I'm finally getting acquainted with my COW (computer on wheels) at work. You see, although California is always considered to be on the cutting edge of many things, when it comes to advances in hospital operations, we seem to be dead last. And what gives? Here we are, in the capitol city of one of the worlds most robust economies, and we seem to be the final market in the developed world to get turned on to computer charting!

Anyway, it is providing me with a lot of fodder to munch on, as I morph into a "super-user".


W.O.W. ~ Wookiee-on-Wheels

Refresh, right-click
Read your screen,
Then you'll know
Where you have been.

Set your range
That's date and time,
Then your data flow
Will be sublime.

Change the dose
And not the rate,
If you screw up here
You'll rue your fate,
And never ever
Select Infuse,
Or your I's and O's
Are sure to confuse.

When you make a choice
You must verify,
Don't "refresh" first
Or you will cry,
Because your precious order
Won't be there,
You'll have to start all over;
The computer won't care.

The tubes and drains
And the VADS don't flow,
To the Iview
Where you'd like them to go,
Instead
They only populate,
The Quickview/kardex
Now, ain't that great?
But the Quickview is only
Good for a glance,
You can't change nothin'
Not a chance,
No, your only option
Is to double-chart;
So like a computer-
Not really smart.

All-in-all
This program is whacked,
I can hardly wait
For the day that it's hacked,
And then I can add
My own little bots,
To auto-fill the info
Into the document slots.

Fibril_late; 9/18/08
_________________________________
Cerner Learner

Perhaps you've heard, that I'm a Cerner learner
Gathering all the nuances of the system,
The program is really quite complicated
So, don't even ask me to list'em,
I've been encouraged to explore and discover
In the process I'll sharpen my skills,
I guess the idea, is when the system goes live
I'll be on top of my tasks and my pills.

Now some of us computer users
Can't help it, but we're pushing the envelope,
Exploring all the nooks and the crannies
Going, way out on the rope,
Focusing upon in-depth research
For all of the shortcuts and such,
To find any weakness in the system
And the things we're advised not to touch.

I won't claim that I'm a hacker at all
I'm just curious, and you know that old story,
There was a cat who was poking around
And he followed his nose to his glory,
So, please don't be talking this up
I know Cerner is just a tool to apply,
My goal is to find all the shortcuts
My mission? Well at least, let me try.

Fibril_late;
9/18/08
____________________________________

Click Times Three

Left click, right click
Rah, Rah, Ree,
Point your mouse
And click times three,
Open a window
Drop down a menu,
Choose a band
With a whole new venue.

Right click, left click
Rah, Rah, Ras,
Too many details
In this class,
Logoff or exit
Suspend or close,
Where your data disappears
Nobody knows.

Fibril_late; 9/18/08

Perhaps it's time to take a break from my own writing.

I present to you, Steve H. from Virginia. We worked together at the Big House in Sacramento about 15 years ago, and I'm happy to say, that he shares my unique view of health-care. Additionally, he is a fine writer who gets straight to the point in 7 letters or less.
Enjoy!

Trach

Mr. Johnson please,
If just for my sake,
Don’t cover your mouth
Please cover your trach.

I know you don’t try
To blow snot from that hole,
But, honestly, sir
You can’t control, where it’ll go.

The last time I was in here
You showed me your charm,
By blowing that green stuff
All over my arm.

I’ve suctioned and suctioned
You just produce more,
The evidence is on the wall now
With some on the door.

Yes, this is the stuff
That makes my stomach really ache.
A guy with no conscience-
A cough and a trach.

______________________________

Nurse of the Year

The patient was gasping
And turning real blue,
She was punching the call light;
So, nurse, where were you?

That call light was ringing
For fifteen minutes or so,
When finally the aide came;
So, nurse, where did you go?

She stood up in her bed,
And she tried hard to yell.
You were nowhere around;
So, nurse, who did you tell?

“Well, boss, I’m surprised,
Now, didn’t you hear?
I went to the Awards meeting;
I got Nurse of the Year”.

Steve H.
Sept. '08

Yessireebob:

Over at Sister Central, where we are transforming ourselves to digital deliverers of darn good health-care, we have to familiarize ourselves with about 175 new medico-industry acronyms like "BMDI" (Bedside Medical Device Interface). Just take a moment to think about what the abbreviation "BM" brings to mind, and you'll begin hallucinating like I did.

Don't ever forget; behind every industry that relies on a plethora of acronyms, there is an entire conspiracy at work in the background!

BMDI

Care Connect has provided us
With an incredible new-fangled tool,
Some sort of digital gadget
To handle the recording of stool,
Nurses throughout the whole system
Will be scrambling to give it a try,
After decades of measuring boatloads of crap
Three cheers, for the BM-DI.

The Bowel Movement Digital Interface
Is a highly refined type of tool,
Revolutionizing the one task we hate
Transforming it, to something so cool,
That the average nurse about town
Will be bidding for the patient with diarrhea,
In the long run, the BM-DI
Will be known as the poop panacea.

