EMPLOYMENT ALERT: I got a job. As a nurse. In an emergency room.
EMPLOYMENT ALERT: I have no idea when I start. Also, I am clueless about what to do in the event of an emergency.
While I've been jumping through some hoops called "Advanced Cardiac Life Support" and "Advanced EKG Interpretation" and "Medical Check-ups" and "Live Scan" that eventually, hopefully deliver me to gainful employment, I've been working some flu shot clinics.
A flu shot clinic involves me sitting at a table asking hundreds of people about egg allergies, recent illnesses, and pregnancy plans. Then it involves me stabbing them in the arm and doing Research.
Here are some random things I have learned from doing Research.
- Asians have bouncy skin. I mentioned this to Mack and he said, That's because their skin is hyperglobulous and bouncified, except he used the correct terms. I had no idea this was a thing that existed in skins of Asian descent. Thank you, Research.
- Men with tattoos are usually the ones who are most afraid to get shots. They're looking the other way and trying to take a mental vacation while you shoot for the eye of the skull and crossbones inked on their deltoid. Which is usually large.
- Guys, you aren't gonna be able to roll that sleeve up over your shoulder. Just unbutton it and do the drape.
- Ladies, you need to lift some weight. Some of you gals have scrawny little arms and my needle is 1.5" and supposed to go all the way in. When it's all the way in, it's not supposed to feel like I'm hitting your bone. Do 10 push-ups right now.
- Some people are Bleeders and there is no way to tell who will be a
Bleeder. The Bleeders just like to bleed. I underestimated one Bleeder
and her shirt caught what my gauze missed. Most people aren't Bleeders,
and for that, I (and everyone in line after you) am grateful.
I'm a lover of all vaccines, all the time. So far, I'm mostly safe from yellow fever, meningitis, polio, tetanus, pertussis, diphtheria, measles, mumps, rubella, and hepatitis B, and I'm hoping to get the HPV vaccine even though I'm married because I just like to have a complete collection. I'm getting my flu shot tomorrow when I jump through that Medical Check-up hoop, and I'm really hoping I'm not a Bleeder. Or a crier.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Sunday, October 06, 2013
That Time I Held My Shit Together
Just before the government shutdown closed our national parks, we made a trek up to Sequoia and King's Canyon National Parks and stayed in a little cabin in the woods.
Mack's buddy Walt, henceforth affectionately known as Wilt, came for a visit and planned the whole outdoor excursion. Seriously, the only thing we contributed was finding the Mexican restaurant in Selma that we ate at on the way home... okay, Yelp probably deserves that credit.
The trip was full of beautiful things – giant trees, black bears, marmots, mule deer, rivers, giant boulders, meadows, waterfalls, rainbows, too-stunning-to-be-real vistas that exploded all around you. But what I'll most remember about this adventure was the hike up Moro Rock.
The hike isn't long. It isn't particularly grueling. It's only 797-feet long. It is, however, up a rock that is surrounded by thousands of opportunities to plummet to your death.
Guys. I don't like being on balconies. With high railings.
Anytime I sense danger, for myself or others, I get this feeling in my privates that's sort of like a toddler screaming "DON'T!" while being electrocuted. I have no idea why the message comes from what my family calls the "tootchie," but it does and it is a reliable beacon that sounds even when what I'm doing isn't really dangerous... like standing on a balcony. I guess my danger center is not particularly keen on heights.
I've learned to tell that wailing fear-monger to shut its mouth over the years, mostly through experiences like crawling across Natural Bridge and walking across the canopy of the jungle in Ghana. The fact that I've yet to plummet to my death has helped me find the courage to stuff the gag in before its ALERT reaches my rational brain and tries to cause panic. I also have pretty good upper body strength, so as long as I can hold on and steady myself, the signal usually dissipates enough for me to put one foot in front of the other.
Moro Rock, though. That bitch was brutal.
It started easily enough. Steep inclines on one side of the trail, a rock wall on the other. The view is absolutely breathtaking, even though you can still see the ground/where you would land if you made a mistake. The trail has steps carved out of the rock and is lined with a metal railing, although it's lower than it should be because it was built in the 1930s when people aspired to be 5 feet tall. Despite the reliable terrain and safety railings, the tootchie alert launched into overdrive as we started the ascent and it never shut up.
