Emotional Syncope

Today I saw my first birth. I say first not only because I will probably see another next Tuesday but because I hope to make it part of my career to see many more.

All births are messy. For nurses, there aren't many things that qualify as clean. It's part of our job to deal with the unsightly matters of the body (and mind). But up until now, nothing I have cleaned or patched or soothed has resolved with such an incredible event.

Someone I know who has been through a few of her own labor and deliveries recently called it an 'earthy experience.' I think this was her euphamism for all the bodily fluids and guttural screams. Even though I have become slightly immune to the former, I can't deny that scissoring through an umbilical cord and feeling a still-warm placenta have got to be about the most earthy experiences I've ever had. I am thoroughly impressed by them, but I'm drawn to labor and delivery for more practical reasons: two patients instead of eight; healthy young(ish) women instead of (mostly) older sick patients; one big moment to work toward that's not called lunch break.

And that's really what work comes down to. Almost everyone is required to find a job that consumes a significant portion of the viable hours in a day/week/year/lifetime. Very few of these jobs have anything to do with a passion we would have had otherwise, because even if you do say you love your work and you're passionate about it, you would probably have never done it in the first place if you didn't need to be there for the money. Well, like most everyone else, I need to be there for money...and to help a few mothers greet their babies for the first time.

Sisters

A few nights ago, I had a double sister date. I'm still recovering. It's kind of like the Double Mint commercial, except it begins with two bottles of wine in the local italian restaurant and ends a few bars, and a lot more drinks, later. I think two pairs of sisters is too many. That's about the end of that story.

kirsten closing down the first of the three

emily, katie and me

emily and kirsten having ladylike conversation

katie up in arms

and fitz makes 5

i was as drunk as i am red in this photo

Nursing: Long-term care

Last semester began with a short assignment in a long term care facility. It was my first clinical experience as a nursing student. I had high expectations, and my general impression was not one of disgust or even disappointment, but I was not pleased. I'm looking back on it now because I am about to begin three new clinical assignments. Each one will involve a different population and a different set of nursing skills than my previous clinicals. I intend to have these notes with which to compare them all at the end of the program and the beginning of my job selection.

I was assigned to a small but well-endowed nursing home on the upper west side called Jewish Home and Hospital. Overall, it seemed like a decent long-term care facility. The halls were clean and bright, the rooms were spacious, and the meals looked appetizing. Yet somehow the whole place frustrated and saddened me.

When it comes to the long-term care system in the U.S., I see a basic paradox: advancements in medicine have lengthened the lifespan of the aging adult, but have done nothing to improve the quality of life at this juncture or to otherwise accommodate the needs of the elderly. Viewing this problem from the standpoint of a future nurse makes it even more difficult.

In a long-term care facility, nurses have the most important role in the patients’ health care. Unlike physicians or sometimes even family members, nurses see the patients daily, which also means they have the most opportunity to help improve their quality of life. As I worked with my patient, AS, I realized that what she needed most was the attention and deference she got before she came to the nursing home. Although she told me how thankful she was to be alive after her stroke, the things AS appreciated most were not that her medicine was dispensed on time or that her blood was drawn painlessly. AS wanted to be a functional, fulfilled human being, and for the most part she now had to look outside of her home to find that. It is no wonder why: with only one RN or LPN per unit and 24 residents to divide their time and tasks between, no single nurse could possibly provide the kind of care to meet all the needs of every patient.

AS had family and friends who would visit her or take her outside of the facility, but many of the other patients did not have a daily visit to look forward to, or someone outside of the home that they could count on. Sure, it was depressing, but by the end of the assignment I was dealing with another conflict. I came away feeling sort of empowered because I witnessed the importance of my future job in so many people’s lives, but at the same time I felt dejected at the prospect of all the nurses who are stretched too thin and forced to go to work knowing that as long as they worked in a nursing home, they would never be able to provide enough care in one shift to satisfy all their patients' needs. It's a problem, and it's the reason why I wont be doing this kind of nursing.

Thames Whale Dies and a Russian Elephant Gets Drunk

I thought that enduring the onslaught of local news was difficult: robbery, rape, drunk driving, murder, child abuse. I quit watching the local news, and television for that matter, long ago (except in hotels and other unusual but compulsory locations) and I had nearly forgotten the singular discomfort of a heart-wrenching but ever-so-disturbing piece of news.

