Leave Me Be

I am a hunter/gatherer when it comes to shopping. I believe this a predominantly male trait. Not a slam against the female gender at all. Speaking from my own personal perspective, my wife goes to the store for milk and then needs help unloading her groceries when she gets home. I had no idea it took more than one person t unload a gallon of milk. Maybe she got three gallons. Low and behold, the trip to get milk cost well over $100. That’s OK. We needed things. I get it. However, going to the pet store makes for an easy trip for me. I am in and out, typically, without any contact with people in the store, except for the checker. Not this time however.

We have two dogs. One was raised in prison, primarily. Not since he was a puppy, but he was a stray; a runaway maybe from a bad life. He is a Ridge Dog, a temporary “inmate” at Coyote Ridge prison, trained by the inmates there. It is a great program. I imagine, prior to his incarceration, he ate whatever he could to stay alive. Like most strays, he adapted to whatever food he found. His digestive tract is pretty solid. He gets Pedigree dog food. It comes in a 50lb. and it’s cheap. He is healthy, happy, has regular bowel movements with it; all in all, it is a win-win for everyone.
Jack, on the other hand, like most animals with a brachiocephalic face, farts and burps and has the digestive system of an infant. I think English Bulldogs are born with IBS. He is on a grain free, poultry free food. I recently spent $300 when he had the runs to come out of the vet with a diagnosis of “he has the runs.” No Giardia, or any other type of parasite. Frankly, I pull out pieces of plastic from his butt all the time. Sometimes plastic, sometimes fabric of some sort. We once pulled out a dollar bill. I am wondering if any Benjamin’s are in there? I am getting side tracked. Point is, his food is a tad spendy and it does not come in a 50 lb. bag. If it did, I would be broke.

I had a general idea where Jack’s food was. I got the biggest bag my debit card would allow. Then, I was looking for the bag of Pedigree. The unfortunate event was walking too far, and making eye contact with a sales/stock person wearing a Petco bib. I quick turned around and headed back the way I came since she was in the cat food aisle. I found the Pedigree…lifted the bag up and put it in the cart.

**BAM**

There she was. Staring at me.

Stalker (or stocker, you pick) : I noticed you were getting two different foods. Can I ask why?

Me: no

Stalker: I can recommend a different food than the Pedigree brand. That has a lot of fillers in it.

Me: Why do you carry it then?

Stalker:

Me: I am good, thank you.

Stalker: Is there a reason you need a 50 lb bag?

Me: is there a reason you woke up, looked in the mirror and said “I am ready to leave the house now,” because, to be honest, I am not sure you were done with You are going to have their teeth pulled?

Me: As far as you know. Good luck getting that vision out of your PETA head.

I went through and paid for the food, a new puzzle bowl so Jack stops swallowing air and peeling the paint in our apartment. When I walked out to my car, the stalker was looking to see what I was driving. I fear the dog police may be paying me a visit.

Four Years...

It's been for years since I posted on this thing. Nothing has pissed me off in almost 48 months? How can that be? Maybe I have matured out of the need to rant about everything that pisses me off...

Nope.

A lot has happened over the last 4 years. Some I can talk about, some I can't because those things require a security clearance and the badge making machine is broken. So I cannot simply assume you have clearance to get inside my head. In fact, even if you had clearance I would strongly suggest you steer clear of my head. There is no rating system AND I cannot be held responsible for what you cannot un-see.

I can say that 7 months ago our family moved into a 1500 sq. ft. apartment waiting to build a home. That in itself is pretty comical. The older I get the more I am now able to lay on my horn when someone has parked in my assigned parking spot. Especially since the Tri-Cities had a record winter in regards to snow fall. I don't care if curtains get pulled aside and people stare at me wondering why I am honking my horn. I COULD NOT care any less. So it blares. It blares so the ass-hat that I know is nearby comes out and I can just stare with my YOUREFUCKINGSTUPID eyes; causing him to feel awkward and pseudo-apologetic as he scampers to his car. I pray he slips a bit and falls in the snow, sans North Face parka.

Even better than him falling is the sign of his car not starting and the steering wheel facing the blows of frustration. I know it ran at one point because he got it to park in my spot. Now, at the ripe old age of 43, I have no problem letting the truck idle in the parking lot, lights on, causing Murphy's Law to kick in. More blunt force to the steering wheel, out into a blizzard to pop the hood. Two reasons I don't get out to offer assistance. One, no idea what's wrong and my truck cab is warm, but more importantly, two, your punishment is being reminded of my inconvenience while I am warm and you are not. I know this raises the frustration level for him which secretly motivates me to repeat said behavior.

I wish the parking was the only issue in communal living. Neighbors are awesome! It's like this apartment complex is a test tube for Darwin's Army. We are on the 1st floor. The River Dance team holds practices on my ceiling. When it is nice outside, the family stays inside and plays duck, duck, goose and the whole floor plan is fair game. I asked one day, as the mother was sitting outside sucking on a cig like her life actually depended upon its completion, if she ever takes her kids outside to run around.

"I don't know where any parks are."

You don't need a park lady. You just need some open road, open space, a rope, your hazard lights feverishly blinking away and an idling speed; something other than what you are doing now. Forget the fact there is an actual park with play equipment IN THE COMPLEX! I get the sense, when the kids come out on the balcony peering across the vast open area that is West Richland (and interrupt Mom's 11th smoke break before noon), that they are seeing other people for the first time. I heard one of them ask if they could playing with someone's shadow.

I am not being critical of this Mom's parenting skills. I can only imagine how difficult it is to raise three small boys (ages young, kind of young and oldish), but even the harshest of criminals gets an hour of yard/activity time. She keeps a clean house though. I hear the vacuum at 11PM at night and the scampering of kids who apparently have a hard time sleeping with a Shark 2.0 sucking the dander out of my ceiling. The bedroom s the cleanest. I know this because it is right above mine.

I think, too, that someone up there is pissing BB-sized kidney stones because it sounds like 15 pounds of buckshot is being poured down the mainline every time they flush. I know what "Clickers" (Zombies) sound like and let me tell you.....it sounds like an army of those fuckers is hiding behind my wall. No wonder I feel sleep deprived. Let's just say I cannot wait to build....because at least then, I can decide who is jumping on my ceiling and I can legally deal with it, (with chloroform) rather than face the police asking me why I stuffed a rag in a strange kid's face.

Do You Have a Sec?

Dear You,

Sure I have time. I have time for lots of things. Reading, learning, evolving, despising....take your pick. To answer your question, I DO have a sec, but I don't really want to give it to you. I apologize in advance for not caring, but as you walked by me several times this morning, attempting to work up the courage to start this story, I could sense that if you did get the gall to tell me your story, even you would be bored senseless. Up until this point, I appreciate your ability to withhold your monotonous diatribe about Lord knows what through the lisp of broken teeth. But now you have crossed the line. You asked me how I was doing, and by doing so you have given me the option of being honest. A large list of replies has come to mind, all of which would normally get a fist to my face by just about anyone else but you.

Am I interested in your story? To put it bluntly, no. If that is hard to understand, let me ask you this. Are you interested in animal husbandry, the mating habits of the aardvark, or dating the Olsen twins? If you answered yes to any of those, I feel for you on so many levels, I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am. As excited as you are to have another human being listen to you discuss your wireless bandwidth, I am as excited to listen to it as I am to be cathed by Triple H. I want to feign interest in your life as bad as Angelina Jolie wants breast cancer. Unfortunately, I cannot remove you prophylactically without going to jail but that doesn't make you any less of a tumor in my life. You are like a scab that won't heal or a zit on my forehead at age 40. I don't know why you are here right now. It surely is not because I appear to care. If there was ever a time for an act of God, now would be it.

