A few weeks ago a posted a blog on my Eat. Poop. Live site about being homesick. In it I made the comment that no where feels like home anymore. I think I was wrong about that. I think Minnesota will always be home to me.
Simon and I are in Minnesota for the next 7 days, and I find myself reveling in all that is familiar. Soft water in the shower! Humidity! My hair has volume! My skin is soft! I'm in heaven!! Today we find ourselves in Minneapolis, staying at Simon's former roommate's house. This morning we walked over to Caribou Coffee (a Minnesota staple) and had ourselves some breakfast. We even sat outside, so pleasant is this partly-sunny day (also a Minnesota staple). We're looking forward to the next few days, laden with a smattering of some of our favorite Minnesota friends and family.
Tonight I will be hanging out with Dana, my best friend from high school. We're going to a place here in town called Minnehaha Falls; it's a waterfall right here in the city and it's absolutely beautiful. I've actually only been to the falls once, which seems almost sad, really, given that I lived here for over two years. It's a pretty green space in the middle of a residential area, and it's a wonderful place to take a stroll with a cup of coffee and catch up with a friend whom I haven't seen in quite some time.
Tomorrow Simon and I will wander down to the Minneapolis Convention Center to pick up our race packets for the Hot Chocolate 15k that we are running on Saturday morning. On our way back, we will swing by the shops on St. Anthony Main, grab a coffee, and wander around on the Stone Arch Bridge and the surrounding parks. Again, another beautiful green space with fantastic views of downtown Minneapolis. Friday evening Simon and I will be having dinner with my Franko, my best friend from college, his wife Andrea and their daughter Charlotte (one of two babies for whom I brought a bunch of baby clothes), and our friends Adam and Melissa, who we are staying with in Minneapolis. Guaranteed to be a good time.
Saturday morning we run our Hot Chocolate Race with our friend Ellen and my nemesis Kate (Ellen's sister...we vie for ownership of Ellen whenever possible...hahaha!). The race is run mostly along the Mississippi River, and while my training regimen (what training regimen?) has been poor, I'm looking forward to running. The tutu will be making an appearance as well. After the race I'm sure we'll grab some breakfast somewhere, and then will make our way to Farmington, MN to stop by to say hello to my cousin Keri and her family. And then it's on to Rochester, where we will be meeting up with my brother Mike and his girlfriend Christina. They are throwing an 80's aerobics party at their house Saturday evening. I still need to get an outfit for that. Perhaps maybe I'll just wear the tutu again. ;)
Sunday is family day. Christina has already made reservations for brunch for us along with my parents. Really looking forward to that...I love brunch, and Rochester has really upped its game in the restaurant department these last few years. Sunday afternoon is all about family time, which I'm looking forward to. Hopefully some of my extended family will be able to come over and say hello...and have some eats, of course. Always the eats, and quite possibly some card games.
Monday I will be getting a pedicure from Sarah, my most favorite pedicurist at Fox Nails in Rochester, MN. She is amazing, and she's so incredibly sweet...and she always feeds me...hahaha! I always make a point to go in and see her when I'm in Rochester. Monday evening we will find ourselves back in Minneapolis, hanging out with Simon's friend and former volleyball coach, Chris. We are planning to go to the Surly Taproom, home of Simon's all time favorite brew, Furious.
Tuesday we will have lunch with Ellen and her husband Fred at Minne's Diner in Rogers, MN. If you haven't been there, you should. The Minneapple Pie is worth the drive to the 'burbs. Tuesday evening I will be meeting little Miss Evie Miller, the newest baby to join my group of college friends. My suitcase was also full of clothes for little Evie...have I mentioned that I like buying baby clothes?? Hahaha! Evie's parents Naomi and Miller just recently finished renovating their home on Lake Minnetonka, and knowing Naomi's flare for decorating, I'm sure the place is absolutely adorable. I can't wait to see them.
And that pretty much sums up our trip. Safe to say that we're cramming in as much as possible, and while it still isn't enough time to see everyone, I'm happy to be able to see everyone who is able to make time for us, even if it's only for a short time.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Addicted to eBay
Again, no secret that I've got some serious shopping issues. But...I've found a way to actually make it somewhat profitable...if that's even possible. Selling things on eBay has practically become a side business for me. In the last month, I've sold over $600 worth of stuff...I'm pretty impressed with myself!
I've been eBaying for almost as long as I've been using the internet. I remember my dad was really big into eBay when I was in high school, buying rare and vintage Boy Scout patches for his collection. I started using it towards my later years in college. I still remember my first eBay purchase...a red and white cheerleader outfit that I planned on wearing for Halloween the fall of my senior year of college. The outfit ended up being a bit snug, so I posted it back on eBay for $20 more than I paid and sold it within a week. And thus, my relationship with eBay had begun.
For the most part, I used to only buy things on eBay. I hadn't really gotten into selling things until the last couple years. I sell the most random things on there, but mostly it's just books, clothing, shoes, and bags. It's true that I have no shortage of Luluemon apparel, and given the brand's rabid fan base, there is quite the lucrative second-hand market for it on eBay. Most of the time I'm able to sell stuff for more than I paid. Not always, but most of the time. Sometimes it's enough just to break even.
Today I sold 7 pairs of knee-high socks. I actually posted the socks thinking that no one would ever buy them, but lo and behold, they'll be heading to their new home in Alexandria, VA in the morning. I found myself chuckling at the idea that someone would buy used knee-high socks on eBay, but given the fact that I posted them initially, maybe it's not so funny after all. Supply and demand and all that. I just have to wonder how out of all the millions of postings on eBay, someone came across my particular auction for socks. I think there are definitely people out there who spend a lot more time on eBay than I do, which is kind of a scary thought.
It's actually kind of addicting, selling my belongings to complete strangers. I get a kick out of scrolling through my auctions, seeing who's bidding on and who's just watching an item. Every time I sell something, I go pawing through my closet for something else to sell. Given that I've been shopping mercilessly for decades, I have no shortage of things to get rid of. The best thing of all though, is that I feel like I'm able to shop for free. All my eBay sellings go into an online bank account, which I can use on almost any e-commerce website. It's been coming in handy given my recent binge on buying baby clothes. Funny to think that I'm selling my own clothes with the intention of clothing someone else.
But it's nice. I'm thinning out my clothing, and I'm putting the money to (mostly) good use. Of course, I still manage to buy a few things for myself every now and again, but I don't feel the pinch in the bank account anymore. Which is interesting...since I've been selling on eBay, I find myself shopping less for myself than when I was trying to stretch my shopping from paycheck to paycheck. That doesn't mean that I'm not shopping for other people, of course...hahaha! Simon has a birthday coming up, and all of his birthday presents were purchased with eBay money. It's like all the presents were free! I know they're not actually free since the initial item was purchased at some point, but it feels like it's free. That's good enough for me. :)
If you're interested, take a peek at my eBay page...You just might find something you like! And yes, my eBay name is littlepugbutt...that shouldn't really be all that surprising...hahaha!
I've been eBaying for almost as long as I've been using the internet. I remember my dad was really big into eBay when I was in high school, buying rare and vintage Boy Scout patches for his collection. I started using it towards my later years in college. I still remember my first eBay purchase...a red and white cheerleader outfit that I planned on wearing for Halloween the fall of my senior year of college. The outfit ended up being a bit snug, so I posted it back on eBay for $20 more than I paid and sold it within a week. And thus, my relationship with eBay had begun.
For the most part, I used to only buy things on eBay. I hadn't really gotten into selling things until the last couple years. I sell the most random things on there, but mostly it's just books, clothing, shoes, and bags. It's true that I have no shortage of Luluemon apparel, and given the brand's rabid fan base, there is quite the lucrative second-hand market for it on eBay. Most of the time I'm able to sell stuff for more than I paid. Not always, but most of the time. Sometimes it's enough just to break even.
