Across the river in Cincinnati, they found the dead body of a woman in a ditch a couple of weeks ago. She had no identification on her. After doing an autopsy however authorities determined that she was a nurse. How did they know that?
Her bladder was full, her stomach was empty and her ass had been chewed off.
I've been all over the place for the last week. Cleaning, painting, organizing, shopping, dreaming, studying, and a whole lot of scrapbooking. I kept hearing the song YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL by James Blunt on the radio. Tonight I googled him and found the video for this song. It's a haunting song, he has a very different voice (I like different), anyway, go here James Blunt - You're Beautiful video - Music videos - Music - Virgin.net and watch this video. Let me know what YOU think of it. Hey, Judi, whattaya want to bet this guy is a Virgo?
I usually like it when I'm getting report at the beginning of a shift and the day shift nurse tells me how patient so and so is mean or crabby or hard to get along with. Yes, you read that right, I like it. I take it as a challenge. I make up my mind right then that I'm going to charm the socks off of that particular patient. Somehow it is just fun for me. I know, I'm weird! It's a rare thing when I can't pull it off. Not that I'm so lovable, I just go way out of my way to bring them around. I jump through hoops if necessary and love every minute of it. Maybe it's some deep seated need for approval that I have or something, I don't know, but I really enjoy it. So, yesterday while getting report on a patient and hearing what a nasty guy he was I was anxious to get at him. He was in the cath lab for an angiogram as I was getting report. I was told how nothing suited him, that he was screaming for Morphine every 20 minutes and that he had the night shift nurse in tears the night before. I wasn't worried, not in the least. I began my rounds waiting for the cath lab to call me report on Mr. S. About 30 minutes later Jerry from the cath lab called. Mr. S. had had open heart surgery in July of this past year. He was back in the hospital in December complaing of chest pain. That had cath'd him then and his grafts were all good and no new areas of ischemia had been found. He is known to like his morphine. Heck, most of our patients like their morphine and it's not unusual for people to come in complaining of chest pain because they've made a life out of the pursuit of narcotics and have learned that chest pain is their best bet for getting them. Jerry informed me that the cardiologist had indeed found some new blockage in Mr. S's LAD. He would be going for angioplasty in the morning. Jerry is the nicest guy in the world. When he offered his sympathies that I would be the nurse getting Mr. S. I had a moment of pause. Wow, this Mr. S. must really be something if even Jerry thinks he's a tough customer. I would soon find out what I was made of. Mr. S. hit our unit and the hell began. They use the femoral artery in the right groin for angiograms. It's very important for the patient to lie flat for 2 to 6 hours(depending on which method they've used to seal the artery) after the sheath has been pulled to allow the artery to repair itself and not hemorrhage. They are not allowed to lift their headsoff the pillow or bend the affected leg. We monitor them very closely for the first hour. Mr. S. was immediately lying on his side and pulling his knee to his chest. I was scared to death that he was going to bleed. I used every ounce of kindness and charm in my body to get him to cooperate with me. He wasn't buying what I was selling! A very important fact here is that the only IV access they were able to get in him was a small 22 gauge IV in his left thumb. This is NOT good. He came back from the cath lab with Normal Saline running at 100 ml/hr. The cardiologist had written for me to start Heparin(anticoagulant) and Integrelin (anticoagulant) drips. Oh great, I had one little IV site. This guy had zilch for veins. I tried several times to get another line in him and had others try too. No dice. I finally figured out a way to piggyback the three bags of fluid and all was well. For an hour all was well. When an IV is occluded, it beeps. His pumps beeped all night. if he moved his hand the tiniest bit, the fluids wouldn't run in. It was driving me crazy. Add to this the fact that he wanted morphine every 20 minutes. He didn't use his call light. He screamed at the top of his lungs, "NURSE!" "NURSE!" I would walk into his room and remind him that he'd just gotten morphine and couldn't have it again for an hour and a half. He called me a liar. Swore and be damned that I had NOT given him any morphine. Then he would promptly fall into a morphine