I was a Nurse.

I became a CNA in the late 70s. I attended a single-semester (15 weeks/8hours per day) program in northern California, my first four weeks in a classroom and lab, where our instructors (RNs) showed us how to check vitals, wash hands, and give proper backrubs. For good measure they threw in a wee bit of anatomy. They taught us how to make beds.

The final 10 weeks were spent in clinical. Depending on your standing in the class, your acute : long-term experience ratio could be portioned anywhere from 2:8 weeks to 8:2 weeks. I was scheduled to a long-term care facility for two weeks, and to one of the local hospitals for eight.

To say I loved my work at the hospital is an understatement - I felt as though I'd found a new and better religion. At the end of my third day on the medical ward at Fremont Hospital, I was offered a job. And the day after I received my certification I started getting paid for doing something I would have done for the rest of my life for free.

For a few years I worked as a nurse's aide, both in northern California and in northern Montana. But the economy went south, and Tom got laid off. A man who could not not work, Tom went back into the Corps.

We moved to Camp Pendleton/Oceanside, where btw, there were no immediate openings for CNAs. Even for one with a few years post-surgical experience and a bevy of references. So I took a job as a cook, and I stayed a cook for the entirety of Tom's re-enlistment. And while at Pendleton, I attended a local community college, and started working on my general education requirements. (expository writing, chemistry, biology...)

As soon as his new obligation was fulfilled, we came back to Montana. But with no shortage of LPN and RN students, the hospitals in my area were not interested in a CNA who hadn't worked acute-care for over four years. So I settled for long-term. I hated it, but I stuck with it till we could afford the tuition for the LPN program.

It was a vocational program lasting four quarters (48 of 52 weeks). The first two were didactic, and the balance was made up of clinical rotations through the different wards of both hospitals, and in OB, Psych, ER, OR, and even a week in a doctor's office.

I started the program with 22 classmates, but only 5 of us made it to clinical. The first two quarters were like finals week the entire stretch. I felt as though I'd crammed the first 6 months of school. My brain was full. And as I hit that wall, I wondered - Was this a stupid idea? Am I going to have wasted all this money and time, only to find out I hate nursing?

[But] my very first day, my very first hour, on 4-south (a post-surgical ward) at Saint Patrick's Hospital, it was as though the Holy Spirit, Himself, had washed through my body. I'd come home.
- - - -

I took the long way to my RN. After graduating from the Vo-Tech, I re-enlisted in the Army. And even afterwards, when I got back home, I still worked for another year or so as an LPN.

And then, even as I attended university, I didn't focus on a Nursing degree. The Course Catalogue was a candy store. There wasn't a subject I wasn't interesting in learning. Overall, in addition to my non-transferable Vo-Tech credits, (and my post-graduate credits), I racked up some 170 undergrad-credits, only 64 of which were part of my nursing component. If I had been independently wealthy, I would have stayed in school till I exhausted the entire catalogue.

Okay. So this entry is to respond to something an LVN (whom blogger.com had to bar from stalking this blog) wrote: that I never discuss my experiences as an RN. I'm not sure what she's looking for. Something exciting? Something extra? I can't help but notice from her posts that she names names of patients she's had that were celebrities. Hm. Did I assist in any surgeries on any well-know personalities/politicians or their families? Yes. Will I drop names? No, and hell no.

Did I participate in exciting, complicated procedures/surgery? Sure. Did my RN make a difference? Absolutely. Did all that extra schooling help? Yes. Did any of it become old hat? No. Every evening before any scheduled procedures, I would review the patients' charts, I would review their pathologies, and I would review the procedure itself (including imaging myself going through the motions). Every single time.

But it's redundant to post about it. I am a nurse. These things are what being a nurse is all about.

So, what does she want to hear? Something extraordinary? How about the time several of us brought party balloons into an empty OR on April Fools Day, and breathed in the gas before calling the front desk to report a Helium leak?

Or maybe time I sank to my knees sobbing, because an old man I recognized from choir died before we could stop his spleen from spilling the 8 units of whole blood the 2 circulating nurses were squeezing into him?

Or the time I climbed into bed with a 3-day, post-MVA alcoholic, screaming in terror at snakes in his water pitcher, so that I could prevent him from further gouging his lips and eyes?

