A little classier but just as fun

In case you think you might have the wrong blog, this is still Happy Heather's Hullaballoo! I just decided it was time for a more mature, classy format. I'm not sure what the effect will be on the content of my blog entries.
You may also have noticed the poll on the side bar. I will be posting new questions about once a week. Make your voice heard..... your vote may be included in a new book I may write (haha, wait and see).
As for current stories of my tragic life....
I was getting on the skytrain this week when I saw a woman that looked very familiar. I contemplated going over and saying hello, but I honestly couldn't remember where I knew her from. I puzzled over it for several minutes and then it came to me. I had seen her at the doctor's office. I was half-way over to talk to her when I stopped. What was I going to say?
"Oh, hello, do you remember me? I gave you a physical exam the other day. You sure look a heck of a lot better with your clothes on."
I sat down by myself, feeling rather glum. Of course I couldn't go talk to her, she would be so embarrassed. In fact, maybe that's what it would be like for the rest of my life. No being silly, no doing crazy things, no joking around, cause people would look at me and say, "She's a doctor?" and they would be thinking, "You'd couldn't pay me enough to go see her. She's immature and untrustworthy."
I reluctantly decided to be more mature, more reserved, more sedate, and more serious.
I did pretty well, at least for a few days. It all kind of fell apart when I was shopping in Old Navy the other day. I bought a very mature, reserved-looking red sweater to wear to work. As I was about to go out, I suddenly saw a flash of colour that caught my eye. It was the only one left, a bright, bright yellow sundress with a frill around the bottom and wooden beads on the straps that clinked as you walked. I tried it on and I felt like a cloud of yellow sunshine.
I couldn't resist! It was half-price, and I bought it. I wore it yesterday when I walked to the bank. Halfway there I was waiting at a light and a man stopped and stared at me. He looked from the dress to my flip-flops to the six inches of snow I was wading through, and then he started to laugh and laugh.
And then last night I was making margaritas for my sister and her friends. I made the last one for myself, and we had unfortunately run out of soda to put in them, so I thought, well, if I can't top it up with soda, I'll just put in extra vodka to make up the volume. It looks the same either way.
It may have looked the same, but a couple of hours later when Alpha's friends were sitting around talking and having a good time, I was sliding down the wall and crawling to my bed. Who ever heard of replacing soda with vodka? Certainly not someone who was mature, reserved, sedate and serious.
But I suppose there are some positive benefits to not being able to squish into the new role I've constructed for myself. I worked a night shift on thursday night and one of my patients was this crazy, crazy lunatic. At 2 in the morning I was trying to convince him that it wasn't a good time to put on his clothes and go out into the snow. He started to laugh.
"Oh, you're a funny girl!"
I laughed with him. "Yes, now weren't we heading back to your room?"
Back in his room he picked up his hat.
"Look at this hat." He said, his voice slurred. "The way I got this hat is a very strange story".... he rambled on and on.
After a while I decided it was time to disengage myself from the conversation.
"Well, you have a good sleep." I said.
"How old are you?" He asked me. (Why do they always want to know how old I am?)
"Too young for you." I said cheerily.
"Did I tell you the story of how I got this hat?" He asked.
"Hmmm..... I think so. Now, do you want me to turn the bathroom light out?"
I left his room and later that night when I was joking with some other crazy lunatic and trying to convince him that 3:00 was too early to call his daughter and threaten to sue the hospital, I thought, I bet if I was a serious, reserved, mature and sedate person I wouldn't see the humor in this. And everyone knows that the nurses without a sense of humor are the worst ones.
Well, I haven't given up yet. I'd still like to be classier and more mature and reserved. But I also really love my new yellow dress. Maybe somewhere in the middle is a happier medium.

