Roommate Saga

For those who are following the "roommate saga," I would like to provide an update, and will continue to keep you all posted as developments occur. Most people I have told this story to find it to be hysterical, or at least amusing. Looking back, most of these people are married and have long ago learned to deal with the quirks of having someone to share a house with. I would imagine it does make it easier if you love each other, and at one point in time vowed to honor and cherish and all that. In the case of roommates, no such vows are taken. I have never had a male room mate, and hope to never have one again, unless said room mate is a husband. Then I will share. But not until then.
Until I make the move to Denver, though, I will be making do with what I have to work with. My room mate, a still single, set in his ways late 30's, "cat lady" but a guy, dyed in the wool bachelor, has pulled another guy-ism. For those who have not been in on the trials of getting moved in, I will make a long story very, Very short. My bathroom, before I moved in was red. Not a nice designer shade, but stop sign red. All four walls, and the ceiling too! Did I mention it was a small bathroom? There was also a pile of junk, and I mean that in the nicest way, on the patio in the back that had been left by his old room mates who he had kicked out. Turns out that when you don't smoke pot yourself, potheads are really not a whole lot of fun, or reliable or anything else for that matter. There was also a hideous tiger striped, black and faded orange oversize love seat in the dining room. It was agreed that the love seat would be gone, and the junk, I mean stuff, would also be gone, and the bathroom painted a lovely shade of 'misted jade' that I had picked out and paid for, before I moved in. The agreement, although not written down, (my mistake, lesson learned, everything in writing) was made back in August. I mentioned each 2 times during the 4 weeks prior to moving in.
Move in day, the awful couch was still right where it was before: exactly where my dining room table was supposed to go. The pile of junk in trash bags, starting to smell like cat pee (remember, cat lady, but a guy) still right in the corner. Oh, and I have to mention this one thing too, which still amuses me. Pothead ex-roomies put down plastic tarp over the grass around the perimeter of the patio and poured sand an inch deep. Kitties love it! Me, not so much....
And guess what color the bathroom was...RED!!!
2 weeks later, after being told to quit nagging since I mentioned it one more time and voiced my distress about the headache making red, it was agreed that the bathroom would be "for sure, without a doubt, definitely done" before I got back from Mexico for the week.
Of course, as most women know, it was not done. I walked in and he was on the computer, (do they ever grow out of that phase?) and he looked up dumbly and said, "oh! you're home! I thought you were going to be gone 9 days." Can men count?
Not up for an argument, and CERTAINLY not willing to spend another day with the blinding red, I did what any choleric woman would do. I started painting the room myself! Jokes on him though, cause then he felt all bad, and tried to help, so I let him. After 20 minutes I excused myself for some water, and let him do the rest! I'm just glad it finally got done.
Which brings us back to the latest. Oh, and the couch did go away after another 2 weeks, but the pothead junk remains!!!
The day after Thanksgiving I was already in the Christmas spirit, and I wanted a Christmas tree. I mentioned it to him, planning on getting the artificial smaller tree from my grandparents to borrow to put up. Being a guy though, he would have none of that. "I will not allow fake Christmas trees in this house! I will buy a real one," he proclaimed. "And there will be no trees up until December 1st at least!" Now I know a lot of you are applauding this proclamation, because so many people are not into trees up so early; at least let the turkey settle in your stomach before moving along. You have to understand that this will be my first Christmas at home, with my whole family, not working at the hospital. (hopefully) So this is the first Christmas I have been happy about in more than a few years, as my family will atest to.
In all my excitement to get a tree up, I wanted it up NOW!!!! Compromising, he said he would get it the first weekend in December. So I shut up and let him go get one on either the 2nd or 3rd and did NOT nag, hint, fuss, complain, or anything else I would normally do to push for getting what I want. Since he had decided when he would get it, (translated "not my idea") I figured he would follow through.
Getting off work Sunday night, I stopped by Target and got the ribbons to match the wrapping paper I had spent hours searching for and coordinating. I have pretty much all my Christmas shopping done, (last year I was done by September) and I was so excited to wrap my presents and see how beautiful they look under the tree. Now, when I wrap my presents, I don't like to stop with just a thin ribbon and a shoestring bow. I get the wired ribbons, I usually have floral picks, and I have masses of curling ribbon hanging down. Each gift is a delight to decorate. An exercise in creativity. So I want my gifts to be out a long time so I can enjoy them. No sense in taking as much time as I like to just to turn around and hand it over to someone who will immediately rip the paper and throw away the bows. So I take pleasure in looking at them for a whole month, and then can light heartedly view the destroying of the art. By then I have usually forgotten what I had gotten them, and so it is exciting to see what they get!
So singing a little "all I want for Christmas is you" mixed with a Fa la la la la here and there, I skipped up the steps to the house, my heart fluttering as I opened the door to see what kind he had gotten, since we did not talk shape and kind.
Once again I was disappointed. No tree. Poor Laura.
Remembering that long ago he had told me that unless it is written down, he will forget, I wrote out a list. A very long one with all the things on it that he still has not done from before I moved in, starting with "buy Christmas tree."
Now, I thought I would be nice and explain to him that the spaces I left underlined were for him to write in when he would be able to finish the task by, and to cross it out when he was done. Today, when I came home from work, none of the spaces were filled out, a few had a circle with a dot in the middle, and next to a few were scrawled "what?" My favorite, though, was next to "steam clean upstairs" (which he will not let me do..."you'll break it") was written "shoes."
Shoes? Huh? It is a hallway! There are no shoes! My shoes are in my room in the closet, and his are who knows where in his room, but there are no shoes in the hallway.
Not that I have any experience, but living with a guy is impossible! I don't know why girls elect to do this on a regular basis! I can't wait to have my own place again!
Oh, and as another note, from my bedroom, I can hear him blowing his nose in the shower! EEEWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!
Everyone, if you are living alone, Praise God for that! If you are happily married, Praise God!
While, yeah, it's good to be me, if you have a room mate/husband/wife you love or you get to live alone, you may as well say it out loud, "It's good to be me!"

