Internet Horror Stories

I watched a freaking scary movie last night with my hubby.  We were looking for some viewing entertainment and came across this gem (sarcasm).  Sounded interesting, not many other options, the subject matter potentially hitting close to home, a sexy leading man for my viewing pleasure (Clive Owen), we select the movie, Trust.

The jist of the story is this:  recently turned 14 year old receives computer from parents for her birthday (seemingly innocuous), goes online to chat room and makes friends with a "sixteen year old fellow volleyball player from California".  Come to find out, the 16 year old is, in fact, a 35 year old Physics teacher! (Ackkkkk!)  Of course, young and naive 14 year old doesn't realize this until she is MEETING him at the mall (DANGER!) for the first time!  Creeper alert!!

As you can well guess, Creeper continues his smooth talk and flattering compliments (Creep!), leading said naive girl to his hotel room where he assaults her.  (Pardon me while I purge...)   Said 14 year old tells her well meaning best friend who tells the principal of what she heard (Good job, best friend!!) and girl becomes crime victim.  Dad and mom are destroyed by the news (of course), FBI becomes involved, Dad becomes obsessed with vengeance (who wouldn't), makes several stupid decisions and 14 year old tearfully defends Creeper because they are "in love" (I had a brief seizure at this revelation.)

Of course, the story progresses through the family in crisis, the girls' final acknowledgement of the Creeper as a Creeper (sigh of relief) and the dad becoming less obsessed with the Creeper and becoming more concerned with loving and caring for his victimized daughter ('bout time.)

Spoiler Alert:  The last scene of the movie shows the Creeper with HIS family at a carnival, all happy and smiling, being introduced by one of his students to the student's parents!! (OMG!!)

Not just a disturbing story for the average person; a horror story for any parent with a preteen/teenage daughter or son, for that matter.  I just kept seeing my sweet, naive 10 year old, chatting online, oblivious to the dangers, being sucked in by some crazy online predator.  During the course of the movie, my plan evolved: my daughter's phone privileges where revoked indefinitely, then I promised to sit beside her as she plays innocently on her little Poptropica website, then I pledged to NEVER buy her a computer of her own, finally, with the complete loss of sanity, I banned her to her locked and padded room until the ripe age of 25 years.  Of course, my realistic, down to earth hubby just nodded in agreement to my rantings.

Now that I've slept on the topic, I probably won't initiate the full SHELTER CHILD NOW! plan, and I have come to realize the real worth of the movie.  It was an eye opener about what really does happen on the internet, in the real world.  It's an eye opener to how parents can be as naive as their children when they don't look at the big picture.  I felt sad and despondent when I realize that I won't be able to cut my daughter off from all of the potential dangers of the internet, or the world, for that matter.  And I am doing her a disservice by not educating her and an even bigger mistake by thinking that making huge limits on her life will protect her (likely only driving her INTO danger with severe strictness.)  Further stressing me, I realized that, in fact, I am her first defense from foes such as these, with my love and support and nurturing of her self worth and self esteem.  I am her first defense against naivete by helping her realize that there are real dangers out there and how she can protect herself from them.  I am her first defense by helping her to look to her immediate, surrounding family as her support.  And ultimately, I am her first defense by providing appropriate boundaries and rules as she explores the world outside our home.

Pretty scary business, if you ask me.  It's sobering for me to acknowledge that I have such an impact on my daughter.  I know this cognitively but I experienced a huge emotional reminder when I watched that movie last night.  And, as the counselor in the movie said, we don't have control over what happens to ourselves and our loved ones.  We can only be there, love them, when they do fall down.

Not In My Hospital, You Don't!

Dang, here goes another health care bent....

I have been with my mom this week as she underwent a total knee replacement.  Of course, they didn't do it at my preferred hospital, Children's Mercy, since she's, you know, an adult.  It was an eye opening experience and it reminded me of a few things. 

