Friday, February 23, 2007

Prison Break in Podunk

This time I caught them in the act... I*
If you look closely, you can see the idiot cows escaping---they're coming through the fence. And it's always on this particular highway, I don't know why. That rancher needs to fix his dang fence or get better bobwire, you know?

Last week I saw 4 hefers and two doggies break through that same fence, a little further on down the road, and those stupid things had themselves a high old time grazing by the highway all afternoon, big as you please.

But I guess that I can't really blame them, though---because if you look closely, you'll see that the grass REALLY is greener on the other side of that fence!

And the thing about cows is, that the stupid creatures can never figure out how to get BACK IN the pasture. They can be 6 inches away from the fence hole and still not figure it out---always needing to be rounded up and led back in by somebody's ranch dog or a pickup truck. (I let somebody else do the honors on this particular day.)

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

President's Day (and Ladylike Behavior) In Podunk...

S*
Stand tall, D*
Don't you fall....

("Stand Tall", Burton Cummings)

A*

And the hard winter goes on....

aaaarghhh....

As we Road Nurses drive on...

aaaaarghh....

We have continued to drive onwards through the snow flurries, the freezing rain, the stinging sleet, extremely high winds, and through the continual icy coldness...

Sometimes we even have to go out at night to see patients---in the snow...

(One more time for good measure: aaarggghhh....)

I know I'm whining here. And I truly shouldn't, because that's just the way it is in the winter. But it hasn't only been the weather which has caused trouble. Everything else seemed like it was falling apart as well. Last week was pretty rough---and this week isn't much better. One disaster after another. And I can't seem to make any progress on anything I try to do---it's as if I'm walking through sand...slowly.

I've always been the type of person who tries to live by the philosophy under which many Texans are raised: "When the going gets tough, the tough get going."

Or: "If you fall down, you've got to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps".

Or: "If you need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm..."

Okay, that's fine. But I've also allowed myself to live by the Bohemian Road Nurse Philosophy of Problem-Solving Clause which states that:

"You're allowed 15 minutes of whining before you get tough, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, or look for that helping hand at the end of your arm or whatever...."

So here's my 15 minutes of whining and then I'll zip it and tend to business:

I am pretty worn out, mostly because of last week. Last week was Pure-D Hell because it was as if nobody could make a decision except me. Everybody had problems and they all wanted me to solve them---and there I stood, like the biggest, stupidest stoogerina in the world, just as clueless as the next person---not even able to solve my own problems MUCH LESS anybody else's. It was one thing after another, day after day, hour by hour....

I knew the week was going to be bad right off the bat because we were hosting a Blood Pressure Clinic at a local grocery store and the first person who sat down at our booth was a well-dressed gentleman who looked me right in the eyeball and asked: "Can you help me with my Erectile Dysfunction?"

No lie, that's what the guy said! Just as big as you please, as loud as anything, for the entire dang grocery store to hear! And the millisecond after he made the rude statement, a sudden silence ensued---and you could have heard a pin drop in there as all the nearby shoppers and employees stopped what they were doing and stood stock still, aghast at his most ungentlemanly conduct.

Of course, the man had done it on purpose--he knew EXACTLY what effect this statement would have on two uptight, Victorian Podunkian road nurses who were raised in such strict environments that we didn't even know what "sex" WAS until we were almost finished with high school---and then only because somebody's big sister ran away to Houston and was rumored to have "stayed all night at a boy's house".

Anyway, the minute this bozo made the statement, a cowardly Geena-Lou beat a hasty retreat to the Dairy Products Aisle where she pretended to talk to a store employee about the best type of Dannon Yogurt to eat---even though I happen to know she's never eaten any damn Dannon Yogurt a day in her life. And thus, I was left to deal with the wise-guy---me and my stricken face, which had flushed a deep beet red (I've always blushed easily).

Knowing that the eyes of the entire town were upon me---and would sternly judge my level of composure in this difficult situation--which is considered a "test" of a Podunkian Lady's upbringing---a failure of which would bring down the violent wrath of one's grandmother and mother upon one's stupid, heathen, raised-in-a-barn, un-ladylike head forevermore---I managed to stammer a polite: "No, sir. I don't think we can help you with that. You'll have to see your doctor..." The jerk stood there for a few more minutes, eyeing me, as I kept stammering and muttering nonsense to his shoes. Finally, the guy got tired of embarassing me and wandered off to finish his grocery shopping.

Well that was just fine and dandy..... because, thankfully, I had deftly managed to maintain my dignity in the exact way a well-bred Podunkian Lady would act in such an awkward situation---and thus, I not only thwarted his rudeness but escaped further embarassment, saved my "reputation" as a Lady, avoided the wrath of my female authority figures---and quickly brought the whole sorry episode to an end. And, thus, my "honor"---and my grandmother & mother's teachings--- were all safely intact, especially since I'd had the grace to blush. I suppose I should have felt both jubilant and triumphant at having survived an encounter with a RUDE MAN without disgracing myself with any public "bad conduct" on my end, which is the "goal" of every well-bred Podunkian Lady.

Okay, that was the first clue that the week was going to be bad.

And I'll let you in on a little secret about what I REALLY wanted to do to that jackass---and which I probably WOULD have done in my former biker chick days---which was to snatch that yayhoo BALD! Oh yeah, I'd have SAVED my damn honor alright! Oh yeah, baby, I'd have saved it!

And then I might have allowed my ferocious biker HUSBAND to snatch that idgit bald, know what I mean? Oh yeah, my EX would have saved my dang honor, oh YES SIRREE BOB, know what I mean?!! That dumb-ass would have WISHED TO HIGH HEAVEN that he'd NEVER made a dang contrary comment to this little road nurse, know what I mean?....

But that was then---and this is now. And a Podunk Road Nurse has to maintain some sort of... uh... decorum.... and so I let the jackass slide for his sin---and I didn't snatch him bald, much as I wanted to, dammit.

(Hoo-boy, he doesn't know how lucky he was that I kept my composure....Hoooo doggies, he doesn't KNOW how close he came to a REAL answer to his question!..."Oh yeah, buddy--I can help you with that problem, right after I SLAP YOU UPSIDE YOUR BALD DANG HEAD---WHICH ISN'T BALD YET BUT WILL BE AFTER I SNATCH IT SO DANG BALD YOU'LL HAVE TO WEAR A HAT IN THE SUMMERTIME...COME HERE and LET ME SHOW YOU HOW I REALLY FEEL BUCKO ....)

Okay, I'll stop fantasizing about snatching him bald....

Anyhoo, the next clue that the week was going to hell in a handbasket was at our Daily Report, where we road nurses sit around a table and give a brief talk about what is going on with the patients we've seen that day. As usual, I was only half-listening while my mind formed a mental list of all the stuff I needed to get done the next day. But then suddenly my ears perked up at something Jane-Anne was saying.

"I went and saw Mrs. Dilmer--and it was her 101st birthday," Jane-Anne stated proudly. "And I took her a coffee-mug for a birthday present. She was so thrilled because the coffee-mug said 'I Love Jesus' on it--- and she said she'll use it every morning! And then I told her I couldn't believe she was 101 years old. I even asked her if those were her own teeth..."

I almost fell out of my chair.

"You asked her WHAT?" I asked incredulously, hoping against hope that my ears had deceived me.

"She's still got her own teeth!" Jane-Anne announced happily, grinning widely and pointing at her own teeth to illustrate her point. "She's 101 and still has her own dang teeth, Bo, can you buh-leeve it?"

