(Ways to royally piss off NinjaMedic, # 342):
DO NOT ask me to knit some samples of baby hats and booties and mittens
THEN proceed to tell everyone how you don't like any of them
BUT keep all of the samples anyway
It's not only fucked up, it's also a sure-fire way to ensure that I don't knit anything for you, ever.
Knit your own fucking baby hat, lady. Oh that's right, I forgot....you can't, 'cause you don't know how.
Sucks to be you, I guess!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
I saw a newborn baby today that was downright ugly, y'all.
Don't get me wrong, I adore babies. Any age, any gender or ethnicity; I really do like babies and rarely miss an opportunity to hold and coo and fuss over a wee little infant.
I know that most of them look like they've gone 10 rounds with Tyson when they're first born. It's a tight fit through the birth canal and their poor little faces are all smushed and swollen when they first come out. I still find most of them cute though, and I normally have something pleasant to say about them. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of infants I've seen that I've found..umm...unattractive - and I've seen a lot of babies over my almost 40 years.
However, this kid.....well, I just couldn't find anything nice to say about it. Instead I said "oh wow! It's hands are tiny!" - and they ARE tiny. They're about the only tiny thing about it; the rest of it is pretty big.
I feel kind of bad for not being able to fall head over heels over it, but...well, this is one unattractive kid, yo. Seriously.
Hopefully the next time I see it, it'll have grown into it's features some and will look better. I sure hope so.....
Don't get me wrong, I adore babies. Any age, any gender or ethnicity; I really do like babies and rarely miss an opportunity to hold and coo and fuss over a wee little infant.
I know that most of them look like they've gone 10 rounds with Tyson when they're first born. It's a tight fit through the birth canal and their poor little faces are all smushed and swollen when they first come out. I still find most of them cute though, and I normally have something pleasant to say about them. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of infants I've seen that I've found..umm...unattractive - and I've seen a lot of babies over my almost 40 years.
However, this kid.....well, I just couldn't find anything nice to say about it. Instead I said "oh wow! It's hands are tiny!" - and they ARE tiny. They're about the only tiny thing about it; the rest of it is pretty big.
I feel kind of bad for not being able to fall head over heels over it, but...well, this is one unattractive kid, yo. Seriously.
Hopefully the next time I see it, it'll have grown into it's features some and will look better. I sure hope so.....
Monday, September 29, 2008
Migraines
Future Trauma Surgeon has a migraine. Again. The second one in 6 weeks.
It started with an aura she described as 'like double vision' yesterday, but after a rudimentary neuro exam and a set of baseline vitals (both of which were normal) she said that the right side of her head hurt and she felt queasy. So, I sent her off to bed with 1000 mgs of tylenol and 25mgs of benadryl on board and hoped that it would have resolved itself by today.
Yeah, right. She still had the headache. So, off she went to the doctor.
She's now on Maxalt for the next time she gets a headache and 12.5mgs promethazine q 4hrs for the nausea. I've also given her another 1000mgs of tylenol, made her hydrate, and I'm sending her back to bed in a few minutes to see if she can't sleep it off.
I'm going to have to call the school nurse in a little while and do battle with her .... this school district is notoriously bad about student medications and administering them in a timely manner. I don't do well with this nurse: she's send the kids home for bullshit petty stuff (finger hurts - no swelling or brusing), but has kept them in school for things that I consider to be acute/urgent (broken ankle. Swelling, bruising, pain all present, but she kept the kid at school).
FTS has perked up considerably since she took the Maxalt. Says her 'throat feels weird' but that the headache has decreased considerably.
Yay!
It started with an aura she described as 'like double vision' yesterday, but after a rudimentary neuro exam and a set of baseline vitals (both of which were normal) she said that the right side of her head hurt and she felt queasy. So, I sent her off to bed with 1000 mgs of tylenol and 25mgs of benadryl on board and hoped that it would have resolved itself by today.
Yeah, right. She still had the headache. So, off she went to the doctor.
She's now on Maxalt for the next time she gets a headache and 12.5mgs promethazine q 4hrs for the nausea. I've also given her another 1000mgs of tylenol, made her hydrate, and I'm sending her back to bed in a few minutes to see if she can't sleep it off.
I'm going to have to call the school nurse in a little while and do battle with her .... this school district is notoriously bad about student medications and administering them in a timely manner. I don't do well with this nurse: she's send the kids home for bullshit petty stuff (finger hurts - no swelling or brusing), but has kept them in school for things that I consider to be acute/urgent (broken ankle. Swelling, bruising, pain all present, but she kept the kid at school).
FTS has perked up considerably since she took the Maxalt. Says her 'throat feels weird' but that the headache has decreased considerably.
Yay!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Him and Her
(Edited after some clear headed thought - thanks, Chris! Wanna be my blogging Wingman?)
Numbah Two won Student Of The Month award at his school yesterday:
Numbah Two won Student Of The Month award at his school yesterday:
Urbaner and I surprised him by walking out in the middle of the assembly where he was being presented with his award. That kid was shaking, he was so surprised, but as you can see, he was pretty pleased with himself.
Future Trauma Surgeon went to her first formal dance this evening. I did her hair and makeup, and cried when she left with her boyfriend:
She looked so pretty and grown up and it occurred to me that she is, for all intents and purposes, grown up and will be leaving home in a couple of years. It seems like just yesterday she was a really sick baby who I thought might have to spend most of her life in and out of the hospital, and here she is now going looking incredibly beautiful and very adult. It's a sad, but happy moment for me, and I'm very very proud of her.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Unveiling
Today was my followup visit with the reconstructive surgeons. I got to take off the gross surgical bra I've been wearing for a week and see what was under all the dressings.
My breasts are bruised and slightly swollen, but perky and much smaller - I measured them and I'm a 36 C. Everything is healing well and we don't anticipate any problems. I haven't had a back or neckache since the surgery.