I take care of post op patients regularly.  Sometimes they are post a fracture reduction, post feeding tube placement, post kidney transplant, post spinal fusion.  Ideally, I see the patient several times in the first couple of hours, check their comfort, check their pain control, check their wound.  But that's me and that's my hospital.  It's kind of an expectation, you know, to look in on your patient after they have had a surgical intervention.  Sometimes things go wrong after surgery, like bleeding, puking, pain.  But again, that's just me and my overprotective nature.  When I get to the hospital after Mom's surgery, about 2 hours after coming out of the OR, Mom says, "No, the nurse hasn't been in here since I got to the room."  WHAT?!?!?  You haven't seen your nurse, I ask.  Nope, nada, negatory....  Great.  Of course I can't help myself from looking at her dressing, looking at her iv fluids, the PCA, etc.  Somebody needs to. Guess who's feeling a bit bitchy about now?  Yep, I'm a little ticked and guess where the nurse is??  Lunch.  Do you want to hear the cherry on top of this little shit cake?  Her IV pump was beeping and continued to beep infusion complete for, I kid you not, 30 minutes.  Her roommate...her IV was beeping as well, for 20 plus minutes.  So that's at least an hour of that incessant beeping!!  GRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrr!!!!!!!!!

NOTES TO SELF:  Continue to be the attentive nurse post op. Continue to answer my alarming pumps promptly and continue to keep the high level of care that is expected of me at CMH.  Note I said continue.  I never want my patients or families to be as annoyed as I was over something as simple as checking in with my patient and answering alarms.  And the pisser of it all, any time I went to the nurses desk, her nurse and the others were at the desk talking and surfing their phones.

I've been a nurse for a bit, 15 bits, er, years, as a matter of fact.  Most of my coworkers know this, but I don't routinely tell my families this.  Sometimes it'll come up in conversation and sometimes, I will tell a family in a lame attempt at reiterating that I know what I'm doing and I can handle the placement of an IV or something.  It's usually that family that is having some control issues that I find the need to bring it up. This week, my mom had a nurse who had this compulsion to tell us how long he'd been a nurse.  It was funny how the story went from being a nurse for 18 years to being an Army nurse for 13 years to being a nurse here at OPRMC since 2004.  Basically, I had his resume memorized by the end of my visit.  Really??!  Is it necessary to impart this useless information??  Do you think I think you're a better nurse because you report you've been a nurse for 18 years?  Do you need to pin these comments onto the end of your excuses for not having placed the compression stocking on my mom's affected leg as ORDERED BY THE PHYSICIAN???  Really?!?!?!

NOTE TO SELF:  The number of years isn't as important as the direct care that I provide.  No one is impressed by the nurse with 20 years of experience but can't get anything done.

I've been on the night time side of pain medication administration to a sleeping individual.  On my part, I kind of don't like giving pain medications to patients who are sleeping.  We've all heard the complaint:  "They woke me up to give me a sleeping pill (or pain medicine)!"  But, a reality check this week unfortunately at the expense of my mom's comfort.  She texted me at 0521, "Had terribe nite dohg xr.bxw...".  Course, I didn't see this text until 0730 when I got up.  Crap!!  I was worried.  When I talked to her, she said she had a lot of pain in the night and is still hurting.  She couldn't tell me when she got her pain med in the night and she didn't know what it was. This is about 16 hours since her PCA was stopped.  "Did they give you something in your IV?" I asked.  "I don't know, I just hurt!" she said.  My fears: they didn't give her pain meds "scheduled" and her pain got out of control.  When I finally made it to the hospital, I had an opportunity to talk to the nurse.  He looked up the pain med in the eMAR to see what times meds were given.  She had received her every 4 hour medication after 5 plus hours and this was after crying out, then got her next dose in 3 hours 15 minutes.  In conjunction with decreased movement from sleeping for 5 hours and the 5 hour time span, her pain got out of control.  What was the nurse thinking?  "Ah, she's sleeping, I won't disturb her" or "I don't want to give her too much medication, she could get addicted to the pain pills."  Who knows what the murse was thinking and unfortunately, I've seen myself having the same internal dialog.  Ultimately, though, I am a family member in this scenario and I was pissed that my mom was so uncomfortable.  Why did she have to be suffering and "waiting" for her pain medication after literally getting her knee amputated then rebuilt?  Why didn't that nurse anticipate the pain as an ortho nurse on an ortho floor??

