Slice of awesome

Jeff Lang is awesome.



Yes he is.

Happy 4th...finger dismemberment

Movin' Meat posted this, and I obviously needed to repost. Because it's awful. Fireworks and fingers do not mix, people.



Photo from Flickr

Life's little regrets

Most people have done something in their life which they regret. Like a barbed wire tattoo or an oopsie photo on facebook or forking out money to see a Michael Bay movie in theaters. I, on the other hand, regret something I didn't do.

One day in college I was hanging out with my friend Kaley, and out of the blue...well, probably not out of the blue...most likely I was rambling on about my love of Star Wars. Anyway, one day Kaley goes, "You know the guy that rode with Luke Skywalker on that snowy planet?"

I'm all, "Uh, you mean Dak Ralter, the gunner for Luke in the Battle of Hoth played by John Morton, who lives in Maryland which I know because I read it in the Star Wars Insider magazine?"

Kaley's all, yeah sure, whatever. Then she drops this bomb on me: "Yeah, him. Well, he goes to my church."

I almost had an aneurysm. A real life SW actor, at my very fingertips! I had to meet him, I tell her. It's essential to my SW fandom.


So time passes, and one day I mention to Kaley that I still need to meet him and we need to go back to that church. With one offhanded sentence though, Kaley manages to crush my soul. "I think he moved, because he doesn't go to that church anymore," she says. Egad!

All I'm trying to say is that probably my biggest regret in life is not getting my butt to that church earlier so I could meet Dak. Sigh. I think about it every time I watch Star Wars.

So John Morton, if you're out there...I'm just saying. Come back to Annapolis. I promise I won't act all weird.

***
I'm on a little SW kick today because there is an all-day marathon of the two trilogies on Spike. And I've forgotten how eye-gougingly awful Episodes I-III are. Like, they make me want to go outside, find a railroad spike, and place said spike as far into my brain as possible. Ugh, they're bad.

***
And to make this somewhat nursing related, wouldn't it be easy on the medical field if we just had Bacta tanks to heal everything?

JBT

The John Butler Trio is my favorite band. Like, ever. I started listening to them about 7-8 years ago, right after their first album as a trio was growing in Australia. Somehow they ended up opening for another band I like here in the US, and I was up front and center at the show. I fell in love.

So naturally it broke my heart to hear that the incarnation of JBT I had loved was disbanding. How can they ever top what has been?

Email from the JBT this morning included this little video. And I must say, if their new album is half as good as the bit playing in the background, I think we'll be okay. Although his hair is ridiculous.



Yay for JBT!!

Um, no.

Recently a guy came in for an abscessed tooth. Painful, whatever. We don't pull teeth in the ER; it's not a dentists office.

I'm trying to explain this to the dood, who just can't seem to grasp that we don't have the capabilities to pull teeth and that he needs to see a dentist instead. I tell him again and again that we don't have the right equipment for dental work, or even a dental qualified doctor.

"But why can't you just pull it now? It's going to keep hurting if you dont!?"

Dood, it's going to keep hurting if you don't listen to me and get it pulled. Oh, and brush your teeth, it might have prevented this in the first place. If you can afford a blackberry, you can afford a toothbrush.

So we run around this same question and explanation for a full five minutes, and finally the guy gets fed up and goes, "well, can I at least just get a teeth cleaning while I'm here?"

Sigh.

For whom the bell tolls

Two people had their time marked tonight in the ER.

One was quick - gunned down and left to die, he was already dead. There was nothing we could do for him.

The other will die too, but slower and much more painfully. She came in for what she thought were minor symptoms, and was admitted with the knowledge that she has widespread brain cancer.

I never knew his name. Hers I will never forget.

Hear ye hear ye

Are the police in this town walking around with big signs that say "Attempt suicide! Threaten someone! Don't take your meds!?" Because it sure felt like it tonight.

