Dear Husband,

I am so angry at you. Do you even hear what you are saying? Do the words that come out of your mouth ever register in your brain? Do you think I am so callous/lazy/or whatever words you are thinking about me right now don’t have an effect on me?

I am SORRY that I fucked up your life and fell on the ice and got a traumatic brain injury. I have had moments that I wish I would have just died and be done with it - the continuing vomiting of words you speak out loud, that I’m not even sure you actually hear inside your own head.

Thank you for walking the dog every day. Thank you for taking care of most of the cooking. Thank you for buying the sturdy bath chair so I could shower safely.  But, with that being said, you say a gazillion things each day that I take personally at first before I say “fuck you” in my head.

Now, I know I don’t look sick on the outside.  I know you have not yet learned that there is such a thing as having a hidden disability. But, while I do my best to get better as quickly as I can, you are giving me death by a thousand cuts.  It really doesn’t help when you get angry, and grumble because you think I haven’t done enough around the house.  I really do wish I could vacuum the carpet, groom the dog, start supper. I’m happy today, for example that I actually made the bed. That took a great deal of effort, believe me! And, I did get up and feed the critters this morning because these last three weeks I’ve realized that the dog doesn’t eat for you because your energy is so impatient in the mornings that I would rather get up, feed her patiently and with love so she feels good about it, then go back to bed if I need to.  She got used to sleeping in the bedroom with me all those years I worked overnights.

I know you don’t always believe there’s something wrong with me. I know that because of the things you say. I know that when you say angry things like you think I’m deaf; things like, “I worked all day, didn’t take a break, haven’t eaten anything and then have to do all these things when I get home. I want to get done with my chores and just sit down and do nothing...” and I can hear the unsaid words....”like you have been doing...” or mutter, “I hope you get over all this shit pretty soon....”

I’m well aware that we’ve grown apart. You don’t understand that I kept growing up and outward when you began diminishing yourself by not reading, making friends, finding things to do to nourish yourself, instead finding solace is berating me for imagined faults because I didn’t meet your expectations in sex, in politics, in how I kept house...I am too much of an elitist, too much of a thinker, just too much of whatever doesn’t fit your ideal.  You don’t understand that other married people make plans to do things the other wants...they go out for coffee, they take care of the grandkids, they plan vacations, and enjoy life together. Instead, your expectations of me were to watch you watch football and Faux News and spout what lying bastards the Democrats are, and thinking it’s okay for rich men to grab pussies, lock kids in cages just because they crossed some invisible line.  There is still good in you...just not toward me.  And, we are both losing.  And miserable. And that’s all I want to say about it right now.

Don't appreciate it that I trust you....

Social media has, in many ways, become the bane of society. Each person has to come to terms with how they use it, and that seems to be an ongoing challenge.

I have reinvented my own social media experience several times. When I first discovered FB, for example, I was utterly charmed at sending on those meme's and "post for an hour" type things. Anymore it has to be something fun, or funny...like what's my sex life like if my birthday is a certain month? My question is, "what's a sex life! LOL!"

I don't prattle on and on about what I had for lunch. I don't post endless pictures of my pets because I have no one else in my life. And so on and so on.
What I do, though, is have very select people who I do share those things with. Not on FB, though. I share those things by private message, or phone conversation, or some method that is one-on-one.

I had such a thing happen today at work. A friend/coworker told me some very interesting information about the customs of her country which is indicative of trust, because she is from the Middle East. The information is readily available on the internet, but when one does not read Arabic...one has to search a bit deeper for the information.  And, since I love to research...I was very excited to learn more, and perhaps begin to incorporate some of that ritual into my own life and religious practice.

I was very honored when she told me she would have me come over to her home sometime and show me and let me try some of the ritual myself with her guidance.

But then something interesting happened. I was very excited about this whole thing - I'm sure that seems obvious! I wanted to share my pleasure, and I knew just the person I wanted to tell it to first. I sent a private message to him. My choice of him was because he has traveled in the Middle East and is so smart and wise and would be the sort I would expect to have noticed things regarding differences in the culture, or heard murmurings about rituals regardless of whether they be religious, or for men or women.  The main point is I wanted to share it with him *first*.

