Loose stools.........certainly a problem!

Loose Stools vs. Loose Schools
Part 1

I think I’ve discovered
The answer for the ages,
After studying diligently
Well over 5000 pages,
A query frequently posed
Regarding loose stools,
It originated I’ve discovered
From those days of loose schools.

All sorts of problems
Can be traced to those times,
And I assure you, it's difficult
Making all of these rhymes,
Regarding a topic like this
But I shall prevail,
Loose stools need a solution
There is no room to fail.

Fibril_late;
5/12/09

Dementia: out in left field, scrambled, discontinued, broken neuronal connections in the brain, and currently irreversible.

Into This Moment

Happily demented
You don’t know what you’ve missed,
Live the moment right now
Forget who you kissed,
You don’t know your daughter
Your husband or son,
You live the moment right now
And it all seems like fun.

Happily demented
You won’t realize that you’re lost,
You could shop every day
And never know what it cost,
So just sit on the porch
Reminiscing the past,
Time condensed into this moment
Until death, shall it last.

Fibril_late;
5/12/09

SNF - We pronounce it like the word "sniff". The abbreviation translates to "Skilled Nursing Facility". Sad to say, but long-term care facilities are commonly colonized, along with their patient population, by a vast variety of infectious, communicable cooties.

The C-diff Song

She came from the Sniff
With a case of C-diff
We weren't surprised
By that occurrence, not a bit,
Oh, but that smell, it did offend
Forever, without end
Just imagine 12 hours of that shit;

Any Nurse worth their salt
Would surely, ponder the gestalt
As if some evil apparition, dogged their trail,
Just by walking in the door
At eighteen-hundred, forty-four
They'd be dealt, the shit assignment, without fail;

They realize, it all depends
On humble beginnings and horrid ends
Who's in charge, the night they both will work together,
Because crappy assignments, seem to follow
With smiley platitudes that all ring hollow
It's just another night to bear the cross and leather;

Gown and mask, booties and glove
There's nothing better, when you're in love
Enjoy it, over and over, all night long,
When you get home, and notice the booties
You will feel like you're covered in cooties,
That's the way it goes, when you dance the C-diff song.

Fibril-late;
5/5/09

It has been a quiet stretch. Work has overwhelmed me with writable dilemma's; however, it took a walk through academia to spark my muse.

*Look, I don't make up sentences like the following.........I leave it to my peers - read within the brackets: (I only respond in rhyme)

["In consideration of our current shortage of nurses and consequent heavy workloads, we cannot afford to adopt new practices, unless they are evidence based"]
and furthermore,
["Evidence-based guidelines can serve as a catalyst for knowledge translation to the clinical arena"].

Come-on, what the FUBAR, are these bumps talking about regarding "knowledge translation", huh? Just think a while on it......

Evidenced Based

Evidenced based
HooRah, HooRay,
Do what the experts say
Tomorrow, today,
They are the ones
Who decide what we do,
But I don't really know them
Any better than you.

Quality control
Based on the best,
They said, they did more than
One thousand plus test,
Who am I to question
I'm just the nurse,
If it screws up, what then?
Of course, I bear the curse!

Evidenced based?
They didn't ask me, not ever,
Perhaps, 25 years
Was not enough to say I'm clever,
After all, I'm not a researcher
I don't have the degrees,
I'm just an AA, RN
Gesundheit! Did you sneeze?

Evidenced based?
It carries some meaning,
Although, I am not sure
Just exactly who they're screening,
The Nurse, or the patient
It's not terribly clear,
I guess, I will know
If I'm fired some year.

Fibril_late;
5/4/09

The Joint Commission is on the way. Hide the food and coffee cups. Cross your eye's and microdot your tea. Resistance is futile.

JC Blues

The Joint Commission
Is now in session,
Waiting to hear
Our collective confession,
Of all our mistakes
The foibles and flaws,
With a justified punishment
For every cause.

The Joint Commission
Is a devious delegation,
Recording secret notes
Derived from information,
We so generously shared
In the spirit of humanity,
Historically, their pickiness
Borders on insanity.

These cretins from JCAH
Will be changing their name,
They sought counsel above
With a bigger player in the game,
They’re wearing white collars
And counting sandalwood beads,
Come children, to Joint Confession
We’ll absolve your evil deeds.

