I was bored today, so I decided to try my hand at video blogging. When ever I see myself on video, I am always surprised at how gay I sound.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Just call me Jaws
I hate going to the dentist.
If I were prone to quoting Seinfeld (which I’m not) I would call myself an “anti-dentite. This started when I was a child and my mother (being the good mom that she was) trotted my brother and I do the dentist every 6 months. Each of these visits always included the dreaded “fluoride treatment”. This entailed placing a foam mouth piece in your mouth filled with fluoride paste. In an effort to make this whole process seem like fun, you got to pick the flavor of the paste.
Bubble-gum? Chocolate? Peppermint?
Whichever flavor I picked, the result was always the same. I would get the mouthpiece in for about 30 seconds and I would promptly vomit. This became so commonplace that my mother took to bringing a change of clothes for me to each appointment.
I endured this for many years, until we switched to a dentist who didn’t really enjoy having her office covered in and smelling like kid puke. She took to swabbing my teeth with the flouride past instead. It still tasted awful, but it no longer tested my gag reflex.
Until the age of 18 I visited the dentist every 6 months. Then I went away to college and my teeth were my own.
One of the nice things about being an adult is that you don’t have to eat your vegetables and you don’t have to go to the dentist if you don’t want to. So, I didn’t go for many years after I left home. When I finally went, I discovered that my teeth were in sorry shape. Last year I spent several months just getting two teeth fixed. During this process I endured two root canals, some slicing of my gums, and the placement of two crowns. I was a bit disappointed to learn that unlike the Queen of England’s crown, mine came without any encrusted jewels.
After last year’s many procedures, I decided to take a few months off. I received several calls from my dentist’s office asking me to make an appointment. I wasn’t ready to go back, so I never returned their calls.
I went back earlier this week.
“Well, at least there’s nothing else new!” she told me.
While I was happy that I had no new rotting teeth, there were still three cavities left to fill. Having these cavities make me feel a bit dirty. Like I’m less of a person. When I walk out of the dentist office, I feel the need to cover my face in shame. Don’t look at me! I’m a man with poor dental hygiene! My dentist assures me that even though I brush my teeth daily, that some people are just prone to getting cavities.
Aaron on the other hand has never had a cavity. This is a fact that he never fails to mention after every trip he makes to the dentist.
“She says my teeth are in excellent condition! Not a cavity to be found!”
He says this with a smugness as if to suggest that he were Mother Teresa and his teeth had been cleaned by the hands of Jesus himself. Or at the very least Jesus' dental hygienist.
The one thing I have going for me, is that while my teeth are littered with cavities and silver fillings, they are perfectly straight. Aaron on the other hand was not so blessed in this area. Do you think Jesus had an orthodontist?
For the first few years of our relationship, Aaron wore braces. He got them rather late in life, so he was walking around with braces on his teeth for a large part of his early twenties. I found the braces endearing and incredibly cute when we first met. Now I just see them as ammo. When Aaron starts in about how his teeth are without a cavity, I manage to mention his years of braces and smile wide so he can see how perfectly straight my teeth are.
“Look, aren’t they beautiful! I think the silver really make them pop!”
In two weeks I have an appointment to fill the first of the three cavities left in my mouth. These days you get to choose how your cavities are filled. You can choose the traditional silver or a white resin filling. Not wanting to look like that guy with the metal mouth from James Bond, I have opted for the white resin. While the silver may indeed make them “pop”, I don’t want to start looking like a super-villain.
If I were prone to quoting Seinfeld (which I’m not) I would call myself an “anti-dentite. This started when I was a child and my mother (being the good mom that she was) trotted my brother and I do the dentist every 6 months. Each of these visits always included the dreaded “fluoride treatment”. This entailed placing a foam mouth piece in your mouth filled with fluoride paste. In an effort to make this whole process seem like fun, you got to pick the flavor of the paste.
Bubble-gum? Chocolate? Peppermint?
Whichever flavor I picked, the result was always the same. I would get the mouthpiece in for about 30 seconds and I would promptly vomit. This became so commonplace that my mother took to bringing a change of clothes for me to each appointment.
I endured this for many years, until we switched to a dentist who didn’t really enjoy having her office covered in and smelling like kid puke. She took to swabbing my teeth with the flouride past instead. It still tasted awful, but it no longer tested my gag reflex.
Until the age of 18 I visited the dentist every 6 months. Then I went away to college and my teeth were my own.
One of the nice things about being an adult is that you don’t have to eat your vegetables and you don’t have to go to the dentist if you don’t want to. So, I didn’t go for many years after I left home. When I finally went, I discovered that my teeth were in sorry shape. Last year I spent several months just getting two teeth fixed. During this process I endured two root canals, some slicing of my gums, and the placement of two crowns. I was a bit disappointed to learn that unlike the Queen of England’s crown, mine came without any encrusted jewels.
After last year’s many procedures, I decided to take a few months off. I received several calls from my dentist’s office asking me to make an appointment. I wasn’t ready to go back, so I never returned their calls.
I went back earlier this week.
“Well, at least there’s nothing else new!” she told me.
While I was happy that I had no new rotting teeth, there were still three cavities left to fill. Having these cavities make me feel a bit dirty. Like I’m less of a person. When I walk out of the dentist office, I feel the need to cover my face in shame. Don’t look at me! I’m a man with poor dental hygiene! My dentist assures me that even though I brush my teeth daily, that some people are just prone to getting cavities.
Aaron on the other hand has never had a cavity. This is a fact that he never fails to mention after every trip he makes to the dentist.
“She says my teeth are in excellent condition! Not a cavity to be found!”
He says this with a smugness as if to suggest that he were Mother Teresa and his teeth had been cleaned by the hands of Jesus himself. Or at the very least Jesus' dental hygienist.
