Not dead....

...just exhausted.

More updates soon...just working overtime at present.

On a pale horse...

It all began with the cursed bread.

The shift I worked before the New Year's Eve Kidney Stone Adventure was interesting. I am still being precepted (and that is a very, very good thing because believe me, you don't want me on my own) by Mega-Nurse, and we had "the Cardiac Rooms." which are large rooms on the back wall which are filled, most of the time, with really, really sick people...and some just plain unusual patients.

That shift, Tuesday, in fact, we had the usual chaos, but for a short while, we had a gentleman who was...not to put too fine a point on it...unable to make water, drain the lizard, leave a yellow letter, take a leak...urinate. Please feel free to insert your personal euphemism of choice. This fellow was three years post-prostate biopsy and had had this very same problem before. So, we catheterized him. No easy feat, I assure you, because it's hard to introduce a long, latex tube into the slightly smaller urethra when your patient is hopping around the room and flapping his arms like a chicken. But, we did. More specifically, another nurse did. I came in, did my assessment and then the Doc came in, did his assessment, and the quick and dirty is--the fella left with a small catheter bag and an appointment for followup with a urologist for the next day. He was so pleased with his care (and pleased he'd released the near 800ml I drained from the bag before he left) that he, being a baker, ran back inside and gave me, and the Doc each a loaf of bread.

Friendly gesture...thoughtful, even...right?

Dead. Wrong.

Since receiving the cursed bread, for what else could it be, I have had the kidney stone adventure...micro-germ 1 fell down our steps, backwards, and bruised her back, micro-germ 2 has had never-ending bowel problems, I now have a bit of a cold, and...my father is very ill and in the hospital.

My dad has CHF at present, a new diagnosis for him, and not brought on by a surfeit of salt (though that can't be good), but, rather, a near complete heart block and state of A-Fib has tipped him over into the CHF and he has been in the Hospital since Monday night. He remains there now, stable, but not appreciably better and will most likely need a transfer to another facility from our hospital.

I need to write more about this, but right now I'm just too tired. And, I'm on duty tomorrow.

However, let me say this, to my one loyal reader at any rate...sometimes, when you go down, you never recover back to your baseline, and at the end of days, that slippage occurs with each crisis. I know that, as a family, we are at that place now with my Dad.

It is the beginning...the first true steps down the path to the one, inescapable end that must eventually claim us all. It's time like this that I am both pleased and sad not to believe in God. I'm pleased, of course, because I do not hold out false and unreasonable hope...and sad to think that when this particular person slips away that my world will be altered for the worse...

and for always.

Happy New Year....and welcome to kidney stones

So...On New Year's Eve, at 11am, I was slated to work. I woke up at about 8am...felt a little queasy and my back was sore on the right side. I figured that I'd pulled a muscle while moving patients the day before that.

So, I popped a couple of pepto, washed and dressed and called my babysitter over early since I was still feeling a little creepy.

I left the kids in my sitter's capable hands, went next door to tell my parents that I was going to work, either as a nurse or as a patient, then left to drive to the hospital.

I threw up at the intersection of Telegraph Road and Prince William Parkway.

By the time I got to the hospital, I was restless and unable to find a position that was comfortable either sitting or standing. Then, of course, was the fact that I was throwing up bright yellow bile. Then, there was the fact that I wanted to pee, but couldn't.

So, I became a patient, and after an exam, a lock inserted and labs drawn, the administration of 4mg of morphine, 30mg of toradol, and 4mg of zofran, and one CT scan later...it would seem I have some kidney stones.

Happy. Fucking. New Year.

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

Death Cab For Cutie....

Always manage to get it right.

Yep.

Erm...White Christmas...?

As if.

Well, this is my house, badly in need of painting and listing a bit like a pirate ship. And, of course, covered in snow.

We were expecting this. And, in fact, the weather reports did rather well...after all was said and done, we had over two feet of snowfall, some drifts over four feet, and in the crater-like depression that is my yard, snow over my knees and up to Abby's chest...see further pics.

I don't, at my age, particularly enjoy the snow. I have to work tomorrow and my driveway has yet to be dug-out by the local snow removal guy. I'm not at all excited by the prospect of further digging out. Anyway...here are more pics for your enjoyment.

My parents house, shown above, as the snow continues to fall and the first of the dig-out guys arrives.
My front porch...and the jaunty santa hats sported by my lions are also covered in snow...this has since been rectified.

My four foot wall nearly swallowed.

My buried car, and this taken before the last 8 inches of snow fell. It's still buried.

My crazy dog.

And...the crazy dog again. She, like the micro-germs, really likes this white crap. Meh. I could live without it. Besides, my yard will be the Green Sea once this stuff melts. Begs the question though...how much really did fall in Hungary?

Poetry and Music

...so what do you do when the best comes to an end?

Simply wait for the best to return.

My Germ-Partner has returned to parts Hungarian.




















Feh!

...Is it the drains...?

Simon is in the yard taking a piss.

Well, now, what a sentence is that to begin my blog anew after so many weeks absence?

It is, however, sadly true.

The happy news I can report is that my significant other, Long-Term-Boyfriend, Germ-in-Crime, has finally hauled his trim, not at all blobby ass over to the states for a long overdue, years in fact, visit.

I can also report that the plumbing in the house is knackered.

Just before Thanksgiving, the toilet started flushing strangely...as in not flushing at all, but we suffered through until yesterday when the first plumber, by the name of Mr. Jackassington, arrived and stayed long enough to inform us that there was something wrong, he couldn't fix it, and we could, by the way fuck right off. Enter, therefore, plumber number #2, you should pardon the expression, who has been here for 3 hours and counting...but he says it's a venting a problem and that it should be sorted soon.

Since I last blogged...Micro-germ 2 has changed schools, Micro-germ 1 made the prinicipal's honor roll, My germy parents remain well, my upstairs neighbor (my second brother) has not shot me, Thanksgiving was brilliant and all is right with the world.

Except for the drains.

I'm really, really tired of walking up the hill to my parents to urinate. Am I jealous of Simon and his standing-up-to-relieve-himself-in-an-out-of-the-way-corner-of-the-yard abilities?

Ab.so.lute.ly.