Laundry Pieces and Admission Oppositions

Laundry had piled up. It had overflowed from my hamper in the bathroom sprawling into the hall. Plus, I was completely out of clean underwear, even the old granny panties formerly buried deep in the bureau. So I spent the morning, and two rolls of quarters, at the Laundromat, armed with two months of un-listened to news and politics blurbs on my Ipod. I am now caught up, sort-of, in a dilettantish way, on world mechanics.

I was listening to the NPR weekend edition podcast “In Today's Economy, How Far Can A GED Take You?” from 2/19 and the closing music was the instrumental of Dar Williams’ “February”. It’s my least favorite song on that album; I prefer “Southern California Wants To Be Western New York”- mostly because I was once (still am? ) a mousy SUNY student composting in long underwear and the idea of being lusted after… a lovely novelty. Still… I love NPR ☺

Also fruit flies that drink alcohol are protected from parasitic wasps who can’t hold their liquor. It’s self-medication of an awesome sort. Courtesy of “Cheers! Fruit Flies Drink To Their Health, Literally” from weekend update 2/22.

I went head to head with admissions last night. Our unit was one patient away from its limit. Our nurses are not supposed to have more than 7 patients (which, in my opinion, are still way too many, particularly with the acuity we often have on our med-surg floor. It’s dangerous). Anyway, we had been slammed with 6 admissions/add-on post-ops, all within an hour when we got the call for the final one: 50yo man 400lbs AMS and oozing cellulitis, combative, infected with everything that you can think of, bacterial and viral. Bah.

I studied the census board and then called down. We’ll need to move these ladies together, transfer that dude to that room and then we’ll put Conan into this bed.

Admissions response? “Just put Conan into bed 36A.” I could hear her eyes rolling through the receiver.

“We can’t put Conan there. The roommate just had a major surgery. You don’t put infected patients in with surgical. Besides he needs to be closer to the nurse’s station. We don’t have enough staff for a sitter.”

She argued.

Jeez. Did she think I was just looking to occupy my time? We were crazy busy on the floor and who would be doing the actual physical transfer of the patients and all of their belongings and update all the computer records, charts, assignment sheets, ADT book and kardexes? ME. All she had to do was enter in a few keystrokes.

More arguing.

I called the nursing supervisor. She came up, glanced at the census and then called down to the admissions office.

She !!still!! argued but, eventually, the lady in admissions acquiesced and plotted the patients.

Seriously.

Tantrums at Work

One of our exclusively elective surgeons is on vacation and so our unit census is low. When this occurs, our scheduled staff rotates either floating to another unit or gets called off.

This nurse arrived, saw that a coworker was floated and proceeded, behind the closed door of the breakroom but perfectly audible down the hall, to shout, slam things around and basically throw a ten minute tantrum worthy of an ambitious two year old.

Why?

Apparently, it was her turn to be called off and she's so sick of other units 'taking advantage of our low census' and 'stealing' our staff.

Wow.

Directions

One of the new attendings came up to me today and asked for directions. She was new to the area and not sure on how to get home. She lives next to a major landmark and the drive is pretty straight forward from the hospital, a two-turn trip.

Because she seemed so dubious about my verbal directions, I drew a little map.

Still hesitant, she gratefully watched as I pulled up the google maps version.

Aha!

As she was walking away, I called out: "do you want the map?"

"Oh no, I'll just GPS it. Thanks."

We all laughed about it the rest of the night. So ridiculous!


BTW: Interview invitation Numero Dos esta noche!! ole!

Names

I like words and letters. I like how shuffling them around can result in endless meanings.

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite activities was playing boggle by myself. I would shake the dice and then find as many words as I could in two minutes. After the buzzer, I would scrutinize the board, writing down all the words that I hadn't found during the time limit.

If I found more before the buzzer than after, I won.

On the bus, I rearrange advertisement script in my mind, coming up with as many new sentences as I can. Or I try to just change character spaces. (shoestore up the stairs = shoes tore up the stairs)

When I study the unit census for staffing purposes, I automatically pick out the names with alternate meanings and make up sentences. I don't even really think about it, it just happens.

When I see the last names: Armstrong, Cox, Foster, Good, Paynes, I am going to chuckle. When the next two admissions are named Burns and Seaman. I will start to laugh uncontrollably.

Then I'll be embarrassed when my coworkers ask me what's so funny.

Sigh.

Stupid Pet Peeve

It's trivial but I hate it when I tell someone that I'm sorry as in..

"You hurt your back? That sucks, I'm sorry."

or

"Your grandmother died? Oh, I'm so sorry!"

and they respond with

"Oh that's okay, it's not your fault."

Argghh. I know that your Didi's death wasn't my fault! She lived in freakin' Mumbai!

Sometimes I'll clarify that I wasn't apologizing but offering sympathy and sometimes, like the cashier at the grocery store with the aching back, I'll just let it go.

It still peeves me though.

Rent

I received a phone call from my landlord today complaining that I hadn't paid November's rent which was due on the 10th.

I insisted that I had and that she had cashed the check a full week before the rent was due. We argued over it for a few minutes before I told her that I would send her confirmation today.

So my morning had been spent going to the bank, retrieving a copy of the cashed (and stamped) check, then scanning and emailing it to my landlord.

She hasn't responded yet to my message.

I've always taken pride in paying my bills early and am really irritated with this affair.

