...than you do with vinegar. My mother would always say this. Of course as a little girl I asked her what it meant, and of course she explained how it's much easier to get what you want when you are sweet and kind as opposed to bossy and rude. I remember pondering the all-important question, "Why would anyone want to catch flies?" I discussed this with my brothers and sisters and and we decided that there is no good reason to catch flies other than the fact that it proves you have some serious skills. When I was a child we caught all kinds of creepy-crawlies, most of which we kept in the basement. My mother was quite alright with our strange collection--she even assisted us in finding new creatures-- but she was less than thrilled with the tadpoles. She put her foot down when, upon venturing downstairs one morning, she discovered that the 50 tadpoles living in an old aquarium had sprouted legs and were leaping across the floor. My siblings and I were delighted and we happily (and without permission) dug a pond in our backyard, lined it with trash bags, and filled it with water. A lovely new home for our little froggy friends. I think my mom would have done well to remember another one of her sayings and let the incident "roll like water off a duck's back." :^)
Most of these colorful expressions were passed down from my granny, a native of Mississippi. As in Deep South, pluck your own chicken, slaughter the hog, dirt floor Mississippi. By the time my mother was born, number 10 out of 11 children, her family had moved up north to Wisconsin and my granny shed her southern accent. But behind that clipped Yankee voice was a clever Southern lady. The cooking nearly met a dead end with my mother. She never learned how to cut up a catfish or make fried chicken, or cook up chitlins, or a host of other southern dishes. Whole catfish are scary-looking, raw meat is not attractive and feels gross, and chitlins are, well, chitlins. I haven't shed any tears over our lack of chitlin cuisine. I've already mentioned the fact that I grew up with stir-fry, veggie burgers and soymilk. Somehow, though, collard greens and grits slipped through. And so did a long list of southern expressions, which I'm sure sound strange rolling off of my Yankee tongue.
I was born in Milwaukee, WI, the land of cheese and snow, and we moved to Connecticut when I was not yet two. Wisconsin + Connecticut + all of the Massachusetts side of the family left me with a very neutral, yet decidedly not Southern accent. People always ask me where I'm from--in part because they think I look foreign (Of course, my own mother thinks I look foreign. I'm not sure if people are really suggesting that I look odd. Hmm...) and in part because they cannot place my voice. Once, a woman asked me if I'm British. Ah, a dream come true! I so wish I had a British accent. But alas, I do not. And after all my years in the South (I've lived here for 16 years), I still say "DAL-ton" instead of "Dal'n." Contrary to popular belief, the Southern is in there somewhere and it pops out when I say someone is moving "slower than molasses in the winter time" or I hear of someone in trouble because they were hanging out with the wrong crowd and I can't help but shake my head and knowingly declare that "when you lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas."
Then there are times when I question the veracity of a tale and I insist, "tell the truth and shame the devil!"
Moving down South was like culture shock. For the first year or two I could barely understand what people were saying. And why does everyone move sooo sloooow...? And everyone we met wondered why we talked so fast. I still struggle sometimes if I happen to meet a true, deep South kind of person and I know they're probably wondering "What on earth is that little Yankee trying to say?" No worries, my Southern friends. We have common ground. I spend most of my days running around like a chicken with my head cut off and I know to fish or cut bait. You might find me sitting like a bump on a log or barking up the wrong tree. When two of my sisters were little they were like two peas in a pod. And I am often accused of getting too big for my britches. I wallow in self-pity for getting the short end of the stick even though I know better than to beat a dead horse One -up me with some bizarre news and I'll tell you .that takes the cake! Rush me and I'll tell you to hold your horses. I don't tolerate much carrying on and yes, I have put on some ugly clodhoppers when there's work to be done. Okay, so I've made a solemn vow to myself that I would never say something is so good it'll make you slap your mama (I just think that's weird) but hopefully that won't be held against me! And if it is, well, that's no skin off my nose. My goal is, by the time I'm old as dirt and have one foot in the grave, I'll have spread these lovely little sayings around the world :)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
fall leaves
perhaps it hung on spider's silk
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| photo by Rob McKay http://robmckayphotography.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/fall-leaves-falling-autumn-colors.jpg |
i gazed upon
a yellow leaf
twirling in the air
i couldn't help but wonder how it was
suspended
there
no branch to hold it up
disconnected
from a tree
perhaps it hung on spider's silk
free and yet
not free
A word (maybe more) of complaint
I haven't updated this blog in over a month--far too long I think. Quite a bit has happened since then and if I were to write about it all at once you would be reading for an awful long time. Therefore, I shall cover the events and my thoughts of the past few weeks in more manageable bites.