I can't even make up a sane enough story to HIPAA-fy this post. The craziness was one-of-a-kind. All I can say is that large quantities of haldol, ativan, geodon, and beefy security guards were in full use tonight. I never want to work in the psych bowl again. At least not if those same patients are there.

I'm having a beer and going to bed, dangit.

boo-boo

So I made one of my first bigger boo-boos the other day. I've made plenty of eensy ones, but this is one where a doctor looked at me and gave me the look-o-shame. The look that says, "you should know better than that." The look that makes me want to crawl under a stretcher somewhere.

A girl came in in the wee hours of the morning, and she had been stabbed in the shoulder-blade with an unknown object. When I say stabbed, I mean it was more like a small lac. I could see all the borders of the wound, and it very clearly was procured by a poorly-aimed assailant. She walked in through triage, and the nurse there took all her info and vitals and such. She walks her back to my room, and calls to let me know there was a girl who "got poked in the back" now in there. I didn't get back there for about 10 minutes since I was dealing with a more time-consuming patient. When I finally do, the girl tells me what happens, vitals are stable, I look at the wound, see the edges, and then type in her assessment. 25 minutes later the doc goes, "so what's the deal with this patient? Do I need to see her now or can she wait?" I explain how she is stable and can wait, she has a very minor stab wound over her shoulder.

Oops.

That magic word, stab, especially in the torso region - of which the shoulder blade is included - automatically means she needs to be upgraded to the most critical trauma patient. The doc does a double take at that word, and immediately goes to see her. In my head, I'm thinking "crapcrapcrapcrapcrap manI'mgoingtobefired crapcrapcrapcrap..."

We ended up only upgrading her to the lower-level trauma patient, but I learned a valuable lesson to always call the doc or charge if I'm even the least bit unsure about the classification of a patient. The doc was great about it and agreed with my assessment, and even made sure to tell me that he is always open to calls and questions about such things. Still, I felt like a bit of a tool. And just reassured myself of how new to this I really am, lest I get cocky.

But now I know. And knowing is half the battle.

Not the usual

Here is something you won't see everyday: Middle aged man found in bed not breathing, asystole for the entire forty minutes to the hospital, asystole for the first ten minutes in the ER, hey V fib let's shock!, asystole again for ten minutes, pronounce him dead after feeling no carotid or femoral pulse, asystole from two leads, everyone starts to leave the room...

Primary nurse goes, "wait a second, is his stomach moving?" Feel the stomach, definitely a pulse, feel the carotid but no pulse, hold on...

Dood in asystole for over an hour suddenly decides to have not just electrical activity, but a matching - and fairly decent - pulse. I'd like to be the one to review that chart.

The worst part though is how after we drag this poor guy back from the Pearly Gates and hang the drips and vent him, we find out he is a DNR.

Unfair

I know that there is a bigger picture to this life than what I can see. God has a plan; I just can't see more than my little slice of it.

But sometimes I wonder how in the world things can happen and possibly have a meaning to them. Why, why do some things happen?

One girl can have a half dozen abortions, from six different fathers, at the age of 22, and still be able to get pregnant again.

The other girl, loving wife and expectant mother, comes into the ER full term and in cardiac arrest. Both mom and baby die, and dad is left wondering what just happened to his life.

There is a bigger picture, but dammit, I wish I could see it sometimes.

Perspective

Three years ago, I went to Europe for a week on Spring Break. It was myself and eight friends. A few of us decided one winter day that we would find the cheapest plane ticket to another continent and go there. We ended up picking Barcelona, Spain, and we planned this trip ourselves. No tour guides, no fancy hotel, no travel agent. Just 9 college kids with no parents and a suddenly legal ability to buy alcohol. It ended up being a fantastic week with no shortage of fun times.

I scrapbooked the trip this past summer, when I needed something to do on those random one-day breaks between night shifts. Tonight I pulled out all my scrapbooking supplies and found a bunch of pictures that I could use to add a few more pages. Naturally I had the TV on, and Saving Private Ryan began to play.

