Well last night was less fun than the evening she defecated in the shower. Yep, last night was smell sourcing. While trying to find the source of the smell in her room, she showered twice and did laundry twice. The second time, she dragged wet clothes to her room before they were done. In the process of mopping that up with towels, i noticed that the water got deeper in her room. Not a good sign. Then she said she flushed until it worked, but the water came out. Crap. This from the girl who was using a plastic fork to dig something from under her fingernails and was leaving brown fingerprints on her water pitcher and the dryer (locked that room quick). Guess the smell was buried deeper than we thought. After the disinfection dude came over, the smell got a bit better. Maybe she wasn't digging her butt. Maybe she was snaking the drain. Either way, it was one of those days. And she wasn't even the problem child.
Nope, that one is in a manic league of her own. And i can't type fast enough to come close to approximating the level of fun she provided. She describes herself as hard to handle. Yep. But that is a whole other level of fun, minions.
And i have days until i get another break from the med resistant darling.
Meanwhile, the garden is growing, the birds are chirping and i have 4 hours to be someone else.
Off to that now.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Nutkin Squirrel
I was making toast for my 90-year-old lady Wednesday morning when i heard a load clang from the driveway. She does not live in the nicest neighborhood, as it aged less gracefully than she has, so i ran to the window. She was still brushing her dentures and gums and heard nothing over the running water. I heard it again. It sounded like a can hitting the pavement. An empty can. And then i saw it. The world's proudest looking squirrel moving as swiftly as possible across the driveway near the garage. In his mouth he had a covered (sadly empty) can of peanuts held by the edge of the lid. Off he trotted. If he ever managed to crack it, his friends probably laughed him out of the nest.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Ileus is everywhere this week. Also, Developmental disability plus mental illness equals mess
So, my patient got transferred. Turns out she and my cat have Ileus in common. Go figure. Hers is a blockage. The cat's was functional secondary to severe gastroenteritis. Either way, both were full of shit in a deadly kind of way. Good thing i can detect FoS from a mile off... lol. And good thing it was something that shows up on x-ray. The doctors can't argue with that.
Also, to continue a former rant, we have a plethora of the developmentally disabled on the unit lately. We are not trained for this, so it is really hard to do much but medicate them and move on. We have almost no staff, especially on the weekends, and our days are not structured enough for them. In any case, yesterday, the one with FAS and stuff was yelling like a howler monkey and spitting on her roommate's stuff. We moved the roommate. She got meds and then kept acting out. Yelling she wanted gum, snacks, kool-aid (the blue kind), etc. I walked over past her sitter, looked her in the eye and said, "If you sit down, calm down and act like an adult,we will consider giving you something. Until then, you get nothing. So, relax and listen to your staff." We had a staredown. I love those. She sat down. The end. Meanwhile, the autistic one down the hall was having some trouble with boundaries, but told me he loved me because i made sure he was getting pizza and chicken tenders for dinner. Up the hall, our other one, who has a huge abuse and depression history decided to tie something around his neck and get up on his toilet looking for a way to hang. This proved unsuccessful. Luckily, his roommate heard him, because we were between rounds and busy elsewhere.
In the end, everyone survived the weekend. We had one or two staff on the floor, which is far less than ideal, so groups didn't really happen. The addicts were jonesing and pissed off at everyone else (one threatened to strangle another patient and then asked to use the phone. Um, no, not right now. And, apologize.), while the psychotics were freaking out from all the commotion and running for the door.
A typical weekend. The one with ileus was kind of lucky she missed it. Me, i just keep wondering how other units manage as diverse a population as we get with an average of one floor worker per 6-9 patients. Between the addicts, psychotics, developmentally disabled and all the other flavors of the rainbow, it's a wonder everyone gets through it some days.
Back to my day off in the rain.
Later, minions.
Also, to continue a former rant, we have a plethora of the developmentally disabled on the unit lately. We are not trained for this, so it is really hard to do much but medicate them and move on. We have almost no staff, especially on the weekends, and our days are not structured enough for them. In any case, yesterday, the one with FAS and stuff was yelling like a howler monkey and spitting on her roommate's stuff. We moved the roommate. She got meds and then kept acting out. Yelling she wanted gum, snacks, kool-aid (the blue kind), etc. I walked over past her sitter, looked her in the eye and said, "If you sit down, calm down and act like an adult,we will consider giving you something. Until then, you get nothing. So, relax and listen to your staff." We had a staredown. I love those. She sat down. The end. Meanwhile, the autistic one down the hall was having some trouble with boundaries, but told me he loved me because i made sure he was getting pizza and chicken tenders for dinner. Up the hall, our other one, who has a huge abuse and depression history decided to tie something around his neck and get up on his toilet looking for a way to hang. This proved unsuccessful. Luckily, his roommate heard him, because we were between rounds and busy elsewhere.
In the end, everyone survived the weekend. We had one or two staff on the floor, which is far less than ideal, so groups didn't really happen. The addicts were jonesing and pissed off at everyone else (one threatened to strangle another patient and then asked to use the phone. Um, no, not right now. And, apologize.), while the psychotics were freaking out from all the commotion and running for the door.
A typical weekend. The one with ileus was kind of lucky she missed it. Me, i just keep wondering how other units manage as diverse a population as we get with an average of one floor worker per 6-9 patients. Between the addicts, psychotics, developmentally disabled and all the other flavors of the rainbow, it's a wonder everyone gets through it some days.
Back to my day off in the rain.
Later, minions.
Saturday, June 08, 2013
Bile is Vile
afternoon, minions.
As you may have garnered from previous rants and observations, i work on a psych floor. Some say i belong there. I am not sure how to take that, but usually say thank you.
As you also may have noted, i have a love-hate relationship with the medical profession and its treatment of the patients who get the accursed label "psych." And again i am fearful that this is going to play out for one of the patients. Please note that i do not anywhere mention what hospital i work for on purpose. Nor do i mention patient names. I just don't need that sort of attention.
In any case, one of our older patients started vomiting bile. Cups of it. Yesterday. If she laid flat or walked much or leaned forward, at least some came out. The doctor came and is running tests today. Meanwhile, i have sworn off pesto for a while. Wouldn't it be grand it, once again, the reason she had stopped eating and drinking was not psychological? Yeah, me too...
Off to see if she's any better today and play with the other psychotic and moody denizens.
Later, minions.
As you may have garnered from previous rants and observations, i work on a psych floor. Some say i belong there. I am not sure how to take that, but usually say thank you.
As you also may have noted, i have a love-hate relationship with the medical profession and its treatment of the patients who get the accursed label "psych." And again i am fearful that this is going to play out for one of the patients. Please note that i do not anywhere mention what hospital i work for on purpose. Nor do i mention patient names. I just don't need that sort of attention.
In any case, one of our older patients started vomiting bile. Cups of it. Yesterday. If she laid flat or walked much or leaned forward, at least some came out. The doctor came and is running tests today. Meanwhile, i have sworn off pesto for a while. Wouldn't it be grand it, once again, the reason she had stopped eating and drinking was not psychological? Yeah, me too...
