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.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
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?
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.
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?
Monday, November 22, 2010
snow
In Portland, as in Seattle (where I grew up), snow is a rare and magical thing.
I can distinctly remember watching my fathers' weather reader for hours growing up. The watch pot never boils. But that didn't stop us.
"Oh, oh! It says 36 degrees now. It could snow at any moment..."
"Oh no! It went back up to 38 degrees. Dang...."
"Oh, back down to 37.."
And so on. For countless hours. Or at least until bedtime.
As I have grown older (not that I'm ancient or anything) the trill of snow has refused to abate. Whenever the air gets nippy I start seeking weather information. The TV news is turned to on. The internet is honed into a frequently updated site. I do frequent "step outside" checks, and of course, I do the peep my head around the curtain to and peer knowingly into the street lamp more times that I will admit here.
Still no snow.
I just checked again. The speed and size of the precipitation around the street lamps looks a bit to fast and small. Not quite snow. But, moving quickly in that direction... or so I hope.
My mother and sister and I drove from Eastern Oregon today, back into Portland, and it would seem that snow is the name of the game everywhere but here.
In fact, there is so much snow going around that the passes are for the most part closed (which made for an interesting detour around the mountain... and when it wasn't snowing the rain and standing water were enough to spike my blood pressure into that panic level... and I wasn't even the one driving).
While I detest driving in bad weather, and, perhaps detest being a passenger in bad weather even more, I do in fact love snow. I feel as though the day has been tainted. Snow and bad weather when I was in no position to enjoy them, and now, snuggled up in bed, writing my blog, nothing but cold, wet, rain. Boring.
The good news. There should be snow coming. Or, so my aforementioned sources sources tell me.
Let it snow!
I can distinctly remember watching my fathers' weather reader for hours growing up. The watch pot never boils. But that didn't stop us.
"Oh, oh! It says 36 degrees now. It could snow at any moment..."
"Oh no! It went back up to 38 degrees. Dang...."
"Oh, back down to 37.."
And so on. For countless hours. Or at least until bedtime.
As I have grown older (not that I'm ancient or anything) the trill of snow has refused to abate. Whenever the air gets nippy I start seeking weather information. The TV news is turned to on. The internet is honed into a frequently updated site. I do frequent "step outside" checks, and of course, I do the peep my head around the curtain to and peer knowingly into the street lamp more times that I will admit here.
Still no snow.
I just checked again. The speed and size of the precipitation around the street lamps looks a bit to fast and small. Not quite snow. But, moving quickly in that direction... or so I hope.
My mother and sister and I drove from Eastern Oregon today, back into Portland, and it would seem that snow is the name of the game everywhere but here.
In fact, there is so much snow going around that the passes are for the most part closed (which made for an interesting detour around the mountain... and when it wasn't snowing the rain and standing water were enough to spike my blood pressure into that panic level... and I wasn't even the one driving).
While I detest driving in bad weather, and, perhaps detest being a passenger in bad weather even more, I do in fact love snow. I feel as though the day has been tainted. Snow and bad weather when I was in no position to enjoy them, and now, snuggled up in bed, writing my blog, nothing but cold, wet, rain. Boring.
The good news. There should be snow coming. Or, so my aforementioned sources sources tell me.
Let it snow!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Prompts
Perhaps fate. Perhaps happenstance. Or perhaps I just have been waiting for something to speak to me. And something did.
I was reading a friend's blog (what better way to come up with ideas, than to copy someone else's ideas) who was all excited by a writting prompt challenge.
I said to myself, "that's exactly what I need. A prompt." I thought, "surely I can find a prompt somewhere online." And I found one. For a contest, no less. Of course they want me to pay them money or some such nonsense to enter, so I said, "haha, you're funny. I'm not going to pay you anything. But, I will steal your prompt and do my best to fufill the breif." Okay, so I may have been alone and just said those things in my head.
So here's the prompt:
Your character is in a car accident. Describe their reaction.
The task is simple: Write about your character's reaction to the car accident as an exercise to introduce your character to the reader.
Your story must:
Introduce your character using the given prompt.
Be written from the third person limited point of view.
2000 words or less: Word count must be provided at the bottom of the item or your entry will be disqualified.
Genre: Sci Fi
My Response:
The windows had fogged and the slightest touch sent rivers of condensed wet sliding down the smooth surface. Smudging her hand along the glass provided Ekaterina with a clear view of her world as it disappeared behind her into the dark and white of winter. She let her head lean against the coldness, feeling the frosty outside attempting to snuff out the rosy pink flush across her cheek.