One of the rituals concerns herbs, oils, etc., and is specifically designed for married women, or women preparing for marriage. So, my question to him was, "When you are visiting (country), have you noticed the scent of married women there?" I had also told him the country of origin for my friend, which is not the same as the country he generally goes to.

His response to me was that not all Arabs are alike. It's a tribal.

Not one word about how interesting it was to have that information shared with me, or anything to indicate any sort of positivity.

The first time I read it, I felt as though I'd been slapped. Like I was not intelligent enough to realize that there are tribes of different cultures in that area of the world.  So, I told him that of course I knew that, but thanked him for making sure I did! And, I will readily admit that my first responses would not have been kind - in my defense, I'd just gotten up from a nap and was still under sleep induced stupor.  I had the sense to not slap dash back a response while pissed. Life is too short and I love this friend dearly. And, we all know that text messages are not the same as speaking in person.

After a few hours, I sent a message to another friend of many years...yes, another member of the male species. I've not yet heard back from him, but I'll be interested to see the differences, if any, in the response.

My point though, is that I hope I remember when someone thinks enough of me to share something they are excited about to appreciate their trust in you.  If I've learned enough about you to care what you think, please don't make me feel small. It does not belittle me...but it does make me feel as though perhaps I'm not worthy of your time or attention...would you even care if I stopped talking or caring?

Righty tighty, lefty loosey

A phrase we all grew up with anytime anything needed to be screwed together or tightened or loosened. Once it's a part of your personal lexicon, it's just as natural as breathing.

Unless you're dyslexic...and even that is a variable as dyslexia takes many forms. For my spouse, it's an impossible thing. You can say it over and over and over. And the next words sound a,  little panic striken - which way is left?

He knows the difference between right and left, of course. But, for some reason the mere fact that he has to loosen or tighten something makes him panic.

A couple of years ago we bought a power washer. It wIas electric and it worked decently well for the things we needed it to do - power washing the decks or knocking loose paint off the house were the primary reasons we bought it.

But he didn't like it. For some reason he's not a fan of electric outdoor gizmos to make life easier. I bought myself a small electric snowblower about ten years ago. I was beginning my path of illness and could not seem to yank a pull cord hard enough to start  the mower, etc. So, since he refuses to use it, it sits idle and we have to go shovel with regular old shovels. I actually don't mind the workout, but I'm prepared to call 911 if I see him drop from the strain. It's not good for an overweight man to shovel like he's a teenager!  I've suggested we sell it...but he doesn't want to, whatever his reasons...most likely the effort it would take to do so.  I'll do it someday when I have the opportunity.

So, back to the original story.  Monday he actually decided to do something with his vacation instead of watching old football games on the sports channels and sleeping in the recliner.  So, even though we don't have any healthy food in the house, he went to the big box lumber store and bought a new, gas-powered power washer.  He asked me to help him lift it out of the Jeep.

Things have deteriorated. No one else but me notices, I don't think...but then no one else is around because he has alienated most everyone from coming to our house.  We go other places, but seldom have guests.

The first "panic"  was as we had lifted the box out and set it down. It wasn't heavy, just awkward. Yet, he was upset because he thought it was too much to move from driveway to grass. I looked at him in puzzlement. "Stick your fingers under the flaps of the box....like *this* and we'll be able to move it."

"Oh....I never would have thought of doing that!"

He opened the box and we lifted the thing out, and then pulled out the other pieces.

I try to be ever mindful of the fact that it bothers him that I've always been the person who does the lumber ordering and the building around here.  I should have told him to go fuck himself years ago and just let me do it!  But, he grew up with a father who could do things and never bothered to show him how unless it was absolutely necessary.

I asked him if he needed me to help and he said the man who sold him the thing had carefully explained it to him and he would read the instructions. That's fair. He does ask good questions, seems to remember what he's been told, etc. Until it comes down to execution.

I've got things to do, so I headed back into the house. It wasn't long before he came inside and asked me to come out and help him read the instructions. He wasn't sure if everything was there.  I went back out and tried to be patient...not my strong suit when these are things he supposedly knows....

And it's not that I'm not patient...it's that I put my "teacher" voice on....and he hates it. So he fusses at me for thinking he's an idiot until I tell him to go fuck himself and do it himself!

At any rate, we finally had this thing together. It took way longer than it should have, but he began to wash the deck.  What was finished looks good!

