Bad Words

Profanity is rarely heard at work. That has been changing rapidly this week. The adjustment to the new hospital is not going well and people are starting to use colorful language to express their frustration. Pictured in the photo are the "little shits" aka pocket pagers. They are in the box and not in our pockets because we are sick of the little shits. I don't know if it's us or them, but they are not working properly.

They go off at random times and sound like whoopee cushions. I don't know about you, but I don't want to carry something in my pocket that makes farting sounds.

We can't call each other on the phone because only one of the twelve phones in my unit can receive calls. Normally, there are three or four Verizon vans parked out front of the hospital every day, but I guess they don't work weekends.

We have gone back to hollering each other's names to find each other. It's not classy, but it works.

Our Pyxis machine is confused. It is treating the narcotics like over-the-counter drugs and over-the-counter drugs like narcotics. It makes us count how many iron tablets are in the drawer (179 at last count) each time we take one, but it just lets us take as much morphine as we want without us verifying the count. This is a golden window of opportunity for drug thieves. Missing narcotics would eventually be noticed, but so much time would elapse before then that it couldn't be blamed on any individual.

Nurses are calling in sick in large numbers. I can't imagine why.

Water Creature

I found this in my pond last night.

The Long, Long Hallway

This is what I am looking at for hours a day, a long corridor. Actually, there are several corridors, but they all look like this one. I'm spending my days walking back and forth and around and around. It is like a giant maze and I'm feeling cranky.

I'm wondering if the brilliant building designers were trying to get the nurses to walk more and become slimmer and more fit. Or perhaps they are trying to get rid of the older, lame nurses before they can retire and collect on their pensions.

Anyway, besides aching joints and feet, our biggest problem is finding each other. The old hospital was old and cramped, but it was efficient. We could find each other by yelling. Now, our biggest source of frustration is communicating with each other.

They gave us pocket pagers, but we are having problems with them. They did not come with written instructions. All they gave us is an old, retired nurse who goes around trying to teach us the system. I don't know if we are all stupid or if the old nurse doesn't know how to explain things or if the pagers are defective, but the pagers go off all the time for no good reason.

In theory, we could use the pagers to find each other, but we need a list of everyone's pager number. I think someone is working on that. I'm slowly collecting phone numbers and typing them onto a list so that I can at least reach people near phones. I guess that we should be grateful that at least we still have telephones, although it is frustrating that our phone number charts are gone. How do you call someone if you don't know their number?

It is also frustrating that no one will answer the phone and I can't really blame them. The caller almost always wants someone other than you and that means trying to find them. We are tired and if picking up the phone means having to walk several blocks looking for someone, we would rather just let it ring.

To get our medications, we have switched to Pyxis, which is a computerized drug dispensing system. It is okay and actually easier to get narcotics from than the old system. The problem is that the pharmacists are having problems with the new system. They will probably adjust, but in the meantime, we are giving medications hours late because the pharmacists can't keep up. Some of the pharmacists are trying not to cry.

We also have no Internet access in the new hospital. Can you believe the nerve? How am I supposed to go an entire shift without checking my e-mail? That alone is giving me the D.T.'s.

On the plus side, the rooms are almost all private, big and modern. Everything looks clean, even if it's really not. The patients like their rooms and are happier and I no longer have to hear comments about how this place looks like "County."

The communication problems should be solvable and if they will just let me use my skateboard at work, I will do fine. If not, I would settle for a bicycle with a basket.

The Last Day

My last day in the old hospital, they floated me to the ICU step-down unit. It is dangerous when they do things like that. I have no advanced training; no ACLS, I can't read EKGs. Plus, I really hate their kind of patients. In orthopedics, it is rare that we lose a patient. All of the patients they gave me that last night were about to die. The patients and their families were in various stages of denial while we busied ourselves torturing the patients to try and get a few more hours or days of agonizing life out of them.


One patient, who was confused (actually, they all were) kept saying that she wished that someone would explain to her why she keeps coughing. Silently, I thought about asking her if she remembered smoking for her entire adult life and if she thought that might have played a role in her getting lung cancer. Instead, I just listened sympathetically.


A family member of another patient kept getting me and saying that her mother was complaining of difficulty breathing. Of course she was. Her heart, lungs and kidneys were failing and death was imminent. I offered morphine which the daughter refused. I wish that I could have given it to both of them, but instead, I just had to keep doing vital signs and reassuring them that everything was still okay. I wanted to say that your mom is dying, what do you want from me? Of course, I didn't, but I wanted to run out of the building screaming.


My favorite patient was admitted from a nursing home with pressure ulcers down to the bone. I had to take pictures, measure and chart each individual wound. I went through reams of paper and never got a break all evening. (I couldn't even go to the dinner party to celebrate our last day in the old hospital.) The poor patient's wounds got infected, she developed sepsis and so was admitted for antibiotic treatment. Assuming that she lives, she will be sent back to the same nursing home.


