because now my eyeballs feel like they're vibrating and other reasons why I need to stop caring what other people think.

when I'm home for Christmas, I do believe I'll need to invest in some Steelers stickers to apply to items I enjoy [or need] and wish to not-lose. In three days, I have misplaced as many mugs. the only two vessels for drinking I have not lost this week are adorned with Steelers' praise: one mug, one thermos.

speaking of thermoses (I wanted so much for "thermi" to be a word -- alas!), why are they not still popular? I remember in my grade school days, I could not purchase a lunchbox without also getting a thermos. granted, I cannot recall a single instance in which I used one. in fact, I actively tease my boss who brings one to work. BUT TODAY, I understand.

for a really embarrassing reason, too. I packed up my gear and holed myself up in the library for studying and homeworking. I'm not sure how many ounces of caffeinated liquid this thermos can hold, but there seem to be a lot of them. And in this library, drinks and noises are prohibited. Though to be fair, in this little cubicle, I have nothing but my own possessions to destroy with my ginger tea and plenty of swiped alcohol swabs floating in the bottom of my purse with which I can clean up if the worst should happen. plus, the librarian is holding a gigantic DD cup, so I've pretty much rationalized my way out of guilt... though, at this point, I don't think I'm capable of many thoughts different than AM I GOING TO DIE?

See, the second floor of the library is dedicated to "quiet study," an oft-ignored sentiment enforced today because of...

-squints, turns around-

CPT post-testing, whatever that is. grand! I needed this. however, I didn't realize just how big of a douche I would sound like, popping my thermos open and closed every time I wanted a sip of ginger tea. And two times in, I figured, well. this is it. crankypants is going to bust me for making a ruckus, so I may as well drink all of my hot beverage now before it gets cold, since I left the thermos open. Thermoses work amazingly well, I noticed. Four miniature cups of ginger tea in, it was still piping hot. but I could not wrap my mind around the fact that my mini- I want to say colander, but I know that's not right - hot-thing is doing its DAMN JOB and keeping my tea extra hot, just south of boiling. Plus, of course, I couldn't have made coffee like a normal person. No, I had to make that anti-inflammatory Dr. Weil tea with an incomprehensible amount of dried ginger and honey in it, so I hack a little after each sip. it's good. it's hot. it's sweet. it's spicy. and it seems to be doing a number on the cold I woke up with, but the whole noises thing? not helping.

so yes, I consumed -- CARAFE. that was the word I was looking for. ahem. sorry. -- yes, so I drank all of the tea. so now I'm jittery and giggly and self-conscious because care plans for urinary tract infections aren't this funny and legit NOTHING is funny about the renal system and its dysfunction and I am not at all productive and I'm pretty sure I'm going to die because my heart is beating so loud in my eardrums and my eyeballs feel like they're vibrating and I really should have eaten something for lunch by now but my lunch is all the way downstairs in my car because I thought it would be poor form to bring a thermos and a packed lunch in the library but I'm thinking I kinda need it now.

also, I sort of didn't do my weekly self-evals because up until now, I have been writing them based on how I felt someone else felt about me. but now, I know I'm not as big of a jackass as some others believe me to be, so it's difficult to conjure up what I really think about myself. because I do tend to respond to people the way they respond to me. so when someone is impatient with me and mad because they think I'm messing up, I'll like drop shit and feel like a doofus. but if nothing else I have learned this semester, it's that I cannot define myself by other's standards of me or I will never survive. I need to figure out who I am and what I'm capable of and ask for help when I need it and rise to a challenge when I ask for it. because I learn quickly and adapt adeptly and make new friends begrudgingly and care infinitely and prepare thoroughly and misplaced humility or lack of confidence isn't worth a damn in nursing school because everyone loves a good character arc and I'm changing all the time. and it's a beautiful thing. but remembering where I started compared to where I have been is difficult when I didn't fill them out in a timely fashion, so I'm trying to hit the highlights here. I can spike and prime a bag. I can make a grand gesture to win a stranger's trust. I can find out what is most important to a person. I can teach what I have learned to many different personality styles and levels of comprehension. I can remember names and faces and stories and triumphs and trials and failures and loss. I have never hugged so many strangers or blessed so many with green tea lattes and an encouraging word. I can perform an NIH stroke scale from memory. I can apply mascara at five am. I can listen. I can talk. I can speak up. I can do this.

think I can print out this blog entry and hand it in for my final eval?

freaking best day of clinical EVER.

