Night shift is completely messing up both my circadian rhythms and my typing. I wake up at odd times, I fall asleep at odd times, and I keep having to backspace constantly.
It kind of sucks.
I wonder about the patient with the belly bleed from last night. I wonder about the sweet little girl with the huge herpes infection.
I wonder why I already miss That Guy I Liked, whom I dumped over the weekend because he didn't like me. Knowing I can't just email him sucks, even though he never emailed me first.
Maybe the girl who went wonky on me the other week will get sent to rehab soon. She's much better; following commands and speaking spontaneously, but she still has that bunch of infections.
Maybe if I were sweeter, not so snarky and sarcastic, he would've liked me. His best friend told me that the woman he does like is really sweet. I guess that might be it.
Maybe now he'll read that book I gave him. Probably not, though.
I wish I could kick some of these docs in the head a few times. Just because you think about ordering a morning CT scan doesn't mean that I'll pick up on your mental transmissions; you actually have to *do* it. They yell at me for their mistakes sometimes, or order stat CTs at five in the morning, when things are already insanely busy, what with rounds and labs coming in.
It was stupid of me to like him. I thought he liked me; I made him laugh, and he said he liked my cooking. Oh, well.
I wonder how that patient with the belly bleed is. Maybe his crit's come up and he can go to the floor in a couple of days. I have never seen an ammonia level that high; Nurse Ames and I figured it out when we saw the way he was breathing, so we ordered a stat ammonia. It was through the roof. That was a nice win for the two of us.
Those herpes and meningitis patients are going to be a bitch to deal with. I hope we don't get any more from Incompetent Hospital Corporation; we've already got every single negative-pressure room filled up, and we had to create two more with plastic sheets and blowers and vents.
It kind of sucks to realize that you've been used as a pacifier by somebody who's addicted to drama queens. It's really humiliating. I can deal with a bruised ego, but humiliation is something worse.
Oh, damn. We're starting that new stroke study next week, and I haven't finished the online training for it. I'll need to do that next time I work. It's really kind of cool: it's a study to determine the outside limit of time at which TPA will actually work for a clot.
I need to pay the electric bill. I wish they didn't charge five bucks to do it online.
This week I have got to get that plywood up to the attic. Maybe Matt could help me. I think I can do it, even with a bum knee. That knee got bonked last night in the scrum around Mister Belly, and it's kind of swollen right now. Ah, the joys of aging. And of doing ill-advised stuff with your trainer.
I sure hope I don't need surgery. Probably will; there's a torn meniscus or something nasty in there now. Damn.
It doesn't really matter. Not really. I mean, yeah, the blog gets a hundred thousand page views a week, but he doesn't read it any more. I don't know why not. Maybe he's just too busy.
Notamus got tangled up in a reusable shopping bag at one o'clock this morning and went tearing around the house in a panic. That's what woke me up. Poor guy knocked over two trash cans and was all agley afterwards. He needed many head-rubs to feel better.
Yeah, so. I can't sleep. And this is the last beer in the house. Hi, Mom! Hi, All Of Mom's Friends! (Hi, Lawyer Guy I Met Last Week Who Told Me About His RAP Theory! In case you didn't notice, that one went over like a lead balloon! Probably not a good thing to tell a raging feminist! Just sayin'! Thanks for the whiskey!)
Maybe I'll go sew some curtains. That's a good use of time. As Queen Elizabeth said, one must be patient, and let time pass. All it takes is time, right?
Right.