I admit I am jealous right now
That I didn't pursue this invention,
As a veteran nurse of 25 years
I have witnessed such bowel distension;
It ultimately explodes, at the worst of best moments
Such a quantity, that can not be measured,
The BM-DI, will determine a value
So each ounce of that crap will be treasured.

Fibril_late;
9/12/08

Perhaps you read the news like I did? Scientists have discovered a "fat gene" which apparently can predispose you to gaining weight. However, after a study of Amish persons who carry the fat-gene, it was found that 3-4 hours of physical activity per day/per life, can effectively inhibit the fat acquisition process.

I imagine next year, when gas prices hit $10/gallon, we might see the whole of society walking to work, and since we're such a commuting society, 3-4 hours of walking per day, will get us to work and back, and slimmer in the process.

Fat Gene

The latest scientific research
Has discovered a fat gene,
A genetic predisposition
To develop unlean,
Science further suggests
A vigorous exercise stance,
Three or four hours a day
To stay out of fat pants.

The clothing marketplace today
Caters to all sizes,
Just pick the proper store
So you get no surprises,
If you're built for the mini
Don't shop at the maxi,
You'll be kind of embarrassed
When you step out of the taxi.

Now the names for big clothing stores
Is all over the map,
The politically-correct monitors
Won't be raising a flap,
When the name of your store
Is Super-Queen Plus,
You won't be tarred and feathered
And thrown on a bus.

For those guys who are large and tall
They shop for king-size or big men,
They have lunch at Fatso's Pizza
And dinner at the Pigpen,
However, we're sorry to say
Anorexia closed,
Secondary to thinning crowds;
They got financially hosed.

In fact, it seems the worm has turned
It is the thin, who suffer discrimination,
Forget shopping at the warehouse stores
Where there is petite-size decimation,
If you are only a size 2 and thin as a rail
But you're coming up on 35 yeas old,
It seems silly to shop and downright ridiculous
Where children's clothing is sold,
So what's a person to do in these modern times
Gain weight and conform with the masses?
Super-size on a strict fast-food diet
To compete with the biggest of asses?
It's a quandary amidst culture and society
To understand which size is best,
Leave it to the 21st century scientist
Surely they'll come up with a test.

Fibril_late;
9/10/08

Luken's Trap

If you're a Nurse or an RT, you know about that simple device known as the "Lukens Trap". It is used in tandem with a suction mechanism, to retrieve specimens from the lungs, most commonly.

Over at Sister-central, in the Medical Office building, there is an auditorium called, Lukens Auditorium. Who knows? Maybe it's named after the same. But in my mind, I can only think of that auditorium, as being nicknamed, Lukens Trap. Thus, since I had to spend 8 hours there yesterday, taking in some somnolent-suggestive lecture, I penned the following observation:

Luken’s Trap

Luken’s Trap
Was filled with tired air,
The personnel who gathered
Had a collective vacant stare,
Nearly somnolent they were
Biorhythms in a trough,
When a momentary wakefulness
Was prompted by a cough.

Since I was being paid
I couldn't complain very loud,
Collective agreement
Was solicited from the crowd,
Call it preemptive education
For us EMR-users,
But even by lunch time
We were professional snoozers.

If the class was under 4 hours
With coffee and pastries and more,
Hooter waitresses and Chippendales
And bouncers at the door,
With pulse-pounding techno
Black lights and disco balls,
There'd be hundreds of employees
Cued up in the halls.

If there were reporters from News 10
Fox 40 and KCRA,
With up to the minute coverage
And the ongoing play-by-play,
The show would go on
With nary a nap,
And the facilitator lady
Wouldn't wake me with a slap!

I awoke with a startle
In Lukens saloon,
Surrounded by my colleagues
15 minutes before noon,
Where 57 bobble-heads
Prayed for a disaster,
Otherwise, there was little hope
To finish the class any faster.

Fibril_late;
8/25/08

Over at Sister-central, we are in the midst of adopting the grand-all-boomerang of the EMR; ya, that's the electronic medical record. There is a hierarchy of Trainer, Super-user and End-user participants to cover everybody and their brother, within the great big family. I decided to be a Super-user, because I figured I could get more hands on training that way, and additionally, I'd get to boss around a few other people. Little does upper-management know, that I am a stupid-user in disguise.
Now yesterday, about 200 hundred of us Super-users all got together, and had some education-expert talk at us for 7.5 hours. At the end of that harangue, I realized I had a new title:

Stupor User

They call him the stupor user
He sleeps through every event,
Some think, that he’s a loser
They’re curious of his intent,
The stupor man replies
I learn best when I’m half asleep,
I suggest that everyone try it
You’ll find that your learning is deep.

Fibril_late;
8/25/08

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: this mode of communication know as "Active Listening", is intolerable to me. Don't ever talk to me that way, because I immediately tune it out. It's down-right insulting. So, after putting up with it for about 8 hours yesterday, I had to write about it.

Anachronism

Am I an anachronism
For resisting this lingo?
An obstinate curmudgeon
The proverbial gringo?
Set in my ways
Unable to adapt,
There might be an explanation
That defines how I’m wrapped.

