auntie meme

I borrowed this from Janet, who graciously told me to go for it. I love these memes on brain fart days


60 Things You Possibly Don't Know About Me
(and why would you even want to??)




1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
All the recycling I forgot to drop off over the weekend.

2. When was the last time you threw up?
It's been years. I have to be dying first.

3. What's your favorite curse word?
Um. Rhymes with truck.

4. Name 3 people who made you smile today?
My kids. Two of them intentionally.

5. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
Dropping Gumby off at school.

6. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Trying to decide between a nap or blogging.

7. What will you be doing 3 hours from now?
Getting ready to go in to work for a few hours.

8. Have you ever been to a strip club?
Only the Chippendales type stuff.

9. What is the last thing you said aloud?
Where the hell is the phone?

10. What is the best ice cream flavor?
Mint chip.

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Crystal Light lemonade.

12. What are you wearing right now?
Yoga pants and a tank top (aka my pajamas)

13. What was the last thing you ate?
Popcorn with seasoning salt, garlic powder and chipotle powder.

14. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
Snort. Um...no.

15. When was the last time you ran?
On the treadmill at the gym. Really, really slowly.

16. What's the last sporting event you watched?
In person - kid's soccer. On TV - Australian Open tennis.

18. Who is the last person you emailed?
My boss.

19. Ever go camping?
Yeah, and I like it well enough. But I'd never plan it on my own. I need someone to drag me off into the woods.

20. Do you have a tan?
I wish.

24. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
Always.

25. What did your last IM say?
How come I can't make this thing work?

26. Are you someone's best friend?
God, I hope so.

27. What are you doing tomorrow?
Getting blood work done. Very long staff meeting. Hanging out with my kids. Project Runway.

28. Where is your mom right now?
As far as I know at home in California.

29. Look to your left, what do you see?
The world's fattest black lab. Snoring and drooling. On my bed.

30. What color is your watch?
Silver with gold edging.

31. What do you think of when you think of Australia?
Tennis. Fantasy vacation. Patrick Rafter. Smart ass Barbie wranglers.

32. Would you consider plastic surgery?
Not today. Most likely not tomorrow, either.

33. What is your birthstone?
Moonstones and pearls.

34. Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?
I'm not a big fast food fan either way.

35.How many kids do you want?
Only the ones I've already got.

36. Do you have a dog?
Three of them.

37. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Gumby.

38. Have you met anyone famous?
Yes.

39. Any plans today?
Sitting on my bed being a slug until the last possible minute. Reading. Blogging. Working for a few hours later on.

40. How many states have you lived in?
Three.

41. Ever go to college?
Twice. One bachelors in Communications and then my RN.

42. Where are you right now?
Sitting on my bed, surrounded by dogs.


43. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
Heh.

44. Last song listened to?
I Want to be sedated by the Ramones. After Rudees blog comment on Tuesday I just had to go back and listen to it.

46. Are you allergic to anything?
Sulfa. Ironing. Arrogant people.

47. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
I live in my black Crocs at work.

48. Are you jealous of anyone?
I wish I could say no, but that would be a lie. I envy smooth, well-ordered lives.

50. Is anyone jealous of you?
Not as far as I know.

51. What time is it?
12:18 PM

52. Do any of your friends have children?
Most of my friends have children.

53. Do you eat healthy?
Yes. In moderation.

54. What do you usually do during the day?
It depends on whether I'm working or not. If not I putter around the house, run errands, buy and cook food, entertain kids, pay bills, etc. Workdays are the easy ones.

55. Do you hate anyone right now?
I think hate is pointless. And very destructive.

56. Do you use the word 'hello' daily?
Yeah, I'm sure I do.

58. How old will you be turning on your next birthday?
47. Sweet Jesus. Can I rethink question # 32?

59. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Yes. I'm a roller coaster junkie.

60. How did you get one of your scars?
A jicama, a brand new carbon steel knife and a ravenous Amazon parrot. It wasn't pretty.

Aren't you sorry you asked? Oh, right...you didn't.

The Thursday Three

I've been trying to come up with a Thursday Three idea all day and I'm totally stuck. Everything I think of seems kind of stale or stupid or I'm afraid I've done something almost exactly like it already.

It's tempting to recycle some of these topics now that there are so many newer people reading, but I feel like that's cheating in some way.

So, I need some help. I need topic ideas and I'm willing to bet that you bunch can come up with a pile of them. All ideas happily accepted - the wilder and wackier the better. Cool and calm is fine, too. I've never been called picky before and I don't plan on starting now. (Okay, I have been called picky before, but I won't be now. I promise).

