Bending and Not Breaking

New

2009-11-17T17:54:00.000-08:00

There used to be a time when I wanted another baby. I would think of my life as a mother and refuse to believe that that chance to cuddle a baby was over for me. And I would hide the sadness by feigning relief at infertility. That was years ago. Evan was 3 or 4 years old: still young, but undeniably growing up on me. About 5 years ago. But it never happened, and I just assumed that God forgot.

I always said I wanted to be a doctor. I guess secretly I never believed it could happen. But then something crazy happened, and I made the first step that was more of a leap of faith. And then came progress. And before I knew what was happening, everything I have always wanted was right there within my reach.

I did that for myself. Suddenly the idea of Evan being an only child wasn't so bad. It meant I could have everything I wanted: a career in medicine, a husband I love, being a mother. I didn't have to sacrifice a thing other than sleep and some elbow grease. Perfect.

But God, if He or She exists, does have a sense of humor. Immersed in my world of school and work, I never noticed that my boobs hurt that badly until one day when I stopped to pay attention. So I took the test that had nothing to do with pre-med, and it was positive before I could even put it on the counter to wait the requisite three minutes. Of course it had to be wrong, so I took another. Same result. So I called a doctor and got orders sent to a lab, just to be sure. Yes. We are having another baby.

I was completely in shock. Not according to plan. Evan will be 9 about two months after this one is to be born. Then I thought about how I was almost done. About applying to med school with an infant in tow. About another mouth to feed. And I was upet.

But nature took care of that. Over the weeks, as my belly first turned softer, then started to firm with the swelling of new life. And I saw the flutter of a heart beat, strong and persistant, on a screen. Saw the smile light John's face and the excitement flicker in Evan's eyes. And suddely, my outlook changed.

I get to try it all again. I get a chance to amend the errors I made with Evan, as we parents do sometimes. I get the last chance to be the perfect mother. To smell thebuttermilk breath of a newborn and feel the flutter of batting eyelashes against my cheek. I get to sing lullabies again without anyone insisting they are too old for them. I get to witness first steps and first words again. To hear a baby's giggle. To buy those tiny clothes and smell baby lotion.

So considering names, I go for meaning and not trends. And my first inclination is the Emily I have always wanted. But then I see Amelia's meaning: work, strain, effort. And I know that this is the one. But what for a boy? John and I could not agree. Until, at the very end of the alphabet, I found one that brought tears to my eys.

The meaning of Zachary: God remembered.

Surviving H1N1

2009-11-02T09:44:00.000-08:00

Where in the Hell have I been lately?

Well, Organic Chemistry is trying to kill me, I swear. And I have been working like a dog thanks to the pesky H1N1. I havemore updates later, but those will come unde separate cover...

What is it like to be a respiratory theapist in the throes of an early and horrendous flu season? "Suffocating" would be the first word I would choose. Everyone with a cough is in droplet precautions, which means I have to mask up before entering just about any room in the hospital. And we have gotten so out of hand with it! I had a vent patient who was known to have aspiration pneumonia. He had been on the vent for weeks when I went to treat him a few days ago. Imagine my surprise when I see a large "Droplet Precaution" sign on his door in the ICU. Why? Because he has pneumonia, we assume he has swine flu. Ridiculous.

Another example: I was working the ER the other night. The doctor was ordering my services for everyone. After about 5 unnecessary breathing treatments, I asked why a patient in with nausea/ vomiting with 100% clear lungs would need it. His response? Well, I think she has H1N1, so she may wheeze in the future. Again, ridiculous.

People are so panicked. Checking into the ER for sneezing, literally. Entire families checking in together. The ER's are clogged with this stuff, limiting access to care for people who need it most.

It irks me in a big way.

I know the flu sucks. I also know a new strain of anything is scary. But if you are healthy and just having manageable symptoms, there is nothing that can be done for you in the ER that cannot be done at home. So stay there. Tylenol works for fevers, Gatorade and Jell-O work for dehydration. And these are all infinitely cheaper than an ER bill.

I'm a Double Major in Moleculr Biology and Biomechanics On a Pre-Med Track

2009-09-22T01:20:00.000-07:00

Mouthful, isn't it?

I have one more day off, then back to class I go. Kinda excited, kinda nervous. Calculus has never been my thing, but it has to become so this quarter. I dropped that physics course and 3rd chem course due to my illness over the summer, and they are prerequisites to all of my fall classes. Most professors are forgiving, and are letting me slide. Except for my Genetics professor. She isn't very favorable to my staying in her course, but if one of my advisors has anything to do with it, I will remain in the course. (Yes, I said one of my advisors, as in I have 3: one for biomechanics, one for molecular biology, and one pre-professinal advisor who is going to help me get into med school. As if things weren't confusing enough...)

My feelings of "I am really doing this?" have turned into "Am I really going to do this?" The idea that I am on the track to accomplishing everything I have ever wanted in my life is so surreal. I envision myself graduating medical school, of reciting the Hippocratic Oath, of doing it, and in the back of my mind are these doubts that it will really happen. I've always been Andrea, the girl at the top of her game. But I haven't really been competing, thus far, with a slew of others at the top of their games as well. Is my "top" good enough to compete with theirs?

I've made up my short list of where I am going to apply. I should be starting that process later this year. So here it goes:

Universty of Michigan
Ohio State University
University of Kentucky
University of Louisville
University of Cincinnati
Indiana University
Wright State University
Vanderbilt University

Hopefully one will bite.

It Started (Warning: Language)

2009-09-12T10:32:00.000-07:00

How Odd

2009-09-12T10:17:00.000-07:00

It seems so strange that we celebrate Evan's birthday in the same month as one of America's greatest tradgedies. But I remember holding my newborn son at home when my mother-in-law called to tell John and I to turn on the television, to see what was happening.

I was completely selfish that day. I remember instantly thinking that my husband, just three years out of the Marine Corps, would be going to war. A war I would ultimately end up watching on CNN and Fox News nightly while I did my housewife duties. I know so many people who have served in that war. And John was almost one of them. What would I have done? It's hard to imagine. I know I would have waited faithfully for his return home. But I could not imagine the constant fear that he wouldn't be coming home. And livng my life daily wthout him here with me.

So on the 8th anniversary of 9/11, I spent the day thinking about them. About the boys who fight for us, about their wives and kids who wait here at home in a world that does not stop for them because their husband or daddy is away. About all of our brothers and sisters we lost, whether directly or indirectly, because of that fateful day.

8 Years

2009-09-01T05:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the Day I Almost Died.

2009-08-25T22:28:00.000-07:00

All I could think was, "Please, do not let me die like this." Curled in the fetal position of my bathroom floor, covered in my own vomit and feces and sweat while some faceless EMT or Paramedic, or both, worked on me. I could hear John's voice in the background, telling them to "please, just hurry. She's had these reactions before. She knows what they are."

Everything had been fine about 20 minutes ago. I had awakened from a nap after working all night. I had a sore throat that had persisited through the last half of my shift, and was still there when I woke up. I took a sample of the Avelox my family doctor had given me the day before I was hospitalized for pneumonia. A couple of minutes later,I ate a candy bar from Evan's school fundraiser. I started having this intense itching all over my back, and I made John scratch all over. Then I had these stomach cramps that were bad enough that I went and sat on the toilet. It was there that I started to feel lightheaded, felt the thickening in my throat, the tightening in my chest. I yelled for John to call 911 as I fell to the floor in front of the toilet and began to vomit. while clear drainage poured from my nose.

I got the terrifying feeling of taking a deep breath, but the air wasn't getting anywhere. In between gasps, I would shout "Please hurry!" to anyone who could hear me. John kept trying to reassure me : "Baby, I hear the sirens. They're closer." I remember telling him I was going to die.

EMS arrived, and I was assaulted with the questions I ask my patients: "Ma'am, what's your name, allergies, date of birth. What happened today, what's your health history, are you on illegal drugs?" I don't know if the words were coming out. I tried to tell him to hurry while trying to answer his questions. Did he really just ask me if was on heroin? John's response: "Dude! She's a registered respiratory therapist!" I smelledthe new plastic of the nasal cannula, asked fo the nonrebreaher instead. "My sat's okay. For my comfort," I croaked. I begged for the Epinephrine I knew was in his bag. The miracle drug that would stop me from having to have an emergency cricothyroidotomy when what little left of my airway was long gone and the only way to get air to my lungs would be through the whole they made in my neck right there on my bathroom floor. More importantly, the miracle drug that would ensure I would be alive when Evan got out of school in just a few short hours. Ahhhh, Evan. Funny how I can be in hell, knowing my life hangs on how many more seconds it takes this EMT to give me the epi when he appars to not be grasping what is going on, to focus on the sound of John's voice somewhere behind me, and through it all, only be able to see Evan's face.

I don't know where it was in the progression of things when the image of my surroundings began to fade and blur around the edges, when I collapsed the rest of the way, still begging for epi, and thinking of my mom and how I didn't want to, but it would be okay to just go ahead and die. That John and Evan would be okay, that my life insurance was adequate. And I just let go.

Then I felt a pinch in my arm. When I realized I could beathe just a tiny bit better, I realized it was epi, then the EMT said it was epi. That is when I started to vomit again, and someone thrusted my own bathroom garbage can under my face. When my bowels completely released. They were asking me to sit up, to help them help me to stand. I have no idea how I got on the stretcher. But then I heard the clacking of the wheels, saw daylight and the flashing lights in front of the house. Then I was at the hospital, and there was more epi, more Benadryl. More oxygen and questions. And IV, followed by even more Benadryl, Pepcid, steroids. The cold washcloth as the nurses cleaned me up. I begged hem to close the curtain. "I work with these people", I wailed. And sleep. A sleep deeper than I have ever known. And you wake up and it is all over. "Mrs. F, we are going to send you home on a medrol dose pack and I want you to take Benadryl every 4 hours for tonight. And you must get an Epi-Pen. You need to have one with you at all times, do you understand?"

Once home, more sleep. But this time, I would wake to John and Evan's faces. Feel my son kiss me on the cheek, and hear John tell him that Mommy had been sick while he was at school.

And I thought to myself that, though the hours/ days/ weeks/ months/ years of my life have been or will be consumed by images of scrubs and stethoscopes, textbooks and classes, hopes and goals and ambition, isn't it funny that when the edges started to fade, it wasn't any of that that floated with me just beneath the surface as I resigned to my death. It was John's voice and Evan's face.

I have had anaphylactic reactions before. Only none of them were so memorable. I woke up intubated after one of these episodes, but my only memory of that was feeling nauseous and waking up fighting against the tube. Other times, I sought help before it got to that point. I never felt myself slipping away like I did this past week. A later recounting of the experience to my doctor confirmed that I was dying that day, that I was almost gone. Now there are just a few reminders of it left: bad memories, a bruise on my arm from the EMT's rough injection technique, and fear. Fear that my body can react so violently to something to which I have been exposed my whole life without incident.

Now, because I feel like I need to, here are some links for more info:

The Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network

MayoClinic.com-Anaphylaxis

Medline Plus

Nothing Like The First Day

2009-08-18T05:34:00.001-07:00

Evan's fist day of 2nd grade....

Here is to a fresh new school year. To learning more, and making new friends. Harder math and more challenging reading. Improved handwriting.

But for us, as parents, it is always about so much more...

I don't know about others, but for me, it is always about being one year closer to the day he will leave the nest. One less year to have him with us. It is always the year I will be more involved, more patient about teaching him new things. Watching him grow a little more. One sad day, I will be able to sit back and see that my work is finished. But now, in the middle of the greatest responsibility the world has to offer, I am amazed and realize that these are the days for which to live.

In Awe

2009-08-17T14:22:00.000-07:00

Read here about what USMC 81 posted about honoring Medal of Honor recipient CPL Jason Dunham, USMC. I wish I could get the message across to our young people that our true heroes are not "gangsta" rappers, but rather young men like Cpl. Dunham, who saved the lives of his fellow Marines by using himself to absorb an explosion. Truly a hero among heroes...

Ha Ha

2009-08-17T14:15:00.001-07:00

Just some RT humor.....

Seriously?

2009-08-12T10:15:00.000-07:00

Okay so seriously, it is that time of year. The only other time where it is more expensive to be a parent is at Christmas time. My little list started as just a few uniforms. We inventoried the closet to see what uniforms from last year could be reused and came up with a healthy stack. Next was the list of supplies. Evan's school does something differently: each year, when supplies are donated, they divide them up among the students. Say, for example, that each second grader needs 4 boxes of crayons for the year. If enough crayons are donated so that each child can have 2 boxes, the school does not make us buy the 4, but rather he 2 that are lacking. In the end, the supplies that are donated end up saving each parent some money. So now supplies are added to the list.

But then I start to think about things. He'll need new underwear, and socks. And undershirts. Oh, and shoes. We need a pair of gym shoes and a pair of oxfords. And we can't forget that he needs a couple of new belts. And a light jacket. And of course we cannot forget the backpack. Heaven forbid it not be the preppy one with his name embroidered in the center... And of course somewhere before next Wednesday, we will have to get a haircut. Before I know it, a couple hundred bucks for a few uniforms to add to what is left from last year...well, let's just say that the sum morphs into something else entirely. In the meantime, I mention to him that the plan for later in the day is for us to go school shopping. This is the look I get from him. (See above) Why is he so sad? You would think he was the one footing the bill.

Morbid Fascination

2009-08-10T10:13:00.000-07:00

So I am revisiting the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire. Again. Reading and digging a little into Women's History, and seriously wondering if perhaps I would be better suited to a degree in the subject, with the addition of my pre-med classes, than I would be a degree in molecular biology. How awesome would it be to spend my days and nights learning of this stuff that weaves itself into everything we are now???

But anyhow, right now, my distraction from chemistry exams is Von Drehle's Triangle. Of which I am about halfway finished. Next, I plan to take on Carry Me Home. After that, who knows.

A Lot To Say and Don't Know Where To Start

2009-08-09T15:57:00.001-07:00

This has been the week I almost became my mother.

I remember the faint burning in my chest to tell me that I was coming down with something. I remember the taste of illness in my mouth when I would cough. I don't remember how I got from the onset of a mild chest cold to the panting, dysneic existence I knew the night John rushed me to the emergency room. I just knew I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was dying. And the life of my mother flashed before my eyes, like her choices were manifesting themselves into what was to become of me. Alpha-1 Antitrypsin deficiency. That was all I could think. Genetic emphysema aggravated by several years of just plain ol' self-neglect in the form of Marlboro Lights. The last time I mentioned te disorder to a doctor, I was asked if I wanted to know how I would die. I said no. When death is the culmination of drowning in your own fluids, who wants to know of its appraoch? Certainly not me, so I declined the test. But this time, when I mentioned it to the pulmonologist, he didn't give me a choice. He just nodded and scribbled somethng down in my chart. An hour after he left, a lab tech showed up in my room to draw some blood. No questions asked. No chance to chicken out.

I will not die her death any more than I will live her life. The test was negatve. I have the time and the chance to make the choices necessary to ensure that I will not have the same demise. Those goals I have set for myself? They are still attainable. As I lay in that hospital bed this week, I told myself that, should the test be positive, I would abandon the whole doctor thing. I would instead focus on my son and my husband and live my life leaving well-enough alone.

Instead, I didn't have to make the choice. Instead, I was branded with bilateral pneumonia with secondary areas of atelectasis. In layman's terms? I had pneumonia in both lungs that was bad enough to require a week-long hospitalization, and was horrifying enough to cause some collapse of several lobes of my lungs. In other words yet? I became my patient. And for the first time in my life, I did not want a cigarette. I was scared. I was confronted with my own mortality. So now, here I am making soe major adjustments to my life.

Incidentally, this is what happens to an arm after 15 gazillion needle sticks and IV attempts.

My Baby Boy Is Coming Home!

2009-08-01T01:37:00.000-07:00

Just for fun, Evan has been staying down at his grandparents' houses for the past few weeks. They do this every summer since we moved away. But this time it has been over 3 weeks and I miss him dearly. But today, his grandfather is bringing him home. I am so excited to see him!

Fritzy Keyboard = I Am Not Lazy!

2009-08-01T01:23:00.000-07:00

I m going to type this without going back and checking for typo jut to prove my point. I am not doing this intentionally, bt unless I peck at the keys very slowly and deliberatly, it skips letters. I am wonderng what my son has spilled down between te keys or if there isa ay t clean it. I like the keyboard we have now. It's the Dell one tat came with the computer. But in the meantime I should mention that I am tryin t go back and fix any and all typos, but there is such a huge amount that I am prone to miss a few. I hate lazy people who do not go back and check spelling, grammar, and typos, so just know that I am not one of them.

Speaking of Babies, Did I Ever Tell You WHY Evan is a Miracle?

2009-07-31T01:02:00.000-07:00

It was just a couple of weeks after we saw the two pink lines on the little stick when the beeding started. The OB referred to it as "threatened spontaneous abortion". Miscarriage. But maybe not, because there on the screen was a tiny beating heart. The shock of realization on John's face will never leave me. His baby, who he said looked like a bean, there in living color. So I started the visits to the oupatient lab every other day, where they would leave black bruises on my arms in order to siphon from me the blood that would tell them that our baby was thriving. And every other day, we would wait and cry and pray that he was. Or wait for the call that it was all over, that we would try again, that they needed to schedule a D&C. We just waited.

Then one day it was over. I was so happy on that day. I envisioned my body making the discovery that this angel was there to stay for 40 weeks. To stop trying to get rid of him, that he was no intruder, but rather a welcome passenger. The nausea and vomiting were signs of life within me, and they were welcome too. We picked names. Emily for a girl. But what for a boy? He should be named after his father, we decided. But we hated the idea of relatives in southern Kentucky calling him "Junior". So we perused the books for boy names. The control freak in me was beside heself. We needed a boy name. Brady? Tucker? No, too trendy. Then one day I saw it: Evan: Welsh version of John. Little Evan for a boy. Named after his father, but still his own person.

