jury duty

you know your life is lame when you look forward to jury duty.  i got called.  for the third time.  on may 7th.  and sadly, i am not scheduled to work as a nurse on the 7th.  if i was, my employer has to pay me for my civil duties.  but i am scheduled to work on the 8th and the 9th.  if they put me on some trial that lasts days and days, perhaps i will get a little respite from nursing.  oh and they give you a whopping ten dollars per day as a juror.  woohooo!!!  i just worked 60+ hours in the last 7 days.  i need a break.  one that jury duty might provide.

compliments

a new nurse gave me a compliment yesterday that i really appreciated.  she said this - "i've been watching you precept that student and i'm really sad that i didn't get a chance in my orientation to be precepted by you.  you seem really smart and calm.  like i would have learned a lot from you."  it was nice.  i enjoy teaching.  and i think i am decent at it.  but to have someone recognize it.  to compliment me.  well, compliments always feel nice.

need another vacation

time flies.  i've already been back from vacation for more than 2.5 weeks and i feel like i could already use another break.  how does that happen?  i only work 3 or 4 twelves per week and already, i want more time off.  do all adults feel this way?  is constant vacation the only way to be happy?  better not be the case because the way i see it, at almost 33 years old, i have at least 30 more years of work ahead.  good god.  that seems a bit depressing.

since i never shared any photos from my trip to guatemala, let me do that.  this trip was not health related.  i did NO volunteer work.  i didn't save any children.  or cure cancer.  i didn't even build houses.  i simply toured all the sites, went to church on palm sunday, witnessed jesus parades for easter week, and enjoyed my boyfriend.  we went to tikal to see ancient mayan ruins.  and to lake atitlan for a hippy retreat off the grid (that means they used only solar power and our shower was frigid).  we spent only one day doing nothing - sleeping in, taking naps, and eating street food.  it was divine.  all of it.  guatemala.  cole (hospital hunk).  adventure.

without further ado...

baby "priest" sleeps through parade

 jesus and the telephone pole cross

 at the cemetery

 feet on cobblestone streets of antigua

 view from hippy hotel on lake atitlan

 colorful streets of antigua

umbrella sellers

 sweaty kiss at tikal on tower four

always a nurse

yesterday, as cole and i were leaving a local coffee shop, i waited at the door for an elderly man who seemed to be wanting to come inside.  instead he asked me what time the locale was open until and if i knew whether or not they served for dinner - he was inquiring for his son he was caring for.  without questioning, the man kind of unloaded on cole and me.  somehow he mentioned the name of the place he is living (which is affiliated with scca and thus, all of my patients) and so i said, "oh, i'm a nurse.  i wonder if your son is one of my patients."  i guess i'm always a nurse.  when people look dead on a sidewalk or just when an old man needs a shoulder to lean on and ear to listen.  poor man.  he explained his story.  he (at 80 years old) is the only caregiver for his son who has had a bone marrow transplant that has seemed to fail.  he used interesting words - layman's words - like "they keep killing him with chemo."  and when i acknowledged the stress he must be under, he said with tears in his throat, "sometimes i just want to run away.  but i'm his dad.  i'm his only person."  after chatting for at least 10 minutes, cole and i found an escape.  i almost wanted to invite the man over for dinner.  but instead we wished him well.  as we parted, he thanked me for all that i do.  he was genuine.  it was kind.  and sincere.  and it wasn't but 10 steps before i burst into tears.  "everyone i'm surrounded by is so sad," i said into cole's chest.  "life is so unfair for so many people."  no father should watch his son dying.

thank god for vacation.  and trips to guatemala.

i'm out. 

coinkidinks

we live in a very small world.

yesterday, my 75 year old patient was visited by his pastor.  because i saw that he had a visitor, i chose to leave my patient alone for a while.  eventually, i decided i should complete my tasks - deliver medication and check his blood sugar.  so i interrupted.  and thus began the weirdest coincidence.

my patient's visitor, his pastor for the last 25 years, is the husband of the woman who babysat me from the time i was maybe 2 until i was 7 (when they moved from mercer island to lake forest park).  gail lived right between my pre-school and what would become my elementary school.  i was walked across the street everyday so that i could play in her sandbox with her two sons.  she helped to raise me since both my parents worked.

the man didn't recognize me.  and at first, i wasn't sure he was truly mike, gail's husband.  but when i asked if his son's nickname had been popo, i got the strangest stare.  then it clicked for him.  "i gave your sons the chicken pox!"  (his mom had me chew gum and share it with her little ones - to get it over worth).

i love coinkidinks!

oops

nurses have DARK senses of humor.  so when my friend andy was having a hard day and said something about his patient having difficulty breathing, i kinda joked and said, "well, if he just stopped breathing altogether, maybe your shift would be easier."  andy looked at me with that you didn't just say that look.  and we parted and went about our lives.  it was just ten minutes later that i responded to an emergency light.  andy's patient's oxygen saturation was 70%.  he was struggling to breathe.  and unresponsive.  we rubbed his chest.  attempted to get him to respond.  we called respiratory therapy.  and anesthesia.  they intubated him.  and sent him to the ICU.  and all i could think was, "shit, did i make this happen?"  me and my stupid sense of humor.

feeling pessimistic

the last two days i worked, i cared for the sweetest woman.  she's 49 years old.  she's a mother.  to two twenty-something girls who very much need their mom.  go figure, she got admitted to our unit because she is SICK.  everyone on my unit is SICK.  but this woman deserves capitals.  she needs some cheerleaders.  or angels.  or something.

she is 120 post her transplant.  and although she got her own cells back (which is our "easiest" kind of transplant), she struggled from the beginning.  her mouth sores got so bad after chemotherapy, she was intubated.  her lungs started to hemorrhage for no reason.  her heartbeat became erratic and required extra monitoring.  and when she left the hospital, we thought it was a miracle.  we clapped.  and felt joy in our hearts.  a passion was re-ignited - a hope - that maybe transplant works.  maybe all this hard work - witnessing people suffer - has purpose.  maybe there is life after transplant after all.

but once again, now i am not sure.  her future - if she has one - is going to be VERY hard.

as i prepare for work tomorrow, i feel a sense of apprehension and anxiety.  the kind, loving part of me that knows i am good at my job, that knows i offered the best kind of support to this patient, wants to care for her again.  tomorrow and the next day.  maybe until her discharge - to home or to the heavens (we call it a discharge to the eternal care unit or a celestial discharge).  i know she felt safe with me.  and i did a good job, juggling all of her needs - medical and emotional.  hence, there's a small part of me that wants to call my unit and request that i be her nurse tomorrow.

but somewhere inside, there's also part of me that never wants to see her tearful eyes again.  part of me wants to avoid her like the plague.  pretend like she doesn't exist and never inquire about her well-being. if i accidentally acknowledge her existence, i want to pretend that she's getting better, that when her room is empty it's because she's well, shopping with her daughters, celebrating birthdays and graduations and weddings.  but i'm not that optimistic.  never have been.  and never will.  not when it comes to cancer.  on my unit.