Remember when "Friends" used to name all their episodes with titles like "The One Where Ross Doesn't Worry About Something"? No? OK.
I haven't blogged lately. First off, because I can't really talk about my job. Not only do I have HIPPA to contend with, I have FERPA. How boring is that? You're missing out on some real gems, let me tell you. I still love my students. Just not their bodily excretions, which today, ran aplenty. Gah.
Another thing is my semester is killing me. Advanced Pathophysiology, Advanced Physiologic Concept in Maternal Health Nursing, and my out-of-school elective, Health Communication in the PR department. The second class, I like. The rest of it? I am taking Patho credit/no credit and don't care, the third, I don't care about my grade any more.
And segue into, I'm depressed. I'm working out, I'm eating well, I'm sleeping - oh, wait, no I'm not. But I don't want to take anything pharmaceutical because I actually enjoy having orgasms, and when I took Lexapro those eluded me. How depressing, yes? There are health issues, there are personal issues, there is the economy, there are these looming student loans I will be officially owning soon...I just need my semester to be over and then I can figure out what I need to do. After this semester, I have only 4 more classes to go to finish my MSN. And 3 of those are clinical. Cool!
Here's an issue that is nursing-related and has caught my eye.
One of the big hospital companies in my market is cracking down on the nurses. Color-coded scrubs for each type of care provider. That part I get, and think it will eliminate confusion on the floor among patients, doctors and direct patient caregivers. I'm thankful that if I apply there next year, I look halfway decent in the particular color the RNs will be wearing.
But they're also enacting a policy that states only single ear piercings and a tiny nose stud will be the only visible body piercings allowed for the employees. I could be OK with that too. If I'm a sick patient in a bed I may not want to look at someone's nose rings as they take my vitals. (I don't care,but a patient may.) It might make me think of pain, or infection, I don't know.
Tattoos. Can we talk tattoos? None will be allowed to be visible effective January. Doesn't affect me - my Danskos and socks completely cover my tattoo on my foot. But, how slippery a slope is this policy?
For instance: I know a women who went through the hell of losing a baby only days before he was to be delivered. She had his name tattooed in nice script of white ink on her inner left wrist, so she would see it every day and the thought of him would go straight up to her heart. It was significant to her, and I loved her idea. Who could argue that a permanent reminder of your deceased child is wrong?
The hospital could. As tasteful and meaningful as it is to this woman, it is still by definition a tattoo. So she would either have to wear a long-sleeved shirt under her scrub top even in 100-degree weather, or a bandage on her wrist. And how suspicious does that look, and ew...MRSA transmission from patient to patient, anyone?
Here's another scenario: I've seen people who have wedding bands tattooed on their left ring fingers instead of wearing bands. And let me tell you, what a brilliant idea that is from a germ-spreading basis. I'd rather be handled by someone's tattooed ring finger than a ring with soap scum and god-knows-what accumulating underneath it. Bandage that finger up, I guess. Again, how many times a day will those bandaids have to be changed? Blech.
We're asked to be tolerant and non-judgmental of patients who come in with tattoos and piercings. Heck, sometimes those choices get in the way of inserting an ng-tube or starting an IV. But we do it, and we understand it's a freedom of expression.
Like our urinary output and our food intake, I guess as nurses, we have to sacrifice self-expression in the name of patient care. And they wonder why nurses are burnt out and have negative attitudes toward work?
School Nurse Jack on 2008-11-04T22:11:04.560-08:00
I feel like I've been pregnant for 15 months and gave birth tonight. Melodramatic, I know. But that little spark that was lit in me over a year ago exploded in ballot booths all across the country today, and it's something that is an experience to remember.
Back in August 2007, I took a quick trip up to Iowa to see my grandmother immediately after finishing my RN program and before starting my new job and taking my NCLEX. The kids and I flew in and out of Chicago Midway, and just before the flight home, I stopped into an airport gift shop to buy some bottled water and snacks.
The button you see in the photo was one of several in a bucket near the register. I added it to my purchases, and the cashier beamed at me. "You from Chicago?" "No, ma'am. From Austin." She continued beaming, nodded her head as she rang me up, and stated with a hometown pride "He's gonna be our next President." Head bobbing as if to seal her belief even further. I found myself slightly head bobbing with her, smiling with her, wanting to believe with her. And I had already started to.
Since last summer, I have had a hunch about Obama. For reasons I can't explain, he felt like the candidate I wanted to sit down and listen to, but also the one I felt would listen to ME. It was a hunch, my faith that this man could bring together talented people and lead this country. I wanted it to be reality.
Over the past year, I listened more intently, read more thoroughly, thought harder about what's most important to me. Our primaries moved like molasses, and then that reality looked more and more like was emerging clearer and clearer.
In February we attended an Obama rally in front of the Capitol. Seeing what I had in common with so many different people was my first real peek at grass roots in motion. It's been a life memory to watch it emerge, and to know that Girl Child and I had the privilege to be a part of that night up close.
I bought my Obama bumper sticker in early March and have since been driving around with it on my car. My employer told thousands of us we couldn't have campaign signs in our offices or anywhere on the property. I was willing to park on the street instead of our lot if I had to. The bumper sticker that stayed on my fridge as a back up (in case my original one was ripped off or defaced) is still there. I'm grateful to live in a country where my right is to do so, and that my choice was respected. I hated to read of the sign-stealing going on in my city on both campaign sides.
Hubba Hubba saw the button I taped on the refrigerator August 2007 and said "Really? You think you'll vote for him?" "I do. I do." Imagine my glee in September when he brought home my very own Obama Bobblehead. Each time we walk by or set something down on the counter, he peeps "Yes. We. Can." This past week, I answered Obama Bobblehead with "Yes, we better, Barack. We better."
We did. My $25 donations here and there, your $1,000 donations, your $5 donations, your tireless hours phoning, envelope stuffing, web-linking, traveling to other states to reach out to undecided voters, my pumpkin carving, the campaign's text messages and e-mail outreach...
Like President-elect Obama said in his acceptance speech tonight, there is so much to be done. When I finish school (God willing and the creek don't rise - 13 months from now) I get to be a part of that on some minute level. I want to take that Master's degree and put it to work to make a difference while I'm on this planet. Why I got into nursing in the first place. I would have done it regardless of which candidate won. But tonight? Tonight I feel like there might just be hope for the things that matter to me. That I, the people I will work with and the people I will work for will have a bigger voice. Because we've seen what all those small voices can do. Now it's time to see what they WILL do. What WE will do.
John McCain gave an eloquent speech tonight, and I hope our country continues to benefit from his expertise in his strong areas. May all the candidates enjoy some restorative time with their families in the coming weeks.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-10-30T21:56:15.230-07:00
(Direct quote from my allergy doctor's nurse today)
And quite the understatement.
I've been doing immunotherapy since June in hopes of surviving this year's cedar season in Central Texas. My doctor (whom I got to spend a lot of time with today!) tells me he thinks this year will be particularly bad because we've had no rain.
Per one reader's suggestion and endorsements from many people I know, I bought a neti pot and tried it. Once. It's hard to gear up to try it again knowing I might face that panic-inducing "OhmygodamIdrowning?" feeling and the noises that come from the depths of my trachea and my esophogus as they battle it out saying "I dunno. Is she breathing or drinking? You wanna work while I take 5?"
Anyway, today I left my office and was happy to do so. That's all I'm sayin' about that. I figured I'd show up early for my weekly allergy shots, run a bunch of errands, pick up Boy Child from Mad Science, and take him to buy a birthday present for a friend.
At the nurse's counter, as she prepared my syringes I noticed a handy little display of epinephrine vials and thought to myself "Those are kind of cute...so much more portable than those big ass epi pens. I wonder how many of those they have to use each month?" I like my nurses there and we always banter a bit (they know I'm a nurse) while I get weeds/trees/grasses poked into my left arm and dogs/cats/dust into my right.
The policy you wait around 30 minutes post-injection. Most people I observe (I love to people watch) stay, but occasionally I see people bust out of there after they go back for their shots. I want to play hall monitor and say "Heeeeeaaaaaaayyyyy...not smart." But who am I to be bossy?
As of today, I am a poster child for why you should wait. Because as I got all settled down in the waiting room to kick some crossword puzzle ass, 5 minutes later my palms were itching. Quickly followed by the soles of my feet. And then, oh, lawdy, my ear canals felt like infernoed elevator shafts. At this point I'm thinking "I wonder if I should tell K. (the nurse) or if this will soon pass?"
Uh-uh. 2 minutes later, this extreme nausea tsunami hit me. Followed by an intense pressure on my chest and some "Am I really in my body? kind of thoughts? Oh shiiiiiiit.
I got up, saw K. charting in the hallway, tried to be all cool and calm and said "Um, K.? Did we change a dosage today or something?" She closed charts, looked at me, said "I don't think so. You're at maintenance, aren't you?" I exhaled loudly and said "I don't feel so good."