So as you take a breath before you start you next line of bullshit, let me just stop you and say, fuck off. I do not believe you are getting paid to discuss Dungeons and Dragons with me, there will be no D&D focus group because 10-year olds aren't allowed in the plant. I don't want to hear about how you are the first person in the Western United States to get 10GB/sec download speed wifi on your iPhone 10. That phone doesn't exist and I know for a fact your trailer's metal skirting would interfere with the reception on something as massive as 10 gigs. As much as I can appreciate you finally wanting to get your driver's license so you can save money by not taking public transportation, stop waiting for me to verbalize my accolades to you for said achievement. You will be waiting a long time before I say "nice job for seeking personal growth." No offense, but people don't start driving at your age, they retire. I suppose it is easier to pack your Legos in the trunk of your own car for both storage and transport than it is in an ABC Taxi Service vehicle. I am hesitant, however, to drive on the same roads as you since driving is mostly common sense and you demonstrate your grasp of common sense as well as Lindsay Lohan demonstrates sobriety. Pardon me if I question your desire to operate a big piece of metal. The cabbie might not be from around here, may not have a GED equivalent, and might even have a felony or two on his record, but at least he has experience. Some things are best being left for other people to do.

In conclusion, I propose we play a game. Imagine I just said that like the dude from Saw because the outcome, at least in my mind, is very similar. Let's pretend I am not here. Since you are into fantasy shit, assume I have my invisibility cloak on and I have level 35 mage skills. Pretend I can vaporize you speaking elven. Whatever it is that makes you avoid me like you avoid personal hygiene....do THAT. I will be happier and that is the important part in this scenario. I hate to pull rank on you....but level 35 mages trump level 8 elves every day of the week and twice on Sunday. It's been 30 years since I played Dungeons and Dragons, but even I know that.

Sincerely,

Me

Me and the Gym

I have this love/hate relationship with the gym. I know I need to go. I am paying for it whether I go or not. I understand the physiological and psychological benefits of working out. However, it's a struggle. Even recently, as I have become somewhat of a health fanatic. It isn't so much the movement I dislike, rather it is the people I encounter when I get there. I don't mind the drive over to the gym which is fairly close. There is always equipment available. It smells clean, looks clean....from the outside looking in on this story, it is a little like Heaven....really. Until you encounter the front desk. After the card scan, it really does go down hill from there.

I am a people person, but I am NOT an everyone person. NO ONE loves their job, or gives the impression of absolute job satisfaction like Gold's Gym customer service people do. I am usually accosted by 2-3 Stepford Wife-looking girls, twenty somethings that have not seen whole food since they applied. I usually walk in with iPod earbuds in place as to not have to listen to the verbal vomit that accompanies me handing my keys over. "Ready for a great workout today?" **BEEP**, their lifeless hands giving me my keys back. No....no I am not. I am actually here to try on the bandana you guys call a tank top. Maybe a speedo or two. Or maybe spend a small fortune on one of your smoothies that will make me see God 8 seconds after the first gulp. Oh, it helps with male stamina and virility? Awesome! Give me two so I can go home and lock my wife in the Red Room and we can pick a new safe word. "Does this polo shirt make me look fat?" Lady, the last time you were fat, the doctor was cleaning the cheese off your face just after birth. Ever since then, your organs are as protected as the yolk in an egg dropped from 30,000 feet. If I go get you a #1 with cheese across the street, will stop talking to me like you give a shit? Yes, my mind is busy during and after the card scan. Bear with me, it gets more annoying.

As if walking into the place wasn't shitty enough, I do my cardio activity in the cardio theater. It's not that I want to avoid all of the short shorts, sleeveless shirts and pedophiles that frequent the social area. I would just rather sweat in the dark, without someone leering next to me wanting to discuss the rapid endorphin release caused by climbing 600 flights of stairs. I get it. You climbed th Empire State building twice. Bra-fucking-vo. That is awesome for you. You're done. "I have so much weight to lose." Really? You still shop at Baby Gap...and you are what, 30? As awesome as it is to be able to wear your kids clothes still, a sweaty camel toe, despite popular men's magazines stating otherwise, is not attractive. If I can see your anatomy, while you towel down, it isn't pretty....ever. Call me old....call me gay....call me blind. Listen, I can appreciate a healthy body, male or female. But shut the fuck about it. Even when you aren't talking about it, how you walk, how you stand, and what you are wearing screams I HAVE DADDY ISSUES! All the fucking steps in the world are not going to make him love you. If you wear spankies and a sports bra...I hate you without you ever speaking a word. You reek of insecurity, even though your outward appearance says you have some semblance of confidence.

At the same time I look to the right and see sweaty snatch, I can usually look to the left and see a plethora of TRAINER shirts helping the morbidly obese find happiness. They do so, however, looking around, advertising the fact they hate their life because they have to help someone who has not helped themselves. They are snooty...100% of the time. I am sure there are some really cool trainers that have found a passion for helping people, but I haven't see one of those people yet. I could be portrayed as bitter, but these people, tasked to help others find happiness, prove to me every time I go that being skinny does not make you happy. neither do white teeth and 2T shorts, apparently. I imagine that there is this sense of accomplishment watching other people sweat, but I do not see any one of these trainers solving the problem at its core. Hell, there is no money in prevention. I think the best thing they can do is help these people so much that they never see them again. I get looks from these trainers like "you reallllllly need to be over here with us." Yeah? That is as likely to happen as me Googling "STARR JONES NAKED." I like hearing some skinny asshole tell me "just one more rep" as much as women want to hear from their prom date "aw c'mon....just the tip." So, as you peer at me through your beady fucking eyes and give me the fake smile that is meant to say "I am so glad you came in today, fatass," remember that, despite my outward appearance, I am much happier than you. Even though this post indicates otherwise.

I love your crotch rocket. It's sunny, warm, and the fact you roll it up to the bike racks to park on the sidewalk, as if to say "I FUCKING ARRIVED" is....how do they say it in France? Fucking stupid. Yup, you got your weight belt, your gym bag full of what I am not sure since you rolled up ready to go and your sunglasses, the HOOTERS lanyard with your keys....you are a walking billboard of health and wellness. Have you ever just watched these people walk in to a Gold's Gym? I have. It's great. The ONLY plan they have when they walk in is to attempt to set the record for the most eyes on them in 10 seconds. Then they walk over and sit on the couch, pull out there phone to undoubtedly check in on Facebook "at the Gym, getting my sweat on - At Gold's Gym, Richland, WA." Then they text....who knows who to make plans for afterwards. Then they stand up and stretch, check their phone again, look around and count the eyes. Over to the free weights they go for a testosterone flex-fest. I can't remember the last time someone asked me how much I benched. It could be that I give off the vibe of my max bench press is about as relevant as Macaulay Culkin. I always like to tell the meat heads that they have a spider on the shoulder and watch them try to scrape it off. Nine times out of ten they cannot touch their own shoulders because the pipes are in the way. They make T-Rex seem like Manute Bol. The only thing I can say is, if all of these guys were buddies, they would never let each other skip out on leg day. I haven't seen this much disproportion since I watched Dolly Parton sing at the Grand Ol' Opry. It's just awkward....and not necessary. To each their own I suppose.

I could discuss the cock fest in the shower, the self-gawking in the mirrors, or even the fashion show that is gym attire at this place. But in all reality, it simply adds to the dysfunction that is Gold's Gym. The alternative for me, I suppose, is to sit around and get fatter. But my doctor has advised me that doing this goes against his better judgment. So, I will just go...and do everything I can to not go to jail. But don't try to talk to me....because chances are, you have a spider on your shoulder.

Birthday Flu

I know that nobody is perfect. Despite what others may think, I do not feel as if I am some part of an elitist network brought to this Earth to look down upon the "less fortunate." Doing so would mean that I have a vast amount of tangible wealth that I burn to warm my enema solution. This isn't the case and no matter what you read from this point on, please understand that I am not better than anyone else.

That being said, I took my son to a birthday party on Saturday. That in itself is nothing more than an activity, except if you were present when I pulled up, you may have thought otherwise. Aside from the lack of public roads on the way to this party, despite the primal nature of the house in which this party was located, along with the striking resemblance of the "Honey Boo Boo set" or the simple fact that the man who welcomed Jacob and I caused a flashback to the movie "Deliverance" minus the ass sex and squealing pig reference (although when we were leaving there was a guitar being played)...let's just say I almost got back in the car and backed out of the "driveway" and headed home.