The happiness was short-lived. My body is stubborn. I felt the first contraction a few days later like a gentle tugging within me. But wait. Accoding to the calender, I still had 5 months to go. That gentle tugging turned to tearing, ripping, searing pain. Thoughts of all of the bleeding, John's excitement, Evan or Emily, pink or blue...they all swirled in my head as John rushed me to the hospital. And the first feeling I ever got of John-and Andrea-Against-the-World was when the young doctor told us that th medication did not work, that the contractions were continuing, that he was sorry, but I was having a miscarriage. I wonder what he thought of us, as we clung to each other, crying those big hot tears, grieving for the baby that wasn't to be. Married for about 6 months at the time, we were all each other had in that moment. I imagine it was pity he felt. Or determination. Whatever the reason, a second dose of mdication was given, and the contractions stopped. And we rejoiced. And I returned home a few days later. Only to return again. Same scenario, different day. Again and again we grieved for the loss of our baby, only to find out that it was another near-miss.

After 2 weeks of trips back and forth to the hospital, we met the doctor who would test our resolve. More pre-term labor. But this ime, the doctor and nurse came in to the room and pulled up chairs by my bed. They started speaking of babies with profound disabilities from prematurity. Of families wrecked with medical expenses. Of our youth. The doctor actually said the dreaded word next. Abortion. He told me to let God have our baby, that it wasn't in the cards, that we could have another. I didn't understand. Was the baby okay? Wasn't it just my body? Didn't they have medicine to stop the labor that had been working? Wasn't I at 20 weeks of pregnancy? The age of viability, as they had been telling me during previous visits? I didn't understand, but we knew we needed to find a docotr who wanted us to have our baby like we wanted to.

A couple of months went by, and we switched hospitals to one with a top-rated NICU in preparation for a birth of a very premature infant. We toured the NICU. The hospitalizations continued as we braced ourselves for heartbreak. I learned what the "Special OB Unit" was at Good Smamritan in Cincinnati. I spent over a month there, on magnesium sulfate drips. At such a high dose that I was not permitted to get up to go to the bathroom or even roll in bed by myself. I had chest x-rays every oher day because such high doses were associated with fluid on the lungs. They would cover my arms in hot packs to relieve some of the pain from the viscous fluid going into my veins. They said it was about the thickness of corn-syrup, and that is why it was so painful. Every third day, they would come in and stop the drip because it was not safe for me to be on it any longer than that. And every third day, the contractions would start back up. I got yet another course of steroid injections to prepare the baby for the early birth that could not be stopped. I met a maternal-fetal specialist who was the best in his field and began to get ultrasounds twice a week. We learned tht it was a boy in there. That there was no infection in the amniotic fluid, and no other reason for me to be having the preterm labor. "Sometims this just happens", they told me. But with each week, I got closer to the day that our baby could be born, that the rate of survival for him increased just a teensy bit.

I ws sent home. I was on a medication that would lower my blood pressure so much that when I would take a hot shower, I would pass out from the further dilation of my vessels. I was on another that caused such horrible acid reflux that I was essentially vomitting without wretching. Huge moutfuls of hot sour acid would wash up without any warning. But my baby was okay.

It got to the point where we thought Evan would survive, and we begged the doctors to deliver him. "You can help him", I woul plead. I just wanted them to make it stop.

A little past midnight, on September 1st, 2001, it finally did. I was havng hard contractions, and a nurse midwife who had never seen me before insisted that I was not dilating. And she said I wasn't due for anothr 5 weeks. We laughed at her like maniacs and begged for the on-call obstetrician. I blurted out words like fetal fibronectin,amniocentesis, ultrasounds, steroid courses in all 3 trimesters, hCg levels, magnesium sulfate, age of viability... She started telling me about "what is best for the baby", and a cried hot tears as I told her of the unspeakable hell I had endured for my body to continue to provide a home for this growing baby. I knew from my experiences that if you start labor at 36 weeks, they will let you go. I was 35 weeks. And I didn't care about a few more days. I couldn't do any more. My body was physically, emotionally, and mentally drained in every way imaginable.

The OB finally came in, and he ordered everyone to get off of me. He put his hands on my giant belly and felt as contraction after contraction ripped through me in waves. Contractions that felt like they were ripping me in two, but were not causing any results. And he told me to breathe through them. The monitors came off as he let me feel this last bit of pain unencumbered by the trappings of modern medicine. And he explained to me how they usully do c-sections after just a day of labor, citing failure to progress as the justification. And I had been in labor for literally 17 weeks. I had endured my hell, and he wanted to help it end for me with a c-section.

After that, I didn't feel another contraction. They never stopped, even as th doctor cut through the soft layers of my abdomen. And I was prepared for the silence that follows a cesarean birth. The birth canal doesn't squeeze the fluid from the baby, and often they need to be suctioned. Plus this was a baby who was early. The last to develop is the lungs. He may need help. But from the instant he was exposed to this world, my son let out the lustiest cry I have ever heard in a newborn. And tears choked my voice as I shouted out that his lungs were okay, long before I had ever laid eyes on his beauty.

There is not a day that goes by in my life wih Evan and John when I don't look at my little family and have waking nigtmares of what could have been. Where I do not thank God for the sloppy kisses and brown eyes that sparkle with laughter and amazement and wonder. Where I do not count my blessings. He truly is my Evan from Heaven. Our miracle. A tribute to God or Allah or the science of modern medicine. Or maybe a mother and father's determination.

Jordan Leon

2009-07-31T00:37:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the world, Little Jordan. He is my sister-in-law's much-anticipated sequel to Joanna, who will be 2o years old in February. In other words: our new nephew. Over 9 pounds of bouncing baby boy makes her my new hero. 6-pound Evan was nuthin'!

We haven't seen him in person yet. I'm afraid. John and I toyed with he idea of another baby. We would have scares, where Mother Nature would be late. I would mention it to John, and he would sprint to the store to get a home test. And it woul be negative. And we would speak words of relief to each other that betrayed the hint of regret in both of our eyes. And we would remind ourselves of why we didn't need another. I worked hard to get to where I could earn a decent living and give Evan the life I always wanted to give him. I had these lofty ideas of higher-and-higher education. I had such a hard time having Evan, that he truly is a miracle, and one miracle is enough for any family.

It is sort of like the window of opportunity passed us by. I started school and my RT career, though not in that order. I traded visions of a new baby girl in pink for the vision of me in a white coat. And med school and a new baby is not a good combo. A baby that John would have to raise by himself. And by the time I am finished, I will be in my early 40's. And consiering the problems I had with Evan, each passng year makes me more of an obstetrical nightmare...

So we are finished. And it was a hard choice to make, and I can only hope it will be worth all of this in the end. But baby Jordan reminds me of what the other option was to be...

ICU Bed Vs. RT's Foot.

2009-07-31T00:19:00.000-07:00

You can barely see it in this pic, but I ran into a little trouble at work Monday morning. Errrrr, more like it ran into me. I had the SICU, and I get a call that we are transporting one of my patients for a stat head CT. Oops, they forgot to call me, and transport is already there and ready to go. So instead of hooking up the transport vent, I decide I am just going to bag the patient fo a quick trip down and back. Off we go.

We ge down to CT without a hitch. Once there, I move to the other side to the bed to arrange IV lines and such for a safe transfer from the ICU bed to the CT scanner. That is when the very sweet patient transporter starts pushing the bed. Right over the top of my right foot. The ICU bed that weighs as much as a car, without the squishy air-filled tires.

But I am a trooper. I stay, balanced on one leg, bagging the patient until the ordeal is over, then hobble to the ER for x-rays. This is where I learn that the male RNs in the ER really are knights in shining armor. Poor Ben gets down on his knees and takes my shoe and sock off. My rubbery shoe. After working 11 out of 12 hours. And he says nothing, even tough I am crying and blubbering about smelly feet and stubbly ankles. Then Steve comes in to make sure I can walk on crutches. Don't even get me started on Norm, the security guard who wheeled me into my room and filled out the incident report for me. They are all angels. You just can't see their wings through the scrubs they wear.

As for me? Outlook not so good. I am on crutches. I am off of work, which I hate. The employee health nurse was teasing me about my control issues and workaholic tendencies. She asked me if I was taking my pain meds, and I told her no, that they drug me up, and she laughed and said that it is because they make me lose control of the situation and sleep. She's probably right. So for at least this week and next, I am just a student.

And I am bored.

Back in My Element

2009-07-22T02:23:00.000-07:00

I love this commercial.

Okay so what's up in my world? The same. Work and school and homework and just a little sleep thrown in. And now working out again. Back to the grind in the gym. I started back last Thursday. I have already lost 10 more pounds and almost 4 inches of of my waist. Go me!

Though I love swimming, the pool hasn't bee my friend recently. Read about it here.

16 out of 18

2009-07-15T05:42:00.000-07:00

The word of the day is tired. I work entirely too much. Out of the past 18 days, I have worked 12 hour shifts on 16 of them. Evan it is at his grandparents' house in Madisonville. Chemistry starts tomorrow. Watch a video.

My Animals Hang With the Animals

2009-07-08T13:58:00.001-07:00

Today I took some time away with the fam for a trip to Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Gardens. We had fun, aside from Evan complaining about his feet hurting after he insisted on wearing flip-flops. I'm glad I got this time with him, though. I have to work tonight at 23:00, and work twelves for the next 7 nights. By the time I am finished with this stretch, I will be back in class. He is going with his grandma this weekend to King's Island, along with John and his cousin Joanna, then making the trip back to Madisonville with her to spend the week at his grandpa's house. Summer is flying by. At least I got a little bit of time with him first.

By far my favorite pic of the entire trip. The goat kept trying to eat Evan's shirt, so Evan would giggle and step away, then try to pet it again. Each time, it would get a mouth full. It didn't tear the shirt, but it did give me a great photo op.
Too cute for words.
This damned thing. I was leaning over the glass, trying to get a good shot of the sea lion that was underwater playing with a ball. All of the sudden, this #$%^& popped it's head up at me, scaring me to death. Note that the camera was not zoomed for this pic!
Lucy wouldn't wake up for me and I was very disappointed. (See below.)
Awwww. Lucy the Baby Bearcat. Sponsored by the University of Cincinnati. Go figure.
The seductive ape. I kindly left the other one out of the pic, who was showing its hand in its mouth repeatedly. I had just said "What is it, bulimic?" when it purged its food into its hand to feed its baby. Disgusting.
This is "Francois". Some type of monkey that had Francois in it's name. It had a faux-hawk and white muttonchops, and was the coolest monkey ever.
I don't know what in the hell this thing was, but when we went to walk away, it made some weird crying sound until we came back.
The polar bear insisted on showing me nothing more than his browneye as he ate his lunch.
I think John was making funny faces behind me.
So peaceful here. I didn't want to leave this spot.
The big one and the little one take a break to eat popcorn.
I have this horrendous phobia of snakes. Just walking into the reptile house was a huge step in conquering my fear. And it was packed too. As I looked at the snakes through the glass, I was sizing people up to see how much effort it would take to knock them out of my way if I needed to make a break for it. Then I saw this S.O.B.....
Evan kept calling this rhinoceros "Clyde". I have no idea where he got that name.
Evan poses with the likeness of his father.
Is that the Fergie family? Mom, Dad, and Evan.....
The gorillas were pensive.
The bearcat would not be still for her photo shoot. I swear I stood there for about 15 minutes trying to get a good shot. No wonder UC thinks this is a good mascot....stubborn as hell!
I think I interrupted the sexy time of the "Giant Bait", as my hillbilly husband called them.
These lizards were looking at me.
The lemurs. This is when Evan screamed "Look, Mommy, it's Zoboomafoo!"

The Ball Tick and its Aftermath

2009-07-06T10:10:00.000-07:00

When we were out in the country weeks ago, on John's Dad's property, we found ticks on us. Yes, as in multiple ticks. We got them off, even though I was grossed out entirely.

So fast forward a couple of days later. I think it was a McDonald's we were at for breakfast. For the umpteenth time that day, I caught little Evan scratching his nether regions. He never does that. Well, being that he is getting older and more aware that Mommy is girl, I sent John into the bathroom with him to inspect. Yep, you guessed it! He had a tick fully embedded.... there! So John tries to get it out, to no avail. I call the doctor, and she is going to get a male colleague to get it out if I will just stop by the office. At this news, Evan starts wailing. He doesn't want the doctor to do this. So I call the in-laws. They're country people and know more about this crap than I do. My father-in-law tells me to hold a match to it. Seriously? Did he even hear where I told him it was on Evan's body???? But the heat idea....hmmmm. So I get Evan in a hot shower, hoping it will back out enough to get the sucker out. Of course not.

I have no idea how I did it, but I managed to convince the kid to let me have a crack at it. I hope no neighbors were looking through the windows, because I had to have my son lay on the floor, and I had to get my face very close to see what I was doing. But armed with nothing but a pair of tweezers, I got the damned tick out. Ewww. The entire time, Evan was whimpering about the "ball surgery".

So here we are a month later. The spot where the tick was located looks awful. And Evan has developed this horrific rash all over the lower half of his body. We have tried every over-the-counter cream there is, from anti-inflammatories to anti-fungals. Nothing is fixing this rash. A week later, when it is actually worse, we take him to the doctor.

My child has lyme disease. So now we are on a one-month, three-times-a-day course of antibiotics. So much for summer!

Taking the Bait

2009-07-03T09:25:00.000-07:00

I immersed myself in kid lit. I had to see what the fuss was over, and now I see. I finished Eclipse late last night and am now reading Breaking Dawn of Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series. This is the last book, then I can go back to big-girl books.

Sticky Situation I Found Myself In

2009-07-01T13:33:00.001-07:00

A Patient is completely alert and oriented. She is intubated and has been on a ventilator for days, thought the initial problem had nothing to do with her lungs. Now she is awake and demanding to be extubated through hand gestures. Her vital signs look amazing. She has an order for a wean in the morning. But she insists on now. The family is called in to speak with her, and the family agrees with the idea of honoring her wishes. Her doctor, on the other hand, did not give the order, but did not tell us not to extubate, either, but simply made the statement that extubation would be at her wish and not his order. You put her on a t-piece and monitor her. There is absolutely no change in vital signs for 2 hours. You get a blood gas, and it is textbook-perfect. What do you do?

I'll tell you what I did. I pulled the damned tube, documenting heavily on her stability and the family and patient's wishes. Apparently, this has been the talk of the MICU. My director, critical care coordinator, and supervisor have commended my actions, saying I did exactly what I should have done in that situation. The director has even gone so far as to copy my charting to place in my personnel file along with a typed commendation from him. Only one pulmonologist has said anything. She wanted to know if it is "standard practice to extubate a patient in the middle of the night without a physician's order". Absolutely not. But to honor a patient's wishes while safely monitoring the patient's cardiopulmonary status...My intent throughout the whole ordeal was to watch for anything that would indicate that she would not be able to handle extubation. Had anything come up, I would have immediately had a discussion with the family regarding my concern. But nothing did. I could find no reason to leave her intubated against their wishes. And the outcome has been phenomenal. She hasn't needed so much as a breathing treatment since I did the deed.

So my Big Boss is recognizing me, stating that I have done a tremendous job for the hospital since I have been employed with them. Up until recently, I didn't even know if he knew that I work for him. But according to a phone conversation this morning, he has been getting a lot of positive feedback about me. Kind of makes my ears burn a little bit, wondering what has been said and when. But overall, it feels great to have your hard work recognized.

No Summer

2009-06-27T12:23:00.000-07:00

Okay. I have been through hell and back over the past few days. It all started with physics. As in I dropped it. After 3 days of studying non-stop, I was not at all ready for the first exam. We were to have an exam every 3 days over 10 chapters each. Nope. Not happening. I decided it would be better to take the class during a traditional quarter instead of the 4 week long summer sessions. So.....
I went online to look at my account for UC to see what this would do tto my tuition. This is when I found out that I would not be getting my S.M.A.R.T. grant. Uh-oh. Furthermore, they did not kick-in my metropolitan tuition rate that I became eligible for when I changed majors then picked up the double major. Big Uh-oh. The grant left me about $1300 short, then I was assessed a $4800 surcharge for being out-of-state. The moral of the story is that I ended up owing UC over $2K. Lovely.
First they told me that it had to be paid this week or my classes not only for summer, but for fall as well, would be cancelled. I asked about what would happen if I just dropped the rest of the summer courses, and that was no good either. In stead of owing $2K, all of my loans would drop out because I would no longer be enrolled, so I would owe 50% of my tuition with no aid. About $7K. What to do? And regardless of what I do with UC, I cannot just transfer to Northern Kentucky University (with their much cheaper tuition, but much lower academic standards) because until I satisfy this debt, there will be a freeze on my transcripts. Grrrr.

So the plan is work. Work. Work. Work. And save. No more eating out or quick trips for coffee. No more of going to the video store and renting literally piles of movies. No more. Thanks to UC, my summer has turned into nothing more than work and school, school and work. Not that this is a change from previous quarters, but I was hoping to find some time for at least a little bonding with Evan while he is out of school for the summer. Instead I have to be content with just going to work. I did finally speak to someone in the collections department, and she said what the university did to me is ridiculous, and has set me up on a payment plan. 2 payments of $1000. Thank God I have the type of job with the type of pay that I can work about 3 extra shifts to make $1000. Well, maybe 4 or 5 if consider how my dear Uncle Sam rapes my overtime pay. I've already made a start. Instead of being off from Monday through Thursday this week, I have picked up shifts on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Which has the added benefit of putting me in overtime by the time I get to my scheduled shifts on the weekend. If you consider that The 4th of July is this coming weekend, and that will be holiday pay AND overtime, so double overtime for those 2 nights, I may be able to satisfy the first part of that $2K obligation this coming payday.

