My friend Bev likes to say that nursing is the second oldest profession. She's probably right.
Saturday night, I worked adult psych, 11-7. The unit's lost a couple of full time nurses, so instead of working child psych these days, I usually wind up with the grownups.
The moon was full, or almost full, and while research studies seem to indicate that the full moon has nothing to do with weirdness, I'm not sure I believe it.
We had a lot of people who couldn't sleep, who were up and down and pacing and talking. Nice group, though; everyone was polite and friendly.
Mary, the nurse I worked with, is an attractive older lady, late 50s, elegantly (if casually) dressed (if you work psych, you can wear street clothes if you want), with lovely jewelry, manicured nails, nicely coiffed hair...and like me, she has a "fluffy" body shape (as in, we used to have hourglass figures but they sunk to the bottom). She has a kind and caring grandmotherly air about her, and most of the patients love her.
So here we are, sitting in the day room, working on our paperwork, every now and then redirecting someone who's up and a little loud, when a very psychotic female patient touches a male patient (whom she had just met that day) VERY inappropriately. When Mary redirected her, the patient said, "You hussy! If you'd just quit your nude dancing, my husband here would come home to me!"
She sent both patients off to their (own) beds, then sat down and looked at me with a mischievous air.
"You do know that I'd probably make a lot more money nude dancing, don't you?" she asked.
I think, O-KAY! It IS a full moon...
And then she continued, grinning, "Because they'd pay a lot of money to see me keep my clothes ON!"
Monday, October 17, 2005
Monday, October 10, 2005
If Your Opportunity Alarm Clock is Ringing, Don't Hit the Snooze Button!
"Does the Pope have more than one hat? If the Pope tells a monk to do pushups, does the monk have to do it? When the Pope dies, what happens to his hat? Does the Pope have a mechanic whose only job is to service the Popemobile? When the Popemobile is worn out, can someone buy the old one? If the Pope wanted to sing karaoke, could he?
"My history teacher says Walmart is run by Satan!"
"I bet if Harriet Meiers gets to be a Supreme Court Justice, she probably won't get invited to all the cool Supreme Court parties, just the boring ones, probably because she won't know how to hold the gavel, so all the other Justices will make fun of her."
There was more, much more...
Gavin spent the day listening to a motivational speaker at school (because of his schedule, he had to listen to it TWICE), and when I got home he started off by telling me how bad the speaker was (see title example) and then giving me examples of how he could do it better, complete with hand motions, body language, inane examples, and special voice effects.
Then, once he'd got started talking, he couldn't stop; probably because he hasn't had much to say for awhile. Between his school-work and my work-work, we've been pretty quiet here for a few weeks.
I've been working on an IND for a new study that one of the docs wrote. An IND, or "Investigational New Drug" is what has to be approved by the FDA everytime a new drug (or a new use for an old drug) is studied.
When I do a pharmaceutical trial, all this is done by the pharma company. But when I do this for the doc, I get to do all that lovely (ugh) paperwork, which is written in government speak. I think I wound up with 150 pages, and my brain feels soggy. Plus now I have to make up some data capture forms and make sure the doc and the residents fill them out each time, because when an IND is done by a site, then the investigator is ultimately responsible for EVERYTHING connected with it. So I have to make sure all our ducks are in a row...and then there's another study (written by the same guy, if he ever leaves I won't have anything to do) that I have to see if I can get donations of 7 different products (enough for 100 people), write a questionnaire covering all the data the doc wants to know, write a budget (with things like 800 spray bottles), and I had to have it all done, along with applications to 3 different on-campus entities, at 5 o'clock today...I did it with 5 minutes to spare...
I've worked late every night for 3 weeks and I feel like my brain has run a marathon.
So tonight was a treat. And yeah, I hope the Pope DOES get to sing karaoke if he wants.
"My history teacher says Walmart is run by Satan!"
"I bet if Harriet Meiers gets to be a Supreme Court Justice, she probably won't get invited to all the cool Supreme Court parties, just the boring ones, probably because she won't know how to hold the gavel, so all the other Justices will make fun of her."
There was more, much more...
Gavin spent the day listening to a motivational speaker at school (because of his schedule, he had to listen to it TWICE), and when I got home he started off by telling me how bad the speaker was (see title example) and then giving me examples of how he could do it better, complete with hand motions, body language, inane examples, and special voice effects.
Then, once he'd got started talking, he couldn't stop; probably because he hasn't had much to say for awhile. Between his school-work and my work-work, we've been pretty quiet here for a few weeks.
I've been working on an IND for a new study that one of the docs wrote. An IND, or "Investigational New Drug" is what has to be approved by the FDA everytime a new drug (or a new use for an old drug) is studied.
When I do a pharmaceutical trial, all this is done by the pharma company. But when I do this for the doc, I get to do all that lovely (ugh) paperwork, which is written in government speak. I think I wound up with 150 pages, and my brain feels soggy. Plus now I have to make up some data capture forms and make sure the doc and the residents fill them out each time, because when an IND is done by a site, then the investigator is ultimately responsible for EVERYTHING connected with it. So I have to make sure all our ducks are in a row...and then there's another study (written by the same guy, if he ever leaves I won't have anything to do) that I have to see if I can get donations of 7 different products (enough for 100 people), write a questionnaire covering all the data the doc wants to know, write a budget (with things like 800 spray bottles), and I had to have it all done, along with applications to 3 different on-campus entities, at 5 o'clock today...I did it with 5 minutes to spare...
I've worked late every night for 3 weeks and I feel like my brain has run a marathon.
So tonight was a treat. And yeah, I hope the Pope DOES get to sing karaoke if he wants.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
She Wore a Raspberry....Guillotine?
Why are adolescents so crazy-making to their parents?
Gavin and I just came off a week and half of the silent treatment...all because Evil Overlord Mom insisted that the lawn had to be mowed, and when it wasn't, draconian measures were instituted (gasp! no computer games for a week! oh, the horror of it all!).
Anyway, on the drive to school this morning, glaciers thawed, and Gavin informed me that one of his friends feels compelled to write the complete history of Candyland.
Candyland (for those of you who have successfully avoided or blocked out any memory or connection to toddlers) is a very simple board game which has been around for at least 40 years. Players roll dice and draw cards and move a gingerbread-man-shaped token through various kingdoms of candy, ruled over by monarchs such as Mr. Mint, King Kandy, and Queen Frostine.