It was all Luck, but I definitely got the better deal this morning. Upon arrival to the ICU, I was ushered into a room of a patient who did not tolerate cardiac surgery well. One peek at the client's cracked open chest and the bypass machinery was all I needed. The charge nurse must have been a bloody good telepath because even though I feigned fascination, my heart was elsewhere.

Heh.

She suggested that I make my way to the other side to observe another cardiac case where one couldn't directly visualize the heart. I left my classmate to observe where we were and made my way to the other side. My nurse had two patients whose combined diagnoses and treatments summed up my entire semester of learning: droplet precautions, influenza, acute renal failure, ventilator (PEEP), central line inserted into the femoral artery, NG and OG tubes... the list goes on and on. Plus, I could not have asked for a more patient or opportunistic teacher.

I was pushed into a room (and some poor med student) to watch an extubation. I was asked to discontinue a nasogastric tube. I have good form. I'm a compassionate soul because I got the client tissues. Oh, no. I just have Professor Seabury forever in my brain. If I thought that time I shot hot coffee out my nose hurt, imagine HCl, a much stronger acid, burning my mucosa. Nooooo thank you.

"Have you ever done a blood draw from a central line?"
"Not on a human."
"Gown up."
"Wha--?" and miraculously, a gown flew at my head at an alarming speed. Remember that skill I was nervous to perform as my skills final? yeah, that was it. But A put me at ease, even when I thought out loud about how it was disconcerting to feel the warmth of the waste blood I withdrew for the first time. The Sim Man doesn't prepare you for the heat. Both she and the phlebotomist got a kick out of
that one. Ha ha, bodies are warm. Got it. It was a rush, like meeting a celebrity. I suppose I'm lucky I didn't say to the central line, LIKE OMGZ, I SAW YOU ON THE INTERNET. But by the end of the day, I had done it three times, so the butterflies were gone. Oh, yeah, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and I have had lunch three times. We're old friends now. No big deal.

Actually, huge deal. I think if I met Jospeh Gordon-Levitt for lunch three times, I'd still geek out a bit. I might be a little better at hiding it by then, but I love him.

Later, I administered medication through an OG tube, another of our lab skills. A asked me how to check for placement. I gave the textbook answer: aspirate gastric contents and check the pH level with litmus paper. A laughed and asked me when the last time I saw litmus paper was. I panicked and said, "Miss Sladik's eighth grade science class." A doubled over with giggles this time. Okay, then how do I check for placement? Auscultate over the epigastric region while administering an air bolus quickly, listen for a swoosh. Yeah, buddy. A appreciated my technique and adherence to proper procedure. Well, yes. I would like to practice in a safe and responsible way and exude professionalism. But also, I lack the creativity to be properly lazy.

We ran back to the med room and each prepared an IV med. my line didn't have a single bubble. I wish my clinical prof could have seen it. She probably wouldn't believe it. We go to hang both bags, and the pump is whining about a bubble in another line. I went to work right away, flipping the bag upside down and flicking the bubbles back toward the bag of solution. If nothing else, growing up with four brothers made me an excellent flicker. Still, it was slow-going. A asked me if I wanted to see a trick. Always, yes. She clamped the tubing beneath the offending bubble, attached a syringe to a Y site between the bubble and the clamped portion, sucked out the bubble, detached the syringe from the Y site, pushed up the plunger to dispose of the air bubble, reattached the syringe to the line, and shot the collateral solution back into the line, so the client didn't lose any medication.