October 13 was the day I dreaded. It was the day four classes were scheduled to begin. Not that I haven't had four classes in one semester before, back when I was in undergrad. However, I had yet to take four classes all at once while in nursing school. Research and Technology = yuck. I never had to take this course before because as a science major it was understood that I would have to use the Internet, write papers, make slide presentations, etc. But no, that does not count at my new school now so here I am, "learning" how to use Microsoft Word, and PowerPoint and search engines.
Then there's U.S. History. I apologize in advance to history lovers but this is not my cup of tea. I know that as an American citizen I should be well-informed about my nation's past and as a friend of mine said "you have to learn history so that you won't repeat it" and so on. It's not that I don't care about it in general. I love to read about about historical characters and events. This may seem morbid, but I am fascinated with the Holocaust and both World Wars in general--but I'll delve into that topic in another post sometime. I love learning abut my family's heritage (and the more I learn, the more I realize how strange it is). I love all these things and yet, the sad truth remains, I have absolutely no interest in presidents, and dates and this law and that speech. The very thought makes me cringe. I tried to recite the list of U.S. presidents a short while ago, just to test my knowledge. I think I was able to name 8. Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Roosevelt, Carter, Bush (times 2) and Clinton. And there was some debate over whether Grant was a president or a Confederate general. That's tragic.
Of course, I am the girl who couldn't remember if Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1462 or 1492. I've since resolved these perplexing history mysteries, but there are hundreds more which I will never figure out. And I won't lose any sleep over it. Now, literature is quite a different story. I wish I was taking another literature class so I could analyze poems and write stories and read Beowulf and Byron, Poe and Eliot, Hawthorne and Shaw, the Canterbury Tales...Not that I can't read them on my own, but if I must take a class I would much rather it be something I actually enjoy.
Perhaps it is not fair to say that all of the material is dull. I do my homework properly and turn it in on time and occasionally learn something :) One of the issues is that I am in school to become a nurse and uninteresting requirements outside of that take up too much valuable time and brain space. OK, the real issue is that after being in school year round, I am rather burnt out and some things lend themselves well to abuse.
October 13 was the day I dreaded. It was the day four classes were scheduled to begin. Not that I haven't had four classes in one semester before, back when I was in undergrad. However, I had yet to take four classes all at once while in nursing school. Research and Technology = yuck. I never had to take this course before because as a science major it was understood that I would have to use the Internet, write papers, make slide presentations, etc. But no, that does not count at my new school now so here I am, "learning" how to use Microsoft Word, and PowerPoint and search engines.
Then there's U.S. History. I apologize in advance to history lovers but this is not my cup of tea. I know that as an American citizen I should be well-informed about my nation's past and as a friend of mine said "you have to learn history so that you won't repeat it" and so on. It's not that I don't care about it in general. I love to read about about historical characters and events. This may seem morbid, but I am fascinated with the Holocaust and both World Wars in general--but I'll delve into that topic in another post sometime. I love learning abut my family's heritage (and the more I learn, the more I realize how strange it is). I love all these things and yet, the sad truth remains, I have absolutely no interest in presidents, and dates and this law and that speech. The very thought makes me cringe. I tried to recite the list of U.S. presidents a short while ago, just to test my knowledge. I think I was able to name 8. Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Roosevelt, Carter, Bush (times 2) and Clinton. And there was some debate over whether Grant was a president or a Confederate general. That's tragic.