Both she and the doctor were at my side in about 2 seconds flat and I was ushered into an exam room. Pulse ox on and looked good (Thank god, because I was seriously wondering if I was moving into anaphylaxis) and a dosage cup of liquid Benedryl mysteriously appeared, the pink liquid calling "Drink me."
10 minutes later I dropping trou and was the recipient of one those cute little epinephrine syringes in my left thigh. "I don't have to tell you your heart will start racing." Yuck. Yes it did. As if I weren't feeling like shit enough before that. But being able to breathe is pretty important.
Then I was hooked up to a nebulizer treatment with Xopenex and after that finished, the doctor handed me three nasty-tasting prednisone tablets. And he talked with me a long time, which I know was a guise for observing me and watching me for altered mental status.
I was diagnosed with a systemic adverse reaction to my serum and let me tell you, that was some scary shit. To be a nurse and know exactly how allergic reactions like that progress isn't always a good thing. There was one point where I considered calling my friend L., whose husband is Wonder Teacher to Boy Child. I had visions of me being trached at the nearby hospital and not able to pick him up from his after school program. Do I call now and risk scaring Boy Child, do I wait and hope I'm OK? Did I mention Hubba Hubba is working out of state for 7 more weeks???
I for some reason thought I could go to Petco after I was well enough to leave the clinic. What is wrong with me? I got out of my car and thought "Damn. This is dumb. But you know, I'm here - might as well get the dogs' food because I hate to waste the gas. Legs - move!" I got a cart because I felt like Jell-O legs might take me down on the dog-peed-on and probably minimally cleaned floors.
I napped in the car at Boy Child's school (classy!) and dragged myself into the school to pick him up. Upon arriving home, I took a one-hour nap which did wonders. I was able to do everything I had to do tonight, and here I sit - wired. Ugh.
The doctor is titrating down my serum concentrations for next week to be safe, but I'm kind of nervous regardless. If nothing else, I have gained yet another experience to file away in my nursing brain, in the event I have a patient who experiences an adverse effect from an IV med or something. I know what that feels like now.
Whew. I gladly welcome the fact I'm home alone tomorrow night, just me, the dogs and cat, the trick-or-treaters, lots of shows online I need to get caught up on, and maybe some studying. My Halloween wildness is finished!
Happy trick-or-treating to you and yours.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-10-26T22:04:28.762-07:00
I made this tonight while the kids did their traditional jack-o-lanterns. And I think it's darn worthy of being my 300th blog post.
A special shout-out to an administrator at my work school who went to New Mexico and to my friend L., headed to Ohio, both to campaigning in those swing states for Barack. This year has been an amazing look at grass roots efforts in getting so many people to care about their vote.
No matter what color your state, no matter who your candidate, go vote. This year's turnout numbers are going to be eye-popping.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-10-16T19:45:38.302-07:00
This summer, my friend L. turned me on to this website. Because we're both the parents of teenagers, she thought it prudent that we stay current on such matters of not appearing so out of it we don't have a clue. Some days I'm money, some days I seem destined for a walker in the near future.
Right now? Bring on the early bird buffet coupons. I turned 41 last week. As did Hubba Hubba. I had surgery to celebrate. More on that later.
And today? I went for my all-body skin cancer screen, something I initiated a horrified, fair-skinned Girl Child into.
The kicker? I have two biopsies out awaiting review. I'm not worried about either of them. But still. Two docs sent out pathology samples from my decrepit body in the span of 4 days?
Dude. I need to read the archives of How Not to Act Old. I know you're not supposed to talk about your health when you get old, but these days, I feel like there's nothing else.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-09-15T18:04:19.483-07:00
This poor guy's fate captured on lens says it all. Can we get a break here? Seems like as work is still being done on South Padre Island repairing what Dolly left behind, our friends farther up the Gulf Coast have ten-fold the work ahead of them. Thoughts of peace and strength go out to so many people who suffered Ike's wrath, many of whom lost residences, retirement/weekend homes, beautiful trees, lost wages, and in some cases, entire communities.
OK. Now that I got my nice out of the way, this irritation I have been harboring since Friday can now stop festering and boil out. Blame it on my period that's gonna come hurt me in 24 hours (more on that in another blog post) or the fact my house received NOT ONE DROP OF RAIN from Ike and my grass was begging for some outer bands to relieve it.
You may remember my post about our family's experience on South Padre Island during Dolly. I've thought a lot about that experience this past week. I never really talked about it here, but I remember the notes I journaled on a back deck the night before the hurricane came ashore as I watched the ocean's waves grow and the clouds roll in.
When it became apparent just after our Saturday arrival to SPI that this tropical storm could come our way, grumpiness immediately set in. We didn't have an internet connection, so we assumed a wait-and-watch approach for a few days. Dolly then became a hurricane, so we set out to collect as much data as we could before her projected landfall on Wednesday.
Should we stay in our three-story (bottom level being a garage, in which our car and kayak could be protected from wind-blown objects), north/south facing, well-buttressed to the east/west rental house just 100 yards from the beach? If we left, what were the chances we'd get 6.5 hours back home and find the storm had barely touched the island, and how mad would we be? Could we just go partially inland to try to salvage our trip and come back the day after?
We talked to so many local residents, some in older homes, others in big new ones. All said the same thing: "Category 1? It will get windy, it will rain a lot and the main street will be flooded for a while, and we'll probably be without power for 8-10 hours. Thursday, most likely the weather will be beautiful." Very few planned to leave. A guy next door was leaving just because he 'gets bored during power outages.'
Hubba Hubba talked with an island cop, I called the SPI Public Works department (several times.) We appointed my father-in-law as our weather watch guy, relying on his rational thought process and his tours of duty through several hurricanes while the family lived in Friendswood, TX. We started watching the Weather Channel and the local news weathercasts, but soon turned those off so the Weather Wood hysteria didn't scare the kids.
We looked at the projected storm surge, the size of the storm itself, and the forecasts of wind speeds, we took the insight from all these conversations, we debated, I drank wine. We made a reservation for two nights at a Holiday Inn Express in Harlingen, but then realized the path would take the storm straight for the Valley, an area quite prone to flooding during these storms. Was that really a better option? If we were going to be without power and A/C for an entire day, wouldn't we rather be in a house than one room/bathroom with no way for open windows?
The morning before Dolly, we decided 4:00pm that afternoon was our absolute decision time. The causeway was closing at 6pm. We left our beachhouse at 8:00am, hustled across the causeway to the Port Isabel Wal-Mart, and stocked up on produce that didn't need refrigeration, plenty of drinking water and juices (and more wine), canned goods, peanut butter and bread, comfort/junk food, candles/lighter, flashlights, and gossip magazines. I figured if we ended up not needing it, 99% of it would be eaten at some point when we got back home.
On the way back from the mainland, just before we entered the causeway, I looked at the island. "Do I really want to be on this during a hurricane?" I thought? Apparently Hubba was having the same thought because he mumbled something to the same effect. I told him "What if they're wrong? What if it suddenly grows overnight to a Cat 4 and eats the island?" He assured me that would not happen. I remember specifically telling him, "I do NOT want to be one of those people that get filmed being rescued from the third story balcony by a recovery helicopter. I do NOT want to be the one that people say "How stupid. Why the hell didn't they leave?" Most importantly, I did not want to jeopardize my children's safety. Life is about taking risk, but risk within reason when it relates to my kids is the most I'm willing to take.
We ate our last restaurant meal on the island, topped off the gas tank, unloaded our haul at the house, loaded our freezer and coolers with ice, filled up containers with water to flush toilets, and headed out to enjoy the beach the rest of the day. It was non-hurricane-like until about 3pm.
We had a family meeting and decided to stay. At 4pm we cancelled the HI reservation, and at 6pm I could have sworn I heard a jail cell gate or a bank vault door clanking shut behind me when all cars were barred from leaving the island. "We're committed" I thought, as a had a glass of wine to calm my nerves while Boy Child and I sat on the 2nd-story balcony, watching the kite-boarder in all his extremeness pop into our limited view of the beach. Hubba and Girl Child were on the beach watching the storm begin.
Before we retired for the night took a quick walk around the neighborhood, which was so much quieter than just two days prior, the houses boarded up for a quick hibernation from the summer busy-ness. (I might mention here that our house's handyman opted not to nail up the plywood in the garage, despite our asking "Are you sure?" The house's owner in CA didn't sound too pleased when we let him know about it before Dolly arrived.)
Girl Child was excited and yelled "C'mon, Dolly. Show us what you've got." I stopped her in the middle of the street and told her "Don't ever underestimate the power of Nature. Always remember there is something so much bigger and stronger than anything we've got in this man-made jungle." Interestingly enough, a hotel manager was interviewed before the storm and pretty much echoed Girl Child's chant, which I thought was just asking for trouble.