Michael Jackson\'s Death: The Talent and the Tragedy

2009-06-25T16:39:00.000-07:00

Michael Jackson\'s Death: The Talent and the Tragedy

Physics

2009-06-24T18:07:00.001-07:00

My summer, as I know it, is ruined.

Frailty of Life

2009-06-21T13:10:00.000-07:00

So....I really want to blog about the experience I had this morning in a code. An experience so bad that it left me questioning if I want to stay in this world I have lived in for several years: The World of Medicine. A 36-year-old female with breast cancer suffering from complications from a lymphectomy. There were those of us on the ICU team that had been working on her for hours before one of us hit the blue button that would signal the hospital switchboard operator to make the overhead call of "Code Blue", then there was the general crowd that shows up when the code is called. Those of us that knew the story tried to resuscitate the young woman with faces that were streaked with tears. One of my colleagues came to check and see if I needed any help, and saw that I was crying, so he offered to relieve me. Her mother was already there, but we kept her alive until the "rest of her family" got there. When we realized our efforts were futile, the Nursing Supervisor went to get her family. Allowing the family at a resuscitation attempt is kind of controversial. Is it cruel? But studies have shown that families deal better when they see the effort we are putting in to save their loved one. So while I hate it because it does not always allow me the mental distance from the situation, if it helps them, so be it. But nothing prepared me for this. Her weeping husband. And her nine-year-old daughter who was wailing in pain and anguish. I tried to count the number of ceiling tiles in the room. I inspected my shoes. I didn't have to look. By now, my hands hold within them the rhythym of breathing and I can deliver breaths at a steady pulse while intentionally not looking. But this time that didn't stop the tears. This time it was my family I was seeing, no matter where my eyes tried to focus.

I could not get John's face out of my head. Or Evan's voice. My reasons for living. And undoubtably, the husband and daughter were hers. They were robbed by the intricacies and the mysteries of the human body. And like us, I am sure they had plans for their future. The husband had been out of town, and didn't know that he would never see his wife again. I still cannot get the image of his pained, tear-streaked face pressed to her cold, pale, lifeless one. The picture serving as a study in the contrast between death and life. And her death proved something to us all. She was in the MICU, the unit of the hospital to which I have been assigned for going on the past 2 months now. Our MICU is new. State-of-the-art facility and equipment. Staffed with the A-team of the medical world. Even we therapists are a select few. We are all oriented to the unit, but non-hackers weed themselves out. But this morning, nothing we had to offer could have been enough for her. Which is scarier than you could imagine, because it humbles all of us. It shows us that we cannot fix everything with almost unnecessary cruelty. And while we are all there, working our demanding schedules to pay for kids' tuitions or the new family minivan or the plasma tv that society tells us we need, we are forced to face the idea that we are away from the very ones we are doing it all for. That life is frail, and would it be better to be at home, snuggled in bed with our spouses or waking in the morning to sloppy kisses from our young children. Because as we were witnessing at that very moment, life could have other plans for us.

Guilt and Sadness

2009-06-18T20:10:00.001-07:00

Before I know it, Summer will be gone. Evan will be back in school. And starting tomorrow night, I am back to the grind. By the time I get off of work on Monday, it ill be time to head to another quarter of classes. And at the end of the Summer, this baby of mine will be 8 years old. I know I will not be getting a break until we are both off for Christmas.

I look at those brown eyes and I miss it all: the sloppy kisses and macaroni and cheese faces after dinner. The cuddling and giggling. Getting his bubble bath ready at night. Making sure he learns math. And I look at the stretch of time ahead of us and I realize that by the time I finish medical school, this little boy will be 13 years old. Is it worth it?

I had a talk with Evan just now, asking him if he wanted Mommy to go to school to be a doctor, even though it is going to take a long time. He looked at me with those big brown eyes and said yes, very emphatically. When I asked him if he would still think I was a good Mommy if I continued to be away, he said yes again. I asked him why he wanted Mommy to be a doctor, and he told me that he has the smartest mommy in the world, and he knows I can do it. So now I am sitting here at my desk typing this, amidst the crepe paper flowers and finger-painted rainbows he has given me from art class in school, and I have found out the truth.

I am so very blessed. For some reason, whatever higher power is out there has decided that I am deserving of this amazing little person in my life. How lucky could I be?

I Did A Good Job

2009-06-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

We went to the grocery store as a family, which is usually a mistake. For the first time in a long time, little Evan was very well-behaved. When I told him no to the sugary crap because it wasn't "good for our bodies" he replied with an "Oh, okay". He helped me keep track of what we needed here at the house. Overall it was a nice experience. When we get to the checkout, he asked for a candy bar. I thought it over and said he could. Hershey bars were 2 for $1. He got 2.

Later we get home, and I have finished putting the groceries away. He comes up to me with this huge smile on his face and hands me one of the candy bars. I ask if he is sure he doesn't want to save it for another time. He shakes his little head and says, "No, Mom. This is for you because you did such a good job picking out groceries."

Endless Downloads, Cracker Crumbs, and More

2009-06-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

OMG.

I hadn't been into my office in days. I have instead been vegging out with the laptop on the sofa, which is infinitely cooler than the office in the absence of AC.

So today, I walk into my office only to discover that my desktop on the big computer is covered with icons for those free game trials you can download online. I have spent all day getting those off of there and making the computer like Fort Knox so I won't ever have to do that again.

And Chhez-Its. All over. The carpet beneath my feet looks like a pale shade of orange because they are ground into the carpet. They are between the keys of the keyboard, in the mouse, everywhere.

The kid is now banned from the office.

Failure

2009-06-14T11:58:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have the autonomy to override a doctor's orders. Sometimes I do not. This weekend was an example of a time when I did not. It was also an example of the concept that just because we can do something to prolong a life doesn't always translate to we should. A lesson in medical futility and ethics. I have been assigned to the MICU for the past 6 days. The sickest patients in the hospital were once again in my care, as is happening even more frequently now.

A patient was admitted on Wednesday night, and by Thursday, it was well-known that there was nothing we could do for him. The name was familiar to all of us, but none of us could place his face. Disease had ravaged his body until there was little with which to work. I am not going into detail about the disease process or any other fact that can be used to identify this patient because I want to protect him as I am legally obligated to. But he was very, very ill. I watched as a parade of specialists for just about every body system in a human organism came and went from his room, speaking with his family.

I'm sorry. There is nothing more we can do.

We will provide him with comfort while he makes this final journey.

We will allow him to die with dignity.

I made sure he had enough oxygen, then went on to other patients of mine. Patients who were not breathing on their own, hooked to my ventilators. Not much time passed before another specialist came to see the patient. The patient, on top of everything else, had a raging infection. Sepsis. He wanted me to suction the patient, something we don't usually do for the dying patient because it is so uncomfortable for them. I asked him to explain why. His follow-up was that we were going to suction him, and then intubate. Within 15 minutes, the family wants to do everything. Put him through the medical gauntlet. The doctor seeing the patient for his infection bypassed the cardiologists, nephrologist, pulmonologists, neurologist, and oncologist. Told the family we could fix him.

My experiences with family members facing the loss of a loved one have taught me something. You must be very careful when you walk into the room of a dying patient. Because any tiny word you utter can be misconstrued as hope. Hope where there is none. And they grab onto to that like a life preserver, and hang on to it. To the layperson, this would seem like a gift to them. Instead it makes it worse. The patient passes away anyhow, after they have thought it was not going to happen. From the minute we know that death is looming, our care shifts from the patient to the ones left to live. Every action becomes about them. Making it easier for them. Never more difficult. The have enough difficulty to face.

We failed that family. We didn't do what we should have done for the patient.

We intubated. I hooked him up to the machine that would breathe for him. I stood at the bedside and cleared mucus from his chin and smoothed down his hair while the ventilator hissed and puffed behind me. In that instant, I realized who he was. One of our regulars, I would always save his breathing treatment for last because we would always end up talking about his military service and kids. Through all of his admissions, he never forgot that my son's name is Evan. He would always light up and ask me if my Evan was still driving me crazy. He always called me his "Breathing Angel" because he said I always seemed to show up in the same instant he was thinking about calling for a PRN treatment. I tried on several occasions to explain to him that it was probably due to the fact that he was due for his medication and less about me. "In fact," I would tell him, "I'm actually really mean in real life." He would always giggle and shake his head, telling me he couldn't believe it.

I almost didn't recognize him through all of the tubes and lines.

Within 5 minutes of intubating him, he tried to go into cardiac arrest. We brought him back. I heard his ribs crack during CPR.

By the time I had reported for the next day, he was on continuous dialysis. We had given him the maximum amout of medication allowed to maintain his blood pressure. Dopamine. Levophed. Vasopressin. I was no longer able to maintain any sort of oxygen saturation on him. We had to insert an arterial line in his femoral artery, in his groin. His body temperatre was 88 degrees. We had him wrapped in heated blankets and a warming system so that only his face was visible. He had a rectal tube inserted that was draining blood. 10 IV pumps going. About the only drug category we didn't have covered was sedation. Through all of it, he didn't need any.

The family still was clinging to the hope that we could fix him. Despite the fact that we told them repeatedly that it was gettting worse. They held fast to that life preserver. I left my shift praying for his death.

By the time I reported for my shift the next day, he had died on his own. It took 6 nurses and me to remove all of the lines and tubes. His body released every fluid in it. There was a piece of tissue that I assumed to be a part of his trachea that came out when I removed the endotracheal tube.

I didn't cry. Instead I hated my job. I was upset that I didn't put my foot down for him and advocate for him. I realize that even if I had, and refused to participate, they would have just called another of the therapists. This was one of those that I could not override.

I still feel like I failed my patient. I wasn't his Breathing Angel anymore.

What if Atlas Shrugged?

2009-06-09T09:48:00.000-07:00

Considering what is going on in our world, I have been pondering this question. In Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand tells the story of the "Producers" of society, and the world that saps the life out of them.

Who are the producers? We are. The people who go to work every day and perform a function from which society can derive some benefit. This could be in the form of a beautiful opus that we all enjoy, a knowledge of medicine and the power to heal that comes with it, or a delicious meal that we can cook for others. Whatever the contribution, we make one. What is our thanks? We get taxed. We pay through the nose. If we put our foot down, we are "selfish". Don't we want to help our fellow man? When is enough enough?

I want to put my foot down. I want to say "No more!". I am sorry that the Jones' next door do not have health coverage. I truly am. But since when is it my responsibility to pay their bills? Did they lose their job do to the collapse of out auto industry? Well, I tried to help. They were selling their ability to make cars and I contributed to their cause by purchasing a new vehicle.

Now Obama is wanting to tax our health benefits. My gut reaction, in the face of even more taxes, is to quit. I obviously will not be doing that, but I want to. If we all did, the powers that be would have to find another way other than taking it out on the hard-working people who break their backs to make this world go round.

I think I need to revisit my old dog-eared copy.

#@$%^&*()

2009-06-09T09:32:00.000-07:00

Obama is thinking of taxing our insurance!

Seriously? I worked 142 hours on my last paycheck, instead of the 72 hours to which I am obligated. I went without sleep for days, worked until my feet were screaming with pain. I did this to gain a little financial edge in light of the upcoming new quarter at school (in other words, new tuition bill and new set of text books to buy). Of that, Uncle Sam took over $1900. One thousand, nine hundred dollars. There are certainly people who live on less than that per month, but that is what I paid out in ONE PAYCHECK! If my insurance is taxed in addition to this, I will not be able to stand it!

Refreshed

2009-06-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

So how was the trip back to Madisonville? Short. I stopped on the way and splurged on something I have wanted for a while now: A Nikon Coolpix camera. I would never spend the money on one because I tend to lose and/or break digital cameras. I tend to stick with the cheap ones (under $100). But I have coveted this camera for a while, and now it is mine. I love it. The pics from this weekend were all taken with it. The blur of the shot above is because I was playing with different settings on it on the ride home from the boonies.
This was also the first trip we have taken in the new car. I must say it was much more comfortable. The 120 outlet in the console came in handy: I plugged in my laptop, stopped and bought Evan a few dvd's he has been wanting, gave the kid a set of headphones, and the rest is history. It was kind of like that infomercial with the rotisserie: Set it and forget it! He was entertained the whole way, and there were several points in the 4-hour trip where we thought he was asleep because the backseat was too quiet.
We managed to get time in with both John's mom and dad. The boys spent the day Saturday playing with water in the 85 degree weather. Grandma made a run to Walmart for a Slip-and-Slide and some Super Soakers, and I sat on a nice shaded country porch and studied while the boys had a blast. Saturday night was all about some good ol' country cookin'. John's mom made my fave: her fried chicken with homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, cornbread, fresh corn-on-the-cob. For dessert.....homemade banana pudding, baked with the meringue on top like I had never seen done until I maried into this family.

Sunday morning, we met John's dad and his girlfriend Annie for breakfast, then followed him to his house. This is when the redneck came out of my husband and he spent hours fishing for catfish in his dad's pond. Evan got to drive the 1969 model Harley Davidson golf cart with his grandpa helping him, then the guys all loaded onto quads and the cart and chased each other at high speeds around the property. I got the brilliant idea of perching in the sun and studying while they had fun. Bad idea. See the pics in the post entitled "A Weekend in Pictures" to get a glimpse of the sunburn from Hell. To break of the monotony of studying plant diversity and evolution of land plants, John would get me onto the quad and take me zooming around the property. I screamed in his ear everytime he turned to sharply or went up or down steep hills, making me feel as if I were going to fall off of the back. It was just simple fun, but for that brief amount of time, we were just John and Andrea again. The country boy showing the city girl how to unwind, throw caution to the wind, and have fun. At that point, there was no such thing as bills or parenthood, pre-med or code blue, MCAT or 80-hour workweeks. I needed that, and more importantly, without my saying a single word, John knew I needed that.
The ride home Sunday night seemed to go on forever. We stopped at about the midway point, and I picked up some cd's I have been wanting for a little while, and we jammed the entire second half of the trip. I finally realized just how red I had gotten in the sun (it got worse as the night went on) when we stopped at Walmart to get me some aloe gel for my first official sunburn of the year, and other shoppers were stopping and staring at me with mouths agape.

Now I am back home. The plan is to get my finals done. I finished Bio this morning, have another exam this afternoon, and a paper to write. I have three more days off of work, which I am going to spend giving the house a nice and thorough cleaning, and studying ahead a bit for my summer physics course, which is sure to be a nightmare if the textbook is any indication.

When it MUST be Destroyed Overnight....

2009-06-08T10:33:00.000-07:00

My father-in-law found this somewhere in Kansas or something and bought it for John. When we met them for breakfast Sunday morning, he slapped it on my car. Notice how road dust shows up really well on Dodge Sunburst Orange paint??? (Note to self: Make John wash the car!)

A Weekend in Pictures

2009-06-08T10:21:00.000-07:00

If It Were an Old Clunker, I Wouldn't Care

2009-06-05T05:55:00.000-07:00

My car, that is. But it isn't, so I do care...

We are preparing for our trip to see John's family today. So yesterday, John wanted to stop and get the oil changed. (He is obsessed with oil changes, and starts to freak a bit when it goes from 3K miles to 3001 miles between changes.) So the car is due for one, and we are also going to be driving it for 4 hours today, so I agree. What I do not agree with is where he wants to take it. I said dealer. He said no, that we should take it to this discount store chain, who shall remain nameless, as they are cheaper. Not really cheaper, but more convenient because you can do all of your shopping while you wait on your car. I go along with the plan.

So we get the oil changed, and we head back home. I am cleaning the car a little to make it more comfortable for the trip, and John is helping me, when he sees it. A nice fat oil stain in the distinct shape of a handprint. On the headliner by the door. The pale, pale, bone-colored headliner. Of the 2009 car.

I don't even care that I smell like Armor-All at this point. We load back in the car, and John goes in and comes out about 3 minutes later with the store manager. I am standing there, leaning against my car, when they emerge from the store. The store manager lets out a low whistle and tells us how he loves the car and asks if it drives as good as it looks. Are you serious? "Yes it does", I say. "It's brand new." He gets my point and sits in the driver side seat and looks at the stain, telling me how it is better for me that I brought it back right away. All I can think is that these people maimed my car, and that they are not doing me any favors.

The first attempt at a solution is to try to get the guy back at the oil change place to clean it. I watch nervously as he takes a red shop towel to the light fabric. It doesn't come out all of the way. Instead of a handprint, we have a gray smudge there now. He stops, telling me that it is fraying the fabric, and it is going to have to go to a professional, and how the guy who changed my oil has done this countless times, and he isn't even sure how the guy still has a job. (!) Back in the store we go, where the manager tells us they will take care of the damages, that I need to get an estimate and bring it back to him. When I ask if there is any place in particular I should take it, he says he would recommend I take it to the dealer being that it is new.

So now I am in a nightmare. John calls the dealer and speaks to some woman who says she will call back, that they contract all cleaning issues out to this guy in the area. She calls back and talks to me this time, and gives me the number. I must have said something in the conversation that triggered a reaction in her. Apparently John was not clear on the extent of the problem. She didn't know it was a new car, and she didn't realize it was on almost-white fabric. She tells me to call the guy anyway, and then also gives me the number to their body shop, just in case.

Of course the guy tells me that he wouldn't even fool with cleaning it, that I need to take it straight to the body shop or consider dying the headliner. I call the body shop and they are saying that I may have to completley replace the headliner, or I can have the strip of fabric replaced, which would be less of a hassle, but would be just as unsightly as the stain.

All of this is making me wish for the days when I had a junky used car. I wouldn't have cared then.

Ummm That Was Quick

2009-06-03T21:41:00.000-07:00

GM declared bankruptcy, what, like Monday? Already, I have seen this commercial too many times to count.