I'm sorry to disappoint, but while nursing is an extraordinary profession, it is not a profession for those who seek the extraordinary. Our work is honest, simple, no matter the scope/extent of our education. We solve problems. We figure out best how to keep a patient oxygenated, nourished, eased from pain, rested, healing...safe.

Not 6 months before I was diagnosed with this stupid IQ-stealing tumor, a student RN rotating through the OR wanted to observe the open reduction and repair of a Le Fort II fracture. I let her scrub in and stand beside me. (As first assistant I stood opposite the surgeon, and our scrub tech stood beside him.) The student was so excited, I thought she was gonna wet herself. She was fascinated by the itty bitty-ness of the implants. A woman after my own heart, I appreciated what she was going through.

She had hundreds of questions about Advanced Practice nursing, but only one do I remember clearly. She asked me, "What do you like best about Nursing?"

I told her, "Making beds."

Wearing the Uniform

I looked up from my lunch today, and watched four folks come in wearing blaze orange vests, reflection tape, and tan redwing boots. I had no idea who they worked for or what they did for a living. But clearly, they worked together. They were a unit.

I remember what that feels like, sitting with friends, sharing a goal, sharing a purpose, wearing the uniform.

Cammies, scrubs, corporate smocks with a name tag, it doesn't much matter as long as you match - cohesion under the guide-on, wearing the colours, prayer cloths offered to the gods of Purpose.

And shoptalk. I loved it. Lunch at the mess hall, margaritas at the O-club, slouching around the hospital cafeteria, eating hot pizza after a particularly long day in the OR. It didn't matter if we were debating dexon v. chromic, reciting stock numbers, or suggesting new DD acronyms. We shared jargon, spoke in our own secret language, comprehended by club members only.

It's funny to think back on it. I don't know that it occured to any of us that our language might be regarded as exclusive. But thinking on it now, I see it as part of the uniform - as important as the nametag, the strings dangling from a spent OR mask, or the subdued rank on one's collar.

I miss that.

Am I making an impressive impression?

I read ProBlogger's article the other day giving tips on producing a more successful blog. It was written more for those folks out there who actually make money from their blogs. (btw, I learned that there are bloggers who blog soley to make money from ads placed on their pages. So, apparently getting hundreds of hits a day is traye impoortaunte for them.

In his tips, he suggested that we consider the first impression our blogs make, because readers will decide whether or not to look around based on the emotions they experience in the first three seconds of viewing.

My first reaction was one of dismay. Oh no. What impression is my blog making? Should I change my header again? Is my sidebar too busy? Too boring? omg, I don't know, I don't know.

And then I remembered I'm not here to make money. I thought, hmm. My blog is personal...maybe even narcissistic, since in the end, it is written for my enjoyment.

But. Then I remembered something else: Impressions are Important. I like the folks I've met in the creative world. And I want to meet more just like you. I think that means I need to lurk less, and comment more. Those of you who know me, have probably noted my IP in your logs...and shook your heads...Cat's lurking again. why doesn't she say something? Well, I'm gonna. I'm going to make a point of commenting on the beautiful images I'm seeing out here.

I love getting comments, so I should assume other illustrators and writers do, too. In fact, anyone who hasn't disabled his/her* comments section, must hope to get some feedback on his/her* entries. So I'm making a promise: I will visit at least 7 blogs a day, and comment on at least 5 of them. If I can't think of something intelligent...I'll at least try to be coherent.

As to the matter of impressin' y'all...My Social Success depends it.

Ugh. That Sidebar - Does it make me look fat? It's a little late for me to worry about what folks think of my commie proclivities. So I won't be removing my political causes.

What I will do is clean up my links. It's not that I'll be omitting any (hell, I've got 20 or so that need adding.) But I'll try to group some of them the way I did Montana bloggers and Poets.

I'm also determined to put up at least 3 entries a week, and 15 per month. I can't promise this, because of health issues, but it is my priority.

*Will someone PLEASE invent a singular, third-person, possessive pronoun?

Touched by Love.

Studio Lolo has tagged me with Peace and Love. There are no personal questions, no odd bits of information I'm required to share. Only to meditate on love and peace...I can do that!

I'd like to continue to spread the love, so I'm giving a big hug, and sloppy kiss on the nose to Anonymous, Val Gal, Saint Nick, Thomas Paine, and Hipparchia.