4:30am Tuesday the winds started up. Thank goodness Hubba had the foresight to throw ear plugs into our WalMart cart. We lost power at about 10am. The storm was in full force at lunchtime, but who had time to eat? We were busy managing the water that leaked (heavily!) into all windows, two sets of sliding doors, and two french doors. We busted hump for three hours or so to keep the place from getting sloshy. I'm talking suctioning out water from the sliding glass door tracks into buckets with water bottles with spouts and condiment containers. Wringing out the towels we had wicking down from the window frames into buckets, trash cans and cooking pots. Setting up an elaborate system of broiler pans propped up with juice bottles, twisted paper towels dripping into the kitchen sink to channel water leaking into those two windows. Crazy. We estimate we dumped anywhere from 40-50 gallons of water into the sinks/toilets
We finally called 'Uncle' when the sliding door frames were bowing inward and pulling away from the outer frame. It's never fun when someone loses an eye. (Speaking of eyes, we never got to see the eye of the storm. We got to experience the intense eye wall.) Propping the kitchen door frame up with the heavy wooden kitchen table, we all retreated to the living room in case the glass blew. About then, the storm ebbed.
Later that evening, I ventured out to survey the damage to the house. Not bad at all. The loud 'thud' I heard at one point on the west side was our neighbor's third-story railing coming off and hitting the side of our house. Taking with it the electrical meter. Doh! No power back for this house even if the island did get its power restored in a timely manner.
We took a walk around the neighborhood and saw a few older houses/apartment complexes that lost their roofs. Debris everywhere, of course. The port-a-potty that blew over and floated down our street from a construction site two houses up ended up four blocks away and around a corner. We were tired. We called it a night. Sleeping in total darkness (no power on the island) with earplugs was a weird sensation. I got hot and claustrophobic at about 4am and threw the windows open for air, not caring if it started raining again.
The next morning, the weather was indeed beautiful. We did a careful drive around the island. No way we could stay. Power poles were snapped in half, so a quick fix was not in the cards. Tall hotels suffered damage on the north and west (bay) sides. Turns out a wicked back wind came across the bay and did the worst damage, wiping out docks, tearing off sides of some buildings. Specifically, the hotel managed by the man who taunted Dolly before he arrived. I later saw the same newscaster interview him after the storm. He was standing in his ruined lobby, crying, devastated, thanking God his family, guests and employees were all safe. As it was, Dolly ended up barely making a Cat 2 when she landed 15 miles north of us, with winds reported at 112 mph according to one source I read.
We headed back to clean up the house as best we could, loaded up the car, and began the sad journey home. We drove for 2 hours before we found towns that didn't have flooding or power outages. Our car could have been flooded in the HI parking lot in Harlingen, we realized as we drove by.
Had we heard the words "Those who stay face certain death", "projected storm surge of up to 25 feet", or "potential flood waters of 9 feet", you bet your last sand dollar we would have left. Absolutely. That's what NATIONAL FORECASTERS told us about Ike. Not the local FOX news affiliate, not wacky bloggers looking to blame Bush, McCain or Obama for the hurricanes, but reliable news and weather sources told coastal residents last week to leave. Local officials ordered them to leave. Emergency workers went door to door for one last plea to people to take their cars or catch a bus leaving the island for one of many shelters.
I just don't understand the thinking process of some people in times like this. A 17-y-o boy fell from a 7th story hotel balcony during Dolly during the hurricane. He sustained head, back, pelvic and other injuries and could not be transported off the island for many hours because of the winds. Why were you outside that high up?????? How many people have you seen photos of leaving cars in the middle of high water, or, worse yet, having to be rescued from them? Driving your car onto a completely flooded highway sounded like it might work because...?
Photograph by Matt Slocum/AP
This person thought it would be a good idea to stand next to a seawall as these storm-surgey waves approached.
Not sure what seawall she's next too, but the main one in Galveston is 17 feet high. Which means that if she fell over, she's not just "on the beach" and couldn't just climb herself out as she laughed to her friends. In fact, a 19-y-o man/boy died in Corpus as he walked out onto the jetties. A wave got him, knocked him down on some rocks, and the ocean took him away. Horrible.
We have a friend whose parents are older and have never evacuted Galveston Island during these storms, something that frustrates her. This time, as the surge began flooding the island before the wind and rains even began, they left at 10:30am. What a relief for our friend. No way of knowing how their house or their neighbors they left behind fared.
It's been said that 20,000 people stayed on Galveston alone. That's not counting those other beachfront communities. Many boasted they were going to get drunk and party their way through it. (Really? Lose all sense of reason and control when you might need it most?) I'm shocked our death toll isn't higher, but I think they can't even get to some of these places to check houses/rubble yet.
I know that when you've lived somewhere your whole life, or you live somewhere unique like a beach community, you love your people, your house, your habitat. It's hard to leave and not know what you're coming back to. With modern science, we have plenty of time to heed warnings and have learned some serious lessons from previous storms.
If you stayed through Ike, don't blame the government for not sending help fast enough. Don't point fingers if you weren't rescued in the middle of the fierce hurricane.
To the people much farther inland, chill out. I know you lost trees and fences and sleep and perhaps got some roof and water damage. The insurance companies are on it. Don't bitch about not having anything to eat in your intact home 24 hours after the storm. It's called planning ahead. Lacking electricity is not an emergency unless you have someone on oxygen, in frail health, or on a respirator. Step aside and let the professionals work as fast as they can. Lend a hand to a neighbor who needs help cutting up downed trees or picking up limbs or removing damaged items from a room that got wet.
To all those that stayed, I only sort of understand your thought process. To the families of those that perished, my sympathies are wish you. To those that survived that hellish night, I wish you as speedy a rescue as possible and hope that your family can soon begin healing and picking up the pieces of what you lost. To all the rescuers, the volunteers, the law officials, the organizers, the amazing science blogger for the Houston Chronicle...thank you. You've been amazing and have given yourselves selflessly.
And finally, can we be done with hurricane season this year? Enough. Basta. Uncle. Whatever we need to call, we'll collectively offer it up from the Lone Star State.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-09-03T20:51:04.529-07:00
::Waking up from dozing off during Rudy's speech::
Were the RNC attendees chanting their enthusiasm for their plans to offer expanded dental services to children with no dental insurance in underserved communities? No? Darn.
This election has me interested on two levels: What matters to me as a woman, mother, person, tax payer, and what matters to me as a nurse.
That second part is the new element to my voting checklist this election time. I've never voted as a nurse. I've never had the pang in my gut that worries me about this country, based upon what I've seen up close and in person in our schools, our clinics, our hospitals, our EDs. I've never had those patients' worries and injustices voiced during their care ringing in my ears so many months later.
I've never before voted, embracing the feedback that I hear from other nurses, doctors, psychologists, social workers, administrators, and educators about what is not happening with health care in this country. I've never before looked into a candidate's platform about what he plans on devoting toward the field of Public Health. I'm looking now. And listening.
It is with both pride and honor that I watch this year's election unfold. Pride, because I have begun to envision where I fit into what I hope to see changed, because I have ideas about the change I believe needs to happen in my own state. Honor comes from just thinking I could be part of a solution that would again focus on prevention, patient empowerment and education, funding to reinvigorate the Public Health efforts and staffing for those initiatives.
My first Presidential election vote as a nurse. Pretty darn exciting.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-08-23T09:49:19.588-07:00
After finishing the post below, my doorbell rang. It was my 85-y-o neighbor from across the street. He has advanced macular degenerative disease and is mostly blind. His wife has Alzheimers and the neighbors keep a close eye on her when she's outside, as she's prone to wandering.
J. asked me if he could borrow a ladder. Seemed he hired a tree trimming crew to take care of his Bradford Pear tree growing out of control, and they neglected to bring a ladder.
Ummm, hello? Isn't that a basic necessity for someone to use when offering such a service for hire?
The kicker? When the guy came back over with J. to return our ladder, not only did he not thank me, he asked me this:
"You don't have a taller ladder, do you?" In a tone that implied I was silly enough to send a mere utility ladder over to him. What was I thinking?
I looked at him over my glasses in a manner that said "I want to smack you" and coolly responded "No. Why don't you have one?" He mumbled something about lending it to someone and never getting it back, yada, yada, yada...I gave him a "talk to the hand" gesture and turned to instead accept J.'s thanks for hauling the ladder out of the garage for his hired incompetents.
J., knowing you as I do, I hope you got a biiiiiiig discount on your services today. Or maybe you can just ask me to do the tree trimming for you next time. Because I'm pretty good about tackling my own yardwork and, uh, have the right tools.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-08-23T07:44:37.519-07:00
I've noticed a trend in the most recent restaurants in which I've dined. And I can't say I hope it lasts.
