Late-night entertainment

There are two kinds of confused people in the hospital. Adorable confused and Yelling and Swinging confused.

Last night one our patients became acutely ill and confused. Adorably confused. 

Patient: Am I still alive?

Nurse: Yes, you're still alive.

Patient: I didn't die yet?

Nurse: No, not yet.

Patient: Is 2 plus 2 still 4?

Nurse: Yes.

Patient: Am I here?

Nurse: Where's here?

Patient: I don't know. Wherever I am is here.

*Pause*

Patient: Here is where soul and body meet. Will you find it and take me there please?

*Pause*

Patient: I've been like this all my life. I'm a rebel without a clue.

Nurse: Do you mean a rebel without a cause?

Patient: I think I'm trying to be funny.

He succeeded.

The summer bucket list

I'm the kind of person that spends most of the summer dreading the inevitable approach of winter and panicking about not taking full advantage of the summer. I start every summer with an informal, unwritten bucket list of things I want to do before death winter arrives. As the months pass, if I'm not making progress on my list, I start panicking about the ever looming end of my life summer.

This summer my bucket list was in big, big trouble. So was my sanity. June and July were spent working or in Chicago, or else inside hovering over the air conditioner during our abominable heat wave. By August 1st, my skin still boasted its pristine ivory hue leftover for winter. Because it had not seen the sun.

Translation: My summer was being wasted away indoors.

Then Isaac finished his internship, we went to Utah, and the last 3 weeks have basically been an exercise in condensing a summer's worth of bucket list activities into a few short weeks. And in being happy to have Isaac home.

We

hiked a mountain
went camping at 9,000 feet
ate sushi and we loved one of us loved it
went on a bike ride
went canoeing
played frisbee golf
went to the Iowa state fair
went camping sort-of camping again (story to follow)
got slightly tanner
had a barbecue
swam in a lake
made homemade ice cream

Things are looking up for the list.

Although, for the record, I'm still dreading winter.

Here are some pictures of use checking things off my list:

Bless your heart, Iowa, but these are what real mountains look like.

Isaac's family. I don't know who the pink shirt is.

This is the famous butter cow. It's life size and it's ALL butter.
I hope they put that butter to a good use afterwards.
Except for the udder.

That massive hunk of flesh is, believe it or not, a bull.
And it won.
And I'm pretty sure it's too fat to come after you if you touch it.

Our awesome friends Jershon and Shelly standing by the first place pumpkin.
If you can't read the sign it says 1295 lbs. 

Things I forgot about

I have noticed an increase in my happiness lately, and have dedicated the next 48 words to explaining the source of my newfound joy:


Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home!


I came home one night after a truly rotten day at work to my handsome hubby who made dinner, cleaned it up, and gave me a back rub.


I forgot what a breath of fresh air it used to be to come home to him after "I'm pretty sure I need to quit my job" days. Somehow after joking around during dinner and watching him wash dishes for me, the terrors of the day seem like distant memories.


I forgot the small joys of trying to decipher what he's saying with a mouth full of toothpaste foam and of trying keep each other awake during scriptures. 


I forgot how much more quickly sleep comes when he's next to me.


I forgot how our little bedroom seems less lonely, dark, and quiet with Isaac in it, even when the only sound he contributes is the soft breathing of sleep. He also brought home the nightlight, so that probably explains the "less dark" thing...


In the end, we are extra grateful to live in the same house again. 


And, so I don't forget that the Chicago thing really happened, here's some final proof:

At Wait Wait... don't tell me! We're smiling because we already know it's going to be epic.
And it was. If you want to hear the show, go here. You'll laugh, I promise.

Camber shaking Carl Kassel's hand. And regretting the Thai food we just ate. Garlic breath? Probably.

This was probably a highlight of Carl's day.

Sometimes a large dirty city can look kinda pretty.

At the Lincoln Park zoo. But you can't see any animals in this picture. Sorry.

The perils of changing the subject

My patient was quite the talker.

