My Sisters

My sisters and I got into a "remember when..." conversation recently.  At a wedding (which may or may not have influenced the direction of our conversation).

It's funny how time and memories can alter any event.  Each pair of eyes sees a different image.  Could there really have been only one image to begin with?  People say that hind sight is 20/20.... they could not be more wrong.  

My sister's wanted to allude to an event that my memory finds rather hazy.  Something about my refusal to admit that I was going to get married.  My sisters would have you believe that whenever the opportunity arose I was all about condemning marriage.  Saying things like, "who say's I'm even getting married, anyway?" I was a born feminist, I guess.

I, however, remember a very different event.  A car trip.  In this car trip my sisters and I are playing a game of M.A.S.H. or some other nonsensical girly game.  Perhaps they were playing and I was overhearing.  Perhaps I was playing too.  That part has slipped from my mind.  What I do remember was the taunting.  "You're going to die alone!  You and your 20 cats!" The part about the 20 cats was definitely a word for word quote.

There was nothing I could say to dissuade them of this, if my memory serves.  It might because, I had denied it on previous occasions.  Maybe.  But, that is the marriage memory I have.

Anyway, when I brought up this fond childhood memory, my sisters seem to have completely forgotten this event.  My sister, who we all claim has the memory of an elephant (at least where she is concerned) laughed and said she had no recollection of such an event.

It's funny what we hang on to.  I remember being entirely offended and hurt.  My sisters remember a girl who refused on principle to marry as an adult.

The past is such a pliable thing, it would seem.  It changes as we change.  Pieces disappear and others appear years later.  Who can tell what really happened.

But, as a point of memory keeping, which I suppose a blog can act as, if I so choose it to, I will add this memory to the mix:

The dreaded, who's getting married next came up during this same conversation.  And, since my little brother is suddenly facebook friendly (i.e. relationship status change-worthy) with a cheerleader at school, my sisters and I felt it would be important to set up some ground rules.

The word "BIRTH ORDER" came up several times.

It was pounded in and spelled out.  Our brother was not, under any circumstance, allowed to marry before any of his older sisters.  With the small caveat loop hole that he proposed himself : in the event that we (his sisters) were still single on his 30th birthday (a non-negotiable number) he would then be allowed to marry with our consent.

The other rule introduced was the rule of "PERMISSION."

This rule involved the permission receiving of all siblings prior to a marriage.  Our brother was to ask each of us for our permission prior to even asking the father's permission.

Now, this relationship may be new and against great odds, but my sisters and I would take no chances.

The rules were followed by (no surprise since both of my sister's are born teachers) a list a consequences should either of these rules be broken.

Threats, if you will.  I believe blackmail, stalking, harassment, terrorism, and even physical violence may have been thrown around.

"We would track you down."

"You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family" (or nose?)

Anyways, the girl would feel unwelcome, was the point, I believe.



I feel better having written the rules down.  They seeem more impermbiable and solid typed out this way.

I hope my sisters remember these rules, because I think they apply to each of us.  That's right.... BIRTH ORDER people.

More Work Grumbling.

If you are not yourself, or have never really known a nurse, this little rant may go over your head.  However, you are welcome to read either way.

Scheduling is one of the ongoing battles that rage ceaselessly in the hospital.  Your manager wants you in committees (for whatever reason), and so you are volentold into a committee.  These committee meetings range in time from an hour to 8hrs in length, depending on the topic of debate.  Which means that week, your time working as a floor nurse is subtly (or significantly) altered.

I was most recently volentold into a committee focused on "standardizing" (the word of the year, it would seem, considering the way it's thrown around as if it were the cure to cancer or something) shift-to-shift report. 

This particular meeting was 4hrs in length.  And, so, to not incur overtime on my behalf, I was scheduled an 8hr day.  The 8hr shift happened to be on a Saturday (today, in fact), which you might assume to be something exciting.  A shortened weekend day;  nothing better (save not working the weekend at all).  However, this little "princess" shift in my weekend has reeked havoc on the floor.

