Tuesday, September 04, 2007

I am highly trained professional

And occasionally I get poop in my hair at work. And no, it's not my own poop. Although, as the astute Jodi pointed out, "I think this is one of those cases where even if it was your own poop, it wouldn't be any less gross." I love that Jodi thinks like me, by acknowledging that indeed there are situations where the fact that the poop is your own versus someone else's DOES make it less gross. Yes indeed, I am a well-educated and highly trained professional. I spent lots of money and went to years of schooling in order to be paid to where your poop, on my head. How did the poop get on my head? Seriously, do you really want to know? Are you thinking to yourself, "Wow, that sounds gross. I'd better take steps to avoid that happening to me." Yeah, I doubt it. You're thinking, I will never complain about the papercut I got at work again. And to nurses out there...I bet you really don't want to know how it happened either, because I know you're all chuckling to yourself but thinking, "At least it wasn't me....this time." And FYI...try not to fling sheets off the bed, no matter how carefully you think you checked it.

So...contrary to the above anecdote, I really am liking my job at PUH. I'm back on night shift now, and so far everyone is pretty cool to work with and I think I'm getting into the swing of things fairly quickly. For some reason, I've been feeling braver as a nurse lately. Like last week I did three peripheral blood draws. No big deal, right? Right, except that's more than I've done in three years as an oncology nurse ("What? You mean some people don't automatically have central lines placed upon hospital admission?! That's crazy talk.") My usual response to an order requiring a peripheral stick is to call the phlebotomist, or look at the patient's arms myself, and failing to see a huge neon sign with an arrow saying, "Right here! Even a blind monkey couldn't miss it!" I sweetly ask another nurse to help me. No, I'm not proud. I was a blood draw weenie. Finally I sort of realized that I couldn't avoid peripheral sticks for the rest of my nursing career, and maybe it would be fun to have one more skill. Next up: IVs. Uff.

And also...after I just revealed my generally pathetic lack of skills as a bedside ICU nurse, I've decided to take the CCRN. I know, blood draws AND certification?! Crazy talk. Oh well. No one doesn't want an extra dollar an hour, right? Plus, dorky old me, thinks maybe it will be fun to study and learn more or refresh myself on general critical care knowledge. There's something strangely enlightening about studying something that you're already doing...that super-wattage lightbulb that goes on..."So THAT'S why my patient's heart rhythm kept going into Tourssade's...."

And also...even MORE exciting that CCRN, and blood draws, and poop in the hair....(I know, settle down, already!) I'm planning a huge vacation, the biggest trip of my little 31 years. I'm going to Paris and New York City in October! Okay, maybe my trip to Saudi Arabia was bigger, but I hardly planned a bit of it. It was more like, "The private royal plane is leaving around 8am. Your driver will pick you up at 7:30. Maybe you should pack or ask a maid to pack for you." So yeah, turns out this time around I have to fly coach and arrange my own travel and even pack myself. Hah. Anyway, I've got my plane tickets, and even places to stay, but I'm totally overwhelmed and freaking out by the amount of planning I need to do. I've got mountains of guide books, but I haven't even started tabbing them yet! Uff. But it's a good kind of exciting freak-out. Enough to make me forget about buying a house or studying for the CCRN to even studying my Arabic or French. Fortunately my closest friends have left the country for a few weeks, leaving me lots of extra time for planning and hermiting with my computer.

1 comment:

girl_in_greenwood said...

Oh my. I have not yet had the joy of getting anyone's poop in my hair, my own or a patient's. I have gotten poop on other parts of myself, though... like when I'd leave work at the nursing home last summer and think, "What's that smell?" and then look down at my shirt and think, "Oh. I didn't really want to know."