Happy Anniversary, and other reminders of why it's good to be me!

Today marks yet another anniversary, not for me, of course. But for my grandparents. The anniversary season for me starts in August with my mother's parents, who celebrated their 60th with me on a trip through Mexico. Next up is my dad's parents, whose anniversary is today. Then comes my parents in another week and a half or so. Add a bit of Christmas and New Years, and it's just festivities all around. December is a great month for that.
I appreciate the years my grandparents have sacrificed for each other, and am amazed at how they, after 54 years together, still seek out each others company and make each other laugh. It makes a little warm fuzzy spot in my heart. They are still cute. I just hope some day I can make it that long. Not just the making the marriage work, but making it get better and better. And having both of us alive for it too! (Darned nurses logic!)
I am so lucky to be able to call them up and wish them both a happy day, and talk to them both about how the day went. Very nice. Makes me glad to be me.
Back to the nurses world though. I always like to find reasons it is good to be me. Today I was shown, a few times, a great reason to be me. Drum roll please.......
Because I am not bleeding profusely into my mouth! Woo-hoo!!!! And following that yarn... I am glad I am also not vomiting blood! It's the little thing in life!
Over all, a good day though. I got to take care of "no matter how many times you bathe this person he will still reek of urine" man. Also the above mentioned "bleeding profusely from mouth"-man.
I am home already, so of course I have already forgotten who else I took care of. There is an instant forget force field that lines the perimeter of the hosptial, enabling all healthy of mind nurses and doctor to separate their professional and personal lives, and also causes you to forget anyone you took care of during this shift. It serves very well for maintaining our sanity and overall well-being. Only those who do not believe in it will carry home the emotional burdens of the 18 year old with aplasic anemia who may only have about 9 months to live, if he is lucky, or the 52 year old man who has leukemia and a set of 11 year old twins. It can be sad. That's why we have to leave it there at the hospital. We can take it home, and it will eat away at us. Or we can leave it because it will always be there when we return. It may not be the same face, smile or eyes, but the gravity of the situation is always there, looming on the other side of those double doors.
That's why I like to take home the happy thoughts. The life lesson for the day, or the reinforcement of "good to be me." And I think maybe that is why I am a good nurse.

