Oh. It's a flood warning. Lovely.
Chuckleheads on Parade, Part Two
The chucklehead situation I wrote about the other day became so bad on Saturday that I could only sit back and stare with my mouth slightly open. Not only did the patient who got screwed as an inpatient get screwed as an outpatient, but I had another one of Doctor Chucklehead's patients who's going to be in just as bad of shape this morning. Thank God I'm not there to see the rivets pop out of the case manager's skull.
One quick tip for any medico who might be reading: If you write an order at 1700 on Sunday for rehab placement on Monday morning, it's *probably not going to happen*. Case managers have weekends, you know.
I don't want to go into details on the Previous Chucklehead Victim. Suffice to say that the level of arrogance, laziness, and outright disrespect I've seen from The Chucklehead Twins (attending and resident) is unmatched in my experience. Except maybe by the protesters who used to work outside the clinic where I worked. They walked the sidewalk with a baby every day for five years and got paid $38,000 a year by a local anti-choice group for their efforts.
Anyway. The case manager, a slender woman who drinks more coffee than I do, and I will have to figure out a way to do end-runs around Dr. Chucklehead and Friends. The normal routine of explaining, very patiently, why X and Y and Z orders won't work, or why one actually has to *write* an order for what one wants, rather than expecting it to be transmitted telepathically to one or more colleagues, is not going to be enough here. Punishment won't work. A good dope slap would probably be really satisfying, but it won't accomplish much in the long run.
In other news
It's been raining off and on for a week and a half now. This is wonderful for the crops and the grass and all the little birdies, but bad for the people who (like me) have to commute through construction areas. Remind me sometime to tell you what it's like to be slogging along in a Honda Civic when allofasudden the world goes away and you're covered with water.
My car also needs new tires. *sigh*
A Handy Site for Women
More than likely, you're wearing the wrong size bra. I know I am. Check this
out and learn how to fit a bra. As soon as I'm done here I'm getting out the tape measure.
This week we have a series of tests at work to requalify us for whatever work we're doing. It's a hospital-based version of the ACLS or BLS or COC or whatever tests are national. In other words, we test three times a year for what normally only gets tested once. The biggie for me will be EKG stuff; I'm not a cardiac nurse for a reason. EKG strips have never made the slightest lick of sense to me. I passed that part of nursing school by taxing my short-term memory to the fullest and then promptly forgot everything I'd learned. Since David will be at a food show tonight and tomorrow, that'll be my time to cram QT intervals and P waves back into my noggin.
And so to bed
It's back to beddy-bye for me. The one drawback of working three days in a row (aside from the punchiness that hits on day 3) is that your body wants to get going at 3 am on day 4. I've been up long enough to get sleepy again. The cat will teach me how to nap.