Taking a Break

In the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by a loud crash downstairs. I did a quick count and all four dogs were in the bed. I was scared; they were scared and we all remained silent, watching the bedroom doorway. What's wrong with this picture?

One would think that with four dogs, one of them would have stepped up to the plate and done something. Barking would have been a good start. Going downstairs to investigate would have been nice too. Instead, they expected me to protect them. We waited, but there was just silence.

Earlier that day, I had thrown out the box the new TV came in. Perhaps, someone driving by had seen the box and wanted to break in and get the TV. That thought was especially scary because the TV is in my bedroom. Burglars can take anything they want, but I really don't want anyone coming in my bedroom if that is where I'm hiding.

After awhile, I fell asleep. The next morning I found a large painting on the floor. It fell off the wall, hit the piano and then the wood floor. I had hung it a couple of days ago and the nail wasn't strong enough to hold it.

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I'm leaving for Hawaii and will not be near a computer. I'll be back in a week. Aloha.

Too Much Stuff

I lost my blouse and bra. The last time I remembered seeing them was in a parking lot. (I had just bought them; I wasn't wearing them.) It wasn't until later that night when I was packing my suitcase that I discovered they were missing. I searched the car, the route from the garage into the house and every room of my house. I even looked in the refrigerator. I'm blond; there's no telling what I did with them.

I figured I either dropped the bag in the parking lot or someone grabbed the bag out of my car. I sometimes forget to lock it, but it made no sense why someone would take only that one bag when the car was filled with shopping bags.

I also bought a new TV table. It's not meant to be a TV table; I think it's really a curio cabinet, but it works and it's pretty. The only bad thing is that instead of being filled with little figurines, it is filled with boxes and cords. Technology is great, but it is ugly and is best kept hidden, kind of like certain private parts.

It was a bitch getting the cabinet out of my car and up the stairs. With all of the glass, one little slip would have been disastrous, but I was successful.

One good thing happened when I was pulling the cabinet out of my car. I found my bra and blouse. They had been wedged under the cabinet.

I spent day five of my vacation throwing stuff out. I have nine trash bags filled with linens that will be donated to charity. No one needs over fifty hand towels. The spare room that I use to store linens no longer has piles reaching the ceiling; it's down to about waist-level now. I can't get rid of all of it because I like to redecorate frequently and need all of those pillows, sofa covers, rugs, paintings and comforter sets to meet my need for change. What I need are racks, like what Costco has, to neatly store my things.

It is also much easier to get my station wagon in and out of the garage now. I broke off the passenger side mirror while backing out my car. It's harder to make lane changes now, but it is sure easier to fit my car in the garage. I wonder what that is going to cost.

Crazy Dog

His name was Fergus on the day my parents met him. I proudly told my parents his name and was met by silence. My mom asked if that was his final name. It was, but I answered no. I added that yesterday his name was Georgie. More silence. I said that I was also considering the names Tylor, Sasha and Misha. My mom said that she liked Tylor, so that is how Fergus got renamed Tylor.

I know that he's my dog and I can name him anything I want, but I would prefer to have a name that other people find pleasing also. Usually I call him just Ty or Ty Ty, which could get to be confusing because that is what my mom calls me. I don't know why.

I'm starting to wonder if Ty has a death wish. He likes to sneak up on big dogs and attack. It's totally unprovoked. He's so tiny, he can't do any harm, but big dogs don't like this and retaliate. The big dogs he knows wouldn't kill on purpose, but it wouldn't take much to harm the little fluff ball. Training him to stop this suicidal behavior is my biggest priority right now.

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I'm on vacation for the next two weeks and am especially happy because I have lots of stuff to shop for. I love to shop and hate it when I can't think of anything to buy. It was time to redecorate the living room for Fall, so I got new rugs, pillows, candles and wall stuff. It's all pumpkin, nutmeg and gold colors which looks good at night and on rainy days, but feels too cozy on the usual warm, sunny days.

I also need something to put the new TV on. I got the TV for my bedroom, but it's too big for its corner. It doesn't work on the little dresser that the old TV sat on and it partially blocks my access to the closet. I could move the TV downstairs and buy a smaller TV for the bedroom, but I rarely watch TV downstairs. It makes more sense for the best TV to be upstairs, even if it does block my closet.