Merry Christmas eve eve

This week I was working a night shift nursing on christmas eve eve. (yes, that's the night before christmas eve).
Sometime in the week hours of the morning I was making rounds and happened to be in a patient's room bringing him some medication.
Being almost christmas, there was a certain buzz in the air. The nurses had hung up some decorations and in the nursing station there were stacks of boxes of chocolates from patients. (and you wonder why there are so many fat nurses.....what else do you think there is to do on a night shift except eat chocolates?) Most of the patients had told me about family members who were coming to visit them the next day, or what plans they'd made for christmas. Some of them had decorations up in their rooms and the odd poinsetta in the window.
I turned on the light in my patient's room and helped him sit up in bed so he could swallow the pills. He was a quiet man and I could tell he hated to put the nurses out, he never asked for anything. Since I had rudely awoken him at such an early hour I thought the least I could do was to make cheery conversation.
"So do you have family coming to visit you today or tomorrow?" I asked him.
In the pale shadows I could see he didn't meet my eyes.
"No."
I honestly didn't know what to say except "Oh." He didn't explain himself, he didn't jump in to say "They live far away" or some excuse like that. There was an awkward silence, in which I felt his embarrassment at his aloneness. There was nothing comforting to say like "I'm sure they're thinking about you" or some harmless lie like that. I could see by the look at his face that it would have been a lie anyway.
I met his eyes and said, very tenderly, "Well...."
I took my time in his room. I talked to him about the snow that was falling outside and how icy it was. We made quiet conversation for a few minutes and then I made him comfortable in bed and turned out the light when I left.
I still haven't stopped thinking about him. I can't remember his name, but it doesn't really matter. He is one of many. Our world is chock full of lonely, sad people. People without families, or people whose families aren't the kind that will cuddle on a couch and watch a movie on christmas night or sit in the hot tub squirting each other with rubber ducks until midnight or laugh at the dinner table together.
Loneliness is the most terrible feeling in the entire world. We should be very gentle with each other, because we are protecting that vulnerable place inside each other that feels aloneness. It is true that there is a God-shaped hole in each of us, and that God is gracious and compassionate and fills us completely. He is all we need and he is entirely sufficient.
But he also created us to need each other. We were designed to live in community and to learn to share and compromise and protect and love.

5 random things I just learned that may or may not be important

So I learned these random facts and honestly thought they didn't matter:

1. The left kidney sits higher than the right one
2. The entrance to the right lung is more vertical than the entrance to the left
3. The appendix is 3-5 inches long
4. The skin of the abdomen develops in horizontal lines
5. The left testicle hangs lower than the right one

And then I found out that sometimes seemingly random facts actually are important and even if they don't make sense at the time, it is worth knowing them. Here's why:

1. Because the left kidney is higher, the ureter (tube leading to bladder) is longer. In kidney transplants, the left kidney is always used because the longer ureter gives more length for stitching it in.
2. When small objects are inhaled, they tend to follow a vertical path and almost always end up in the right lung.
3. A 5-inch appendix that is very swollen from appendicitis can look like part of the small intestine on an X-ray or ultrasound
4. If the abdomen is cut vertically, it will leave a fatter scar than if cut horizontally, along the natural lines of cleavage.
5. I have no idea why this last tidbit is important, but I'm willing to believe that it might be. And that someone somewhere cares.