Today is June 6, the 65th anniversary of the day thousands died just to make it onto a beach.

It brings things into perspective.

I was annoyed at the few hours spent waiting in the German airport for our flight to Spain; many of those fighting on June 6 died within minutes. They would have given anything for a few more hours.

I was annoyed when I missed a page in my scrapbook and had to take it apart again to put in the missing page; many of those fighting on June 6 never got to send their final letters after being killed in the Battle of Normandy. They would have given anything to say a last goodbye.

I was annoyed when the water at Sitges was too cold to even put my feet into; many of those fighting on June 6 drowned when their bullet ridden bodies couldn't keep their heads above water any longer. They would have given anything to just stand on the beach.

I was annoyed when we only got to spend a few hours at Sitges; many of those fighting on June 6 never made it off the beach. They would have given anything just to live.

Every day of my life I take things for granted, become annoyed at the insignificant, and fail to keep the necessary perspective. I fail to always keep in mind that there are thousands upon thousands of soldiers who never again had the chance to take the little things for granted. It is humbling to recall those who died fighting so many years ago in a war I only know from textbooks and movies. It is humbling to know they are braver than I will ever be.


It's been 65 years. Although I often put my own selfish thoughts in the forefront of my mind, I will never truly forget those who die to give me the freedoms I hardly deserve. Thank you.

Hygenic Zombies

So do you ever have those days where you wake up and walk around zombie-like for a few minutes? With no recollection of how you got from A to B? Yeah, it happens to me too.

I work night shift, so I'm a little screwed on time schedules anyway. I've since dubbed my bedroom The BatCave since it's always blackout-curtain induced four a.m. no matter the time. Great for sleeping, not so great for waking up at three in the afternoon and still feeling like you should be sleeping.

Anyhoo, I dragged myself out of bed after too few hours of sleep today and stumbled around in my room like the undead for a bit. I brushed my teeth, I took my allergy medicine...and I got into the shower fully clothed.

You heard. Turned the water on, waited a minute, and then hopped in with tank top, socks and underwear still definitely on. It took me maybe five seconds before my brain caught up with me and I thought, "heeeyyy....this isn't right!!"

Needless to say, perhaps I should rename my bedroom The ZombieLair. At least I'll make a clean Zombie.

Iran so far

Political correctness be damned. This is glorious.



How can you not acknowledge the awesomeness of Andy with material like this?

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Now added for your viewing pleasure. This is one of Kaley's favorite...




And this is just inappropriate...

Kanye West is a moron

There is no other conclusion. Kanye West is, in fact, the biggest idiot on the planet. He has written a "book," but only after derisively putting the idea of reading down. 

You can read all about his book here. Or not, because books are only for you elitists. And Kanye hates elitists. 

Kanye West is only a few brain cells higher than a bag of rocks. It's painful, people. At least some other people are also aware that Kanye is an idiot. Read: What if Kanye West is retarded?

Priority 4

When the call comes in for a cardiac arrest, everyone gets a little fidgety. When the paramedics continue and say, "but we're requesting permission to make the victim a priority 4 due to asystole on arrival with an overwhelming lack of signs of life," the atmosphere changes from we-can-save-them to one of eh-just-a-fatality-too-bad. Usually the priority 4 patients are the little old nursing home patients who just need to be let go from this world. Those people we are relieved to see go, instead of prolonging their stay with brute force.

But when the request for a priority 4 is for a 20 year old pedestrian struck by an SUV, no one is relieved about anything.

Being the clinically curious people we are, everyone goes in to look at his awkwardly broken neck, the grossly deformed lower leg fractures, and the concave skull.

Being the emotional humans we are, everyone tears up when the parents come in to find their promising young son dead on the gurney.

We can be clinically dispassionate when looking at injuries, but to see the impact that one impulsive decision will have on this family for the rest of their life...that is something that no one can be dispassionate about.