Sadly, there seems to be a staffing practice for wait personnel and restaurant support staff that has left me thinking I walked on to, say, a Med-Surg floor at a hospital. These larger, multiple tables of 6 and 8 with a few 4-tops thrown in could mirror the full beds occupied by many acute or monitored patients.
The waiters are busting their humps like so many nurses I know just to keep up with the workload and to keep their charges happy. While nurses don't work for tips, not having your call lights flashing like the Strip in Vegas might be just as appreciated.
About two weeks ago, Girl Child reminded us we hadn't taken her out for her May birthday dinner. She likes Romano's Macaroni Grill, so on a Sunday night, off we went. Hubba Hubba went to the bathroom after we arrived, and when he emerged and saw us sitting in the bar area with a buzzer waiting for our table, he responded "You're kidding, right?" The restaurant was FULL. Of empty tables, that is. Yet we sat for 20 minutes waiting to be seated. The bartender even ran between the bar and the prep area, working there when there were no bar customers. Our waiter was so rushed he couldn't even spend chatty time with us. Because he was covering our entire half of the restaurant. Tables spread out, illogically. Like getting patients assigned to you on opposite ends of the hall.
Tuesday night, a friend I haven't seen in a looooong time and I met up for a late dinner. We picked a Mexican restaurant close to home. Upon arrival I noticed the parking lot was way emptier than previous trips there. Again, empty tables, and 30 minutes waiting in the bar area. We were told "The waiters are slammed, so we have to wait to seat you when they can get you in." It took FOREVER for the waitress to take our order and because it was a late dinner, we were starving. I don't even like that place (it's too loud, food is quite mediocre) so how inspired do I feel to return?
Last night, the kids and I went to the first University of Texas women's soccer game of the season. I wanted to grab dinner beforehand, so we stopped by an old favorite on The Drag. Plenty of open tables, which I thought was odd for a Friday night, the weekend students are moving back into the dorms and many parents are in town.
We were seated immediately, but again, waited. And waited. And waited. Our drinks and ruuuuuuuny, cooooooooooold queso arrived. We waited for our waiter so I could send back the queso and finally place our order. He, too, was busy serving many tables, several of them large groups. The conversation levels were loud and the background music was so overtaken it was just added noise at that point. Burger King next door was starting to sound like the better choice.
The game time drew nearer and I grew more impatient. Our food finally came out and we had to do the hog-and-jog that Boy Child just doesn't do well. I couldn't catch our waiter's eye to let him know the server brought us an almost-empty carafe of syrup and Girl Child had none for her pancakes, so I had to get up and interrupt his conversation. We made it to the game just after kickoff, dammit.
I've read enough about what's going on with the local restaurant industry to know what's happening here. Your food prices have jumped through the roof. The fuel costs to get things you need delivered have jumped. Rents are increasing because, despite our economy's warning signs, developers in our city are still building condos and ripping down older retail and dining outlets to replace them with new, "hip" options.
So restaurants are doing what they can to stay profitable, or even afloat. You schedule wait staff at skeleton crew levels, hoping you've gauged the customer flow right for that night. Managers are donning aprons and working in the kitchen so they can avoid staffing another cook.
But here's the thing. Food costs have gone up for me, too. As have my fuel costs, my insurance rates, Boy Child's after-school care tuition, Girl Child's soccer fees, etc., etc. Especially now, it chaps me to no end spending hard-earned money to escape the kitchen, find a rare night out with a friend for talk over dinner, or eat on the road due to our schedules, and come away from it pissed off. I am more inclined to buy spendy take-out from my grocery store, kick off my shoes and hunker down at home than I am to spend gas money and put on makeup to go somewhere, only to pay for time delays and food thrown on my table with not so much as a "Hey, guys! How's it going tonight?"
This is not a waiter rant post. In all the time I've spent waiting for a table or my food recently, I'm sharp enough to know these employees are getting their butts kicked. And it's hard to be on your best game when you need skates to keep up with the workload. Businesses need to take a hard look at how they're going to address customer service in these trying economic times if they want to avoid more of those already-empty tables.
Having gotten this off my chest, I'm off to make my children pancakes this morning. Even though they had them last night. This morning, the food will be hot, they can eat them at their own pace and we don't have to scream at each other to be heard. And I have plenty of syrup.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-08-10T15:53:24.774-07:00
I have a lot going on in my head right now that I could blog about in order to process it/therapize my way through it. But that would take too much effort.
Instead, I give to you this picture of Martha Blah Blah, who commandeered Hubba Hubba's kayak this morning. She stood at the bow, barking out her demands to be taken down river to the Four Seasons Cafe for some alphabet soup.
(props to anyone still reading this blog who gets that reference.)
"Faster!" she barked. "Faster, my indulgent master! My table awaits!"
Happy Sunday. Oh, and, Go Team USA!
School Nurse Jack on 2008-07-28T09:19:15.508-07:00
When Fred Rogers died, I thought "Why do I feel a little like I lost someone in real life?" I was so sad. Someone I grew up with and that my kids watched, someone who stayed the same all those years...
Reading this today made me smile, and miss him even more.
In early June, Boy Child and I visited a local medical supply store so I could restock my penlights and get a new BP cuff while Girl Child attended a sewing class nearby. While checking out, I chatted with an older employee about the arrival of 100-degree heat already in Austin and how tired I was of it. His words stuck in my head, and I shared them with a few people in the days that followed.
"I've lived here a long time. When it's this hot, this early, for this long, we're in for a bad hurricane season. I've just moved more of my family up here from Houston and I'm so relieved to not be worrying about them any more during that kind of weather."
I wondered since that day from time to time if his salt-of-the-earth, Farmer's Almanac sort of weather prediction would turn out to ring true for our state in particular.
I just didn't think I would be finding out up close and personal.
My family and I were spending a long-awaited, fiscally sacrificed vacation on South Padre Island. After much discussion and data gathering, we decided to remain on the island during the hurricane.
I'll blog about it after I download all my photos, but suffice it to say it was an experience I will not soon forget.
We're home now, due to the "primitive conditions" that remain on the island post-storm. Our rented beach house keep us safe (but was not water tight, we discovered!) and it emerged bruised from the storm but intact. The lovely weather we hoped to enjoy afterward greeted us the next morning, but sadly, the damage on the island was too great and we had to pack our bags and make the slow journey home, surveying the damage to South Texas along our route.
How can it be that the one week we had open all summer for all four of us, a tropical storm decides to head that way, further developing into not just a Cat 1 hurricane but just barely a Cat 2, striking immediately north of where our rented beach house sits in the north end of the island?
Today we woke up, wishing we were not at home, but yet thankful we had home waiting faithfully for us when we rolled back into town last night at 9:15pm. I have channeled my sadness into unpacking and getting all our vacation things put away. I guess if I don't look at my crate full of paper goods and the cleaning supplies we took with us, I won't think about the house and the interrupted vacation memories in the making we left behind.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-08-23T08:00:11.352-07:00
Somedays I wonder about whether or not I might have just a tad bit OCD going on. Or maybe it's just the anxiety amped up again. Now that I think about it, isn't a fixation on cleanliness often seen in OCD patients? So clearly, that can't be my issue. Call it old-fashioned anal retentive, over-achieving, control-freak, obsessive, whatever.
Despite my previous post about being such a slacker this summer, there is one area in which my son's teacher will probably wonder how the two of us are related. I am known for my organizational skills. I can not stand to work on projects without a timeline (ask my husband about our bathroom project!), I like to have my little "systems" in place at home, rarely lose or forget things, always structure my errands and appointments in a logical fashion, and I'm often happiest at the end of the day when I can see things crossed off my to-do list.
In fact, I hang out in a craigslist forum in which we do nothing but list our to-do's for the day in an effort to put our obligations out to the universe and make ourselves accountable to someone. Often, our lists consist of "shower, feed pets, read my library book, send husband to store to deal with dinner dilemma" because some days, that's all I can muster. The other women in the forum do this on occasion too and I swear it's like a group hug of the long-distance variety when you need a break from the rush-rush-rush of life and want to be a slouch for the day.
But back to my original concept behind this post. I've been trying to work on this delegation thing because after I finish school, as much as I dread it, there is the potential of a management position for me. I don't like getting frustrated when people don't do things on time or forget them, therefore putting something back on my to-do list.
I told a friend on the phone today that I chalk this up to all those years of being a department of one in each of my jobs in my prior career and having to do all the minutiae myself, usually. On the flip side, I do not delegate well. Because too often, people don't do things to my satisfaction so I end up doing it myself anyway, and then what's the point of delegation?