Fibril_late;
4/21/09

Oh bother; here comes ye olde Joint Commission, on their rounds again. Hmmmm, wouldn't it be wonderful if they were what their name implies? A commission dealing with joints? You know........weed, marijuana and the like.

A Giant Doobie

The coming Joint Commission
Will look for your omissions,
In other words
If you don’t commit,
The Joint Commission
Will give you shit.

What I’d like to see
From the Joint Commission,
Is a giant doobie
To smoke, while fishin’,
Because that is what
Their name implies,
Some righteous weed
With burgers and fries.

Fibril_late;
4/18/09

Emergency Departments the world over, are dangerous places to be. Heck, if you're in California, you just might want to drive over the hill to Nevada; no sales tax and more.

Just Stay Home

When you’re lodged in the ED
For hours and hours,
And the Doctor won’t order
More than one whiskey-sour,
The thing you must do
Is to claim you see bugs,
They’ll think you’re in DT’s
And they’ll give you some drugs.

For one reason or other
People seem to get worse,
In that dungeon of an E.R.
It’s an unholy curse,
And in this litigious time
Of frivolous law,
You’ll have everything scanned
From your arse to your jaw.

My advice, to Joe Public
If you’re sick, just stay home,
Put on a pot of tea
With a dash of mondo-foam,
You’ll be floating to Nirvana
With all your parts intact,
If you insist on coming to the hospital
Your system may be hacked.

Fibril_late;
4/17/09

Sometimes it's easy to understand why Nurses drop out of their career, and don't look back. One of those reasons, revolves around one's "bad luck" in the assignment of care, for the days work. Frankly, this is a testy subject, because it may seem like your Charge Nurse is a bully, or just plain brain-dead; a person who doesn't give a snot about how heavy an assignment they are dealing you, for your 8 or 12-hour shift.

Or possibly, you are enlightened like myself, and figure, it must be due to some cosmic, astrological, karmic, evil-mojo-spirit-demon, hovering just behind my back, and stabbing me repeatedly, with an ebola saturated cactus spline, into my first chakra. Then it all becomes perfectly clear; kill, or be killed!

Assignment Misalignment

Certainly, there will be times
When you question your assignment,
You will ponder your earthly Karma
And your astrological alignment,
But any actions beyond that
Are but, futile wasted motion,
One round of work, is like a drop of rain
In your entire Nursing ocean.

Like the travails of early explorers
With tests of other-worldly endurance,
Horrendous shifts of reckless mayhem
Have a cyclic frightening occurrence,
You never know when your number is up
Though some attest, they can feel a vibe,
From finely honed, critical thinking skills
And genetic memory of the tribe.

About the time, when you’re thinking
You've had your very worst night,
The Grim Reaper is chuckling
Think again, you’re in for a fright,
Because I have recently cooked up
The worst, frickin' assignment,
After tonight, you'll know misery
And need a karmic realignment.

Your shift will be so horrid
Like a nightmare you're dreaming,
And after only two hours
You'll be silently screaming,
One hour more, you'll be cussing a blue-streak
Four-letter words, by and large,
Promising heaps of bad mojo
Upon the head of the Nurse who's in charge.

You wonder if there was a memo
From your commander (who lacks all refinements),
During 2009, give old BillyBob
The most god-awful, frightening assignments,
Test his mettle, let's see if he's breakable
After all, he's a pain in the neck,
Yet you know, beyond a reasonable doubt
They're expecting you to pick up the check.

Fibril_late;
4/16/09

You don't want to know what drove me to this........................it is too horrid to tell.

The "Slime and Phlegm Triumvirate"

1. Slime and Phlegm

Slime and Phlegm would hang out
At Billy-Bob's on Main,
Mucus-Masters in their own right
Always poised to slime your brain;

You could never accuse those bad boys
Of ever carrying a decent scent,
In fact wherever Slime and Phlegm were found
Their buddy, Mal Odorous also went.

Could any redeeming qualities
Be found, amongst these two?
Well if you can imagine those by-gone days
Before the discovery of Super-Glue,
And the Industrial complications
When two surfaces wouldn't adhere,
Versus the serendipitous clinginess
When Slime and Phlegm were near.

