What dreams may come aka "I just need to find my pants"

 
One week left to go as an RN-in-training before this little bluebird will be pushed from the nest and take flight~ or at least hopefully flutter her little wings hard enough that it will be a pseudo-soft landing at the bottom.  This week we had our last day of class.  It began with an "RN Transition Panel Discussion" where five women who have been nurses from anywhere between 1-20 years shared their harrowing tales of medication errors, treatments that unintentionally led to patient harm, disgruntled residents screaming on the other end of the phone at 3 am, "tanking" patients, and my favorite~ the consensus that the overwhelming nausea felt on the drive to work every day should subside... in a year.  A YEAR!  That is how long the average RN says it takes before they stop fearing utter failure at work
(others say it took them 2-3 years).   

So now I feel all I can do is anticipate the many bizarre dreams that will come my way.  And trust me, they will.  Since graduating nursing school I have had three nurse-related dreams.  The first dream involved be being at Target where I provided the cashier with an SBARQ [nurses use SBARQs when communicating changes in patient conditions to other health care providers; it stands for Situation, Background, Assessment, Recommendations, Questions].  So there I am, with my shopping list, explaining to the cashier (who is now behind a plated glass window... because that's normal) that situation: I don't have these items, background: these are items I typically like to have, assessment: I would like to purchase these items because I think they are good in quality... and so on.  When I awoke from this dream, I just chuckled, thinking, "here it begins". 

In the beginning of the RN-training program I felt overwhelmed with the class schedule~ not so much the material covered~ but the "where's and when's" which seemed to be all over the place... including other hospital locations.  So dream #2's theme was that of desperation.  In the dream I am trying to get to work, but can't seem to find anything I need: name badge, stethoscope, keys, pants.  I seem to find everything... but the pants.  I end up heading off to work, wearing my scrub top, socks, shoes, and... no pants.  I should also mention that I am riding my bike in the dream.  So there I am, huffing and puffing up hills and over bridges, trying desperately to get to work.  I never actually make it to work (nor do I ever find pants).  I wake up to my alarm and frantically check the schedule to see where I should be that morning... and then I drive to work. 

Dream #3 didn't involve nudity, but had the same "no time left, what the hell have I been doing" feeling.  I arrive to work and am told I will be floating to another pediatric unit.  Time seems to be quickly ticking by.  It is suddenly 1:30pm  and I have not assessed a single patient, given a single medication and have somehow forgotten to even add my fourth patient (and all of their relevant information) to my list.  As I'm roaming the halls, another RN who appears very frustrated with me, asks where I have been and what I've possibly been doing this whole time, to which I meekly reply, "I have no idea.".  I am just as flabbergasted by my total disregard and ineptness as she is... because between the two of us, we can not find a logical reason as to why this is happening and where I have been.

I know these dreams have been very mild in intensity, but I also fear this is just the beginning.  Throughout college I had dreams that my father had died.  The dreams seemed so real and disheartening, that I could hardly shake them when I woke.  They also came with such frequency that I ended up calling my parents house at 6am one morning just to make sure my father was okay.  My dreams had become so vivid, that during my sophomore year of college I decided to see a college counselor that claimed to specialize in dream analysis.  She was a quiet, yet eccentric woman.  Her hair was trimmed like that of a man and had salt-and-pepper flecks throughout.  She wore a silver feather "dangly" earring in one ear and a red ball stud in the other.  Yes, she was a lesbian.  At first, I really liked her.  I appreciated the calm of the room, the lit candles, and enjoyed the trite African and Asian art on the walls.  During our first session, she seemed dead on in her analysis of my dreams and their hidden messages and meanings.  And then, after a few sessions, she started falling asleep.  Yes, my hippie-dippy dream analysis counselor would fall asleep during our sessions.  The first time it happened I politely cleared my throat to wake her and then awkwardly finished my story, pretending it never happened.  Other times I would just sit and observe her blatant disregard for why my first grade teacher was rollerskating with my dog outside of my college dorm.  Were my dreams boring her?  Was this part of her practice?  Does dream analysis mean something different than I had interpreted?  Needless to say, I stopped seeing her.  [During my senior year of college, I shared this story with my roommate Tori, who expressed -over wine and much needed laughter- that this exact situation happened to her as well!]

