Going Back

My name is Andrea, and I'm a student.

Again.

Barring any complications, I head back to class on April 3rd to begin the completion of my business degree. Since everything else is good to go, all I have to do to get a Bachelors o Science in Business Admin. with an emphasis on healthcare administration is to take the actual business courses. My stuff from my other degree exempts me from the rest.

It sounds so strange. Me. A business major.

Life does funny things to us sometimes. I never saw myself doing anything other than medicine. Never wanting to do anything else. Strange how having Zachy changed me that much. But not one for stagnation, I want to ensure that I have the needed degrees to take my current career as far as I want. Years from now, I don't want to be limited because I didn't take the time to get the degrees while I had the chance.

I'm doing a program that will have it all finished within 18 months so I can hurry up and move onto my MBA in healthcare management. I'm nervous and excited. I usually perform very well academically, and you cannot convince me that these courses will be any more of a challenge, or even as much of a challenge, as graduate-level human genetics, where I actually extracted and mapped DNA, or senior-level o.chem, which just about killed me, I swear. And I did all of thesre while working 70 hours per week, while being Mom Extraordinare, John's keeper, and keeping straight A's. Can you tell I'm trying to give myself a pep talk?

Because I have officially been out of school for a year. And now I have 2 kids, one of which is a baby who wants to wreak havoc on my laptop each and everytime I open it up.

I can do this, right?

I'm both excited and nervous. The less I am doing, the more bored and stressed I get. I'm the weird one for which happiness means a bursting schedule and a to-do list as long as I am tall. So on that note, I'm ready to go back. It's just that doing so means the end of this chapter: the chapter of my pregnancy, Zach's birth, and Zach's first year of life. I gave him as much of myself as I could for this past year. We both needed it. Now it time for me to do something for myself once again.

Let the juggling begin.

Hell Hath No Fury...

...like Andrea pissed.
Seriously. (I think I may say "seriously" entirely too much. Kind of like the word "like" when I was a kid. Oh well. Roll with it because I am really pissed off.

Zach usually takes a bottle of evil formula at night before bed. One little 6-ounce bottle. Now, let me remind you that my boobs have been through sheer hell in the past (almost) nine months. I seriously cannot believe I have kept this shit up this long. (Oh, yeah, forgot to mention that you should expect profanity in this post because, once again, I am pissed.) Like the days where I found random black bruises on me. Or the plugged ducts. And how could I forget the days where I got as little as 2 ounces in 24 fricken HOURS. I didn't do this crap for fun. And it sure as hell has not gone as planned. I didn't want to take herbal supplements to keep the milk coming. I certainly didn't want to buy a hospital-grade pump. And I really, really had no intention of getting nice and intimate with a piece of equipment every two @#$%&* hours a day for at least a year. Okay, now with that being said...
You may or may not remember the early days when I returned from work a mere 5 weeks post c-section and all was sunshine and roses. We have the lactation rooms with the hospital grade pumps and leather recliners, etc. And if you have to pump, you have to pump. No questions asked. Period.
I have not pumped a single time at work in the past 4 days. And I am still doing the 12-hour shifts. In the wee hours of the morning when my boobs seem to be the most productive. So if I can't pump at work, it is a serious issue. And that issue has been my way of life for 4 days now. So while this time last week, Zach was taking one bottle of formula before bedtime, yesterday he only got one 5 ounce bottle of breastmilk all day. Because just one day of missed pumps is enough to do that to me. Now it is all but gone and I am back to killing myself practically in order to get my supply back up. One of my fave ER docs is working tonight and I am on the verge of asking him for another course of Reglan. It is that bad.
It went like this: I have had the ER, despite the fact that I told my boss that the ER, because of its lack of predictability, its distance from the lactation rooms, and the acuity of the patient population, is really difficult for me to cover while still breastfeeding. And she told me to have my coworkers help me and if anything came up, to let her know. I'm sure she doesn't really want me to do that. I would be in her office daily. Long ago, I stopped having someone cover my cell while I go to pump, which is really what I am supposed to do. It's just easier that way because I don't have to deal with the rolled eyes of my coworkers or have to explain why it is that I need this time to them. But the downside of that is that, when I get a call in the middle of a pumping session, I have to call my coworkers to get the patient seen. And the people I have worked with for the past 4 nights are not the type of people to help. For example, I was so busy in the ER last night that I didn't even get to attempt to pump until almost 7 hours into my shift (8 hrs. since the last pumping session). And when I finally got up there, as soon as I took my stuff out of my bag to get ready to do the deed, my phone rings. And it is a nurse who wants a PRN treatment for her patient because he is short of breath. I call the first coworker, who says she got called to a patient in the ICU. I have no reason to not believe her at this point, and so I call someone else. This someone else just happens to be the first girl's BFF. So the second one syas she is "up in the tower" ( a region of the hospital), not specifying which floor she is on, what she is doing, or anything else. I tell her what I need and her response was, "That doesn't sound urgent." And she hangs up. While it is entirely possible that she was correct in her assumption, we have no way of knowing this until someone lays eyes on the patient and does some sort of pulmonary assessment. And so I try to call a third coworker whose phone is saying he is "out of the zone", which means he is in an area of the hospital where his phone has lost signal. So I call the nurse back and let her know what is going on, and could she please give me specifics on the patient's status. She does and tells me he can probably wait until I am finished. So I start to pump. And literally 2 minutes into it, the phone rings again. 2 minutes. So of course the same therapists who were busy with the first call are still busy. And I have no choice. I stop pumping, throw my parts in my cooler without even washing/wiping them, and I go to the patient. Except on the way, I pass the first two girls, giggling and walking down the hallway. On the complete opposite side of the hospital from where I had assigned them at the beginning of their shifts. Together.It was all of 10 minutes after I had spoken with them and they were too busy to help me see one lousy patient. And so I was very pissed. And after that, I was just too busy to even leave the ER and never had another opportunity.
So tonight I report to work. For the first time all week, I am not in charge and so I do not make out the assignments. I told the one girl I can't do the ER tonight. Not after the issues that have gone on for the past 3 days. If I do, I will probably have no more milk for Zach. That's it. All of that work brought to an end like that. And she ignored me and put me there anyway. And in the morning I don't know what I'm going to do. Raise a stink? Go to HR? Post a printed copy of Kentucky breastfeeding laws on her locker? It's all enough to make me want to put in my notice, but my status as the breadwinner means that I need something else lined up first. Incidentally, my hospital was one of the first to recieve the Unicef designation as Baby-Friendly, meaning it makes extraordinary strides to foster breastfeeding. Pretty rich, isn't it?
Grrrrrrr.