Today I sold 7 pairs of knee-high socks. I actually posted the socks thinking that no one would ever buy them, but lo and behold, they'll be heading to their new home in Alexandria, VA in the morning. I found myself chuckling at the idea that someone would buy used knee-high socks on eBay, but given the fact that I posted them initially, maybe it's not so funny after all. Supply and demand and all that. I just have to wonder how out of all the millions of postings on eBay, someone came across my particular auction for socks. I think there are definitely people out there who spend a lot more time on eBay than I do, which is kind of a scary thought.
It's actually kind of addicting, selling my belongings to complete strangers. I get a kick out of scrolling through my auctions, seeing who's bidding on and who's just watching an item. Every time I sell something, I go pawing through my closet for something else to sell. Given that I've been shopping mercilessly for decades, I have no shortage of things to get rid of. The best thing of all though, is that I feel like I'm able to shop for free. All my eBay sellings go into an online bank account, which I can use on almost any e-commerce website. It's been coming in handy given my recent binge on buying baby clothes. Funny to think that I'm selling my own clothes with the intention of clothing someone else.
But it's nice. I'm thinning out my clothing, and I'm putting the money to (mostly) good use. Of course, I still manage to buy a few things for myself every now and again, but I don't feel the pinch in the bank account anymore. Which is interesting...since I've been selling on eBay, I find myself shopping less for myself than when I was trying to stretch my shopping from paycheck to paycheck. That doesn't mean that I'm not shopping for other people, of course...hahaha! Simon has a birthday coming up, and all of his birthday presents were purchased with eBay money. It's like all the presents were free! I know they're not actually free since the initial item was purchased at some point, but it feels like it's free. That's good enough for me. :)
If you're interested, take a peek at my eBay page...You just might find something you like! And yes, my eBay name is littlepugbutt...that shouldn't really be all that surprising...hahaha!
Monday, April 13, 2015
My Struggle With Vegans
There is this zucchini bread at the one of the local coffee shops here in Flagstaff that I am absolutely in love with. I'm currently noshing on a piece right now. I'm not sure why I used that word...I actually hate the word nosh...it just sounds gross to me. Moving on. I had originally noticed but dismissed this bread when I first saw it, simply because it was labeled as Vegan. I struggle with veganism. Not necessarily the ideology behind it, but because most vegans who I've interacted with in real life are douchebags.
Veganism, in a nutshull, is a dietary and lifestyle choice in which a person chooses to live their life devoid of animal products. They don't eat meat or eggs, they don't eat dairy, they don't eat honey, and they don't wear leather products, etc. All under the premise that they are being kind to animals by not partaking in the behaviors of industries that kill, abuse, or exploit animals. I get it. I get the idea of being good stewards of the earth by being compassionate to all the creatures who inhabit it. I even feel like a terrible meat-eater after watching those PETA videos exposing animal abuse in chicken barns, feedlots, and the like. I get where vegans are coming from by their not partaking in the animal product industry. Funny thing is, I find most vegans are intolerable to be around. In my experience with them, the compassion that they are able to show towards animals does not extend toward human beings.
Simon and I were in a coffee shop in Jerome, AZ not so long ago, and there was a sign on the door that advertised some vegan offerings. Not being vegans ourselves, we didn't really care, but there was a small group of travelers who came in right after us for whom this was a matter of interest. The gal behind the counter making the coffee drinks offered the 5 of us a selection of pastries in the bakery case while we waited for our drinks to be made. One of the gals in the group asked if there was anything vegan in the case. The barrista apologized and said that there wasn't. Instead of being polite and saying "oh, no worries" or "thanks anyway," the gal briskly turned around and said very loudly, "I guess I'll just go sit down then." She then huffed off to her table where I heard her admonishing the place for not having any vegan pastries despite advertising that they had vegan offerings. If I could hear her complaining, I'm pretty sure the barrista could hear her...it was just rude. On the menu, there were plenty of vegan offerings; they were dishes that had to be prepared and weren't ready-made...the girl could have ordered any number of vegan snacks, but instead she chose to be belligerent about it, as if the restaurant was purposely singling her out to ruin her day. Her behavior killed the conversation in the place. Prior to the pastry incident, Simon and I had been engaging in easy conversation this these people, who were traveling from out of state. After her little outburst, conversation came to an uncomfortable halt and we moved on.
And this has mostly been my experience with vegan people...they wear their veganism like a cross upon their backs, berating people and businesses for not respecting their views and dietary choices. Our culture is largely based on animal products...whether that's right or wrong is a matter of opinion, and it's not something that's likely to change quickly or easily. To expect an entire society to make a large cultural shift, and to be an asshole about it besides, is counter-productive. If you're going to be a vegan, then be a vegan and leave other people to their choices. Offer insight and education if people ask, but don't shove it down their throats.
I believe that there is a way to be kind to animals while still partaking in their products. Granted, any industry in which an animal has to die for us to eat or wear is never going to be kind to animals, I'll give you that. But there are still farmers out there who are good stewards of the land and their animals, who do respect that animals are creatures capable of thoughts, feelings, and emotions, limited though they might be. Simon and I get our eggs from a little farm outside of Flagstaff. The chickens run around outside all day long, scratching for bugs, digging through the compost...they've got it made. They're not clustered in cages and wallowing in their own filth. If it was permitted, I'd go so far as to say that they're happy chickens. And their eggs are tasty. And no one is harmed in my consumption of them. There are still dairy farmers out there who know all their cows by name and treat them with respect. There are farmers who make their own cheese and sell their own milk. I get the impression from most vegans I've talked to that it's either all or nothing, but I just don't find that to be true.
To be entirely truthful, there's really no way to live entirely animal-free. There is a book I've been wanting to read called Pig 05049 that factually and without bias follows a pig starting with the slaughter and proceeds to catalog 185 products produced from that pig alone. I'm still waiting to find an affordable copy, as I think $55.00 is pricey for a book with under 200 pages...well, that's pricey for just about any book, to be honest. But it's something to think about. Animals affect our lives in more ways than we know, and I think it's important to be realistic about that. I also think it's important to be kind about it...to both animals and people.
Veganism, in a nutshull, is a dietary and lifestyle choice in which a person chooses to live their life devoid of animal products. They don't eat meat or eggs, they don't eat dairy, they don't eat honey, and they don't wear leather products, etc. All under the premise that they are being kind to animals by not partaking in the behaviors of industries that kill, abuse, or exploit animals. I get it. I get the idea of being good stewards of the earth by being compassionate to all the creatures who inhabit it. I even feel like a terrible meat-eater after watching those PETA videos exposing animal abuse in chicken barns, feedlots, and the like. I get where vegans are coming from by their not partaking in the animal product industry. Funny thing is, I find most vegans are intolerable to be around. In my experience with them, the compassion that they are able to show towards animals does not extend toward human beings.
Simon and I were in a coffee shop in Jerome, AZ not so long ago, and there was a sign on the door that advertised some vegan offerings. Not being vegans ourselves, we didn't really care, but there was a small group of travelers who came in right after us for whom this was a matter of interest. The gal behind the counter making the coffee drinks offered the 5 of us a selection of pastries in the bakery case while we waited for our drinks to be made. One of the gals in the group asked if there was anything vegan in the case. The barrista apologized and said that there wasn't. Instead of being polite and saying "oh, no worries" or "thanks anyway," the gal briskly turned around and said very loudly, "I guess I'll just go sit down then." She then huffed off to her table where I heard her admonishing the place for not having any vegan pastries despite advertising that they had vegan offerings. If I could hear her complaining, I'm pretty sure the barrista could hear her...it was just rude. On the menu, there were plenty of vegan offerings; they were dishes that had to be prepared and weren't ready-made...the girl could have ordered any number of vegan snacks, but instead she chose to be belligerent about it, as if the restaurant was purposely singling her out to ruin her day. Her behavior killed the conversation in the place. Prior to the pastry incident, Simon and I had been engaging in easy conversation this these people, who were traveling from out of state. After her little outburst, conversation came to an uncomfortable halt and we moved on.