Flip-Flop Weather and a Dreaded Trip

2009-06-02T12:02:00.000-07:00

I love this weather. It is 90 degrees out there. Perfect flip-flop weather, and don't think I haven't been rocking the plastic and rubber shoes everywhere I go. I have this massive laundry basket full of them, stuffed in the back corner of the closet, and I have been dying to pull them out.

What else is going on in my world?
School is winding down. Next week is finals week, which I am not exactly excited over. But after burning the candle at both ends for some time now, I finally took a few days off of work. Keeping in mind that I am only obligated to 3 twelves a week, my cashing in some paid-time-off managed to get me off of work for almost 2 weeks. It still isn't a massive vacay. I still have this week left of class, then come back Monday and Tuesday of next week for those dreaded exams. All I know is that for the next 2 weeks, I do not have to do both school and work. Following that, I am off of school for 2 and a half weeks while we switch from Spring to Summer quarters, so then I will only have to do work and not school. Count 'em up! 4 1/2 weeks of one and not the other!

I can honestly say I need the break. For the past month, I have been working all night, then going straight to class the following morning, doing class all day then going straight into work all night. Then I---- you guessed it----head back to campus for a day of class. Finally on the third night, I get a little shut-eye. This is no exaggeration. This is my life. I was actually discussing this with one of the residents at work. He was commenting on my level of tiredness, knowing full well that I intend on heading to med school in a year or so, and said "Just wait until you get into med school!" When I told him I wasn't scared of a med school schedule and explained what I have been doing, his reply was this: "You are INSANE!"

Maybe so. Or maybe it is just determination. More and more people are rallying behind me. To them, I am the one who will make it to the other side. The politics of healthcare dictate that we are the grunts and doctors are the privileged. While I am in no way the poster child, to them I represent the notion that those of us without MD behind our name are still capable individuals. They can say, "Look! She was one of us and she was smart enough to become a doctor, so we can be too." This by no means represents everyone. I still encounter some crap-dishing from some coworkers who think my efforts are directed at proving I am better than they are. The fact that I want more out of my life is a personal assault on their choice of career. Of course this couldn't be farther from the truth. But for the most part, I pass people in the hall, and they will ask me how school is going. When I tell them it is going well, the statement is met with a pat on the back and a hearty "You Go, Girl!".

Part of the plan for my time off is to take John and Evan down to southern Kentucky to visit his family. I am a little nervous about going back there. I am not met by the same resistance I used to face. I've been around for the better part of a decade, and they have realized I am here to stay. But the time we spent living down there is now what I realize to be a different chapter of my life. A chapter full of welfare and stereotypes and North vs. South. I wasn't docile enough. To them, I was the Yankee wife John brought home, the one with the smart mouth who didn't realize a woman's place. While I never played along, I wasn't as out-there with my intentions of higher education and my drive for a career. Now, John and I have returned to my turf where I have adjusted to being myself again. Here, there is nothing wrong with a woman seeking achievement. But to make matters worse, John's sister is having a baby shower, full of church women, and I know it will provoke the inevitable questions about our intent for our family. To them, it will incomprehensible that I want to forgo having other children in order to pursue my education, that I focus on my career instead of perfecting my recipe for the perfect fried chicken. They will never understand that one child, my perfect little Evan, is more than I could ever want, and now that he is in grade school, it is time for me. They will look at me as if I have two heads, and whisper amongst themselves of the brazen woman who thinks she can have it all.

And John. They will, as always, compare John to his brother-in-law. The greatest thing one can aspire to be is an employee at the local electric company. It is not that there is anything wrong with the job.More like what is wrong with John that he wants to skip out on punching a clock in order to support his wife's ambitions? What kind of failure allows his wife to be the breadwinner? We deal with it everytime, and I know they mean well, but I cannot tolerate anyone criticizing my husband because he is helping me to realize my dream.

But nevertheless, we are going. And rude or not, I am taking my study materials and will have my nose in books the entire time. This will evoke the dreaded question: Didn't you already finish one degree? And I will tell them that I am back in school to be a doctor. God help me.

Anyhow...I am wasting too much time here on a computer. It is now time to take the kiddo out and let him get some sunshine while I study with my flip-flopped feet propped up, complete with the hot-pink polish on my toes that I whipped out especially for flip-flop season.

A Few Tidbits From Today's Lecture in Women's History

2009-06-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

Equal Rights Amendment
Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United
States or by any State on account of sex.
The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the
provisions of this article
This amendment shall take effect two years after the date of ratification.

States that did not ratify the Equal Rights Amendment
Alabama
Illinois
Arizona
Louisiana
Arkansas
Mississippi
Florida
Missouri
Georgia
Nevada
North Carolina
Oklahoma
South Carolina
Utah
Virginia

1980: Jerry Falwell Condemns the ERA
"The Equal Rights Amendment strikes at the foundation of our entire social structure. If
passed, this amendment would accomplish exactly the opposite of its outward claims. By
mandating an absolute equality under the law, it will actually take away many of the
special rights women now enjoy. ERA is not merely a political issue, but a moral issue as
well. A definite violation of holy Scripture, ERA defies the mandate that 'the husband is
the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church' (Ep. 5:23). "

Is Jerry Falwell even alive now?? He can come stay at my house, then look me in the face and tell me that "the husband is the head of the wife". Are we morally corrupt because I want to be treated the same as a man? ( Yes, the same!) Put women in the draft. Make us register for selective service. I'll wield an M-16. Put us in office. We'll get things done. This whole issue sickens me, and I have to write a paper over why the ERA was never ratified. Great!

Butt Out, Obama.

2009-05-30T12:16:00.000-07:00

Why is my President getting involved in affairs of private commerce? The last time I checked, my American brothers and sisters were still overseas in a war zone. Hey Obama! Get involved in that. That, after all, is your job. Even I am starting to get a little bit pissed, and other than being a staunch Republican, I don't usually get into politics. And I am a simple kind of girl. But I equate this to my going into work and saying "Nope, I am not going to see patients tonight because I have X, Y and Z to complete for school." But I don't do that, because I know what my job responsibilities are while I am on my emploter's dime. Obama never learned that lesson, apparently.

Is this what you wanted, America? Is this the "Change" you were looking for? The American public made a huge mistake.

Whatever

2009-05-22T09:08:00.000-07:00

Hate My Life @ Yahoo! Video

Ummmm. Do you notice a trend? I post videos when I am too busy to write or when I have nothing to say.

Yesterday, at the gas station, as I was walking in to pay for my gas, some guy asked me if I would give him money for cigarettes. Not food. Not gas. Cigarettes! Beggars have gotten ballsy!

In the meantime, finals week is rapidly approaching, and because of the $1K electric bill, I have been working weeknights in addition to my weekend shifts. I don't think the black circles will disappear from under my eyes any time soon. I have literally been going about 48 hours between chances for even a little sleep. Go to school all day, then head straight into work, then get finished with work and go straight to school. I'm exhausted. And everyone says "Just wait until med school!" Seriously? By then, I will not be working 70-80 hours per week in addition to a full-time class schedule. I do not plan to do this to myself then. So med school? Not scared.

Good Tunage

2009-05-16T13:22:00.000-07:00

I saw this and thought instantly of my son and of my mom.

Electric Nazis and the Landlord from Hell

2009-05-12T15:29:00.000-07:00

I. Am. In. Hell. I have had to resort to 60-hour workweeks again in addition to my crazy school schedule because of bills. I am a sort of magnet for drama. The therapist I saw after my mother died once told me that I have the tendency to get bored because my mind is capable of handling a lot at one time, and so sometimes I dramatize a little to entertain myself without realizing it. Back then, I would have to stop myself from over-reacting to little bumps in the road. Well, that was years ago. I can assure you that with motherhood, marriage, my career, and my rather ambitious educational endeavors, I am not bored. Not me, my mind, my heart, my soul.....All of the parts of me are challenged on a daily basis. And yet still, drama. Drama, drama, drama. Here is the latest:

We moved in to the property where we now reside back in November of this past year, right? Well, we have had trouble since. Trouble with neighbors and the general functionality of the house in which we live.

My absolute fave incident had to be the day I had my wisdom teeth cut out. As our luck would have it, despite best-laid plans, about an hour after Evan was dropped off at school, the school called saying he was vomiting. Yuck. But I had to have the procedure done, and John had to be there. I arranged for the sick childcare at work so John could take me. But we had to go. So John picks up Evan while I am in the shower. John and Evan are in Evan's bedroom changing Evan into pj's while I am in the next room getting ready. Apparently, Evan started projectile vomiting all over his room, so John shouts for me to help. The next thing we know, the neighbor from upstairs comes downstairs and is banging on our door, raising hell that we "jolted" his wife awake. I tried to apologize and explain that our son was ill and John needed my help. Before I could finish, he started talking about our "dumbass kid". Oh. Oh no. I called the landlord then and there and told him that if he did not do something about them, we wanted out of our lease.
But as if that wasn't enough...

We get a bill in the mail last Monday. Electric. $163.89. We have been paying about $200 monthly since we moved in in November, which is a pretty substantial electric bill for an apartment. I figured it was a little cheaper because we haven't been using heat. Sweet. Until the next day, when we get another bill. For...wait for it...$1,029.96. Ummmmm. Seriously? No way. I immediately get on the horn to the powers that be at the electric company. I pay my bill every month, in full, before it is due. What in the hell could this possibly be about? Well, as it turns out, they claim to not have access to our meters, which are under lock and key. Who has the key? The landlord. I didn't even realize that they couldn't read the meters. I mean, if they can't, how did they read it when the electric was first turned on in our name in November? So something is not right here. We start talking to our neighbors and find out that the upstairs neighbors got a bill for over $2K, and the neighbors across the hall got one for $1600. The neighbors upstairs aren't married, and thus have different last names, and so their solution was to turn it off in his name and turn it on in hers. But John and I cannot do that. I had no choice but to pay the bill.

Thinking that part of this fiasco is the landlord's mistake, I call him and tell him about it. I explained that, for the first time since we moved in, my rent would have to be 1 week late because I had to pay this enormous bill since he failed to provide a key to the meter reader. In other words, dude, even though you messed up and jilted your tenants, I will pay the sucky bill, but in exchange, I need you to give me one week. Nope. He wants us out. Which is fine. I want out. I am tired of the noisy neighbors and the bugs that crawl through the gaping holes in the screens because we cannot use our non-working a/c and thus must leave the windows open. I'm tired of trashy neighbors stealing my towels from my dryer downstairs when I turn my head for a second.

But then we start really looking at our lease. Boy was I stupid. It appeared to be a standard lease, and the day I signed it, Evan was running around like a madman and I was just trying to get home. But it is anything but standard. This asshole actually has it in his lease that we are responsible for repairs to electrical, plumbing, appliances, and even the roof if it leaks. In other words we got hosed again. So now we are looking for a new place...again. But not before I got my digs in:

We were leaving the house. There is already a "For Rent" sign in the front yard because one of the units upstairs is empty. Well this young couple pulls up and asks if I know how many bedrooms the empty unit has. "Two," I say. "Two pieces of crap."
"Really? You don't like living here?" the guy asks.
" Well, my electric bill was over $1000 this month. I make really good money, and I cannot afford this piece of crap." I tell him. This is when John walks up and pipes up about the bugs and the neighbors and the lease he makes people sign. The couple wanted to know if we knew of anyplace else around here for rent. We directed them to a place around the corner that has 1 bedroom, which we would have rented if we didn't have a child. They thanked us for our honesty. I doubt they will even inquire about this apartment. I figure that was my good deed for the day. At lkeast I could save them, if not myself.

For the First Time in a Long Time

2009-05-12T15:23:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe Mother's Day has come and gone. I am that busy. But for the first time in quite a long time, I did not cry. I worked and slept and worked some more instead. And I absolutely treasure the little bead necklace Evan made for me in his first grade class. It is hanging on the rearview mirror of my car. But now I feel guilty. I was so busy that I did not stop and honor my mother's memory.

Swine Flu B.S.

2009-05-10T13:38:00.000-07:00

(* I found this pic on the internet. LOL)

I have had the sniffles and a sore throat for the past couple of days. I am obviously not feeling well, and as I cruise the halls of the the hospital while working, and encounter other healthcare professionals, I have heard nothing but the following: "You don't have the pig flu, do you?"

No. I do not have swine flu. Stop asking me. But I do have a patient whom we suspect does, and I will go no further than that. But let's talk about the pig flu, shall we? It has, thus far, caused no abnormal symptoms, save for the standard flu symptoms. And while the global death rate for influenza of which we are accustomed climbs into the thousands and thousands, at last check, swine flu has only caused a couple of hundred deaths worldwide. So why are we freaking out?

Well, this marks one of the first instances where we can catch an illness that has morphed from animals. (Not the first. Remember avian flu???) But everyone is in a dither about this. Everywhere I go on campus, there are signs posted on doors, windows, walls, about prevention of the swine flu. Seriously. Even my husband is not exempt. I mentioned that we had a suspected case, and he practically wanted to red-bag my clothes and burn them when I got home. I wanted them off as soon as possible just because I was dealing with influenza, and I have a child and husband at home who have not had the wealth of vaccines I have had due to my position in healthcare.

Maybe it is just me. I don't get worked up about MRSA or TB or influenza. I use precautions when dealing with these patients because I want to protect my other patients and my family by not becoming a vessel of illness. But most of this stuff is just common sense. Wash your hands, especially after touching something that a gazillion others touch, like door knobs, light switches...Make your loved ones and friends throw away their dirty tissues instead of laying them around. Sneeze or cough into a sleeve of tissue, then wash your hands anyway. Stay away from hospitals if you can. We try really hard, but hospitals are full of sick people. Those of us in their employ have someone in infection control to ensure we are protected. We try to protect visitors and patients too, but some people just do not listen. (Case in point: the suspected TB patient who SNUCK out of her room for a smoke!) Do not, by any means, be the idiot who has your 2 year old cruising the halls barefooted. No doubt, they are treading on c. diff and MRSA and VRSA and streptococci and anything else you can think of that settles to the floor of a busy ER.

So why am I not scared, other than reasons I just mentioned? There is not one single part of me that does not believe that I do not have MRSA all over me. If I were to get sick enough that they were to test me, I am sure I am completely colonized with it. I have had my flu vaccine, and I wash my hands before entering a room and before leaving. (That's a lot, for those of you who do not realize what it is that I do.) And in between those frequent washes, I sanitize. When someone is going to be coughing in my face, which is pretty much all of the time, I wear a mask. If I am going to get something on me, I wear a gown. When I get something on me when it was not anticipated, I bag my laundry, and either turn it in to the disinfecting gurus at the hospital or I wash it seperately with peroxide, then wash it again, by itself. And I wear gloves pretty much all of the time. My son and husband do not come to visit me at work. Common Sense, really. All of it.

Quit freaking out over swine flu. Because each year, as we get vaccines for new stuff, there will be other new stuff to emerge from which we are not protected. Viruses and bacteria are a clever sort. The morph and evolve too. Are we going to panic about every single one of them? Really? Calm down, says the Respiratory Therapist soon to have a degree in Molecular Biology. It'll really be okay.

Thanks, Dodge

2009-05-06T19:00:00.000-07:00

I must had it to the people at Dodge. Yesterday, John came to pick me up and informs me that my 6 month old car's check engine light has come on. Huh? What?

So I make an appointment at our local Dodge dealer's service department. Turns out that I have a bad oxygen sensor on my car. But this was the first time I have ever had to have a new car serviced. Despite the inconvenience, it was pretty nice to hear, "I am so sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am. We will take care of it." I kind of like this whole not having to pay for repairs sort of thing.

Tales from Behind The Mist....Of Albuterol

2009-05-04T11:46:00.000-07:00

From the "Are You Serious?!" File....

Some true stories from work this weekend.

Phone rings and it is Nurse X: "Andrea, can you come and give the patient in room XXX a breathing treatment?"

Me: "Sure. Whats going on with the patient?"

Nurse X: "I don't know. He wants a Coke. Can you just give him a treatment so he will shut up about the Coke?"

Phone rings and it is Nurse Y: "Andrea, my patient's sat is 85 on 2 liters. Can you come see him?"

Me: "Did you turn up his oxygen?"

Nurse Y: "Yep. To 5 liters." (sounding very proud of herself)

Me: "What's his sat on 5 liters?"

Nurse Y: "I don't know. I left to call you."

Me: "Well, I am in the ER with a full arrest. Go and see what his sat is, and if it still low, put him on a venturi mask at 50% and 15 liters, and I will be there as soon as I can. Do you know how to do that?"

5 minutes later the phone rings. Nurse Y again: "Andrea, I think I broke the venturi mask."

Me: "Get another one and try again. I am still bagging this patient in the ER."

2 minutes later, Nurse Y, again.: "I don't think 50% is going to fix this. We need to go up on his oxygen, not down."

A few minutes later, I head to the room. The patient's sat was 100%. His heartrate was 85. I put him back on his 2 liters and went back to the critically ill patient I left in the ER to deal with this.

Later that night, a full arrest in the ER. We are intubating the patient and I have the nurse behind me at the crash cart hand me an en-tidal CO2 detector to verify proper tube placement.

Doctor X: "That won't work on this patient."
Me: "Well it is habit, so just humor me."
After a few breaths, we get the color change that shows the tube is indeed in the lungs and not the esophagus.
Me: "See, it worked."

After the code, Doctor X comes up to me, and in a gentle voice asks me if I understood why it would not work for that patient.
Me: "Well, it did work. Plus, It is an ACLS standard that tube placement be verified with an end-tidal CO2 detector, and therefore it is the policy of this hospital that we use it after an intubation."

Doctor X: "Well ACLS is wrong. I'm going to write them about that."

Seriously, people. Seriously.

Being Seen

2009-05-04T10:56:00.000-07:00

I have had the most interesting weekend at work.

For the first two shifts of the weekend I had the ER, along with some general med-surg floors. I had to confront death head-on for a couple of patients. I lost one battle and am still in the process of losing another.