Both my kids were fascinated by Candyland until they were about four. I finally got smart and started stacking the deck so that a) the child could win the game quickly (but not too quickly, otherwise we'd have to play again) and b) so that I wouldn't draw either Queen Frostine or Princess Lolly too early in the game, because either of those is pretty much a guaranteed win...and an early win is OK if it's the KID winning; if it's the parent's early win, then you may have to play it 2 or 3 MORE times.
OK, I thought; so he's interested in the history of board games and that one's been around awhile.
But no. No, this is a history of CANDYLAND, in which civil war erupts between Princess Lolly and Queen Frostine, Lord Licorice attempts to infiltrate King Kandy's domain by employing Mr. Mint as a spy, Grandma Nutt is consumed by Gloppy, the Chocolate Swamp Monster, and then the peasants revolt, kill all the heads of state with the Raspberry Guillotine...and eventually Candyland is subsumed into the Hapsburg Empire, sometime around 1600.
Maybe "The Candyman" was their national anthem?
I have to admit, it makes those seemingly endless games of Candyland much better in retrospect...
Gavin and I just came off a week and half of the silent treatment...all because Evil Overlord Mom insisted that the lawn had to be mowed, and when it wasn't, draconian measures were instituted (gasp! no computer games for a week! oh, the horror of it all!).
Anyway, on the drive to school this morning, glaciers thawed, and Gavin informed me that one of his friends feels compelled to write the complete history of Candyland.
Candyland (for those of you who have successfully avoided or blocked out any memory or connection to toddlers) is a very simple board game which has been around for at least 40 years. Players roll dice and draw cards and move a gingerbread-man-shaped token through various kingdoms of candy, ruled over by monarchs such as Mr. Mint, King Kandy, and Queen Frostine.
Both my kids were fascinated by Candyland until they were about four. I finally got smart and started stacking the deck so that a) the child could win the game quickly (but not too quickly, otherwise we'd have to play again) and b) so that I wouldn't draw either Queen Frostine or Princess Lolly too early in the game, because either of those is pretty much a guaranteed win...and an early win is OK if it's the KID winning; if it's the parent's early win, then you may have to play it 2 or 3 MORE times.
OK, I thought; so he's interested in the history of board games and that one's been around awhile.
But no. No, this is a history of CANDYLAND, in which civil war erupts between Princess Lolly and Queen Frostine, Lord Licorice attempts to infiltrate King Kandy's domain by employing Mr. Mint as a spy, Grandma Nutt is consumed by Gloppy, the Chocolate Swamp Monster, and then the peasants revolt, kill all the heads of state with the Raspberry Guillotine...and eventually Candyland is subsumed into the Hapsburg Empire, sometime around 1600.
Maybe "The Candyman" was their national anthem?
I have to admit, it makes those seemingly endless games of Candyland much better in retrospect...
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Tuesday Self Portrait -- Gemini
Robyn and I have been friends since the 5th grade. Although she's lived in California for a very long time (while I'm here in Oklahoma), whenever we get to see each other, it's as though no time has passed inbetween. We considered each other's parents our own, never bothered to knock when entering the other's house, and traded clothes, notes, books, letters, and artwork. She's the most creative and artistic person I think I've ever met; especially when it comes to fabric arts (Rog comes close, though, and has the upper hand when it comes to pencil portraits).
We are twins of the heart.
I got to spend a few days with her when I went to Dana Point for the research meeting; I took her a suitcase loaded with fabric, and she took me to the beach.
Back in junior high, in the 70s, we were tan fanatics. This time, while sitting in the sand side by side, I was thinking about all the times we'd lie in the sun in our bikinis...that wonderful sensation as the sunshine lies heavy on your body and you just exist and soak up the rays...and she looked at my legs and said, "Jodie! Your legs are so white!" I think, OK, I know I look like a zombie, but do you have to rub it in? And then Robyn continues, "They are SOOOO BEAUTIFUL! I wish my legs were that white!"
You can know someone for all your life, and they can STILL surprise you.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Nurse: Superhero, Villain...or Vampire?
Yesterday evening, after putting in a full day at my research job, I had to go to CAPE class for my second (psych) job.
Like many caregiver classes offered through the hospital, it was mandatory so we all get paid to take it, which is a good thing since it ate up six hours of my limited free time.
CAPE, or "Creating a Positive Environment", is more or less a method for deflating aggression, and if that doesn't work, using some skills to A) escape from a violent patient or B) help someone else escape from a violent patient. Unfortunately, it doesn't involve anything cool like kung fu moves or 007 style equipment.
First we got to practice using all the restraints in our arsenal, from the 5 point leathers (wrists, ankles, and waist) to the fabric restraints which are really more to help very old, ill, or confused patients from falling out of bed or a chair, to the restraints which are considered to be "medical immobilization" (such as restraining an arm for a minute or so while you put in an IV). The big difference between "restraints" and "medical immobilization" is that the nurse has to have an MD's order for a restraint, it has to be charted on frequently (depending on the type), and the patient has to be checked continuously for some and frequently for the others...while for a "medical immobilization", none of that has to occur.
We had to practice tying each other up in this stuff and then undoing it. Since you have to assume your patient doesn't want to have restraints, you have to realize you'll be trying to put these unwieldy things onto someone who's flailing and angry, so practice is good. It was a little spooky when my partner put leathers on me and I realized that even though the wrist restraint was on the smallest hole, I could STILL pull my hand out...which means a patient could, too. And we got to hear all the horror stories about patients who were put into the fabric restraints the wrong way and managed to suffocate themselves, which was NOT a cheery experience.
Then we got to practice our moves...what to do if someone grabs your arm, your clothes, your hair, bites you, grabs you in a bearhug, tries to choke you, puts you in a full nelson, tries to hit you with something, how to block a punch or a kick, how to hold a patient so they can't hurt you, how to trade off with another caregiver when you get tired, and how to hold someone really large with multiple staff members...and how to do all those things with the least harm to yourself or the patient.
We have to learn all this, but in the 15 years I've worked in mental health, I've never had to use it; and really, I've only had two patients who had difficult moments when I thought there might be trouble, but there wasn't. So I suppose I'm either lucky or doing something right.
Anyway when I got home, I was pretty tired. Gavin asked me how CAPE training went...and then asked "What level did you make, Mom?"
"Level?" I asked.
"Yeah, you know, like Superhero!" And he expansively waved his arms to indicate a graceful billowing cape as he leaped across the room while singing "Here I come to save the day!"...
