Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Some Random Crap (no pun intended)

I was going to write a post about how hot big daddy is and how lucky I am to have him as my husband, but he's really been a douche bag for the past three days, so I'll save that little gem for another day. Instead, I'll tell you about clinicals last Friday.

I've been doing clinicals pretty sporadically because 1) I'm fucking busy and 2) I'd rather be at home with baby boy than at a hospital for 12 hours. The morning started pretty awesomely. I walked onto the unit and there is a full blown code happening. They yell at me to glove up. I look like a deer in the headlights because this lady looks like she is about to die. I put my gloves on and stand in the corner and pray to God no one needs me for anything important, because as far as nursing goes, I'm still pretty retarded. IV's were started, labs were taken, and she was intubated. Phew. The only thing I was asked for was a wet rag so the Dr. could wipe his face. Sweet. That is something I can totally handle. We were promptly floated down to the intermediate care unit (IMCU). I hate IMCU. It's boring. I'm used to being on the critical care unit. The CCU is exciting. People code. You get to see gross and fascinating stuff. It's awesome.

So my nurse and I trudge down to the stupid IMCU and get report on our patients. 91 year old female with dementia/had a stroke, 65 year old female with emphysema and COPD, 60 year old male heart attack, and an 83 year old woman who I'm still not sure what the hell was wrong with. She seemed perfectly fine, and I never gave her any meds. Whatever.

My lady with emphysema and COPD was a biznatch. She yelled at me from the time I got there to the time I left. "I can't breathe, I can't breathe!!" I go into her room and she has taken her oxygen off of her face for the 18th time. "Ms. CrabbyAss, you have to keep the oxygen on your face for it to work." Her daughter came out to the nurses station and looked at me with sympathetic eyes. She said "I know my mom is a huge pain in the ass, so I just wanted to apologize ahead of time." Glad I wasn't the only one that thought she was a pain in the ass. Not 20 minutes later came the "I can't breathe, I can't breathe!!" again. I'll be damned if she hadn't taken that mask off again. She is yelling at me over and over. I said, in my nicest voice ever "Ms. CrabbyAss, if you are able to yell at me, then you are able to breathe." That made her shut up for a glorious hour.

My guy with a heart attack was a peach. He didn't complain one bit. We went in to put an IV in him, not realizing he already had one. I snapped my fingers and said "darn, I was looking forward to practicing on you." He stuck his other arm out and said "you can do it on this arm darlin', needles don't bother me." What a trooper. And no, I did not put another IV in him just for practice.

Now for the coup de gras. The one thing that has ever happened that made me question my choice of profession. One of my friends that is also doing her clinicals at the same hospital came up to me and had this look of dispair on her face. I asked her what was wrong and she looked at me and said "I have to do a digital removal of a fecal impaction." So, of course I made fun of her. That's how we roll. My nurse heard me making fun of her and as punishment (plus he's kind of sadistic and likes to see me squirm) made me go help.

Stop reading if you're eating, and/or have a weak stomach.

This patient was a 95 year old woman that hadn't pooped in over four weeks. FOUR WEEKS. Do you know how painful that would be? Shellie and I gloved up, and lubed up. Please don't make me stick my finger in there...Please don't make me stick my finger in there... "SPM - come over here and feel this." He wants me to stick my finger up a butt. Not only that, but he wants me to stick my finger up a butt with the sole purpose of digging out poo. I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

I slowly walked around the bed. I put a liberal amount of ky jelly on my finger. "Feel that and see if you think an enema would work." GAH! I put my finger in and didn't feel anything. Know why? Because I had missed and my finger was in her vagina. Can you say humiliation? I promptly remedied the situation and stuck it in the backdoor. My finger was met with a mass the size of a grapfruit that was literally as hard as a rock. At that point I stopped being so grossed out and started feeling really bad for this patient. I can't imagine how painful that must have been. It was a painstaking process, but we got it all out. She was so grateful and so relieved, and we left her resting peacefully for the first time in weeks.

When we left the room my nurse slapped me on the back and said "welcome to nursing!"

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

The car!

