Living with boys is so bizarre. They smell. They do incomprehensible things. They smell. How can someone come out of a shower and smell as bad, if not worse, than when they went in? How can their bedroom be fresh and clean smelling when they go to bed and smell like the mouth of hell in the morning? I keep a can of air freshener beside FB's room, so that, if I have to enter, I can hose it down first just so I won't keel over from the boy smell. We've been going through a period here where they can't seem to lift the ring on the toilet to go to the bathroom and then end up peeing all over the seat. Now, first of all, I demand that the toilet lids be shut at all times because I hate the look of the inside of a toilet, and do you know what gets aerosolized and floats onto your toothbrush??? Yuck. And whether it's true or not, just yuck. The point being, they have to lift the lid anyway, how hard can it be to lift the seat as well? Especially since I've been drilling it into their heads since they were potty training. So, now I make them come back to the bathroom, completely clean the toilet, and threaten them with sitting down to pee for the remaining time they live in my house. You'd think it would sink in a little better than it has. They are usually better for a few days and then I start to see some backsliding. Usually when there is important video gaming is to be done.
15 January 2012
When we came on shift this morning there was a drawing on the white board in the physician's room depicting a rather large laceration and repair that had occurred during a recent delivery. In order to put everything into perspective, all landmarks are represented; i.e. anus, vulva, tears, umbilicus, etc. This same white board is in full view from any position in the nurse's station. The particular tear that was being discussed was a midline laceration that extended bilaterally into the sulcus. Or sulci, perhaps in this case. I am orienting a nurse to our unit who has OB experience, but not recently, and she mentioned she had never heard the term "sulcus." So, I took her into the physician's room and explained the repair, pointing out the landmarks as points of reference, as in "The little starfish looking thing is the anus." Several hours into the shift, I wondered aloud if maybe it was time to erase the illustration as I was tired of looking at that anus all morning, and my orientee volunteered to be the one to clean up the board. A few minutes later, I noticed this:
Today was an incredibly slooooooooooooow day. Six postpartum couplets and not one triage. Not even a triage phone call. None. Nada. Zero. Zip. Nolla, Nothing. Knitting runs rampant at the nursing station and one of our female corpsmen was teaching another how to knit, when she stated she couldn't remember what was "knitting" and what was "purling." So, I clarified by stating, "knitting goes in from the front (meaning of the stitch) and purling goes in from the back." Which wasn't a problem until the 17 year old boy living inside me kicked in and I started laughing hysterically. When relaying this story to the night shift crew, one said, "So if you don't have a partner, does that mean you're crocheting?" Hilarity ensued, much to the horror of the young corpsmen at the table.
05 January 2012
Hey! Yeah, remember me? I still live here! I can't quite commit to staying or going, posting or deleting the blog. I'm going to try to be more consistent and see if I have anything left to say. Not really sure why I started the blog in the first place, which leads one to wonder why I should continue it. I don't work in the 'hood anymore, so my access to outlandish stories from pregnant, coked out, drug fiends has been severely curtailed. Don't get a lot of those in Navy land. A combination of extreme fatigue added to formulating my nefarious designs on the Lawn Boy's body and virtue and my brain is filled to capacity and unable to process anything right now.Best advice ever given: