I’m sorry, I didn’t know

you were an asshat.

Really. I thought it said MD on your lapel–oops.

My first day, first surgeon at rounds:

Mentor: “And this is Miranda, our new orientee. She’s training to be a unit secretary, and this is her first day.”

Doc: “Hm.” Walks over to charge nurse. “Let’s get started.” They robe up, whatever, it’s time to do a tri-lumen.

Mentor leaves the floor. Tri-lumen placement proceeding nicely. I ask one of the nurses: “How do I know if an order has already been made?” as I stare at a chart with no marks but the surgeon’s orders.

“Oh, you’ll know.”

“…okay.” You know what happened next. Of course, the chest xray to check the placement of the trilumen wasn’t ordered, and the doc yelled at me to know my job. He slammed drawers, looking for a pen, and I gave him mine which he stole. He then asked me detailed questions about a patient–did I mention I’m not a nurse? good–and ripped me up one side and down the other. Complete with spittle and finger-pointing, slamming a chart on the desk, and STEALING MY PEN.

Dammit. It’s my favorite pen. Was.

Asshat.

I asked one of the interns later what I should have said, if I should have known the answers to all those questions. She just grinned and said, “What does your badge say?”

“Unit secretary.”

“Okay, then. No.”

“Oh. Well, how are they doing, anyway?”

“I don’t know, that’s not my patient.”

“Ooooh.”

“Don’t worry. He’s always like that–he’s an asshat.”

Completed competency

I did it.

I used the keyboard. It was hard, but I proved I was capable of using the system without the mouse. My mentor was so proud–I have completed (almost) my competency.

I even participated in a Code Blue.

Okay, so all I did was hand the chart to one of the team responders, but still. My first code!

Also, now I know that two baby squiggles on either side of a vertical line means either nasal cannula, normal saline, every shift, milligrams, metric equivalents, cubic centimeters per hour, consult, every four hours, for pain as needed, follow-up in the morning, midnight, or bedrest, depending on the doc and the context. Oh, or it could mean Xanax. Or treatment. Or ambulatory as tolerated. Just depends.

Yay for dictation, boo at verbal orders and refusal to sign!

Also, FYI–it creeps me out when you put your arm around me and ask for fruit salad and to guaiac all stools. In the same coffee breath. In the future, you shall be known as Dr. Creepy.

Sad. Angry. Glad to be Back.

Heh. I know you missed me. I finished my third test in Human Physiology (got a 91, yay!)–I got a new job at the hospital, working in the ICU–I’m dead tired. I added the hours up, and last week I spent nearly 92 hours at class, tutoring, and ICU orientation. Sorry. If I had internet privileges, I would have blogged. My, how the time does lag during orientation.

I’ve used a computer almost my entire life. I don’t need step-by-step, hand-holding modules, and it’s a waste of my time and your money to pay me and a mentor to sit at a computer learning how to use a mouse. For thirty minutes. Yeah, I’ve got that already.

The system is new–they’ve only had it hospital-wide for a few months. My mentor, an elderly woman, has only worked in the ICU for five weeks. She worries. “No, don’t–no, don’t do that don’t do that…” when I use the mouse instead of the arrow keys. I was filing orders Tuesday. I couldn’t read everything–I think the doc was on his 150th order of the day, or something like that, so you can imagine–so I did what I could read, filed and verified. My mentor comes back from the supply room and says, “Have you read over it?”

“Yes, but I didn’t understand this one and this one. When he says…”

“Okay, but we have to go in order, so open the order screen and do this one.”

“I already did that one.”

“No you did not.”

“Um, yes I did. It’s right here.”

“YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY FILED IT??!”

“…Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Well, NOT REALLY, but now we have to start a whole new order!!”

I’m thinking–so I have to make three whole keystrokes and open the sucker back up. Big whoop. But to my mentor, it is a very big thing to have to go through the agony of pressing two keys and Enter. Also, because I use the mouse instead of the keyboard, she refuses to sign my computer orientation paperwork. I have not yet demonstrated proper competency, apparently. “Don’t worry about it, dear,” she says. “When you are more familiar with the system, you’ll be able to use the keyboard just like I do.”

I-I-I…don’t know what to say. I mean, I don’t know. I can do this. I worked my way through high school and my first college, as a receptionist and later as a secretary. I can do this job. I’m working as a chemistry tutor right now at the college. I was an English major. I can handle a little system like this. But silly me, I do shortcuts, and those scare my mentor. She’s constantly worried that I’m going to crash the system, so I can’t complete orientation.

