I lay flat down on the table, with an excentric doctor and a curious resident looked over me. They respositioned my arm and then the xray, and then tried again. I sighed and then gritted my teeth together as I felt the needle dig deeper and deeper into my shoulder. "OW!" Finally escaped my lips and the resident looked to the doctor. Without a word she injected more nummbing medication and continued.
Everyone stopped at the sound of a crunch. "Well thats abnormal." She said casually.
"What does that mean?" I asked. She had no idea I worked there, she had no idea I understand medicine.
"Means you don't do enough P.T."
"Look, I did 4 years of P.T., one year of P.T. that the ortho doc told me to do. a year of P.T. that a doctor and a weight lifting coach came up with and two years of working as a CNA and an EMT. You can't tell me I am not working out my shoulder. I am." The doctor only stared at me as I defended myself. She said nothing in return.
After thirty minutes I was lying in the MRI machiene, a place I forgot was so tiny. As the tech and the student postioned me I felt my wrist twitch. I asked the tech if that was normal, she said yes and then continued on. As I got into the MRI machiene I felt my wrist twitch.
"Hold still!" The tech bellowed at me. I opened my eyes, coming out of my attempted zen state.
"I'm not?" I asked. Suddenly they pulled me out of the machiene and looked at my shoulder. I sat up and sighed as I realized what had happened. My shoulder was numb, so I didn't feel it slip out of place and now it was spasming. Without the feeling in my shoulder I could not put it back in place.
Two radiologists and a resident later I was lying still in the tube.
Today my shoulder is puffy, no longer numb but I hurt like none other. I know its what the surgeon wanted, and on Thursday I begin to schedule the surgery, but it still sucks.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Before the Tube
The tube. The gray and white tube. The one that only a select few get to go into without a gown on. The big omnious magnetic tube. The one we say we need a deep fried twinkie before we dare get into it. The one the scrubs avoid. The one that has signs looming outside of it, warning us of its wrath.Yep, that tube.
Today I get to endure a contrast MRI. Whoo. I am so excited. Not.
Anyhow, I figured I would post a blog before, and once the swelling goes down on my shoulder I would post after, if I am not allergic to the dye or the contrast. I have family and staff that have psyched me out, but it is for the best, I believe. The nurses say I cannot work afterwards, that my shoulder will be puffy and purple. The family says theres a good chance i'll be allergic to it and be spending the night on the bathroom floor.
The regular MRI wasn't bad. They have headphones they gave me and I laid still, trying not to fall asleep. 'Amarillo By Mornin' played loudly, but not loud enough to drown out the chugging sound of the magnets.
Luckily one of my regular daytime nurses is going to be assisting in the arthogram today and my fiance will be the once to help me once its over. Good company all around- plus I talked him into letting us watch Ladder 49 and the Guardian after. Score!
Wish me luck!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
I am Medicine
(This is a rough draft for one of my essays in my class, and I figured I would share it with you.)
Standing in front of the full length mirror I studied myself. I wore only a tank top and my scrub pants, my hair pulled tight into a ponytail. I looked plain to most people, but as I prepared for a long 12-hour shift it became apparent that plain had so much more built into it. I picked up my earrings and began to put them in, something I only did when I worked. As I did so I could hear the sound of a siren as it passed the apartment outside. Smiling my mind wandered to the first time those ears heard that all too familiar sound of sirens.
"Unit 7 to the shelter for a 21 year old female with unknown cause."
The intermediate in the driver’s seat ground the gas pedal into the floor as the Paramedic in the passenger’s seat radioed back to dispatch. As soon as the call was returned he turned to me with a smile.
"Buckle up." Without waiting to see if I had listened or not the sirens went on and the lights flashed, causing mayhem to release into the streets. It was my first call and my first time seeing people trying and failing to merge right. Pedestrians jumped back up onto the curb and stare at us, falling into the trance that only lights and sirens can conjure. From the back of that ambulance I gripped the seat and closed my eyes, letting the sound echo off of the buildings and return back to me, falling deep into my ear canal before settling there comfortably. I could even feel that sound deep within my chest, as if that was what my soul craved.
