' You dreamed about being a Marine, and you would have made an excellent one.
Days like today I pull out my yearbooks, my old photos and your myspace and try to feel you around us for one more day. You left too soon Tuba- and you left a lot of us hurt.
I love you, and miss you more than you will ever know.
See you soon man.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Longest Night of My Life
As cool as it was to see a GSW to the face, three level 1 traumas air lifted in and all sorts of drunks and drug OD's, my night in the ER was not a fun one.
A friend of mine called me, saying she was feeling suicidal. EMS laws in my state say that if someone tells you that and your an EMT- you gotta do something or you could be in trouble if she follows through with it. So I took her to the ER.
Made for a long night.
Note to self (and others): Off the clock those same laws don't apply. Thank goodness the social worker told me that or I'd be in deep shit with her family.
Now if y'all will excuse me I have a face-numbing headache and body aches to match that of a MVA. I'm going to bed!
A friend of mine called me, saying she was feeling suicidal. EMS laws in my state say that if someone tells you that and your an EMT- you gotta do something or you could be in trouble if she follows through with it. So I took her to the ER.
Made for a long night.
Note to self (and others): Off the clock those same laws don't apply. Thank goodness the social worker told me that or I'd be in deep shit with her family.
Now if y'all will excuse me I have a face-numbing headache and body aches to match that of a MVA. I'm going to bed!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
My 100th Post
When I started this blog people told me it wouldn't work. I got the idea from a friend, who worked in an ER and as an EMT on the weekends, I planned to be him by this point so I started one too. The only person who supported it and read it was my fiance.
He sent the word out, having family and friends read it. I browsed other sites, trying to make a name for myself- big or small. Each day I would check and each day would bring a smile as I would exclaim 'look hun! I got a hit from England!' or 'Baby! I got three hits yesterday!' My fiance would chuckle and read the blog, finishing each post with a nod of approval or a comment about the situations. My one support system became the one I needed most.
The last six months this blog has been the best thing for the stresses and woes of my life. I have been able to write about the joys of being engaged, life at the job, the stress of my surgery and my fiance going to POST. It was a place I could vent if needs be- it was my place.
Thing that shocked me was- I wasn't used to people actually reading it! As people would post comments and requests I felt as if maybe, someday, somehow my writing could be read and make a difference. What was once a sad dream is now a hope.
I've grown up a lot in this blog, mentally, emotionally, physically and know its for the best. Life has happened, its just what it does. And with the ability to have this creative outlet I know it is for the best. Everyone has a friend at work they can bitch to about anything, well I don't. I have this blog- and frankly I am okay with it- because I don't do the petty bitching about a patient who needs to pee every thirty minutes- I bitch about aides who probably shouldn't be certified or helping a cop take down an escaped prisoner for patient.
For my 100th post I wanted to thank my wonderful fiance. He is my best friend and the love of my life. He is a wonderful man who is so set to make it to his dreams he has created a beautiful future for us both on the way. He is a hard-working, caring individual who I can no longer live without. He supports me when I need it- he stands by me when I don't. He is the guy who keeps pushing me to write- even when I have no idea what I am going to write about. He is the one who jokes about my future as a Paramedic- and how we have to work in the same city so we can enjoy our jobs that much better. He is the guy who stays up late researching my surgery recovery information-because he wants to make sure I don't bend or break the rules. He is the guy who makes it to every doctors apt and helps me with my creative writing homework when I am stuck. He is the guy I stay up late with- helping memorize defensive tactic flashcards. He is the guy I am going to marry.
I love you hun. Thank you for all you do. You rock my world!
He sent the word out, having family and friends read it. I browsed other sites, trying to make a name for myself- big or small. Each day I would check and each day would bring a smile as I would exclaim 'look hun! I got a hit from England!' or 'Baby! I got three hits yesterday!' My fiance would chuckle and read the blog, finishing each post with a nod of approval or a comment about the situations. My one support system became the one I needed most.
The last six months this blog has been the best thing for the stresses and woes of my life. I have been able to write about the joys of being engaged, life at the job, the stress of my surgery and my fiance going to POST. It was a place I could vent if needs be- it was my place.
Thing that shocked me was- I wasn't used to people actually reading it! As people would post comments and requests I felt as if maybe, someday, somehow my writing could be read and make a difference. What was once a sad dream is now a hope.
I've grown up a lot in this blog, mentally, emotionally, physically and know its for the best. Life has happened, its just what it does. And with the ability to have this creative outlet I know it is for the best. Everyone has a friend at work they can bitch to about anything, well I don't. I have this blog- and frankly I am okay with it- because I don't do the petty bitching about a patient who needs to pee every thirty minutes- I bitch about aides who probably shouldn't be certified or helping a cop take down an escaped prisoner for patient.
For my 100th post I wanted to thank my wonderful fiance. He is my best friend and the love of my life. He is a wonderful man who is so set to make it to his dreams he has created a beautiful future for us both on the way. He is a hard-working, caring individual who I can no longer live without. He supports me when I need it- he stands by me when I don't. He is the guy who keeps pushing me to write- even when I have no idea what I am going to write about. He is the one who jokes about my future as a Paramedic- and how we have to work in the same city so we can enjoy our jobs that much better. He is the guy who stays up late researching my surgery recovery information-because he wants to make sure I don't bend or break the rules. He is the guy who makes it to every doctors apt and helps me with my creative writing homework when I am stuck. He is the guy I stay up late with- helping memorize defensive tactic flashcards. He is the guy I am going to marry.I love you hun. Thank you for all you do. You rock my world!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Another 'What on Earth?'