The pathology report on the excised tissue came back, and I have microcalcifications. I suspected I had some fibrocystic changes, but had no idea about the calcifications - however, it's nothing to worry about right now. I'm almost 40, so I'm at the age when I'm going to need to start getting yearly mammograms, so I'll mention it to the radiologist the next time I get one done.
I've been hemming and hawing about whether to post a photo of my new 'girls' here on my blog. I've decided that yeah, I'm going to do it:
Sorry if that offends anyone, but I'm not sorry I posted it. I want other women who may be considering breast reduction to see what the scars look like and to know what they can expect to look like in the weeks following the surgery without having to resort to plastic surgery sites and their professionally done before and after shots.
They're just boobs, after all.
My breasts are bruised and slightly swollen, but perky and much smaller - I measured them and I'm a 36 C. Everything is healing well and we don't anticipate any problems. I haven't had a back or neckache since the surgery.
The pathology report on the excised tissue came back, and I have microcalcifications. I suspected I had some fibrocystic changes, but had no idea about the calcifications - however, it's nothing to worry about right now. I'm almost 40, so I'm at the age when I'm going to need to start getting yearly mammograms, so I'll mention it to the radiologist the next time I get one done.
I've been hemming and hawing about whether to post a photo of my new 'girls' here on my blog. I've decided that yeah, I'm going to do it:
Sorry if that offends anyone, but I'm not sorry I posted it. I want other women who may be considering breast reduction to see what the scars look like and to know what they can expect to look like in the weeks following the surgery without having to resort to plastic surgery sites and their professionally done before and after shots.
They're just boobs, after all.
No, it's NOT special, dude.
I've been seeing the trailers on Discovery Health for the upcoming shoe about the Kirton family, who have SIX - yes, SIX - children ranging in ages from 14 to 3, all of whom have autism to some degree or another.
From the look of the trailer, the show portrays them in a sympathetic light, a 'look at these poor, poor people who have been terribly affilcted with this horrible disorder. Let's all feel sad for them'.
I don't feel sad for them. I'm more mad than anything else. See, I believe (from reading their website at http://www.autismbites.com/) that they either knew their children were affected by this disorder before they were all born, or they exaggerated in order to get a diagnosis for ALL six kids. I think that they knew that at least 3 or 4 of them were autistic, but they carried right on having kids. THEY say that they didn't know, that they didn't have an official diagnosis until the end of 2006, but I have a VERY hard time believing that. Kids with autism, especially the 'classic' kind they claim some of their offspring have, typically demonstrate that something is amiss before the age of three (DSMMD source). Their children are 14, 10, 9, 6 4 and 3. Ergo, if things are as bad as they claim, they MUST have had a very good idea that something was amiss, yet they kept on getting pregnant because they believed that 'When each baby came we felt there was still one more little child waiting in Heaven to be a part of our family. After Mary that feeling was gone and we felt complete as a family.'
Puhleeze.
One kid with autism? Sad. Two kids in the same family with it? Terrible tragedy. Three? Woah....wait a second, there's something going on here. This isn't a coincidence anymore. Four? Okay, no more kids. But five, and then SIX?? That's either selfish and wrong, or it's a total overdiagnosis on the part of medical professionals.
Would they be viewed with pity if they had six children with Cri du chat? Tay-Sachs? Downs? I somehow think not.
The thing that REALLY pissed me off was the fact that the dad quit working outside the home in order to stay home and help the mom with the kids. Where are they getting their income from? I have a good idea....obviously I can't say with any certainty, but I think there's a good degree of probability that it's coming in the form of disability and welfare checks. If that's the case.....well, words fail me.
There's one other thing that really pissed me off, and I'm quoting it directly from their website:
"In February 2007 we watched an episode of “Extreme Makeover Home Edition”, we enjoy it as a family to see if the family's story is as tough as our own. The show said that the family, they helped build a new home for, had the most documented Autistic children, five, for one family in the United States. My wife and I looked at each other, we have SIX documented Autistic children. It looks like WE have the most in the country, who knows maybe the world, isn't THAT special?!"
WOW. Just WOW.
NO, dude, it's NOT special. It's sad and pathetic. You think it's something to be fucking proud of, something to describe as 'special'???
If things were as bad as you said they were, then you MUST have had some idea BEFORE you publicly claim you did. I don't believe for a second that your littlest was a year old before you finally got a fucking clue that ALL of them were affected, not for a second. Were you not taking them for well baby checks? Did they not see a doctor at ALL? IF their behaviours were as terrible as you claim, any medical professional would have picked up on them sometime during the 11 years you and your wife were popping out kids. So, that leads me to one of two conclusions: either you DID know and you had kids nonetheless, or you decided to exaggerate after the fact. Which is it?
I don't feel sorry for you at all. I feel sorry for you children, but not for you.
Gah.
Oh, and mom claims she has fibromyalgia. Snark. Why does that NOT surprise me.....
From the look of the trailer, the show portrays them in a sympathetic light, a 'look at these poor, poor people who have been terribly affilcted with this horrible disorder. Let's all feel sad for them'.
I don't feel sad for them. I'm more mad than anything else. See, I believe (from reading their website at http://www.autismbites.com/) that they either knew their children were affected by this disorder before they were all born, or they exaggerated in order to get a diagnosis for ALL six kids. I think that they knew that at least 3 or 4 of them were autistic, but they carried right on having kids. THEY say that they didn't know, that they didn't have an official diagnosis until the end of 2006, but I have a VERY hard time believing that. Kids with autism, especially the 'classic' kind they claim some of their offspring have, typically demonstrate that something is amiss before the age of three (DSMMD source). Their children are 14, 10, 9, 6 4 and 3. Ergo, if things are as bad as they claim, they MUST have had a very good idea that something was amiss, yet they kept on getting pregnant because they believed that 'When each baby came we felt there was still one more little child waiting in Heaven to be a part of our family. After Mary that feeling was gone and we felt complete as a family.'
