Stories From Homeland, Part 2

Mrs. Mold, it turned out, had a bladder infection, with greater than 100,000 Aphus Glaphusiosa, according to the lab report. Dr. Bludgeon was visiting patients and charts at the Green Wing nurses station, and ordered Gentamycin via injections, dose to be calibrated by Evilgreen Pharmacy. I faxed off the order to the pharmacy, which called me and asked what the resident's last BUN and Creatinine labs were, which reflect kidney function.

Last such labs were done in June. Unacceptable. I pick up the phone and am in the midst of ordering a stat or ASAP lab draw when I remember that Mrs. Mold is currently out with her daughter, Isabel, dancing. I leave a message on her daughter's cell phone explaining the necessity of returning so the labs can be drawn.

A few hours later Isobel is standing at the nursing station counter. "I want her to have a urine dip!" We explain that this is not necessary, as the urine has already been cultured and proven to have this particular bug. "How do we know this was not contaminated?" "Because there is only one species of bacteria, not a mixture of normal flora." "Why can't I have her urine dipped? How do we even know this is her urine, not mixed up with someone else's?"

This is the great advantage of having several nurses present; my negotiation skills are very poor. At last Isobel accepts that yes, this infection exists, and we can move on. We call the lab back and they are now reluctant to come out for the draw, but eventually show up. After the results are in, the pharmacy can set the dose and finally the antibiotic will be started, but not within the usual four hour window of time required.

Intelligent minds may wonder, if the patient was out dancing, how sick is she anyway. In the world of nursing, required to follow doctor's orders unless really contraindicated, inquiring minds will just have to wonder.

Stories From Homeland, Part 1

With the new 12 hour charge nurse schedule, there is no more reporting in person to the night nurse, so the powers that be brought in a new Radio Shack tape recorder with voice activation, for recording report. The first night I couldn't make it work, and left my written notes. Last night I made it work, sort of.

I guess my voice is quiet for voice activation, so I had to hold the machine under my nose and practically shout. With even a nanosecond lull, the machine would stop recording [one can see the wheel turning when it's recording, much like a nurse deep in thought.] With all these technical challenges, my report came out kind of rough.

"Hello, this is Arlene reporting for the evening shift on, hello, are you working? October second. In room 201, Mr. Feebel has a Foley, what the hell, are you on? catheter which was leaking. We changed the catheter and, oh, bloody hell, now what? it has been patent. In Room 202, Mrs., hello, okey dokey then, Rheinland is on Keflex for pneumonia . . . "

Too Many Garbanzo's

Started new 12 hour schedule at work this morning. Tuesday I thought I was working Wed, then having several days off, so I scheduled car repair status post break in for Thursday morning, 7:30 AM. Was up late, woke up at midnight, woke at 5 AM, dropped car off about 8 AM, went to work at 10, just got home. Night of the living nurse.

Yesterday [my one day off, after schedule revisions] my husband showed up at Tacoma, having had an appointment downtown. I had just made some garbanzo beans so he had some. Later we went to dinner with Pearl at the Indian restaurant, Sumay. At the end of the evening, Enayat confessed that he had a dish of garbanzo beans downtown at the India Mahal, then my garbanzos, then more Indian food. We had a good laugh over that.

Festival of Rats In Tupperware

Pearl is adopting a young rat on Monday, a hairless male.

I took Pearl yesterday to the Rat Show in at Scopes Auction off Mullinex Road in Port Orchard. For an aspiring new rat adopter, it was a great place to learn, and the perfect day for Pearl. It was fascinating. They had a little track and tiny trainers ran around the track next to each rat while the MC listed the particular fine points of the animal . . . no, wait, that's with dogs.

Actually, it was pretty low key. A dollar admission honor system, a couple of tables for judging set up in front of the bleachers. In front of the judges the rats for each category [solid or marked, satin, shaded, dwarf, etc, as well as two hairless] sat in individual clear plastic boxes with colored lids, like giant Tupperware containers, for viewing. Judges took out each rat in turn, handling them, assessing body and head shape, ear and tail formation, color, markings and temperament.