Pulling on my scrub top I caught glimpse of my watch, an old plastic Wal-Mart brand that I hadn’t taken off in ages. As always I checked my watch and verified the accurate time with the clock on my cell phone. As I adjusted it by a minute I studied the worn paint and my watch tan that had come from my lack of taking it off.
Graduating from Nursing Assisting School was no big deal to the students, but the teachers wanted our parents there and urged them to give their student a gift. My father was proud of me and wanted to attend, but like me, he felt that the gift idea was stupid. My mother, a sentimental sap like the teachers convinced my father to just do it. Graduation day was busy, crowded and overwhelming as we got our certifications, at the same time we were also awarded our gifts. When my turn finally came I was given a small wrapped box. Other students got scrubs, equipment and even money, leaving me confused. I opened the box and smiled, a gray plastic watch sat inside, ready and waiting for me to wear it. I put it on my wrist and set the time, promising never to take it off.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed I pulled on my sneakers with distain. The plastic that was once white and shiny is now gray and falling off. The fabric is shades of brown and black and looks disgusting, despite many attempts to wash them. The rubber is no longer in tact and the shoe laces look as if they may break, but in the year that it took to get to that point I had seen many miles and more action than most shoes would. As I look up and into that mirror again I realize the only reason those old crummy sneakers are still around is because I don’t have the heart to throw them out yet.
Starting my job at the hospital was the biggest career accomplishment I had thus far in my young career. The hospital held a prestigious title and only hired the best of the best. I had purchased a new pair of Nikes, the first pair of brand name shoes I had ever bought. Sitting in the shadow of the giant building I worked in I tied those new shoes tightly and smiled at the spring I now had in my step.
Driving into work I sing loudly to the radio, trying not to think about the things I will see in the next shift. It’s the way that I block it out, so I sing, loudly and off tune. As I do so I catch a glimpse of myself smiling, taking my thoughts far away from my stress-free commute and into a memory of a smile that speared my soul.
"Can I have a coke?" He asked, being all of six years old with buzzed brown hair and a missing tooth. I smiled at him and nodded, noticing how big that boys ears were. When I returned with the coke he smiled and opened it quickly, drinking it. His mom smiled from the corner and thanked me and I nodded, laughing as he jumped out of the bed and embraced me, flashing his bare bottom to the world as he did so. As I left his room my smile faded, six year olds have no business being Bone Marrow Transplant patients.
As I pull into the parking garage and pull out my bag I begin to load my right thigh pocket with all of my equipment. People think that I carry too much stuff in that little pocket, but each shift I use all of it. As I cram more and more pens into the pocket and attempt for my flashlight a code sits heavy in my mind.
The code button got punched by the Nurse and I grabbed a pen light from my right thigh pocket, beginning to examine the eyes. As they began to identify infection the doctor pulled a blue marker out of my pocket and began to draw on the patient. Without saying a word I pulled my trauma shears out of the same pocket and handed it to the surgeon as they began to strip ‘em and flip ‘em. Nurses pulled pens and highlighters out of my pocket and began to chart. Twenty minutes later the Ambulance arrived and strapped the patient to a backboard and left quickly. As I gathered up my supplies, cleaned and replaced them the nurses smiled at me. "You look like a Paramedic."
Washing my hands at the nurses station I stop and begin to rub on some lotion. As I rub my hands together quickly I study them. In my job it is all about taking care of people, including holding hands for comfort. As I studied my hands, the callouses, the sores and the scars. Compared to most people my hands were well taken care of.
Her hands were worn, feeling and looking like leather as I studied them. Her nails were uncared for and her cuticles looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Those hands clung tightly to mine all night long as I sat in her room with her. She stirred once or twice, barely attempting to speak, let alone move. I stared at the sticker on her board with fear as I felt for her pulse. She squeezed my hand tightly, waiting for me to return the squeeze. After a moment I moved my fingers over her wrist again until I felt it, three beats and then it slipped away. The room was quiet, not even the sound of breathing filled the room as I stared at the big purple DNR sticker on the board. Do Not Resuscitate.
Ears that have heard first cries and last breaths, a watch reading only military time, battered from thousands of hours in the service. Tennis shoes, six months past their expiration date. A smile that has comforted sick and well people alike. It’s a right thigh pocket crammed with pens, markers, flash lights and scissors. Hands that have felt life hanging on and slipping away.