Anyhow, how does this relate to school? I'm worried about Boy Child's inability to remember things he's supposed to do. We've discussed this with professionals, but that's another post. My friend's husband is a teacher and I'm hoping with all my might that Boy Child ends up in his third grade class this next year. Girl Child had him, so I know his teaching style, plus I've subbed for his classroom before and I know how he works. He's orrrrrrrrrrrganized, on top of things, keeps parents informed of what the class is doing, follows up with all projects, helps around the school wherever he's needed, anticipates needs, empowers his students (hey, that sounds like qualities of a good nurse!)to accept and handle the accountabilities that come with being a good third grade student. Plus, he's just a darn good guy down to his innermost fiber.
Regardless of who's class he ends up in, I've already become pretty structured about Boy Child's schedule, his homework space, where (he's supposed) to keep his school things and getting things ready for the next day before he goes to bed. I'm working with him now about getting excited for his new school year.
Part of this building of excitement involves buying school supplies. Something I realize I have always been anal about doing. No, buying the pre-packaged supplies through the school is not an option. Because I remember how much I loooooooved buying my school supplies as a kid. The smell of a new eraser? Heaven.
In the past, I used to buy supplies I figured my kids would need a year ahead of time, when they were on clearance and crazy cheap. But since a friend sent me this book, I don't do that anymore. I can no longer handle crap taking up space in a cupboard for a year. I prefer the lack of clutter over being thrifty.
Plus, I HATE people the week before school starts. Because they are rude in the school supply aisle, the backpack aisle, the lunchbox aisle. I hate the crowds. I hate the messy displays. I hate the fact that the stores have sold out of the last two items I need and I have to go to another store to find them.
This summer I started early. Like, early enough that store personnel looked at me funny as I checked out and said "Wow. You're, um, ahead of the game." Very little was on sale. I do not care. Because I have one less child's worth of school supply shopping to do the week before school starts when all the rude people are out there doing it.
But here's the kicker: I can't get past the stores not having the LAST item I need. A 70-page, non-perforated, wide-ruled spiral notebook. Specifically, of the color family ORANGE. We have blue, red, yellow, green, and purple as required, but not the ORANGE one.
I am on a personal mission to find it before the week leading up to the first day of school. Every store I'm in, I beeline it to the office/school supply aisle. Just to be the first to get the elusive, required ORANGE spiral notebook.
Girl Child, being the resourceful kid she is, looked at me in amazement when I professed frustration that I had just this one thing I could not cross off my list. "Why don't just buy, like, a yellow one and write in big letters the word "ORANGE" across the front of the notebook so he knows that's supposed to be his ORANGE notebook?"
Good point, but that wouldn't model very good "following directions" behavior, would it? I don't want Boy Child thinking he can just write "Done" on the top of his homework when it really, is in fact, not.
I pity anyone near me on the day I actually find this ORANGE spiral notebook. Because I'm going to pump my arm in the air, yell victoriously at the top of my lungs "HA! I've finished!" and maybe even hug the nearest person out of simple (and I do mean simple) happiness, smiling smugly all the way home. Because I'm done, and most people won't be. In fact, I'll probably buy extra ORANGE spiral notebooks and hoard them for the following 9 school years of Boy Child's career. Or sell them for a handsome profit on craigslist, because I know other third grade parents will need them and won't be able to find them.
Oh, have no fear. I'll get what's coming to me. Because in middle school, the kids don't know what they need for each of their eight classes until after they've gone to each of those classes. Because Girl Child's school is moving to block scheduling and they'll have A/B days? That makes TWO trips I'll have to make. After school has already started, and the parents are not only grumpy, they're tired because the "getting up early for the new school year" schedule has commenced.
Yep. It's a shame I'm not working on a cure for cancer right now. Because as much thought and time I've put into this trivial issue, I could have worked magic in research, dontcha think?
8/22/08 Update: Yessssss, I FOUND ONE!!!
I bit the bullet and entered the retail box I most despise. I haven't been to this store in two years, I bet (with the exception of visits to towns where they're the only grocery store with edible produce). Ours is being 'upgraded', so as if this place didn't suck enough already, there was construction in the parking lot and the drivers there even more rude than normal. I do have to say that the employees were exceptionally helpful, and I was asked three times if I needed help finding the light bulbs and soccer shin guards I thought I would pick up while I was there on my mission for an orange, spiral-bound, 70-page, wide-ruled notebook. The best $2.26 I ever spent.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-07-15T06:53:07.206-07:00
Addendum: (Just to illustrate what a total summer slacker I am, I wrote most of this post three weeks ago but couldn't be bothered to upload it. Classic.)
Even my cat agrees. Ehhhhhhhhh.
That one non-word could be the most appropriate descriptor for how I feel our summer is going.
Granted, I started allergy shots five weeks ago and I thought during that first week that I had made a huge mistake. I felt horrible - you know, like when you have allergies, duh! My allergist's nurse assured me this was normal and would lessen with time and a non-sedating antihistimine.
The first two weeks of my kids' break were spent in the car (always a blast with sky-high gas prices) carting around Girl Child to first an acting workshop and then to sewing classes. Boy Child and I ran errands in near proximity when we could to avoid even more time in the car. So this past week was our first "nothing's scheduled" week.
Then I got hurt and spent a week in major pain and on some crappy pain medication. I'm still in pain, but finding ways around my limitations as things oh-so-very-slowly get back to normal.
But it's the overall ennui I can't figure out. I blame myself. Most days. But there are the days I really try to break us out of this cycle and realize "How excited can I expect the kids to be about 'exploring the world around them' when it's 100-degrees every effing day?" My kids would rather whittle away their days reading, reading, reading.
So the heat, yeah, but then there's the gas issue. I'm much more mindful of spending gas dollars. I've always been good about consolidating my errands (Not because I'm green, just because I'm anal retentive that way.) but now I second guess every trip I think about making. Which has contributed even more to my "stay home" mentality.
I know...bikes. Bikes are the answer now. In our neighborhood, we can bike to the library, a nice city park/pool (we walk to our own pool), or Walgreens (if my anxiety can handle a crossing over 6 lanes of traffic that day). Boy Child's not the strongest biker, something I want him to work on. Our world can expand once he's more confident of his abilities. Also, if I had this bike, I could actually go to the grocery store, getting exercise and not using gas.
Then there's the budget. Hubba Hubba finished a big project, is working on another but won't get paid for a while, and I'm not working. I want to take the kids to Fiesta Texas (and Boy Child has a free ticket from a school reading program) but think we'll shelve that until closer to school starting. Plus there's a week-long vacation coming up, the planning for which is a whole 'nother blog post.
The kids and I do something once a week that involves admission somewhere and lunch out, but that's about all I want to spend right now. We've been regulars at the neighborhood libraries and our pool down the street. Girl Child has started her fall required reading and writing assignments, and I make the kids do math on days when I'm feeling vindictive.
I have all these excuses, but when I think deep down about it, I think the kids and I are just worn out from our school year. A full year of working hard to make excellent grades, behaving well (them, not me), soccer/basketball seasons, after school gifted/talented curriculum (because, you know, we couldn't realistically expect that to be addressed during the school day at Girl Child's school...), weekly choir rehearsals, Boy Child going to afterschool care at a gym part-time, cooking, shopping, organizing, driving, working, going to classes, volunteering at the kids' schools, keeping up the yard and attempting to do the same with the house...
My whines are no different than anyone else's. I could be any mom I know and my story would not be unique.
I am merely fortunate enough to have the summer off to recharge, to be lazy, to enjoy the mere presence of my kids, and to stay in my pajamas until noon if I so choose. I know my summers will never be like this after I finish my MSN. So for now, I'm embracing my inner slacker. She likes to read, sleep late, play board games with her kids, talk on the phone getting reconnected with friends and family, watching her children spruce up the sidewalk with colored chalk while she reclines on a bench in the front yard, enjoying a glass of wine and a borrowed fiction book. She loves to have time to play with her dogs and cat, to watch a movie at night with her husband instead of studying, laying on the hammock under the gracious shade of the oak tree, listening to the birds kind enough to live in her neighborhood.
And mid-way through July, I'm finally moving toward being at peace with my mental restlessness. Perfect timing, as my first day of work is August 11.
May your summer hold some fun and treats for you, no matter how you're spending it.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-06-26T18:04:26.226-07:00
In our part of town, oak wilt is present and the experts cautioned against doing tree trimming until after May. Our beloved trees make this house for us, so we're very protective. The straggly, errant and some dead limbs had to wait to come down.
Last Friday, Hubba Hubba and I left the house early to fetch my car from the mechanic's parking lot. Before we parted ways, I asked him if I could PLEASE get to work on our oak trees. "Sure!", he replied enthusiastically. (My wife doing one of the honey-do's off the eternally long list? Heck yeah!)
On the drive home from the auto shop, I considered calling our yard guy David, whom we ring up when we can't manage the time to mow the yard but want to avoid nasty letters from the homeowner's association or pained smiles of hello from our Better Homes and Gardens neighbors. That thought vanished, however, as I finished up my stop at the gas station. A hair under $70 to fill up my mid-size car. Uh, I can't afford David.