Click to Enlarge...
Dallas TX, I don't know what to tell you, but here at Dani's Anatomy, we carry M&M's into battle just in case we are out of glucose. Nothing works better for those in need than chocolate- plus its good for your skin. What is better than great skin and a life saved?
Not much I tell you. Not much.
CNA School
Trying to find an old CD with inspirational EMT tunes I discovered something better- the powerpoint DVD from my CNA school and the photos are EMBARASSING! Folks. I look like I am ten years old!
So, for my horror and your pleasure I have decided to post them.
First day of class, nervous, worried, scared. I am 15 in this picture. Everyone
else is 17 -18 years old, and I found that out just before my teacher snapped
the photo- so that nervous smile is more like a 'holy shit what did I get
myself into' smile.
In this photo we are learning about PPE. She never mentioned the stuff I
ACTUALLY USE like a PAPR or a N95, so I guess they just don't need them in
nursing homes. We had to wear these masks all day so that we understood how
annoying they are. This came in handy for when I go watch surgeries.
This folks is another woman brushing my teeth. I knew it was a class we were
going to get close in but brushing my teeth? I agree with my teacher now, that
it was to protect the patient and the resident, but holy crap was I shocked.
This would be within the first month of school and yes, I am probably dying in
this picture. Luckily I wasn't as nervous as the others who choked on the
toothpaste or just swallowed it and got massive stomachaches.
Ever seen a handlebar to the bicep bruise? Now you have! I was a BMXr at
this time in my life (hence the bicycle shirt) and arrived to class with many
bumps, bruises, scars, cuts, sprains and strains. The class liked it and I liked
the free ace wraps. Not pictured in this picture: My knee (the one I am death
gripping) and my ankle are both wrapped up and attached to a gel pack.
Roughly 6 months after this photo was taken I crashed my bike at Nationals
(requiring the surgery I will undergo next month.)
Yep. I was a youngin' when I started this whole gig. Now I am digging for some EMT class pictures, maybe I can hit the jackpot with some old classmates or my instructor!
BTW Dani's Anatomy will be celebrating it's 100th post soon- check in soon for my 'Reflector' post- been in the works for awhile now!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Mercy
So NBC came out with Trauma-which as we all know is funny as hell and sucks balls. I keep watching episode after painful episode, praying that it will get better and sadly it hasn't. Maybe next season, if it lasts that long.
I was extremely hesitant with MERCY- but i actually like it!
It shows the chain of command and the egotism pretty darn well of doctors vs. nurses. There is one nurse, so optimistic and bubbly who makes the show that much better because, well its true.
Also the chief in this series isn't the 'daddy type' as he is in Grey's. This guy is an honest, angry, older, tired administrator- which is so much more realistic and fun to see. Its less corny and more principals office.
Here is a link to the pilot episode if you are interested;
http://www.nbc.com/mercy/video/episodes/?vid=1160138#vid=1160138
I was extremely hesitant with MERCY- but i actually like it!
It shows the chain of command and the egotism pretty darn well of doctors vs. nurses. There is one nurse, so optimistic and bubbly who makes the show that much better because, well its true.
Also the chief in this series isn't the 'daddy type' as he is in Grey's. This guy is an honest, angry, older, tired administrator- which is so much more realistic and fun to see. Its less corny and more principals office.
Here is a link to the pilot episode if you are interested;
http://www.nbc.com/mercy/video/episodes/?vid=1160138#vid=1160138
A VERY productive day off
I am so proud of myself that I have to brag.
Since I got up at 8 am...
I did ALL the laundry, including ironing the cadets uniforms and matching his workout gear. Also washed his running sweats, which definitley needed the attention. We had about 8 or more loads of laundry to do.
Made breakfast for the two of us, and made sure it was healthy!
I did all the dishes, including the stuff leftover from everyone else. Cleaned up the kitchen and wiped down the counters, getting all that gunk off.
Wrote my lyric essay for my non-fiction class, which is due tomorrow.
Made a successful lunch of mac'n'cheese and continued on to make cookies as well! (Chocolate Chip M&M Cookies!)
Blogged at least once about my life and the woes of being me.
Hell, I even showered and got beautiful!
I wish I had this motivation on EVERY DAY I have off, but alas, sometimes that just doesn't happen. If i get a few more days like these before my surgery I will be in good shape. Still on the agenda is completely cleaing our room from top to bottom and getting everything I will need in order for it.
Since I got up at 8 am...
I did ALL the laundry, including ironing the cadets uniforms and matching his workout gear. Also washed his running sweats, which definitley needed the attention. We had about 8 or more loads of laundry to do.
Made breakfast for the two of us, and made sure it was healthy!
I did all the dishes, including the stuff leftover from everyone else. Cleaned up the kitchen and wiped down the counters, getting all that gunk off.
Wrote my lyric essay for my non-fiction class, which is due tomorrow.
Made a successful lunch of mac'n'cheese and continued on to make cookies as well! (Chocolate Chip M&M Cookies!)
Blogged at least once about my life and the woes of being me.
Hell, I even showered and got beautiful!
I wish I had this motivation on EVERY DAY I have off, but alas, sometimes that just doesn't happen. If i get a few more days like these before my surgery I will be in good shape. Still on the agenda is completely cleaing our room from top to bottom and getting everything I will need in order for it.
Being a Grown Up is Stressful
I heard it my whole life, I knew it was coming, I knew they weren't lying.
But mom and dad were right- being a grown up sucks. I always thought the bills would be the only bothersome thing, but holy shit- they don't make it easy on anyone anymore. Between cars, insurances, bills, families, holidays, the job and all the in-between stresses of life- its a wonder any of us are still sane.