And this has mostly been my experience with vegan people...they wear their veganism like a cross upon their backs, berating people and businesses for not respecting their views and dietary choices. Our culture is largely based on animal products...whether that's right or wrong is a matter of opinion, and it's not something that's likely to change quickly or easily. To expect an entire society to make a large cultural shift, and to be an asshole about it besides, is counter-productive. If you're going to be a vegan, then be a vegan and leave other people to their choices. Offer insight and education if people ask, but don't shove it down their throats.
I believe that there is a way to be kind to animals while still partaking in their products. Granted, any industry in which an animal has to die for us to eat or wear is never going to be kind to animals, I'll give you that. But there are still farmers out there who are good stewards of the land and their animals, who do respect that animals are creatures capable of thoughts, feelings, and emotions, limited though they might be. Simon and I get our eggs from a little farm outside of Flagstaff. The chickens run around outside all day long, scratching for bugs, digging through the compost...they've got it made. They're not clustered in cages and wallowing in their own filth. If it was permitted, I'd go so far as to say that they're happy chickens. And their eggs are tasty. And no one is harmed in my consumption of them. There are still dairy farmers out there who know all their cows by name and treat them with respect. There are farmers who make their own cheese and sell their own milk. I get the impression from most vegans I've talked to that it's either all or nothing, but I just don't find that to be true.
To be entirely truthful, there's really no way to live entirely animal-free. There is a book I've been wanting to read called Pig 05049 that factually and without bias follows a pig starting with the slaughter and proceeds to catalog 185 products produced from that pig alone. I'm still waiting to find an affordable copy, as I think $55.00 is pricey for a book with under 200 pages...well, that's pricey for just about any book, to be honest. But it's something to think about. Animals affect our lives in more ways than we know, and I think it's important to be realistic about that. I also think it's important to be kind about it...to both animals and people.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
If I Had a Baby, I'd Be Broke
It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I have a shopping problem. I've blogged about it, I've talked about it, and there are a few of you out there who have actually witnessed it. I'm the person who goes along on a shopping trip to offer support or an opinion, not intending on buying anything, and end up spending more than everyone else. I do that.
There are times when I think that I'm getting better, where I can sit there and tell myself that quality over quantity is a good thing (I used to be terrible at buying in multiples). I tell myself that there's truly no reason that I need backpacks in 25L, 30L, and 38L sizes...yet I have all three of those and am currently scoping out a 35L on eBay. To what end? Why? Most normal people can exist with just one backpack, maybe two, yet here I am with 3 (4 if you count the monster), and find myself wanting another. It all comes down to features. Each of these packs have different features that I like, but not a one of them has ALL the features that I like. If Osprey would have continued to make their smallish packs with the mesh stuffable pocket on the front (back for Simon) of the bag, then I wouldn't be in this predicament. I'm rationalizing...can you tell?
Which brings me to babies. There are a lot of babies in my life right now. Between friends and family, there are far too many youngsters, and there are just way too many cute articles of baby clothing out there. I've lately been stalking www.Carters.com (they have a fantastic clearance selection) and buying copious amounts of clothing for some of the babies in my life. Some, not all, for if I tried to buy clothing for all the babies in my life, I truly would be broke, and that would be sad. I'd have to sell my backpacks, amongst other things.
I'm heading back to Minnesota in a couple days, and I kid you not, half of my rollie suitcase is packed with baby clothes...and I'm only going to be seeing 2 babies. I almost don't have enough room for my own clothes. I, myself, am actually packing light, which is kind of a first. I'm not known for packing light, but in this case my hand is being forced.
Weeks ago when I was purchasing said baby clothes, Simon and I were lounging on the couch. He was watching something on TV, and I was furiously scrolling on my iPad, trying to decide between a set of 3 month onesies and 6 month onesies...it ended up being a moot decision because in the end I just bought both. I'm a big fan of onesies. Odds are good that if you get baby clothing from me, it's most likely going to be onesies. They're so versatile! And really, can a baby have too many onesies? The snaps in the crotch make them easy to get on, easy to get off, easy to change a diaper...they're pretty much the ideal piece of clothing. I figure that having too many onesies is a problem that doesn't actually exist. If I had children, they would be in onesies (and probably little else) until the day they were too big for onesies. And then I would cry because I would actually have to dress my children, who at that point would have been so conditioned to onesies that they'd probably hate me for putting pants on them. Honestly. Cramming an infant into skinny jeans and a cute sweater? Not going to happen. I'm all about the onesie. And people wonder why I don't have children.
Anyway, back on topic...so the purchasing of the onesies played out like that Saturday Night Live skit with Adam Sandler and Chris Farley...where Chris (me) is the old woman reading from the Zagat guide and Adam (Simon) is the old man who just can't listen to his wife blather on anymore. "Ravioli? Holy Canoli!" You know the one. If you don't, you can watch it here. One of my all time favorites. So that's me and Simon on the couch, looking at baby clothes together. Luckily he didn't chuck the iPad across the room, nor did he take an entire bottle of sleeping pills in the interest of not having to listen to me anymore. He did, however, talk me out of several items of clothing...he's good at talking sense into me...most of the time.
So yeah...good thing I don't have children...they'd have a larger wardrobe than me (mostly onesies), and I'd be completely broke.
There are times when I think that I'm getting better, where I can sit there and tell myself that quality over quantity is a good thing (I used to be terrible at buying in multiples). I tell myself that there's truly no reason that I need backpacks in 25L, 30L, and 38L sizes...yet I have all three of those and am currently scoping out a 35L on eBay. To what end? Why? Most normal people can exist with just one backpack, maybe two, yet here I am with 3 (4 if you count the monster), and find myself wanting another. It all comes down to features. Each of these packs have different features that I like, but not a one of them has ALL the features that I like. If Osprey would have continued to make their smallish packs with the mesh stuffable pocket on the front (back for Simon) of the bag, then I wouldn't be in this predicament. I'm rationalizing...can you tell?
Which brings me to babies. There are a lot of babies in my life right now. Between friends and family, there are far too many youngsters, and there are just way too many cute articles of baby clothing out there. I've lately been stalking www.Carters.com (they have a fantastic clearance selection) and buying copious amounts of clothing for some of the babies in my life. Some, not all, for if I tried to buy clothing for all the babies in my life, I truly would be broke, and that would be sad. I'd have to sell my backpacks, amongst other things.
I'm heading back to Minnesota in a couple days, and I kid you not, half of my rollie suitcase is packed with baby clothes...and I'm only going to be seeing 2 babies. I almost don't have enough room for my own clothes. I, myself, am actually packing light, which is kind of a first. I'm not known for packing light, but in this case my hand is being forced.
Weeks ago when I was purchasing said baby clothes, Simon and I were lounging on the couch. He was watching something on TV, and I was furiously scrolling on my iPad, trying to decide between a set of 3 month onesies and 6 month onesies...it ended up being a moot decision because in the end I just bought both. I'm a big fan of onesies. Odds are good that if you get baby clothing from me, it's most likely going to be onesies. They're so versatile! And really, can a baby have too many onesies? The snaps in the crotch make them easy to get on, easy to get off, easy to change a diaper...they're pretty much the ideal piece of clothing. I figure that having too many onesies is a problem that doesn't actually exist. If I had children, they would be in onesies (and probably little else) until the day they were too big for onesies. And then I would cry because I would actually have to dress my children, who at that point would have been so conditioned to onesies that they'd probably hate me for putting pants on them. Honestly. Cramming an infant into skinny jeans and a cute sweater? Not going to happen. I'm all about the onesie. And people wonder why I don't have children.