NOTE TO SELF:  Administer pain medication as a rule not as an exception.  Why wait until my patients are in pain to get pain medication.  Duh.

I think it's important to stop and take a second look at what I'm doing day in and day out and make sure that it meets the standard of my personal expectations and values.  I can't let myself get lax and complacent.  I have to remember that every one of my patients deserve the level of care that I expect for my own family.  A message that I plan to remember in the coming days of my scheduled shifts.

A Healthcare Crisis

I think I picked up my husband's unhealthy habit of waking in the middle of the night with a brain in full gear, thinking to a fault, and I can't go back to sleep.  Not so rough when you are at home and can pop on the TV and watch some boring show until you get sleepy or crack open a book to dull the raging thought processes.  But, unfortunately, better yet, fortunately, I am sitting on my house boat, moared in a little cove with little more than a battery operated tablet and a little dog keeping my feet warm.  And I just can't stop thinking. 

I had a blog idea earlier in the day while driving with my mom to come to this very house boat.  We were talking about the state of health care.  More specifically, the state of my parent's financial situation now that their health is beginning to become more of a challenge.  It was then that I decided that that topic sounded like a little blog to vent.  But damn if tonight, my mind says, "A  little blog?  Hell NO!  It's a giant blog, a huge problem, an elephant in the room of our society!"  Thus the 0426 middle of the night blog session.

I'm lulled into a false sense of respectable and decent health care by being an inpatient nurse at a non profit children's hospital.  We don't turn anyone down for the inability to pay.  Families come from all over the mid west to bring their kids to our hospital because the believe they can count on us to provide top notch care even if they can't afford it or don't have insurance.  It's a lull because, as an inpatient nurse, I don't have to deal with the aftermath of bills that still arrive on the door step, even if you don't have insurance.  I don't have to deal with the follow up care and costly prescriptions that may come as a result of the hospital stay.  I don't have to deal with a devistating diagnosis that at only 3-4 months of age, a coworker and friend's baby is suffering and the costs are just beginning to mount.  I provide the top notch care that is expected of me, I try be cognisant of the limited resources that the hospital works with and I try to end my work day feeling like I've done something good for my families.

Then, I visit with my mom.  I become reoriented to the plight that so many retired and non retired adults are facing every day of their lives.  Now, my parents are great people.  Their marriage began when they were both in their late 30's, early 40's after previous marriages.  They had challenges to face even before they got together.  My mom is smart even without the certificate of an advance degree; my stepdad, a hard working, responsible man.  They have encounted experiences in their marriage that that didn't lead them down the yellow brick road of secure financial retirement.  My stepdad suffered a devistating job loss in his mid 50's when his company went bankrupt.  What does a man in his 50's with a particular set of skills do when his job of numberous years ends?  There certainly isn't a demanding market for a man in his situation.  But they carried on as best as they could.

I'm sure they thought about retirement and how that might look.  My mom had her job and some 401K, they both had social security to rely on (not so much an option for our generation, folks!  Be ware.)  And that is a conservative lifestyle at best, without any health care issues.