I was thoroughly impressed. So much easier than flicking a bubble back up three feet of tubing, I'll tell you that much right now. I was so engaged, that I didn't realize it was time for me to go until I was 35 minutes late for post-conference. I rushed out of there, forgetting my Hoops and Yoyo mug in the break room. Oh, shucks. I'll just have to go back.

if it doesn't pay in dividends,

then what good is bravery?
because it feels a lot like lunacy.

-sigh-

speaking of fear, I am pretty sure I have a hypoactive thyroid. or at least I exhibit the following symptoms during lecture: extreme fatigue, cold intolerance and accompanying numbness in the fingers, irritability that descends into apathy and depression, dulled mental processes, and slow speech. In addition, my hair was dry and falling out at an alarming rate this morning. It may have been the straightener, but one can never be too careful. The only thing keeping me from ringing up my doctor's office was [well, one, they've sort of cut me off from wellness visits] the lack of weight gain and absence of peripheral edema.

SO DO I HAVE HYPERTHYROIDISM?
kidding. no.
I don't sweat enough.

in other vaguely amusing news, I accidentally called a friend from high school, Zachariah, instead of my little brother, Joshua, the other day. (before you get too confused, one is called Gigantor in my phone and the other is called Giuseppe. ohh, that didn't elucidate things for you? have you met me once?)

'twas a happy accident. I feel I have half-convinced him to take a position in radio broadcasting if this whole paint-selling business doesn't pan out. I would love for him to be a man-Delilah, giving out terrible relationship advice and playing the worst songs ever released.

"you're having money troubles, are you? Quit buying crap and get a job. here's Kanye West's masterpiece, 'Gold Digger' on W-letter-letter-letter."
I'd stream that shit.
Stream because right now, he'd be broadcasting from rural Maryland, which I also find quite funny. I can't wait to get into another one of our epic fake arguments, so I can tell him to go hack in a spittoon, dress a deer, and/or fall in a ditch... which is probably his whole driveway.

I am such a good friend!

so Phyllis decides

I NEVER WANT TO STOP EVER, but Honda cannot recreate it.
This sounds similar to another car company who shall remain nameless.
Oh, man. Sorry your legs are mushed, but like, we totally can't get the car to do it again. Uhhhhhhhhmz, what?

They've been taking Phyllis on the road, and she seems to be in full working order.
No accelerator sticking. No rug interaction [the suspected cause].
so now what? drivin' Beeze, I guess, while we wait for Honda head honcho to ch-ch-ch-check it out! Because I, for one, am hesitant to take 'er out on the open road. And back roads, for that matter.

quick character review: Phyllis is the name I use to describe the Honda Accord I typically drive whenever it misbehaves. Because " f*** you, Phyllis" is fun to say. Beeze is the Ford Taurus' name. I honestly can't remember the story behind that one.

But hey guess what!
everyone in our year passed the skills testing!
we are literally the best class of all time.

somebody up there loves [messing with] me.

dread.dread.dread.dread.dread.

passed skills testing this morning. but first, twenty minutes of despair, tears, hugs, and generalized panic occurred. blood draw from a central line.you mean the only skill I was nervous about performing? FFFFFUUUUU----

I needed no prompts of the allotted three. though others claimed tunnel vision, I couldn't help but notice that I was speaking the loudest of the six other students also being assessed. Perhaps I was speaking loudly enough for both my laryngitis-stricken instructor and I? Though it pained her to say it (speaking literally here -- she doesn't know me well enough to hate me), I asked her to confirm the words I thought she insinuated. "Yes, Caitlyn, you passed."

happy dance. happy dance. Keltic Kitchen. Keltic Kitchen. fab company. fab company.