The Pharyngula Mutating Genre

When my two Dads (Archaeopteryx and Kiefus ) fell in love, they decided to produce children like me so that their Mum's meme could live on, even if it end end up a little mutated.

There are a set of questions below that are all of the form:

"The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is…".

Copy the questions, and before answering them, you may modify them in a limited way, carrying out no more than two of these operations:

You can leave them exactly as is.

You can delete any one question.

You can mutate either the genre, medium, or subgenre of any one question. For instance, you could change "The best time travel novel in SF/Fantasy is…" to "The best time travel novel in Westerns is…", or "The best time travel movie in SF/Fantasy is&hellip", or "The best romance novel in SF/Fantasy is&hellip".

You can add a completely new question of your choice to the end of the list, as long as it is still in the form "The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is…".

You must have at least one question in your set, or you've gone extinct, and you must be able to answer it yourself, or you're not viable.

Then answer your possibly mutant set of questions. Please do include a link back to the blog you got them from, to simplify tracing the ancestry, and include these instructions.

Finally, pass it along to any number of your fellow bloggers. Remember, though, your success as a Darwinian replicator is going to be measured by the propagation of your variants, which is going to be a function of both the interest your well-honed questions generate and the number of successful attempts at reproducing them.


My Ancestry:

My great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Pharyngula.
My great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Metamagician and the Hellfire Club.
My great-great-great-great-grandparent is Flying Trilobite.
My great-great-great-grandparent is A Blog Around the Clock.
My great-great-grandparent is archy.
My great-grandparent is Why Now?
My grandparent is Hipparchia.
My dad is Archaeopteryx. My other dad is Kiefus.


My version of the questions:

• The best “bad” movie in scientific dystopias is: Battlefield Earth.

• The worst earworm in pop is: You're Having my Baby, by Paul Anka.

• The best alt-country album in country music is: Kentucky Thunder.


To keep the meme alive, I'm passing it along to:

Saint Nick at Nick's Bytes, because he's soooooo good to me.

The Secret Agent at OE, because I think he's up for a mission like this.

Anonymous at Birds Anonymous, cuz, she's upside down, and she likes birds.

and Gypsy at Tireless Watcher, because I like the way she thinks.

Tagged for Weirdness

How weird am I, really?

Val Gal has asked for full disclosure.

1. I think probably the weirdest thing about me is that I talk to myself. Not just occasionally, but whenever I’m alone. Every thought in my head comes out of my mouth. Yes, I’ve heard of inner dialogue, but I’m sure it’s just a theory.

2. Since October of 89, I’ve been seeing (what I call) shadow people. They’re like 3D shadows, kinda fuzzy on the edges, and almost transparent. They don’t talk to me; they don’t even acknowledge me. I doubt they’re even aware of me. I assume they’re ghosts. I’ve seen fewer than a dozen, probably. And they disappear almost as soon as I realize they’re there. As you can imagine, this scared the holy shit outta me at first. But now, I kinda welcome it. (My daughter has since seen a few. Maybe it’s hereditary.)

3. I’m probably a communist. At least I believe that human beings were not meant to live in a capitalist system. We were much healthier as a species when entire communities shared most things. One-Each societies, as far as I’m concerned, only benefit the very rich. I might be willing to bet that the early predictions of the Beast and his 666-mark were predictions of capitalism. Few of us can survive in this culture unless we participate. I’ve got a brother doing a pretty good job of it, but even he has been forced to get an ID card and work for wages rather than limit his economic interactions to bartering.

4. I’m thinking of declaring myself a celibate. I’ve already become asexual, or maybe I’m just cybersexual. My husband has been dead for over 4 years, and I’ve only been interested in men, in theory - men in the ether. I’ve have a few crushes on men I’ve met on the Net. Ya know, political forums, here in the blogosphere, that sort of thing. But in real life, they leave me cold. I’m just not interested.

5. I’m scared to look in the bathroom mirror unless the light’s on. That goes for other mirrors in the house. If only nightlights are on, I won’t look into any mirrors. I saw a Twilight Zone when I was a little girl, where a woman’s reflection had a life of its own, and I’ve never been able to shake the memory.