Puhleeze.
One kid with autism? Sad. Two kids in the same family with it? Terrible tragedy. Three? Woah....wait a second, there's something going on here. This isn't a coincidence anymore. Four? Okay, no more kids. But five, and then SIX?? That's either selfish and wrong, or it's a total overdiagnosis on the part of medical professionals.
Would they be viewed with pity if they had six children with Cri du chat? Tay-Sachs? Downs? I somehow think not.
The thing that REALLY pissed me off was the fact that the dad quit working outside the home in order to stay home and help the mom with the kids. Where are they getting their income from? I have a good idea....obviously I can't say with any certainty, but I think there's a good degree of probability that it's coming in the form of disability and welfare checks. If that's the case.....well, words fail me.
There's one other thing that really pissed me off, and I'm quoting it directly from their website:
"In February 2007 we watched an episode of “Extreme Makeover Home Edition”, we enjoy it as a family to see if the family's story is as tough as our own. The show said that the family, they helped build a new home for, had the most documented Autistic children, five, for one family in the United States. My wife and I looked at each other, we have SIX documented Autistic children. It looks like WE have the most in the country, who knows maybe the world, isn't THAT special?!"
WOW. Just WOW.
NO, dude, it's NOT special. It's sad and pathetic. You think it's something to be fucking proud of, something to describe as 'special'???
If things were as bad as you said they were, then you MUST have had some idea BEFORE you publicly claim you did. I don't believe for a second that your littlest was a year old before you finally got a fucking clue that ALL of them were affected, not for a second. Were you not taking them for well baby checks? Did they not see a doctor at ALL? IF their behaviours were as terrible as you claim, any medical professional would have picked up on them sometime during the 11 years you and your wife were popping out kids. So, that leads me to one of two conclusions: either you DID know and you had kids nonetheless, or you decided to exaggerate after the fact. Which is it?
I don't feel sorry for you at all. I feel sorry for you children, but not for you.
Gah.
Oh, and mom claims she has fibromyalgia. Snark. Why does that NOT surprise me.....
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
How NinjaMedic got her name
It's not very exciting, trust me.
It all began with a friend who wasn't feeling well. He had called me complaining about his symptoms - why is it, btw, that people who aren't feeling well and who know we're medics feel that it's appropriate to treat us as their own personal medical resources and ask us questions? I'm not a doctor, people. I can tell you that I think you've got something going on and you need to see a doc, but I'm not about to diagnose you.
But I digress. This friend (who is no longer a friend, just so you know. He turned out to be far too immature to be able to hang with me) was whining and generally being a man about what turned out to be a case of the blahs, so I ran through an assessment with him without telling him what I was doing. I do that a lot. People who know me are wise to my game now and will shut me down, but folks who either don't know me or who don't know I'm an EMT have no clue.
At the end of the conversation, I told him that I didn't think anything was wrong.
Him: "How do you know? I could be ill. You never even asked me any que.....wait. You did it, didn't you? You assessed me. You snuck up on me and you did it."
Me: "yep. You're fine. Stop whining"
Him: "How....I mean ......what the fuck? You snuck up on me!"
Me: "Yeah, I gots MAD silent medic skills baybee! I can sneak in an assessment and you won't know I've done it until it's all over. Ha!"
Urbaner, who had been listening in the background said "You're a NinjaMedic!"
Me: "Oooh, I think you just found the title for my new blog! The adventures of NinjaMedic..."
Urbaner:...."and Noodle Dawg".
And here we are, and now you know.
It all began with a friend who wasn't feeling well. He had called me complaining about his symptoms - why is it, btw, that people who aren't feeling well and who know we're medics feel that it's appropriate to treat us as their own personal medical resources and ask us questions? I'm not a doctor, people. I can tell you that I think you've got something going on and you need to see a doc, but I'm not about to diagnose you.
But I digress. This friend (who is no longer a friend, just so you know. He turned out to be far too immature to be able to hang with me) was whining and generally being a man about what turned out to be a case of the blahs, so I ran through an assessment with him without telling him what I was doing. I do that a lot. People who know me are wise to my game now and will shut me down, but folks who either don't know me or who don't know I'm an EMT have no clue.
At the end of the conversation, I told him that I didn't think anything was wrong.
Him: "How do you know? I could be ill. You never even asked me any que.....wait. You did it, didn't you? You assessed me. You snuck up on me and you did it."
Me: "yep. You're fine. Stop whining"
Him: "How....I mean ......what the fuck? You snuck up on me!"
Me: "Yeah, I gots MAD silent medic skills baybee! I can sneak in an assessment and you won't know I've done it until it's all over. Ha!"
Urbaner, who had been listening in the background said "You're a NinjaMedic!"
Me: "Oooh, I think you just found the title for my new blog! The adventures of NinjaMedic..."
Urbaner:...."and Noodle Dawg".
And here we are, and now you know.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
7 days
I know I know, I said I'd tell you how I got the name NinjaMedic next time, and here I am NOT telling you about that. Tomorrow, I promise. It's not very exciting, trust me.
I have broken my own personal record.
I have not taken a shower, shaved my legs or pits or....ahem, personal bits...in 7 days.
One whole week.
I don't give a fuck what ANYone says, bird baths do NOT do an adequate job. I feel gross and nasty and I swear to god I stink. I wash all over every day ('cept for my boobage and what's under the surgical bra, I'm not supposed to get that wet yet) and I have one of the 'lings or Urbaner help me wash my hair over the sink, but I still feel like I smell bad. I use deodorant, but I think that having hairy pits somehow negates the potency of the deodorant because it doesn't seem to be working as well as it usually does when my pits are nekkid. All that shite they taught us in nursing school was a LIE, yo. Sponge baths don't fucking work - not as well as a tub bath or a shower at least.