I volunteer to pick up little brother from college because nothing could kill the happy dance.
The Universe said, "challenge accepted."
Little brother and little brother's friend packed up, and we headed out. Traffic in Worcester was a gorramn nightmare. One particularly irksome individual driving a yellow Protege received the concentration of our rage. YOU SAD, DOWN-GRADED BUMBLEBEE, DRIVE RIGHT.

Ten minutes out of Worcester, and the accelerator pad got stuck. I thought, 'perhaps I just forgot I have the cruise control on.' toggled the button. no deceleration. I took a deep breath and tapped the brakes. The entire car started to shake. Even though two teenaged boys were jabbering on and the entire car was shaking beneath me, I could not hear. I turned on the emergency lights, uttered some hugely heroic phrase like, "OH SHOOT!" and pulled over on the side of 290. Not without considerable effort, however. Flooring the brakes and pulling the emergency brake only slowed our progress. I threw my whole body weight into shifting to park and cut the power. only then did we grind to a halt.

We three sat in shaky silence for a moment. "Wouldn't it suck if we were still behind the Protege when that happened?"
"Gorrammit, must you find the silver lining in EVERYTHING?"

[we kid -- but yes. ten minutes earlier, and we would have been a donut. dead meat. not alive to tell the tale. somebody up there loves us. or just wanted to hear how we would tell this story.]

And just like that, the tension was lifted. A tow, a taxi, and a ride home -- activate! A Ford Taurus that vaguely resembled a decommissioned cop car took us to Herb Chambers Honda in Westborough, approximately two hours from home. AAA assured me that said taxi accepted credit cards because I don't typically carry cash. We pulled into the lot, and I double-checked that he did indeed take cards because the inside of the car did not make that readily apparent to me. The driver reluctantly pulled out a paper slip and took down prominent billing information. He tore a piece off the end, a handwritten receipt for twenty dollars.

In retrospect, it was probably an idiot move to trust that a handwritten receipt with my credit card number was a legitimate business interaction, but at the time? it seemed the only way. A little being ignored here, a little frustration there. after some time, I had next to no answers, but at least I had a numbered key-chain. So little brother, little brother's friend, and I braved the wilderness between the Honda dealership and Target in search of hot foods.

highway dance party. unexpected elevation change. almost fall into a ditch. highway dance party. highway dance party. coping mechanisms! highway dance party. adventure time in Target.

>.> Apparently, all Targets of the super variety do not contain Subways. Starbucks, it was. breakfast sandwiches. Coke Icee is a regular fountain beverage, right? omma nom noms. adventure time in the dark. back to the dealership we go. Aunt Mary Kay was waiting for us like a knight in shining armor. we raided the Honda for valuables and were once again, Cape Cod bound.

and now we are home. and now we are safe. and now I have taken far too long writing this semi-coherent post. and now I am going to bed. good night!

love is like a can of beef vegetable soup.

sure, it warms your core, but are all the creepy mystery-meat cubes worth it?
>.>
the world may never know.

in related news:
"The valet asked for my last name to write on the ticket I need to pick the car back up. Guess what it said?"
"what?"
"FATzsimmons."
"Maybe it was a typo."
"But it was hand-written!"
Mmmmmm.

sometimes, if something is really important...

you allow yourself to be vulnerable. to let go of anger. to ask for what you want. to ask for what you need. sometimes, you get exactly what you asked for. sometimes, the answer is less than ideal.
sometimes, the answer isn't an answer at all.

so maybe you dodged a bullet?
and maybe, you've just got to dust yourself off and try again.
I am looking at my pile of cried-in tissues and laughing and crying all over again.
sometimes, you just need to be human.
and it [expletive]-ing sucks.

congratulate me.

As of four o'clock this afternoon, I obtained a liberal arts degree.
I needed it in order to pursue my associates in nursing with a little help from Uncle Sam.
Tomorrow, my refund check will be printed and mailed, so I will have the money to cover my last semester!
Still bitter about not getting a raise at work.
Oh, leave for six weeks = kbaiiiforeverzman.

