I've been waiting patiently by my phone since Monday, but still no word from the hospital. I'm assuming they are negotiating my kick ass salary as we speak and that's why they haven't called yet. Or they are acting like a man and don't want to call too soon so as not to seem desparate. Whatever, I just wish they would call!! She-bitch called me yesterday to complain about, are you ready for this??....her towels in the hotel room were too wrinkled. I know, you think I'm making this shit up. I wish I were. Everything that happens while she is traveling is my fault. That's just the rule. Her bed in Rome was too small - my fault. The limo was late picking her up in Rio - my fault. There was a smelly man next to her on the flight to London - somehow also my fault. But the towels being too wrinkled? This is a new complaint I've never had before. Yet it's still my fault! Today is my Friday, that is the only thing that is keeping me going.
Tomorrow I'll be working in the ICU again. I'm really excited. It's like my respite away from the craziness that has become my life. I get to do my thing and take care of patients and it's all about me. No one is screaming "mommy!!!" four thousand times. No one is bitching about wrinkled towels. It's just me and my patients, who may or may not be conscious.
Saturday we are heading home. Sidebar - isn't it funny how we still refer to 'home' as our parents house? Well, I do anyway. I haven't lived at 'home' in well over a decade, but I still call it that. Anyhoo, we are going to visit my family. Everyone lives about two hours away in a quaint little southeastern texas town. I haven't been back since hurricane Ike hit. I admit I've been avoiding it. Seeing the destruction after Rita was bad enough. We will visit with my parents and grandparents, and we are also going to meet my baby brother's new girlfriend. Judging from previous girlfriends it should be a real treat. And by treat I mean freak show. Who knows, maybe he'll surprise me.
Saturday night we are going to the carnival, and that is causing me quite a bit of anxiety. You see, I was involved in a freak carnival accident when I was about 5. It was a beautiful day, and my dad's union was having a carnival and bbq type thing. They had a ride called the scrambler. (Ironic, as it would later scramble my brains.)
There were about 6 cars, each attached to an arm. Each car would spin and the arms moved them around in a circle, and up and down. I kept begging to ride it and finally got my turn. I climbed in with another little boy. (I would later cushion his fall.) The ride began and all was fun and games until the bolt holding our car to the arm started to shake. It shook and shook and the last thing I remember is that damn bolt flying out of its hole. Our car then became airborn and flew through the parking lot, skidding to a stop on the concrete. I flew through the parking lot as well, and broke the little boys fall. Because I'm nice like that.
I ended up with a bald patch on the back of my head and a nasty concussion. I remember my mother waking me up every time I would fall asleep and it really started to piss me off. (See, I've liked sleep ever since I was little.) I now know she was just making sure I wasn't dead. She was a good mom like that.
Ever since then I've been terrified of any kind of carnival rides. I mean, if you think about it, you're putting your life in the hands of a carnie. Come on, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that is probably not a good idea.