What’s up with the word “facilitator”
What happened to instructor or teacher,
I guess it’s all a part of “communispeak"
For the new and improved human creature,
To me, there is something odd about the presenter
Who can incorporate all this strange lingo,
When talking to me, it's offensive
But I'm just the anachronistic gringo.

These communispeak lecturers
Have such a strange way of talking,
It's like they tried to reinvent
A new way of walking,
That is so frickin' awkward
I feel like falling down,
But if I question their delivery
I'll be kicked out of town.

"I hear what you're saying"
Sounds stupid, to me,
Because you were obviously listening
Are you mocking me for free?
Or you speak in present-tense
Regarding something heard before,
I'm thinking, this chick must be crazy
As I anxiously search for a door.

By rephrasing my sentences and words
It seems like you lack any class,
In theory it improves understanding
But to me, you're a pain in the ass,
You might say to me, "you seem to be angry"
Damn right, I suggest that you leave,
I've been insulted too long by your lingo
Adios, or your family might grieve.

I gladly admit I'm a relic
Of an age, where we spoke man to man,
There was no need to invent fufu language
We could cut to the chase, and the plan,
This "active-listening" lingo is insulting
Unless you're talking to somnolent sheep,
But even those gentle farm animals
Will recognize that you are a creep!

Fibril_late;
8/26/08

The story tells itself.

A Judgement of Dismissal

Lethargic and sickly
Though not really maimed,
Where life-style choices
Can be easily blamed,
Five decades of smoking
And a lack of education,
At the end of this journey
There will be no vacation.

Depression and lassitude
Are like weights on her shoulders,
She’s only sixty-one
But she’s feeling much older.
While a deluge of stress
Has destroyed her appetite,
And with hardly any options
There’s no end to the blight,

The daughter she lives with
Is anxious and toothless,
With toddlers and teenagers
She’s probably ruthless,
Putting up with her mother
Creates a household dispute,
Like a Colt-45
Preparing to shoot.

It looked like a heart attack
But it turned out, it wasn’t,
Does she have a regular doctor?
The answer is; she doesn’t,
She has no insurance
Although she does have a job,
A discount-store cashier
She’s no heiress-snob.

There are only more questions
And not enough answers,
She had previous run-ins
With a couple of cancers,
Type-2 Diabetes
Ten years of hypertension,
Why she kept smoking
Is beyond comprehension.

It’s another sad tale
So, totally depressing,
Though the results of her heart-cath
Might be considered a blessing,
Her coronary arteries
Are as clean as a whistle,
Yet, the rest of her life
Is like a judgement of dismissal

Fibril_late;
8/24/08

Buried in frustration.

Failing

This was an evening
Best not to recall,
My patient yelling for ten hours
Regarding nothing at all,
In the hospital for 3 months
With seven organs failing,
Sleep deprived with ICU psychosis
Had reduced him to wailing,
He had legitimate issues
Like diabetic neuropathy and pain,
But the sum-total of this hospitalization
Had disordered his brain.

At any given moment
He was oriented on all accounts,
An astute observer of society
But he had lost some of his bounce,
Short-tempered, self-centered and lonely
He would yell, five minutes after I departed,
While other patient’s in our tiny domain
Thought a war had started,
Asking to have their doors shuttered
Frightened by the uproar,
Ultimately expressing relief
When they departed our floor.

This was an evening
I am pained to recall,
Marked by my supreme frustration
That I could do little at all.

Fibril_late;
8/21/08

Another look at a weighty subject.

Heavy World

I'm getting really worried

About the weight of the world today,

Over the years more people

Are getting bigger and bigger, they say,

Thanks to TiVo and VCR's

Computers and the video game,

Out the window flew exercise

And good eating habits

Extra-large is the name of the game.

Proof can be seen amidst our monster SUV's

Big Boy recliners and giant BVD's,

Double-wide airline seats for Billy-Bob the gamer

Don't block his refrigerator, unless you're

A lion tamer.

All aspects of life, all venues of business

Have expanded their capacity, and it's causing me dizziness,

Being larger than life, has it's drawbacks I say

Our kids are so large, they can no longer play,

Or safely fit on equipment

In the parks of our nation,

Instead, all those pikers

Are hooked on Playstation.

I don't blame the manufacturers

Of those fantastic devices,

Though I could argue for an hour

About their ridiculous prices,

With company research associates

Targeting Mom's and Dad's dollars,

It's no wonder we're a country

A fall-behind scholars.

I am really very troubled

About the girth upon our earth,

Strangely, it's never present

At the entrance of your birth,

It's an acquired syndrome

For the majority of cultures,

Forsaking the native diet

To become processed food mulchers.

It's a new world culture

And a new language-largess,

Poly-syllable designations

That are sure to impress,

Best known as bariatrics

The science of losing weight,

From 16,000 procedures in 1992

To 180 thousand, in 2008.

It's a heckuva way, for a Doctor career

Maximizing reductions, you might say,

Treating multi-causational body mass excess

With a snip of the scissors

A slice of the knife

And like magic, the problem goes away;

Now you might consider me flippant

Careless, without sympathy or hope,

But when BMI expands beyond 35

Puny nurses like me, can barely cope.