Anyway, back on topic...so the purchasing of the onesies played out like that Saturday Night Live skit with Adam Sandler and Chris Farley...where Chris (me) is the old woman reading from the Zagat guide and Adam (Simon) is the old man who just can't listen to his wife blather on anymore. "Ravioli? Holy Canoli!" You know the one. If you don't, you can watch it here. One of my all time favorites. So that's me and Simon on the couch, looking at baby clothes together. Luckily he didn't chuck the iPad across the room, nor did he take an entire bottle of sleeping pills in the interest of not having to listen to me anymore. He did, however, talk me out of several items of clothing...he's good at talking sense into me...most of the time.
So yeah...good thing I don't have children...they'd have a larger wardrobe than me (mostly onesies), and I'd be completely broke.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Does Everyone Really Love Their Own Brand?
Years ago, I dated this guy who frequently made a show of acting like he was purposefully sniffing his own farts. Afterwards, he would turn to me and gleefully exclaim, "Everyone loves their own brand!" I was repulsed. A: how many people actually sit around and smell their own farts? B: assuming that there are people who sit around and smell their own farts, how many can actually say that they love the smell? C: why was I dating such a first-class idiot? It was a preposterous concept, but not out of line for this guy's thinking. I then proceeded to date that moron for a year and a half. Live and learn.
Very recently, the subject of the smell of other people's poop came up while a group of us nurses were sitting around talking during some downtime at work. I'm assuming the subject came up in relation to a patient with some rather foul feces, but with nurses you never can tell. Sometimes we talk about bodily functions just for the heck of it.
So one of my coworkers pointed out that it's human nature to think that everyone else's poop smells worse than our own, a concept that I had never once pondered in all my years of poop pondering. How in the world had this ever escaped me?
I came home from work in the morning and there was Simon, roaming about the kitchen in search of something edible whilst caught in the throes of the after-work-munchies (trust me, that's a very dangerous thing). I caught him unawares with my new epiphany on poop. So I point-blank asked him whose poop smelled worse, his or mine. He gave me this look that said, "For Pete's sake....what have I done to deserve the wrath of this crazy woman?" He let out a long sigh, looked away, and said, "Yours." What?? As delusional as it sounds, I thought there was no way that my poop could possibly smell worse than his. I've smelled his poop, and I've smelled mine, and I'd come to the conclusion (erroneously, it would appear) that his poop smelled worse than mine.
Mind. Blown.
I briefly considered the idea that we needed a third party present, to smell both our poops to see which one of us truly had the most foul excrement, as if it was some sort of competition. But that's just weird. Right? In any case, we'd probably find ourselves short a volunteer for that endeavor.
Does this illustrate the point of the douchebag from so long ago? Maybe not so much the part about loving the smell of one's own brand, but perhaps on a simpler level, that we are just able to better tolerate the smell of our own brand.
Something to think about. Or not. I'm sure most people don't really care to think about poop at all. I guess I'm just weird like that. Nothing new to see here.
Very recently, the subject of the smell of other people's poop came up while a group of us nurses were sitting around talking during some downtime at work. I'm assuming the subject came up in relation to a patient with some rather foul feces, but with nurses you never can tell. Sometimes we talk about bodily functions just for the heck of it.
So one of my coworkers pointed out that it's human nature to think that everyone else's poop smells worse than our own, a concept that I had never once pondered in all my years of poop pondering. How in the world had this ever escaped me?
I came home from work in the morning and there was Simon, roaming about the kitchen in search of something edible whilst caught in the throes of the after-work-munchies (trust me, that's a very dangerous thing). I caught him unawares with my new epiphany on poop. So I point-blank asked him whose poop smelled worse, his or mine. He gave me this look that said, "For Pete's sake....what have I done to deserve the wrath of this crazy woman?" He let out a long sigh, looked away, and said, "Yours." What?? As delusional as it sounds, I thought there was no way that my poop could possibly smell worse than his. I've smelled his poop, and I've smelled mine, and I'd come to the conclusion (erroneously, it would appear) that his poop smelled worse than mine.
Mind. Blown.
I briefly considered the idea that we needed a third party present, to smell both our poops to see which one of us truly had the most foul excrement, as if it was some sort of competition. But that's just weird. Right? In any case, we'd probably find ourselves short a volunteer for that endeavor.
Does this illustrate the point of the douchebag from so long ago? Maybe not so much the part about loving the smell of one's own brand, but perhaps on a simpler level, that we are just able to better tolerate the smell of our own brand.
Something to think about. Or not. I'm sure most people don't really care to think about poop at all. I guess I'm just weird like that. Nothing new to see here.
Friday, April 10, 2015
Eat My Dust
So I've always been a really fast walker. I'm not quite sure why, but I have a few theories. When I was a kid, I used to go for walks with my mom. Given her height, which is about 2 inches shy of my own, my mom is an exceptionally fast walker. I remember having to jog every few steps just to keep up with her. Even now she can outpace me when we're randomly out and about. My mom walks with purpose, moving from one place to the other as expediently as possible. Although, now that she's retired, maybe not so much...there's all the time in the world for her to get where she's going. So yeah, from a young age I was always trying to keep up with the speed demon known as my mother. When I wasn't with mom, I was the one that my friends were trying to keep up with. My friend Dana used to yell at me while we were perusing the mall because I'd be walking from to place to place so fast, while she just wanted to leisurely browse.
I've always had this drive to get where I'm going to as quickly as possible. It's not even a conscious thought, it's just there. I don't know why...there's no reason, there's no rush...I just walk really fast pretty much all the time. Simon makes fun of me by walking really fast and leaving me behind on purpose, and there's no way I can keep up with those long legs of his without jogging along. He's such a turd. Half the time I won't even realize that he's doing it until I'm out of breath and practically tripping over my own feet in an effort to keep pace.
And poor Cooper...I'll take him out for a walk, which is supposed to be his time to get out and pee on everything and enjoy his time outside. I'll be walking along at my normal pace, practically dragging him along behind me. Granted, he does feel the need to pee on literally everything, even when his little bladder is completely exhausted of urine. Who has time for that? Not me! I've got places to go...or do I?
My pace has never been more evident than in the the last month when I've been working with nursing students. At work, I walk even faster than normal, my nursing clogs clacking their way down the hallway, notifying anyone in front of me that I will very shortly be coming through. The only time I walk slow at work is when I'm sneaking into a patient's room at night to make sure they're still breathing...I can't go speeding into their room or I'll wake them up. Sometimes even when I'm sneaking I wake them up, but I try not to.
So these past few weeks, I've been very aware of my pace, realizing that quite frequently, I leave my poor nursing student in the dust. I'll fly up out of my chair and and will be in the patient's room before she's even left the nursing station. And I feel bad about it. I don't mean to leave her behind, it's nothing personal, it's just how I walk.
And the funny thing is, being aware that I'm leaving her behind has actually gotten me to slow down a little bit. And you know what? Nothing has changed. If I leisurely walk to a patient's room, the outcome is the same. I really don't shave any time off by speed-walking down the hallway...not that I'm consciously trying to shave time in the first place, but I've noticed that my pace doesn't really affect the outcome when I get where I'm going.
In fact, I've been noticing that when I walk really fast, when I really take the time to think about it, I'm slightly more stressed. And I've noticed that the more stressed I get, the faster I walk. I'm beginning to wonder if my pace in general isn't adding to my overall stress at work. It's like everything is urgent, even when it's not. Delivering a blanket to a patient is not an emergency, and maybe I shouldn't be hoofing around like it is. Again, it's not something that I usually think about, but lately I have been.
Something to work on, at any rate.
I've always had this drive to get where I'm going to as quickly as possible. It's not even a conscious thought, it's just there. I don't know why...there's no reason, there's no rush...I just walk really fast pretty much all the time. Simon makes fun of me by walking really fast and leaving me behind on purpose, and there's no way I can keep up with those long legs of his without jogging along. He's such a turd. Half the time I won't even realize that he's doing it until I'm out of breath and practically tripping over my own feet in an effort to keep pace.