Now pan to today's reality.  My parents, being raised in the 50's and 60's didn't have the "luxury" of knowing that the diets and lifestyles they had then, would negatively impact their lives down the road.  A silent heart attack later, my stepfather's coronary function is not half what it should be and years of smoking is beginning to effect his breathing.  He takes a plethera of mediations for his heart function, blood pressure, breathing, diabetes, cholesterol and so on.  My mom, lucky in that she knows that there is a family history of heart disease, takes statins for her resistent, herediarily elevated cholesterol.  Many medications in comparison to some individuals, few medications, compared to others.  They live on a fixed income and pinch in so many ways to accomidate this.  And here it is; it's a huge struggle.  It makes me angry when she tells me, "well, honey, we couldn't afford to buy my medications this month."  Or she tells me that her medication, of which there is no generic, is so expensive, they have looked into purchasing the medication from Canada, because, there, they do have a generic and it will save her 2/3 the cost.  It pains me to think that they don't go to the doctor when they really should because they can't afford one more office visit copay that month, on top of the others they have already paid.  It hurts me to see that they have to struggle.

But the truth is, their story is really no different than so many other people in the middle and lower class here in the great ole country of the United States.  So many people are just one paycheck away from financial ruin.  So many people are one copay away from not having money for food!  So many people are one bottle of medication away from treating their pain or prolonging their disease process.  And yet, we are lulled into some security when we keep our blinders on, focusing on our narrow view that is our life.  There are stories much worse than my parents, I'm 100% certain of it.  There are people, everywhere, with so much less.  And of course, because we are the land of possibilities,  home of corrupt politics and center for self serving bureaucrats, this plight of so many draws nigh.  There will be a time in my parent's lives that something will have to give; they will not pay a bill because my stepdad is sick and needs more medications or my mom can't do those odd jobs she does because her bum knee is too painful to help suppliment their income.  They will stress about the $50 copay to see the cardiologist when all they saw was the nurse practitioner.  They will sell their belongings to help pay the rising cost of their prescriptions.  They will enjoy their much anticipated retirement years less and less. 

And our fucked up healthcare system, widening, YAWNING gap between the rich and EVERYONE else and self serving politicians will remain, will worsen before it gets better, will see great people suffer and die because they can't afford to stay alive, will see parents struggle to provide anything and everything they can for their precious baby. 

We are lulled.  We think there is nothing we can do.  We think that our one vote, our one voice won't be heard.  And as one person, it likely won't be heard.  But our essense of humanity is more than being one voice, one person.  Our RESPONSIBILITY as humans, as soulful, thoughtful, moral people is to put our voices together to raise the volume to be heard.  To care for one another, to be a community, to be a society.  We are better than what we are doing for ourselves right now.  But as the citizens of this country, we are lulled to believe that we really can't make much of a difference, we are lulled to believe that the bureaucrats will take care of us, at some point.

Not gonna happen, folks.  Not until we become one loud voice of reason and demand that there is equality among healthcare, fiscal responsiblity, exclusion of wasteful, greedy politicians, transparency and humanity among our leaders.  Because, the truth is, our "leaders" are leading us to our own demise, sheep to the slaughter.  And until we begin to take responsibiltiy for one another, care about one another, operate as an evolved society, our futures will be mired in struggle.  I don't want to struggle; I want to live and I want my family, my friends, my coworkers, my aquantences, my people, my society, my country, my specie to live.  Do you?

By the Hair of My Chinny Chin Chin

I guess that I will admit that I am one of those gals with various hairs sprouting from my chin and upper lip.  Don't laugh, you have some too.  You just haven't taken the obsessive compulsive route to addressing those hairs just yet.  Or maybe you have and you know how I feel.  It's just pure crap, I tell you.

Hubba hubba!!

Facial hair is among one of the many things that looks great on men.  Gray hair makes a man look distinguished.  George Clooney, Sam Elliott and Morgan Freeman are among the distinguished graying men.  Muscles make a man look strong.  Enter hottie with a six pack.  Not a problem to look at.  Chin and upper lip whiskers, well, they can make a man look rugged. 


