So, I kind of owe you all an explanation. It was my initial intention to do a weekly update on this blog, as implied by the weekly format, but that did not happen. I'm going to let you in on a little secret: nursing school sucks. Truly, truly sucky. It is a drain down which everything I enjoy is pulled into and crushed to bits by some cosmic garbage disposal.
Well, that was depressing. Don't worry, I'm cool. I'm just being owned by nursing school, and I'm not really used to being owned. You ever been owned? It's not fun. It's not even funny, at all, or I'd say something funny regarding the whole being owned thing, but trust me there is nothing funny about it.
So, weekly posts are dead (R.I.P.), and sporadic, random, seldom or frequent posts are in. Enjoy. Or not. Whatever, I have to study.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Week 2: Trail of Tears
Yes, this was the week of many an ocular waterworks. Of course, now we're in the thick of it. No more first week honeymooning - this is for real, and all the assignments that have been thrust upon us are also for real. So many things to do. It's not just the assignments they give us through the week, it's the studying, the practicing, the mandatory lab hours, the standardized tests we have to complete and pass on our own time. I downloaded a task managing app onto my ipod just to keep track (for those of you interested, it's called iProcrastinate, and it's free). I don't have a lot of time here, so let's get into it.
The Water Works
Wednesday was the beginning. I guess in the week where we have our first exam I should have expected some public breakdowns, but I must have overlooked the possibility, because as soon as that girl was walking toward us, her eyes red and running, I was as taken aback as ever by it. I'm not a public crier. In private, sure, why not, but never in front of people. This poor girl couldn't keep it in, though. She had just failed a skills checkoff (more on that in a moment), and it was devastating. I was sitting with my new friend, studying for our test, and it took us both about ten minutes to calm her and move on to other subjects to help her forget her forlorned state. But she was fine by the time she left, so mission accomplished. The other one was less fortunate. She cried all through our test on Friday. The whole time. I wasn't quite sure of what to do for that. It's one thing to cry in front of two of your classmates, it's another to cry in front of all your classmates. I hope she makes it.
Skills Checkoffs
So, pretty much every week we learn a new "skill," and to prove we've learned it we have to complete it successfully in front of a classmate, and then an instructor. These checkoff sheets are then filed away to prove to the state that we can, indeed, perform these tasks. Last week was sterile gloving. Oooh. Yeah, doesn't sound complicated, in fact I've done it quite a few times in my MA career, so I was fairly confident about it. But boy does that change when your being watched like a hawk, especially when that hawk's name is Smiley Smilington (or so I named her - note the sarcasm). I tried to drop a joke or two just to lighten things up, but she was not having it. This explains to me why it was that a young girl can come out of her skills checkoff crying, when I know for a fact she's done it perfectly numerous times. That grouchy hawk made her too nervous. It'll take more than that to get me, though.
First Exam
So, yeah. It was Friday, and I did it. I answered every question, 100 in all. Not a walk in the park, but also not brain surgery. Somewhere in between, like building a house, or baking a really complicated cake while sleep-deprived. Here's how I figure the math out for projecting how well I did: there were six questions I marked to come back to, since they were taking me more than 30 seconds to answer. So, if I got all of those wrong, we're looking at a 94%. That's the best I think I could have done. That leaves the rest of the questions that I could answer with a fair amount of confidence. Of those, I figure no more than ten could have been able to trick me into answering them wrong, so that would put me at an 84%. So that's it. Low A, or low B. That's my range, and you know what? That's okay with me. If I get a C, I will probably cry in front of all my classmates.
Speaking of Sleep Deprivation
I have not had a restful night's sleep in two weeks. And when I do manage to fall asleep, and dream, I don't get to have just one dream. I'm having about four to five dreams at the same time. Like watching four movies at once. It's trip-ee! I'm not even sure how to describe it. It's like watching a movie on a window that you can see through, in front of another window playing a completely different movie that you can also see through. And there's five of these just lined up in front of you. Another evidence of stress: bowel habits. Read no further if that doesn't interest you, but for those who can handle it, I'll just say it as plainly as I can. I've been pooping, like, three times a day. Three times. Per day. Yeah.
Stress Bustin'
Friday, after the test, I hit the local outdoor shopping plex, and scoured the clearance racks. I always shop clearance racks, and for those of you still paying full price, or even more than 50% off, I pity you. Either that, or you're rich as a Czar, and in that case I don't pity you, but you're still getting had. The result of my thriftiness is as follows:
BCBG Blue pleated knee-length skirt with pocket: $138 (I paid $25)
BCBG Dark Blue knit top with gathered cap sleeves $128 (I paid $30)
Anthropology t-shirt mini dress with empire waist tie $88 (I paid $19)
Yeah! Feels soooo good. Also, movies are a big retreat for me, and this weekend's release of Inglorious Basterds (excuse my misspelled French), was one of the best movies I've seen this year (Cheryl, don't go see this - you won't like it).