induced stupor for 20 minutes until the beeping IV would wake him up and he would once again bellow "NURSE". In between all of this fun stuff he would say he had to pee. I won't go into the fun I had helping him go in the urinal. Some things are just better left to the imagination! Then, he wanted me to put his TV on channel 31. So, I did. "NO you idiot, that's not what's on channel 31 at my house", he yelled at me. "OK", I said, "What's on channel 31 at your house?" "I don't know the name of the station! You're stupid! Give me back the remote control." It was about this time that I decided in my warped mind that what this guy really needed was a pillow treatment! Keep in mind that I had four other patients to take care of and was getting an ER admit. Out of the 9 hours I was at work I was in his room for at least 6 1/2 of those hours. At 10:00 I heard his familiar bellow "NURSE I NEED YOU". I walked into his room tofind him sitting on the side of his bed with blood all over him and the floor and his gown up around his waist. He had pulled that precious IV out of his thumb and was asking me if I could "straighten it out a little bit". I am ashamed to tell you that at that moment, my eyes filled up with tears. I just wanted to sit down and cry like a baby. I yelled for help and the cleaning up commenced. I tried again to get IV access. No go. Two other nurses tried to no avail. I called for the house doctor to come up and try. I should have known better! In walks this young kid! I explained the situation with this patient and that he was on Heparin and Integrelin and was going for plasty in the AM. I told him how many attempts we'd made to get a line in and he says to me, 'If you nurses can't get it, I won't be able to." I am so not a violent person. I wanted to hit him. He asked me if we'd tried his legs. "No, I haven't tried his legs. We can't put one in his legs without a doctor's order." So he says, "well, now you have a doctor's order." Usually at this point the doctor asks for the IV equipment and HE puts the IV in the leg. Not this joker. He stands there looking at me. By this time the room is full of nurses, all of them just standing there watching. At the end of my rope I grabbed the IV catheter and threaded it into a vein in his leg. All I can say is that God must have been finished testing me for the day, because that catheter slid into that vein slicker than snot. I got great blood return and the world turned right side up. And do you know what that doctor said to me? "Thanks for getting that." The big wuss! We all agreed later that he was afraid to try it and miss with all of the nurses standing there watching. By this time it was 11:00 and the third shift was coming on to relieve us. I have never in my life been so ready to get out of Dodge. As I was leaving I told the charge nurse that if she gave me this guy on Friday night I would quit. She laughed, she thought I was kidding. So, ok, I've met my match. This guy can't be charmed.
Immediately after posting the above one of the night shift nurses popped up on my buddy list. I asked her if Jeannie had any more trouble out of Mr. S. after I left. Guess what he did? Yep, he pulled out his IV at 4 am. You'd think the guy would realize that he can't get IV morphine without an IV!
I've been reading Dr Phil's book SELF MATTERS. I think I always suspected that I wasn't living through my authentic self, ok I know that I haven't been. But when you take those tests in there and realize how far off the mark you truly are, well, it's quite disheartening.
I've made a couple of New Year's resolutions. Same ones I make every year. First on the list is to not procrastinate. As is par for me, it's now the 18th of January and I haven't gotten there yet. You guessed it, I've been putting it off. But, anyway, I've decided that for me to be able to make the changes I want and need to make in my life, I first need to get in touch with my "authentic self". So, Dr. Phil and I are on a mission. Authentic self, here I come.
One of the things I've leaned so far is how we allow family and friends to tell us who we are rather than really being who we are. It's starts when we're children, and then the layers just keep piling up. I'm under here somewhere. I plan to peel off these layers and layers of life and circumstances and find out just who the heck that girl is under all of the BS and expectations. I suspect that this is not going to be a particularly pleasant adventure. It's like looking into a mirror and resisting the urge to close your eyes. But, I'm going to look. I'm going to be totally honest with myself. I'm going to define who I am for myself. Come hell or high water I am going to find the me I'm intended to be and I'm going to make friends with her.