About 100 steps in, the railing goes away on one side and there's a wide rock ledge overlooking the valley (read: photo op). Lots of people were standing on this ledge, hopping past people sitting on it getting their picture taken. This ledge/bench dropped into an abyss on the other side (read: you cannot even see where you would land if you fell off), and people WERE SKIPPING AROUND ON IT OBVIOUSLY DANCING WITH DEATH. I have no doubt that if these idiots weren't around, I would have been able to mute my internal alarm, but alas, America's national parks don't discriminate against America's national morons.
About 150 steps in, the metal railing goes away and is replaced by wide granite rocks that come to, oh, about knee level. So you've got a slanted rock wall on one side and a perfect thing to trip over on the other. And people coming down the trail. And you mostly want to run screaming down the rock but going fast is the best way to die so you just maintain three points of contact and focus on your breathing.
Did I mention some of the people coming down the trail are 8 and look like they're walking across a parking lot?
As you make your way up, the railings shift between boulders and man-made, the trail winds back and forth, and sometimes you round a corner and a view captures you and steals that breath you've been focusing on. Then you look up the trail at your friend Wilt and realize you somehow have to get your chicken shit ass where he is and that's when your tootchie alert almost makes you piss your pants.
After about 400 steps the world opens up to you. A 360-degree view of Mother Nature wraps around you like a blanket, and you cling to the railing for a picture and try to look like you're not close to exploding. There's a tiny part of you, somewhere around the heart region, that flops around trying to give you a high five for being so brave, but the tootchie alert is screaming GET THE FUCK OFF THIS ROCK PEOPLE GET ELECTROCUTED UP HERE (true story).
You soak up the beauty while you try to silence the freaking out part, but then a cluster of Supreme Morons decide to CLIMB OVER THE RAILING. This is a rock. It's crumbly and can break. You can die, which is why that railing is there in the first place. These people are going to die and you are going to watch them plummet to their deaths and their screams will haunt you for eternity. Guess what happens then? Tootchie alert wins and you start going down the rock.
Just because you're headed toward safety doesn't mean you're safe. There are tight turns and slanted rocks and you have to hug walls and take turns with people coming up the rock. Basically you spend the whole way down maintaining three points of contact and holding your shit together.
Because the experience hasn't been harrowing enough, as you near your starting point, there is a mother bear and her cub foraging in a bush about 20 yards below you. "Hey, the rock face is steep, no problems here," says your high-fiving heart region. "Bears climb trees, bears can climb rocks, bears protect their babies, you've got about six minutes before you adrenaline dump, get your ass to the car," says the tootchie alert.
You make it to the bottom and find Mack reading the information panels. He was getting vertigo about 100 steps in and couldn't make the hike. He is weak and you are powerful. He sits on the bench, you lay your head in his lap and focus on your breathing. You give in to that high-fiving part while your tootchie alert system recovers. You stare at this and appreciate how good it is to be alive.
Mack's buddy Walt, henceforth affectionately known as Wilt, came for a visit and planned the whole outdoor excursion. Seriously, the only thing we contributed was finding the Mexican restaurant in Selma that we ate at on the way home... okay, Yelp probably deserves that credit.
The trip was full of beautiful things – giant trees, black bears, marmots, mule deer, rivers, giant boulders, meadows, waterfalls, rainbows, too-stunning-to-be-real vistas that exploded all around you. But what I'll most remember about this adventure was the hike up Moro Rock.
The hike isn't long. It isn't particularly grueling. It's only 797-feet long. It is, however, up a rock that is surrounded by thousands of opportunities to plummet to your death.
Guys. I don't like being on balconies. With high railings.
Anytime I sense danger, for myself or others, I get this feeling in my privates that's sort of like a toddler screaming "DON'T!" while being electrocuted. I have no idea why the message comes from what my family calls the "tootchie," but it does and it is a reliable beacon that sounds even when what I'm doing isn't really dangerous... like standing on a balcony. I guess my danger center is not particularly keen on heights.
