Stupid is as Stupid does

Even nerdy girls have their not so bright moments. Tonight, I had one of those moments, only this one is going to be rather costly.

Everyone knows that you should never attempt to catch something sharp, if it slips out of your hand, for fear that the falling object could cause injury to a body part. Knives, widgets, and blades are prime examples of what you should never attempt to catch.

My stupid moment began while I was cutting tulle with a rotary cutter. The rotary cutter has an extremely sharp 45mm blade and is supposed to have a functioning safety mechanism to prevent injury to users. While I was cutting tulle, the cutter slipped out of my hand, soared in to the air, and my immediate reaction was to grab it. Not so bright, I know, I know... Regardless, I grabbed for the cutter, only it came down blade end first, and the safety mechanism failed. I was left with a 1.5" laceration that extended from the base of my palm to the inner aspect of my wrist.

At 1:00a.m. I find myself in the waiting room of the local ED, feeling like a complete idiot with a dirty kitchen towel pressed against my wounded palm/wrist. The triage nurse asks, "What is the nature of your visit?" I wanted to say, "Stupidity," but instead opted for the other ridiculous response, "Laceration from a sewing accident." Imagine how that sounds to the ED worker...completely ridiculous. A question that was asked more than once, "Were you intentionally trying to hurt yourself?" Seriously, when the laceration was not over my radial or ulnar artery? I chuckled to myself, because of the hilarity of the whole situation. Yeah, this was my grand idiot moment where I wound up with three sutures and a sore hand and wrist. When I receive the bill from the ED, it will be excruciatingly painful.

Note to self: Do not catch rotary cutter when slips out of hand.

Lesson learned.

Evil Concoctions

I thought corn pudding was wrong to do to corn, but I have now found something that tops the inconceivable concoction. Chocolate covered bacon--that just sounds wrong. Instead of heeding to my inner voice, I tasted the evil duo, and, yes, it tasted as nasty as it sounds. I still have that awful aftertaste in my mouth...who would do such a thing to chocolate? Chocolate covered bacon sounds like a manly concoction, something for those going through male menopause perhaps? As I sit now savoring my Reese's cup, I curse the man who created this sin. Damn you!

She lies in a bed of flowers

I knew this day was coming, and I dreaded the day it would arrive...

These past few weeks, I noticed that she was not quite herself; she had slowed with age, but managed to still keep up with me. I glanced at her sadly, knowing her time as my companion was nearing it's end. It has been 5 days since her passing, and now I find it fitting to retell one of our past adventures. With this, I say goodbye, my little princess; you will be missed.



Dropping my phone has become a habit; a bad habit that to this day I have not overcome. The back of my phone will not even stay on now, unless assisted by tape. Ahhh, but I love my phone; my phone and I have been through a lot and into a lot of things. She is a girly phone too, all shiny and pink like a princess.

There was a day when my little princess phone became a dirty girl. On the day she became a dirty girl, I made the mistake of carrying her in the breast pocket of my scrub top. On this day, I was eagerly awaiting a call and she was set to vibrate when calls came in, and the only pocket I could place her in where I would feel that vibration was my breast pocket. I thought to myself, when I placed her snugly in my pocket, that I was going to drop her today, and the question for the day would be onto or into what would I drop her? Early afternoon, that question was answered.

A patient rang out to be assisted to the bathroom, only this patient was in the Chest Pain Center, actively experiencing mild chest discomfort. I, being the vigilant and thorough nurse, would not allow this patient to ambulate to the bathroom which was 6 feet from her stretcher. My patient was destined to void on the ever popular and loved plastic bedpan. After my patient completed her business, I removed the beloved bedpan, placed it on the floor, and carefully assisted my patient in redressing herself. When finished, as I bent over to pick up the bedpan, I felt a sense of dread, and then I felt my little princess slipping out of my pocket. I watched and heard her plop into the urine filled bedpan. My cat-like reflexes kicked in, immediately plucking her from her dirty bath. Ohhh, she was now a dirty girl!