It's been a crazy week. By the time it's over I will have worked five out of six days. Surfer Dude is in the final throes of rehearsal for his play, so there's a lot of late night carpool pick-ups. (And cranky kids from not enough sleep. Adults, too). I need an indwelling caffeine IV.

That's why I'm calling my lifeline. That's you.

the $20 question

I still have writer's cramp from yesterday.

Or carpal tunnel. Whatever.

So I thought today we could try something different.

Ready?

Here's the scenario:

You have one hour and twenty dollars (or euros).

You can't drive more than five miles from home.

You can't take anyone with you.

And you have to spend the money or lose it.

What would you do?

RC/RN 3

Warning: Traumatically long post ahead. This will teach all of you who asked when the next installment would be. Be careful what you wish for.


I was in the middle of a really bad work run. No matter how positive I tried to stay, it seemed like anything that could go wrong was. Bad days can happen to anyone in any field, but I was a couple of months into the abyss and it was really starting to take its toll on me. And it wasn't just one patient or one situation - it was everything all combined.


We had a teenage gangbanger that had been on the unit for almost nine months. That's a ridiculously long time to be in the ICU. He had finally been stable enough to go a med/surg floor, where he spent many more weeks. To say this kid was a pain in the ass is the understatement of the year. He refused his meds (except the narcotics), he referred to all of us simply as "bitch" and he had an out of control girlfriend who didn't mind chasing you down in other patient's rooms to scream about every single aspect of his care. For a while we had to keep a surgical mask on him because he would spit at anyone who came into his room. When we transferred him to the regular floor we all wanted to throw a party. But when he went home we were, in spite of ourselves, really happy for him. Maybe we were just happy for ourselves. A year is a long time to be in the hospital. For all of us.


He was home less than 24 hours when the rival gang came back to finish him off. Two point blank bullets in the head later he was right back where he started. He died on my shift. On my watch. The shooter was the girlfriend's brother. He made our patient watch while he killed his own sister. And then he shot him. It wasn't hard. Paraplegics don't move so fast.


Then an attending surgeon wrote an order for a procedure that was unclear enough that I checked it out with one of his residents before I carried it out. We both interpreted in the same way and I went ahead. Needless to say, what he wrote was not what he meant and he went off on the both of us. I mean went off. His head didn't swivel and he didn't spew green bile, but it was close. This was followed by a nerve wracking week to see if the patient suffered any ill effects from the procedure. Thank god he didn't, but the resident and I did. I'm sure we both still have pieces of that attending's shoe in our lower intestinal tracts. Leather, I believe. Italian.


We were also being inundated by patients with seriously communicable diseases. A large percentage of our population had Hepatitis C, which you cannot be immunized against. A fair amount were HIV+. And on any given day, at least one of my two patients was an isolation patient. There are many different reasons for this, but the big one is MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus). This is the staph infection that is such a problem in hospitals world-wide, but it is by no means the only problem out there. Lots of these "hospital bugs" were lethal when they got their hooks into someone, so we had to be very careful, both for the patients and ourselves.


Each of the rooms had an isolation cart by the glass door. Before you went into the room you had to put on a mask, gloves, a surgical cap and a lovely yellow paper gown, which tied behind your back. When you came out you would wait until the last possible second to take it all off and throw it into the trash can right inside the door. Then you would scrub violently with soap and hot water, finishing (if you were paranoid) with antibacterial gel. Everything in the room itself was considered contaminated. This whole routine was tolerable if your patient was either a) calm or b) stable. It was when they weren't that problems arose.



I had one gal who was on her call light every couple of minutes. Her anxiety level was perpetually off the scales. Quite simply, she didn't want to be left alone for a minute. She was another long-timer, and somehow I ended up with her a lot. She had a trach, so she couldn't talk. She'd hit her light and when you went to the door she'd motion you in. I'd stand in the doorway and ask if there was anything in particular she wanted. Violent head shaking no. Sixty seconds later, all suited up, I'd go in and she'd write me a note that she wanted pain meds. I'd take off all my gear and go get her the meds. Suit back up and go in. Which med is that? she'd write. I'd tell her. I don't like that one, she wrote. I want another one. Take off all the gear and head out to page the resident and pass this on. Waited for call back and her light would go off again. Stood in the doorway and asked if there was anything in particular she wanted. Told her I was waiting for a call back from the resident. Violent head shaking and beckoning me into the room. Sixty seconds later, all suited up, I'd go in and she'd write me a note saying she'd changed her mind and she really just wanted her anxiety med instead. I'd take off all my gear and go get her anxiety med. Then I'd put it all back on and go in to give it to her. About this time the resident would return my page, but I'd be in the isolation room unable to pick up the phone to tell them that I was about to murder their patient, and could they be a dear and write me some orders for that. We did some variation on this dance every few minutes for twelve hours straight.