In my utter mortification, I briefly considered snatching Jane-Anne bald---which would be perfectly legal in Podunk since she's a "youngun" and had just been uncouth, which gives any nearby older female the authority to snatch her bald---but then I remembered that she's my "pet" and I love her dearly, and so I didn't do it.

I looked at Geena-Lou desperately for help but Geena-Lou simply smiled a bright and sarcastic smile while remarking: "That's your baby!"

Then I briefly considered lecturing Jane-Anne about what constitutes a "compliment" in polite Podunkian society--and how asking somebody if their teeth are "their own" is probably not a prudent or complimentary remark to direct at someone of the age of 101 years---or any age for that matter.... but then I remembered that Jane-Anne is a true country girl, raised by a family of horse-breeders, and that she comes from a long line of horsey people who truly believe that having good teeth at an advanced age is a positive thing---and so they probably all think that an "own teeth" comment is perfectly fine to say in polite Podunkian society, and who was I to say any different?....

Finally, I settled upon simply looking upwards at Heaven (just so the Lord would take notice of the things I have to put up with), shook my head in defeat, muttered something to the effect of "Oh, the hell with it..." --- and then waved my hand as a signal that the girls should go on with their report.

Sigh....

Anyway, the week just degenerated from there. It was one problem after another, and I'm worried that last week's problems will continue to leak into this week. So far, I've had angry patients calling me on the phone, requiring me to make decisions about what our company CAN and CANNOT do as part of their care. (We WILL load a patient's clothing into the washer and dryer, but I draw the line at chain-sawing dead tree-limbs from over the trash-burning pit.)

Also, I've had sick nurses calling me on the phone, requiring me to make decisions about the schedule. (Yes, you can go home early if you don't feel good---and yes, you can have an extra day off to go to Oklahoma to buy that new cow with your husband and kids---but if you ask me for time off ONE MORE DANG TIME I'm going to jump into Podunk Lake while wearing cement shoes...)

Also, I have a delinquent secretary whose main purpose in life seems to be to aggravate me to within an inch of my sanity---a situation which has required me to make a decision about whether or not to fire her sassy, lazy butt. (But I didn't--mostly because it's just too dang difficult to find somebody to do the stuff she does at the horribly low wages she's paid---and frankly, I just flat out don't have the emotional strength to get into an argument with her anyway since she can give more plausible excuses for laziness and sassiness in any debate than F. Lee Bailey himself and I just don't have the damn fortitude to endure them.....)

And also, I've had the owners of the company after me to make decisions about how to increase our patient census. (What do you want me to do? Hog-tie the doctors and FORCE them to refer all their patients to this company? It's a dog-eat-dog world out there in the road nurse arena---and HELLO? There's MORE THAN ONE road nurse company competing for the same pool of available patients...)

So yesterday I thought to myself: You know what? The only decision I really want to make on any given day is what to order at the Sonic...

Yesterday there was a nice break in the rain and cold weather. We actually had a fairly nice sunny day. All the snow had melted and things actually looked promising for an early Spring. It was President's Day and the entire town was bedecked in flags in honor of the occasion. Needing a little calm within the usual storm, I took my lunch hour alone. I even managed to pull into one of the Sonic's car-slots without knocking off any of the pieces of their apparatus (like I did the last time I was there). Ordering food at the Sonic is easy. You pull into the slot, roll your window down, pick what you want from the menu---and then press the button on the loudspeaker.

I never can understand what they say over the loudspeaker when they answer my button---I'm sure it's something to the effect of "What will you have?" ---and so I just wait for them to stop talking and then tell them what I want. And then viola---I wait a couple of minutes and then the car-hop brings it to me--easy-schmeesy.

Not much decision-making there besides what you want on your hamburger--- either pickle, mustard, ketchup or jalapenoes--or all of those things if you so desire.

Actually, I was feeling so much discouragement that after getting my hamburger I started driving aimlessly around the town, looking at all the flags waving in honor of

President's Day. I drove around and around in the Jeep, listening to music on my Ipod, vacantly watching all the lovely flags waving and flapping proudly in the high winds.

And while I drove around, I marveled at how people around here love their cows. Some people even keep their cows in town--- right in their front yard.

But also as I drove, I tried to gain some strength and courage from the flags I saw waving--and I pondered just what a country's flag means to its citizens. To me, a country's flag symbolizes a place of one's own roots--- the flag of the country I was born in, live in, and work in---a place where I can count myself as a contributing piece of a whole...

I tried to think of all the times that other people I know under this same flag have experienced hard times--- like my patients, my family, and my co-workers. I tried to think about how none of them have ever given up a cause without a fierce fight. Every day I see them continue their struggles, whatever those struggles may be---and they keep right on moving onwards, in a forward motion, day after day--- no matter what troubles befall them along the way...

And also as I drove up and down Podunk's lanes, I also thought of my many ancestors--- and how difficult and rough their lives must have been in the "old days". In my ancestry, I can count two Pony Express Riders, many farmers, immigrants who came here from the British Isles, immigrants who came here from Europe, some Louisiana Cajuns, some Native American Cherokee Indians---

And many of those people most likely had to fight in some sort of conflict, either the Revolutionary War, Texas sheep / cattle

Range Wars , Indian Wars, or the Confederate War in order to protect their property, their families, and their freedom along the way. No way were things very easy for them...

So after I drove around for awhile, thinking about all of those hardworking people, I suddenly realized that my stupid problems really aren't all that bad after all, ya know?

At least I've never had to fight a war on my own land (although I have fought the Battle of the Bottle, but that's another story)...

And eventually I stopped daydreaming and turned the Jeep around, returning to my office.

When I arrived, my sassy secretary was standing by my desk, pouting as usual, with her arms folded in consternation.

"What now?" I asked, putting up my invisible defenses. "I can't solve anybody else's damn problems today. What was it Marie Antoinette said? Let'em eat cake?---or else banana puddin' or something?"

"That's not funny!" she stated indignantly, her bulging eyes reminding me of a gigged frog. "I swear, what happened while you were gone is a pure DISGRACE! The building superintendent came around looking for you--- and she was very angry!" Without waiting for me to reply, she continued the rant. "She said that SOMEONE has been spilling PEE all over the toilet seats in the Men's Bathroom for the last two weeks--- and she is SICK and TIRED of it!"

"So what does she want me to do about it?" I asked, equally belligerent, trying to widen my eyes into an even greater "gigged frog" look right back at her. "It sure as hell wasn't ME who put the pee there. It's probably from that new lawyer who moved into Suite 104 last week."

But my secretary wasn't cowed.

"She wants to know if YOU might know who is doing it--because your office is the closest one to the Men's Bathroom and you might have witnessed who the culprit is. She says this stray pee has to STOP!"

And then I brightened because I realized, finally, that at last--HERE was a problem that I DIDN'T have to solve, yee-hah! And not only that, but I also realized that this was the perfect opportunity for me to bestow a smart-aleck comment RIGHT BACK at my sassy, pouting secretary---

"Well you just tell her that I have no freaking idea who's peeing on the dang Men's Bathroom toilet seats," I told her with great satisfaction. And then I threw in my clincher: "And why don't you tell her to put up one of her stupid signs--- like she did in the Ladies' Bathroom about us making sure to flush the middle toilet and turn out the damn light?"