...only to turn, his nose in the crook of his elbow, imaginary cape swirling around his feet, and his eyes narrowed, staring piercingly..."Or Vampire!" and immediately switching to a heavy Transylvanian accent, "I don't drink....vine..."
...then, in a half crouch, still with his nose in the crook of his arm, imaginary cape hiding half his face, twirling an imaginary handlebar mustache, with shifty gaze and deep commanding voice, "Or Villain! I'll tie you to the railroad tracks if you don't pay your rent, BWAA HAA HAA!!"
I'd MUCH rather have done that kind of "CAPE" training...and who knows, some of the patients might prefer that, too.
Like many caregiver classes offered through the hospital, it was mandatory so we all get paid to take it, which is a good thing since it ate up six hours of my limited free time.
CAPE, or "Creating a Positive Environment", is more or less a method for deflating aggression, and if that doesn't work, using some skills to A) escape from a violent patient or B) help someone else escape from a violent patient. Unfortunately, it doesn't involve anything cool like kung fu moves or 007 style equipment.
First we got to practice using all the restraints in our arsenal, from the 5 point leathers (wrists, ankles, and waist) to the fabric restraints which are really more to help very old, ill, or confused patients from falling out of bed or a chair, to the restraints which are considered to be "medical immobilization" (such as restraining an arm for a minute or so while you put in an IV). The big difference between "restraints" and "medical immobilization" is that the nurse has to have an MD's order for a restraint, it has to be charted on frequently (depending on the type), and the patient has to be checked continuously for some and frequently for the others...while for a "medical immobilization", none of that has to occur.
We had to practice tying each other up in this stuff and then undoing it. Since you have to assume your patient doesn't want to have restraints, you have to realize you'll be trying to put these unwieldy things onto someone who's flailing and angry, so practice is good. It was a little spooky when my partner put leathers on me and I realized that even though the wrist restraint was on the smallest hole, I could STILL pull my hand out...which means a patient could, too. And we got to hear all the horror stories about patients who were put into the fabric restraints the wrong way and managed to suffocate themselves, which was NOT a cheery experience.
Then we got to practice our moves...what to do if someone grabs your arm, your clothes, your hair, bites you, grabs you in a bearhug, tries to choke you, puts you in a full nelson, tries to hit you with something, how to block a punch or a kick, how to hold a patient so they can't hurt you, how to trade off with another caregiver when you get tired, and how to hold someone really large with multiple staff members...and how to do all those things with the least harm to yourself or the patient.
We have to learn all this, but in the 15 years I've worked in mental health, I've never had to use it; and really, I've only had two patients who had difficult moments when I thought there might be trouble, but there wasn't. So I suppose I'm either lucky or doing something right.
Anyway when I got home, I was pretty tired. Gavin asked me how CAPE training went...and then asked "What level did you make, Mom?"
"Level?" I asked.
"Yeah, you know, like Superhero!" And he expansively waved his arms to indicate a graceful billowing cape as he leaped across the room while singing "Here I come to save the day!"...
...only to turn, his nose in the crook of his elbow, imaginary cape swirling around his feet, and his eyes narrowed, staring piercingly..."Or Vampire!" and immediately switching to a heavy Transylvanian accent, "I don't drink....vine..."
...then, in a half crouch, still with his nose in the crook of his arm, imaginary cape hiding half his face, twirling an imaginary handlebar mustache, with shifty gaze and deep commanding voice, "Or Villain! I'll tie you to the railroad tracks if you don't pay your rent, BWAA HAA HAA!!"
I'd MUCH rather have done that kind of "CAPE" training...and who knows, some of the patients might prefer that, too.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
The Flying Zlorbian
After being shanghaied by pirate ninjas (or was it ninja pirates?) for two weeks (one of which the villains stood over me and MADE ME GET ALL MY WORK DONE, made me wrap and ship 30-some-odd Ebay packages, and clean my house because my Mom was coming to stay with Gavin...and even pirate/ninjas respect the fact that the house MUST be clean for Mom. Especially since I have yet to live down the incident years ago of the moldy bread that somehow got pushed to the back of the cabinet...which Mom found, of course...I don't think penicillin factories have any more mold. At least it was still in the wrapper. Green fuzzy bread, anyone?). I left for California on Sunday after working 11-7 Saturday, arrived home on Friday and worked ANOTHER 11-7. I'm "too pooped to pop" as Dad always said. I still don't know what that means, but I love to say it.
I have a lot to say about my time in California (Hi Dave & Dorian, Alex, and Robyn!!!) but right now I want to talk about last night.
I worked Adult Psych, which is a whole different world than child psych. And adult psych at night can be even stranger...and a night with a full moon...well...
Now, I know that there have been studies (or so I have been told; I haven't read 'em) that purport to debunk the full moon weirdness factor. However, in this instance, Nurse Lore trumps PhD studies (especially as it is backed up by Police Lore, EMT Lore, ER Lore, and Night Convenience Store Clerk Lore), and besides, we all know that PhD really means "Pizza Hut Delivery". (Remember, this is NOT a slam at PhDs. I expect my brother to be one any time now, and I have to keep up, don't I?)
Anyway, Nurse Lore states that people and situations get stranger during the full moon, and it's not just psych.
Evening shift report indicated that everyone had had a good day, which is a tremendously wonderful thing on a psych unit, so the Charge Nurse (I've never had this term explained to me; while I assume it means "In Charge" maybe it really involves credit cards and Nordstrom's sales after one gets off work...wow, did she have nice clothes) and I hoped for the best and started our paperwork.
We had a steady procession all night of agreeable, pleasant, and polite, but extraordinarily psychotic patients who "just couldn't sleep" -- more than half of them were awake at one time or another. Of course, this had nothing to do with the loud buzzing noise the air conditioner made every time it went on, and nothing to do with the extremely loud and deep voice of our Mental Health Tech who has a BA in psychology and wanted to "do therapy" with the patients and kept cornering them; Charge and I kept redirecting him AND the patients in an effort to get everyone (well, everyone except us) some sleep. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing sometimes.
When I got back in this morning, Gavin asked me about my night. He's been fascinated by psychoses ever since I had a patient who'd found out my number and would call me EVERY NIGHT at 10 pm and tell me (or whoever answered, sometimes one of the kids) what the "angels" had said to her that day (almost always something bright and happy). I told him one patient told me he was possessed by aliens (I have to be careful about what I say because I cannot give out any identifying information...and trust me, this is a very, very small part of this patient's delusionary system).