And then came this week. Around the globe, giant animals made the news for their suffering. Human suffering has become so common, so expected, in the news. But big innocent animals. They should be as far away from a dramatic news story as possible. They should be happy and content and fat. Not beaching themselves in London and then becoming too weak to survive their own rescue mission. Not ingesting large quantities of vodka to make it through the bitterly cold Russian winter, and then subsequently destroying the central-heating system in a drunken elephant rampage.

That poor whale.

That poor elephant.

I thought they had it all figured out.

Butcher of Freedom

What an endearing nickname Osama Bin Laden has come up with for George W. Bush.

Clink on the title of this posting to read the entire transcript. It is deplorable, but worth your time.

Chocolate City

I am sorry to say that this delicious sounding concept is not one of my own, or even another's gastronomical fantasy. It is one of two apology-provoking ideas that New Orleans' Mayor C. Ray Nagin proposed earlier in the week, this one referring not to a decaying city rebuilt with cocoa but instead to his hope for the future demographics of his city.

It follows his publicly delivered theory, presented Monday at a speech commemerating Martin Luther King, that God punished America with Hurricane Katrina because we started the war in Iraq. For an open-minded person such as myself, it didn't sound too far-fetched. I mean, it's not like he proposed that the holocaust never happened. There's evidence for that little horror in history, but the president of Iran didn't apologize after throwing the possibility out for consideration. So apart from the meteorologist's explanation for the disaster, Nagin's suggestion is just as viable as any.

However, I do feel that Mayor Nagin owes us an apology, but for a lot more than his eyebrow-raising comments. Nagin needs to apologize for spending his time in the Mayor's office coming up with these controvesial statements instead of getting off his chocolate ass and leading the resurrection of a nearly demolished center of Southern history and culture. Only half the number of previous residents in New Orleans have returned since September. Yet Nagin stated only last month: "I can see in your eyes, you want to know, 'How do I take advantage of this incredible opportunity? How do I make sure New Orleans is not overrun with Mexican workers?'" If the French had taken the same attitude 300 years ago, we wouldn't have a creole city to bring back to life and Mayor Nagin would be writing Pat Robertson's routines instead of his own bullshit.

Tibidabo Us

The high point of my winter vacation.

Malibu

Malibu is exclusive: exclusive to non-functional celebrities and the tastelessly wealthy. Here is where you find the residence of Jean Paul DeJoria- Paul Mitchell hair mogul and incidently the owner of Patron Tequila. His idea of charity this holiday season was to hire a snow machine and a santa with a REAL beard, thereby creating a winter wonderland outside of his 21,000 square-foot, self-proclaimed "castle." The weather-deprived children of Malibu were neither gracious nor hungry thanks to their spoiled upbringing and the In-n-Out Burger Truck parked next to Santa's sleigh. Ah, Malibu.

L.A. Half-Weekly

Trying my best to spend a large portion of my winter break in airplanes, I flew to L.A. this morning after only 2 days in New York. I arrived to 82 degree weather at Bob Hope international airport, and with Tears For Fears being piped outside the terminal, I didn't mind hanging around waiting for my ride.

Anna, friend of 11 years, lives in a relatively interesting area of L.A. called Silver Lake. There are supposed to be hipsters hanging around the neighborhood man-made lake, but unless the kids with mullets in their convertibles count, I have yet to see one. Her apartment is spacious and relaxing with a comforably distant view of downtown.

Overall, L.A. is a land of plenty. Plenty of cars, plenty of garbage, plenty of drinking, plenty of sun, plenty of skin, plenty of celebrities. Anna's boyfriend, son of Sonny Crockett, is at the very least a celebrity by association himself. When Slander, his raucous rock band, takes off I'm sure his status will be quickly elevated. But despite riding on the cusp of fame, Jesse was humble and generous enough to show me all around his city and even let me pilot his car (it was a privledge not a favor). I was also introduced to his mother, Ms. Patti Darbanville, who is the most entertaining woman I have met in a long long while. She is the inspiration for a Cat Stevens song, former actress on the Sopranos, and fantastic story teller. I pay homage to her gracious mention of my blog's namesake, Bili Rubin, in connection with her laborious pregnancy.

And that's all for day 1 of L.A. half-weekly. Stay tuned.

Countdown

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Happy New Year