The one thing I have going for me, is that while my teeth are littered with cavities and silver fillings, they are perfectly straight. Aaron on the other hand was not so blessed in this area. Do you think Jesus had an orthodontist?
For the first few years of our relationship, Aaron wore braces. He got them rather late in life, so he was walking around with braces on his teeth for a large part of his early twenties. I found the braces endearing and incredibly cute when we first met. Now I just see them as ammo. When Aaron starts in about how his teeth are without a cavity, I manage to mention his years of braces and smile wide so he can see how perfectly straight my teeth are.
“Look, aren’t they beautiful! I think the silver really make them pop!”
In two weeks I have an appointment to fill the first of the three cavities left in my mouth. These days you get to choose how your cavities are filled. You can choose the traditional silver or a white resin filling. Not wanting to look like that guy with the metal mouth from James Bond, I have opted for the white resin. While the silver may indeed make them “pop”, I don’t want to start looking like a super-villain.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Poem
One of my friends from work gave me a nice going away card. In it she wrote a Chinese poem which I really like. I wanted to share it with you.
Go to the people,
Learn from them,
Love them,
Start with what they know,
Build on what they have:
But of the best leaders,
When their task is accomplished,
Their work is done,
The people will remark,
"We have done it ourselves."
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Thought for the day
There is nothing in the world that will make an intelligent person feel like a complete idiot faster than starting a new job.
Monday, June 09, 2008
My new job
Tomorrow I start my new job. While I'm excited about my new position, I'm also very nervous. I'm going from a job in which I was an expert to one where I will be the novice. I like to think I will handle this change, but that certainly remains to be seen.
When I went into nursing, I didn't know anything about taking care of sick people. I had worked in arts administration for five years, and I don't think you can really count offering comfort to suffering artists as "taking care of sick people."
During my first clinical in nursing school, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't sleep the night before. I was so afraid that I was going to be a terrible nurse. It turns out, I was a terrible nurse. But I got better. I learned how to take care of people and over the last three years I've become the one new nurses and students turn to for help.
I feel like I'm going to my first clinical again. I worry I'm going to be a terrible critical care nurse. Of course, I probably will be in the beginning. I just hope I get better.
When I went into nursing, I didn't know anything about taking care of sick people. I had worked in arts administration for five years, and I don't think you can really count offering comfort to suffering artists as "taking care of sick people."
During my first clinical in nursing school, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't sleep the night before. I was so afraid that I was going to be a terrible nurse. It turns out, I was a terrible nurse. But I got better. I learned how to take care of people and over the last three years I've become the one new nurses and students turn to for help.
I feel like I'm going to my first clinical again. I worry I'm going to be a terrible critical care nurse. Of course, I probably will be in the beginning. I just hope I get better.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Dead Nurse's guide to backyard renovations or How to make your backyard beautiful in 20 easy steps
- Get price quote from straight male friend for constructing new brick patio in backyard.
- Determine that price is too high and decide to construct patio yourself.
- Research patio building options online.
- Decide that building a patio is too hard and instead opt for installing new sod in backyard.
- Choose day to begin project.
- Push back start date a week in order to accommodate activities that are more fun.
- Begin tearing up backyard with shovel and rake.
- Have realization that a wheelbarrow would make completion of project much easier.
- Travel to Home Depot and purchase cheapest wheelbarrow available.
- Spend an hour and a half assembling wheelbarrow.
- Bandage cuts on hands.
- Break for lunch.
- Watch two back-to-back episodes of The Amazing Spider-Man
- Begrudgingly return to your project.
- Use wheelbarrow to remove 20 loads of gravel that were placed in backyard by previous homeowner.
- Curse previous homeowner.
- Injure back while attempting to remove enormous rosemary bush planted by previous homeowner.
- Curse previous homeowner.
- Call straight male friend to see when he is available to complete project for you.
- Sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
The skinny guy
I've always been skinny. It has been my curse since childhood. For the last nine months or so I have been trying to gain weight. I've been going to the gym regularly and eating more than I did before. This has allowed me to gain a solid 20 pounds of which I'm very proud of.
So imagine how I felt when someone today referred to me as "an Auschwitz victim." This particular comment was said with a laugh and was after they stated that I was looking "rather waifish lately."
Waifish?
People always think it their business to comment on my weight. It just seems that most people think it's alright to comment on a thin person's weight. However if I were to say something like "gee, you're looking rather tubby these days" I would probably get my face slapped.
Most of these comments are normally followed by "I used to be like you..." Really, you used to be like me? How nice that you feel that I will one day become an enormous fat ass. According to most folks the only thing saving me from the inevitable obesity in my future is my age. Given enough time, my waist will expand and I'll grow man-boobs.
I'd like to think that the amount and type of food one eats also plays a big part. Throw a little exercise in there and you've got yourself a recipe for staving off a beer gut. You see, those Little Debbie snack cakes you insist on eating every day with lunch may be delicious, but they're also the cause of your increasing weight. Please don't just blame it on your "slow metabolism" or "bad genetics". You are fat because you eat too much. I am thin because I eat less and exercise.
I am no "Auschwitz victim". I am a man of a healthy weight. I've worked very hard to get to the weight I'm at and anyone who insists on calling me names and making rude jokes is basically just an asshole in my book.
So why the hell does it still bug me so much?
So imagine how I felt when someone today referred to me as "an Auschwitz victim." This particular comment was said with a laugh and was after they stated that I was looking "rather waifish lately."
Waifish?
People always think it their business to comment on my weight. It just seems that most people think it's alright to comment on a thin person's weight. However if I were to say something like "gee, you're looking rather tubby these days" I would probably get my face slapped.
Most of these comments are normally followed by "I used to be like you..." Really, you used to be like me? How nice that you feel that I will one day become an enormous fat ass. According to most folks the only thing saving me from the inevitable obesity in my future is my age. Given enough time, my waist will expand and I'll grow man-boobs.