I've been kind of naughty, I've unhooked the bra a few times to rearrange the dressings underneath. They were driving me crazy, y'all. The second time I rearranged, I figured out why: apparently my skin does NOT care for the adhesive on the tape because it's blistered where the tape was and I have a bunch of wee little raw spots now. Not incredibly painful, just fucking irritating and annoying. The bra was only undone for a couple of minutes each time. I don't think that's going to make a HUGE difference, do you?
I'm getting the dressings removed and the incisions checked on Thursday. I'll be able to wear a regular sports bra after that. Thursday afternoon, as soon as I get home, I'm stripping off, getting in the shower and I'm staying in there until all the hot water has run out or I feel clean, whichever comes first.
I'm also going to make sure I have at least 2 razors in there. From looking at the state of my legs right now, I think I'm going to need both of them....
I have broken my own personal record.
I have not taken a shower, shaved my legs or pits or....ahem, personal bits...in 7 days.
One whole week.
I don't give a fuck what ANYone says, bird baths do NOT do an adequate job. I feel gross and nasty and I swear to god I stink. I wash all over every day ('cept for my boobage and what's under the surgical bra, I'm not supposed to get that wet yet) and I have one of the 'lings or Urbaner help me wash my hair over the sink, but I still feel like I smell bad. I use deodorant, but I think that having hairy pits somehow negates the potency of the deodorant because it doesn't seem to be working as well as it usually does when my pits are nekkid. All that shite they taught us in nursing school was a LIE, yo. Sponge baths don't fucking work - not as well as a tub bath or a shower at least.
I've been kind of naughty, I've unhooked the bra a few times to rearrange the dressings underneath. They were driving me crazy, y'all. The second time I rearranged, I figured out why: apparently my skin does NOT care for the adhesive on the tape because it's blistered where the tape was and I have a bunch of wee little raw spots now. Not incredibly painful, just fucking irritating and annoying. The bra was only undone for a couple of minutes each time. I don't think that's going to make a HUGE difference, do you?
I'm getting the dressings removed and the incisions checked on Thursday. I'll be able to wear a regular sports bra after that. Thursday afternoon, as soon as I get home, I'm stripping off, getting in the shower and I'm staying in there until all the hot water has run out or I feel clean, whichever comes first.
I'm also going to make sure I have at least 2 razors in there. From looking at the state of my legs right now, I think I'm going to need both of them....
This is how she got her name...
When we were bringing her home (kidnapping her from her bro and sis and mama) she fell asleep on my lap in the car and for a moment I thought she was dead - she was literally like a wet noodle. No muscle tone whatsoever.
She wasn't dead, obviously. Just asleep. Fast asleep. This dawg can SLEEP, yo. Like she couldn't ever be a medic or a fireman because the tones wouldn't wake her up.
Anyway. This photo was taken this afternoon as she napped with my on my recliner. Clearly, she was the one doing all the napping as I was working on my laptop - and yeah, the 'enter' key is missing. It fell off last week and I don't have the dexterity to put it back on right now.
Next time, I'll tell you how I got the moniker 'NinjaMedic'. For now, I'm going to ice my boobies and watch Trauma. Hey, if I can't work, I may as well watch other people work, right?
Noodle Dawg grew!
She's 4 months old now and is into everything. It's like having another kid, but without the diapers and clothes.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Centrum doesn't include that
She sat in the waiting room at the ER, a 300lb heaving mass of near-hysteria.
"Oooh, lawdy! Ohh, hep me jeezuz! Oooh, caint breefe! Oh, LAWD, ma chess hurt!!!"
Her friend who was as skinny as she was fa.....err, I mean large, was fanning her face with the HIPAA paperwork she'd been given and making comforting noises.
I called her name, and for a moment it seemed as if she'd forgotten about her complaint. She got up from the chair with surprising agility for her size and complaint and quite literally ran towards me. Four or five steps into the trot she remembered that she was supposed to be having chest pain and SOB and clutched dramatically at her breasts
"OOOHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Hep me, Im'a dyin'! Hep ME!!!!"
Despite the obviously agonizing pain she was in, she made it to the cubicle and flopped herself onto the gurney (I had visions of the gurney buckling and collapsing underneath her, but it proved it's worth and held - wobbled, but held).
"When did this start? Ever had anything like this before?" I asked, struggling to free her from her pup tent, I mean shirt, and getting the EKG leads ready.
"Yes, it happen a LOT. Matter of fack, it feel EZZACKLY like a panic attack. Yeah, thas what this iz. A PANIC ATTACK!! Oooh, I need some o'dat medicine they give me, that stuff that start with a A......"
"Adderal?" I suggested?
"Naw, it aint that. Addi.....addivent? Sumpin' like that"
"Ativan?"
"yeah, thas it! ATIVAN! Thas whut I need! Where the doctor at? I need me some ativan!!" And, seeing the doctor approaching, she went off on a "OOh, tha pain! PAIN!" tangent.
After the doc was done examining her, he stepped out from behind the curtain and smirked at me.
"She's got a vitamin A deficiency" he said.
Later, when I went in to help discharge her, she caught me by the elbow
"Can yew tell me where to get that Centrum with the vitamin Ativan in it at? I sho would like to get me some o'dat....."
I told her she should go ask a pharmacist *snark*.
I wonder if she ever did?
"Oooh, lawdy! Ohh, hep me jeezuz! Oooh, caint breefe! Oh, LAWD, ma chess hurt!!!"
Her friend who was as skinny as she was fa.....err, I mean large, was fanning her face with the HIPAA paperwork she'd been given and making comforting noises.