With each bump and jolt, Ena’s head would tap loudly against the window. Her blond hair would slide and leave behind a hundred thin trails for water to slip down. She liked the thud she felt as her head returned to the cold glass. She wondered if the reckless driver were to hit a big enough hole, if her head might break through. The thought delighted her for an instant. She imagined how the night air would let her breathe in a way the stuffy artificial heat of the car had been suffocating her from the moment she was herded into the vinyl prison.
Tears refused to come. She had always thought they would make an appearance if she found herself on this road, in a car, moving faster than her feet could ever carry her. Perhaps they had decided they were unneeded, that the wet fog sliding down the window and Ekaterina’s cheek were more water than the occasion required.
Her hand in her lap fidgeted restlessly with the parcel in her hands. The course brown paper that covered the perfectly square box on her lap weighed no more than a hide leather bag her mother was famous for crafting and looked to be no bigger than a hat box. It was all her mother could offer and so she clung to it like the lifeline she knew it was meant to be.
While the bags her mother created were beautiful and were worth an ungodly amount in The Center, they would not be likely to save Ekaterina from her fate. Still, she held it tightly and hoped the offered bribe with help in some small way.
Staring blankly into the town that she once called her home the girl with the pink cheeks bid farewell to all she had once loved. Lost in her own self-pity and fear, Ena closed her eyes. The darkness lasted all of a moment before she heard the loud screech of tires beneath her, and the unsettling whoosh of sound and speed as her body was lurched away from the window and into the padded bench in front of her. The floor came up to meet her and the air rushed out of her with this second hit. She felt the spaces around her stir, meld, bend, and break. The sounds that accompanied the movements were stark, harsh, and jarring. All sense of self-orientation abandoned her and the girl with the pink cheeks found her final resting place.
Only the girl with the pink cheeks was not ready to finally rest. Her moment of self-pity played out, and the girl with the pink cheeks took a sharp shallow breath and crawled onto her elbows towards the cold night air that tickled her skin.
++++++
It's just a start. But, what do you think? Do you care about Ena? Want to know what happens to her? Why she was in the car? Let me know.
K
I was reading a friend's blog (what better way to come up with ideas, than to copy someone else's ideas) who was all excited by a writting prompt challenge.
I said to myself, "that's exactly what I need. A prompt." I thought, "surely I can find a prompt somewhere online." And I found one. For a contest, no less. Of course they want me to pay them money or some such nonsense to enter, so I said, "haha, you're funny. I'm not going to pay you anything. But, I will steal your prompt and do my best to fufill the breif." Okay, so I may have been alone and just said those things in my head.
So here's the prompt:
Your character is in a car accident. Describe their reaction.
The task is simple: Write about your character's reaction to the car accident as an exercise to introduce your character to the reader.
Your story must:
Introduce your character using the given prompt.
Be written from the third person limited point of view.
2000 words or less: Word count must be provided at the bottom of the item or your entry will be disqualified.
Genre: Sci Fi
My Response:
The windows had fogged and the slightest touch sent rivers of condensed wet sliding down the smooth surface. Smudging her hand along the glass provided Ekaterina with a clear view of her world as it disappeared behind her into the dark and white of winter. She let her head lean against the coldness, feeling the frosty outside attempting to snuff out the rosy pink flush across her cheek.
With each bump and jolt, Ena’s head would tap loudly against the window. Her blond hair would slide and leave behind a hundred thin trails for water to slip down. She liked the thud she felt as her head returned to the cold glass. She wondered if the reckless driver were to hit a big enough hole, if her head might break through. The thought delighted her for an instant. She imagined how the night air would let her breathe in a way the stuffy artificial heat of the car had been suffocating her from the moment she was herded into the vinyl prison.
Tears refused to come. She had always thought they would make an appearance if she found herself on this road, in a car, moving faster than her feet could ever carry her. Perhaps they had decided they were unneeded, that the wet fog sliding down the window and Ekaterina’s cheek were more water than the occasion required.
Her hand in her lap fidgeted restlessly with the parcel in her hands. The course brown paper that covered the perfectly square box on her lap weighed no more than a hide leather bag her mother was famous for crafting and looked to be no bigger than a hat box. It was all her mother could offer and so she clung to it like the lifeline she knew it was meant to be.
While the bags her mother created were beautiful and were worth an ungodly amount in The Center, they would not be likely to save Ekaterina from her fate. Still, she held it tightly and hoped the offered bribe with help in some small way.