It’s who I am. I am medicine.
Standing in front of the full length mirror I studied myself. I wore only a tank top and my scrub pants, my hair pulled tight into a ponytail. I looked plain to most people, but as I prepared for a long 12-hour shift it became apparent that plain had so much more built into it. I picked up my earrings and began to put them in, something I only did when I worked. As I did so I could hear the sound of a siren as it passed the apartment outside. Smiling my mind wandered to the first time those ears heard that all too familiar sound of sirens.
"Unit 7 to the shelter for a 21 year old female with unknown cause."
The intermediate in the driver’s seat ground the gas pedal into the floor as the Paramedic in the passenger’s seat radioed back to dispatch. As soon as the call was returned he turned to me with a smile.
"Buckle up." Without waiting to see if I had listened or not the sirens went on and the lights flashed, causing mayhem to release into the streets. It was my first call and my first time seeing people trying and failing to merge right. Pedestrians jumped back up onto the curb and stare at us, falling into the trance that only lights and sirens can conjure. From the back of that ambulance I gripped the seat and closed my eyes, letting the sound echo off of the buildings and return back to me, falling deep into my ear canal before settling there comfortably. I could even feel that sound deep within my chest, as if that was what my soul craved.
Pulling on my scrub top I caught glimpse of my watch, an old plastic Wal-Mart brand that I hadn’t taken off in ages. As always I checked my watch and verified the accurate time with the clock on my cell phone. As I adjusted it by a minute I studied the worn paint and my watch tan that had come from my lack of taking it off.
Graduating from Nursing Assisting School was no big deal to the students, but the teachers wanted our parents there and urged them to give their student a gift. My father was proud of me and wanted to attend, but like me, he felt that the gift idea was stupid. My mother, a sentimental sap like the teachers convinced my father to just do it. Graduation day was busy, crowded and overwhelming as we got our certifications, at the same time we were also awarded our gifts. When my turn finally came I was given a small wrapped box. Other students got scrubs, equipment and even money, leaving me confused. I opened the box and smiled, a gray plastic watch sat inside, ready and waiting for me to wear it. I put it on my wrist and set the time, promising never to take it off.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed I pulled on my sneakers with distain. The plastic that was once white and shiny is now gray and falling off. The fabric is shades of brown and black and looks disgusting, despite many attempts to wash them. The rubber is no longer in tact and the shoe laces look as if they may break, but in the year that it took to get to that point I had seen many miles and more action than most shoes would. As I look up and into that mirror again I realize the only reason those old crummy sneakers are still around is because I don’t have the heart to throw them out yet.
Starting my job at the hospital was the biggest career accomplishment I had thus far in my young career. The hospital held a prestigious title and only hired the best of the best. I had purchased a new pair of Nikes, the first pair of brand name shoes I had ever bought. Sitting in the shadow of the giant building I worked in I tied those new shoes tightly and smiled at the spring I now had in my step.
Driving into work I sing loudly to the radio, trying not to think about the things I will see in the next shift. It’s the way that I block it out, so I sing, loudly and off tune. As I do so I catch a glimpse of myself smiling, taking my thoughts far away from my stress-free commute and into a memory of a smile that speared my soul.
"Can I have a coke?" He asked, being all of six years old with buzzed brown hair and a missing tooth. I smiled at him and nodded, noticing how big that boys ears were. When I returned with the coke he smiled and opened it quickly, drinking it. His mom smiled from the corner and thanked me and I nodded, laughing as he jumped out of the bed and embraced me, flashing his bare bottom to the world as he did so. As I left his room my smile faded, six year olds have no business being Bone Marrow Transplant patients.
As I pull into the parking garage and pull out my bag I begin to load my right thigh pocket with all of my equipment. People think that I carry too much stuff in that little pocket, but each shift I use all of it. As I cram more and more pens into the pocket and attempt for my flashlight a code sits heavy in my mind.
The code button got punched by the Nurse and I grabbed a pen light from my right thigh pocket, beginning to examine the eyes. As they began to identify infection the doctor pulled a blue marker out of my pocket and began to draw on the patient. Without saying a word I pulled my trauma shears out of the same pocket and handed it to the surgeon as they began to strip ‘em and flip ‘em. Nurses pulled pens and highlighters out of my pocket and began to chart. Twenty minutes later the Ambulance arrived and strapped the patient to a backboard and left quickly. As I gathered up my supplies, cleaned and replaced them the nurses smiled at me. "You look like a Paramedic."
