June, 2007 Archive

is it just my kids, or every little boys do it? in restaurants, while waiting for the food to arrive, they usually play a little game and sneak under the table. it is there where they see paradise.

look, chewed gums of different colors! look, so hard and sticky!  look, yummy! look, it feels just right in my mouth! look mommy! i found candy under the table! yum!

please. in the name of all imperfect mothers like me who are not quick and efficient enough to catch the chewed gum from boys’ tiny little hands before it enters their tiny little mouths…please, don’t stick your chewed gums under the table!

for the record, my kids want you to keep doing it. looking for these so called treasures is half the fun for them than actually eating something that didn’t come from mommy’s kitchen. but please.

please?

i know. sometimes, i just ask too much.

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just wondering. when we are in church, and the kids all of a sudden cried or produced a sound loud enough for the people on the third pew to hear…what does it mean when you look at the kids, then, look at the parents, then look at the kids, look at the parents, then, look at the kids, look at the parents……?

i mean, i get the first look. you might be wondering where the sound came from. finding out that it came from normal looking kids, i get the first look intended for us…meaning, get your loud mouthed kids to shut up. but when the kids are all quiet and everything is peaceful, and you hear or see the whispered apologies, but you still keep on with those looks, what does it mean?

what does it mean? i hope it doesn’t mean that you are telling us we are the planet’s crappiest, most terrible, most horrible parents, because the way you raise both your eyebrows and enlarge your nostrils while you contort your lips to this undescribable projections, it does FEEL like that.

and not that i am aiming for the best mother of the year award here, but i am really trying to do the best that i can. so please, tell me you just feel like looking at us over and over because you just like looking at us.

i know. sometimes, church makes me so paranoid, it’s not even funny.

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one of my coworkers went on a three week tour in europe. i don’t know exactly how much money she has in the bank, but i know for sure that i definitely do not have as much or even one percent of what she has.

anyway, they passed by switzerland. and she bought a souvenir. a watch. an 8,230.00 US dollars omega watch. am i the only one who actually had to ask a number of times if i heard her perfectly clear when i heard the price of this watch?

anyway, she was on her way home, and didn’t really feel like wearing the watch on the plane.  she placed it in her hand carry bag. she went to the restroom, left the bag in her seat. she came back from the restroom, the watch is gone! just like that!

anyway, i am still not over the fact that she bought a watch as expensive as this because i do not have that amount of money to spare, but i am wildly amused at this incident. there are just so many fascinating little questions, i won’t even bore you what they are.

anyway, just like every fairy tale story, this one has a happy ending. she has a “purchae protection plan” on her credit card. and yes, you guessed it. they will refund the whole amount! all she had to do was to fill up a form that said her claim that the watch got lost on the plane was not a fraud. in two weeks, the paperworks will be done, and it will be like nothing happened.

anyway, i am still not over the fact that she bought a watch as expensive as this, but i guess you know that already. it’s just that i didn’t have a clue that there is such a thing as a very trusting credit card company. i mean, you can just tell them something that costs that much got lost, and they will just believe you? not that i don’t believe my coworker, because i know her enough and i know she is telling the truth, and she has witnesses that i know but…

anyway, i guess if you trust everyone enough to leave a watch like that in your bag while you go to the restroom, you deserve to be treated kindly by a credit card company, with the same level of trust. on some level this has made me realize that the world is still a really a good place to live in, but in some bizarre way, i also feel like this whole thing is just so unbelievable.

anyway, she said she might go back to switzerland next year. and buy the same watch.

what?

i know. sometimes, i get so random, it gets embarassing. 

whatever it was that he did, it must be something really serious. or scary. or serious AND scary.

his left arm was shackled to the side rail, his left leg was shackled at the end of the bed. there was a black freaky looking thing on the nurse’s server/drawer. it was open, and it has stuff in it that are all foreign looking to me, except the handcuffs. there were files on the pocket, and one said “Federal outpatient”.