This can be a problem when I have a narrow window in which to see all my patients and get vital signs, pass medications, listen to hearts and lungs, and put out fires. Talkers, while fun to be around, slow me down.

Thus, I have been carefully honing the art of integrating conversation with necessary nursing tasks. We chat while I chart on the computer, put pills in little paper cups, check oxygen levels, and hunt around for the ever-elusive pulses in their feet.

This time it backfired.

Patient: Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk

Me: Oh yeah? Uh huh, uh huh. Take a deep breath for me.

Patient: Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk

Me: No way! What's your pain level at from 0-10?

Patient: Talk talk talk...I have a huge movie collection at home.

Me: Wow, you must really like movies. When was your last bowel movement?

Patient: This morning. A big one.

[Pause]

Patient: I'd say you could fill up that wall by the window and this wall next to me with it.

[Pause]

Me: Um, your bowel movement?

Patient: NO! My movie collection!

Me: [Rendered speechless by giggling]

Me: [Composure regained] Sorry, you changed the subject on me!

Patient: No, I think you were the one that changed the subject.

Oops.

Note to readers: If you don't know what a bowel movement is, you can learn more about it here.

Nurses make a difference every day

Today constituted 14 hours of unscheduled bliss. No work. No traveling. Nada.

So I binged.

On cleaning, that is.

I
-Swept and mopped the kitchen floors
-Filled the dishwasher, ran it, and filled it again
-Baked bread and cookies and made hummus
-Vacuumed
-Returned library books
-Grocery shopped and put that away too
-Found an inspiring blog
-Cleaned the bathroom (ugh)
-Cleaned the stove (double ugh)

And saved a life.

An intruder came uninvited into my kitchen. I found him running for his life. Then he changed tactics and froze. Bad tactic. He stopped way out there in the open. I could smell his fear. I'm sure he could smell mine. And hear it, because I yelped like a sissy.

I looked around for instruments of murder. Something that would quickly and easily squelch the life out of him and put me out of my misery.

Then, inexplicably, I felt a new sensation rising in my chest. Kinda warm and soft and calming. The murderous gleam began to leave my eyes. I decided violence wasn't the answer. There's room enough in this big world for both of us! We can all live together in peace.

And I took the little arachnid outside, heart pounding and palms sweating. But I did it.

Nurses make a difference every day.

A conversation in the morning

[Isaac is wearing a dark gray shirt and brown shorts]

C: Isaac, I don't think gray and brown go together

I: So?

C: Well, they don't go together

I: Are you telling me this for you or for me?

C: Huh?

I: Are you telling me this so I don't embarrass myself or because you don't want to look at me? Because if it's for me, I don't care.

C: Well, I guess it's for you, because I don't really care what you're wearing. I didn't marry you just because of your looks

I: For me it was 70/30

C: 70% looks and 30% personality? 

I: Yup

C: What happens when I get old and ugly?

I: You'll still have the 30%. And I promise to love you the full 30%

Note: He didn't change his clothes.

The good stuff

I think it's important to have a positive outlook on life. I'm trying to focus on the good stuff right now.

So I'm not going to mention the abominable heat and humidity wave that is keeping me as housebound as I was in the dead of winter.

And I wouldn't dream of bringing up my four mosquito bites.

Or the fact that my body is trying once again to switch back to Central time from Tokyo time (or night shift time).

Nor could I ever be so heartless as to complain about the confused old woman I had the other night that screamed the f-word at me while I tried to draw her blood and put in a urinary catheter.

And of course this would be the last place I would ever mention how some of her urine splashed on my face during that process.

And because none of that was worth mentioning, I also won't bring up her reeking gangrenous foot ulcer.

Since I'm not brining any of that stuff up, instead I will show you what I found on my doorstep when I came home after the urine-splashing incident:

Cutest. Cookies. Ever.

Also on that doorstep was a thank-you note from my neighbor, which I have no picture for but which probably made me equally happy. 