People in isolation are also, for some obscure reason, more likely than the "typical" patient to pull out central lines and be shooting blood everywhere while you race to get suited up before they bleed out. Jugulars and subclavians gush like big dogs. It's like some demonic obstacle course where you try to staunch the bleeding while simultaneously dodging it and with your third hand attempting to tie your gown which you left open when you ran into the room in a panic. Add in perpetually cracked and bleeding hands (read: susceptible to infection) from all that washing and it's a situation ripe for worry.


It was during this period of time that I got a particular song stuck in my head. I know I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating. I could not shake this song. It wouldn't go away. It became my own personal soundtrack.




There was the time we had a weather related power outage that knocked out all our vents. Even though it was pretty quick, it felt like forever before the emergency generator kicked in. I got floated down to our Burn ICU for a day, which will go down as some of the more horrific twelve hours of my life so far. Burns are not my thing. I stood by a teenage girl's bed, flanked by neurosurgeons and her parents as her brain herniated in front of us. It basically swelled so much that it descended into her spinal column. As the numbers climbed on the monitors all I could hear was her mother saying frantically, "Why is that number going up so fast? Is that bad?" And I had a patient who had lost control of his motorcycle (helmet-less, of course) at high speed and basically turned himself into a tattoed omelet. The waiting room was full of his Hell's Angels buddies, and they let us all know in pretty uncertain terms that if he didn't survive they would expect some answers. (Here's your answer: Wear a damned helmet. Don't drive 90 miles an hour. Don't drink a case of beer before you drive. And get the hell out of my face. Now).




I had gotten to the point where I couldn't ever forget about work. I'd come home and lie awake for hours trying to relax enough to sleep. I don't think I ever actually dreamed about a specific patient, but I'd have these weird, fragmented stress dreams. Night after night. One of my friends told me she could always tell when she had gotten me on the phone after a day of work. She said I didn't even sound like myself. I knew exactly what she meant, because I didn't feel like myself either. I've had some wild fantasies in my life, but telling a furious Hell's Angel to fuck off was not one of them. Who was that (stupid) nurse with cojones the size of watermelons? Because it couldn't have really been me. I'm a coward by nature. A coward with a very, very big mouth.


But even all of those things weren't enough to push me totally over the edge. It was going to take something really special for that.


It was going to take the neuro patient from hell.


This poor guy had had a massive head bleed. Unfortunately, he was behind the wheel at the time and proceeded to drive his car off of a small bridge. Normally it would have been a toss-up as to whether he was a neuro patient or a trauma patient, but since the Neuro ICU was at capacity, it was a moot point. He came to us. By the time I took over he was critically unstable. He was intubated. He had a central line and a femoral arterial line. He had two tubes going into the ventricles on either side of his brain. This is called a ventriculostomy and is used for two things - to monitor the intracranial pressure (ICP) and to drain cerobrospinal fluid (CSF) off of the brain. Part of the set-up is the tubing and part is the drainage system, meticulously calibrated to drain off exactly the right amount of CSF. One of these ventrics is bad news. Two is above and beyond the call of bad.


His condition continued to decline. He had at least ten drips going. His ICP was going up and his blood pressure was going down. He was not breathing at all on his own and was totally dependent on the vent. Because he wasn't on the neurosurg floor the docs were having to come to us for all his treatment. So when a bed became available on their unit they jumped on it. Next thing I knew my charge nurse was telling me to call report to the neuro ICU.


I balked. Big time. I was afraid breathing too hard in his room was going to send him over the edge, much less moving him and all of his equipment down a couple of floors. My concerns were duly noted and summarily dismissed. The neuro guys wanted him on their own unit. We had a helicopter flying in with a trauma and we needed the bed. Balking is a lot more satisfying when you get what you want.