On a positive spin, my neuroses force me to be proactive.  I check my schedule before bed every evening, I lay out my outfit for the next day (or at least the pants), and I have a special drawer where I keep all of my work items.  But I still manage to fret on my way to work... going over what assessments I will make and how I will be an advocate for my patients (this is hard to do... as I have no idea who I will even be assigned to that night and what their diagnosis will even be).  I have no doubt that the bizarre dreams will keep coming and that I too will have fears about being an inadequate nurse, but I also believe that if I keep on top of my schedule, know where my stethoscope is, and if nothing else, put pants on before I leave for work I will have a fighting chance.

~30's the new 20!

The perfect body of truth & the best apple I've ever eaten

The past two weeks have been eye-opening in many ways for me.  I watched the documentary "Miss Representation" a few weeks ago, and the experience caused me to be very introspective.  The film, involving teenage girls and boys, entertainers, journalists, politicians, activists, and educators, discusses how our media has both shaped and influenced our society to believe that women should be valued by their beauty, youth, and sexuality.  Because women are seen as objects, they (we) are prevented from being seen as leaders.  It is an amazing film and I truly recommend it to all genders.  I don't know where or when I exactly learned to dislike parts of my appearance, but similar to many women, I too harbor an unhealthy body image.  My legs are too... and my nose is too... and sometimes my hair just won't...  The film reminded me of my favorite Regina Spektor song, "Folding Chair" (whether you know it or not... you can access it on youtube and enjoy... like all of her songs, it is pretty, bubbly, and melodic).  Part of the song's lyrics are: "I've got a perfect body, though sometimes I forget; I've got a perfect body, cause my eyelashes catch my sweat".  It is a friendly reminder to me, that my body is as it should be and I should stop comparing it to... anyone else.  Because Regina is right, my body is perfect, and my eyelashes can work as a constant reminder to that truth.  My yoga instructor also reminds me of this every time I attend class, when she says, "Think of all of the things that your body does for you and take the time to thank it."  Thank you body... for all you do.

On another, yet similar, note, Pete and I visited my grandparents on Orcas Island over the last weekend.  It was a splendid trip.  The weather was sunny, but cold, and was the perfect presence among the beautiful reds and golds of the trees.  It is a true paradise there, and seeing it in autumn just enhanced its attributes for me.  While there, my grandfather showed me all of the work he has done in tracking our family's genealogy.  He shared stories of my ancestors/relatives, and showed me the family tree he has created on his computer.  The experience was very astounding for me.  Before me was a diagram of all of the relatives that I have had and the many steps and years it took just to get to me.  I was a part of the blueprint.  It may seem a stretch to some, but this moment directly related to my introspection from seeing "Miss Representation".  How could I dislike any part of my appearance when it is an elaborate combination of all of these people.  I am exactly who I should be... nothing more and most certainly, nothing less. 

And to loving my body from the inside out... our second organics box was delivered today.  From the previous one, I made a homemade pumpkin soup (with leeks, kale, and onion).  It was absolutely delicious and inspired us to continue with the deliveries.  Today's box came with apples, pears, squash, Brussels sprouts, leeks, beets, chard, spinach, and carrots (Miles and I split a carrot from the box when I opened it and the taste immediately took me back to my family's first house where we had our own garden, and as children, Dana and I would pull the carrots from the ground, wipe the dirt off on our pants, and enjoy!).  I am currently enjoying a Honey Crisp apple... and my god, this may be the best apple I have ever eaten.  And by "currently enjoying", what I mean to say is, I took a bite, started typing, looked at the apple as I slowly swallowed the first bite and all of its juices, and ceased typing until the apple was finished (it probably took all of two minutes... yum!).  I am already looking forward to this week's cooking concoctions.

Here are some photos from our Orcas trip.  Note the laugh lines on my face~
they are perfect!

~30's the new 20!

