It's Official!

June 19, 2010's the wedding date. We signed the paperwork for Stoudt's last night. Yay!

Also, I've seen so many wedding dresses and cakes online, my head is going to explode, and I still have 23 months till the wedding.

(Thanks mom.)

I've seen 5 that really made me say "Dang, that's cute." Of those, 2 are way, way, Waaaaaay out of the price range I wanted to spend. 1 is only available at a bridal shop rather a drive from here (and probably not available to try in anything resembling my size) and 2 are online only, but designed specifically for people who are not size 2.

On the upside, I pretty much completely have the wedding theme down cold, along with decor, favors, and centerpieces. So that's promising. (Garden/roses.)

whee.

Now, a story from work. I wish I could take credit for this, but it's really P's story. I hope I do it justice. As you know, P is a phlebotomist, and occasionally works in the emergency room. Well, over the weekend, he was down there, and the majority of the trauma calls were for idiots on motorcycles. Naturally, they were helmetless idiots. One guy, of Latin persuasion wasn't too badly banged up, but he was admitted as a trauma. P draws his blood (getting a blood alcohol, as they usually do in these cases) and later on comes back in to get a few other samples, as a cop comes in. P verifies, but doesn't keep the patient's name in the forefront of his brain as the cop starts conversing with the patient..
"So, how fast were you going?"
"Oh, about 20, 25?"
"NO WAY, Jose!" the cop laughs, "And not only that, but you're not going to believe what else you're getting busted for." And as the cop reads the arrest warrant or what have you, it turns out, the dude's name really IS Jose, and he was getting charged with riding without a license, riding without a helmet*, riding under the influence, speeding, failure to yield (or something like it)and something else. The cop ended his litany with, "Oh, and 'Happy birthday!'"

This cop is officially my most favorite cop EVER.


*You can ride without a helmet, but not till you've had your license for a year. Once you've had it for a year nobody cares if you've scrambled your brain...

It Must Have Been Something I Ate

No, I'm not sick. I'm thinking about heading all my food posts with that. Just for fun. We'll see if it turns into something...

Tonight's dinner was hastily thrown together, because the farmstand where I'd been hoping to pick up some 75 cent eggplants was sold out (drat!) so the Middleastern Chickpea platter from Eating Well magazine is on hold for a few days. Instead, I bring you Improv Pasta.

4 small tomatoes, medium dice, keep all those yummy juices
1 green pepper, small dice
1 medium onion, small dice
about 3 T olive oil, divided
about 1/2 cup feta cheese, divided
about 2 T balsamic vinegar
juice of 1/2 lemon
salt/pepper to taste
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
8 oz spiral or shell pasta (whole wheat is tasty)

Cook pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, saute the pepper and onion together in about 1T of oil until soft and light brown. Place tomatoes in a large bowl, add cooked peppers and onions, appx 2T olive oil, vinegar, lemon juice, garlic, salt, pepper, and about 1/4 cup feta. Stir to combine. When pasta is done, drain and rinse in cool water to bring the temp down slightly (this is OK hot, but better room temp). Toss with the tomato/pepper mix, adjust seasonings, and serve topped with remaining feta. Yum.

If you wanted to, you could toss in some cubed cooked chicken too, and go full-bore main dish. As it is, this would easily serve 4 people (2 if they were really, really hungry.)

So. Yeah.

The good, the bad, the ugly.

The good: my last scheduled ass-wiping shift is Thursday. I can pick up additional ones if I feel like it, but I'm typing from here on. Yay me.

The bad: P seriously screwed up his back on the coasters at Hershey. As in "couldn't finish his shift yesterday night, called in sick today, barely could walk" kind of screwed up. Yeowch.

The ugly: Yesterday was one of those days that make me glad I only work 3-4 days a week, because I needed today off.

We coded a patient twice, they died. Family freaked. (Patient was extremely ill, extremely old, and family just never considered the possibility that might happen.) During codes (one announced overhead, one not announced, since everyone necessary was still there and we run our own codes) everyone and their uncle wanted to bring us transfers etc. Especially people from dialysis and the med surg floors. I don't get it.

