Author Archives: Abilene Rob

I Have Warm Water

Posted on by
1

Not hot water, mind you, just warm. The water heater is still getting about the business of heating the water inside it, but here’s what it is not doing: it is not leaking; it is not turning itself off for no good reason; and it is not blowing up my house. (Yet.)

A while ago*, my bathtub faucet began to drip a bit if you didn’t twist the cold water tap really hard. Then it started doing it to the hot water tap. Then it started to dribble, rather than drip. At some point, we had to start really cranking on the hot water tap to get the dribble to stop. Then the hot water handle stripped completely off its post, and I just took to showering with a pair of pliers**. The dribble became a steady trickle of hot water but, since it didn’t affect my water or gas bills, it could be safely ignored. Then the overworked and underpaid water heater decided to start going on periodic strikes. This necessitated some tinkering and coaxing, but we eventually came to an agreement that yielded daily hot showers and no relatively little carbon monoxide poisoning. Then I noticed an odd dark patch on the hall floor, which turned out to be the water that was pouring like a fountain from a melted seal on the water heater’s outflow pipe. Enough was enough. I shut the whole works down, called it a day, and just started taking cold showers.

That isn’t much of a hardship in Abilene in August, but cold snaps are coming. Also, frankly, I’m tired of washing dishes in cold water, and shaving in cold water is just not pleasant. The real reason is that, as shameless as I am, even I cannot live with cowardice indefinitely. The water heater and the leaky faucet had been looming like demons for long enough. It was time to face them. Aside from that, there’s always the outside chance that I may have a woman some day, and she’ll expect me to do this stuff. The alternative would be to hire some muscled-up sweaty guy half my age to come do it, and I’ve seen too many pornos to fall for that one. Might as well learn to do it myself, while the only people who have to bear the cost of my incompetence are still just me and the dog.

I am a crafty guy. I can make a hand-bound book, build a little box, etch glass… whatever little project catches my eye, I can do. However, to my eternal shame, when it comes to manly stuff like carpentry, plumbing, and auto repair, I am about as handy as a double amputee. I always wind up making several trips to the hardware store. I’m always frustrated into coming up with glorious new strings of obscenely-biological swear words. I always injure myself. I always wind up destroying something in a fit of childish rage. I always stumble around in a haze with no idea of what I’m doing. All of it is compounded by the fact that, since I’m not a handy guy, I don’t have any handy-guy tools. (Today, for lack of any kind of real saw, I used a hacksaw blade with no handle to laboriously cut away a chunk of wood and drywall.)

Despite my floundering, I usually manage to get the job done somehow. It’s not always pretty, but it works. Today, I have a working water heater and brand-new, sparkly tub fixtures. The only bummer is that I had to tear down part of my tub surround in order to get to the pipes where the fixtures attach. The North wall of my bathtub enclosure is now plastic sheeting sealed up with duct tape, but it’ll hold until I can get it fixed right.

I’ll get around to it soon; I’m sure it won’t take too long.

 

 

 


* No, I’m not going to say how long ago. It would only shame me.

 


** Why, yes. Yes, that IS banjo music you hear.

 

 

Past the Point of No Return

Posted on by
3

The journey ahead is now shorter than the distance I’ve come. Chronologically, anyway; in every other respect, this year is going to be far more taxing than the last. Longer clinicals, tougher coursework, and the rigors of a full-time job are going to make this more than a little hellish, but I got through boot camp, and I can get through this.

As Official Class President, I was asked to give a little pep-talk to the incoming ADN class. All of the instructors were lined up on the wall behind me, so I missed the looks on their faces when the very first thing I told the incoming class to do was get together with fellow classmates and form small groups, so they could start up a crystal methamphetamine lab or a prostitution ring. Books aren’t cheap, after all, and we had to buy almost all of them up front. The rest of the talk seemed to go well (though I think there was a point where I may have said, “You will pray for death, and death will not find you.” I dunno. It’s all a blur now.) I think I was kinda pep-talky, but I don’t know that I’ll be invited back to speak at any more Official Functions.

In other news, babies are cute. I’ve never really been a baby kinda guy, but I did my first clinical rotation through the nursery today, and I’ll be damned if those little buggers aren’t just adorable. Little wrinkly faces and scrunched up hands waving around and tiny little plaintive cries – I can see the appeal. Here’s the best part:

You can pick them up with, like, one hand!

I bet they don’t even make baby bariatric beds. You’ll never see a nursery order for “Up to chair BID, w/ assist x6“, you’ll never have to wipe curdled cheese out from between a baby’s back flaps, and you’ll never have to wheel in a damned hydraulic lift to get a baby back into bed. I doubt the word “pannus” has ever been charted in conjunction with a baby.