What's-His-Name

This is what's-his-name. Is it okay to put a bow in a boy dog's fur if it's blue? I hope so because I've never had a dog before that looked good in bows. A little bow gets lost on a Golden Retriever.



Kelsey, pictured on the couch below, likes his new little brother. Kelsey isn't the jealous type. Tommy feels a little depressed and does not want to come out of the bedroom. MacKenzie is curious, but territorial about the couch and never-empty food bowl. We had a couple of fights. For being so tiny, what's-his-name does not back down. He's not afraid of alpha dog MacKenzie.

At bedtime, we did just fine with four dogs in the bed. There was a little growling, but it was manageable.

Getting what's-his-name from the vet was the worst part. The animal shelter took him to a vet in Highland Park to be neutered, so that's where I had to go to pick him up, in rush hour. I'm not entirely sure where that was, I just followed freeway directions, but it was off the Pasadena Freeway. That was the worst, antiquated freeway I have ever seen. It has narrow, winding lanes with no emergency shoulder. The only good thing about it is that trucks aren't allowed on it.

But the worst part are the on ramps, or lack thereof. There is a stop sign at the entrance to the freeway. The cars are flying by at 70 miles per hour, coming from around a bend. When you think there is a break in traffic, you step on the gas and hope that no one is just coming around the bend. There is no way to be sure in advance if it is safe to go. I'm surprised that the freeway wasn't lined with the wrecks of cars and bodies.

I'm supposed to go back to that vet to have the stitches removed. It's not going to happen. I'll do it myself or take him to my vet. The surrounding area was interesting to look at, though. There were Victorian and Craftsman houses dating back to the late eighteen and early nineteen hundreds. You don't see that where I live. But I think that the freeway was built when people were still getting around by horse and carriage.

The vet's office was just awful. I would have preferred to have taken him to a nice vet's office and paid a little more, but all shelter dogs go to low-cost, high-volume clinics for their surgery. The place was tiny and filled with people and their dirty, matted mutts on rope leads. The people didn't look any better.

The vet came out and talked to one couple, explaining that he couldn't get their dog to wake up from the anesthesia and was asking to keep the dog overnight, all for no extra charge. I never wanted to get out of someplace faster.

They kept me waiting 25 minutes after the paperwork was done. I was wondering if the vet was going to come out and tell me that he botched my dog's anesthesia as well. Finally, I heard someone in the back calling for me. I followed the voice and saw what's-his-name hugging the floor, refusing to walk. I quickly scooped him up and got the hell out of there.

So, anyway, these are the names that I'm considering for what's-his-name:

Georgie, Fergus, MacDuff, Mischa, Francis, Sasha, Jesse and Tylor. I'm leaning towards Georgie. What do you think?

A896978

Okay, I went out and did it. I bought another dog. I shouldn't have done it. I now have an illegal number of dogs, but I feel so much better now. The obsession is over.

I have spent a ridiculous amount of time searching the Internet for dogs. I haven't been able to sleep at night thinking about all of the dogs out there who need homes.

Yesterday, I raced across the desert through a dust storm, dodging tumble weeds on a remote road in the high desert. All before work. All to look at a couple of cockers.

Today, it was a trip to downtown L.A. ,actually, two trips. Kelsey had a doctor's appointment downtown. The shelter was nearby, but Kelsey couldn't go in the shelter and it was too warm to leave him in the car, so he had to be taken home and then I had to come back.

It has been so hard looking at all of the sad faces. So many of them would have been happy going home with me, but I could only have one.

It was a blond cocker spaniel with freckles on his nose that I chose. Our eyes met and it was magic, like love at first sight. He is such a sweet little doll and he sort of looks like me which is important. He is a stray and his owner never found him. The owner couldn't have tried too hard if he never checked the shelter.

So, A896978, is now mine. He doesn't have a name yet, just a number. Boscoe, the name on the ad is just a temporary name that someone at the shelter gave him. Before I can bring him home, he has to have his balls cut off. I understand the pet over-population problem, but couldn't they just do a vasectomy? Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow and then he's mine. Of course, that means another trip down town.

I'm thinking of naming him Teddy because he looks like a little toy animal. There are going to be some jealous pups around here tomorrow, but I bought everyone a new collar to make up for it. We'll see if that works.

Painful Plums

Is it wrong to take your dog's medication? What if the dog doesn't need it, but you do?


