Sunday, June 29, 2008

I'll admit it ahead of time..........this poem is annoyingly stupid. But it was inspired by a physician, so go figure.

This particular doctor in question, had the gall to actually say to the RN, (when she was reporting a potential life-threatening crisis) , and I quote: "Come clean nurse, tell me the truth".

According to "": "come clean" = If someone comes clean about something, they admit to deceit or wrongdoing. So in other words, he was accusing her of lying.

Look Dr. Dude, this is 2008, and your idiotic idioms clearly date you and fate you!

By the way, anyone out there in reader-land, is welcome to add stanzas to this open-source poem!

Come Clean

Come clean, nurse

Tell the truth; no lying

Come clean, doctor

I got a feeling, you'll soon be dying

Come clean, nurse

You're a disgrace, to those of your kind,

Come clean, doctor

At least I have a brain and a mind,

Come clean, nurse

Do what I say and don't call me back,

Come clean, doctor

It sounds like you've been doing some smack,

Come clean, nurse

You better watch where you're going next time,

Come clean, doctor

You're overpaid, if they're paying you a dime,

Come clean, nurse

You're behaving like a clerk,

Come clean, doctor

You're acting like a jerk,

Come clean, nurse

Don't give me none of your jive,

Come clean, doctor

If you want to get out of here alive,

Come clean, nurse

It's clearly you are trippin'

Come clean, doctor

Don't get near me, you'll be flippin',

Come clean, nurse

You've got to give me some respect,

Come clean, doctor

I'm the one that's correct,

Come clean, nurse

You're nothing but a liar,

Come clean, doctor

I saw your face on a Post Office flier,

Come clean, nurse

You must have been educated in a zoo,

Come clean, doctor

I recognize you, so were you,

Come clean, nurse

When I talk, you're bein' paid to listen,

Come clean, doctor

You don't have a clue to what you're missin'

Come clean, nurse

You don't know your proper place,

Come over here, doctor

So I can spray you with a can of mace,

Come clean, Nurse

Don't you know, you're way out of line,

Come clean, Doctor

You know you've got a noodle for a spine,



Another morality tale; the details culled from several clients I've met.

The Final Straw

A chronicle of misfortune
Is the story of this sickness,
How it attacked with a passion
And a surprising quickness;

A 38 year old woman
And a mother to be,
Improperly educated
How cocaine, would set her free;

A history of smoking
A little alcohol,
At the time, when she did these things
They seemed so very small;

So with little consideration
She decided to bear a child,
Her evil ways were behind her
She no longer was wild;

But her body was damaged
In places deep beneath the skin,
Quite assuredly, she had repented
But she'd still suffer from the sin;

Gestational diabetes
Preeclampsia and hypertension,
Many other complications
And some I can not mention;

Until at last the final straw
Lay upon this camel's back,
She had a heart attack and stroke
All at once, in one great whack;

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

After 7 long weeks on life-support
She delivered a strapping young son,
But Momma was finished
Brain dead and wasted
Her body used up and all done,
She gave up the ghost
She passed on the scepter
And left what she had for the kid,
And written on her headstone
Engraved in New Roman
"Twas but, one good thing I did".

Life is good, when you're working with a group of individuals, who know what is best to do at any given moment.......................without a complaint, ...............and, the cards are played as they are laid.

At the Bash

The night officially started

With a crash, a bang and a boom,

It didn't let up for the next 12 hours -

We fought back, and conquered doom.

A culturally diverse set of warriors

Amidst the foul and smoky air,

Looked adversity in the eye

As an everyday event,

And practiced their expert care.

At the end of this grueling sojourn

We were bruised, but intact, though sore,

Made sure that we swiped

For every flippin' extra minute,

As we boogied out the back-exit door.

Looking back, I harbor good feelings

For the crew that performed at that bash,

Next time there's a proposal for a relay

They're my team for the 440 yard dash.



Saturday, June 28, 2008

Sometimes when you move into a new community, an organization known as the "Welcome Wagon" stops by and tries to help you feel at home in a strange new place. Once you're settled in for a little bit, other elements creep out of the woodwork to offer their own brand of howdy-do; I call this the "Second-Hand Welcoming Committee".

I think it's just a part of the balance of the universe, and I've developed my own defense mechanisms, which I can sum up this way: "Never insult an alligator until after you have crossed the river".