Staring blankly into the town that she once called her home the girl with the pink cheeks bid farewell to all she had once loved. Lost in her own self-pity and fear, Ena closed her eyes. The darkness lasted all of a moment before she heard the loud screech of tires beneath her, and the unsettling whoosh of sound and speed as her body was lurched away from the window and into the padded bench in front of her. The floor came up to meet her and the air rushed out of her with this second hit. She felt the spaces around her stir, meld, bend, and break. The sounds that accompanied the movements were stark, harsh, and jarring. All sense of self-orientation abandoned her and the girl with the pink cheeks found her final resting place.
Only the girl with the pink cheeks was not ready to finally rest. Her moment of self-pity played out, and the girl with the pink cheeks took a sharp shallow breath and crawled onto her elbows towards the cold night air that tickled her skin.
++++++
It's just a start. But, what do you think? Do you care about Ena? Want to know what happens to her? Why she was in the car? Let me know.
K
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Learning the Language
Did I mention that I'm taking an introductory Russian language class? Well, I am.
It's a four credit class at the community college ACROSS town twice a week. The professor is bubbly and likes to be called by her first name. She's easily excited about all things Russian, demands we speak in Russian only (did I mention this was an intro class) and has dubbed us all with Russian names. It's pretty fantastic.
In the past week or so the pace of the course was accelerated, while the novelty has worn off. Thus, I find myself suddenly a few steps behind.
After working all weekend and feeling drained and uninspired I wanted desperately to skip class, maybe drop the course all together. What did it matter? I've already done the whole "get-a-degree" and "your-GPA-really-counts" deal-i-o, and found that in the end, your GPA really doesn't count, just the degree matters, which I already have. So, I found myself in my own head interrogating the me that wanted to learn Russian in the first place. The exhausted, burnt out, unhappy me encouraged the aspiring linguist to give it up, that it wasn't worth the time and effort.
And then I skipped class on Monday.
Don't worry. I made up class again on Tuesday by going to the other section. The reason I changed me mind? The reason I decided to finish what I started? Well, at first I wasn't sure. Most likely it was that parental nag in the back of my mind that has never completely faded. I could hear the same inundation of parental pressure: Shine's aren't quitters. Parents can be pretty unoriginal, no?
But, as I rode the shuttle bus ACROSS town on the Tuesday morning I had a few moments to chat with another student. This guy was working on his associates in science and had big dreams of nursing school. When I told him that I was an nurse he nodded his head enthusiastically and said, "oh, so your in the nursing program." I'm not sure how, "I'm a nurse," got confused with "I'm in nursing school," but I clarified that, no, I had already been there, done that, refuse to go back, and have been working as a nurse for several years now.
He seemed so impressed and I won't lie, it made me feel a little fabulous. He had many questions about my career and I did my best to answer them. Only after some time did a light bulb seem to flicker in understanding over his head when he asked, "so what are you doing at PCC?"
I told him I was, "just taking a Russian class." He nodded again, piecing together the separate pieces I had given him.
As we got off the bus, heading in the same direction he asked me one last question, posed more like a statement than a real question, "you want to go to Russia as a nurse?"
I found myself smiling and nodding vigorously in agreement. I think I said something like, "more than anything." In retrospect, I think I told the poor bloke about my Ugandan adventure and how I wanted to work for Doctor's Without Boarders. I was verbal diarrhea-ing all over him.
None of this information I claimed is particularly new information. That is indeed the reason I took the class (that and I felt it would be good for me to know the language working in Portland, as it is the 3rd most popular language in the area). The thing that struck me however, was my enthusiasm. Hadn't I been ready to quit the day prior? Hadn't I found the class to have served whatever novelty purpose it was meant to serve?
All of a sudden I was re inspired by the practicality of the language. All at once I was eager and excited to learn a language that I would hopeful use as a means of getting overseas and working as a community health nurse.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Daydream Believer
I feel my eyebrows sliding lower and lower on my forehead, by the end of next week they will completely obscure my vision. My slouch in growing more prominent and even the chickens are unable to make me smile. It's getting serious.
I don't know if it was the addition of my Russian class at the community college, my lack of time off since last May (to work in Uganda, not really a break), or all the drama unfolding before me a home. Whatever the cause, the effect is the same: I have become the Grinch (rather bad timing as the holidays are right around the corner).
Flipping through pictures of friends in Hawaii may have just set me off. "I want to go," I thought lamely. I can even hear the way the last note turns up ever so slightly to given the comment a true whine. Even my own whine is annoying me right now.
I need to get of town. I almost left with my mother yesterday and did just that, but that tiny bell of responsibility was ringing just loudly enough for me to forgo the adventure. Besides, what I want is a get WAY out of town, a get out of state, get out of country, get out of hemisphere kind of adventure.