What happened is that I bought a container of plums. Despite sitting out for a week on the counter, they were still hard as rocks. I decided to cook them to make them edible. It worked out fine. Stewed plums are yummy.


The problem was that an hour or two after eating some, I had a bad tummy ache. Apparently, unripe plums, even when cooked, are toxic, although tasty. As the plums worked their way through my digestive tract, the symptoms kept getting worse and even the dogs were starting to look at me funny. I think they were scared.


Once it was over, I had a rash in a private part. Hydrocortisone cream look care of it. Then I developed an infection in another private part. I needed an antibiotic, so I made an appointment with the doctor. Being the idiot I am, I got the dates confused and missed my appointment. I'm able to keep track of all of Kelsey's doctor appointments, but apparently lack enough brain cells to keep track of mine too.


At Kelsey's doctor appointment, the vet gave me a large bottle of the antibiotic flagyl to give to Kelsey if he developed any lower GI problems. What a coincidence. That was exactly what I needed. Kelsey is doing fine, so I'm taking his meds. There is probably some law against doing that, but it makes perfect sense to me. I just hope that doggie flagyl is the same as human flagyl.

Deja Vu

It happened again last night. I walked into a patient's room and the nurse was trying to get the patient onto a bedpan totally oblivious to the fact that her patient was blue with eyes rolled back in her head and couldn't be woken up. I said nothing and left the room for a few seconds to get a vital sign machine. I came back and checked the patient's oxygen saturation. It was in the forties. It should have been in the nineties.

I increased the patient's oxygen and started shaking her to try and wake her and get her to breathe. Her respirations consisted of an occasional gasping, snoring sound. It was only then that her nurse realized that her patient was in trouble. That is more than a little scary.

Once the nurse knew her patient was blue, she knew what needed to be done. The problem is that she couldn't assess lack of oxygen by herself. This time, unlike last week, I took over.

The patient was taken off the morphine pump and given narcan to reverse the effects of the morphine. She woke up and turned pink, but the only way to keep her properly oxygenated was with an oxygen mask turned all the way up. If she took the mask off, her O2 saturation dropped to the seventies.

It wasn't hard to get the doctors interested in her. They were all acutely aware that we lost a healthy patient last week, likely due to a morphine overdose. No one wanted to fool around with this patient, so she was transferred to a monitored bed where they could keep a closer eye on her.

I have no idea what is wrong with her. She had no chest pain or shortness of breath. Her tests were all fine, except for the blood gasses. There was no evidence of stroke or heart attack. She never got anything to eat after surgery except for sips of water, so aspiration was unlikely.

My hunch at the time was that she just needed more narcan to totally reverse the effects of the morphine. She only got a stingy dose. But if that had been the problem, by today, the morphine would have been out of her system, she would be fine and she would have been returned to us. Instead, she is still on a monitored bed. But, at least she is still alive. That is a much better result than last week.

Lucky Duffy

I've been nagging my parents for some time to get a new dog. Regularly, I go through the Internet listing of dogs in the local shelters and e-mail photos of ones I think they might like. Nothing took.

Sunday, I went to my parent's house for dinner and I asked my mom if she would like to see on the computer what's in the shelter. She agreed. After a few minutes, she grabbed her purse and wanted to go to the shelter immediately. A one year old Dalmatian caught her eye.

My mom had never been in a shelter before and as soon as we got to the first cage, tears started flowing down her cheeks. Every single cage kept the tears flowing. When we got to the Cocker cage, she started sobbing so hard she could barely talk. She grew up with Cockers and one in particular looked just like one she had as a kid.

We asked to adopt it, but were told that the poor pooch required major surgery to remove some kind of mass from inside her inner ear. My poor mom was inconsolable. I offered to pay for the medical care if she wanted that dog, but she refused to accept my offer.

One of the volunteers pointed out another Cocker in the cage. She was a senior dog and although my mom wanted a younger dog, she was so cute and sweet that it was decided to take her. She has a cataract in one eye, but nobody's perfect. Her name is now Duffy.

She follows my mom all through the house and lies down on her feet whenever she sits down. She is such a sweet little girl and my mom enjoys brushing her and getting her fur all poofy. The fur on top of her head matches my mom's hair. I think that is the way things should be. It's not a coincidence that my dogs all have fur that matches my hair. Children should look like their mother.