So I got him ready to move. Big ICU bed. IV drips on pole (with the tubing attached to his central line in his subclavian). Ventilator (with the endotracheal tube in his airway). Two additional poles that had the ventric set-ups on them (each with tubing that attached into his brain). Arterial monitoring system (with the tubing going into his femoral). A transport monitor so I could keep an eye on his vital signs during the trip. The big red crash suitcase, in case he took a dive during the move. I enlisted the respiratory therapist to help with the vent. I got an aide to help maneuver us to the elevator. And away we went, like a herd of really slow turtles.


We were just off our unit, in our lockdown hallway, when his vent failed. It made a really impressive noise and shut down. I've always thought that nurses had the worst mouths in the hospital, but that RT made me look like a slacker. She cussed non-stop while she bagged him and I pushed the bed at breakneck speed back to where we had started from. We waited while the vent was swapped out for a functional one. Take two.


This time we made it to the elevator without incident. Our teaching hospital was not new and the elevators were on the tight side. By the time we fit in a bed, a vent, three poles and two people, there wasn't an inch left to spare. I was in the back of the elevator, squeezed into the wall. The RT was next to the vent pressed into a corner. I was just congratulating myself on having the transport monitor facing toward me so I could see it when the elevator door started closing.


And snagged one of the ventric tubes and got it caught in the door. The RT and I watched in horror as the line got more and more taut and we both simultaneously flung ourselves at it. She ended up taco shelled across the top of her vent. I ended up crawling up my patient's bed (seriously - sometimes unconscious is good) until my feet were right next to his face. And we still couldn't reach it. One of the anesthesia residents was passing in front of the elevator and, alerted by my professional shriek, stuck her hand in and stopped the doors from closing. Without a word she unsnagged the tubing and put it safely back inside the elevator. Later she told me that she had thought she was having a bad day, but reconsidered after that.


We delivered our patient to the neuro ICU without further incident. As we signed all the safety checks and transfer paperwork I felt very grateful that it was done and I went back to my unit thanking my lucky stars it hadn't been worse. I don't remember anything else about that day until about eight hours later, when the medical director of the neuro unit flew onto our unit madder than hell. Next thing I knew he and my boss were standing in front of me with a look on their faces that I knew well, having watched residents get handed their shorts on a daily basis. I was about to receive another Italian loafer enema.


The medical director was waving a paper chart in the air in front of me and demanding to know why nothing had been charted. Hour after hour of columns for vital signs lay empty. How dare I call myself a critical care nurse, had I gotten my degree from a convenience store, and so on and so on. As he shook it two inches from my face I got a good look at the chart up close. And then I sat back to listen to his rant.


Finally, when he exhausted himself, he asked me in an extremely condescending tone why in the world the last time this patient had his vitals charted was at ten than morning. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't being a flat out bitch when I replied


I couldn't tell you, because I transferred him to your unit at ten this morning. As a matter of fact, if you'll take a look at the chart, all those neat columns of vitals prior to ten this morning have my signature on them.


He turned a shade of purple that made me think he should up his blood pressure meds and stormed off the unit. Not a single word of apology. And as I watched the door swing slowly shut behind him all I could think was


I've had enough.

Fun Monday

Mariposa at Mariposa's Tales is our Fun Monday hostess this week and she's given us a double header. First, she wants to know why we named our blogs what we did. And secondly, she wants to know what the favorite or most commonly made dish made in our house is.


The name of my blog is pretty self-explanatory. I am a rotten correspondent. And I'm confessing to it. I don't know why I am, but I am. It was a little easier to rationalize back in the old days where you actually had to buy a stamp and mail a letter, but now there's no excuse. And even with e-mail I'm not great. I love keeping up with people. I adore receiving mail of all kinds. I just...lack motivation on my end.


When we moved from Southern California to Kansas in 1999 it got even worse. I had friends that I really wanted to stay in touch with...and didn't. Not because I didn't want to, but because (all together now) I'm a rotten correspondent. Last year I finally had enough. I woke up one day, sat straight up in bed and said "I'm gonna start a blog to keep in touch with people." And in March I did. Guess what I called it?

And in terms of strengthening old bonds and forming new ones, it's been a home run. Enough so that I could almost rename it Confessions of a (formerly) Rotten Correspondent.


Moving on to question two confuses me a little. This isn't easy to answer when you have three bottomless pit boys who all have different tastes and preferences in food. I'm also a compulsive recipe collector who loves to try new things, so the temptation to post something really fun and different is huge. But I'm not going to. I'm going with something I've made since the kids were tiny, something my mom made for me. The vegetarians have it with the mock chicken cutlets.