Nursing School Stats: to date
Hershey's Chocolate squares consumed: 32 (trying to cut down)
Naps taken due to exhaustion: 4
Breakdowns that include crying: 1 (no increase from last week)
Hours of study time : 10
Moments of regret: 0
The Water Works
Wednesday was the beginning. I guess in the week where we have our first exam I should have expected some public breakdowns, but I must have overlooked the possibility, because as soon as that girl was walking toward us, her eyes red and running, I was as taken aback as ever by it. I'm not a public crier. In private, sure, why not, but never in front of people. This poor girl couldn't keep it in, though. She had just failed a skills checkoff (more on that in a moment), and it was devastating. I was sitting with my new friend, studying for our test, and it took us both about ten minutes to calm her and move on to other subjects to help her forget her forlorned state. But she was fine by the time she left, so mission accomplished. The other one was less fortunate. She cried all through our test on Friday. The whole time. I wasn't quite sure of what to do for that. It's one thing to cry in front of two of your classmates, it's another to cry in front of all your classmates. I hope she makes it.
Skills Checkoffs
So, pretty much every week we learn a new "skill," and to prove we've learned it we have to complete it successfully in front of a classmate, and then an instructor. These checkoff sheets are then filed away to prove to the state that we can, indeed, perform these tasks. Last week was sterile gloving. Oooh. Yeah, doesn't sound complicated, in fact I've done it quite a few times in my MA career, so I was fairly confident about it. But boy does that change when your being watched like a hawk, especially when that hawk's name is Smiley Smilington (or so I named her - note the sarcasm). I tried to drop a joke or two just to lighten things up, but she was not having it. This explains to me why it was that a young girl can come out of her skills checkoff crying, when I know for a fact she's done it perfectly numerous times. That grouchy hawk made her too nervous. It'll take more than that to get me, though.
First Exam
So, yeah. It was Friday, and I did it. I answered every question, 100 in all. Not a walk in the park, but also not brain surgery. Somewhere in between, like building a house, or baking a really complicated cake while sleep-deprived. Here's how I figure the math out for projecting how well I did: there were six questions I marked to come back to, since they were taking me more than 30 seconds to answer. So, if I got all of those wrong, we're looking at a 94%. That's the best I think I could have done. That leaves the rest of the questions that I could answer with a fair amount of confidence. Of those, I figure no more than ten could have been able to trick me into answering them wrong, so that would put me at an 84%. So that's it. Low A, or low B. That's my range, and you know what? That's okay with me. If I get a C, I will probably cry in front of all my classmates.
Speaking of Sleep Deprivation
I have not had a restful night's sleep in two weeks. And when I do manage to fall asleep, and dream, I don't get to have just one dream. I'm having about four to five dreams at the same time. Like watching four movies at once. It's trip-ee! I'm not even sure how to describe it. It's like watching a movie on a window that you can see through, in front of another window playing a completely different movie that you can also see through. And there's five of these just lined up in front of you. Another evidence of stress: bowel habits. Read no further if that doesn't interest you, but for those who can handle it, I'll just say it as plainly as I can. I've been pooping, like, three times a day. Three times. Per day. Yeah.
Stress Bustin'
Friday, after the test, I hit the local outdoor shopping plex, and scoured the clearance racks. I always shop clearance racks, and for those of you still paying full price, or even more than 50% off, I pity you. Either that, or you're rich as a Czar, and in that case I don't pity you, but you're still getting had. The result of my thriftiness is as follows:
BCBG Blue pleated knee-length skirt with pocket: $138 (I paid $25)
BCBG Dark Blue knit top with gathered cap sleeves $128 (I paid $30)
Anthropology t-shirt mini dress with empire waist tie $88 (I paid $19)
Yeah! Feels soooo good. Also, movies are a big retreat for me, and this weekend's release of Inglorious Basterds (excuse my misspelled French), was one of the best movies I've seen this year (Cheryl, don't go see this - you won't like it).
Nursing School Stats: to date
Hershey's Chocolate squares consumed: 32 (trying to cut down)
Naps taken due to exhaustion: 4
Breakdowns that include crying: 1 (no increase from last week)
Hours of study time : 10
Moments of regret: 0
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Week 1: It Starts
Okay, it started. It started, and I've survived the very start of it. I had intended on doing a Day 1 post, but that didn't happen on day one. It didn't happen on day 2-6 either. It was impossible. I mean, literally, my level of activity has shot through the roof, and I'm not quite sure how to manage it yet. Streeeeeess.
Lecture Me to Death
For real, how many hours am I expected to just sit there and listen. Quite a few, as it turns out. And not just listen, but really hear what they're saying, make notes, try to make my notes legible so that when I go back later to study I'm not freaking out because I can't understand my own explanations. Under one note, I wrote "ther." What does that mean? That's not a word! It doesn't even make sense for it to be "their," or "there," it is a complete mystery to me. Hope it wasn't important. I'm just not used to this. Never in my entire life have I sat all day listening to someone else speak. Even in high school they gave us an hour of PE. But this is very much not high school, and I'm beginning to realize that nursing school may in fact be the hardest thing I've ever accomplished (should I be fortunate enough to actually accomplish it).
Questions, Questions, Questions!
We have a chatterbox. I mentioned her in Boot Camp: Day One of Two when I had the misfortune of being seated next to her. She can't shut up. It's not that she won't, I don't think, it's that she physically does not have the ability to close her mouth. Perhaps she has a septal deviation and cannot breath through her nose, causing her to perpetually have her mouth agape in order not to suffocate, and while it's in that position she thinks why not make incoherent ramblings come out as long as it's already open. My friend and I counted in a fifty minute period how many times this girl asked a question. Six. Six questions in a fifty minute period of lecture. That's more than a question every ten minutes. And I'm not talking about the times she simply raised her hand to ask a question, which was mind-blowingly frequent, I'm talking the times this gesture was successful and she was actually called on. And what questions! I think you know what I'm talking about.