Indeed, those were the incubation days
For the mother of invention,
It all began in High School
Where the rowdy bunch met in Detention,
For flinging phlegm and slimers
At young ladies, in their class,
And the seeds of ingenuity
Were bubbling out their ass.


2. They Were Known

Some thought Slime and Phlegm were twins
But that's not the way it was,
Some proposed they were from the same neighborhood
Exactly why, who knows, or just because,
They both were known to slink around
Dark alleys or outback places,
Dropping in unexpectedly
Upon unsuspecting faces,
They were known to keep company
More with adolescents or kids,
With a general lack of untidiness
What was sliding, would be on the skids.

Slime and Phlegm were best of friends
But at times, they wished for three,
Easily bored, they'd scream at each other
"Oh Bro', you are boring me";

Now both, do look back fondly
Remembering the wonderful day,
They were hanging out at the putrid pits
When Snot came out to play,
You couldn't have picked a happier bunch
This slippery, sticky trio,
Whether in Pelican Bay or Folsom
San Quentin or Camarillo.


3. Nothing Left To Chance

It's really hard to say
If yonder Phlegm is my friend,
Surely, he's a sticky kind of guy
But you never know, how it will end.

Can one posit a preposition?
The superlatives, the pro's and cons,
About the subtraction or the addition
The historical figures in nickel-bronze,
Because there must be some deeper meaning
Some enduring value, in its place,
Perhaps there are some redeeming features
When it's stuck all over your face,
Possibly, it is no coincidence
That in the middle of your face, is your nose.
Shielding you from the wicked winds
And brutal ice and snows.

And once again I've detoured
On the road, that's called my journey,
Kind of like planning to be a Doctor
And ending up as an Attorney,
Parallels can be found
And this is one of them,
I've ended up with Slime
When I started out with Phlegm.

Some will find the topic
Too gross to contemplate,
And admonish me, dear Sir
Don't you know that I just ate,
I will apologize sincerely
But continue with my dance,
When you deal with Slime and Phlegm
There is nothing left to chance.

With retrospective analysis
You could say their point is well made,
Slime and Phlegm are so unique
And so few would dare to trade,
But those of us, who are in the know
Revere them in abject wonder,
Slime and Phlegm, can not be trifled with
Or surely, you will rue your blunder.

Fibril_late;
4/9/09

Even in 2003, Administrative Nursing held no vision for me.

Not For Me

Administration
Is not for me,
Too much
Paperwork, you see.

Fibril_late;
2003

The doorway into the infinite, ya, just another name for room 2988. Sister Euphemia, thinks differently:

Paradise Portal

Two men died
In the course of 8 hours,
They had a destination
Beyond our paltry powers,
To maintain the slightest grip
On the leash that held their souls,
Poised at the edge of eternity
We held the minor player roles.

Both of these final exits
Shared the same departure room,
Notoriously superstitious
A Nurse will claim, a vibe of doom,
A mysterious lurking power
Inhabits room eighty-eight,
They want to call the hospital Shaman
To exorcise, this psychic gate.

Sister Euphemia, holds a different opinion
More positive, in the heavenly light,
We all must depart this earthly plane
And let our souls take their ultimate flight,
This hospital, offers a timeless service
A pathway, for departure immortal,
"We invite you to visit, our V.I.P. suite;
Sister Euphemia's Paradise Portal".

Fibril_late;
4/5/09

A close friend was in the hospital, suffering from too many specialists. Here is her story.

They Were Specialists

Imagine, if you will
Her dilemma, in this dominion,
There were 14 assorted doctors
All with a different opinion,
Supposedly, they were specialists
But she had a rare disease,
They said, "Come on Honey, we know what's best
Sign the paper; let us do what we please.

Surely, you jest, Dr. Dudes
I'd laugh, but first let me cry
Yesterday you told me a different tale
About a transplant, and how soon I might die,
Today you are saying, I just need a valve
And tomorrow, I wonder what's next,
I think I'll go home, while you make up your minds
Don't bother to call, send a text.