there were guns. i didn’t count how many, but they were there, a few inches away from my syringes and needles. to some, it wouldn’t be that weird, but for me, it was. i have not touched a real gun in my entire 37 years of life! i have seen them from afar, mostly on police offcers’ waists. honestly, the sight made me a little uneasy and  i acted like a silly little scared girl. i would put the meds an inch away from the guns, acting like the thing will explode if i happen to accidentally touch it. i know, but it freaked me out a bit.

anyway, he was admitted for a procedure. an obviously jaundiced liver patient who had hepatitis of different sorts of letters in the alphabet. he was quiet and polite. i don’t know if it was his nature, or it was because four law enforecement officers were in the room with him.

they were all muscled. and tall. and authoritative looking. i don’t know if that was a requirement, or a plain coincidence. their presence made the room look tiny. it also felt overly secured and scary. at the same time.

the truth is, my initial reaction was that of indifference. i voiced out to the outgoing nurse that FOUR officers seemed a little bit outrageous. i mean, with those chains, it seemed impossible for a pained, weak patient to even sit up! how can he stand up? by taking the whole bed with him? how can he overpower even one officer so he can either harm other people, or escape? i said, “isn’t that a waste of money?”

i was told that i was sooooo naive. naive because the patient was VERY dangerous, and we all deserve to be protected from him. i still found the whole thing ridiculous, but i went on with the night with an open mind, thinking i should be very grateful, and careful. he is a very dangerous man, and he could do something stupid. the officers were there to protect me, and i will probably need more of them.

i was at the point of being convinced i was wrong for thinking the whole thing was a waste, when i overheard one of the officers say “man, this is easy money. AND overtime pay too.” they all laughed and agreed. well, i guess i wasn’t so wrong after all.

the night  was over before i knew it. the patient threw up twice. he asked for a list of his meds. he was convinced that the new HIV med was making him sick. i gave him pain medicine four times. the officers asked for ice chips twice. the trash can was full of empty pizza boxes. the guns were untouched. the patient thanked me. i thanked the officers. they wished me “a good day, or night”. i clocked out. it was uneventful.

on the way home, i thought of these questions:

why was i surprised that the patient was polite? did i expect him to be rude just because he was a prisoner?

what is it with everybody asking me if he was a serial killer or something? is it even appropriate to ask either the patient or the officers about his crime? i didn’t see the need, that’s why i didn’t ask. but why would everyone be interested?

is it because i am so trusting, that i thought two officers would have been enough? or was it because i was so stupidly naive?

was it wrong for me to feel bad for other people (non prisoners) who do not have insurance, and do not get to have the same procedures as timely as possible? is it even realistic to compare a prisoner to anybody else as far as health care is concerned?

if i was right in assuming he was serving for life (based on some of his statements), was it insensitive of me to think that if it was me, i will not do the procedure anymore because prolonging my life is sort of pointless?

this led to endless questions relating to how should one person serving a life sentence react or act when he has a serious medical condition. i could be getting ahead of myself here, but i feel like an illness that will eventually lead to my early death is better than going through a lot of medical interventions to prolong my life in prison. but then again, that’s just me.

would you do the same thing? will you willingly subject yourself to every possible treatment, religiously take all those HIV cocktails, so you can “enjoy” more years of life in prison? why?  

i don’t know. it just seems so gray. and confusing.

i admit i have learned  a couple of things about myself that night. one minor thing is the fact that i do not have it in me to even touch a real gun. another thing is, i should stop being such a hypocrite and polish my “do not generalize” attitude.

still, there are questions…
and the answers must be out there.     

a couple of nights ago, i was told by one of my patients that i was a “very harsh nurse”. his words, not mine.

due to the fact that i was literally running my ass around making sure all my four patients get the best of what they deserve, i literally had no energy to prove him wrong.

so, i just stood there and listened to his litany of reasons why i was all of a sudden the worst nurse in the planet. when he was done and finally told me “you can speak up now, what do you have to say?”, i told him, “sorry sir. i have nothing to say, i just want to check your blood sugar.”

he was dying of esophageal cancer and i feel for him. if telling his daughter i did all the the things  i did (checking his blood sugar, repositioning, inserting a foley catheter) WITHOUT telling him first what i was going to do, when in fact i did, (because really, how is it possible to just place a tube in somebody’s penis without telling them?) will make his last days of life a little easier, i don’t mind.

i didn’t want to start a game of “he said she said”. i didn’t want to argue over nothing. i just kept quiet, sucked it all up and listened to his daughter (who, as i was clearly told, was a very good nurse) confront me about the things he told her that made me such a harsh nurse. i listened until there was silence. then, i apologized.