It's 5, all hell must be breaking loose.

I will probably never know why, but at 5 o' clock all hell breaks loose. Suddenly patients IV's all infiltrate, and when asked if it has been bothering them, look down at their stay-puft marshmallow arm dumbly, and say, "yeah, it has been hurting for a while." Which of course infuriates every nurse, or at least me, because they have been keeping their arm under the blanket the whole day because it is cold in the room and refuse to let the nurse, or anyone else for that matter, turn up the heat in their room.
Suddenly at 5 o'clock any NG tube will miraculously disolve any tape adhesives and slip directly out of their respective nose and land on the floor, still sucking away. Of course, this patient will not let the nurse know because they are reveling in the fact that they don't have a tube hanging out of their nose.
If anyone had even an inkling of coding, their breathing will most definately become suddenly very labored, and will quit, or somehow their heart will decide to try out a new rhythm right at the stroke of 5. Maybe V-fib would be more exciting! Everyone loves a 5 o' clock code!
Anyone who has not told anyone they are nauseated will vomit at 5, and it will, of course be all over the bed, which will require ALL the linens to be changed. Then they will say they feel fine, and no they don't want to take anything for the nausea, because the nausea is gone now. Once the linens are changed, and we have all sat down to give report, they will promptly vomit again, missing the basin, again.
At 5 o' clock, people who have not had a fever all day, will suddenly spike a fever, requiring blood cultures to be drawn from every central line lumen, as well as requiring a peripheral "stick," which whoever tries will be completely unsuccessful, regardless of skill. Or we will be out of blood culture tubes. Or the line will rebelliously decide not to give any blood this time.
If there is an admit who you expected to arrive at 9:00 a.m. or so, he or she will be sure to not show up until 5, right after you had breathed your sigh of relief for not having to get that admit. And the doctor will be sure to write a ton of STAT orders, but not until slightly after 6.
Today is one of those rare days that I can sit and write, and all my patients are actually quite wonderful. I jump up to switch one bag of FFP (fresh frozen plasma) to another, and sit down again after I have washed my hands for the thousandth time today. My patients are nicely grouped in rooms along the wall I face: 357, 359, 360. Nice. It is a great day. Of course, at 6, my admit has not shown up, and I've got my fingers crossed that he or she won't. One hour to go. Then comes report....

(P.S. Mom- I tried the spell check. I think I spelled everything right, or else it is not working. ;-) )