Lordy-goodness.  It's ridiculous.



It has meant an entirely new patient assignment for me today.  And will mean an entirely different assignment tomorrow (as all of my new patients discharged today).  Because, as an 8hr nurse, I can't care for the patients I did yesterday or be in charge.  The whole thing is rigged, I swear.

I was a bit miffed when I found this out this morning from the power-hungry charge nurse (especially after my boss arranged a schedule so that I could keep my patients and outlined it carefully yesterday).

I may have stormed around a bit.  May have even seen a bit of red (well, maybe not that hard-core, maybe just pink).

But, what really gets my goat... a text message from my boss saying "I hope you understand the charge nurse's decision. it's a good one."  Are you kidding me?  Not only does this mean that the charge nurse called our boss to whine about my storming, but that he actually thinks this shuffle is good.  Is my boss seriously siding with power-hungry drama king? 

Sometimes I really hate work politics. 

It's a really good thing I only worked 8hrs today.  I think it may be time for me to go to bed and pray for a better tomorrow.

Jeopardy

Okay,  if you weren't already convinced I am an old soul, or at least an old-fashioned soul, here's today's revelation: my most favorite show on T.V. is Jeopardy.

Unfortunately the show airs, without fail, every weekday from 7pm-7:30pm (in case you were unaware or lived under a rock or something).  This time coincides with "change of shift hand overs" at work (i.e. the time when I am meant to be telling the oncoming night shift nurse all about the patient they will be caring for).

On the up side, these reports are happening more and more often at the bedside (if you're not a health care person, perhaps you are unaware that for eons and eons nurses have had the ritualistic passing of the baton in a place discrete and hidden from patients).  What this means is, I happen to be near a T.V. during the Jeopardy 1/2 hour.  And, lucky for me, most of my patients are of an age where Jeopardy happens to be what they watch (or else they fell asleep during the evening news and never turned off their T.V.).

Anyway, it so happens that occasionally I will be in my report zone... a place in my mind where information spews out of me faster than the speed of light (oftentimes earning me glares from the oncoming nurses as they are not able to write "glioblastoma" as quickly as I leave it in my dust) and I hear the sweet sounds of "dom da dom da dom da dom. dot du dom dom dom dom dom" (my literary conversion of the Jeopardy theme song). 

People tend to give me an odd look when, in the middle of report, I stop talking mid-sentence and turn eyes and ears in their natural direction: toward Alex Trebek.  Don't missunderstand me... I don't idolize Trebek.  I actually find him rather pompous and condesending (espcially when he does his French accent, or does some silly video jeopardy on a beach).  But I just love the show.

My night shift counterpart will look at me with great confusion.  Did I just de-rail for Jeopardy?  Oh, yeah.  That just happened.

Somehow, I manage to pull myself away from the program after a question or two and make a concerted effort to finish my report and depart, cursing once again the poor timing.

On the other hand, I only work 3 days a week (and 1 of those is a weekend day).  So the majority of the time my Jeopardy hour is able to remain sacrade.  I can sit, sip wine, work on Russian homework, tinker with the mail, etc and enjoy my trival time.  I can pick the contestant I feel worthy of my support and subsequently jeer or laude the players.  Like I said, I do love this show.

However, do understand that while I stratigically select a player to rout for, I don't actually care to know them.  The segment of the show where contestants blather on about some trivial nothing-or-other snipit of their live's is acturally my least favorite part of the show.  I don't care that "Walt-an-enginer-from-Pennslyvania" saved a kitten from a burning building, or that "Sarah-a-school-teacher-from-Rhode-Island" has a thing against eating anything red. I'd almost rather watch "Extra" with that annoying child-actor-all-grown-up from Saved by the Bell.

In the end I'm there for the occassional answerable question (or is it, questionable answer? Answerable anwser?) and the music (I can't help but hum along... aloud.  Wherever I am).

How about you?