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last week, my liver cancer patient was told by his doctor that  he had approximately four months to live. it could be less, but it couldn’t be more, at least, based on bis medical condition. unless of course, there is that miracle.

i did nothing special. i took care of his needs as i usually do, and i  just did what i knew was appropriate. i told him i was there if he needed me there, and i gave him privacy if he wanted to be alone with his family, or with his thoughts. the next night, when he asked another nurse if i was still his nurse and she said yes, he told her i was a “very good nurse”. his words, not mine.

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i have been called names. i have been told things. about myself, about other people i know or care about. good ones, bad ones, the in between ones. i don’t know, but most of the times, i always have this urge to write about evrything. back when i didn’t know blogging was existent, i wrote in all kinds of papers. i must have filled thousands of pages of papers just writing my thoughts or feelings or ideas about what just happened. writing made things more real. it made things better if it was bad, sweeter if it was good.

when i started this blog, that’s exactly what i got out of it. i got a kick out of seeing my thoughts organized in words that i thought cleared my mind. i always felt that writing about something made me realize my mistakes, and made me aspire to be better. i wrote for myself, and it made me feel good.

then, something happened…

people started reading the stuff that i wrote, and i discovered something fascinating. i realized that it is good to know that there are people out there who can relate to what i went through, and it is also fascinating to know that there people who just couldn’t care less. it made blogging even better. i found internet friends who lifted my spirit up when something bad came up, people who inspired me to keep on doing better. i also found people who gave me realistic criticisms that eventually made me reflect more on how i can do better.

then…

i started feeling this whole responsibility. i felt like there are people out there reading this blog and expect something. it hit me hard. it hit me hard when i realized that i might be shortchanging people who come here, for whatever reason. i looked back and saw my own redundance, and it sort of bored me and made me wonder how it must have bored others.

i am aware that there are other things happening in the world of nursing, or in the world, but here i am, always talking about the same things. the same things. all the time.

it could be about that esophageal cancer patient who “hated” me, or that liver cancer patient who “loved” me. it’s either i am happy because a patient  liked what i did, and felt like i really made a difference. or, i feel crappy because a patient just told me that i was the nurse from hell. it’s either i was told i was a good/great nurse, and i was elated. or, i was reminded that i suck big time at what i do and i felt terrible. different scenarios, the same points. all the time. how boringly predictable!

i concluded i will spare the blogosphere. i thought i had to shut my mouth, and go back to my pens and thousands of papers, where i only bore myself and not involve anybody else in my randomness. i made my decision to close my blog after a lot of thought.

but…

just like any other kind of thinking, i realized something. i realized that the blogosphere is a democratic space, just like any form of media. say tv for example. if you turn it on and you don’t like what you see, all you have to do is get the remote, click it, and that show is gone. the same thing here. if you find my repeatitive whining and gushing boring, you definitely have it in your hands to exit.

that realization gave me such big sense of relief. it made me happy. i used to feel a sense of guilt after blogging on yet another boring elaboration of my emotions, now, i felt none. i felt free, and it felt good.

to make the long story even longer, i twirled things in my head. then, i changed my mind. i decided i will keep on blogging, on sharing my stories. i will keep on boring myself, and i will stop thinking or even worrying about other things, particulary about causing other people that agony of boredom. after all, we obviously have our choices, and it is weird how that fact escaped me at one point.

you have no idea how great it is to know that you are all out there rooting for me when i feel down, or confronting me when you think i am being such a bitch, and for that,  i THANK YOU! i am staying. if you feel like staying, know that your presence is appreciated.