Books
Well, there they are. Minus my Med Surg book, which they are currently out of, but which I need for next week (maybe I should just order it online. Hm). All together, those things cost me a cool $475. That's all financial aid money, of course. Oh, yeah, speaking of financial aid...
Give Me My Money!
Have you applied for a student loan lately? Yeah, it's a blast. And then, even after all the work you've done to prove you are indeed worthy of a particular sum of money, there's more paperwork to do of which I was not aware. It was a week before school started, and still I didn't have any aid in my account. So, I bought my books on a voucher. No big deal. Four days after school had already started and still no money. My tuition hadn't been paid. This might be a problem. So I go to the financial aid desk to get some answers. Oh, they're a lively bunch behind the financial aid desk. I don't know what kind of sedatives they're giving those people, but let me tell you it's some first-rate stuff. The guy was barely awake enough to tell me I had to go to the bank website and sign a something-or-other thing (I don't remember what it's called, just give me my money!). So I hop on the computer and do all eight pages of necessary steps, get to the final page and it won't let me submit. Not cool. I call the bank. Apparently, the school uses Firefox, which is not compatible with Commerce Bank's esign feature. Great. Thanks for telling me before I filled out eight pages worth of information fields. Hey, Commerce, how about letting me know in advance next time, say, on page one of eight instead of page eight of eight! Sound like a good idea? Does it? Greeeeeat.
Tests, Tension, and Time Management
I've been to the testing center three times this week to take the same medical terminology test. I need a 90% and I keep getting 85%. There are a number of these little tests that we have to get done on our own; standardized things to satisfy some kind of requisite for the state. They're really irritating. It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't change up the questions every time. There's a math one too, and for that I have to get a 100%. Ha! Never, in my entire childhood, adolescent or adult life have I ever gotten 100% on anything containing the word "math." I can't imagine how many times I'm going to have to take that one to pass it. Which brings me to my main source of stress for this week, and that is the difficulty associated with time management when you have no idea how many times you're going to have to take the same test in a single week. I had planned on taking the med term test one time, and instead it was three, and I'll have to try yet again next week. So the time slots for tests #2 and #3 were alloted to other things which I had to then move to a different time slot, which meant the things in those time slots had to be moved somewhere else (they're still floating somewhere above Kansas City, I think). It's all a mind game. It's all about deciding what is going to get done, because there's not enough time in the week to get it all done, so something must be sacrificed and you just have to cross your fingers and pray that you choose to kill off the right thing.
Stress Management
This week, I did a few things to relieve my stress. I took naps - that not so much for stress management as for the fact that I was completely exhausted and unable to keep my eyes open, nor my body erect. I played Disk Golf. Google it, it's way awesome. And I made this sandwich, which was divine.
The Sandwich (follow these levels to the letter, from bottom to top):
Toasted piece of bread
Miracle Whip (don't start about that Mayo crap)
Lettuce
Turkey bacon (it's okay, you can use real bacon. Lucky)
Tomato
Avocado slices (be generous, you won't regret it)
Toasted piece of bread
Inhale. Enjoy.
Nursing School Stats:
Hershey's Chocolate squares consumed: 20
Naps taken due to exhaustion: 2
Breakdowns that include crying: 1
Lecture Me to Death
For real, how many hours am I expected to just sit there and listen. Quite a few, as it turns out. And not just listen, but really hear what they're saying, make notes, try to make my notes legible so that when I go back later to study I'm not freaking out because I can't understand my own explanations. Under one note, I wrote "ther." What does that mean? That's not a word! It doesn't even make sense for it to be "their," or "there," it is a complete mystery to me. Hope it wasn't important. I'm just not used to this. Never in my entire life have I sat all day listening to someone else speak. Even in high school they gave us an hour of PE. But this is very much not high school, and I'm beginning to realize that nursing school may in fact be the hardest thing I've ever accomplished (should I be fortunate enough to actually accomplish it).
Questions, Questions, Questions!
We have a chatterbox. I mentioned her in Boot Camp: Day One of Two when I had the misfortune of being seated next to her. She can't shut up. It's not that she won't, I don't think, it's that she physically does not have the ability to close her mouth. Perhaps she has a septal deviation and cannot breath through her nose, causing her to perpetually have her mouth agape in order not to suffocate, and while it's in that position she thinks why not make incoherent ramblings come out as long as it's already open. My friend and I counted in a fifty minute period how many times this girl asked a question. Six. Six questions in a fifty minute period of lecture. That's more than a question every ten minutes. And I'm not talking about the times she simply raised her hand to ask a question, which was mind-blowingly frequent, I'm talking the times this gesture was successful and she was actually called on. And what questions! I think you know what I'm talking about.
Books
Well, there they are. Minus my Med Surg book, which they are currently out of, but which I need for next week (maybe I should just order it online. Hm). All together, those things cost me a cool $475. That's all financial aid money, of course. Oh, yeah, speaking of financial aid...Give Me My Money!