I mentioned it to my supervisor–she said, “Well, I’m sure she’ll pass you when she feels you are ready, oh and by the way, you know that job you applied for? The one I said you could have? Well, one of my RNs has a future daughter-in-law who needs a job, so I guess you’re going to have to wait.”

No, she didn’t say that. Not really. But that is what happened. Which means I don’t get to work during the hours I told her I needed. Which means I have to pay for childcare. Which means more money out of my pocket, on top of which the job I don’t get is the one with the pay she told me I could have, which means I am making forty cents less an hour. I make more tutoring…but tutoring doesn’t further my medical career.

On the plus side, the RN who got her FDIL a job? She’s leaving without notice when she gets back from vacation next week.

Also, more bad news. My mentor has been sick this week, and the two days she hasn’t been sick have been “low census”, which means I can’t work. I can’t work when my mentor is sick, I can’t work when it’s low census…are they trying to tell me something?

FDIL put it forty hours this week. I put in…less than four.

The worst part? FDIL is my friend. I got her a tutoring job when she couldn’t find a job anywhere else. I told her about this job I applied for…asked her to ask her FMIL to put in a good word for me. She promised she would. Three days later I found out I’m not getting the job–she is.

This is after I gave her all my notes on the digestive system, which she missed due to an interview.

I didn’t know she was interviewing for my job.

*sniff.

The promised response

I’m going to break it down in bits, ucalcal, because I don’t think we disagree, and I want to give you a better picture of what I believe, and a response rather than a rant. Your quotes are italicized.

Wow…once again I see that those that preach something have a hard time dealing with others asking why they are not consistent with their argument.

Where was I inconsistent? Because if I was, I’d like to see it. I hate waffling, and I do it often enough to despair of ever being free.
While I don’t feel I am talking out of my a@@ as you mentioned, I do wonder why you feel that the powerful nurses union could not have a say in this issue.

Well, I didn’t say they couldn’t have a say. I said that they weren’t in control of the paramedic companies. It seems that you think that if the nurses union simply pushed hard enough, they could get whatever they wanted from…whomever. Maybe so, but expecting a union that serves a certain group of people–people who pay dues and so have a vested interest in said union’s activities–to advocate for everyone is irrational.

I’m not going to say, in this post, whether or not I think they should…oh wait, yes I am. Okay, I do think that the nurses union should advocate for better ratios, not merely for themselves, but for everyone. But I know we don’t live in a world that rewards us for what we should do, and I know I can’t demand that a union of which I am not a part spend their resources trying to get a better deal for members of other unions & professions.

If you are going to make a public argument that ratio’s in healthcare a crucial to good care then you must take the logical path that there should be ratios for every part of the “healthcare” team. I am not against ratios, the problem I have is with one group trying to say they are the patients advocates but stop advocating for patients once it falls out of the scope of work that their union represents.

That’s fair. I don’t have a problem with this at all–in fact, I agree. If the nurses union is truly interested in the patient first, themselves second, they should continue that advocacy across healthcare as a whole. I’m assuming that the union, since they claim to advocate for the patients, feel that it is not the best use of their resources to push for ratios in other areas. Maybe they think that if paramedic ratios are a problem, paramedics should do something about it. I don’t know.

If you want a ratio to ensure higher pay and job security (just like the correctional peace officers received in California by backing 3 Strikes and ensuring that there would be inmates for 20 years to life [isn’t it funny that 20 years is the magic number for retirement…if their crimes are so bad why not 30 years to life or just life] then just come out and say that. I am not against that…but don’t run around California and say we are for patients when that had very little to actually do with the reasons you wanted a RN ratio. Hey by the way what about LVNs? What about CNAs? Maybe if they were apart of your union, you would have gotten them a ratio to.

Yeah, the whole 20 year thing. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it’s a nice, round number. Sounds better than 10, not as difficult to multiply as 30. Heck, I don’t know. Everything I know about the law I learned from Law & Order…so, not much. If anything. Regarding the LVNs and CNAs, well, they aren’t a part of the union. That’s what I’m saying, and that’s the issue I had with your comment to begin with. Not that ratios are good, or bad, or anything at all. Just that other parts of the “healthcare team” better step up if they don’t want things to go to hell in a handbasket (obligitory cliche? check.) right fast and in a hurry (thanks for the farmer talk, grandpa). Because you can’t expect the nurses union to go, “Whoa, we better back down. We’ve got ourselves a pretty nice deal, here, but whoops! Where’d everybody else go?” You would (and are). I see it, too. But unions are rather like weeds–out of control in no time. The only checks are the nurses themselves, and the competing interests…which, at the moment, are doing precisely squat.