Second Hand Welcome

The second-hand welcoming committee
Caught up with me last night,
They cornered me in the break-room
And gave me a little bite,
And I really have to say
How surprised I was, indeed,
Especially, because less than an hour before
I assisted in their time of need.

Perhaps amidst the crises and mayhem
That is ongoing in the ICU,
It causes one's memory to focus
On the evil that men will do,
Thus stomping out any semblance of gratitude
To another member of your troop,
Despite the fact, that I was there for you
In the midst of your moment of poop.

Well, you've growled and snarled and bitten
What else is in your repertoire'?
Need I look forward to more friendly gestures?
Perhaps next time you'll attack me with your car -
And as much as it sounds so exciting
I think I'll just avoid you instead,
After having a taste of your welcoming
No longer will I be misled.

I avoid confrontations at any cost because it makes my heart too jumpy. Instead, I just lash out in print. It's not cowardly; it's just a matter of self-preservation.

Taken Aside

After thirty years of service
I was finally "taken aside",
By a fellow RN workmate
I think she's Count Dracula's bride,
Apparently, I'd undermined her authority
By asking her to clarify some issue,
But maybe she's been smokin' some wacky tobacky
Or she's on her monthly tissue.

But, the upshot, the way that I see it
She blew the only chance that she'll get,
From this day forward, I'm telling you
I wouldn't trust her to wipe my sweat.


Thursday, June 26, 2008

Overworked and underfed; it's a dangerous place to be......................

Time To Feed

I say, it's really awful
Oh Gawd, it's such a pain,
When I get so friggin' tired
Words get stuck inside my brain,
They exit my mouth all jumbled up
I talk like Mr. Yoda,
Why just now, I was telling Kate -
About my patient's hematoda;

You see, I was concerned about the size
Of the lady's groin and thigh,
I knew there were legitimate reasons
But still I wondered why,
So I had my charge nurse take a look
A gander, so to speak,
And to have a female present
When I gave that groin a peek;

Well, imagine my surprise
When I tried to tell my tale,
My mind was working overtime
While my jaws were set to fail,
To speak the words I needed
Regarding, this potential crisis,
And when my words came mumbling out
It was garbled, slices, dices;

Instantly, we both recognized
The intervention, I would need,
Just grant me a little 2 hour break
It was time for me to feed!


Thursday, June 19, 2008

I think you'll agree:

We Promise Our Silence

You wanted to be there

During Code-Blue,

Why didn't you come in

During the enema too?

You wanted to be at bedside

When the doctor came around,

But when your Momma went bonkers

You were nowhere to be found.

You threatened to call your attorney

Because your Momma just died,

But we think you poisoned her

With a little cyanide;

So, take our advice

Leave quickly, without violence,

Then we won't call the police

And we promise our silence.



Tuesday, June 17, 2008

A.M.A - Against Medical Advice. It happens in the best of families.


A ray of sunshine

He was not,

An ornery drunkard

His lungs were shot,

A ray of foolishness

A pain in the arse,

Time spent in rehab

A total farce.

This patron of Harley

The barkeep's best friend,

Would have the last laugh

In the very end,

When he snuck out the back door

Against medical advice,

A cigarette was waiting

With Johnny Walker on ice.


Ray Revisited

There's no glimmer of intelligence

No dazzle of the mind,

No sparkle of imagination

Nor a flicker of the divine.

He's a flagrant, fugitive idler

A vagabond prince of denial,

After a 12 hour stint with this bloke

You feel like, you've been on trial.

No, he's not a ray of sunshine

Not a ray of hope,

And there's not a ray of hopefulness

For a handy length of rope.



Sunday, June 15, 2008

This is one of those silly things I like to do occasionally; write a poem, where there is a "hidden" message, that is found by reading down, line-by-line, via the Capitol letters (they spell out a message). It's tough to do the rhyme, especially in 10 minutes time.

It's all about skin:

Feels Like Razors

Extremely painful

Xerxes claims,

Certainly, exposed skin

Onerously, inflames,

Right into the dermis

Incredibly horrid,

Always feels like razors

Totally florid,

Endure this for weeks or months?

Damn, too much! Even oneth!

Save the tissue, or

Kiss it goodbye,

I've seen it disappear, with

Nary, a wink of the eye.