So I got home, changed into my grubbies, and got to work. I pulled down a brand new tool - a pole pruner. Which looks like something this:
Except it's like 6 feet long or something like that.
So SNJ pulls, cuts, ducks the falling limbs, lathers, rinses, repeats. My neighbors were impressed. And I must say, I was pretty stunned at the amount of work I got done with a tool I had never operated.
Until this particular maneuver: A almost-too-high-to-reach branch was being particulary stubborn. I placed the heel of the pole pruner just below my right clavicle to stabilize the tool, yanked the pulley, and the pruner slid, full force into my rib. I guess it slid because of my sweaty chest and hands.
It felt like I was going to have to pull the tool out of my lung. I was too stunned by the sensation to cry. But then the weird thing is, it subsided. Sure, my upper back hurt on that side, but why not? I was doing some serious yard work.
I continued to work, and bagged up 7 yard bags full of limbs I had to break down for the city to pick up. And that's only from the front yard. The backyard limbs are still on the ground.
Because I haven't been able to move since Saturday morning. Friday night, I asked Hubba to massage the part of my back that was sore. Saturday, I woke up and thought "Whoa! My chest is sore!" Saturday night I was miserable. Sunday morning? Yeeeeeaaaaahh. I think we have a problem. I could not bend, could not reach. When Hubba hit a pothole in the car, I hollered because it hurt so badly.
Monday morning I woke up unable to take even a moderately deep breath without experiencing horrid pain. At this point I started worrying about a fractured rib and subsequent pneumothorax, so I scheduled a dr's appointment.
X-ray review showed no fractures, but before those were reviewed I was diagnosed with bruised intracostal/supraclavicular cartilage. Today my pain-upon-exertion is improved, but it still hurts upon deep inspiration.
And can I just say that Tramadol (Ultracet) sucks? I'd never been prescribed it, never given it to a patient. And now I know why. It blows. Headache, nausea, dry heaves, dizziness, drunk feeling. Screw it. I had some Vicodin stashed away instead.
I've wasted a week with AbMan, but I told him I'm showing up ready to roll on Monday. I might just be rolling slooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwly.
During one of my sleepless nights I envisioned Barbie chirping to Ken "Yard work is Dangerous!" Yes it is, yes it is.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-06-13T19:29:58.144-07:00
I've never been a TV junkie. Granted, I have my Thursday night brain dump but now that episodes are online, I can spread that out the following weekend if I must. But this new show has me hooked, and tonight I figured out why.
I feel fairly confident that I am the only person in America who was brought to tears during tonight's second episode of "Swingtown."
Look at this logo. Right there, I'm suckered. That font. It makes me want to go roller skating.
Images of glittery heat-pressed decal adorned t-shirts dash through my mind. The stripes remind me of the piping around my sport shorts. The colors. Our kitchen boasted appliances in the avocado and harvest gold hues. The brighter green and yellow - total ringers for the shades of our telephone company-issued wall-mounted rotary dial phones with the cords that stretched halfway across the house and got tangled and mangled. The yellow phone hung in the kitchen to match the mushroom-themed wallpaper and yellow metal dinette set, the green one down in the paneled rec room in the lower level of our split foyer. Am I showing my age yet?
Then there's the fashion. Ohhhhh, my. I love, love love them. I feel like I'm looking at all my family pictures. And let me be clear about one thing: If I had a body like Trina's? I'd wear that shit now. I really would.
The music on this show...I'm a total 70's music nerd. I used to listen to Casey Kasem's Top 40 countdown on my 'Spirit of '76' (Swingtown takes place in 1976!) transistor radio, shouting out in triumph when a song I loved would be crowned #1. I can be driving along, hear a song, and be transported to a particular moment in my youth. I torture my children from time to time with the soundtrack from "Saturday Night Fever" as we cruise in el coche.
Confession: Tonight during the broadcast, there aired a 70's-music set cheesy "Special Offer" that I ALMOST succumbed to. My Visa card was stashed safely away, but man, did my heartstrings beckon. "Flower Power" was promo'd on CBS on a commercial break. I didn't even know they did those $15.99 'trial offers for the set' any more!
The scene tonight at the Playboy Club, where they're line dancing? OMG. My mom, dad, aunt, uncle, and a couple my parents were friends with all took disco lessons. My brother and I used to hide on the split-foyer stairwell, spy on them 'practicing' and hold our giggles in with our hands.
This 70's music, either on the show or whenever, is usually the kicker that stings my eyes and clamps my throat. Why??
Because the 70's represents the last decade in my life I remember being totally happy and free of worry. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy now.
We moved across the country from an all-American idyllic life in farming-community/small city Iowa in 1979. Where my ENTIRE family lived. All my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. I grew up in extended family, simple pace of life, and focus on the necessities. You could hardly ask for more apple-pie with a slice of cheese than that.
When my parents told us we were moving, I was an at-the-top-of-my game 5th grader about to be the BMOC. 6th grade was still elementary school in Iowa. I was P-O-P-U-L-A-R, played softball like a champ, boasted a cute boyfriend named Ryan, had umpteen friends, was an excellent student, and got to leave home in the morning on my green banana-seat bike and not return home until the street lights came on. You're moving me where??
6th grade in Texas was the first year of middle school. Can you be meaner to a child than to move her 1200 miles in the adolescent prime of her life? I looked like a school marm, dressed weird, wore my hair like a freak, did not shop at the right stores, talked alllllllll wrong for this southern state, and my only friend was an effeminate neighbor in the same 'new kid status' boat as I.
Our first Christmas in Texas? The air conditioner ran full blast while we sported shorts. I achingly missed my white Christmases, sledding, snow boots, winter coats, and- ahem - snow pants. The mood in our household that holiday bordered on depressed and over-compensating. I wanted so badly to be home in Iowa where I knew my aunt would have made way too much food that was probably uncool cuisine in Texas and the gatherings of every person on this earth that I loved.
Fast-forward 7 years. My family is unraveling. Had been. All through the adolescent/teen angst, there is no calm at the end of the storm. My parents divorce, my mother remarries, many us of ensconced in personal battles bigger than ourselves. Family? What exactly does THAT mean?
I realize, on the very eve of my wedding in 1992, that the void I've felt has come crashing down. Graduation from college? Talk about a spider web of family member in attendance that I had to weave together to ensure all stayed happy. I didn't get to run home to Mom and Dad and announce my engagement. I had to dodge the financial minefield of who's paying for what for SNJ's wedding? I had to take a bullet in my defense of the wording of my wedding invitation.
Later, my pregnancy announcement. Who gets to hear first - Mom or Dad? Her first birthday? All is civil, but the happiness gets tampered down because of strained relations.
And that's been my story ever since. They're civil, but that's it. I married a man with divorced parents, so factor that in.
The 1970's? The last time my life was simple, easy. The last time I felt innocent of life. The last time I remembered being happy in an unencumbered way. The last time I felt like a kid.
So these tears I felt come tonight? In a way, I welcomed them. Because I remembered and felt things I haven't felt in a long time. I missed some family members who have faded out of the picture because of divorce or because my life has taken my away from more regular communication with them.
I will watch this show as long as the network runs it. Not because of my fond childhood memories of my swinger parents (oh, god, no. I mean, Oh, God, please, no? Not MY parents?) but because of the sweet innocence of my childhood I miss ever so dearly. CBS, you've given me that. And I'll take it.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-06-06T09:55:55.501-07:00
Since school's out and I'm not employed, my blog fodder is changing direction this week. Tonight's rave: Girl Child.
Tuesday night, her Mock Trial class held court at the County Courthouse, where a mock murder trial was underway for a grade. Girl Child was on the prosecution's team and delivered the opening statement. After opening statements for both sides were heard, the judge (her teacher, himself an attorney) told the court that her opening statement was perhaps the best he had heard in the years he's taught this course. Her team lost the trial, but got the better grade. The verbal feather in her cap had her floating home from a hard night in court.
This spring her choir performed a freaking difficult, complicated, and impressive piece that won rave reviews by art critics. It was a commissioned work - The Odyssey - that brought together many talents and performers. From her choir, several of the older choristers were selected to sing solos, and Girl Child was one of them.
Tonight, I received an e-mail from her former Artistic Director. The choir was awarded 2008 BEST CHORAL PERFORMANCE of the season by the Austin Critics Table and was presented that award at the Critic's Choice Awards earlier this week. Of special note, the soloists were cited and awarded the "Bringing It Home Award." This is a huge deal for a children's choir to play with the big and seasoned arts groups in Austin.
As I called her to me to let her read the good news, she handed me a piece of paper she's extracted from the end-of-school unloading of the backpack. Our presence is requested at the School Board's meeting Monday evening. There, she will receive commendation for her 2nd place award in the UIL statewide Press Club award in the Best Sports Feature piece in the school's newspaper that was entered in the UIL competition.
