School Nurse Jack

I know, I haven't posted in a while. Several reasons for that. Too many for me to go into.

But while I feel the need to post this tonight, it's all wrong for facebook, or for e-mailing, or for phone calling. It's for journaling, which I only do online for whatever reason.

When you last hit me hardest, Big C, you scared the shit out of my kids. I got The Call on a Sunday morning and screamed in my bedroom, like that would change the outcome. (?)

Moments before I had my meltdown, I had the presence of mind to tell my oldest "go get Daddy" as I clutched the phone to my ear and my heart. I knew he was out front mowing the lawn, and that he would take over what I felt slipping outside my parental controls. It was several months coming, but nevertheless, life-stopping.

I'm sorry that my children sat sobbing in the living room on the couch as they listened to my agonized wails as I pounded my bed and walls and threw anything I could get my hands on in my bedroom. I felt horrible that I had to e-mail my kids' teachers to let them know what they had been through, watching their mom collapse. I both repelled and welcomed those teachers' hugs when offered as I showed up in black the day of the funeral, the day I said my final goodbye to a friend that should never have been taken, if 'good person' points had been handed out.

Flash forward to today, 3.5 years later. My heart was ripped out all over again. Watching these children sob as they sang "Just One Person" to honor a musical director who devoted her life to the love of teaching children. My daughter, greeting me as she walked down the aisle after the service, her face stained with tears. A production in progress, with a big whole in the middle. A song, missing a voice.

These kids, who knew Lana was hurting, but found out on a Saturday morning that You were at work and would take her one day later. Watching them therapeutically singing and dancing today gave me hope that they were grieving healthier than me, but scared me nonetheless. Who is next in this mean game?

WHEN???? When do we figure this out, this cancer shit? When do we stop the heartbreak, the children who mourn? Those that will become parents without their parents present to share the glow of grandparenthood? The parents who lose children too early? The spouses whose life adventures are just beginning?

I want this pain to STOP.

Remember when "Friends" used to name all their episodes with titles like "The One Where Ross Doesn't Worry About Something"? No? OK.

I haven't blogged lately. First off, because I can't really talk about my job. Not only do I have HIPPA to contend with, I have FERPA. How boring is that? You're missing out on some real gems, let me tell you. I still love my students. Just not their bodily excretions, which today, ran aplenty. Gah.

Another thing is my semester is killing me. Advanced Pathophysiology, Advanced Physiologic Concept in Maternal Health Nursing, and my out-of-school elective, Health Communication in the PR department. The second class, I like. The rest of it? I am taking Patho credit/no credit and don't care, the third, I don't care about my grade any more.

And segue into, I'm depressed. I'm working out, I'm eating well, I'm sleeping - oh, wait, no I'm not. But I don't want to take anything pharmaceutical because I actually enjoy having orgasms, and when I took Lexapro those eluded me. How depressing, yes? There are health issues, there are personal issues, there is the economy, there are these looming student loans I will be officially owning soon...I just need my semester to be over and then I can figure out what I need to do. After this semester, I have only 4 more classes to go to finish my MSN. And 3 of those are clinical. Cool!

Here's an issue that is nursing-related and has caught my eye.

One of the big hospital companies in my market is cracking down on the nurses. Color-coded scrubs for each type of care provider. That part I get, and think it will eliminate confusion on the floor among patients, doctors and direct patient caregivers. I'm thankful that if I apply there next year, I look halfway decent in the particular color the RNs will be wearing.

But they're also enacting a policy that states only single ear piercings and a tiny nose stud will be the only visible body piercings allowed for the employees. I could be OK with that too. If I'm a sick patient in a bed I may not want to look at someone's nose rings as they take my vitals. (I don't care,but a patient may.) It might make me think of pain, or infection, I don't know.

Tattoos. Can we talk tattoos? None will be allowed to be visible effective January. Doesn't affect me - my Danskos and socks completely cover my tattoo on my foot. But, how slippery a slope is this policy?

For instance: I know a women who went through the hell of losing a baby only days before he was to be delivered. She had his name tattooed in nice script of white ink on her inner left wrist, so she would see it every day and the thought of him would go straight up to her heart. It was significant to her, and I loved her idea. Who could argue that a permanent reminder of your deceased child is wrong?

The hospital could. As tasteful and meaningful as it is to this woman, it is still by definition a tattoo. So she would either have to wear a long-sleeved shirt under her scrub top even in 100-degree weather, or a bandage on her wrist. And how suspicious does that look, and ew...MRSA transmission from patient to patient, anyone?

Here's another scenario: I've seen people who have wedding bands tattooed on their left ring fingers instead of wearing bands. And let me tell you, what a brilliant idea that is from a germ-spreading basis. I'd rather be handled by someone's tattooed ring finger than a ring with soap scum and god-knows-what accumulating underneath it. Bandage that finger up, I guess. Again, how many times a day will those bandaids have to be changed? Blech.