Then, there are things that don't look great on men.  Breasts don't look good on men.  They're never perky and spry; they're usually flabby and spread out.  A big ass doesn't look good on a man.  I'm always taken aback by a man with a pear shaped body.  Long nails don't look good on a man either.  Now, I appreciate a well groomed man with neatly clipped and clean, reasonable length nails.  He cares about himself and his love when he takes good care of his nails.  But when the nails go beyond the tip of the finger, well, that just looks creepy. (I’m projecting here; I have a creepy uncle who keeps his nails long and the two together, creepy and long nails, well, it will always be a red flag for me.)

Now, looking back, have you ever noticed that the things that look great on a man, don't look so great on a woman and vice versa.  Breasts on a woman, good call especially if they are perky.  Many women long for bigger, perkier breasts.  Remember the preteen exercise we all did.... "I must, I must, I must increase my bust!"


And a big ass on a woman, well, many men appreciate this trait.  J Lo  has built a career around her ample backside.   Long nails on a woman, help a gal to complete a seductive look.  

Sexy???

But conversely, gray hair on women, not so much an appreciated characteristic.  That's obvious when you look at the exponentially greater number of boxes of hair color at Walmart compared to men's hair color. 


Muscles on women, well, that is a little debatable.  Certainly a woman with a lean and defined body is attractive; shows her dedication to being healthy (a problem I don't have).  But muscles, big, ripped, bulky muscles are just plain weird on a chick. No matter how you slice it, how much saline is placed in her breast implants, the muscled physique of a pumped up, body building female is just disturbing.  There are things our minds can't get wrapped around, and big muscles on a woman is one of them.

Then there's hair on a woman's face.  Now, it really sucks, because most of us can't help this.  It's often there as a result of an underlying medical condition.  Some women are just genetically predispositioned to have more hair and as they grow older, it moves to their faces.  I often warn my 10 year old, who has a strong Italian background, as she points out the hair on my upper lip, that she too will experience this in time.  (If she'd stop pointing it out, I'd stop being mean about it!)  


But it's a burden that some women have to carry, hair on our lips, our chins or overgrowth between our brows.  And the pain and personal torture that we endure because of this overgrowth is nearly unbearable.  Plucking, waxing, ripping, laser treatment - all in the name of beauty.


I guess in the end, the scales of justice are equal when it comes to men and women; each sex has its drawbacks and trials.  Acceptance of our bodies, unfortunately, is based on a prehistoric, often unattainable social expectation and a highly skewed ideal portrayed in magazines and film.  Maybe someday, our society will be able to look beyond the graying mane of hair and stray whiskers of women as well as the sagging man boobs and re ceding hairline of men to appreciate the most important aspect of our humanness, our souls and what is within....

dePrEssIoN

Don't get me wrong.  I like trying to be funny, writing or saying or acting in a way that makes others laugh or even smile.  But, not every day for me is fun or funny or even happy.  Some days, I just feel low, grumpy, down, sad, poopy, crummy, crappy.....you get the picture.  I've had a few of those kinds of days lately.

When I was about thirteen or fourteen years old, adolescent hormones hit with a vengence.  I was ultra moody, ultra sad, ultra grumpy on top of being an already ultra sensitive child.  I remember clearly my mom taking me to my first ob/gyn exam and to discuss my "persistent premenstrual syndrome" (better known as teen angst.)  Apparently, it was more than she could handle.  She was doing what she thought would help and in the end, I suffered through this weird treatment including magnesium suppliments and progesterone suppositories for hormone replacement!  If you know anything about magnesium suppliments, they cause a little intestinal distress; add in an oily suppository and the result is not pretty.  (Pan to memory of me running up the block from the bus stop to get home before I shart myself!)  Ah, modern medicine.  So, the treatment was less than successful and I continued to be an even unhappier teen.  Imagine that!?!

But, this teen unhappiness persisted and it became a deeper sadness, sometimes even hopelessness.  No one seemed to understand or appreciate how I felt and I was regularly deemed overly sensitive.  Of course, there was the usual dysfunctional issues in all aspects of my life; my parents were divorced, I desperately wanted a relationship with my dad but was jealous of his new family, body image issues, boyfriends... I could go on and on.   I just couldn't shake the sadness and the down in the dumps kind of mood.  My mom would say, "Just be happy, you have nothing to be depressed about."  Ummm, okay....not.

