Tag Archives: nurse blogs

Hospitals Are Not Restaurants

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A Blank List photo: jparadisi 2012

My horoscope says today is a good day for diversion, but I disagree. This is one of those mornings I wake up with a to do list forming in my head, which means I am already behind. One of the things on the list is writing this post. Be charitable as you read it; I haven’t finished my coffee yet.

This feeling of being behind before the day begins is familiar in our home. David, a hospital pharmacist, and I work the same weekends, and this weekend we both worked the Saturday, Sunday, Monday stretch. For some reason, all hospitals I’m familiar with staff units lighter on weekends: no unit secretary, linens are not delivered, IT support is unavailable. Pharmacy has less support, meaning nursing waits for medications to arrive; everything slows down.

This mindset is puzzlement. Why would weekends be more or less busy in a hospital than any other day of the week as if they are restaurants?  I’ve worked in food service. For restaurants, happy hours and dinners are consistently busier on Fridays and Saturdays than weekdays. Restaurants catering to the business lunch crowd are understandably busier Monday through Fridays.

People do not schedule how sick they are going to be according to the day of the week.

Granted, most doctors’ offices are closed, and surgeries are usually not scheduled on weekends. I get that. However, this leads to the proviso that people who are admitted for hospitalization are too critical to wait until Monday for surgery or treatment. Trauma and sepsis do not wait until the doctor is in. They keep the weekend health care team pretty damn busy.

I’m not complaining, just pointing out a reality of life in health care, by way of explaining today, our first day off, both David and I are feeling a little frazzled. The evidence of this is on our dining room table. Rather than a place for a leisurely, home cooked meal, over the weekend it has become a catchall for the implements of our trades: his messenger bag, my tote. Both of our notebooks charge quietly, their green LED lights reflected in the luster of the table’s finish. Valentine’s Day cards, still without a permanent home, remain on the table.  Although our home is a disorganized mess, there is love.

We’re out of food though. Add a grocery store run to the to do list.

Staycation

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Reflections on the Willamette River photo: jparadisi

I am on staycation this week. It means I scheduled a week off from the oncology infusion clinic, and spending the time here in Portland, where I live.

I admire nurse colleagues their ability to schedule travel vacations months in advance. They bring brochures of exotic places like Machu Picchu, Sidney, Tuscany, Spain, etc. to work, having booked cool hotels and fabulous dinner reservations. One coworker planned an extensive road trip, driving solo, through national parks. Besides being courageous, she has a sense of humor: she purchased an “inflatable man” to occupy the passenger seat of her car during the trip. Then she gave “Joe” away as a white elephant gift at our staff Christmas party. Better than a gnome.

My staycation reflects a lack of planning on my part. A few days after Christmas, I realized my mind wandered when I listened to small talk, the small talk my patients generate adapting to their role, connecting with me, making the experience pleasant for all of us. My sudden inability to concentrate on more than actual patient care signaled to me I let too much time lapse between vacations. There wasn’t enough time to coordinate David’s work schedule with mine, nevertheless, I needed a midwinter break sooner than later. Our scheduler received my request for vacation time that week.

So, how am I spending the time off? I booked a fallback Pedi Mani, then met a girlfriend for Happy Hour at a new tapas bar the first day. Over the weekend, David booked a two-night stay for us at a hotel on the Willamette River. The off-season rates were great. We saw the French film Le Havre, leisurely dined at restaurants we’ve only talked about, and slept in. I’ve booked a spa day for myself, complete with green tea service, and lunch later this week.

After that, who cares?

Hand Knit Socks for the Journey of 2012

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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.

A Blue Mason Jar Full of Post-It Notes Goals for The New Year

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Blue Mason Jar of Dreams photo: jparadisi 2011

Every year I write my New Year’s resolutions on Post-It notes, filling a blue, vintage Mason jar with them after reviewing the ones from the year before. I write the date on each Post-It note.  If a previous year’s resolution wasn’t met, and still holds merit, it remains in the Mason jar with the new ones.

Previous years’ resolutions in the jar:

  • “My health: that I may remain cancer-free” (1999)
  • “The continued good health of our families” (1999) I updated this one to “our families” in 2004, the year David and I married.
  • “David’s and my continued good health and happy marriage” (2008)
  • “To show a financial profit as an artist.” (2008)
  • “Gallery representation”(2008)
  • “Publish more stories in 2011″ (2010)
  • “A book deal for my manuscript” (2010)
  • “The blog will have more than 1,000 visitors/month (2010)
  • “Lose ten pounds” (2011)

Most striking about the hopes and dreams on this list is that none of them are actually resolvable. They are ongoing. Sure, publishing my manuscript into a book would be great, however, knowing me, the next year I would resolve to write another book, one that won an award or topped the charts, or something like that. Artists are rarely satisfied with any level of achievement. We are always looking up the ladder at the next rung:

  • Gallery representation leads to the desire for critical recognition, increased sales, collectors, fame.
  • Publishing stories leads to writing more stories, longer ones, for larger audiences.