Off to see if she's any better today and play with the other psychotic and moody denizens.
Later, minions.
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
What to do when your boss likes to be called the gestapo?
Apply everywhere else. And, when that doesn't work out so well, at least for now (stupid recession crap), try to outlive her. How long do overweight type A control freak greek women live? Meanwhile, the following is a brief replay of the end of my shift last night...
It was one of those nights on the psych floor when everyone was kinda off their rhythm and the patients were acting out. Visitors snuck in contraband, some of which i found, other of which was smoked first, and some probably is still stashed somewhere... None of them want to be there and everyone is loud and complaining about rules and such. Mind you, the loudest ones are the ones that came from ICU after overdosing or the street and have nowhere to go. So, a fun night. A nasty, why must patients barf in paper bags kind of night.
These are the shifts when we all pull together and it all gets done. Which, as it turns out, was the wrong thing to do. My supervisor is working the night shift this week, training a new night supervisor after the last one blew a sarcastic gasket at the wrong time. She comes in at 11 and another tech mentions having done an admission. She immediately jumps on him. "Why would you do an admission? My techs should not have let you do that. I have it assigned to one person and they are to do them (all). They know that. I have a system in place. My techs should do their assignments." And so dies team work. He apologized to me (i think i was searching for contraband or on the rounds board at the time of said admission). "That was unanticipated." Not really.
There were three admissions. I did none. I did two of three discharges, but those don't count. Why no admissions? Because one came in medicated and unconscious (mercifully, as we really can't do much else with violent MR sorts on our unit - we are not equipped or trained for them) and needed a strong guy to do the transfer from stretcher to bed, so i helped get him in bed between rounds and my aforementioned coworker got his vitals. My other coworker did number two while i was on rounds, because he knew this one from the adolescent floor and the kid was freaking out, so talking him down led to the rest. The third, don't remember. Rounds again, i think. I did belongings, which is the icky part. And all of this should never have happened. We are not to help each other out or be a team. Ever. Never mind what works best for the patient or the flow of the unit. Got it. Letter of the law resumes tomorrow.
I hate my job.
I have to go fill out more applications and submit my resume to every business within 30 miles of here now.
Anyone need a team player?
Later, minions.
It was one of those nights on the psych floor when everyone was kinda off their rhythm and the patients were acting out. Visitors snuck in contraband, some of which i found, other of which was smoked first, and some probably is still stashed somewhere... None of them want to be there and everyone is loud and complaining about rules and such. Mind you, the loudest ones are the ones that came from ICU after overdosing or the street and have nowhere to go. So, a fun night. A nasty, why must patients barf in paper bags kind of night.
These are the shifts when we all pull together and it all gets done. Which, as it turns out, was the wrong thing to do. My supervisor is working the night shift this week, training a new night supervisor after the last one blew a sarcastic gasket at the wrong time. She comes in at 11 and another tech mentions having done an admission. She immediately jumps on him. "Why would you do an admission? My techs should not have let you do that. I have it assigned to one person and they are to do them (all). They know that. I have a system in place. My techs should do their assignments." And so dies team work. He apologized to me (i think i was searching for contraband or on the rounds board at the time of said admission). "That was unanticipated." Not really.
There were three admissions. I did none. I did two of three discharges, but those don't count. Why no admissions? Because one came in medicated and unconscious (mercifully, as we really can't do much else with violent MR sorts on our unit - we are not equipped or trained for them) and needed a strong guy to do the transfer from stretcher to bed, so i helped get him in bed between rounds and my aforementioned coworker got his vitals. My other coworker did number two while i was on rounds, because he knew this one from the adolescent floor and the kid was freaking out, so talking him down led to the rest. The third, don't remember. Rounds again, i think. I did belongings, which is the icky part. And all of this should never have happened. We are not to help each other out or be a team. Ever. Never mind what works best for the patient or the flow of the unit. Got it. Letter of the law resumes tomorrow.
I hate my job.
I have to go fill out more applications and submit my resume to every business within 30 miles of here now.
Anyone need a team player?
Later, minions.
Sunday, June 02, 2013
No Shit Sherlock Phrase of the Day
It is what it is.
Really?
Define it, treat like algebra and, yep, guess you're right.
I absolutely despise that phrase more with each passing year. And then my husband used it. *Gasp*
That's right, the accursed words meaning nothing invaded my home. My sanctuary. Nowhere was safe from "it" anymore.
What was i to do? I could force him to define "it" and explain how this "it" could possibly be anything other than itself. I could go on an existential rant about emptiness, the interdependent impermanent empty nature of all phenomena which are merely labeled and can best be said to be "not not" it. Although technically correct in defining phenomena, i have issues with how this sounds in english, so tend not to use that phrase much and really couldn't deal with the hour explanation of terms necessary to get there. So, I considered, instead, countering with "it is not what it is not." "It" being equal, the phrase should be identical.
In the end, I chose "yep." And moved on.
I prefer the Cronkite phrase: "And that's the way it is..."
Sometimes maybe the way it is is what it is....
Really?
Define it, treat like algebra and, yep, guess you're right.
I absolutely despise that phrase more with each passing year. And then my husband used it. *Gasp*
That's right, the accursed words meaning nothing invaded my home. My sanctuary. Nowhere was safe from "it" anymore.
What was i to do? I could force him to define "it" and explain how this "it" could possibly be anything other than itself. I could go on an existential rant about emptiness, the interdependent impermanent empty nature of all phenomena which are merely labeled and can best be said to be "not not" it. Although technically correct in defining phenomena, i have issues with how this sounds in english, so tend not to use that phrase much and really couldn't deal with the hour explanation of terms necessary to get there. So, I considered, instead, countering with "it is not what it is not." "It" being equal, the phrase should be identical.
In the end, I chose "yep." And moved on.
I prefer the Cronkite phrase: "And that's the way it is..."
Sometimes maybe the way it is is what it is....
Saturday, June 01, 2013
Can we V(egan), seo's and the politics of writing
Learned a new term yesterday. Seo. Means search engine optimization and has to do with word placement so the search engines put you in the right searches. Turns out, most sites prefer it over grammar when it comes to choosing writers. So, i may play with it a bit now that i know it exists. Oh, and i am attempting the vegan lifestyle again. Cuz i'm Buddhist and i can (should?).
So, enough introduction. First off, i want to make a living doing anything that will not get me hit and otherwise physically and emotionally abused for a living. I still really want to advocate for the mentally ill and get the cretins in medicine and society at large to see the humans that they/we are. It is a horrible thing to be dehumanized for a brain dysfunction that has nothing to do with who you are any more than type I diabetes defines children. However, the inpatient setting is way too much for my PTSD/depression with a healthy dose of anxiety ridden ass to handle anymore. I have working been in this field in or out patient for over 25 years now.