BFF read my last blog and asked how in the hell I could forget to mention our car. Honestly, I don't know. I guess my brain can only recall a small number of childhood memories at a time. There was only one car for the six of us. Well, we had a truck, but the sides fell off. The car was a late 70's model chrysler. It was doo doo brown and in pretty bad shape. It looked similiar to this, but with a lot more rust and a steady bellow of smoke coming out the windows:

The air conditioner was broken. I know, that's a huge surprise. I remember being so hot that I thought I was going to die right there in the back seat. And how painful it was to remove my sweaty little legs from the vinyl when we reached our destination. The best part about the car though was that the floor boards in the back seat were missing. Like instead of a floor, there was nothing. They had rusted completely away so there was a 12x12" hole on each side. Uber safe for three children to ride back there. Anyhow, my cousins and I would throw pennies while we were riding in the back seat because they made a cool spark on the road. And the faster we would go, the better the spark would be. Sometimes they would fly back up and pop us in the face, but it was all in good fun.

PS - I think I spent a good portion of my youth with a contact high.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Proof That I Came From Crazy

There is a reason for my neurosis. No really, I swear. It all comes from my childhood. I didn't have your normal Norman Rockwell childhood. Not even close.

I guess it all started around age 2. My dad had banged my mom's best friend shortly after they were married, so mom and I moved in with my aunt and uncle and two older cousins. They were both girls, one was 9 months older than me, the other 3 years older. My mother was 18 at the time, and my aunt and uncle weren't much older. Now that I think back it's actually a miracle the three of us survived.

We didn't have a lawnmower (huge shocker!), so we were each handed a pair of scissors and my aunt told us to "get after it", in her uneducated country twang, while pointing at the front yard. I shit you not. We had to trim the grass around the front walk with scissors. It was a painstaking process to say the least, and our little fingers would be sore from all the chopping. But we did a damn fine job if I do say so myself. I personally would never in a million years trust my three year old with scissors, but I guess that was a different time.

We didn't have a vacuum cleaner either. Actually we didn't have much in the way of "luxuries". No worries for them though, they just made us pick the carpet lint and other debris off of the carpet with our fingers. We would each be handed a grocery bag to put the crap we picked off in. Even after all of this, I never realized how poor we were. That was until the day my uncle was drinking hot water from the tap. I said, "why are you drinking hot water?" He looked at me and said, "it's cold outside." My young little brain still couldn't process what he meant, and I guess I had a confused look on my face. He rolled his eyes and said, "you drink hot water when it's cold out, and cold when it's hot." It was at that moment I realized that we may not be like the other kids we went to school with.

One thing we did have was a rusty old ford that my uncle drove. One day my aunt set us up for washing dishes, and she went to do something outside. We heard a loud crash and then lots of yelling. Turns out she had pulled open the tailgate of this rust bucket and the sides of the truck fell clean off. I'd never seen my uncle so mad. He kept yelling, "I told you once if I've told you a thousand times, you do NOT wash my truck and you do NOT open the damn tailgate because the mf'er will fall apart!!" It was pretty fucking hilarious even at the age of 4. The truck looked very similiar to this one:

Oh, and we had weed in our fruit bowl on the kitchen table. Most people have, oh, I don't know, FRUIT in their fruit bowl. And that led to what I'm about to tell you. We were in the 4th grade, I remember it like it was yesterday. McGruff the D.A.R.E. dog came to our school along with some police officers to teach us about drugs. They had samples of some of the drugs with them. (Now that I think about it, it seems a little weird that they would bring drugs to an elementary school, but I digress.) He pulled out a baggie of dried marijuana leaves, and before I could stop myself I had an overwhelming urge and shouted "heyyyy, we have that at our house!" And that was the last day I saw weed in the fruit bowl. Not the last day I smelled it, but the last day I ever saw it out in the open. With the exception of the occasional roach in an ashtray.

Things that were seen a lot in our house growing up:

Monday, October 20, 2008

From the Mouths of Babes

Having a three year old in the house proves to be a never ending source of entertainment for us. Well, entertainment or sheer hell, depending on the day. I will never understand how you can love someone so much it hurts, but really, really not like them sometimes. One of the mysteries of being a mother I suppose.

I have been fighting this awful cold or flu-like illness for 10 freaking days now. Friday I was laying on the couch in just a tshirt and underwear. BB came over and sat near my feet. He looked over at me and pointed at my butt.