Like... "Hi. We have a patient coding. Y'know, how WE send a team to do shit for YOU when your patients code? Well, OUR nurses do that for OUR patients, so, the one you want right now is a little busy. No, I don't know when the nurse will be done. Either when the doc decides the patient's still dead, or their heart's beating again. Call the sup if you want, or I can just hand her the phone, since she's right here, y'know... at the CODE."

The night kind of went downhill after that. Though the supervisors were pretty kind for the most part- moved 2 of the admits we were supposed to get immediately after that to other floors so we had some time to catch our breath. Ended up intubating someone else, called in a zillion and 8 consults, or at least enough that the woman from the medical bureau can spell my first name now- which is impressive, since some people I've worked with for over a year still can't even pronounce it correctly.

On a happier note, I've got some happy Hiaasen books to read. I just finished Strip Tease, and am working through Nature Girl. I've got 2 more goodies from the used book store to check out. I'm hoping they'll get me through till my birthday, and all the reading material that will entail. By the time that runs out, school will start, and I'll have to devote myself to more scholarly pursuits again. Whee.

Randomly Cranky

Dear Hersheypark,

When one is waiting in line for an absurdly long time for ride that takes less than a minute to complete, one doesn't need outside entertainment. One has ones linemates to gawk at, mock, and speculate upon in order to pass the time. One certainly does not need acapella singers. In fact. I would go so far as to say that acapella singers are at the bottom of the list, right there with a "scorching case of herpes", "uncontrollable bleeding from the bowels", and "a screaming toddler kicking you in the kneecaps" as the least welcome things one wishes to have while waiting in a line forever in 900 billion degree heat.

Also: There are perfectly acceptable jobs out there that don't require you to get up and sing acapella versions of "All Star" in front of people who actively hate your guts. I hear these guys may be hiring.

Dear Stupid School Health Coordinator:
A. Why do you care if my crotch is healthy for me to perform my clinical duties as a student? Eyes I get. Overall "two arms, two legs" I get. Teeth are a stretch, but I get. Crotch? Not so much.
B. Why do you require a "10 panel tox screen" for those of us who you screwed out of getting our drug test done at school when the major provider of outpatient testing (i.e. the giganto-mega-hospital which our school is affiliated with) DOES NOT PROVIDE THE TEST YOU WANT?
C. How do you get a job as a school health coordinator when you can't read a calendar and can't dial a phone? I think those would be pretty important job skills. Lord knows I need to have those basic job skills, and I don't have any fancy-ass letters after my name.

PS- I hate you lots.

Shout out to the makers of Emergen-C. I'm not sure if it's the extra hydration, or the B vitamins, but I've noticed that I really don't want to spend the hours between 0830-2330 napping, and 2330-0830 sleeping... This is kind of nice, for a change.

Note to self.

Even if you spent 17.00 on tickets to the employee picnic at the local amusement park, do not go when the heat index is supposed to be nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Just write off the 17.00, save the 10.00 parking fee, and just stay home with popsicles, iced tea, and air conditioning.

We decided to go to the picnic this year, despite the overwhelming heat. We are also, apparently, fucking morons. We lasted about 4 hours, got our "free" lunch, rode 4 rides (including the new coaster, which was pretty bitchin', all told), and around 5:00 the conversation went something like this:
"Where do you want to go next?"
"I don't know, where do you want to go?"
"Well. We could sit here in the shade for a few more minutes."
"Yeah."
"There is that roller coaster over there that looks interesting."
"yeah. as long as it doesn't go backwards*"
"Or we could just go home."
"Really?!"
"Really."
"Can we turn the air conditioning on and drive really fast over the speed bumps? That'd be pretty thrilling."

Yeah. Sweetest place on earth my ass. Sweatiest, maybe.
*in my dotage I've discovered I can't do lateral motion or backwards rides anymore without getting sick. Go figure.

People Never Cease to Amuse Me.

And by amuse, I mean "make me want to beat my head against something hard till I lose consciousness and/or die."

If you're at your doctor's office, and they tell you that your blood glucose is over 1,000 (yes, one thousand)* and you have another blood chemistry level that, if left untreated through the evening would very well lead to your imminent demise (yes, "impending DEATH" underlined twice "if not treated tonight" was written on the orders). would you:
a) rush right over to the hospital, which is approximately 2 blocks away
b) refuse immediate treatment, but arrange a direct admission for a scheduled time that afternoon.
c) refuse immediate treatment, accept direct admission, yet show up two hours late for your admission.