I have applied to State Farm, cuz i am a good neighbor and always there. Besides, i have family and friends there who should be able to get me in. I don't care what i do, as long as it pays my bills and doesn't cause me bodily harm. Fear of getting clocked again is getting paralytic. Twice in 3 months is enough. So, begging for 33k anywhere else that will take me. I got mad skills, yo. 4 realz. The psych and english degrees are not my only qualities... I am tired of dumbing myself down to get by.
I therefore am looking at the writing for a living angle. There again i am faced with dumbing down and swallowing my everything to get hired to do idiot work for the most part. The good part is that Buddhism does not posit a soul, so if i sell it, i lose nothing. Hey, there's always a bright side. Sometimes it's the headlight just before the train hits the coyote, but it's there.
Meanwhile, my vegetarian self is getting more and more upset at the killing that is rampant on this planet for our convenience. I blame Genesis and want to burn it along with the whole 'dominion over' bullshit mentality. I actually have burnt it. Several times. Best way to get rid of Bibles i can think of and the only constructive use of one that guests won't conscript you to hell for. The whole chair leg thing did not go over well...
So, my husband is solidly in the killing/carcass ingesting camp. He doesn't cook. He is about to be shit out of luck unless he learns to cook meat for himself. Seriously. Had enough of catering to him and having dead flesh in the house. Local organic dairy stuff i can tolerate. The rest not so much. I also have no idea how to cook vegan without nuts, - holy shit that's a big spider crawling on the railing - because i can't have them. Or coconut. Or pomegranate. So, i am trying to figure things out. Beans and lentils are my best buddies for now. Throwing them in lots of things. (moved away from the jumping spider)
Any helpful hints always appreciated.
Later minions.
So, enough introduction. First off, i want to make a living doing anything that will not get me hit and otherwise physically and emotionally abused for a living. I still really want to advocate for the mentally ill and get the cretins in medicine and society at large to see the humans that they/we are. It is a horrible thing to be dehumanized for a brain dysfunction that has nothing to do with who you are any more than type I diabetes defines children. However, the inpatient setting is way too much for my PTSD/depression with a healthy dose of anxiety ridden ass to handle anymore. I have working been in this field in or out patient for over 25 years now.
I have applied to State Farm, cuz i am a good neighbor and always there. Besides, i have family and friends there who should be able to get me in. I don't care what i do, as long as it pays my bills and doesn't cause me bodily harm. Fear of getting clocked again is getting paralytic. Twice in 3 months is enough. So, begging for 33k anywhere else that will take me. I got mad skills, yo. 4 realz. The psych and english degrees are not my only qualities... I am tired of dumbing myself down to get by.
I therefore am looking at the writing for a living angle. There again i am faced with dumbing down and swallowing my everything to get hired to do idiot work for the most part. The good part is that Buddhism does not posit a soul, so if i sell it, i lose nothing. Hey, there's always a bright side. Sometimes it's the headlight just before the train hits the coyote, but it's there.
Meanwhile, my vegetarian self is getting more and more upset at the killing that is rampant on this planet for our convenience. I blame Genesis and want to burn it along with the whole 'dominion over' bullshit mentality. I actually have burnt it. Several times. Best way to get rid of Bibles i can think of and the only constructive use of one that guests won't conscript you to hell for. The whole chair leg thing did not go over well...
So, my husband is solidly in the killing/carcass ingesting camp. He doesn't cook. He is about to be shit out of luck unless he learns to cook meat for himself. Seriously. Had enough of catering to him and having dead flesh in the house. Local organic dairy stuff i can tolerate. The rest not so much. I also have no idea how to cook vegan without nuts, - holy shit that's a big spider crawling on the railing - because i can't have them. Or coconut. Or pomegranate. So, i am trying to figure things out. Beans and lentils are my best buddies for now. Throwing them in lots of things. (moved away from the jumping spider)
Any helpful hints always appreciated.
Later minions.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Schwinn-tillating
Evening minions. I am melting. Just got back from an 8 mile first bike ride of the season. Not my best ever, but i made it up Mt. Doom (the unplanned hill), so i am happy with it overall. Now i am sitting on the deck sipping iced green tea with lemon while the cats try to become one with the cool lumber under the chairs and resemble carelessly tossed stuffed animals.
I overcame some intense fear and applied to some writing sites. Acceptances are starting to come in, which brings me to my next overwhelming fear. Rejection and the learning curve i am about to throw myself at. I have a degree and have written theses, research papers, critical analyses, fiction and creative non-fiction in an academic setting and always gotten As and encouragement. So, why the hell is writing a product description, web page or blog entry for which i am fed the details freaking me out? My own worst enemy.
Anyway, it will keep my mind sharp and hopefully make some extra cash to pay for life's extras, like brake repairs.
Which is one of the articles i could make a couple bucks writing about. Or alligator hunting. Seriously. You can't make this shit up, folks. Or a Russian french braiding shop. Yes, they only do french braids. Wonder if they have a drive thru? Gonna do some just for shits stuff and see how bad i am at it, then keep going until i rock their socks. Wonder if there is one for socks. There was for asphalt.
I digress. Tomorrow i shall find an air conditioned hide-away and write me some righteous shit, man. And apply to the last site, whose application intimidates me a little... Because i will have to think and it feels like an essay test. Which it is, i suppose. It will be graded and my grade determines pay rate. No pressure.
Either way, i pedaled Mt. Doom when the fire house said it was 99 degrees out. The rest is coasting.
Later minions.
I overcame some intense fear and applied to some writing sites. Acceptances are starting to come in, which brings me to my next overwhelming fear. Rejection and the learning curve i am about to throw myself at. I have a degree and have written theses, research papers, critical analyses, fiction and creative non-fiction in an academic setting and always gotten As and encouragement. So, why the hell is writing a product description, web page or blog entry for which i am fed the details freaking me out? My own worst enemy.
Anyway, it will keep my mind sharp and hopefully make some extra cash to pay for life's extras, like brake repairs.
Which is one of the articles i could make a couple bucks writing about. Or alligator hunting. Seriously. You can't make this shit up, folks. Or a Russian french braiding shop. Yes, they only do french braids. Wonder if they have a drive thru? Gonna do some just for shits stuff and see how bad i am at it, then keep going until i rock their socks. Wonder if there is one for socks. There was for asphalt.
I digress. Tomorrow i shall find an air conditioned hide-away and write me some righteous shit, man. And apply to the last site, whose application intimidates me a little... Because i will have to think and it feels like an essay test. Which it is, i suppose. It will be graded and my grade determines pay rate. No pressure.
Either way, i pedaled Mt. Doom when the fire house said it was 99 degrees out. The rest is coasting.
Later minions.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
The Cowardly Lion Sticks Out Her Head
Well, i took a tentative baby step today and registered for a couple of writing sites. Time to see if anyone else thinks i can write. You never know. I have never gotten this gutsy before, so here's hoping i am not entirely delusional and that honors English 3.9 degree was earned. I am so tired of being abused for a living. It would be nice to make money doing something i enjoy.
Perhaps dreams can come true. Off to wish upon a star.
Perhaps dreams can come true. Off to wish upon a star.