My first red flag was the above described locale of this event. West Richland, in and of itself, is mostly visible traveling three roads...Van Giesen, Bombing Range Road and whatever road Enterprise Middle School is on. This road, the one in most Stephen King novels traveled just prior to the main character DYING, was paved although it resembled more of a walking path than a road. I saw more ravens and hookers than I did anything else. It was one car width wide and no lights to speak of. I figured once I reached the end of the road I was either going to (A) get ass raped by a grizzly bear or (B) see A, followed by a disembowelment/BBQ. To my surprise, neither happened and I pulled into the house from psycho.

I was greeted by a flannel, torn jeans and breath that caused my knees to buckle from the fumes. ACME Pest Control could hook this dude up to a hose and his exhales alone would kill a cock roach and as anyone from Nagasaki can tell you, that's not easy. Apparently I was in the right place because there was a house and a child there but nothing else. How comforting. There were no balloons or banners or other children. But of course, Mr. point three three should be taken at face value when he says "Jacob can go on in...all the women are in there getting things ready." Getting what ready? A boiling pot and a spit to roast my kid on? I was thankful that Jacob was up to date on his immunizations because I am pretty sure there was Hepatitis at this house.

I went to go inside the house and was asked to stay outside and "hang with the guys." I was offered a beer. I politely declined. "what are you, some sort of Republican pussy?" Hmmmmm....the list of responses was long:


- No, it's just 3PM and I am driving the heir to my massively large fortune around the greenbelt from hell and I need to maintain my focus.


- And compete with you? I don't stand a chance since you seem to have been drunk since 1982


- No, I haven't had Keystone Light since college when I could only afford shitty beer


- I need to keep my wits about me so I can avoid catching any STD's from your toilet


- I appreciate the offer but Moroni is watching


As opposed to the above I told him that, although I will most likely be voting Republican as the current political climate, as least as it pertained to my personal beliefs, warranted a change at the top of the political pyramid, however in reference to me being a pussy, I had to disagree as I clearly represented more of a dick than any sort of internal dwelling reproductive organ...but did inform him that he was entitled to his opinion. I am not sure which eye remained locked on my eye(s), but he sat down without saying another word.

All of the above happened between 2:55PM and 3:10PM. The party went from 3:00 to 5:00 and I can assure you that I watched the clock from 2:55 on. I texted my whereabouts to my wife and sister-in-law and told them if I did not return to the house by 5:15PM or were not able to be reached that the scene of the crime was no doubt going to be at the party's location.

My son will never spend the night here. Yes, their kid will most likely suffer because he will not have a lot of friends that are allowed to have a play date. Seriously, though...when I have to balance the likelihood my son will come back to me worse off than he was when he left to go "play," I have to draw the line somewhere. There were just too many sins going on in one house. It was one skank short of Moulin Rouge. Oddly enough, Jacob had a 102 degree fever on Sunday.


I wonder why?

State of the Nation

Republican, Democrat, Independent, Green Party, Sons of Liberty, Sons of Anarchy or any other "political" party will not help this nation until some basic programming changes are made. Get rid of Honey Boo Boo. Doesn't our television programming reflect our nation? It is broadcast worldwide for fuck sake. Is this something we want to advertise? Dumpster diving pays thousands of dollars an hour. So does the sibling contest of gaining weight. Fastest to fat is still fat. Why are we glorifying the aesthetically challenged? Ugly people do not win beauty contests, let alone go. I am all for boosting a child's self-esteem, but when society gets around to finishing the job, do you want to face the consequences of your blowing smoke up their ass for the first 10-years of life? Maybe increase their vocabulary through reading more challenging books? Work on expanding their mathematical prowess through homework excellence? It's disturbing how far our standards have fallen when it comes to deciding what is entertainment. If I knew that acting like a dumbass paid large amounts of money, I would have submitted my life tape years ago. This is now.....entertaining.... Now, some will say "what were you doing watching it?" I wasn't. I didn't last the three minutes required to become a viewer statistic. The 2 minutes I saw made Jersey Shore look like a Nova program. Haven't seen the show or are a little skeptic of my analogy? Here are some quotes: 1. Mama explains vaginas: "It's called a biscuit because it looks like a biscuit and it opens up." - Anddddd there goes breakfast... 2. Mama eye-rolls at the haters: "No one can be proper and etiquettely all the time." - How about maybe just doing it on Mondays? 3. Mama teaches sex ed: "All that boy wants is to get in your little biscuit, get a little piece, and he’s running." - Thanksgiving is cancelled this year.... I found these by googling "Honey Boo quotes," but could have easily found them by googling "why do 3rd world countries hate America?" There is so much more to say about this...however....I am too busy looking through the neighobr's trash and my camera tripod keeps moving. Can't wait to send this in to TLC so I can make $10,000 an hour.

Helicopters

I don't mean the kind used to fight fires or get people to the hospital in a timely manner. I don't even mean the parents of kids that come into the ER. Well, I kind of do. Why bring the kid to the ER if you have every intentin of brow beating the doctor who is both mentally and psychologically capable of providing the right diagnosis? Seriously, stay home. They won't mind and neither will the nurses who are trying to assist your child. Oh you tried this very thing at home? Really? With this equipment and this strength medicine? Stop. Now. before you have to check in with a broken nose.

Today's specific reference has to do with children of the elderly. Family members who have checked a loved one in to our facility for care. I understand this person is important to you. I get it. Believe it or not, I have parents I love too and would be just as concerned as you are in reference to the quality of care they receive. However, I understand the human body better than you do. At 88 years old, the bowels do not move daily, at least not usually. So if you're Dad did not shit today, thats OK. He doesn't need an enema. He doesn't need to go to the ER for an x-ray to see if he is impacted. Do you see him laying there sleeping? This is indicative of comfort, not pain. I don't mind educating people on shit. At this point in my career, its what I do best. But please take my word for it. Or else....this happens.

Son - My Dad usually poops 3 times a day. He has ever since he was an embryo, at least that is what grandma says.

Me - was this before or after grandma's stroke?

Son - Huh?

Me - Nothing. Looking at the bowel log, it looks like your Dad pooped twice yesterday and twice this morning.

Son - OMG! Should we call 911?!?!?!?!?

Me - For the stench?

Son - No, because he needs to shit! He is all backed up! His eyes are brown. His hair is darkening. He looks miserable.

Me - He's sleeping....soundly.

Son - I KNOWWWWW but he is in pain!!!!

Me - Hmmmm....sleeping and pain don't go together. Kind of like common sense and...well, you.

Son - I'm calling the ambulance.


If I am not digitally stimulating enough for some people, the ER doc sure will be. IF this person went to the hospital with complaints of constipation, I would get a call from the doctor asking me why they were sent to the ER.

Helicopters.

To which I would be asked to come in for a psych eval. It doesn't make much sense. I know you love your Dad...I love your Dad, especially pooping two times a day. It's great. He is happy, I am happy....everyone is happy. But you aren't happy and that is concerning. It makes me wonder what happens when he goes home with you during the day. What exactly are you doing to this man's poor rectum?

"My Dad said he pooped 5 hours ago! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?!"

Feeding and bathing him? Making him comfortable? I'm so sorry about that. Tomorrow we will be feeding him some shards of glass to give his poop color. That better? It will be like confetti. Some black and some red mixed in. Almost like Mardi Gras but different.

So please let me do my job and stop calling me at 3AM asking me if your Dad pooped today. My answer, undoubtedly will be yes...without looking. If you ask how many times, it will be 11. I know its an arbitrary number, but it is sufficient. He will be dehydrated after that many shits but you are too stupid to understand that and, at his age, dehydration is more concerning than multiple bowel movements per day. I don't expect a helicopter to understand that. Except on PBS.

I don't expect things to change...ever. At least until discharge, which I hope occurred over the weekend. We are, after all, like Holiday Inn Express....minus the wireless Internet.

Sometimes, you just know...

When you know, you know.

That statement is valid for a lot of reasons. I remember hitting home runs in baseball that, as soon as contact was made, I knew it was going to fly over the fence. I knew that, when I was sick, I was going to be OK and that my family was going to be OK. I just knew. When I began this process of nursing school, I knew going in that it was something that I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I just knew.

