Star Wars!

I am cautiously hopeful that the new Star Wars doesn't suck. The first trailer is out today which you should go immediately watch and tell me what you think about it.  But really, I'm just so pulling for this to not be terrible. I'm almost afraid to get excited about it, because I don't want to be let down.

That said...

Yeah, that's me.

And here's the trailer!

Walter would be proud.

Dude I hate to break it to you, but...declining an ibuprofen for your bum ankle because you "don't like to put pills from big pharma" in your system then almost immediately admitting that you do meth quite frequently just doesn't make sense.

I really don't understand people.

Oh no...

I've done something terrible at work. Something awful. Right now no one knows about it, but it's a pretty small ER and rumors can travel fast. I'm not even there at the moment but it only takes one person to suspect something and start talking. What do I do if I'm found out? Do I come clean and apologize? Or do I dig in, pretend it never happened and hope it blows over?

I just don't know. It's bad though. Real bad.

I...

This is hard. I don't even want to tell you, anonymous interwebz.

I...

Okay. Deep breath. I've gotta come clean.

I...pooped in the break room bathroom.

I KNOW I KNOW, IT'S TERRIBLE. I just went in to pee, and all of a sudden my butt was like HAHAHAHA NOPE and I had to poo. It's one of the ago old rules to the ER - don't poop where you work. And there were people in the break room! I was mortified. No one had to use the bathroom right after me but I can't hold out hope that I left it unscathed. There had to be some olfactory evidence, because errrrrr-ones shit stanky. I'm not special!

Gah. I think I'd almost rather forget to chart an assessment or have a patient get mad and write me up for something stupid. At least then I'd have the sympathy of my coworkers. Bathroom poobomb? There won't be any kind words for me, that's for sure.

Caring.

A few days ago I sat and held the hand of a soon-to-die man who was anxiously looking forward to it. He didn't want to be in the hospital but didn't want to go home. When the young resident finally got frustrated with the old mans' repeated answer of "just let me die, dammit" to all the interventions suggested, I finally stepped in and suggested that we admit the gentleman overnight until his primary doctor could come in since they had an established history and knew exactly what the patients' wishes were for end of life care. The resident agreed although I think it was partly out of relief that the decision was taken out of his hands and partly because he didn't know how to deal with someone who didn't want to get better. Either way, he wrote the admission orders for comfort care and left.

Since I was floating that night and it was a ridiculously slow shift, I pulled up a chair and sat with the man. He told me stories of when he was in the military and met his beautiful wife, how she had a sailor mouth worse than his, and how she was "such a classy broad" who was a down home country girl who took none of his shit yet could doll up with the best of them. He told me of their adventures around the world. He cried when he told me of their struggle with cancer years ago. She beat it once, but eventually it came back. When he was quiet for few minutes, I said nothing. "I'm not looking forward to dying," he said, "but I just can't wait to see her again and give her hell for leaving me so soon."

Together we went through a box of shitty hospital tissues - mostly by him, but I used my fair share too.

Before he went upstairs to his bed he asked me to put the rail down for a minute. I helped him stand up, thinking he needed assistance to the bathroom or maybe to straighten out his sheets. Instead he gave me a great big bear hug and hung on for a few minutes. He thanked me from the bottom of his heart. I told him I'd come see him in a few days when I was back, and he replied that he hoped I was too late.

The next time I worked I called the floor to find out if he was still in that same room. They told me he died a few hours after I sent him up there.

I've become a cynical, jaded person over the past few years. The daily grind of the ER sometimes beats me down and makes me question why I choose to work in a field where I'm verbally abused, often in danger of physical violence, surrounded by people who try to manipulate me into dilaudid or bus tickets or free meals, see ungrateful and entitled people who take advantage of the system, and deal with generally horrible people who have no concept of what it means to be decent. But this man makes me remember why I chose to work in this field. Because every now and then, I get to meet someone like him and truly make a difference.

Germs

I understand the Ebola fears circulating. I really do. It's a scary, horrifying disease and just because it isn't ravaging the US yet doesn't mean it can't. People need to take precautions, educate themselves, and not be dumbasses. An incredibly tall and impossible request, it would seem.

I'm continually amazed at how derp people are. I mean, marching into the ER with the N-100 mask ordered from the interwebz to "help me breathe good," demanding a pair of gloves from the triage nurse and then proceeding to keep the same pair of gloves on for the entire visit -EVEN IN THE BATHROOM - is not how any sort of infection is avoided. Loftily telling me that you don't want to sit on the stretcher because "that where a-bola people might sit" is not how to avoid getting sick. Come on, people. Whether it's Ebola or the regular flu or any other communicable disease, not acting like an idiot is the single best thing people can do to not catch something.

I suggested proper handwashing instead of gross glove wearing, and sneezing techniques that don't involve the spraying of snot all over everyone, gave education on the reality of Ebola, recommended a flu vaccine, and - and this is where I got cut off, because she goes "whatever, I know what I doin."

I can't win.



But here's a word of wisdom from me. You don't want Ebola? STAY THE FUCK OUT OF THE ER FULL OF SICK PEOPLE. Don't come in for your made-up complaint, angling for norco, and then bitch to me about how gross the ER is. Guh.