I'm thinking of getting another dog. I'm not sure if I should get another Golden Retriever or some little poofy frou frou dog. I know that it's illegal to have four dogs, but I want another dog anyway. Call me crazy.

A Green Porsche

I was saw this very green Porsche on the freeway. The car was new, it didn't even have plates, but the color was so bizarre. I've never seen a bright green Porsche.

It was the same shade as a green M&M.

I was curious if Porsche was making cars in this color or if the buyer got his new car custom painted. I did a quick Internet search and had no trouble finding every type of Porsche being made and every technical detail imaginable, but I couldn't find a list of colors.

Perhaps if I did a longer search I could find that, but why is it that hard? Doesn't everyone know that color is the most important feature of a car?

If you wanted to buy a seventy thousand dollar car, would you get it in M&M green?

What The Hell Happened?

It was a horrible night to be charge nurse. Everything was going wrong. Two patients' family members needed to vent and I had to listen and try to appease them. A coworker was upset because she was assigned to a difficult patient. I explained several times that we have to take turns taking care of people like that and it was her turn. She griped all evening. Two patients fell. Two patients were admitted with pressure ulcers, which creates a ton of work. We had two float nurses who didn't know how to do the ortho stuff and needed constant help. Some idiot threw out a box of chocolates because she didn't know there was a second layer on the bottom.

It was just one thing after another and then it happened. A float nurse needed help infusing drain blood into a patient, so I went into the patient's room with her. The first thing that struck me was that the patient was dead. His face was blue, his mouth was gaped completely open, his eyes were half-open, staring at nothing and I couldn't see his chest moving.

This was not someone we were expecting to die. He wasn't that old and had just had elective joint replacement surgery. It puzzled me that his nurse didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. I placed my hand on his chest just to make sure he wasn't breathing before I called a code. The patient jolted awake. I jolted too.

We put him on oxygen and quickly, he turned pink. He was alert and oriented and seemed fine. I figured that he was just one of those people who look like they're dead when they're sleeping. I left him in the care of his nurse and didn't intervene. I think I made a major mistake.

The next morning he was found dead. A code was called and they sort of revived him, but he's in a coma and breathing on a vent. His prognosis is poor. No one knows what happened to him. Maybe he had a stroke or a heart attack, but none of the tests really support either theory.

I think I know what happened to him. He was on a low dose morphine pump and may have had an unusually low drug tolerance. The morphine may have caused him to stop breathing. If a patient gets enough morphine to interfere with breathing, they can't be easily aroused from sleep, but perhaps he was an exception.

My instincts told me there was something terribly wrong. I could have changed the rate of the morphine. I could have called the anesthesiologist. Instead, I decided that I was mistaken about the patient's condition, let his nurse continue to take care of him and continued to fight charge nurse battles. Now, I'm battling my conscience.

Vet Phobia

At the vet's office, all of the other dogs were calmly sitting with their owners, that is, until Kelsey and I arrived. Kelsey, now that he knows what evils go on there, wouldn't stop barking. Soon, all of the dogs were barking and one cat in a box was howling. Next, the dogs somewhere in the back were all barking and howling as well. Kelsey started a revolt.

Perhaps wanting to put an end to the insurrection, we were called to a back room ahead of everyone else. Kelsey turned into a whirling dervish as I tried to walk him. Everyone laughed. I just smiled, but it's embarrassing having the only kid who acts up.

Kelsey had to be dragged to the back for his chemo. Later, while waiting for him, I could hear someone yell, "NO, NO, NO, NO, STOP!" I don't know who was being yelled at, but I'm guessing it was Kelsey, but he doesn't know what no and stop means. I never taught him. He just heard, blah, blah, blah, blah.

In another room, I overheard a woman saying very slowly and enunciating carefully, "Mommy go potty. Come right back." She said it several times to make sure her dog understood. A few minutes later, she returned and said, "See? Mommy come right back." If her dog understood all of that, he's a lot smarter than my dogs.

An Intruder

Someone found my site with an Internet search of the phrase, " Is it possible for someone to live in my house when I'm away or at work?"

That is something that has never occurred to me before. I'm away for about 10 hours a day. Perhaps someone else lives in my house during those hours I'm gone. How would I know? How would the dogs be able to tell me?