I called her name, and for a moment it seemed as if she'd forgotten about her complaint. She got up from the chair with surprising agility for her size and complaint and quite literally ran towards me. Four or five steps into the trot she remembered that she was supposed to be having chest pain and SOB and clutched dramatically at her breasts
"OOOHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Hep me, Im'a dyin'! Hep ME!!!!"
Despite the obviously agonizing pain she was in, she made it to the cubicle and flopped herself onto the gurney (I had visions of the gurney buckling and collapsing underneath her, but it proved it's worth and held - wobbled, but held).
"When did this start? Ever had anything like this before?" I asked, struggling to free her from her pup tent, I mean shirt, and getting the EKG leads ready.
"Yes, it happen a LOT. Matter of fack, it feel EZZACKLY like a panic attack. Yeah, thas what this iz. A PANIC ATTACK!! Oooh, I need some o'dat medicine they give me, that stuff that start with a A......"
"Adderal?" I suggested?
"Naw, it aint that. Addi.....addivent? Sumpin' like that"
"Ativan?"
"yeah, thas it! ATIVAN! Thas whut I need! Where the doctor at? I need me some ativan!!" And, seeing the doctor approaching, she went off on a "OOh, tha pain! PAIN!" tangent.
After the doc was done examining her, he stepped out from behind the curtain and smirked at me.
"She's got a vitamin A deficiency" he said.
Later, when I went in to help discharge her, she caught me by the elbow
"Can yew tell me where to get that Centrum with the vitamin Ativan in it at? I sho would like to get me some o'dat....."
I told her she should go ask a pharmacist *snark*.
I wonder if she ever did?
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Hey, Urbaner....
I love you.
I hope that you like my 2.0's. I didn't get them fixed to please you, but it's important to me that you like them.
Just think, all those corsets and teddies and bras that we look at in VC and Fredericks will actually fit now. You'll have an easier time buying me gifts now : bras, lingerie and sock yarn make NinjaMedic a happy girl!
I DO love you, y'know. You're awesome.
I hope that you like my 2.0's. I didn't get them fixed to please you, but it's important to me that you like them.
Just think, all those corsets and teddies and bras that we look at in VC and Fredericks will actually fit now. You'll have an easier time buying me gifts now : bras, lingerie and sock yarn make NinjaMedic a happy girl!
I DO love you, y'know. You're awesome.
Friday, September 19, 2008
One surgery down, one to go
The last thing I remember about Wednesday morning was my surgeon gently manipulating my arm so he could strap it to the OR table without subluxating my shoulder. The next thing I knew, I was in the recovery room - in a LOT of pain, thinking to myself that I shouldn't ever have done this, that I wanted to rewind time and start all over.
A few mgs of morphine and a chaser of fentanyl later I felt much better. A sneak peek at my breasts under the surgical bra and dressings affirmed that yeah, I HAD done the right thing in going ahead with the reduction.
When Dr Fallucco came and changed the dressings yesterday morning I got my first real look at my new girls in all their glory. They're bruised and sore, but they look REALLY good. I have hundreds of tiny stitches - Dr Fallucco's handiwork - but sensation is intact in my nipples, which makes me very happy. I think that once the swelling has receeded I'll end up being a full B or small C, which for my height and frame is a good size.
Dr's Michael Fallucco and Christian Paletta are two of the best reconstructive surgeons I've met - and not only are they good at their jobs, they're also genuinely nice guys. Some surgeons tend to be somewhat personality deficient, but not these two. If you live in the St Louis area and are considering breast reduction, I'd strongly suggest that you try to get these guys as your surgeons. I'm very happy with the treatment I've received this far!
I'm going to knit them a boob each. Weird, I know....but I think they'll like it!
*I have a couple of photos from when the dressings were changed yesterday morning. If you'd like to see them, please email me at dharmagirl69@gmail.com . I don't mind showing people, I just didn't think it was a good idea to post them here - they're pretty graphic.*
A few mgs of morphine and a chaser of fentanyl later I felt much better. A sneak peek at my breasts under the surgical bra and dressings affirmed that yeah, I HAD done the right thing in going ahead with the reduction.
When Dr Fallucco came and changed the dressings yesterday morning I got my first real look at my new girls in all their glory. They're bruised and sore, but they look REALLY good. I have hundreds of tiny stitches - Dr Fallucco's handiwork - but sensation is intact in my nipples, which makes me very happy. I think that once the swelling has receeded I'll end up being a full B or small C, which for my height and frame is a good size.
Dr's Michael Fallucco and Christian Paletta are two of the best reconstructive surgeons I've met - and not only are they good at their jobs, they're also genuinely nice guys. Some surgeons tend to be somewhat personality deficient, but not these two. If you live in the St Louis area and are considering breast reduction, I'd strongly suggest that you try to get these guys as your surgeons. I'm very happy with the treatment I've received this far!
I'm going to knit them a boob each. Weird, I know....but I think they'll like it!
*I have a couple of photos from when the dressings were changed yesterday morning. If you'd like to see them, please email me at dharmagirl69@gmail.com . I don't mind showing people, I just didn't think it was a good idea to post them here - they're pretty graphic.*
Monday, September 15, 2008
"...you may face certain death"
So said the National Weather Service spokesman last Friday.
"If you do not evacuate...you may face certain death". How much plainer could anyone be? Hurricane Ike was approaching the Texas coastline; it was, according to Bob VanDillen 'the biggest one I've ever seen' - not necessarily in strength, but in sheer size. It was a monster storm, and people were being told to evacuate, to get out of it's path.
Some did.....but others didn't. They thought they could ride it out, that it wouldn't be as bad as the weatherman said, that they'd be ok.