Have you applied for a student loan lately? Yeah, it's a blast. And then, even after all the work you've done to prove you are indeed worthy of a particular sum of money, there's more paperwork to do of which I was not aware. It was a week before school started, and still I didn't have any aid in my account. So, I bought my books on a voucher. No big deal. Four days after school had already started and still no money. My tuition hadn't been paid. This might be a problem. So I go to the financial aid desk to get some answers. Oh, they're a lively bunch behind the financial aid desk. I don't know what kind of sedatives they're giving those people, but let me tell you it's some first-rate stuff. The guy was barely awake enough to tell me I had to go to the bank website and sign a something-or-other thing (I don't remember what it's called, just give me my money!). So I hop on the computer and do all eight pages of necessary steps, get to the final page and it won't let me submit. Not cool. I call the bank. Apparently, the school uses Firefox, which is not compatible with Commerce Bank's esign feature. Great. Thanks for telling me before I filled out eight pages worth of information fields. Hey, Commerce, how about letting me know in advance next time, say, on page one of eight instead of page eight of eight! Sound like a good idea? Does it? Greeeeeat.
Tests, Tension, and Time Management
I've been to the testing center three times this week to take the same medical terminology test. I need a 90% and I keep getting 85%. There are a number of these little tests that we have to get done on our own; standardized things to satisfy some kind of requisite for the state. They're really irritating. It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't change up the questions every time. There's a math one too, and for that I have to get a 100%. Ha! Never, in my entire childhood, adolescent or adult life have I ever gotten 100% on anything containing the word "math." I can't imagine how many times I'm going to have to take that one to pass it. Which brings me to my main source of stress for this week, and that is the difficulty associated with time management when you have no idea how many times you're going to have to take the same test in a single week. I had planned on taking the med term test one time, and instead it was three, and I'll have to try yet again next week. So the time slots for tests #2 and #3 were alloted to other things which I had to then move to a different time slot, which meant the things in those time slots had to be moved somewhere else (they're still floating somewhere above Kansas City, I think). It's all a mind game. It's all about deciding what is going to get done, because there's not enough time in the week to get it all done, so something must be sacrificed and you just have to cross your fingers and pray that you choose to kill off the right thing.
Stress Management
This week, I did a few things to relieve my stress. I took naps - that not so much for stress management as for the fact that I was completely exhausted and unable to keep my eyes open, nor my body erect. I played Disk Golf. Google it, it's way awesome. And I made this sandwich, which was divine.
The Sandwich (follow these levels to the letter, from bottom to top):Toasted piece of bread
Miracle Whip (don't start about that Mayo crap)
Lettuce
Turkey bacon (it's okay, you can use real bacon. Lucky)
Tomato
Avocado slices (be generous, you won't regret it)
Toasted piece of bread
Inhale. Enjoy.
Nursing School Stats:
Hershey's Chocolate squares consumed: 20
Naps taken due to exhaustion: 2
Breakdowns that include crying: 1
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Boot Camp Day 2 of 2 (a day late)
Okay, no more contemplation of quitting. I'm all in. Day two was just what I needed, and I'm feeling good. Two words: sim lab. This place is so cool. It's like a mini ER set up right in the school. A nurses station, four patient rooms with very crazy mannequins lying in them. These things do it all - they breath, blink, have heart tones, bowel sounds, lung sounds, their pupils dilate and they sing songs (all that except the singing part). It's cool. So, am I saying that I am completely put at ease about this whole nursing thing because I got to play with a large plastic doll that may or may not have working veins? Yes, yes I am. I figure, if this program is awesome enough to have this, then it's good enough for me.
And, in addition, I was encouraged by the faculty and all the second year students that they are, in fact, rooting for us. They want us to succeed; it's not the kind of environment where you will be continually asked to prove that you deserve to be there. And with any luck, I won't end up doing something that would prove otherwise.
And, in addition, I was encouraged by the faculty and all the second year students that they are, in fact, rooting for us. They want us to succeed; it's not the kind of environment where you will be continually asked to prove that you deserve to be there. And with any luck, I won't end up doing something that would prove otherwise.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Boot Camp: Day 1 of 2
So, today was nursing Boot Camp, a.k.a. skills review. We all met together for the first time since our orientation in June. Only one of us has dropped out so far. After today, I considered it myself (not really. But kind of). We met in the lecture hall for some orientation stuff, then it was off to review vital signs. It's amazing how something that I've been doing nearly every week day for the past three and a half years should suddenly become so difficult when being observed. It was as if I'd never taken a blood pressure before. What is that? Then it got me thinking: if I can get this nervous about a skill I am well versed in, what is going to happen to me when asked to demonstrate a skill I've learned just weeks earlier? We have these skills check-offs, like, all the time. Great. Just great.
Today was useful in one way, and that was in reminding me of something I'd forgotten about: seating arrangements and how they correlate directly to your success in that class. I was so unfortunate as to sit next to the very wrong person. This girl had a comment for everything. Not a funny comment, nothing quippy or even interesting, just a comment. Just pressure of speech, or something like that. This was unbearable. After a few minutes I refused to even acknowledge the fact that she was saying anything at all, and yet even with no positive reinforcement, she just kept going. Insane. As mean as this sounds, I have absolutely resolved to avoid this girl in future, at all possible cost. To have my concentration thus assaulted would surely mean the death of me. I did, however, make a friend, I believe. She's very nice, smart, good smile, and doesn't talk too much. This could be the start of a beautiful relationship.