Gavin immediately assumed this meant "alien ghosts" since possession must be a supernatural phenomenon...and aliens probably would be natural, not supernatural...except that Gavin was not allowing for the lack of reasoning ability in someone who is acutely psychotic. Since it wasn't alien ghosts, he decided that the patient must be possessed by some alien thing which skirts the realm of the natural and the supernatural...like the Flying Dutchman...Yes! It must be the Flying Zlorbian, forced to wander the universe and possess the minds of unwitting humans...
Oh dear. I don't know whether to worry about him or tell him to write a book.
I have a lot to say about my time in California (Hi Dave & Dorian, Alex, and Robyn!!!) but right now I want to talk about last night.
I worked Adult Psych, which is a whole different world than child psych. And adult psych at night can be even stranger...and a night with a full moon...well...
Now, I know that there have been studies (or so I have been told; I haven't read 'em) that purport to debunk the full moon weirdness factor. However, in this instance, Nurse Lore trumps PhD studies (especially as it is backed up by Police Lore, EMT Lore, ER Lore, and Night Convenience Store Clerk Lore), and besides, we all know that PhD really means "Pizza Hut Delivery". (Remember, this is NOT a slam at PhDs. I expect my brother to be one any time now, and I have to keep up, don't I?)
Anyway, Nurse Lore states that people and situations get stranger during the full moon, and it's not just psych.
Evening shift report indicated that everyone had had a good day, which is a tremendously wonderful thing on a psych unit, so the Charge Nurse (I've never had this term explained to me; while I assume it means "In Charge" maybe it really involves credit cards and Nordstrom's sales after one gets off work...wow, did she have nice clothes) and I hoped for the best and started our paperwork.
We had a steady procession all night of agreeable, pleasant, and polite, but extraordinarily psychotic patients who "just couldn't sleep" -- more than half of them were awake at one time or another. Of course, this had nothing to do with the loud buzzing noise the air conditioner made every time it went on, and nothing to do with the extremely loud and deep voice of our Mental Health Tech who has a BA in psychology and wanted to "do therapy" with the patients and kept cornering them; Charge and I kept redirecting him AND the patients in an effort to get everyone (well, everyone except us) some sleep. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing sometimes.
When I got back in this morning, Gavin asked me about my night. He's been fascinated by psychoses ever since I had a patient who'd found out my number and would call me EVERY NIGHT at 10 pm and tell me (or whoever answered, sometimes one of the kids) what the "angels" had said to her that day (almost always something bright and happy). I told him one patient told me he was possessed by aliens (I have to be careful about what I say because I cannot give out any identifying information...and trust me, this is a very, very small part of this patient's delusionary system).
Gavin immediately assumed this meant "alien ghosts" since possession must be a supernatural phenomenon...and aliens probably would be natural, not supernatural...except that Gavin was not allowing for the lack of reasoning ability in someone who is acutely psychotic. Since it wasn't alien ghosts, he decided that the patient must be possessed by some alien thing which skirts the realm of the natural and the supernatural...like the Flying Dutchman...Yes! It must be the Flying Zlorbian, forced to wander the universe and possess the minds of unwitting humans...
Oh dear. I don't know whether to worry about him or tell him to write a book.
Monday, September 05, 2005
For anyone who wants to send a care package to an evacuee, the address here in Oklahoma is:
Any Evacuee c/o Camp Gruber
100 Highway 10
Braggs, OK 74423
I'm thinking about things to help stay busy, cards, games, craft kits, stamps, envelopes, paper, notebooks, writing utensils, small toys, books...as well as things people have to be asking for all the time...toiletries, treats, makeup, hair bands...I know there are some other things, I just can't think of them offhand. If you can think of anything I left off, please post in the comments!
I've sent them to soldiers and now I'll send them to evacuees, too. I'm sending at least one on Tuesday.
I just can't IMAGINE having everything swept away and having to rely totally on strangers.
Any Evacuee c/o Camp Gruber
100 Highway 10
Braggs, OK 74423
I'm thinking about things to help stay busy, cards, games, craft kits, stamps, envelopes, paper, notebooks, writing utensils, small toys, books...as well as things people have to be asking for all the time...toiletries, treats, makeup, hair bands...I know there are some other things, I just can't think of them offhand. If you can think of anything I left off, please post in the comments!
I've sent them to soldiers and now I'll send them to evacuees, too. I'm sending at least one on Tuesday.
I just can't IMAGINE having everything swept away and having to rely totally on strangers.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Disaster Planning
Last night I worked phone banks for 5 hours as a part of my state's medical reserve corps, which started after the Murrah Building bombing. I and my telefellows took calls from medical professionals who were interested in working with disaster victims.
The calls were interesting; we had a sprinkling of medical personnel, every type from embalmers and medical examiners to urologists and respiratory therapists, with the majority being nurses. These folks mostly stated they were ready to go with an hour's notice, and go where ever needed, in state or out of state, and at their own expense if necessary.
We also had a number of calls of people who had loaded vans ready to go to Mississippi or Louisiana and were calling us for what? The blessing of the state, I suppose, but bureaucracies don't tend to condone that sort of thing.
I enjoyed being a part of the process and seeing plans made and discarded and remade; frantic searches for safe places for large numbers of people to stay; calls from various city and state officials; calls to hospital administrators to find open hospital beds; and even the beginnings of long term planning.
With all the action, though, there were stretches where we waited, and then we talked.
It was surprising, the amount of "blame the victim" that went on. "I don't understand why everyone didn't leave." "I'd never let my kids go hungry." "Looters should all be shot. And we'll have to have people guarded while they're here because a lot of them will be looters."
I understand WHY people blame the victims -- it's fear. They cannot acknowledge the fear that bad things can happen to anyone. So "those people" must be different; not too bright, not able to solve problems, criminals, junkies...when the truth is that we could easily be in their shoes if something tremendous and horrible had happened here.
The calls were interesting; we had a sprinkling of medical personnel, every type from embalmers and medical examiners to urologists and respiratory therapists, with the majority being nurses. These folks mostly stated they were ready to go with an hour's notice, and go where ever needed, in state or out of state, and at their own expense if necessary.
We also had a number of calls of people who had loaded vans ready to go to Mississippi or Louisiana and were calling us for what? The blessing of the state, I suppose, but bureaucracies don't tend to condone that sort of thing.
I enjoyed being a part of the process and seeing plans made and discarded and remade; frantic searches for safe places for large numbers of people to stay; calls from various city and state officials; calls to hospital administrators to find open hospital beds; and even the beginnings of long term planning.
With all the action, though, there were stretches where we waited, and then we talked.