They thought that all the way up until their homes started flooding; until the power went out and the winds took off roofs and collapsed walls. Then they realized they COULDN'T ride it out, and they started calling 911.
I'm probably going to sound like a real bitch here, but why the fuck should I, as an EMS provider, have to put myself in danger to go rescue someone who CHOSE to ignore advice from various agencies - agancies who are all, btw, infinitely better equipped to estimate the size and power of an approaching hurricane than Joe Blow who lives in it's path - and who decided to stay in their house, despite being told that they could DIE if they didn't leave?
PISS POOR PLANNING ON YOUR PART DOES NOT CONSTITUTE AN EMERGENCY ON MY PART.
That's the saying, at least. When it comes right down to it, we're obligated to go and rescue folks from the consequences of their poor decisions because we're EMS workers and that's what we do. Just as firemen rescue people from buring homes because they let their kids play with matches, just as police officers arrest folks who drive drunk and just as EMT's pick up the pieces of people who decided that seatbelts weren't for them, so we all have an obligation to go and help people who chose to ignore evacuation orders and who find themselves in over their heads (literally) when the hurricane hits.
After all, if we decided that we weren't going/didn't have to help people who made piss poor choices, we'd all be out of jobs.
"If you do not evacuate...you may face certain death". How much plainer could anyone be? Hurricane Ike was approaching the Texas coastline; it was, according to Bob VanDillen 'the biggest one I've ever seen' - not necessarily in strength, but in sheer size. It was a monster storm, and people were being told to evacuate, to get out of it's path.
Some did.....but others didn't. They thought they could ride it out, that it wouldn't be as bad as the weatherman said, that they'd be ok.
They thought that all the way up until their homes started flooding; until the power went out and the winds took off roofs and collapsed walls. Then they realized they COULDN'T ride it out, and they started calling 911.
I'm probably going to sound like a real bitch here, but why the fuck should I, as an EMS provider, have to put myself in danger to go rescue someone who CHOSE to ignore advice from various agencies - agancies who are all, btw, infinitely better equipped to estimate the size and power of an approaching hurricane than Joe Blow who lives in it's path - and who decided to stay in their house, despite being told that they could DIE if they didn't leave?
PISS POOR PLANNING ON YOUR PART DOES NOT CONSTITUTE AN EMERGENCY ON MY PART.
That's the saying, at least. When it comes right down to it, we're obligated to go and rescue folks from the consequences of their poor decisions because we're EMS workers and that's what we do. Just as firemen rescue people from buring homes because they let their kids play with matches, just as police officers arrest folks who drive drunk and just as EMT's pick up the pieces of people who decided that seatbelts weren't for them, so we all have an obligation to go and help people who chose to ignore evacuation orders and who find themselves in over their heads (literally) when the hurricane hits.
After all, if we decided that we weren't going/didn't have to help people who made piss poor choices, we'd all be out of jobs.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Losing the urge - but not to push.
I know, I know, I haven't updated for a while. I just haven't had the urge, sorry. I've had plenty of things happen, but I just haven't felt like blogging. I'll try harder, I promise.
Yesterday was Numbah Twoo 'ling's 14th birthday. It's odd, it seems like just yesterday that he was giving me all kind of hell, not wanting to come out for ages but then deciding that yeah, it was time to make his grand entrance RIGHT NOW.
I'd had contractions for 2 days and had been up most of Friday night with them coming every 6 minutes or so. We were living in the UK at the time, and the USAF hospital was a good 45 minute drive away. We made the trip Saturday morning, only to be told that I was not really effaced any and was only 2cm dilated. They gave me something to allow me to get some sleep, and sent us home.
We napped for a couple of hours, and then got up and farted around Saturday afternoon and evening. I woke up Sunday about 8am with regular contractions that had me hanging onto the headboard of the bed and having to breathe through them. They were still pretty well spaced apart, about 7 or 8 minutes, and I really didn't want to make another hour and half round trip because I wasn't dilated. So, at lunchtime we called the Sunday clinic at the satellite base - a 10 minutes drive away - and asked if we could come in so I could get checked. They said yeah, c'mon over, so we did.
In the exam room, the doctor's face was something I'll always remember. He asked how long I'd been contracting for and what I was at the day before, and after I'd told him he gloved up and had a feel. His face fell, and he asked whether I was still planning on delivering at Lakenheath - because if I was, we needed to leave NOW. "DO NOT GO HOME, DO NOT STRAY OR STOP, GO NOW. You are a stretchy 6cm dilated and 100% effaced. GO NOW, unless you want your baby born here on the floor, or in the back of an ambulance, or in the car. I'll call Lakenheath and tell them what you're at and that you're on your way".
Did we follow his advice? No. Urbaner wanted to go home to change into the cowboy boots he'd graduated in, enlisted in, got married in. HAD to have those boots on. So, we went 10 mins in the OPPOSITE direction so he could change.
AT the time, we owned an original 1980's Mini Cooper. A tiny, tiny car. There's me in the front, contracting away, yelling at Urbaner to hurry up...and there's him, flinging that little car at top speed around the curvy English country roads, some of which were no wider than my current driveway. About 2/3 of the way there, the contractions slowed down, but when they did come they were much more intense. I couldn't handle sitting in the seat, so I unbuckled and hung myself over the back of the seat, moaning - and we went through the gate at Lakenheath like that. Urbaner stopped to show the guard his ID and the guard just waved at him, yelling at him to keep on going.
We got to the hospital and checked in to OB. I was 7cm, so they broke the amniotic sac and told me to walk. When that didn't bring the contractions any closer together, they gave me a whiff of pitocin - and half an hour later, I wanted to push. I called for a nurse to check my cervix, and when she did she said I was at 10 and that we needed to go to the delivery room. I remember thinking that I'd been gypped because I hadn't had the chance for any pain medication, and I also remember being in the middle of a contraction, rolling down the hallway yelling at people to get the fuck out of the way because this kid was coming...