After I made this comment, which I was just POSITIVE had surely FLOORED my secretary, I stood there for a minute, chortling with glee at my clever smart-assedness. (By the way, is 'smart-assedness' a word? I've been known to make up new cuss-words and this might be one...)

But my secretary simply looked at me with disgust and said: "She already DID put up a sign--didn't you see it?"

Well, I had to go see this for myself, and so I walked out of the office and across the hallway to the Men's Bathroom. And indeed, I beheld that there was a large, handmade sign on the door. It read:

"*

"Please Be More Careful in T*

The Men's Bathroom as N*

Nobody Wants To S*

Sit On a Dirty Toilet Seat!" *

aldskfalskdfj

Monday, February 19, 2007

Blogger Frustration...

Excuse me while I snatch this Blogger Beta bald.

It is giving me problems tonight and I may not be able to fix it until tomorrow....

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Announcement from The Message Goat...

A*
Ahem?
A*
Ahem, ladies and gentlemen...
T*
This is your Message Goat speaking. Today I thought it necessary to alert you to the fact that Bohemian is not feeling very well.
A*
What amuses me is that after all of Bohemian's constant (and sanctimonious, if you ask me) naggings and blusterings to her patients and co-workers, whereby she frequently lectures them loud and long on "taking care of their health" and "making sure to go to their doctor regularly", Bohemian actually had to put her money where her mouth is (no pun intended, HEH!)...
.*
........and go to the dentist.
A*
And since I'm feeling bilious today, I am going to be an Evil Message Goat and spill the beans to tell you that no sooner had the dentist entered the examining room, where a bib-bedecked Bohemian sat nervously biting her fingernails (while completely ignoring the totally cool flat-screen television hanging over her examining chair)...
.*
...but Bohemian suddenly burst into tears and started bawling her silly head off just like one of the idiot doggies in the pasture.
Y*
You know, I really hate to say this (and you didn't hear it from me) but that Bohemian can be such a total coward at times, sigh....
T*
That is all from Your Message Goat today. Updates to follow...
*
*

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Cow Pies or Donkey Pies---I don't know which...