Things were fine until it was time to unhook hoses. I was chatting with my BF in Vermont when he came in....agitated, little short steps, yelling for me. He was almost in tears.

"I have to get pliers. You need to help me. I broke it....I am sure I broke it. I can't get the hose off..." and on and on and on.  He ran downstairs to get a pair of pliers.  And came up with a big honkin' pipe wrench.

"Let me do it!" I barked at him. He's almost wringing his hands in agony.

I sat down in front of the machine where the hookup is and asked him which way he was turning it. And then he kept telling me I was doing it wrong because it was so tight that I kept switching hands and he was just SURE I was going to break the threads.

Finally after I looked it all over and tested a couple of things I got it loosened enough to know what the correct direction was.  I told him that he was not to hook it up until I had hooked it up as something was not right somewhere along the way.

Today I found out what the deal was. It's backwards  to the way the average person would hook it up. Most people would hook the hose up sitting in front of the machine. But, the coupling is designed so that one would "righty tighty" it by standing over the machine.  So...it's right...but it's not. Especially if one is dyslexic.

I'm not sure if I'm capable of doing this for much longer.

Namaste



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I've had about ten days of pure joy, and I knew it was far too good to last. And, of course, it was my fault it came to an end because I was too honest. I told the truth to a person I was very interested in on so many levels...a man with high intelligence, good looking, a great conversationalist. Heck, he even made my little heart go pitty-pat a bit!

Online conversations can be difficult, especially when you haven't been around the person to "see" the inflections in their "tone" online. Even though I've known this man for almost 15 years, we've never spent a huge block of time together...not referring to sexually, just time together.

So, we had a few laughs and great conversation. And then I pushed my humor limits mixed with truth as I live it. And it was too much, and it messed things up. 

There's a lot of stuff going on that I'm trying to figure out.  When one lives in a marriage with a man whose idea of fun is to watch news shows and talk to the television, resists leaving the house even to see the children or grandchildren unless I get angry or domineering, is definitely dyslexic and has to read everything out loud slowly and still processes it without understanding completely what he's just read, and is slowly showing early signs of dementia...well...those moments of fun with an old friend were invaluable to me. And being over honest was not a good thing even when it was meant in jest and smartassery.

It's a work in progress, folks.  Magic is afoot and I know this; I'm hoping that there's still time for me to have the life I'd like to have in this lifetime. I have to work hard to make the changes neccessary and I know that. I've talked to one child and have to talk to two more.  

As I said, it's a work in progress and more will be written later, as I want to keep a record of what I'm thinking and feeling through all this confusion.

Namaste...

Maybe things ARE changing!

About six months ago, our phlebotomy supervisior was not selected for a promotion. There are so many things which can't be said about her as I've not provided the background info necessary; suffice it to say that she was, in part, one of those who put our life at work in work hell. So, while she did have some good qualities, in the big scheme, it was probably a good idea for her not to have gotten the promotion. However, I didn't like the way management went about it - basically, she got screwed over. Part of it, though, she did to herself. As an example, it's probably not a good idea to tell your "posse" that you made almost $58K in overtime the previous year and expect that bit of news to be kept on the qt.

At any rate, she was replaced, and has since moved on to other, but perhaps not greener pastures.

But, with her leaving, we had to go through the fear of the unknown that was about to happen to us.

It's been an interesting few months. Again, I'll have to go back in history over time and tell those tales eventually.

Three people have taken over the spot of the one who left, each person working on a different section. The woman who has been working with the NICU lab is proving to be interesting for me. As usual (because of the last one) no one wants to trust any of the new ones who have been put in charge. And I seem to be the exception: I will, most generally, give the benefit of the doubt until I'm shown that that's not a good idea. 

A bit of a sidebar here. Because of things that have happened, although I love my job, my actual job, the politics just totally piss me off. Unfortunately, I've become pretty darned good at playing the political game, but eventually, even that hits a wall. While I need the benefits, the time came to pass when I finally hit my wall. I just don't give a royal fuck about the games and bullshit anymore, and it reached the point that one day I flat out told HR and my supervisors those exact words, because I figured that I was looking for a job when I found this one! And it's not like I don't have other things going on in my life! Had they fired me that day, I was okay with it, and had had enough conversations with the union to know they would back me.