In general, human nature is much the same:

  • Health and happiness leads to the expectation for more of the same.
  • I lost ten pounds last year. For 2012 I expect to keep them off.

Resolution is the wrong choice of word. For me, setting New Year’s Goals is better phraseology. Most of the improvements I wish for in life take time and perseverance to achieve, and more hard work to maintain. To my way of thinking, New Year’s is a time to review the larger goals of my life, and see if they are still worth steering towards. If so, then I ask myself what small adjustments can I make this year to further them? These adjustments are written as goals on the Post-It notes, dated, and placed in the jar.

The most important part of opening the Mason jar each year is reading the hand written Post-It notes, and saying a small prayer of thanks or another expression of gratitude for the advances, which occurred over the past year towards each goal. There is no lasting joy in achievement without gratitude. This year, I am thankful for:

So what’s on Post-It notes this year? What goals am I steering my life towards in 2012?

  •  Remain cancer free
  • The continued good health of our families
  • David’s and my continued good health and happy marriage
  •  A financial profit as an artist
  • Finish the Vessels of Containment painting series and start the new series
  • Gallery representation
  • Write and publish more stories in 2012
  • Increased writing income
  • The blog will continue to grow
  • Keep off those ten pounds

Here’s the cool thing about writing down goals: The Examined Life (Socrates). Today I see  each goal I’ve written down is focused on an unknown future. I haven’t written a single one, which applies to my present reality. So, until my dreams come true:

  • I will continue to develop my skills as a nurse so my patients remain safe in my care.
  • I will strive to be a better team player at work.
  • I will phrase criticism in a constructive manner.
  • I will remember that everyone has a difficult job. That’s why they call it work.
  • I will say Thank You at least once daily. It’s wrong to wait an entire year to give thanks for everything that is good in my life.

I wish to thank my family and friends (new and old) for your support of JParadisi RN blog. May your New Year be filled with Health, Love, Happiness, and Prosperity.

Merry Christmas and Thanks for the Wings

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photo by jparadisi 2011

“Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence.”~

Clarence Oddbody, It’s a Wonderful Life

Merry Christmas to the friends and readers of JParadisi RN blog. Wishing you joy, health, love and prosperity in the New Year.

Tis the Season for Treacle… and Santa Claus

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Christmas Abstract photo: jparadisi 2011

Okay, so I hate emails containing stories oozing treacle like gooey chocolate chips in a cookie hot from the oven. Producing an obvious tear jerker is lazy writing. However, the story below sort of got to me, despite its melodrama. I share it with you. The name of the author is lost somewhere in cyberspace, another reason to dislike these schmaltzy emails. Oh well…

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.

I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her “world-famous” cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus?” she snorted….”Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. “Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough; he didn’t have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

“Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied shyly. “It’s for Bobby.”

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on it.  Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa’s helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were — ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share,

HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care…

And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!

Miracle on Hoyt Street

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Note: This post was originally published on December 22, 2010

If It Fits It Ships photo: jparadisi 2010

Trudging out of an Oregon rainstorm into the Post Office, I found a line of 30 people like me with Christmas packages to mail. In a poorly ventilated building, a crowd of wet people smells like wet dogs, but less so. John Lennon’s voice sounded scratchy singing “And so this is Christmas” from a poor quality speaker. I knew the late afternoon was a bad time to go, but I’ve never been a morning person, a characteristic that served me well for twelve years of night shifts.  I started thinking that a busy hospital is a model for Post Office chaos during the holiday season. Each type of health care provider or patient personalities exists in this parallel universe, the Post Office.

For example, attempting to speed things up, a woman wearing a name badge triaged the swelling line of package bearing humanity, asking who needs insurance forms to fill out. Someone at the back of the line asks her what time the Post Office closes. She says she doesn’t know, because she usually doesn’t work in this area. Apparently postal workers float to unfamiliar departments like nurses do during staffing shortages.

In front of me, a woman with silver hair converses with a younger woman. I suspect the silver-haired woman is a retired nurse, because she hands out an endless supply of clicky-pens to other customers in the line in need of writing implements, then pulls a Sharpie out of the same pocket for her own use. The younger woman has long hair pulled back in a barrette. She is sans makeup and wears what we call in Oregon, “tree-hugger” shoes. She is overweight, but kindly attentive to the silver-haired woman. While she speaks, a similar looking man I take for her husband appears and gives her a peck on the mouth. It makes me happy.

I watch a woman wrapping packages in tissue paper and bar code stickers. In front of her, a man loudly complains on a cell phone, “Those #$*#-ing doctors give you a bunch of pills and then you can’t get a hold of them!” He never stops talking the entire time the clerk processes his packages. When he’s finished, she says “Merry Christmas, Sir”, which I think is more than he deserves.