After cleaning her multiple times with toxic wipes, alcohol, and again with toxic wipes, she functioned beautifully. Now, she no longer rides along in the breast pocket of my tops, and when people ask to borrow her, my princess phone, I never tell her dirty secret.

Exceptionally Evil = Wicked

There are some days and nights where you have the best intentions, but fate or circumstances (call it what you will) thwart your every effort.

In trying to control my patient's pain, I advocated that his/her pain med be increased. The med was increased, but in doing so, I created utter frustration for myself when the time came to adjust my patient's PCA pump. After an hour of not being able to change the program for the pump and having phoned others for guidance on how to solve the problem with no resolution, I was ready to bend and melt the PCA key, punt the PCA pump like I was going for a goal in World Cup, and administer aggressive pillow therapy to anyone who dared suggest something I had already attempted.

I decided to walk away and readdress the issue in 20 minutes.

Next I decided to give the PCA key to a different RN, who knew nothing of the problem, and let her go for it.

She was able to turn the pump off--that was all I had been trying to do. In my mind, I fell to my knees and bowed at the waist to her, arms outstretched, and I kissed the ground she walked on. OMG! WTF! I thanked her repeatedly, even though she could not tell me how she had completed this elusive task.

With the pump now appropriately set, and my patient's pain better controlled, I proceeded to change his/her abd dressing. My patient cried, yelled, and carried on like a non-compliant detainee at fat camp having his/her last chocolate bar torn from his/her pudgy fingers.

As tempting as it was to pack the wound a little more than necessary, I refrained.

This same patient had an ostomy appliance that needed frequent emptying, because of gas collection. I suggested that because he/she could help with this, I would leave the collection container at hand, for he/she to use as needed. My patient proceeded to use this container as his/her personal trash can, then called me to the bedside. "Does this pouch need emptying?," my patient asks.

As tempting as it was to give a wry sharp tongued response, I refrained.

I emptied the "trash" container, decompressed the pouch, put the container out of my patient's reach, and exited the room.

My next patient had concerned family members, with one becoming what I like to term a "monitor vigilante." This patient had an AICD/pacer, and the monitor misread the pacing spikes/rhythm as PVCs. The monitor kept alarming "trigeminy," "bigeminy," "VT." It was maddening. I reset the alarms, to make it stop. I then observe the patient's "monitor vigilante" almost nose to screen, wondering why it was not alarming.

As tempting as it was to call into the room, using the call system, and say to the "monitor vigilante," "didn't your parents teach you not to move close to the screen! You will ruin your eyes! Back away from the screen!," I refrained.

From there, my night got worse (like it could actually do that!)...

Normally, I am a quiet, happy person. When I left work this morning, I felt positively evil. I believe I even walked about the unit, daring someone to ask me how my night was. I had that evil grin on my face and glimmer in my eye that I normally reserve for people I loathe.

And I still am feeling positively evil, as I glare at my spiteful cat...

Spring's Surprises

I travelled to visit my brother and his family today, and was shocked when I realized that my 11yo niece, Adrianna, sprouted upward and is now taller than me. I have always thought that I was at least 5'3", but during my last doctor visit, I measured in at only 5'2.75"...sigh... That is ok... I still have many inches over my two youngest nieces, Gabby and Elise, and I will for at least the next 5-6 years. Hah!

One cup or two?

