Prednisone tastes like.....well, it just tastes really bad.

I'm on steroids again, for my shoulder this time.

For those not in the know, I had a head on collision with a semi a few years ago, and one of the (many, many) injuries I sustained was a dislocated shoulder.

It still dislocates. Recently, it comes out frequently. Not all the way every time, sometimes the humeral head just slips out enough to where it sits on the cusp of the labrum and causes me enough pain to go seeking help to put it back in. I've got so I can reduce it myself most of the time, but occasionally I need help.

Like yesterday. I slipped on the stairs and put my hand out to grab the bannister...and my body weight was enough to yank my shoulder out. All the way out. I managed to reduce it mostly back in, but not all the way. So, I had to go to the ER.

I hate the ER I went to. I've had occasion to deliver patients to or do clinical rotations through all of my local hospitals, and the one my insurance covers me to go to is the worst. It's not the worst hospital, just the worst ER. The nursing staff there, for the most part, think that their fecal matter isn't malodorous and that if you're not at LEAST an RN, you don't know shite. Heh. Whatever. The staff at the worst ER in the area have more compassion in their pinky toe than any of these bitches I'm talking about. Yeah, I called them bitches. Most of them are.

So, I show up, and whilst it takes them 20 minutes to get a triage nurse to see me, when I AM triaged I'm placed in a room within 8 minutes. I know what my issue is, the nurse agrees that yeah, it's not all the way in and needs reduced, so I'm thinking that it's going to be an easy in-and-out again visit.

30 minutes later I'm still sitting in a room in the ER. No nurse, tech, no doctor.....not a single person has stuck their head around the door or even so much as acknkowledged my presence. Now, I'm not in excruciating pain....I'm not screaming or fainting, but I'm hurting. Like puking because it hurts so bad...and I know from experience that the longer this arm is out, the harder it's going to be to get back in and the longer it's going to be painful for after the fact.

Eventually a PA comes in, refuses to help me reduce it (I literally begged), asks me what I want for pain (umm....are you for real? I'm not a doc, I don't know, but I'll take whatever the fuck you want to give me at this point) and says I need an x-ray. Wow. You think? 5 minutes later, here comes the X-ray tech, and I'm still without pain meds. So, I said that I wasn't going. She said she didn't blame me.

20 minutes later after I got IV pain and nausea meds, I reduced the shoulder myself as I was manipulating it for the x-rays. An hour after that, I was signing my discharge papers.

I shouldn't have sat unattended in a room in the ER for over half an hour without someone - ANYone - coming to let me know the score. They weren't busy, there weren't any codes running, and when I went by the nurses station to go to radiology, there were 5 RN's sitting around talking about who had their hair done and by whom. The treatment I received there yesterday was unsat, period. All it would have taken was for someone to have come down, stuck their head around the door and said 'hey, we know you're here. We've got a code/emergency/we're a doc short/swamped/overflowing with patients/have a major malfunction and we're running slow, but we DO know you're here and shout if you really need something'.

That didn't happen. That SHOULD have happened. Because it SHOULD have happened but didn't, I've been in contact with the patient advocate. I have no shame when it comes to stuff like this; I know how patients should be treated. Put it this way: had I been working there yesterday and had a patient complain because they were treated the way I was treated.....I'd say the complaint was warranted and justified.

Gah. I hate that ER.

I have to see the orthopedic surgeon on Monday night. I don't know what the solution to this is, but I'm sick of being in pain, in a sling, in the ER and I'm REALLY sick of not being able to trust my shoulder.

Oh, and by the way....I don't get the vicodin addiction that my pharmacist blogging compadres talk about. All it did for me was make me hurl. One doesn't cut it pain wise, and two make me puke.....I took two at 6am today, and I'm STILL yakking.

Blech.

Perhaps you should spend LESS time on the court...

Recently I had to sell my soul to the devil (aka shop at Wal (gag)...at Wal-Mar.. (gag) ...Wal-Mart. Sorry, I threw up in my mouth a little there).

As I was leaving the store, I was accosted by an African American young man holding an ice cream tub, asking me to make a donation to his school basketball team.