10 percent: It's my Saturday and I can sleep if I want to

 Yes, that it is... my Saturday.  Ahh.  In the evening prior to such "Saturdays", I enthusiastically set my alarm to 7:30 am.  Then I proceed to wake up at 5:30 and switch the alarm to 9:00.  And at 8:30... I just turn it off.  So yes, at 10:30 am today, I sluggishly rose out of bed (note that this is no different than when I was a teenager... and then in college... and now... I'm 30).  I made my morning Cup of Jo (as my mom loves to call it... and now I do too... because once you move out of your parents' home at age 18~ in all of your independence and glory~ it isn't long before you realize you are just like your parents whether you like it or not: "Peter, that is not where the ladle goes.")  So here I am, in my sweatpants and Uggs (no joke, I probably wear this outfit 5 out of 7 days of the week... after work, on the "weekends"... Pete is a lucky lucky man I tell ya) and I am ready to take on the day:  10:40 am: feed and walk the dog; 11:10 am to 12:30 pm: drink coffee (soon-to-be lukewarm) and do "productive things" like facebook stalking and deleting emails from World Market and Amazon.com.  It is a typical gray day here in the northwest... but luckily the leaves on the trees are vibrant golds and reds... and there is that smell and feel of autumn that I love.  I will probably "embrace" this day around 2:00 pm, so until then... back to my "productive" time.  While on facebook, I saw a friend's posting that intrigued me... so I decided to show my flattery by putting my own version in my blog.  The "game" is to put your iPod on shuffle; read the title of the song that comes up and answer the question below and then repeat.  It was surprisingly quite fun to do.  So much so, that I am sharing it with you.

10 percent

1) IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OK?" YOU SAY? Chugga-Chugga.  Junip

2) WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY? Austere.  The Joy Formidable (ouch!)

3) WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL? Cinder and Smoke.  Iron & Wine

4) HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? Blow.  Ke$ha (a little embarrassed that I own this song… but my workout mix is not about being cool and accepted)

5) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE? One More Time With Feeling.  Regina Spektor

6) WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO? Rox In The Box.  The Decemberists

7) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS? Mushaboom.  Feist

8) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? He Got Game.  Public Enemy

9) WHAT IS 2+2? Freedom.  Jurassic 5 (I think I like this response the best so far)

10) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? Anti-pioneer.  Feist

11) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE? The Wolves (Act I and II).  Bon Iver

12) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? Miss Independent.  Kelly Clarkson (so far this is the most embarrassing workout mix song admitted thus far… but no cheating allowed)

13) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? How Dare You.  Mirah & Thao

14) WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? Sodom, South Georgia.  Iron & Wine

15) WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? Blood Bank.  Bon Iver

16) WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING? Could You Be Loved.  Bob Marley

17) WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? The Loop.  Mimicking Birds  

18) WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? Walking on Air.  Kerli 

19) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? Sure Shot.  The Beastie Boys (because I can't, I won't, and I don't stop)

20) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? All Falls Down.  Kanye West

21) WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS? 10 Percent.  Mimicking Birds

In other news, Pete and I have ordered "Organics to You"- a local organics produce box that is delivered to our home as often as we want (thus far, we're thinking every other week).  The box just arrived today and I must say I am very excited about it!  What delicious dishes shall I make with these goods?  Oh the thrill of living on the (organic) edge!  Pete went above and beyond this week, because in addition to our box, we received local tofu, bread, salmon, beef, eggs, and soy milk.  It looks like I will be embracing the day a little earlier than planned... lookout 1:30 pm, here I come!

~30's the new 20! 

 

New found confidence, "Smiles", and a BKA

At week 14, this novice RN is reveling in new found confidences. I have had some amazingly busy patients recently and it has been such a great experience for me to see that I can, in fact, swim (as opposed to the much feared floundering/sinking... visualize an overacted scene from Jaws).  I'm not saying I am the next Michael Phelps, but I'm out there with my floaties around each arm and am dog-paddling the heck out of that water... "Look at me Mom!".  I have had many opportunities to put on my critical-thinking-hat recently (my professors would be so proud), from juggling patient care for three very different psych-related cases, to providing care and appropriate interventions on a patient whose status was declining.  Surprisingly enough, I have remained calm under pressure and have not been thrown by adversity or complications.  And I must say, yet again, that I am absolutely loving my job.  The pediatric world is nothing less than amazing and I feel I am right where I belong.  While driving to work the other day, it dawned on me that if I worked on an adult unit, I would feel very intimidated by the night shift rotation.  Here's the scenario I laid out in my mind: it's 0400 and time to take those last set of vitals on your 100 kg, 49 y.o. male patient who was admitted for chest pain (either brought on by those 5 packs of cigarettes/day or that last Big Mac)... oh, and by the way, he hates hospitals... which means he hates you.  So be a big girl now and go wake him up to assess him.  No thank you.  I like my kiddos.  I like talking about 'Thomas the Train' and by the way, my favorite color is green.  So instead, I get to wake up a little 3 y.o. boy who will gladly let me do my assessment in-exchange for a warm milk [during which, he opens his bright brown eyes, looks around bewildered and asks, "What's that noise?", to which I reply, "That's grandma (snoring)" and he looks back at me in complete disbelief that his "Mimi" can make such a sound].  Or I get the predictable teenager, who just sleeps through the entire thing.  It's a great world indeed.