While management sucked in their breath in shock and surprise when I told them that, it seems that I stepped across their line in the sand. It seemed to give them some respect for me and made me a person instead of an employee and a number on the bottom line.

And you know what? It felt good. I've never fit particularly well in the "sheeple" category. So, while my coworkers sometimes are horrifyingly amazed that I don't bow to the bosses, I think they are also admiring my gutsy attitude.

And that political game? It's easy. It involves listening, not preparing what you're going to say in rebuttal while they're talking with you.  My new boss likes to communicate. She wants people to come in and read their email first thing on the shift. In fact, she wants people to look at their email every day.

Uh. no. First of all,  as I told her, until she comes up and works shoulder to shoulder with me, she has no right to tell me that I need to read my email immediately upon walking into the lab. After all, most of our labs come up at the top of the hour, and I'm sure there would be a big lack of understanding if I was reading my email instead of, say, drawing blood to check a phenobarb level to prevent a baby from seizing.  And, I told her that. I also told her that I would not be checking my email every day - after all, I *am* part-time, thanks to them. I told her that when I am not on university time, I don't belong to them, am not getting paid and therefore, not checking my email. Of course there would be exceptions, but again, that's an occasional thing.

So, it did piss her off, but she's since thought it over and has made the effort to understand my point of view. Glad of it, but in the long run, don't care, either. It's truth.

At any rate, because I listen, I know she wants to be kept in the loop and believes in communication. I do, too. So, I've made the effort to make sure I drop her an email every week or two, or give a call when something is urgent. And it seems to be paying off in little bits.

Today she called to touch bases with me as I'd dropped her an email about a couple of things last night. (Apparently, the first thing she does when she comes in IS read her email. LOL)

In the course of the conversation, we agreed to meet on Monday on a point of training the former supervisor seemed to take great delight in keeping me from learning and it's been a source of frustration from time to time because I didn't know. And then the surprise comment was made. She told me she wanted to get as many people trained to add to the schedule as soon as possible, so she wants to talk to me about training again. (The former supervisor took that away from my coworker Anne and I because we don't shortcut, and she wanted to turn 'em out as fast as possible, never mind that they never stayed, but only used it for a starting point to get into other departments.) Everyone Anne and I have trained over the years is either still working or has gone back to school to further their education. At any rate, if our conversation goes well, I'll be glad to help out with getting some good new people on board. And maybe, just maybe, I can work things around so my hours will all be M-F without the weekends!  I really hate working weekends, even though it's a natural thing in hospital work.

Long story short, so far I like the new supervisor, even though most others are extremely hostile and cautious, and there are reasons for that, mostly due to the former supervisor. But, it's worth it to take the ride for awhile to see if it's worth sticking around past November.

So, that was the surprise. It would be fun to step back into the teaching position when I can.

If you read the previous NICU post, you saw it was a horrible shift. Last night was not AS bad, but bad enough. The herpes baby has also now developed NoroVirus and so has another baby in another area of the NICU, so now Bay 2 and 3 have both been put on 100% isolation, with the Noro babies on droplet precautions as well. My hands are pretty chapped up from massive amounts of hand sanitizer and hand washing, and we expect Nic 1 to go iso tomorrow. Yippee. It will be like that for a minimum of a week which will keep extending if babies keep getting sick.

I had to laugh this morning. I was drawing blood in the second sick baby's room and was being watched by the nurse practitioner, the baby's nurse and a student. I was telling them how I had been so tired after the shift I'd taken time when I got home to check my business email and then chatted a bit with a friend on FB. I finished the sentence in my chat, punctuated it with an explanation mark, and woke up to find my finger still on the key and page after page of explanation marks.  So, after they laughed at my story, the NP said that when she got home she looked for the biggest drinking container she had. I asked her if she was after coffee.

She said, "No, I made the biggest Bloody Mary I could find a container for - and THEN I went to bed!"

I thought about that for awhile and then I said, "Huh, that sounds good...but I don't think I have either tomato juice or vodka in the house."

She said she had to stop by the store and buy that stuff for hers before she went home. LOL.  Then said, "And to make it even worse, I just stopped smoking a couple of months ago and I had to buy not only the Bloody Mary stuff, but also a pack of cigarettes!"

Now you know it was a bad bad night when that happens!

Thank goodness the phone was quiet today. I slept from 8:30-4 and I'm still in my nightgown and soon off to bed as it's my weekend to go in and help with morning labs.