You know and I know my Clone sleeps alone,
She's out on her own --- forever,
She's programmed to work hard, she's never profane
She won't go insane --- not ever...
*
("My Clone Sleeps Alone", Pat Benatar)
I*
I am a clutz. I*
I*
In fact, I think I'm one of the biggest clutzes in the world. I have always been---and always will be---a clumsy, rather awkward person. For me, trying to operate on a daily basis without embarassing myself is a battle that I have fought all my life.
M*
My father was a Texan Gentleman and my mother is a great Southern Lady--- and they both truly tried very hard to raise my sister and me to have lovely, graceful manners. They had a success in my sister, who is now a great Southern Lady in Dallas. But I was a sad disappointment.
M*
The clumsiness in me is so completely ingrained that there's just no getting around it.
I think that is why I ran away with the bikers---because with them I could "fake it"---I was able to navigate through daily life without having to answer for any missteps. Because when a girl has tattoos of inter-twined barbed wires on her biceps, is wearing knee-high black leather boots with silver tips, and she rides around on a Harley Davidson motorcycle which has a gas tank shaped like a coffin--- people tend to ignore it if she trips in public or says something idiotic, you know what I mean?
Anyhoo, this week was no exception in my clutzy life. It was one disaster after another. I spilled things, knocked things over, tripped over things, or put my foot in my mouth. Even the animals were annoyed with me. In fact, for some reason I pissed off the cows. Take a look at this next picture---and mind you, all I said to those idiot cows was: "Say Cheese!"---and then all hell broke loose. I**
I mean---I just never expected anything bad to happen....I had just entered a ranch and thought I'd snap a quick picture of these stupid cows while I munched on a Taco Bell burrito.... while also gabbing on the cell phone with Belinda....and then the damn cows went berserk!
Look at those stupid cows coming at me! Can you believe it? No lie, I was horrified to see that there were at least three different type of cows charging towards me---and their doggies, too!
(*
(Translation: "doggies" is Texan for calves.)
I*
I have no idea what those dang cows were going to do with me after they caught me but I didn't stay around long enough to find out. I dropped the burrito, screamed out something unintelligible into the phone at Belinda, dropped the cell phone too, jerked the Jeep into gear--- and hauled my butt away from there just as fast as I could. A*
As my life flashed before my eyes, I realized that this was just another example of my shameful clumsiness. I was going to die an embarassing death via bovine. A*
All I kept thinking as I four-wheeled it away from there was how utterly RIDICULOUS the headlines in the Podunk Daily Newpaper would look the next day--- "L*
"*
"Local Road Nurse stampeded in a pasture while talking on the cell phone---witnesses say that her last words were 'Holy shit---the STUPID COWS ARE AFTER ME!...' " Or O*
O*
Or:
"*
"Road Nurse stomped to death by local cattle---No illegal drugs found in the Jeep but witnesses say that the victim's clothing was saturated with Taco Bell burrito sauce..." o*
O*
Or: "*
"*
"Unlucky Road Nurse caught in cattle melee---local Message Goat reported that he had repeatedly warned her to avoid Brahmin bulls as they tend to act macho and show off in front of Angus hefers..." I*
I*
I would be embarassed to death to die under the hooves of some asshole cow. I mean, if I have to die at all, I'd prefer to die in a "glamourous" fashion. I'd want to die while doing something "brave and courageous"---something that will look heroic in the headlines. Maybe while doing something selfless and noble like entering a prison riot to take care of wounded guards. Or else from entering a burning building to save children, you know? But NOT by getting stomped to death by some stupid cows. A*
Anyway, I promised to bring you up-to-date on some of the stories I've told here. And so without further ado, here they are: F*
T*
The Perils of Jane-Anne: J*
Jane-Anne continues to delight us all with her antics. Hopefully, we've solved the insulin problem and her aunt and uncle will buy it for her. Now if I could just get her to start balancing her diet a little better, I'd be thoroughly satisfied. I nag her every day about it---and she just gets a sheepish grin on her face and promises to do as I advise. She wheedled me around her finger the other day to take time off from work so that she and her husband could make the long trek to Dallas in order to go to the Bob Seger concert....A*
A*
Also, Jane-Anne caused me to choke on another burrito today by telling me that she and her husband "may not have used protection" while they were in Dallas. I know she wanted me to say something positive, but I'm afraid that I replied by saying: "That's the last dang time I let you go to Dallas for a concert"...
R*
*
Remember the old soldier who, during World War II, along with his co-pilot, baled out of his airplane only a few moments after turning the damaged airplane to fly in a different direction---so that it would blow up over the Mediterranean Sea instead of over Prince Ranier's castle?
H*
He is doing fine on his ranch. He leases his pastures out to a nearby paint pony breeder. His daughter sacrificed her independence in Dallas to move in with him and his wife (who has Alzheimer's Disease) in order to take care of them in their old age. (His wife is also our patient.) It is a pure delight to go out to their ranch and feed pears and apples to the beautiful paint ponies. The daughter used to be a nutritionist and frequently gives dietary advice to Jane-Anne. R*
R*
R*
Remember the other World War II soldier who, in his nightmares, kept re-living the horrific experience of almost being stabbed by an enemy soldier's bayonet---but he was saved at the last minute when one of his buddies killed the enemy soldier?
T*
This wonderful gentleman did not fare so well, and it breaks our hearts every time we think of it. He wanted nothing more than to live out his last days on his cattle ranch with his good ole ranch dog, Jesse. I used to take Jesse dog treats every time I visited the ranch. What happened to this good man was that he fell one night, breaking both hips. He underwent surgery to repair the hips, and then was transferred to a nursing home in order to undergo physical therapy to help him regain the ability to walk.
W*
We road nurses frequently visited him at the nursing home---and it just killed us when we realized that it was extremely doubtful that he would ever regain the ability to walk---or return to his beloved ranch. We would take him gifts and his favorite foods whenever we visited him---but it was always a sad occasion because we realized that he knew he would probably never again see his ranch. A*
*
And so, we were not surprised when the nursing home called one day to notify us that he had died peacefully in his sleep one night. His daughter took over the care of the good dog, Jesse, but she says that Jesse is still looking for his master... R*
R*
R*
Remember the Rodeo Star and her mother?
R*
And remember how I embarassed myself while looking at the pictures on their wall---and I opened my dumb mouth to remark that the Rodeo Star's rare, prize-winning white mule "sure was a funny looking horse" ?
A*
And remember how I had once tripped over their vestibule while entering the front door one day--- landing in a heap just inside the door?
W*
Well anyway, the Rodeo Star's mother was an extremely moody and difficult woman, frequently losing her temper over the stupidest things. God, that woman was difficult to please. I swear, that woman LOOKED for things to get angry over.
F*
For example, she once threw a complete hissy fit in a California airport simply because she ordered a margarita in the bar and was told that it cost over $10.00. She said that this made her so mad that she "put her feet up on the table next to her 'just for spite' and dared the bartender to ask her to take them down".
(*
(I asked her how the margarita tasted and she replied that it was the best damn margarita that she'd ever had in her life but that it was a sin to charge so much for a damn margarita---and she has a point, you know?)
A*
Anyway, one day she got angry at some stupid thing and actually threw something at one of our nurses. Since our road nurse company doesn't condone violence, we informed her that we would no longer be able to visit her. She immediately called her long-suffering doctor to arrange for another road nurse company to take over her care but he said: "Nope. I ain't a'gonna send you any more poor little nurses out there for you to throw stuff at. Your daughter will have to bandage your dang leg from now on." R*
R*
R*
Remember Mr. Tynedale?
H*
He lost an incredible amount of weight but he finally got out of the hospital. He has cancer and is courageously undergoing outpatient chemo treatments. The chemo treatments are half killing him but he still tries to go out and work on his ranch as often as he can, with his sons' help. He was quite worried about his cattle throughout last summer because the drought caused his ponds to dry up to the point that he was forced to water his cattle "from the tap". But the recent rains have filled the ponds back up again, and so the cattle can drink freely once again.
O*
One time Mr. Tynedale forgot to leave the main pasture gate open for my visit--- and I was unable to knock the support plank over to get the gate to open. (The wooden plank was wedged so tightly that it wouldn't budge no matter how hard I kicked it.)
S*
So I hopped the damn fence.
A*
And let me tell you, it is no easy matter to hop a damn cattle fence, okay? I threw my nurse bag over first--- and then I commenced to climb over the damn fence. When I got to the top, I started to swing my legs over but I didn't lift one of them quite high enough...
a*
...and I accidentally caught it on the top rung of the fence and tumbled over the damn fence onto the other side--- right into either a cow or donkey pie, I don't know which.
I*
I tore my pants, got cow or donkey pie---I don't know which--- all over me, and sat there cussing loud enough for God and everybody to hear. One of Mr. Tynedale's sons had spotted me and laughed so hard that he stalled his tractor. That only made me madder, and I struggled to my feet with as much dignity as I could muster---and I walked the rest of the way to the ranch house---my butt and legs stained with cow or donkey pie---I don't know which.
W*
When I arrived at the back porch, Mr. Tynedale's wife was utterly mortified that I'd had to hop the fence and had fallen into a cow or donkey pie---I don't know which--- and I thought she'd never get done hollering at the men, who were still laughing, for forgetting to leave the gate open.
B*
But she consoled me by fixing me the best fried-weenie sandwich with French's Mustard on it that I've ever had in my whole entire life. G*
G*
G*
Update on Geena-Lou's kids and their hefers: I*
If you recall, Geena-Lou's kids won prizes on those hefers last summer at the Podunk Livestock Show. The boys "showed" them again at the Ft. Worth Livestock show a couple of weeks ago. They've continued to work hard taking care of them---especially the pregnant one--- because they are planning on showing them again at the Houston Livestock Show in March.
U*
Unfortunately, the hefer they thought was pregnant suddenly stopped eating and turned out NOT to be pregnant. Instead, the poor thing was found to have a large cyst inside of her. But the vet gave her an injection and two days later she started eating again. Hopefully, she will be continue to get better and will be in good shape for the Houston show.