We're asked to be tolerant and non-judgmental of patients who come in with tattoos and piercings. Heck, sometimes those choices get in the way of inserting an ng-tube or starting an IV. But we do it, and we understand it's a freedom of expression.

Like our urinary output and our food intake, I guess as nurses, we have to sacrifice self-expression in the name of patient care. And they wonder why nurses are burnt out and have negative attitudes toward work?

I'm still not believing it actually happened.

I feel like I've been pregnant for 15 months and gave birth tonight. Melodramatic, I know. But that little spark that was lit in me over a year ago exploded in ballot booths all across the country today, and it's something that is an experience to remember.

Back in August 2007, I took a quick trip up to Iowa to see my grandmother immediately after finishing my RN program and before starting my new job and taking my NCLEX. The kids and I flew in and out of Chicago Midway, and just before the flight home, I stopped into an airport gift shop to buy some bottled water and snacks.

The button you see in the photo was one of several in a bucket near the register. I added it to my purchases, and the cashier beamed at me. "You from Chicago?" "No, ma'am. From Austin." She continued beaming, nodded her head as she rang me up, and stated with a hometown pride "He's gonna be our next President." Head bobbing as if to seal her belief even further. I found myself slightly head bobbing with her, smiling with her, wanting to believe with her. And I had already started to.

Since last summer, I have had a hunch about Obama. For reasons I can't explain, he felt like the candidate I wanted to sit down and listen to, but also the one I felt would listen to ME. It was a hunch, my faith that this man could bring together talented people and lead this country. I wanted it to be reality.

Over the past year, I listened more intently, read more thoroughly, thought harder about what's most important to me. Our primaries moved like molasses, and then that reality looked more and more like was emerging clearer and clearer.

In February we attended an Obama rally in front of the Capitol. Seeing what I had in common with so many different people was my first real peek at grass roots in motion. It's been a life memory to watch it emerge, and to know that Girl Child and I had the privilege to be a part of that night up close.

I bought my Obama bumper sticker in early March and have since been driving around with it on my car. My employer told thousands of us we couldn't have campaign signs in our offices or anywhere on the property. I was willing to park on the street instead of our lot if I had to. The bumper sticker that stayed on my fridge as a back up (in case my original one was ripped off or defaced) is still there. I'm grateful to live in a country where my right is to do so, and that my choice was respected. I hated to read of the sign-stealing going on in my city on both campaign sides.

Hubba Hubba saw the button I taped on the refrigerator August 2007 and said "Really? You think you'll vote for him?" "I do. I do." Imagine my glee in September when he brought home my very own Obama Bobblehead. Each time we walk by or set something down on the counter, he peeps "Yes. We. Can." This past week, I answered Obama Bobblehead with "Yes, we better, Barack. We better."

We did. My $25 donations here and there, your $1,000 donations, your $5 donations, your tireless hours phoning, envelope stuffing, web-linking, traveling to other states to reach out to undecided voters, my pumpkin carving, the campaign's text messages and e-mail outreach...

Like President-elect Obama said in his acceptance speech tonight, there is so much to be done. When I finish school (God willing and the creek don't rise - 13 months from now) I get to be a part of that on some minute level. I want to take that Master's degree and put it to work to make a difference while I'm on this planet. Why I got into nursing in the first place. I would have done it regardless of which candidate won. But tonight? Tonight I feel like there might just be hope for the things that matter to me. That I, the people I will work with and the people I will work for will have a bigger voice. Because we've seen what all those small voices can do. Now it's time to see what they WILL do. What WE will do.

John McCain gave an eloquent speech tonight, and I hope our country continues to benefit from his expertise in his strong areas. May all the candidates enjoy some restorative time with their families in the coming weeks.

(Direct quote from my allergy doctor's nurse today)

And quite the understatement.

I've been doing immunotherapy since June in hopes of surviving this year's cedar season in Central Texas. My doctor (whom I got to spend a lot of time with today!) tells me he thinks this year will be particularly bad because we've had no rain.

Per one reader's suggestion and endorsements from many people I know, I bought a neti pot and tried it. Once. It's hard to gear up to try it again knowing I might face that panic-inducing "OhmygodamIdrowning?" feeling and the noises that come from the depths of my trachea and my esophogus as they battle it out saying "I dunno. Is she breathing or drinking? You wanna work while I take 5?"

Anyway, today I left my office and was happy to do so. That's all I'm sayin' about that. I figured I'd show up early for my weekly allergy shots, run a bunch of errands, pick up Boy Child from Mad Science, and take him to buy a birthday present for a friend.