Damn. I really can’t think of any more weirdness. I was supposed to come up with six. (But seeing shadow people probably counts for two or three, ey?)

2 Suitcases

I am a packrat. At one time, I had more than 800 books – so many that entire walls of my home were nothing but bookshelves built by my husband. I also collected and hoarded fabric. Yards and yards for quilts, clothes, and dolls. Naturally, I had thread to match…and bobbins, zippers, snaps, ribbon, trimmings, beads, and buttons – lots and lots of buttons.

I like sewing so much that I've had as many as 4 sewing machines at the same time, each used for a specialized task. During holidays, my house would often look like a fabric store. (My husband, who liked to carve and build with wood, pretty much kept his tools and supplies in the garage.)

Over the years, in the military and out, every time we moved, we brought all my stuff with us. That’s a lot of boxes. That’s a lot of weight.

..........bbbb
I made an incredibly stupid decision a few months ago, and as a result, I find myself in drastically reduced circumstances. In order to avoid becoming homeless, I will be selling, tossing, and giving away practically everything I own, including all my fabric, my sewing machines, and the last of my books.

I’m going home. I’m buying a plane ticket back to Missoula. And all I’m bringing with me is what I can fit into two suitcases.

And that’s it. I feel as though I’ve been to a fat farm, and lost a hundred pounds. I’m giddy with excitement, and I’m scared to death.

agged-Tay

I've been volutarily tagged by Isay...

FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1) Garden Shop salesgirl
2) Soldier
3) Short-order Cook
4) RN First Assistant (OR)

FOUR MOVIES YOU WOULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1) Murphy's Romance
2) Fools Rush In
3) Thunderheart
4) Excalibur

FOUR PLACES YOU HAVE LIVED:
1) Misawa AFB, Japan
2) Camp LeJeune, North Carolina
3) Fort Gordon, Georgia
4) Fort Drum, New York

FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
1) Monarch of the Glen
2) Lost
3) Bones (David Boreanaz)
4) As Time Goes By

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE SPENT YOUR VACATION:
1) Laundromat
2) Grocer's
3) Delivery Room
4) Under the beds with a damp rag...

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
1) Chili Relleno
2) Lasagna
3) Fried Prawn
4) Chocolate-Dipped 6-foot hairy-chested men.

FOUR PLACES YOU WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1) Vancouver, BC
2) Sitka, AK
3) Winifred, MT
4) Right here in Missoula, twenty years ago.

going to tag Sandy, Jimbo, Daysspring, and any one of my illustrating friends who might wanna volunteer to be tagged. No requirement to pass it on...

Ahh. onclejohann has gallantly volunteered. Thank you, good man.

Tagged

I’ve been scratched by an anonymous cat! So I think I’m supposed to come up with 20 things about myself:

1. I’ve come to hate the heat. I mean, you can only get so naked.
2. When I’m alone I do all my thinking out loud. I’m saying these things aloud as I type them.
3. I sing to myself when I’m doing the dishes.
4. I prefer cats to people.
5. Even as a child, I loved chicken livers, sautéed in butter and Tabasco sauce.
6. I do NOT think Brad Pitt is sexy.
7. I love anything in red.
8. I miss eating venison.
9. I wanted to be a bio-geneticist when I grew up, but became a Nurse, instead.
10. I no longer own a vehicle.
11. I make my breads from scratch, but still buy my macaroni and cheese in a box.
12. I see more beauty in a grey, rainy day than I do in one washed out by the sun.
13. I’m addicted to romance novels, and hafta hide the books when my friends come over.
14. I’ve pretended not to be home when people have knocked at the door.
15. I sleep with my husband’s dogtags under my pillow.
16. Instead of curtains, I've strung crystals in my window, and placed coloured glass bottles on the sill.
17. The shelves, walls, and drawers around my computer are cluttered with turquoise and lavender post-it notes….at least 60 or 70 of them. I’m not even sure what’s written on some of them.
18. My favorite channel is C-span.
19. I would give this all up for Paul Newman, but he refuses to leave his wife.
20. I still have to look up my phone number when somebody asks.

And now to tag a few others that haven't yet been tagged. I think just about everyone's been tagged, so yikes, this list might be outdated:

Pajara Pinta; Steve S; JacqueLynn; Alina Chau; VirginiaJoe; and Cecilia....