Flu Shot? Yes, Check That Box

This week I got a flu shot, free of charge from the hospital. I bared my deltoid muscle, allowing a nursing student to practice her immunization and injection skills. She did a pretty good job. It barely hurt. Those are penguins on the adhesive strip she covered the tiny bead of blood from the needle prick with, in the photo to the right.

Flu shot? Yes. Check that box

Flu shot? Yes. Check that box

I hardly thought twice about getting a flu shot this year, which hasn’t always been the case. In fact, in the past I opposed mandatory flu shots for nurses; arguing against someone else making rules about my body. While I was never threatened with job termination for refusing flu shots, some hospitals did make nurses refusing them uncomfortable with policies mandating they wear respiratory masks in patient care areas during flu season, or producing notes from their primary care provider explaining the nurse’s choice to avoid it; stuff like that.

What changed my mind about flu shots? I don’t know it has actually changed. What’s changed is my attitude: I don’t feel it’s worth the fuss anymore. It’s not a battle I choose to fight. I don’t know if this is a sign of maturity, or aging, but it’s lost its importance in the greater scheme of my life.

This year, and the last, I got a flu shot, and then I went back to work.

What about you? Are flu shots still a hot topic for nurses like they were in 2009, during the height of the H1N1 virus epidemic?

Modern Nurses: Audio/Video Girl

Digital Microscope ink on paper 2016 by Julianna Paradisi

Digital Microscope ink on paper 2016 by Julianna Paradisi

Preparing materials for tumor conferences is part of my role as an oncology nurse navigator. It involves, among other responsibilities, reviewing the cases, printing copies of the agenda for the attendees, managing the sign-in rosters, and providing updated lists of available clinical trials. It also requires powering on the projector, the screen, and setting up the digital microscope necessary for the pathologist and radiologist to project slides of the tumor cells, and the MRI or Cat can images on the large screen for discussion.

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, I’ve become Audio/Video Girl. Other nurses of my generation will appreciate the humor in this.

Does any one remember watching film strips and movies in grade school classrooms? Did your hand shoot up when the teacher asked for volunteers to set up and run the projector? Mine did, but it was always a boy who was chosen. Eventually, I stopped raising my hand.

Years later when I became a pediatric intensive care nurse, I discovered an aptitude for tubes and wires, or rather I learned to get one fast. The ability to troubleshoot a ventilator until a respiratory therapist could fix it became handy too. I realized the level of skill I’d developed when as a single mom I set up my stereo system (you who grew up with bluetooth streaming have no idea how easy you have it), and a desk top computer with printer/fax using a dial-up modem. In case you are to young to know, we could not use our computers and phones at the time in those days.

I digress.

Learning to set up the electronic equipment for tumor conference was a lot like how I learned almost everything as a nurse: someone showed me how to do it once, and then I was on my own. However, as mentioned, I have developed an aptitude for technology: during the demonstration I snapped pictures of the wire connections with my phone, creating a visual reference guide to use later.

I was anxious the first time I set up by myself. While lifting the digital microscope which I imagine costs a hefty portion of my annual salary from its cart to the conference table, I distracted myself from my fear of dropping it by imagining twenty doctors staring at me because it didn’t work. Tumor conference would be a disaster if I failed..

The microscope and projector worked. Relieved, I glanced at the doctors, men and women, seated around the table. Some of the male faces resembled grown up versions of the boys in grade school my teachers chose to run the projectors. Some of them probably drive cars electronically more complex than the audio video equipment I had just set up.

To be clear, I am treated respectfully as part of the multidisciplinary team at tumor conference. I’m proud to be part of this valuable service offered to our patients. I am happy with my life choices. However, I wonder what might be different if girls were chosen equally with boys to run the projectors when I was young?

 

 

 

 

The Damaging Effect of Preciosity

Preciosity is over-refinement in art, music, or language, especially in the choice of words.

Nurse as Sisyphus by jparadisi 2012

Nurse as Sisyphus by jparadisi

I am struggling with preciosity while writing this post. A clever idea isn’t coming, and I feel distress, because I need to wrap it up. If I cannot write something profound, then at least I should be entertaining.

Preciosity is an art term with a negative connotation. An artist should never hold something she makes so precious that she cannot bring herself to change or even destroy it, because the bit of paint or brush stroke that’s considered precious enslaves the painting.

Writers are familiar with preciosity too. Sometimes the best-loved words are the very ones that need editing to clarify the thought. Any precious bit a writer or artist insists on retaining becomes an obstacle to the larger creative process, very often ruining the result.

Being a nurse also requires a resistance to preciosity. The best care plans are never perfect. A beautifully constructed work schedule becomes overwhelming, because of a staff sick call or unexpected admissions. We administer a medication, and the infusion is delayed or halted, because the patient has an allergic reaction to it. We are disheartened by the recurrence of disease in a favorite patient. On very bad days, we make an error.

There is no preciosity allowed in either art or nursing. Everything is up for grabs and can change in a heartbeat. Nurses striving the hardest for preciosity are the most doomed to disappointment in colleagues, patient outcomes, and themselves.

A good day of patient care cannot be summoned on command from a nurse any more than a masterpiece can be summoned from an artist or the next great American novel (or a blog post) can be summoned from a writer. Some days, both in nursing and in art, the best you can do is show up and try your best.

At the end of a shift, you may have made someone feel better, but perhaps all you did was prevent that person from getting worse. Likewise, after painting all day, you may end up taking a palette knife to the canvas and scraping all that newly applied paint to the floor, so that you can start again tomorrow.

Seated in my favorite chair while writing this post on a laptop, I struggle to keep myself from deleting it. Some days, both as  nurse and a blogger, this is the best I can do.