Random

This has been a crazy month. My father-in-law's dog had puppies a few months back (mostly because FIL is fascinated that he can put two animals of the same species but different sex together and make more) and we were suckered in to taking three of them by our children's sweet but devious faces. I had planned on making appointments at the vet for them for the end of the month for their shots and to get fixed, but before I could do that they all contracted parvo. The girl died at home. The two boys spent three days at the animal hospital recovering, to the tune of $1100. I'm glad they are home and healthy, but my wallet is really missing that money.

Then we found one of our cats, who had been with us since the year we married, dead in our back room.

Then this week, dogs attacked and killed two of our chickens.

I'm really ready for all of the damn animals to stop dying.

In other news, I'm finished with my online ethics class. I managed an A without too much effort, but I don't think I'll be taking two summer classes while working full-time ever again. I've got two weeks of pre-calculus left. I've got an A so far, here's hoping I can keep it up.

That's it, really. Nothing exciting. Just plugging along. As soon as summer classes end, we're taking the family to Chicago for a long weekend of relaxation...as much as you can relax with four children in tow. Looking forward to sightseeing, good music and even better pizza.

Calculus sucks....

....big meaty donkey balls. That is all.

Lessons

The patients you like the best, who always seem so nice and down-to-earth, all have something terribly wrong with their character that you discover after a day or two. Like a barely-concealed streak of racism. So disappointing. And brain stem infarctions can happen really fast.

Good Grades and What the Hell Am I Doing?

I managed an A in General Chemistry...extra credit is the shit. Even better, after looking at all the grades, I would have managed the A even without the extra credit, which makes me feel pretty damn awesome. I'd feel even more awesome if I wasn't starting pre-calc and ethics tomorrow, but what's a girl gonna do? So, I've been thinking about life and the universe and my place in it and health care and blah blah blah. Not that I'm rethinking my decision to go in to medicine, not at all. I've just been redefining what exactly I want out of life and a career, and what kind of doctor I want to be. Basically, I've been crafting a personal mission statement, which sounds all self-help and new-agey, but it is what it is. I don't fit the stereotype of a pre-med. I'm kind of a hippy. I had an attempted home birth with my second pregnancy. I am wary of vaccines (I do think that they are, in general, a good thing. But I don't trust their manufacturers when they say they are perfectly safe. They aren't. But, IMO, they are better than the alternative.) I think that good healthy food, rest or light exercise, plenty of water, and plenty of sleep is the best medicine 9 times out of 10. There are things at the hospital that drive me absolutely crazy. Food is a huge issue. Jello and pudding are not healthy foods we should be giving to post-op patients. Giving a patient in the CVICU a processed turkey sandwich and a snack-bag of "light" potato chips is assinine. And why in the hell do we hand out sodas like they are water?!? Going through all of this in my head gave me pause. Namely, if there is so much I think is wrong with medicine, should I really be a part of it. The answer I came to was, of course I should. It's something I feel passionately about, and my best chance at effecting change is from the inside. And I need to take some of my own damn advice. Good food and enough sleep have been in short supply around here lately.

Hypochondriac

Working at the hospital has turned me into a hypochondriac. That spot of poison ivy on my wrist that's been sticking around? MRSA. Ate to much dinner resulting in indigestion? OMG, I've got c-diff. Menstrual cramps = ovarian cancer. Stop the insanity. I can only imagine it will get worse when I start medical school.

What a difference 10 years makes.

A little over 10 years ago, I was in school, majoring in business and hating life. I got C's, D's, and F's, sometimes pulling off an A or B when I found a class slightly less mind-numbing than the others. My cumulative g.p.a. was something like 2.48, and up until a few months ago, that was just fine with me.

After my husband's heart attack and some soul searching, this latent desire I had to have a career in health care grew into a full blown drive to be a doctor, and suddenly I had to care what kind of grades I got. When you have grades like mine, that really sucks.

So now I'm in Gen Chem I, pulling off a B+ and struggling to bring it up to the A I really need. Never in a million years would I have imagined I would be dissatisfied with a B+.

I have 2 more exams, a final, and a lab final left. If I can get A's on all of them I can pull off an A in the class. No pressure. And if I do it, I am so celebrating with cocktails. Which is one thing that hasn't changed over the last 10 years.