Friday, May 17, 2013
All Buddhists Go to Hell
Reincarnation makes that undeniably true. We just don't have to stay there forever. Karma eventually moves us onward.
I have some fucked up weird karma. I think i snuck into a human rebirth somehow. Then the ordination part was definitely way beyond my karmic badness rank. Kind Lama let me anyway. Not in robes anymore, cuz, well, karma. And, while the vows are very helpful, the cultural garb and trappings put up more walls than they tore down in small town america.
So, i am one of the few Buddhist fans of bands like Slipknot and Disturbed (those are the bands i am sure most have heard of). I just admire anyone who uses the word megalomaniacal in lyrics and thinks about/questions their existence. Popular music is absolute crap. It says nothing about anything that shows any sort of analytical thinking and process has been applied anywhere. If anyone ever tells me they can't live without someone again, i will laugh in their face. Seriously. You lived before them, so why wouldn't you? And, if you already lost said someone and are still breathing and reading this or singing about your loss, you also have survived it. Congratulations. Move on. Tell me about the black crushing vortex that has opened in the center of your chest that feels like it will consume you and how, watching this sensation play out without getting caught up in believing it is more than a transient experience, you come to find peace and a sense that you are not your thoughts, feelings or experiences, nor are you separate from them. There is a space in there that opens up. Tell me about the feeling of absolute freedom and joy that quietly waits there and gives the sense that all is well and that the core of your being can not be touched by the strongest emotional-neuronal storm. These guys, i think, have experienced this. They might have called it something other that "true nature of mind" or "rigpa" or "buddha nature," but they have enough introspective experience to know what i am saying.
Those people i can relate to. I can have a conversation with them.
Question everything. Especially the random neuron firings called thought and emotion that we all take so seriously. Let it go.
As long as i am here, having walked backward through the theatre doors, that will be my message. Stop telling and believing the stories your brain tells you about yourself and your life and live it. Now. Stay present. Double dog dare ya!
I have some fucked up weird karma. I think i snuck into a human rebirth somehow. Then the ordination part was definitely way beyond my karmic badness rank. Kind Lama let me anyway. Not in robes anymore, cuz, well, karma. And, while the vows are very helpful, the cultural garb and trappings put up more walls than they tore down in small town america.
So, i am one of the few Buddhist fans of bands like Slipknot and Disturbed (those are the bands i am sure most have heard of). I just admire anyone who uses the word megalomaniacal in lyrics and thinks about/questions their existence. Popular music is absolute crap. It says nothing about anything that shows any sort of analytical thinking and process has been applied anywhere. If anyone ever tells me they can't live without someone again, i will laugh in their face. Seriously. You lived before them, so why wouldn't you? And, if you already lost said someone and are still breathing and reading this or singing about your loss, you also have survived it. Congratulations. Move on. Tell me about the black crushing vortex that has opened in the center of your chest that feels like it will consume you and how, watching this sensation play out without getting caught up in believing it is more than a transient experience, you come to find peace and a sense that you are not your thoughts, feelings or experiences, nor are you separate from them. There is a space in there that opens up. Tell me about the feeling of absolute freedom and joy that quietly waits there and gives the sense that all is well and that the core of your being can not be touched by the strongest emotional-neuronal storm. These guys, i think, have experienced this. They might have called it something other that "true nature of mind" or "rigpa" or "buddha nature," but they have enough introspective experience to know what i am saying.
Those people i can relate to. I can have a conversation with them.
Question everything. Especially the random neuron firings called thought and emotion that we all take so seriously. Let it go.
As long as i am here, having walked backward through the theatre doors, that will be my message. Stop telling and believing the stories your brain tells you about yourself and your life and live it. Now. Stay present. Double dog dare ya!
Saturday, April 27, 2013
It's Not a Tumor
Afternoon, minions.
Sorry about the absence. My 47 year old ass was on a cardiac floor for a couple of days last week. Final diagnosis was "chest pain"... Really? Where the hell is House when you need him. It was odd being a patient in the hospital for which i work. Really weird. I kept wanting to chart my I&O stuff and couldn't quite relax.
Anyway, chest pain with sweating, dizziness and shortness of breath, are all bad. I was "throwing PVCs" like there was no tomorrow. Every time the doc said that, I kept picturing plumbing pipes flying around. Lying still helped, but it was several hours before it stopped and my EKG and blood pressure were back to normal (which for me is 100 or less over 70 or less). Normal is such a sliding scale.
Upon my return to work, one of my coworkers said it was probably gas. Every symptom, including bad EKG was confirmed as "yep, gas." Yeah, idiot, i am sure that was what it was. I mean, the docs always admit people for that... At least my troponin stayed normal and my heart finally got its groove back on without any damage happening. V fib would have sucked.
Guess i should work on that whole stress management thing...
Without losing my angst or sarcasm, of course.
So, minions, get outside and do absolutely nothing for a while. Without contemplating what will pile up to be done in the meantime. You definitely never ever want to share a room with me or come to my psych floor. Ever. Preventing this should be your top priority.
Final thoughts:
W has a library? How the .... I mean, really? Will it include gems like "childrens can learn"?
Oh, and, dear conspiracy theorists,
Sometimes impulsive zealots are just impulsive zealots. Every family tree has a branch of nuts and from what the mom said, these two came from hearty stock...
But, it was fun to speculate in the meantime.
Sorry about the absence. My 47 year old ass was on a cardiac floor for a couple of days last week. Final diagnosis was "chest pain"... Really? Where the hell is House when you need him. It was odd being a patient in the hospital for which i work. Really weird. I kept wanting to chart my I&O stuff and couldn't quite relax.
Anyway, chest pain with sweating, dizziness and shortness of breath, are all bad. I was "throwing PVCs" like there was no tomorrow. Every time the doc said that, I kept picturing plumbing pipes flying around. Lying still helped, but it was several hours before it stopped and my EKG and blood pressure were back to normal (which for me is 100 or less over 70 or less). Normal is such a sliding scale.
Upon my return to work, one of my coworkers said it was probably gas. Every symptom, including bad EKG was confirmed as "yep, gas." Yeah, idiot, i am sure that was what it was. I mean, the docs always admit people for that... At least my troponin stayed normal and my heart finally got its groove back on without any damage happening. V fib would have sucked.
Guess i should work on that whole stress management thing...
Without losing my angst or sarcasm, of course.
So, minions, get outside and do absolutely nothing for a while. Without contemplating what will pile up to be done in the meantime. You definitely never ever want to share a room with me or come to my psych floor. Ever. Preventing this should be your top priority.
Final thoughts:
W has a library? How the .... I mean, really? Will it include gems like "childrens can learn"?
Oh, and, dear conspiracy theorists,
Sometimes impulsive zealots are just impulsive zealots. Every family tree has a branch of nuts and from what the mom said, these two came from hearty stock...