the long journey home

I don't really have any reason to tell this story: no great moral lesson or spiritual meaning. It isn't even exciting or that funny. The only reason I'm telling it is that it seems to be a common theme in my life. Irony.
I got a cheap airplane ticket and went up to Kelowna for four days. The plane ticket was $10.00 and I had a fantastic time. I was refreshed, rested and ready for anything. Anything except the journey home, it turns out.
I arrived at the bus depot in Kelowna a few minutes early only to be told the bus was late. I sat there for about an hour and a half, having a good chat with my future sister-in-law Yvonne. When the bus finally rolled in I got on and settled myself in a comfortable seat. The bus was only 1/4 full, so I was looking forward to stretching out a bit.
A middle-aged man who looked a little crazy sat down next to me. His face was slender, but his jacket was bulging out over his stomach as if he was hiding something under it. (An oversized fanny-pack? A gun?) I stared out the window and turned on my sister's ipod.
We hadn't even left Kelowna when the ipod died. Oh great. Nothing to do. I had some new motion-sickness medicine my doctor had given me, so I took it, and tried to lean against the filthy window and review some flashcards for school.
My eyes started to swim. I suddenly realized my jaw was hanging open and I snapped it closed. What was wrong with me? I decided I was sleepy. I put away the cards and tried to curl up enough to fall asleep. I drifted in and out. The bus lurched down the highway.
The man next to me tried to talk to me.
"Yeah, I'm a tree-planter. Tree-planting isn't just a job. It's peace work. All the people into tree-planting are part of this movement. They have their own culture, their own style. They're all athletes and wilderness people. We work like marathoners everyday. I was also part of the rave scene when it first started. Yeah, I used to go to these huge raves and everyone was having a good time."
Man, I was starting to feel sick. So much mud had sprayed up on the windows that I could hardly see out them.
"I used to have this house in kitsilano. There were always people staying there. We had these volkswagon buses in the backyard, and tents in the front yard. It was peaceful. We were all tree-planters."
I could feel my arms and legs going numb. Was I hallucinating? In and out of his strange rantings about raves, I swam in a sea of motion sickness. What was that stupid medicine, anyway? I breathed in, and out. I tried to eat a mandarin orange. I sipped water from my water bottle, but it tasted strangely sweet. I talked to my neighbor for a bit, and fell asleep, then woke up. God, I think I'm going to throw up....
There was too much snow on the road and we inched along. On Chilliwack we were late and some people missed their connection and had to keep on. When the bus started again they were arguing in loud voices with the bus driver. Everything was a blur to me. Three or four people were talking on their cell-phones at the same time in loud angry voices. The man next to me started talking on his.
"Yeah, then we got stuck on this mountain." I heard him saying. "We had this epic hike back out, through this epic river and we finally got rescued."
Maybe I'm dreaming? No, dreams don't smell like organic garlic and old pot like the guy sitting next to me.
The bus pulled into the station in Coquitlam after 7 torturous hours. I stood up as fast as I could.
"Nice to meet you." I said to my neighbor.
I ran outside. Someone had taken my bag out already for me. I grabbed the handle and staggered away from the bus. Something weird about that medication, everything was spinning. I dragged my suitcase into the building and ran into the bathroom. In the stall I knelt down in front of the porcelain goddess and paid homage for several long moments. And then several more long moments. And several more.
When I emerged from the bathroom I realized it was dark outside and I had better find the skytrain before it was too late. I wandered outside of the station and it was pouring rain. No, not rain, sleet. I knew where the skytrain station was, but there was no direct road. I pulled my suitcase behind me and staggered the 2 kilometers through the seediest area of Coquitlam that I could possibly have imagined, and prayed that God would keep me safe.
By the time I reached the station my fingers and my face were numb with cold. I sat on the skytrain and felt sick again. I concentrated on breathing deeply and tried to close my eyes and block out the noise around me.
I got off near my parent's house and walked the kilometer in the rain. I didn't have a quarter to call them to pick me up.... there were no stores close by to get change...
I walked in the house finally, put down my bag, hugged my sister.
"How was your trip?" My mom asked.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
The good thing, I thought during my journey, was that every unpleasant experience I go through gives me that much more empathy and grace for others. And it could have been worse. That lump under my bus neighbor's coat could have been a gun after all.
Ahhhhh, life. Ironic. Tragic. But still so worth living.

Some things a lollipop won't fix

Well, I had a pretty humbling experience today.
I was working in the doctor's office and a young girl came in for a vaccination. She was about ten years old and was sitting in the examining room with her mom and older sister.
"I don't want a needle." She said in a whiny voice. "They hurt."
She started clutching at her mother and as I drew up the syringe I attempted to reassure her.
"You know what, I give needles all the time, and I'm really good at it. It doesn't hurt at all! And after we're done, you can have a lollipop."
"Look at your sister." I suggested as I reached for her arm, her cringing and whimpering.
In my experience, the best way to inject kids is to do it quickly, before they even know what's happening to them. And I would have done it, too, except something went wrong.
I poked the needle in and as I went to push the plunger down, the barrel was not connected properly and it popped off, shooting the medicine all over out the barrel.
I think I must have said 'oops' or something, because she looked over and there was a needle hanging out of her arm. I quickly pulled it out and tried to redeem the situation.
"Uh oh, I'm going to have to do that again. That syringe was not a good one."
The mother was staring at me, as if wondering what kind of a medical student I was and what I was doing to her child.
I quickly grabbed the vial and drew up another dose, hiding it behind my hand so she wouldn't see the needle.
Well, you try telling a kid that you're going to have to poke them a second time because you screwed up the first time.
I thought, what if going in fast is not the best technique? I advanced the needle a little more slowly towards her deltoid muscle, but i must have held it at a bad angle, because the needle bounced right off. I was sweating bullets by now. The third time I jabbed, I held it there and squirted it in, withdrawing it quickly and scrambling to find a bandaid.
"There you go, all done!" I said cheerily. "You were so brave!"
If looks could kill, I would've been dead.
The mother made some comment about getting three times her money's worth. I ushered them out of the room, wondering if there was a way I could redeem the situation.
"Here, would you like a lollipop?" I asked the little girl, offering her the bucket of candies.
She gave me a very insulted look, as if to say, do I look like a little child to you who can be easily pacified by a lollipop? You just stabbed me three times in one arm!
"They're delicious." I said encouragingly. "I always get one when I can." (Actually that was a lie, I just realized that now. I don't really care for lollipops.)
She looked at me evenly and said, "I'm not allowed to have them."
As they walked out of the office I waved goodbye and thought, no wonder there is such a thing as malpractice insurance. How can a ten-year-old make me feel so defeated? If only I hadn't said all that about being so good at giving injections....
"Oh, did the needle pop off the syringe?" the doctor asked me casually, his back turned to me.
"Uh, yes." I admitted in a small voice.
"That happened to me the other day." He said matter-of-factly. "Funny things, those."
Funny things indeed.

