How To Justify Your Existence

Today the DNS offered me the new, revamped charge nurse position, which I cheerfully accepted. Someone at work mentioned that this practice has become common; of requiring people to reapply for positions when the terms are changed. I guess I should have been more confident about the process.

Isaac Asimov wrote stories about a men's club called the Black Widowers which had periodic dinners. New prospective members were always put on the spot and required to speak on one specific topic: "How do you justify your existence?" Now I know how they felt, or would have felt had they been actual people instead of fictional characters.

I'd like to go back and reread those stories. I might get some new ideas.

The new staffing schedule won't start until about October. In the meantime I am allowing my native early morning waking pattern to gradually reassert itself. I'm also planning to spend some time getting organized so my extensive cooking is done on days off and I won't need to cook at night or go out to eat too much. I might use the slow cooker over night and make items that freeze well.

Today I carried out my plan to try making "Mushrooms and Dumplings" in lieu of "Chicken and Dumplings," which I miss. The mushrooms were good, and the vegetables and broth were good. I used miso as the main broth ingredient, and lots of garlic and onions, as well as sauteed mushrooms, and the dumplings were good. But [as meat-lovers would predict] it just wasn't the same. Score one for chicken afficionados. Score zero for the chickens.

I haven't yet thrown in the towel. I doubt that would add the right flavor. I'm just going to have to let my ideas simmer for awhile.

"What Is That Strange Beeping Sound?"

Our nursing facility uses a device called a "tabs alarm" which has an electronic box about the size of a pack of cigarettes, with a small tab inserted into it. The tab is attached to a string, attached to a resident's clothing. When the resident moves as if to arise from their bed or wheelchair, the tab is removed from the box and a loud alarm goes off. That is, until the resident learns to remove the alarm. People who can't tie their own shoes can unpin an alarm from between their shoulder blades in thirty seconds. I can't do that.

The story I heard today goes that there was a resident a few years ago who flushed the alarm down the toilet where it continued beeping until the toilet was disassembled . . .