And this sadness persisted.  It wasn't every day, it wasn't every week, but it was there, more often then not, hanging out, pestering me.  Of course, when I made stupid decisions, the sadness would rear its ugly head.  Then, after graduating high school, my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly, first semester of college, weeks before Thanksgiving.  Tell you what doesn't help a propencity for depression - your father's untimely death.   Add in a troubled relationship with your mom, not really having a home any longer, guilt of "living in sin" with your boyfriend, familial expectations and you have a pretty rough end of the teen years, beginning of the twenties.  THEN I started nursing school.  (I hear a collective groan from nursing school alum.)  Let's just say that I had a few rough years.

I remember my depression and sadness culminating into a single moment a month or so before graduating from college and nursing school.  I very distinctly remember driving north on 169 highway in North Kansas City approaching my exit onto 9 highway.   You know how some exits off elevated highways have a pretty steep embankment between the highway and the exit ramp?  At that moment, I clearly remember making an honest decision to NOT drive my car off the embankment.  My sadness and hopelessness was such that I was now at the point in my life that I was having to make the decision to not die.  That was a profound moment for me.

So here I am today, having probably spent at least a year's salary on therapy over the last 15 years;  I'm not depression free, by any means, but certainly a lot wiser and a lot more happy with my life and the decisions that I am making.  It has helped that I have eliminated the drama and roller coasters from my life, living responsibly and choosing better relationships.  Most importantly, it is because of ME, my decisions and the WORK that I've done that contributes to the improvement of depression from my life.

Do I think my depression is gone forever?  Have I beat it completely?  Is it a burden I will have for my lifetime?  Questions I can't answer right now.  I don't think that I will ever "beat" depression as long as I have the free will to make poor decisions,  feel as deeply as I do and have the "ultra" sensitivity that I have.  I can only hope that as I learn to embrace the person I am, loving me for me, I will have a leg up against this crappy disease of depression.

Dumpster Diver's Anonymous

Hi, my name is Jennifer and I am a dumpster diver.  (Audience in unison: "Hello Jennifer."  Meeting leader says, "Welcome to Dumpster Diver's Anonymous! Please, go ahead.")  I begin... It all started many years ago, I think I was about 12 or 13 years old... (Audience collectively gasps.)  I was pretty young when I did IT the first time.  **I dab a tear from the corner of my eye.**  I know that I shouldn't blame anyone for my own decisions.... but MY MOM took me for my first dive.  It was innocent, really. **I fade into a fog of memory.** We were looking for boxes, I think we were moving or maybe we were going to have a garage sale.  I don't clearly remember because the dive.... well, I was hooked, the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, the fear factor, the smell of garbage and moldy boxes...

I felt uncomfortable the first time, doin' the dive.  But my mom kept encouraging me, taunting me.  "Come on, Jen, you can do it.  Here,  (she grunts as she heaves me up) lean over the side...(grunts) see any?  Come on, you can do it! (grunts and pants)  Big ones work best!  Nobody can see us back here.  Look over there... (banging heard on the side of the dumpster) under that bag.  Come on...YOU'RE GETTING HEAVY!  Eeeeww, that's so BIG!"  My heart was pumping as the adrenaline rushes me.  There were three big boxes and one with a lid, (Audience groans with pleasure.) JACKPOT!  The rush was amazing.

Our codependent dumpster diving began.  She would boost me up and I would rifle through the bags and boxes for ones that fit our needs.  We would scurry off with our prize in tow, throw them into the trunk of the car, jump into the seats to tear away from the wretched scene, both giddy with delight!