And poor Cooper...I'll take him out for a walk, which is supposed to be his time to get out and pee on everything and enjoy his time outside. I'll be walking along at my normal pace, practically dragging him along behind me. Granted, he does feel the need to pee on literally everything, even when his little bladder is completely exhausted of urine. Who has time for that? Not me! I've got places to go...or do I?
My pace has never been more evident than in the the last month when I've been working with nursing students. At work, I walk even faster than normal, my nursing clogs clacking their way down the hallway, notifying anyone in front of me that I will very shortly be coming through. The only time I walk slow at work is when I'm sneaking into a patient's room at night to make sure they're still breathing...I can't go speeding into their room or I'll wake them up. Sometimes even when I'm sneaking I wake them up, but I try not to.
So these past few weeks, I've been very aware of my pace, realizing that quite frequently, I leave my poor nursing student in the dust. I'll fly up out of my chair and and will be in the patient's room before she's even left the nursing station. And I feel bad about it. I don't mean to leave her behind, it's nothing personal, it's just how I walk.
And the funny thing is, being aware that I'm leaving her behind has actually gotten me to slow down a little bit. And you know what? Nothing has changed. If I leisurely walk to a patient's room, the outcome is the same. I really don't shave any time off by speed-walking down the hallway...not that I'm consciously trying to shave time in the first place, but I've noticed that my pace doesn't really affect the outcome when I get where I'm going.
In fact, I've been noticing that when I walk really fast, when I really take the time to think about it, I'm slightly more stressed. And I've noticed that the more stressed I get, the faster I walk. I'm beginning to wonder if my pace in general isn't adding to my overall stress at work. It's like everything is urgent, even when it's not. Delivering a blanket to a patient is not an emergency, and maybe I shouldn't be hoofing around like it is. Again, it's not something that I usually think about, but lately I have been.
Something to work on, at any rate.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
5 Things
I can't really think of much to write today. I started a blog yesterday that was supposed to be a 10 minute one, but it ended up lasting several hours and it's still not done, so that will be a future Eat.Poop.Live post. That's how it goes sometimes. And truthfully, I'm really, really struggling with this 10 minute business. I should have at least given myself 15 minutes. So, in the spirit of staying within my time frame today, I'm going to list off my 5 favorite things.
1. Love Boat Brownie Batter Ice cream. This is a tough favorite, since it is only available in Fort Myers, Florida. I've had ice cream at other ice cream shops since coming back from our Florida trip in February, and they have paled in comparison. They were so bad, in fact, that I've actually kind of lost my craving for ice cream.
2. Cooper. I love him. He is my most favorite little dog, and I can't imagine life without him. I remember back when I had my three dogs, and I thought that Cooper was the most boring of them all. He wasn't as loyal as Lady, and he wasn't as goofy as Brie. Poor Cooper just kind of fell by the wayside. Now that he is here all by himself, I realize what a delight he truly is, and I hope that we've got a few more good years left together.
3. Simon. Of course Simon would make the list. I hope he's not too upset that he's on the list below ice cream and a dog...hahaha! It's true that I cherish just about every minute I get to spend with him, even when he's gassy and toots under the blanket. Oh wait, that's me. Let me rephrase...I love him because he loves me pretty much all the time, even when I'm gassy and tooting under the blanket. Sometimes I blame it on the dog, but most of the time it's actually me. Haha!
4. Warm towels out of the dryer. Truly, is there anything that feels better than the feel and smell of warm, clean towels? My mom has a goofy little dog who shares my sentiment...she goes crazy when the towels are pulled from the dryer, just waiting for the them to be put down somewhere so she can bury herself in them. I love seeing that kind of delight...it's pure and innocent and completely unrestrained.
5. Mexican Mocha from Late for the Train. Truly, this coffee drink is amazing, and Late for the Train has it dialed in. It's creamy and chocolately and that hint of cinnamon and spice gets my taste buds singing. It's the perfect warm, hunker-down drink now that the spring winds have arrived in Flagstaff. I wish I had one right now. But I hate the wind, so I'm staying inside.
So those are 5 of my current favorites. And I finished within my 10 minute time frame! For the very first time! I still think I should have done 15. ;)
1. Love Boat Brownie Batter Ice cream. This is a tough favorite, since it is only available in Fort Myers, Florida. I've had ice cream at other ice cream shops since coming back from our Florida trip in February, and they have paled in comparison. They were so bad, in fact, that I've actually kind of lost my craving for ice cream.
2. Cooper. I love him. He is my most favorite little dog, and I can't imagine life without him. I remember back when I had my three dogs, and I thought that Cooper was the most boring of them all. He wasn't as loyal as Lady, and he wasn't as goofy as Brie. Poor Cooper just kind of fell by the wayside. Now that he is here all by himself, I realize what a delight he truly is, and I hope that we've got a few more good years left together.
3. Simon. Of course Simon would make the list. I hope he's not too upset that he's on the list below ice cream and a dog...hahaha! It's true that I cherish just about every minute I get to spend with him, even when he's gassy and toots under the blanket. Oh wait, that's me. Let me rephrase...I love him because he loves me pretty much all the time, even when I'm gassy and tooting under the blanket. Sometimes I blame it on the dog, but most of the time it's actually me. Haha!
4. Warm towels out of the dryer. Truly, is there anything that feels better than the feel and smell of warm, clean towels? My mom has a goofy little dog who shares my sentiment...she goes crazy when the towels are pulled from the dryer, just waiting for the them to be put down somewhere so she can bury herself in them. I love seeing that kind of delight...it's pure and innocent and completely unrestrained.
5. Mexican Mocha from Late for the Train. Truly, this coffee drink is amazing, and Late for the Train has it dialed in. It's creamy and chocolately and that hint of cinnamon and spice gets my taste buds singing. It's the perfect warm, hunker-down drink now that the spring winds have arrived in Flagstaff. I wish I had one right now. But I hate the wind, so I'm staying inside.
So those are 5 of my current favorites. And I finished within my 10 minute time frame! For the very first time! I still think I should have done 15. ;)
Monday, April 6, 2015
Can You Teach an Old Dog New Tricks?
For years I've avoided taking Cooper on walks in places where I don't have any control of the environment whatsoever. I know it sounds silly, but Cooper, my little 20 pound pug, is very dog aggressive. I know...have you ever heard of anything so silly? What's silly is taking Cooper to the dog park and seeing him take down a Malamute who was a little too interested in his private parts. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Granted, the Malamute basically tripped over his own feet, so surprised and completely caught off guard by this pug missile that was launched unawares right at his face.
I mostly blame myself for this behavior, as I was a complete and total failure at socializing him when he was young. Cooper was the third dog that I acquired while living by myself in Rochester. Why I thought I needed two dogs, let alone three, is a matter that has drawn scrutiny from almost every person I've met. Simon almost didn't date me when he found out that I had three dogs. Anyway, so Cooper was the third to come along, and to be completely honest, I was already somewhat overwhelmed by the other two that his training was lackadaisical at best, completely inept at worst. Granted, none of my dogs had attended any sort of obedience training, and I was under the impression that good behavior in the house was good enough for me. The problem with that, obviously, is that I had completely unsociable monsters on my hands whenever I tried to go anywhere in public.
Lady, the oldest and largest of the three, would cry and howl bloody murder whenever she saw another dog, so desperate was she to go and say hello. Brie was usually content to bark and carry on and puff up like she had something to prove. Cooper immediately went for the throat. Didn't matter how big the other dog was, didn't matter if the other dog was being aggressive or not, Cooper came out on the offensive every single time. It was embarrassing. And not only that, it was dangerous. I remember him picking fights at the dog park with labs and pits and german shepherds, only to realize too late that he was in over his head and come tearing back to me, 100 pounds of big dog on his heels, ready to take me out in order to silence the little bastard who dared antagonize them in the first place. Needless to say, the dog park excursions were short lived.