Of course, I am the girl who couldn't remember if Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1462 or 1492. I've since resolved these perplexing history mysteries, but there are hundreds more which I will never figure out. And I won't lose any sleep over it. Now, literature is quite a different story. I wish I was taking another literature class so I could analyze poems and write stories and read Beowulf and Byron, Poe and Eliot, Hawthorne and Shaw, the Canterbury Tales...Not that I can't read them on my own, but if I must take a class I would much rather it be something I actually enjoy.
Perhaps it is not fair to say that all of the material is dull. I do my homework properly and turn it in on time and occasionally learn something :) One of the issues is that I am in school to become a nurse and uninteresting requirements outside of that take up too much valuable time and brain space. OK, the real issue is that after being in school year round, I am rather burnt out and some things lend themselves well to abuse.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Acrophilia and other extremes.
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| This picture is originally from http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/38224278/ |
Check out this story on two--possibly crazy--men who are planning to make a supersonic jump. Literally. Felix Baumgartner, a 41 yr old Australian and Michel Fournier, a 66 yr old Frenchman are each attempting to be the first to skydive from 120, 000 feet, as in the edge of space, and break the sound barrier on the way down. Personally, I'm rooting for Fournier because he is clearly the underdog with much less funding and support. He's been working towards this feat for about 20 years, 5 times as long as Baumgartner who is backed by Red Bull. Not that I have anything against Baumgartner. Au contrair, anyone who seriously plans to take that kind of risk deserves some kudos. I've leapt off of 50 foot high platforms and fallen backwards out of trees, but all while secured to ropes and a harness. Sure that rather flimsy looking carabiner could break but what are the chances? These guys will have some fancy suits and hi-tech parachutes, but no ropes or harnesses. Pretty much just them and the open air. No one is quite sure what the effects of falling from that height will be. Other people have tried descending from lesser heights and sadly lost their lives. I expect that these supersonic jumpers will black out at some point during the fall--hopefully not at the parachute opening point.
Most of us will never do anything this extreme, but I can understand ( a little) why one would try. I think back to the time when I leapt off of my friends dock into the 30ft deep lake below. Did I mention that I cannot swim? And there were no life guards in site? And the water was quite murky so if I sank like a rock, it's highly unlikely they'd be able to see me? Oh and I was an adult who fully understood cause and effect, (diving into deep water + not knowing how to swim = DROWNING). This is not on nearly the same level as falling through the sound barrier and obviously I didn't drown. My self-preservation skills kicked in and you'd better believe I swam. I even jumped in again. But why did I do it? 1. The common sense section of my brain frequently takes a break 2. Because I was curious to find out what would happen 3. The adrenaline rush is pretty amazing. Plus it makes a great story. People may look at you like you're crazy but deep down I know they are in awe of your daredevilishness and wish above all else that they could be so cool. Maybe. This article in PsychologyToday offers some explanations for why we take risks http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/200910/risk.
The research implicates that the drive to take high risks is "hard-wired". In other words. risk-taking may be be a genetic, biological thing. The average, middle and upper class American lives a relatively safe, and dare I say, dull, life so many people--especially men--engage in risky behaviors like extreme sports to fulfill their thrill-seeking needs. Not that women can't be thrill seekers--many are. The biological truth of it is that women are the ones who bear children and throughout history have invested a majority of their time raising them. Risk taking simply is not conducive to motherhood. In the past, and today in hundreds of communities around the world, men are expected to provide for their families by travelling long distances, hunting for food, and fending off wild animals and violent people. This of course involves a great deal of risk taking. The article notes that men and women living in war-torn or poverty-stricken areas aren't exactly looking to take unnecessary risk; their lives are risky enough already.
Both Baumgartner and Fourtnier have done some extreme stuff in the past so they're certainly not strangers to the adrenaline high. And in many people there's a natural drive to test your limits, to see what you're really made of. Unfortunately, not everyone who finds themselves in a seemingly impossible predicament volunteered for it. I read an interesting book on a related subject, called "Surviving the Extremes: A Doctor's Journey to the Limits of Human Endurance" by Dr. Kenneth Kamler . Kamler is vice president of the Explorer's Club and he was actually part of the tragic 1996 Mt Everest Expedition and treated the survivors. The book details stories of human survival in a variety of extreme environments--the desert, the open seas, the Amazon Jungle. Kamler doesn't overwhelm you with medical jargon, which is nice. I actually mentioned this book in one of my first posts back in March. Well, we'll see who makes history with the first space jump, Mr. Red Bull or the underdog. Either way, it will be super impressive and something I will most likely never, ever try...P.S. I still can't swim.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
O blush not so!