Naturally you might think I am whining

But I expect my employer to care,

They promise us bariatric equipment

Hefty lifts, mondo-beds and chairs,

Until the hellstorm of a foreshortened budget

Breaks the surface from the darkened depths of Hell,

Then they tell us, just do the best that you can

“Have some cupcakes, you're all doing swell”.

Well, I know that's awfully homey

It makes me feel so cuddly inside,

The weight of the world, has been lifted from my shoulders

I'm in heaven, so I finally must have died,

Until I suddenly awaken with a jerk

With my head on the desk, and I've been drooling,

There's a 600 pound patient on a thirty year old gurney

And I realize, my bosses weren't fooling.

Fibril_late;

8/19/08

There is some bad juju going on in the workplace.........watch your back!

Packing

I'm childish at times
But it's all silliness and fun,
They are immature at times
But they're packing a gun.

I make a lot of stupid jokes
To try to lighten the mood,
We're all crotchety veterans
But some are dangerous dudes.

Ready to scratch across your countenance
If you dare to live your truth,
It won't matter if you own the righteousness
They'll be lurking outside of the booth,
Waiting for you when you're walking alone
On the path to the bathroom, or meal,
A baseball bat hidden beneath their robes
Or perhaps knuckles, that are made of steel,
Attuned to hidden danger, like good nurses are
Your spider-nerves save you again,
When battle-ax Betty, leaps out of a closet
You plant a sap* on that old guinea hen.

This is clearly a case of workplace harassment
But Betty has friends in high places,
As a female member of the canine clan
She's well loved in the family of two faces,
You can't really say boo, 'cause your word will get around
And Betty will be packing next time,
'Tis better to prepare for another canine encounter
Have a Taser and some toxic green slime.

All kidding aside, the joke is on thee
The health-care arena, is not safe nor free,
Be strong thy convictions, for ethics and truth,
And beware of those persons of nursing uncouth.

Fibril_late;
8/19/08

*Sap: a piece of metal covered by leather with a flexible handle; used for hitting people.

A casual look at work.

Remember to Swerve

I come to work
To pass the time,
It's a heckuva place
To make a rhyme,
Situations
Of passion and glory,
Can change any minute
To be bloody and gory.

I come to work
For amusement, you know,
It's fun as heck
A really good show,
All sorts of gay folks
In this happy place,
A true cross section
Of the human race.

I come to work
For stimulation,
And a healthy dose
Of aggravation,
But after 12 hours
I've had my fill,
What seemed like good medicine
Becomes a bitter pill.

I come to work
For two days at the most,
Any more than that
Then I am toast,
Beat up, worn out
Every joint aching,
But no one believes me
They think that I'm faking.

I come to work
To fill a need,
Alleviate pain
It's part of my creed,
Serving humanity
With a syringe full of dope,
It's a heckuva thing
But I'm helping them cope.

Time to wrap up

This story of Nursing,

It's different every day
No time for rehearsing,
Show up and be ready
Take whatever they serve,
And when the crap hits the fan
Remember to swerve.

Fibril_late;
8/16/08

If we were paid like celebrities, there would be no nursing shortage!

NurseMart

If only we were in business
Like the local grocery store,
We'd earn a flat percentage
For every pill and chore,
Every spoken word of teaching
Every gesture of compassion,
There'd be seasonal variations
Like the latest winter fashions.

For special big events
There could be a bonus format,
It would beat the present system
Where we're treated like a doormat,
For example, we could compensate
Events like CPR,
If you succeed, and bring'em back
You win the big cigar.

Your patient was combative
He tried to stab the candy-striper,
She’s the daughter of the CEO
You win the keys to his Dodge Viper,
Or you work an extra night shift
Like it’s really no big deal,
Seven patients with infections
Every one with difficele,
By morning you’re exhausted
And finally feeling old,
Your boss comes in, says, “Way to go”
And hands you coins of gold.

There would be no nursing shortage
If these silly thoughts were true,
Pay us like celebrities
It’s way long overdue!

Fibril_late;
8/11/08

This is a summation of experiences, having taken care of numerous patients over the years, who have a family that expects a healing miracle, in the face of certain death.

Farting Rapture

A GCS of 3, comatose, near dead
No brain activity in his head,
No movement of limbs
No rise of the chest,
His heart is still beating
But it will soon come to rest,
Unless the Lord, Gawd, Almighty
Should hear all the crying,
Of the 70 relatives
Who sound like they’re dying,
With such wailing and moaning
And pulling of hair,
We’ve collected enough
To reupholster a chair.

Then all of a sudden
There arose such a shriek,
The patient wiggled a toe
And lifted a cheek,
While blasting a fart
That blew off the covers,
‘Twas a verified miracle
To those Jesus lovers;
Uncle Joe had been healed
As they had expected,
It was clearly a sign
That Joe resurrected.

A truckload of new relatives
Soon did appear,
And each time Joe farted
They let out a cheer,
While proclaiming to anyone
Who passed by the door,
Joe was just treading water
And almost ashore,
He’d be up and around
Come Easter, next week,
As if in agreement
He lifted a cheek,
And blew off the covers
With a magnificent fart,
And with that, he just died
With the last beat of his heart.