The report cards haven't arrived yet, but I'm expecting no surprises there. Congratulations, Girl Child. You finished up the 7th grade and rang in your 13th year with some amazing accomplishments. I'm honored to be your Mama Llama.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-06-01T18:37:16.923-07:00
Hubba Hubba and I observed our 16th wedding anniversary last weekend, but just in name only. His work schedule's all backward, and Girl Child's 13th birthday slumber party was pretty much center stage. So we decided to postpone a week so we could celebrate in a more relaxed manner.
We went to dinner here. OMG. The food was so yuuuuuuum without being too much. We split an Antipasta Misto, I had canneloni, he had babyback ribs and warm Italian potato salad, and split a dish of gelato. I chose an Italian red that I hope to find at Spec's.
After dinner, we strolled down the path under the trees and festival lights over to the restaurant's sister winery. There were a few we liked, so we made our purchases and intended to head home.
However, in the soft ambient light next to the fountain, a guitarist had begun his set. The Jack Johnson-esque music was perfect for the setting. We bought some wine inside the restaurant, found a bench, and enjoyed the perfect Texas breeze that rustled the grasses and every once in a while, delivered a hint of someone's cigar. What a rare treat to spend a few hours in each other's company, uninterrupted by squabbling children or potty talk during dinner.
Can I take a moment to gloat about not racking up $$$ on the babysitter clock because we have a teenager to hold down the fort? Woo-hoo!.
Happy Anniversary to the man who can still rock my world after 20 years together. Te amo.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-06-01T17:56:57.048-07:00
Alright, Jess. Since I'm not in school yet and not really working this coming week, I can sit here on the deck in my back yard, drink a big glass of wine and take you up on your Meme challenge.
1) What were you doing 10 years ago?
Procrastinating on getting pregnant again, working in a job that I could tell was going to get eliminated, seeing the tech market crash hard in our city, and entering a difficult group lawsuit and neighborhood battle which would eventually have us selling out home and moving six months later. Blech. On the upside, I would soon enter a civic leadership program in which I gathered new skills and met some fascinating people.
2)What are the five things at the top of your "to do" list? (I'm assuming this means something a little more exciting than my daily 'to do' list...)
a) Get in shape. Not just weight loss, but having cardio stamina and good core strength. I want to be a strong old woman.
b) Clean and organize every room of my house this summer. This means getting rid of A LOT of shit.
c) Eliminate/whittle down our debt. Not an easy task with the mountain of student loan debt I'm accruing, but I'm working on it.
d) Read many non-nursing books this summer.
e) Explore the places in my city and nearby that I've never been to.
3) What are five snacks you enjoy?
a) Chips, salsa and queso. With a top-shelf margarita, on the rocks, with salt. b) Tapas, cheeses, fruit and red wine. c) Cheese with Rosemary/Olive Oil Triscuits. d) Salted nuts. e) TCBY frozen yogurt.
4) Name some things you would do if you were a millionaire.
Travel, travel and travel. Make sizeable donations to some of my favorite non-profits. Sock away a lot of it in savings for our retirement. Buy a house with lots of trees, a pool and some land so I can have goats. Make sure our parents are taken care of in retirement. Build my brother the modest house he wants.
5) Name some places you have lived: Clarksville, TN (don't remember this, as I was an infant); Davenport, IA; Eldridge, IA; Round Rock, TX; Austin, TX. 6) Name some bad habits you have.
Procrastinating things I don't want to do, impatience, having more than the healthy one glass of wine some nights, hiding inside my house or away from the phone when I'm depressed
7) Name some jobs you've had. Grocery sacker/carryout clerk; salesperson at a clothing store; pet store employee; usher at a concert venue; receiver of sweaty ice skates at an ice rink; bank teller; communications specialist for a bank; community relations manager for said bank; PR account rep; communications director for a law firm; substitute elementary school teacher; school nurse.
We finished our school year at my job. I still have a few days of planning work next week to get ready for next school year, but I can slob out and crank my radio and duff off a little bit while I do it.
The school's first crop of 5th graders graduated, and on to middle schools they advance. Since it took me a full year to learn 260 names (OK, sometimes I have to cheat and ask my assistant - OK, lots of times), I'm glad I'm around for another year so I can continue working with these students.
I decided that, even with my degree switch, to stay at this job for another school year. After that, I will start seriously job hunting/networking in early September 2009 as I eye my MSN completion 4 months later. I can't believe I'm headed back into the world of a full-time career and possibly having to make actual wardrobe choices five days a week. I'm enjoying where I'm at for the next year and a half.
School nursing not the most exciting nursing I've ever done, by any stretch. I'd be lying if I said I never missed doing things like blood draws, starting IVs, removing C-section staples, doing 8 patient assessments first thing in the morning, etc.
But this year - my first year of nursing - I did other sorts of nursing that floor nursing might not have afforded me. I did have a few pick-ups that made me feel like I knew what I was doing. (Umbilical hernia, diabetes or IBS, anyone?) I found myself stepping into a counseling role for some of the students. I was the receiver of hugs in the hallway. Every single day.
I got to know many of the students well enough so that intuitively, I knew if they were sick or if something was 'up.' I creatively talked a student with major 'issues' through a panic attack and got him calmed down enough to go back to class.
My seizure disorder student was brought to my office by a quick-thinking aide who noticed he was not himself and he was very congested. When this child stood in my doorway, the beginning-of-school meeting with his mom flashed through my head, as did the tip sheet I put together for this child's father (who reunited with the family mid-year) about how to avoid seizures. We averted one, but I know if we hadn't moved, he would have seized and possibly hurt himself if his seizure occurred outside my office.
I had more phone and in-person conversations with parents than I ever thought a school nurse would have.
I counseled a boy without a mom about his offensive personal hygiene issues. Several times.
(Warning: Gross) I had the pleasure on the last day of school of catching pus as it wormed its way out of a child's ginormous inguinal "boil" as the child writhed in pain while I tried to clean and bandage him up, while insisting over the phone to the parents that a doctor's visit was necessary to prevent further infection.
I had to use my nursing judgment in situations that were challenging. Listening to a father tell me that his son's MRSA could be cured with essence of garlic, or have a parent ignore my repeated requests that she have her son evaluated for diabetes, or trying to not feel judgmental when a parent stands in front of us, reeking of marijuana smoke or calling the police after a child is dropped off from school by a drunk mother or getting yelled at by an administrator because I intervened aggressively during a flu outbreak and sent home kids with fevers less than the required 100.4...I'm still standing. Just like I know nurses on the floor feel like after a day of family members or doctors or head nurses or patients testing every thread of their remaining patience.
I taught the 4th grade girls about menstruation. What an eye-opening experience that was. The girls themselves were great to work with, but their questions and comments gave me soooooo much insight into the intricacies of cultural nuances and family beliefs that factor into their views on sexuality, womanhood, gender roles. Powerful stuff to see happen in the foundation years.
I watched how much home life affects school work, behavior, self-esteem. Some reaffirming things going on in our families, some things made me sad as I drive home at the end of my day.
I worked with one family to manage their child's asthma, another family whose child had bowel issues, another two families whose children felt defiant about having to take medication for ADHD. On the flip side, I have parents who don't like me because I didn't buy the "It's just allergies" line when I sent a kid home to rule out conjunctivitis, another parent who was mad because I sicced administration on her when she wouldn't come pick up her vomiting child, and quite a few who don't like our school's vigilant stance on live lice. Oh, well.
One of the biggest compliments I received was from a teacher. She told me that in her 17 years of teaching, I was only the second school nurse she was happy with. Wow.
I am surrounded by teachers, staff, and administrators that always remember to keep the child first. Attention to personal detail is something we can do with our campus size, but what a difference it makes. The dedication to these kids that I witness every day reminds me that I am blessed to have this job and to work with people who work their butts off to make sure each child has the potential to be successful.
I will admit, being off for about two months with my kids is pretty kickass. I am taking one class over the summer, but it's nothing compared to the two summers of classes during my RN foundation coursework.
When I conveyed my plans to stay for the next year, a couple of staff people told me "That's the longest we've had a school nurse here." Nature of our school and the people who work in that position, I think. We've all been tied to the university, had other things going on and really, school nursing here doesn't pay well. But how funny that I feel like I have tenure!
And to get my fix for suture removals (I love doing them), my mom's surgeon OKd her having me remove the 15 sutures from the top of her head where she had a basal cell carcinoma removed this week, two days before they moved from Houston. I did DH's post-op suture removal in his surgeon's office, now my mom. That's the stuff family memories are made of, for sure.