I have spent the last two days on the phone with doctors, nurses, schedulers and insurance pepole, all of which are trying to do their damndest to make sure that I am stressed to my max and feeling it. Frankly, it sucks. Insurance says the doctors didn't do something. Doctors say they sent it weeks ago. Insurance says to resend. They made me the middle man for this convo. Good thing my cell plan has lots of minutes.
Today I woke up and started the phone calls again. Will you send in my pre approval for surgery please? Can I go off this stupid antibiotic now? Did I get approved for intermittent FMLA? Which of these numbers is prime? What side of the bed do I sleep on? Can you tell I'm going insane? Which witch is which in deciding which way to go?
Once upon a time I thought it was all about making your own rules, and partying all the time, playing whatever kind of music you wanted, whenever you wanted. Thought it was all about you and your friends, staying up late, going to partys, college being about boys and fun, discovering yourself, making mistakes and not having a care in the world. Thought it was all about who you were and what you wanted- when in reality, it is less and less freedom than when I was a kid.
My little brother turned 18 the other day, (Happy Birthday Kiddo! I know you don't read this so I didn't write ya anything...sorry!) the Cadet and I sat him down to give him some words of advice.
"Listen to mom and dad kanoosh. You have more medical bills than I do and you do NOT want to have to pay those on your salary. (He works at a fast food place.) Also, come home 5 minutes early for curfew still, so they don't think you're out to break their rules. You have it easy here kiddo- don't make the mistakes I did."
But alas, at 18 you don't listen to your older sisters tried and true advice. Instead you learn for yourself. Like I said, being a grown up sucks.
But mom and dad were right- being a grown up sucks. I always thought the bills would be the only bothersome thing, but holy shit- they don't make it easy on anyone anymore. Between cars, insurances, bills, families, holidays, the job and all the in-between stresses of life- its a wonder any of us are still sane.
I have spent the last two days on the phone with doctors, nurses, schedulers and insurance pepole, all of which are trying to do their damndest to make sure that I am stressed to my max and feeling it. Frankly, it sucks. Insurance says the doctors didn't do something. Doctors say they sent it weeks ago. Insurance says to resend. They made me the middle man for this convo. Good thing my cell plan has lots of minutes.
Today I woke up and started the phone calls again. Will you send in my pre approval for surgery please? Can I go off this stupid antibiotic now? Did I get approved for intermittent FMLA? Which of these numbers is prime? What side of the bed do I sleep on? Can you tell I'm going insane? Which witch is which in deciding which way to go?
Once upon a time I thought it was all about making your own rules, and partying all the time, playing whatever kind of music you wanted, whenever you wanted. Thought it was all about you and your friends, staying up late, going to partys, college being about boys and fun, discovering yourself, making mistakes and not having a care in the world. Thought it was all about who you were and what you wanted- when in reality, it is less and less freedom than when I was a kid.
My little brother turned 18 the other day, (Happy Birthday Kiddo! I know you don't read this so I didn't write ya anything...sorry!) the Cadet and I sat him down to give him some words of advice."Listen to mom and dad kanoosh. You have more medical bills than I do and you do NOT want to have to pay those on your salary. (He works at a fast food place.) Also, come home 5 minutes early for curfew still, so they don't think you're out to break their rules. You have it easy here kiddo- don't make the mistakes I did."
But alas, at 18 you don't listen to your older sisters tried and true advice. Instead you learn for yourself. Like I said, being a grown up sucks.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Learning from my Cadet
There are lots of benefits to being romantically involved with a cadet or officer. Knowing what the hidden laws are, knowing why they do what they do, being able to tell a good cop from a shitty cop, hell even being able to know proper takedowns is a benefit. I have been a practice dummy for handcuffing, searches and quick frisks. I have been tackled and cuffed and had to assist when he does prone searches on violent family members. This has come in handy, even though at times it sucks.
Tonight I heard that now all too familiar sound of handcuffs clanking. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two uniformed men in dark clothing. I saw a patient, telling them how he needed to be uncuffed so he could put his street clothes on. Seconds later the clanking got louder and a naked man came running my way. Realizing what was going on I reached out and latched to his hip, stretching across him. Suddenly we were thrown to the floor as the large officer tackled both of us, and I fought to wiggle free from their impossible grasp.
As soon as I did they took his one hand that was still cuffed and put it behind his back. As they tried to cover his naked body and recuff him I used my body weight to hold down his arm by the bicep and get his arm to where the other officer could finish the cuffing. The one cop was sitting on him at his waist, the other at his ankles, holding him down. The paitent yelled, screamed and cried wolf, but they cuffed him and hauled him back to his room.
Security had been called in as backup and were there to witness the three of us working with him. They laughed at me and rolled their eyes, but as the one cop emerged he patted my shoulder.
"You shoulda stayed outta the way, but we sure appreciate your help." I smiled.
Every now and the, cool stuff happens to me too.
Tonight I heard that now all too familiar sound of handcuffs clanking. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two uniformed men in dark clothing. I saw a patient, telling them how he needed to be uncuffed so he could put his street clothes on. Seconds later the clanking got louder and a naked man came running my way. Realizing what was going on I reached out and latched to his hip, stretching across him. Suddenly we were thrown to the floor as the large officer tackled both of us, and I fought to wiggle free from their impossible grasp.
As soon as I did they took his one hand that was still cuffed and put it behind his back. As they tried to cover his naked body and recuff him I used my body weight to hold down his arm by the bicep and get his arm to where the other officer could finish the cuffing. The one cop was sitting on him at his waist, the other at his ankles, holding him down. The paitent yelled, screamed and cried wolf, but they cuffed him and hauled him back to his room.