Id-i-o-syn-cra-sy, noun, : a peculiarity of constitution or temperament; an individualizing characteristic or quality). The truth is, sometimes I am. Embarrassed, I mean. Someone was riding in my car with me and the radio was playing the last station I left it tuned to. It's a station that plays random old songs, and obscure songs, and some mainstream stuff mixed in with some not quite mainstream (which somehow makes it way cooler). After a few moments, the rider asked me "Is this the kind of music you listen to?" The tone wasn't rude, but slightly incredulous. And immediately I was embarrassed and tried to brush it off with "What is this station? I'm not even sure what I left it on. I mean, sometimes I listen to this stuff because, you know the other stations all play the same thing..." I wish I was one of those people who manage to always seem unfazed, but alas, my emotions are forever on display.
One of my friends described my expressions as "so cliche'". At first I wasn't sure whether or not I should take offense to that. Who wants to be cliche'? What he meant was, my facial expressions and even the way I move, are practically textbook examples of what emotions should look like. For example, startle me and I'll jump, and gasp, and clutch at my heart, and give you the classic look of wide-eyed, open-mouthed, surprise. People, particularly children and guys, figure that out quickly and think it's hilarious and are constantly sneaking up behind me. After nearly giving me a heart attack, a friend of mine in college said he would relish my reaction for the rest of his life. Great. And it's the same for anger, sadness, happiness, confusion, disappointment....Not that I know what I look like. I usually don't even realize I'm making a face until someone mentions it. "Omigosh, look at your face! It's sooo extreme!" The truth is, my emotions are pretty extreme. When I'm happy, I'm not just happy I'm OVERJOYED. When I'm sad I'm not just sad, I'm absolutely devastated. When I'm embarrassed, of course I'm utterly mortified. And it all shows up on my face. I have a book all about the human face [The Face: A Natural History by Daniel McNeill]. Well, it's really about more than just the face. The author goes into detail about why we look the way we look, act the way we act, say the things we say. I don't agree with everything in the book, but I do agree with most of the information. According to the author, most researchers agree on five or so basic expressions; anger, surprise, fear, happiness, and sadness. These are recognizable around the world. In fact, babies born deaf and blind have the same facial expressions as anyone else. (Side note: Helen Keller is of course the most well-known deafblind person, but she is certainly not the only one. Check out this website, created by a deafblind man in the UK A-Z to Deafblindness).
Picking up on my obvious embarrassment, my passenger quickly reassured me that it was okay. Then I felt embarrassed for being embarrassed. It's a vicious cycle. The worst is when I can feel myself blushing. Yes, yes, dark-skinned people can blush. If I was a shade or two darker no one would ever notice...How I envy my chocolate brown friends. I'm not at all pale, but when I blush it's obvious. There's no mistaking that tingling, uncomfortable heat spreading across my face and I find myself praying that no one points it out. When someone does, I just want to run and hide under a table. Actually, I should be putting my red cheeks on display. Blushing has a purpose. When you make a mistake or do something humiliating, that awkward flush literally softens people's feelings toward you. Because blushing is completely involuntary it shows the poor blusher to be sincerely embarrassed. Someone who says something dumb and then blushes is more likely to be forgiven than someone who says the same thing blush-less. This article on why we blush is a good one. My search on the web also led me to a poem by John Keats, Sharing the Apple, better known as "O Blush Not So!" Perfect, don't you think? Ok, so the poem is also a little risque'.