Washing my hands at the nurses station I stop and begin to rub on some lotion. As I rub my hands together quickly I study them. In my job it is all about taking care of people, including holding hands for comfort. As I studied my hands, the callouses, the sores and the scars. Compared to most people my hands were well taken care of.
Her hands were worn, feeling and looking like leather as I studied them. Her nails were uncared for and her cuticles looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Those hands clung tightly to mine all night long as I sat in her room with her. She stirred once or twice, barely attempting to speak, let alone move. I stared at the sticker on her board with fear as I felt for her pulse. She squeezed my hand tightly, waiting for me to return the squeeze. After a moment I moved my fingers over her wrist again until I felt it, three beats and then it slipped away. The room was quiet, not even the sound of breathing filled the room as I stared at the big purple DNR sticker on the board. Do Not Resuscitate.
Ears that have heard first cries and last breaths, a watch reading only military time, battered from thousands of hours in the service. Tennis shoes, six months past their expiration date. A smile that has comforted sick and well people alike. It’s a right thigh pocket crammed with pens, markers, flash lights and scissors. Hands that have felt life hanging on and slipping away.
It’s who I am. I am medicine.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Worst. Week. Ever.
Lost 2 patients. Literally felt one of their heartbeats as it slipped away. Not fun.
Had to deal with the D.A. and the military over someone from my past. Not fun.
Dad and Mom put the family dog down. 13 years and loosing a fight to cancer. I knew it was coming, I would be able to deal...if I hadn't found out via Facebook. Not fun.
Family Drama {and other bullshit that fits into this category.} Not Fun.
Had a couple crazy psych patients that got out of control, slapping hitting and even lewdness. Not fun.
Time for a sleeping pill and a looooong weekend.
Next week is full of hospital visits and all those crappy add-on's. Not looking forward to my contrast MRI, let alone setting a surgical date- it means that I have to commit to it and be really scared!
I don't generally do this but if y'all could keep me in your thoughts and prayers I would appreciate it. I don't wanna go into detail, but I will say that I just haven't been doing well lately. Trying to hide it best I can- but finally decided I need the extra help.
Until next time - BSI
Had to deal with the D.A. and the military over someone from my past. Not fun.
Dad and Mom put the family dog down. 13 years and loosing a fight to cancer. I knew it was coming, I would be able to deal...if I hadn't found out via Facebook. Not fun.
Family Drama {and other bullshit that fits into this category.} Not Fun.
Had a couple crazy psych patients that got out of control, slapping hitting and even lewdness. Not fun.
Time for a sleeping pill and a looooong weekend.
Next week is full of hospital visits and all those crappy add-on's. Not looking forward to my contrast MRI, let alone setting a surgical date- it means that I have to commit to it and be really scared!
I don't generally do this but if y'all could keep me in your thoughts and prayers I would appreciate it. I don't wanna go into detail, but I will say that I just haven't been doing well lately. Trying to hide it best I can- but finally decided I need the extra help.
Until next time - BSI
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Just Do It
You haven't heard alot from me lately bloggers, and with good reason. It's been a busy week or two, working with school, picking up extra shifts and working longer ones than expected and having long sleepless nights just to talk about life and all those damn in-betweens that go on from your goal and where you are now.
The job is good, the job is great. Lately it's been a big stress and an even bigger hassle. At my hospital we have an extra unit called a 'float unit' where we hire RN's, CNA's and LPN's who go to any unit that needs extra staff. It's a helpful unit, however recently we had an issue with a float CNA at my unit. She was causing problems, being snitty and even yelling at patients. She wanted to order food, so we okayed her to order in a pizza. Both nurses told her no meat and I told her no heavy garlic (I am allergic.) She ordered a chicken garlic pizza. We all ate one piece just to make her feel better, but I was sure regretting it. She rode equipment around and sand loudly in spanish, making it hard for the patients to sleep. I work nights, you don't make noise. At the end of the shift everyone was appaled when management offered her a job. Needless to say we panicked and had to speak up. Luckily they listen to us and she will not be my new partner.