Maybe I've been falsely accusing MacKenzie of chewing the buttons off my clothes and crapping on the carpet. I've never caught her in the act. I just assumed it was her since this started after she moved in. Perhaps, it is an intruder doing these things.

If someone is doing that, I need to track them down and make them pay rent, not to mention sew the buttons back on my clothes. Do you think it's possible that someone lives in your house when you're away? Is there really someone out there who is worried about this?

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Something annoying happened at the grocery store yesterday. The young man ringing me up called me sir. I don't know if he just misspoke or if he thought I was a man. I said nothing, but it worried me a little.

Today, I went outside to get the paper and a young man walking by on the other side of the street whistled at me. I guess today is compensation for yesterday. Although, I can't be sure if today's young man whistled because he though I was an attractive man. I really need to start wearing make-up, but not so much that I look like a drag-queen.

That Time Of Year

I hate it when this happens. I went outside to feed the fish and the air was thick with smoke. I walked around sniffing the air, but couldn't see anything. It's after midnight, so it's a little hard to see things like plumes of smoke. It's possible that someone is burning wood in their fireplace, but given that it's 90 degrees outside, I kind of doubt it. It has to be a brush fire.

I'm thinking about the damn pine tree that's growing across my roof. I've been meaning to cut it back, but it hasn't seemed like a priority. If an ember hit that tree, my house wouldn't stand a chance. But with all of the trellises and other stuff capable of acting like fire ladders, there is no shortage of other ways that my house could catch fire.

I'm tired and want to go to bed, but wonder if I should stay up just in case. I really hate fire season.

A Leaky Rectal Tube

How much do you think a rectal tube should cost? To be honest, I had never given it any thought before either, but I was doing an Internet search to try and find some trouble-shooting directions and came across the price.

First of all, do you know what a rectal tube looks like? It's just a plastic bag connected to a tube with an inflatable ball on the end. The ball end is stuck in the rectum, inflated and it then drains really runny diarrhea into a a bag rather than all over the sheets or diaper. It's a great invention when it works.

Our problem was that our patient's rectal tube was leaking. None of us knew exactly what to do about it and we couldn't find any directions anywhere, so that is why I did the Internet search. I found a nice video explaining everything we needed to know, except fix it. Well, they had suggestions, but nothing worked. We'll just have to put up with the patient's leaky butt.

Anyway, have you figured out how much one should cost? I was thinking less than ten bucks. It is $615.00. I think I'm in the wrong business. I should be in the rectal tube business.

Two Unplanned Deaths

A few days ago, my unit in the hospital caught fire. Today there was a flood. A water pipe in the ceiling broke, causing the ceiling to collapse. While trying to fix the leak, the guys accidentally broke another water pipe, causing even more damage. It's quite a mess and I forgot my camera. Let's just say that it is much worse than the damage to my bathroom ceiling from the leaky pipe.

On the list of disasters, I think that locusts are next, or is it famine?

Remember that lady I mentioned who could have died from smoke inhalation when her room got that nasty electrical short? Well, this time, we managed to kill her.

She was here for an infected foot. She was being treated and was responding well. On the day of discharge, her blood pressure dropped precipitously. She also didn't look that great, so she was transferred to ICU.

By the end of the day, she was dead from a perforated bowel. Go figure. She never complained of GI pain when she was on my unit, only constipation and so she got the usual suppositories and Fleet enemas. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I don't know what happened in ICU, but a few hours after her arrival there, the surgeon rushed her into surgery. It was too late. She survived the surgery, but slipped further into septic shock and died.

She was never my patient, but I sometimes helped with her care. I thought that I had fairly good instincts as to when a patient is in trouble, but this I completely missed. She looked fine, until the day she died. We're expecting a lawsuit.

(Update: I spoke to an ICU nurse about her and he said that an hour after arriving there, she began complaining of abdominal pain. Later, in OR, they found her digestive tract to be necrotic due to a blood clot(s) that blocked the flow of blood to her gut. Maybe it's not our fault that she died.)

We also managed to kill another patient the same week, but I don't think we're at fault for that one. The patient was here for a doctor's appointment and got on the tram that takes people around the campus. He lost his balance, fell backwards and smashed the back of his head on the pavement. He never regained consciousness and died the next day. The tram was not moving. It doesn't sound like a good lawsuit to me, but you never know.

It's not only dangerous to be a patient in the hospital, it's also dangerous to merely go to the doctor's office.