But, it was fun to speculate in the meantime.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Note to Self
Never try to go off your antidepressant the week someone on the unit listens to that voice in his head and tries to kill a visitor with a colored pencil (wonder which color... was red after). Hindsight is never available and usually would have been really useful. The bombings and explosions were tragic. This was traumatic. And resulted in me working on the adolescent psych floor so all available males could work on adult psych. Bad as that was, kids still scare me more... Especially those kids...
I was already crying at the drop of a hat and pissed off way too easily before that happened, leading me to think that maybe i still needed it (i had tapered really slowly, so that wasn't it) before this happened.
Anyway, note to self: never do that again.
I was already crying at the drop of a hat and pissed off way too easily before that happened, leading me to think that maybe i still needed it (i had tapered really slowly, so that wasn't it) before this happened.
Anyway, note to self: never do that again.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Boston in perspective
And today let me just say that the US is not the only country on the planet, nor do we suffer more, better, or more importantly, than any other country.
People died in Boston. Sad. Tragic.
People will have theories and talk about it, but in the end, it was not the only news of the day.
Elsewhere, there was a 7.8 magnitude earthquake in Iran that affected neighboring countries as well, Syria probably used chemical weapons on its citizens, bombs exploded in Iraq, and senseless violence and wars continued on six of seven continents. Not sure about Antarctica... I'm thinking it's still too cold for war there.
People everywhere are just living their lives, trying to find happiness and eek out a living on this rock we call home. Idiots everywhere devalue these lives in the mistaken ideology of violent protest and uprising. Dehumanization and depersonalization are rampant. It's all quite psychotic, really. Looking at a person who is not fundamentally different from oneself and being unable to see that is, after all, psychotic. There are no enemies or targets, only other living beings who also just want to be loved, heard, valued, appreciated, and allowed to live their lives.
People have expressed all kinds of sympathy for the people killed and injured in Boston and those affected by the shootings in Newtown and Aurora. Let's expand our reaction and compassion to those affected by the earthquake in Iran, the chemical weapons in the Syrian war, the bombings that continue everyday in Iraq and/or other middle eastern countries, and all the other terrible acts endured by our fellow humans. Let's start there and work outward.
People died in Boston. Sad. Tragic.
People will have theories and talk about it, but in the end, it was not the only news of the day.
Elsewhere, there was a 7.8 magnitude earthquake in Iran that affected neighboring countries as well, Syria probably used chemical weapons on its citizens, bombs exploded in Iraq, and senseless violence and wars continued on six of seven continents. Not sure about Antarctica... I'm thinking it's still too cold for war there.
People everywhere are just living their lives, trying to find happiness and eek out a living on this rock we call home. Idiots everywhere devalue these lives in the mistaken ideology of violent protest and uprising. Dehumanization and depersonalization are rampant. It's all quite psychotic, really. Looking at a person who is not fundamentally different from oneself and being unable to see that is, after all, psychotic. There are no enemies or targets, only other living beings who also just want to be loved, heard, valued, appreciated, and allowed to live their lives.
People have expressed all kinds of sympathy for the people killed and injured in Boston and those affected by the shootings in Newtown and Aurora. Let's expand our reaction and compassion to those affected by the earthquake in Iran, the chemical weapons in the Syrian war, the bombings that continue everyday in Iraq and/or other middle eastern countries, and all the other terrible acts endured by our fellow humans. Let's start there and work outward.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
tea party, paranoid schiz version
Ok, so you know i have to talk about Boston, cuz, well, i really like Boston (city and band, actually). I also run (5k mostly) when my stupid body lets me. First, yes, very tragic. I cried. It was absolutely uncalled for and horrifying. It still is horrifying, as the survivors continue to fight for their lives and sanity. PTSD is not to be taken lightly. I have it. I know. Every day it sucks. Every day i fight it. Most days i still win. The scars on my bones and the pain in my back and pelvis remind me. Everything does. So, the following is not meant to in any way diminish any of the actions of those who rushed in or those who are forever changed.
That said, i work with schizophrenics who are paranoid and i did my thesis on conspiracy and complicity in fiction. Long story. That i stretched for 90 pages. So, my random access brain hit on the following points and came up with a little something. In Massachusetts, today is not tax day. It is Patriots Day. The race, especially mile 26, was dedicated to the Newtown Families. The lobbyists don't want gun control. The revolution started in Boston (more or less, depending on who you talk to-near there anyway). I like tea.
Some of those things mean nothing. Maybe all of them do, but the true conspiracy nuts will appreciate the following theory, which i am sure is totally fictitious. Patriots like guns. Newtown families and supporters don't. What better way to prove that guns are not the Big Thing to worry about than a good old Patriotic protest involving anything that isn't a gun. And for fun, let's throw an immigrant of possible middle eastern descent into the mix (or at least tell Fox News that and watch them run with that). Suddenly, Americans need guns to protect ourselves on our own soil. Big guns. Many-bulleted guns. So, some suit somewhere says, let's get some idiots drunk and sell them on the idea. Then just deny everything. Think about it. Distraction, bread and circuses (again), call it what you want. Suddenly, the country shifts its attention to something new. Bigger. Less likely to impact gun manufacturers adversely.
And that was what i came up with while raking the lawn. I watch too much tv, maybe, but it does have a certain jfk quality to it. And, if you throw in the fire that could have been designed to reduce the number of first responders available at the bomb scenes, the dance starts to look almost like a Hollywood rendering of today.
This is not what happened i am sure. It wasn't organized or sophisticated enough for that. But, still, if any of you wondered about any of this, even for a moment, it speaks volumes about how much we actually trust the powers that be.
And that is perhaps the point of my sojourn into madness today.
What still gives me hope are the runners who ran into harm's way to help bystanders, the bystanders who helped each other and all the other everyday heroes who see life as precious and worth saving. I really wish that all people saw life from this perspective and learned that non-violence is the only way. Please try to spread the non-violence and the respect for life that i know we all possess somewhere in our minds and hearts. This is not a time for anger or vengeance. That is what got us here. Retribution will solve nothing. It will change nothing.
That said, i work with schizophrenics who are paranoid and i did my thesis on conspiracy and complicity in fiction. Long story. That i stretched for 90 pages. So, my random access brain hit on the following points and came up with a little something. In Massachusetts, today is not tax day. It is Patriots Day. The race, especially mile 26, was dedicated to the Newtown Families. The lobbyists don't want gun control. The revolution started in Boston (more or less, depending on who you talk to-near there anyway). I like tea.
Some of those things mean nothing. Maybe all of them do, but the true conspiracy nuts will appreciate the following theory, which i am sure is totally fictitious. Patriots like guns. Newtown families and supporters don't. What better way to prove that guns are not the Big Thing to worry about than a good old Patriotic protest involving anything that isn't a gun. And for fun, let's throw an immigrant of possible middle eastern descent into the mix (or at least tell Fox News that and watch them run with that). Suddenly, Americans need guns to protect ourselves on our own soil. Big guns. Many-bulleted guns. So, some suit somewhere says, let's get some idiots drunk and sell them on the idea. Then just deny everything. Think about it. Distraction, bread and circuses (again), call it what you want. Suddenly, the country shifts its attention to something new. Bigger. Less likely to impact gun manufacturers adversely.