The old lady had one unusual thing about her. Her breasts stood straight up even though she was lying flat on her back. Even young women's breasts don't do that. As part of my skin care assessment, I took a peek. Her breasts looked like two large tennis balls had been placed under the skin. I just had to feel them. Don't look at me like that. You would have too.


They also felt like tennis balls, only harder. That poor woman. In her quest for beauty, she had turned herself into a grotesque caricature of a woman. She couldn't lie on her stomach or even all the way on her side. No wonder the skin on her back had broken down to the bone.


I mentioned this patient to another nurse who had a patient in the same room. The nurse had also noticed her breasts and had taken a peak and a feel, even though it wasn't even her patient. Nurses can be curious and nosey.


She told me a story about a patient she once got report on. The outgoing nurse had said that the patient had had his prostrate removed and now had a prosthesis. Asked what kind of prosthesis the patient had, the reporting nurse said a prostrate prosthesis. When questioned about that, the outgoing nurse said that is what she was told in report.


Assessing the patient, the new nurse took a little peak under the sheets and saw that it was a different appendage that had the prosthesis. I do think it is funny, though, that anyone would think there is such a thing as a prostrate prosthesis. A penile implant, funny in its own way, at least makes sense.

At the end of my shift. I returned to my unit to say good bye. I was alone. My unit had closed the day before. There was a cake left over from the party. I was starving, so I had a piece, took one last look at my home for the past seven years and left.

Tae Kook Dang

There was a surprise when I opened my lunch box at work. It was empty. I forgot to pack it, but at least I remembered to bring the empty container. Menopause is a bitch. I am losing my mind.

At least I didn't go entirely hungry. My student gave me tae kook dang for dinner. It was some kind of cookie/cake thing. I normally read ingredients labels anyway, but when it comes to food with names like that, I read the label very carefully. I would not be happy if I accidentally ate something like monkey spleen.

The ingredients were perfectly ordinary, so I ate it and it was okay. There is just one thing that bothered me. The tae kook dang had peanuts in it. I have nothing against peanuts. The problem is that they weren't listed in the ingredients. It makes me wonder what other mystery ingredients may have been included. Dang the tae kook dang. Sorry.

Model Nurses

Today was going to be the day that we shut down my nursing unit forever and move what few patients we were unable to get rid of to our sister unit down the hall. Next Tuesday is moving day into the new hospital.

The problem is that the doctors didn't stop doing elective surgery like was agreed. Also, people kept falling and breaking their hips, getting into car accidents and getting shot. It is now Friday and we can't close because we have too many patients and our sister unit doesn't have enough beds to accommodate us. That means we will move directly to the new hospital on Tuesday and skip the intermediate move. That is fine with me and sounds a good deal simpler.

On Tuesday, the patients will be fed and bathed by six a.m., so they say. We have to start early because all of the patients need to be moved on the same day and we can only move eight patients an hour, assuming that nothing goes wrong. I'm hoping that by the time I come to work in the afternoon, my unit will have been moved.

The media is expected for the big day, so we have been told to wear nice scrubs and try to look our best for the cameras. I have a better idea. Maybe they should hire a bunch of young, hot models in scrubs. Sex sells. If the audience sees all of the gorgeous "nurses", maybe they would want to enroll in our HMO. It's an idea to think about.

Another Escape

The gardeners didn't close the gate when they left, so when I let the dogs loose in the backyard, MacKenzie escaped. I was naked except for a flimsy little wrap. I couldn't run up and down the street like that, so I had to put on some clothes, shoes and find my glasses.

With shaking hands, I got dressed, wondering how on earth I would find her. She runs like the wind and there was no telling which direction she took off. She also doesn't understand the problem with crossing the street without looking.

In near panic, I ran out the front door and MacKenzie ran in. She covered me with slobbery kisses and ran in little circles. It looks like she has finally figured out that she has a good home and doesn't want to run away. We are making progress.

Bad Water

I was poisoned at work. Just as I set down my pitcher of ice tea that I had just chug-a-lugged, someone called out, "Don't drink the water." She was saying things like, "Oh my God, couldn't you taste it?" "Oh my God, didn't you see the sign?" She went in the kitchen and said, "Oh my God, no one put a sign up."

It turned out that I drank about two cups of salt water. I don't know how salt got in the water supply, but downing sweetened tea made from it, I didn't notice until too late. That was yesterday. Today, my lips and tongue are still feeling parched and no matter how much water I drink, I can't quench my thirst. Sometimes I wonder if they are trying to kill the nurses before they reach retirement age and collect on their pensions.

There was one other weird thing about yesterday. The men kept staring at my boobs. That is not normally an issue with me. I'm not busty and I was modestly dressed in loose scrubs. It wasn't until I got home that I discovered the problem. Blood was splashed across my chest. I don't even know how that happened.