Non-clinical Benefit of BiPAP

It sufficiently muffles a patient's voice so that when you have to put them in restraints so they don't rip off the mask, you can't quite tell what filthy names they're calling you.

Things That Make Chemistry Class Bearable

1. A friendly, interesting, clearly understandable professor. She wears Tevas, my all-time favorite sandals. Somehow, it helps.
2. Printable lecture notes, available online. I *detest* note taking.
3. A very large diet Coke.
4. The nerdy, yet very sweet and friendly girl that sits to my right.
5. The hot latino exchange student that sits to my left and every-so-often shares his calculator with me. (Well, it was only once, but it was memorable.)
6. The fact that there are only 4 weeks of it remaining.

Gearing Up

I have a totally ridiculous dilemma: What am I going to carry my books and supplies in when classes start next week?

 I looked around for a bag at Target a few days ago. There were some sling-type bags that wouldn't even hold all of my writing implements, some very nice (read: expensive) laptop cases that I don't really need since I use an iPad, and a plethora of backpacks. Am I the only one who thinks a 33-year-old woman carrying a backpack is just weird? Oh, and there was a rolling case. I'm not that old that I can't cart something around that's not on wheels.

 I did find a beautiful leather messenger bag on Amazon.com that would be perfect. Perfect, except for the price tag. I suppose it would be rather irresponsible to spend $200 on a bag and then not have the gas money to make it to campus for the first day of class.

 I'll probably end up carting everything around in a reusable grocery bag. It will be a new fashion statement. Or I'll end up being known as the university bag lady. *sigh*

Hello, nipple.

It's hard to imagine a time in life when a person is more vulnerable than when they are in the hospital. In real life, patients don't look like they do on TV hospital dramas. Hospital gowns don't stay nicely closed and arranged. Before you know it, you're helping someone stand for the first time after surgery and their nipple pops out of the neckline of the gown and nearly pokes you in the eye.

Patients snore and fart in their sleep. Their hair is a perpetual mess. Let's face it, laying in a hospital bed all day isn't great for your 'do. Some pee and poop in the bed. Some don't bathe for a few days, and they stink. They hawk up mucus and leak from various holes placed in their body. They throw up, sometimes spectacularly, and often can't reach the emesis basin in time.

And they trust you to take care of them when they look and feel their absolute worst. They trust that you've been around long enough (even if you haven't) that you won't bat an eyelash at something like helping them empty a colostomy bag or wiping their ass because they can't bend or twist after their surgery or holding their legs apart so you can make sure their catheter didn't get pulled out.

What a heady, frightening, and awesome burden.

Death and Taxes

I experienced my first patient death this morning. It was expected, so no crazy medical drama. But his family had left the night before, and he was alone, and I found myself spending a lot of time in his room, measuring his breaths, watching them become further apart as his O2 sats dropped and his pulse got weak and thready. I was with him when he took his last breath. I turned off his oxygen and removed his mask, washed his face and combed his hair, and straightened his blankets. I placed boxes of tissues in his room for his family to use when they arrived. It was a strange experience, humbling, extraordinary and mundane all at the same time. It felt like such an exceptional moment, but outside his room, life in the hospital went on as normal.

Another patient was suffering from unexplained nausea and vomiting, and had spent the night hurling his guts out. He was obviously miserable and scared. He asked for his nurse, and I told him she was with another patient but would be with him as soon as she could, and he said, "I should be her number one patient; I've got to be the sickest person here." My other patient died less than thirty minutes later.

In unrelated news, I realized later in the morning that April 15 was two days ago, and I haven't paid our state taxes yet. All things considered, I've decided not to freak out about it.

I'm just a tech, but I know you're not going to die.

Patient: I wish my family had stayed with me. I don't want to die alone.

Me (looking at chart): It looks like you just have a few broken bones. I know it's painful, but you're not going to die from these injuries. Is something else bothering you?

Patient: No, that's it. Have you ever had anyone else with injuries like mine?

Me: Yes.

Patient: Were they in as much pain as I am?

Me: Yes.

Patient: Did any of them die?

Me: No.

Patient: Well, then I'll be the first.