Discharge me, they did, in such record time
The Ward-Clerk, was given a plaque,
When I landed at home, dear Sam and Elizabeth
Plucked all of the knives from my back,
Some doctor will call, in the next day or two
To tell me, the latest great plan,
In the meantime I think I'll just knock back a shot
And hideout with my best canine-clan.

Well, that was a story, with bad sound and fury
Oh Shakespeare, a tragedy for sure,
17 specialists can't make up their minds
Though they claim, they just found the right cure,
In the meantime, convalescing in the comfort of home
Her condition, still advances with time,
Reluctant she waits, for Dr. Dude's invitation
To return to the scene of the crime.

Fibril_late;
4/4/09

A couple of weeks ago, Brother Coot, had an aborted MI, with a life-saving stent to his RCA and one jolt of electricity to remind him of the good things in life. Here's the latest follow-up.

Concerns

The old coot has done well
Though I'm not surprised,
Between his colleagues and family
He was certainly well advised,
And the Attorney, that he is
One could easily assume,
He could gather enough information
To fill up a room.

Now these days, your doctor
Just isn't the one to ask,
Their business today
Is like an overfilled flask,
Spilling with patients
Like wine at the brim,
There's no time for answering questions
It's just a diagnosis skim.

Gone are the days
When our doctors sat down,
To truly listen to our concerns
Without a hurried frown,
Rather, we must rely on
The Internet and friends,
To get reliable information
Before our life ends.

Like I said, the old coot
Is doing quite well,
But I'm 2000 miles distant
So, what can I tell?

Fibril_late;
4/4/09

This is gloomy, but I made the mistake of reading the news this morning. Current events, are tomorrow's, horrid history.

Citizen Terrorists

Who needs Al Qaeda
With a gun country like ours,
More citizens are slaughtered
During daylight hours,
By loved-ones and hated ones
Family friends and foe,
Real terrorists, in our homes
People that we know.

We don't require religionists
Whacked out, with interpretations,
On suicide missions
In our gun toting nation,
No, we have home-grown angry folks
With automatic guns,
Shooting women and children
Fathers and sons.

The threat of death and mayhem
Is an industry we foster,
No matter, how good your background check
There's a nutcase on the roster,
Probably sitting on a comfy couch
Festering with personal frustration,
Dreaming of bullets and bloodshed
To assassinate, the aggravation.

With a chip on your shoulder
Or the wrong glance your way,
You go home for a weapon
Just to make it my day,
Without preemptive warning
Or psychiatric clues,
Ten thousand citizen terrorists
Who need to pay their dues.

Fibril_late;
4/3/09

Another trip to the Dentist..........Heck, I see my Dentist way more often than my Primary Care doctor. It's almost like were family. She always offers me choices, when it come to pain relief, and this time was no different, but how could I know she would offer me Betty?

Lip-Lock With Betty

As I was relaxing upon yonder bench
Eagerly awaiting, the arrival of that wench,
Who would soon be probing instruments, of exactitude and pain
Aiming for the pleasure center, deep within my brain,
She asked me - (with her sexy voice)
Dear sir, you can make a choice,
A cocktail shot, of sedatives and drugs
Or a lip-lock with Betty, and a couple of hugs,
Before I excavate and prod and poke
Some people like pain, and that's no joke,
So let me know, your pleasure, sire
Because the iron's hot and in the fire.

Well, I had secretly admired, dear Betty
That's for sure,
And a lip-lock with her, would surely, be the cure,
To any suffering, I might endure today,
Bring it on, my Dental Hygienist.........
I'm ready to play.

While Betty was plastered all over my lips
That Dental Hygienist, was sharpening her tips,
Preparing a target, from X-rays last week
She had an eidetic memory, and didn't need a peek,
At any old records, for this mouth of mine
She was just waiting her chance,
To scrape, buff and shine.

As usual, at the end of this pleasant recreation
The in-house Master Dentist, came to make her observation,
View the scene of the crime; the battle at the front
Go for the end-run, or settle for the punt,
The message that she offered, would be my walking papers
More emphasis on flossing, and fewer sweet-tooth capers.

Fibril_late;
3/29/09

It's kind of fun finding old writings. First, it brings back old memories. Second, it allows me to see, if my writing ability has changed much in 20 years. In this case; clearly not. In fact, I can see, I was a bit of a word-elitist, even way back then.