I'd like to think that the amount and type of food one eats also plays a big part. Throw a little exercise in there and you've got yourself a recipe for staving off a beer gut. You see, those Little Debbie snack cakes you insist on eating every day with lunch may be delicious, but they're also the cause of your increasing weight. Please don't just blame it on your "slow metabolism" or "bad genetics". You are fat because you eat too much. I am thin because I eat less and exercise.
I am no "Auschwitz victim". I am a man of a healthy weight. I've worked very hard to get to the weight I'm at and anyone who insists on calling me names and making rude jokes is basically just an asshole in my book.
So why the hell does it still bug me so much?
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
All by myself
Today for the second time ever I went to the movies by myself.
I had the day off and didn't have anything else to do, so I went to a matinée of Sex and the City. The boyfriend had already refused to see it as had the majority of my friends. I was going to see it with some gals from work, but those plans fell through. So I decided to go ahead and just see it alone.
I really enjoyed the movie and also enjoyed the experience of being by myself. I always enjoy my midweek days off. They allow me to spend time alone doing things for myself. Usually this involves a hair cut, some time at the tanning bed (I know, it's bad for me), and working out at the gym. After today, I might just need to add some private movie time.
In case you were curious, the first movie I ever saw by myself was The Crying Game. I guess none of my friends at the time were into films about transsexuals.
I had the day off and didn't have anything else to do, so I went to a matinée of Sex and the City. The boyfriend had already refused to see it as had the majority of my friends. I was going to see it with some gals from work, but those plans fell through. So I decided to go ahead and just see it alone.
I really enjoyed the movie and also enjoyed the experience of being by myself. I always enjoy my midweek days off. They allow me to spend time alone doing things for myself. Usually this involves a hair cut, some time at the tanning bed (I know, it's bad for me), and working out at the gym. After today, I might just need to add some private movie time.
In case you were curious, the first movie I ever saw by myself was The Crying Game. I guess none of my friends at the time were into films about transsexuals.
Monday, June 02, 2008
More filler
The last few days have been long and rather exhausting. I can barely form sentences at this point, so the ability to compose an even mildly amusing post is beyond me. Here are some pictures of some guy named Angel Bonanni. Apparently he's a model.
I think he's rather fetching...
I think he's rather fetching...
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Filler
Because I can't think of anything to write about today, I'm giving you a picture of a shirtless and jogging Mario Lopez.
No need to thank me.
No need to thank me.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Steps (part deux)
Disappointing results with the pedometer today. While I had expected to pass the 10,000 mark, I came quite short at only 7,734 steps. I attribute this to the fact that I left work early for a dinner with some family.
I know you find this stuff fascinating.
In other non-pedometer news...I'm seeing Madonna in concert in November! I'm flying back to Florida to see my family, but really it's just an excuse to the see Her Madgesty in concert. This will mark the third time I've see her live and this time around I sprung for some floor seats. Woo, hoo!
I know you find this stuff fascinating.
In other non-pedometer news...I'm seeing Madonna in concert in November! I'm flying back to Florida to see my family, but really it's just an excuse to the see Her Madgesty in concert. This will mark the third time I've see her live and this time around I sprung for some floor seats. Woo, hoo!
Friday, May 30, 2008
Steps
Today I wore a pedometer at work. I was curious to see how many steps I actually took in an average day. I set the pedometer to start when I exited my car and stopped it when I got back in my car at the end of the day.
The results?
After a 10 hour day I took 8,133 steps. I was actually expecting it to be much more. There's this movement of sort that says you should take 10,000 steps each day. I was really expecting to hit the 10,000 mark easily in 10 hours.
I researched a little how many miles 8,133 steps was. According to The Walking Site:
The results?
After a 10 hour day I took 8,133 steps. I was actually expecting it to be much more. There's this movement of sort that says you should take 10,000 steps each day. I was really expecting to hit the 10,000 mark easily in 10 hours.
I researched a little how many miles 8,133 steps was. According to The Walking Site:
The average person's stride length is approximately 2.5 feet long. That means it takes just over 2,000 steps to walk one mile, and 10,000 steps is close to 5 miles.So I walked about 4.1 miles. Since I was expecting more steps, I'm going to repeat this little experiment tomorrow. Today I was the charge nurse, which meant I hung around at the nurses station a bit more. Tomorrow I will have a full patient assignment. If my hunch is correct, I'll be hitting that 10,000 mark.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Observations
Just a few observations I made today...
-Why is that the man you least want to see naked at the gym is always the one who seems most comfortable with his own nudity?
-I saw a commercial for a company that promises to give you "beautiful garage floors." I wonder if it's every really necessary to have beautiful garage floors. Do the oil stains just look better if you paid thousands of dollars to have the floor finished?
-In fact my new shiny running shoes do NOT make me run faster. They do look cool though.
-I love The Price is Right.
-Why is that the man you least want to see naked at the gym is always the one who seems most comfortable with his own nudity?
-I saw a commercial for a company that promises to give you "beautiful garage floors." I wonder if it's every really necessary to have beautiful garage floors. Do the oil stains just look better if you paid thousands of dollars to have the floor finished?
-In fact my new shiny running shoes do NOT make me run faster. They do look cool though.
-I love The Price is Right.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
"Do you sing karaoke?"
This was the question posed to me by a patient whose bottom I was currently wiping. (Ah, the life of a nurse!) It was a strange question, but frequently patients will make conversation while your in the middle of doing something involving those areas of their body only spouses have seen in the last 20 years. I guess it helps to make them more comfortable.
I don't sing karaoke. In fact the last time I sang karaoke was in Florida about 10 years ago. I got on the stage of a crappy country bar with two female friends and did a version of Love Shack.
"I'm sure I've seen you doing karaoke before at..."
She pauses slightly.
"...at The Embers."
For the uninitiated, Embers is a gay club here in Portland. A gay club I have never even been to. I explain this. She is unconvinced.