Happy summer to you.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-05-26T09:49:31.521-07:00
In 1994 when I owned up to my hidden realization I might want to try to get pregnant, I nervously threw the idea out into the room to Hubba Hubba one night to find out where he was mentally on the whole spectrum. We had been only married just over 2 year, we were only 26 years old, we had originally planned to delay children a few more years, but I had a feeling I shouldn't wait too long. In fact, I worried there was something wrong with me and I wouldn't be able to get pregnant.
To my surprise, he said "Let's ditch the pills". We did, and the next month I was pregnant. Again, much to my surprise. After the "Oh my God, we're expecting? For real?" wore off a week later, we were silly excited.
The pregnancy was textbook. I was 8 days past my due date with an obviously large baby, with no signs of dilation in my future despite an earlier attempt at membrane stripping. We decided to induce in order to drag this kid into the world.
We didn't want to know the gender, but I was CONVINCED I was having a boy. I pictured myself mothering a boy baby, a boy child, a boy teenager.
After an hour of pushing, with three sets of grandparents camped out in the waiting room, Hubba watched the baby emerge and announced the arrival of our child, calling it by the boy's name we had chosen, but switched mid-gear and turned it into a question - "Girl Child?" and busted out laughing.
I was stunned. First of all, I grabbed that 8-lb,4-oz squalling baby and felt for all limbs, felt her head, her face. Then I immediately thought "What am I going to do with a girl? I don't know how to do 'girl'."
Fast forward thirteen years. Obviously, I figured it out. There are so many books and so much advice for parents of newborns, toddlers, young kids. Looking back, I felt an information overload THEN. It's too easy for parents now to forget that so much of parenting is freaking common sense. The consumerism we flounder in drives parents to believe their children will perish if they do not purchase certain goods or start their child in learning activities in the first month. Mothers with self-esteem struggles boost their own self-worth by making others feel less worthy if they choose to *gasp* not make their own organic baby food at home or breastfeed until the child is two years old. Society can make mothers feel like they've made the wrong choice when they return to their jobs or when they give up a career.
No wonder kids are stressed out when they become adolescents. Parents focus their every ounce of energy on making sure these babies/toddlers/children are raised so impeccably, we place them in a fishbowl of sorts. Watching what they eat, how they swim, how they breathe, watching for signs of brilliance or panicking at signs of the lack thereof.
I've come to realize that there is value in some degree of slacker parenting. Within reason, of course. But seriously. You have to let kids fall down, get their feelings hurt, suffer the repercussions of getting into trouble or other consequences of making mistakes. I remember one mother shocked that I refused to deliver to school an assignment Girl Child had left on the coffee table, one that was due that day. I can only nag about organizing school work so much. This would be one way she'd learn that leaving her crap around was not a good strategy. And it worked.
I found some great books, received some genuinely helpful advice from other parents, and had a good pediatrician. Our own parents still know a few tricks themselves. Along the way, I also realized Girl Child's caretakers (I worked full time) taught me many things, as did some of her teachers in elementary school, and later in middle school.
So here I sit, as of this weekend, officially the parent of a teenager. Since she started middle school, I have learned that this is the part of parenting that's hardest. All those things I thought I was supposed to stress over back then were important, but not as challenging. This? Frightful. Unlike anything I've ever attempted to do.
Now, you have to hunt to find decent books about how to parent a teenager. And let me tell you, there are plenty of agendas out there posing as parenting books. I find it amusing that parents of young children will find fault with my parenting techniques - "You're so strict." "Why won't you buy her X,Y or Z?" Or parents and other teenagers don't understand why our child thinks it's stupid for her peers to spend money at stores that use almost-teen-porn to advertise or for a middle-school girl to have a Coach bag or that shopping at thrift stores can be fun and that life without cable TV can be survived. Most often, I talk with friends with teenagers and we admit to each other that we find ourselves saying quite often "I don't know what to do." There is much comfort in that company.
Again, we will figure it out intuitively as we go, carefully taking the pieces of advice we feel will work for our family. She's an excellent student, a talented artist/musician, a good athlete, and most of all, a happy and pleasant young woman. I don't think we're doing too terribly.
Thank you for making me a mommy thirteen years ago, Girl Child. Thank you for defying the odds against you that I learned later should have made me infertile. Thank you for putting up with parents learning how to do this. Thank you for the precious memories I have of your life. Thank you for being the incredible baby/toddler/child/teenager that you have been and are now. I love you so much.We will survive these days called The Teenage Years. And one day, we will laugh about them.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-05-23T22:30:58.881-07:00
First you're college students meeting under awkward circumstances, next thing you know you're trying to sneak in quickie anniversary sex after I get home from work/before you go to work/before the kids get home from school/before the youngest child's second grade afterschool playdate guests invade.
And yeah. I'll definitely take a rain check on that delay of game due to punctual adults. Damn.
Where did those years in between go? There's been so much living but it seems like it can't possibly have been 20 years since we met and 16 since we married.
Happy Anniversary, Hubba. I hope you always think of me as your Sexy Girlfriend.
School Nurse Jack on 2008-05-22T21:14:12.442-07:00
There is a part of town not too far from us that brings out the ugly in me. Ugly like "God, I hate people." I hate feeling like that. It's not very becoming to a nurse.
This part of town is upscale, where perfectly dressed and groomed women in their jaunty berets and breasts drive Escalades or larger to drop off their two kids at Mothers Day Out so they can go do whatever it is they do while the kids are away. Probably consult with their designers about the redo of their dining room or play tennis in skirts. Where my Volvo S80 is looked down on because - ew - it's a 2002. (Gasp) Where homogenous-looking power men go have power lunches but they try to look all casual and hip about it. Where a certain garden and hardware store also offers china registries for brides.
I know - why I am I there? There is nothing jaunty about me except my attitude, some days. The thought of having to hire anyone to do work on my house exhausts me. The main thing holding me back from playing tennis is the thought of having to don one of those stupid skirt type things. For four years I wore one every Friday of my life practically as a cheerleader. Ain't gonna happen now. And trust me, nobody's crying a river over that proclamation.
Even people like me have business to do over there in Snooty Tooty Ville (I stole that phrase from a teacher at my school). And when I do, I notice how totally invisible I am to those people. I threw a snide comment to a clerk last weekend because she couldn't be bothered to actually talk to me during our transaction, but had no problem talking to the other customers at the checkout kiosk. I guess my Bona hardwood floor cleaner wasn't a prestigious enough purchase, nor was my attire impressive.
You can tell a lot about a part of town just by the way the regulars drive. I notice people drive like utter and complete assholes in the parking lots and stores there. Over here, people are just mean. Like, "Oh, I see you approaching but let me pull out in front of you because I AM IMPORTANT." Or driving fast through the parking lot, not caring if people might actually need to pull out of a parking space or, you know, cross the street. Today my favorite demonstration was an older male driver of a Lexus SUV. He took his sweet time pulling out of his parking space, but did so incorrectly. Rather than have to maneuver his vehicle backward to get into his own lane, he seemed peeved that I didn't offer to back up my car so he could take up the whole freaking lane.
When I parked, I returned a call to a longtime friend of ours - Hubba's BFF, if you will. But he became a dear friend of mine along the way. We've shared many laughs, apartments, dogs, wine, drunken adventures, and my husband (not that way!) for 20 or so years now. He even went to Lamaze class with us in case Hubba Hubba was out of town for work when the big moment happened. I had fun letting the other classmates wonder what our "special" situation was. But I digress.
I told him where I was and lamented "Every time I'm over here, I have this recurring thought."
L: And that would be?
Me: That if I'm ever fortunate enough to become wealthy, please dear God or the universe, do not let me become an ASSHOLE!
L: ((Quiet))
Me: You there?
L: ((Chuckles)) Yeah...maybe you should just focus on that "becoming wealthy" part.
Me: Are you saying that because I'm already an asshole?
L: ((Loud laugh))
Me: Huh.
As we used to say back in the day, we tease because we love, L. I am quite sure you're teasing. Maybe.
Some days, I think he's right. These days, I have those days more frequently. My inability to prevent these moments from bringing out my ugly makes me as much of an asshole as the people I have a hard time tolerating. Shitty parents, insolent teens, people who can not be bothered to consider how their actions affect others, whiners, clueless or apathetic customer service personnel, lazy insurance claim reviewers...I could go on. But I won't.
Because I'm going to focus on the people who energize me, make me smile, make me care, serve me margaritas made up right, stop their work in a pharmacy to talk with me about the Boston Celtics of the late 80's, point out the canteloupe I'm about to buy is 99 cents per pound, not 99 cents each...I could go on. I should go on.
This is why I do not make New Years Resolutions. I welcome a-ha moments throughout the year to remind me what I can do better to better myself. And not letting people affect my moods and feelings is a good place to start tomorrow.
(((Must stop to consider if I am still allowed to let my kids get to me. If not, I may have to take up monastic chanting to overcome that challenge.))