What I'm presenting here, are 5 poems, which I'll call, "Tri-City Stuff". That was in 1987-88, when I worked one year, at Tri-City Hospital, in Vista, California. I think there may be other writings from that year, but these are just some poems I discovered today, in box 92. This was a time, when "The Underside of Nursing" had yet to be created; these were mere seeds of psyche, fermenting in a warm dark place.

Let's have a go at it, OK?

1987 - 1988:

A Life of Leisure

Cathy, I regret
To inform you on this day,
That I'm leaving this establishment
And traveling on my way.

I assure, in all honesty
'Twas nothing said or done,
A valuable experience
Indeed, I thought it fun.

As nurses, none compare
To this crew, you deftly hired,
Believe me, when I tell you
I was professionally inspired,
So much, I stay awake now
While the night turns into day,
With such stimulating colleagues
I could choose no better way.

Which sums it up, I guess
The memories that I'll treasure,
Now, I'm heading for the mountains
To lead a life of leisure.

Fibril_late; 6/88


The Runner-Band Revolution

The rubber-bands were flying
Like bees about the hive,
It was war in CCU again
Will replacements, soon arrive?
The Chief is working overtime
A master of defense,
This war is getting on her nerves
She’s soon to take offense.

It’s been a long and hoary battle
With participants, too many,
To count the sundry causes
Of this infraction; are there any?
Who knows, who do we ask
Who do we hire, for this task?
Let’s find some folks, down in the city
To come together, in a committee,
To ask some questions and find some answers
Hire a task-force, of dirty-dancers,
Come on folks, let’s get professional
Have a seat in my confessional,
Pass a rumor, go for broke,
There’s a few of us
Who just can’t joke.

What the Hell
It’s been a lot of fun,
For a few of us
But, not everyone.

And........after all is said and done,
I’m glad we gave it
One good run.

Fibril_late; 1988


I’m Sure I’m Not Dead

Too cold, for the living
Just right for the dead,
Now I’m chilled to the core
I just want a warm bed.

Move over, people
And give me some covers,
I’m freezing, you heard me
It don’t mean we’re lovers.

How about some coffee
Or warm soup and bread,
I may look catatonic
But I’m sure I’m not dead.

Too late...........life is flashing
Like a sleigh, across the Arctic,
My boat just came in
And I finally parked-it.

Fibril_late; 1987


A Testing Ground

Can you believe this water-situation
Once again,
It makes me squirm to think about
The germs upon this pen,
Let alone, the creepy crawly things
That habitate this room,
You know, I think this water thing
Is a plot, to bring our doom.

For months, I have suspected
That the night shift is the place,
A testing ground for maniacs
That run the human race,
They think we will not notice
Because our eyes are almost closed,
And by the morning, what’s the difference?
......I don’t know, I must have dozed!

Fibril-late; 3/88


Queen of the Monitor


At night, there sits upon this floor
A wondrous person that guards the door,
And protects us all from dire doom
Yes, peace doth reign, when she’s in the room.

On the mighty scale, of worthless jobs
She’s at the top of all the slobs,
And a credit to members of her sex
She’s Queen of all the monitor techs.

So, roll out the carpet
She’s out in the hall,
Bow down to the queen
Or her axe will fall,
And she’ll torture you till
The morning sun rises,
Then you will understand
How her stories, have won prizes.

Fibril_late;
4/1988

Even when crisis strikes as close to home as a sibling, (perhaps, more inspiring), a poem leaps forth.

The Jury Is Still Out

I'm a little concerned
About the old coot,
His RCA occlusion
Nearly gave him the boot,
But that isn't all
He's not out of the woods,
He has a tight LAD
Compromising the goods.

An acute MI
After a great game of squash,
The jury is still out
Who won? 'Twas a wash,
For the gentleman in question
On court forty-two,
'Tis not the time to argue
Because it could have been you.

Despite the unexpected nature
Of the outcome or the score,
Our favorite plucky protagonist
Welcomes conflict, bring on more,
He's an honest, fiery competitor
Renowned at the D-A-C,
Watch-out; he's already making claims
"Convalescence, ain't for me".