Today was useful in one way, and that was in reminding me of something I'd forgotten about: seating arrangements and how they correlate directly to your success in that class. I was so unfortunate as to sit next to the very wrong person. This girl had a comment for everything. Not a funny comment, nothing quippy or even interesting, just a comment. Just pressure of speech, or something like that. This was unbearable. After a few minutes I refused to even acknowledge the fact that she was saying anything at all, and yet even with no positive reinforcement, she just kept going. Insane. As mean as this sounds, I have absolutely resolved to avoid this girl in future, at all possible cost. To have my concentration thus assaulted would surely mean the death of me. I did, however, make a friend, I believe. She's very nice, smart, good smile, and doesn't talk too much. This could be the start of a beautiful relationship.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Debtor's Prison It Is!
So, maybe Debtor's Prison isn't so bad. I had high hopes for The Poor House, which is undoubtedly more dignified, but then Commerce Bank throws $4,500 at me, and what am I supposed to do? I mean, these scholarship people want nothing less than my dental records and a pound of my flesh, but these loan people are content with little more than my name! It's a good name, don't peg me ungrateful. So, there you have it. I took the money, and I don't feel bad about it. Maybe Dickens was all wrong. Maybe Debtor's Prison is where it's at! Misery loves company, debtors love debtors, and aren't we all in debt in some way or another? And besides, the husband and I have hatched a plan. When I graduate with my RN (some bright day at the end of a very long and dark tunnel), we will allocate all my earnings toward paying off our student loans until each is absolved. Then, we live like Kings! Or save for a rainy day, one or the other. Anyway, below is a rendition of what Dickens must have pictured a debtor's prison to look like. I must say, they all seem to be having such a good time.
[caption id="attachment_30" align="aligncenter" width="480" caption="Really, it doesn't look all that bad."]
[/caption]Monday, July 6, 2009
Proper Conduct in Medical Offices: A Tutorial
So, I've been a medical assistant for the past three years. For those of you who are not familiar, the medical assistant is the person who brings you back for your appointments, takes your blood pressure, gives you shots, and who you probably think is already a nurse. We're not nurses. That's why I have to go to school in August. Over the years there have been a lot of really good patients, who I will miss, and some pretty terrible patients, whom I will attempt to forget but who will doubtlessly haunt me for the rest of my life. The kind of patient that, when you see them on the schedule, you just cringe and consider going home sick. You don't want to be that kind of patient, now do you? Of course not. So, here is my tutorial, my instructions for proper conduct in the doctor's office: Wait patiently and do what you are told. That's it. So simple. And yet, I fear I will need to go into specifics. Here we go:
The waiting room: Please, please come to your appointment on time and with the expectation that you will wait, because you will. Bring a book, a puzzle, an iPod, anything to prepare yourselves for this. Keep a jacket with you, it might be cold, and wear a t-shirt under your sweater because it may be hot as well. And for goodness sake, don't stand there with your arms crossed looking ready to lose it if the next name called is not yours. It only irritates us, and frankly I will avoid calling your name as long as I can just to teach you a lesson. True story.
Your vitals: Getting your vitals is the primary job of any medical assistant, and as such we take it pretty seriously. Every vital, every time. When I ask you to weigh, just step up there. Don't give me excuses as to why you don't want to weigh like, "I just ate," or "my shoes are really heavy." Fine. Take off your shoes, and I'm sorry but those kankles didn't develop over lunch (I say that because it's usually my obese patients that don't want to weigh, and especially you ladies. Can I be brutally honest here? I don't need a number to see that you're overweight, what I need is a number to put in the computer because it won't accept the word "fat." I've tried).
In the room: Here's where I get your pulse and blood pressure. Please, no need to remind me what size cuff you need. I've been doing this every day, 30 times a day for three years, I think I can figure it out. And when we go over your med list, it would be helpful if you actually knew what meds you were taking. Keep a list. If you don't have a list, ask for one, then take it home and make sure it matches what you're taking, because it's kind of important.
Waiting in the room: Here's where that book comes in handy again, because yes you will wait for the doctor, again. Just calm yourself down.
With the doctor: Do not, I repeat do not come in to my doctor's office saying you have a sore throat and then tell the doctor that you've also been depressed, nauseated, dizzy and coming down with a nasty rash all over your body. And that you want STD testing. And that you might be ADD. I think you get what I'm driving at here: tell us why you're coming in. All the reasons why, because it's people like you who get in there and instead of the easy ten minutes fix we scheduled you for, you become a surprise 30 minute patient that has now put my doctor 20 minutes behind. People like you are the reason you wait so long.
Going home: Do what the doctor told you to do. I'm serious. Take the medication he told you to take, eat the food he told you to eat, do the exercises he told you to do - if you don't you'll be back in here in no time complaining that nothing we did for you last time worked. Well, you know, it's your body. Take some responsibility.
So, like I said, wait patiently and do what you're told. We're not building a rocket here, people. And as you make the changes necessary to mend your dastardly ways, you will find that the whole experience of going to the doctor will be a much pleasanter one, for all involved.
