it was a really close shave

patient comes via ambulance with vague abdominal complaints. Doc goes to do a quick stool occult. Suddenly, from behind the curtain, we hear this:

"well, son, you've got somethin' shoved up there!"

I hastily cleared a private room.

a gentle reminder: never do anything you can't explain to the paramedics. or the ER staff.

i like throwing myself off mountains

Even though I'm having a really hard time moving today.

this is a thing called hope, and it's on the horizon

MixMan and Miss Diva woke me up this morning at 0730. They'd been up for an hour already (why is it that during the week I have to drag them out of bed at 0700, but on the weekends they're raring to go all bright and shiny? I need my blasted beauty sleep.) They're downstairs, watching Saturday morning cartoons in their pajamas, MixMan with his cochlear implant brochures tucked under his arm. I'm upstairs in the work room, studying a couple of canvases, some emails, and contemplating another pot of coffee.

A friend of mine and I were discussing some rather personal things last night. I may have mentioned in a previous post or two that night shift has made me a little crazy, and I'm finding my Bell Jar moments are becoming more frequent; so much so that at least one of my friends is starting to refer to me as Miss Sylvia. But I was trying to figure out how it was that I became so impenetrable to emotion. And it's not that I don't feel it, I do. And I honestly feel like I show it a lot, too. . . but that's apparently not the case. During ACLS classes, a couple of the veteran night shift nurses were talking about how tough the testing used to be, how they'd throw up before "mega-codes." And I said, "me, too! I hate testing, I get so nervous I can't breathe." And one of them looked at me, and said, "yeah, right, FFG. Whatever. Nothing gets to you." And I've had ex-boyfriends tell me that they get so petrified of doing anything wrong because if they do, they get "the look" that makes them feel like they just killed someone's puppy. And yes, that's a quote.

When did that happen? What jacked up bull crap kind of coping mechanism is this, that pushes everyone away when I need them the most? Sheesh. Night shift and lack of sleep certainly haven't helped. In this profession, too, it's necessary to maintain a very delicate balance of compassion and cynicism, and frankly, the compassion index is usually a little low. But (Blow-Sunshine-Up-Your-Ass)istant Manager posted two new medic positions for noon to 2200, and when I mentioned that I was interested, he told me to go ahead and make my schedule. So I handed it over to Rock Star, because he's better at these things than I am. And he came up with a schedule that gives us lots of time together, and time with the kids, and time for sleep and real life. (isn't he amazing? I think so.) Now to pass it by BSUYAM. . . keep your fingers crossed for me. And that light you see at the end of the tunnel? I'm running as fast as I can toward it.

overheard. . .

from the front seat, while driving children home from school

my five year old, dainty, blonde-haired pink-clad Miss Diva: "MixMan!! Pull my finger!!" with the usual result and great belly laughs ensuing.

in the break room at work

the blow-sunshine-up-your-ass new assistant manager of our ED, speaking to one of the docs:
"hell, no, I'm not having any more children. I just inherited 37 of them when I got this job."

sometimes, dreams come true

three months ago, MixMan was telling me about his dreams, which he likes to do. Usually, they involve a great deal of running and shooting and 'splosions and magic power jewels and all things Sonic the Hedgehog. But this particular time, he looked at me and said, "Mama, in my dreams, I can hear, and I don't have to sign."

the next day, I started gathering up referrals and getting everything in order to determine his eligibility for a cochlear implant.

so on Tuesday, we went up to Big City Hospital. Before we were even out of town, MixMan's daddy started complaining about my car and my music and my driving. He said I drive like a grandma.

whatever.

Anyway, I told him to shut up or he could walk. He shut up.

Once we got up there, MixMan went through a battery of audiological tests. He stayed focused and worked so hard, and it turns out that his hearing loss is in the profound range (which I knew, but he's so sneaky and smart and hated the hearing tests so much that we never could confirm it). In any case, he's definitely eligible for the cochlear implant, and we spoke with the surgeon, and picked out the model that we like, and we'll be scheduling the surgery for some time this summer. The audiologists and the surgeon are all very very hopeful and optimistic about MixMan's potential with this-- he's had such dedicated speech therapy since he was 10 months old that in addition to being able to hear normally at 20db with the ci (instead of the 50db he hears at a whisper with hearing aids, and to put that in context, a normal conversation takes place at 35-40db- which means MixMan is very good at lip reading), his voice tone will also most likely improve. They did say that because of the profound hearing loss, he is eligible for bilateral implants, but most people we've spoken with recommend unilateral with the hearing aid in the other ear, at least for a while. The ci also comes with little attachments for an ipod or mp3 player, so MixMan can listen to music instead of just the thump of the bass.

MixMan is so excited. and so am I.

this is a new one, even for me

so yeah, streetlights go out when I walk under them, and when I worked with him, RevMedic jokingly called me his little EMP because of how many pulse ox sensors would just stop working when I touched them.

This is what showed up on the Zoll I use most often when I turned it on to cardiovert a patient today. It took a second to register what I was seeing. No, I haven't tampered with the picture at all. And nothing any of us tried would make it go back to normal.