In other news, my very skiddish dog Miles has been accompanying Pete's mom to the elderly home where she visits his grandmother/ her mom.  And would you have ever guessed that the same dog who "heads for the hills" if a plastic bag flies by him, is now considered some sort of therapy dog?!  Well let me tell you friends, not only does he let everyone pet him (whether they come by foot, cane, walker, or wheelchair), they actually call him "Smiles" there!  I think I have perhaps watched too many Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes, because my dark humor leads to me envisioning him taking full advantage of some cute elderly woman with alzheimer's disease: he sits, raises his paw to shake, she does and rewards him with a treat; he sits, raises his paw to shake, she does and rewards him with a treat; and so on... and all the while he's thinking, "Lady, I can do this all day." and she thinks "Oh, look, a dog!".

Now, onto the gritty part of the post.  (For those with weak stomachs... here is your stopping point.)  Today I had the privilege of rounding/observing in the OR.  I'm not going to lie, as I dressed down from my street clothes and into my OR scrubs, all I could think was, "Gosh, it's so quiet in here... where's all of the drama and sexual tension like in Grey's Anatomy?"  The first patient observation came in due to increased swelling forearm that previously had two rods placed.  I was utterly fascinated by the amount of fluid and massive infection that had taken place within the arm.  It was a very interesting procedure to see and I was once again impressed with my ability to stand and watch another human being's surgery.  (During my labor and delivery rotation in nursing school, I had the opportunity to see a C-section.  So I came into this OR experience thinking, "I've seen a C-section, what else could compare to that... bring it on.")  Well, it had been brought my friends, as the second surgical observation opportunity for the day was a below-the-knee-amputation.  How could I not go?  So, in preparation, I scarfed down a peanut-butter protein bar and some water (not out of hunger, but out of fear of passing out in the OR and being pegged the obvious "rookie" in the room).  Throughout the process I thought four things: 1) "I can't believe this is actually happening in front of my eyes!"; 2) "Ewg, burning flesh smells really gross."; 3) "Whoa, that Attending's fingers are really close to the bone-cutting saw"; 4) "What should I have for lunch after this?".  I feel that the wide-world of health care has opened my eyes to many things and I have been the witness to many amazing procedures... but nothing thus far, compares to this one.  I made it... I watched the entire procedure... I was front and center (without destroying the sterile field and without fainting to the floor).  I was impressed throughout both observations, not just by the flow of the operating room nurses or the surgeons' techniques, but by everyone's willingness to let me observe and by their passion to teach.

~30's the new 20!

Balancing imbalances: Tightropes and teacups

It's not an uncommon day that I ponder what tremendous accidental qualities I will have in the future.  I envision myself rising with the sun, practicing the latest ashtanga yoga pose on my hand-crafted bamboo deck, sipping my steaming acai green tea from a mug that a local coastal artist made, sitting back in my rustic adirondack chair, and slowly inhaling the morning... all before the children wake and get ready for school.  Yes, like a hippie Folgers commercial.  I don't know when I will miraculously transition from my 16oz morning cup of coffee (with cream AND sugar...  and sometimes a splash of morning bitterness) and my trimonthly yoga attendance into a world of green tea and Prana-filled closets, but somehow in my dreams it all seems so real.  And it isn't just the tea, and the artsy mug, and the handcrafted deck, and the damn rustic chair... its the calm.  You know those people you meet who just seem to exude calm?  They have names like Aurora or Jade, wear white flowy skirts, play the fiddle, and make candles.  Well, in my mind, I believe that I will somehow, someway turn into an Aurora or Jade in the "future".  But currently I am in the oh-so-obvious present... which for the most part I enjoy (please, no interventions after this post)... but then there are the days when I feel I can not seem to balance my imbalances- like I am walking backwards on a tightrope carrying a large stack of teacups.  And I know the exact cause of this feeling...