The family was in shock
And took 4 hours to leave,
They had postponed reality
Not ready to grieve,
Having ignored all the signs
Of Joe’s impending death,
Betting dollars and donuts
On each ventilated breath,
That our machines had delivered
Because Joe was in a coma,
They’d had two weeks of rapture
From his blessed aroma.

Sometimes we wonder
What our visitors have been smoking,
What they think is the voice of God
Is the grim reaper joking,
Waiting patiently on the sidelines
For the last tortured breath,
He’s the prince of all seasons
The boatman of death.

Fibril_late;
8/8/08

Whether you ascribe to a particular religion or not, I propose that most of us carry within ourselves, our own sacred sanctuary. Additionally, I believe that no particular religion, owns the market on best prayer. The power is in the intent.

So, whether you pray for your patient silently, or perhaps incorporate spiritual healing in your practice, I think we should offer an attitude of openness and acceptance to whatever our patients own spiritual needs are. In other words, we are not there to preach our own beliefs, nor judge theirs. Our role, is to console.

Consolation

Surely we deliver the best technology
To the patients, within our domain,
But many of them, have deeper core issues
How can we respond to their spiritual pain?

By being supportive, non-judging and open
We can allow a safe place for consolation,
This may be enough, in the company of strangers
To invite the healing presence of creation.

Fibril_late;
8/7/08

Another hopeless joke just came to me:

Q: Why did the Diabetic fall down?

A: He slipped on the sliding scale.

Fibril_late;
8/5/08

This was funnier than heck. Last week, Ms. B, paid us a visit for 12 hours, and had a patient in Droplet Isolation. Apparently the N-100 masks don't fit her lovely countenance and so she wears a virtual spacesuit all night long when entering the room. Damn, it was funnier than heck!

Space-Woman

I can’t say that I’ve ever seen it before
A space-woman working on our floor,
Bedecked from head to toe in a shroud
To hear her at all, she had to yell really loud.

Her backpack air-blower was whisper quiet,
But she sweat so much
‘Twas like she was on a diet.
Apparently the respirator masks don’t fit,
I don’t care
Her outfit was cooler than shit.

Fibril_late;
8/5/08

Families! Ya gotta love their screwiness, right? Bring the old man to the hospital because he's short of breath, or having the heart attack, and then begin to refuse treatments on the grounds that we don't want this or that!
Duh! Why go to the hospital in the first place?!?

Everything

They bring Grandpa to the hospital
Wanting everything done,
Then refuse the treatments ordered
Every hour, one by one.

Grandpa hates the breathing treatment
He'd rather have a smoke,
He doesn't like the Foley catheter
He's a manly kind of bloke,
And if you keep his hands and feet tied
Surely, he will shout,
And we agree with dear old Grandpa
Take those IV's out.

We don't want that Insulin therapy
It doesn't sound much fun,
But I once again remind you
We want every damn-thing done!

Fibril_late;
8/5/08

Nurses: Day in and day out, we become intimately involved in the lives of humanity (and inhumanity, I'm sorry to say). There is a story to tell around every corner.

My job is to write about it. Catharsis, might be a better description of why I do it. I have to change the names of the players, alter locations and bend the facts, primarily to get the point across more poignantly, and more often, to keep from getting shot at. I only get slapped around on a rare occasion.

Curry & Dal

You might think it’s not true
All the stuff that I write,
Well, I admit I take liberty
When it’s my time to bite,
Because a story reads better
With a passion and fury,
Like a hot spicy dal
In your favorite curry.

I pick simple ingredients
For the stories I tell,
Chosen from factories
Between Heaven and Hell,
Having walked that long road
During my current vocation,
If you've taken that journey
You'll believe my oration.

Sure, I stretch the truth
To lengthen the telling,
You can't knock me for that
And rarely my spelling,
And I use the best synonyms
To color the tale,
Delectable details
So the story won't fail.

I caution, don't take offense
It's not about you,
You might think you identify
But it's really my view,
Perhaps looking you over
And distorting the facts,
If you accuse me for libel
I'll be sharpening my axe.

It's my way of venting
Frustration and pain,
Instead of target-practice
Aimed at my brain,
And although that sounds harsh
I don't trifle with death,
I take counsel for misery
From Lady Macbeth.

Like Mulder and Scully
I'm searching for truth,
Pursuing dirty details
In my career as a sleuth,
Then telling my story
About that 12-hour night,
If I do it correctly;
My narration will ignite!

Fibril_late;
8/1/08

This is for all the great float nurses, per-diem nurses, registry/agency/mercenary nurses. The ones who drop in, perhaps having never been in your unit before, grab the reins of the wild horse, and get through the shift and the shit, no matter what is thrown at them.

The Worst Friggin Mess

You know the drill
It goes something like this,
You're a visiting nurse
Expecting a kiss,
Because you're helping your colleagues
In their time of dire need,
Then you get the worst patient's
Like a title and deed.

You know the pattern
It's the same every time,
They'll abandon you for a nickel
And screw you for a dime,
Their faces painted with relief
When you appear at the door,
They'll say, "Thanks for coming back"
Now, we'll screw you some more.