She proceeds to tell me about people at the club. People I don't know. She tells me about their families, partners, karaoke selections. These are people I've never met, but I smile and nod at all the right places. It makes her feel good so I play along.
When I finish cleaning her up, I tidy the room a bit. She continues talking about her friends. Friends she is convinced we share. I break into her story.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
She needs nothing else. Just an ear to listen. I say goodbye and tell her to call if she needs anything.
"See you at karoke," she tells me as I leave.
I'm sure I won't, but I smile and nod.
"Maybe I will."
I don't sing karaoke. In fact the last time I sang karaoke was in Florida about 10 years ago. I got on the stage of a crappy country bar with two female friends and did a version of Love Shack.
"I'm sure I've seen you doing karaoke before at..."
She pauses slightly.
"...at The Embers."
For the uninitiated, Embers is a gay club here in Portland. A gay club I have never even been to. I explain this. She is unconvinced.
She proceeds to tell me about people at the club. People I don't know. She tells me about their families, partners, karaoke selections. These are people I've never met, but I smile and nod at all the right places. It makes her feel good so I play along.
When I finish cleaning her up, I tidy the room a bit. She continues talking about her friends. Friends she is convinced we share. I break into her story.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
She needs nothing else. Just an ear to listen. I say goodbye and tell her to call if she needs anything.
"See you at karoke," she tells me as I leave.
I'm sure I won't, but I smile and nod.
"Maybe I will."
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
The long goodbye
So I got this new job.
My last day at my current position is next Friday. I've been at this job for three years. I love all the people I work with, I just decided it was time for a change. So I got a job working in the intensive care unit. It's a change I've wanted to make for awhile, so I'm pretty excited.
At any rate, I would really like to leave quietly and with little fuss. However my coworkers aren't going to make that easy. Today a sign up sheet was hung in our breakroom for the Mexican themed pot luck that's being planned on my final day. (There's something really strange about that last sentence but I can't figure out what it is...) Now I would prefer that no potluck be held, but if I protest than I know I'll just seem ungrateful. I'm not ungrateful, I just don't like the attention.
I hate being the center of attention. I was recently nominated for "Nurse of the Year" at my hospital (I didn't win). I had to go to this ceremony and was called up to accept a certificate and some flowers. I was terribly embarrassed and just wanted it to be over. I was honored by the nomination, but felt it completely unnecessary. I do my job because I love what I do. I don't need an award.
So I'm expecting that my last day will be filled with long, emotional goodbyes. I mean my manager actually cried when I handed her my resignation. I'll be grateful and have a smile on my face, but secretly I'll just really want it to be over.
My last day at my current position is next Friday. I've been at this job for three years. I love all the people I work with, I just decided it was time for a change. So I got a job working in the intensive care unit. It's a change I've wanted to make for awhile, so I'm pretty excited.
At any rate, I would really like to leave quietly and with little fuss. However my coworkers aren't going to make that easy. Today a sign up sheet was hung in our breakroom for the Mexican themed pot luck that's being planned on my final day. (There's something really strange about that last sentence but I can't figure out what it is...) Now I would prefer that no potluck be held, but if I protest than I know I'll just seem ungrateful. I'm not ungrateful, I just don't like the attention.
I hate being the center of attention. I was recently nominated for "Nurse of the Year" at my hospital (I didn't win). I had to go to this ceremony and was called up to accept a certificate and some flowers. I was terribly embarrassed and just wanted it to be over. I was honored by the nomination, but felt it completely unnecessary. I do my job because I love what I do. I don't need an award.
So I'm expecting that my last day will be filled with long, emotional goodbyes. I mean my manager actually cried when I handed her my resignation. I'll be grateful and have a smile on my face, but secretly I'll just really want it to be over.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Because I said so!
One of the greatest pleasures I get at work is telling a physician “no”. Most physicians are used to getting what they want. They order something and expect it to be done. Normally this is the case, but sometimes I get to exercise my big charge nurse muscles and tell them to keep dreaming when they’ve ordered something ridiculous.
One doc ordered us to transfer a patient to ICU because he didn’t want the patient to fall out of bed.
I literally laughed out loud and almost spit my coffee across the nurses station when I heard this request.
I calmly explained to this young doctor that we couldn’t occupy a critical care bed because he was afraid of the patient falling. We have lots of other tricks to prevent that sort of thing from happening.
Today, a physician ordered 1 to 1 care for a patient. This means that the physician wanted someone to be at the bedside with this patient 24 hours a day. Now normally this sort of thing is reserved for our suicidal patients; you know, the ones who swallowed a whole bottle of Excedrin in a lame attempt to off themselves.
“Why does this patient require one to one care,” I asked.
“I’m afraid the patient will fall.”
Sigh.
One doc ordered us to transfer a patient to ICU because he didn’t want the patient to fall out of bed.
I literally laughed out loud and almost spit my coffee across the nurses station when I heard this request.
I calmly explained to this young doctor that we couldn’t occupy a critical care bed because he was afraid of the patient falling. We have lots of other tricks to prevent that sort of thing from happening.
Today, a physician ordered 1 to 1 care for a patient. This means that the physician wanted someone to be at the bedside with this patient 24 hours a day. Now normally this sort of thing is reserved for our suicidal patients; you know, the ones who swallowed a whole bottle of Excedrin in a lame attempt to off themselves.
“Why does this patient require one to one care,” I asked.
“I’m afraid the patient will fall.”
Sigh.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The full monty
Aaron and I saw Portland Center Stage's production of The Little Dog Laughed today. I just loved it. It was absolutely hysterical and and all the actors were great. As an added bonus there was some well placed full frontal male nudity.
As good gay men, we discussed all the merits of the show on our way home. The story. The sets. The lighting.
And yes...The male actor's genitalia.
I should mention that there was an audible gasp from the audience when the actors emerged in the buff.