My kids call it Green Chicken. And it's terribly, terribly complicated and time consuming, so if tricky recipes confuse you, I'd skip it. Ready?


Take a bunch of chicken. Any pieces are fine. Skinless is fine. With skin is better. Plop 'em in a baking pan.


Sprinkle them liberally with garlic powder, seasoning salt and dried parsley flakes.


Toss them in a 350 oven for an hour-ish. Depends on what pieces you used.


Dinner is served. And it tastes a lot better than it sounds.


Now go see what everyone else is throwing on the table.

the envelope please...

Well, I fell way short of my goal of seeing all the nominees in the "major" categories, but as of Oscar Time here is my tally of what I will have seen:


Best Picture
Juno
Michael Clayton
No Country for Old Men*


Actor
George Clooney - Michael Clayton
Johnny Depp - Sweeney Todd


Actress
Ellen Page - Juno
Laura Linney - The Savages


Supporting Actor
Javier Bardem - No Country for Old Men*
Tom Wilkinson - Michael Clayton


Supporting Actress
Tilda Swinton - Michael Clayton


Director
Jason Reitman - Juno
Tony Gilroy - Michael Clayton
Joel and Ethan Coen - No Country for Old Men*

Original Screenplay
Diablo Cody - Juno
Tony Gilroy - Michael Clayton
Tamara Jenkins - The Savages

*subject to change

I do think I may set a record of a different kind, however. In my (admittedly pissy) opinion, I'm betting that I haven't seen a winner in any category. I'm pretty sure that Daniel Day-Lewis and Julie Christie have Actor and Actress sewn up. I think Director is going to Paul Thomas Anderson for There Will Be Blood. And I'm willing to bet that Atonement takes Best Picture. This would be especially ironic since this is the one film I've wanted to see the most and haven't. I'm still trying to figure out how to fit in in Sunday afternoon, but I can tell you right now that it won't happen. Oh, well.


What are your picks? Any particular favorites?


Let the show begin...

big dilemma

There are three hobbies in my life that bring me great pleasure.



I love to read. Anything and everything.


I'm a relatively new knitting devotee. It's the most Zen thing in my entire life.


And it should come as no surprise that I like to blog. Far, far too much.

Does anyone see the problem here?



I do. You can only do one of them at a time. Now, that's a problem.


I have dueling addictions.


Surely it's a sad commentary on our society when we feel bad that we can't multi-task our hobbies. We spend our days juggling one task after another and then feel guilty doing just one thing at a time - even (or especially) in a moment of relaxation. As a reflection of the expectations we put on ourselves, I hate the idea of making myself feel bad that I'm doing one solitary thing.


But in practicality it's a real problem. The fact that some things can't be combined makes my life more difficult, or at the very least, less fun. And the fact that each of these hobbies can be combined with other things but not each other makes me crazy.


Take reading. It's the ultimate multi-purpose passion. I can read at the gym, on a plane, or at red lights if the book really has its hooks into me. I can knit while I'm gossiping with friends, watching TV or waiting at soccer practice or play rehearsal. I often read blogs while I'm watching TV with the kids because if you get distracted it isn't hard to get back on the train. It takes a little more concentration to write, of course, but I've learned to take what I can get and be grateful for it.


But you can't combine my top three. At all. Maybe some people can knit and type at the same time, but I barely manage them separately. Reading and blogging doesn't work in my world. And while I suppose some people technically could knit and read simultaneously, I'm not one of them. So I have to pick and choose between my vices, giving each a place of its own in my day.


I like to blog in the morning, coffee in hand. This isn't to say that I don't check in at other times during the day, loving comments the way I do. Knitting helps me to sleep, so it's usually what I do right before bed. I used to read myself to sleep but find that knitting clears my head better, especially when I've been at work. I read in bits and pieces all day long, whenever I can fit it in. If I have an afternoon at home alone I usually curl up with a book and a dog.


It's a balancing act, much like life, and sometimes it gets a little out of kilter.


Sometimes it's a real dilemma.

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As you can see Header #1 won by a landslide. (Hard to fault when even the person who created it preferred it!) Doesn't it look terrific?? Thanks, Carolyn!

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New installment of RC/RN on Monday. I hadn't realized it's been a month since the last one, so if you want to reread it go here for Part 1 and here for Part 2. Hopefully, I can wrap this up in one last go-round!

UPDATE: SORRY!! I totally forgot Fun Monday. RC/RN on Tuesday. Where is my brain??

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