Fast forward to now...we live in Flagstaff which is a super dog-friendly city (unless you're looking to rent somewhere...good freaking luck finding a place that will take pets, dogs especially). People are always out and about with their dogs. It's not uncommon to be in a store, any store, and have someone walk by with their dog in tow. And for the most part, all these dogs are extremely well behaved. I find myself out and about longing to bring my little Cooper with me, to join the dog brigade, only to realize that I would have no peace whatsoever as he tried to attack every dog within a 2 block radius of himself.
So it came to pass the other day that I was going for a walk with my friends Emily and Kelly, both of whom were bringing their dogs along. I sat there and contemplated. Did I dare try to bring Cooper along? I did dare...and wouldn't you know it, the little bastard actually behaved himself. Alarmingly so. And I had him off leash for the entire walk. I kept waiting for him to fly off the handle and try to take out one of the other dogs, but he didn't. He was content to trot along at my heels, and I rewarded him handsomely for his good behavior with little bits of carrot...his favorite treat. I was astonished. Of course there was a bit of a scuffle when he realized that one of the other dogs was getting treats of ham, but it was very short lived and easily curbed with a little distraction.
So maybe I haven't been giving my little buddy enough credit. Maybe my anxiety when I'm out with him is part of the problem, putting him on edge when there's no reason to be. I do think that having him off-leash takes the aggression down significantly, but that's frequently not an option. I still don't think I'm going to try to taking him out downtown where I know there are likely be lots of dogs out with their people. At 10 years old, I just don't know how good I can really expect it to get. But for right now, I'm proud of my little curmudgeon, and I feel a little bit bad for doubting him in the first place. I hope that he only continues to improve, and I hope that I continue to find the patience to work with him.
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| Cute little bugger...when he's not being a douche |
I mostly blame myself for this behavior, as I was a complete and total failure at socializing him when he was young. Cooper was the third dog that I acquired while living by myself in Rochester. Why I thought I needed two dogs, let alone three, is a matter that has drawn scrutiny from almost every person I've met. Simon almost didn't date me when he found out that I had three dogs. Anyway, so Cooper was the third to come along, and to be completely honest, I was already somewhat overwhelmed by the other two that his training was lackadaisical at best, completely inept at worst. Granted, none of my dogs had attended any sort of obedience training, and I was under the impression that good behavior in the house was good enough for me. The problem with that, obviously, is that I had completely unsociable monsters on my hands whenever I tried to go anywhere in public.
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| Hanging out poolside in Florida |
Lady, the oldest and largest of the three, would cry and howl bloody murder whenever she saw another dog, so desperate was she to go and say hello. Brie was usually content to bark and carry on and puff up like she had something to prove. Cooper immediately went for the throat. Didn't matter how big the other dog was, didn't matter if the other dog was being aggressive or not, Cooper came out on the offensive every single time. It was embarrassing. And not only that, it was dangerous. I remember him picking fights at the dog park with labs and pits and german shepherds, only to realize too late that he was in over his head and come tearing back to me, 100 pounds of big dog on his heels, ready to take me out in order to silence the little bastard who dared antagonize them in the first place. Needless to say, the dog park excursions were short lived.
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| Getting to ride up front on one of our many road trips |
Fast forward to now...we live in Flagstaff which is a super dog-friendly city (unless you're looking to rent somewhere...good freaking luck finding a place that will take pets, dogs especially). People are always out and about with their dogs. It's not uncommon to be in a store, any store, and have someone walk by with their dog in tow. And for the most part, all these dogs are extremely well behaved. I find myself out and about longing to bring my little Cooper with me, to join the dog brigade, only to realize that I would have no peace whatsoever as he tried to attack every dog within a 2 block radius of himself.
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| Napping, his most favorite activity |
So it came to pass the other day that I was going for a walk with my friends Emily and Kelly, both of whom were bringing their dogs along. I sat there and contemplated. Did I dare try to bring Cooper along? I did dare...and wouldn't you know it, the little bastard actually behaved himself. Alarmingly so. And I had him off leash for the entire walk. I kept waiting for him to fly off the handle and try to take out one of the other dogs, but he didn't. He was content to trot along at my heels, and I rewarded him handsomely for his good behavior with little bits of carrot...his favorite treat. I was astonished. Of course there was a bit of a scuffle when he realized that one of the other dogs was getting treats of ham, but it was very short lived and easily curbed with a little distraction.
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| The last photo of Cooper and Brie together |
So maybe I haven't been giving my little buddy enough credit. Maybe my anxiety when I'm out with him is part of the problem, putting him on edge when there's no reason to be. I do think that having him off-leash takes the aggression down significantly, but that's frequently not an option. I still don't think I'm going to try to taking him out downtown where I know there are likely be lots of dogs out with their people. At 10 years old, I just don't know how good I can really expect it to get. But for right now, I'm proud of my little curmudgeon, and I feel a little bit bad for doubting him in the first place. I hope that he only continues to improve, and I hope that I continue to find the patience to work with him.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
I Am Not A Mountain Biker
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| Riding in Sedona, AZ |
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| My kind of trail...no suprises! And beautiful scenery. |
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| The eternally patient Simon Weber. He tries. |
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| Pushing my bike up the hill. I do this a lot. |
Saturday, April 4, 2015
People often ask me what I find to be the hardest part of being a nurse. More often than not, I hear the phrase, "I could never be a nurse…I just don't think I could wipe someone else's butt." If only it were true that the hardest part of my job happened to be the wiping of butts. I would actually probably consider myself way over-paid if a little poop constituted the most challenging part of my work day.
Wiping a butt? Bring it on. I'll wipe butts all day if I have to. Once you've wiped a few hundred of them, it almost becomes mundane. I've had extremely close relationships with other people's poop throughout my 12+ years as a nurse. Including, but not limited to, getting in on my shoes, my clothes, all over the floor, the bed rails, my face, and the ever-enjoyable turd smear that hits just above the wrist in that no-man's land between the end of the glove and the beginning of my shirt. There's a reason I no longer wear long-sleeved shirts at work. I can wash my skin if it gets a little filthy. My shirt? Well, it just has to come off, and given the cut of scrub tops and the questionable behavior of some of my male patients, let's just say I'd rather not be leaning over them without an undershirt on. So t-shirts under the scrubs it is. This may sound odd, but there's something very therapeutic about doing something for a patient that they can't do for themselves, and this extends to cleaning their behinds. We all know that there's nothing more uncomfortable than unclean nether regions, and in the hospital this is paramount. So, if my patient is incapable of getting him or herself clean, then I make it my mission to do it for them, and to do it probably better than they would have done it themselves anyway. It's the least I can do, really. And it's funny…the majority of the people who wrinkle their noses up at the mere mention of butt wiping, have children whose butts they've had to wipe a myriad of times throughout their childhood. So they know what it's like to wipe a butt that isn't their own. Granted, wiping an adult butt is somewhat different than wiping a child's butt, but the basic concept is the same.
The hardest part of my of job is actually much more complex than poop. How I wish it could be that simple. In the 12+ years that I've been a nurse, and in the many different hospitals I've worked when I was a travel nurse, I've started to see a shift in healthcare. Sometimes I think what I'm seeing is regional, as the difficulties faced in one hospital are completely different from the difficulties faced in another. The hardest part of my job, no matter where I'm at, is this: dealing with people who have no interest in taking responsibility for their end of the healing process. Getting healthy and staying healthy is a two-way street. There are things that we can do as healthcare providers, but we can't do everything…and that's where the patient comes in. They have to want to get better, they have to commit to obtaining a healthy living plan and stick to it. Hospitals don't cure people. Doctors don't have magic pills that make everything go away. Just because a person shows up sick to the hospital, doesn't mean that he or she will leave in perfect health. You'd be surprised at how often patients leave the hospital disgusted and disappointed because we weren't able to cure them of their ailments. Ailments that arose from years and years of self-abuse, of poor eating habits, of a sedentary lifestyle, of drinking too much, eating too much, of completely ignoring the genetics with which they were born…somehow it's our fault that we can't reverse a problem that's been years in the making.