on the other hand, if you feel like giving up on the whole “May boring stories and ideas thing”, please feel free to go. i will not mind, even if it will make me feel like losing someone close, i will deal with it. because no matter how much i love blogging, i don’t really want to bore other people to death.

i guess what i’m really saying is….thank you for staying, that really means a lot to me. i hope you don’t mind me staying in your blogging world as well, because i do choose to stay. and although i’ll really love it if you to stay, if you’re tired of me, i surely wouldn’t mind you clicking on that X.

now, we can all start living happily ever after, right?

“i’ve been through all that three years ago. thanks to my daughter, i am still here.”

i did sense the sarcasm, and was about to let it go, but she was not ready to let me go, so i asked if she didn’t really feel grateful to be alive.

“i tell you, it is more of a curse than a blessing. let’s just say that i hate dialysis with a burning passion. you think that can explain why i am so angry at my daughter for asking the doctors to do EVERYTHING just to keep me alive back then? i mean, six months i was in the hospital. a couple of months on that ventilator, and i can’t even tell them i would really have loved to go. you know, dying would have been better. but my daughter? she wanted EVERYTHING done. now, waiting for a kidney, you think i love waiting?”

i was silent for a moment. it would have been better if i stayed that way, but i was still cleaning her up after administering that 30 ml of antibiotic to her bladder through her urethra (which, to be honest, freaked me out at first because i have never done it before), so i sort of spoke in behalf of her daughter. i told her i would have done the same if i were in her daughter’s shoes.

“well, i was 64 back then, it would have been perfectly alright for me to go. i still haven’t really forgiven her, and i don’t think i ever will. i hope it never happens again. i hope this time i made it VERY clear to her that i do not want to be resuscitated again. never again. ever.”

she asked how cloudy the urine was, the urine that came out just before i administered the antibiotic. i told her it was cloudy. she wanted to see it, but i told her it was with the rest of the trash. she knew i didn’t really want her to see it.

“i bet you it’s like milk. you think with all these modern drugs and all, they can fix this infection. i don’t believe that anymore. i mean, antibiotics of all kinds for the past three months, and i still pee droplets of urine as white as milk, i pee every 30 minutes. and you would think i should never pee anymore, i mean, both my kidneys are supposed to be extremely messed up. why am i still peeing? and why am i still here?”

what do i say to that? nothing. so i didn’t say anything. i nstead, i covered her up, and turned off the light. i told her to have a good night, and to call me if she needed any help.

“if she just let me go, i won’t be suffering all these….”

how times change. it used to be that people are grateful to be given a second shot at life. no matter how difficult that life is after a near death experience. i mean, three years of being able to live, that should at least mean something good, right? wrong.

what i’m saying is, although i don’t totally understand her, i won’t say i don’t really undertsnad her. i guess it all depends now. it all depends on something, or on a lot of things.

as for her daughter, i wonder how she handles the emotional battle of being blamed that she wanted her mother to live longer. to be blamed for a day is one thing, but for three years, nonstop? it must be tough. imagine having to make that decision, thinking at that very moment, that you were making the best decision ever. success must have been sweet, and she might have even called it a miracle. she  must have emotionally savored that time when her mother finally made it thorugh the crisis and lived. 

sadly, that feeling of success was only for a fleeting second. it must be hard to be on her shoes. to be told that she screwed up by not letting her mother die. being a daughter, that kind of screwing up must be one of the toughest screw ups.

i went home confused. confused on what to feel or think about my patient’s very angry attitude. confused if i said the right thing by implying i agreed with her daughter and disagreed with her, but not really.

i also went home feeling sorry for my patient’s daughter. at the same time, i felt grateful that i didn’t have to wear her shoes.

sometimes, you never reallize how ideas of gratitude can come out from a busy 12 hour night shift. you think you just go to work to get by, to help. you don’t expect to find things to be grateful for. especially from an unusual story. but you find it. you find ideas. they come, and you never forget them.