Critical Care Coffee

I'm about to come off of orientation in MICU. So it was really important this last week for me to take advantage of every learning opportunity. I was with a different preceptor every night who all insisted that I carry a full patient load for my remaining nights on orientation. Luckily I was blessed enough that the patients I cared for the first night remained in the ICU for the next two nights as well.

In my humble opinion this just makes for a better evening. You learn the patient's history right off the bat, familiarize yourself with their doctors and their current medical condition which makes it easier to care for these same patients on consecutive nights. On my third night I came in and was pleasantly surprised to find that neither of my patients had been transferred to the floor. The night started smoothly and continued as such.

Around 4 AM the x-ray technicians made their rounds getting the usual morning chest x-rays. Of course I wasn't surprised when they stopped in my second room to get x-rays on my one patient who had just recently, miraculously survived a rather serious motorcycle accident. When the technician exited the room she walked over to me and informed me that the patient was asking for some coffee. I then proceeded to ask him how he takes his coffee because it always seems that I bring too much creamer, or too little sugar, or decaf instead of regular and it would just same me some extra steps to get it right the first time.

I walked in the room, the patient sitting up in bed watching TV, and asked him, " How do you take your coffee?" to which he replied with the silliest of smirks on his face, "Hot, blonde, and sweet." Luckily for me the lights were off where he couldn't see my face turn about 10 shades of crimson. Despite my embarrassment I repeated the question to which he responded more appropriately this time.

We had a good laugh about that in MICU that morning. It's just too bad that I'm not a coffee person myself!

Ode To Dairy Queen!

I've heard of drowning your sorrows in alcohol, but I promise, Dairy Queen is much more effective, and without the nasty hangover the next morning. Although I wouldn't recommend it for diabetics.

I'm having another one of those "missing piece" moments, just sitting here on the couch, all alone, missing my hunny. So I decided to do the only thing my brain could successfully accomplish at this late hour, and under these dire circumstances - make a quick run to the Dairy Queen for my favorite M&M Blizzard!

So in the morning I might be 5 pounds heavier, but for right now I'm not thinking about too much else besides feeding myself this ice cream. I scream, you scream!

Nursing The Nurse

I'm sick. I'm really sick. It doesn't happen often but when it does it seems to come out of nowhere and with great fury. One day I feel well, and the next day I'm flat on my back.

Last night I burned with fever. Physiologically I know that it's beneficial to have a fever. It's the body's way of telling you that the immune system is working in your favor. But quite frankly I'd rather just skip it. In my humble opinion, having a fever is the worst thing about being sick. I went to bed at about 8 PM and did not fall asleep until about 5 o' clock the next morning.

The one time that I was able to get out of bed for a drink of water, the bed felt like a restaurant grittle, burning from the afterthought of my body's struggle to get better.

As I laid in bed, hour after hour, tossing and turning, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of my situation. On a daily basis I take care of sick people. I do it so much that sometimes I actually get sick of it. Then when the tables are turned and it's me who's sick I pick right up where I left off, the nurse taking care of the nurse. And I have to admit, taking care of yourself when you're completely helpless is one of the hardest jobs in the world.

The Missing Piece

Shel Silverstein wrote a book called The Missing Piece. I own this book. It's somewhere in the spare room in one of the many boxes of books that I have yet to unpack since moving to Cleveland in December. As with most of his stories, it's really quite simple, an easy read, yet those of us who have matured over the years, and still remain loyal fans are able to dig deeper into the stories, unveiling their hidden meanings.

The Missing Piece tells the story of a cheesewheel-type creature who is missing a wedge out of his side. Throughout the book he rolls here and there looking for this missing piece.

This evening as I sit on the couch alone I'm overwhelmed with the sensation that something is missing, but this type of "missing" isn't like that feeling you get when you're packing your suitcase for a long trip and somehow have convinced yourself that you forgot something important like your deodorant or toothbrush. It's far more important than a toothbrush.

Then I realize what it is. I'm alone. His smell lingers on my skin, but he's not here. And that piercing gaze, from the bluest eyes, is missing from this room. The person everybody thought was my polar opposite, the person everybody thought couldn't make me happy, turned out to be my missing piece.

He fills that hole in my heart. Yet when I leave his presence a part of me stays with him till I see him again, and then all is right with the world, my world.

Brag Book

When I got this picture I couldn't help myself but

to post it here and brag a little on my hunny.

So handsome!