silveryscrape (silveryscrape) wrote,
silveryscrape
silveryscrape

...however I can heartily recommend a dinner of oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon and a dollop of cottage cheese: mmmm, nom. I tried the cottage cheese this time because they were out of tapioca, which is even better on oatmeal, which normally I hate, and this is one of the reasons they used to make me sit at the other end of the table from my grampa at family holiday dinners. As my mom told it, "the way you eat used to make him ill." Hee! Oh, family.

But I see that I'm rambling again. Well -- it's 0245 in the a.m. What, I should write or something? C'mon.

New leuk at work last night: newly (soon to be) diagnosed with acute leukemia, and poor thing, her journey through life brought her to the edge of a cliff yesterday, just like that. This after mom died a month ago, and her dad, dead of cancer too, and I know, I feel it, based on clinical presentation, that she has the genetic variant that has the best chance of durable remission, all things considered, but until they make the official diagnosis I couldn't say anything. Anyway, I knew she wouldn't be able to hear that. Not yet.

Also a very sweet and completely demented old gentleman, who told me his wife was looking at him and pointed to the corner of the room. "And when did she pass," I asked, guessing, and he screwed up his face and said, "oh -- I," clearly not remembering, but then he smiled and told me it was okay, she would see to him, I didn't need to worry, and I bet she will. Then I told the charge nurse, because he's still a full code, full resuscitation efforts called for, 87 yrs old though he is. When they start seeing those who are already gone, that's a sign.

And, let's see, another guy who didn't need me much, thank goodness, and the lady who yelled you goddamned sons of bitches, I hope you all die for five hours, she'd been shipped back to the home earlier, and the kid who rolled over at 90 miles per hour -- that was all the history said, 90 miles per hour, but that was enough -- he was lucky, fuck! Bruised up and in pain, and also so going to get his ass kicked for the alcohol and the THC, as soon as he feels better, I just know it; he went home, too. And Mike.

23 yrs old, tear-drop tattoos on his cheeks and curly script on his neck and biceps, multiple gun shot wounds, respiratory failure a few times, lack of oxygen to the brain. Adult Swim on the overhead tv and a big bed with an air mattress, and nurses who logroll him three times a day to clean and redress the sores on his butt: Mike's life, now.

Wow, a weird time for the realization that I actually do like nursing, hey? Five years later, and don't get me wrong: most nights it sucks, but -- Idk, I like it. Kind of good for the soul, oddly enough. Kind of reminds me of when I was pretty depressed a few years ago, and realizing that nothing meant anything, and what was the use? And also realizing that that was not an attitude I'd ever had, no matter how fucked up my life. Yeah, I'd always been pretty positive, and suddenly way negative, and how arbitrary was that? Same exact world, really, but now suddenly, it sucks? Totally arbitrary. Wow.

Yeah, nursing is like that. ♥


Okay! 0330; time for lunch (I appear to be going backwards), and that's my story. You?
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