A 75-year-old man comes in as a full cardiopulmonary arrest. We are doing CPR, and they let the family back. I hate that. Hate it. I have to remain detached and professional to do my job effectively. But this little old lady comes limping back with her family, as we are doing CPR on her husband of over 50 years. They have had this life together, and I feel like we are taking that away from her when there is nothing we can do to save the man. As I watch her cry, I am finding it hard not to cry. The doctor calls time of death and I help her limp to the bedside, where she gives him a kiss on the cheek and crumbles with grief.

The next night, another full arrest comes in. That is what these patient's are to us. The full arrest in bed 18 or 8 or wherever they land. Not a name. She comes in already intubated, so the task of ventilating her falls to me. I am tweaking the vent to find a way to ventilate her that works best with her natural patterns of ventilation. I have my back turned to the door, turning knobs on the vent. I turn around for some unknown reason and see this sweet guy from housekeeping there behind me. In that instant I assume he is at work until my eyes take in his street clothes. He looks at me with these wide eyes, and I just know. I ask him if it is his mom, and he just nods. He stays in the room while we do all sorts of medical procedures to the woman. She is nude from the waist up for an EKG, and all I could think of was my relationship with my son, so I reach over and cover her breasts with a sheet. Later I go down to the smoking area for a much needed break for coffee and a Marlboro Light. He is down there smoking too. Before this, he and I would joke about college football. He would tease me about my hatred of Florida. He was always quick to offer a smile. Before that, I don't think either of us were very aware of what the other does in the hospital, other than these huge badges that go along with our picture badge that is designed to quickly reveal to patients just who we are. Mine says "Respiratory Therapist" in bright green. His says "housekeeping" in pale blue. But that night, in his grief, he saw firsthand what it is that I do. Never again in his eyes will I be the joking girl who loves Buckeye football.
We are sitting there talking. Once again, we are just two people down in the smoking area. There is no whoosh of a ventilator in the background or a beep of a monitor. He looks at me and gulps down tears as he thanks me for all of the hard work I do, not only for his mom, but for all of the other patients I see on a nightly basis. I get choked up by that. Because every night, I whisk in the room in response to a call that someone somewhere in the hospital has stopped breathing. I do my job and slip quietly away unnoticed by the patients' loved ones. I stay under the radar. They will never remember my name like they will the nurse who takes care of their loved ones. Or the doctor charged with their care. They don't know that I am the girl who stands over their family member, with my back breaking and the hot exam lights forming beads of sweat on my brow, breathing for them when they cannot. I am fine with that. I know what I do, and somewhere inside of me, despite self-criticism, I know I am good at my job. That has always been enough for me. It is okay to be the unseen. But that night, I was seen. And the reality of what it is that I do for a living settled with a big thunk somewhere inside of my soul. I see hundreds of patients nightly. I never remember names-- only faces. In that instant, a myriad of faces come back to me. I worry myself daily if I have been a success at the tasks I have undertaken. Did I do well on Exam X at school? Will I get into medical school? Does my time away from home to pursue these goals I have set for myself do harm to my husband and son? Am I truly making a contribution to this world in which we live? In that instant, the housekeeper from the hospital gave me my self-worth on a silver platter, showing me that this is who I am. That I have touched lives, even when I didn't realize I was doing anything more than earning money to support my family. And for some reason, at that point in time, my thoughts went to my mother. Is she watching me now? Does she see the hard work I do? Is she proud? What is this work I do really about? My confrontation with the housekeeper had such an impact on me. I am still the nineteen year old girl who lost her mom too soon to lung disease. And I have been battling lung disease ever since. It will not win. I am too tough to allow that to happen. It is like the housekeeper took a large mirror and held it to my face for me to see, saying "Here. Look at her. This woman, who works hard to fight for the lives of others. This woman who is capable and tough and smart, who can do whatever she deems fit in life, who will reach the dream she has set for herself, who is Pauline's daughter and John's wife and Evan's mom. She is you." I need to be thanking him.

Dealing with the Aftermath

2009-05-04T10:55:00.001-07:00

While my professors were really nice about the whole wisdom teeth ordeal, I missed MIDTERM WEEK! I have so much crap to do that I have no time to even breathe. Grrrrr.

2 Less Teeth

2009-05-01T07:40:00.000-07:00

I let them do it. I was nervous, and it was a good thing that the sedative works quickly or I would have probably chickened out on this. I looked the surgeon square in the face and asked if he was "prepared for an airway emergency". He gave the nurse the "Do you believe this one" look, to which I responded, "Hey, you know what I do for a living, right?" After that, the last thing I remember is him telling me about the patient he had to trach in the chair. Next thing I know, I am awake and giggling uncontrollably, and the wisdom teeth are gone. Apparently Versed is to blame for the giggles, though I have never seen it have that effect on any of my patients.
Everyone has told me how painful it is to have these boogers removed. I have been pretty sore and not feeling well because I have been taking a low-dose narcotic painkiller. But I have refrained from those for over 24 hours, and now I am feeling the aftermath. But to be honest, after the pain I was having before they were removed, I think this is an improvement. Plus I have the psychological benefit of knowing that I have no more wisdom teeth to cause any problems. All 4 are gone now. I just know that the plan is to work tonight, and I want nothing in my system for that. I have bought a fricken enormous bottle of ibuprofen just for work. I still cannot eat solid foods though. That's okay. The hospital cafeteria has a wealth of frozen yogurts and Jell-O, soups, puddings, etc., to choose from. I'll be a-okay.

Not the Break I Wanted

2009-04-27T10:55:00.000-07:00

I came home from work this morning and went to sleep for 2 hours before I was awakened by this God-awful pain in my jaw. Being a bad girl has caught up with me, apparently. When I was 19, I went to get my wisdom teeth dealt with. Being the enigma that I am, instead of having 4 like a normal person,I had only 3. All 3 were in my mouth and looked great, but my dentist was concerned that the bottom 2 would get cavities or cause problems with my neighboring molars, so they were pulled in the office.. Years later, the elusive 4th tooth shows up. It has been in there for years, but it is either broken or jagged. I cannot tell which it is as it is too far back to see. I just know I will have periods where it will hurt for a while, then it goes away. Now it is killing me. So figuring that I have excellent insurance, I stay home from school today to deal with this. But somehow this has evolved from my trusty dentist to an maxillofacial surgeon, a major procedure, and being NPO after midnight. John will have to miss school tomorrow as well. I am now perched on my sofa with a laptop and the phone, trying to get ahold of all of my professors. This completely sucks. But this time tomorrow, I will look like the picture you see for this post.

Me Blogging about A Pic of Me Blogging

2009-04-26T13:42:00.000-07:00

I had the night from Hades last night at work. 13 vents in just one unit, and I had multiple units. Here in a half an hour, I have to get ready to go back. So yep, I look like ass. No makeup, pillow creases on my face. I am dog-tired. I get my butt kicked just about every night at work. But tonight, I know I will. There is just something about the possibility of having an easy night that makes it much easier to go in in the first place. But for some reason, when you know the mountain of work will be insurmountable and there will be just some patients you cannot physically get to because you are so busy, followed by the realization that instead of being off in the morning, it is the start of your school day....Well it is enough to make you want to stay home.
But alas the time has come for my shower to get ready. I have to do my job.

I think I am running out of steam.

WTF Was That? Only Me!

2009-04-23T21:19:00.000-07:00

Seriously. This is not a joke. I am up, studying for my chemistry exam, when late night hunger sets in. I send John to get some food. The restauraunt shall remain nameless. He comes back and we start to scarf. I go to unwrap my taco, and notice the outside of the taco shell is moist. I figure it is just steam from the hot taco being in the wrapper. I take a bite, and my mouth fills with the taste of something soapy or perfumey. I start to investigate further, thinking that surely my mind is playing tricks on me. But the wrappy smells like someone sprayed it with cologne. So John gets on the phone to call the restauraunt, and speaks to the manager. We just want to know what sort of chemical I just ingested. The manager gets rude with John, then offers to replace the food. He told her again that we just wanted to know what it could have been. Was someone cleaning before they made my food? Had someone just put on cologne or washed their hands and had soap residue on them? WTF did I eat???? She continued to be rude to John, so we had no choice but to call another store with which they were affiliated. I end up with the cell number of the general manager, who was very sweet. But we still do not know what it is that was on the damned taco. I just no that I can still taste it in my mouth, and it is making me queasy. And I don't know if it was something benign or something poisonous. If there is never another post on this blog, you know I was poisoned by the perfumey taco!

Loves It

2009-04-23T15:12:00.000-07:00

I have joined the wireless revolution. I finally bought a laptop. So.... Evan is sitting in there playing on the desktop and I am in here(the living room), on the sofa, blogging away. I bought this damned thing to aid in the whole "school" thing. I am never home, which is obviously where my desktop is. Any task that needed to be done on a computer had to be done here. It was getting to be a terrible burden. So ta-da!!!!! I fixed it. Of course then I needed to buy a new modem. Lovely.

2011

2009-04-21T14:32:00.000-07:00

After a long overdue meeting with my advisor, it appears that this will be the year that I enter medical school, if all goes as planned. I am a little bummed that it is not going to be 2010. I have to keep reminding myself that, while I am a senior, I have only been in college for 2 years, then transferred. I am actually right on track with the pre-med issue. It is just that I completed a senior-level's worth of courses in two years. And (phew!) I can postpone my MCAT until next spring.
Next fall is going to be brutal. I start my Biochemistry sequence ( 1, 2, 3), my Organic Chemistry series (1, 2, 3), and my final math for all time, Calculus series ( Calc 1, 2, and 3). Somewhere along the way, I need another lit course, and another phiolsophy course (planning for "Ethics and Medicine", even though I have had a Bioethics course). In spring of 2010, it is all about my MCAT and applying to med schools. Somewhere in this journey, I need to move across the river so I am more likely to get an in-state seat at UC COM. (And a $60K discount on medical school.)

Everything I have planned, worked for, dreamed of is laid out right before my eyes. For the first time, I am starting to believe I am really going to do this. My dream is coming true.

On a separate note, Evan is dying to see the new Hannah Montana movie. He's got the soundtrack, and forces us to listen to it in the car. Instead of being irritated, I heard this song and cried.

Miley Cyrus - The Climb (Rockamerica) @ Yahoo! Video

School Days, Schoooooool Days.....

2009-04-20T14:12:00.001-07:00

oh screw it! I don't know the rest of the words!

I am procrastinating. I have to do the following:

Chem Lab Report
Study for Bio Exam
Study for Chem Exam
Study for History Exam
Study for Bio Lab Practical
Prepare for this week's Chem Lab (We have an exam over required reading before each lab.)
Prepare for Bio Lab (Same as above)

I have not slept since 2 PM on Sunday. Somewhere in this mess, I must close my eyes. I need to motivate myself.

This is my reminder of why I am insistent on putting myself through this torture:

Why Is It.....

2009-04-20T13:45:00.000-07:00

...That over the weekends, when I am working all night and sleeping all day, it is absolutely gorgeous? Then during the week, when I am traipsing all over campus, and could actually navigate mountains of school work while my child plays outside, it is cold and rainy????? Hmmmmmf!

Appalling

2009-04-12T10:53:00.001-07:00

The intrigue started from a lecture in women's history: The Triangle Waist Company fire in NYC in 1911. I can only describe this fascination by giving the analogy of driving by a bad accident on the interstate: you simply have to look. But this tragedy seems so appalling to me. 146 you people died, most of them young women and girls, who worked in a sweatshop making the shirtwaists that were so popular in the day. Basically, they were locked into the 8th and 9th floor of a huge building in NYC when a fire broke out. There are accounts of the sidewalk actually breaking from the weight of the bodies as women decided to jump to their death instead of being consumed by the flames. This was before the time of fire regulations, and the fire hoses did not reach to the floors of the tall building. It sparked reform in our country: for wages, for safety, for health and safety regulations for workers.

What is so strange to me is that this occured right after a massive strike of the young women in the garment industry, fed up with the conditions of the sweatshops in which they were employed. And the Triangle Company was the only one to not reach a compromise with the strikers. Arson was not suspected. It is speculated that a match or spark ignited oil and cloth trimmings that littered the floor in the cramped working space. To me, it all seems like such a huge coincidence.

This is odd for me. It is the first time a topic in a class has intrigued me enough that I found myself at the local library and a Barnes and Noble trying to comb for more information about it.

I didn't find anything at my local lbrary, but I did find this at B & N:

I cannot wait to start on it. My nonacademic academic reading. I wish I had more time....

Do Not Touch the Feet

2009-04-12T10:40:00.000-07:00

Ask any of us in health care and we will tell you that we have had some strange encounters with patients or their family members. I have a favorite...

I was called to the bedside of a very unfortunate patient in his early thirties with a head bleed. The man needed surgical intervention beyond the scope of the tiny rural facility in which I was employed at the time. Air transport had arrived to take him to the nearest trauma center, and I was standing at his head, bagging. I couldn't step away, as I was literally breathing for the guy. We call the wife in to say whatever she needed to say to him as we were pushing the stretcher out to the helo pad. I hate this part. Usually, it makes me tear up. Not this time. It was all I could do to remain professional and not crack. This woman actually walked up to her husband and said the following. "Nothing better happen to you, because you know what will happen, don't you? I'll have you stuffed and sit you in the corner. Taxidermy is cheaper than a funeral!" She proceeded to smack him on the forehead and tell him she would see him when she gets there.

Well, the other night, I had another strange encounter. There was a very young child who had assessments and treatments ordered every 3 hours. When this is the case, I try to be quiet as I walk in the room, hoping I can observe the child and possibly give a treatment without ever having to wake the family or the kid. This little boy's oximeter probe had fallen off of his finger, and was sort of stretched out. i figured I would put the probe on his big toe, and started to do so...

All hell unleashed. The dad started screaming at me, "Dud, what the F### are you doing??? Don't touch his F###ing feet, man. Who the F### do you think you are??? Why the F### would you do that???" Those are actual words, without the censorship. Seriously. This is a sample of what I endure at work. Really. For 12 hours a night.

What a Day!

2009-04-02T20:40:00.001-07:00

Today was B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L outside. I actually sat outside with my pile of textbooks, wearing a tee and some hot pink flip-flops and got a large volume of reading done for class. Time came for Evan to be picked up from school, so John went to get him, and he immediately changed into shorts a tee himself upon his arrival home. I'm sure the two of us made quite the picture: mother and son on the porch together in the sunshine, both working on homework. Chemistry for me and math for him.
I still have huge volumes to get accomplished before next week, which is really going to be a pain considering tomorrow marks the beginning of my work week. Plus I have bio and chem lectures tomorrow afternoon. I swear this quarter is going to kill me.

On a completely separate, unrelated note, I watched the ER farewell episode tonight and cried. I was excited to see that they brought back the original music for the opening credits. I loved that. They switched it at some point and it was never the same after. Of course John teased me for crying, but I started watching that show from the very first episode. In a cheesy way, it confirmed to the young me that yes, I did truly want to be a doctor. It seems almost surreal that all of these later, I am working on becoming one and the show ends. Hmmm.

Okay, back to work. Or to sleep. It started raining tonight and the sound of it hitting the roof is just what I need to doze off in the middle of a chem problem.

Learning About Oneself

2009-04-01T22:09:00.001-07:00

I learned something new about myself this week. I think I may be a feminist. Now before you go thinking I am some tree-hugging, hairy-legged, militant lesbian, let me inform you of a few things: Pink is my favorite color. I love having sex with my husband, who is very male. I do not think I own anything that is camoflaged, and I drank my coffee out of a styrofoam cup this morning on my way to my biology lab. So why do I say I am a feminist? Simply because I am sitting in my Women's History lecture room on Tuesday, and my professor is showing these images of women in history, and when she got to this one, I litterally gasped. As in disgust. As in "Hells-to-the-nah!"

Then she got to this one, and I smiled a great deal. I like this one. This one speaks to me of who I am exactly.

Then we started doing this exercise where we divided a sheet of paper with "Masculine" on one side and "Feminine" on the other. The intent was for us to write a few adjectives to describe each. We were prohibited from using terms of biology. For example: penis, testosterone, androgens, testes were all prohibited words. I struggled. I started to describe women first, and the first thing I put on the list was "strong". As I started to think of more, I realized that I was using words society would typically use to describe a man. Did she want the way society would describe each, or did she want my description, or did she want the truth??? As I sat there puzzling over this, she announced that time was up. I looked down at my paper and saw the word strong, in my handwriting, scribbled out. Women aren't supposed ot be seen as strong. The entire thing became a metaphor for me. I know I am strong. It has nothing to do with gender, but more to do with me as a person. But I also know that because I am a woman, I am not supposed to be. Which direction do I go???
But then I became angry. She asked some of the members of the class to call out some of the things on their list. For men? Capable, provider, breadwinner, strong, tough, intelligence...

For women? Pretty, dainty, emotional, submissive, passive...

Seriously? I am a wife and a mother who is several years older than the young women in this class. I grew up in the day where it was still mainstream for mothers to stay home and care for their children. In fact, that is what I came from. These younger women should be even more progressive than I am. They didn't see the trap? They didn't see that they were falling directly into the stereotype society has placed on women? Even the word "feminist" brings on its own stereotype. I am not immune to it. I am reluctant to openly admit this view. If you ask me about the capabilities of women, I will tell you there is nothing a woman cannot do that a man can. Even in regard to physical strength, I think it is less about nature and more about nurture. Boys grow up being told that bigger is better, more muscle is more strength. Girls are told the complete opposite. If the two were told the same things from the beginning, both verbally and nonverbally, I see no reason why women could not be as physically capable as men. So these are my views, and they always have been. I am not one to play the giggling, blushing girl, who is silently cpable of performing neurosurgery while orbitting the Earth. If I have the answers, i will tell you I do. If I excel in a subject, i will be honest ans say that I do. If I can kick your ass, you will know that too. But to use the word "feminist"??? I am reluctant to do so because I do not want to commit to the stereotype we have of the word. I like smelling like my Gucci No. 2 instead of patchouli. I like being heterosexual, that my husband likes to look at my boobs. But I also like that my husband knows my mind as well, and loves that too. See? I cannot get past the stereotype...

