Today was the last day of my Nurse Residency program! Nurse residency is the one-year orientation program new nurses go through to get up to speed and get support in learning the trade. Well, that's what it's supposed to mean anyway. Overcoming this one year mark, intact, means one thing: I'm free!!!
I've worked all kinds of jobs in my life, from waiting tables and tending bar, to retail sales, to accounting, to research science and databasing, to hand hygiene observations, and a lot of other fun stuff in between. But none of those jobs has been nearly as crazy as the one I have now as a nurse. Quite possibly none of them have been nearly as rewarding and fulfilling, either, but definitely not as crazy. In any given work day, I'm a medication pusher, nagger, waitress, therapist, physical therapist, social worker, nutritionist, diagnostician, housekeeper, secretary and confidante. That's being a nurse. It's quite a job. Made that much more intense by the environment in which I work, which is chaotic on a good day, terrifyingly awful and abusive on a bad day.
I've been really torn about how I want to shape my career once I hit this point, and frankly I still am. But today marked the point where I get to really make that choice, instead of just dreaming about it. Freedom means I can go do anything I could possibly want to do, like Labor & Delivery or Pediatrics. But it also means I could stay right where I am and enjoy the relationships I've fought long and hard to build and the respect I've developed, because I want to and not because I have to. It's amazingly freeing to know the choice is in my hands now! For all the days I'm stuck in the boss' office being reminded of all my flaws, over and over again, it's good to know I can tolerate it as a learning experience, or get the heck out of Dodge. Funny how even the worst of situations can be tolerable when I know it's for me and not for anyone else.
So I have some thinking to do in the next few weeks. So many choices! Wish me luck!! And feel free to weigh in if you have any sage words of wisdom...
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
How did I get here?
Today, March 24th, 2010 I did something I can honestly say I never thought I would do. And I've done a lot of random, weird things in my life (including the mechanical bull riding from earlier this week). But today might be the winner. Because today I gave and received a lap dance. Yes, a lap dance. I'm pretty sure that fun class I take every Wednesday was meant for exercise, but apparently it's also for learning bizarre new tricks in life. And I gotta tell you, they aren't easy to do. Particularly when the girl in the chair is a complete stranger and you're embarrassed out of your mind.
Seriously, when did this become my life??? Not that I'm complaining, I'm really not. It's a pretty good life. But for those of you who knew me a decade or more ago, how did I get here? It's sure been a crazy ride. On the plus side, I'm pretty sure I can do just about anything now. Yay for being multi-talented...
Seriously, when did this become my life??? Not that I'm complaining, I'm really not. It's a pretty good life. But for those of you who knew me a decade or more ago, how did I get here? It's sure been a crazy ride. On the plus side, I'm pretty sure I can do just about anything now. Yay for being multi-talented...
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The best things in life are free...
...like the first real day of spring, walking in the rain, at night, soaking wet, surprisingly warm, and deliriously happy with it all.
Funny how the best moments sneak up on you.
Funny how the best moments sneak up on you.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Pity Party, Table for One
So here's a day in my life as a nurse.
Today was my first day back at work after 8 blissful days of vacation. Guaranteed set-up for disaster. First, I couldn't sleep well last night, got about 4 hours of sleep, and got out the door late. Which then required I take a cab to work. Which got stuck in godawful traffic on Queens Blvd, and over the Queensboro Bridge, and all the way down 2nd Ave. Leaving me at work around 7:50am. Just enough time to grab a breakfast sandwich, get stuck in the slowest elevator ever, get onto my floor 5 minutes late, and never get to eat said breakfast sandwich. And to make matters worse, I was assigned to the post-op unit, all by myself, leaving me isolated from the rest of the floor and unable to go anywhere, get anything done, or most importantly, sneak bites of that breakfast sandwich. Did I mention it had bacon in it?? Serious setback to my day!
So my morning was off to a rough start anyway, report took way too long, and I never made a dent in my charting before 2 out of 3 of my patients decided that oxygen was not a necessity for the day. Back to back, they both dropped their oxygen saturation from a very comfortable 95% to something more like 70%. Which sets off a horrific beeping on the monitor that could wake the dead, but apparently doesn't make people breathe any better. And requires a lot of intervening to make things all better.
Hours later, after multiple breathing treatments, 8 million new orders, and a lot of hand holding, peace and quiet was finally restored to my little post-op world. But I still hadn't eaten, was shaking with hunger and frustration, and was last in the lineup for lunches. And at this point, it's still only 11:30am! Slowest. Day. Ever.