*
The boys are also planning to show some goats while they're in Houston. And Geena-Lou's husband took out a loan to buy the boys some more cattle and roping gear---because the boys are madly practicing their horse-riding and roping skills in the hopes that they'll be good enough to participate in rodeo events this fall.
(*
(Lord, those kids sure did grow fast, you know? It seems like just yesterday that Geena-Lou bought 'em their first saddles....) B*
M*
Update on my best friend Belinda (and remember, she's pregnant): B*
Bless her heart, Belinda is not having a good month. Her road nurse company management is unstable and there's talk of budget and staff cut-backs, which would mean that Belinda's job might be in jeopardy. She called me to talk about it and I reminded her that she's always known that the road nurse business is precarious and unstable. She replied that she understands this but that her husband had always warned her not to go into this field and that "she just didn't want her husband to be right about something".
(*
(Which I can fully understand because there isn't a wife in Texas who would want her husband to win an argument and have a legitimate reason to say those dreaded words: "I told you so".)
A*
Anyway, if Belinda did lose her job, I would hope that I could talk my company's owners into hiring her. Belinda is one of the best and smartest road nurses I've ever worked with and I'd love to work with her again.
H*
Also, Belinda's pregnancy is coming along just fine---she'll find out the sex of the baby next month. I am working on that psychedelic baby blanket. Here's a pic:
I *
Okay, I know, I know----it is a very unorthodox-looking baby blanket. But I must plead knitting insanity here. I have never knitted anything "normal" in my life. I am very rebellious in my knitting, and I am too impatient to follow a written pattern. I have the bad habit of mixing-and-matching bizarre color combinations in patterns that I make up as I go along. Sometimes this works out well, but sometimes it doesn't.
B*N*
Not only do I knit crazy color-combinations, but sometimes I'll take something pretty from a knitting book and plug it into one of my own designs--- as I did on the following unfinished bias-knitted panel jacket with a couple of flower graphs from a Solveig Hisdal book called "Poetry in Stitches".
O*
One time I tried to knit some biker flames onto a hat but it didn't look that great so I scrapped it.
W*
Where was I? O*
Oh yes, the updates. R*
R*
Remember Mrs. Westmoreland--the lady on whose leg I found a dangerous blood clot? W*
Well, she got out of the hospital, finally, after being treated for the blood clot in her leg. But Lord have mercy, she caused quite a stir while she was in there.
F*
First of all, like a lot of elderly people who get admitted to the hospital, she got a little disoriented and agitated---or maybe she was just grouchy. Or maybe she was disoriented, agitated, AND grouchy. In any event, the nurses up there said that she became so agitated one morning that she tossed her scrambled eggs across the room. And when the charge nurse was summoned to calm Mrs. Westmoreland down, it is reported that Mrs. Westmoreland told the Charge Nurse to "Just shut up!"--- which is a sin in Podunk--- and caused gasps of shock and mortification from everybody all around. N*
Note: Most Podunkian females are raised in the old-fashioned Texan way, which means that they are taught that uttering the phrase "Shut up!" is vulgar and akin to cussing.
(*
(*
(You are allowed to say "Be quiet!" if you absolutely MUST ask somebody to be quiet, but it is best to simply insult the person in some other way rather than risk the social stigma of having said anything even vaguely similar to the phrase "shut up".) A*
A*
Anyhoo, Mrs. Westmoreland is home now, and is on anticoagulant medication which her doctor adjusts according to the results of regular blood tests that we road nurses perform on her. Her doctor was very happy that I found that blood clot in her leg. Unfortunately, I ruined his good feelings towards me.
I*
It happened a few days ago when Geena-Lou and I took some Mexican food over to his brand new office as a "housewarming" gift. He had just gotten his medical practice transferred from his old digs and into a fancy new office. The new place is purely gorgeous, impressively furnished with lovely hand-carved wood furniture emblazoned with the Texan Star--- and the whole place is strewn with Aubusson carpets throughout.
W*
When Geena-Lou and I walked in carrying platters of Mexican food, I unfortunately chose that particular moment to make a butt-kissing comment to the doctor's stern office manager, stating in a honeyed voice that I just might have to "switch doctors to be able to come to their beautiful new office on a regular basis"...
a*
...and then I tripped over the weight scale. T*
T*
The platter of food I was carrying went hurtling through the air, past a startled patient, past the horrified doctor--- and then landed on one of the new Aubusson carpets. This was not one of my finer moments, and I don't really want to dwell on it, so let us move on... R*
R*
(And I guess I won't be switching doctors anytime soon...)
*
R*
R*
Remember Miss Mady, Jim Dandy, and Jim Dandy's tales about there being a whiskey fountain in Heaven?
(*
(I wonder....do you think there really IS a whiskey fountain in Heaven?....) M*
M*
Sweet Miss Mady is doing much better. And I still get biscuits whenever I go over there. And I did follow Jim Dandy's instructions and get the Jeep's tire attended to. And I have not lost the gas cap.....yet. R*
R*
Remember Lu-Lu? S*
Sigh. Oh Lord. And Heavenly Mercies....you had better sit down for this one...
L*
Evidently, Lu-Lu has not gotten over her hard feelings towards her aunt and uncle for terminating her employment. She has not returned any of our phone calls and seems to have turned her back on all her former friends. We do not understand this at all. The only thing we can figure out is that maybe she views people who remain employed by her aunt and uncle as traitors or something---I don't know.
A*
Anyway, we thought that things had worked out just fine for Lu-Lu as she took a job working at the hospital on the same floor as Jenna. But then Jenna told us a harrowing tale....
I*
It seems that last week Lu-Lu was having a drink or two at the local watering hole and she decided to drive home, taking a route through the "rich neighborhood" where all the high-falutin' monied citizens of Podunk enjoy some rather large and stately homes. Unfortunately (and so the story goes...) Lu-Lu was not at her....uh best....and she encountered a little "driving trouble" on the way home.....
a*
...and she ended up jumping the curb and then plowing haphazardly through the center of the front lawn of a home belonging to one of Podunk's most notable surgeons--- plunging through his prize rose bushes, slicing through his precision-shaped hedge, and then four-wheeling it completely OVER the top of his $3,500 bricked mailbox platform--- before careening away into the dark of the night...
S*
So the story goes, Lu-Lu fled the scene, leaving the surgeon and his wife bewildered as to WHO exactly ran down their prize rose bushes, hedge, and the $3,500 bricked mailbox platform. They frantically called the local police who began an investigation into the mysterious mailbox "hit and run".
S*
And so the story goes, early the next morning another well-known doctor in town called the surgeon, informed him that he knew "who did it"--- and offered to pay for the damage if the surgeon would refrain from pressing any charges. (To which the surgeon, not wanting to cause any more gossip at the hospital than had already been generated, graciously agreed---even though it is reported that his wife had quite a few choice cusswords to say about the loss of the prize rose bushes. But she evidently is going to let the matter rest...)
A*
And I'd really like to tell you that I clicked my tongue in disapproval like the rest of the town did upon hearing this crazy tale.... But instead, I will confess that I laughed like a crazed hyena and made a gleeful statement to the effect of "Lu-Lu being the LUCKIEST IDIOT in the whole wide world to have plowed through the lawn of the ONLY HOUSE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD in which the owners are friends of Lu-Lu's doctor friend!"
W*
*
Where was I? Oh yes---updates:
R*
R*
Remember Bonnie, the LVN who herded the runaway cattle with me at the Rickenbocker Ranch? B*
Bonnie left that road nurse company at the same time Belinda did (which was also a few months after I left), to go to work at another road nurse company. Then she left that road nurse company for a better position at the hospital (a position with health insurance and retirement benefits). Apparently, she was in the same "New Employee Orientation" group as Lu-Lu---and she innocently asked Lu-Lu: "Didn't you used to work with Bohemian?" S*
R*
R*
Remember last year when I was horrified to find dry gangrene on multiple fingers of both hands of one of my favorite diabetic patients? S*
She was a fairly young woman, and I was horrified to find widespread dry gangrene on both of her hands. She had already undergone amputation of both of her legs and was terrified of more amputations. I sent her to her doctor---and he did have to amputate one of her fingers a few days later. Her health went downhill from there.
S*
S*
She died three weeks later.
G*
Geena-Lou and I had both taken care of this lady for quite awhile and it was a terrible thing to watch her die so miserably, losing one appendage after another....
(Note: Geena-Lou worked with me at my former road nurse company---and now we both work together again---Podunk is a "small world".)
R*
W*
Which brings me to Mrs. Dimwell --- our diabetic patient who recently had one of her toes amputated. The surgical site has not healed---it looks gangrenous to me---and so she went to see a vascular surgeon in Dallas to see if he could save her foot... Uj*
Unfortunately, Mrs. Dimwell is currently in the exact same situation as the diabetic patient discussed above. The vascular surgeon gave her bad news---which is that the circulation in her legs is so poor that the necessity for amputating her foot is inevitable.
B8 But Mrs. Dimwell has so far refused to schedule the amputation.
S*
And so we continue to do the wound care on her foot, even though there is no hope of it healing. We are hoping that she will use this time to somehow come to terms with the fact that it must be done, but we know that she is terribly frightened.
B*
And each day Geena-Lou and I leave our thoughts on the matter unsaid---which is our fears that Mrs. Dimwell may be in the same horrible plight as that of our other patient. Because both Geena-Lou and I share the unspoken knowledge that even if Mrs. Dimwell consents to the amputation---her life may still be in grave danger. R*
R*
R*
Update on my apartment---remember when I moved into this place last October? U*
Uh....I have to confess that I am still not totally "put together". I am embarassed to admit that I still have a few boxes to unpack, pictures to hang, linens to fold and stack.....well, you get the picture. My work seems to take up most of my time---and there just seems like there's never enough hours in the day, sometimes....
A*
And oh yes.... a number of people have asked me why my doctor instructed me to put Vicks salve on my feet when I was sick awhile ago. Around here they use Vicks salve on the feet to "draw out" the cold. I had strep throat, not a cold--- but it worked!--- and I truly felt better the next day. Sometimes, I guess home remedies really do work pretty well!
*
*

