Salmonella

With my medical background I get really nervous working with raw chicken. But sometimes I’m like, “Well a little salmonella poisoning could be good for the waistline…”

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Roll Out

Thanksgiving means my husband gets a day off. He needs it. They “rolled out” a new system of something and it didn’t go well.

They never do. Whoever coined that phrase was trying really hard to figure out something else to call this “really shitty new thing the boss is going to make you do.”

I remember when I was working and we “rolled out” a new documentation system. We had to have extra staff on hand and our meals were catered that day. Because rolling shit out sucks.

“Republicans roll out a new tax plan.” Sound better than “republicans typed up thousands of pages of new tax shit you won’t read and it’s going to really screw you over!” (It’s ok, I can that because I’m a republican.)

In my opinion, the only successful roll out in modern American history is Ludacris’s 2009 hit track “Rollout“.

Alex Wubbels

Alex Wubbels is our leader. I want a tattoo of her face, on my face. So when people get out of line with me, I can show them my Wubbels.

Her arrest has gone viral for being shitty and wrong. Many scary, wrong things have happened to me as critical care nurse as well. But nothing could have prepared this poor woman for being arrested for simply advocating patients rights and clarifying hospital protocol (which was mutually agreed upon by the hospital and the police department in question, might I add). My God, that detective leapt at her like a rabid banshee! He’s lucky the holy hell of nurses didn’t rain down upon him then and there! There probably wasn’t time, he skedaddled out of there.

You would think people would have learned their lesson from The View, you don’t f@&$ with nurses. We take shit too, cops. I’ve held the hand of mom while she withdrew care from her teenage son and walked into the next room to feed a restrained, belligerent alcoholic some chocolate pudding. All while keeping a cool head.

And if that idiot detective ever does something else stupid like lights his face on fire and lands in Alex’s care one fine day, I know he will receive first class and professional care, as if they had never met (Lord knows he won’t have any unnecessary blood draws). Because if there is one thing I can tell you, us nurses can hand you your ass when need be. But when it’s time to save lives, it doesn’t matter what your name is, your life matters just as much as the next guy.

I guess that’s the difference between cops and nurses. Asshole.

Cost of War

I saw my dad as ten foot tall and bullet proof as a child. Heck, even as an adult!

The truth? He was 6 foot 2, and experiencing crippling flashbacks of horrific wartime moments that included having a pallet of live ammunition dropped on his hand and then being Life-flown to army hospital only be to returned to the front line a few days later, being in the vehicle of a car that was being shot at while it reversed and drove over the little boy shooting at them, and watching the man next to him be killed.

Vietnam killed my dad; he died in 2015.

It wasn’t the Agent Orange (although I’m sure we will later find some connection to that and the significant physical and cognitive disabilities in my sister).

It was PTSD. I don’t think I need to spell it out, you’ve heard of that monster. It’s been all over the media. Its gaining support and momentum from everyone! Except the government. He didn’t sign up for the war. His soul wasn’t built to kill. But the one place these men and women were told to turn to, were told that they would take care of them, turned their back on our heroes.

That too is all over the media. You’ve heard of that monster as well. The failing VA. But let me tell you what happened to my dad after his diagnosis.

He had to surrender his guns. His 2nd amendment was ripped away.

He had to “secure a fiduciary”. It was me, his child. He was told his child was of more sound mind to handle his finances than he was.

He was denied disability for two years after taking an early retirement. He had to retire early because his VA therapy meetings and doctor appointments consumed his time. He had very little to no money for those two years being a divorced man.

And on top of it all. He never slept.

He always saw that little boy in his dreams nightmares.

Disease processes secondary to Agent Orange that my dad was diagnosed with:

-Diabetes mellitus, type II

-Ischemic Heart Disease

-Peripheral neuropathy, early onset

No, my dad didn’t die from suicide. Although he was being treated for severe depression, anxiety, and insomnia in addition to the PTSD and above mentioned diagnosis. But those diseases had consumed his life. And not at all by his choice. The appointments and meetings and medicines. As so often done in the medical field, a list of meds and diagnosis replaced a person. Became the person.

But he seemed so peaceful and happy the year before he died. So involved with the family and relaxed and social. So at peace. We just didn’t know that he was finally at peace because he’d made a decision to take back control of his life and…quit.

The day my husband and I found my dad on his floor was the day before we found out that he had quit taking all of his medications. Quit going to all his appointments. Quit begging the government for help. Quit.

The official cause of death was natural causes, likely cardiac.