If you answered C. You'd be our idiot patient. Five bucks said they went to dairy queen on the way over.

Also; if you're a patient in "double secret isolation" (contact and droplet precautions- meaning I have to gown up and put a mask on just to see you), and you ring your bell like you're Anita Ward we are going to have issues. Especially if my closing remarks to you have been:
"Is your bed OK? Is the head of the bed OK? Is the foot of the bed OK? Do you feel as if you've been adequately suctioned? You did your own oral care, so that is OK, yes? Is the fan ok? No? How about now? (2 degrees to the left. now back 2 degrees to the right, original position for the observant...) OK now? Perfect? Great! OK, You are done with the bedpan, and everything is comfortable, is there anything at all that I can do for you before I leave this room and go see my other patients? Nothing? Nothing at all? OK- I am going to go see my other patients now." (She's trached, so she doesn't talk, just gesticulates...) She insists she's fine.

I degown, deglove, wash up, unmask, get out of the room, and not more than two minutes later, that effin' bell rings.

I stick my head in. She's nauseous. She wants he anxiety meds. She forgets what she wants. She wants my soul. She wants the fan moved. Sometimes, if it's been less than five minutes, I admit, I turn off the bell without going in. Because if I don't, I'll throttle her. Or shove a marshmallow peep into her stoma. "I have no idea how it got in there, mister Respiratory Therapist. Maybe she was celebrating easter and missed her mouth?" Luckily we did have one weapon against marshmallows... the power of versed. God bless the doctor that prescribed that beautiful stuff.

I'm typing, not wiping tonight, and more often, actually- so I will have fewer fun stories I think. Then again, clinicals start soon, so who knows.


*Normal is between 80-100

This Week.

Lesson One: the people at Giant want you to die. This is why they close their pharmacy at 4:00 on a Sunday, ostensibly so that the pharmacist can "go home to be with his family." I call BS. Pharmacists don't have families. They're bitter, miserable alcoholics. They close at 4 so people like me can't get pseudoephedrine containing drugs at 6:00 on a Sunday afternoon, because the only thing they found at mom's was a packageless strip of sudafed with an expiration of 2/06.

(I should explain: I've been sick since Tuesday. Upper respiratory infection with flat-on-my-ass exhaustion. I went to my mom's Sunday to lay on a different couch for a day, one with television. Also, I had taken the last of my own stash of decongestants and was hoping to find some at her house. I didn't think they'd have expired when I still lived there.)

When you are shopping for cold medicine and pass by the one with something to control coughs because "I'm not coughing." Guess what. You're going to get home, flop onto the couch, and immediately begin barking like a freaking seal. Also "Oooh, benadryl makes cold medicine! They always manage to knock me out!" isn't a good enough reason to buy it. Because it will knock you out at 7 when you take it, but not at 11 when you actually attempt to take it again to go to bed. Assholes.

When your left eyeball threatens to leave your head, your sinuses are full of magma, and you really want to simply die, Mucinex D is your best friend, and if the stupid pharmacy at Giant is closed, and you can't buy any there, march your butt down to Walgreens and buy some where the pharmacy is NEVER CLOSED. They care about you at Walgreens. They want you to live.

Side note to the flamboyant guy who was ringing me out at Giant. If you'd spend less time talking to the guy 5 registers over about how many people you've gotten fired because "you didn't like them" and more time looking at my crap as you rang me out, you wouldn't jack up a simple debit transaction, and then I wouldn't have to beat you to death the next time I see you in a dark parking lot. Trust me, I don't think your "High School Musical-Fu" will be any match for my "Snot Ball-Fu." Right now I don't like you. Think I can get you fired?

The good news is I'm feeling well enough to snark, so that's looking up. For a while I was too sick to even read. (I'll let that sink in for a moment.) Luckily, P brought soup, Boondocks on DVD and some Family Guy to pick up the slack where my own meager DVD collection and Netflix left off. Today I think it's laundry day and we'll see what happens. Yay.