You know it's damn common
Ya, it's really a shame,
But the odds are stacked against you
In the mercenary game,
You're the knight in shining armor
For the damsel in distress,
And what thanks do you get?
Of course - the worst friggin mess!!!

Fibril_late;
7/31/08

I must have been under the weather, or mentally malnourished, or who knows what, but in my exalted opinion, I was a screwup last night. The only bright outcome was that my companions were still alive at sunrise, I did provide true compassion, and there was no measure of a shortened existence, other than the usual passage of time, that everyone is accountable for within the context of their own lifespan. I have made this intentionally vague, to protect the guilty.

Beyond Measure

I worked nowhere near my potential

Far below my possible peak,

Could I blame it on a Sunday

The proverbial end of the week?

Although I hadn't slaved or overworked

My mind was in under-drive,

If you observed me from a distance

You might wonder if I was alive.

How many things I overlooked

I am embarrassed to admit,

If you had to follow my performance

You might develop a snit,

And possibly grumble, snarl and mumble

Inhibiting perfected profanity,

The end-result of my hand off

May have driven you to insanity.

From my point of view, I failed beyond measure

But time is the ultimate reaper,

If I were to judge me, on this singular moment

I wouldn't qualify to be a street-sweeper,

But with the experience of decades of living

I've come to accept the inescapable,

Some days I'm a rip-roaring genius

And other times, completely incapable.

Luckily, imperfection runs rampant

Amidst the society that I keep,

And in time my miserable performance

Will reside at the bottom of a heap,

Of old memories, never to be revisited

Rehashed, reworked or reviewed,

Reliving such miserable moments?

Why surely my psyche would be screwed.

Fibril_late;

7/28/08

A mandatory class is coming up where one of the things we have to be familiarized with, is called "Fall Risk Management". It stands to reason that this is appropriate, because summer will be over soon, and we better be ready for the risk of Fall.

Fall Risk Management

I'm glad to see that my superiors
Are finally on the ball,
It's the middle of the summer
And the coming of the Fall,
And although it's risky business
It still happens every year,
Fall shall follow summer
'Tis really nothing there to fear.

But in business, there is caution
And in Healthcare, even moreso,
Risky yearly seasons
Cause a tremor of the torso,
You might call it intuition
Gut-feelings, sense of danger,
Perhaps a childhood experience
With a dark and sinister stranger,
Led to feelings of inadequacy
Every summer of each year,
Prompting Fall Risk Management
To mediate the fear.

Fibril_late;
7/27/08

We're also supposed to learn about the "Patient Classification System". Now if that isn't some classic office-speak, then I don't know what is. Hello!!, what in the heck is wrong with our current system. Well anyways, I think I figured it out:

Patient Classification System

Patient Classification System
Or P. C. S.,
Is another veiled attempt
To clean up the mess,
Left by a predecessor
Whom I'd rather not mention,
Uncontrolled gossip
Is bound to bring attention.

Patient Classification System
Or Pat-Class-Sys,
Is bound to be successful
No more hit and miss,
With objectives left floundering
Like a fish out of water,
All of our problems will disappear
Like lambs led to slaughter.

Fibril-late;
7/28/08

And last but not least, apparently there is "new" information about sepsis and stroke. I have made a recommendation to see that we also address the inclusion of humor, and the recognition of emotion, in regards to the needs of bedside caregivers.

A Balance of Emotion

Early recognition of sepsis

Early recognition of stroke,

Early recognition of the necessity

To accommodate room for a joke.

No matter how stressful the moment

When chaos and calamity prevail,

Medical decisions that change by the second

Must allow for the chance they might fail,

And where the long-term survival of caregivers

May be overlooked in the sea of commotion,

We must allow room for laughing and crying

As our lives hang in a balance of emotion.

Fibril_late;

7/28/08

Here at employment central, we are being warned that we have to learn about "Johns Hopkins Tool". I am totally clueless about what the heck that means, but let me show you what I think:

Johns Hopkins Tool

I don't think I want to know
About Johns Hopkins tool,
I may be a Nurse
But I'm not a fool,
To be poking around
In his business that way,
I'd rather read a report
Than see that tool, anyday.

I really don't care
About Johns Hopkins tool,
I learned all about that stuff
Way back in school,
And if he wanted us to know
Don'tcha think he'd send a letter,
Nope, I don't want to see it
'Cause it don't get any better.

You see, I don't understand
How seeing Johns Hopkins tool,
Will make me any smarter
And I'm already cool,
So what could be the point
Of this mandatory class?
It better not be something
About Johns Hopkins ass!!!

Fibril_late;
7/27/08

Flatter Not Fatter

I create some funnies at times, too:

Joke:

Question: "What do you call it when a couple of he/she Atria are hanging out, and he says:

"Hey Miss Atria, you are looking finer than fine tonight, in your new mini-skirt".





And she replies:

"Well, my man, you are pretty hot yourself. Your appendage is looking really awesome!"





Answer: Atrial Flatter.

Fibril_late;
7/24/08

Busy patient care assignments, used to be called "heavy". Now, in the century of obesity, a heavy patient is just that! Probably over 150 kilo's and gaining weight every second that we drop in another flippin' milliliter of fluid, in a futile attempt to resuscitate them. Oh boy, just weight...........