You all might have something similar in your lives that you know without a doubt. Me being a tool might be one of them. That's OK. At least you know. Knowing is more than half the battle. Passion is the other part. When you have both, it makes decisions regarding that area in your life easy to make. Like I said, you just know.

Going through school, through clinicals and lecture, you have people watching you, directing you, making sure that you aren't making any mistakes. Through the act of repetition, you learn to feel comfortable. You feel secure in knowing that you are making the right decision. You have a safety net. You are able to bounce questions off your instructors. You develop critical thinking skills because the instructors are making you answer your own question. You adapt to the scenario and think around a process until you come to a rational conclusion. At the end, I didn't wonder if I would make it on my own without those safety nets. I just knew I would. I prepared, I learned, I thought and I came to the right conclusions. It's comforting to know that my future will be filled with doing something I love to do.

I'm not done however. I plan on going on as far as I can, or at least as far as my wife will let me. I want to teach people. I want to diagnose and treat people. It's important to me. That's where the passion comes in. I love what I am learning. I retain it like a sponge. I consider myself lucky to have found a passion in life where going to work is not a dreaded adventure, rather it is an opportunity to improve someone's quality of life. I can use my humor for something positive rather than something to annoy people. Laughter is the best medicine. It's cheap and available to all. In the 3rd grade, I used humor to get myself into trouble. I knew then that some day, humor will be a tool I use in my career. God gave me a gift of gab, or laughter, to use for the betterment of others.

Now I know why...

Common Sense Rules

Often times I wish common sense was a prescription. Maybe even intelligence; somehow you can take a pill or two and come out as less of a burden on society. However, almost daily, I see that no matter the power of modern medicine, there just is no cure for stupid. If I have learned nothing over the last year, it is when I will seek out medical care...for anything or anyone that I love.

In some ways, I feel sorry for my kids. Unless there is pus leaking out of more than one orifice, they aren't going to the doctor. If there is no visible deformity or protruding bone from any part of their body, they get ibuprofen and ice. Cast or Ace wrap? I will robably choose the latter. It's got nothing to do with cruelty. It is a matter of common sense. Would I take them to the doctor if they have a stiff neck? Not without a fever. They probably slept wrong. If I went to the doctor's office every time I had a stiff neck, well, I would be MORE broke than I already am. My pillows suck. What can I say.

Some infections can lead to serious systemic complications. Strep, for example, can lead to heart complications if left untreated. Chief complaint of TOE PAIN will make eyes roll. Understand that in advance. Especially when (A) you have had said pain for 3 weeks,(B) have not gone to see your doctor for it and (C) have not taken anything for the pain. WHY ARE YOU HERE? Boredom? If you, as a patient, leave questioning the discharge instructions, or lack thereof, thre is a good chance you should not have been there in the first place.

Also, as a parent or extended relative, do not state, just after introducing yourself to the doctor, that you already know what the problem is. For example, "it's probably GERD because everyone in the family has it." It defeats the purpose of doing an exam and basing a clinical impression of factual data. GERD is a diagnosis of exclusion and unless you have a scope shoved down your throat to confirm acid is eating your flesh, shut up. When asked, what seems to be the problem, never answer "she just needs to get smacked around a bit like all grand kids do." You are risking your status as Grandpa of the year. The party is paid for, and the catering is all the crap left over on the front of your t-shirt. You arne't an expert...in anything...or else you wouldn't be here....at 1AM....in flannel....wearing Famous Dave's....from 2007.

You complain of shortness of breath. This is not a new complaint. You have been here for the same thing the last 20 times this year. You smoke 2 packs a day. You are still confused about how lung function can be compromised by a 3 inch stick. Read the label. Google image "emphysema." Read about COPD....read about home health care....buy a plot. If you came to the hospital thinking that a MD is going to tell you it isn't the cigarettes, and your family is wrong about the 4 interventions performed on your behalf, then your tobacky is wacky.

Common sense should come in a pill. I have bouts of DOH on occasion. Just because I have a couple years of schooling doesn't mean I know everything. I do know, however, how to save myself a hefty medical bill. Common sense. Some people should get some, then keep some on hand for the next time they are dying....kinda.

Non-Emergent

I am all for providing care for the ill, even the chronically ill. My disclaimer is my oath. If a patient comes to the Emergency Room, they will get equal care from me, even if their chief complaint is as annoying as being kicked in the balls repeatedly by a mule. That being said...I gots some problems with some people's definition of "emergency." I may have posted something about it before, at least the definition problem. Every day I work, however, shows me that what I think is an emergency, is not always the case.

For example, if you have to take a taxi to the emergency room...is it really an emergency? I know, you don't have a car. I get it. That's why they have ambulances so you can be transported for care. On the flip side, calling 911 to have an ambulance bring you to the Emergency Room to avoid waiting for an hour in triage, depending on your condition, will most likely put you in triage to wait just like everyone else.

Most ER visits are long. Staff will do their best to make sure that your ER wait is as short as possible, but like a walk-in clinic, you are seen based on accuity and arrival. Both factor into the length of stay. A finger laceration, as painful as it may be to you, is often trumped by someone experiencing chest pain, or stroke symptoms. Common sense. Don't get mad when someone who just got there goes back before you do. Oh, and it has nothing to do with race...FYI.

If you have been diagnosed with antibiotics less than 24 hours prior to your ER visit for similar symptoms, and you haven't filled the prescription from yesterday's visit, don't be surprised if your visits with the doctor is very, VERY short. At the same time, if you HAVE filled the prescription, and HAVE started the medication...YESTERDAY...and still have, let's say, sinusitis...give it time. It's like a cell phone taking a little while to load. The signal has to go to space and back. Great technology. Show some patience. Antibiotics need to build in the system before your problem gets better. Save $500 and wait.

If you chipped a tooth, see a dentist. Especially if it was chipped 3 weeks ago and your face is swollen. Not knowing why your face is swollen is a sign that you should be a ward of the state. The is not a whole lot the emergency room can do for you. We are more prepped to handle....emergencies. Heart attacks, strokes, gunshot wounds, stabbings, motor vehicle accidents. We have specialists on-call that can assist us with those types of...emergencies. Hard to believe we don't have a dentist or a podiatrist on-call, I know, but we don't. We try our best to provide the care you desire. Often times, its a dental block to let you sleep and...go to a DENTIST. If this becomes an on going problem, and this is your 12th visit in 6 months for the same dental pain, all of which have been the same with instructions to go to a dentist, not much will change in the approach to the care that will be given. 2mg of Dilaudid given IV is not the protocol for a chipped tooth, nor is it lawful in the State of Washington. I accept the fact I will not be getting a Christmas card from you. I apologize.

The emergency room is not a spa. Coordination of care is directed by professionals that went to school for a long time to get you in and out the door. There are standards and protocols in place to make sure that you are given care in a timely manner. There is no other way to say it nicely than....go home. There is nothing EMERGENT that can be done with your abscess. It has been incised and drained, cleaned and dressed and the prescription is in your hand. ESPN is on pretty much everywhere. Sportscenter repeats every hour after 10 P.M. You aren't missing much. The are limits to what we can do for you. No offense, but there are people that are waiting for the room. No we cannot admit you for a food tray because there is no reason to admit you. Subway, however, is open.

When entering the emergency room, do not walk from your car, briskly, enter the doors and plop down in a wheelchair and adopt the facial grimace from hell. Funny thing about windows...triage nurses can see through them. You lose credibility when you come for shortness of breath upon exertion and you were seen smoking while you skipped to the door, laughing and talking on your cell phone. Morphing into the wheeze monster who spews sentence fragments while speaking to the triage nurse doesn't fool anyone, especially when your oxygen saturation is at 99%. Notice the signs strategically placed throughout..."It is against Washington State law to dispense prescriptions for narcotic pain medication for chronic pain conditions. You will need to get your narcotics from one physician, typically your primary care doctor." Funny thing about records...we keep them. Today, shortness of breath, the previous 55 visits...back pain. We'll do what we can to get your saturation level from 99% to 100%, but unless your trachea deviates to one side of you have a lung mass...don't be mad when you are sent home with Albuterol instead of 20 Lortab.