How do you like my little mud monster? After he did his homework after school yesterday (did you have any idea they taught "carrying" in first grade math? I sure didn't) Austin asked if he could play outside. "Sure", I said. Out he ran with all the enthusiasm that first graders have. About 15 minutes later he comes back and yells in to me from the front door, "Mommy, I might get a little muddy out here". (We've had a lot of rain lately) "That's OK", I say, the way mothers do when they don't use the good sense God gave them. An hour later as I was fixin' supper I hear this little knock on the garage door (it's in the kitchen). I opened the door expecting to see my neighbor. Imagine my surprise when this mud sculpture greets my eyes, saying, "I told you I might get a little muddy". A little muddy? A LITTLE MUDDY? This child had mud in his pockets! His shoes were totally saturated with mud. He coat was heavy and dripping with mud. And his pants, well his pants were unrecognizable (they were camouflage print)! Now, the Mommy I used to be to the first litter would have thrown a fit. The old broken in Mommy that I am now laughed at him and grabbed the camera. (it's more fun being a broken in Mommy!) The hard part was to get Mr. Modest to strip down completely right there in the kitchen. It was war, but I won. No way was he walking through the house to the shower with the amount of mud that was dripping off of him. While he was in the shower, I was in the basement laundry room rinsing and squeezing enough mud out of his clothes and shoes to host a mud wrestling contest. I went up to check on the progress of his shower and had another laugh. I asked him as I walked into the bathroom if he was clean yet. He assured me he was. "Did you wash your hair good?" He assured me he had. "Did you wash your body good?" He assured me he had. "Are you ready to get out?" He informed me he was. So, I grabbed the towel and pulled the shower curtain back ready to receive my clean little guy. His face was still muddy! How in the world could he wash his hair and everything else on his body and still have his face look exactly the same as it had when he walked in the door? I would have taken a picture of that, but Mr. Modest wouldn't hear of it. I washed his coat and shoes and clothes (Using lots of Oxy-clean spray). He went out after school again today. I stressed over and over again that they were NOT to go mud diving. I can't stress enough here how much I stressed it! He assured me he wouldn't. He didn't. He didn't go mud diving. But he rode his bicycle through every bit of standing muddy water that he could find. Guess where his coat is right now? I love little boys. Even muddy little boys. Maybe even especially muddy little boys!
We own a wholesale/retail nursery and landscaping business. My husband and son designed and installed a landscaping package for a local McDonald's in 2004. Today, we got a phone call from the insurance company. It seems a man was walking along the sidewalk at said McDonalds and turned his head to talk to someone behind him and when he did that, he walked off the sidewalk into the landscaping bed and turned his ankle making him fall on the sidewalk and hit his head. Poor guy. I'm sure it hurt and I'm sure he was embarrassed. But please, pray tell, how in the world are we liable for that? He wants his medical bills paid and he's contacted our insurance company to have it done. I don't know if they will have to pay it or not, but does anyone else think that this is absolutely ridiculous? I look at it like this: It was his fault that he fell. He didn't trip on anything in the middle of the sidewalk. He fell because he turned his head to talk to someone behind him and walked into the landscaping bed. I think no one is liable but him. However, realizing that we live in a litigious society I'm not at all surprised that someone wants someone else to pay for it. BUT, if someone was going to be held responsible for it wouldn't you think it would be McDonalds? This job was finished over a year ago. How long are we liable? I'm just in shock.
I've had two days off and I've worked harder in those two days than I would have if I'd worked at the hospital. I'm doing a major cleaning and reorganizing. Namely the basement and my craft room. I'm a saver. I save everything. I know it's not very "Zen", but I just hate to part with things. I've been very proud of what I've been able to part with the last two days. I'd list some of them here, but if I did it would remind me of them and I might be forced to go out to the garbage and retrieve them. I can't wait to go back to work tomorrow.
We're huge Bengals fans. I don't mean just "jump on the band wagon when they're winning" fans, I mean sit and watch them lose game after game, season after season and still believe kind of fans. We've been waiting for a season like this years season for a long time. It's been a blast. My daughter Sarah's house has been BENGALS CENTRAL all season. I thought I was the biggest Bengals fan, but it turns out my son-in-law Bennie might truly have that honor. The guy just lives for Sundays. We made the playoffs this year thanks to Marvin Lewis, Carson Palmer, Chad Johnson and company. It's been a wild ride and a lot of fun. Sarah and Bennie went all out for today's game. Their living room was a sea of orange and black. Bengal paraphanalia was everwhere. Helium balloons of orange and black covered their cathedral ceilings. Streamers were everywhere; food and drink were in abundance. The stage was set for a barn burner game against our rivals the Pittsburgh Steelers. You cannot imagine the sadness that filled that room when Carson went down with a knee injury the second play of the game. Utter devastation. It was a sad day in Bengal Land. I guess it just wasn't meant to be this year. Can't wait for opening game next year.
In other news:
What do you do when you're so mad at someone and need to vent it and it doesn't feel safe to do it here? I have no anonymity here, obviously. I'm thinking I need to start another journal,a masked one, and just let it rip. Yep, I just convinced myself, that's exactly what I'm going to do.
I talked my kids into doing this picture for me. They ended up having a ball. Austin was taking direction like a pro as you can see. The photographer said, "You should take that kid to Hollywood, he's a natural!". I absolutely love this picture.
Dramatic change, yes?