It was surprising, the amount of "blame the victim" that went on. "I don't understand why everyone didn't leave." "I'd never let my kids go hungry." "Looters should all be shot. And we'll have to have people guarded while they're here because a lot of them will be looters."
I understand WHY people blame the victims -- it's fear. They cannot acknowledge the fear that bad things can happen to anyone. So "those people" must be different; not too bright, not able to solve problems, criminals, junkies...when the truth is that we could easily be in their shoes if something tremendous and horrible had happened here.
Friday, September 02, 2005
The news from New Orleans is just awful. I've donated everything I can right now and it doesn't feel like it's nearly enough.
This evening I am working phone banks for the Oklahoma Medical Reserve Corps -- we are trying to set up teams of nurses and physicians to help in the area.
For those still trapped in the area, it is a nightmare, and I hope they will all be rescued soon. But even for those who evacuated early, or who escaped later, it is still awful -- everything just gone.
How do you put your life back together after something like that? I can't imagine.
This evening I am working phone banks for the Oklahoma Medical Reserve Corps -- we are trying to set up teams of nurses and physicians to help in the area.
For those still trapped in the area, it is a nightmare, and I hope they will all be rescued soon. But even for those who evacuated early, or who escaped later, it is still awful -- everything just gone.
How do you put your life back together after something like that? I can't imagine.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
The Ebay Queens Ride Again
I discovered Ebay in 99, when I was halfway through nursing school, a year and a half out from the divorce and my finances were at an all time low.
At first I started buying things the kids and I needed; at that time it was like a big free for all garage sale that you could see from your living room.
Then I started dating someone who had a digital camera, and it transformed my Ebay experience.
I started out selling my jewelry and graduated to selling some of the old junk I'd bought at thrift stores over the years, and made enough money at it that it soon became a second income.
My friend Bev, who is the only person I've ever known who has reformatted a hard drive by accident, was intrigued...and eventually brave enough to buy a computer and a digital camera, just so she could try out ebay.
We've gone to estate sales, garage sales, snatched goodies out of each other hands, sold everything from rubber swim caps (who knew that THOSE were collectible?) to car parts.
It's only fair -- I wouldn't be a nurse if it weren't for Bev, and she wouldn't be selling on Ebay if it weren't for me.
A year ago, Bev slowed down and I stopped; a combination of boredom, whiny buyers, and people pricing garage sale stuff for the same price it would sell on Ebay. And it wasn't until a few weeks ago that we both started up again.
Maybe it was just in the air, but Bev and I decided to go to some estate sales...and one of the four we decided on advertised fabric, $1 a piece. Bev put that one last on the list and away we went...
Those of us who sew know the ultimate truth, that "She who has the most fabric, wins." And this lady had to have been one of the front runners -- I have never seen so much fabric inside someone's house. It was piled 3-4 feet deep in every room of the home, and dated from the 50s to the 90s.
Bev doesn't sew, and doesn't know much about fabric...so I told her what to buy, and how to describe it, and she made $200 from her $30 fabric investment. And after all these years of selling on Ebay, she finally figured out why I like to sell fabric -- it's easy to store, easy to ship, it doesn't cost much for the buyer or the seller, and it's fun to look at and handle.
Last weekend, I was too busy to go out with her, and she found ANOTHER house full of fabric. And this time, she offered them $400 for all of it, and they took it...and the entire second story of her home is now full of fabric...so Bev wins, and she doesn't even sew!
At first I started buying things the kids and I needed; at that time it was like a big free for all garage sale that you could see from your living room.
Then I started dating someone who had a digital camera, and it transformed my Ebay experience.
I started out selling my jewelry and graduated to selling some of the old junk I'd bought at thrift stores over the years, and made enough money at it that it soon became a second income.
My friend Bev, who is the only person I've ever known who has reformatted a hard drive by accident, was intrigued...and eventually brave enough to buy a computer and a digital camera, just so she could try out ebay.
We've gone to estate sales, garage sales, snatched goodies out of each other hands, sold everything from rubber swim caps (who knew that THOSE were collectible?) to car parts.
It's only fair -- I wouldn't be a nurse if it weren't for Bev, and she wouldn't be selling on Ebay if it weren't for me.
A year ago, Bev slowed down and I stopped; a combination of boredom, whiny buyers, and people pricing garage sale stuff for the same price it would sell on Ebay. And it wasn't until a few weeks ago that we both started up again.
Maybe it was just in the air, but Bev and I decided to go to some estate sales...and one of the four we decided on advertised fabric, $1 a piece. Bev put that one last on the list and away we went...
Those of us who sew know the ultimate truth, that "She who has the most fabric, wins." And this lady had to have been one of the front runners -- I have never seen so much fabric inside someone's house. It was piled 3-4 feet deep in every room of the home, and dated from the 50s to the 90s.
Bev doesn't sew, and doesn't know much about fabric...so I told her what to buy, and how to describe it, and she made $200 from her $30 fabric investment. And after all these years of selling on Ebay, she finally figured out why I like to sell fabric -- it's easy to store, easy to ship, it doesn't cost much for the buyer or the seller, and it's fun to look at and handle.
Last weekend, I was too busy to go out with her, and she found ANOTHER house full of fabric. And this time, she offered them $400 for all of it, and they took it...and the entire second story of her home is now full of fabric...so Bev wins, and she doesn't even sew!
Monday, August 29, 2005
My Affirmation for the Day
Picture this: I'm at the post office with 19 packages from the Ebay stuff I sold last week. It's late afternoon, and there's one not-quite-civil servant working the desk. I'm the last one in line for a good 15 minutes. Finally, I'm at the head of the line and waiting my turn, and an elderly gentleman, dapper in a bright yellow zoot-style suit with brown stripes and matching hat, strolls up. Somehow, he's debonair enough to pull off this amazing outfit; the only other person who could have managed it would be Cab Calloway.
I'm clutching my armful of packages, well aware that I haven't filled out my customs forms for the foreign ones yet, and he has three letters...so of course I say, "Please go ahead of me."
In a mild southern accent, he says "Are you sure?"
How often do you have to persuade someone who wants only stamps to go ahead of you?
After a little persuasion, he finally acquiesces, and then turns to ask me, "What do you think of Nawlins and the hurricane? Don't you think that's going to cost us a lot of money?"
I say, "Well, if it were a tornado or an earthquake here, we'd be costing THEM a lot of money. I'd rather be warm and dry and pay to help them."