Low Budget Anarchist

It was a terrible assignment

That's all that I can say,

Luckily it doesn't happen

Each and every day,

Because I'm telling you, if it did

Hellfire would be on call,

I'm a low budget anarchist

When it's said and done, and all.

It was a gol-darned bloody miracle

That I didn't go berserk,

Because I had a premonition

On that night I went to work,

That I'd get the crap assignment

As if it was my turn,

Well, if this is a conspiracy

They've got a lot to learn,

About the possible repercussions

When dealing cards like these,

A lot of players suck it up

And tolerate the squeeze,

But if you're dealing to an anarchist

You better hedge your bets,

They do not suffer fools, my friend

Nor tolerate your debts.

It was a horrible experience

But I managed to survive,

I found a couple comrades

In the dungeons of that dive,

Lurking in the shadows

And offering advice,

They didn't have to do that

They already paid the price,

With broken bones and muscle strains

Torn ligaments and more,

After caring for similar patients

That weigh a hundred kilo's and more.

Fibril_late;

7/14/08

In the Corner

When crap is served once, I can take it

But when it's served twice, I'll complain,

I'll stand up for the others, who were dealt the same cards

And who nearly succumbed to the strain,

They are licking their wounds, in the corner

Dealing hillbilly heroin and horse,

After losing another round of “lift-law” legislation

They are about to tell Nursing; Divorce!

Fibril_late;

7/14/08

Following in that same vein, led me to this declaration.

My Caring Attention

My sympathy stops at 100 kilo's

After that you are on your own,

We'll add up the totals of various parts

Subtracting the cartilage bone,

Compartments or regions that seem to cause trouble

Will vie for my caring attention,

Beyond the weight limit, previously set

There will just be an honorable mention.

I really don't have sympathy for the weight that's beyond

You allowed yourself to get so darned fat,

I have sympathy for the Nurses

With their narcotic-filled purses,

I'm telling you, that's where my sympathy's at.

We're busting our backs, and separating vertebrae

All at your obesity expense,

Surprised we are not

You have no insurance, on the spot,

We're aware, there exists no recompense.

Fibril_late;

7/15/08

Time and Motion studies, always bring out the "fear and loathing" in America. Just ask the recently departed, Hunter S. Thomson.

Time and Emotion: A Study

(Part I)

It began with an idea, an objective

To analyze motion and time,

An innocent theory, to derive better data

It devolved, into the worst of slime.

Seasoned professionals, we call ourselves

We ought to be mature, don't you think?,

But when someone observes us in practice

Why does it, give one cause to blink?

I pause now, and ponder the question

What causes discomfort in the action?

Being observed by a peer of my own

Why does this render a class-action?

Discomfort thrives amidst suspicion

Is there an ulterior motive in play?,

Are there camera's hidden in the trash barrels

Every move that we make, on display?

Truly, that scenario is doubtful

Perhaps historical issues are the drama,

It gives one a sense of being spied upon

Under the watchful eye of the Grand Lama.

Fibril_late;

7/14/08

Back in May, I posted "Drama Queen"; here's the latest information I have, regarding a recent sighting:

Drama Queens: An Altered Reality

Drama queens
More than I can count,
Like a flippin'
Flower fount,
Cross their path
And here's what's certain,
Collateral damage
You'll be hurtin'.

Drama queens
Are full of breath,
Because, I'm telling you
They can talk you to death,
Fussing and moaning
How they were slighted,
Talking trash
They get overexcited.

Drama queens
You know their song,
Where they are right
And you are wrong,
Wherever gathered
More than one,
Self-pity reigns
Till the setting sun.

Drama queens
Had me surrounded,
I was almost
Caught dumbfounded,
Their motives cloaked
Oh, they've been schooled,
Thank goodness
I'm not easily fooled.

Drama Queens asked
For my opinion,
As if I were a member
Of their dominion,
A smile here
A touch of the arm there,
With lightning leaping
From their hair;
Oh, I am lucky
I made an artful dodge,
Made my escape
Through the parking garage,
Lit my afterburners
On the freeway,
'Cuz with Drama Queens
There ain't no leeway.

Fibril_late;
7/11/08


"Don't kill the messenger", sez Peanut.

Some unfortunate souls, moan all the way to the pearly gates.

Moan and Groan

The end-stage heart failure moan
Is a sorrowful brand of groan,
It comes with each gasping breath
Only to find solace in death.

The family tries comfort
With pillows and hugs,
While nurses resort to
Their favorite drugs,
No relief to be found
It's a long, drawn-out course,
As if crushed by an elephant
And dragged by a horse.

Finally, the end-stage heart failure moan,
Fades away with the demise
Of the flesh and the bone.

Fibril_late;
7/8/08

Fade Away

Without extraordinary means

Or any crutch of support,

Take away the medicines and drugs

And there's not much to report,

Just the background substantiation

There is a human in this bed,

And when we take away the therapies

She soon will be dead.

