I don’t write for children. I write, and someone says, “That’s for children.”

Maurice Sendak

Hawthorne Bridge photo: jparadisi 2012

American Heart Association, are you messing with me?

I was a wee bambina sitting at the dinner table the first time I heard the acronym CPR. My father, a volunteer firefighter for the small town where we lived, certified that afternoon. I remember him saying, “It’s a terrible thing to need to do, but everyone should know how to do it,” and his words are true. Everyone should know CPR.

I got my first CPR card in high school, recerting off and on until becoming a nurse. Now, I recert (renew) every two years. All hospitals I have worked for in two different states require Registered Nurses to have current BLS certification. There is no grace period. If the card expires, the nurse cannot return to work until he or she has renewed their certification.

I love The Heart, however, few things swizzle an experienced nurse’s placid pool of confidence more than CPR recertification, aka, BLS (Basic Life Support). I know this, because I renewed my card last week. Everyone in the class expressed anxiety. Anxiety occurs because, every two years, we have to relearn breath to compression ratios, and how many compressions per minute. For one rescuer or two? Is the victim an adult or a child? The ratios are different for each. And what the hell is that little rhyme you’re supposed to repeat while changing positions with the other rescuer because you’re getting chest pains yourself from the exertion of doing (how many, again?) chest compressions? Don’t forget, you’re trying to save a person’s life while doing this.

Our instructor assured us changes occur only every five years, but it seems different every time. Not only for staff I work with: once, I was running behind two women runners on the Hawthorne Bridge, and overheard them talking about CPR, and how confusing all the numbers are to remember. I sprinted to them, asked if they were nurses. They were. We ran together for a while, commiserating over this albatross of our working lives.

So you can imagine my chagrin, last week when our instructors explained the changing numbers confuses so many health care professionals and lay people, they were not even attempting CPR outside of hospitals, for fear of doing it wrong. This led the AHA to research hands-only CPR. They found:

• Hands-Only CPR (CPR with just chest compressions) has been proven to be as effective as CPR with breaths in treating adult cardiac arrest victims.
• The American Heart Association has recommended Hands-Only CPR for adults since 2008.
As of June 2011

I support the American Heart Association listening to our concerns. I applaud its continual research, which saves lives. Everyone should know CPR.

All the same, does this mean, these past twenty-five years I’ve been a nurse, whether it was one or two breaths between compressions has never really mattered?

American Heart Association, are you just messing with me?

To find a BLS/CPR class near you, click on this link.

Keep your chin up,

No one expected you to save the world,

Otherwise, you would have been born wearing a cape and tights.

Just do the best you can.

Happinessinyourlife.com

It’s gonna be a good day.

XXXL Pajama Pants pencil and pastel by jparadisi 2012

“Next career, no body fluids.”

That’s what I tell myself.

I admire hospital management their ability to wear cute dresses and pumps to work or, if they are male, slacks and sweaters. Oh, and jewelry: modestly dangling earrings and longish necklaces. I knew the most talented and charming surgeon who got away with it too, mostly because she’s so damn good at what she does. I once saw her come from the OR wearing green surgical scrubs, a string of black pearls around her neck, and pumps covered in paper surgery booties. I was so impressed I splurged on a string of black pearls for myself, and wore them to work with green surgical scrubs too. Imitation truly is the best form of flattery.

I digress.

I don’t wear cute dresses, few necklaces, or modestly dangling earrings to work because I do direct patient care.  A pediatric nurse quickly learns dangling jewelry is a handhold for infants and children to grab, snapping them or ripping an earlobe. Adult patients suffering dementia put a nurse and his or her jewelry at risk too, and long necklaces tangle into stethoscopes.

The other day, in the adult ambulatory clinic, I started an IV. Unexpectedly, a gush of blood erupted, running warm down my pant leg as if it were the slope of a volcano. I couldn’t get my leg out of the way because I was trying to keep up a calm facade for my patient (“Everything is just fine, just fine.”) while frantically taping the IV in a successful effort to maintain it. When I saw the blood on my pant leg, it looked like I had stabbed myself.

I remembered the last time my clothes were soiled this badly at work. I was a new PICU nurse and a child threw up ALL OVER my pink scrubs.  A nursing supervisor acquired clean scrubs from the OR dressing room for me, and I finished my shift.

I work in an outpatient setting now. There are no kindly nursing supervisors willing to go to the OR for fresh scrubs. I had to think of something else.

In ambulatory care, patients wear their own clothes. Our linen closet is not stocked with an array of gowns or pajama bottoms; however, I managed to find a pair of XXXL pale blue drawstring pajama bottoms stuffed behind the fitted bed sheets. They were so gi-normous, I had to hike and tie the drawstring waist at my bust line. The pant legs were three times wider than both my legs put together. You can imagine how ridiculous I looked (if you can’t, I drew a picture for you above) even with a white lab coat buttoned over the ensemble to hide it. My coworkers were busy, and unaware of my dilemma. When one noticed, all she could say was, “Uh oh.”

Clearly, I needed another plan. Fortuitously, David had the day off, and was near where I work. I called for help, and he brought a pair of pants for me from home. I changed, and resumed patient care.

Apparently, I need a preparedness plan for my clothing at work. Do any ambulatory care nurses have one?

Next career, no body fluids.

TEN POINTS TO PONDER!

Number 10
Life is sexually transmitted.

Number 9
Good health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

Number 8
Men have two emotions : Hungry and Horny. If you see him without an erection, make him a sandwich .

Number 7
Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day. Teach a person to use the Internet and they won’t bother you for weeks, months, maybe years.

Number 6
Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in the hospitals, dying of nothing.

Number 5
All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

Number 4
Why does a slight tax increase cost you $800.00, and a substantial tax cut saves you $30.00?

Number 3
In the 60′s, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

Number 2
Life is like a jar of Jalapeno peppers–what you do today, might burn your ass tomorrow.

And The Number 1 Thought
- – - as someone recently said to me:
“Don’t worry about old age – it doesn’t last that long.”

from the album The Tents of Cavalia by jparadisi 2011

What is it about circus tents? Do they touch our inner gypsy?

photo: jparadisi

Three nurses at lunch break in the staff lounge, focus intently on their phones. A fourth nurse enters.

She asks, “What would we do without our smartphones?”

Silence.

One nurse looks up, smiles, and says, “Talk to  each other?”

A longer pause, then shrieks of laughter.

All heads return to their phones.

Mom's Hand Knit Socks photo: jparadisi 2012

It was a quiet New Year’s Eve in our home, as I worked the next day. It’s okay, because I’ve heard what you do on the first day of the year sets its character. With several hospitals in town looking at staff lay offs, I’m grateful.

I wore a pair of wool socks inside my nurse clogs, knitted and given to me by my mom. They inspired me to write, “Learn to knit socks” on a Post-It note, and add it to my Mason jar of goals and dreams for 2012. Another hastily written, last-minute Post-It note reads, “Research and purchase a case of Oregon Pinot Noir.” I am an accidental wine enthusiast (another post). I may have to work an overtime shift to accomplish it, unless of course, I am a casualty of the layoffs.

2012 is a year of uncertainty, waiting to learn if the economy will improve, or if the other shoe hasn’t yet fallen. I remain cautiously optimistic; I believe the opportunity for things to improve is about the same as for things to go wrong. Surprised by joy is a possibility.

So, I’m wearing the wool socks my mom lovingly knitted, put one foot in front of the other, and begin the journey that is the year 2012.

The Tents of Cavalia photo: jparadisi 2011