Security had been called in as backup and were there to witness the three of us working with him. They laughed at me and rolled their eyes, but as the one cop emerged he patted my shoulder.
"You shoulda stayed outta the way, but we sure appreciate your help." I smiled.
Every now and the, cool stuff happens to me too.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Address in the Stars
I am a tough cookie, and even though I am a girl- I am not one of the girls that cries during reruns of sappy sitcoms or during romantic movies. Frankly, I hardly ever cry compared to other girls. This is the first song that made me cry.
This song has hit alot of people- proof is in the comments on this link. Reading the links made me want to cry all over again. This song reminded me of everything I take for granted, and everyone I miss. Life's not far-and this song hit me hard enough to want to write about it.
Catilin and Will - Address in the Stars
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I35_B_5htnI
This song has hit alot of people- proof is in the comments on this link. Reading the links made me want to cry all over again. This song reminded me of everything I take for granted, and everyone I miss. Life's not far-and this song hit me hard enough to want to write about it.
Catilin and Will - Address in the Stars
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I35_B_5htnI
I stumbled across your picture today, I could barely breathe.
The moment stopped me cold and grabbed me like a theif.
I dialed your number but you wouldn't be there.
I knew the whole time, but it's still not fair.
I just wanted to hear your voice,
I just needed to hear your voice.
What do I do with all I need to say,
So much I wanna tell you everyday.
Oh, it breaks my heart, I cry these tears in the dark.
I write these letters to you, But they get lost in the blue.
Cause, there's no address in the stars.
Now I'm driving through the pitch black dark.
I'm screaming at the sky, Oh, cause it hurts so bad.
Everybody tells me that all I need is time.
Every morning rolls in, and it hurts me again,
And that ain't nothin but a lie.
Without you here with me, Don't know what to do
I'd give anything just to talk to you
Friday, October 9, 2009
Things I am Forbidden from Doing
Things I am no longer allowed to do at work:
1. I am no longer allowed to participate in Gurney surfing
2. I am no longer allowed to be running 12 leads or 3 leads on myself- unless I really am in A-fib.
3. There will be no more powersliding competitions (socks and slippers) with other aides or nurses, irregardless of how slick the floors are.
4. Arranging races for the TKA's at midnight with cash bonuses is now forbidden, and its a bummer, those guys could haul ass with ten bucks on the line.
5. I am no longer allowed to put the 'toes above the nose' by putting the bed in trendelenburg by going so far back that I put holes in the walls.
6. I am no longer allowed to heat soup while having a low blood sugar. (I broke a bunch of bowls that night).
7. No more following doctors around anymore, even though I could totally cut the bandages on a TKA or TSA, examine the surgical site, decide if its okay or not and then re-bandage it. Hell I had to show one of our residents how to do it- it had been THAT LONG for her. On that note-No more asking the doctors big questions. I have had enough residents yell at me over asking surgical questions and being 'just an aide.'
8. I am no longer allowed to make fun of the OR aides when they get queasy and pass out during a surgery, and I sure as hell am not allowed to try to be their medic-that really chaps the attendings ass.
9. Answering the phone with 'what do you want?' is out of the question. Ignoring the doorbell when it rings is also out of the question.
10. Writing that patient 'cries like a little girl' in the nursing notes is not acceptable. Neither is 'patient enjoys the breeze between the knees so much he got nekked.' Also 'pain in the ass' is not acceptable on a behavioral scale.
11. My personal abbreviations do not fly with the staff. They shot me down when a patient spent an entire evening puking. Instead of charting emesis I charted VAV- vile-ass-vomit.
12. No more watching Trauma while at work. Makes me laugh so hard I wake the patients up, and the nurse and I throw food at the computer screen.
13. I am FORBIDDEN from talking about Obama with the nurses. One is pro, the other is very, very, very, anti-Obama. We just avoid politics altogether. Anti-Obama is way too politically smart for her own good. Pro Obama just lets it be.
14. No more trying to start AC IV's on myself. Also hand draws are out of the question, as well as anything that has to do with my right arm and a needle while I am on the clock. If I want to bleed I must clock out.
15. Playing pranks on the cleaning crew by turning on all the lights they turn off causes emotional problems with them. I really should quit, but it is way. too. funny.
I read an article on EMS1.COM from Ambulance Driver about the things he isn't allowed to do, which apparently inspired this. What are you guys no longer allowed to do?
1. I am no longer allowed to participate in Gurney surfing
2. I am no longer allowed to be running 12 leads or 3 leads on myself- unless I really am in A-fib.
3. There will be no more powersliding competitions (socks and slippers) with other aides or nurses, irregardless of how slick the floors are.
4. Arranging races for the TKA's at midnight with cash bonuses is now forbidden, and its a bummer, those guys could haul ass with ten bucks on the line.
5. I am no longer allowed to put the 'toes above the nose' by putting the bed in trendelenburg by going so far back that I put holes in the walls.
6. I am no longer allowed to heat soup while having a low blood sugar. (I broke a bunch of bowls that night).
7. No more following doctors around anymore, even though I could totally cut the bandages on a TKA or TSA, examine the surgical site, decide if its okay or not and then re-bandage it. Hell I had to show one of our residents how to do it- it had been THAT LONG for her. On that note-No more asking the doctors big questions. I have had enough residents yell at me over asking surgical questions and being 'just an aide.'
8. I am no longer allowed to make fun of the OR aides when they get queasy and pass out during a surgery, and I sure as hell am not allowed to try to be their medic-that really chaps the attendings ass.