Monday I am set to get a contrast MRI done. I am really nervous but am glad that I am doing it where I work. My co-workers are all awesome people, and I honestly do trust them to do a good job. They do it whether they know I am a patient or not. Wednesday I am all set for a follow-up with my shoulder surgeon.
I'm gonna do it. I am going to have my surgery. The ideal date to do it on would be in November, right before Thanksgiving. It's not that I want to ruin the holidays, It's that I would get lots of holiday pay while I am out. It's going to be a long 12 weeks, so here is hoping that there are some decent holiday specials. My nurses are amazing and have helped me plan out my leave from the day of sugery to the day I want to get back. They are even trying to get me to work more hours over there, instead of the med/surg unit, so that I don't ruin a fresh surgery.
Meanwhile the boy is still in POST and is loving it. He comes home excited every night trying to convince me to let him do the things he was taught in class. Last night he learned searches, so he felt up everybody he could find, including his grandma. For awhile there, I was worried about him being a cop, thinking that he wouldn't do so great at it, but now, he is doing awesome.
The job is good, the job is great. Lately it's been a big stress and an even bigger hassle. At my hospital we have an extra unit called a 'float unit' where we hire RN's, CNA's and LPN's who go to any unit that needs extra staff. It's a helpful unit, however recently we had an issue with a float CNA at my unit. She was causing problems, being snitty and even yelling at patients. She wanted to order food, so we okayed her to order in a pizza. Both nurses told her no meat and I told her no heavy garlic (I am allergic.) She ordered a chicken garlic pizza. We all ate one piece just to make her feel better, but I was sure regretting it. She rode equipment around and sand loudly in spanish, making it hard for the patients to sleep. I work nights, you don't make noise. At the end of the shift everyone was appaled when management offered her a job. Needless to say we panicked and had to speak up. Luckily they listen to us and she will not be my new partner.
Monday I am set to get a contrast MRI done. I am really nervous but am glad that I am doing it where I work. My co-workers are all awesome people, and I honestly do trust them to do a good job. They do it whether they know I am a patient or not. Wednesday I am all set for a follow-up with my shoulder surgeon.
I'm gonna do it. I am going to have my surgery. The ideal date to do it on would be in November, right before Thanksgiving. It's not that I want to ruin the holidays, It's that I would get lots of holiday pay while I am out. It's going to be a long 12 weeks, so here is hoping that there are some decent holiday specials. My nurses are amazing and have helped me plan out my leave from the day of sugery to the day I want to get back. They are even trying to get me to work more hours over there, instead of the med/surg unit, so that I don't ruin a fresh surgery.
Meanwhile the boy is still in POST and is loving it. He comes home excited every night trying to convince me to let him do the things he was taught in class. Last night he learned searches, so he felt up everybody he could find, including his grandma. For awhile there, I was worried about him being a cop, thinking that he wouldn't do so great at it, but now, he is doing awesome.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Something Exciting!
Ah! I am still feeling pumped so this will be poorly-worded and short lived, but today I got to watch some surgeries, all with the knees and legs. It was FUN! The nurses were worried I would pass out, but I was too excitied to waste time with THAT! More details to come when I quit pumping.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Life Moves On.
Every day in December held a new adventure, mainly because every night after work I got a phone call from my friend Bubba, who was looking for some fun for him and Scott, a friend home from Iraq. Feeling quite lame and wanting to get out for the night I would agree and we would take off, looking for anything to do.
We saw all the Christmas lights possible, we went bowling, played pool, got food, we even went on a search to find the spirit of Christmas and found a Santa look-alike and a Jesus look-alike. They were fun to be around, and they both had broken 'give-a-damns', making it easier to be myself and live with my life as it was. Soon to find out Scott was an Army medic, and a damn good one as that, he was on their Air Ambulances.
I learned a lot from the two of them during that month. I learned that being a dumb ass in public had its benefits as well as its downsides. I learned that learning to laugh at myself was a must. That being a 'scrub*' was only a bad thing by someone higher than you, but that they always need scrubs to stay afloat. More than anything, I learned how a girl should be treated.
