Karma

Those sneaky, underhanded finks that supervise me suckered me into being in charge. At least one of them should have known better, but being truly selfish beings, as we all are, deigned to let me just screw everyone over. My night shift harbinger-of-the-Apocalypse karma has followed me, but is usually confined to triage. Today, the day shift got a decent taste of the pain that is my life in charge. I took a floor with two patients on it and turned it into a carnival of angst that had my eye twitching in a mariachi frenzy.

Breakdown of my day:

Number of ill calls: 5 (including both scrub nurses, one of which was a patient. I say get that girl on terb pump, stick her in a wheelchair, and get her ass back out on the floor)

Number of scheduled C-sections: 2

Number of admits: 17 (that's two an hour, you say? Not so bad, you think? Yeah, too bad they come in by 3s and 5s, all thinking they are gonna have a baby and take forever to get out the door.)

Number of phone calls received: 4300 (this is not so much hyperbole as perception)

Number of times I wished I still drank: 8600

Number of f-bombs dropped: oh, thousands

Number of patients transported via ambulance by Sister Hospital that doesn't deliver babies but whose ER doc checked said patient's cervix and stated she was in labor: 1

Length of stay of above said patient: 2 hours (determined she was not in labor in 15 minutes. The last hour and 45 minutes waiting for some of the Dilaudid and Phenergan that Sister Hospital ER gave to wear off. Let me go there next time something hurts!)

Number of Samoan prisoners from the jail with cute Sheriff escorting: 1

Number of times cute Sheriff graced us with his presence at the desk for no reason: about 20 (he may have known he was cute.)

Number of people who said I couldn't be in charge anymore: 7

Number of staff on today: 9 (including me and I was one of the above 7)


Well, hell.

Tomorrow, my day off, I will be attending Skills Lab and learning about a monitoring system that will be in place bright and early my next day at work. That would be Friday. Nothing like getting that training in in an expeditious manner. Reminds me of my 11th grade physics teacher who would bemoan our abysmal test scores and then realize she hadn't taught us what she had tested us on. That's thinkin'!

After the love that is Skills Lab, I will be heading over to my post-op evaluation. I assume the appointment will go as follows:

Skeletal General Surgeon: "Well, it's been a week. When did you take the dressings off?"

Me: "A few days ago" (like 5)

SGS: "And when did the steri-strips fall off?"

Me: "A few days later." (forcibly, the next day)

SGS: "All looks well. You can now resume vigorous exercise if you wish."

Me: "That will be nice." (started running and lifting again 3 days ago)

I am so non-compliant. If I were my own patient, I would kick my ass.

I have been so very....anxious...agitated...what is the word I'm looking for? Ah. Time for some retail therapy. Since my last foray netted me a big ol' car that requires me to use a step ladder to wash the hood, and a big ol' payment to go with it (hello, conspicuous consumption!), I will settle for visiting Michael the Extremely Gay Hairdresser! I will be putty in his hands to mold and form as he pleases! Well, my hair will be anyway. That will have to suffice or I will have to break the hermetic seal on my birthday lipstick!

Non-sequitor from NOS at 0530 this morning as I went in to wake him up:

Me: "Good morning, sweetie."

Bleary-eyed NOS: "You have 20 muscles in your hand."

Me: (sound of crickets) "...Okay!"