I love my job. I love that one day, I will be a practicing nurse. But I love common sense even more. I wish someone could prescribe that...

Realistic Consequences are Best

My 8-year old has a hard time with choices. I believe that it is important to direct children to making good choices now because poor choices are a gateway to SERIOUSLY poor choices that hold more severe consequences later in life. Peyton feels that we hate her. No matter how I try to tell her if that were the case I would help her pack, she still believes that living under my roof is like having her legs broken ala Kathryn Bates in 'Misery.'

"Peyton, can you please go put your clothes away that are in your room?" - WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....whhhyyyyyyyyyy do you do this toooooo meeeeeeee???!?!?!?!??"

"Peyton, please finish your milk and put your dishes in the sink?" - YOOOOUUUUU HAAAATTTEEEEEEE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

"Peyton, could you not play in the dirt before you go to school? You will get your clothes dirty." - RAPPPPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It doesn't matter the request. There is always bartering and banter that comes with it. The above are reactions that depict, somewhat, the typical reaction. The atypical reaction is the request is fulfilled without resistance. However, that is about as popular as a Centaur feeding in my lawn. It never happens. It's really hard to come up with a consequence I can actually follow through with. For example, as she is eating a meal she has eaten in the past, I watch her face at the table wrythe and contort into every possible shape to convey to me, non-verbally, that she is eating glass. It's hard for me to watch her behave this way, knowing that there are people, RIGHT NOW, cupping handfuls of urine to satisfy extreme thirst somewhere in the world, and NOT want to throw her through a wall. Instead of saying something reasonable like, "Peyton, if you don't finish your food, you will need to go to bed," I say something like "Peyton, eat...because if you don't I will let loose 100,000 black widows in your room and break your light bulb and lock the door." I can't possibly do that. I hate spiders. I can't handle ONE let alone 100,000. Pfffft...makes no sense.

That's just food. If you want to talk about clothes for school that day, that is an entirely different story. Before she goes to bed, she picks out what she will wear the next day. Seems legit. Until the sun comes up and all bets are off. Setting them out the night before saves time. However, when you have a multiple personality pseudo-disorder, as AM Peyton and PM Peyton are different in ways I cannot convey in words, this is a chore. She has learned that the more resistant she is, the more she will simply get her way as to avoid an adult aneurysm. My bad. I have evolved. So has Mom. Now, what she picks out at night will be what she wears in the morning. If she chooses not to, she will need to go to school naked....because that is realistic. Ok, not so much. I have also threatened to burn her clothes and went so far as to grab the flick lighter and hold her clothes a few inches from it...and thought better of demonstrating pyrotechnic behavior to my son who is sucking this all in. I figure, let her wear fuschia pink shirts with a denim skirt and green and navy blue leggings. The playground police will fix this for me. She will become socially irrelevant, and then she might listen.

As far as she is concerned, her Mother and I know absolutely nothing. Funny how I was the same way. My parents attempted ther whole lives to teach me right from wrong. It wasn't until I was older, maybe wiser, and a parent that I realized that I was wrong. My parents knew everything. Maybe I will dig a grave in the back yard with a blank name plate and tell my kids that that hole is for the first one to give Mom flack?

But that's not realistic....or is it?

The Scariest Thing in the World

Some would say spiders. I am in that group. I hate spiders. Other people are scared of snakes and clowns. I hate clowns too. Snakes don't bother me unless I am covered in them in an enclosed space, which never happens, so I am OK with snakes. Recently, I was exposed to a group of people in a mental health unit that are scared of everything. As not fun as that sounds, I cannot really comment because of HIPPA regulations. To me, the scariest thing in the world is three-fold, and I see it far too often.

White hair, expensive car, and a cell phone.

Under normal circumstances, those singularly placed into society would not elicit fear out of anyone, unless you fear old people, wealth and technology. I don't fear them seperately. When put together, however, it is down right frightening. Take today for example. I was driving down the road, minding my own business, when the nose of a very expensive Mercedes lurched out in front of me traveling down Leslie Road from one of the many side streets that are along this road. I had to brake pretty hard, and audibly said "what the phuck are you doing," glanced over to see who was driving and all I saw was a tall bun of white hair and a cell phone. Let's examine the logic in this, shall we?

First of all, as people age, their reactions become a little slower. It's like being constantly stoned. Reaction times are diminished significantly. This is on a good day, without distractions. It doesn't make much sense, then, to add a cell phone into the mix. I mean, first of all, you have to be aware enough to have the conversation as opposed to drifting off to the good old days sitting in a puddle of your own urine. If the phone call was to her doctor's office telling them "oops I crapped my pants," or "your urine specimen is in the seat cushion of my car," I suppose that could be made....while NOT operating a heavy piece of metal. Bad idea, grandma. Don't do this.

Secondly, it has been my observation that the more expensive the car, the less likely the driver is to obey ANY traffic laws. This includes, but is not limited to, rolling stops, failing to yield, tailgating, speeding, lack of turn signal usage, random cutoffs, inability to stay in one's own lane and speeding through yellow lights. It happens too often with a car whose value exceeds $40,000. This was a NEW Mercedes. New only by observing the sunlight glistening off the chrome wheels. I could be way off. It could be 10-years old and her husband (cabana boy?) has nothing to do but wash the car 4 times a week. Welcome to retirement. However, age plus wealth equals phuck laws, I'll just write a check. Strike two.

A quick aside, since it bears some relevance in respect to the Mercedes reference. My parents drive Nissan's, made in Japan. One of my parent's neighbors commented on their support of the Japanese and how neglectful it was since Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. This particular neighbor drives a Mercedes....made in Germany. Now, I am not one to categorize human atrocities. However, I believe the Mercedes is dirtier. Just saying...

Finally, as people age, they get a condition known as Noassitol. It inhibits the driver of the vehicle to sit up tall while driving, hence the vision of hair talking on a cell phone. Her sunglasses were on the bun. It literally looked like hair was driving. When a head check in traffic, however, reveals the rear door handle, it may be time to raise your level of sight. I am no expert but I believe in order to operate a motor vehicle, most states require the ability to SEE the field in which you are OPERATING said vehicle. Call me crazy, but it makes sense that the driving age is not 10 for that reason, along with many, MANY others. I don't want to be an asshole and get all high and mighty on this woman. I am sure she has lived a great life, and can act as she pleases. However, after you leave your driveway, you kind of need to be more...how do I say this...equipped to drive a car. It is really for the safety of others. Don't get me started if I had to add roundabouts in here.

That will require calculus...

Of Course This Happened

This conversation actually took place. The names have not been changed because anyone willing that would sue me over this can't read, or cannot afford the Internet.

8:47PM (knock at the door)(Kid's scream "I'LL GET IT," and scramble to the door. I yell, "SIT DOWNNNNNNN," and get up to get the door. (door opens)

Ariel - Ummmm....hiiiiiii. I need to ask Peyton something?

Me - Is that a question? Want me to shut the door so you can refocus your energy on your tone of voice?

Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something.

Me - I know I heard that part, although bravo on the change in fluctuation. Unfortunately Peyton is in bed already.

Ariel - can you wake her up?

Me - I can but that involves doing something that makes absolutely no sense. It's almost 9PM.

Ariel - Can you wake her up?

Me - What the fuck?? Your like a parrot. Do you always repeat yourself or is it just really organized Tourette's?

Ariel - (stares back blankly)

Me - (waves hand in front of Ariel's face) Anyone home or is your Mom's pre-birth drinking problem kicking in?

Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something

Me - I know...we've been over this already. What do you need to ask her?

Ariel - I need her to sign my shirt.

Me - That's not really a question. That's more of a demand. A question is like a request...like when your Mom said do you have protection and your Dad said no and then....here you are, verbally waterboarding me with your words.

Ariel - Can she sign my shirt?

Me - she can't get her clothes in her fucking drawers while she is awake. Something tells me, like common sense, that she can't do that while in a coma

Ariel - what's a coma?

Me - It's that thing you aren't using in your hair, with an 'A'

Ariel - Can she sign it on Saturday?

Me - Nope.