My level of disgust increased tenfold when the professor started to speak of the contributions of women in medicine. She actually was referring to nursing, and how nurses helped doctors and continue to do so today. What? You can be damned sure that my contribution to medicine will not be as a nurse. Not that there is anything wrong with nursing. But to insinuate that this is the only way women have left a mark in medicine is to imply that women cannot be influential physicians. Bullshit. Here, let me show you.

So I knew I wanted to blog about this. It has had me fired up ever since I left the class, and so I was searching the internet for the exact images she used in the lecture, and I found many more I love. I'll show them to you now.

I guess I am a feminist after all.

I should have known...This has been my favorite son since high school:

Just A Girl @ Yahoo! Video

I Am Blogging as a method of procrastination....

2009-04-01T21:44:00.000-07:00

A recent quote from me to my husband: "You do realize that I have a gazillion things on my mind and what you are saying to me right now is registering as "blah blah blah blah", right?"

New classes are cool. But crazy. I am left to ponder this riddle: WTF was I thinking? I think I will do well this quarter. Nothing has sent me into freak out mode yet, other than my schedule and infinite to-do list. Right now, I am just feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it all. I need to find my groove. Seriously.

What in the blue hell is going on with this computer virus? Was I not supposed to get online today or something? My computer has not yet burst into flames, so I think I am okay...

Oorah

2009-03-26T09:51:00.000-07:00

Good Tunage

2009-03-25T06:03:00.000-07:00

These guys get it.

The Disclaimer

2009-03-25T05:34:00.000-07:00

I went on Blackboard, as in the school software that serves as a communication network, a way to post assignments and grades, etc., for school to double check that all of my grades were submitted and there were no errors. There is this little tab that lists the courses in which you are currently enrolled. My list had grown substantially. There were 4 each of chem and bio, etc. It took me a second to realize that next quarter's classes are on there already, along with last quarter's. Cool. I can get a head start.

I start with the syllabus to history, and pull it up so I can print it out. I had a brief moment of panic when I saw that there are going to be graduate students in it, as there are two different sets of requirements for the course for grad students and undergrad students. I had to stop and remind myself that I am a senior and these people are just a year or two further in their education than I am. That turned to "Cool! I am SENIOR!".

Moving on to psych and chem. No biggie for either, though I am scared of chem just a bit this quarter. After all, last quarter almost broke me. And that was at a little campus in a small class. This time I am at the main campus, there are going to be about 300 in my class. Oh well, I digress...

The only given is biology. I save this class for last because it is going to calm me down after seeing the others. I am excited to see that the professor has everything for the entire quarter posted already. PowerPoint presentations, outlines, and even exam reviews. Sweet! I can get started right away on bio, and do really well this quarter, as it is my major, after all. I start with the syllabus, and pull it up to print it. I notice it is taking a long time to print, so I look. Why is his syllabus 20 pages?????! WTF? So I start to read it. There is a damned disclaimer on it, in bold type. In so many words, it says that the course is notorious for a high percentage of withdrawals, D's and F's. That the course is specifically designed for Biology majors and thus is designed for a student who can manage a large amount of information in a short period of time. That if the reader is not a Biology major, they will most likely not be able to be successful in the course, and there are other more basic biology courses that would be more appropriate for them. Oh. Shit.
I am scared. And I am already studying for it. I managed to get all of the material for the first exam printed off. There were 200 pages. Seriously.

Ring Ring

2009-03-25T04:52:00.000-07:00

Seriously?
Okay, peeps. I am busy. Very busy. Picture the busiest person you know and I am even busier than that. Seriously. Well, I slipped. I have managed to work away most of my spring break, picking up extra shifts at work to make up for the deficit in OT while school is in session. After all is said and done, I am human, and so while I can gracefully manage my full-time hours, I do not pile on extra while classes are going on unless someone makes me, and that someone has the power to say I am no longer employed. So anyhow... In addition to the extra work, I am trying to get ready for the next quarter of classes. Buy books. Ensure tuition is paid. Make sure my schedule will mesh with John's and Evan's. I forgot to pay my phone bill. Oops. In a crunch, I give John a wad of cash and tell him to go somewhere and hurry up and pay the total amount due before the powers that be at the phone company decide I am no longer deserving of phone and internet services. I did this once before, so I knew exactly where to go so that the payment would post immediately. I gave my dear husband specific directions on where to take the payment.
So here I am at work last night. It is about time for me to leave. I picked up extra to help out coworkers during our period of short-staffedness. All I wanted was a quesadilla on my way home. I anted to see if John wanted anything. What happened? "The number you are trying to reach is either out of service or is being worked on at the current time." Whaaa?????? My first though was "BUT I PAID YOU PEOPLE A LOT OF MONEY!" Then the confusion turned to panic. I called the repair center from work to let them know that something has to be wrong with my line. She let's me know in a snippy tone that there is a block on my line for nonpayment. She sounds very judgemental, as in I am the type of scum who does not pay my bills. I get mad and tell her I paid my bill and I want my phone turned back on right now. When she tells me I have to wait until the morning, I tell her she needs to quit her job, as she obviously sucks at it. Poor girl. I was so rude to her. So I wake up early this morning, though it is my one day off, in order to send up a flare to the phone company to clear up the mistake. Hmmmmf!
The first lady I speak with treats me almost exactly the same. I explain that we paid. I have the receipt right in front of me, and offer the transaction number. She tells me that apparently there are authorized payment centers and unauthorized payment centers. John took the money to an unauthorized payment center, so we will have to go without a phone for 5 days while we wait for it to post. Then (gasp) she tells me the internet will be disconnected tomorrow if I do not pay. OMG, now they are out for blood. I freak out and tell her that we paid the damned bill. And I didn't pay just what was past due. I paid the entire thing, old and new charges. With my internet now in jeopardy, I demand to speak to a supervisor. She gets very rude, and transfers me anyway.
So the supervisor comes on the line, and I tell her what happened. She repeats what the rude girl told me, that they cannot turn the service back on unless the payment is posted or I go and pay the past due amount at an authorized payment center. I desperately ask if there are any other options. She is giving me directions on how to fax the receipt to her when I blurt out that I am going to make John do it, as he is the one who didn't go to the payment center to which I told him to go. She laughs, and I also blurt out that I am full-time pre-med student, a full-time RT, a full-time wife and mom, and that some things fall through the cracks. That my husband is new to the Mr. Mom role and doesn't always do the best job. This is when she softens up and tells me she isn't going to make me go through the ordeal of faxing her a receipt. She'll turn it back on, but to watch my account to be sure that the payment posts. If I would have been speaking to her in person, I would have hugged her right then and there.
So.....Lisa from Cincinnati Bell: Thanks!

Done.

2009-03-19T09:24:00.000-07:00

Finals are, that is. I got A's on everything except chemistry, which I don't know about yet, as he still hasn't posted the grades. He has this complicated grading policy, where you choose up to so many points of homework and quizzes. These count as your grade for those, so you get to choose the highest ones to count. IF you perform better on the final, he also has this grade replacement policy. This means that instead of my final being worth 300 points, it becomes worth 500, and my other two exams are no longer worth 200, but will then be worth 100 each.

I am hoping I did well on the final, because then my chemistry grade will be an A as well, and I am off to the next level in about a week and a half. I am such a geek that I am ready to buy my books and throw myself into studying. Of course this is more about necessity than it is about my love of the subjects. I enrolled in 18 credit hours this next semester. That plus work is not a pretty picture. Organization and studying in advance is required to keep it all from falling in on me.

Wrong?

2009-03-09T11:00:00.000-07:00

I am sitting here pondering my schedule for next quarter as this one is drawing to a close. I am enrolled in HIS489, which is a senior-level history course entitled "U.S. Women's History". Hmmmm. I am wondering what it will be like. Enlightening? Eye-opening? Thought-provoking?
But the greater question is this: are my classmates going to remind me of this?

Say it with me, ladies: One can have smooth underarms and legs and bikini lines, smell like flowers, and wear makeup without it equating to the downfall of equality for women. Better yet, the true test of a strong woman is whether or not you can kick some ass while smelling like gardenias. I know I can.

Feeling Like Crap, But YAY, ME!

2009-03-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

I saw a MD. I was wheezing terribly, and left the office with scripts for a steroid burst and a PRN inhaler. Well, after three days of the medicine, and nothing but the bed in my life, I was still no better this morning, and may have in fact been a little worse. I got up to go to the restroom and got so winded that I had to stop and take a break. Bad stuff. I'm an RT. I know this. So I had no choice but to call in again today, which completely screws with my planned vacation days next week in time for finals. Not very happy about that at all, but oh well. Well, after the bathroom incident, I thought it would be best if I got a chest x-ray, so I trudged to the ER. Turns out I have an "atypical pneumonia" that resulted from a stint that was indeed our friend influenza. So now I can add antibiotics to the roster of meds.

But wait! There is one more. I started Chantix. Yes, I did it. I was honest with the doctor that I smoke, and that, yes, I do want to quit very much. I, of all people, know what it does to your body. I have tried other methods, and none of them have worked. The doctor warned me the medication was expensive. Insurance won't pay a dime for it. But with the current rate of Marlboro Ultralights being about $4.50 a pack, multiplied by two pack-a-day smaokers in the house, I figure that, if the drug truly does help me, I would actually come out ahead in the long run if I just drop the $140 for the prescription. Not only will I save on cigarettes, but also on silly side expenses, like the impending treatmnet for lung cancer that would most definitely be in my future. I mean, let's face it: some people can go their entire lives without ever feeling any impact from smoking. They are 96, still smoke Camel Non-filters, yet have no emphysema, no cancer. I just do not have that kind of luck.

I plan to blog about my cessation efforts, if for nothing more than to keep myself sane through the use of an outlet. I started another blog, though it only has one post so far. I named it Operation Fatbody No Longer, as it is all about my quest to get myself in shape for the much desired commission into the Navy. Since smoking cessation fits into this quest, that is where it will be.

Ha!

2009-03-08T14:34:00.001-07:00

I saw a chick wearing something similar today! Nice!

Dear President Obama,

2009-03-06T14:30:00.001-08:00

Let me just clear the air by saying first and foremost that I did not vote for you. I am a Rebublican through and through. This did not stop me from tearing up when you were elected. You see, despite my stuffy Republican ways, I am all for change and progress.

Other than being a Republican, what other roles do I play? Well, I am a mother and a wife. I am a full-time student. I am the sole supporter for my small family of three. I am a full-time healthcare provider, a taxpayer, and more.

What does this have to do with anything? Well, quite simply, I would like to be exempt from having to work more so my tax dollars that I earn can go to bail out companies, or to pay for the healthcare of others. After all, 40 hours per week of my time, and thus my family's time, is devoted to the health and welfare of others. Must my paycheck be as well???

You see, there used to be a time when my family was below poverty lines. While my low-income neighbors were complaining about the low dollar amount they received in food stamps while spending their welfare checks for weed, I was using mine to put gas in my car to get to and from class so I would not need the help any longer. I earned my ticket out and subsequently to my nice middle class job with benefits. Yes, I have insurance. I have great insurance, but even so, I still spent $200 on prescriptions today. This means I cannot afford to pay for the others who don't have insurance.

And speaking of the bailouts that are spreading like wildfire: I don't feel like I should have to pay anything toward that, either. I have contributed to the wealth of these companies in other ways. I help CitiBank by paying my student loan payments with interest each month. Sallie Mae too. I helped the automotive industry and the banking industry at the same time about 4 months ago when I had my bank give the dealership $22K in exchange for a 2009 model car. In exchange, I pay 19% interest each month because I have a medical bill in collections from my son's premature birth 7 years ago. Another way I help the banking industry? I know my limitations and do not take on debt I cannot afford.

I saw through it all. You said you would take care of us middle class people. I saw through it, but everyone wanted to believe you. Now you are giving all of this money to people who don't need it. Or people who may need it but do not deserve it because of their manner of conducting business. Is it fair for me to have busted my ass for all of these years so I could better provide for my family, so you could give my money away to these people? Is it fair for me to have to work like a dog, when I cannot get so much as a little bit of help toward my $36K/ year tuition bill? No wait, I forgot. My husband is now going back to school, and my son is in private school because the public school system I pay to support has grossly failed him. So in total, my family is paying more like $56K/ year for just tuition.

So please, President Obama, take more of my money. After all, there is still a little bit left to be had. There must be, as we are not yet living in a cardboard box under a bridge. Not yet, anyhow.

Sincerely,
A Pissed-Off Taxpayer

They Said No

2009-03-06T08:29:00.001-08:00

I am still sick, of course. Very sick.

Well, we have this policy at work that in the event that someone is called off of work due to overstaffing, you can indicate that you would like to be the one by placing a big red dot by your name on the schedule. It says to the world that, hey, I am a team player and did not call in, but if you are going to send someone home, please let it be me.

I called my supervisor, realizing there was a snowball's chance in Hell that anyone would be called off, to have her red-dot my name. Ha! Hahaha! Let's just say, I got a lecture and am now off of work tonight. As it turns out, several of my coworkers are off from the same thing, one of which has pneumonia. 10 bucks says we all got it from the same patient. "I really don't need you here in that condition." Grrrrrr. While it is very true that I now have an entire day off of work, I hate it. I hate doing this to my coworkers, making them work their arses off to cover for my absence.

In the meantime, I found out something interesting. Each and every day I report to work, I find myself adjusting to the difference between this place and my previous employer. Other employees grumble about the place, but I know better because I have seen firsthand that there is worse out there. Much worse. This place actually takes care of its employees. But here is another difference I discovered: if you are ill for whatever reason, and it is something that is deemed contagious by your doctor, so long as they document it in writing and you report it to employee health, the absence cannot count against you. Fabulous. I only miss work when I am physically unable to work due to illness. I missed a couple months back because I had this horrendous stomach virus, for example, and was unable to get out of bed.

I have made a doctor's appointment for this afternoon. I really hope I have nothing but the flu. But I cannot breathe. I see a chest x-ray in my future.

That's Our Girl

2009-03-06T08:21:00.000-08:00

This chick is becoming my new idol. Long after she should have been out of competitive waters, she is still doing her thang. Check this out. http://sports.yahoo.com/top/news?slug=ap-torresreturn&prov=ap&type=lgns

Flu Happens

2009-03-05T20:54:00.000-08:00

Forget Chemistry and Biology, work and family and everything else that is going on.
I. Am. Sick.
I have no idea how I am going to manage to be successful at work tomorrow night (or at any other task I undertake in the next couple of days).

Right now, I just know that I cannot call in sick. One coworker is on FMLA because his wife just had a baby. Another took a leave of absence, and I am not sure why, but I am sure I will find out when I report for my shift tomorrow night.

It all started with this benign tickle in my throat. Which made me cough just a little bit, but hey, no big deal, right? I popped Halls Defense tabs like they were going out of style, telling everyone that I cannot get sick. Between school and work, the world will stop turning if I am ill. But then it happened. I was cuddling with John on the living room floor, all snuggled in a blanket, watching a movie, when I started to cough really hard. I coughed so hard I urrrrrppped. Gross. And John, God how I love him, helped me clean myself up and helped me get tucked in on the sofa for the night. I remember waking up this morning, freezing despite the big comforter wrapped around me. The rest of today has passed in a blur of periods of awake and sleep. I would be freezing, and he would wrap me in such a weight of blankets that I should not have been able to breathe. I would wake a few hours later, drenched in sweat, and toss off the blankets. All of this only to repeat the ritual an hour later. The monotony was broken up by him bringing me a dose of Robitussin every 4 hours.

The period of time I would have spent in chemistry recitation came and went. Lecture came and went. In a fit of wakefulness, I ended up emailing my professor this afternoon to let him know where I was today. We have these little cards, worth only two points each, that we turn in during recitation each week. No big deal, but they add up to be a full quiz grade at the end of the quarter. In his response, he told me we would talk when I return on Tuesday. I am sincerely hoping he will cut me some slack on this one.

Other than all of this, my body is racked with aches and chills, and I truly think I have the flu. My mind flashes back to a time earlier in the week when I saw a headline that the flu is showing some rather resistant strains this year. "That's interesting", I thought, as I went on about my day. Now I am left to ponder that in conjunction with the fact that I got a flu vaccine earlier in the season from work. In fact. they pretty much made me, in that if I did not, I had to fill out this big waiver for the hospital, which in turn is reported to employee health, etc. In other words, just take the damned shot already, and thus I did.

Oh, the irony!

So now I am sitting here, typing this in a haze. I know I should use the time to study, being that I slept all day. I am having a hard time being productive, and am starting to feel hot again, wondering if I am about to break another fever. Blah!

I Did it Again

2009-03-04T17:59:00.000-08:00

Our chem professor was pacing back and forth in front of the classroom in front of the 16 of us that are remaining in the course at the end of the quarter. We are approaching final exams, have not yet been given our last exam grades or report grades. (Keep in mind that this was a course so jammed full of bodies at the beginning of the quarter that I had to beg for a seat.) He was speaking of how he will be computing our final grades so we would know, after being handed back our graded exams, if we would need to drop or not. He was saying how the trend is usually that he sees students bring up their final grade within one letter grade of the score they received on their first exam. He said he has never seen a student pull themselves up 3 whole letter grades by the end of the quarter, except for one. "And she is sitting in this room", he said.

I do not know how I did it, when there is no extra credit or curves or any other little nudges, but I managed to get an A in chemistry, so long as I keep my final exam grade above a 60%. I am so glad I did not give up.