At the nurse's counter, as she prepared my syringes I noticed a handy little display of epinephrine vials and thought to myself "Those are kind of cute...so much more portable than those big ass epi pens. I wonder how many of those they have to use each month?" I like my nurses there and we always banter a bit (they know I'm a nurse) while I get weeds/trees/grasses poked into my left arm and dogs/cats/dust into my right.

The policy you wait around 30 minutes post-injection. Most people I observe (I love to people watch) stay, but occasionally I see people bust out of there after they go back for their shots. I want to play hall monitor and say "Heeeeeaaaaaaayyyyy...not smart." But who am I to be bossy?

As of today, I am a poster child for why you should wait. Because as I got all settled down in the waiting room to kick some crossword puzzle ass, 5 minutes later my palms were itching. Quickly followed by the soles of my feet. And then, oh, lawdy, my ear canals felt like infernoed elevator shafts. At this point I'm thinking "I wonder if I should tell K. (the nurse) or if this will soon pass?"

Uh-uh. 2 minutes later, this extreme nausea tsunami hit me. Followed by an intense pressure on my chest and some "Am I really in my body? kind of thoughts? Oh shiiiiiiit.

I got up, saw K. charting in the hallway, tried to be all cool and calm and said "Um, K.? Did we change a dosage today or something?" She closed charts, looked at me, said "I don't think so. You're at maintenance, aren't you?" I exhaled loudly and said "I don't feel so good."

Both she and the doctor were at my side in about 2 seconds flat and I was ushered into an exam room. Pulse ox on and looked good (Thank god, because I was seriously wondering if I was moving into anaphylaxis) and a dosage cup of liquid Benedryl mysteriously appeared, the pink liquid calling "Drink me."

10 minutes later I dropping trou and was the recipient of one those cute little epinephrine syringes in my left thigh. "I don't have to tell you your heart will start racing." Yuck. Yes it did. As if I weren't feeling like shit enough before that. But being able to breathe is pretty important.

Then I was hooked up to a nebulizer treatment with Xopenex and after that finished, the doctor handed me three nasty-tasting prednisone tablets. And he talked with me a long time, which I know was a guise for observing me and watching me for altered mental status.

I was diagnosed with a systemic adverse reaction to my serum and let me tell you, that was some scary shit. To be a nurse and know exactly how allergic reactions like that progress isn't always a good thing. There was one point where I considered calling my friend L., whose husband is Wonder Teacher to Boy Child. I had visions of me being trached at the nearby hospital and not able to pick him up from his after school program. Do I call now and risk scaring Boy Child, do I wait and hope I'm OK? Did I mention Hubba Hubba is working out of state for 7 more weeks???

I for some reason thought I could go to Petco after I was well enough to leave the clinic. What is wrong with me? I got out of my car and thought "Damn. This is dumb. But you know, I'm here - might as well get the dogs' food because I hate to waste the gas. Legs - move!" I got a cart because I felt like Jell-O legs might take me down on the dog-peed-on and probably minimally cleaned floors.

I napped in the car at Boy Child's school (classy!) and dragged myself into the school to pick him up. Upon arriving home, I took a one-hour nap which did wonders. I was able to do everything I had to do tonight, and here I sit - wired. Ugh.

The doctor is titrating down my serum concentrations for next week to be safe, but I'm kind of nervous regardless. If nothing else, I have gained yet another experience to file away in my nursing brain, in the event I have a patient who experiences an adverse effect from an IV med or something. I know what that feels like now.

Whew. I gladly welcome the fact I'm home alone tomorrow night, just me, the dogs and cat, the trick-or-treaters, lots of shows online I need to get caught up on, and maybe some studying. My Halloween wildness is finished!

Happy trick-or-treating to you and yours.

I made this tonight while the kids did their traditional jack-o-lanterns. And I think it's darn worthy of being my 300th blog post.

A special shout-out to an administrator at my work school who went to New Mexico and to my friend L., headed to Ohio, both to campaigning in those swing states for Barack. This year has been an amazing look at grass roots efforts in getting so many people to care about their vote.

No matter what color your state, no matter who your candidate, go vote. This year's turnout numbers are going to be eye-popping.

I hate this semester. That is all.

This summer, my friend L. turned me on to this website. Because we're both the parents of teenagers, she thought it prudent that we stay current on such matters of not appearing so out of it we don't have a clue. Some days I'm money, some days I seem destined for a walker in the near future.

Right now? Bring on the early bird buffet coupons. I turned 41 last week. As did Hubba Hubba. I had surgery to celebrate. More on that later.

And today? I went for my all-body skin cancer screen, something I initiated a horrified, fair-skinned Girl Child into.

The kicker? I have two biopsies out awaiting review. I'm not worried about either of them. But still. Two docs sent out pathology samples from my decrepit body in the span of 4 days?

Dude. I need to read the archives of How Not to Act Old. I know you're not supposed to talk about your health when you get old, but these days, I feel like there's nothing else.