Anyway, to summarize: Idiosyncrasy is a cool word, I'm embarrassed about being embarrassed, blushing is actually socially beneficial, and John Keats was a poet. The end.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
How to be
I am on a self-improvement kick. Hm, well maybe I need clarify that. "Self-improvement" has unpleasant connotations of poor self-esteem (which used to plague me and occasionally I relapse) and short-lived cycles of sacrificial dieting (which I never do) and brutal exercise (see comment after sacrificial dieting). What I mean by self-improvement is really a conscious effort to live a productive life. Various events over the course of my almost 25 years of existence--particularly those in recent months--have pushed me to reexamine my goals. I am one of those people who have always had some idea of what they want to do and, being ridiculously stubborn, once I have my mind set on something, I will pursue it until it becomes literally impossible or God tells me no. And usually God tells me no by making whatever I'm trying to do literally impossible. I've already said I'm a restless sort of person and to be doing nothing would be, well, miserable. I'm working toward these big goals that I've had for years and yet it's not enough.
One Sunday, the pastor preached on the difference between being satisfied, dissatisfied, and unsatisfied. I've always thought that to be satisfied was the goal. You know how people say that good Christians should be content, and at peace, and so on. I assumed that meant I must always feel perfectly satisfied and I felt rather guilty about not feeling that way. In fact, it's a chronic condition for me. But the pastor went on to say that being satisfied can be a bad state if it means that you think you've "arrived", that you have become all you want to be, and now are under no obligation to contribute to anything else. I'm sure others figured out long ago that contentment is not the same as ceasing to strive but for me it was a revelation. The American Sign Language sign for "understand" is a closed fist held up beside the forehead, palm facing in, and then you flick the first finger up like a light bulb coming on. I always imagine hearing a loud "ding!" at the same time. Of course, two seconds later, I began to worry. The next point was about dissatisfaction. If I wasn't smugly satisfied, I thought, then I must be dissatisfied. Yuck. I know dissatisfied people. Heck, not too long ago, I was one of those people. Bitter, grumpy, complaining, critical. We are all unhappy with this and that every now and then, but for that to be my general attitude?! I pictured those who fit the description and they are so unpleasant to be around. I pictured myself and thought about how unpleasant it must be to spend time with me when I'm like that. Thankfully, before I sunk into the depths of despair, we moved on to the next point. Unsatisfied. Right. Doesn't that mean the same as dissatisfied? Apparently not. A person can be satisfied or dissatisfied but not unsatisfied. You see, unsatisfied refers more to a need or an expectation that goes unfulfilled, the feeling of needing more (according to the thesaurus and daily writing tips online). It is perfectly alright to be unfulfilled when it leads you to seek more out of life, out of yourself. When it leads you to seek God's will, and to live up to your full potential. That struck a chord in me. I know I am not satisfied, I have been making a conscious effort for some time not to be dissatisfied, but this whole concept of unsatisfied ...What a novel idea! Ha, well clearly that is what the Apostle Paul was saying when he wrote Philippians 3.
I realize now why working to achieve "big" goals was not enough. I make good grades in school, I'm learning the medical skills, so I could be a competent nurse. I love children, I have spent most of my life working with children, children seem to like me, so I will probably do well in the area of pediatrics. When it comes to traveling, I'm not particular about housing or transportation--the more unusual the better-- and I'm not a picky eater. I get along well with most people, and I'm quite willing to learn a new language, so traveling shouldn't be a problem. If life continues on as it has so far, I'll eventually be what I want to be. But I've recently had to stop and try a new perspective. I can go through the motions and maybe be "successful". However, I realized lately that instead of focusing on what I want to be and do, I need to be contemplating who I want to be. What kind of character do I have now and can I see myself continuing on this way? What about the little things, like how I handle my money, how I organize my time whether or not I clean that blasted room of mine. Those things say alot about me. Am I patient with the little ones in the family? Do I respect my other siblings? Do I respect my mother? Am I a hypocrite? How often do I make promises that I don't keep...How often do I gossip?? And what about my interests. Do I take the time grow and improve on a personal level? I love to sing, but I rarely sing with people or for people anymore. The violin is my favorite instrument but I've almost convinced myself that I'll never learn o play. I am interested in martial arts and I was good at it but it's been a while since I've pursued it. I enjoy drawing and painting, but how often do I pick up a brush? I adore the theater, and museums, and dancing but when do I go? And most importantly, what is the quality of my time in prayer or in the Bible. Am I so distracted that I can't even hear God's directions? I know that sometimes I get so caught up in trying to make things work the way I think they should, that I don't recognize how much of a mess I'm making. I just don't want to look back on my life and say "I have no idea who I am?" When I look at those around me and see the decisions they've made and the consequences--good or bad--it makes me wonder about my own choices and where they will take me and how they will affect those around me. I don't expect to magically transform into Ms. Perfect. I do, however, want to be heading in the right direction.