>.> oh, wellz. the mental gymnastics I had to perform to follow both of those arguments has left me in brain-knots. off to go consume some caffeine, help it catch up.

graduationpartytimes.

it's okay.

I didn't put on pants till 7 pm.
The Steelers were losing for a good portion of this game to the Kansas City Chiefs.
we all have our days.

let's just end this game the way I finished up the day, huh?
with a success.

yeahhh, paper written, cited, and printed.
I spent much of the day in my underwear, sitting in bed, cranking out this paper.
It was actually far less tortuous than I had made it in my mind.
but you know, when there are pictures of grumpy cat to behold, writing about teaching yogic breathing to someone with COPD is way less fun.
I probably need to thank the internet gods that I tripped a cord while moving a rug today and unplugged the wireless router. Otherwise, who knows what could have happened?

srsly, boys? let's close this up, gorrammit.

"Pittsburgh is charged with their third and final time out.
Kansas City is charged with a fourth time out."

... it's the new math.

you are some kind of evil genius.

oh, don't worry, I won't tell anyone.
don't bother. I'll tell everyone for you.
FFFUUUUUU---

outlining creativity.

I started out life as a Creative Writing and Publishing major. life is a stream of consciousness, experienced in real time. my writing occurred in much the same haphazard style as life happened to me, both in the professional and for pleasure fields.

you may then imagine my frustration in writing this paper, thirty pages of planning ahead [at which I am downright dreadful] and teaching [at which I am innately quite good].

I wrote an outline for the first time in my academic career, revised said outline, and wouldn't you know it... the paper's just flowing out of me.
so I felt the need to blog about it to impede my progress, I suppose.

breeeeeathe, just breathe.
which, coincidentally, is also the topic of my paper: yogic breathing strategies taught to a client who presents with COPD exacerbation and also thinks I'm a nutcase.

May I present to you, lion's breath, source of my nutcasery.

Nothing dispels tension faster than a few lion's breath cycles. Try it! Be seated comfortably in an upright position. Inhale through the nose, let the shoulders float up toward the ears. Exhale vigorously through the mouth, making a sound akin to a lion with laryngitis [HAAAAA]. feel the vibration in the back of the throat. stick out the tongue, relax the shoulders away from the ears. Come to neutral with another inhale. repeat.

If you're looking for a good chuckle, practice in front of a mirror and watch a physical manifestation of your frustrations melt them away. Or practice lion's breath in front of a baby. Babies think this is hilarious.

If you're looking for a new scar on your face to brag about at work, perform lion's breath within striking distance of your furry pet.

procrastination begets procrastination and other laws of the universe

facebook is like my fridge.
nothing really changes unless I change it.
but that doesn't stop me from checking every hour or so.

paper-writing creates fodder cravings in my brain.
that girl I barely spoke to in high school is with child again?
that guy I cannot stand but never get around to blocking is still bitter about the results of the election?
SCORE.
Oh, educating adults present the following.. -snore-
I have to pee again. fancy that.

boy. this is going to be a long weekend, isn't it?

it started off so well, too.
I have figured out the secret to getting respect in the clinical setting: glasses.
yes.
a week ago today, I awoke with a migraine and wore glasses out of necessity.
thankfully, I had a person who needed a minimally stimulating environment.
low noise, low lights.
and I got my first compliment! backhanded and mean as it was, still counts.
I tested my hypothesis on Tuesday morning. my findings were consistent.
this morning, I was told I did "a great job."
I nearly fainted.
later, a man on the unit whose call for help I answered gave me a chocolate turtle.
another told me I was beautiful. I missed another complimentary comment from a peer's patient's family.
[it's probably for the best.]

