Monthly Archives: September 2010

I’m in a constant state of remodeling the blog, which is funny because approximately 3 people actually see the blog. Mostly, I take solace in my lack of audience, knowing that my thoughts here are for my own memory’s sake. Occasionally though, I wish for thousands of readers and the chance to become a world famous writer. Doesn’t the world want to hear about the incredible magic of my child’s every minutia and how, one time, I held a crazy man’s scrotum!?

I just realized that I never finished that story. Sadly, it’s a “Chapter 1″ without any subsequent chapters. Just for some closure:

Unknown White Male made his way back to the ER quite a few more times and I was always his nurse. In fact, I started seeing him in the triage line and I would tell the triage nurse, “It’s OK. I’ll take him. We have a thing going.” One night, he was even filthier than usual. Filthier than any human I have ever encountered – and I have encountered filth unimaginable. Another first-year doctor had decided they wanted to “work him up” for whatever nonsense was on his differential diagnosis and they wanted me to draw blood and put in an IV. I couldn’t find his skin beneath the caked filth, let alone a vein, and since it was a slow night, I decided it would be funny/horrible/insane to try and give him a shower.

Elmhurst, being the awesome inner city hospital it is, has one patient shower located in a hall closet. No bathroom, no real ante-room for getting changed. Just a closet in the middle of a busy hallway in the MIDDLE of the ER. So if you come to the ER and you need a shower, you best be ready to expose your genitals to the greater Queens community. Unknown White Male was more than ready.

At this point in our relationship, he was generally cooperative for me and he happily stripped down. I can’t even begin to describe the things that dropped out of his clothes as he removed his many layers. I wrapped him in a bed sheet (again, inner city ER = no towels! Really? No towels!?) and we shuffled down the hallway to the shower – me holding the train to his bed sheet gown. I unraveled him from the sheet and coaxed him into the shower – at which point he enthusiastically turned on the water and started a constant stream of loud, aggressive garbling. I handed him a dixie cup full of antibacterial hand soap (no towels, no shampoo, no private shower. . . the list is endless) and I dumped another cup of soap over his head. He enthusiastically started scrubbing.

MS. CRAZY WANTS ME TO SHOWER! WASHING MY DICK! YOU WANT ME TO WASH MY DICK MY HAIR MY SCROTUM MY BALLS MY BALLS. MS. CRAZY? MS. CRAZY? FUCKING DOCTORS FROM MT. SINAI DONT FUCKING KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THEY . . . MORE SHAMPOO! MORE SHAMPOO. I’LL WASH MY BALLS MS. CRAZY! I’LL WASH MY BALLS! MY ANUS NEEDS WASHING! SHOULD I WASH MY ANUS? MS. CRAZY!?

So there I am, Ms. Crazy, standing at the door, holding up a sheet so that the rest of the ER can’t really see what is going on inside the shower closet. “Yes. Wash your balls. Yes. Wash your anus. Ok. Almost done . . . . ” He continued to cooperate and the conversation was magical, really. The sheet was filthy and soaked at this point, so I quickly had another nurse stand there to guard him while I ran to get a clean sheet. By the time I got back, he had bolted out of the shower closet and was ambling down the hallway, dragging the filthy sheet around his ankles. Though I wrangled him pretty quickly, the entire ER got a good look at his new sparkly clean balls and anus.

I’ll admit: I had a real thing for Unknown White Male. Beneath his frothy, irrational screaming, he was actually kind of sweet and cooperative. He couldn’t even remember his own name (hence the ‘Unknown White Male’), but he eventually started lighting up when he saw me and would happily exclaim, “Hey Ms. Crazy! It’s you! Ms. Crazy!” It was heartwarming. Eventually, he disappeared – moved on to another ER, another Burrough perhaps. I like to think his family found him and cleaned him up and put him on the right medication. Somewhere, he is well-dressed and clean-shaven – maybe he is back to practicing medicine . . . maybe he really was a doctor like he always screamed. I don’t doubt the depths to which a person can tumble, if given the right set of horrible circumstances.

I know the story is, in reality, a sad one – but so is every story I have from the ER. Had I not been able to find funny, heartwarming moments along the way, I would have had to be committed. I almost had to be committed anyway.

Also, when people ask me about how gross it must be to clean my daughter’s cloth diapers, I just smile and think back to the hundreds of old people diarrhea diapers I have wrestled with and the cruddy old man foreskins I have had to scrub clean. The fact that my daughter’s diapers are the dirtiest thing I encounter on a day to day basis is a miracle.

So, right. Slowly remodeling the blog. Crazy, filthy old man. Ball scrubbing. Dirty diapers. Back to the beginning: Someday I will learn how to make my own beautiful website. Someday. Once I have finished the 4,034 other things on my to-do list. And everything will get done in the one-hour a day I have while Elsa naps.

I have a pretty genius friend whose talents I covet over at his website: The Cook Blog. Someday I hope my blog will be that aesthetically pleasing. In any event, while I am still wallowing around using the pre-made wordpress templates, I will just do what I can – and today, that means rewriting my “About” page.

For posterity’s sake, I will save my old “About” page here. For the last time:

________________________________________________________________________

[UPDATE: March 2010]

I gave birth to a small human. Her name is Elsa. I’m her mom and John is her dad – forever. So far, so good.

Family portrait with yelling

{UPDATE: October 2009]

It’s been an awfully long time. A lot has changed, but an attempt will be made to resurrect the blog. I can’t believe that it has been almost two years. TWO YEARS! What’s different now?

1. I left my job in the ER back in July so I could move to CT with the man and be near family.
2. The man got me all pregnant and stuff.
3. While I wait for this baby to make it’s debut (in February), I work random per diem nursing jobs. Mostly, I think about being pregnant and meeting this creature that the man and I made.

As I was once compelled to write about my ER adventures, I am now compelled to write about all this pregnancy/baby stuff. Same old infrequent posting.

[UPDATE: January 2008]

Closing in on my six month anniversary as a nurse. Considering three of those months were spent in orientation, it feels almost absurd that I’ve only been practicing for two and a half months.

{UPDATE : August 2007}

I’m actually a nurse now and practicing all this new nursing stuff in the Emergency Department where I have worked for the past year. I managed to convince them to hire me, I guess. It’s been over a month and I’m still totally floored when I see “RN” after my name.

I’m here to write about why nursing is a damn hard job. Here to hopefully chronicle my ascent from the land of the bumbling new nurse to the ranks of the competent.

{Original Blog About}

I live in a fine outer borough with a very fine partner. A year ago, I would have ranted on about how much I hate the city. Now, I’m content. Not in love with the place, but content.

I have 5 more months until I graduate with my BSN. A great city hospital [we'll call it Big City Hospital] is paying for my last year of nursing school in return for 16 months of service when I graduate.

As for my non-nursing self:
I exaggerate – often.
I want to live on a farm someday and have a lot of animal friends.
I have a hard time seeing myself as an adult.
I love the state of Ohio.
I would like to drive across the United States at least 10 more times.
I did a triathlon once and would like to do another someday.
And I cannot tolerate spiders in any way. Ever.