One Sunday, the pastor preached on the difference between being satisfied, dissatisfied, and unsatisfied. I've always thought that to be satisfied was the goal. You know how people say that good Christians should be content, and at peace, and so on. I assumed that meant I must always feel perfectly satisfied and I felt rather guilty about not feeling that way. In fact, it's a chronic condition for me. But the pastor went on to say that being satisfied can be a bad state if it means that you think you've "arrived", that you have become all you want to be, and now are under no obligation to contribute to anything else. I'm sure others figured out long ago that contentment is not the same as ceasing to strive but for me it was a revelation. The American Sign Language sign for "understand" is a closed fist held up beside the forehead, palm facing in, and then you flick the first finger up like a light bulb coming on. I always imagine hearing a loud "ding!" at the same time. Of course, two seconds later, I began to worry. The next point was about dissatisfaction. If I wasn't smugly satisfied, I thought, then I must be dissatisfied. Yuck. I know dissatisfied people. Heck, not too long ago, I was one of those people. Bitter, grumpy, complaining, critical. We are all unhappy with this and that every now and then, but for that to be my general attitude?! I pictured those who fit the description and they are so unpleasant to be around. I pictured myself and thought about how unpleasant it must be to spend time with me when I'm like that. Thankfully, before I sunk into the depths of despair, we moved on to the next point. Unsatisfied. Right. Doesn't that mean the same as dissatisfied? Apparently not. A person can be satisfied or dissatisfied but not unsatisfied. You see, unsatisfied refers more to a need or an expectation that goes unfulfilled, the feeling of needing more (according to the thesaurus and daily writing tips online). It is perfectly alright to be unfulfilled when it leads you to seek more out of life, out of yourself. When it leads you to seek God's will, and to live up to your full potential. That struck a chord in me. I know I am not satisfied, I have been making a conscious effort for some time not to be dissatisfied, but this whole concept of unsatisfied ...What a novel idea! Ha, well clearly that is what the Apostle Paul was saying when he wrote Philippians 3.
I realize now why working to achieve "big" goals was not enough. I make good grades in school, I'm learning the medical skills, so I could be a competent nurse. I love children, I have spent most of my life working with children, children seem to like me, so I will probably do well in the area of pediatrics. When it comes to traveling, I'm not particular about housing or transportation--the more unusual the better-- and I'm not a picky eater. I get along well with most people, and I'm quite willing to learn a new language, so traveling shouldn't be a problem. If life continues on as it has so far, I'll eventually be what I want to be. But I've recently had to stop and try a new perspective. I can go through the motions and maybe be "successful". However, I realized lately that instead of focusing on what I want to be and do, I need to be contemplating who I want to be. What kind of character do I have now and can I see myself continuing on this way? What about the little things, like how I handle my money, how I organize my time whether or not I clean that blasted room of mine. Those things say alot about me. Am I patient with the little ones in the family? Do I respect my other siblings? Do I respect my mother? Am I a hypocrite? How often do I make promises that I don't keep...How often do I gossip?? And what about my interests. Do I take the time grow and improve on a personal level? I love to sing, but I rarely sing with people or for people anymore. The violin is my favorite instrument but I've almost convinced myself that I'll never learn o play. I am interested in martial arts and I was good at it but it's been a while since I've pursued it. I enjoy drawing and painting, but how often do I pick up a brush? I adore the theater, and museums, and dancing but when do I go? And most importantly, what is the quality of my time in prayer or in the Bible. Am I so distracted that I can't even hear God's directions? I know that sometimes I get so caught up in trying to make things work the way I think they should, that I don't recognize how much of a mess I'm making. I just don't want to look back on my life and say "I have no idea who I am?" When I look at those around me and see the decisions they've made and the consequences--good or bad--it makes me wonder about my own choices and where they will take me and how they will affect those around me. I don't expect to magically transform into Ms. Perfect. I do, however, want to be heading in the right direction.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Nursing school, recycling, and messy rooms
What follows is a terribly mundane very condensed and incomplete update on my life. I don't really delve into the dirty details (for example, the fact that I have thrown several temper tantrums over the past few months) simply because my fingers are tired.
