April and Chris

She's getting married tomorrow. To the man she danced with at his senior prom, the guy she used to gush and giggle about with me in Ms. Ryan's computer class. It's like a fairy tale.

I first saw April in my 7th grade gym class. She was wearing a white tee shirt with a cookie on it.
Neither of us were very good at gym. (Thankfully, in a high school built on the high holy virtues of academia, it didn't matter and we were often excused to sit on the side lines and cram for Latin exams.*)

That night,  I noticed she was also in the Tuesday night CCD class for all of us public school kids in West Roxbury. I don't remember who approached whom, but we started talking, and soon our desks were pushed together.  We lived in the same part of town (separated by The Woods and The Quarry), loved doc martins, fishnet tights, and The Offspring (before and after they 'sold out').
Very quickly, very clearly, we were inseparable.

April and I both kept journals in those cheap, cardboard covered composition notebooks you can get at CVS for a dollar. Every few days we'd trade journals, spending time in class or on the bus reading one another's most secret thoughts. Sometimes we'd write responses directly into the other one's book. Sometimes we'd use the journals to have entire real time conversations in class or study hall.
Because of that, for a long time April and I were like two halves of one mind.

We vacationed with one another's families, referred to one another's parents as "Second Mom," and "Second Dad," had sleepovers, fell in and out of love with different boys, watched The Craft or Empire Records at least once every few months, and created a fantasy story about what our lives would be like as grownups in a notebook separate from our journals, which we also passed back and forth. You know, like all teenage girls do.**

Although we shared a very close core group of friends, April was my closest. In all the time we spent together, I do not remember a single fight.***

During our senior year she and  Chris started dating. Chris was a guy she had known she she was eleven, and had hated until recently re-meeting him. I liked Chris, and I liked her and Chris together. They dated until almost Thanksgiving of our freshman year in college, and then - and here's where the fairy tale gets complicated - they broke up.

Unfortunately, by then, April and I had also drifted considerably. I didn't even  know that she and Chris had broken up until long after it happened. Through the next five years April and I lived very different lives, separated by geography and newly evolving interests.
While we were both seniors, Chris and April got back together and started dating seriously again.

April and I are also back in touch.
I can barely begin to express how blessed I feel that I will get to be there tomorrow when she and Chris stand up in front of everyone and promise each other the rest of their lives.

Congrats, April and Chris.
--------------------------------------------------------------
* I don't know how the gym classes are now. But that's how I remember it, at least.
** We figured we both be in a rock band. So the story was about life on the road. And boys.
*** April, you can correct me if I'm wrong here... but nothing really jumps out at me.

New Grad Orientation

This morning I was taken off my normal team of patients and scheduled to do orientation with a new grad nurse.

"I had plans," I protested weakly, "I told my patients I'd be here in the morning."

But the beauty of a 24 hour job like nursing is that someone else, just as qualified and caring is always there to make sure things go smoothly. So off the unit, to the back room I went with my new coworker and the Computer On Wheels.

We were only a few minutes into a discussion about a pharmacology quiz question* when I realized that this was one of the best things to happen to me all week.

Teaching forces me to examine my own habits and compare the things I do to best practice standards.
And it challenges me to find new ways to explain old knowledge.

 I love the chance to say all the things that have stuck with me, passed down from my mentors over the past few years. Plus any and all things that  I wish someone had told me sooner.

Still, orientation isn't the whole process. It's obvious to say, but most of the journey from student to professional nurse comes from experience. You have to put your hours in. You have to own your victories, as well as your failures, and make notes and revise your approach accordingly.

I'm no veteran. I am still learning new things every day, and will hopefully never stop.
 But when I get the opportunity to spend so much time with a new grad I can't believe how quickly the last three years just flew by. It feels like yesterday I was running to make it to my NCLEX on time, thinking in the back of my head :
          it's kind of okay if I miss it anyway because I'll probably fail it and I should have taken a prep course and I can't imagine I'll even get half the questions right and what am I doing trying to be a nurse when I already have such a successful job as a drama teacher and I wonder if I can make that work full time?

Now I'm signing off on someone else's skills list.
 And in no time at all, she will be too.