Ariel - Why?

Me - we practice a really screwy religion where writing instruments aren't used on any day that ends in Y. That pretty much leaves Saturwednessun which, unfortunately for you, doesn't exist.

Ariel - when can she sign it?

Me - about the same time you become tolerable

Ariel - (silence)

Me - soooo...about never. Does that suffice??

Ariel - Maybe?

Me - again with the questions....I have to go tend to my sheep so don't be offended when the door slams

(door slams)

There is a high probability that this girl, accidentally or not, broke my wife's car window. She has a sociopathic look to her that makes me fear for lives of rodents and local door knobs. She eyeballs Peyton's rabbit like it's a pork chop. I know I am getting old behaving like a grump, but I only have so much patience and I reserve it for my family, and my patients. Beyond that, the Future Serial Killers of America can deal with the rest.

Chief Complaint

I suppose I should clarify what I do at Kadlec. I am a nursing student, not a nurse. I suppose I am a nurse-in-training, but I do not interact with the patients. In all reality, I do, jokingly, once the doctor has done so and it is apporpriate for me to do it as well. Let's say that I have not left a patient's room with the doctor telling me to knock it off. Yeah, I am surprised too. I am a scribe. Not the quiver-n-bow type scribe, but a medical scribe. I make paper. Well, electronic paper. I chart while the physician examines the patient. I track lab results and diagnostic tests for the doctor and prompt him or her to read them, interpret them and I will transcribe these verbal findings onto the chart.

Now, as mundane as that might sound, I love doing it. I love seeing the interaction that the docs have with patients. I love seeing their minds work and asking questions about the process. It is a trememndous learning experience, just as I thought it would be when I first applied. All the doctors are amazing clinicians and I know that when I am done with school I will owe them a debt of gratitude for both teaching me and tolerating me. However, I have seen some really, REALLY stupid things roll into the emergency room. Things that do not require emergent care and things that are referred from doc-in-the-box type clinics for further evaluation. The list of things that should not come into the emergency room is in my head, which, as we all know, can be a very insane place to hang.

A "chief complaint" is the complaint that the patient complains the most about. For example, often times a patient has so many complaints in triage that the nurse has to narrow it down to one. Often times, even that one is bullshit. However, since people come into the emergency room, the deserve proper, adequate care to relive this complaint. The list of interesting chief complaints is somewhat comical since what their diagnosis ends up being often has nothing directly to do with their chief complaint. For the uneducated, however, here is a list of things that do not require EMERGENT CARE...since that is what is done at the EMERGENCY ROOM.

1. Bug Bites - not brown recluse bites or black widow bites, or numerous wasp stings, but just 5-6 mosquito bites, none of which are infected. Simple treatment would include over the counter Benadryl (antihistamine to relieve itching) or Calamine lotion (topical ointment to relieve itching), both of which were not administered prior to arrival. When asked why they came to the emergency room, the parents of this 9-year old indicated that their child was itching these "huge bites," the biggest of which was about the size of a grain of rice. Diagnosis : bug bites, multiple. Prescription: OTC (over the counter) Benadryl. That will be $400 please.

2. Nausea - no vomiting, no diarrhea, just a stomach ache. When asked to grade the pain on a scale of 0-10, with 10 being someone smashing your legs with a sledgehammer, the patient graded it a 9, remote control in hand switching it to the NBA playoffs, feet crossed over each other, bed reclined, ala home recliner comfort. No abdominal tenderness to palpation, no fever, no real illness. I think this guy was tired of dealing with wife and kids while the game was on. A CT scan later to rule out any acute injury, $1000 or so, and off he went. Be sure to drink lots of fluids.

3. "My pee smells really bad..." - Sounds like it could be a urinary tract infection? Sounds serious enough, right? I mean we have all been taught that stinky anything is indicative of an infection, right? If that were the case I have had an ass infection my whole life. While being questioned about recent food, drink or antibiotic use, patient indicated that he had ingested some asparagus prior to arrival. End of exam. Diagnosis - normal exam. Prescription - car keys.

4. Abdominal pain/pelvic pain - I cannot fathom menstrual cramp pain, at least directly. However, every 28 days I do get an indirect idea of how these feel. Ouch. I get it. But when asked if these cramps are different from previous menstrual cramps, the patient indicated these are the same. No abnormal or excessive bleeding. WHY ARE YOU HERE? "I am out of Motrin." Wow....really? This will be some expensive Motrin. Next.

5. "My skin hurts." - Can you describe the type of pain you feel? "No not really." Is it like an itcing or burning pain? "yes, its like that." Is it also like a cramping pain? "yes EXACTLY like that. My skin feels very crampy." Can you tell me one spot that hurts worse that anywhere else? "Right about here (motions hands over his whole body; head to toe)." Have you taken anything for the pain? "I took some Benadryl and Motrin." Did you have any relief? "No, that made it worse." Are you allergic to any medications? "Ibuprofen and Benadryl." Did you know you were allergic to ibuprofen before you took it? "I didn't take ibuprofen, I took Motrin." That's ibuprofen...they're the same thing. "Oh...well, why is it worse?" Because you are having an allergic reaction to the medication you took. "Oh...can I get a shot of Dilaudid then?" I'm sorry, according to your care plan, I cannot administer any narcotics during your visit to the Emergency Room. "Oh ok, well I am feeling much better now. Can I just leave?" This happens quite often...more than you know.

There are many, many more I could illustrate but I don't want to bore you any further. From a student perspective, it is a great opportunity to listen to patients talk and be able to filter out the bullshit. My filter was not as keen as it was before I started. I am a tad cynical when my kids come complaining about certain ailments. When my wife took Peyton, now 8 years old, to the emergency room as a two-year old (see previous blog post from 2005), I laughed before she left, as did the docs at the ER I am sure. Diagnosis, diaper rash. Prescription: diaper rash ointment. I think that visits was about $300. Should have framed the bill. Unless they are bleeding from their numerous orifices profusely, or have dangling limbs bending in ways that God did not intend, they can wait to see a doc-in-the-box.

I don't want my kids to be someone else's blog fodder. They are for mine.

Coupons? Seriously?

My disclaimer for this post is this: I know nothing about it. My anger stems from others who use it while I am shopping and know nothing about it. Just because TLC does a show about it doesn't make it an acceptable practice. I believe Sister Wives is a TLC program.

I rest my case.

Coupon shoppers annoy me. It isn't that they are being proactive and wanting to save a ton of money. To me, at least from what I have witnessed, it is an excuse to hoard. Who needs 12 boxes of saltine crackers and 22 bottles BBQ sauce? It seems to me that what you save in money you lose in living space. I am sure its awesome to never have to run out of water, bread, Hershey bars, laundry soap or thumbtacks. That's awesome for you. You saved $50 on a $200 bill? That's efficient and news worthy. It burns when I pee. But I don't go shari...err....you know what I mean? I don't care. You are better than me. I get it. That's fine with me. Just know that when I open my linen closet, there is linen in there, not 38 boxes of Rice mix, 14 jars of Jif and 33 Power Bars and 4 jars of shoe polish. It's hoarding.

The express line is just that...an express line...express, meaning hurry the fuck up and all 3-ring binders are to be kept in your back back. It's not impressive to pull out a binder that has more earmarks than Obamacare. It's kind of annoying. It causes eyes to roll. Then, you apologize which acknowledges the fact that what you are doing is inconvenient to others behind you.

Checker - Ma'am that will be $39.97 (I say ma'am because its a woman doing this. Guys won't coupon shop...too much work. Besides they don't have coupons for beer.)

Coupon magnate - Wait....I have coupons

Checker - you need to present those before you are rung up. Do you see the sign? (points to sign that says present coupons prior to checkout, fuckchop)

Coupon - I just need to get them out (takes out laptop, can of tennis balls, earmuffs, 22 inches of heavy chain link, one sock, a tube top that says 'OK-95,' 18 chapsticks and a swiss army spoon)...here you go

Checker - .50 cents off Depends? You don't even have Depends in your items?

Coupon - Oh sorry not that one....this one.

Checker - Buy one Trident, get the 2nd one at the same price, must buy 400 Tridents? This one? You realize this is a 15 item or less line right?

