Regarding floating to another unit.

The Luck Of The Draw

I was floated
And it was all good,
As any old, unexpected float
Really should,
Two patients were mine
Of the genre' I know best,
My float didn't have to be
Some kind of crazy test.

It could have been worse
Oh yes!, it surely could,
The Charge-nurse in this place
Was actually good,
Because everybody knows
What is the baddest of the bad,
When 12-hours goes by
And you depart really mad.

Now sometimes the float
Turns into a real whopper,
When the nurse that floats in
Is an undercover copper,
And they warned me about this
But I already knew the score,
I would never reveal secrets
Like that undercover whore.

Because I know, that when I'm floating
I'm like the cousin of a guest,
It's my whole hearted duty
To perform at my very best,
And I know that assignments
Can be sour, sick or worse,
Because the luck of the draw
Can mean you're a winner, or you're cursed.

Fibril_late;
4/29/10

Several days ago, and 3 poems down, I wrote about the cardiac arrest victim, who looked like she had an anoxic brain injury, but really, she was just in alcohol withdrawal.

Here is another look at the treatment:

Beelzebub's Bride

After so many days
Of craziness, that chick,
Finally convinced someone
She was legitimately sick,
And the sickness was alcohol
Or the lack, there of,
She might straighten around
If we provide her with love,
Absolut-ly said her mother
That's just what she needs,
Supply her with vodka
Before somebody bleeds.

A fountain of nastiness
She flung four-letter words,
With every breath that she took
She was spitting out turds,
But now that she's medicated
On Vitamin V,
With a shooter of Paxil
She's as happy as can be.

Sometimes we have to surrender
To the demons inside,
Or face up to the consequences
With Beelzebub's bride.

Fibril_late;
4/9/10

Maybe because it is Springtime and allergies are in full bloom out here in the Golden State, that I was once again inspired to write one of those slimy, adolescent anthems.

Be what it may, I have a special talent for making rhymes of the grossest things.

Yes, I think I will read it at dinner, sometime this week.

Slimers on Wheat

After working with snot
With mucus, and phlegm,
You can easily tell the difference
Between a rock and a gem,
It is similar to the contrast
Comparing slime and a booger,
One is like Nutrasweet
And the other, pure sugar.

At our delicatessen
Called the Slime Sucking Snorter,
Our favorites menu
Tends to be shorter,
Than those jolly good offerings
At Billy-Bobs Booger,
Because we specialize in flavor
Without all the sugar.

We're open twenty-four hours
You can come day or night,
Get a beverage and pretzels
While we cook up a bite,
Of your favorite entree'
Perhaps “Slimers on Wheat”,
With a side dish of loogies
It's way better than meat.


Fibril_late;
4/8/10

Getting old, up in the big years, life can be a slow, downward spiral; particularly, if you were in such a hurry during your adult years.

Getting Too Old

Getting too old
With so many diseases,
Nothing feels good
It only displeases,
Piece by piece body parts
Fail, one by one,
Getting too old
Doesn't seem very fun.

Approaching the grave
Can be a slow painful creep,
If you hurried while living
This hill will be steep.

Fibril_late;
4/4/10

These days, it seems like some people survive a cardiac arrest, much better than one would expect.

Take the case of Betty Boop; age 67, normal bmi, not diabetic, no history of heart disease or hyptertension. Retired, active volunteer, loves to play tennis. Mild COPD, and asthma, retired smoker. She's playing a round of Bridge, and wham, has a V. Fib arrest. Down-time at least 4 minutes with no CPR. Post-code first 12 hours, unresponsive, comatose, on a ventilator. But within 6 more hours, she's following command and nearly ready for extubation. She had another short episode of V.tach, but we shock fast and clean.

But the kicker is, that 2 days into the ordeal, she is so far out in left-field, that she's on the exit ramp outside of the stadium, in full-blown delirium-tremens, courtesy of her daily vodka routine. Totally loopty-loo. She'll probably go home in a week, and claim she met Jesus on the other side.

Loopty-Loo

V. Tach, V. Fib
Get shocked and bust a rib,
No oxygen, a four minute wait
And now she makes a heckuva date.

She woke up lucid
Like a lucky charm,
As if, V. Tach, V. Fib
Could cause no harm,
But now she's seriously
Loopty-loo,
Because she sucks down vodka
Like Mountain Dew.

Fibril_late;
4/2/10