It's the transitions.  The many transitions (that we all go through) but that somehow turn our craved predictable moments into little hurricanes of disarray.  We like the control, the expected, it's in our nature.  Children become emotional monsters in the face of an unstructured environment, and I believe as adults, we are no different.  So here I am- in my twelfth week of training and my sixth week of nightshifts mixed with dayshifts-and I am no better off than a 3-year-old.  {for example: About a week ago I took Miles to the dog park after I woke from a long sleep post-nightshift.  While frolicking around in the dewdrops and daisies he managed to knock over my 20oz latte (which I had taken zero sips from) and somehow my sloth-like reflexes were no match to gravity.  So as I watched my little non-fat vanilla latte cascade down the sidewalk, I had two options: 1) collapse onto the cold concrete and succumb to loud gasping sobs or 2) return to the coffee shop and request another order.  Luckily for both Miles and my sake, I chose the latter.}  This past week, I worked the nightshift on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday- slept a bit on Monday- and was back to class early Tuesday and Wednesday morning.  I return to work Thursday (tomorrow) night.  Some things I have learned in my thought-hazes are that the dryer is not the microwave, and cereal doesn't look right in a coffee filter.  The craziest part of it all.... is that I really love my job, and in some twisted world, this is all worth it.


I only have six more weeks to go... which I recognize is not long in the grand scheme of things, but in the little moments of the day, it can add up.  So I have decided to just embrace it.  I am embracing the exhaustion, the absences to the gym, the extra coffees in the afternoons (or 2 am), the brain-lapses, the less books read, the more tv watched, the sometimes sullen mood, and all of the little hurricanes it brings.  Maybe somewhere, in the eye of the hurricane, I will find my calm.  Eat your heart out Jade!


~30's the new 20!

Night Shifts, Jazz Dance, and Record Labels

I have officially worked as an RN for 2 months now and have transitioned into the night shift... ahem, well, sort-of.  At this time I am "in-training", which translates into this kind of week: Tuesday and Wednesday- didactic learning, Friday through Sunday- night shift on the unit.  I will not lie, it is a hairy schedule (for those owners of the Juno soundtrack, the Antsy Pants song "Vampire" now fosters personal meaning to me).  I am truly enjoying my work as an RN and love the pediatric school-age unit.  I have seen a variety of patients (motor vehicle accidents, traumatic brain injuries, appendicitis, eating disorders, suicide attempts, general surgeries, seizure disorders, and the list continues to grow).  I am now confident in putting in IVs, taking out central lines, cleaning wounds, putting in NG tubes, and of course- taking 4am vitals on sleeping children.  I love the challenges that working with concerned families/ vulnerable patients brings and am enjoying the psychosocial aspects most of all.  I am told that I have great bedside manner and am a good communicator with the patients/ families (I have had much training in this as the child whose desk was placed next to every elementary teacher I had due to classroom talking/disturbances- I liked to call it "active sharing and participation"; and the daughter who would disappear in restaurants to talk to other families about their food choices from the menu... yes, folks, the girl can talk).  My training officially ends the week of Thanksgiving, which will bring on two things: 1) much more to be thankful for, 2) the silver-lining that just working night shift will bring.

Now that I am once again a contributing member to society... and my bank account is growing, I have decided to start doing things again.  What a novel idea!  As a constant visitor/ "gold-club member" to the magical world of nostalgia, I have decided to start taking jazz dance lessons again (I use the term "again" loosely, as the last time I attended dance class was 1991, where one could argue that I did an amazing tap performance to Prince's Raspberry Beret~ "the kind you'd find in a second hand store").  So far I have attended two classes at the NW Dance Project and I must say, it is an absolute blast.  Our instructor is a little fire-cracker named Ching Ching, whose music preferences are much like my own and many times I feel I am just given the opportunity to rock out to my own IPod playlist.  I must also take a moment to comment on how sore I am... in many strange places... and will leave it at that.

Lastly, Peter and I are embracing the world of vinyl... and my, what a world it is!  We have had one record party thus far (Linda Ronstadt, Led Zeppelin, Stevie Wonder, and Men At Work rose again) and plan to have many more in the future.  Last week, Pete purchased for me: Bon Iver's new album.  If this album could be turned into a blanket, I would wrap myself in it, sip scotch, write prose, attempting to feel like a piece to the larger puzzle of progress.  In other words, it is radiant and I am now addicted to the world of physical media again.  I have just ordered the new Feist album, Metals, on vinyl and am already enthusiastically anticipating its arrival.

~30's the new 20!