I struggle the most with the alcoholics and the drug addicts. It's one of my weak points as a nurse, and it's something that I try very hard to be aware of when caring for this patient population. I try to remind myself that no one aspires to be an alcoholic or a drug addict. Simple as that. No five-year old on career day stands up and announces to the class that he can't decide between being a veterinarian or an alcoholic when he grows up. And not that I'm comparing alcoholism to a career, but given some of the people I've taken care of over the years, the same amount of time and effort spent getting to the bottom of a bottle is the same as what one would spend working a full-time job. It's like being drunk IS their job.
And what's even more sad to me, is that the largest concentration of alcoholics and drug addicts that I've cared for happen to live in what I consider some of the most beautiful parts of the country. Working on the Gulf Coast in Florida, I saw more prescription drug abuse in the 13 months total that I worked there than in the rest of my 12 years combined. That's insane. I don't know why we even bothered drug testing the majority of the population, because so many of them tested positive for opiates. Opiates that they had obtained legally by prescription from one of the thousands of pain clinics that prey on patients throughout the state. And the patients felt entitled to it. I couldn't tell you how many patients would scream at me, ask for narcotics by name, dose, and route of administration. Well, I probably could, because there was probably at least one patient every shift who behaved this way, so all I would have to do is count the number of shifts I worked, but that would be depressing, so I'd rather not. I remember going home and asking myself, "what could possibly be so bad in these people's lives that they felt the need to be drugged up all the time?" Maybe it's hard for me to understand, given that I've never really been addicted to anything. I would just sit out on the beach, drinking a cold beer, enjoying the sunshine and the waves crashing at my feet, and think, "this is the life! This is why I work so hard…to enjoy these days off!" And maybe that's it…maybe a lot of them didn't understand the concept of working hard and having a nice day off at the beach as a reward. It was ironic to me the number of Floridians I met who never went to the beach. They would go years without putting their toes in the water and their behinds in the sand. Why live in Florida if not to enjoy the ocean? Maybe what some of those people needed was a beach day rather than 4mg Dilaudid given via IV.
The saddest thing about drug abusers is that eventually they'll overdose, and sometimes they might be found in time to receive medical attention, and sometimes they might not.
In northern Arizona, it's the alcoholics that come to the hospital in droves. Again, this area of the country is so beautiful; it's sunny, there's so much to do outside, there are so many things to see and do…I just don't know what these people are missing in their lives to resort to needing to be drunk all the time. Every time I would mention this to people asking about the trials of my job, they would automatically assume that since the hospital is so close to the Navajo reservation, that all of our alcoholic patients were Native Americans. But that just isn't the case. It's people from all walks of life, and the number of them is staggering. An Emergency room synopsis of "patient found down, unresponsive, alcohol level >400" is a frighteningly common occurrence. An alcohol level of >400 would kill a person like me. Admittedly, the hospital serves a very large area, so we definitely see the worst of the worst, which is scary in its own right. How many others are there who we don't see? How many of them go to the emergency room, are treated and released, only to reappear days, weeks, or months later, often for the same problem? Some seek out treatment, some don't. Some have family members who are there to offer support, but a lot of them don't. A lot of them are caught in this vicious cycle, where they know that they need to quit drinking, but everyone in their family drinks, their friends drink, their kids drink…it's tough as nails, if not impossible, to be the only one not drinking in those situations.
Alcohol detox is no joke either…it's one of the few substances that a person can die from during the withdrawal period. There's usually about a 24-48 hour window between the time of their last drink and before the withdrawal symptoms start. If the person is a hardcore alcoholic with no intention of stopping drinking, it's actually easier to treat their medical issue as quickly as possible and send them on their way before they start to withdraw. Sounds terrible, I know. But honestly…detoxing someone who's just going to hit the bottle the minute they leave the hospital is an exercise in futility. It's not that we've given up on these people, but the majority of alcoholics who show up at the hospital have been to and failed rehab several times. Withdrawing from alcohol is very dangerous…not just for the patient, but for the staff as well. Patients in the throes of withdrawal literally lose their minds. Almost every time I've been assaulted or nearly assaulted by a patient, it's been by someone withdrawing from alcohol. Days later when the alcohol has cleared their system, they won't even remember it. Assuming they remember anything at all. There is an ugly side to detoxing a functioning alcoholic...sometimes they don't recover their cognitive function. Their brains have been so damaged by the years and years of alcohol abuse that there's no recovering what's been lost. I've seen 50 year-old men assigned to nursing homes for the rest of their lives after being detoxed because they cannot safely take care of themselves. It's a strange concept for someone outside of the hospital setting, but it's very real to those of us in the trenches day in and day out.
Wiping a butt? Bring it on. I'll wipe butts all day if I have to. Once you've wiped a few hundred of them, it almost becomes mundane. I've had extremely close relationships with other people's poop throughout my 12+ years as a nurse. Including, but not limited to, getting in on my shoes, my clothes, all over the floor, the bed rails, my face, and the ever-enjoyable turd smear that hits just above the wrist in that no-man's land between the end of the glove and the beginning of my shirt. There's a reason I no longer wear long-sleeved shirts at work. I can wash my skin if it gets a little filthy. My shirt? Well, it just has to come off, and given the cut of scrub tops and the questionable behavior of some of my male patients, let's just say I'd rather not be leaning over them without an undershirt on. So t-shirts under the scrubs it is. This may sound odd, but there's something very therapeutic about doing something for a patient that they can't do for themselves, and this extends to cleaning their behinds. We all know that there's nothing more uncomfortable than unclean nether regions, and in the hospital this is paramount. So, if my patient is incapable of getting him or herself clean, then I make it my mission to do it for them, and to do it probably better than they would have done it themselves anyway. It's the least I can do, really. And it's funny…the majority of the people who wrinkle their noses up at the mere mention of butt wiping, have children whose butts they've had to wipe a myriad of times throughout their childhood. So they know what it's like to wipe a butt that isn't their own. Granted, wiping an adult butt is somewhat different than wiping a child's butt, but the basic concept is the same.
The hardest part of my of job is actually much more complex than poop. How I wish it could be that simple. In the 12+ years that I've been a nurse, and in the many different hospitals I've worked when I was a travel nurse, I've started to see a shift in healthcare. Sometimes I think what I'm seeing is regional, as the difficulties faced in one hospital are completely different from the difficulties faced in another. The hardest part of my job, no matter where I'm at, is this: dealing with people who have no interest in taking responsibility for their end of the healing process. Getting healthy and staying healthy is a two-way street. There are things that we can do as healthcare providers, but we can't do everything…and that's where the patient comes in. They have to want to get better, they have to commit to obtaining a healthy living plan and stick to it. Hospitals don't cure people. Doctors don't have magic pills that make everything go away. Just because a person shows up sick to the hospital, doesn't mean that he or she will leave in perfect health. You'd be surprised at how often patients leave the hospital disgusted and disappointed because we weren't able to cure them of their ailments. Ailments that arose from years and years of self-abuse, of poor eating habits, of a sedentary lifestyle, of drinking too much, eating too much, of completely ignoring the genetics with which they were born…somehow it's our fault that we can't reverse a problem that's been years in the making.