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Thursday...

T*
The nursing blog carnival, "Change of Shift" , is up over at Nurse Ratched's Place---and I am thrilled and honored to be included! There are some great blogs highlighted over there---nurse blogs, doctor blogs, a medic blog, and even an ER pastor blog. Very interesting stuff!
I*
And I'm almost finished with the update I've been working on---an update on stories I've told here...
*
*

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Steel Bluebonnets

*
Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart? W*
Who holds the stars up in the sky? I*
Is true love once in a lifetime? D*
Did the captain of the Titanic cry?... (*
"S*
("Someday We'll Know", The New Radicals) J*
J*
J*
Jane-Anne is as innocent as the pure, driven snow.
A*
A true, corn-fed "country girl", Jane-Anne was born and raised in a tiny little town with only 2 traffic lights, about a 30-minute drive from Podunk. Jane-Anne only finished her LVN training a little over a year ago, and she is currently enrolled in an online program in which she is working towards becoming an RN. J*
Jane-Anne is only 21 years old. She is as freckled as a newborn fawn, and she usually wears her unruly blonde hair in "pigtails". She is the niece of my road nurse company's owners, and she works out of my particular branch office. The owners put her in my care in order that she learn the road nurse business from an experienced road nurse. Jane-Anne is a bright and enthusiastic student, willingly carrying her full share of the work load even though she's just a rookie. Few "newbies" to the road nurse profession have learned the ropes so quickly and cheerfully as Jane-Anne.
J*
Jane-Anne is a good girl. Everybody loves her. She is unfailingly polite, always smiling, respectful of her elders, and has most likely never lied even once in her life. In fact, I truly believe that she is incapable of telling an untruth. She and her husband attend church with Jane-Anne's Mee-maw and Pee-paw, and they consult their family before making any large decisions. J*
Jane-Anne rarely cusses, although lately I've heard her utter the occasional "F-word", which she unfortunately learned from me--- and I hope against all hopes that her Mee-maw never hears that because she would whup Jane-Anne's butt with a flyswatter if she did.
J*
Jane-Anne is a delight to be around. She is quirky, mischevious, and her naivete lands her into hilarious predicaments on an almost daily basis. She is one of the most loveable people I have ever met in my entire life.
A*
And five months ago, Jane-Anne's world came crashing in when she was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes. J*
J*
Jane-Anne was devastated to be told that she had this complicated disease at her very young age. Furthermore, to her horror, she was instructed into the grim reality that she must henceforth regulate every single morsel of food which goes into her mouth as she balances her dietary choices against daily insulin injections. She was prescribed two different types of insulins to help her achieve this balance. She was taught how to prick her finger with a "lancet" needle multiple times per day to determine her blood glucose level, after which she then calculates a certain dose of insulin to give herself via a syringe into her abdomen. A*
A set-back such as this might have broken the spirit of some young girls, and perhaps may have caused some to choose a different profession than the wild, unpredictable routine of being a Texan road nurse---but not Jane-Anne. After the initial shock, she courageously continued forth with her career plans, undaunted, while demonstrating on a daily basis the undying and pragmatic determination of someone raised with the Texan "never say die" spirit. "A*
"Ah've got this dang thing down, Bohemian," she told me in her lilting, Texan, "Daisy-May" drawl (pronouncing the word 'down' as 'day-own') . "Mah doctor told me how to do it---ah just need to learn how to do that dang thing they call 'carbohydrate counting'. Three times a day ah estimate how much carbs ah'm gonna eat, and then ah just have to give myself the correct dose of insulin to balance it all out." A*
And so she did. Jane-Anne learned how to "carb count". J*
Jane-Anne plunged into her work as a road nurse as enthusiastically as I've ever seen, driving the endless miles while toting her company nurse bag--- but with an added pouch containing her glucometer, insulin, and an insulin injection "pen". Like many young diabetics, she quickly and deftly mastered the art of sticking her finger, checking the blood droplet on a glucometer, and then giving herself the correct dose of insulin by injecting herself in the stomach. I*
In fact, I've seen Jane-Anne whip out her little diabetic pouch and twirl it in her hand just like Old West cowboy villains used to whip out a six-shooter pistol. She can perform the entire ritual of checking her sugar and then giving herself an insulin injection faster than anybody I've ever seen, the whole process taking her only about 2 minutes. Jane-Anne doesn't let her disease slow her up one bit.
*
J*
Jane-Anne is everybody's "kid sister". For example, if a group of road nurses meet at Taco Bell or somewhere for a bite of lunch, you can always spot Jane-Anne in the thick of things, trailing the crowd while hollering something to the effect of: "Hey, y'all! Wait just a minute while ah check mah sugar and give mahself some insulin! Ah want me a Mexican Pizza!" And then she'll do just that---while standing over in a corner at Taco Bell, pricking her finger, checking the blood on the glucometer, and then giving herself an insulin injection--- just in time to rush back into the line and give her food order to the startled Taco Bell cashier. O*
Or else someone will bring food to the office, usually some sort of sweet treat like cake or donuts, and Jane-Anne will expertly eyeball the forbidden items as her brain quickly calculates how much insulin will be required to counteract the sugar's effect in her bloodstream, saying something like: "A half piece of chocolate cake? Ummm.....that's about 2 units of mah insulin". And then she'll quickly shoot herself with the dose of insulin so that she can eat the sweets without too great a consequence on her blood sugar level. O*
One Monday morning she told me that she'd gotten tipsy on vodka over the weekend. "*
"Vodka?" I said sternly. "You shouldn't be drinking alcohol with your diabetes." "*
"Oh don't be a spoilsport," she replied sassily. "Besides, ah've tested out all of the liquors---and ah found out that vodka is the only liquor that doesn't make mah blood sugar run up so dang high." I *
I fret about her constantly. I worry that she is still so new to the lifestyle of managing her blood sugar as a diabetic that she will become reckless and forget to check her sugar or give herself the required insulin, risking disaster. In fact, I am so concerned for her welfare that I've been guilty of "spoiling" her. Other road nurses frequently admonish me for "babying" Jane-Anne by doing such things as paying for her lunch, allowing her to leave work early, or making light of her foibles in the road nurse field. And I freely admit that I do all those things. But the reason for my soft heart is two-fold. F*
First, and unfortunately, Jane-Anne is an extremely "brittle" diabetic. Her blood sugar can wax frighteningly high or equally low very quickly, no matter how strictly she regulates her diet and insulin. And this worries me. I am forever nagging her to "be more careful" with herself. But every time I start harping, she'll just laugh my fears away and tell me that she's got everything under control. Most days, the first thing I ask her in the morning is "What was your fasting blood sugar this morning?" I cluck over her like an annoying mother hen. "*
"Aaaww, don't worry, Bo", she'll say. "Ah'm fine! It was only 45 this morning but ah made mahself eat a good breakfast to bring it back up to normal." T*
The other reason I worry so much is the ugly reality of employment in small Texan towns ---which is that Jane-Anne has no medical health insurance. She doesn't have any for the exact same reason that I don't have any myself. In fact, few Podunk road nurses have health insurance.
*
T*