The girl in yesterdays picture was dreaming about all the babies she was going to have (she wanted 10). The gal in this picture had three of those children (two of them grown) watching as this picture was taken. In fact, they were the ones that chose this pose. She wasn't just someone's Mommy, she was someone's mother-in-law.
I think one of the most disturbing things about being middle-aged (it hurts to even type that word), is the realization that time no longer seems limitless like it did at twenty. When I was twenty I had a lot of patience. I could always tell myself that "someday" I can do that , or get that, or go there. At 47, time is not the limitless resource it used to be. I feel an urgency suddenly. I don't like that feeling.
It's been very strange lately to catch a glimpse of myself while passing a mirror or store window and seeing my mother there instead of who I thought I was. I see it more and more every day. It always surprises me.
I've had several patients tell me that I looked like a certain country singer that I really like. I loved hearing that, it was good for my ego! About three months ago I walked into a patient's room that I'd been taking care of for several days. He said to me, "Melissa, my wife and I agree that you look just like Shirley McClain." I kind of chuckled and muttered something about no one ever telling me that before. I've felt 20 years older ever since!
I know that all of this sounds shallow and superficial. I hate that it bothers me. Life is precious and I'm grateful to have it. I'm not at death's door or disabled, Thank God. I still have a lot of life left to live and I intend to enjoy it. And I will, just as soon as I drape all the mirrors in my house and burn my copy of Steel Magnolias.
Since my printer and scanner are cooperating with my computer again, I've been going through pictures. I came across two pictures, that when compared, make me feel very old. The first was an old timey sepia tone picture taken on our honeymoon in 1978. I was as innocent as the day was long at one month shy of my 20th birthday (Gosh, what a baby I was!!!) Although I don't really like this picture of me, I'm struck by how filled out my face was (it's called youth!). What I wouldn't give to have that natural collagen back in some places! When we were in Tennessee this summer for our daughter's wedding we had a similar picture taken. That young girl is no longer evident in my face at all. Twenty seven years! Twenty seven years is written all over my face. I know that today's woman is supposed to embrace her age and that the lines on our faces are supposed to be worn as proudly as a gold medal. I'm sorry, I try, I honestly do, but I just can't get there. I want that young face back. I want that innocence back. I want the chance to redo a few things. I think I'd be braver, smarter, more independent given the chance to do it again. Maybe not, but I would hope that I would.
It's a moot point though, isn't it? I can't have those twenty seven years back. I can never be that face again. That girl again. There is a lot of that girl left inside of me. I've changed my view on a lot of things since then. I've tried on different ideas and kept some of them, I've gone back to some old ideas after trying to wrap my mind around some new ways of thinking about things. I've learned, I've grown. I've succeeded, I've failed, I've loved and lost, laughed and cried, hurt and been hurt. In short, I've lived my life. Twenty seven years of it. But I can still remember what that young girl in this picture was thinking. I know what her hopes and dreams were. I know what her greatest fears were. She's experienced a bit of both. She's reached out, she's retreated. She has tried her best to be the person she wanted to be on the day this picture was taken. She thought, I think, that she would always be this young, this innocent. Twenty seven years for her then might as well have been 227, so near-sighted was she. She had no way of knowing that it would go by at the speed of light. Wouldn't it be wonderful if our future self could talk to our present self. I've imagined what I would say to that girl. Not that it would have mattered. I know that girl, she wouldn't have heard a word.
Tomorrow....that girl, that face, 27 years older and maybe just a tad bit wiser, or not.
Yippee! My printer works, I can download from my camera again. Just to prove it, here is a picture of the crowned prince on Christmas morning. Can you tell he liked his TV. I have never allowed my children to have tv's in their rooms. What can I say? I'm old. I'm tired of watching the same old dvd's over and over again. So, he has his own tv (no regular tv reception though!!!), he also got his own DVD player and he can play his Playstation games in his own room now. Ahhh, I have my TV back.
Oh, and prepare to be viewing more Christmas pictures....I have a real cute one of Patrick and Amber. ;)
I don't know how and I don't know why, but my favorites are back on my computer.
It's time to reformat my computer.
I have this wonderful photo printer that is no longer communicating with my computer and it's driving me crazy. My scrapbooking is piling up to the ceiling because I can't print. I can't download pictures from my digital camera and it's making me really cranky! I knew someone that would say it's because I don't use a Mac, I wonder if that's true? Those things can't be that perfect. Can they?
Anyway, I'm going to reformat. I hope I find my way back here after I finish wrecking havoc. If I get lost in the abyss, it's been great knowing you all.