This has me a little worried.

why i am drinking an alcoholic beverage at 0430. . .again

really, I don't ordinarily make a habit of drinking when I get off work. . .there's something that doesn't seem quite right about having a beer half an hour before a lot of normal people wake up for the day. but sometimes, there just isn't enough mentholatum in the world to shove up your nose to keep the bad smells out. I think we went through our entire backstock of Fleet enemas tonight. It's been a dookie kind of week.

Question: If you are a stupid person, and you are running from the po-po because you a) wrecked a car, b)were driving while intoxicated, c) have warrants out, or d) took something that wasn't yours, and they chase you (because they always do) and they happen to let the K9 out of the car (which they always will), why is it that you must always end up in a thicket of blackberries?

a word to the wise- never run from the cops. Especially the ones with cold, wet noses. Their bite is worse than their bark. And all those scratches from blackberry thorns? Insult to injury. And it's going to hurt like hell when i clean them out.

p.s. when you come in to the ER at 0300 with really non-specific 10 out of 10 pain that magically migrates from lumbar region to sacrum to abdomen, with strangely point tender spots in random places, and you are weeping and wailing while the person on bed 2 is being told that they have a mass on their brain and the person on bed 9 has a heart rate of 179, and the doctor is kind enough to give you a prepack of Ativan to help you sleep, and you throw it at the 30 year veteran charge nurse and tell her that Ativan just doesn't work for you, and she tells you to get out before she calls security, don't be surprised when she calls security and they escort you to the lobby to await a taxi the unit secretary was kind enough to call for you. And when you decide to yell and scream at the admit secretary, and lunge across the desk and grab her arm, don't be surprised when she calls the police with the little button located under her desk. And really, really don't be surprised when they show up code 3, tasers at the ready. And if you happen to look up and see firefighter girl and 5 meth central firefighter/medics watching and ready to fight over who gets to pull out the taser prongs, well, understand that it's nothing personal. Really.

why i am drinking an alcoholic beverage at 0430

because last night, the patient in bed 11 had breath that smelled exactly the same as the (digitally removed) poo of the patient in bed 10.

and those were two of my first patients.

it didn't get any better in the 12 hours I was there.

p.s. no, you don't get a numbing shot before you get your iv. this is the ER! and if you 1) know that such numbing even exists and 2) ask for it and then bitch at me when I tell you "no," chances are, you are not having an emergency.

got my coccyx spanked by a mountain

Apparently, after 5 months together, I've moved up to the next level of Rock Star. I know a couple of his friends, just because he and I work in the same place, and I've met another one in passing, but this week, the Rock Star invited me on an overnight snowboarding trip. He said he wasn't quite sure who else would be going. So when we got to the meeting place, imagine my surprise when his three best friends walked out of the kitchen. Without their wives/girlfriends/significant others. Dear lord. I looked around for an escape route; the Rock Star was blocking my only exit. He leaned close and said, "just so you know, they're not going to cut you any slack."

I can handle it. Bring it on.

The drive to the mountain was a tad uncomfortable, little ole me packed in a biiiig chevy pickup with four rather manly men. Haven't felt that way since sitting in an engine on the way to a fire, and that's been a while. The testosterone was almost overwhelming. But a couple of nudges and reassuring smiles from the Rock Star, and I settled in. When we got to the resort town of HighFalutin' we dumped our stuff and headed out for "a beer" and some food.

Waking up the next morning hurt a little bit, but once I got my land legs under me, I was fine. Ahem. Really.

We got to the mountain, the Rock Star got me signed up for rentals and a lesson, and then the boys took off. I sat in the cafe and waited for my head to stop throbbing.

The lesson didn't go well. I guess I'm not much of a student, so it's not necessarily the teacher's fault. Just tell me how not to die on a snowboard, and I'll figure out the rest for myself- I don't need a bunch of coddling. And the bunny hill is a crappy place to try and learn. By the end of the lesson, the teacher was frustrated and I was almost in tears.

After a brief pow-wow over nachos and a pitcher, the boys decided it was time for me to have a real lesson. Rock Star asked if I might like to come to the top of the run they'd been doing. Half way up the lift, with the ground very, very far away, I asked how the hell he'd managed to talk me into this. He just smiled, and hugged me, and his best friend said, "you're just as crazy as he is. . .that's why the two of you get along so well. You'll be fine."

I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean.

Too bad that was the last run of the day. It is so much easier to learn with four no-BS teachers and room to ride, and I had an absolute blast, even after sliding down the steeper parts on my face. It may be a while before I can sit down comfortably again, however.

Oh, and judging by the hugs and "you have no idea how nice it is to finally meet you"s, I think I passed this level of Rock Star. And that makes me pleased as punch.

does not play well with others

do you think it says something that the one question I missed on the ACLS written exam was the one about teamwork and instructive communication?

hmmm.

p.s. I run with scissors, too. sort of. Do trauma shears count?