9. Answering the phone with 'what do you want?' is out of the question. Ignoring the doorbell when it rings is also out of the question.
10. Writing that patient 'cries like a little girl' in the nursing notes is not acceptable. Neither is 'patient enjoys the breeze between the knees so much he got nekked.' Also 'pain in the ass' is not acceptable on a behavioral scale.
11. My personal abbreviations do not fly with the staff. They shot me down when a patient spent an entire evening puking. Instead of charting emesis I charted VAV- vile-ass-vomit.
12. No more watching Trauma while at work. Makes me laugh so hard I wake the patients up, and the nurse and I throw food at the computer screen.
13. I am FORBIDDEN from talking about Obama with the nurses. One is pro, the other is very, very, very, anti-Obama. We just avoid politics altogether. Anti-Obama is way too politically smart for her own good. Pro Obama just lets it be.
14. No more trying to start AC IV's on myself. Also hand draws are out of the question, as well as anything that has to do with my right arm and a needle while I am on the clock. If I want to bleed I must clock out.
15. Playing pranks on the cleaning crew by turning on all the lights they turn off causes emotional problems with them. I really should quit, but it is way. too. funny.
I read an article on EMS1.COM from Ambulance Driver about the things he isn't allowed to do, which apparently inspired this. What are you guys no longer allowed to do?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
New Scrubs
I am fully aware that I will only be able to wear them about 2-3 times before I put on a gown, but they stared at me, clean, sized to fit me, and my favorite brand of scrubs (the Grey's Anatomy brand, made for people who are well endowed). I picked it up and studied them, running my hands over the fabric. Nothing is better than a new pair of scrubs, feeling the freshness of them as you put them on for the first time. I sighed and walked away, trying to urge myself to leave the store, but I came back, looking at this scrub top. I had just picked up a new pair of bottoms from Wal-Mart, the kind with the medic pocket on the side. Finally I gave in.
That is the beauty of my job. I live my life in scrubs and wear them to work every day. Unlike others who wear and item for a year or two scrubs never go out of style, heck I don't even think they are considered a style. The only time I have ever tossed scrubs was when I worked in a Care Center, and I would toss those scrubs every two years- they had some nasty stuff on them and I knew it. Nowadays working on a surgical floor where my unit are the only non-sterile ones I am okay with not tossing them out every two years, because there is nothing gross on them.
Getting ready for work today I put on my new playlist, some odds and ends songs from Grey's and let my mind focus on my job. Finally I put on those scrubs and smiled at myself in the mirror. Nothing is more empowering than looking good and feeling like an EMT. My scrub top is cute and my bottoms are loaded with equipment, and knowing that, makes me feel good.
It's the little things that get me like that.
That is the beauty of my job. I live my life in scrubs and wear them to work every day. Unlike others who wear and item for a year or two scrubs never go out of style, heck I don't even think they are considered a style. The only time I have ever tossed scrubs was when I worked in a Care Center, and I would toss those scrubs every two years- they had some nasty stuff on them and I knew it. Nowadays working on a surgical floor where my unit are the only non-sterile ones I am okay with not tossing them out every two years, because there is nothing gross on them.
Getting ready for work today I put on my new playlist, some odds and ends songs from Grey's and let my mind focus on my job. Finally I put on those scrubs and smiled at myself in the mirror. Nothing is more empowering than looking good and feeling like an EMT. My scrub top is cute and my bottoms are loaded with equipment, and knowing that, makes me feel good.
It's the little things that get me like that.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Brought to my Knees
Great Paramedics are not born. Saving lives is not genetically programmed into you. Being great is something that you have to become, and greatness is not an easy thing to be. You could study paramedicine for years and still be one of the worst Paramedics ever. Great Paramedics are the true heroes, because to become good, you had to go through hell, mediocre, drama, death and heaven only knows what else. To become GREAT you must go through more.
Last night it hit me why I am doing all of this. I was denied into EMT-Intermediate school because of my shoulder. I struggled through EMT-Basic and other classes nearly killed me, trying to do lifts, techniques, etc. I signed up for health insurance and went to the best of the best for a reason- so that I can get on with my life. Never thinking twice about anything due to my young age I didn't stop to realize that this wasn't all bad drama. Most of it is for the best.
It is so hard to see the good in this when I am out most of the week due to pain. I am on Ultram most of the time to control pain and swelling until my surgery date. I sleep with an icepack on my shoulder now because its the easiest way to wake up in small amounts of pain. It's hard to plan and prepare for a surgery that I don't want. But I need it.
During this past week I went to the mall for some surgery friendly clothes. Knowing I would only have one arm I realized scrubs and sweats were all I could live in for those 6-10 weeks. However I have never owned a pair of sweats, so I had to go find some. Dressing room to dressing room I went, with a soft sling and strapping my arm up so that I had to put it on one handed. I found lots of sweats and that was an easy task.
Then came tube tops (which came doctor recommended due to my sling I will have). I went into the dressing room with a few tops, and explained to the store employee what the deal was. She rolled her eyes and sighed but I continued to try them on one handed. Halfway through trying them on she called me out, and accused me of stealing. When I tried to change back into my clothes the door knocked again. She had called security who proceeded to check my bags and my purse. I again explained to them, I was even wearing my shoulder support brace, which is big, black and bulky. Impossible to hide.
This morning I woke up sick. Spent a good portion of my day at the doctors office, only to be given antibiotics with a hope that they will work. He still doesn't know what it is, but he narrowed it down to two. Sadly the gal who drew my blood missed and stuck me twice, something that rarely happens. I'm already bruised- its quite awesome really. I have done blood draws on myself so it somewhat shocks me when others miss.