I guess Aaron and I weren't the only ones impressed.
As good gay men, we discussed all the merits of the show on our way home. The story. The sets. The lighting.
And yes...The male actor's genitalia.
I should mention that there was an audible gasp from the audience when the actors emerged in the buff.
I guess Aaron and I weren't the only ones impressed.
A new habit
I'm such a shitty blog owner.
I leave for months without updating and here it just sits feeling unloved and neglected. I'm often envious of those bloggers who find something to post every day. I find it amazing that people keep their enthusiasm for their blog over an extended period. I also find it amazing that Marc continues to find something new to do each day and then proceeds to write a witty post about it.
Maybe I should come to terms with the fact that I'm just not that funny or interesting.
An old roommate of mine once told me that if you could do something consistently for a month that it would become a habit. I don't know if that's just a load of crap or not, but I'm going to give it a try. I'm going to post something every day for the next month and see if it becomes habit. I'm not making promises about the level or quality of the posts, but at least the two people who visit here will have something new to look at.
To start off my new project, I'm giving you a picture of David Beckham. He may sound like Mickey Mouse when he speaks, but I still think he's a hottie.
I leave for months without updating and here it just sits feeling unloved and neglected. I'm often envious of those bloggers who find something to post every day. I find it amazing that people keep their enthusiasm for their blog over an extended period. I also find it amazing that Marc continues to find something new to do each day and then proceeds to write a witty post about it.
Maybe I should come to terms with the fact that I'm just not that funny or interesting.
An old roommate of mine once told me that if you could do something consistently for a month that it would become a habit. I don't know if that's just a load of crap or not, but I'm going to give it a try. I'm going to post something every day for the next month and see if it becomes habit. I'm not making promises about the level or quality of the posts, but at least the two people who visit here will have something new to look at.
To start off my new project, I'm giving you a picture of David Beckham. He may sound like Mickey Mouse when he speaks, but I still think he's a hottie.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Death of a loved one
This is Jasper:
Jasper was an Easter gift given to me by the boyfriend several years ago. For the last seven years or so, Jasper has lived on our bed and served as an extra pillow, cuddle friend and occasional cat bed. The boyfriend and I have had to endure several disparaging comments about "grown men sleeping with a stuffed animal", but Jasper has kept his spot on the bed.
Unfortunately, it seems that Jasper's time is coming to an end. He has developed a small tear by his leg. Each morning while making the bed, I find pieces of his stuffed rabbit guts scattered among the sheets. While part of me wants to try and save Jasper, another part feels like it's time to say good bye. The part of this tale that is particularly pathetic is that I simply can't bear to throw him away. I somehow feel like I will be throwing away a friend and that...well...Jasper will be sad.
Now what part of this whole scenario is more odd? The fact that a grown man still sleeps with a giant stuffed rabbit, or that he can't rid of the rabbit because he doesn't want to hurt the rabbit's feelings?
Jasper was an Easter gift given to me by the boyfriend several years ago. For the last seven years or so, Jasper has lived on our bed and served as an extra pillow, cuddle friend and occasional cat bed. The boyfriend and I have had to endure several disparaging comments about "grown men sleeping with a stuffed animal", but Jasper has kept his spot on the bed.Unfortunately, it seems that Jasper's time is coming to an end. He has developed a small tear by his leg. Each morning while making the bed, I find pieces of his stuffed rabbit guts scattered among the sheets. While part of me wants to try and save Jasper, another part feels like it's time to say good bye. The part of this tale that is particularly pathetic is that I simply can't bear to throw him away. I somehow feel like I will be throwing away a friend and that...well...Jasper will be sad.
Now what part of this whole scenario is more odd? The fact that a grown man still sleeps with a giant stuffed rabbit, or that he can't rid of the rabbit because he doesn't want to hurt the rabbit's feelings?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
You should have seen these shoes
I was getting my hair cut today (something I absolutely hate having done) when the manager of the salon came in and started talking to my stylist.
This woman was wearing the HOTTEST shoes I have ever seen. Now, I know it's completely stereotypical for a gay man to go on about a woman's shoes, but really they were quite fetching. Tall, black, shiny, and they made her calves look amazing. I just couldn't stop staring at these damn shoes.
I looked up into the mirror and noticed my stylist giving me a look. It was a look that said "I totally just caught you checking my manager out."
I wanted to protest and exclaim, "No! I was just checking out her shoes! I mean look at them! They're incredible!"
Instead, I just remained quiet. I figured that this will be the only time that I, a guy who is routinely called "ma'am" by telemarketers, will ever be mistaken for a straight man.
This woman was wearing the HOTTEST shoes I have ever seen. Now, I know it's completely stereotypical for a gay man to go on about a woman's shoes, but really they were quite fetching. Tall, black, shiny, and they made her calves look amazing. I just couldn't stop staring at these damn shoes.
I looked up into the mirror and noticed my stylist giving me a look. It was a look that said "I totally just caught you checking my manager out."
I wanted to protest and exclaim, "No! I was just checking out her shoes! I mean look at them! They're incredible!"
Instead, I just remained quiet. I figured that this will be the only time that I, a guy who is routinely called "ma'am" by telemarketers, will ever be mistaken for a straight man.
The post where Dead Nurse reveals his body insecurities
Sometimes I start feeling really good about the progress I'm making at the gym. I start thinking I look really good and my self-esteem grows.
Then I run into some Abercrombie-looking model coming out of the shower in the gym locker room and I suddenly feel like the skinny boy again.
Bastards.
Then I run into some Abercrombie-looking model coming out of the shower in the gym locker room and I suddenly feel like the skinny boy again.
Bastards.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Civil unions
It's official!
As of yesterday, same-sex civil unions are now legal in the great state of Oregon.
All you poopie pants who tried to stop it will now have to find some other way to occupy your time. Perhaps you'll take up killing puppies or oppressing racial minorities?