By removing the devices

Of our technological violence,

The ticktock of the life-force

Will fade away into silence,

The heart ceases to beat

It can no longer stand alone,

Expect the last gasping breath

Like the fall of a stone.

As an extinguished candle

And the wisp of its' smoke,

The last, final flourish

Of the magicians cloak,

The end of a river

Spilling into the sea,

No longer bound by her existence

Fade away, and set free.

Fibril_ate;
7/10/08

Just a random conversation this morning, sparked this silly story.

Blisters

She had blisters, like her sisters

And they hurt like hell, she said,

She had others, like her brothers

But I'm glad, that I'm not dead.

It's such a bother, said her father

But, what is there to do,

Just give her water, said her daughter

That's the treatment, and it's new.

But there's a dozen, said her cousin

It's almost more, than she can bear,

She needs some fleece, proclaimed her niece

It's over there, upon the chair.

A poisonous plant, said her favorite aunt

Is the cause of sisters blister,

Ya, those are carbuncles, said her uncles

We hope that no-one here, has kissed her.

I did, said a kid

I thought that she was clean,

Screamed the crowd, so very loud

You have to be in quarantine!

Don't go wild, said the child

I am sorry for the breach,

It's outdated, to be separated

I'll just wash my lips with bleach.

Fibril_late;

7/4/08

For the first 24 years of my career, I worked night-shift, in places where the bath was done on day-shift, unless there was some sort of elimination debacle on my tour of duty. Now, having returned to my kind, I'm expected to take care of the bath during the night. Yeeks!

But maybe, just possibly, the following poem offers a solution, in the not-so-distant future. I can only dream.

The Last Bath

He'll do anything he can
To avoid giving a bath,
He says it's his destiny
His karma or path,
An oath, vow or promise
A word troth, a pledge,
Some ridiculous rigmarole
About an existential edge,
An invisible boundary
He dare not traverse,
Some voodoo mumbo-jumbo
About the mummy's last curse.

To you, me and most
It's a whacked out, phony reason,
And to most seasoned nurses
It amounts to bold treason,
To allow, or make exception
To the bacterial creed,
Why, it makes my blood boil
To consider this deed.

But he swears on Gideon's Bible
And Kismets Koran,
The Dead Sea scrolls
And some crazy mojo-hand,
He says his ancestral relatives
Passed down this decree,
A mummy's curse will engulf you
If you place water on me.

He states, he has the power
By virtue of a dispensation,
After a sacred, secret ceremony
And fermented condensation,
To annihilate organisms
Within his auric field,
It's futuristic technology
That only he can wield.

It's tough to argue with that
Because the germs are so small,
You need a flippin' microscope
To see them at all,
So, if he claims he zapped them
Who are we to disagree,
He ought to be rewarded
With a perpetual royalty,
For inventing or discovering
This time-saving action,
Heck, in five years or less
It will be the main attraction.

His last bath was recorded
In nineteen-ninety-four,
And if you bother to ask him
He'll say, “Man, what a chore,
That dude in my care
He weighed 82 stone*,
Bath-time was a production
You couldn't do it alone”,
I had to call reinforcements
From Atlas and Bekins,
14 moving assistants
And the last of the Mohican's.

That was the last straw
Of his bathing career,
With just a look at a bath basin
He was quaking in fear;
He was referred to Psychiatry
Counseling and more,
He was offered electro-shock
And downers galore,
But they wouldn't stop the baths
Claiming, nursing obligation,
Whereby, he took them to court
For undisclosed compensation.

A period of disability
Or leave, you might say,
Gave him time to ponder
All night and all day,
To hobnob with mystics
Soothsayers and freaks,
Until revelation arrived
In seventeen weeks.

He learned the science of the aura
The body-electric, some have said,
It leaves pretty quickly
Soon after you’re dead,
But while you’re still alive
If you can master the grip,
You can wield way more power
Than the average ego trip.

So, for the next couple years
He practiced the habit,
Starting out with rodents
And an occasional rabbit,
Soon cleansing their fur
At forty-two yards,
Yes, to eliminate baths……….
It was written in the cards.

He took his invention
To Boston Scientific,
The greatest minds there said
“Man, this is terrific”,
And they induced him to return
With money (and him cursing),
To revolutionize bathing
In the field of Nursing.

Fibril_late;
7/2/08

*The stone is a unit of mass.
It is equal to 14 Lbs and to 6.35029318 Kg.

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 "english.com": "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,

Fibril_late;

6/29/08

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".

Fibril_late;
6/29/08

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.

Fibril_late;

6/29/08

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.

Fibril_late;
6/08

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.

Fibril_late;
6/08

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!

Fibril_late;
6/26/08

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.

Fibril_late,

6/19/08

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

Ray

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.

Fibril_late;
6/17/08

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.

Fibril_late;

6/18/08

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

Underscore,

Correct the problem

Handle the chore.

Fibril_late;

6/15/08

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.

Fibril_late;

6/14/08

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.

Fibril_late;

6/12/08

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.

Fibril_late;

6/9/08

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.

Fibril_late'
6/5/08

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.

6/2/08

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)

Fibril_late;

6/2/08

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.

Fibril_late;
6/2/08

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.

Fibril_late;
6/2/08