Thanksgiving Eve

The day before Thanksgiving, or any other holiday for that matter, is never a good time to be admitted into the hospital. I joke that they have to pay me to be here. I can not imagine being a patient, stuck in a tiny room away from family, on a completely family oriented holiday. To make matters worse, also not being able to eat a traditional meal. Hospitals do their best to make a holiday hospitalized better. They make a turkey dinner for the patients and the staff too. It does not compare to home cooked food. The turkey is inevitably cold and entirely dry. The mashed potatoes are watery, being from flakes. The best part is usually the rolls that are decent when warmed in the microwave , and it is a real treat when you can find some butter to put on them.
Someone usually brings in decorations, and by christmas there is usually a bit of tinsel or greenery. We usually bring in wrapping paper and cover each of the pictures, adding bows if we get really creative. Sometimes there are even christmas lights on the unit. The long term facility floors, like the skilled nursing facility and the oncology floors usually will even have a tree. A local elementary school usually donates paper ornaments made by the kids as a project, and we ask the patients to help decorate. Most of them are too sick, though, and their ornament gets taped either on their bed rail or onto the wall so they can look at it. The "lucky" patients also have cards and pictures up on the walls, sometimes even a drawing scribbled on the dry erase board, which as a nurse, makes writing our own name up on a challenge at times. But we would never dream of erasing the "art," it's a nice tie to the real world.
On our floor, the patients sometimes get to know each other as they do thier laps around the unit, iv poles in tow. They talk about what cancer they got, they joke about racing each other, and how the gowns never quite cover everything. Sometimes they compare nurses, who is good, who is not. It's nice to see them bonding. During the holidays, most of the healthier ones have been sent home to be with thier families. It's the really sick ones who have to stay. We get to know their families, and kind of adopt them. Especially when the family has small kids. This year we are adopting a family that has a 4 year old daughter who also loves the little mermaid, and so we are all chipping in to buy her a little mermaid bike and bedroom set. It makes us all feel a little better that we can make her happy during this time. She does not know that this may very well be the last Christmas she has with him. I can't imagine how hard it must be for his wife too. Christmas shopping is not exactly a priority when your husband is fighting for his life in a hospital bed somewhere. (Justin says, :"hi")
We do what we can. Even though it is not really much. We don't count giving chemo, changing bedsheets and drawing labs as "something." That' s just work. We can see their future, even though we are not always right, in the end we usually are. It's tough with the family can't see where it is going. They think another bag of chemo, or another type of chemo is going to fix them. Sometimes it does, but most often it doesn't. It only makes the last days more dramatic. Especially with transplants. Even though sometimes the cancer is gone, our patients die ugly deaths. I don't think there is a way to show people what they may become. They don't know thier skin may turn to leather, that thier stomach may look like they are expecting twins, that thier feet will feel like lead and swell to 4 times what they once were. They do not know they won't even be able to take a sip of water and keep it down, even though the doctors tell them they may have nausea. How do you explain "gvhd" to someone? Your insides will slough off just does not compute. Mouthsores do not translate clearly enough to be understood as swallowing and breathing will be torture, like swallowing a mouthful of needles. It does not make sence that you will need 2 or more units of blood every day, even though you are not bleeding from anywhere. It is hard to understand why you have to take your iv pole with you into the shower. Or that the idea of just showering may as well take as much energy as planning a back packing trip to europe.
It's disheartening learning that, even after all that, the cancer has come back. I am thankful that I am not the one to have to tell them, but it does grip your stomach when you know the test results are not in thier favor, that the cancer has spread, that the chemo never worked, or that there is nothing else we can do. Holding that information back, waiting for the doctors to come in to break the news, acting is part of our job.
So we do what we can. Accentuate the positive. Nurses love giving the good news. Or at least I do. And, most importantly, it reminds us of how valuable our lives are, and how lucky we are to be able to eat that salad and sushi, to hop up out of our chairs when a patient needs us, and that we can walk out those doors to go home at the end of our shift.

No plot, so what!

I, like my mother, am indulging myself with the challenge of creating a fabulous romance novel in 30 days. I use the term fabulous very loosely, but the saying the truth is more interesting than fiction, in this case, is entirely lost on me. Romance has not been in the air for quite some time. Only ashes from recent forest fires. Not the same as smoldering passions. In my novel, I will be adding dashes from excerpts of my own life, with a splash from family and friends just for good measure. Sometimes the reality you create is more endearing and pleasant than the one you find yourself surrounded by. For example, sitting here at a nurses station, while construction is being done to upgrade the rooms, and the doctors are mumbling about themselves, and the social workers are socializing, and the call lights are calling, and the rattling of iv poles being pushed around the unit in endless circles, well, it is nice to retreat to a place where an alterego is unknowingly about to chance upon her knight in shining armour.
It does help, too, to have the influences of nyquil enticing my thoughts.
I do stop and peak into my patients rooms to ensure their safety, and can't help but wish I had their "prison sentence" of having to remain confined to a room, with nothing but a phone, a tv and my bed for entertainment. Ah, bed. To sleep, perchance to dream. But alas, another set of rounds...safety first!

OK, here I go!

It's funny how you have so many thing to say, but once you get a blank screen, everything else goes blank. Then what do you do? You blog. Whatever that means. What does blog mean? Does it stand for something? Blatant La-la-la On Google? Bold Liturgies On Gab? I'm sure someone knows, and I could easily ask my research librarian mother, she pretty much does have all the right answers, but sometimes I think it best to just not know for sure and give way to the imagination.
With this blog (big lougies of gold?) I hope to make my readers laugh, wonder and speculate. I hope to help others gain some insight into the solemnity, as well as humor that life daily, if not hourly, dishes up. My patients routinely remind me how lucky I am, I will try to pass on this awareness. Because it really is good to be me!