As of yesterday, same-sex civil unions are now legal in the great state of Oregon.
All you poopie pants who tried to stop it will now have to find some other way to occupy your time. Perhaps you'll take up killing puppies or oppressing racial minorities?
Critical thinking and the student nurse
Nursing schools love to talk about “teaching critical thinking.” Entire books have been written about the subject. How do we teach our future nurse to think critically about their patients and what’s going on with them?
The problem is that most of these academics have no idea what they're talking about.
I work with nursing students practically every day and I see what they’re being taught by their classroom instructors. I also remember what I was taught in school. We teach students to complete head-to-toe physical assessments on all of their patients, yet we don’t teach them what to do with all that information they collect. I understand the need to learn the art of doing a head-to-toe; that’s important. However, where’s the piece where we teach nurses to first look at the patient and then think about what information they REALLY need to collect.
Example: You have a 22 year old male in following surgery on his knee. He has no medical history to speak of and is in perfect health, save the knee injury that put him in the hospital to begin with. Now why would it be important to listen to his bowel tones in all four quadrants? Couldn’t we illicit the needed information simply by asking the patient, “have you passed any gas since surgery?”
A few months ago, I was watching a nursing student completing an assessment. They palpated pedal pulses, listened to bowel tones, and auscultated heart sounds on a women in her 40’s with hand cellulitis. When we left the room I asked, “now what are you planning on doing with all that information you just collected?”
The student paused for a moment, deep in thought.
“Chart it, I guess.”
Sadly, that is what many nursing school graduates think is important about their assessments: collect the data and chart it.
If that student had first thought about what information really needed to be collected prior to going into the room, their assessment would have yielded much more useful information in a much easier fashion. Is the cellulitis improving? What does the hand look like? How’s their pain? Their receiving a bit of narcotics for that pain, so how is their bowel functioning? When was their last bowel movement? All of this information is gathered without ever having to palpate a pedal pulse or listen to a bowel tone.
In order to create successful nurses, schools need to begin teaching their students TRUE critical thinking skills. Don’t just talk about it, really teach it. Teach students to think about the information they gather and why it’s important. If data isn’t important in a particular situation, then don’t gather it. Believe it or not, you don’t have to listen to everyone’s heart and lung sounds!
Teaching students to be information gathering robots isn’t good for nursing and doesn’t create successful nurses. And after all, isn’t that what we want to do?
The problem is that most of these academics have no idea what they're talking about.
I work with nursing students practically every day and I see what they’re being taught by their classroom instructors. I also remember what I was taught in school. We teach students to complete head-to-toe physical assessments on all of their patients, yet we don’t teach them what to do with all that information they collect. I understand the need to learn the art of doing a head-to-toe; that’s important. However, where’s the piece where we teach nurses to first look at the patient and then think about what information they REALLY need to collect.
Example: You have a 22 year old male in following surgery on his knee. He has no medical history to speak of and is in perfect health, save the knee injury that put him in the hospital to begin with. Now why would it be important to listen to his bowel tones in all four quadrants? Couldn’t we illicit the needed information simply by asking the patient, “have you passed any gas since surgery?”
A few months ago, I was watching a nursing student completing an assessment. They palpated pedal pulses, listened to bowel tones, and auscultated heart sounds on a women in her 40’s with hand cellulitis. When we left the room I asked, “now what are you planning on doing with all that information you just collected?”
The student paused for a moment, deep in thought.
“Chart it, I guess.”
Sadly, that is what many nursing school graduates think is important about their assessments: collect the data and chart it.
If that student had first thought about what information really needed to be collected prior to going into the room, their assessment would have yielded much more useful information in a much easier fashion. Is the cellulitis improving? What does the hand look like? How’s their pain? Their receiving a bit of narcotics for that pain, so how is their bowel functioning? When was their last bowel movement? All of this information is gathered without ever having to palpate a pedal pulse or listen to a bowel tone.
In order to create successful nurses, schools need to begin teaching their students TRUE critical thinking skills. Don’t just talk about it, really teach it. Teach students to think about the information they gather and why it’s important. If data isn’t important in a particular situation, then don’t gather it. Believe it or not, you don’t have to listen to everyone’s heart and lung sounds!
Teaching students to be information gathering robots isn’t good for nursing and doesn’t create successful nurses. And after all, isn’t that what we want to do?
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
An open letter
Dear Reader(s),
I'm not really as much of a bitch as my recent posts make me seem.
Of course some of my friends might disagree.
Hug and kisses,
Dead Nurse
I'm not really as much of a bitch as my recent posts make me seem.
Of course some of my friends might disagree.
Hug and kisses,
Dead Nurse
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Separated at birth?
Sometime, I have a difficult time telling the difference between my cat:
And a certain obese character from Star Wars:
And a certain obese character from Star Wars:
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Lowered expectations
In general, I believe people have unrealistic expectations when they are admitted to the hospital. They expect to be given around the clock care, but also expect to be allowed to sleep a full 8 hours each night. They want their nurses to bring them their medications exactly as they are timed at home, with absolutely no consideration to the fact that their nurse is also caring for several other patients.
One expectation I dealt with this week, is when physicians are suppose to see their patients. Many of the patients on my unit are seen by hospitalists. These are the docs that work for the hospital. These guys and gals work really hard and usually start seeing their patients around 7:30am. Now if you’re a pretty healthy person, say a 40-something year old female with cellulitis of your hand, then you’re probably not going to be seen first. You see, there’s this thing call “triaging”. This is where the physician places their patients in order of how urgent they need to be seen. That 78 year old lady in the ICU on a vent is probably going to fall somewhere near the top of the list. Your spider bite...well, let’s just say you’re not a real priority for your doctor today. They will get to you eventually, and if you need something they are only a phone call away. However, don’t expect to see them much before noon.