He looks me in the eye, grins, and says, "Miss, I LIKE the way you think."
I'm clutching my armful of packages, well aware that I haven't filled out my customs forms for the foreign ones yet, and he has three letters...so of course I say, "Please go ahead of me."
In a mild southern accent, he says "Are you sure?"
How often do you have to persuade someone who wants only stamps to go ahead of you?
After a little persuasion, he finally acquiesces, and then turns to ask me, "What do you think of Nawlins and the hurricane? Don't you think that's going to cost us a lot of money?"
I say, "Well, if it were a tornado or an earthquake here, we'd be costing THEM a lot of money. I'd rather be warm and dry and pay to help them."
He looks me in the eye, grins, and says, "Miss, I LIKE the way you think."
I MUST be Really Wicked...
because I'm not getting much rest these days!
I had a monitoring visit last week for my device study (the one I can't talk about due to HIPPA laws and industry privacy laws), but there's nothing that says I can't talk about the monitoring visits.
For a monitoring visit, the company sends someone out (this time, a young guy from Saskatchewan) who looks over my books, compares my stuff to the hospital and clinic chart, finds all the inconsistencies and errors, and also looks over the "critical documents" binder (already 6 inches thick) to make sure I have everything I'm supposed to have.
This sound complex, and harrowing, and a lot of work...but "harrowing" is a function of how easygoing the monitor is, and this guy was delightful, so it wasn't bad. The biggest problem was accessing all the charts.
Our campus is huge. A friend and I were trying to figure out the other day how big it is and I think we finally decided on 20 city blocks...when I worked in Kansas, the University was actually bigger as far as number of rooms and size of hospitals, but was crammed into about 6 city blocks. Which I think is the biggest culture shock people have when they visit -- everything is so spread out here.
Anyway, the hospitals and clinics no longer allow charts leave their premises (once upon a time you could check them out to anyplace on campus)...so we had to travel to 4 different buildings (none close to each other) because the patient had records at all four of those places.
Since I couldn't really just turn this poor guy out into the campus wilderness where there are no signs to tell you where you are going, and no way an employee can park anywhere other than assigned without getting a $20 ticket, we walked. And walked. And walked some more. Since I haven't been able to walk much this year with all the problems, I can't tell you how TIRED and sore I felt until today.
The monitoring went all right, though, and the next patient will be easier.
My other good news is that my daughter is visiting from San Diego and will be here for another few days!
I had a monitoring visit last week for my device study (the one I can't talk about due to HIPPA laws and industry privacy laws), but there's nothing that says I can't talk about the monitoring visits.
For a monitoring visit, the company sends someone out (this time, a young guy from Saskatchewan) who looks over my books, compares my stuff to the hospital and clinic chart, finds all the inconsistencies and errors, and also looks over the "critical documents" binder (already 6 inches thick) to make sure I have everything I'm supposed to have.
This sound complex, and harrowing, and a lot of work...but "harrowing" is a function of how easygoing the monitor is, and this guy was delightful, so it wasn't bad. The biggest problem was accessing all the charts.
Our campus is huge. A friend and I were trying to figure out the other day how big it is and I think we finally decided on 20 city blocks...when I worked in Kansas, the University was actually bigger as far as number of rooms and size of hospitals, but was crammed into about 6 city blocks. Which I think is the biggest culture shock people have when they visit -- everything is so spread out here.
Anyway, the hospitals and clinics no longer allow charts leave their premises (once upon a time you could check them out to anyplace on campus)...so we had to travel to 4 different buildings (none close to each other) because the patient had records at all four of those places.
Since I couldn't really just turn this poor guy out into the campus wilderness where there are no signs to tell you where you are going, and no way an employee can park anywhere other than assigned without getting a $20 ticket, we walked. And walked. And walked some more. Since I haven't been able to walk much this year with all the problems, I can't tell you how TIRED and sore I felt until today.
The monitoring went all right, though, and the next patient will be easier.
My other good news is that my daughter is visiting from San Diego and will be here for another few days!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Tuesday Self Portrait -- Nose to Fingertip
Did you know that if you stretch a piece of fabric from one fingertip to your nose (turned away from said fingertip) that it's so close to a yard measure that you don't need a real measure? It's true -- Mom taught me that. And here I am in my kitchen, measuring vintage fabric...and if you click on the picture to make it bigger, you can see the dust on top of my cabinets. :D
Monday, August 22, 2005
Night of the Zombies
Lately, hospitals here in town have been frenzied in their efforts to improve employee health. We have walking initiatives, weight loss groups, stress reduction classes, and of course (as of July), no one can smoke on hospital grounds -- not doctors, not nurses, not patients, not family members -- which has not added any joy to adult psych, I might add.
I don't know if last Saturday night had anything to do with health initiatives...I hope not, because it can only lead to millions of night-shift nurses on the march, waving bedpans threateningly...
I don't work night shift all the time, but I find I can manage it -- barely -- with a steady dose of caffeine up until about 4:30 am. However, on Saturday night, when I went to make my first pot of coffee right after report, I found two cases of decaf and NOT EVEN ONE package of caf. Luckily, there's a coke machine on the same floor...but when I punched the "Coke" button..."Caffeine Free Coke" rolled out...and with my final dollar bill, I tried Dr. Pepper...only to get another "Caffeine Free Coke".
It was NOT good. By 4 o'clock, I felt I really needed those cartoon toothpicks that hold your eyelids open. By 5 o'clock, I was drinking ice water so that shivering would keep me awake, and by 6 o'clock, I was actually thankful when one of the difficult kids got up early in a bad mood...but even that lasted only 10 minutes and didn't wake anyone else up.
After a cat nap in the car, I drove home. I don't know if the lack of caffeinated beverages was planned, or if it was a comedy of errors...but if caffeine-freeness is the next step in the health arsenal...well...I'll be smuggling it into the hospital. Now I know how the smokers feel.
I don't know if last Saturday night had anything to do with health initiatives...I hope not, because it can only lead to millions of night-shift nurses on the march, waving bedpans threateningly...
I don't work night shift all the time, but I find I can manage it -- barely -- with a steady dose of caffeine up until about 4:30 am. However, on Saturday night, when I went to make my first pot of coffee right after report, I found two cases of decaf and NOT EVEN ONE package of caf. Luckily, there's a coke machine on the same floor...but when I punched the "Coke" button..."Caffeine Free Coke" rolled out...and with my final dollar bill, I tried Dr. Pepper...only to get another "Caffeine Free Coke".
