Lions have massive paws. An adult lion will use it's paw to kill prey - no teeth, no claws, just a powerful swipe that kills an impala in a single blow.
Why do I mention this?
Buddy has been making "paw strike" motions every time the nurses ask us dumb questions.
The nurse unit manager ("Hulk" or "Eggplant" depending on her attire) is a particularly egregious offender.
EG: Our patient has a pulmonary embolus, a blood clot in his lung, that has the potential to kill him. Not like, "one day we all must die", but "chest pain, O2 sats drop, heart stops, RIP". We asked if the nursing staff could take the patient's stats four times a day, in order to keep an eye on him.
"Does we have to?" Hulk asked. "Cos that's a lot of extra work..."
Before my eyeballs exploded with indignation, Adge made a quick paw strike gesture behind Hulk's back. I snorted, and my rage dissipated.
Problem solved. The foolish Impala is left to bleed on the Serengeti, leaving the herd stronger and me less annoyed.
Other paw strike moments?
"The patient just opened his bowels after 6 days of constipation. Would you like to inspect the motion?"
"I know you ordered the blood test for 6am, but I had my tea break then, so is it ok if we do it now (10am)?"
"We've given the patient a double dose of his heart-slowing medication for the last three days; can you change the documentation so we don't get in trouble?"
The rehab plains will soon be strewn with fallen prey, but I bet the patients (and I) will have longer, happier lives as a result.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Refresher...
Things that are awesome:
We get to play with botox. Not, like, celebrity botox, but using botox to paralyze muscles that have become overactive. You attach a syringe full of toxin to an electric needle. Stick the needle into the calf and turn on the juice. If the leg twitches, you're in the right spot. Push the plunger, the botox hits and you get three to four months of placid, untroubled limbs.
We get to go to jail. St V's (being of Catholic persuasion) has a strong focus on helping marginalized populations and so, has a prison ward.
Our patient beat his head against the floor so hard that he chipped his spine. I opened his file to do the paperwork and read, "Patient murdered his wife last week". We went to see him. Metal detectors, tattooed nurses and airlock doors, but once you're in it's the nicest place in the hospital. Quiet, only 2 patients at a time, free TV and lots of food...I'd beat my head against the wall too.
We get teaching. My boss in Rehab is a tall, powerful woman who is passionate about getting patients the best Rehab in the world. She also has a terrible stutter when she's nervous. She was teaching us about cardiac rehab (post-heart attack, etc) and told us that, "Patients want to get back to their previous lives. Working, playing with their kids and ma..ma..making lo..lo..having sex."
Apparently, if you're fit enough to walk up a flight of stairs, you're good to go.
I'll never look at the Stairmaster the same way.
We get to play with botox. Not, like, celebrity botox, but using botox to paralyze muscles that have become overactive. You attach a syringe full of toxin to an electric needle. Stick the needle into the calf and turn on the juice. If the leg twitches, you're in the right spot. Push the plunger, the botox hits and you get three to four months of placid, untroubled limbs.
We get to go to jail. St V's (being of Catholic persuasion) has a strong focus on helping marginalized populations and so, has a prison ward.
Our patient beat his head against the floor so hard that he chipped his spine. I opened his file to do the paperwork and read, "Patient murdered his wife last week". We went to see him. Metal detectors, tattooed nurses and airlock doors, but once you're in it's the nicest place in the hospital. Quiet, only 2 patients at a time, free TV and lots of food...I'd beat my head against the wall too.
We get teaching. My boss in Rehab is a tall, powerful woman who is passionate about getting patients the best Rehab in the world. She also has a terrible stutter when she's nervous. She was teaching us about cardiac rehab (post-heart attack, etc) and told us that, "Patients want to get back to their previous lives. Working, playing with their kids and ma..ma..making lo..lo..having sex."
Apparently, if you're fit enough to walk up a flight of stairs, you're good to go.
I'll never look at the Stairmaster the same way.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
cracked
Ok, MCC, I get it. I am not good enough.
My transcripts aren't shiny, my medical degree speaks with a funny accent and I can't even get electives right - BC Children's? Where's that?
I'm having flashbacks to my last set of Canadian applications. No joke, I'm actually starting to have the same dream I had back then.
What dream?
