hungry hungry HIPAAs

Second day of orientation at MethCentral MedCenter. Had to go in a tad early for a chest x-ray since I had a positive skin test in 2004 (well, not really; it turns out the damn stuff was contaminated and what was initially thought to be a positive result bump got very painful and red and swollen and kept growing until it finally erupted in a slew of pus-ish goo about 4 months later. I still have the scar!!). In any case, I no longer get the skin tests. I get chest x-rays.

Ahem. So the radiologist calls my name, and I follow him into the dark hallways of radiology. He's a little bit gawky, still kind of looks like he hasn't grown into his nose and limbs yet. He turns around and looks at me, clears his throat. "So, are you wearing a bra and all that?"

Well. Let me see. I know I haven't got the biggest boobs in the world, and I happen to live in a hippie mecca, but I don't dress like a hippie, and I don't stink of patchouli, and there are more than token bumps under my shirt, so yes, chances are, I'm wearing a bra. But what the hell does he mean by "all that"? A corset? Push-ups? Nipple clamps? I decide not to ask. He instructs me on the use of a hospital gown (?!), tells me that if I have a problem tying it he'd be happy to do it for me.

Yeah, right.

Orientation is another long day of sitting and listening. My brain is swimming in its CSF, drowning in all this information, paperwork, check here sign here answer these questions true false multiple choice. HIPAA, patient safety, disaster protocols. We learned all the code codes (code blue, red, evac, 10, etc). I'm downing coffee like it's water, and my eyelids are still drooping.

Finally, a break, and I head to the ER for a brief reprieve. I talk to the charge nurse, find out I still don't get on the schedule until I finish with the RN orientation this week and next. Three more days of sitting, three more days I don't get to stick anyone with needles. But I find out the three medics I'll be training with are my three favorite medics in the department-- there's DeepThroat, the one who has kept me in the loop this whole time about possible job openings (he'd call and leave whispered messages on my machine every now and again: "psssst. Firefighter Girl. There's something you should know. . ." but I think he only did it so he'd get a bonus when I got hired. Then there's the RN Paragod, who has been around for ages, but is at the end of nursing school and will be leaving the department for a different one when he graduates. And then there's Stu. Good old Stu.

He's young, Stu is. Been a medic for only a couple of years. We bonded during my ER clinicals over a truly remarkable code brown (that one's not in the orientation curriculum, but if you don't know what it is. . .guess). When the stream first hit the floor with a splat and the panicked doc called for help, Stu just shook his head and grabbed the Vicks, rubbed some under my nose, and we rolled up our scrubs sleeves (so to speak) and dove in, log-rolling the bariatric patient toward us to avoid the spray. Yup. I tell ya. There's a lot you can learn about a person in a situation like that.

So. A couple more weeks before I can get my (gloved) hands bloody and dirty again, but it's going to be worth the wait.