On Land and On Sea

2009-03-02T14:22:00.000-08:00

The past week has been rather interseting for me. I contacted an Officer Selection Officer and started talking commission with him. Now that I am in my last year of pre-med, it is time to start getting serious about the prospect of paying for medical school. I have a lot of work to do first, but I really want to go into the Navy.

Seriously? Yes, I do. And I can say that it is all about the financial aspect of going to medical school free of charge. The truth of the matter is that I would do this even if I had to accrue massive amounts of debt. In truth, it is just what I want to do. Is it because John is a veteran or because I like the uniform? It's hard to say. I know I would not prefer to addressed as Lieutenant instead of Doctor. But I am so pro-military, that I can think of no better way to use any training I have or have received than to serve our men and women in uniform. I'm not sure where this feeling came from, but all I know is it is there. Inside of me somewhere.

So what is this work I have to do? Well, I would be going through OCS relatively soon considering I haven't swam since Fall and am completely out of shape. I want to lose a large sum of weight. I will never make weight, I don't think. I am not designed to be petite. Instead, I aiming for the set body composition for my gender and age. I've been watching my intake, have surrendered the addiction to Diet Mountain Dew, and am taking steps to be more active. My diet is consisting of lots of boneless skinless chicken, fresh veggies and fruits, and lots of water. I am sitting here munching on a small salad right now as I am typing this. It's working, because as of today, after less than a week, I have lost 3 inches off of my waist and 1 off of my hips. It is going to be a slow journey because I am more interested in taking the fat away while building lean muscle. This isn't about a crash diet or taking a pill to make it all go away.

Stupidity Runs Rampant.

2009-02-25T06:59:00.001-08:00

This time, I am the stupid one.

I simply had to pee. I go into the massive women's room in the same building as my chemistry class. My Zune is in the little froint compartment of my backpack, which is zipped. My earbud cords are hanging out because they are usually in my ears as I am walking about campus.

My backpack is massive. Heavy. My biology text, by itself, weighs 11 pounds. Then you add the chemistry text (5 lbs.), a spiral notebook for each subject, a binder (stuffed to capacity) for each subject, a couple of lab manuals, and any other necessity I have in there to get me through a day on campus. To say the backpack weighs 100 lbs. is probably not much of a stretch. And when it is strapped on my back, fitting into a stall in the women's room is not possible. I don't want to take it off and set in on the floor in the stall. Ick!

I ignore the big signs from campus police that plainly state to keep all of your things with you in the restroom. I ditch my bag under the paper towel dispenser, and handle my business.

I return to find the front zipper compartment of my backpack completely open, with contents spilling out. Most noticeably, no Zune.

I cannot blame anyone but myself. Now I have another cheapy mp3 player that I had to buy to replace the cute pink Zune I just got.

Grrrr.

Chem Meltdown

2009-02-25T06:32:00.000-08:00

I benignly and passively waited until lecture was over yesterday, sitting in my seat and waiting until the line of students waiting to ask questions had dissipated. My professor saw me sitting in my seat, apparently looking distraught, and came over to me, asking what was wrong. I simply told him I needed to make an appointment to speak with him in detail about my performance and future in his course, preferably before March 3rd, as this was the last day to drop the course without a grade. He literally looked confused and baffled and any other synonymous word to add to puzzlement. He asked what is wrong.

I spilled it.

That I am a straight-A student with an existing degree. That I have already aced this chemistry course before but because I am a transfer science major, UC guidelines state I must retake it. That I am always the curve-breaker. That I cannot seem to crack the homework software or the exams. That if I drop his course, I am dropping from UC altogether. That I am a registered respiratory therapist, and thus already have a great job that is stable in this horrid economy, and how there could be worse things than not becoming a doctor. I started to tear up a bit with this last statement. I know, after talking with the residents at work, with other med school applicants, with my professors, and more, that I will get into medical school so long as I can keep my GPA intact. That I realize the course is difficult and is considered one of the hurdles pre-med students need to overcome to get through undergrad. That the class is well-known for its "weeding-out" tendencies. I want to be a doctor more than I have wanted anything in my life. When I squint my eyes and try to see in the distant future, I cannot see myself doing anything else. I do not want to drop out, but I am not willing to let all of my work go down the drain (i.e. my GPA).

Just 5 minutes before, I witnessed a classmate hand him a drop slip, anfd heard him say, "It just isn't working out for you, is it?" Then he signed the slip.

He most definitely didn't do this with me. Instead, he wanted to know what was going on, why I was having this trouble. I told him very tactfully, but candidly, everything I was thinking. The homework software that is so finicky about the answers. The exam that psyched me out because it was worded completely different than either the lectures or the text. I spoke of how I could not blame my work schedule, as I am off during the week. That I cannot blame the whole this-just-doesn't-click-with-everyone issue, because I comprehend the lectures very well. I even told him how some of the students in the class have taken issue with how he lectures, but that I actually like the way he lectures: he doesn't simply regurgitate the text or the PowerPoints, but actually speaks on the topics and makes us think and participate by the questions he asks. That most of the class is having the same problem I am, but that, quitesimply, I do not care about the rest of the class. I care about my performance. He seemed surprised that no one else has come forward. I was shocked to hear that, as all of the students grumble about this class.

We talked for over 45 minutes. He offered many tips and suggestions. I tried some of them out last night, and actually got an A on the homework because of it. As a result, I am continuing in the class, and in my education overall. I have a new resolve. I have exactly 3 weeks to bring up my grade. The first opportunity is an exam tomorrow.

Now you know what I will be doing all day and night.

Buzzed to Death

2009-02-25T06:25:00.000-08:00

I am so irritated. No one in this house slept much this last night. Our washer and dryer hook-ups are in the basement. Our upstairs neighbors were doing laundry late last night and had the buzzers set. Fine, right? Nope. Their machines do the same thing mine do. That is, they will buzz every five minutes until someone either comes and turns them off or gets the laundry or restarts them. But the thing is, the walls here are thin. So I have my buzzers turned off because we are liable to be doing a load of towels or jeans or scrubs at any given time. Apparently they have the same problem, but they are upstairs and do not realize that when their buzzer goes off, my entire apartment vibrates, the kid wakes up, and the dog starts wailing. Maybe I should leave them a note.

Hope and Frustration are the Words of the Day

2009-02-20T07:56:00.000-08:00

W.I.S.E.= Women in Science and Engineering. This is a program UC has that allows undergraduate uperclassmen females to gain research experience in the form of a 12-week research position over the summer, assisting with one of the numerous projects the university has going on at any given time. I'm a woman. I'm in science. I am senior molecular bio major. I threw my hat in the ring for this. I was turned down because I have a job. Seriously. Despite the fact that I work my full-time obligations over the weekend and am free around the clock Monday through Friday, I am not permitted to have outside employment for the internship. And while there is nothing wrong with any honest job these days, I had to explain to them that this was not a "job" as in minimum wage at McDonald's for gas money while in college. I have a career that supports an entire family. The director wasn't hearing any of it, and actually made some snippy comments about how I manage upperclassman level work while having a "career". That my grades must reflect it. This was my opportunity to say, "Actually, I have a 4.0 GPA, and that is not all. I am married with a child as well." Translation: I can manage my time, and nothing falls by the wayside in the process. Her response? "Well, we all have a lot to learn from your example." Yes, despite your Ph.D. overshadowing my attempts to gain entry into medical school, you do.

Later that night, I went to my biology lecture. My professor there is like a rock star in my eyes. 28 years old and has a PhD in molecular biology. I was talking with her about the "no work" guideline before class as we waited for the rest of the class to arrive. This is when she told me that, if I am just looking for a research internship and not an actual paid job, she is sure her boss would love to have me. She is going to reccomend me for an internship there. Where is there? Hahaha. University of Cincinnati College of...........Medicine. Yep, that's right. So when I finally complete the application for med school at UC, I could actually put this internship with them under the "Experience" category. Sweet.

As for the rest of my education....We are 3 weeks from the end of the quarter. Wow that went fast! I was wondering why my course load seemed to be taking so much work. I mean, yes, I do work full time now, which is a new factor in this. When I was taking 24 credit hours a semester, I was busy, but it never seemes this overwhelming. Well, I thought about it. Does me working on the weekends have that much of an impact? The answer to that is yes. Those are three full days that I could have to study if I didn't spend them working. Unfortunately, work is not optional. But is I am used to managing 24 credit hours, then 13 should not be that hard during the week. The answer to this problem: the quarter system. I was foolish to think that the courses would compensate for the lack of time. I was thinking that UC would be easier because of the quarter system. After all, you have more chances to earn the same amount of credit hours as a semster would provide, but you get three quarters instead of one semester. Ha! I was wrong.

The courses cover the same amount of material a semester-long course would, but in about 8 weeks less. They move fast, and if you fall behind in one little aspect of any class, you are lost for good.

So here I am, three weeks from the end of my first quarter back to school. My grades are intact, and I am passing everything. I am sure I am going to get an A in biology and it's lab. I think I will get an A in my chem lab as well. My chemistry course may be a B. I asked my prof yesterday if it was still possible for me to pull out with an A, and he said absolutely yes, I could. But he looked me straight in the eye and said that I needed to allow myself more time. He says I know the stuff, and the nights before the last two exams, he doesn't want me to look at the book at all. That all of the mistakes I made on the last exam were silly ones to questions he knew I knew how to answer. He's right. When I went to do my self assessment on the exam to recover the points I lost, and I had to provide the correct answer, there was only one question for which I had to physically look up the answer. For the rest, I was able to just provide the correct answer from the knowledge I already have. That tells me I should have only missed one question out of the 200 points. But more time? How? Where is that to come from?

I actually took some vacation time the week of my finals. I have no intention of answering my phone that week. I work the Friday night prior to my exam week, but then am off of work until the Saturday of the next week. My latest exam is on Tuesday of that week. I was thinking I would pick up some overtime after I am finished with my exams that week, but now I am thinking that I am just going to use those extra days off to relax. To be nice to myself as I wait for my grades. I will have earned it.

Breeders

2009-02-11T06:21:00.000-08:00

Everyone. Is. Pregnant.

There is a guy at work who has a wife who is about to pop. A girl at work is. Another guy I work with just found out his wife is. John's sister is. Some friends just had a baby.

WTF is going on? It better not be contagious!

Satan's Horns Have Icicles on Them

2009-02-11T04:50:00.000-08:00

I am a good student. The day I allow myself to get less than an A is the day Hell freezes over.

Welcome to Hell. Hope you brought your mittens. Blame Chemistry.
I have already been traumatized by the homework software. Everything we submit is online, through this website. It is the most horrible thing. I can have the completely correct answer at my fingertips, and enter it into the little box it provides for your answers. Then there is this little "submit" button that you click and it tells you whether your answer is correct or incorrect. Pretty standard for online homework. Except clicking the little button is kind of the equivalent of pulling the lever on a slot machine. The other day, I entered this big elaborate chemical equation, which was the correct answer by the way. Submit. Answer Incorrect. Then this little purple box pops up and tells you what you did wrong. I entered spaces between the compounds and the plus and yield signs to keep them separate. On another question, the compounds it was asking me about would not react. I entered "No Reaction" in the box. Answer Incorrect. they were looking for noReaction, exactly as it is typed in this sentence.

Needless to say, my homework grades have never been lower. And no amount of preparation can fix it, because it is not about understanding the material. It is about figuring out the little quirks with this software so it counts the answer correct.

(Side note: I love my husband, who just delivered breakfast to me in my office without me even having to ask.)

So I am having trouble with the assignments. So is everyone else in the course, but I don't sweat it. The prof is going to take the best 10 scores at the end of the quarter, and disregard the others. I can do okay enough, I suppose. What is important is that I have absolutely no issues comprehending what is going on material-wise. My brain is right there with him as he lectures. No Sweat. This will allreflect in the exams, whiuch make up the majority of my grade anyway.

So we report for an exam last week. I studied just like I do/ have done for every other bit of college work I have completed. I feel confident. I am not overly anxious. I've got it under control. I put my things away, except for my cute pink calculator, a pencil for the Scantron and a pen for the written short answer section. He hands out the test and I immediately get to work on it.
The beginning questions were kind of difficult. Some words were familiar. But it was like this exam was prepared for a bunch of PhD's. Not for an undergraduate, though upperclassman, molecular bio major. Are you fricken serious? But I hold it together and wade my way through the questions and try to answer them as best I can. I am fully immersed until He starts parading around the room, announcing that we have 30 minutes left.WTF????

Let me just explain something: I take tests in record time. I always have. Usually, I am very well prepared and know the answers without more than a simple recollection. I have been told by classmates that I am at fault for their poor exam performance because I get up and hand my exams in so quickly that it makes them anxious, as in "Andrea is done and she gets good grades so why is it taking me so long-i must be failing." And the lowest exam grade I have ever received was a 95%. Out of all of my college work. I don't get test anxiety. I don't have to study insanely. I just do my thing. Even for my credentialing RT exams. It was supposed to take 8 hours for both exams and I got them both completed in less than an hour and a half. You know I passed those because I am a practicing RT.

So for me to take this long for an exam is unnerving. And this shit is hard. Why is this shit so hard? I am thinking this as I try to answer the questions. I am actually starting to tear up as I see my 4.0 swirling in the toilet bowl in my imagination. This is not good. This is disastrous. Wtf is the carbon-12 atom used to define? It's atomic weight is exact by definition but why? I should know this crap. I cannot be logical when I am about to fail an exam. After I complete the last question, I flee as quick as I can. Marlboro is the only thing to make me feel better after that. I really want some Grey Goose to go along with it, but alas I have a lecture to get through.

Over the week I keep my cool by hoping that this is typical Andrea: That I did better than I thought, that I am being over-critical of myself. But the problem is that I have this philosophy: there are no bad grades that are surprises. Either you know the answers on an exam or you don't. If you don't, then you can expect a bad grade. If you do, then you can expect an A. Simple, really.I did badly. Everyone had horrible scores, so it wasn't just me. In fact, I had the highest grade in the class. I actually got a 55%, while evryone else actually got thess that 50%. Are you fucking serious?????? The only non-A I have ever received in my entire college career, and it isn't even a B. It is such a non-A that it is an F by normal standards (this class is hard and thus has a slightly different grading scale so in the world of UC Chem, it is a D). This isn't a non-A. This is the Anti-A.

I have been so distraught by this grade that I almost asked a resident at work for a script for some Xanies. Seriously. This is enough for me to abandon all hope of ever becoming a physician. I want to scream at the rooftops that I am Andrea-Fucking-Ferguson! That I do not get anything other than A's. Yes, this sounds cocky and arrogant, but facts are facts. I do not even get B's. 4.0. Perfect. That's me. Until now.

I would say it make me feel better to know that evryone else in my class had issues as well. These are some really bright people. This class is designed expressly for science majors. Everyone is pre-med, pre-pharm or something similar. I am not the only one who already has a degree. As a matter af fact, there is a group of about 6 of us who have already completed at least one degree. We are not stupid people. And we all failed. This tells me there was something wrong with the test, not us. But then again, I have never been the type to judge my success or failure by comparison to the performance of others. I know what I can do, and so I have high expectations for myself.

Chemistry is going to break me.

Repetition

2009-02-11T04:43:00.000-08:00

I have been wearing the little "go back" button on my MP3 player over a couple of songs lately. Here they are.

I Didn't Get The I-Pod Touch....

2009-02-08T13:49:00.001-08:00

I got this instead. I really like it so far. The only problem is that the little buttons are very touchy, and so it turns itself on in my bag whenever it bumps against anything, which doesn't help the battery any. I even have it in a little sleeve. No dice. But it is the pink 8G Zune, and it was about $150, so it was a great deal. I was looking at a 160G model, but this is the way I see it: The one I bought is 8G, and it has over 600 songs on it and isn't even half-full yet. What in the blue hell would I do with 160G??? Sure, it could hold a library of movies, but do I really want to squint at a tiny screen to watch a flick? So this one is much more my speed.

Nothing Changes But the Seasons

2009-02-08T13:36:00.000-08:00

Haha!

My first round of exams has been completed for the quarter.
Biology: Big-Time A, even though most in the class failed it. I am officially the curve-breaker once again.
Chemistry: Hmmmf! I failed the damned thing. I am Andrea, dammit! Yet I failed a chem exam. I shouldn't be too hard on myself. Everyone else did as well. Just when I was about to drop the course, I was reassured when I was told that my prof is notorious for "breaking you" in the beginning. The exam was terrible, really. I literally started to tear up a bit in the last part of it. And when I saw my grade? I needed some Ativan. Seriously. The good news is, since everyone did terribly, he has given us the exam back and we are to prepare a "Self-Assessment" to be submitted in the form of short essays for each missed question, to include what the hell we were thinking that caused us to give the wrong answer, and what the correct answer is with the logic that explains why it is the corrct answer. Lots of work. My rough draft of mine is already completed. I just have to neaten it up a bit and submit it, even though it isn't due until the 17th. I guess I just got excited about the idea of earning back my points. It has been my priority over the past couple of days.
Calculus: I am dropping this course tomorrow morning. It is just too difficult for me to stay awake after my shifts to go to this little 50 minute class. I plan to retake it with the same professor next quarter, if I can.

I am still doing th standard 3 twelve-hour shifts on the weekends. Blah. At least tonight is my Friday.

High Times (From the Are-You-Fricken-Kidding-Me File)

2009-02-08T13:29:00.000-08:00

Michael Phelps smokes weed? Are you serious?
Last night was a girls' night at work, and we were talking about this. I had no idea. That just goes to show you how far I have had my head jammed up my own arse for the past week or so. I am terribly disappointed.

Michael Phelps Smoking Weed: Fact or Fiction?
Swimming legend Michael Phelps has allegedly been caught on film smoking marijuana. If the allegations are true, it could wreak havoc on the Olympic swimmer's wholesome image.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/1438727/michael_phelps_smoking_weed_fact_or.html

Knee-Deep

2009-01-28T04:53:00.000-08:00

It is brutal around my parts today.