"Is that your big butt Mom?"
"Um, yeah, I guess so..."
"It's naaastyyyy" (while making a grimacing little face)
"I love you too son"

Now I don't want you to get the wrong impression of me, and my 'nasty' butt. I wear a size 6. Apparently BB thinks any womans butt is nasty. Trust me, I wanted further clarification.

Saturday we went to the pumpkin patch. BB wanted to ride the train. Train = 10 cars hitched to the back of a tractor. The ride was bumpy to say the least. BB was snuggled up between BD and I. I notice he is staring at my boobs. He pokes one and says "why do those keep going bong bong bong" while bouncing his head up and down. I thought the guy sitting across from us was going to piss himself.

And the comment that made it all worth it: BB pointing to the Victoria's Secret catalog..."hey mommy, that's a picture of you!" I love that little guy.

I can see where he might be confused though. I totally look like this (in my dreams):

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Innocent Toys Gone Bad

BB's birthday was in August. He is in love with Spiderman, and was thrilled to open up this little number. It's motorized, and the bubblewand/hand dips down into a reservoir filled with bubble solution and raises back up to his mouth where the bubbles are blown. Hehe, blown. Anyhoo, picture this whole scenario in your head. I'll give you a minute. Do you get it now? That's right, Spiderman is giving the bird, over and over and over. Thanks grandma.

A couple of months ago my sister and I were in the toy department of wal-mart looking for a birthday gift for my neice. I walked past this car and just happened to glance down at the name. I stopped dead in my tracks and immediately whipped out the ol' cell phone. My sister asked what I was doing and, stifling childish laughter, I told her to look at the name on the box. She rolled her eyes and said "28. You are 28 years old." Whatever, it's still funny, because where I come from, chub means something entirely different. I can just hear BD now asking if baby wants to visit chub city tonight.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Corporate America

BFF and I work for one of the largest, most powerful companies in the world. Decent pay, awesome benefits, our own offices....not to shabby. That is until you realize that this place is sucking every ounce of happiness out of your soul. People walk around here like drones. It's sad really. It's like groundhog day, Walk through the rotating doors, scan your badge 18 times to get to your tiny office, type on the computer and check the clock every five minutes until that one hour of sweet respite...lunch! Return through the rotating doors and type away until quitting time. Make useless small talk with people you wouldn't socialize with outside of work even if you were paid large quantities of money.

Yesterday we had to go to a meeting called Living a Charmed Life. "What does living a charmed life mean to you?" asked the speaker. "Not having to go to stupid meetings like this just for the free mexican food" I muttered to BFF. "Would you like to have a charmed life like Katie Holmes" asked the speaker. BFF looked at me and whispered "negative ghostrider, I like my non-scientology beliefs just fine, thanks." I'm actually surprised BFF and I haven't been fired yet from this great establishment. We managed to get through the meeting without putting ourselves on anyones radar and/or being volunteered for another stupid committee. Seriously, they lure you into meetings with free food and the next thing you know you are heading up the scrapbook committee or teaching african refugees how to read in your free time.

On top of all this, almost everyone we work with has a PhD, so having a normal conversation with any of them is completely out of the question. I made the mistake of telling one of them I was taking Microbiology last semester. The next day there were no less than 7 textbooks on my desk relating to the 'wonderful world of Microbiology'. At least that is what the post it said that was on top of them.

Three semesters until graduation. Oh, and guys, by the way....

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Blog Fodder Just Keeps Flying at Me

Yes, this is another driving story. I can't help it that this shit happens to me every day, okay? It's just one of the lovely perks that comes with living in Houston. And for once, my story happened once I got out of the ghetto! Let's have some wine and celebrate.

So I'm driving home yesterday and I'm almost to the 'burbs where I live, when traffic starts slowing down *shock* as I near my exit. As I creep slowly toward the exit ramp I can tell that there is a little truck half on the shoulder of the road, half still in my lane. Fucktards.

As I go to pass these dumbasses I notice they are fighting with eachother. Like full contact fighting. There were two guys in this tiny single cab truck beating the shit out of eachother. I'm pretty sure they were gay because they were more like sissy slaps than they were full on punches. And the driver guy was really pissed and was waving his hands around in that "heeeyyy girl" type fashion, but it was a very angry "heey girl". And then he popped the passenger right on the mouth with the back of his hand. And the passenger started bleeding and flipped down the mirror so he could wipe his chin off. (Probably not the first time he's had to do that.)