I need a vacation. Maybe to St Petersburg. That photo does look intriguing, no? I wonder how my manager would feel about that? I can dream.
I don't know if it was the addition of my Russian class at the community college, my lack of time off since last May (to work in Uganda, not really a break), or all the drama unfolding before me a home. Whatever the cause, the effect is the same: I have become the Grinch (rather bad timing as the holidays are right around the corner).
Flipping through pictures of friends in Hawaii may have just set me off. "I want to go," I thought lamely. I can even hear the way the last note turns up ever so slightly to given the comment a true whine. Even my own whine is annoying me right now.
I need to get of town. I almost left with my mother yesterday and did just that, but that tiny bell of responsibility was ringing just loudly enough for me to forgo the adventure. Besides, what I want is a get WAY out of town, a get out of state, get out of country, get out of hemisphere kind of adventure.
I need a vacation. Maybe to St Petersburg. That photo does look intriguing, no? I wonder how my manager would feel about that? I can dream.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Napping
Is it just me, or does everyone have a very concrete, unchangeable, very polarized view about napping? With all the campaign crap exploding out of every orifice, I have been thinking a lot about what swedes decisions for people. Do the smear ads convince people? Do the debates sway voters? Or is it the support of other people (friends, social media, traditional media, other politicians)? Or is it the way a political votes on specific issues?
Do campaigns really make much different? We have had an entire lifetime to develop our opinions and formulate a kind of personal map about what principles are priorities for us, what we think is important. Perhaps these campaigns just tap into that story. They help us identify who is most like us. The more I think about this, the more I wonder, to which camp do these politicians belong on my hot button issue: napping.
I just want to know, are you a napper? Do you accept nappers? Do you abhore and condesend to nappers? Because, I know you have an opionion about it. Everyone does.
I'll refrain from identifiing my affiliation at this moment, but I promise not to keep you in suspense for too long.
I can't help but see napping as a medium for people to identify with a world view. If you like napping you might argue that a little rest mid-day refreshes and revitalizes your spirits and helps you focus your energy for the rest of the day. However, if you are anti-napper, you may argue that you are truly ambitious, that you do not sleep your day away, that you get things done, that you are a hard worker, and nappers are entirely lazy and unproductive.
Which way do you vote?
Okay, I'll tell you what brought this on. Today I got up for work at 0500 and made it home by 1300 (millitary time) and what full of vigor and enthusiasm about what I had accomplished in the morning (there can be much said about people who do and do not like the mornings as well, I am sure) and then had a lovely lunch with my mother who was passing through town. About 1430 it hit me, my energy sagged (could it have been the experienmetal accupuncture from work?) and I could function no farther. And so I laid down for an afternoon nap. I slept for two hours and woke like a new person. It was like magic.
So you've found me out. I rarely have the opportunity to nap, but when I do, and when I can actualy sleep, I am never happier. There you have it, I vote yes on napping. And, accupuncture for that matter.
Do campaigns really make much different? We have had an entire lifetime to develop our opinions and formulate a kind of personal map about what principles are priorities for us, what we think is important. Perhaps these campaigns just tap into that story. They help us identify who is most like us. The more I think about this, the more I wonder, to which camp do these politicians belong on my hot button issue: napping.
I just want to know, are you a napper? Do you accept nappers? Do you abhore and condesend to nappers? Because, I know you have an opionion about it. Everyone does.
I'll refrain from identifiing my affiliation at this moment, but I promise not to keep you in suspense for too long.
I can't help but see napping as a medium for people to identify with a world view. If you like napping you might argue that a little rest mid-day refreshes and revitalizes your spirits and helps you focus your energy for the rest of the day. However, if you are anti-napper, you may argue that you are truly ambitious, that you do not sleep your day away, that you get things done, that you are a hard worker, and nappers are entirely lazy and unproductive.
Which way do you vote?
Okay, I'll tell you what brought this on. Today I got up for work at 0500 and made it home by 1300 (millitary time) and what full of vigor and enthusiasm about what I had accomplished in the morning (there can be much said about people who do and do not like the mornings as well, I am sure) and then had a lovely lunch with my mother who was passing through town. About 1430 it hit me, my energy sagged (could it have been the experienmetal accupuncture from work?) and I could function no farther. And so I laid down for an afternoon nap. I slept for two hours and woke like a new person. It was like magic.
So you've found me out. I rarely have the opportunity to nap, but when I do, and when I can actualy sleep, I am never happier. There you have it, I vote yes on napping. And, accupuncture for that matter.
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