While working with babies today, I’ve got to admit that I did get a little tug on these rusty old heartstrings that I honestly wasn’t expecting. I don’t think the nursery is in my future, though. I don’t want it badly enough to claw my way past a thousand fresh little 19-year old graduate nurses with sparkly eyes, all of them named some variant spelling of Brittnee, and all of them just dying to work with babies. Watching the nursing students attack the sign-up sheet for nursery PCT jobs was like watching zombies throw themselves repeatedly against the mall’s glass doors, and I want no part of that.

No, thank you. I’ll stay on my tele floor.

Chronically-broken hearts are more my style, anyway.

A.D.D. + Music + Youtube

Posted on by
Reply

= wall of text with many links.

I went to hang out with some friends and listen to a band tonight. They played a song that I had totally forgotten about, and my dear friend posted a link to it on her Facebook page when she got home. Listening to that reminded me of another song that I hadn’t heard in forever, so I went looking for it, too. I thought the guitar player on the right (edit: Charlie Sexton) looked like the coolest motherf on the planet. I still think so, actually. That page, for some ungodly reason, also had a link to this, which is pretty much one of the most amazing things ever. While noodling around looking at those, I went looking for another song that the band played, because it reminds me pleasantly of my high school sweetheart, and it’s one of those songs that always makes me happy. I was thinking I might learn to play it on the guitar. We’ll see. While chatting with the aforementioned friend on the little Facebook messagey thing, I mentioned that I am a member in good standing of the degenerate elite, and that led me to this video, which was made during the tour that I saw. THAT video made me go look at this one, and that page had a link to this song. The video has not aged well, but I was quite taken with it when I was high school. In retrospect, I think it just might be partly responsible for my endless fascination with spooky girls*. The Shakespeare’s Sister video reminded me of an Offspring song that I have always loved but do not actually have a copy of, and for which I hadn’t seen the video (spoiler: it’s really, really late-90′s.) Then we got to talking for some reason about singing along with songs, which reminded me that I needed to look up the best drive-and-sing-along band of all time. OF ALL TIME!

Then I wrote this post.

Then I went to bed.

 

 

 

* In fairness, I was also quite taken by this video, yet I didn’t develop the same endless fascination with scandalous rap ho’s, so who knows? (It’s the 2 Live Crew, Mom, DO NOT click that link.)

 

 

 

 

I Have Met a Girl

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve been single for a while now. It’s been weighing heavily on me this month, but I think things are about to turn the corner.

I met a girl.

She works on my floor, just a little ways down the hall. She always greets me warmly, and I find myself looking forward eagerly to my next chance to slip in and visit her for a minute or two. Seeing her always perks me up and gives me a little lift. To be honest, I probably see a little more of her than I should, but nobody’s said anything so far, so I guess it’s okay.

She’s smoking hot, and she’s got kind of a dark edge that makes me think maybe there’s some bitterness under the surface waiting to come out. She’s always sweet to me, however, and our time together is always really stimulating.

She’s got kind of an odd first name – I think maybe it’s European or something. Anyway, here’s her picture. Seeing her always puts a smile on my face:


Isn’t she beautiful?

In other news, the national licensure exam for nurses is called the NCLEX. It’s a pretty big deal, and not a cakewalk. So, to help prepare us for it, my school has some kind of connection to a testing company that’s supposed to help evaluate us and let us know where we stand. The summer semester is winding down, and we took two of those tests today. They were only 10 percent of our grade, but I was a little worried about them. (Mostly because I’ve been terribly busy with school, work, and bouts of angsty self-loathing, so I didn’t do a lot of preparation.)

The first test was RN Mental Health, and I did really well on it. I knew a lot of it from my courses this summer, of course, but there was also a lot of it that I knew from personal experience. I felt like the Slumdog Millionaire of crazy.

The other test was RN Pharmacology, which scared the hell out of me. I learned most of my pharm last semester in marathon cramming sessions. They got me through the tests, but they’re hardly conducive to long-term learning. I read every page, did every assignment and did reasonably well on every test, but drugs are slippery things – I feel like I don’t know anything. They sound alike, the side effects run together, all the details get lost and swirled. Until you start working with them directly, the names are as incomprehensible and foreign as city names in Mongolia, and it has been a long time since I looked at that stuff. So, I didn’t do as well on the pharm as I did on the mental health bit, but I am still “fairly certain to meet NCLEX-RN standards in this content area.” I can live with that, for now; the NCLEX review study group should be starting up soon, so we’ll hit it hard there.

Subject change: Music

All of my music is laden and leaden and loaded with burdens. Everything I listen to is weary with cares. Time to branch out.

I’ve never done much in the way of rap music, so I thought I’d give that a whirl. Here’s my new Pandora station, “YYYYEAAAHHHH!!!!” (You have to imagine Lil’ Jon saying it.) I was gonna call it “Pissed Off Black Guys Cussing About Women and Guns,” but that seemed a little unwieldy.

Here’s an odd thing that popped up on my station:

Someone mashed up Jay Z and Linkin Park. That is a thing.