In the delivery room, I pushed twice before his head crowned. It was painful, but what was coming turned out to be more painful than his big ol' melon head.
His shoulder got stuck under my pubic bone. The doc was yanking, I was pushing, and when he finally came out it made a sound like a wet cork coming out of a bottle. As his shoulder unstuck, I tore; grade 2 and 3 lacerations that would take 45 minutes to repair and that would, many years later, require an A&P surgical fix.
9lbs and a couple of ounces. With no pain medications. Yeah, I'm tough :)
He has a cone head; it was so pointy that the little beanie they put on him didn't even come down to his eyebrows.
I was worried about Urbaner fainting - I hadn't been able to get him to watch any birth videos with me (Future Trauma Surgeon was a C-section because she was a footling breech) without him squealing and shuddering and making gagging noises with his hands over his eyes - but as it turned out, he was jockeying the doctor out of his spot so's he could get a good view of his son's ginormous cranium coming out of my hoo-hah.
Today, Numbah Twoo is taller than me and has a voice as deep as his dad's. He's a good kid; a firm believer in random acts of kindness who paid for an elderly man's order in Starbucks yesterday (he gets his love of coffee from me, I think) who is academically gifted but doesn't wear that fact like a badge. I'm proud of him. Very proud.
I still harbor resentment that he didn't give me the chance to get any Demerol, though. :)
Yesterday was Numbah Twoo 'ling's 14th birthday. It's odd, it seems like just yesterday that he was giving me all kind of hell, not wanting to come out for ages but then deciding that yeah, it was time to make his grand entrance RIGHT NOW.
I'd had contractions for 2 days and had been up most of Friday night with them coming every 6 minutes or so. We were living in the UK at the time, and the USAF hospital was a good 45 minute drive away. We made the trip Saturday morning, only to be told that I was not really effaced any and was only 2cm dilated. They gave me something to allow me to get some sleep, and sent us home.
We napped for a couple of hours, and then got up and farted around Saturday afternoon and evening. I woke up Sunday about 8am with regular contractions that had me hanging onto the headboard of the bed and having to breathe through them. They were still pretty well spaced apart, about 7 or 8 minutes, and I really didn't want to make another hour and half round trip because I wasn't dilated. So, at lunchtime we called the Sunday clinic at the satellite base - a 10 minutes drive away - and asked if we could come in so I could get checked. They said yeah, c'mon over, so we did.
In the exam room, the doctor's face was something I'll always remember. He asked how long I'd been contracting for and what I was at the day before, and after I'd told him he gloved up and had a feel. His face fell, and he asked whether I was still planning on delivering at Lakenheath - because if I was, we needed to leave NOW. "DO NOT GO HOME, DO NOT STRAY OR STOP, GO NOW. You are a stretchy 6cm dilated and 100% effaced. GO NOW, unless you want your baby born here on the floor, or in the back of an ambulance, or in the car. I'll call Lakenheath and tell them what you're at and that you're on your way".
Did we follow his advice? No. Urbaner wanted to go home to change into the cowboy boots he'd graduated in, enlisted in, got married in. HAD to have those boots on. So, we went 10 mins in the OPPOSITE direction so he could change.
AT the time, we owned an original 1980's Mini Cooper. A tiny, tiny car. There's me in the front, contracting away, yelling at Urbaner to hurry up...and there's him, flinging that little car at top speed around the curvy English country roads, some of which were no wider than my current driveway. About 2/3 of the way there, the contractions slowed down, but when they did come they were much more intense. I couldn't handle sitting in the seat, so I unbuckled and hung myself over the back of the seat, moaning - and we went through the gate at Lakenheath like that. Urbaner stopped to show the guard his ID and the guard just waved at him, yelling at him to keep on going.
We got to the hospital and checked in to OB. I was 7cm, so they broke the amniotic sac and told me to walk. When that didn't bring the contractions any closer together, they gave me a whiff of pitocin - and half an hour later, I wanted to push. I called for a nurse to check my cervix, and when she did she said I was at 10 and that we needed to go to the delivery room. I remember thinking that I'd been gypped because I hadn't had the chance for any pain medication, and I also remember being in the middle of a contraction, rolling down the hallway yelling at people to get the fuck out of the way because this kid was coming...
In the delivery room, I pushed twice before his head crowned. It was painful, but what was coming turned out to be more painful than his big ol' melon head.
His shoulder got stuck under my pubic bone. The doc was yanking, I was pushing, and when he finally came out it made a sound like a wet cork coming out of a bottle. As his shoulder unstuck, I tore; grade 2 and 3 lacerations that would take 45 minutes to repair and that would, many years later, require an A&P surgical fix.
9lbs and a couple of ounces. With no pain medications. Yeah, I'm tough :)
He has a cone head; it was so pointy that the little beanie they put on him didn't even come down to his eyebrows.
I was worried about Urbaner fainting - I hadn't been able to get him to watch any birth videos with me (Future Trauma Surgeon was a C-section because she was a footling breech) without him squealing and shuddering and making gagging noises with his hands over his eyes - but as it turned out, he was jockeying the doctor out of his spot so's he could get a good view of his son's ginormous cranium coming out of my hoo-hah.
Today, Numbah Twoo is taller than me and has a voice as deep as his dad's. He's a good kid; a firm believer in random acts of kindness who paid for an elderly man's order in Starbucks yesterday (he gets his love of coffee from me, I think) who is academically gifted but doesn't wear that fact like a badge. I'm proud of him. Very proud.
I still harbor resentment that he didn't give me the chance to get any Demerol, though. :)
Sunday, September 7, 2008
It's over.
My hospice patient died.
It wasn't pleasant.