I often write about the faux pas or short comings of others, and now it is time to write about my own. There are many things that I consider myself the 'go to' person for, such as if you want furniture or a toy put together, or if you would like a history lesson. My son Brett loves those history lessons {wink}. I also like to think that I have decent problem solving skills with most things. Where I fall short is a technical issue with anything electronic, including appliances. Common sense sometimes leaves me, and I stand before whatever the issue like a complete ass. My husband, being the technical genius, likes to rub that in sometimes, and, yes, I have flames coming from my ears when he does. Recently, however, I just stood and laughed at my stupid resolution to a technical problem, after my husband called me on it. Let me explain...
Winters in our old farm house can be very harsh. There is no insulation anywhere, it is frigid throughout the downstairs, and the pipes that lead to the washer and half-bath freeze constantly. We have not been able to use our washer for approximately two weeks. Two days ago I tried to wash a load, because there was a trickle of cold water; the Neptune top-loader's display kept yelling 'uF', which meant that it was under filled. My bright idea was to add water, only I was insure of how much to add. This is when the wheels really started grinding...'what if I added too much? Would I somehow damage the machine?' More wheel grinding...'It is a high efficiency washer, so I should not have to add a lot.' Smoke rolls out now...'I'll just add a few LARGE cups and see what happens.' I proceed to add several large Big Gulp sized cups of water to the washer, and then pressed the button for it to start. Again it yells at me, 'uF.' Now I am getting a bit peeved, so more smoke rolls out...'ok. add a bit more water.' This goes on twice more, where I add water, try to run the washer, and then it yells at me. By this time, I have lost count on the exact number of cups I have added, and I start to fear the worst, that I have somehow broken my highly efficient, water saving, dream of a washer. I immediately stop adding water and abandon the attempt.
A day later, my husband makes an attempt to run the washer, and he too has the brilliant idea to add water. I try to dissuade him, and mention that I have already tried that, and it did not work. He states, "well how much water did you add?" I tell him, "many cups of water." He shakes his head and wanders off to get a bucket. I stand watching this, panicking that he is going to destroy my metal baby. He adds 4-5 buckets, presses the start button, and much to my surprise, the washer begins it's cycle. He asks why I added only cups of water, to which I reply, "Because it's a highly efficient washer. Shouldn't it use a lot less water?" He laughs...did I say something funny? I then realize just how silly I sound and laugh at myself. Even nerdy book smart gals have their short comings...and there you have it; that is one of mine.

Lurkin' for a merkin?

Yesterday, I found something rather raunchy, but I have to post a photo of it. The picture had me in tears; I was laughing so hard, it was difficult to catch my breath. I am someone who is easily amused (obviously), and when I saw this (the title for the post was 'Bush League' on http://www.regretsy.com ) I immediately thought, "OMG! someone actually made fur pie panties!" A piece of fake fur glued onto granny panties...imagine all the titles for this photo you could come up with. Oh the fun, and and these are still for sale on Regretsy for $12--what a steal!

Patrons Who Stare at Idiots

The husband and I decided to take in a movie this evening and try out the revamped Visulite, in the historic district of Staunton. The Visulite turned out to be better than the theaters at the Staunton Mall; The seats are comfortable (they rock), the aisles are wider providing plenty of leg room, the movie screen is large, and the sound system is above average.

The husband and I decided to see "Men Who Stare at Goats", and my only problem with the experience at the Visulite was the overly giddy twenty-something year old girl who sat two rows behind me, to my right. The movie was bizarre,and it had some true comedic moments where I laughed out loud, but for the life of me, I did not understand why this girl chose to laugh when certain words were said. Was her laughter because of some odd and new type of 'Rocky Horror' experience that neither I, nor any other patron, were akin to? I am puzzled by this. Let me give you an example: Whenever George Clooney or Ewan McGregor would say "Jedi" or "the Force," this girl would laugh LOUDLY, and it was not a quick laugh. It was a solo long LOUD laugh. It became most annoying after her fourth inappropriate outburst, and it was at this time that I got my husband's attention, ushered him closer, and gingerly whispered in his ear, "She must be high." He let out a quick giggle, because he sometimes forgets that I can be wicked. Every time she did her solo outburst, I sat there thinking that it would be great to learn George's awesome talent of being able to stare at some live creature and make it's heart stop. I could use that talent on this inappropriate girl, and I believe there were others who may have thought this same thing tonight. I dared not look at her as I left the theater, fearing that I may blurt out something wickedly witty, or that I may have miraculously picked up George's talent and ended her idiotic ways. In a way, I failed humanity but not sparing future legions of movie goers from her idiotic torture. I am sorry citizens of Staunton.