One time, **I choke back a sob** I remember a certain dive I'll never forget.  The gig was dangerous, the night humid and steamy, our desire for boxes at it's peak.  We pulled up behind BEEEEEP station off of BEEEEEP Road.  The night was dark, we were confident in our plan.  We would just look.  I made her promise.  But she kept pushing me to go look while she stayed in the car!  Then I saw them, tucked behind the big dumpster, all red and sturdy!  I couldn't believe my eyes!  Plastic boxes with flip top lids!  It was the motherload, a dream come true, a diver's paradise.  **Tears of joy and sorrow now streaming down my cheeks!**  I knew, KNEW in my heart that this hit had to be the last!  We would get caught and who knows what would happen.  They might make us put them back!

But, I had to have them!  They had flip tops for God's sake!  (Audience glances as one another nodding in agreement.)  So, (Mission Impossible theme playing in background) I snag three, scanning the parking lot for the fuzz or the station attendant or... okay, nobody.  I swing the boxes up into the back of the truck, jump into the passenger seat and mom races away, tires squealing or cutting up the gravel or crunching the gravel slowly, I don't accurately recall.  We were high as kites from our dive, the endorphin's running wild.  An amazing, powerful feeling! (Audiences watches wide eyed.)

And then, it happened.  My world came crashing down when we got our cache home.  The reason I'm here with you today, telling my story.  Our giddy inspection of the boxes turned cold as we realize our prize boxes, with big bold letters on the side read,  BEEEEEEEEEEEP  Convenience Store.  With horror, we realize our diving had reached rock bottom, we'd stole shipping crates!  (Collective gasp from audience, loan scream pierces the crowd!)

The moral of my story, my fellow Dumpster Divers, is to take care in collecting your box booty!  While the euphoria is amazing and the stench of dumpsters intoxicating, you never want to become so corrupted by your passion that you take packing materials from convenience stores.   I wish I could tell you all **sniff, sniff** that I returned all the shipping crates.  But it would be a damn lie.  Somewhere, deep in my basement storage, there is a red flip top crate with BEEEEEEEEEEEP  Convenience Store written on the side.

I am a recovering Dumpster Diver, it's been 6 months and 3 days since my last dive  (Audience cheers).  I find myself pulling around buildings to the dumpster on occasion.  Sometimes, I even crack the window to get a whiff of the moldy box smell and steal a glance for a nice sized box.  The urge to dive bubbles up but I'm able to push it down and drive away.... for now.

Late Night Chocolate Run

So, I had trouble going to sleep tonight.  I laid in bed, tossing and turning, listening to my husband happily snore and decided to just get out of bed and come up stairs, see what kind of trouble I can get into.  It's not that unusual for me to be awake at 3am in the morning; a little gift from the Night Nurse Fairy.  It's not like I'm not in need of sleep.  Mathematically speaking, I'm way behind on my 12 hours a day of sleep (my personal requirement, don't judge!)  I've just got a lot on my plate right now.  You all can identify, I'm sure.

In my search for something to do, I realized that chocolate would be quite nice about then.  And because I have been banned from grocery shopping, there, of course, is NO chocolate in the house.  Damn!  Ah, but Quick Trip is only blocks away and I knew, from experience, that they have a lovely little treat, chocolate and cakey, just waiting for me to come buy one (or two.)  In my jammies, I slip on shoes and grabbed my husband's keys for the get away.  Now, I can't take my own vehicle because it's in the garage and that would certainly wake my husband up, hearing the garage door open.   Oh, I've thought this through, thoroughly.  The front door is my next big hurdle.  The door is not an easy open.  Frankly, it's comical to watch my 10 year old open it.  She pulls and pulls, leans back and pulls and it finally starts to slip open.  She likely thinks that adults are supposed to open the front door for their little ones as a courtesy as they leave their home but in truth, my husband and I have to open the door because she has trouble getting it open.  Certainly a positive door characteristic to have when she becomes a teen trying to come in after curfew...