About this time there are 8 people with 12 items between them about ready to gang rape this woman. Why? She watches TLC and wants to save a buck. In all reality, to each their own. For the record, I don't care it works for you. I don't care to learn about it. I'm not mad that someone else does it and I don't. It doesn't bother me if you know what the hell you are doing. But if you don't, pardon me if I punch you in the vagina. I just need this milk...this one jug of milk so I can be on my way.

Asshole.

Parent First, Friend Last

First and foremost, parenting styles are different. I get that. However, I believe there is a constant that all parents should share but seemingly few do. That constant is that as a parent, you are a parent first and a friend later. Period. End of story. I believe there is a generation of kids being raised that have little knowledge of right and wrong. Isn't that the job of the parent? If you are right, you get to stay here one more day. If you are wrong, I'll help you pack. I can't remember a time when I mistook my parents for my friends. Thank God or else I could describe a jail cell down to the dots on the cinder blocks.

I love all my kids. However, if they "hate me" because I won't let them do everything they want, so be it. I will get over it long before they will. It's the nature of the beast. I provide food, shelter, clothing, a sense of well-being and moral support...maybe some assistance with homework and a ride or two. Beyond that, let the molding begin. I have heard too many times that "my parents were strict and I hated it, so I am trying to be my kid's friend first," and every time I hear that I want to open up a sterilization clinic. That's not your job. Your job is to provide the knowledge and skills that are required to function in society, not to make sure your child's friends like you. My house is a gathering point for the socially inept when school gets out. I'm glad my kids have friends. Is it wrong that I want to make sure that their friends aren't going to kill a porcupine and hang it from a door knob? I don't think so, and even if it doesn't sit well with my kids, I don't really care and to the parent's who question why I won't let your kids play with mine after school, go fuck yourselves. I'm not a day care center. Spend time with your kids after school. Ask about their day. Don't send them to my house. Example:

(knock at the door, door opens) Hi, I live across the street and my daughter said that you told her she couldn't play with your kids

Me - Correct

Neighbor - Can I ask why?

Me - No

Neighbor - Excuse me?

Me - Which one of the single words did you not understand?

Neighbor - Why can't my kids play with yours?

Me - For starters, hepatitis. But if you want a complete list of reasons, lice, numerous blood borne diseases...ummmm....I am afraid your kids will dumb mine down, tuberculosis, cellulitis, sinusitis and gastroenteritis. Most important however, your kids need YOU, believe it or not. Go help your kids with simple math. If you can't handle that, Google it.

I have heard from my kid's how they hate it at home. I have offered to help them pack and offered to crack their piggy bank for some spending money. It never really goes very far, but honestly, if I didn't love them, I would let them be assholes. My job isn't to be friends and make them happy by fulfilling every request. That's not realistic. McDonald's management won't do that, so why should I? I need to prepare them for reality. Only way that will happen is by P-A-R-E-N-T-I-N-G. It requires a sense of realism. Parenting now, while they are young allows for friendship later. I have grown up always loving my parents, but have found a certain level of respect of their parenting style now that I have kids. Being a pain in the ass early in life has allowed us to become very good friends. I love them for that. I have no doubt my kids will be the same way as they get older. History has proven it.

Whenever I Feel Dumb....

There are times when I feel....how do I put this....blah? When I get these feelings I step outside and get a dose of what real stupidity is. It takes checking the offspring of the same branch of the family tree and I realize that I am not as retarded as....THAT kid, or THAT kid....or even THAT adult. Last time I cehcked parenting was a full time gig. I mean, it's a tough job, no doubt about it. However, at 3:35, when the bus lets kids off the bus, I go outside and get a good whiff of phuck chop. What do I mean? Keep reading....

It's odd to me to write such a heart felt post and then follow it with a profanity-ridden tyrade on the urine-tarnished gene pool that is my hood. However, it doesn't do anyone any good to keep it all in. I'll explode. It's difficult to tell my kids "no" when they ask to play with the neighborhood kids. When they ask why, I have to lie. No, we are eating soon, or no, you need to clean your room. Those are actually lies. What I would love to say is "no, because they will dumb you down," or "you might catch a case of stupid by touching them," or "wearing camo head to toe when you are (A) not hunting, and (B) not in the military is abnormal." My son, bless his heart, asked me why the kids by the bus stop play in the dumpster. I can't say "because that's where trash plays." He will then go to them and call them trash. Not a lie, however, not appropriate either. It's almost like my house after school is a phucking day care for stay at home Mom's who "need a break." Need a break? This isn't Teen Mom. This is motherhood. "But I am a single Mom." So? Why is this my problem? You have had all day to go to the store. Take your kid. One of my daughter's "friends" came over the other day RIGHT...AFTER...SCHOOL and asked if Peyton could play. I said no, because she had homework. The little feral girl said "what's that?" Shiiiitttttttt......really? Spelling, math...you know...the shit you learn at school between recesses and lunch? I get nothing but a blank stare. It's almost like I have to offer her a slice of cheese or a hair brush to get off my porch. So she asks if Jacob can play. Again, I have to lie. Nope, he is working on pefecting the human genome. If nothing else I can use enough confusing vocabulary to induce a seizure so she can shake away. Every 15 minutes, there is a knock on my door. Today, garage sale lady brought my dog a bone. Not the porn version, but literally a bone. WTF? Who does that? "But Eli, that's nice of her." Phuck that. That's weird. I don't care what you say.

I was spraying Weed B Gone on my front lawn after mowing (both concepts are completely foreign to the neighbors) and the son, the only male in the house asks me what I am doing. Building a rocket ship? What does it look like? Picking apples? Every Spring I have a battle with dandelions. Every year they lose. However, it is a process that takes persistence because honestly, for every dandelion I kill, the neighbor's lawn reinfests mine because they have no concept of weed control...hence the two spawns that roam my driveway like the living dead. I had two gallon jugs of this stuff and thought about letting him have one and he could spray their lawn. I thought twice thinking that with my luck, bastard would hit himself in the face with the spray mistaking the jug of weed killer for a can of paint and he might try to huff it. I can only mentor a certain number of children at a time, which usually does not extend beyond MY and OWN. The world can use another camo-wearin criminal that will need medical clearance in the ER before being discharged to jail.

So if you need a dose of confidence, thinking you may be stupid, let me know. I'll give you directions to my hood. You'll feel so much better...

Thank You

When I got sick, I had this epiphany that life was short and I should appreciate every day that God gives me. I am not sure I have really done that. People often tell me that I am burning my candle at both ends. I get asked "how do you do it? How do you go to school, go to work and operate on little sleep?" I don't know. I just do. I have to. My delay in finishng my education has left me motivated to finish. I'm driven, I suppose, to not just finish but finish at the top. That is with school. As far as work, I have obligations that I have to take care of. It isn't about me anymore. I have a family to help provide for. I don't regret anything to date except for maybe not having this mentality when I was 15. Maybe doing this now, later in life, will show my kids that they can do whatever they want to do if they put in the work.

When I started my scribe job, my hope was to make some great relationships with physicians who would help me progress in my nursing career. However, it has been so much more than that. I have seen scared kids come in and doctors treating them with such compassion, even through their pain. I have watched more code traumas than I care to, however the nurses are unbelievable. Everyone has a job to do and they do it without hesitating. They are truly miracle workers. It reinforces in my mind that I have made the right choice in what I want to do with my life. At the same time, it is a constant reminder of how precious and uncertain life can be. There are no gurantees of tomorrow. I have always known this, however, it rings home when you are present when death occurs. Not just natural death, either. We can never expect the unexpected. No one can. I pray every day to let God give me just one more day to impact someone's life. So far, He has given me my wish. What happens, though, when He says it's my time, or someone I love? Then what? Does it make me less apt to pursue nursing or caring for complete strangers? I don't think so. I ask myself these questions all of the time. It all comes back to appreciation; appreciating what you have right in front of you while you can.