I finally got to eat around 2:45pm, got no charting done and then got to go rounds with my favorite mean and nasty nurse practitioner about whether or not patients with dialysis catheters in the femoral vein can get out of bed (the answer is yes, apparently, although a little frightening to ponder). And my all-important charting? Got done at about 11pm, 3 hours after they stopped paying me for being in the building.
Long story short, that was one eventful return to the world of nursing. But there were some silver lining moments: one patient told me I was pretty, one patient brought us all mini cupcakes from Crumbs (yum!), and all that hand-holding is what I went into this job for in the first place. So all in all not a terrible day's work. Good thing, since I have to do it all again in less than 7 hours...
Today was my first day back at work after 8 blissful days of vacation. Guaranteed set-up for disaster. First, I couldn't sleep well last night, got about 4 hours of sleep, and got out the door late. Which then required I take a cab to work. Which got stuck in godawful traffic on Queens Blvd, and over the Queensboro Bridge, and all the way down 2nd Ave. Leaving me at work around 7:50am. Just enough time to grab a breakfast sandwich, get stuck in the slowest elevator ever, get onto my floor 5 minutes late, and never get to eat said breakfast sandwich. And to make matters worse, I was assigned to the post-op unit, all by myself, leaving me isolated from the rest of the floor and unable to go anywhere, get anything done, or most importantly, sneak bites of that breakfast sandwich. Did I mention it had bacon in it?? Serious setback to my day!
So my morning was off to a rough start anyway, report took way too long, and I never made a dent in my charting before 2 out of 3 of my patients decided that oxygen was not a necessity for the day. Back to back, they both dropped their oxygen saturation from a very comfortable 95% to something more like 70%. Which sets off a horrific beeping on the monitor that could wake the dead, but apparently doesn't make people breathe any better. And requires a lot of intervening to make things all better.
Hours later, after multiple breathing treatments, 8 million new orders, and a lot of hand holding, peace and quiet was finally restored to my little post-op world. But I still hadn't eaten, was shaking with hunger and frustration, and was last in the lineup for lunches. And at this point, it's still only 11:30am! Slowest. Day. Ever.
I finally got to eat around 2:45pm, got no charting done and then got to go rounds with my favorite mean and nasty nurse practitioner about whether or not patients with dialysis catheters in the femoral vein can get out of bed (the answer is yes, apparently, although a little frightening to ponder). And my all-important charting? Got done at about 11pm, 3 hours after they stopped paying me for being in the building.
Long story short, that was one eventful return to the world of nursing. But there were some silver lining moments: one patient told me I was pretty, one patient brought us all mini cupcakes from Crumbs (yum!), and all that hand-holding is what I went into this job for in the first place. So all in all not a terrible day's work. Good thing, since I have to do it all again in less than 7 hours...
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A Lesson in Humility
One of my biggest challenges in life has always been learning to laugh at myself. Not just giggle at my own jokes, or that sheepish smile when I invariably trip over my own feet. No, I need to learn to really laugh at my own ridiculousness. It's an ongoing process.
This last week was a pretty good step in that direction. I'm on vacation this week, enjoying doing not much of anything, so going out can be an adventure in trying new clothes and makeup, etc. with all the free time I have. And going out I have been doing plenty of. One night in particular, I got all gussied up in my new bright blue skinny jeans, a brand new sparkly white top, and my smoking hot knee high boots to go to an art gallery opening. Mind you, I've never worn any of these things out of my house, much less on the subway or any other public place. They seem great to me, but what do I know when I only see glimpses in my little mirrors? But I put on a little extra makeup, wore my nice fuzzy black jacket, and hoped I was looking moderately presentable at least.
As I got on the subway to head into Manhattan, I caught a couple of people look my way and thought "wow, must be looking ok tonight". No complaints about a little attention, right? But then a few more people looked my way, most of them smiling, and I started to get a little nervous. And then this stunningly gorgeous twenty-something blonde girl got on the subway across from me, blatantly eyed me up and down, and giggled a little as she made eye contact with me. She proceeded to then watch me out of the corner of her eye for the rest of the ride with a subtle smile on her face the whole time. Now, I have no complaints about being checked out, especially not by beautiful women, but at this point there are so many people looking over at me and smiling that all I can think is that somehow I've gotten something all over my face or my hair is standing straight up or my pants are blindingly bright blue, and they're all sharing a joke at my expense. So the rest of my ride was miserable, as I invented every possible bad reason people were laughing at me. So much for feeling pretty!