The other problem I have with the nurses union in California is the fact that why they say they are the patients advocate they stand against capping health insurance premiums. In every contract that they go into, they always say they are ok with their members health insurance premiums going up. The problem with that is that when they agree to that, it put unions that represent less skilled labor in a weak position to keep health insurance premiums down for their members. The reason you don’t want to cap health insurance premiums is because you need those increases to insure that the members of the nurses union are able to get 25% increasing from providers like Kaiser in their recent contract. So I guess you are the patients advocate as long as they can afford the increasing health insurance premiums.

God. Sucks, doesn’t it? I’m glad you pointed that out. Look, like I said, I don’t know the answer–but I know that the nurses union is the only voice that matters right now, sadly enough.

And before you go all crazy telling me that the nurses are backing universal healthcare legislation with SB 840 in California, why sell the rest of us out in labor while we wait for at least another decade for the political climate to become right for that type of reform? We know because you need to ensure there is enough money coming into Kaiser to get that 25% raise.

So maybe next time you say someone is speaking out of their a@@ you should step back and actually research what the nurses union in California is actually doing. For those of us in other labor movements, yes I work for a union, watching the nurses have their cake and eat it to is disgusting. If you want to be the moral do gooder in California, and want everyone to treat you that way, then you better step up and be consistent in what you are asking for.

Um, I realize that you aren’t directing this at me. Since, of course, I haven’t made any of these statements. Since I am not a member of the nurses union. And yes, the union and its members should be consistent. And actually, I’m all for universal healthcare. IN THEORY. But we live in the real world, and often enough things that sound so lovely are poo in practice.

Looking forward to seeing your response.

As am I.

Do you ever

write about something you don’t know about? Yeah, that’d be me.

I’m always spouting off about things I know nothing about. I’m always looking up to other people and plagarizing, uh, I mean, parroting what they say.  Usually they say it better. Sometimes someone else does.

Is this stream of consciousness bothering anybody else? Yes?

I do my best.

Do you ever think about something, and want to write about it, but can’t seem to get the words to match up with that picture in your mind? That’s me. I can see it, frame by frame, but I can’t. do. it. The words won’t behave.

I wish I had some coffee.

Do you ever dream idiot dreams? I do. I can’t seem to get them out of my head. There’s this one I keep having, where I’m in the town where I grew up, but everything is changed. The people are dirty, there are fields of wheat and helicopters, guard towers. Bombs going off and I’m trying to find my children in the dusty dawn. Razor-wire and stone quarried from the mountain, a shadow of itself looming over the town. Sweat and tears. A shelter in the basement–my parents don’t have a basement–flash of fire. Airplanes overhead. Fade to white.

That was weird.

I was thinking

about this guy I know. He was griping about girls who flirt with professors to get better grades. Really, I don’t see the problem.

Really.

I don’t flirt to get better grades, but why not? Consider: you use what you have. Smart people tend to do what will reward them for their smarty-pants-ness. Strong people tend to work in construction, or some other job that rewards them for their strength. Sarcastic people, well, they tend to surround themselves with stupid people. Offices are good for that.

You don’t pick a job because it fits your weaknesses. You do it because you can do it.  What if–ahem–that’s all you can do?

Work it, baby.

You may have noticed…

I killed some posts. They sucked, so they died. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything good.

Where have all the Doctors gone?

“The accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary, in the same hands, whether of one, a few, or many, and whether hereditary, self appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny.” ~ James Madison, Federalist Paper 47.

*****

This post, by EM Physician (a blog I read frequently, and enjoy) made a few statements that got me thinking. But before we get started, someone made a comment I feel compelled to answer…

Not even going to touch the rest of your comment, ucalcal, but this?

Where are the nurses on ensuring enough paramedics are available to provide a quick response to 911 calls so sick individuals get to the hospital in time to be saved? (emphasis mine)

WTF? Like the nurses have control over the paramedic companies. You are talking out of your ass, man. Good grief.

That said, the reason nurses are catching so much flak here is because they ARE unionized. Squeaky wheel gets the grease, as they say. The bigger question is, why isn’t everyone else fighting, too? It isn’t the nurses’ fault that they are biased in favor of nurses. In Federalist Papers No. 51, James Madison said, “Ambition must be made to counteract ambition.” But where is the ambition of the docs, radtechs, etc?