Work was going good, I was finally off of orientation and was finally feeling ready to do the job they had me do. I wasn't getting along with one of the nurses, and the other nurse I felt only was nice to me as a pity thing. I learned a lot, quickly. 12-Lead EKG's, the effects of Bupivicane and TIVA, even secrets on how total knees can get in and out of bed easier. The job was perfect and I was so happy with it.
Tim and I tried dating during the first of the month. Many times I got stood up, was forced to wait hours at a time for him to show up, and sometimes we would go a week without speaking. Bubba finally decided I needed an intervention and when Tim stood me up, he picked me up, let me cry on his shoulder, took me on a date and ended the night with a perfect first kiss.
Things got awkward. I liked Tim, but he was frankly an ass to me. Bubba was a good guy, a decent guy, and my best friend. Days passed and we didn't talk about the date or the kiss, but we both knew I had fallen for Bubba, hard. We just kept that our little secret for a little bit. I wanted to take it slow, and he just wanted to enjoy whatever we had.
As the month came to an end we finally had to say goodbye to what we had. We said goodbye to our crazy nightly adventures, our avoiding the truth and more than anything we had to say goodbye to Scott. The night he left I was given a gift from Scott, my first jump kit, complete with sterile bandages, tape, trauma shears and more odds and ends. Tucked up into the big pocket of this kit, was one of his t-shirts. I smiled as I studied all of this, unsure of what to think,let alone say. Finally I found a note. 'Hang in there. You'll get it.'
I never thought we would grow up so much in 31 days, but on New Year's Eve I took control of my young life, and returned that kiss from Bubba, leaving more awkwardness to be had. For some reason, I was okay with it, and more than anything, I came to find out I loved it.
*A scrub was Scott's term for a Nurse, CNA, or any other hospital person wearing 'scrubs', excluding doctors.
We saw all the Christmas lights possible, we went bowling, played pool, got food, we even went on a search to find the spirit of Christmas and found a Santa look-alike and a Jesus look-alike. They were fun to be around, and they both had broken 'give-a-damns', making it easier to be myself and live with my life as it was. Soon to find out Scott was an Army medic, and a damn good one as that, he was on their Air Ambulances.
I learned a lot from the two of them during that month. I learned that being a dumb ass in public had its benefits as well as its downsides. I learned that learning to laugh at myself was a must. That being a 'scrub*' was only a bad thing by someone higher than you, but that they always need scrubs to stay afloat. More than anything, I learned how a girl should be treated.
Work was going good, I was finally off of orientation and was finally feeling ready to do the job they had me do. I wasn't getting along with one of the nurses, and the other nurse I felt only was nice to me as a pity thing. I learned a lot, quickly. 12-Lead EKG's, the effects of Bupivicane and TIVA, even secrets on how total knees can get in and out of bed easier. The job was perfect and I was so happy with it.
Tim and I tried dating during the first of the month. Many times I got stood up, was forced to wait hours at a time for him to show up, and sometimes we would go a week without speaking. Bubba finally decided I needed an intervention and when Tim stood me up, he picked me up, let me cry on his shoulder, took me on a date and ended the night with a perfect first kiss.
Things got awkward. I liked Tim, but he was frankly an ass to me. Bubba was a good guy, a decent guy, and my best friend. Days passed and we didn't talk about the date or the kiss, but we both knew I had fallen for Bubba, hard. We just kept that our little secret for a little bit. I wanted to take it slow, and he just wanted to enjoy whatever we had.
As the month came to an end we finally had to say goodbye to what we had. We said goodbye to our crazy nightly adventures, our avoiding the truth and more than anything we had to say goodbye to Scott. The night he left I was given a gift from Scott, my first jump kit, complete with sterile bandages, tape, trauma shears and more odds and ends. Tucked up into the big pocket of this kit, was one of his t-shirts. I smiled as I studied all of this, unsure of what to think,let alone say. Finally I found a note. 'Hang in there. You'll get it.'
I never thought we would grow up so much in 31 days, but on New Year's Eve I took control of my young life, and returned that kiss from Bubba, leaving more awkwardness to be had. For some reason, I was okay with it, and more than anything, I came to find out I loved it.
*A scrub was Scott's term for a Nurse, CNA, or any other hospital person wearing 'scrubs', excluding doctors.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)