This concept is poorly understood by many patients and family members. They are living in a world colored by the many episodes of General Hospital and St. Elsewhere that they’ve watched. This is a world where physicians make “morning rounds” and see their patients several times throughout the day.
This world doesn’t exist.
Your doctor will see you as soon as they can. It’s not that they don’t care about you, there are just sicker people that need to be seen first. If you or your loved one were really sick, wouldn’t you want them to be seen first?
So please don’t complain to me when your doctor didn’t come to see you until (gasp!) 12:30pm! Did you have everything you needed? Were you in any pain? No? Good.
So take your vicodin and shut the hell up.
One expectation I dealt with this week, is when physicians are suppose to see their patients. Many of the patients on my unit are seen by hospitalists. These are the docs that work for the hospital. These guys and gals work really hard and usually start seeing their patients around 7:30am. Now if you’re a pretty healthy person, say a 40-something year old female with cellulitis of your hand, then you’re probably not going to be seen first. You see, there’s this thing call “triaging”. This is where the physician places their patients in order of how urgent they need to be seen. That 78 year old lady in the ICU on a vent is probably going to fall somewhere near the top of the list. Your spider bite...well, let’s just say you’re not a real priority for your doctor today. They will get to you eventually, and if you need something they are only a phone call away. However, don’t expect to see them much before noon.
This concept is poorly understood by many patients and family members. They are living in a world colored by the many episodes of General Hospital and St. Elsewhere that they’ve watched. This is a world where physicians make “morning rounds” and see their patients several times throughout the day.
This world doesn’t exist.
Your doctor will see you as soon as they can. It’s not that they don’t care about you, there are just sicker people that need to be seen first. If you or your loved one were really sick, wouldn’t you want them to be seen first?
So please don’t complain to me when your doctor didn’t come to see you until (gasp!) 12:30pm! Did you have everything you needed? Were you in any pain? No? Good.
So take your vicodin and shut the hell up.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The pain scale
The pain scale is bullshit.
There, I’ve said it. It’s out there and I can never take it away.
It’s bullshit because people are retarded and don’t use it properly.
Example: A patient has a wound on his foot. It’s infected and nasty. It must hurt. The patient appears fairly comfortable. He’s watching television and enjoying a milk shake.
“How would you rate the pain your having right now,” I ask.
He looks up from his milkshake. and says “10/10”.
I want to respond by saying, that we might as well go ahead and chop that foot off without using any sedative. It apparently can’t get any worse, right? While we’re at it, we’re gonna go ahead and take out those wisdom teeth of yours. No gas for you though! The pain couldn’t possibly be worse than you’re experiencing right now!
Instead I just opt to medicate the dumb ass and order him another milk shake.
Why I love my job
Setting: A hospital medical unit. A patient has been admitted with abdominal pain of an unclear origin and has just been started on a fentanyl PCA. She calls the nurses station complaining that the PCA is beeping.
Dead Nurse enters the room to find the PCA beeping.
Patient: This fucking thing isn’t working.
Dead Nurse: Well, it looks like there is an occlusion in the line somewhere. Let me try to fix it. Resets the machine and gets it working.
Patient: I don’t feel anything.
DN: This isn’t going to feel the same like getting the intermittent shots. You need to give it some time to work.
Patient: The fucking machine is broken.
DN: It’s working. You just need to push the button to get pain medication.
Patient throws controller on bed and rolls over facing away from Dead Nurse.
Dead Nurse exits.
Patient calls again to complain that the machine isn’t working.
Patient: I told you this machine wasn’t working.
Dead Nurse looks at the machine and sees that she has received 30mcg of fentanyl.
DN: The machine say it has given you 3 doses.
Patient: Can you find someone who knows what they're doing?
DN: The machine is working. Any nurse in this hospital will tell you that.
Patient: I need food. I haven’t eaten in 3 days. They want a sample from me. How am I suppose to go number 2 if I haven’t eaten.
DN: You still make stool even if you haven’t eaten.
Patient: Nu, uh.
DN: Why don’t I call the doctor and see if we can get you some clear liquids.
Dead Nurse calls the doctor who informs him that she told the patient that she couldn’t eat earlier in the day. Her rationale being that if something is really wrong with her, that food could just worsen the problem. Dead Nurse returns to the room to deliver the sad news.
DN: Your doctor doesn’t want you to eat. She’s afraid that it will just worsen your pain. If you start feeling better than we can get your something.
Patient: That’s the problem! You have to eat to feel better!
DN: I don’t think the food will make you feel better.
Patient: But I'm starving! I think I need to get an older doctor. Someone with more experience.
DN: I really think any doctor you see will tell you the same thing.
Patient: Nu, uh.
DN: Can I get you anything else?
Patient: I need some phenergan. I feel nauseous.
Dead Nurse enters the room to find the PCA beeping.
Patient: This fucking thing isn’t working.
Dead Nurse: Well, it looks like there is an occlusion in the line somewhere. Let me try to fix it. Resets the machine and gets it working.
Patient: I don’t feel anything.
DN: This isn’t going to feel the same like getting the intermittent shots. You need to give it some time to work.
Patient: The fucking machine is broken.
DN: It’s working. You just need to push the button to get pain medication.
Patient throws controller on bed and rolls over facing away from Dead Nurse.
Dead Nurse exits.
Patient calls again to complain that the machine isn’t working.
Patient: I told you this machine wasn’t working.
Dead Nurse looks at the machine and sees that she has received 30mcg of fentanyl.
DN: The machine say it has given you 3 doses.
Patient: Can you find someone who knows what they're doing?
DN: The machine is working. Any nurse in this hospital will tell you that.
Patient: I need food. I haven’t eaten in 3 days. They want a sample from me. How am I suppose to go number 2 if I haven’t eaten.
DN: You still make stool even if you haven’t eaten.
Patient: Nu, uh.
DN: Why don’t I call the doctor and see if we can get you some clear liquids.