Enough of my day. Hope anyone who happens across this has a good weekend!

Kate

From the Nursery Lab - March 31, 2016

It was 2012 when I last wrote a post about my job. Reading back, the world has changed so much! I'll give you a look, from time to time about what it's like to be a team member in my NICU.

So, here we are; I should be asleep and truly wish I was! But once again the nightmares felt it necessary to trot through my dreams, filling my head with whimsical images which culminated today in hearing from a great distance my land line ringing....and ringing...and ringing until wakefulness brought me around, and then my cell roused me completely with an email beeping in.

I have clients this afternoon and believe me, I would not be lying if I didn't say that a part of me was hoping the message was from my first appointment.  You know..to cancel...and then I could sleep another hour! No such luck, but then my kidneys mentioned to me that I really *should* get up, so I obeyed! My glance at the clock threw me completely into an upright position because I misread and thought it was telling me I needed to be at the office in 20 minutes.

Damn fucking tired brain!  LOL! A friend gently berated me about my lack of sleep. As I said, it's one of the necessary things when building a business. The client wishes to make an appointment and one does so. But yes, I do try to give myself at least a three hour nap before scheduling someone when I've worked overnight. So, I'm an overachiever in a stupid way! I'm not blaming Himself, but it would have been helpful had he not had his meltdown yesterday and I'd have gotten a few more hours of sleep.

And, as the saying goes, I can sleep when I'm dead, right?

Anyway, back to the NICU. My feet are tired. I logged over 3.5 miles working the NICU and Nursery floors last night. And that was simply due to babies already arrived, almost all of which were being redrawn due to critical values on labs, or the never ending glucose protocols.
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One little Warrior Baby kept us busy - not just me - most of the night. The story of this baby is somewhat out of the ordinary.

If you've ever been on a nursery visit, there's a quick identifier when one glances in the room.  There are blue cards and pink cards, a immediate clue to what the gender of the child is.

But wait...isn't that a YELLOW card? Yes.
It's called ambiguous genitalia. It means that the child's plumbing is not arranged in the commonly accepted ways. We see about 20 cases a year at BHTS. The nurses know I'm interested, so they usually show me what's in the diaper.

In this case, the child had either a very large clitoris or a very small penis. And a urethra. And a vaginal opening. And no testicles, but a scrotum. Bits and pieces of both genders.

The child was a transport from another hospital. Grandma insisted it was a boy, while the rest of us were not so sure. So the process of sorting it all out began in the last couple of days. Genetic testing was sent out for determination, and on the local level, ultrasound was done. There was a cervix, but no uterus or ovaries. No sign of testicles, either.

This puts everyone into that stage of "what if". When the genetics come back, what if the physical points to one thing and the child's brain chooses the opposite? It frequently happens, and that my friends, is where the potential of transgender comes into play.

I'll leave it right there, but I've got to say that all the current bullshit about transgenders in bathrooms is just plain ridiculous, and the small-minded people who want to target a creation of the Divine Plan are just plain wrong. Better that we follow the path of the Native Americans who treated "different" as "special".
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In this case the genetics have come back indicating that the child is a male. But, that's only one issue in a whole score of health issues which have now manifested.


When I arrived for my shift last night, almost immediately I was sent to that bedside to draw labs. Baby was ill. The team was in place trying to draw venously for a blood culture, and the next half hour I waited to see if they could get the draw rather than me sticking the kid again. Long story short, we were working on that kid off and on throughout the night.  The poor kid was sick, and it wouldn't be impossible for a non-medical person to see it.

Fast forward to the later part of the shift. I was called back for a draw and the room had become an "airborne precautions" room. In other words, everyone had to wear a mask. Not an isolation gown, just a mask for the time being.  Of course, I wondered why there was such a change in the works, especially since the child is several days old.

Thanks to the nurse practitioner actually reading the back story to this child, the potential was spotted and point of care testing was done immediately, then repeated twice more to make sure. The diagnosis?  Herpes. Mom has herpes and baby contracted it while coming though the birth canal.

Believe me when I tell you that I've seen things that even a Divine Plan would have to consider a fuck up, but for some reason a baby with herpes just makes me want to curl into a ball and weep. I don't know why. It can be treated with some major drugs. But I get so mad at the medical profession when they see these things and don't react in the best interests of the child. If they *knew* Mom had herpes, the situation warranted a ceasarian section to keep the baby from going through the birth canal.

