Wednesday's Child's Bratty Sister

Attention:

All spirit wear will now be Kevlar. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Administration

If you could be another person for a day, who would it be and why?

Well, it wouldn't be a person. I'd be my dog. Sure, it'd get boring for an extended amount of time, but a day of lounging, chasing mice, eating, free massages and sleeping when ever and where ever you want? Who wouldn't love that?

So, Shaddyr nudged me to say I've been too quite. Strange, no one in RL ever says that.

I believe my last update expressed how horrible my job was in the ER. I left at the first of the year and am now working in Interventional Services.

I can hear you all right now. "Huh? WTF is that?" It was easier to explain what I did when I worked in the ER.

You could almost describe it as interventioanl vascular labs. There are three suites that I rotate through. Cath lab, Interventional Radiology and Neurological Radiology. In cath lab, we look at the heart arteries and open them up when needed. In Neuro, we do the same in the brain. In IR, many things are done under xray.

What attracted me to it was the focus on one patient at a time. I can finally do what I do best without being torn into six different directions at once. The downside is the 10-12 days of call a month. It's a bitch to come in for a heart attack at 1am, then have to work the whole next day. But I love it and I'm not angry all the time.

Hubby is off for the summer and we'll probably have the electric done by August.

The dogs are the dogs. Big bundles of fur that eat, shit and sleep.

And that, as they say, is that.

Wow. I've either chosen a bad batch of books recently, or I've simply become hard to please. Does anyone have a book to recommend? I need to break the cycle.

Teresa Medeiros' Yours Until Dawn

Coming next, Carla Kelly's surprising return to the genre, Beau Crusoe.

Now that the history class from hell is over (American history from colonization to 1865), I have had time to read again.

Case in point, Mary Balogh's Simply Love.

Shaddyr, I'll update my journal more thoroughly when I get time. Thanks for the nudge.

Your Inner Child Is Scared

Like a kid, you tend to shy away from new experiences.
You prefer what's tried and true - novelty is scary!
New foods, new places, and new friends are difficult for you to deal with.
Some say you're predictable, but you enjoy being comfortable.

You Are 18 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

I get that you can either pay for music by subscription or pay-per-track. Is there a way to pay-per-track, and yet be able to create an MP3 or WMA CD for my car's player? (As opposed to a music CD.)

On the twelfth day of Christmas,

taramisu sent to me...

Twelve stuffed animals drumming

Eleven historical homes piping

Ten btvs a-leaping

Nine pigs dancing

Eight stakes a-milking

Seven ats a-sewing

Six socks a-cuddling

Five blo-o-o-onde vampires

Four stuffed pigs

Three evil hands

Two lab mixes

...and a chocolate in a spuffy.

Work has continued in its downward spiral. It's to the point where I walk into the building and feel a nauseaous burning in the pit of my stomach. I continue to have migraines at least weekly and IBS on alternate days.

But there is light at the end of the tunnel. While I most certainly did not get the educator position (ouch, that knife in my back really stings), I did get a position in the cath lab. Yes, there's call time...8-10 days a month of call time. But I can't stay another minute in Dante's 12th level of hell called the CDH ED.

Despite the call, this will be great for me. No weekends. No holidays. No drunks. No family. No requests for pillows or drinks or lunches. No call lights. One patient at a time. Same pay. Same benefits.

The only problem is that I've been waiting for weeks to start. According to hospital policy, my current manager can make we wait as long as she wants. And she's surely doing just that!

My last day in hell is 12/29. I've already made at least 3 staff members tear up at the thought of me leaving. Who else is going to do all the extra stuff I do? The answer: no one. You. Are. Screwed.

Moral of the story: Don't shit where you eat. Or is it...Don't bite the hand that feeds you. Or is it...you can't fuck with me anymore because I DID quit, biatches!!!

(Oh, and there's an update of my romance novel reviews.)

Our power went out (in a blaze of glory) on Wednesday. Would some kind person be able to send me a tape/dvd of the last episode of Lost? I'm willing to beg. I'm willing to plead.

There are some things that a human should never have to experience. A perfectly healthy 2 month old should never die, and her parents should not have to live with that for the rest of their lives.