I'm not going to take on any more patients until after I'm done having surgeries.
I'm going to go cry now.
It wasn't pleasant.
I'm not going to take on any more patients until after I'm done having surgeries.
I'm going to go cry now.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
You called 911 for WHAT?
For no good reason other than I feel like it:
NOT a reason to call 911
Earache for 4 hours (they dropped cockroaches and other bugs from their personage in the back of the rig and the ER. I guess when you're 500lbs, bugs find good places to hide unoticed).
Headache for 2 months. Not worse that night, no nausea or vomiting or AMS. Significant Other followed right behind the ambulance in a CAR all the way to the hospital, and was highly pissed when pt was wheeled out to triage.
Hangnail. I shit you not. Not even a felon, just a plain ol' hangnail.
1st degree burn less than the size of a pimple as a result of not-quite cooled glue from a glue gun.
5 day old infant who hadn't pooped in 4 hours. No fever, no crying, no apparent distress. Again, parent who didn't accompany infant on transport followed in vehicle and was quite upset when they got turfed to triage.
"Want to kill myself" w/headache. Was happy, smiling, laughing and joking all the way in, was happy and smiley in the ER. Had a list of medications as long as my arm (literally). Also had a U/A that was hot for cannaboids and cocaine. Did I mention they were a bible-bearing witnessing evangelical christian who wouldn't go to the CT scanner without their bible in their hand? Nary a tear nor a strife in sight, and 'God is GOOD' was heard numerous times along the trip.
New onset (1 hour prior) toothache. No OTC pain medications tried, no Anbesol or Orajel or heat or ice.
Semen in eye. Hadn't tried to rinse it out with water or any eye drops.
Small streak of blood on toilet paper after wiping. Actually saved paper to show us.
Next time, GREAT reasons TO call 911!
NOT a reason to call 911
Earache for 4 hours (they dropped cockroaches and other bugs from their personage in the back of the rig and the ER. I guess when you're 500lbs, bugs find good places to hide unoticed).
Headache for 2 months. Not worse that night, no nausea or vomiting or AMS. Significant Other followed right behind the ambulance in a CAR all the way to the hospital, and was highly pissed when pt was wheeled out to triage.
Hangnail. I shit you not. Not even a felon, just a plain ol' hangnail.
1st degree burn less than the size of a pimple as a result of not-quite cooled glue from a glue gun.
5 day old infant who hadn't pooped in 4 hours. No fever, no crying, no apparent distress. Again, parent who didn't accompany infant on transport followed in vehicle and was quite upset when they got turfed to triage.
"Want to kill myself" w/headache. Was happy, smiling, laughing and joking all the way in, was happy and smiley in the ER. Had a list of medications as long as my arm (literally). Also had a U/A that was hot for cannaboids and cocaine. Did I mention they were a bible-bearing witnessing evangelical christian who wouldn't go to the CT scanner without their bible in their hand? Nary a tear nor a strife in sight, and 'God is GOOD' was heard numerous times along the trip.
New onset (1 hour prior) toothache. No OTC pain medications tried, no Anbesol or Orajel or heat or ice.
Semen in eye. Hadn't tried to rinse it out with water or any eye drops.
Small streak of blood on toilet paper after wiping. Actually saved paper to show us.
Next time, GREAT reasons TO call 911!
Sockens, needles and asshattery.
I'm almost done with the first of my latest sock project (sorry for the not-so-great photo quality).
I'm using a pattern called 'Stems' from Charlene Schurch's 'More Sensational Knitted Socks'. The yarn is KnitPicks 'Palette' in a color called 'Tidepool heather'. It looks green, but it has really cool flecks of yellow and blue in it, which I love. I started on the toe this morning - the pattern calls for the continuation of the pattern all the way down to the end but I'm hard on the toes of socks and, given that this was a lacier pattern than I usually make, I decided that I'd end up with my toes poking through the sock if I did that. So, I went with a plain toe and I'm just about done with it.
Having fallen foul of Second Sock Syndrome a few times, I've been looking for a way to knit two socks at the same time. Knitty has a pattern for 2 socks on 2 circulars, and there is a web page out there on teh interwebs that has instructions, but to be honest both of them are difficult to read at best and downright confusing at worst. So, I bought a book by Melissa Morgan-Oakes called '2-at-a-time socks':
and I'm excitedly anticipating the arrival of my new 40" circular needles from KnitPicks so I can get started. Basically, it's the Magic Loop method, times two. The book has very clear photos and easy to understand written instructions (hey, I'm a medic, not a psychic. Pictures help) and the patterns are beautiful. I think that I may never suffer from SSS again! I hope so, anyway.
In other news, I got my pre-surgery blood work done this morning. I had to get stuck three times before the tech hit a vein, which was unusual. The first tech did something that I detest: she slid the needle in with the bevel up, which is fine....but then when she didn't hit the vein, she not only advanced it, she lifted it up at a more acute angle and wiggled it from side to side. It wasn't painful, exactly, but I cannot say that it was a pleasant sensation either. I've never had anyone do that before, they usually advance, retract and if they don't get any crimson, they pull out and try the other side.
My arms look like I've been hitting the smack/speed syringe hard. Oh well.
ERP over at www.erstories.net has stirred up a veritable shit-storm with his article 'A Nice Way Of Saying' http://erstories.net/?p=541 . There are chronic pain, morbidly obese and Cushingoid patients coming out of the woodwork over there, all gunning for ERP's ass. I chimed in a few times, but to be honest the level of asshattery is just too overwhelming for me so I'm staying away for the rest of the day lest I should say something to REALLY offend someone. I will say this, though: 1) people shouldn't believe everything they read on teh interwebs, and 2) reading comprehension is apparently a dead art. People see certain keywords and just don't seem to be able to focus on anything else.
Time for tea. Care to join me?
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