-------------------------------------------------------------------
* Identifying Abbreviations. This section of the Pharm Quiz nearly always sparks a discussion about the obvious disadvantages to using certain abbreviations because they are so ambiguous/easily mistaken for other things.

... only thirty two

Here is a video that was made about BHCHP.
 It has a lot of focus on the building I work, and features a ton of my coworkers and patients.
And the song throughout it, which is an original piece by a patient... well, you'll just have to listen for yourself.


I love my job.

LOST

This entry is not about LOST.

I never have never even seen a minute of an episode of LOST.
But Liz C. is in town and in the spirit of friendship I now find myself sitting  Shannon's house gearing up to watch the very last episode ever.

I was wearing a surgical mask to protect me from cat dander* which I had to take off to eat our order of "Wings". We ordered Wings over Amherst all the time in college and have taken this tiny reunion as an opportunity to munch on chicken together even though Shannon's boyfriend Ted doesn't like the franchise's recipes as much as we do.

As we watch the official LOST recap that is airing right now I am struck by a few things.

First of all, I kind of wish I had been watching LOST all along. I guess I did miss out on a huge cultural phenomenon. Years from now I will have to admit that I didn't watch it and people will look at me the way I look at them now if they say they never saw the episode of Punky Brewster where Cherry locks herself in a refrigerator and almost dies.**

But mostly I am struck by how lucky I am to have the friends I have. I love to sit here by the window in this apartment, a black cat at my feet (a bottle of fexofenadine by my hand), and Liz and Shan on the couch across from me trading jokes about LOST. And in between jokes about LOST, just trading stories.
 A minute ago two other close friends who live upstairs stopped by the window behind me and I made faces at their baby. Ted is delivering a rant about season three. We are going to eat ice cream soon. Then I'll put my surgical mask back on.

I'm happy.

I'm not going to understand a single thing that happens in the next two hours. And honestly, when the show starts I am probably just going to sit here and continue working on the script for Gorefest.

But I am glad I came here. I always am.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I am not the most stylish person you know, but I am the most fun to take places.
** RIGHT?

Happy Nurses Day!

Nurse Appreciation Week begins each year on May 6th and ends on May 12th.
Today is internationally celebrated as Nurses Day because it is Florence Nightingale's birthday.

Yesterday at work there was an amazing feast of food for all the nurses. Nurses gathered, not just from our facility but from several BHCHP sites. We chatted as we nibbled on our shrimp kabobs and tried to guess who was who in the black and white nursing school graduation photos.

The spread was prepared by our incredible kitchen staff and was maintained from 12pm to 4pm to bridge both the day and evening shifts. There were tote bags for everyone with snacks and Dunkin Donut giftcards, and in the corner of the atrium two massage stations had been set up.
During the course of the afternoon several touching speeches were given by RNs from the organization, and various staff members were recognized publicly for their work and dedication.

Later on, completely unrelated to the festivities a newly homeless patient said to me, "I'm so glad they brought me here. I know that here you'll take care of me."

It made me feel very appreciated, and made me proud to be a nurse. But there was one more gift, maybe the most affirming of all.

Upstairs in the nurses station there was a vase of roses. Pale pink, with dark edges, and fragrant.

"Did you like the flowers I got for the nurses?"
He was smiling. He had gone to great lengths to get them.
And it was the patient you might have expected least of all.

writing writing writing

Updating, you may have noticed, has been inconsistent.
The reason for this is that I have recently taken on two major writing projects.

The first is Gorefest.
 For those of you who may not know,  Gorefest is a gore-filled  musical comedy produced annually at Improv Boston at Halloween. Each year has a different theme, this will be Gorefest's eighth year running. As an example, here's last year's description.  This year, Don Schuerman, the father of Gorefest, opened up submissions for pitches to the general GF and IB community, and my concept has been chosen!
 I am co writing the book with Adam Brooks, and overseeing a small team of amazing lyricists.
The music will be done by the fabulous Steve Gilbane, as it has been in years past.*
We have an amazing production team in place, and emails have been flying back and forth as we start to create the next round of scary, gooey, fun.
Oh, and since everyone's been asking. This year's setting? The creepiest circus you've ever watched.

