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Mar. 24th, 2007 @ 06:43 pm
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Thinking it would be fun and games, I agreed to go out with our health centre's clerk and a bunch of her local gal pals to the bar after work on Friday night. They're a motley crew of first nations ladies, miner's wives, and elderly widows. Every week they gather at around five o'clock to chain smoke and guzzle alcohol like sailors on their last night of leave.
I showed up about an hour after the ladies had started. I was treated like a long lost friend. Had drinks bought for me. Was confided in. Knees slapped. Introduced to relatives. Marveled at the relationships between them. Shared jokes.
It was a great time. I could almost forget the fact that we were on different socially constructed levels.
That is, until a six month pregnant woman joined us at the table, beer in hand.
I stopped drinking, pushed my beer away, thanked them all and left. I didn't even care if I seemed rude.Current Music: CBC- Randy Bachman's self love |
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Spring is here in Ross River and it's still well below zero degrees, with tons of snow everywhere. This is foreign to me. I can't quite anticipate how the warmer weather will come, but I have a feeling there will be mud involved. Lots of it.
This year's arrival of the new season also boasts the most intense case of spring fever I've yet suffered. Perhaps it's the sudden increase in light. The lack of suitable (or even unsuitable!) partners. The feeling of captivity. All I know is that I pity the poor person who finds themselves the focus of my affections. I'm certain no small amount of bodily fluids will be lost by us both in the struggle to relieve myself of this terrible aching feeling. I'm practically presenting myself to doorknobs. A little pathetic.
But to be honest, I'm not optimistic at the prospects of suitors up here. I work too much. When I'm not at work, I'm madly dashing about trying to prepare for the next bout of working too much. It hardly seems fair, so I'm taking two weeks off to hang around Whitehorse and try to get some real mischief on the go. I have no idea where I'll stay, but I signed up for a Traditional Knowledge course with an Elder from Old Crow, complete with a sweat. Probably make some friends there.
I look forward to my times in Whitehorse like a diabetic looks forward to their afternoon snack. I get tired, cranky, and start to lose focus the closer it comes the departure time. Staying in the same community for three to four weeks at a time will do that to you.
Then again, by the time I leave I'm usually running pretty low on groceries, so that could explain the hypoglycemic type reaction.Current Music: Nick Cave and the bad seeds |
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So. Here I am. In Haines Junction in the Yukon Territory. For three months. With Hannah. And no one else.
I'm kinda hoping I meet a bear. Or an elk. Or a cougar. Someone who would make a good dinner guest. Do the dishes. Bring some wine. A little interesting conversation.
The people here are really nice. But. It's not the same as home. Home is where you know people. Where you say something a little strange. And you're forgiven.
I think it's things like love letters from my old co-workers arriving unexpectedly that are going to get me through this. I think it's reading LJ updates from friends I haven't seen in months. I think it's climbing the mountains and eating the craziest good food. I think it's daydreams. It's pretend hugs.
Sigh.Current Mood:  calm Current Music: Michael Franti and Spearhead |
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Averaging 550kms per day, Southern Ontario nurses travel quickly across the country when migrating to the North for the winter. They require at least 2000 calories daily to survive but have been known to indulge in up twice that in one sitting, due mainly to boredom and easy access to high fat snack foods.
**It's nice to be homeless and mobile.Current Mood: rejuvenated Current Music: The sensor fell off the muffler |
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Looks like the trip up to Canada's Northland is going to go through. This time next year I will be homeless, financially stable, and ?
I've given my notice at my two jobs in Kingston for September 1. That's when I'm going to throw a box of books and my beloved dog into the back of the truck and try my luck crossing the country. Maybe both ways. Maybe I'll go to Arizona. New Mexico. Fogo Island. The possibilities are truly endless. What a feeling.
Exciting and frightening. I will need places to stay in the time between moonlighting as a community nurse practitioner in BFN. I hope you all open your hearts and floors to me and my very well behaved doggggger.
If you are interested in joining me for a spell on the road, let me know. You never know, it could be fun. |
| » My Puppy!! Commentary by Mom. |
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www.womynkingston.ca/Hannah
Aug. 9th, 2005 @ 07:49 pm
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"Dr. Smith, do you want me to discontinue the IV on the lady in room 7? She wants to go home." I asked.
"The lady in room 7? What's she in with?" He replied, thoughtfully palpating the patient in room 3's belly, his long white coat's pockets weighted down with various medical instruments.
"Uh...abdominal pain and nausea, not yet diagnosed."
"Wha...?" He frowned, his already wrinkled forehead scrunching up, "I haven't seen anyone in with that tonight."
I looked at the chartk, found the name of the physician taking care of her and saw that it was our other emergency room doc.
"Oops, sorry to bother you...that's Dr. Jone's patient." I skulked out of the room as he shot me a look of annoyance, nursing shoes squeaking on the clean tile.