The fact is, here in Podunk most small-to-medium sized businesses don't provide health insurance for their employees, especially in the nebulous and precarious world of road nursing. Road nurse companies typically operate on the slimmest edge of their finances, slashing their budgets ruthlessly in order to make a profit. Thus, there are no frills for the employees. We have no health insurance, no paid sick or vacation time--- and no retirement plans.
R*
R*
Remember I told you that most road nurses do this work for the "love of the job"? It surely ain't for the benefits! And sure, I could move to Dallas and earn a lot more money with decent benefits---but then I'd have to leave my beloved Podunk.....
A*
And so, because we have no insurance, we all subconsciously try to cling to good health as though we live charmed lives. And when we do get sick we rely on things like kind-hearted doctors who give out copious quantities of "free sample" medications, caring families who pitch in to help pay for medical bills, "time payments" on hospital bills, and weekly sales on medical supplies at Walmart---and, of course, The Lord. J*
Jane-Anne doesn't make very much money on her LVN wages---salaries are astonishingly low here in Podunk. Her construction worker husband doesn't make very much money, either. And the financial burden of Jane-Anne's diabetes--- between the cost of the insulin, the syringes, and glucometer supplies--- has taken a huge financial toll on their living expenses. Twice, I have caught Jane-Anne shorting herself on her insulin doses because she was trying to make her supply of insulin "last" until pay day. I've also seen her giving herself insulin shots without using alcohol wipes to cleanse her skin first. W*
When I first caught her doing such things, I threw a hissy fit. I hollered at her, telling her to go into our company's supply cupboard and take as many syringes and alcohol wipes as she needed. And I offered to pay for her insulin myself. But she flatly refused to allow me to pay for it--as it costs hundreds of dollars per month.
F*
Finally, when I forced her to confess the cost of insulin to the owners of our company---and the fact that she and her husband simply couldn't afford such an amount--- her uncle and aunt instructed her to charge her insulin to the company's account at the pharmacy. Additionally, I hit up one of my friends, a sales rep from a medical supply company whose mother works in one of the local doctors' offices. And the kind lady arranged for that doctor to supply Jane-Anne with some free insulin. And furthermore, I instructed Jane-Anne to ask her diabetes doctor in Dallas for some free samples of insulin---which is another sore subject because Jane-Anne has to pay $300 cash each time she visits that doctor, since Dallas doctors charge a hell of a lot more for office visits than do our Podunk doctors.
*
.
A*
And so it goes---life without health insurance in Podunk. T*
The last time I went to my own doctor for a severe sore throat, headache and nausea, he took one look into my throat and said: "Oh damn, Bo---you've got strep. Why couldn't you have the flu like everybody else? And you don't have health insurance, do you? Okay, honey just sit tight."
"I*
"I'm dying, doc," I told him melodramatically.
"Y*
"You ain't gonna die," he said as he opened a cabinet. He*
He then mixed up two injections from four mysterious-looking vials in the cabinet---and I swear I have no earthly idea what in the hell was in those vials. And I was so ill that I didn't care. After he mixed up the shots he hollered down the hall at one of his nurses. "Tina-Lynn? Come give Bohemian these two shots." Then he told me: "I'll be right back." H*
He left the examining room for a few minutes, during which time Tina-Lynn came to give me the shots. "Bend over, Bo" she said. When she was finished giving me the two shots, she gave me some instructions. "Okay, Bo, these shots are going to make you very sleepy---and I know you live close by. So go straight home, rub Vicks salve on your feet, and then go straight to bed."
"*
"My feet?"
"*
"Yep, your feet. And go to bed." I*
I sat there rubbing my smarting butt for a few minutes as I waited for my doctor to return. And then I perked my ears up towards the door---because I always like to eavesdrop when I go to my doctor. His busy office is the hub of a lot of good Podunk gossip. I could hear him out in the hall talking to another patient. She was asking him why she felt so rotten. "*
"Why do I feel so damn bad, doc?" she asked. "I feel like a horse that's been rode hard and put up wet. And half of the church congregation is sick, too." "Y*
"There's a nasty bug going around," I heard my doctor reply. "And you caught it. That's why you have those body aches, that cough, and the headache."
I*
I heard another patient call out to him from her examining room: "Doc, I feel terrible, too. So can you tell my husband that I'm too sick to cook dinner tonight? I just don't see no reason why he can't just heat himself up a Swanson Pot Pie for his dinner, you know? And by the way, what is the name of this bug that is going around?" "I *
"*
"I have no idea," I heard him reply.
In*
In a minute or two, he returned to my room. "Here you go, Bo," he said, handing me what he had in his hand, which was a Walmart sack full of medicine samples--- some Biaxin XL antibiotic and DuraMax cough/congestion medicine. He also handed me a written prescription. "O*
"The medicine in those shots should start working right away," he stated. "And then I want you to take these antibiotics and the DuraMax. And here's a pain-pill prescription for that headache---the generic brand won't be that expensive."
T*
"Thank you, doc," I said gratefully. But he wasn't finished with his instructions.
"*
"And then I want you to go home and rub Vicks salve on your feet and go to bed, okay?"
"I*
"I will, doc," I replied obediently. An*
And I did exactly what he told me to do--- I went home, put Vicks salve on my feet, and then went to bed. And I felt much better the next morning. I still have no idea what in the hell was in those two shots but they worked. I didn't even miss any work, which is a blessing because I really can't afford to miss work. None of us can afford to miss any work when we're sick. Because when your employer doesn't give you any paid time off, the sad fact is that if you miss work you don't get paid ----it's just that simple.
T*
That's just the way it is here in Podunk. (*
(By the way---I worship the ground my doctor walks on. Not just because he gives me free medicines, but because he is one of the most dedicated and hardworking doctors that I have ever seen in my life. He works 24 hours a day, 364 days a year, and he is truly one of the unsung heroes of Podunk--but that's the stuff for another blog entry...) W*
Where was I? O*
Oh yes, I was talking about Jane-Anne. A*
Anyway, Jane-Anne has become so adept at her daily carb-counting that she's become a great teaching resource to our patients. She will patiently sit down with them for hours at a time, teaching them how to "carb count" for themselves. She goes over their diets and insulin regimes with them, encouraging them to comply with their doctors' orders. And she gets results. I've seen some formerly non-compliant patients suddenly stop "cheating" on their diets and start earnestly following their doctor's orders--- simply because they have developed a trust in Jane-Anne. They trust her because they know that she has to endure the same daily regimen as they do.
T*
These diabetic patients adore Jane-Anne so much that they frequently cook her some "diabetic treats". It is not uncommon for Jane-Anne to return from her day's visits clutching a plastic Tupperware container full of home-made diabetic foods. "H*
"Hey, Bo! Look what Mrs. Madison made me!" she'll yell out as she bursts into the office, blonde pig-tails flying, a plastic container in one hand and her nurse bag in the other. "You ain't gonna buh-leeve it! Diabetic hushpuppies! There's cornbread and cayenne in 'em---but not a smidgen of sugar! They taste almost as good as Mee-maw's hushpuppies......but don't tell Mee-maw ah said that, okay?" J*
Jane-Anne is very naive about the outside world. Except for her trips to the Dallas diabetes doctor, she has never been anyplace else outside of Podunk except for one trip to Houston. She has been so sheltered here in Podunk that she is the proverbial "babe in the woods"---and it frequently shows. She says the funniest things, sometimes, and it just cracks me up. T*