And this is what my rock star husband sent me for the 5-year anniversary of when we started dating:

Other good things in my life: 

-A trip to Nauvoo to see the pageant and Carthage with two old roommates and a very cute baby

-Free ginger cookies at the bakery during the afore-mentioned trip

-Isaac's internship countdown: only 9 days until he comes home!

-I'm in Chicago visiting him right now anyway

-I have two nephews on the way

-And the mosquito bites are healing nicely. Thanks for asking. 

Life in the Windy City

As previously alluded to, Isaac is living in Chicago for the summer doing a marketing internship for his MBA. I am still in Iowa, working away at the hospital and trying not to get scared at night.

Because even though I know that the area underneath our bed is entirely occupied with boxes, part of me still fears getting under the covers at night.

What if something grabs my ankle as I climb into bed? Someone could be hiding under there all day long, just waiting for me to turn off the lights at bedtime.

The 3 seconds from light switch to mattress are pure terror.

Luckily for my sanity Chicago is close enough to visit fairly frequently, and we've had a wonderful time exploring it together.

Isaac and I standing on Navy Pier. That's Chicago in the background.

There is a glass shelf at the top of the Willis tower that allows you to see all the way down. You can't tell from a photo, but we're quaking in our boots. It's surprisingly scary.

Probably the best part of Chicago. Giordano's stuffed pizza. So. Much. Cheese.

The Bean. A famous but weird...sculpture? Monument? 

The face fountain in Millenium Park. The face on that screen changes occasionally. Kinda weird, but all the water on the ground was very refreshing on a hot day.

Fun as visiting Chicago is, I just want my husband back in the same city as me. Protecting me from whatever is under the bed.

Note to self

Dear Camber--

When you draw blood on a patient that's terrified of needles, a good thing to do is put the blood tubes in a secure location. Like your pockets. Or a baggie. Or the table. Or on your clipboard. Or on the patient's bed. Or on the floor.

Basically anywhere but the sharps container, because that is the one place from which you CANNOT get them back. Wearing gloves and trying to dig around in the sharps with a long metal object while her husband holds the flashlight is not only fruitless, but also looks very, very sketchy.

Best regards,
Camber

P.S. You should also keep in mind that it is never a good idea to give an enema to someone that is upright, even if she refuses to take it lying down. In fact, this is always a bad, bad, bad idea. Every time.

P.P.S. Should the unthinkable occur and you perform both of these forbiddens on the same rotten day, please, please try not to do them to the same unfortunate woman.

Feminists are crazy

With Isaac living in Chicago for the summer and a sad Camber alone at home, our car decided this would be an opportune time to burn out a bunch of blinkers.

So I changed the blinkers. It was just me, the owner's manual, and the tool set. While I was at it, I changed the light bulbs over our license plate, because they've been out for almost a year.

Here's what the rest of this post should sound like: I'm amazing, girls can do anything, who needs boys, I feel so empowered, doing manly repairs is awesome and fun, etc.

That's a post for someone else to write. Sure, I can do it, and I did feel a twinge of satisfaction when I turned left at a light and heard the satisfying "click-click" of my healthy blinker, but I still want my husband around.

During the course of my car repairs, I managed to:

-Break an old lightbulb and waste 15 minutes trying to pry out the broken shards of glass from the unyielding clenches of its holder

-Get shards of the afore-mentioned glass all over the parking lot and my kitchen floor

-Drop a wrench into the bowels of the car's interior and stick my poor pristine hand into the greasy interior to fish it out of an impossibly obscure location--please note the damage

-Lose the light bulbs and waste 5 minutes looking for them

-Get mud on my jeans

-Lose an hour I could have spent in my wind-proof, 75-degree apartment to instead stand in 35 mph wind gusts at 55 degrees

Who are these stupid girls that want to do all this instead of delegating it to their husbands? Of course women need men around! Sure, I got the job done, but I would enjoy my blinker's satisfying "click-click" just fine if Isaac had done it all. And I would have an hour of my day back, spent reading on the couch in climate-controlled bliss.

Feminists are crazy.