It is so hard to see the bright side in all of this. Most girls my age are in sorority's and worried about getting a boys attention. Instead I am worried about patients and surgeries and applying to Paramedic school and everything else in between. BUT it really is for the best.
One day I am going to be an amazing Paramedic. I am going to be able to start lines, drop tubes, run codes and give meds like no ones business. One day I am going to be able to lift stretchers, save lives and have compassion and give care like no other Paramedic. But that one day will have to come after a long extensive surgery (5 hours) and a long recovery period (16 weeks). However, when I get post-surgical patients and broken bones I will be able to understand what my patient is going through. When I put someone in my rig I will understand the fear they feel. I will understand the worry, the stress and the pain. This will make me better.
Being able to be down for awhile will give me the time I need to slow down and think. It will give me time to research Paramedic programs and plan out how I will go about getting there. I will be able to know that I am being taught the best of the best and that I am going to graduate with the knowledge I need to be that great Paramedic.
Reading up on other blogs I came to realize that other Paramedics who are great have been through hell and back, and that they too have been brought to their knees. So tonight I fall to my knees and drop my voice to a whisper as I cry and pray for those other medics, and then pray for myself. Asking for help is not an easy thing to do, but it's the smart thing to do when you know you need it.
Last night it hit me why I am doing all of this. I was denied into EMT-Intermediate school because of my shoulder. I struggled through EMT-Basic and other classes nearly killed me, trying to do lifts, techniques, etc. I signed up for health insurance and went to the best of the best for a reason- so that I can get on with my life. Never thinking twice about anything due to my young age I didn't stop to realize that this wasn't all bad drama. Most of it is for the best.
It is so hard to see the good in this when I am out most of the week due to pain. I am on Ultram most of the time to control pain and swelling until my surgery date. I sleep with an icepack on my shoulder now because its the easiest way to wake up in small amounts of pain. It's hard to plan and prepare for a surgery that I don't want. But I need it.
During this past week I went to the mall for some surgery friendly clothes. Knowing I would only have one arm I realized scrubs and sweats were all I could live in for those 6-10 weeks. However I have never owned a pair of sweats, so I had to go find some. Dressing room to dressing room I went, with a soft sling and strapping my arm up so that I had to put it on one handed. I found lots of sweats and that was an easy task.
Then came tube tops (which came doctor recommended due to my sling I will have). I went into the dressing room with a few tops, and explained to the store employee what the deal was. She rolled her eyes and sighed but I continued to try them on one handed. Halfway through trying them on she called me out, and accused me of stealing. When I tried to change back into my clothes the door knocked again. She had called security who proceeded to check my bags and my purse. I again explained to them, I was even wearing my shoulder support brace, which is big, black and bulky. Impossible to hide.
This morning I woke up sick. Spent a good portion of my day at the doctors office, only to be given antibiotics with a hope that they will work. He still doesn't know what it is, but he narrowed it down to two. Sadly the gal who drew my blood missed and stuck me twice, something that rarely happens. I'm already bruised- its quite awesome really. I have done blood draws on myself so it somewhat shocks me when others miss.
It is so hard to see the bright side in all of this. Most girls my age are in sorority's and worried about getting a boys attention. Instead I am worried about patients and surgeries and applying to Paramedic school and everything else in between. BUT it really is for the best.
One day I am going to be an amazing Paramedic. I am going to be able to start lines, drop tubes, run codes and give meds like no ones business. One day I am going to be able to lift stretchers, save lives and have compassion and give care like no other Paramedic. But that one day will have to come after a long extensive surgery (5 hours) and a long recovery period (16 weeks). However, when I get post-surgical patients and broken bones I will be able to understand what my patient is going through. When I put someone in my rig I will understand the fear they feel. I will understand the worry, the stress and the pain. This will make me better.
Being able to be down for awhile will give me the time I need to slow down and think. It will give me time to research Paramedic programs and plan out how I will go about getting there. I will be able to know that I am being taught the best of the best and that I am going to graduate with the knowledge I need to be that great Paramedic.
Reading up on other blogs I came to realize that other Paramedics who are great have been through hell and back, and that they too have been brought to their knees. So tonight I fall to my knees and drop my voice to a whisper as I cry and pray for those other medics, and then pray for myself. Asking for help is not an easy thing to do, but it's the smart thing to do when you know you need it.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Defending the Patient
I hate drama. HATE HATE HATE drama. I don't like to cause drama.
Unless there is a patient on the line.
We had a psych patient last night in a 1:1. The things heard coming from that room were screaming, crying, worrying and feeling frantic. I had approcated the aide and the patient a few times, and both times it was a situation that was under control. The patient was exactly as the board stated, a 1:1. It was an emotional patient.
Shift change came and the charge nurse told the night aides to do whatever they felt. BAD IDEA. Our night aides aren't smart, or sweet, or kind. They are know-it-alls and mean to our patients. I have had many incidents with our patients and this was no excuse.
They wrote all of their names on the 1:1 board, explaining that they would all do the 1:1 for 2 hours a piece. "What about the rest of the unit?" I asked. If the aide covering one area went in a 1:1 who would watch their patients? Would their assignment change.
"We are not doing the 1:1 for 8 whole hours." The oldest aide said. I was shocked and frankly appaled. I respected this aide, she was a nice lady. She kept quiet, her patients loved her and she did a good job. So why was she in this mood?
"It's a 1:1. A PSYCH patient." I repeated to her.
"Who has been screaming, crying, yelling and freaking out. I am NOT going in there." She said.