One chance more, and I


Correct the problem

Handle the chore.



Saturday, June 14, 2008

Thanks for the compliment, Nurse of the Hemodialysis. I was inspired to run with a title, though I didn't catch what you were talking about at the time: Hope you like it!

Samurai Nurse

Samurai Nurse

He has a katana at his side,

Samurai Nurse

They sought permission

Before they died.

Now, don't interpret this wrongly

They didn't die at the tip of his blade,

He was their advocate, protector and friend

He was the tree creating their shade.

Samurai Nurse

She moves quietly, efficiently, and sure,

Samurai Nurse

Found the way

That was ok, for the final cure.

Review if you wish

Be cautious, in your determination,

The Samurai Nurse cares not

Compassion, is her destination.

Sumurai Nurses originate

From all walks of life and more,

Experienced in destiny and death

In counsel, they can tell you the score,

The past and the present and the future

Are laid out, like the lines of your hand,

Samurai Nurses are there for you

They've seen it all;

All there is to understand.



Thursday, June 12, 2008

Regarding, the duty we have, to speak up:

Stepping On Toes

Not a thing to write

Or maybe, I'm just too tired,

Sometimes, I have a little worry

That possibly, I'll be fired,

For stepping on the big toe

Of someone bigger than me,

Someone with, way more power

Who will prematurely set me free.

I'll step on anyone's toes

With the freedom-sword of thought,

Somewhere, along the line

That is what I was taught;

To speak my mind, when necessary

At the called upon, best moment in time,

In retrospect, I'm looking for

The opportunity, to make it rhyme.

I know that's kind of shallow

After all, I get a kick out of that line of action,

And it certainly, has its drawbacks

When I suffer from impaction,

Of the thought processes, or ideas

That might lead me towards cause and dispute,

If my spoken words are too late

There is little that I can refute.

That “reputation” word

I use, is quite common,

I sought counsel

From my local Shaman,

He told me to speak up

At least, that's the way it looked within my vision,

But maybe the mushrooms were talking

Influencing my decisions,

Kate, said it was alright

And I take her counsel, to my heart,

If you don't like what I'm writing

Take it up with her

After I depart.

Stepping on toes -

Well, that's just how life is,

You can't have a good soda

Without the fizz.



Monday, June 09, 2008

After returning to Nursing after a long hiatus, I must admit that I continue to have small worries, that I won't remember some critical piece of information, when the chips are down. Sure enough, the opportunity arose last week, where I was faced with a situation I hadn't participated in, for at least 7 years.

Little Details

It's really kind of humorous

When I, think it through,

I haven't seen a pacemaker

In five years plus two,

With me standing by

In the room, to assist,

Wondering which little details

I might have missed.

The doctor was patient

And I didn't freak,

But still I am glad

I won't be back for a week,

Because if something goes wrong

After the good doctor leaves,

My reputation is toast

And nobody grieves.



Thursday, June 05, 2008

This is something about taking good care of yourself, so that old age can be enjoyed.

It's in the Bag

I've got it, figured out within my body
I have it scoped, complete within my head,
All the things I have to do to plan my future
To avoid becoming prematurely dead,
I guess it seems alright I'm over fifty
Half-way to the end and still I'm kickin',
But the problem that arises as you age
In a moment, oh my goodness, you might sicken.

But with the learning of the moment, we are smarter
Than the moment, just before, where we were not,
I have to tell you, it sounds stupid, just to say it
But sometimes, we are stupider than snot,
Don't ask me to explain it, for a moment
We're professionals, so we claim, it's on our tag,
With our education, license and our attitude
It's wrapped, I tell you man, it's in the bag.


Wednesday, June 04, 2008

On off days, I cover the gang beat.

Surely You'll Bleed

Though you might call this New-Age

You won't call it Disco,

It sure isn't the Funky Chicken

Or what they do in 'Frisco,

It's like the Dance of the Wolves

At Woodward and Third,

Where the neighborhood gangs

Are flipping the bird.

It's a choreographed performance

On the boulevard at night,

With souped-up Chevy's

And Camaro's, so tight,

GTO's and Caddies

A Lincoln or two,

Pontiac Bonneville's

And Firebird's on view

It's danger and hubris

All rolled into one,

City leaders call it violence

But we call it fun,

Where the gangs flex their muscle

And their chicks, flex whatever,

It's the infinity of youth

That goes on forever.