The other major project is Improv Asylum's new mainstage revue.
We are currently still running "The Best of Improv Asylum," but have started the production process for the next show, to be named at a later date. Our mainstage cast is saying goodbye to three people between now and July, and has taken on several new actors in the meantime. The new cast has been spending our nights down in the theater  drilling basics, running laps, bonding over pizza, and coming up with new sketches and new ways to use our improv skills.

I've never had so much writing to do. And I've never been so excited about it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Shameless plug: go to his website and click on "Gorefest" on the left to hear some songs from the past few years. Among them, a song I sang last year about killing everyone. It is definitely not safe for work.

A Mother's Day Post

My mother is my inspiration, my personal super hero, my teacher, and my safety blanket.
She lets me cry when I need to cry and kicks my butt when my butt needs to be kicked.

The song "Baby of Mine" from Dumbo reminds me of my mother.
...so does anything by Billy Joel or Josh Groban
...so does Kill Bill 2.

 Mom has worked as an EMT, a radiology tech and a mammographer.
She is also a gifted writer, a poet and taught me everything I know about staged "gore" makeup.

Mom once helped a half-dead kitten drink water off her gloved fingertips until the Animal Rescue league showed up - even though she doesn't like cats very much.

 Mom has presided at several funerals for both hamsters and parakeets.

 Mom has made it clear on several occasions that she brought us into this world and she can take us out.

I have danced with my mother in the living room at the end of a long hard week.
I have never turned down her cookies.

I have watched Mom as she battles MS and wins every day.

I watched her pick up all our broken pieces and keep our family together when her husband, my father, passed away.

My Mom is the strongest woman I know.

In this photo, she is about to strap herself to a zip line and jump off the edge, out of her comfort zone. She thought we were going for a hike that morning. But she didn't get mad at me, even when they started handing the helmets out.

I love you, Mom. Here's to all our adventures.. and many more to come.

save some water for the fishies*

It's officially the end of "Water Week," in Cambridge. No, really.

Ok. So, first, some background. On Saturday, May 1st a  huge water pipe in Weston, Massachusetts sprung a leak. The Mass Water Resource Authority was able to supply water for toilets and showers to towns east of Weston by using a back up supply of mostly pond water. This switch in water quality was the cause of a water ban and boil water order for Boston and surrounding towns. 

 The ban was in effect until midway through the day on Tuesday, May 4th.

I worked on Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday in Boston so I was affected too. However, I was able to avoid boiling any of my own water at home because within the last year I moved to Cambridge, which has its own water supply.

But not only was Cambridge not affected by the water ban across the river, we were actually celebrating how awesome the water here is.
That's right, May 2nd- May 8th was Water Week here in the People's Republic.

Activities included educational modules for school children about the "wonders of water," and a tour of the Water Purification Plant where we get our delicious, clean tap water from.**

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* The title of this post is brought to you by Things My Sixth Grade Teacher Used to Say in a Weirdly High Pitched Sing-song Voice While We Were Trying to Use the Bubblers at School.

** I'm only bragging because the ban in Boston has been lifted. Otherwise this would just be mean spirited.

Dreams of Haiti

I bade a friend goodbye this morning before she boarded a plane to Turks & Caicos. 
She is flying from there to Milot, Haiti.


I am proud.  I am envious. 

Rx: feline

"Sam*, can you at least take your antibiotics?"
"I'm not takin' any of 'em. Why should I? You weren't here."

He's had so many head injuries, that he's now a kid trapped in an adult body. His face is scarred and his body is scarred and his liver is scarred, and his heart hurts. Not his real heart. Sam's lonely.

"Sam, another patient needed me,"  I faltered, weighing  HIPPA against his anger.
"It was an emergency, I didn't know how long I would be in the other room when I went in."

"I don't care. You were supposed to be here. You weren't. I'm gonna go smoke."

He doesn't understand waiting in line, or being told he can't do what he wants to do.  What he wants to do is drink a lot of alcohol and smoke cigarettes and eat cinnamon buns until his glucose level is unreadable on the glucometer. He tells me the higher the number, the better. "Like basket ball scores."

Before they reach a certain stage in both their mental and emotional development children are unable to think abstractly enough to put themselves into another person's shoes, or to plan for the future, or to delay gratification.