And that was what i came up with while raking the lawn. I watch too much tv, maybe, but it does have a certain jfk quality to it. And, if you throw in the fire that could have been designed to reduce the number of first responders available at the bomb scenes, the dance starts to look almost like a Hollywood rendering of today.
This is not what happened i am sure. It wasn't organized or sophisticated enough for that. But, still, if any of you wondered about any of this, even for a moment, it speaks volumes about how much we actually trust the powers that be.
And that is perhaps the point of my sojourn into madness today.
What still gives me hope are the runners who ran into harm's way to help bystanders, the bystanders who helped each other and all the other everyday heroes who see life as precious and worth saving. I really wish that all people saw life from this perspective and learned that non-violence is the only way. Please try to spread the non-violence and the respect for life that i know we all possess somewhere in our minds and hearts. This is not a time for anger or vengeance. That is what got us here. Retribution will solve nothing. It will change nothing.
Monday, April 08, 2013
Equinox Equilibration
Ah, spring. The Feds have repaid my loan to them. They kept the interest of course. Why am i grateful as if it weren't my money to start with? The state has not been so forthcoming. I am pissed about that because it is my money to start with. More entitled than third generation welfare recipients. I could rant, but don't need homeland sodomy to have more reasons to poke around or crawl further in. Two thoughts occur, however. I shall number them for easy reference in case observations are criminalized. (1) If i did my job as poorly and corruptly as the government does, i would be living in a tent in the woods, eating what i could grow, scavenge or trap. I definitely wouldn't get a raise, pension or health benefits. Or indoor plumbing. Perhaps they shouldn't either. (2) Since this government is of, by and for the people, and does not function for anyone who can't pay it off, then perhaps it is no longer our government at all. Perhaps it is time for a change. They use social issues and fear to distract us from the fact that it is not their job to legislate or micro-manage our lives. They then hope no one notices they are not doing their jobs except when it suits them and the lobbyists and corporations who got them their jobs and pull all the strings. They can't pass a budget in years, which is how they know how much revenue they need, but they can vilify the mentally ill and discuss gun violence. Buy more crap to keep the economy going and you so in debt or close to the edge that you don't have time to notice the shaft up your butt or the fact that you have no power to remove it. Occupy was fun, but lacked cohesion and the sort of focus and money needed to overthrow or really change anything.
That should do it. I suppose i'll need lubricant for the flags i may have just raised. I am not saying the militias and crazies should do anything. I am saying that the social contract is broken and so is our ability to do jack about it. And it is that point that i find most annoying. Why do they even ask us to vote if the lobbyists are running the show anyway? It really doesn't matter who we elect. Think about it. But then realize that that is all you can do. By design.
The rest is just bread and circuses.
That should do it. I suppose i'll need lubricant for the flags i may have just raised. I am not saying the militias and crazies should do anything. I am saying that the social contract is broken and so is our ability to do jack about it. And it is that point that i find most annoying. Why do they even ask us to vote if the lobbyists are running the show anyway? It really doesn't matter who we elect. Think about it. But then realize that that is all you can do. By design.
The rest is just bread and circuses.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Of Sinuses and Teen Mania
We at the hospital have core staffing numbers and are expected to use them to keep our productivity at 100% or more all the time. Yes, rewarded for shorting our staff numbers. How this improves patient care, i don't know. It does help the bottom line, evidently. Health care is business. Big business. And so i found myself on an adult unit that was overstaffed with two direct care staff and only 9 patients. I thought i was in luck, as my sinuses were applying drill-like pain into my skull causing inability to think and nausea. Instead, i found myself in the wonderful land of adolescent psych. I was watching a teenager in a manic episode for 5 and a half hours. He was 16, bigger than me, and had been taken off his meds by a fill-in doc. They do that. It makes no sense, but there it is. The lack of meds took him straight to the holy shit end of mania.
Let me stop a bit and explain how unfun that is. Imagine feeling euphoric and like you can take on the whole world. Everything is funny. Every neuron in your brain is on overdrive. You are brilliant. You are godlike. For like a day or three. Then it gets even better. You can't sleep, you can't stop jumping from one shiny thought to another. You shake and sweat. Nothing, and i mean not even two hours on a heavy bag, a hundred situps, pushups, etc., nothing makes it stop. The level of frustration and anger becomes all-consuming. The fun is over, but no one tells your brain. Then you start banging your head into a wall, hitting things, anything to distract your brain and make it stop, even for a second. Nurses and others try to help, but you can't focus enough to hear or process what they are saying. It takes a lot of people to hold you still while meds are injected into your butt. This makes you feel more like the hulk until they finally kick in and you get some sleep. The meds start working again within days of restarting, but the damage takes longer to fix. They have to hit therapeutic levels. And that takes more time that the mania took to rob you of yourself.
I was watching him the day after the head banging hell day. It wasn't a lot better. Good news was that he needed to be away from noise and commotion. He couldn't tolerate it. Neither could i with the drill in my head. So, this proved to be a good thing. Except for the inability to think, which continued to suck. For both of us.
After punching and kicking the bag and then listening to relaxing music and reading, he announced he was bored and couldn't sleep. Very Bad News. The next hour consisted of me staying calm while praying he did not get out of control by following his impulses. The following chronicle may seem funny. Imagine being stuck in his skin during it. Or trying to endure a drill in your brain while staying absolutely focused on keeping him calm during it.
Reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (the second book, he is quick to point out) on his bed is interrupted so he can walk to the window, pretend to shoot things, talk into a walkie and dodge bullets. He seems to get hit a couple of times. He belches loudly and laughs. "Must be your superpower," i joke. He then pretends that walls are exploding before him as he lays waste to his universe with his mighty power. Back to the book. Up for a minute to pull a paper out of the trash to look at it and put it back. Jump onto bed. "Do not jump on that bed, please." He considers it. It has no springs. He gets down. Back to reading. "My head hurts." It should, he banged it hard enough yesterday. Off to ask about a cold cloth and get some water. Back to reading. Take cloth off head and start sucking the water out. Run around room doing this pretending to be a dog. "Please try to sit down a little. I know it is hard." He pronounces the cloth drained of fluid and grabs a box of tissues from the chairless desk bolted to the floor next to his bolted down bed. He decides to chew them up and spit them into his paper bag garbage. "They taste good." I try not to react. Less stimulation and adulation is best, but this is not good. He is shaking again. I worry he will escalate to the point he loses control. I wish i could get his nurse to bring him something to make it stop. He starts to act out routines from Jeff Dunham. I can't help it. I join in. We Jef-fah-fah for a bit and talk about his funny bits. My head is killing me. I check my watch and tell him that everyone on second shift leaves in 10 minutes. He has to try to sleep. He gets up and gets more water for him and his washcloth. He lays on his bed, face down, head at the foot of his bed, staring at the floor. He actually yawns. I promise to tell his nurse he can't sleep. He looks so exhausted. My relief comes down and i am off to the nurses station. So ends my night.