Nursing School:
I'm officially in my 3rd semester of nursing school which deserves a big "Thank You God" because I didn't think I would survive summer. All of the lectures and lab skills and clinical rotations just went right over my head and I felt like the dopiest nursing student ever invented. And then, suddenly, at the end of the 4-months- of-material-condensed-into-9-weeks-of-stress, it all made sense. I told my clinical instructor, "It's finally clicked! Now that the semester is over, I finally get it." Well, better late than never I suppose. Highlight of the summer: I had a patient who hates needles. She was in the hospital because her craniotomy incision had become infected--and a wound infection after surgery is no joke. WARNING: description of a surgery to follow. Read it if you want. A craniotomy is a procedure used to remove a brain tumor. The hair is shaved at and around the incision site and a fairly large section of the skull is removed, exposing the brain. After the tumor is removed, the piece of skull is fit back into place. You can imagine how it would feel to know that you're half bald and the back of your head has an big upside-down horseshoe shaped line of stitches. Well, this patient was incredibly anxious and she'd already had quite enough of IVs, drains, and shots. When I walked in to give her a heparin injection she didn't look too happy. Thankfully we were taught to prepare the injection in the med room and cap the needle so the patients won't see you come strolling in with a long shiny needle; when you're already stressed out and afraid of shots, that inch long needle looks like a sword. My patient sat there cringing and said "Okay, you can do it now." I smiled and said "I'm already done." She looked genuinely surprised. "Oh, good technique! That last nurse came walking in with that huge needle for my heparin and it hurt like crazy!" Ha ha, go me :) Now the fall semester has begun and I'm in Pediatrics/Obstetrics/Psych. Plus I'm taking a silly Research Strategies course (all about using PowerPoint and looking stuff up online. I didn't have to take it at the college I graduated from because I was a science major and you have to use all of those research strategies in class anyway) and U.S. History. I'm pretty sure there aren't enough hours in the day, so sleeping and eating will have to wait until Christmas break. Good news--I'm still on track to graduate May 2011. Hurray!!
Recycling:
My little household, consisting of two of my sisters and I, have been recycling and I am working very hard to avoid using plastic grocery bags when shopping. The problem is, I go to the store and leave my cute little tote bags at home. Okay, they're actually not little. They're huge and I'm small. Most of the time I just tell the cashier I don't need a bag and carry my groceries out. Of course, my arms can only hold so much before things start falling all over the place and I end up looking like a one woman circus. I can imagine myself wobbling across the parking lot with red clown shoes and garish clown makeup and poofy rainbow colored hair. Ick. Clowns are scary but I will be one in the name of going green. I'm really quite a klutz anyway. The other day I was skipping gracefully up the stairs, feeling cool and light on my feet, and then I tripped and fell dramatically, very nearly landing on my face. And of course I had an audience. A group of teenage girls and several grown-up ladies all sitting around having a meeting, which I was skipping up the stairs to attend. I am supposed to be a mentor to these girls but I'm afraid I lost some cool points :) I started laughing at myself as soon as I landed. The key to minimizing embarrassment is to laugh first, because that way everyone really is laughing with you. Besides, it's not like you can ignore the fact that I nearly splattered myself across the floor.