Livin' in Zombieland

My almost 16 year old son and I saw Zombieland Saturday night, and honestly that was the funniest movie I have seen in some time. It was full of wit, included great rules for a zombie attack, Woody Harrelson is awesome, and the movie did not gross me out! Bill Murray even makes an appearance as himself, but alas is killed while playing a prank on one of the main characters. One of my favorite lines from this movie is when Woody's character greets Bill, "...Bill F****ing Murray; I know that's not your middle name..." My favorite funny-horror flick, Dracula Dead and Loving It, has just been replaced!

Liam makes his debut

After a few false alarms, our second grandchild, Liam, made his entry into this world 9/15/09 at 11:30 p.m. Most C-section babies are just beautiful--they have no misshapen heads. Little Liam was delivered vaginally, and thus has a slight cone head. My husband's first thought on seeing him, "Mr Smithers." Liam really is a beautiful baby, but I chuckle at the Mr. Smithers resemblance. In my search for a funny hat that Liam could wear for pictures, I wound up finding only a pirate's hat. When I took the hat out of it's package, I thought, "Hmm. Looks like something Aunt Jemima wears. So here is Liam, aka Smithers, in his Jemima headgear :)

Chillin' with FCC

Today FCC decided to attach himself to my back, as I steadily worked at my laptop. I guess with his new assault technique he has figured out that I cannot swat at him from behind. Ahh...but I still won. I laid back on the bed and gave him a little smush while yelling, "Uhhh--What the heck is wrong with you?" Here he is seen in a rare mellow moment, plotting/dreaming up his next attack.

My New Acronym: FCC

Acronyms are a strange part of health care; most health care professionals use them in shift reports or as code in front of lay people. Acronyms are also part of a cryptic language for the various fields of medicine, and these cryptic languages tend to spill over into our everyday lives.

I share my home with three dogs, and two of those dogs enjoy killing any and all small creatures that dare to venture into the fenced yard. Over the years, I have found numerous rabbit parts, dead birds, and most recently a dead kitten. I have rescued one rabbit and two kittens from the clutches of my carnivorous hounds. One of the spared kittens now lives in my bedroom, tucked away hidden from the hounds. I think this kitten owes me some gratitude, some respect damn it. Do I get it? Heck no! I love him, play with him, feed him, clean his poop from the litter box, make sure he has plenty of litter to kick out of the box for me to sweep up; what thanks do I get? Currently, as I type, he is viciously biting my ankles--correction--toes!! Yesterday, while I was readying myself for work, he decides to attach himself to my thigh. I would like to add that I was wearing shorts!!!! That damn cat drew blood, and not just a drop or two. I have wounds on my anterior thigh and shin from his assault. Obscenities flew from my mouth as I swung to remove him from my thigh..."*ucking crazy cat," I yelled, as I swatted and watched him sail comfortably onto a pile of dirty laundry.

I have been having trouble finding a name for him. Jinx, Kitty (how original), Lil' F'er, and now FCC. For now, I will stick with FCC, until his next assault and my new attempt at cleaning up blurted obscenities.

Those Who are Disturbed

When I see this, I think, "I like my thumbs with a nice chianti-arghhh-ga-ga-ga!", or how about the bad seed, the rotten one, veggie tales friends gone wild, how do you like it *itch?, or night of the rotten seeds. You could really have fun with these!

This is one of the funniest things I have seen in some time. Eclisse from photobucket creates these works of disturbed art and they are making their way around via email.