If you want to blame someone, start by blaming yourself. Docs are seen as weak because they are weak. Pushed around for the last five decades by an increasing mound of paper, allowing the insurance corporations and government bureaucrats to dictate patient care. Then, someone (nurses) stands up and says, “Hey, we’re not going to take this anymore!” and you cry “foul”? You cast all the blame on the nurses?

That’s crap, and you know it. Get your fellow docs to wake up and DO something. It’s not good for one voice to dominate in any arena, but if no one else will speak up…I guess you’ll have to take what you get.

Oh, and about the quote? I think “tyranny” could justly describe the amount of low- and mid-level government interference in healthcare. We’ve got so much paper to dick with that patient care is prime for a raging blaze.

Look at Yellowstone National Forest. Ever heard of “controlled burn“? Started in 1972. Burning, when done frequently and responsibly, eliminates the underbrush, stimulates growth, removes deadwood, etc. All good things for a forest. When natural burning is eliminated, you get a strangled forest.

That’s the picture of the healthcare system today–massive, overgrown. I don’t even like that phrase: healthcare system. It’s not health care. It’s sick care, or pretending-to-be-sick-so-I-can-score care.

*****

So, what’s the answer? I don’t have one. But I do know where the blame lies: with all of us. With the nurses, for pushing our own interests without an eye for the effect on the system.

With doctors, for ignoring the problem and hoping it’ll just go away.

With other professionals (radtechs, pharmacists, paramedics, etc.) for acting like the problem doesn’t include them.

With specialists, for opting out WITHOUT speaking up to the administration and the government.

With administration, for introducing/implementing policies and procedures willy-nilly, refusing to listen to staff complaints, and passing the buck.

With the numerous “associations”, who take your money but don’t do jack.

With the government, for doing a poor job of governing anything, and printing paper instead, mandating changes without looking further than the next election cycle.

With insurance company CEOs/CFOs/majority stockholders, who screw everyone and spend summers in Montana with Chuck.

And, lastly, with the patients, who are the crux of it all. Without patients, the system doesn’t exist. They are, in a word, essential. Yet they are unorganized, lacking advocates, because they don’t know what they need…which is where doctors and nurses come in. Yet so far, only the nurses have made their voices heard.

So.

Where have all the doctors gone?

Simplify, simplify; and other random phrases

As Thoreau would say.

I got up this morning and turned on the TV–I was hoping there’d be a little Battlestar Galactica action going on, but I was wrong. DH said, “Do you have to do that first thing every morning?”

“Um, no. I never do. Unless BSG is on.”

I realized that he has no idea what I do every day when he’s not here. I have no idea what he does (though kid-care is certainly part of it, and cleaning is certainly NOT). He has so much stuff that it is possible he spends nearly all of his time participating in leisure activities.

I read books, listen to music, blog, bake, and clean. He…I don’t know. Plays his guitar? Oh, and he likes Hearts. We can’t play cards together, though, because he is so freaking competitive. I like to win, but I pretend I don’t care (just in case I lose, you know) and that REALLY pisses him off. Because I usually win. I’m just good like that.

God. I’m a bad wife, really. I never seemed to get the hang of letting other people win, laughing at stupid jokes, etc. He’s a bad husband–he doesn’t know how to argue. Yes, that is his biggest fault. He gets mad and just says, “You know what? Forget it. Just…get out of my face if you’re going to argue.” OOOOOHHHHH, You DIdn’t!!!

Anyway, I like to argue. I like to be right. He likes to be right. We argue over who is “righter” than the other. I admit, I force him into it. Is that wrong?

I’ve had a zen cleaning thing working for a couple years. I get in the groove and it’s like the house cleans itself. I don’t have to do it, I just float through and everything gets cleaned up. And my daughter, Snicker, follows behind me like a hobgoblin, messing with everything. I look up and WOW where did three hours go? Turn around–and the house is kinda clean. You can follow Snicker’s path through the house. It is a path of destruction. In fact, that is DH’s name for her: “Captain Destructo”.

I’m willing to put up with a lot for a husband willing to be a SAHD (stay-at-home dad), and who will call his daughter “Captain Destructo” versus “Cutie Pie Honey Baby Snuggle Muffin” or “My Little Princess”. Not that there’s anything wrong with those names, but…You know.

DH likes strong women. I like a strong man. It’s a good match, as long as I remain Queen Boudin.