The other day we were all having our daily "report", where we all sit around a table and give the details of the day's visits. Jane-Anne had been to see one of our elderly patients, an outspoken lady who frequently says somewhat "racy" things. "*
"Ah did the wound care on Mrs. Petrie's arm," Jane-Anne reported. "The wound looked okay but she hollered bloody murder when ah removed the bandage. She said that the tape pulls out her arm-hair when it comes off. Ah told her that she has the hairiest arms ah've ever seen---and she made a joke and told me that she's a 'morphrodite'." I*
Up to this point I had only been paying half attention but at this comment I suddenly jerked to attention, almost falling out of my chair. "D*
"Do what?" I asked incredulously. I could see the other nurses suppressing smiles. "A*
"A morphrodite," Jane-Anne explained earnestly. "You know, a person who has both female and male characteristics. Mrs. Petrie said she has so much hair on her arms that she's like a morphrodite..." I*
And I will confess here that I still haven't been able to bring myself to correct Jane-Anne and inform her of the correct pronunciation of the term "hermaphrodite" . It is simply too funny to hear her call it a "morphrodite"---and yes, I will let her slap me upside the head if she ever finds out the truth.... A*
And so Jane-Anne calls it a morphrodite to this day... S*
Sometimes during our daily report, we have to discuss the terrible consequences of the scourge of diabetes upon our patients' bodies---life-threatening complications such as heart disease, kidney disease, vision problems, skin ulcerations, dry gangrene on feet and fingers---and heart-breaking amputations of limbs. Jane-Anne will hear this stuff and become visibly upset. And this just kills my soul. A terrible helplessness rises up in my gorge and causes a lump in my throat--- because it hurts me to the core to see Jane-Anne's raw fear of this horrid, life-stealing disease--- and yet I know that there's not a dang thing that I can do about it. *
One day, Jane-Anne came to me and asked a question in a quiet voice. "*
"Ah'm going to die young, ain't ah?" she asked plaintively. "W*
"What in the Sam Hill makes you ask a fool question like that?" I asked gruffly.
I&
I didn't want to have this converation! "Ah*
"*
"Ah know it....ah know that ah'm gonna die early," she persisted. "Just like Julia Roberts did in that movie 'Steel Magnolias'---ah'm gonna die young." "O*
"Oh for God's sakes, Jane-Anne," I protested. "You are NOT going to die young. That was just a silly movie! They always make things look overly dramatic in movies." "*
"No, ah don't think so," she stated stubbornly. "My diabetes doctor in Dallas told me that ah shouldn't try to have a baby yet--- same as what happened to Julia Roberts in that movie." "T*
"That's because you were only recently diagnosed with this thing ," I said. "You simply need more time to get your system stabilized on the insulin before you go and get yourself pregnant. And besides, there are new treatments for diabetes being invented every single day. Just look at that experiment the Canadians have done where they cured diabetes in mice---why, it probably won't be no time at all until they come up with a cure for humans..." "E*
"Even if the Canadians do come up with a cure, ah sure as hell won't be able to afford it without health insurance," she replied sourly. "H*
"The hell you won't, Jane-Anne," I continued. "If the Canadians find the cure for diabetes, I'll pay for you to go up to Canada and get the dang treatment MYSELF, do you hear me? Just don't get pregnant this year like your doctor said...." "*
"What's the state flower for Texas?" she suddenly asked, catching me off guard. "U*
"Uh...bluebonnets," *
I told her. "Why do you ask?" "*
"Just asking..." she said. A*
And as she walked away, I thought I heard her murmuring something about "steel bluebonnets".... And*
And so I continue my daily hovering and "babying" of Jane-Anne. I worry about her because sometimes she makes mistakes...
O*
One day this week there was only me and Jane-Anne in the office. I was piddling around in the supply cabinet, counting supplies, when I heard a strange sound. I turned around to see what had caused the sound---and I saw Jane-Anne slowly slumping to the ground by her desk, her glucometer rolling away on the floor where she had dropped it. The glucometer bounced several times and then came to rest on the floor by her nurse bag. "W*
"What the hell?!" I cried, rushing over to her. She was pale as a ghost---and little beads of sweat were forming on her skin. "A*
"Ah....ah must have overshot mahself," she said wanly. "Y*
"You gave yourself too much insulin?" I asked stupidly, kneeling down onto the floor by her. I took her head in my arms and tenderly cradled it into my lap. And as I held her close, I asked: "What was your blood sugar, honey?" "A*
"Ah don't know...." she replied weakly. "Ah felt funny--- so ah was trying to check it---but then suddenly everything went kinely dark and woozy..." S*
Still cradling her in my lap, I reached over with one arm to retrieve the stray glucometer from it's resting place on the floor---I needed to see what the result of her blood sugar check was. To my utter mortification, I saw that Jane-Anne's current blood sugar level was a dangerous 37. "J*
"Oh Good Lord, Jane-Anne!" I cried. "Your blood sugar is only 37!" "*
"Oh hell," she replied shamefully, starting to cry. "Ah gotta get somethin' to eat....please....get me somethin' to eat...." "I*
"I'll get something," I told her, panicking. "Hang on---I'll be right back...." I*
I gently set her head down on the floor and tore out of the office. I was heading for our building's small kitchen in the hopes that there was some juice or other sweet item there that would bring up Jane-Anne's perilously low blood sugar. I ran down the building's main hall, flying past all the oil paintings of the building owner and his oil wells. I bet he has health insurance, I thought to myself... I burst into the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door. There wasn't much in there, but I found some apple juice. I madly tore open some sugar packets that I found by the coffee machine and poured them into the juice, stirring it in with my finger. I*
I ran back to Jane-Anne, trying not to spill the juice in my frenzy. I set the juice down and helped Jane-Anne up to to a half-sitting position against her desk. And then I carefully started pouring the ultra-sweet juice into her mouth---and she tried to swallow it as quickly as she could without letting too many stray drops of it dribble down her chin.
A*
After she drank all the juice, we sat still there on the floor for awhile--- me holding her close as big tears rolled down her cheeks---as we waited anxiously for the juice to have its desired effect. F*
Finally, some pinkish color began to come back into her cheeks. I could see that the sugar was working, and I started to breathe a little easier. That was a close one! What if she'd been alone?
A*
And then she stopped crying.... and she asked me, quite seriously, a question which must have been on her mind for awhile. "B*
"Bo, do you....do you ever get mad at God?" she asked. I*
I thought a minute before replying. And when I gave my reply, I was equally serious. "*
"Yep, I do, sometimes..." "*
"Ah get so mad sometimes," she said in a strangled voice. "Because ah want to know....why me? Why did ah have to be a dang diabetic? Why, Bo?" "*
"I don't know, baby," I replied sadly, putting my arms around her. "I just don't know. I frequently ask myself the same damn question. Why? Why did I have to be an alcoholic? And who knows? Maybe God puts these burdens on us as some sort of test. But whatever the reasons, we have to bear these burdens as best as we can. For me to stay alive I have to avoid alchol completely and follow AA teachings for the rest of my dang life. For you to stay alive you've got to check your dang blood sugar and take insulin shots every day. That's just what we've got to do, honey, ya know what I mean?"
*
*
"*
"Ah guess you're right, Bo..." she replied and sighed deeply. I*
I sighed, too.
A*
And we sat there for a little while longer, me rocking her back and forth as we waited for her to feel better. And in a bit, she felt well enough to get up off the floor....and to go on with her day. W*
Why, indeed?........
*
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