Sam is a little like that. Unable to understand why a nurse would not be on time, or why he shouldn't cuss out the doctors, or why he should care about his blood pressure.

Just like a child, retarded emotional development doesn't mean Sam is a bad person. It just means he is where he is. Unlike a child, however, he's not going to progress. His brain is damaged. He may be able to learn behavioral modification - but he's not ever going to reach the next stage. He's stuck.

So whenever Sam is my patient I take my time to remember that and treat him accordingly.

"Hey Sam, you look nice today. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you earlier. Can you take your medications now?"

"No. I'm going to sleep."

Usually it's me who is called in to reason with Sam, some other nurse at her wit's end. Today, I'm the bad guy. Because another patient was vomiting and I was late with Sam's medication cup.

I'm putting out fires. Vomiting, hypotension, dressing changes, patients with frightening hallucinations. Pharmacy's on the phone asking about prescriptions never sent. Due to a "boil water" alert I'm rationing bottled water.  I have three patients with persistent elevated temperatures possibly related to their illnesses but much more likely caused by dehydration. I am watching everything.

As I run around, Sam is in the background of everything I do. Standing in the hall. Sitting in the clinic. Riding the elevator. He takes his meds from me, quietly, an hour after refusing them. He says little all day.

Then, as I'm leaving, he's telling a respite aide:

"I had three cats," he said, "named Mud, Mud Junior and Mud the third."
His eyes glow with excitement as he continues, "and I used to feed those cats better than I fed me. King crab. Shrimp. They loved that stuff. I'd go buy it for them."

It is the first time I see Sam smile all day, talking about his cats and how he took care of them. How he loved them and they loved him.

He notices me listening and waves cheerfully, the morning forgotten.

I leave the building deep in thought,  wondering how one would word a prescription for a cat.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*names, diagnoses, and situations have been changed to protect the privacy of patients and staff involved

thank you Mr. Stranger

Relatively speaking, I only recently became an air traveler. I mean, Japan was my first time on an airplane in about ten years. But since Japan, I am pleased to say I've been flying a lot. Pleased because I really enjoy flying.

I love airplane bathrooms, and airplane seats. I even love airports. 

And before anyone asks, I don't know how much of loving airports is organic and how much of it stems from watching Love Actually so many times, but I don't care. All the people, coming together. I like it. I read Up in the Air this past year and found myself wishing I had a job that required that much traveling.

And I realize if I did have such a job I probably wouldn't like it very much. And yes, I do get grumpy during long layovers.  I get frustrated that my plane is delayed.  I get mad when I can't find a decent cup of coffee. I wish the Wi Fi were free.

But, listen: for me, all that frustration melts away during the take off. 

I used to think it was obvious that everyone likes the take off. The way everyone loves sleep. Or breathing. But I guess it's not true, because I have now been on several flights where my seat mate goes to sleep before the plane even takes off. There he is, sitting next to this window, with his earbuds in, and his eyes shut. And me, trying to crane my neck around to see any bit of the landscape between the wing tip and his forehead and nose.

It drives me crazy. 

And I know, logically that these are nice people who did not intentionally and maniacally chose the window seat in order to waste the view. I also know that people aren't going to switch out of the window seat before a flight just in case another passenger loves looking out the window more than they do. 

But I've been flying for three years now and have still not gotten tired of watching the ground get further and further away. I will gladly give up a window seat for a friend who is also excited about the window seat, or a stranger who has never had a window seat (especially a child). But to sit sidekick to someone who doesn't so much as glance at the world outside the window is agonizing.

On a flight this past week from Chicago to New York I was in the middle seat. The man in the window seat shut the window shade and settled in to read a magazine. Defeated, I took out a book and tried to read.

As the plane began to roll I kept my eyes politely downward, but when we hit the runway and picked up speed I reflexively stared out the nearest window, trying to see something - anything, from my odd angle. 

The man noticed me looking and then he looked too, straining with the effort. Then, as if it just dawned on him, he opened our window shade. It was just in time for us both to watch as the ground became a blur and then a patchwork quilt. 

I smiled but he didn't look at me. He was looking out the window.