Bribery Backfires

So I mentioned in the last post that everybody got flu shots today. This included Zach, John, and of course, Evan. Zach cried, John didn't. And Evan? Well.....

I had to bribe Evan. First with candy. I know, I know--that is so unlike a Parent-of-the-Year contender. But a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do. And I encounter some pretty serious crap at work, so if there is any way to protect my family from even a teensy bit of it, I'll do it. So Evan is getting this vaccine, come Hell or high water! Of course he proclaimed to the receptionst right away that he would like the nasal mist vax. At which point I had to explain what it is that I do for a living. And she cracked up in amusement at my 9-year-old who even knew there was such a thing. Me, on the other hand? I don't like it. It is live influenza and that gives me the heebie-jeebies when it is being inhaled by my child. Seriously.

So John goes first and tries to amaze Evan with the fact that he didn't cry. Okay, Ev's way smarter than that and so it didn't work. So Ev tells me he will get it if I let him eat the meant-for-afterwards candy bar right then and there. Before we are finished, before we have eaten dinner.....I took the bait and he smiled like the Cheshire Cat until the nurse brought in the tray. As in the tray full of syringes---Zach's 4 immunizations and Evan's 1 little flu shot. This called for more bargaining, and somehow I agreed to let him choose the place for dinner. So the nurse gets ready to give the injection.This is when he chickened out and all bets were off as my oldest miracle squealed and screamed and kicked and cried until we gave in and let him have the nasal mist. If he gets sick from it, I will have the biggest Mom's I-Told-You-So moment in history. After I get him treated, of course.

So later we are loaded in the car, headed to the pharmacy in the hospital to fill a prescription at the pharmacy employees are firmly encouraged to use, when Ev points out that I told him he could pick our dinner spot. Apparently I said "if you get this vaccine" and not "if you get the injection". (Seriously, do not have a smart kid--it just does not pay off in the long run!) So I can't go back on my promise and I let him choose. And he wants to eat at---dunh, dunh dunhhhhh- the hospital cafeteria.

Wait. The what?????? Huh? Mind you, our cafeteria is pretty decent. There's a grill that serves burgers/ fires/chicken fingers and more, a deli for sandwiches, a huge salad bar, a bakery section with cookies/cakes/pies, a pizza station with pizza/calzones/ stromboli, and more. And Evan thinks it is a five-star restaurant. It's okay compared to other hospitals, but not my pick for my nights off. And keep in mind that I will no doubt run into a gazillion people I know who all know I am not at work. What loser eats at work on their day off??? Me, that's who!

So we go, and do so under the guise that I am waiting for a prescription to be filled in the pharmacy next door. While this is true, that is not why I am there. And I run into coworkers-galore, all who ask, "Andrea, WTF are you doing here???" And I roll my eyes and explain. And run into another one--roll eyes and explain. And another one...okay, you get the drift. What I want to say is, "Because my kid is a weirdo, that's why!" But I can't do that because it would be even less Parent-of-the-Year than the candy bar in the doc's office and would likely crush Evan's spirit, as he is standing right there. So I try to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, but Zach has found something amusing on the ceiling and is staring upward while alternating squeals of delight with gut-splitting belly laughs. (Wanna get attention? Have a chubby baby do this in a crowded hospital cafeteria while strapped to Mommy's chest a-la Carlos from The Hangover!) Of course this is occurring at the exact moment Evan decides he wants popcorn for dinner and I cannot find John and Evan gets the damned popcorn and tries to carry a tray with it balanced on there and it teeters and falls to the floor.....So I am standing there, on my day off, with laughing Zach and about-to-cry Evan, a sea of popcorn around/under my feet, and I cannot find my husband. Somehow I doubt that I blended in very well. I am disgusted. I am flabberghasted. I am appalled. And then Evan says something and I want to cry.