It was NOT good. By 4 o'clock, I felt I really needed those cartoon toothpicks that hold your eyelids open. By 5 o'clock, I was drinking ice water so that shivering would keep me awake, and by 6 o'clock, I was actually thankful when one of the difficult kids got up early in a bad mood...but even that lasted only 10 minutes and didn't wake anyone else up.
After a cat nap in the car, I drove home. I don't know if the lack of caffeinated beverages was planned, or if it was a comedy of errors...but if caffeine-freeness is the next step in the health arsenal...well...I'll be smuggling it into the hospital. Now I know how the smokers feel.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Back to School Again
Back to school again
He just can't wait for back to school again
The life he loves is high school with his friends
He can't wait to get back to school again...
For some reason, Gavin did NOT enjoy my version of classic Willie Nelson on the way to the first day of school (although I did eventually make him laugh).
Poor dear, I probably shouldn't have been so evil; this first semester he has computer programming, US history, trigonometry, and physics. Makes me tired just thinking about it.
He just can't wait for back to school again
The life he loves is high school with his friends
He can't wait to get back to school again...
For some reason, Gavin did NOT enjoy my version of classic Willie Nelson on the way to the first day of school (although I did eventually make him laugh).
Poor dear, I probably shouldn't have been so evil; this first semester he has computer programming, US history, trigonometry, and physics. Makes me tired just thinking about it.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
Oh, the Tragedy!
"The School killed it. School killed Summer. School killed Summer with a knife. School killed Summer with a knife bought from the wallet it stole from Summer." -- A partial excerpt from Gavin's rant on school starting this Thursday.
Rants don't always have to make sense, do they?
And speaking of things that don't make sense...yes, I'm thrilled, but WHY?
Rants don't always have to make sense, do they?
And speaking of things that don't make sense...yes, I'm thrilled, but WHY?
Perchance to Dream
I rarely remember my dreams. I must have them, because (at least some people think) I'm fairly sane, rarely irritable, and have as much energy as a single mom approaching 50 ought to have. Since I have so few, the ones I do have are usually heavy with meaning.
At some early point in my life, I learned that if I had a problem, I could think about it, examine it from all angles, put it away, and then -- almost magically -- I'd wake up and there would be my solution, fully formed and ready to be utilized.
I don't know WHY it works that way. All I know is that it's saved me a lot of worry over the years; why obsess over something when the answer will arrive?
Anyway, my highschool reunion has been on my mind (in a good way!) and I wanted to blog about it, but the words just weren't there...and then Tim posted his thoughts
here, and said many of the things I'd been thinking but couldn't articulate.
Last night I dreamed. I was in a flower garden. In my dreamstate, I knew that it had once been a pretty but pedestrian formal garden with tightly budded plants (a few already promising beauty) carefully put in their own sections, pruned and trimmed and all conforming to a rigid plan. The once tidy garden had become overgrown, though, with formerly tiny or stunted plants growing large and bushy, sending out runners and twining stems and vines -- showing up in unexpected places or overrunning other areas so that the finely drawn lines were gone. And the blooms which were only hinted at in the early stages were full blown, a surprising wild riot of exotic colors and complex scents.
Mrs. Kleinsteiber (3rd? 4th? grade teacher) would be so proud. I woke up with a metaphor for our reunion. And yes, I really enjoy seeing how we're all blooming.
At some early point in my life, I learned that if I had a problem, I could think about it, examine it from all angles, put it away, and then -- almost magically -- I'd wake up and there would be my solution, fully formed and ready to be utilized.
I don't know WHY it works that way. All I know is that it's saved me a lot of worry over the years; why obsess over something when the answer will arrive?
Anyway, my highschool reunion has been on my mind (in a good way!) and I wanted to blog about it, but the words just weren't there...and then Tim posted his thoughts
here, and said many of the things I'd been thinking but couldn't articulate.
Last night I dreamed. I was in a flower garden. In my dreamstate, I knew that it had once been a pretty but pedestrian formal garden with tightly budded plants (a few already promising beauty) carefully put in their own sections, pruned and trimmed and all conforming to a rigid plan. The once tidy garden had become overgrown, though, with formerly tiny or stunted plants growing large and bushy, sending out runners and twining stems and vines -- showing up in unexpected places or overrunning other areas so that the finely drawn lines were gone. And the blooms which were only hinted at in the early stages were full blown, a surprising wild riot of exotic colors and complex scents.
Mrs. Kleinsteiber (3rd? 4th? grade teacher) would be so proud. I woke up with a metaphor for our reunion. And yes, I really enjoy seeing how we're all blooming.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
At my second job, where I work psych, I'm a "floater" -- while this always makes me think of swimming pools, what it really means is that I work wherever I am needed.
Almost always, I'm needed in child psych. There are several reasons for this; one is that there are quite a few child psych units (segregated by age and whether or not the illness is acute or longterm) and only one adult unit. In addition, unlike the child units, the adult unit has a full complement of nurses.
Someone wanted to take some vacation, though, so last weekend I worked adult psych.
It's a lot different on the adult unit than it used to be, even 5 years ago. Then, patients stayed for a week, or two weeks, or a month...sometimes months. Now it's 3 days for many, and rarely longer than a week.
While I'm sure that someone, somewhere has a reason for this (and it probably has a lot to do with costs and insurance), from my end it doesn't appear to be working well. Just as someone is starting to feel stable again, s/he is sent home; maybe to return again in a week, or two weeks, or a month.
I do understand that our adult unit is for "acute" cases and people who need very long-term care can go to the state hospital or a group home, and there are home health nurses for those who need help with medications. But I still think that most people would benefit more from a week or 10 days.
Emotional or mental illnesses aren't like cancer, or wounds, or any of a number of illnesses or disorders in which progress can be quantitatively measured -- lab values, size, redness, swelling, color, quantity, reflexes -- which is what makes psychiatry difficult. There are outside observations (which may differ with the person observing) and patient report.
What we nurses look for are hygiene, appropriate interactions, appropriate emotional responses, full facial responses (for example, when you smile do your eyes crinkle up too?), appropriate gestures, appropriate conversations...in addition to what the patient says and what the patient DOESN'T say.
Not only that, but since there is no particular "normal average person" to base appropriateness on, it can be difficult to say, "Yes, that's abnormal" because "normal" emcompasses a wide range of behaviours.
So when you only have someone for 3 days, how do you know what's normal for that person? Swearing like a sailor (do sailors swear all that much? I've always wondered) is normal for my friend Bev, but if it were me, you'd know something was really wrong.