I rarely have cash on me - ANY cash on me - so I didn't donate. I did, however, get a look at the back of his shirt as I walked away. It said:

'(Name of school deleted) basketball
Where the Teamwork Make's
The Dreamwork.'

Umm.......yeah. P'raps if they spent a little more time in English 101 learning about abbreviations and apostrophe usage and a little LESS time on the court, they wouldn't be standing in front of Wal (gag) Mart looking like a bunch of retards.

The kicker for me, though, is that those slogans had to go through MANY hands before they actually got printed, and NObody picked up on it.

WTF? Does basic spelling not matter any more? Have we become so lackadaisical as a society that we let things like that slide? When did it become socially acceptable to substitute 'your' for 'you're' (as in 'your being silly' instead of the proper 'you're being silly')? I see things like that every day and it drives me fucking NUTS.

I really wanted to go tell that young man and his classmates what was wrong with their shirts, but I had a feeling that had I done so, I'd have been met with either hostility or...well, a lack of understanding about what exactly was wrong.

So, I didn't.

And, in doing so, I think I became part of the problem.

Ways to tell your crap rap is TOO FUCKING LOUD!!

To the ignorant dumbass retard motherfucker who parked outside my house last night at 11pm:

Dear ignorant dumbass retard motherfucker,

I'm not sure if anyone has told you this before, so I'm going to tell you myself.

Your crap rap music and shitty sound system in your piece of shite car are too fucking loud. Here's how you can tell:

1. If all the windows are shut in my house but I can still hear it, it's too loud.

2. If all the windows are shut and the TV in my bedroom is on and I can STILL hear it, it's too fucking loud.

3. If all the windows are shut, the TV in my bedroom is on, the wind is howling, there's thunder, lightning and torrential rain and I can STILL hear it, it's too fucking loud.

4. If all the windows are shut, the TV in the bedroom is on, the wind is howling, there's thunder, lightning, torrential rain and I'm ASLEEP and it wakes me up it's WAAAAY too fucking loud.

As I lay there last night, being subjected to the noise torture you and your ilk call 'music', I had visions of myself getting up out of bed, venturing outside in the wind and rain in my pajamas and bare feet, opening your car door and punching you repeatedly square in your stupid fucking face whilst screaming 'TURN THAT SHIT DOWN, IT'S TOO FUCKING LOUD!!!!!!!!!!!!'.

However, I am a rational and sane person who has consideration for other people (obviously something you know nothing about) and who doesn't want to lose her medic license because she assaulted someone as worthless as yourself, so I stayed in my bed and fumed instead.

I'm seriously considering making a recording of ambulance sirens, finding out where you live and sitting outside your home at 4am with that shit blaring as loud as yours was last night. I'd really like to see how you like them apples, motherfucker.

Eat shit and die.

Love,

NinjaMedic.

P.S. If I DO find out where you live, I'm letting Noodle Dawg shit all over your yard. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

re-finding desire

Before I went to medic school, I used to knit a lot. During school, however, I didn't have much of a chance; most of my time was taken up with books and classwork and studying.

Now that school is over and I'm qualified - and Im not working yet - I've got time on my hands to knit.

I started a slouch hat yesterday and will finish it today. After that, I'm making a jolly pirate fish hat and starting on some socks using a gorgeous yarn called Kureyon (self striping, delicious to work with).

I forgot how much I like knitting. I forgot how theraputic it is and how being creative makes me happy.

I'll post photos of my projects later.....

They're coming off.

Today my doctor gave me a referral to see a plastic surgeon.

About a breast reduction.

For those of you who don't know, I'm about 5'3", weight right at 160 (I weigh heavy), wear a size 10 pants and jeans and sport a pair of 38DDD's.

I had thought I wore a 36DD, but when trying on bras last week I discovered that I was, in fact, a 38DDD. I had wanted to get a pretty, dainty, delicate bra, but all they had in my size were these huge granny-bras with 5 hooks up the back. I'm ashamed to say it, but I burst into tears in the store.