I really felt sorry for the passenger because he is obviously the taker in the relationship and he just got bitch slapped by the giver, who frankly, looked more like a dingy trucker than a queen. But who am I to judge.

Then the truck started backing into traffic because I guess the dingy trucker queen was in such a tiff that he let his foot slip off the break. Then the taker must have said something really smartass because the giver popped him again and they just took off into the sunset. I really enjoy a good love story, don't you?

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Ghetto Chronicles Part II

If you read my first ever blog about Houston drivers you will see where this post is going. I left work yesterday after 10 grueling hours of working and generally being someones bitch. (And/or fucking off on the internet, but that's neither here nor there.) I make a left turn out of the parking lot and onto the road, hoping that I can go faster than 30mph somewhere between here and home.

So I'm minding my own business, pulling up to a red light when this biznatch in a gold corolla (with shiny rims, klassy) cuts me off and comes within mere inches of my front bumper. Being in a shitty mood in the first place, of course I honk at her...and may have flailed my arms a bit. You know, the arm flailing. It's the body language way of saying "what the fuck was that you gangsta-leaning-hooptie-driving-no-insurance-having asshole?!"

So I may have honked my horn a few seconds longer than was necessary. I may have flailed my arms a little more than I needed to get my point across. Whatever it was, she was not happy with me. She got in the lane to the left of me and just stopped. She stopped because she knew I would have to pull past her at one point. She rolled down her windows and turned off the music. "Shit, she turned of her music. She is so going to kick my ass."

I was thinking to myself that this it. This is where I've pissed off one too many people in traffic. I'm about to become the breaking news story on channel 2. "White female found shot to death in her SUV. Apparent arm flailing/road rage homicide. Full story at 10 o'clock."

I flipped open my phone so if I needed to dial 911, that would be one less step I would have to take. She looked like she was going to get out of the car for a second. I was fully prepared to exit the car brandishing my favorite pair of brown stilettos. Don't laugh, they're pretty sharp on the heel. I may be a wuss, but I could do some damage with a shoe. That is until she caps my ass, then I'll be left pretty much defenseless.

Thanks be to God the light turned green at that moment and my life was spared. I cut down the nearest side street to get the hell away from her. I got away unscathed, but learned a valuable lesson. Apparently you should just flip people off because the arm flailing gets you into way more trouble.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

A Day in the Life

I know I'm always bitching about how busy I am and some of y'all are probably like "whatever, we know you plop your fat ass on the couch at night and eat ben and jerry's straight out the carton". Really, that would have been true a few months ago, but now, not so much. This is what I did yesterday....

6:00 - curse alarm clock, shower, get ready for work
6:30 - wake up BB, bribe him into going potty, and get him ready for school

BB - I don't wanna go to school!
Me - You have to go to school and mommy has to go to work, that's just how it is.
BB - WHY????
Me - So you can learn stuff
BB - I'm learned enough
Me - Clearly

6:45 - drop BB off at school and head to work
7:10 - get to work and sprint to my office, hoping no one will notice I'm late
----- in between doing actual work, make a grocery list, read three chapters, write a paper, and respond to the three mandatory discussion questions about what to do with a used catheter, does the morgue really prefer that you leave tubing in place, and how to handle your patient dying
5:45 - leave work, woo hoo!!!
6:15 - grocery shopping at ghetto kroger cuz I'm too tired to battle walmart
6:45 - get home, unload groceries, start making dinner, unload dishwasher
7:00 - while dinner is cooking, put together next nights dinner in crock pot
7:15 - eat dinner, make brownies with BB, then clean up the kitchen

Me - don't eat the batter BB
BB - Why?
Me - because it has raw eggs in it and you'll get salmonella
BB - Daddy does it.
Me - *sigh*

7:45 - bathe the little monster....

BB - (pointing to his penis) Is this my toy?
Me - *horrified* No, that is not a toy.
BB - Can I play with it.
Me - **wishing I was anywhere BUT in this bathroom at this very second** No, you can't pl...well, yes, but not around other people....alone. No, well, just....Big Daddyyyyyy!!!!!