Disaster

My area is under a state of emergency right now. I worked a 20 hour shift at the hospital yesterday and am looking into another long shift today. The region is devastated, without drinkable water and many homes without electricity. Emergency command centers and shelters have been set up throughout the county.

I'm amazed at how well everyone worked together these last couple of days. The folks who actually made it, driving hours in convoluted directions, without complaint buckled down to work and spirits were remarkably high. We didn't know how long we would be the only ones who would be able to work and so my manager set up a rotating schedule partway through the day so that we could get some sleep.

A rep whose presentation was canceled, dropped the food off on our floor and so we dined. Because we couldn't use the municipal water, our coffee dispenser was shut off (it is connected directly to the water line.) A neighbor of the hospital dropped off a couple of percolators so that we could refuel.

Another aide came in to relieve me around 4:00 this morning and I began my journey home. Only one bridge in the area is functional and so I have to drive 2 hours on a winding path in the opposite direction to get on the right side of the hill/river in order to get home.

I was the only car in the middle of nowhere when a red sports car wheeled in front of me and then over-corrected to go flying into the tree in someone's front yard.

Immediately stopped, I put my hazards on and called 9 1 1. Describing what happened to the operator, I got out of my car to approach the accident. As I'm walking up, the boy who had been driving, stumbled into the yard, turned to look at the car, said "oh shit!" and took off across the road into the woods.

And so I told the operator. She said someone would be out as soon as they can. Considering the area was in a state of emergency, that 'as soon as they can' was 2 hours and 15 minutes. After giving my statement, they let me go and I began the long trek home.

Choices

Finishing my stint on third shift this morning, I stepped into the clear cool air and watched the beautiful blushing sunrise. It was a serene moment after a long night and a tense early morning.

One of our patients had left AMA just after morning labs. Last week, high on cocaine, Russell** started a bar fight and injured his shoulder. Dr. Joe told him that the surgery would be delayed for several days to allow his body to metabolize the cocaine. Russ was not happy to be stuck in the hospital for a week and recompensed by abusing the nursing staff: dumping his urinal over his sheets and the floor, barking at us when we walked by and spitting at anyone who came into the room.

We, of course, avoided him as much as possible. Well, Dr. Joe neglected to mention to Russ that he would have to have another drug screen before the surgery. Apparently his visiting friends had decided to bring him more drugs instead of flowers. When the lab tech went in to draw his blood, he went a little nutso, pulled out his IV and, blood dripping down his elbow, stormed out of the room toward the nurses' station screaming about bovine stool and ordering us to procreate with ourselves. Thinking he was going to attack us, we called a security code.

After the grey coats wrestled him back to his room, Dr. Joe came up and told him that the surgery was, yet again, delayed. Russ decided that he didn't want the surgery and demanded to be allowed to leave. Dr. Joe, quite angry and quite willing, retrieved the AMA paperwork and Russ left.

I stopped by the grocery store for cat food on my way home. I settled in the express line as a heavyset young woman unloaded her cart of items with the corresponding WIC vouchers on the counter. I had the rest of the day off and so buried my natural impatience with a magazine.

I soon found myself eavesdropping on the transaction ahead of me. The woman, refusing to pay the 58c difference for a bunch of grapes, told the cashier to take some grapes out of the bunch. I watched as the scan was voided, grapes removed, rescanned, voided, grapes removed, rescanned, voided, grapes removed, rescanned, voided and then grapes added one by one until the weight matched the amount allowed by the WIC voucher. *sigh*.. "day off.. day off.. day off.. breathe.."

The cheese came next without issue. The juice wasn't juice but punch and not allowed under the rules of the program. Argument. Huffing. Return with Lemonade. Argument. Huffing. Apple Juice.

Finally, the cashier began scanning the non WIC items: HungryMan dinners, bagels, jars of baby food and beer. Total $21.53. Oh, only have $18.37.. Big eyes look at the cashier then move to me. I bury my face in the magazine. Hummm... Ok, take the baby food off.

I drove home judging her. I drank my black coffee and judged her. I thought about the choices that she could have made but didn't. I began to reflect on the decisions that I have made that could be better and I felt guilty. I could have had something other than that blueberry muffin this morning. I could have had tea instead of wine last weekend. I make awful decisions all the time: too much cheese, not enough greens, not enough water, reading trashy novels instead of literature, watching True Blood. I have a degree in chemistry and a passion for studying nutrition. I still make crappy lifestyle choices. I think most people do.

Lady, you're doing alright. Keep going to your classes at WIC and keep fighting for every grape. Please just don't do it in the express line. And don't date anyone with a gimpy shoulder; he's bad news.

Cleaning

The hospital is undergoing renovations. Last night, the construction workers were on our unit. They taped up little tents and began asbestos cleaning under the ceiling tiles. They were being cautious. They had even put up double drop doors in their tents to prevent any contamination when they entered or left.

Partway through the effort, I walked into the little kitchenette where we keep snacks/ice/drinks for the patients only to find one of the workers rinsing his vacuum canister in the sink. Dude.

He totally bypassed the closed/locked door with the sign on the front saying U8 staff only. (They have a master key to access all the rooms.) He was washing a disgusting greasy dusty cylinder in what was obviously a kitchen sink. I was horrified. I asked him what he was doing and then kicked him out of the kitchenette.

He claimed that he couldn't find another sink. I pointed to four sinks in the hallway and directed him to two different bathrooms, all closer to the work area than the kitchenette. Seriously, you couldn't have asked? *facepalm*