"See, Mom! I'm eating dinner at the hospital just like you! Is it better since I'm here with you?"

Oh. Oh my God. At once I wanted to cry and laugh and hug him and kiss him. And I realized that my son loves me. That he's proud enough of me to want to be like me. That he hears everything I say and our trip was less about an adventure in humiliation and more about him making my place of work more tolerable somehow. He had listened all of those times I griped about having to eat dinner alone at work when I would rather be with them. And I felt lower than the popcorn that had crunched under the soles of my shoes, knowing what his choice was about.

I love ths kid more than words.

On Daffy Duck at Work and Being a Hypocrite

So I'm currently at work in a very slow ER. Well, obviously very slow because I am blogging and binging on fun-size Snickers I pilfered from the stash of Halloween candy I bought on my day off. Actually, I'm embarrassed for a couple of reasons. First of all, for the Snickers. We live in a more suburban area compared to the most-definitely urban area we did last year. So I expect a lot more trick-or-treaters. In fact, I expect to be overrun with them. So I bought 8 enormous bags of candy, and I have been fighting Evan ever since. No, Evan, you cannot have Fun Dip/ Blow Pop/ Snickers/ M&Ms/ Twizzlers.....That candy is for Halloween. Hmmmm. But that was before Mommy was assigned to this crappy, boring shift. And I know from experience that this type of night calls for chocolate and there is no cafeteria. Yep, I'm roughing it! And so I have become a hypocrite. And raided the stash. And now I feel like I have to hurry and finish the entire bag while Ev is at school tomorrow, lest he discover that Mommy opened the Halloween candy that was off limits.

But that's not all. An ER tech just walked by my desk and asked if I was okay because I am flushed. Nope. I'm dying....of embarrassment.

First of all, this is a freestanding ER, and there is no cushy lactation room. I told my supervisor when I returned from maternity leave that this may not be the best place for me until I wean Zach. But who was I to argue when she made special arrangements for me, finding me a room with a lock on the door and equipping it with a table and chair for me. She even ensured it had an outlet. So I can pump. Great. The only problem is that this room is within a large employee lounge that is equipped with a kitchen area, a dining area, lots of lockers, and staff restrooms. And any noise in the area echoes. And I am the only RT on for my 12 hours because it is just an ER. And while I can try to go at non-busy times when there are no patients waiting for my care and expertise, one does not always know from one second to the next when it is that I am going to be needed. Because the true emergencies that come through the door are the ones who need me (i.e. cardiopulmonary crisis) and are also the ones who cannot wait. Furthermore, this is a bad neighborhood and one of our therapists had her purse stolen here, so I get kind of skittish about bringing the pump. So instead, tonight I have opted to bring my little Freestyle. The only problem is that the Freestyle is a little noisier. And sounds, to be honest, a little like a duck. And had to be used in the room within the lounge where there is an echo. And other employees congregate. So what could make it just a little more embarrassing? Well, of course they need me to do a stat EKG as soon--and I mean as soon--as I get Daffy started up. They were nice about it. I heard a nurse (who was on her break) tell the secretary who came and got me that, "Hey, you can't interrupt her!!!!". And they told me not to worry, that they would cover it. And they did. But only after the entire ER staff knew what I was off doing.

I guess it could be worse. I could work amongst people who are not trained and credentialed healthcare providers. And primarily women. But still....

The Bane of My Existence

Or Why I Can't Sleep. Or Why I Have No Time. Or Breastfeeding Kinda Sucks. Or This is Bullsh*t. Yeah, I could come up with quite a few titles for this post. Because after a busy night-one busy night- at work, my supply dropped back down again. So I am back to pumping every 3 hours around the clock. Again. And after just a few days of being back at it, I feel like a zombie. But what sucks is that I'll work and work at getting my supply back up, then go to work one night and it will be guarunteed to go back down. I am constantly attached to a breastpump, and I fricken hate it. But just when I am about to say "screw it" and give up, I have one of those warm fuzzy nursing moments with Zach, and I instantly know I won't be giving it up anytime soon. Because every drop of my milk he gets is my way of giving myself over to him.

One of my fave OB nurses from work put it into perspective for me. She knows all I have tried to be able to exclusively breastfeed Zach. (I mean, c'mon, who buys a $2000 pump??????) So when I was feeling down about it and cursing the lactation consultant who first had me give him damned formula in the hospital, she cleared my head by telling me that they were secretly talking about keeping Zach in the hospital. In fact, if he would have lost 2 more ounces of his birth weight, he wouldn't have come home with me. And that was with him getting formula. I can only imagine what would have happened if he would have just been nursing and getting colostrum those first few days. I didn't know any of this until she told me. And then she reminded me that I have been at least 50% of his food source for 4 months, which is a lot more than a lot of babies get, and that I managed to do that with a preemie who couldn't latch. And during the emotional aftermath of my pregnancy, which was enough to dry up the fricken Atlantic. So yeah, she picked me up a bit.

So no, I won't give up. But it still sucks.