Back to productivity. He only has to be watched while awake. There is no staff for nights scheduled to watch him. The model says that he should be asleep. He is awake. The schedule is not designed for humans, only for numbers and productivity rates. It looks like there will be no staff for the other 13 kids tonight unless a miracle happens. Hospitals are not businesses, especially when the mentally ill are involved.
Let me stop a bit and explain how unfun that is. Imagine feeling euphoric and like you can take on the whole world. Everything is funny. Every neuron in your brain is on overdrive. You are brilliant. You are godlike. For like a day or three. Then it gets even better. You can't sleep, you can't stop jumping from one shiny thought to another. You shake and sweat. Nothing, and i mean not even two hours on a heavy bag, a hundred situps, pushups, etc., nothing makes it stop. The level of frustration and anger becomes all-consuming. The fun is over, but no one tells your brain. Then you start banging your head into a wall, hitting things, anything to distract your brain and make it stop, even for a second. Nurses and others try to help, but you can't focus enough to hear or process what they are saying. It takes a lot of people to hold you still while meds are injected into your butt. This makes you feel more like the hulk until they finally kick in and you get some sleep. The meds start working again within days of restarting, but the damage takes longer to fix. They have to hit therapeutic levels. And that takes more time that the mania took to rob you of yourself.
I was watching him the day after the head banging hell day. It wasn't a lot better. Good news was that he needed to be away from noise and commotion. He couldn't tolerate it. Neither could i with the drill in my head. So, this proved to be a good thing. Except for the inability to think, which continued to suck. For both of us.
After punching and kicking the bag and then listening to relaxing music and reading, he announced he was bored and couldn't sleep. Very Bad News. The next hour consisted of me staying calm while praying he did not get out of control by following his impulses. The following chronicle may seem funny. Imagine being stuck in his skin during it. Or trying to endure a drill in your brain while staying absolutely focused on keeping him calm during it.
Reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (the second book, he is quick to point out) on his bed is interrupted so he can walk to the window, pretend to shoot things, talk into a walkie and dodge bullets. He seems to get hit a couple of times. He belches loudly and laughs. "Must be your superpower," i joke. He then pretends that walls are exploding before him as he lays waste to his universe with his mighty power. Back to the book. Up for a minute to pull a paper out of the trash to look at it and put it back. Jump onto bed. "Do not jump on that bed, please." He considers it. It has no springs. He gets down. Back to reading. "My head hurts." It should, he banged it hard enough yesterday. Off to ask about a cold cloth and get some water. Back to reading. Take cloth off head and start sucking the water out. Run around room doing this pretending to be a dog. "Please try to sit down a little. I know it is hard." He pronounces the cloth drained of fluid and grabs a box of tissues from the chairless desk bolted to the floor next to his bolted down bed. He decides to chew them up and spit them into his paper bag garbage. "They taste good." I try not to react. Less stimulation and adulation is best, but this is not good. He is shaking again. I worry he will escalate to the point he loses control. I wish i could get his nurse to bring him something to make it stop. He starts to act out routines from Jeff Dunham. I can't help it. I join in. We Jef-fah-fah for a bit and talk about his funny bits. My head is killing me. I check my watch and tell him that everyone on second shift leaves in 10 minutes. He has to try to sleep. He gets up and gets more water for him and his washcloth. He lays on his bed, face down, head at the foot of his bed, staring at the floor. He actually yawns. I promise to tell his nurse he can't sleep. He looks so exhausted. My relief comes down and i am off to the nurses station. So ends my night.
Back to productivity. He only has to be watched while awake. There is no staff for nights scheduled to watch him. The model says that he should be asleep. He is awake. The schedule is not designed for humans, only for numbers and productivity rates. It looks like there will be no staff for the other 13 kids tonight unless a miracle happens. Hospitals are not businesses, especially when the mentally ill are involved.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Of Cuckoos and Men
Here we go again. March 18th. Two days to spring and snow coming tonight.
True confessions: I have worked in the mental health system since 1987 and today is my first viewing of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I tend to avoid movies that are related to psych because they tend to either piss me off or depress me. For me it is like the computer engineers at RPI with whom I watched Tron when it came out. They spent the whole time critiquing the code and impossibility of the premise. Watching James Bond and Star Trek with engineering students was also an experience. These movies are like that for me.
But i am already in a mood, so why not.
The ovarian area pain started over the weekend, just reminding me more about the upcoming tests and the impressively abnormal test results i just got back. Needed the lortab to sleep Friday. It's not as bad now, but it is still there. My husband thinks i am too stupid and stubborn to call the doctor. I am not. I just know that, unless i am doubling over and vomiting, there is nothing they are going to do except give me pain killers until the tests next week. Women don't get treated like guys for anything less than bleeding from orifices not meant to bleed. Seriously. It sucks, but there it is. We report symptoms that would drop a man and we are given something to placate us and made to wait forever for treatment and tests. Until the threshold of "holy crap" is crossed. At least in urgent care and emergent care settings.
On a totally other note, last night at work we were short staffed again as always. From the personal care/laundry room radio comes "Crazy Train." I am speed walking trying to catch up while doing an airplane impression around a corner (so i look friendlier and stay on the humor side of pissed off). The patient on the phone sees me, i say "good song" and he says "that's why I'm here." Still riding the rail on two wheels so far... But there are moments. Especially with a mixed bag of folks with mental illness, addictions, antisocial and other personality disorders, and the developmentally disabled. We are the only hospital around that takes all of those anywhere around here, so we get everybody's rejects. To be a reject from the island of misfit toys is a whole other level of sad. Psychotic and MR is sad, violent and tricky to manage in the milieu... But then we have the fun moments. Because before and above all else, they are / we are all human beings.
True confessions: I have worked in the mental health system since 1987 and today is my first viewing of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I tend to avoid movies that are related to psych because they tend to either piss me off or depress me. For me it is like the computer engineers at RPI with whom I watched Tron when it came out. They spent the whole time critiquing the code and impossibility of the premise. Watching James Bond and Star Trek with engineering students was also an experience. These movies are like that for me.
But i am already in a mood, so why not.
The ovarian area pain started over the weekend, just reminding me more about the upcoming tests and the impressively abnormal test results i just got back. Needed the lortab to sleep Friday. It's not as bad now, but it is still there. My husband thinks i am too stupid and stubborn to call the doctor. I am not. I just know that, unless i am doubling over and vomiting, there is nothing they are going to do except give me pain killers until the tests next week. Women don't get treated like guys for anything less than bleeding from orifices not meant to bleed. Seriously. It sucks, but there it is. We report symptoms that would drop a man and we are given something to placate us and made to wait forever for treatment and tests. Until the threshold of "holy crap" is crossed. At least in urgent care and emergent care settings.
