Friday, April 29, 2011

During the time that I was off for bone repair, I used up all of my banked sick-time, and most of my PTO. After 2 weeks of work, I finally caught up with the local flu-like viral syndrome and missed a day on the job (fortunately I reduced my hours to 24 hours per week)...but that's a day without pay, however I slice it.

Skid Row

I called in, sick
Just the other day,
When a few hours before
I felt OK,
But Saturday morning
When perchance, I coughed,
My oropharynx
Was no longer soft;

No, it felt as if
Those tissues were ripped,
Where sharpened blades
Had gouged and clipped,
My tonsils
In a rage of fury,
And when I almost cried
My eyes got blurry.

There's a packet of pus
At the back of the bus,
Ripping razors, whenever I cough,
My vocals were distorted
When my voice-box aborted
Communications quite clearly, are off.

I'm no good for work
And sick-time is a perk
But in my case, that perk can't be trusted,
I used those hours in December
I quite clearly remember,
When my ankle was damaged and busted.

I'm not working, it's a freebie
I'll have to suck on a BB
Counting my negative cash flow,
I will heal pretty soon
After I main-line the moon,
While resting down here, on skid row.

Is it just Nursing or has the whole world gone crazy for words that end with "ment"?
Nursing loves to describe how we all implement, supplement and so on. We don't see impediment too much, and no one likes to talk about excrement, but I managed to get the whole bunch into a short little essay/poem/comment.

Ment Well

We implement
Their supplement
To their detriment,
Blame it on their impediment
When it results in excrement
(aka: a movement);

I think we're in agreement
That's no compliment,
It's a measurement
Of mismanagement
Of an ailment;

Despite commitment-
Just another appointment
Of torment:

But we ment well.


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Well, it happened. The bigwigs rule the day. Our 20 bed ICU has now been chosen to accept (allot) ten of our beds for acute Neuro patients. Look, this is a passion one is born into, not picked willy-nilly. I have spent 30 years doing my best to avoid acute Neuro. Now, it wants to jump on my back. Here are my thoughts about it:


We’re the C-M-N-P-P-S:……. ICU
We can fix you up
No matter what you do.

You can blow a vessel
In your brain,
Or have the heart-attack
With crushing pain,
A saddle-block
Pulmonary embolus,
Or a pelvic abscess
Filled with pus.

We have surgical clients
With a perforated colon,
And gall-bladder's swollen,
Drains out the yin-yang
And wound vacs that suck,
In for a dollar
And out for a buck

We admit psychotropic
Seizure manics,
When they come in
Everybody panics,
Like alcoholic
Bipolar Bobby,
Collecting personalities
Like a knick-knack hobby.

Let's remember Septic Suzy
Of nursing-home fame,
Seven organ-systems failing
And she's losing the game,
Her family wants everything
Because life has no price,
Suzies age is one hundred
And she's rolling loaded dice.

Now rumor has it
We have allotted ten beds,
For all of those people
With screwed up heads,
And when the dust settles
It’s anyone’s guess,
To see who’s left standing
At the bottom of this mess.

But we don’t care
If you have all those issues,
We have stem-cell soup
To repair your tissues,
And we’re paid by the organ
On an exponential scale,
Whatever the problem is
This plan can’t fail.


(*Cardiac-Medical-Neuro-Pulmonary-Psychiatric-Surgical ICU)

Monday, April 11, 2011

I was out of work for 4 months after stepping into-the-hole-that-should-have-been-covered. Yes, it's like some curse out of Harry Potter, I swear. But the upshot was, during the time away from the work arena, I had little to inspire my medical muse.

This week I returned to the fold and spent two days, getting reacquainted with my old time used-to-be. And kapow!, a virtual watershed of stuff to write about!

This one regarding, the frequent flyer.

Rankle My Ankle

Four months of renovation
Before I got back in the game,
But the patient population
Was nearly, still the same............

No, I never should have wagered
On the the size of that Anaconda,
And I was never, more surprised
To see my old friend, Wanda.

A term is used
The apt applier,
The client known as
The frequent flier,
But in Wanda's case
That term is too loose,
Try, analogically imagined
The big plane, the Spruce-Goose.

If you don't know her history
I'll gladly, share mine,
A visit from Wanda
Makes me whither and whine,
She stays for a month
Her claim, on the corner,
A victim of pie
Place the blame, on Jack Horner.

Enticed as a youngster
Nursery-rhymes about eating,
Later, as a teenager
Culinary competing,
It got out of hand
And quickly into her mouth,
Her size expanded westward
While her health, was going south.

Now her quarterly visitations
For roughly, a month at a time,
Have apparently coincided
With my recovery time,
And though I'm back on my feet
Anecdotally, for a busted ankle,
Facing this kind of patient assignment
Quite honestly, it doth rankle.


Thursday, April 07, 2011

I know that some of you, and maybe all of you, have been force-fed with another silly nursing idea called "The Huddle". At my domicile, we're always a little late getting on the bandwagon, but rest assured, we eventually do get on board with the rest of America's Nursing Management, to right the wrongs, so to speak. Thus, I am now qualified to editorialize on the (who needs it?) Huddle.

The Cuddle Huddle

Critical care medicine
Can be complex and muddled,
Many disciplines and specialties
Are often befuddled,
But Nursing, as usual
Came up with an answer,
After consulting outside experts
From Studer and Prancer.

They claimed they had knowledge
From studies and such,
That nurses perform better
If they cuddle and touch,
So the latest directive
From the lofty environs,
Will have us cuddling each day
To the songs of the sirens.

To make it seem official
Like it's a recognized practice,
We'll hold hands and chant “Om”
Under the mistletoe cactus,
And if your day started poorly
Because you stepped in a puddle,
Don't worry, we'll fix it
In our feel-good, daily huddle.