I finally made it to the gallery and met up with my friend, feeling ridiculous and out of sorts. And she just smiled at me, gave me a hug, and didn't point out the enormous black smudge on my face, or the horns growing out of my head, or the "kick me" sign on my back. Because there was none of those things. Turns out, I really did just look good.
I relate this not to stroke my own ego, but to finally get a good laugh at myself over the whole thing. I worked myself into such a dither about what could possibly be wrong with me that people were looking at me and smiling that I was tempted to curl in a ball and hide rather than face the ridicule! Only to find out that I'm the only one who took myself so seriously.
Moral of this story: sometimes you just have to believe that you knew what you were doing when you left the house, so don't let other people or your own silly insecurities change your mind.
This last week was a pretty good step in that direction. I'm on vacation this week, enjoying doing not much of anything, so going out can be an adventure in trying new clothes and makeup, etc. with all the free time I have. And going out I have been doing plenty of. One night in particular, I got all gussied up in my new bright blue skinny jeans, a brand new sparkly white top, and my smoking hot knee high boots to go to an art gallery opening. Mind you, I've never worn any of these things out of my house, much less on the subway or any other public place. They seem great to me, but what do I know when I only see glimpses in my little mirrors? But I put on a little extra makeup, wore my nice fuzzy black jacket, and hoped I was looking moderately presentable at least.
As I got on the subway to head into Manhattan, I caught a couple of people look my way and thought "wow, must be looking ok tonight". No complaints about a little attention, right? But then a few more people looked my way, most of them smiling, and I started to get a little nervous. And then this stunningly gorgeous twenty-something blonde girl got on the subway across from me, blatantly eyed me up and down, and giggled a little as she made eye contact with me. She proceeded to then watch me out of the corner of her eye for the rest of the ride with a subtle smile on her face the whole time. Now, I have no complaints about being checked out, especially not by beautiful women, but at this point there are so many people looking over at me and smiling that all I can think is that somehow I've gotten something all over my face or my hair is standing straight up or my pants are blindingly bright blue, and they're all sharing a joke at my expense. So the rest of my ride was miserable, as I invented every possible bad reason people were laughing at me. So much for feeling pretty!
I finally made it to the gallery and met up with my friend, feeling ridiculous and out of sorts. And she just smiled at me, gave me a hug, and didn't point out the enormous black smudge on my face, or the horns growing out of my head, or the "kick me" sign on my back. Because there was none of those things. Turns out, I really did just look good.
I relate this not to stroke my own ego, but to finally get a good laugh at myself over the whole thing. I worked myself into such a dither about what could possibly be wrong with me that people were looking at me and smiling that I was tempted to curl in a ball and hide rather than face the ridicule! Only to find out that I'm the only one who took myself so seriously.
Moral of this story: sometimes you just have to believe that you knew what you were doing when you left the house, so don't let other people or your own silly insecurities change your mind.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
My new boyfriend
I've found the perfect new guy. His name's Funky. Funky Stuff Mallone.
He loves to cuddle, gives good kisses, gets along with all of my friends.
He makes me laugh, knows how to have a good time, and loves it when I spoil him rotten.
Too bad he also makes me cry (when he bites, hard), lives with another woman (and man), and has godawful breath. But what else can you expect, really.
He thinks he's cute enough to make up for all that, and he might be right.
His aunt Tanin and I decided recently that he would be a great tool for picking up guys in the park. But he's not allowed to walk on the city streets yet (something about ucky parasites and baby dogs) so we had to tote him along in a bag to Central Park.
And then to the Met.
Where we successfully managed to pick up every middle-aged woman in the city. Hmmmm, we're going to have to work on his fetching skills.
He loves to cuddle, gives good kisses, gets along with all of my friends.
He makes me laugh, knows how to have a good time, and loves it when I spoil him rotten.
Too bad he also makes me cry (when he bites, hard), lives with another woman (and man), and has godawful breath. But what else can you expect, really.
He thinks he's cute enough to make up for all that, and he might be right.
His aunt Tanin and I decided recently that he would be a great tool for picking up guys in the park. But he's not allowed to walk on the city streets yet (something about ucky parasites and baby dogs) so we had to tote him along in a bag to Central Park.
And then to the Met.
Where we successfully managed to pick up every middle-aged woman in the city. Hmmmm, we're going to have to work on his fetching skills.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
