Purple Polyester

Today I retire my purple NYU scrubs for an entire month. I felt comfortable in them this semester. Saturdays at Bellevue Hospital lasted later into the afternoon than any other clinical so far, but instead of being tedious, it turned out to be the experience that has made me feel like a real nurse.



I enjoyed it so much that I am not particularly excited to move on to the much anticipated pediatric rotation and leave Daphne and the ICU behind.

In other news, I saw Julianna Margulies on the street today as I was leaving the gym. She was stretching using the back of a bench. I almost called out "hey Nurse Hathaway!", but she caught me staring at her and I got embarrased and ran away. Whatever. I'm more of a nurse than she'll ever be.

What Am I?

Here I am, on a blooming Friday night, under the covers with a beer in my hand. Since I feel so good about sacrificing the night to doing work, I might as well reward myself with a little procrastination.

A devoted reader of Bili Rubin commented on my previous post. First, I was thrilled to receive a rare comment. Then I was perturbed at a reader anonymously demanding to spoil the intrigue (and rather creepily alluding to the tachycardic effect of checking Bili Rubin). Why would anyone revisit Bili Rubin unless they:

A) had a penchant for nursing paraphenelia
B) expected to see themself displayed in a photograph
C) hoped to understand, one post at a time, why a compassionate young nurse is such a smartass
D) suffers from Parkinson's and accidentally clicks on David's Medora link a lot

So that is why I will not respond with details about my hobbies (making stews and dancing when no one is looking), my wildest dreams (skipping with my own herd of goats and winning an award for their cheeses), my biggest failures (not owning any hot pants or learning to throw a ball), my place of nacimiento (Rugby, North Dakota: the imprecise geographical center point of North America), etc.

You're going to have to do a lot better than that. I do hope you try harder, dear readers of Bili Rubin.

Abysmal

It's come to this: the end of the semester is making my big-teeth grin lopsided. Simultaneously depressed and amused, because too much work is depressing, and the unexpected, like the theatrics of a desperate teacher who resorts to wearing an ostomy bag so he can impress a certain student with his pristine 40 year old chest, is very very amusing. I've been trundling along, wondering if being chained to school is making it all seem funnier, or if it's just lowering my standards of entertainment. For example:

This is funny, right? He looks like a happy man. Who wouldn't be happy about triumphantly stripping off an outer layer to first display an amazing t-shirt that says "chocolate boy," and then reveal an ostomy bag (pouch attached to the abdomen for defecating or urinating into) that he had filled with a bit of his iced-tea during the break? But it was a little awkward and sad too. Notice the dribble of wayward tea on his leg and the "you've gone so far it's hilarious" reaction on the student-in-question's face. No, that makes if funnier. Dribble is funny.

Then it turned to lopsided as we got back to work.

Here's team AIDS-Claire, Georgia, Emily and Mike- in the basement on a Sunday afternoon.



And here we are in the park with Mammoun's falafel...before going back to work again.



*Contributing Photographer: Emily B Sneaky*

In Thrall to NYU

Somedays I forget I am a student. Momentarily, but it is enough to give me the sense that I do more in New York than fill out care plans, read power point presentations, and stare at Washington Square. But now that finals are only 9 days away, the moments are fleeting. Emily made us a rip-off calendar detailing a day-by-day rundown of remaining projects and other unpleasantries. After reviewing it again, it looks as though tearing off pages of our homemade calendar will be the most excitement I can look forward to until May 5th, 1:50 p.m., when Spring semester ends and we all run out for the time-honored tradition of drinking ourselves silly.

. . . Because future health care advocates need to engage in destructive behavior too, or we wouldn't be able to empathize with George when he crawls to us from Morningside Heights, needing a Sengstaken-Blakemore tube.

Rainbows and Butterscotch

Some of the finest, most treasured things in life are also some of the most incidental. Which is why I am having trouble describing the significance of a weekend like the one I just had. The coffee was good, Jake Gyllenhall was lurking around, and many lovely knots were being tightened. No metaphors involved. It was just a well-lived couple of days.

Second to Last

Only two more weeks left of Spring semester. Here are a few last looks.
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Learning to Nurse

Most people are surprised to hear that there's a College of Nursing at NYU. I think it would be more surprising to see how it is that we learn to nurse.

Look quick though. We'll will be done in 8 months, and then released in hospitals across New York and the nation. We'll take our knowledge of obsolete devices like the Sengstaken-Blakemore tube (the upside-down, uni-testicular, balloon-phallus pictured above), and head out to soothe the ailments of our critically ill patients.
















The longer I sit in classrooms, preparing for exams I need to pass to become a nurse, the less I understand the connection to my future patients. Just yesterday I inserted a foley catheter for the first time into a real patient's penis (it is a complete accident that all my examples here are related to male genitalia). I wondered, as I inflicted my lack of experience on the poor man, whether or not nursing has progressed so much since the education moved out of the hospital and into the classroom.


Nurses used to train exclusively in hospitals. I'm not advocating its return for the current curricula, I just feel detached spending so many more hours in a desk than in my scrubs. Soon, a bachelor's degree will become the minimum amount of training required to become an RN. Hell, I'll have two degrees when I start my first job as a nurse, but gentlemen, would that make you feel more comfortable as I approached you with the catheter tubing?

Unsustainable Anticipation

Oh, the agony of being so close to a day that means so much. I can't think of a better example of the capacity of the mind to preside over happiness. Just the thought of it and I am in a condition that nothing in my present (dull) environment could generate.

If each day and hour is equal to the next, then it must be my own doing, this eternity. But then why can't I make it go by faster? I feel like I am in a cryogenic bubble, watching everyone move so quickly but feeling distinctly frozen nonetheless. Come quick and get me out!

The Cow in Central Park

I have passed by the entrance to the Central Park Zoo at E. 64th Street several times without knowing it. Yesterday, I arrived with two returning visitors who knew exactly what they wanted to see first: the cow. Only in New York is a cow more exotic to a three year old than a polar bear.

A New York childhood is a fascinating thing to witness. Grace and Waverly's vocabularies include "cab fare" and "play date." They are toughened by being exposed to some of the busiest streets (and parents) in the world, but also isolated in a place where the most common sights and experiences, like seeing cows, are foreign.