I struggle the most with the alcoholics and the drug addicts. It's one of my weak points as a nurse, and it's something that I try very hard to be aware of when caring for this patient population. I try to remind myself that no one aspires to be an alcoholic or a drug addict. Simple as that. No five-year old on career day stands up and announces to the class that he can't decide between being a veterinarian or an alcoholic when he grows up. And not that I'm comparing alcoholism to a career, but given some of the people I've taken care of over the years, the same amount of time and effort spent getting to the bottom of a bottle is the same as what one would spend working a full-time job. It's like being drunk IS their job.
And what's even more sad to me, is that the largest concentration of alcoholics and drug addicts that I've cared for happen to live in what I consider some of the most beautiful parts of the country. Working on the Gulf Coast in Florida, I saw more prescription drug abuse in the 13 months total that I worked there than in the rest of my 12 years combined. That's insane. I don't know why we even bothered drug testing the majority of the population, because so many of them tested positive for opiates. Opiates that they had obtained legally by prescription from one of the thousands of pain clinics that prey on patients throughout the state. And the patients felt entitled to it. I couldn't tell you how many patients would scream at me, ask for narcotics by name, dose, and route of administration. Well, I probably could, because there was probably at least one patient every shift who behaved this way, so all I would have to do is count the number of shifts I worked, but that would be depressing, so I'd rather not. I remember going home and asking myself, "what could possibly be so bad in these people's lives that they felt the need to be drugged up all the time?" Maybe it's hard for me to understand, given that I've never really been addicted to anything. I would just sit out on the beach, drinking a cold beer, enjoying the sunshine and the waves crashing at my feet, and think, "this is the life! This is why I work so hard…to enjoy these days off!" And maybe that's it…maybe a lot of them didn't understand the concept of working hard and having a nice day off at the beach as a reward. It was ironic to me the number of Floridians I met who never went to the beach. They would go years without putting their toes in the water and their behinds in the sand. Why live in Florida if not to enjoy the ocean? Maybe what some of those people needed was a beach day rather than 4mg Dilaudid given via IV.
The saddest thing about drug abusers is that eventually they'll overdose, and sometimes they might be found in time to receive medical attention, and sometimes they might not.
In northern Arizona, it's the alcoholics that come to the hospital in droves. Again, this area of the country is so beautiful; it's sunny, there's so much to do outside, there are so many things to see and do…I just don't know what these people are missing in their lives to resort to needing to be drunk all the time. Every time I would mention this to people asking about the trials of my job, they would automatically assume that since the hospital is so close to the Navajo reservation, that all of our alcoholic patients were Native Americans. But that just isn't the case. It's people from all walks of life, and the number of them is staggering. An Emergency room synopsis of "patient found down, unresponsive, alcohol level >400" is a frighteningly common occurrence. An alcohol level of >400 would kill a person like me. Admittedly, the hospital serves a very large area, so we definitely see the worst of the worst, which is scary in its own right. How many others are there who we don't see? How many of them go to the emergency room, are treated and released, only to reappear days, weeks, or months later, often for the same problem? Some seek out treatment, some don't. Some have family members who are there to offer support, but a lot of them don't. A lot of them are caught in this vicious cycle, where they know that they need to quit drinking, but everyone in their family drinks, their friends drink, their kids drink…it's tough as nails, if not impossible, to be the only one not drinking in those situations.
Alcohol detox is no joke either…it's one of the few substances that a person can die from during the withdrawal period. There's usually about a 24-48 hour window between the time of their last drink and before the withdrawal symptoms start. If the person is a hardcore alcoholic with no intention of stopping drinking, it's actually easier to treat their medical issue as quickly as possible and send them on their way before they start to withdraw. Sounds terrible, I know. But honestly…detoxing someone who's just going to hit the bottle the minute they leave the hospital is an exercise in futility. It's not that we've given up on these people, but the majority of alcoholics who show up at the hospital have been to and failed rehab several times. Withdrawing from alcohol is very dangerous…not just for the patient, but for the staff as well. Patients in the throes of withdrawal literally lose their minds. Almost every time I've been assaulted or nearly assaulted by a patient, it's been by someone withdrawing from alcohol. Days later when the alcohol has cleared their system, they won't even remember it. Assuming they remember anything at all. There is an ugly side to detoxing a functioning alcoholic...sometimes they don't recover their cognitive function. Their brains have been so damaged by the years and years of alcohol abuse that there's no recovering what's been lost. I've seen 50 year-old men assigned to nursing homes for the rest of their lives after being detoxed because they cannot safely take care of themselves. It's a strange concept for someone outside of the hospital setting, but it's very real to those of us in the trenches day in and day out.
Why Does Anyone Need More Than One Blog?
I've asked myself that. I have no idea. I've always been the type of person to have more than one of any given thing. Three dogs. 90 pairs of shoes (okay, that's probably an exaggeration, but probably only slightly). Three bikes. 2 cars. 5 pairs of work shoes to go with 18 pairs of scrubs. You get the drift. Why have one when you can have more than one?
So the premise behind this blog is very simple. For 10 minutes a day, I write about whatever I want. It doesn't have to be thoughtful. It doesn't have to be insightful. It doesn't even have to make sense. The idea behind it is to get me to write more, and to write about things that maybe I wouldn't normally write about. So here is my first post. A post explaining my first post. How exciting!
Writing is tough. If it was easy, everyone would do it. I guess you could say that about just about anything. I've always been interested in writing, and given a lot of the positive feedback I've gotten along the way, I've come to the conclusion that maybe I'm a little bit good at it. Of course, I've never submitted any of my writing to any sort of publishing medium, at which point I'm sure my ideas of my writing prowess would be rendered into an unrecognizable rubble. But that's all right. Maybe someday I'll get the balls to submit some of my better stuff. I have no idea to whom or in what context any of my writing might appeal to anyone outside of those who know me, but you never know. If every single writer hid behind their fear of rejection, we'd have absolutely nothing to read at all.
So maybe I don't need to be published. Maybe entertaining my friends and family with my musings on all things from chocolate chip cookies to bathroom habits to why the front of a backpack is actually the back (Simon knows what I'm talking about, even though he doesn't agree with me) is more than enough for right now.
Given the short time limit of 10 minutes (my time is almost up!), this is going to be a struggle for me, as my typical blogs have me spending hours in front of the computer for days on end. But it'll be nice. Maybe most of my readers will prefer this length, as a common complaint I used to hear about my blogs is that they're too long. So here are the short ones. I hope you enjoy. And I hope I stick with it.
Cheers!
So the premise behind this blog is very simple. For 10 minutes a day, I write about whatever I want. It doesn't have to be thoughtful. It doesn't have to be insightful. It doesn't even have to make sense. The idea behind it is to get me to write more, and to write about things that maybe I wouldn't normally write about. So here is my first post. A post explaining my first post. How exciting!
Writing is tough. If it was easy, everyone would do it. I guess you could say that about just about anything. I've always been interested in writing, and given a lot of the positive feedback I've gotten along the way, I've come to the conclusion that maybe I'm a little bit good at it. Of course, I've never submitted any of my writing to any sort of publishing medium, at which point I'm sure my ideas of my writing prowess would be rendered into an unrecognizable rubble. But that's all right. Maybe someday I'll get the balls to submit some of my better stuff. I have no idea to whom or in what context any of my writing might appeal to anyone outside of those who know me, but you never know. If every single writer hid behind their fear of rejection, we'd have absolutely nothing to read at all.
So maybe I don't need to be published. Maybe entertaining my friends and family with my musings on all things from chocolate chip cookies to bathroom habits to why the front of a backpack is actually the back (Simon knows what I'm talking about, even though he doesn't agree with me) is more than enough for right now.
Given the short time limit of 10 minutes (my time is almost up!), this is going to be a struggle for me, as my typical blogs have me spending hours in front of the computer for days on end. But it'll be nice. Maybe most of my readers will prefer this length, as a common complaint I used to hear about my blogs is that they're too long. So here are the short ones. I hope you enjoy. And I hope I stick with it.
Cheers!
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