It’s Unnerving to Find Out That I Have Readers

Posted on by
5

I still tend to think that the only people who read my blog are the handful of medical incredibloggers kind enough to toss me pity links, my dog*, and my mom**. When I find out that someone reads my blog, I get red-faced and stammery – like I just got caught staring at the underwear pages of the Sears Catalog. I had a moment of terrible awkwardness last week when Hot Girl told me that she reads this (and, of course, recognized herself,) and I felt a little flush of embarrassment when my whiny post about my whiny life yielded a letter from “K***.”

The awkwardness of learning that someone actually reads what I write was immediately swept away by a raging torrent of whitewater awesome**** thundering down from the mountains of Valhalla.

K brought me a gift.

It’s better than I could have possibly imagined. 2:05 – 2:10! 2:05 – 2:10!!!!!!

Thanks to everyone who sent good will. I’m feeling much better.

 

 

 

* He only reads it because I give him pizza crusts in exchange for proofreading. I have to whack him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper when he misses a run-on sentence.

 

** Hi, Mom!

 

*** It turns out that “K” has a blog. I don’t want to link to it, because it’s better than mine in every way, but I guess I’ll stick out my lip and scuff my sneakers on the floor and go ahead and send you there: Nursebound*****.

 

**** I know it’s passe to make “awesome” a noun. I don’t care. I still have a jeans jacket with a Def Leppard back patch.

 

***** Please note my continued dedication to professionalism******.

 

****** This blog post was made possible through the generous support of our sponsors: House of Leaves and Infinite Jest.

 

Nursing Horrors: The Yonker

Posted on by
1

A plastic magic wand is connected to a suction hose, and you swish it around your patient’s orifi (yeah, I said that) to suck out saliva, phlegm, and other assorted grossness. When a thing exists solely to slurpily yonk out giant wads of loogey from your patient’s mouth, what else are you gonna call it but “yonker?” Well, it turns out that “yonker” is not an onomatapoetic slang term; the actual device is a “Yankauer” suction tip. Here’s what it looks like:

For a patient with mouth lacerations and an INR that is higher than your valedictorian’s grade point average, the yonker (yeah, I spelled that) is truly a magic wand. The Scrubs Wizard waves it around and, hey, presto! – the patient is able to breathe without sucking air through the extra-chunky tomato soup gurgling around in her oropharynx.

Here’s why the yonker is a nursing horror deserving of its very own post: it is made of clear plastic.

In order to assess what’s going on with the patient’s mucous membranes, the nurse has to be able to see what the yonker is actually yonking out. The nurse also has to record the amount of fluid yonked out, so the aggregate yonkings are collected in a cylinder that is also, you guessed it, totally clear plastic.

In the best of all possible worlds, the tube gets scummy with spit residue. In the second-best world, the inside of the tube gets smeared and coated with the foul yellow slime that you would expect to find on the inside of a McDonald’s straw after you used it to suck a loogey from your lunch tray because Tony Baloney bet five dollars you wouldn’t*. In the worst of worlds, the inside of the yonker gets coated with a viscous gel made of smeared, blood-soaked snot. Swishing the yonker tip in water helps some, but not as much as you would hope.

The collection of yonkings in the last scenario looks pretty much like what you’d get if you mixed a cherry slurpee with half a glass of orange juice, then left the whole mixture to ferment on your dashboard in a disposable, clear-plastic graduated cylinder.

Anything that can put a fella off of melted cherry slurpees is truly a horror.

Bonus Nursing Horror: sleep deprivation! Goodnight, ladies and gents. See you all in about 18 hours.

 

 

 

 

* Yeah, I know, but I refuse to afford him the dignity of “Tony Bologna;” that bastard still owes me $4.35.

 

 

 

Blargh

Posted on by
1

I’ve recently been fighting bouts of black, mind-numbing depression that are just about starting to bug the hell out of me. I’m not sure what they’re a function of, but these are my guesses:
- Swinging wildly between 12-hour long night shifts and clinical days
- Switching from a diet of tuna and fresh vegetables to a diet of bologna-and-cheese sandwiches and Monster energy drinks
- Going from an exercise routine of cardio and swimming to an exercise routine of answering call bells and log-rolling the morbidly obese
- My conscience finally collapsing into a white dwarf under the pressure of everything I’ve piled on it.

Thank God, literally, for good friends and bad bourbon.

I only have one pair of scrubs, so I wash them over and over between each shift. It sounds like they’re done, which means I can move them to the dryer and get some sleep before clinicals this afternoon. Before I go, here’s something that always makes me laugh (the longer you watch it, the funnier it gets):

 

 

 

 

Here’s something that makes me laugh even more:

 

 

I don’t know why metal-dudes are so hysterically funny. They just are. Also, I would cheerfully give, like, a thousand dollars or something to know what song those kids are jamming to.