I've learned to tell that wailing fear-monger to shut its mouth over the years, mostly through experiences like crawling across Natural Bridge and walking across the canopy of the jungle in Ghana. The fact that I've yet to plummet to my death has helped me find the courage to stuff the gag in before its ALERT reaches my rational brain and tries to cause panic. I also have pretty good upper body strength, so as long as I can hold on and steady myself, the signal usually dissipates enough for me to put one foot in front of the other.
Moro Rock, though. That bitch was brutal.
It started easily enough. Steep inclines on one side of the trail, a rock wall on the other. The view is absolutely breathtaking, even though you can still see the ground/where you would land if you made a mistake. The trail has steps carved out of the rock and is lined with a metal railing, although it's lower than it should be because it was built in the 1930s when people aspired to be 5 feet tall. Despite the reliable terrain and safety railings, the tootchie alert launched into overdrive as we started the ascent and it never shut up.
About 100 steps in, the railing goes away on one side and there's a wide rock ledge overlooking the valley (read: photo op). Lots of people were standing on this ledge, hopping past people sitting on it getting their picture taken. This ledge/bench dropped into an abyss on the other side (read: you cannot even see where you would land if you fell off), and people WERE SKIPPING AROUND ON IT OBVIOUSLY DANCING WITH DEATH. I have no doubt that if these idiots weren't around, I would have been able to mute my internal alarm, but alas, America's national parks don't discriminate against America's national morons.
 |
| No, those fingers are not knotted together and holding in any urine. Yes, the toe of that boot belongs to someone who walked behind me to get by. |
About 150 steps in, the metal railing goes away and is replaced by wide granite rocks that come to, oh, about knee level. So you've got a slanted rock wall on one side and a perfect thing to trip over on the other. And people coming down the trail. And you mostly want to run screaming down the rock but going fast is the best way to die so you just maintain three points of contact and focus on your breathing.
Did I mention some of the people coming down the trail are 8 and look like they're walking across a parking lot?
As you make your way up, the railings shift between boulders and man-made, the trail winds back and forth, and sometimes you round a corner and a view captures you and steals that breath you've been focusing on. Then you look up the trail at your friend Wilt and realize you somehow have to get your chicken shit ass where he is and that's when your tootchie alert almost makes you piss your pants.
After about 400 steps the world opens up to you. A 360-degree view of Mother Nature wraps around you like a blanket, and you cling to the railing for a picture and try to look like you're not close to exploding. There's a tiny part of you, somewhere around the heart region, that flops around trying to give you a high five for being so brave, but the tootchie alert is screaming GET THE FUCK OFF THIS ROCK PEOPLE GET ELECTROCUTED UP HERE (true story).
 |
| Totally not panicking. |
You soak up the beauty while you try to silence the freaking out part, but then a cluster of Supreme Morons decide to CLIMB OVER THE RAILING. This is a rock. It's crumbly and can break. You can die, which is why that railing is there in the first place. These people are going to die and you are going to watch them plummet to their deaths and their screams will haunt you for eternity. Guess what happens then? Tootchie alert wins and you start going down the rock.
Just because you're headed toward safety doesn't mean you're safe. There are tight turns and slanted rocks and you have to hug walls and take turns with people coming up the rock. Basically you spend the whole way down maintaining three points of contact and holding your shit together.
Because the experience hasn't been harrowing enough, as you near your starting point, there is a mother bear and her cub foraging in a bush about 20 yards below you. "Hey, the rock face is steep, no problems here," says your high-fiving heart region. "Bears climb trees, bears can climb rocks, bears protect their babies, you've got about six minutes before you adrenaline dump, get your ass to the car," says the tootchie alert.
You make it to the bottom and find Mack reading the information panels. He was getting vertigo about 100 steps in and couldn't make the hike. He is weak and you are powerful. He sits on the bench, you lay your head in his lap and focus on your breathing. You give in to that high-fiving part while your tootchie alert system recovers. You stare at this and appreciate how good it is to be alive.
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