The one where my then-boyfriend would present me with a rejection letter and laugh and say, "Obviously, you're not good enough for me. Now I'm free to spend my time with someone shorter, cuter, with bigger boobs and clearer skin, who does everything you do, but better AND understands my career. Thank GOD."
I know, I know. It's late. I just worked a 14 hour shift. I slid needles into HIV positive people and grannies and young women with post-partum psychosis. I'm greasy and grumpy and have eaten a kilogram of chocolate in the last 5 hours. I can't be taken seriously.
But seriously, why don't I ever pick the easy way?
My transcripts aren't shiny, my medical degree speaks with a funny accent and I can't even get electives right - BC Children's? Where's that?
I'm having flashbacks to my last set of Canadian applications. No joke, I'm actually starting to have the same dream I had back then.
What dream?
The one where my then-boyfriend would present me with a rejection letter and laugh and say, "Obviously, you're not good enough for me. Now I'm free to spend my time with someone shorter, cuter, with bigger boobs and clearer skin, who does everything you do, but better AND understands my career. Thank GOD."
I know, I know. It's late. I just worked a 14 hour shift. I slid needles into HIV positive people and grannies and young women with post-partum psychosis. I'm greasy and grumpy and have eaten a kilogram of chocolate in the last 5 hours. I can't be taken seriously.
But seriously, why don't I ever pick the easy way?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
the fear
I don't want to alarm you, but something could go horribly wrong any minute now.
Rehab is the source of my boredom AND my anxiety now - we have three young patients (well, 40-50) who have had spontaneous brain bleeds of varying types.
It chills me to write up their admission paperwork.
Previous medical history: None/migraines/broken wrist
Drug & Alcohol: Non-smoker, social drinker, smoked pot once in '83
Family history: Nil
Lifestyle: architect/marathoner/stay at home dad (2 kids under 5)
Presents with: Acute onset headache, nausea, vomiting, coma.
They are being taught how to use a spoon again.
The stuff that comes up with these patients is completely different from the issues oldies face. For example, high-level care facilities (nursing homes) do not take patients under 60. These people have young kids who don't understand why Daddy doesn't recognize them. As opposed to the gentle-stroke-compounding-previous-senile-degeneration, these people are going from black to white in a day.
Some people would approach this information with optimism. They would say, "There but for the grace of God", "I am thankful for my blessings", "I must live life to the fullest".
Obviously, I take another tack.
I am insuring myself against EVERY possible outcome. Income protection, health insurance, life insurance, upping my insane vitamin intake, exercise twice a day, social time, quiet time, more greens, less meat, goji berries, blah di blah di blah.
According to Strictly Ballroom, a life lived in fear is a life half-lived. According to Rehab, it doesn't matter what you do, so you might as well prepare for the worst.
Thank goodness it's Spring here - sunshine and pretty dresses help ease the fear.
Rehab is the source of my boredom AND my anxiety now - we have three young patients (well, 40-50) who have had spontaneous brain bleeds of varying types.
It chills me to write up their admission paperwork.
Previous medical history: None/migraines/broken wrist
Drug & Alcohol: Non-smoker, social drinker, smoked pot once in '83
Family history: Nil
Lifestyle: architect/marathoner/stay at home dad (2 kids under 5)
Presents with: Acute onset headache, nausea, vomiting, coma.
They are being taught how to use a spoon again.
The stuff that comes up with these patients is completely different from the issues oldies face. For example, high-level care facilities (nursing homes) do not take patients under 60. These people have young kids who don't understand why Daddy doesn't recognize them. As opposed to the gentle-stroke-compounding-previous-senile-degeneration, these people are going from black to white in a day.
Some people would approach this information with optimism. They would say, "There but for the grace of God", "I am thankful for my blessings", "I must live life to the fullest".
Obviously, I take another tack.
I am insuring myself against EVERY possible outcome. Income protection, health insurance, life insurance, upping my insane vitamin intake, exercise twice a day, social time, quiet time, more greens, less meat, goji berries, blah di blah di blah.
According to Strictly Ballroom, a life lived in fear is a life half-lived. According to Rehab, it doesn't matter what you do, so you might as well prepare for the worst.
Thank goodness it's Spring here - sunshine and pretty dresses help ease the fear.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Don't eat the marshmallow!