But Vietnam killed my dad.

This is the cost of war.

written by my dad after being diagnosed and subsequently declared “incompetent” related to his PTSD

Heartbroken 

I write about grief so much it annoys me….but here we go again!

I hit a milestone yesterday. It was the first time since the passing of my father, that my heart broke for someone else. You know, there is something about the bond between a daddy and a daughter and I was devastated when I lost my dad in my 30’s. But yesterday, a longtime friend of Sissey et al. lost her father and she’s 10. 

I cannot fathom not having him there at my graduations, my wedding, the births of my children (in the waiting room). But this larger than life father now has the best seat in the house, but it’s not the same. 

This isn’t the way it should be. There are two young, school aged children who have to begin a long, complicated, and confusing grieving process that no child should ever have to endure. And so my heart breaks for them.

Diverticulitis Update

Disclaimer: we’ve moved into my inlaws because we’re building a house and our house sold too fast. We’ll be here about 3 months. I love my inlaws and my husband. They are the best!

Day 12: Hubby et. al grabbed groceries on his way home from worked and bought himself…..pizza rolls*

*GASP*

This is apparently a death trap for no officially diagnosed diverticulitis. I didn’t catch on the subtle comments at first.

So while sitting down to watch Deadpool as a family (see upcoming post 😬), my husband made himself some pizza rolls.

“Oh that’s no good for his stomach issues.” (He had one tummy ache)

“You can’t eat those things Hubby et. al. They are so unhealthy.” (He knew that when he bought them)

So while sitting next to my mil, she Facebooks me this:

No warning. No explanation. No comment afterward.

As she and I sat next to each other on the love seat.

Watching Deadpool.

Pseudo-Medical Emergency 

Disclaimer: we’ve moved into my inlaws because we’re building a house and our house sold too fast. We’ll be here about 3 months. I love my inlaws and my husband. They are the best!
Day 4: My husband has developed a tummy ache overnight. By tummy ache, I mean he sat there at 3am for about 30mins thinking he was about to have diarrhea. Luckily, he didn’t. But his stomach still hurt the following morning. He ate breakfast fine and went to work.

Upon waking up, I told my inlaws about our night and how my husbands tummy hurt. 
*First mistake* 
*Umbilical cord regenerated*
It was at that moment he ceased being my husband and morphed into a ten year old little boy who’s appendix had likely ruptured and he was clearly dying….but he was at WORK?
“How could you let him go to work?” Oh crap, I don’t know. Did I miss something? Frantic. What do we do?
Text Hubby et. al, for status update 2 hours into work…
“….it still hurts. I still feel like I could shit my pants but haven’t.”
Time to call the Aunt who cleans the hospital for medical advice. 
Her medical diagnosis: diverticulitis

Recommends I look up symptoms, treatments and so on, on the Internet. A bachelors in nursing and 75% of a masters towards a nurse practitioner degree is not enough knowledge in diverticulitis. 

One must consult hospital cleaning staff and then google more information. This will save lives.

Noon: inlaws visit Hubby et. al for umbilical reattachment and cuddles (assumption only). Still no vomiting or diarrhea. Still eating normally. Pain still there. Hurts when he coughs. No cough or Coke, he’s just “testing it.”

Hubby et. al home from work. Walking normal. Talking normal. Not taking any over the counter meds for pain. Hurt when he turns to the left and coughs little baby coughs. Still has no cough or cold.
Mother in laws feels forehead with her hand and declares fever. Approximately 106. Give or take. Hubby et. al to bed…with dinner. He is hungry.
Hubby et. al poops. MIL checks it. It’s normal, but she thinks that’s a bad sign. His diverticulitis is trying to trick us.
Her et. al is grossed out…even for a nurse.
Day 5: in laws up early to check on regeneration of umbilical cord partner. 
He rates his pain at 12.45% better. MIL recommends maybe not having breakfast.
The thought increases pain level.
Breakfast is served
Baby et. al vomits. MIL declares babies emesis is related to her teething. 

She is not teething. 

But I’m only her mother and we haven’t called the aunt who cleans the hospital to double check me yet. 

2:00pm: I vomit.

No one notices at the moment. Fine. I collect myself, clean up, and brush my teeth.

People come help me..”hello, I just threw up downstairs. I think I may be catching whatever is going around here.”

Dead silence. Apparently diverticulitis isn’t contagious. 

Her et. al exits scenario. 

We’ll let this be between a mother and her baby. And I’ll try to erase this from my memory during the next sexy time.