Every community, every town, every county is under a Snow Emergency of some level. We have a Level 2, which translates to only being on the roads if you absolutely have to be. I am sitting here in my office and can here the ice hitting the roof as it falls from the sky. Everything, from cars to trees to sidewalks, is encased in ice.

Evan hasn't had school for 2 days now. UC closed yesterday evening. My chemistry course was still on, but I couldn't make it. I had a biology exam scheduled for this evening, and it is no longer now. I have a chemistry exam at 11 AM tomorrow, and I am starting to wonder if that will be cancelled as well.

Yesterday was sort of nice. We were all snowed in, and we just hung out at the house together. I woke up and took a shower only to put on clean sweats a veg around the house. Actually, I'm not sure I would call it vegging. I got some heavy-duty biology work done. Today? Well, after I tinker around a bit, today shall be all about chemistry. I have a 3-hour online lab to complete, and then there is the exam that is supposed to be tomorrow. I am wondering if it will be cancelled, but must plan for it still going on.

Evan is driving me a little crazy at this point. He is tormenting Pixie and making a general mess all over the house. I really feel like I should do some cleaning. John is a complete crab. He and Evan are in the living right now, arguing about the whereabouts of the cable remote. But in my office, it is peaceful and quiet. Maybe I should just hibernate in here all day and forget the world.

Respiratory Distress

2009-01-24T11:37:00.000-08:00

...Is in the eye of the beholder. Seriously.
I get a call from a nurse. We will call her RN. I like RN. RN and I have never had a problem. She is telling me that my patient is in respiratory distress and would like a PRN treatment. I respond.

RN is sitting at a desk when I get to the unit of the hospital. My first thought is : "If the patient is in such distress, why is she not at the bedside?" Realizing that crazier things have happened, I go to the patient's room. The door is closed. I knock lightly, then enter. The room is dark, but in the glow of the bathroom light, I can see it. The patient and her husband are both sound asleep. I tip-toe to the bedside and see that respirations are normal. Her breath sounds are clear, save for a few scattered crackles in the bases, which does not surprise me, considering the patient's diagnosis. I tiptoe out of the room, and as I pass the desk where RN is sitting, I give her that look and let her know that the patient is sleeping like a baby. I go back to my laundry list of tasks to complete.

30 minutes pass.
My phone rings again.

RN: "Andrea, she woke up and is breathing so badly that she is sobbing."
Me: "Sobbing????" (This isn't the usual presentation of respiratory distress.)
RN: "Yes, she says it hurts so bad...."
Me: "Wait a minute. Is pain her problem?"
RN: "Yep. She says it hurts in her side."
Me: "You know, albuterol won't fix that."
RN: "Well then, she's short of breath."

I go to the room. Again, RN is sitting at the desk and the patient's door is closed. I enter to find her awake this time. I ask what the problem is and she says that it hurts to breath. I ask her to describe her pain, and she clutches at the right lower rib cage, explaining that it hurts to take a deep breath. I observe her and notice her wincing with each breath. I ask her if she is short of breath. "NoNotReallyItJustHurtsWhenITakeADeepBreathCanPneumoniaDoThatIDidn'tKnowPneumoniaCouldDoThat."
Long run-on sentences. Normal respiratory pattern (rate and depth). SPO2 is 98% on 1 liter of O2. Heart rate is 86. Breath sounds completely clear. I know that nothing I can do is going to help her. She needs her pain meds, which come from RN. I explain to her that we can try the treatment, but that it really won't help if her problem is pain. She is too vague, so I give the med. After the treatment, she insists she is cured. There is no more pain. (!!!!!) I am convinced she needs a psych consult. I leave the floor, but not before letting RN know that while I did treat the patient, she was not in respiratory distress. That while I would love to run around the hospital appeasing patients and nurses all night, I truly have patients who need me.

As I am walking out, I think I should stop and see the patient on Q4 treatments. She is due for the next one in 15 minutes. I walk in her room. She is sound asleep. I gently wake her and let her know it is time for her treatment. She blatantly tells me she doesn't want it, doesn't need it, and rolls over and goes back to sleep. I chart the refusal and go on about my business.

45 minutes pass. It's RN again.

RN: "Andrea, our patient in room xxxx is feeling short of breath and would like a breathing treatment."
Me: "Seriously???? I was just in there less than an hour ago and woke her up. She refused. What changed?"
RN: "She refused??? (soft giggle) Well she wants one now, says she is short of breath. She just got back from being downstairs smoking."
Me: "Let me get this straight: she wouldn't let me treat her 45 minutes ago, but then went down and smoked and wants me to make a trip up there to treat her because she is short of breath after her trip to the smoking area?"
RN: "Yep (louder giggle now)." Shall I tell her she's on your 'list'?"
Me: "Yes, thank you."

"Respiratory distress" and "dyspnea" and "shortness of breath" are all subjective terms that are used too loosely in a hospital at night. They know I have to respond to a call that uses those words. I trust that the nurses have used their assessment skills, that they know I am busy, and have filtered through some of the BS. This is not always the case. I got calls like these all night last night. All 12 hours. A lot of them weren't even from my assigned units of the hospital. They were from other nurses who didn't feel like they got a quick enough response from their therapist and started dialing random respiratory extensions until they get me. In a respiratory eutopia, we would have the staff to run around and do this random crap. At my place of employment, we do not. At 11 PM, the respiratory staff cuts down from 8 therapists and/or techs to about 4 therapists (no techs at night because we have to be able to handle it when we are called). I am one of the lucky 4. And if you divide the hospital into 4 equal sets of work units, you wind up with therapists who have anywhere from 5 to 8 units of the hospital. I had the entire 2nd floor of the hospital last night, plus NICU and pediatrics, for a grand total of 9 units of the hospital. I do not have time for bullsh*t calls like this. And with assignments like this, if there is a code at night, all of us respond because you are never assumed to be able to go to a code on your own floor. I have been known to have simultaneous codes going on at multiple units to which I was assigned. So in the middle of all of this, I had to respond to a code, which resulted in my brand new shoes getting doused with so much vomit that it soaked through to my socks. In the middle of it all, I have to call the supply people and have them deliver to me a fresh set of scrubs, shoe covers and a jug of hydrogen peroxide. I got the puke out of my shoe, but only by pouring the entire bottle inside and outside of it, then having my toes squish around in the peroxide-soaked shoe for the remaining 5 hours of my shift. Fun.

God, I hate being a "floor whore". Send me back to the ICUs or the ER. Please!

The Word of the Day: Juggling

2009-01-23T08:27:00.000-08:00

Busy, busy, busy me.

John and I have this little thing going. There will be a show coming on the tv at night that I want to see. I will be posted up in my office, studying, and he will let me know when it is coming on. He then helps me transfer my pile of books and notebooks into the living room, where I will lay on the floor while he rubs my back and I study while absorbing the show through osmosis. Ivariably, after about an hour, I will tell him that I need a little nap, and will instruct him to wake me after about one hour of sleep. No matter what I say or how much I gruble or what name I call you, WAKE ME UP! I have x, y, and z to get accomplished because this is my only night to do them. DO NOT let me sleep all night. The problem is that once I am asleep, being as sleep-deprived and busy as I am, he cannot get me to wake up. It is like I go into a coma. After several nights of this same thing, he has finally wisened up a bit, and when I say "let me go to sleep for an hour", he responds with "Hell NO!".

The moral of the story is that I have this laundry list of tasks that must be completed and since I snoozed all of those nights, I have to get them done NOW.
But...

Today is my Monday. I work 12's the next three nights. Monday night I have biology and its lab. I literally have to make use of every free hour I have to get this crap done.

As soon as I log off, I plan to study until 2:30-ish. Then I plan to go to sleep for a couple of hours so I can function at work all night. If I wake up by 1:00 Saturday and Sunday, I can get a few more hours in each of those days. Monday will start with the completion of my night at work, followed by calculus and a meeting with my Pre-med advisor. If I hustle, I can get a few more hours in there before I have to head to Biology. If I stay up till 1:ooAM Monday night (normally I would say 2 or 3, but since I would have worked the night before and not slept, I am being nice to myself), I can get more done then. Thank God that my Chem lab is cancelled Tuesday morning. I don't have class until 2 PM as a result, and if I take all of my stuff to campus with a packed lunch, leaving the house at the normal time, I can get most everything else done with no distractions. Or interruptions. Or temptations.

This is what I mean by "juggling".

So I am left with this question for myself: Do I really want to be a doctor? Is it worth it to torture myself like this for many years to come?

The answer, after some thought: a resounding, unwaivering, Earth-shattering YES!

I Want This

2009-01-22T05:18:00.000-08:00

Now I need a new MP3 player. This is what I want. I don't know if I'll get it because inevitably, someone will need new shoes or something right about the time I am ready to buy it. But I want it. We shall see.

The Handprints They Leave

2009-01-22T04:43:00.000-08:00

My boys, that is. Let me explain. I firmly believe that the people that come and go from our lives leave evidence that they were there in their wake. Some leave us smiling, and some leave us crying. Some stay longer than others. We are born alone, and we surround ourselves with others throughout our life, and we cannot take them with us when we go.

As I flit around from class to class, campus to campus, to work and to home and back again, the evidence my John and Evan leave behind is hard to miss. I spent the largest part of my day infuriated yesterday. You see, I stopped at a carwash to clean the salt grime that winter driving leaves on a car. And I thought to myself, "Self, why don't you vacuum it out while you're here. It will save you the hassle of tangled extension cords and a cumbersome Kirby being dragged to the curb at home." So I did. And for the first time, in the glaring light of day, I actually looked at my car. (Since John's car died a while back, he has mainly been driving my car and chaufferring me to the places I need to go.) What I found pissed me off beyond belief. Scuffs from gym shoes on the backs of the seats. French fries under the floor mats in the backseat. Dirt everywhere. What was supposed to be a quick stop turned into a 2-hour cleaning frenzy. Let me remind you that this car was brand spanking new in September. A 2009. The first new car I have ever purchased for myself. I was livid, and the boys got quite the lecture about respecting the things we own. I even broke down $20,000 to Evan in his terms, explaing that I could buy x amount of Webkinz for the price of the car, thinking maybe he would realize just how expensive automobiles are, and would respect the car a little more.

So I go back to class, and am a little early. I whip out my MP3 player from my backpack and am going to listen to some tunage while I am reviewing my notes for our quiz in biology. No music. What???? Why does it not work? The battery is charged, but it keeps trying to reboot itself. I try to remember the last time I used it. Or the last time it was used, period. And I flashback to a vision of little Evan wearing it and be-bopping around the house with it. He has his own, but mine has more memory, and thus more songs. Now I need a new MP3 player.

There is evidence all over the place that the boys are here. A discarded pile of school uniforms in the laundry room, holes in the knees of the pants or stains on the shirts (Pant: $45/pair, Shirts: $25/ each). Piles of shoes that are not outgrown, but simply worn out because they don't treat them well (I don't buy them the cheapies, either). Dirty dishes piled on the counter. Litlle pastel colored Post-It's all over my desk because the little one thinks they are "make-your-own" stickers. Money missing from my purse because someone, at some time, removed it for something they needed. It would seem that my boys don't leave handprints. They leave a path of destruction.

But wait...

This is the same little boy who came up to me early this morning and hugged my neck, telling me how I am the best Mommy he has ever had (LOL!). The one who gives me sloppy kisses on the cheek and presents to me Crayola masterpieces and macaroni sculptures, that I accept with such glee that you would be convinced that they are from Van Gogh. The one whose rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" would have given Beethoven a run for his money.

This is the man who looks deep into my eyes and tells me how convinced he is that I can do this when I am doubting myself the most. The one who kept his hand on my leg and wore lead the entire time I was getting head scans done for a brain tumor, just to assure me that he was there, that he was not leaving me. The one who cried with me when the doctors told me to consider aborting our child who was sure to be too premature to survive.

My life with these boys is messy. And expensive.That's a definite. Yes, they leave paths of destruction through it all. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world, truth be told. These are all such small prices for the joy they can bring to my life.

What They See

2009-01-21T04:54:00.000-08:00

John looks at me all of the time and tells me I am "cute".

Cute? I am in my 30's. The last time he said it, my hair was in a ponytail, and I was wearing no makeup except for a dab of concealer to hide this huge zit on my face, and some mascara. I was wearing a hoodie and jeans, and had just returned from class. Most decidedly not cute. But it got me wondering what he sees when he looks at me. I see nothing but flaws, and that's okay. I know what the flaws are, but I know what my strengths are as well, before this turns into an elaborate revealing of my lack of self-esteem. I think I am a total bitch. But one of the girls at work the other day was describing me as a therapist to one of the employees in another department, and said that I care too much and try to help everyone out around me.

So...What do you do when the views others have of you is completely different than the view you have of yourself? Which one am I: the one they see or the one I see? Do I really care too much? I know I worry about what others think of me more than I should. I try not to let it define me though. At work, I try to be responsive to the needs of my patients and the needs of my coworkers. When I finish my assignment, I try to check on everyone else and make sure there is nothing I can do for them to make their nights go a little bit easier. I do this because there has never been a time when I have asked them for some help and they have told me no. When I visit a patient, I don't just do my job. If they need ice water, I get it for them. If they need help to the restroom, I do it. Nurse Aides and RNs are some of the most over-worked people there are. Not saying that I am not overworked.

I think the problem is that I hold myself and everyone else to some very high standards. I look at myself with a very critical eye. I know what I can do, I know what I have lived through, and I expect nothing less than that from myself. And if I can do it, so can everyone else.Maybe that is why I see myself as bitchy, as not-cute. Maybe I need to step back and see what they all see for a little while, to be nicer to myself for just a bit and see how it goes.

Which One Are We in Now?

2009-01-21T04:31:00.000-08:00

This is 100% True.

John picked me up from my day of Chemistry yesterday, and Evan is in the backseat, himself fresh from school. He is very excited to tell me something.

"Mama, did you know there is another Ohio that is by Indiana?"

I tried to explain to him about state lines, that we live in Kentucky, but as soon as we get onto a bridge, we are in Ohio. That the same Ohio we cross into when Mommy goes shopping or to school is the same Ohio that borders Indiana. That the Indiana that Ohio borders is the same Indiana we lived in, albeit briefly. That the Kentucky where Grandma lives is the same Kentucky we live in now. It just takes so long to get there because it is in another part of the state.

He insists I am wrong. He could not fathom that the same places he frequents were the very same ones in the textbooks at school. I am racking my brain to come up for a way to teach him this concept. Why couldn't it be a science problem?

2009-01-21T04:13:00.000-08:00

I Missed History Today....

2009-01-20T17:49:00.000-08:00

While I was in Chem Lab. I was a little bummed, even though my Republican self had nothing to do with Obama's election. I am still thrilled that our country finally took the step of electing an African American president.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

I. Feel. Like. This.

2009-01-18T13:05:00.000-08:00

Too tired to blog. One more 12, then a complete day off, as in no work, no school. Just studying and coffee on the schedule for Monday. In the meantime, watch a video.

Chickensh*t!

2009-01-15T13:29:00.000-08:00

I registered with AMCAS today. AMCAS= American Medical College Application Service, I do believe. And I went to schedule my MCAT. I found a great date, with seats available in Cincinnati. I clicked on the link, and this ominous little window popped up, asking me if I was sure I wanted to reserve the seat. It seemed to be taunting me. I read this: "Are you sure you want to do this?" Then, "Are you sure you can do this?

I closed the windows and left it be.

Call Me Ed. Special Ed.

2009-01-14T13:30:00.000-08:00

Evan and I have something in common. We both hate MATH. We both can do rather well at it, but hate it nonetheless. I was just about to blog about my calculus experience today. My innocent little boy is sitting beside me at my desk, working on his math homework and muttering of his dislike for the subject and it hit me that it is precisely what I am going to tell you. Evan is not Special Ed. I, however, most definitely am.

I love a good challenge. But, while it seems completely snotty to say, I have never failed at anything. Give me chemistry and biology and physics. Bring it on. Math? While I do okay, I do have to work at it just a bit. I don't like that. I like it when things are so easy for me I can do them in my sleep.

So I have this calculus assignment. There are only 3 questions, but these are the types of problems that take 30 minutes and about 5 sheets of scratch paper to complete, so it is more than it seems. I am armed with my pink calculator (see the pic, it is too cute and just screams ANDREA!) It is early in the morning, and thus quiet in the house. I am ready. And I get every damned one of the problems wrong. This is for two reasons (actually more, but I am getting to that): A) I cannot work my cute pink calculator I bought specifically for this class. B) I didn't convert my answers back to fractions, and left them in decimal form, which was not how they wanted to answers to be formatted.
Truthfully? Math psychs me out a bit. I know I have to work at it a little more than I do the sciences, and therefore it fills me with terror. I could make some huge political statement about this, if I were the type. I am a woman and society has programmed me to believe that I am inferior to men in the arenas of math and science. I won't do that. That is utter bullshit. I am a woman, and I will kick ass in science any day of the week. Math? Not so much.

So I go to my Calculus lecture this morning, ready to talk to my professor about this issue with the homework. I am armed, ready for him to tell me that I am semi-retarded and do not belong in a Calculus course. That there is some sort of Fundamentals of Addition course that is more my speed. 1 + 1=2 sort of thing.
He tells me to meet him in his office after class.
I do.

I get there, and I sit down across the table from him and pull out a fresh sheet of paper. He gives me a sample problem. I do it. After every step or so, he stops me to check my calculations. I was right.

He gives me another sample problem. I do that one too. I am right again.

He continues to tell me that I am smart. That I am much better off than my classmates. That I need patience. That if I can do chemistry with such ease, then I can do the math. Since I consider myself a science geek, he reminds me that math is a science. That I am a whiz at the sciences, and therefore a math whiz too. He completely gets in my head. The man is brilliant.

Calculus is no longer my kryptonite.