TIA

Today I was working at an extended care facility and I had an interesting experience. One of my patients, a chipper old man with a nice smile, was missing from the dining room around lunch time. Normally I would've waited a while for him to appear, but I thought, why not, I'll go look for him. I took his lunch pills and walked down the long hallway to his room. As I entered I saw him sitting sleeping in his wheelchair, hunched over a little. I came up and called his name, touching his shoulder.
No response. Suddenly I noticed that his skin was pale white and he had the sheen of sweat on his entire head, neck and arms. I put down my things and called his name louder, squatting down in front of him to see in his face. He opened his eyes halfway and barely acknowledged me. I knew he was diabetic, and running through my mind was the possible diagnosis of low blood sugar.
"How do you feel?" I asked him, hands on his knees.
"Not..... good." He barely got out.
"I'll be right back." I told him.
We were at the end of a long hallway and I knew all the other nurses and aides were busy in the dining room and no one would hear me call. I ran down to the nursing station, grabbed the glucose testing kit, a cup of apple juice, and on the spur of the moment, a thermometer, stethoscope and blood pressure machine. I briefly told another nurse what I was doing and I ran back to his room. He was almost slipping out of his chair. I whipped out the glucometer and checked his blood sugar. Normal.
A care aide came in and I said to her, "We have to get him lying down right now."
He was barely breathing. I felt for a pulse but couldn't find one. We pivoted him into bed, laying him down on the mattress.
"He already had a mini TIA last week." The care aide told me. "I'll go get oxygen."
TIA, or transient ischemic attack, is a mini stroke in the brain. I took his temperature, it was way too low. His blood pressure was slipping and I still couldn't find a pulse. His breathing was shallow and for a second I thought he'd stopped all together. The other nurse came in, she'd called 911 and the ambulance was on their way.
"He's had 6 heart attacks," she said, "and several TIA's."
We didn't have the equipment for a cardiac arrest on that ward, so he would need to be transported. We got the oxygen on, assessed him, and I found a pulse, but it was too thready to count, even with my stethoscope.
"I'll go grab his chart for the paramedics." The nurse said. "Someone needs to stay with him."
And suddenly I found myself alone with this semi-comatose man. I was leaning over him, one hand on his wrist and talking softly to him. What if he arrested right then and there? I know I've been a nurse for a while and seen lots of stuff, but I've never done CPR on anyone before. What if he was a DNR (do not resuscitate)? Should I start CPR on him anyway, because I wasn't sure?
I looked down and around his neck was a golden crucifix.
"Are you Catholic?" I answered, and his mouth moved in the shape of yes under the oxygen mask. "Would you like me to pray with you?" I asked.
"Oh, please!" He said.
So I held his hand and recited the Lord's prayer. I wished I knew more catholic prayers, but I didn't, so then I just prayed the words that came from my heart.
The paramedics came and I stayed with them awhile and they took him away on a stretcher.
Afterwards as I was sitting in the nursing station charting, the nursing supervisor stopped by to ask me about him. I explained what had happened, feeling rather good about my complete assessment, and she asked if it was another TIA.
"I think it was cardiac." I explained. "You know he has a history of heart attacks."
She didn't say much and after she left I thought a bit more about it. What was I thinking? Of course it was a TIA, not a heart problem. He may have been showing signs and symptoms of an impending heart attack, but he was missing the one glaringly obvious one: pain.
His complicated history of anemia, diabetes and congestive heart failure made it difficult to determine what was causing what symptoms, but he hadn't complained of any pain or tightness in his chest when I'd asked him.
I had to call his family and explain what had happened. They were upset, understandably, and asked me questions about what had happened. I explained about TIA's and assured them he was getting the best care possible. I got off the phone and thought, it's a good thing you weren't the doctor here today Heather, because you would have screwed up.
Sometimes I forget myself. I forget that I'm just a beginner. While I do know quite a bit because I'm already a nurse, there is so much that I don't know. I haven't been trained to diagnose yet, and I'm obviously not an authority on heart disease OR stroke. It's a good reminder that I need to be humble..... as humble as I can, because when I open my mouth, someone's life may be on the line.