MacKenzie's New Friend

I had been dreading this day for some time. Eventually, MacKenzie would need to go to the vet for vaccinations and she has a man phobia. My vet and his assistant are men.

I imagined that she would growl, snarl and snap and that the vet would suggest putting her down, like my friends have suggested. I was dreading an ugly scene and having to find a new vet with only female employees. I consider a dog to be a lifetime commitment and will find a way to make it work. Putting down or giving away a challenging dog is not an option.

Everything turned out fine, though. MacKenzie was terrified, but well behaved. She was the nice dog that I know, not the maniac my friends see. I think she was afraid that I was taking her back to the dog pound, like her former owners did. She has been on her best behavior since the vet visit. Perhaps, I should take her to the vet more often, or at least drive by, when she is acting up. Just kidding.

The vet thinks that she might be part German Shepard and part Collie. That would explain a lot.

An Excuse To Buy Dresses

The last time I wore a formal gown, I duct-taped falsies to my chest. That resulted in a terrible rash. At Bulldog's suggestion, of all people, I bought some self-sticking silicone falsies. They were purchased on EBay for a bargain and they finally arrived.

I decided to do a trial run, so I wore them to work. It felt like I had two jelly fish stuck to my chest, but they worked. They stayed on and didn't give me a rash. They were a little uncomfortable; I wouldn't wear them everyday, but for a special night, I could deal with it.

Best of all, two occasions to wear a formal gown are coming up. In June, I'm taking a cruise to Alaska and there will be two formal nights. Isn't it odd that I'm more excited about the opportunity to dress up than I am about going to Alaska?

I've been to Alaska before. I drove there in what was one of the most miserable vacations of my life. My marriage was strained and we were trapped together in a VW van 24/7 for a month. It wasn't Alaska's fault that I was so unhappy, but the thought of Alaska makes me wince.

Lindsay says that I will make new, much happier memories with him. I believe that is true. In the meantime though, I'm occupying my time buying my formal dresses. Next, I'm working on shoes.

A One Way Elevator

The elevator stopped at a floor. A man waiting for the elevator asked if it was going down. I said yes. Then he asked, "Will it come back up? " Again, I said yes, but perhaps I answered too quickly. Really, what are the possibilities here?

He didn't know it, but soon the elevator really will go down and never come back up again. We're getting ready to shut down the hospital. Moving boxes are piled along the walls and RN's are being pulled from the floor to help pack. I think it would be cheaper to have the movers pack and have the RN's take care of patients, but I'm not sure. But I am sure that this would be a safer place to be a patient if they got the nurses back on the floor where they belong. If we don't kill someone with our present staffing, it will be a miracle.

They have also stopped stocking our floor with supplies. The only thing we had for patients to vomit in were Styrofoam cups. We had to call all over the hospital to find a bedpan. I guess we will have to walk over to the new hospital to steal our supplies back. What a pain.

Poppy Power

It is finally my favorite time of the year, late Spring. It may be winter where you live, but here, it is almost summer. Every day is warm, sunny and the hills are green. Neon orange poppies shimmer in the sunshine. It is so nice that camera-shy Tommy didn't mind getting his picture taken.

Mystery Margarine

I thought that I was losing my mind again. There was a carton of margarine in the refrigerator and I knew for a fact that I had not bought it. I live alone, so no one else could have put it there.

I brooded over it for a few days. Why would someone break into my house and put a carton of margarine in the fridge?

One day I was moving stuff around in the fridge and picked up the carton of margarine. It didn't feel right. I opened it and found ham. Then I remembered. My mom had given me the container of ham the last time I visited. I wonder how long it will be until I forget my name.

A Wet Leg

Always make sure that the patient's bed is locked before trying to get the patient into bed. The beds have wheels and will take off if anyone leans against the bed. I learned this lesson the hard way.

A coworker asked me to help her get a patient back into the bed. The patient was sitting on a bedside commode facing the bed. She was a big lady and needed help standing up. We got on each side of her, grabbed her under the arms and on the count of three, hoisted her up. We had planned to pivot her, so that she could sit down on the bed, but her knees buckled. She was going down. In one last desperate attempt to keep her from falling on the floor, I pushed her onto the bed, head first. That's when the bed took off.

From the waist up, she was lying on the bed. I grabbed a leg to try and push the rest of her in bed, but ended up pushing her and the bed across the floor like a wheelbarrow. My coworker finally got on the other side of the bed and locked it. With the bed locked and each of us holding a leg, we were able to get her in bed.

The worst part was afterwards when I noticed that my leg was wet. She had peed on my leg. She also peed on my coworker's leg. O.R. was closed, so we were unable to borrow replacement scrubs. At least pee dries quickly.