"So, Jo," he said, "what sort of plans do you have for your unit?"
Er. Um. Aaahhhh.....gah.
The next day, one of the house managers grabbed me by both hands and started raving about how happy Manglement was that I'd taken on the job, that the unit really needed organization and efficiency, and how I was just the person to get all that done.
It would've been easier, and I would've preferred it, had nobody had any expectations. If I'd been able to do this under-the-radar, so to speak, there wouldn't be as much pressure.
I hate pressure. I am extremely pressure-averse, in the sense that planning and organizing something as big as this unit is going to be (and as fast as it's going to get big) are not my strong suits. Give me a couple of patients, both of whom are crumping in different ways, and I'm good: that sort of pressure is cool. *This* sort of pressure....well.
It's a challenge, right? It'll force me out of my comfort zone, right?
Other than getting bonked on the head by that Expectation Bat, things went remarkably smoothly. It's not dead-ass quiet, and it's not killingly busy--yet--so there's time to actually do nursing. There are problems, not the least of which is that we're working with borrowed equipment in a borrowed space, but the problems can mostly be fixed.
The two biggest problems-I-mean-challenges I see right now are these: The person who directs (well, supposedly directs; I'm not sure what he actually does other than wander in and complain about signage) the unit is someone with whom I have never gotten along and probably never will. How the hell we're supposed to get things done when his primary interpersonal-relations style is condescension with a side of bullying and a sprinkle of humiliation is beyond me. Seriously, this guy is such bad news that HR has been called in a number of times to set him straight about how not to manage people.
Oh, and nobody's really sure where we're supposed to be getting our supplies, like gauze and needles, but *shrug*. And there is no central monitoring capability in the unit. Yet. And we lack enough trash cans. Little things like that, you know?
It's going to be a bumpy six months. After that, it'll be an insanely busy year until we move into a new, dedicated space. And, since everybody seems to think that I really *can* do this, when what I'd planned was on-the-DL influence, I guess I'll start asking for stuff. Like trashcans and gauze.
Y'know what? I'm enjoying the hell out of this.