I digress... I get through the front door with a mild amount of noise and bound out to the Jeep.  Of course, being 3 am, there was very little going on in the outside world.  My favorite time of day, for sure.  It's so quiet and peaceful.  The birds are sleeping, the neighbor's dog is in the house, traffic sounds and sirens are at a minimum.  There's not much to interrupt a girl on a mission.  The down side, of course, to leaving your home at 3 am without telling your spouse that you're gone is the risk and potential dangers, depending on the area of town you live.  I fee I'm moderately safe, I decide, and the chocolate craving is way stronger than any fear I might have.

I'll spoil the ending right away.  I get the chocolate cake, make it home safely and sit down at my computer with fork and milk in hand to savor my prize.

I am reminded of my other life, the one where three other days a week I am purposefully awake and active at this time of night, taking care of little kiddies as a night nurse.  In total, I have worked nights for 7 1/2 years.  I love working nights for the same reason that leaving the house at 3 am for a chocolate run is enjoyable; it's quiet and peaceful in a hospital at night.  Okay, usually.  I can hear my coworkers booing me now.  "You said the q word!  Now, you're in for it!!"  There isn't the hustle and bustle of a multitude of doctors, med students, student nurses, cleaning staff, visitors, administrators and therapists at night.  There isn't the constant interruptions from the phone ringing every 2-3 minutes, call lights going off.  The demands tend to be less when your patients and their parents are sleeping.

Now, don't get me wrong!  I work for a living and there are more nights than not that I am running my chocolate loving butt off, earning every cent I make.  But even on the busiest nights, the distractions are less and the auditory overload is manageable.  The world is resting and getting refreshed while me and my fellow nurse super hero's watch over and protect your young.  It's not glamorous, the dark circles under our eyes, the coffee breath and energy drinks, frazzled hair dos, puke on our pants and pockets full of alcohol wipes and leaky pens.  

But, to be a night nurse, that person who defies nature's circadian rhythm, takes someone special.  It takes someone with guts to enter a dark room, in the middle of the night and approach a complete stranger with a syringe full of "yummy" tasting medicine, dodge kicking and swinging appendages, convince the assailant to consume the medication and go back to sleep without losing so much as a drop.  It takes someone with unique skills to adapt owl like vision to accurately transcribe vital signs in the dark or neatly perform a complete poopy diaper change without disturbing the sleeping parent in the cot bed near by.  It takes super human will power to keep your eyes open and your mind sharp at 2 am, especially after a cheese burger and fries for "lunch" at 1 am.   It's not easy, but we are a small group of professionals who choose this life, to provide care to the needy during the late night.  Such a great group we are, where I work.  And I savor this piece of chocolate cake, from my late night run, as a tribute to all those night nurses who do what they do!  Show your gratitude to all of your favorite night nurses with chocolate, a hug or even just a thank you!  They will surely appreciate it!

I blog, therefore, I am.....

So, starting a blog was kind of a spontaneous decision.  I recently read a friend's blog and was surprised at how interesting and a bit addicting it was to watch for blog updates.  The plan began to form:  I love writing in my journal and have secret dreams of becoming an accomplished author of witty and inciteful pieces of award winning literature.  I am savey enough to work a computer.  People who know me, agree that I like plastering my thoughts and lack of reasoning publically...  I shall grace the net with my musings as a blog.  It didn't hurt that I had a slow night at work.  So, here I am with my first blog entry into the world wide internet.

I thought about making this blog very specific, like about fat girls dieting or the joys of being a pediatric nurse.  But in the end, I decided to simply make it a general discussion about life. Life can be a real kick in the pants, in a good, "Hey, that was a hoot, a real kick in the pants!" sort of way or a less good, "Ah, shit! that kicked me in the ass!" kind of way.  It's all about the process of learning, finding that deeper meaning, that ah-ha moment.

So, maybe my life has had a few of these moments, and maybe, hopefully, my life will continue to have more of those good kick in the pants moments.  Whatever the case, I'm sharing them here!