The waiting room: Please, please come to your appointment on time and with the expectation that you will wait, because you will. Bring a book, a puzzle, an iPod, anything to prepare yourselves for this. Keep a jacket with you, it might be cold, and wear a t-shirt under your sweater because it may be hot as well. And for goodness sake, don't stand there with your arms crossed looking ready to lose it if the next name called is not yours. It only irritates us, and frankly I will avoid calling your name as long as I can just to teach you a lesson. True story.
Your vitals: Getting your vitals is the primary job of any medical assistant, and as such we take it pretty seriously. Every vital, every time. When I ask you to weigh, just step up there. Don't give me excuses as to why you don't want to weigh like, "I just ate," or "my shoes are really heavy." Fine. Take off your shoes, and I'm sorry but those kankles didn't develop over lunch (I say that because it's usually my obese patients that don't want to weigh, and especially you ladies. Can I be brutally honest here? I don't need a number to see that you're overweight, what I need is a number to put in the computer because it won't accept the word "fat." I've tried).
In the room: Here's where I get your pulse and blood pressure. Please, no need to remind me what size cuff you need. I've been doing this every day, 30 times a day for three years, I think I can figure it out. And when we go over your med list, it would be helpful if you actually knew what meds you were taking. Keep a list. If you don't have a list, ask for one, then take it home and make sure it matches what you're taking, because it's kind of important.
Waiting in the room: Here's where that book comes in handy again, because yes you will wait for the doctor, again. Just calm yourself down.
With the doctor: Do not, I repeat do not come in to my doctor's office saying you have a sore throat and then tell the doctor that you've also been depressed, nauseated, dizzy and coming down with a nasty rash all over your body. And that you want STD testing. And that you might be ADD. I think you get what I'm driving at here: tell us why you're coming in. All the reasons why, because it's people like you who get in there and instead of the easy ten minutes fix we scheduled you for, you become a surprise 30 minute patient that has now put my doctor 20 minutes behind. People like you are the reason you wait so long.
Going home: Do what the doctor told you to do. I'm serious. Take the medication he told you to take, eat the food he told you to eat, do the exercises he told you to do - if you don't you'll be back in here in no time complaining that nothing we did for you last time worked. Well, you know, it's your body. Take some responsibility.
So, like I said, wait patiently and do what you're told. We're not building a rocket here, people. And as you make the changes necessary to mend your dastardly ways, you will find that the whole experience of going to the doctor will be a much pleasanter one, for all involved.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Large Maze, Small Cheese - or, Scholarships Shmolarships
And I thought the FAFSA was bad. Scholarships have got to be the greatest, most colossal waste of my time ever. Unless I'm some kind of brainiac (nope), the next Michael Jordan (way nope), or was born on an Indian Reservation (they may prefer to be called Native American), then there's no way I'm getting anything. And I can hear your protests now: "But you're going to nursing school. There has to be thousands of scholarships out there for nurses." Oh, there is. There is.
But these people never intend to hand it out. That's why they make the application process so hard. You name - easy. Address - no problem. Official transcripts - okay, that might take some time, but doable. Essay on who you would have lunch with, alive or dead - okay...I guess I could do that. Your picture - What? No, I'm serious. One scholarship program designed expressly for nurses asked for a picture. There was even a box to paste it in. What is that? They don't give scholarships to ugly people now? Or maybe it's the pretty ones they don't like, maybe someone is trying to even out the cosmic forces that seem to favor beauty over non-beauty, as defined by a modern society. Who knows? Then they want aptitude testing scores. I don't even know where that would be if I even knew whether or not I took it if I even knew what it was. Then I'm supposed to march into school and track down the director of the program and get them to sign the form. Then, and only then can I put my name in. Ridiculous. I don't even have to exaggerate on this one. I've had it. I'm not writing twelve different essays about eating lunch with dead people, or what kind of a tree I would be if I were a tree, or whether or not I would shoot baby Hitler (actually, that's a good one. I made that one up. It's too good to be real).
People are always saying how hundreds of thousands of dollars in grant and scholarship money goes unclaimed every year, and how it's so sad for these programs that just want to put money into the hands of worthy students. Well how 'bout this, bleeding hearts: how about you all get together and make one big application so that normal people with normal time schedules can have a shot? How about that? Like a FAFSA for scholarships. You put in all your dumb information, then you write one dumb essay on, oh I don't know, maybe something about you. What you plan to do when you graduate. Just putting it out there. Then, all these scholarship people who are just dying to give money away can all go to the same place and choose the kids they like the best. It's that simple. Think about it.
But these people never intend to hand it out. That's why they make the application process so hard. You name - easy. Address - no problem. Official transcripts - okay, that might take some time, but doable. Essay on who you would have lunch with, alive or dead - okay...I guess I could do that. Your picture - What? No, I'm serious. One scholarship program designed expressly for nurses asked for a picture. There was even a box to paste it in. What is that? They don't give scholarships to ugly people now? Or maybe it's the pretty ones they don't like, maybe someone is trying to even out the cosmic forces that seem to favor beauty over non-beauty, as defined by a modern society. Who knows? Then they want aptitude testing scores. I don't even know where that would be if I even knew whether or not I took it if I even knew what it was. Then I'm supposed to march into school and track down the director of the program and get them to sign the form. Then, and only then can I put my name in. Ridiculous. I don't even have to exaggerate on this one. I've had it. I'm not writing twelve different essays about eating lunch with dead people, or what kind of a tree I would be if I were a tree, or whether or not I would shoot baby Hitler (actually, that's a good one. I made that one up. It's too good to be real).
