You know that receptacle on the kitchen counter or desk or wherever? It could be a basket or bowl or something, but its sole purpose it to be a place for random crap that people drop. Ours is a large ceramic bowl on the kitchen table. The Catch-All. Ink pens, keys, restaurant coupons, junk mail, my badge and stethoscope from work....You can find anything in there, and I'm sure we aren't the only family with one of those.
Well, this is the catch-all post. Because I don't wanna post a bunch because, well, I'll get to that first.
First of all, I am working like a slave. And it has caught up with me. And I feel like garbage in more ways than one. For starters, my job is getting to me. Last night, I had to withdraw care on a 45-year-old father of 3 who suffered a spontaneous aneurysm that created a massive bleed in his brain. He was gone. Brain dead. And after listening to the wails of his wife and children echo off of the walls of the ICU unit for about 6 hours, the family decided it was time to let him go. I hate doing that. The suffering. The sadness. And aside from that, my face will be in their memories of his death. They won't associate it with pathology. They will see the woman who came in and extubated him on command, knowing he would not breathe once off of the ventilator. And that is seriously some depressing crap. And furthermore, I am sick. Physically sick. I've caught it either from my children, who have both been ill, or from my nasty patients. Because apparently my position in healthcare denies me my basic rights to health and wellness and common courtesy. By this, I mean that multiple times a day, I lean over to listen to breath sounds and a patient coughs directly into my face. With their staph/ enterobacter/ pseodomonas/ tuberculosis/ strep/ gram-negative/ gram-positive shit. Yep, right into the air I am breathing. Nice. Thank You. So now I have it. The dry, hacking cough. The hot cold hot cold hell of a temporarily dysfunctioning internal thermostat. The aches. The stuffy nose. I hate being sick and haven't been since I caught H1N1 from--you guessed it-- one of my patients during my first trimester of Zachy's pregnancy. Being sick makes me a crabby bitch. So enough about that.
Evan is a celebrity around my hospital and his school. Last week, the Cincinnati paper had community event photos and since all of the catholic schools were having special events for Catholic Schools Week, Evan's school was no exception. They had a sock hop and there was a 5x7 photo of Evan on the second page of the paper, cutting a rug like it was nobody's bidness. As a result, people have been saving the clipping for us and I swear we have about 50 copies right about now.
Zachy had his hearing test today with the audiologist. They put these little things in his ears that looked like ear buds, which emitted sounds and measured the vibrations produced by his ear to ensure all was working. They use this in babies because it requires no cooperation at all. It's just measurment. But little Zach kept whipping his head around, looking for the source of the sound, which of course he could not see since it was in his ear. It was entirely too cute. And all is well. No hearing impairment detected. No collection of fluid behind his ear drums. Now we just wait and see what the doctor is going to do. I've checked my insurance benefits, since I doubt we meet the financial guidelines for a state-sponsored early intervention program. I only have to pay 10% and he gets 30 therapy sessions per year. The bad part is that this is 30, total. So if they do OT and speech, for example, they cannot combine to more than 30. We haven't gotten there yet. I really don't think it's all that bad.
John's dad is apparently engaged. We found out tonight over Facebook. They've been dating for awhile and we like her, so it is great news.
I hate my nasty neighbors and their nasty dogs. Really, I know hate is a very strong word. And I mean every bit of it at this point. It was bad enough that when they open their front door to the common vestibule we share in our duplex, my living room smells like dirty dog for about 15 minutes. And then we had the issue this past spring where their dogs were shitting in little piles on the concrete driveway by the doors of my car. So I have to be hyper-vigilant about where I step when I get out. Pretty tricky if you come home after dark. Or before dawn. And let me remind you that I work nights.Well, now they are doing it again. And for extra fun, they are hiking their legs and peeing on John's Harley as well. John's Harley that is valued higher than my only-2-year-old car. And on the weather cover, which was also expensive and which John touches with bare hands ot get it on and off the motorcycle. Now before you think I am an evil dog-hater, let me tell you I like dogs. I would like to have a dog but seem to be allergic to anything that is green or has fur. But there is such a thing as courtesy. And the lack of it these people have appalls me. Seriously.
So that's all. I told ya. Completely random. But I feel like dirt. See ya on the flip side.