It's not just the ugly bras that make me cry, it's the pain and the size and the inconvienience of them. My upper back is sore in the mornings and downright painful by the end of the day, I have grooves in my shoulders where the bra straps dig in, I can't run because it hurts, I can't swim because they act like flotation devices, I can't lift properly or function as well as I'd like at work because they get in the way.....I have a rash in the crease under them, I can't sleep on my belly, finding swimwear and bikinis that fit is a nightmare, and I end up having to wear shirts that are XL rather than M because of the size of my tits.

The only time in my adult life that I've been below a D cup is when I weighed 100lbs, and even then I was a large C.

My posture is getting incresingly poor, and I worry about osteoporosis and kyphosis as I age if I don't do something about them soon.

So, in an age where women are getting BIGGER breasts, I'm doing the opposite and getting smaller ones.

That about sums up my personality, actually. Whatever everyone else is doing, I do the opposite. However, it's usually just because I can....this time it's because I HAVE to.

Goodbye, old friends. It's been fun having you and you've certainly garnered me a lot of attention over the years. However, it's time for you to go....you're getting to be more of a burden than you're worth; a literal millstone hanging from my neck. I'm trading you in for smaller, perkier models that I can dress in pretty bras and bikinis and take to the pool and actually swim with without worrying whether you guys will make an unexpected and somewhat embarrassing appearance.

Au revior, mes amis. I won't miss you.

Noodle Dawg!

Her actual name is Punk Rock Grrr the Noodle Dawg, she's 7 weeks old and she is the feistiest little dawg I've ever come across. If we'd have got a boy instead of a girl, I'd have been tempted to name him Napoleon...

[IMG]http://i346.photobucket.com/albums/p436/ninjamedicpix/PIC-0126.jpg[/IMG]

Umm....

Overheard at the clinic the other day:

Tech: do you have any other medical problems?

Pt: Nope.

Tech: It says here that you're taking HCTZ and Atenolol. Do you have high blood pressure?

Pt: Nope, not any more. I take the medicine, and I don't have high blood pressure.

Tech: umm.......


I honestly wonder how some people manage to make it through the day without hurting themselves....

So much for confidentiality

Something happened to me last week that really pissed me off.

My PCP's office is pretty strict about patient confidentiality. Only one person is allowed at the window at a time, and there's a line on the floor about 8' away that people are supposed to stand on/behind so they can't eavesdrop on other people's conversations.

I had to go to my doc to talk about some...err...personal issues. He sent me down to the lab to get some tests done, and told me when I came back to let the front desk know. I dutifully did as he requested, and reported to the front desk. The receptionist started asking me questions about the lab tests I had done, and I was in the middle of explaining them to her when I feel breath on my left shoulder. I turn around, and there's some little asian lady standing so close to me that if I were to step backwards and inch I'd have squashed her toes. I stepped back from the counter and asked her if she'd like to go ahead of me; she said no but still stood there. I asked again, explaining this time that I would prefer to not to discuss my personal information and medical problems with her, someone I don't know, standing right there.

SHe looked me right in the eye and said 'Phssst'.

"Phssst". And rolled her eyes.

The receptionist told her to go stand behind the line until I was done, and she 'phsst'-ed again but went and stood on the line.

Problem over....or so I thought. I went and sat down.

When she was done at the window, she proceeded to walk back and forth in front of me, looking at me every time and making that fucking annoying little 'Phssst' sound whilst rolling her eyes and shaking her head, like I was the one who had done something wrong because I asked her to go in front of me so I could have some privacy. I'm trying to excuse her behaviour and put it down to her culture, but I don't think I can. Rude is rude is rude, period.

The worst part of all of it? Her husband was sitting right there, in uniform with CMSgt stripes on his sleeve. That's the highest enlisted rank there is in the AF, and people don't get to be Chiefs unless they're shit-hot. You've got to be an outstanding troop to attain that rank. He's sitting right there, watching her walk up and down in front of me, phsst-ing and rolling her eyes, yet he does NOTHING. Not a damn thing.

I suggested to the PCP's office that they post a sign on the wall next to the line, telling people to form an orderly line there. They said they already had, but that people didn't bother to read it.

I'm not surprised, to be honest.

People are stupid. And ignorant.