The other thing I want to say about adult psych? The only real difference between me and you and almost all of my patients is that I have keys.
Almost always, I'm needed in child psych. There are several reasons for this; one is that there are quite a few child psych units (segregated by age and whether or not the illness is acute or longterm) and only one adult unit. In addition, unlike the child units, the adult unit has a full complement of nurses.
Someone wanted to take some vacation, though, so last weekend I worked adult psych.
It's a lot different on the adult unit than it used to be, even 5 years ago. Then, patients stayed for a week, or two weeks, or a month...sometimes months. Now it's 3 days for many, and rarely longer than a week.
While I'm sure that someone, somewhere has a reason for this (and it probably has a lot to do with costs and insurance), from my end it doesn't appear to be working well. Just as someone is starting to feel stable again, s/he is sent home; maybe to return again in a week, or two weeks, or a month.
I do understand that our adult unit is for "acute" cases and people who need very long-term care can go to the state hospital or a group home, and there are home health nurses for those who need help with medications. But I still think that most people would benefit more from a week or 10 days.
Emotional or mental illnesses aren't like cancer, or wounds, or any of a number of illnesses or disorders in which progress can be quantitatively measured -- lab values, size, redness, swelling, color, quantity, reflexes -- which is what makes psychiatry difficult. There are outside observations (which may differ with the person observing) and patient report.
What we nurses look for are hygiene, appropriate interactions, appropriate emotional responses, full facial responses (for example, when you smile do your eyes crinkle up too?), appropriate gestures, appropriate conversations...in addition to what the patient says and what the patient DOESN'T say.
Not only that, but since there is no particular "normal average person" to base appropriateness on, it can be difficult to say, "Yes, that's abnormal" because "normal" emcompasses a wide range of behaviours.
So when you only have someone for 3 days, how do you know what's normal for that person? Swearing like a sailor (do sailors swear all that much? I've always wondered) is normal for my friend Bev, but if it were me, you'd know something was really wrong.
The other thing I want to say about adult psych? The only real difference between me and you and almost all of my patients is that I have keys.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
I Killed Another One...
Yes! I finally had a patient enroll in my alternative surgery study for head and neck cancer (that's about all I can say about the project since I had to swear a blood oath in which I agreed to sell my children into slavery at the device company if I leaked any information).
People often ask if my job is exciting. Well, it can be -- once I was stalked by an apparently very lonely male research patient (whose mom took away the car so he couldn't do it any more) -- and another time, a patient actually picked up my fishbowl (with fish and plant in it) and DRANK out of it, and then there was the time the electricity went out in my building at 5pm while I was interviewing a double amputee and we were on the second floor with no ramp...Oh, and don't forget the needle stick injury (of course, from the bisexual IV drug user...who luckily tested negative for EVERYTHING, as did I).
Oh wait.
Maybe it's "exciting" as in cutting edge, new treatments, late nights at the lab pioneering new fields, scientists poised at the threshold of arcane knowledge? Oh, well, maybe tiny bits of that here and there.
Mostly, though, research is waiting. And paper. Lots and lots and lots of paper.
I have a new study patient. And yes, part of this has been very exciting -- I got to sit in on a 13-hour surgery, a delicate, difficult surgery; too far back in the oral cavity (or "mouth", for non-medical people -- hehe) to go in that way. So the only other way to get at the area while still preserving as much function as possible is to go up from the neck, peel back the side of the face, and cut the jawbone.
One of the reasons I had to be present for the surgery is to write down everyone who worked on the patient, the amount of time each person spent, the medications given the patient...for the entire time. Even though all that will be in the medical record, I've learned through years of doing this that you just don't rely on anyone else to gather data unless they are being paid to gather data.
It's amazing, really, how many people you can fit in a surgery suite, and how many of them come and go, especially nurses and surgical techs. But I did get to watch the attending anesthesiologist do odd tricks (apparently he wasn't getting enough attention) and listen to the docs sing along with 70s tunes. Plus my docs are cool enough that they didn't mind my frequent and sometimes goofy questions...what can I say, I'm a total nerd.
At week 2 of the study, I have already filled 50 some odd pages of data, PLUS pages my own notes and observations, PLUS physician notes, PLUS copies of previous and current tests and history. The file is already pretty thick, and this is a two year study.
Everything went beautifully, my patient is recovering nicely and is in good spirits.
And that headline? It's a tree. All that paper...I killed another tree.
People often ask if my job is exciting. Well, it can be -- once I was stalked by an apparently very lonely male research patient (whose mom took away the car so he couldn't do it any more) -- and another time, a patient actually picked up my fishbowl (with fish and plant in it) and DRANK out of it, and then there was the time the electricity went out in my building at 5pm while I was interviewing a double amputee and we were on the second floor with no ramp...Oh, and don't forget the needle stick injury (of course, from the bisexual IV drug user...who luckily tested negative for EVERYTHING, as did I).
Oh wait.
Maybe it's "exciting" as in cutting edge, new treatments, late nights at the lab pioneering new fields, scientists poised at the threshold of arcane knowledge? Oh, well, maybe tiny bits of that here and there.
Mostly, though, research is waiting. And paper. Lots and lots and lots of paper.
I have a new study patient. And yes, part of this has been very exciting -- I got to sit in on a 13-hour surgery, a delicate, difficult surgery; too far back in the oral cavity (or "mouth", for non-medical people -- hehe) to go in that way. So the only other way to get at the area while still preserving as much function as possible is to go up from the neck, peel back the side of the face, and cut the jawbone.
One of the reasons I had to be present for the surgery is to write down everyone who worked on the patient, the amount of time each person spent, the medications given the patient...for the entire time. Even though all that will be in the medical record, I've learned through years of doing this that you just don't rely on anyone else to gather data unless they are being paid to gather data.
It's amazing, really, how many people you can fit in a surgery suite, and how many of them come and go, especially nurses and surgical techs. But I did get to watch the attending anesthesiologist do odd tricks (apparently he wasn't getting enough attention) and listen to the docs sing along with 70s tunes. Plus my docs are cool enough that they didn't mind my frequent and sometimes goofy questions...what can I say, I'm a total nerd.
At week 2 of the study, I have already filled 50 some odd pages of data, PLUS pages my own notes and observations, PLUS physician notes, PLUS copies of previous and current tests and history. The file is already pretty thick, and this is a two year study.
Everything went beautifully, my patient is recovering nicely and is in good spirits.
And that headline? It's a tree. All that paper...I killed another tree.
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