I have worked in healthcare for 14 years. Just the last 5 ½ I’ve spent in the ED with all patient groups. There is nothing more painful than the death of a child. But, to be truthful, very young children don’t understand the difference between life and death. Sure, it’s tragic and I mourn the loss of a life not lived, but it’s the people left behind who will carry the weight with them to their own graves. While parents don’t exactly project a calm sadness, there is generally some restraint to their initial grief process. I’ve heard wailing and pleading and sobbing, but never what I experienced today. I wonder why.

They had left their precious new baby with the sitter. Mom probably kissed her fuzzy head and smiled. “Be good! I’ll be home soon.” I can just imagine her light steps as she walks out of the house, gets in her car and takes off for work. Now, it’s just after lunch and the phone rings. Something is wrong with the baby. Get to the hospital immediately. She has to plead her case to the boss, “I’m so sorry to leave on short notice, but something’s wrong and I have to go.” She drives to the hospital in a cloud, running yellow lights and cutting off unsuspecting drivers. “My God. Is she okay?” she thinks. She enters the big doors. “I’m here for my baby. Where is she?! Is she all right?” “Right this way. We’ll have you sit in here until the doctor can talk to you.”

The next words she hears will echo in her brain until the end of time.

“We did everything we could. Your baby is dead.”

The next words are a string of nonsense. She hears none of it. The word “dead” rings through her head. She denies it. She fights it. She demands to see her child.

The baby’s father screamed at the top of his lungs. “This should never happen! No one should have to live through this! What happened?! My God, what happened?!” The doctor quietly explained the best he could, but the grieving father heard none of it and repeated his mantra over and over. He picked up some equipment and threw it to the ground. It shattered into many pieces, and frightened the other patients. Mom finally arrived. She screamed one long scream – the loudest I’ve ever heard. I wondered if it would ever end. “My baby! My baby!” she cried. She screamed again. He screamed again.

My patient’s husband put his hand on mine. Are you okay? No, I’m not. But what right do I have to take support from someone? I’m not the one who will live with a hole in my life. I’m not the one who just lost a child. I shake my head and smile. “I’m fine.” I turn my attention to my patient and try to take our minds off of the scene next door. It works poorly. They want to know how old the child was and what happened. Privacy laws prevent me from speaking about other patients. Fuck that. They’re not stupid and I’m not going to play that corporate game. “She’s about 2 months old. She died in her sleep.” “What happened?” “They won’t know until the autopsy.” A hush falls on our room. Just the thought of a baby being cut open by some strange pathologist sends a chill through my spine. He won’t remember her as the smiling, happy baby she was. She’ll just be a lump of cold dead flesh to him. He won’t grieve as he looks through her body. Shouldn’t he grieve too?!

The parents begin screaming again as the grandparents enter the room. I assure my patient that she has a room assignment and will go upstairs to a more comfortable bed shortly.

I drive home, picking up milk on the way. I am unable to muster a smile for the checker.

I get home and collapse on the floor, sobbing.

It should never happen.

I've finally decided to leave my current place of employment. Not only do I now have to put up with the Assistant Manager from hell (also known as the Ass Man), but now they've decreased the nursing staffing even more. I was ready to leave last time until they offered me the incredible opportunity to train the staff on the new electronic documentation system. So, this is it. Why should I work my ass off, do a crappy job due to the sheer volume of patients, and have to work for the Ass Man?

Nope. Won't do it any more.

I have my ideal job staring me in the face and will be able to interview for it soon. I can't say more. Don't wanna jinx it. Just wish me luck. I'll be needing it.

What is the difference between a Chifarobe, Wardrobe and Armoire? A quick googling did not yield any results.

Added one book to the Unreadables Page:

Donna Simpson's Lady May's Folly - This book finally caused me to make a pact with myself. Stop reading after the third exclamation mark!!! Plus, the writer just summed up a great deal of the plot in the first 5 pages. She ruined a great chance at a great book. Oh, wait. She ruined a great chance at a great book!!!!

Also, added a review for Sophia Nash's A Passionate Endeavor.

There is a whole pile of books on my shelf that are waiting to be trashed or sold - but I haven't read a single one.

Review of Laura Kinsale's Uncertain Magic is up.

My very favorite part is MacLassar, the pet pig.

I'm noticing a trend with Ms. Kinsale's work. Her heroes are all overbearing, insufferable men. What's up with that?

Snerked from

mistraltoes

If you're interested, (even if we don't speak often) please post a comment with a completely fictional memory of you and me.

It can be anything you want - good or bad - but it must be fiction.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your LJ and be surprised (or mortified) about what people don't actually remember about you.