But, the other side of the coin is that perhaps the mother didn't know either, and only found out herself too late. It's not necessarily a case of poverty and lack of health care. It's just a piece of life puzzle and you never know when you spread all the pieces out whether all are, in fact, there.  This, unfortunately, has some pieces which are missing and we will try to help find them, or suitable substitutes.

Baby, though, has been transferred to Nic1, which is for the sickest little ones.  I will try to keep tabs on this one and update when I can. I will say with some dread, though, that it seems like some of these things come in waves, and we lost both a mother and a baby a couple of weeks ago - more back story on that, but herpes was involved in that one as well.  I hope this isn't the start of something like multiple diagnoses of herpes coming through our doors.

And now it's time for me to get dressed and head toward my office to see clients. Hopefully no complications there!

Until next time...

Kate

Ugh...Meltdown.

Ugh...it's 6:30 a.m. and I'm already up, the bed is made, and I have an overnight shift tonight.

So, why am I already up and at 'em? Simple. Himself was having a meltdown.

Like many with Asperger's if everything is not in its place, the world becomes askew. Such was the case this morning. Himself is very kind to me since I was ill a couple of years ago. On mornings when I don't have to go to work, he gets up early and feeds the critters. If he's out the door to work, the critters all head to the bedroom and dogs get on their beds, cats usually come snuggle in with me. And we all peacefully sleep until I wake up. The critters are more than welcome to keep sleeping, of course! 

Before he leaves, Himself wants to know where everyone is. This morning he couldn't find Bree. And his world came to a screeching halt. He begins "kitty, kitty, kittying" while shaking the bag of treats. Next thing he's in the bedroom shaking the bed (with me in it) then trying to look under it, all the while calling out for her. Then it was wondering if she had gotten outside. OMG, he only had the door open for two seconds! Where could she be? This house is only 800 square feet on the main floor. There's only a few places she could be, right?

Of course that's baloney. She's a cat. She can make herself invisible or become inventive and find a new place to perch.

So, I finally hauled my ass out of bed and got up, looked around, checked all the usual places. Turned on the back door light and looked outside; the methodology being that I'd check all the worrisome places, and perhaps get him out the door to work. 

Understand that this particular cat wants nothing to do with outside. On a very rare occasion she might go out and nibble on a porch plant we keep out there specifically for that purpose, but only when we are out there anyway.  So, the light is on, I'm looking out the door and the third degree begins.

"What are you doing????!!!!!"

"I'm just looking outside since you said you had the door open for two seconds."

Whereupon he comes up behind me and shuts off the porch light. I mentally roll my eyes and walk back to the bedroom and begin making the bed. If I ever want the cat to appear, actually both cats, all I have to do is begin making the bed and for some reason the thrill of "helping" brings them from whatever corner of the house they may be in. But first, I decided to look under the bed again.

"I've already looked under the bed." 

Of course, he'd followed me. He wants to know why I'm checking his work. 

"Yeah, I know, but I thought I'd double check just in case she snuck in."

He left the room, muttering about how he always wants to see all his animals before he leaves to make sure he knows where they are,  and then mumbling something about stupid animals didn't seem to know he wanted to get to work early and they were impeding his progress.

"Robert. I.Will.Look.For.The.Cat."  There was a bit of word play conversation between the two of us, and he finally put his coat on and huffed out the door, all the while calling for her. He wasn't quiet about it, either, so I'm sure we've got neighbors who also are up and around. I should invite them all over for coffee; I'd have to go get doughnuts, though! LOL.

While he was calling his way to his vehicle, I walked back to the bedroom, and on the freshly made bed is Her Majesty, reclined beautifully, with a look on her face of "what's all the fuss about?"

I'm actually  surprised that he hasn't called me from work yet to see if she's appeared.

So, that's how my morning has started. Guess I'll start the laundry, nuke a cup of yesterday's coffee, and then answer the questionaire from a grad student who wants info from me for her thesis.

I'll find time to grab a couple of "cat" naps throughout the day if all goes well. Otherwise, that overnight shift is gonna be loo-ooong!

Blessed day to you, friends.

Kate