Messy Room:
My room is a dreadful mess and it's embarrassing. Maybe it reflects my disordered mind. That sounds bad. I don't have a real disorder aside from being dreadfully unmotivated and easily overwhelmed. Consolation: the rest of my house stays clean. And no I don't have dirty laundry or 3 week old pizza lying about in my room. The papers and books and knickknacks have simply taken over. I'm in the process of getting organized. Really I am.
I could write much much more but I won't. I'm boring myself. My next post will be radical and interesting.
Nursing School:
I'm officially in my 3rd semester of nursing school which deserves a big "Thank You God" because I didn't think I would survive summer. All of the lectures and lab skills and clinical rotations just went right over my head and I felt like the dopiest nursing student ever invented. And then, suddenly, at the end of the 4-months- of-material-condensed-into-9-weeks-of-stress, it all made sense. I told my clinical instructor, "It's finally clicked! Now that the semester is over, I finally get it." Well, better late than never I suppose. Highlight of the summer: I had a patient who hates needles. She was in the hospital because her craniotomy incision had become infected--and a wound infection after surgery is no joke. WARNING: description of a surgery to follow. Read it if you want. A craniotomy is a procedure used to remove a brain tumor. The hair is shaved at and around the incision site and a fairly large section of the skull is removed, exposing the brain. After the tumor is removed, the piece of skull is fit back into place. You can imagine how it would feel to know that you're half bald and the back of your head has an big upside-down horseshoe shaped line of stitches. Well, this patient was incredibly anxious and she'd already had quite enough of IVs, drains, and shots. When I walked in to give her a heparin injection she didn't look too happy. Thankfully we were taught to prepare the injection in the med room and cap the needle so the patients won't see you come strolling in with a long shiny needle; when you're already stressed out and afraid of shots, that inch long needle looks like a sword. My patient sat there cringing and said "Okay, you can do it now." I smiled and said "I'm already done." She looked genuinely surprised. "Oh, good technique! That last nurse came walking in with that huge needle for my heparin and it hurt like crazy!" Ha ha, go me :) Now the fall semester has begun and I'm in Pediatrics/Obstetrics/Psych. Plus I'm taking a silly Research Strategies course (all about using PowerPoint and looking stuff up online. I didn't have to take it at the college I graduated from because I was a science major and you have to use all of those research strategies in class anyway) and U.S. History. I'm pretty sure there aren't enough hours in the day, so sleeping and eating will have to wait until Christmas break. Good news--I'm still on track to graduate May 2011. Hurray!!
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| original image from mycampfriends.com/pages/ |
Recycling:
My little household, consisting of two of my sisters and I, have been recycling and I am working very hard to avoid using plastic grocery bags when shopping. The problem is, I go to the store and leave my cute little tote bags at home. Okay, they're actually not little. They're huge and I'm small. Most of the time I just tell the cashier I don't need a bag and carry my groceries out. Of course, my arms can only hold so much before things start falling all over the place and I end up looking like a one woman circus. I can imagine myself wobbling across the parking lot with red clown shoes and garish clown makeup and poofy rainbow colored hair. Ick. Clowns are scary but I will be one in the name of going green. I'm really quite a klutz anyway. The other day I was skipping gracefully up the stairs, feeling cool and light on my feet, and then I tripped and fell dramatically, very nearly landing on my face. And of course I had an audience. A group of teenage girls and several grown-up ladies all sitting around having a meeting, which I was skipping up the stairs to attend. I am supposed to be a mentor to these girls but I'm afraid I lost some cool points :) I started laughing at myself as soon as I landed. The key to minimizing embarrassment is to laugh first, because that way everyone really is laughing with you. Besides, it's not like you can ignore the fact that I nearly splattered myself across the floor.
Messy Room:
My room is a dreadful mess and it's embarrassing. Maybe it reflects my disordered mind. That sounds bad. I don't have a real disorder aside from being dreadfully unmotivated and easily overwhelmed. Consolation: the rest of my house stays clean. And no I don't have dirty laundry or 3 week old pizza lying about in my room. The papers and books and knickknacks have simply taken over. I'm in the process of getting organized. Really I am.
I could write much much more but I won't. I'm boring myself. My next post will be radical and interesting.
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