Dead Nurse calls the doctor who informs him that she told the patient that she couldn’t eat earlier in the day. Her rationale being that if something is really wrong with her, that food could just worsen the problem. Dead Nurse returns to the room to deliver the sad news.
DN: Your doctor doesn’t want you to eat. She’s afraid that it will just worsen your pain. If you start feeling better than we can get your something.
Patient: That’s the problem! You have to eat to feel better!
DN: I don’t think the food will make you feel better.
Patient: But I'm starving! I think I need to get an older doctor. Someone with more experience.
DN: I really think any doctor you see will tell you the same thing.
Patient: Nu, uh.
DN: Can I get you anything else?
Patient: I need some phenergan. I feel nauseous.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Kitchen Confessions
Portland is a foodie town. People here love to talk about food in great detail. They share their opinions on food freely and can have a tendency to look down their noses at people who dare to disagree. These are the people who visit the farmers market regularly, buy only local produce, and “eat seasonally.”
I am not one of those people.
I have some confessions to make that I need to get off my chest.
-I don’t always use fresh garlic. I have a jar of prepared minced garlic in my refrigerator that I use with some frequency.
-I visited the Portland Farmers Markets one time last year.
-I will probably not visit the Portland Farmers Market with greater frequency this year.
-I’m not really all that enamored with farmers markets. I think buying my produce at a grocery store is just more convenient and I don’t really notice a difference in quality or taste.
-I eat veal and do so unapologetically.
-I buy flavored ground coffee. Grinding my own coffee is a task that I have absolutely no interest in taking on.
-I have several favorite recipes that call for a can of condensed soup (usually cream of mushroom).
-I have never made my own spaghetti sauce and always use jarred sauce.
-I purchase produce with no thought to if it is in season.
-I believe that the Hostess Orange Cupcake could very well be the world’s most perfect confection.
I feel much better now. Thank you for your attention. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen sipping my hazelnut flavored coffee and eating my out of season produce. If you happen to see any orange cupcakes while you're out, could you pick me up a box?
I am not one of those people.
I have some confessions to make that I need to get off my chest.
-I don’t always use fresh garlic. I have a jar of prepared minced garlic in my refrigerator that I use with some frequency.
-I visited the Portland Farmers Markets one time last year.
-I will probably not visit the Portland Farmers Market with greater frequency this year.
-I’m not really all that enamored with farmers markets. I think buying my produce at a grocery store is just more convenient and I don’t really notice a difference in quality or taste.
-I eat veal and do so unapologetically.
-I buy flavored ground coffee. Grinding my own coffee is a task that I have absolutely no interest in taking on.
-I have several favorite recipes that call for a can of condensed soup (usually cream of mushroom).
-I have never made my own spaghetti sauce and always use jarred sauce.
-I purchase produce with no thought to if it is in season.
-I believe that the Hostess Orange Cupcake could very well be the world’s most perfect confection.
I feel much better now. Thank you for your attention. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen sipping my hazelnut flavored coffee and eating my out of season produce. If you happen to see any orange cupcakes while you're out, could you pick me up a box?
Sunday, January 13, 2008
My marimba
I just wanted to share a picture of my new marimba. It arrived in November after several months of waiting. I didn't think it was possible to love an inanimate object so much.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Gym People
I go to the gym on a pretty regular basis. The gym is where I de-stress and continue my ongoing quest to look better naked. It makes me feel good and I normally enjoy my time there. However, something has recently happened at my gym that is bothering me a bit. You know what I’m talking about...
It’s the attack of the New Year Resolution people!
They have resolved to lose weight and get in shape! They come in huge numbers to gyms everywhere in the month of January. They look like lost souls wandering the gym in their sweats; staring at the machines, uncertain how anything works.
I should say that I don’t dislike these people in any way. I think it’s great that they’ve decided to make a change in their life and get healthy in the new year. What bothers me is the number of them who have seemingly decided to ignore all gym etiquette. I can only assume that they are simply unaware of expected behaviors, so I have decided to help out a bit. Here for the first time anywhere is Dead Nurse’s Guide To Gym Etiquette for Newbies and Other Clueless Folks!
It’s the attack of the New Year Resolution people!
They have resolved to lose weight and get in shape! They come in huge numbers to gyms everywhere in the month of January. They look like lost souls wandering the gym in their sweats; staring at the machines, uncertain how anything works.
I should say that I don’t dislike these people in any way. I think it’s great that they’ve decided to make a change in their life and get healthy in the new year. What bothers me is the number of them who have seemingly decided to ignore all gym etiquette. I can only assume that they are simply unaware of expected behaviors, so I have decided to help out a bit. Here for the first time anywhere is Dead Nurse’s Guide To Gym Etiquette for Newbies and Other Clueless Folks!
- Wear appropriate attire. This means you should change out of your jeans and polo shirt. Put on some athletic shoes because those flip flops are much better for the shower than the treadmill.
- Wipe your nasty sweat off the equipment. You’ve broken a sweat! GREAT! Now clean up the mess you left on the weigh bench. No one wants to lay in a pool of your body juice.
- Put the weights away. I’m glad that you think bench pressing 400lb is impressive, but not all of us can lift that much. So please put the weights back on the rack where you found them.
- The locker room is not your bathroom, so why don’t you try wrapping a towel around yourself while walking around. Perhaps you’ve identified me as gay and think you’re giving me a real treat by allowing me to see your twig and berries. You’ve greatly overestimated my interest. You are much more comfortable with your nudity than I am, so cover up! Now that young man over there who looks like the Abercrombie and Fitch model...He’s welcome to parade around the locker room with his pants off.
- Get help! You only look like a tool when you misuse the equipment. If you don’t know how to use something, just ask a staff member.
- Learn a little something about anatomy. What muscle do you think you’re working there with that crazy exercise your doing? You look more like an Amazonian bird doing a mating ritual than anything else.