Delayed gratification has been a way of life for me for almost 6 years now. I have been well trained in putting off my immediate desires (beer! travel! study-free nights!) in exchange for long-term goals (beer! travel! study-free nights! employment!).
Watching all the young, previously healthy patients in Rehab has been something of a kick in the pants; if you fall off your bike tomorrow, you could spend the next 40 years eating through a nasogastric tube. Life is too short not to try for happiness.
Life is too short to not eat the marshmallow.
With this in mind, I am having more instantaneous fun, but I am also trying to stop living my life with the big picture in mind. Now that I have a (satisfying) job, who cares how quickly I advance in my career? Not me.
Canada is my marshmallow. If it happens, great. If not, I've got some serious chocolate lined up as a substitute.
What spurred this outburst? Old flames popping up with life advice. I listen carefully to the suggestion, then do the opposite. And then I get this song in my head and...ding a ding a ding dinga ding ding...
Watching all the young, previously healthy patients in Rehab has been something of a kick in the pants; if you fall off your bike tomorrow, you could spend the next 40 years eating through a nasogastric tube. Life is too short not to try for happiness.
Life is too short to not eat the marshmallow.
With this in mind, I am having more instantaneous fun, but I am also trying to stop living my life with the big picture in mind. Now that I have a (satisfying) job, who cares how quickly I advance in my career? Not me.
Canada is my marshmallow. If it happens, great. If not, I've got some serious chocolate lined up as a substitute.
What spurred this outburst? Old flames popping up with life advice. I listen carefully to the suggestion, then do the opposite. And then I get this song in my head and...ding a ding a ding dinga ding ding...
Vive la difference
When I got my first paycheck, the first thing I bought was a proper bed. It felt fabulous to spend so much money on something that was JUST FOR ME (high hopes for my romantic future) but since then, I've pretty much been living my usual student life.
There have been other extravagances. I no longer get my hair done at the teaching salon. I no longer have a "black and gold" pantry; there are some brand-name foods in there. I eat out more often and get a second glass of wine with dinner. But deep down, I'm a frugal girl.
Until this weekend. I have seen how the other half lives, and I want it.
Beautiful B has moved into a one-bedroom. She has, all to herself, a bathroom, hardwood floors, floor to ceiling windows, and a balcony. She can have naked dance parties. She has room in her fridge for condiments. I want room for condiments!
I also want to live in Port Melbourne, home of the Liberal(s). It's the "blonde, skinny and posh" area of town. I've seen what my life would be life if I spent my money. I could buy imported Canadian candy (Reeses! Coffee Crisp!). Run around in yoga pants and not be sneered at by hipsters. Drink overpriced organic juice. I could buy a little dog and a little jacket for my little dog!
I know, it's a momentary infatuation. I'm sure I'd get sick of it the same way I get sick of Kitsilano; two weeks and I want to claw my eyes out. But for those two weeks, I'm happy to eat the fancy cheese, sleep on the 800-thread count sheets and wake up to the absence of pub noise.
Two weeks. Then I'm back to no-name tuna surprise. Sigh.
There have been other extravagances. I no longer get my hair done at the teaching salon. I no longer have a "black and gold" pantry; there are some brand-name foods in there. I eat out more often and get a second glass of wine with dinner. But deep down, I'm a frugal girl.
Until this weekend. I have seen how the other half lives, and I want it.
Beautiful B has moved into a one-bedroom. She has, all to herself, a bathroom, hardwood floors, floor to ceiling windows, and a balcony. She can have naked dance parties. She has room in her fridge for condiments. I want room for condiments!
I also want to live in Port Melbourne, home of the Liberal(s). It's the "blonde, skinny and posh" area of town. I've seen what my life would be life if I spent my money. I could buy imported Canadian candy (Reeses! Coffee Crisp!). Run around in yoga pants and not be sneered at by hipsters. Drink overpriced organic juice. I could buy a little dog and a little jacket for my little dog!
I know, it's a momentary infatuation. I'm sure I'd get sick of it the same way I get sick of Kitsilano; two weeks and I want to claw my eyes out. But for those two weeks, I'm happy to eat the fancy cheese, sleep on the 800-thread count sheets and wake up to the absence of pub noise.
Two weeks. Then I'm back to no-name tuna surprise. Sigh.
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