On a totally other note, last night at work we were short staffed again as always. From the personal care/laundry room radio comes "Crazy Train." I am speed walking trying to catch up while doing an airplane impression around a corner (so i look friendlier and stay on the humor side of pissed off). The patient on the phone sees me, i say "good song" and he says "that's why I'm here." Still riding the rail on two wheels so far... But there are moments. Especially with a mixed bag of folks with mental illness, addictions, antisocial and other personality disorders, and the developmentally disabled. We are the only hospital around that takes all of those anywhere around here, so we get everybody's rejects. To be a reject from the island of misfit toys is a whole other level of sad. Psychotic and MR is sad, violent and tricky to manage in the milieu... But then we have the fun moments. Because before and above all else, they are / we are all human beings.
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Things that worry doctors
Here i am again fresh off my annual bottle brush exam with the gynecologist. These are always a bit harrowing, as i have had HPV since before i was even sexually active (no idea) and have uterine fibroids, ovarian cysts and scary family history of relatives dying of various rare forms of ultra aggressive uterine cancer and such.
This time my doc actually looks scared and wants to do biopsies as soon as possible without even waiting for PAP results. Something about a heavy 3 week period 8 months into menopause (at 47 - was just getting happy that phase was over and the hot flashes were gone) is Very Bad News. Unfortunately, the soonest is 3 weeks out and two weeks further away than she wanted. My guess is that the cyst triggered something on my ovary that kicked my menses back in. My fear is that it was twice as large during my kidney stone ultrasound than my "what's on my ovary" one a year earlier and that may not be a good thing. A friend of mine just died of cancer last Friday after beating it once. Breast cancer. That crap never dies. It goes someplace for a while and then comes back, hits your brain and kills your ass. Happened to my friend Karen Fonstadt and others and now to Kathleen Elbrecht. Geeky extra credit if you know who Karen is.
In the past 4 months: kidney stone (unconfirmed by imaging, but all else ruled out), bronchitis, pneumonia, ear infection and hit in the head by a patient. Plus 2 coworkers dead. Plus... And i only missed 2 days of work total. But now it's starting to get to me. This is going to be a long 3 week + wait.
Monday, March 04, 2013
One more time and another Presidential email
Got the call from the scheduler of fun that we are on for another week or so with our little old lady. Two more nights chasing a 90 year old with a walker and history of falling and heart problems to the bathroom every time the lasix kicks in. The money is good, but sleeping in her old bed (too high, she can't get into it) while she sleeps in the low twin bed in one of her kids' old rooms is weird. Being stared at by zombie jesus on a cross is also weird. Catholics can freak me out like that.
I have a point i think. The house is odd, which is good because i have finally figured out the secondary setting for the book i've been playing with for quite a while. Not my fault. I get in about 80 pages and then think it sucks. Keep it, but start in another direction. Still working it out. Anyway, this will help out. Possibly.
I hate working 40 hours a week. Doing 60 is just about killing me, but welcome to the new economy. I got this email asking if i had seen the state of the union and wanting my opinion. I was working. I am treading water. I am pissed off. And i think that Washington DC may need to be swallowed by a sink hole to fix anything. Stupid Presidential emails.
Tired and rambling means signing off until i wake back up.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Email from the President
So, feeling as i did in the post "mentally ill are dangerous felons who should never have guns" or things that are sharp or make fire, i suppose, era, i wrote the president. And others. Just cuz i disagree with the broad reaching implications of the use of a term that includes things like seasonal affective disorder.
Granted, SAD people with guns could turn out to be sad, but still, i think that the whole thing got too ridiculous and preachingly malicious rather quickly. Let's just throw an issue out there that is good for sound bites and reduces everything into bite-size morsels even idiots like the american public can understand. Because they really do think and hope we are all idiots. And that we believe everything they tell us. (pause while i recompose my thoughts post hysterical laughter)
Ok, so here we are in the 21st century. We can't blame things on witches because Harry Potter fans are a large demographic. Demons are out because, well, Pat Robertson already probably covered that base anyway. Mythical creatures are out because Twilight fans would revolt. A dead mother who didn't have the brains to keep her guns locked up and away from a son the rest of the family feared just doesn't sound right and would piss somebody else off.
So, let's blame the son. Better yet, let's generalize the hell out of the situation and say it was all the fault of the mentally ill in general. Fixing the system and getting the medical and insurance industries to actually work harder on ways to better treat these red-headed step children of the devil would be too hard, so let's just discriminate against the whole lot.
So, no one with a diagnosis gets guns. That will fix it. (another pause)
No one who has ever had a traumatic experience, experienced loss, been abused or is afraid of spiders should have access to guns. Ok, maybe the spider thing because shoes are more effective anyway, but, really??
Define your terms and think about the ramifications of the dumbed down crap that is being spewed.
The patients i see are horribly neglected by the health care system as it is and can't afford to not live in very dangerous places. Some of them should be nowhere near weapons (although even they seem to get drivers licenses).
However, the average person dealing with depression or other less "psychotic" diagnoses are still fully able to work, drive, have families and lead productive normal lives. And some of them hunt and fish for food. Some target shoot. Some hold high public offices.
Be very careful in your generalizations.
Anyway, the president did respond in a form letter kind of way (no doubt written and sent by some poor intern trying to make him look good) sending me to their pages on mental health policy.
Which missed the point entirely.
Surprise...
Granted, SAD people with guns could turn out to be sad, but still, i think that the whole thing got too ridiculous and preachingly malicious rather quickly. Let's just throw an issue out there that is good for sound bites and reduces everything into bite-size morsels even idiots like the american public can understand. Because they really do think and hope we are all idiots. And that we believe everything they tell us. (pause while i recompose my thoughts post hysterical laughter)
Ok, so here we are in the 21st century. We can't blame things on witches because Harry Potter fans are a large demographic. Demons are out because, well, Pat Robertson already probably covered that base anyway. Mythical creatures are out because Twilight fans would revolt. A dead mother who didn't have the brains to keep her guns locked up and away from a son the rest of the family feared just doesn't sound right and would piss somebody else off.
So, let's blame the son. Better yet, let's generalize the hell out of the situation and say it was all the fault of the mentally ill in general. Fixing the system and getting the medical and insurance industries to actually work harder on ways to better treat these red-headed step children of the devil would be too hard, so let's just discriminate against the whole lot.
So, no one with a diagnosis gets guns. That will fix it. (another pause)
No one who has ever had a traumatic experience, experienced loss, been abused or is afraid of spiders should have access to guns. Ok, maybe the spider thing because shoes are more effective anyway, but, really??
Define your terms and think about the ramifications of the dumbed down crap that is being spewed.
The patients i see are horribly neglected by the health care system as it is and can't afford to not live in very dangerous places. Some of them should be nowhere near weapons (although even they seem to get drivers licenses).
However, the average person dealing with depression or other less "psychotic" diagnoses are still fully able to work, drive, have families and lead productive normal lives. And some of them hunt and fish for food. Some target shoot. Some hold high public offices.
Be very careful in your generalizations.
Anyway, the president did respond in a form letter kind of way (no doubt written and sent by some poor intern trying to make him look good) sending me to their pages on mental health policy.
Which missed the point entirely.
Surprise...
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