8:00 - wrestle him into his pj's, stuff a brownie into my fat face wondering WTF I was thinking letting him have sugar this late
8:15 - get stuff ready for the next day, make a mental note to set alarm for 15 miutes earlier so maybe, just maybe, we won't be late - again.
9:00 - ???? - study until I fall asleep and subsequently wake up with my face stuck to pg 187 of my pharmacology book. Yeah, I drool. What about it?

You just cannot make this shit up

I guess I should start off by reminding you all that BFF and I work in Greenspoint. Fondly known as Gunspoint to the rest of Houston, because it is ghetto faaabulous. Seriously, BD has forbidden me from going anywhere over here by myself because he's afraid I'll get kidnapped/gang raped/car jacked/beaten for being a cracka. I'm more than happy to oblige his request.

Sooo yesterday BFF and I were outside 'getting some fresh air' as we usually do after lunch. We are in deep conversation about important shit like politics. Okay, not really, we were talking about our hair and the effects of low lights versus high lights. Anyhow, mid sentence BFF stops and says "". I know, after hearing that, when I turn my head to the left I'm going to witness some sort of ghetto debauchery that only happens in Greenspoint. And I was right.

There was a woman on a bike with a baby. When I say "woman", I mean she was like 16, and when I say "on a bike" I mean someone elses bike that she just jacked, and when I say "with a baby" I mean she had the baby propped up on the nut bar just dangling there. The baby couldn't have been more than 12 months old. Seriously. He was sitting on the nut bar (I don't know the proper name for it okay?) with his little feet dangling dangerously close to the tire spokes. It made me really sad after I stopped laughing.

Then it got a little weirder. She stopped, picked her kid up by the elbow (as most fantastic mothers do) and put him on the sidewalk. She was obviously pissed at his lack of motor skills and ability to hang on to the nutbar. She threw his shoes on the ground. The poor little guy hurried to put his shoes on. He also didn't have pants on, in case you were wondering. She threw the bike down right there in the middle of the sidewalk and left it there. That is how I came to the not so shocking conclusion that she stole it. She grabbed the little boy and just walked off. Possibly one of the weirdest things I've ever seen in Gunspoint.

BFF and I just sat there with our mouths hanging open for a good two minutes. I looked at her and said "did that shit just really happen?"

Good times.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

It's Been a While

I haven't had time to post much lately, I've been hella busy ever since this semester started and every free second I have from work or school is spent with my boys. That time is, unfortunately, few and far between. Last night I colored dinosaurs on the floor for two hours. I subsequently missed a quiz, but I was right where I wanted to be and don't regret it one bit. I keep reminding myself that I'm doing this so BB will have a better life, but that line seems so blurry sometimes. I wonder if I'm doing more damage than good.

It is so hard trying to do it all. Work full time, school full time (well, more than full time, 15 hours to be exact), plus keep up with wife and mommy duties. I'll be the first to admit that I've stretched myself too thin. I work well under pressure though. Even if I am on the verge of a mental breakdown most days. Thank god I have my good friend miller lite and a fantastic husband to help get me through. I have never been so physically and mentally exhausted as I am right now. My house looks like an all male dorm at the moment. I need a maid. A live in maid that happens to be a personal chef as well.

On another note. Is there some kind of potty training miracle advice out there? I swear we will be dropping BB off at college with a laptop and economy box of depends, cuz you know pull-ups don't come in adult sizes. I think he pees in his pants just to spite me now. Literally 5 seconds after I ask if he needs to go he will pee on himself. He's all like "whatever Ma, I does what I wants." Not really, but that's what I imagine is going on in that thick little head of his. Then he tells me to take his socks off because they're wet. No shit sherlock, you keep whizzing on yourself! The other day while I was in the shower he took off his pants and peed directly in the center of my bed. Hands on his hips and all and moving his body back and forth like his penis was a damn sprinkler. Potty training SUCKS!

And on yet another note, I had my first clinical at the hospital on Saturday. 7a-7p in the ICU, not for lightweights my friend. I never thought I'd ever say these words out loud, but I had to confiscate a bag of chips ahoy from some girls panties. I also got to do a catheter, practice an IV (yes I said 'practice' ha!), and empty a post surgical ostomy bag that was full of blood. Look it up. And you know what? I loved every minute of it! This is already promising to be a very exciting career.