Money will not give me happiness. Or you. or anyone else for that matter. Not in the long run anyway. If I had a lot of money, I would give it away. I don't want money. I want to heal people. I want to cure illness. I want to provide comfort. I want to educate. I want to research and diagnose. I want to find reasons why disease occurs, and then spreads. I want a patient that I am taking care of to leave my care better off, not just initially but forever. That can be a big hill to climb, but that obstacle will not deter me from trying. One person at a time can be changed. Imagine if everyone thought about encounters the same way. What kind of world would we live in?

I love my family. I love my Mom and Dad who taught me about resilience and perseverance. I love my brother, my silent pillar of strength, whom I know will always be there if I need him. I love my kids. Savannah, my oldest who is growing too fast and reminds me about how time together is short, yet sweet. Peyton and Jacob, even when they fight, I think of how when they get older, they will love each ther unconditionally as I did with my brother. My wife, my rock, our family's life preserver, someone I admire in ways I cannot put into words. I have learned to appreciate them more through the tragedy of death.

Today is the best day of my life. I know this because it is happening now. I can only control what I do today. Tomorrow is not certain. I pray for it, and God often grants me this prayer, and I start over, tring to bring a smile to an unhappy face. I hope, as a practicing nure, that my patients will leave knowing I cared. I hope my family knows how I cannot be successful in this effort without them. Life is like building a pyramid, one brick at a time. it takes the efforts of many to see the final result. Often times we walk on the backs of loved ones to get to the top. I appreciate the foundation that was laid in the beginning and I cannot express enough gratitude of the sacrifices made by the people closest to me as I lay the final bricks. I hope that they will be with me to see the finished product, and I can look into their eyes and say thank you, even if those are the only words I can use to express a fraction of the feeling.

No one gets what they want by themselves. I realize this more and more every day. I just hope I don't forget to say thank you once in a while. I hope you don't either.

It's Garage Sale Season

This past weekend, we emptied the garage out to clean it and threw a bunch of stuff away. I call it spring cleaning. My wife calls it "I don't want to be called a hoarder." Regardless, it was time that we purged a few things that, to be honest, we haven't touched in almost a decade. It is hard to get rid of things from your past. I am guilty of that very thing. A lot of the things we are holding onto are mine that I have been holding onto for sentimental reasons. I have this vision of my kids wanting to know about me when I was their age. Like they would be looking up to me. Then I think, when my kids are in high school, I will be considered a tool because that is how things progress. The more hip and relevant you attempt to be, the dorkier you are. Sorry Mom and Dad but back then, it was kind of true. =) My parents rocked. Who am I kidding?

Of course, this event started about the time the sun came up. I really have no idea as I was only awakened at 1030 Saturday morning because my wife informed me that she was going to purchase shelves to put in the garage. My eyes were glued shut and as I pried them open, sunlight burned through them, reminding me that I had yet again slept late. I felt incredibly guilty. I through on a hat and shoes and went out to the garage and noticed that it was empty and sitting in our driveway was our history together. I noticed cars were driving by slowly, eyeballing shit they will not get their hands on. I felt compelled to yell "MOVE ALONG, NOTHING TO SEE HERE," as if steering the paparazzi away from Heath Ledger's corpse. One person did happen to break through the verbal bubble. That was our neighbor across the street. She lives on having garage sales. Well, to me, they are sales. To her, it is a way to make rent. She asks me" at a tone and volume necessary for underwater cavern communication "are you having a garage sale," drooling with every step closer to my driveway. I said, simply "no, just cleaning." This must have shocked her to no end. Who in their right mind would....clean? So she repeated her original question. I replied, again, less enthusiastically that I, in fact, was not selling anything. She began to tell me that next weekend some non-profit group was donating their donations to her to sell for income. I cared more about a steel catheter being inserted into my junk than I did to hear about her latest reason for me to dislike my current living arrangements. I feigned interest, similarly to an episode of Sister Wives. It occurred to me that my useless crap could easily be carted across the street and dealt with by someone else rather than having me make multiple trips to the Goodwill Donation wagon in a Honda Accord. My wife, upon her return, concurred.

Jackpot.

So we began dragging things in and without a second thought, began to pile our junk on the front lawn. The neighbor across the street began to pace back and forth, like a hyena waiting for a water buffalo to die. It's almost like watching the clock steadily approach high noon, diners waiting for cookie to ring the triangle. I left briefly to go throw away some boxes and other miscellaneous trash and when I returned, I saw people grabbing stuff from our yard and walking across the street, resembling ants taking food back to the colony. It was golden. This essentially saved me about 2 hours. I couldnt have been happier. Then I helped carry one load over...and I haven't really slept since. I got to hear more than I cared to about the inadequacies of her life, her trials that, according to her, had nothing to do with her specifically, but more TO her. Rough life being unemployed for 3 years. Really? 3 years? How is that? Are you injured? (no) I notice you have enough wherewithall to speed off in your Dodge Caravan for smokes every afternoon, so it isn't a mental defect (at least cognitively) or gross motor skill impairment (you do walk across the street daily for your mail). Seems to me that the choice to be unemployed is yours. Most people look forward to the spring weather for the activities, the fever we all get because winter is over. You look forward to it so the table and chair outside your front door has meaning....you sit in it and get cancer and yell at your kids for being born. Yes, Spring is here. How exciting. I now get to meet more people than I care to...as they park in front of my house....and buy your shit (and some of mine).

Buyer Beware

I have 3 lovely children. 66.67% of those children are girls. 50% of the girls are psycho. 100% of the psycho girls are 7-years old. 100% of the 7-year olds that live in this house that are psycho are NOT bleeding. The above equation says to me that within the next 36-60 months are going to be totally.....awesome....as I wait for the hormones to accentuate the psychosis that is my 7-year old.

I really should have seen this coming. Since birth, she has had a complaint for everything. "The sun is uppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp!!!!" Or, "WHY IS THEIR FOOD ON MY PLAAATTTEEEEEEEEEE???" My favorite to this day remains, when asked why she is crying hysterically, "I DON'T KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!" That lovely diddy came out of her mouth at 4. It was at the time that my once descended testicles went back home to the abdomen to rest.....forever. About the age of 5, while all her friends were wearing clothes from the Gap with matching accessories, she was wearing Walmart, garlic necklaces, a 18-pound crucifix and a Bible duct taped to her chest, in hopes that the demon within would be exorcised. It failed. As she has gotten older, her complaints, still without reason, are backed by her idea of reason and meaning, all of which are spoken 3 levels higher than the parental retort. In all reality, the trouble lies with Mom because the arguments are between her and Peyton. I should feel lucky that I am indirectly excluded from these episodes, but lately it has come to my attention that something needs to change or else she is gonna be at home longer than she needs to be come legal maturity.

I can see it now, at....let's say....15, she is going to want to get a tattoo. Jamie will say "HELL NO!" She will likely come to me. Of course, I will do the polite thing and say, "what did Mom say," knowing full well Mom said no because you can usually hear that from the next street over. I, however, will say "you bet, let's go!" My wife will inevitably freak out, attempt to stop us and I will tell her it will be fine and not to worry, not explaining how this will go down. Peyton and I will get in the car, her saying her friends have 3 or 4 but she only wants one and she can't BELIEVE she is going to be able to get a tattoo...wow....how cool she will be. We'll pull up to a tattoo parlor, and she will anxiously go find a tattoo book (I guess that's what happens) and check out butterflies, unicorns, Japanese symbols that, below the picture read "PEACE" or "STRENGTH" but actually mean "YOU ARE TOO DUMB TO KNOW THIS MEANS I HAVE A FAT ASS." Meanwhile, I will walk up to the counter and say that my 15-year old daughter wants to get a tattoo and since I was put on this Earth to be a "cool parent," I agreed and then am going to buy her wine coolers for her and her friends (never....ever....ever). The artist will say "great, what one does she want?" ike Christmas morning, she wil run over to the counter and throw the book down, stabbing her choice with her saber-like phalange and say "this one, Daddy. I want this one." I will look down and see a big, colorful Monarch butterfly carrying the genetic formula for the cure for cancer. "Honey that is SOOO pretty, but I have a better one. I have been dreaming for this day since you were 4-years old." I would then plop down the following picture, with the instructions that it can only be placed on the forehead.

That would take care of that....