Speaking of, did anyone else see that special on the History channel? Freakin’ awesome! I’m not that tall, I think (being a mere 5′7″), and I was cursed with a high-pitched voice, but otherwise I’m just like her. Seriously. Okay, so I’m not nobility, I’m not of the Iceit tribe, whatever.

Visit Not Nurse Ratched for her take on the “overgadgeting” of society.

PS. My favorite luddite activities:

Baking bread

Making cookies

Drying & Grinding my own spices

Playing the piano

Working equations

I *heart* cake

I made Teacake today. Scratch, just like my great-grandma taught me. It’s creamy and moist, with a light lemon and almond smell and little crunches of poppy seed. Beautiful. If I had my digital camera, I’d give you a pic but unfortunately, that was one of the many concessions I made in order to regain control of my life.

This is my great-grandmother’s recipe, that she got from her grandmother and so on. Hope you like it.

Teacake (Coffecake. Whatever.)

Preheat the oven to 450 K (that’s like 350 f, or 177 C). In a large bowl,

1 stick softened butter
1 c. sugar
6 oz. cream cheese
3 eggs

Mix these together in order. Beat until glossy smooth. Add

1 tsp. vanilla
the grated rind of one large lemon
the grated rind of one medium orange

Mix gently. In a separate bowl, combine

2 c. flour
1/4 tsp. salt (or as my grandmother would say, a “biggish pinch”)
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder

and mix these together. Alternate adding the flour mixture and sour cream until gone. (This takes about a 5 oz bowl of sour cream. I like to add a little lemon juice to mine, as well as a few smacks of poppy seed. Spoon this into a buttered bunt or tube pan. The dough will look really thick, and like there isn’t much there. Don’t worry, it’ll rise like anything and give you a moist, fluffy cake. Cook it until it’s done, a little over half an hour.

For the icing, mix together three-quarters of a stick of softened butter (4 oz sticks, okay?), 1.5 c. powdered sugar, 2 tablespoons heavy cream, 1 teaspoon almond extract, the rest of the rind from that orange, and the juice of a couple lemons. Or an orange, or a couple limes. Whatever.

***

My great-grandmother taught me to measure ingredients according to taste, feel, and weight. I know what half a teaspoon of sugar, salt, soda, whatever looks like in the palm of my hand. I taste everything until it tastes “right”. I cook with “double-handfuls” of beans instead of cups, and somehow it always comes out right.

She taught me little tricks, like softening the veggies with salt before cooking will allow them to hide in the background…adding a bit of fresh herbs and parsley at the end of cooking will make the flavors bright…anything chicken will take a citrus punch and run with it…and pot pie is stew-in-a-pastry. I learned how to make homemade biscuits, to bake my own bread, and how to use masa flour and molasses to make sweet cornbread pancakes for breakfast. Giblet gravy with slices of eggs. I wouldn’t have known the ache of kneading, the solid weight of a ceramic bowl, the burn of rapid whisking during hollandaise-induced hypnosis. The pleasures and pains of caring properly for cast-iron–how strong and smooth the pans can be–the tension of arms and wrists when removing from the oven, the warmth that lingers, keeping roast beef ready whilst making the gravy and mashing potatoes.

I wish I had been there when they sold her house, her belongings. I got her wedding china, her tea-set, per her wishes. But the canning equipment and vase-style jars were sold, and the whole of her cast iron went for $30–money I would have gladly paid, and many times that, to keep those receptacles of memory to myself. Her canning jars weren’t the common brand, Mason, that so many American southerners know–these were like vases, fluted, with soaring necks. Elegant in their rows, glass-capped and gleaming. The pressure-cooker, the stacks of red towels and it’s sister-stack of white…Enough to fill a large pantry, gone for $25. The white linen tablecloth and napkins–gone as well, along with the white lace overslip she used for special occasions, funerals.

It was mother’s day this week. Somehow it passed me by–I got a card from the kids, breakfast by DH. I took my mother a Starbuck’s Tuxedo. It was cold by the time I got there, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

My grandmother is still alive, and I love her dearly. It wasn’t her doing, the sale of the estate. That was her brothers’ doing, and if she knew about some of the stuff she’d…I don’t know what she’d do, but I’m sure blood would be involved, and it wouldn’t be pretty. Her brothers, my granduncles, care more about dollars than they do memories. They had plenty of money–they simply weren’t interested in keeping around all that dead weight.

If I could think of some appropriate profanity, I’d use it. Some things are too heavy for words.

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