Zoey the Destroyer

Who knew Boston Terriers like to dig? I learned that last summer; as I planted flowers, Zoey the Destroyer would dig/destroy them and my efforts. In this photo, Zoey is seen taking a break from her hard work, where she systematically worked her way down this flower bed, leaving little behind. In the end, last year, I let her win. This year, I have changed the fencing around this flower bed, to thwart her efforts, and I keep a closer eye on her when she is outdoors; so far I am winning. Oh, and that animal repellent that is supposed to keep dogs, cats, rabbits, etc. away from your flowers is not Zoey proof. I observed her eating it last year, prior to digging!

And the Award Goes To....

Let's face it, not every man is the 'Mr. Fix-It" type. My husband happens to be one who is not of that type; he even jokes about his handyman 'abilities.' When things around the house break, malfunction, or are just not quite right, I try to hide them from him. Eventually, though, he finds these things that are broken, and I shudder when he states, "Don't worry, I'll fix it." As an example of his handyman abilities, there was once a run-on toilet, in our 70s-colored pea soup green bathroom, that he announced he would fix. When he was finished, the toilet no longer flushed, so in theory, no water was running; hmmm...that is not my idea of fixed.

On another occasion, this same toilet began leaking at the base because of a faulty seal. After reading many on-line 'how-to's' and the instructions for the new seal, it took my husband two attempts, two assistants, and a mutt to verify that there were no further leaks around the toilet. I therefore deem that the award for Redneck Plumbing goes to Harley and Co.

Go with the Flow

Dropping my phone has become a habit; a bad habit that to this day I have not overcome. The back of my phone will not even stay on now, unless assisted by tape. Ahhh, but I love my phone; my phone and I have been through a lot and into a lot of things. She is a girly phone too, all shiny and pink like a princess.

There was a day when my little princess phone became a dirty girl. On the day she became a dirty girl, I made the mistake of carrying her in the breast pocket of my scrub top; I was eagerly awaiting a call, she was set to vibrate when calls came in, and the only pocket I could place her in where I would feel that vibration was the breast pocket. I thought to myself, when I placed her snugly in my pocket, that I was going to drop her today, and the question for the day would be onto or into what would I drop her? Early afternoon, that question was answered. A patient rang out to be assisted to the bathroom, only this patient was in the Chest Pain Center, actively experiencing mild chest discomfort. I, being the vigilant and thorough nurse, would not allow this patient to ambulate to the bathroom that was 6 feet from her stretcher--she was destined to void on the ever popular and loved plastic bedpan. After my patient completed her business, I removed the beloved bedpan, placed it on the floor, and carefully assisted my patient in redressing herself. When finished, as I bent over to pick up the bedpan, I felt a sense of dread, and then I felt my little princess slipping out of my pocket; I watched and heard her plop into the urine filled bedpan. My cat-like reflexes kicked in, immediately plucking her from her dirty bath. Ohhh, she was now a dirty girl!

After cleaning her multiple times with toxic wipes, alcohol, and again with toxic wipes, she functions beautifully. Now, she no longer rides along in the breast pocket of my tops, and when people ask to borrow her, my princess phone, I never tell her dirty secret.

Just the Other Day

I like to think that I have a strange and a somewhat sick sense of humor. Working in the healthcare field only helps this along, and it was just the other day that I realized, yet again, just how sick my sense of humor is. At the lunch table, we were discussing roads we have all travelled, and I mentioned the creepiest place I have travelled to, Berkeley Springs, WV. At the time I travelled to WV, I had just watched the movie "Wrong Turn," and I found myself with paranoid thoughts as I drove down poorly lit, poorly marked, narrow, unpaved roads. My co-worker mentioned a creepy encounter a homehealth nurse had while visiting a man who lives in the Appalachain region in WV. Apparently this man had an above the knee amputation, and asked for his leg remnant to be returned. I jokingly stated that he must have wanted a new chew toy for his dog :) The man actually strung his leg from a tree in his front lawn and used it for target practice. Imagine the homehealth nurse's surprise on her first visit?!