"Sounds like a 1:1 to me."
"You don't understand 1:1's." She said with a snitty tone and then looked away and kept writing.
"Bet me." I said, starting to feel a pissy mood come over me. "I did 1:1's for an agency for a year, and I do 1:1's all the time here. I get psych patients and if you want a decent evening with this patient you need to work with the patient."
"Its more convenient to do it this way." She replied.
"We ain't here to convenience ourselves we are here to convenience our patients." I replied stepping closer to her. If I was an inch shorter we would be eye to eye. "Yeah its gonna suck, but you aint here for yourselves. Ya'll are aides because you like to help people. This 1:1 is a PERSON." The other aides were trying to ignore the fact that I was verbally demolishing their plans. Meanwhile I was trying to hide my midwest accent that shows up when I am mad.
"You gonna do it?" She hollered back. A seemingly good comeback, if we were 12.
"Naw, I did my 8 hours of service. And I did it well. I busted my ass and took good care of my people. This patient." I said pointing to the 1:1 on the board. "Is a psych patient. She needs stability or she will be screaming and hollering and freaking out at all y'all all night long. This patient needs two aides every 4 hours or one aide in 8. She's been good with the 1:1's all night long. Only crying when something scary shows up." I sighed. "I respect ya as an aide, and thats why I'm gonna tell you this is bullshit."
She rolled her eyes and another aide wrote her name in there for the 8 hours. The rest of the assignment was written and I started to give report. The aide I gave report to looked to me worriedly.
"What?" I asked.
"Why did you yell at her?" She asked. I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts.
"We do this job for other people. If we wanted to make money we would have become automotive techs or lab techs. But we like people and we like making them feel better, so we become CNA's. We become patient advocates. There is a reason I learn as much about my patients as possible- so I can be on their team."
"So you pick your patients over your colleagues?"
"Yep. Everytime." I replied opening a patients chart. "Does that make me a bad person?"
I took her silence as a no.
Before I could clock out I was cornered by the charge nurse. He began to yell at me for causing problems with the other aides. I took it, for a minute, until I realized he hadn't been told what I got upset with them over. I calmly defended myself and asked him what he would have me do. He also said nothing.
I left work to see the 1:1 room assignment had been changed, and the charge nurse was hollering at the aides about it. When I passed the 1:1, the patient was screaming and thrashing around.
Hope it all worked out ok.
I defend my patients over my colleagues. I am a patient advocate. That does NOT make me a bad person.
Unless there is a patient on the line.
We had a psych patient last night in a 1:1. The things heard coming from that room were screaming, crying, worrying and feeling frantic. I had approcated the aide and the patient a few times, and both times it was a situation that was under control. The patient was exactly as the board stated, a 1:1. It was an emotional patient.
Shift change came and the charge nurse told the night aides to do whatever they felt. BAD IDEA. Our night aides aren't smart, or sweet, or kind. They are know-it-alls and mean to our patients. I have had many incidents with our patients and this was no excuse.
They wrote all of their names on the 1:1 board, explaining that they would all do the 1:1 for 2 hours a piece. "What about the rest of the unit?" I asked. If the aide covering one area went in a 1:1 who would watch their patients? Would their assignment change.
"We are not doing the 1:1 for 8 whole hours." The oldest aide said. I was shocked and frankly appaled. I respected this aide, she was a nice lady. She kept quiet, her patients loved her and she did a good job. So why was she in this mood?
"It's a 1:1. A PSYCH patient." I repeated to her.
"Who has been screaming, crying, yelling and freaking out. I am NOT going in there." She said.
"Sounds like a 1:1 to me."
"You don't understand 1:1's." She said with a snitty tone and then looked away and kept writing.
"Bet me." I said, starting to feel a pissy mood come over me. "I did 1:1's for an agency for a year, and I do 1:1's all the time here. I get psych patients and if you want a decent evening with this patient you need to work with the patient."
"Its more convenient to do it this way." She replied.
"We ain't here to convenience ourselves we are here to convenience our patients." I replied stepping closer to her. If I was an inch shorter we would be eye to eye. "Yeah its gonna suck, but you aint here for yourselves. Ya'll are aides because you like to help people. This 1:1 is a PERSON." The other aides were trying to ignore the fact that I was verbally demolishing their plans. Meanwhile I was trying to hide my midwest accent that shows up when I am mad.
"You gonna do it?" She hollered back. A seemingly good comeback, if we were 12.
"Naw, I did my 8 hours of service. And I did it well. I busted my ass and took good care of my people. This patient." I said pointing to the 1:1 on the board. "Is a psych patient. She needs stability or she will be screaming and hollering and freaking out at all y'all all night long. This patient needs two aides every 4 hours or one aide in 8. She's been good with the 1:1's all night long. Only crying when something scary shows up." I sighed. "I respect ya as an aide, and thats why I'm gonna tell you this is bullshit."
She rolled her eyes and another aide wrote her name in there for the 8 hours. The rest of the assignment was written and I started to give report. The aide I gave report to looked to me worriedly.
"What?" I asked.
"Why did you yell at her?" She asked. I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts.
"We do this job for other people. If we wanted to make money we would have become automotive techs or lab techs. But we like people and we like making them feel better, so we become CNA's. We become patient advocates. There is a reason I learn as much about my patients as possible- so I can be on their team."
"So you pick your patients over your colleagues?"
"Yep. Everytime." I replied opening a patients chart. "Does that make me a bad person?"
I took her silence as a no.