Finally, it’s my turn. Oh no, it’s that clerk, the one who is Newman to my Jerry Seinfeld. She annoys the hell out of me because she doesn’t ask if the contents of a package are dangerous, instead she asks, “What’s in the package?” Once, David and I got into a disagreement when he told her what was in my package. I insisted she was violating my privacy. I’m not special: In the past, I’ve heard her say rude things to other customers and her coworkers too. I brace myself for the encounter, because I have to get these damn packages in the mail in time for Christmas and I’ve been in line for an hour.

She does not ask what’s in my packages. “Anything hazardous, flammable, toxic or a combination thereof?” is all she asks. I say “No.” “How do you want this posted?” she asks. I say “First class,” but she informs me that anything over 13 ounces cannot be First Class. “Priority?” I say as nicely as possible. She pulls out some tape, and fixes a loose corner on one of my packages. “Sorry,” I say, “I never get it perfect.” “Forget perfect, my dear,” she says to me while I pay for the postage. Then she hands me a candy cane. “It’s always a pleasure to serve someone who comes in with a smile. Merry Christmas.”

Bogus JParadisi RN Writes a Sex Blog: If It Was Really Me, The Posts Would Be More…

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Untitled. Collage by jparadisi 2004

Sometimes when I’m alone, I Google myself.

This week, I sat up fully erect in my chair, surprised to find a Yahoo Shine blog with my name and Gravatar. Harder to swallow is that the bogus JParadisi RN blog  is a sex advice blog. (Cut and paste this link into your browser if you want to see it for yourself. http://shine.yahoo.com/blogs/author/jparadisirn-ycn-1205337/ ) It’s not my blog. I don’t think I have a Yahoo account. A JParadisi RN imposter created one, and I do not have password access.

I felt ashamed. Searching Yahoo for a way to report the hijack left me spent. I wanted that stain of a blog wiped from the web.

Pondering this cyber ménage à trio between Yahoo, a hacker, and myself, I reconsidered. I asked myself, “How many opportunities does a nurse blogger get to write sex posts, which are not clinically motivated?”

Nada.

In an orgasm of insight, I heard the voice of Kenny Bania, that annoying, fictional comic friend of Jerry Seinfeld’s, telling me, “That’s gold, Jerry, gold!”

So I went back to the fake JParadisi RN sex advice blog, and started reading. The posts are mostly submissive, with jparadisirn by lines, and titles such as:

  • 20 Lovemaking Secrets That Are Guaranteed To Spice Up Your Love Life
  • 13 Sex Secrets Men Don’t Know About Women
  • 10 Things Women Shouldn’t Worry About In Bed
  • 5 Moves That Make You Look Bad In Bed (apparently there are at least 5 things you should worry about in bed)

Afterwards, I was left unfulfilled. I think the fake blog makes me sound frumpy. For example, in

20 Lovemaking Secrets That Are Guaranteed To Spice Up Your Love Life,

bogus JParadisi RN offers this gobbet of advice:

You do not have to get dressed up as a nurse or anything. Just act out a fantasy where you pretend to be someone else.

Sexy nurse reference aside (Readers, I hear your collective groan), if I were the author of this post, I would tell you ladies to save your money. Men already want to have sex with you, they really do. Role playing, sexy lingerie, candles, whatever, serve one purpose for men. They are visual cues telling him YOU want sex, and he doesn’t have to do anything except show up. That’s why you get such an excited response from him: ALL HE HAS TO DO IS SHOW UP, because you want him, and that’s a turn on. Test it. Sit down on the sofa next to him and put your foot on his knee, wiggle it, and giggle. See what happens. It’s that simple. Besides, really nice sexy lingerie is expensive. If you’re doing it right, 15 minutes after you put it on it will lay shredded on the floor. Save your money.

Another post,

How to Know If Your Husband is Cheating Again

This post is clearly not written by moi. Fake JParadisi RN replies with information about spy software a wife (or girlfriend) can install that lets her track her husband’s cell phone calls and Internet activity. Me, the REAL JParadisi RN, finds this pathetic. First of all, the title: How to Know If Your Husband is Cheating Again. Again? What do you mean, AGAIN? Okay, I know there are all types of relationships out there, and monogamy is not on everyone’s priority list, but if it’s on yours, then there is NO AGAIN. If you catch him cheating, change the locks and move his sh*#t into the driveway. Pin a flame retardant note to the smoldering pile that reads, “Hope you can find something with the Occupy Movement, cuz you don’t live HERE no more!” Again, save your money, and your dignity.

Speaking of dignity: I don’t have immediate plans to defend mine from the hacker blogger. My relationship with my family, friends, and employer, and their intelligence is such that no one I care about will believe the fake JParadisi RN sex advice blog is mine. That someone would do such a thing says far worse about that person than it will ever say about me.  Beyond hacking my blog handle, the posts are stolen from other bloggers and websites. Somewhere a blogger(s) goes unrecognized for his or her work. Blogging is hard, and often uncompensated work.The pirating of these posts is appalling.

Someone has said, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Maybe so, but it is surely travelled by the feet of those with bad intentions.

*Note: I am not a qualified counselor. The information in this post is not advice, merely my personal opinion.