I HAVE THE POWER! (of prescription lenses~!)
also, the risk of infection is cut significantly.
it's science.

maybe I can write a meta-paper about my own learning? or maybe I can take a nap?
yeahhh, that one.

signs you may be a nursing student

your social calendar is packed with labs, study parties, and lunches before Med-Surg prep.
you forgot your best friend's birthday because it was during midterms.
"but you have a whole week to study!" elicits a fear worse than death.
you had Hep G, ectopic pregnancy, a life-threatening arrhythmia, possible CVA/TIA, and respiratory failure in the last month.
your doctor's office has cut you off from Wellness visits.
"am I dying" texts of varying personal nature and probability arrive in your inbox daily.
you consider stabbing a friend whining about an English course.
required reading is more effective than the Ambien regimen you've only recently started.
you know how your professor prefers to handle a penis.
you can curtsy in scrubs.
you are no longer flattered by the question, "Are you a doctor?"
you have a love-hate relationship with your recorder.
you abhor the color white. and pale yellow.
you've never been more affection-starved than mornings of clinical.
HIPAA requires you to talk about your homework like it's special ops.
you brag in code.
you're suddenly really good at crying.
you lose the freshman fifteen when sophomore lecture extends through lunch.
you gigglesnort at the phrase, "lead by example."
you haven't slept for more than four hours since summer vacation.
your [already sh***y] running blog goes seriously downhill after September.
your neck disappears a little more each day. you propose to a classmate who works out a kink.
you age faster than the President -- maybe. who knows what he or she looks like any more.
you relish a challenge. you don't dig the smell.
you reminisce about the day you stood around watching colonoscopies.
your cuticles are a goddamn nightmare.
you forget how to dress yourself on days without scrubs.
you value the work you do for free more than the work you do to pay for school.
"personal growth" is a dirty word.
it takes several minutes to decode a text or email from someone using chatspeak because in medicine, there's an abbreviation for that.
the right answer is also the wrong one.
if all else fails, wash your hands.

painting the town red, white, and blue.

AMERICA!

Today, I voted, bought popcorn from Boy Scouts, and ran. (oh, and excellent patient care.)
I have to go eat something with bacon on it and speak my mind, and I will be the perfect American.

The question is, will I be 2 for 2 in Presidential elections?
It will be most interesting to see how the state questions will be answered.

dissatisfaction

November is almost as terrible as October was wonderful.

"guhhhhhhhhhhhh" is the only thought I have entertained today.
Off to go manufacture some endorphins naturally.
Maybe get back to that self-hate baseline.

-headdesk-

UPDATE: after a run and a little message-reading on my profile, I'm rocking a superficial self-esteem boost. I wish I had signed out before I read this message, however: "you can come over and cuddle if you wanna. nothin sexual about it, just wanna sleep tonight."

I... what? hi, person whose first name I don't even know. I would totally love to show up at your house at eleven pm for no sex. does that typically work on girls? is it nice that we're not heading back to my place and therefore, you insinuate that you trust I'm not a psycho who will burn down your house? is it nice that you're not pressuring me? because I feel like it's a little weird to skip straight to snuggling... and knowing addresses.

call me old-fashioned.

oh. my. word.

Men like to perpetuate the myth that women are the crazy ones, when in reality, their territorialism and acts of emotional terrorism make them the less sane sex.

On the previously-mentioned dating website, I told someone who expressed interest in me that I like coffee. He creates a whole day around the statement (which, great. I'm extra indecisive. make as many decisions as you like) and tells me he'll email me with the details about when he can do it. okay, let's.

... two days later, I return to thirty-one unanswered messages. 31! (oh, but zero e-mails) The last of them told me to tell the guy I was with that he (the speaker) won because I trusted him [about what place on Main Street has good coffee] but he's walking away like a man with dignity and that I'm probably a whore anyway.

right. dignity.

I reply with a message that essentially says "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" his only reply is, "oh, I will follow through and email you later." I almost want to say, 'honey, you are out of your damn mind if you think that I am going anywhere near you after that outburst. I think you entirely missed the point of what I was trying to say.' But saying such things would only encourage more conversation. and that, I'd like to avoid.

gor-RAMN.