Several ratteries had tables with displays and cages for their pets. Yes, ratteries. There are rat fanciers and fancy ratteries. I was surprised to see similar facial features: wide, deep-set eyes, recessive chins, long, pointy noses. Unconsciously I was applying the idea that pet owners tend to resemble their pets.

Pearl came back from a shopping spree with some toys and articles, including one of those hollow balls for rats to run around in safely while you clean the cage.
I said, "You already have a ball."
"I actually was offered a second rat, the brother to the original rat."
"When were you planning to tell me this?"
"I was working up the courage."

Then I just had to mention this: "At least you'll have a spare rat when the cats eat one . . . come on--three cats and one rat--who do you think will win?" At this I happened to glance over and see a stare of pure, appalled hatred on the face of one of the judges who had overheard. I just kept smiling. I already know my humor is pretty cold.

We learned lots about proper rat diet and how to handle the rats to socialize them right away. I saw more rats in one day, being petted and snuggled, sitting on shoulders, poking very cute little noses out of sweater sleeves, than I have in a lifetime. I guess having a rat in the house is not the end of the world. I almost want one. And, hey--no annoying barking, howling, or meowing.

Anyway, Pearl had a great time.

The Place For God's Creatures

There's a really cute T-shirt I've seen twice in the last few days, with the caption, "There's a place for all God's creatures--right next to the potatoes and gravy."

I'd like to make a shirt that says, "There's a place for all God's creatures--in your coronary arteries, your adipose tissue, your liver, your pancreas . . . " I'm not sure about the graphics, but there are a lot of gruesome possibilities.

Raised By Wolves

Driving back to Tacoma from Eatonville this morning I saw a bumper sticker, "Forgive me, I was raised by wolves." There was another one about being naked but I couldn't get close enough to read it.

The 24 or so hours I spent on my second day off in Eatonville, my husband was glued to Radio Sedaye Iran on the internet, listening to endless Farsi commentary about Ahmedinijad's speech to the UN. Apparently he wound it up by promising a return of the Mihdi and of Jesus. He didn't say whether or not they would be the same person, or even be in agreement.

Tuesday Pearl took her test and got her drivers licence, so we were very celebrational. Interestingly, I was also 21 when I got my license. I'm making up for it now, driving everywhere like crazy.

This afternoon my car was vandalized for the third time. The first time several years ago someone broke a window and stole a briefcase with nursing supplies; two years ago someone tried to steal my catalytic converter. This afternoon there was evidence that initially they tried to jimmy open the drivers door lock, and got it too messed up to use my key; then they broke the drivers side back window. I guess they must have been interrupted, because they didn't disturb the inside or steal my CD's or recyclable grocery bags. Probably they were planning to steal the car.

I'm getting pretty cynical about this. Just sort of the cost of driving a CRV. I have a police case number but it was too late in the evening to contact my insurance agent. Then I remembered my daughter's car, which I can drive until this one gets fixed.

Sigh.

Yippee Ki Yo Captain Hook

The original unabridged Peter Pan is a wonderful read. Moving quietly through the forest on his way to rescue the Lost Boys and Wendy, kidnapped on the Pirate Ship, Peter Pan passes the crocodile and starts ticking. [The crocodile, if you remember, has swallowed a clock in the past.] He continues ticking for so long that it becomes automatic. When Peter comes up the side of the pirate ship, still unconsciously ticking, he wonders why Captain Hook and the pirates have fled the deck, hearing the sound of the crocodile.

He remembers he is ticking and figures it out. "Oh, the cleverness of me!"

I watched Die Hard again for the first time in several years, as the character John McClane hunts bad guys through the jungles of a building under construction, eventually calling out the Chief Bad Guy--Snape--"Yipee Ki Yo, chickenplucker!" What an elegant Captain Hook is the Chief Bad Guy, and what a gleeful Peter Pan is John McClane.

I'm just saying.