His family, walks on gilded splinters
Nervous-Nellie's, in their right,
Poppa, had a heart-attack
A life-threatening, kind of fright,
And though he looks good on the surface
Who knows, what lies beneath,
They would rather, chuck the Squash games
To avoid,"Will and Last Bequeath".

It takes a while for the novelty
To wear, in this situation,
But it's an everyday occurrence
In the American heart-attack nation,
The Cardiology science
Is so advanced, to save your life,
But there's not a big enough Valium
To calm the kids and wife.

Fibril_late;
3/15/09

(* D-A-C; A Health Club)

About every 5 years I add another notch in the belt of Care-Plan contempt. With nurses thumping their chest about "evidenced-based" therapies and such, I have yet to see any evidence of the inquisitive eyeball, taking a close look at this ridiculous construct that we know as a "care-plan". And now that I've gotten it back on the cutting board, I feel better ranting about it.

Charged With Contempt

For 26 years I've held firm
Staunch with my solid beliefs,
That a number of nursing-care actions
Were created by big-headed chiefs.

I've scribed miles of ink in futility
Writing care-plans of meaningless platitudes,
Created by nose-lifting academics
Entrenched with their superior attitudes,
They tried to create a special language
To set us apart from the medical,
Too bad that they missed the whole point
Convoluted communication; (paranthetical).

I've known long and forever my radical views
Are considered seditious or more,
But who gives a crap about plan notes and such
Another tedious, tiresome chore,
And frankly, I have cause to worry
If summoned to read a care-plan in court,
To attempt to describe, with the crazy language of our tribe
They might charge me with contempt or selling short.

Fibril_late;
3/2/09

Here is an idea, that I thought would lead to a story about Bertha, but instead became another hue and cry, regarding the weighty issues of the day.

Buxom and Girth

Oh Bertha, with the buxom bosom
Had sepsis, pneumonia and shock,
To keep her alive, we infused 30 liters
Adding four-stone, yea, ad-hoc.

Each turn in the bed for her skin care
‘Twould take the muscles of 3 mighty nurses,
Pausing to share a reflection
And sort out their favorite curses.

With a gnashing of teeth and straining of spine
The three groaned in triplicate unity,
Knowing quite well if they busted their backs
The hospital would deny with impunity,
Claiming, we have the equipment
To help move dear Bertha around,
Instead we were rash, we hurried and gnashed
Now they’ll bury us deep in the ground.

Suffice to say, we nurses are tougher
From the keel-haul, we had this past decade,
Throw anything at us, and we will just cuss
We don’t succumb, to the brute or the blade,
Better to back Nurses, than Wall Street
Unlike a mortgaged account, we add worth,
Protect the nurses, the backbone of the workforce
In this arena of buxom and girth.

Fibril_late;
3/1/09

Regarding ageing and the tendency for body parts to stretch and sag, as the years roll by.


Eternal Life

Getting old
Is surely hell,
The teeth will rot
And the body smell,
What once was upright
Sags down below,
Where it will stop
Can anyone know?

Now Billy-Bob
In room seventeen,
Can't remember the last time
His privates were seen,
They are buried below
His pendulous gut,
Whereas, there is no mystery
Regarding his butt.

Considering, Berthalinka
In room two eighty-nine,
They say, "When she was young
Oh, she was so fine",
But eighty years later
Her bosom has expanded,
Close-up? You'll be thinking
The Martian's have landed.

Now, open your mind
And rap on this thought,
During youth, we're caught up
In some appearance, we've sought,
But later with ageing
There is a sagging and swaying,
No matter, your discipline
Your flesh is betraying,
Overwhelming your efforts
To camouflage time,
After 70, your body
Will sag in its prime.

Some youth, will be thinking
Eternal life is for me,
Not realizing the possibility
In two-thousand and forty-three,
Where the answer, for immortality
Will be in a Cracker-Jack box,
Declaring, "You must first live
Seven decades on the clocks."

Sure, you can live forever
Amidst the sagging and swaying,
Some will ponder the universe
While others will be praying,
For the answers to live
With each pendulous part,
Eternal life, reconsidered
Buffet, or a' la carte.

Fibril_late;
2/21/09