Forever, is short

If you're living the life,

Forget about girlfriends

Because the gang is your wife,

And like a cold-hearted mistress

Unforgiving, is her creed,

If you betray her one time

Why, surely you'll bleed.


Monday, June 02, 2008

Regarding how the con-man, so accustomed to cheating others, finds himself tricked by poor health, and can not fool the grim reaper.

Master of Tragedy

He's a master of tragedy

And ill-gotten gain,

He's always scheming and conning

With his devious brain,

But like all other humans

He can not escape,

The beady eyes of the Reaper

With his scythe and his cape.

So often, these felons

Take advantage of the weak,

Those seeking hope

In lives that are bleak,

Who lack in the typical

Resources of the rich,

And along comes the con-man

To toss them in the ditch.

The ultimate shakedown

Is just around the bend,

When the conman unexpectedly

Is faced with his end,

In the form of disease

Or as a victim of trauma,

All his conning and scheming

Are exposed, as rank drama.

When all his props and controls

Are left outside the door,

His snake-oil potions

Spill out on the floor,

All his misinformation

Built on shadows and lies,

Will land on deaf ears;

No one listens to his cries.

The end of the conman

The deceiver, the shark,

His body betrays him

He's the last, stupid mark*.

(* Fall guy; sucker; target; fool)



Working provides endless topics of inspiration: For example, here was a fella who talked non-stop. When he drifted into somnolence, he continued talking. And when he was conscious, his speech was peppered with four-letter profanity, aimed at his caregivers. I thought, "if only I could freeze his mouth for a couple of days"...................................

Reflexive Refrigerant Response

Conversing 24 hours a day

Does that classify as dementia?

Speaking in tongues at the top of his lungs

His sleep is in absentia,

24 hours is too damn long

To be foul mouthed and belligerent,

If he won't be quiet or zip his lip

I may have to fall back to refrigerant,

Freeze him up in mid-sentence

Words trapped in his frozen mouth,

When the doctor comes in to assess the man

I'll say, “Sorry, but he went south”.

That's well known slang from the Civil War

Attributed to General Sherman,

This case bears some vague similarities

With an outcome, we must wait to determine,

The reflexive refrigerant response

At times, cools the brain and the mind

With passive rewarming in a week or two

There's no telling what progress we'll find,

But thankfully, during that period

Peace and quiet will permeate our place,

And the doctor agreed to cover us

It was that, or get sprayed with mace.

Like I said before, every week is like working in the Twilight Zone; the crazies have gone crazy. Seems like, all I'm doing each night, is just bobbing and weaving:

Bobbing and Weaving

He entered the hospital
Back on January 3rd,
Here it is five months later
And he's flipping us the bird,
Whether it's aimed at us nurses
His family or his Deacon,
Quite clearly he must feel like
He's a victim of some freakin',
Bad karma, bad juju
Rained down upon his head,
He's determined to go down swinging
So, now he's climbing out of the bed,
And for some portentous reason
I've been assigned to save his bacon,
All the while, the winds are howling
And the walls of our unit are shaking.

It's another flipping fubar
Down here at the comedy club,
This worn out, whacked out senior
Just took a header in the tub,
There's a torrent of blood from his mouth
From the loss of his very last tooth,
He seems to be pondering my future
While I'm recalling events from my youth,
Where I looked down the long tunnel of life
Wondering what I would make of my days,
Never imagining this scenario
The outcome of some poorly planned plays,
But I will survive this calamity
Afterall, it's just a 12-hour shift,
As long as I keep bobbing and weaving
And staying downstream, from his drift.

But back to the distraction of the moment
I'm dodging the fists of this client,
Your average 83 year old patient
Isn't usually so friggin' defiant,
But he's a seasoned old-world warrior
Who fought running battles with the Czars,
He's looked down the barrel of an ICBM
And come home without any scars,
So it's not likely he holds any fear
For us wimps in the medical profession,
And while he's cussing me out in Swahili
I'm praying for divine intercession.

Like a buffalo in a beer parlor
Or a rhinocerous over for tea,
This aged, senior combatant
Wants to make mincemeat of me,
And I'm no longer allowed to give sedatives
Because supposedly, he's on the mend,
While bookies in New York and Vegas
Are betting I've come to my end.