People are always saying how hundreds of thousands of dollars in grant and scholarship money goes unclaimed every year, and how it's so sad for these programs that just want to put money into the hands of worthy students. Well how 'bout this, bleeding hearts: how about you all get together and make one big application so that normal people with normal time schedules can have a shot? How about that? Like a FAFSA for scholarships. You put in all your dumb information, then you write one dumb essay on, oh I don't know, maybe something about you. What you plan to do when you graduate. Just putting it out there. Then, all these scholarship people who are just dying to give money away can all go to the same place and choose the kids they like the best. It's that simple. Think about it.
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Poor House vs. Debtor's Prison
These are basically my two choices. Like a lot of people seeking to improve their station through education, I am put in a precarious position. I have to spend money to make money. I have to take money to give it back. I have to borrow money from the bank so that I can get a degree that will earn me just enough money to be able to pay my student loan debt. Well, okay, I'll do a little better than that, but it's the principle. It comes down to one of two situations: 1. borrow the money and don't look back; 2. borrow just enough to put food in your mouth about half as often as you would like; or 3. don't borrow any money at all in the hopes that everything will work itself out somehow. So that was three. There's a bonus in there for you. And as to that bonus, it isn't completely out of the question. Husband got a new job which pays a little more, the exorbitant amount of money I have been sending monthly to the credit cad people is about to be paid off, and I can do without a few things here and there, no problem. That just leaves the figuring out of how to pay for school. It's not actually all that much. It's a Junior College for goodness sake (oh, but a really good one - don't think those thoughts when I say Junior College). The math almost works out, which means we really could try it without too much risk. I'm willing to live in the Poor House for a couple of years to avoid Debtor's Prison for ten.
But what works out in theory, on paper, and especially with my meager math skills, isn't always what happens in real life. Crap comes up, and you have to deal with it and pay for it when it happens, which usually means you end up paying for it long after that as well. So maybe Debtor's Prison isn't so bad in exchange for peace of mind while I'm in school. I'm going to have enough stress as it is (seriously, it's a really tough program. You have to believe me. I should never have said Junior College). I could borrow enough to be comfortable, put it aside for just in case, and then pay it back when I start making some major RN cash! I know there's nothing wrong with borrowing money for school, it's probably the most noble of debts, really. But I just can't help from conjuring up visions of Dickens-like incarcerations a la Masterpiece Theatre's Little Dorit.
And I know what some of you are thinking (there is more than one person reading this, right? Okay, then mom, I know what you're thinking): why don't you get off your lazy seat cushions and apply for some scholarships! You can't hear me laughing right now, but it is a terrible, almost cruel laugh and it is more at my expense than yours. Scholarships I will address in another episode, when I have more energy and a less Christian vocabulary.
But what works out in theory, on paper, and especially with my meager math skills, isn't always what happens in real life. Crap comes up, and you have to deal with it and pay for it when it happens, which usually means you end up paying for it long after that as well. So maybe Debtor's Prison isn't so bad in exchange for peace of mind while I'm in school. I'm going to have enough stress as it is (seriously, it's a really tough program. You have to believe me. I should never have said Junior College). I could borrow enough to be comfortable, put it aside for just in case, and then pay it back when I start making some major RN cash! I know there's nothing wrong with borrowing money for school, it's probably the most noble of debts, really. But I just can't help from conjuring up visions of Dickens-like incarcerations a la Masterpiece Theatre's Little Dorit.
And I know what some of you are thinking (there is more than one person reading this, right? Okay, then mom, I know what you're thinking): why don't you get off your lazy seat cushions and apply for some scholarships! You can't hear me laughing right now, but it is a terrible, almost cruel laugh and it is more at my expense than yours. Scholarships I will address in another episode, when I have more energy and a less Christian vocabulary.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Small Triumph
From this point on to graduation, each small victory must be duly noted. Here is my first of what I hope will be many tiny triumphs, and this one is pretty substantial. A perfect school bag, who can find? It sounds trivial, but given some serious thought it is almost impossible to expediently settle on one as opposed to another. What could be more defining of you in those first few moment's interaction with your classmates than that huge, book lugging apparatus attached almost permanently to your shoulder? Two years lay ahead of me, and in those two years one of the only constants will be that glorious bag, for glorious it must be. I searched everywhere, every website (and by that I mean a few hours on Amazon), every store (namely Target, Old Navy - what did I think I would find there?), thought through every option presented to me. I'm not the girl pulling her books along in a wheeled device better suited for airports, and I'm not the one giving myself a huge backpack hunchback, not even for the newer one-shoulder inventions. No, I want a bag. I want a nice, fashionable but functional, cool and sophisticated, modern but classic, expensive but cheap, fit for all seasons school bag. How hard is that? Well, it was hard, but I did it. I found it. It is everything I need. Pretty but industrial, Sleek but compartmentalized, Steve Madden, but under $30. Thank you Marshalls:
[caption id="attachment_13" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Yes, you are seeing four pocket compartments right in the front. It's okay. You can be impressed."]