Before I could clock out I was cornered by the charge nurse. He began to yell at me for causing problems with the other aides. I took it, for a minute, until I realized he hadn't been told what I got upset with them over. I calmly defended myself and asked him what he would have me do. He also said nothing.
I left work to see the 1:1 room assignment had been changed, and the charge nurse was hollering at the aides about it. When I passed the 1:1, the patient was screaming and thrashing around.
Hope it all worked out ok.
I defend my patients over my colleagues. I am a patient advocate. That does NOT make me a bad person.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
My Cadet
The officer in training has been working his butt off in school, learning laws, codes, technicalities and defensive tactics. He has been running miles a day, doing push ups until his arms feel like jello to bystanders and has done military like training. Long nights have been spent with flash cards, memorizing reasons for defensive tactics and even laws. We have been very proud of him, but we don't get to see his hard work.
Until tonight.
His older brother came by and challenged him to show off his skills. Not only did we all end up handcuffed, frisked and yelled at, we all got to see his good work. I got to do a prone arrest and a standing arrest. Another family member got a kneeling arrest and his older brother got a standing, kneeling and a prone arrest also. It was actually alot of fun.
Also, he had set himself a goal to run his mile and a half in 12 minutes. Yesterday he got it in 11 minutes, a huge marker from where he was two months ago when he was running it at 16 minutes. He had doubled his amount of push ups, sit ups, pull ups and vertical jump height. I am more than impressed- GREAT JOB BUB!
This photo is of my contrast MRI. The doctor drew a similar photo when he explained my tear, however I didn't believe that it was that extensive. The white is the tear in my labrum, the black on top is all that is left of that muscle. I would have posted it with my last one, but I just got it in the mail the other day.
Until tonight.
His older brother came by and challenged him to show off his skills. Not only did we all end up handcuffed, frisked and yelled at, we all got to see his good work. I got to do a prone arrest and a standing arrest. Another family member got a kneeling arrest and his older brother got a standing, kneeling and a prone arrest also. It was actually alot of fun.
Also, he had set himself a goal to run his mile and a half in 12 minutes. Yesterday he got it in 11 minutes, a huge marker from where he was two months ago when he was running it at 16 minutes. He had doubled his amount of push ups, sit ups, pull ups and vertical jump height. I am more than impressed- GREAT JOB BUB!
This photo is of my contrast MRI. The doctor drew a similar photo when he explained my tear, however I didn't believe that it was that extensive. The white is the tear in my labrum, the black on top is all that is left of that muscle. I would have posted it with my last one, but I just got it in the mail the other day.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Verdict
He didn't even bother to introduce himself or the other residents, he just walked into the room and stood there, staring me down.
"You have lost 300 degrees out of the 360 degrees of movement you should have." He started, leaning onto the table and beginning to draw out what my shoulder looks like. I sat in shock. I had been living, working, dealing with this for years. Living off of 60 degrees of motion.
Recovery time is more extensive. More than 6 weeks immobile. 16 to 18 weeks til I can return to full duty as a C.N.A. The surgeon refuses to sign paperwork for Paramedic school until I have this surgery.
Been on the phone all day with schedulers and M.A.'s trying to get it all worked out. No progress yet, but I will be having a surgery soon.
I'm scared to death.
"You have lost 300 degrees out of the 360 degrees of movement you should have." He started, leaning onto the table and beginning to draw out what my shoulder looks like. I sat in shock. I had been living, working, dealing with this for years. Living off of 60 degrees of motion.
Recovery time is more extensive. More than 6 weeks immobile. 16 to 18 weeks til I can return to full duty as a C.N.A. The surgeon refuses to sign paperwork for Paramedic school until I have this surgery.
Been on the phone all day with schedulers and M.A.'s trying to get it all worked out. No progress yet, but I will be having a surgery soon.
I'm scared to death.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
I watch too much 'Grey's'
I watch way too much 'Grey's Anatomy.' It's a habit I love, because compared to shows like E.R., Scrubs and Trauma, the diagnosis are actually realistic. The abnormal cases I have seen on there are cases I have seen in the hospital I work at. They wear those darned blue scrubs and actually have been taught how to scrub in, and discuss medical things. Only thing unrealistic is how hot the attending are, then again, I work with some good looking residents, which equals it out. That and how dark is O.R. is on the show, our O.R. is white, its cold, and reminds me of being in the mountains on a snowy day. Yep, its THAT cold.
Last night I had a dream my surgeon was McSteamy. He was hot, and you could see his muscles under his scrubs as he drew lines on my shoulder. He explained my surgery thoroughly and I expressed my concerns. As I spoke to him Lexie Grey walked in. (If you don't keep up with the show you will be lost.) I sat in awe at who I was talking to and looking at as they continued to explain the procedure and its risks. As the dream continued I realized he wasn't a orthopedist, he was a plastic surgeon. Panic filled me and I kept yelling for him to get the Orthopedist, he instead tried to get me to calm down.
I awoke to realize that my surgeon is still the guy who looks like 'Harold and Kumar's' love child.
Sad.
Last night I had a dream my surgeon was McSteamy. He was hot, and you could see his muscles under his scrubs as he drew lines on my shoulder. He explained my surgery thoroughly and I expressed my concerns. As I spoke to him Lexie Grey walked in. (If you don't keep up with the show you will be lost.) I sat in awe at who I was talking to and looking at as they continued to explain the procedure and its risks. As the dream continued I realized he wasn't a orthopedist, he was a plastic surgeon. Panic filled me and I kept yelling for him to get the Orthopedist, he instead tried to get me to calm down.
I awoke to realize that my surgeon is still the guy who looks like 'Harold and Kumar's' love child.
Sad.
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