'You're new here!, I thought to myself, 'You've got to be more mindful of stupid mixups. Try to look competent already!' I had only been in the department for a month, but there was little more room for idiotic mistakes before people would start to complain in the break room and the entire experience would slowly erode and slide downhill. What with the knee socks and nursing dresses, people already thought I was a little weird.
I took a deep breath and walked in to check on a patient I had just received from another area of the department. He was in a lot of discomfort and wanted something for pain. I sought out Dr. Smith, who was doing a teaching session with a new resident.
"Dr. Smith, sorry to interrupt, the patient in room 3 is in a lot of discomfort and needs something for pain." I said.
"Didn't I order something?" He asked.
I looked down at the order sheet. Signed in big, barely legible letters: Dr. Jones.
"Oops, sorry...uh, not your patient." He raised one eyebrow seriously. "I'm very sorry to interrupt." I repeated and quickly bolted. 'Stupid!' I mentally chastised myself.
15 minutes later: The patient in room 6 had febrile neutropenia and his temperature had actually *increased* with Tylenol administration. I quickly went into room 1, where Dr. Smith was, and told him. He quickly walked out of the room with me to the desk, we opened the chart and I saw...that the patient was Dr. Jones's. He put his hands on the desk and sighed, staring at me unbelieving. "Be more careful, please." He said impatiently, and walked away.
For the next few hours, I felt very uncomfortable around him, knowing exactly what he was thinking... idotic novice nurse. I took extra care if I had to talk to him about anything, or delegated to a coworker. Finally the department settled down a little. I was puttering around, tying up loose ends, restocking areas, and finally, could think of nothing more to do.
I heard a loud yell, followed by whimpering and followed it to room two, where Dr. Smith was suturing up a mangled finger. The patient was practically crawling out of bed, he was in so much pain.
"Can I help with anything?" I asked. Dr. Smith was holding up his sterile gloved hands, grasping a syringe in one and gauze in the other. He had run out of local anaesthetic and the man was still feeling the cold, sharp suturing needle as it pierced his skin.
"Actually can you get me more local, please?" He asked. I had some with me from a previous patient and produced it. He quickly drew it up in a syringe and froze the man's hand more. The man sat with his eyes closed.
I looked at Dr. Smith. During this process, a piece of his considerable combover had fallen in front of his eyes. He held up his hands, still sterile, unable to adjust his hair, unable to continue the procedure. The patient hadn't noticed. The minute long pause felt like ten. I knew what to do.
I slowly and confidently reached over the patient's bed, looking straight at Dr. Smith, and smoothed his combover back onto his head, out of his eyes. I patted it in place. I pulled my arm back and smiled. His mouth hung open, astonished. I knew I had been forgiven for my previous flub-ups. I turned around and walked out.
In that moment, I was gold.
Jun. 12th, 2005 @ 12:27 am
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| » Welcome to spring potluck barbeque! |
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Expect the best the K-hole's socialite couple extraordinaire can dish up.
Underwear! Mexican wrestling! Sketchy neighbours! Funny hats!
Come to Meghann and Vince's!!
Bring yer friends! Bring yer dishes! Bring some food!
The place: 484-2 Bagot St.
The time: Wednesday, May 11...5pm
Seriously folks, I ain't got cutlery for y'alls. Bring a plate and fork.
Hugs are free. As always.
May. 9th, 2005 @ 11:32 pm
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One of my answers to the age-old question "Why did you become a nurse?" was always..."When I have a family I will be better able to care for my kids. And when people I know start to get sick, I will be a better resource to them."
This past weekend, my grandfather became sick and was transferred from the small town that he lives via ambulance to the level one trauma hospital in the town where I live. I met the ambulance in the emergency department (my new place of work).
It was a shock to see him in the hospital bed with people bustling around him, doing reflex tests, opening his eyes, yelling at him trying to get a response, starting IVs and taking his clothes off. I sat at the end of the bed holding his foot because I couldn't get any closer. The doctor and I have worked together and know each other from the Neurology department. I told them who I was and immediately was barraged with the questions I knew they were going to ask. I speak the language and so gave the answers...a bunch of tests were done he was stabilized and transferred to the Neurology Critical Care Unit where I have also worked.
The progression was easy for me...I'm familiar with procedures and plans of care, I know what to expect and the things to ask for and predictable outcomes. But my family didn't. My mom, an emergency nurse for 15 years, was asking me questions. Everyone (I mean everyone...auntsunclescousinssistersbrothersmothergrandmother!) was looking to me for answers.
I am really glad I became a nurse for my knowledge, skills and ability but I never could have understood the responsibility that comes with the role.
It was exhausting.
May. 9th, 2005 @ 11:14 pm
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| » What should we name her? |
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Suggested: -Jungle Cat World
-Bish
-Hannah
-Dio G.
-Face Face
-Gorgeous George
-Handsome Dan
Please help. These names are horrible. She is a cross between a Golden Retriever and a Standard Poodle. Also known as: a golden doodle. You people are creative...you must have a better name!
Apr. 25th, 2005 @ 08:33 pm
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