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[caption id="attachment_13" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Yes, you are seeing four pocket compartments right in the front. It's okay. You can be impressed."]
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Tuesday, June 9, 2009
WTF (What The FAFSA)?
Seriously, have you ever tried filling one of these things out. Things I never knew about myself that now the government wants to be made privy to. Like how much money I paid in taxes last year. I don't want to know that! Are they just trying to make me angry? My mother's social security number. I'm 26 years old people, what's my mom got to do with it? What's your mom's social security number? See how that feels? You don't want to give that to me. What a question. More examples, as clearly as I can remember them from three days ago:
Are you a retired veteran of the United States Military? What? A veteran? Two pages ago I explained in great detail that I was born in 1982, gave you my social security number, ever single numerical value from my W2, and you can't gather from that information the fact that I might not have been present to storm the beaches of Normandy? Are you serious?
What amount, if any, of your parent's income was received through non-traditional workforce means, as in contributions to their personal finances by way of private donations, government programs, and food stamps? Huh? I'm not asking my parents that. What a question. What does it even mean? I gave my parents a ham for Thanksgiving last year, is that what they're talking about? A Thanksgiving ham? Is there a numerical amount on that, above and beyond the actually price paid? Is there some kind of sentimental value attained by a Thanksgiving ham that would somehow prevent me from getting the full dollar amount from the government so that I can go to RN school? What about Birthday presents? What about when everyone in the office pools money together to get lunch, but maybe my dad put his money in last, and the guy collecting the money was like "don't worry, man, there's enough here already," is that the kind of thing we're talking about here?
On your tax return, what, if any, amount was allocated for the purchasing of non-traditional food items, including but not limited to cheese that may or may not be sold in it's natural form, in a can or other alternate device, and which may or may not retain its original and natural color? Okay, so that's not, perhaps, the exact wording of the question as far as I can remember, but that's just about the gist of it.
Then they take all this information, all this crazy weirdo information, and somehow come up with a magical number that they feel they can spare from the US government so that small, insignificant you can go and learn how to do nursing real good. Then they give you another number that you can borrow from a bank, and then pay it back at about three times its original value. This last number is usually a lot larger than that first number. I don't know, but if I were the US government I'd maybe start giving less of its hard-earned money to future business analysts, and more to the people that may potentially save your life someday. Or how about this: take all that money that I paid the government last year, and give it back so that I can go to school this year. What better use can they possibly think of for it but to put someone like me through RN school. Come on.
Are you a retired veteran of the United States Military? What? A veteran? Two pages ago I explained in great detail that I was born in 1982, gave you my social security number, ever single numerical value from my W2, and you can't gather from that information the fact that I might not have been present to storm the beaches of Normandy? Are you serious?
What amount, if any, of your parent's income was received through non-traditional workforce means, as in contributions to their personal finances by way of private donations, government programs, and food stamps? Huh? I'm not asking my parents that. What a question. What does it even mean? I gave my parents a ham for Thanksgiving last year, is that what they're talking about? A Thanksgiving ham? Is there a numerical amount on that, above and beyond the actually price paid? Is there some kind of sentimental value attained by a Thanksgiving ham that would somehow prevent me from getting the full dollar amount from the government so that I can go to RN school? What about Birthday presents? What about when everyone in the office pools money together to get lunch, but maybe my dad put his money in last, and the guy collecting the money was like "don't worry, man, there's enough here already," is that the kind of thing we're talking about here?
On your tax return, what, if any, amount was allocated for the purchasing of non-traditional food items, including but not limited to cheese that may or may not be sold in it's natural form, in a can or other alternate device, and which may or may not retain its original and natural color? Okay, so that's not, perhaps, the exact wording of the question as far as I can remember, but that's just about the gist of it.
Then they take all this information, all this crazy weirdo information, and somehow come up with a magical number that they feel they can spare from the US government so that small, insignificant you can go and learn how to do nursing real good. Then they give you another number that you can borrow from a bank, and then pay it back at about three times its original value. This last number is usually a lot larger than that first number. I don't know, but if I were the US government I'd maybe start giving less of its hard-earned money to future business analysts, and more to the people that may potentially save your life someday. Or how about this: take all that money that I paid the government last year, and give it back so that I can go to school this year. What better use can they possibly think of for it but to put someone like me through RN school. Come on.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Freaking Out
Yesterday was orientation, and I've barely enough brain power left to record it. Of course they want to scare you, alarm you, panic you with all that talk about signing away your life for the next two years, the whole "you belong to us now" bit. Thing is, I believe them. I do belong to them, starting August 17. I've never belonged to anyone before. Well, maybe Sean (the husband), but nothing like an institution for learning. But really, if you're going to be owned by someone, isn't a college the best owner to have? I think so. Oh man though, I have no idea what's going to happen. Getting in was hard enough. They're pretty clear about the fact that this is the #1 nursing program in the Nation. Number one! How did I get here? There's a big cosmic crack somewhere, and I slipped right through it, and that's why I am absolutely freaking out. I can't let on. They can never know, and so I have to bust my hump to make sure I post numbers just as good, no even better, than my classmates, who are now the only family I have, according to my owner. I must rely on my classmates, because they will be the only living breathing thing I will be able to interact with for four semesters. It sounds so ridiculously overblown, and yet, again, I believe them. They own me.
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