All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something

When Your Doctor Really Isn’t French

My memory is terrible. Sometimes I have to write a note to remind myself to write a note reminding me of all of the things I need to discuss with my psychiatrist.

99% of the time I leave the note at home or in a different purse which means that we end up wasting our appointment time Googling small towns in the Middle East and finding out that you quite possibly have the worst French accent ever.

You know, important things.

After the appointment, I’ll find myself in the medical building elevators wondering what the fuck just happened? And why didn’t I remember to ask him about my hair that’s falling out.

My husband’s contribution. He’s a keeper.

Note or not, it doesn’t really matter. I don’t have to explain much to him. He can gauge how I’m feeling when I reference different words for bowel movements.

Shit. Crap. Poop. Bum Nuggets.

And he just knows.

I get really frustrated when I encounter other doctors who don’t get my single word description of the chaos in my head and the pain in my back.

Yesterday is a fine example of that.

I was sitting on the exam table in my family doctor’s office. The only thing separating my dignity from her was a thin plastic sheet that I had already shredded in 17 places trying to figure out how to cover my no no bits.

As her fingers moonwalked around my nipples, she asked me how I was.

I said, “Crap.”

She stopped and gave me this look which made me feel like I needed to define what crap was.

Where do I start?

My back hurts so I can’t get into a comfortable position to sleep which means I’m not really sleeping and that is making my depression worse and because my depression is getting worse, I feel like doing absolutely nothing but crying and because I want to cry, nothing is getting done around my house and that doesn’t matter because my back is so sore that I can’t do it anyways.

And my hair is falling out in clumps.

Instead I said, “You know. Same old. Same old.”

She nodded and continued onto my left breast.

I never know where to look when she checks my fun bags. Most of the time I check out the poster on diverticulitis. It’s interesting. For a brief moment I glanced at her and observed her facial features. I suddenly remembered my appointment with my psychiatrist.

“She’s not French.”

Over ten years with her and she is not French.

This whole time I’ve been using a French accent to imitate her and she isn’t French.

I started to laugh.

“Oh my hands are cold. I’m so sorry,” she said in her non-French accent as she rubbed her hands that have never made a French croissant.

“Ugh. It’s ok,” I responded clearing my throat to stop the giggling. Only I couldn’t stop giggling. It soon became one of those funeral laughs. No matter how much you try to stop you just can’t.

It was the most uncomfortable yet hilarious pap smear I have ever had.

A few minutes later, she snapped off her gloves and told me that everything looked good under the hood.

“I am recommending that all of my female patients get this vaccine. It’s for HPV,” she said.

“For genital warts?” I quickly responded.

Winning at life since 1980

“Um, it’s more than just-”

“I know. I’m a nurse. I was just ummm…kidding.”

“I’ll see you in week Kimberly.”

As soon as she walked out, I busted out of those plastic sheets like the hulk. I got out of there as fast as I could.

When I got to my car, I realized that I forgot to ask all the questions I had wrote on the little piece of paper that was sitting in the cup holder.

On the top, with the letters written over and over:

“French?”

Things I also forgot that day:

refilling my birth control
my best friend’s baby’s first birthday
the speed limit in our city as I drove as fast as I could to the pharmacy to refill birth control
and putting my bra back on
you’re welcome pharmacist

Is it Friday yet? GFunkified

Hispanic Barbie

She tapped the chart on my shoulder and said, “Miss *Ruby is back. Holding?”

“Better be. Them pillows are the best in there,” Ruby said with her tiny but commanding voice. My favourite 9 year old fire cracker turned 18 before my eyes as she strutted her little stuff down the hall.

Her mom came trailing behind, wrestling with numerous pink bedazzled duffle bags, perfectly fit for a Diva. Her jet black curls grazed her shoulders and bounced with each step. I could see her flowing gown from under her knee length wool coat and her make-up was flawless. No matter what that woman wore, she always looked gorgeous, but tonight, tonight I could see the weariness in her eyes. I reached out to lighten her load.

“You know that she’s going to be spoiled to shit,” I whispered in her ear.

She flung her head back and laughed.

“Oh I know she will. ”

Her heels clacked on the floor as we made our way to Holding. Ruby had already claimed Bed 1 and made herself comfortable.

“Are you here to ruin my night Diva Ruby?” I jokingly said as I rested her bags on the bedside chairs.

“Always Nurse Kim.”

I grabbed her two pillows and blankets from the warmer. I tucked Ruby in and slung the rest of the blankets over her mom’s shoulders.

“This sucks, but we are going to make this night fun for her. Promise.”

She smiled and pushed her chair closer to the bed. I flipped off the overhead lights and told them if they needed anything to let me know.

It wasn’t long afterwards that I felt a tug on the unit’s cellphone clipped to my back pocket. Ruby stood there with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed.

“She told me you are in charge tonight Nurse Kim.”

I nodded.

“So did Santa show up yet?” she asked with excited eyes.

I tapped my chin,”I think he may have brought some early gifts my dear. Let me go look.”

Christmas time was magical at the hospital. Donations upon donations were given to help bring smiles to all the sick kids. I was always amazed at the generosity of the community. I walked into our storage room and it was filled to the ceiling with toys. I grabbed jelly bracelets, a plastic tiara, and a doll and returned to Ruby who was swinging around on my chair.

Her smile was wide when I handed her the gift.

“Did Santa bring a Hispanic doll? I’ve never seen one.”

I shrugged my shoulders and told her I’d look.

“That’s ok. I’m going to be your helper tonight Nurse Kim.”

“Oh Ruby, you need to rest.”

“Girl, how many times do I need to tell you people. I’m Ruby. I can do it all,” she snapped.

I laughed drawing attention to all the overworked and very edgy residents at their table.

“Ok,” I whispered

I set up a little spot for her at the nurses station and gave her a blank charting sheet and crayons.

“Time to work Miss Ruby, Nurse in training.”

She giggled. I had to leave her briefly to discharge patients and move new ones in. When I came back to her, she was still in the same chair.

“Nurse Kim,” she said as I walked by, “I made this for you.”

I looked down to see us drawn together. Flowers and snowflakes surrounded us and we had the biggest smiles.

“Nurse Kim. Thank you for this night. I had a really good time. I was sad that I had to be here but it’s ok. I had fun. You’re a good charge lady.”

I gave her a giant squeeze.

“Nurse Kim. I don’t feel so good. I’m going to go lay in bed now.”

I followed her to Holding and grabbed a warm blanket before tucking her back into bed. I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“Merry Christmas Ruby.”

“Same to you Nurse.”

I began to walk to my locker when I got this sinking feeling in my stomach. Ruby, on her sickest days, never laid in her bed. I walked at a fast pace back to her room. Her mom was still fast asleep and Ruby was sweating.

“What are you doing,” she moaned as I flipped on the light and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm.

“Oh Ruby.”

I went and kicked the side rail of the attending doctor who had took it upon himself to lay in a vacant stretcher. He was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when he saw Ruby. Everything else was a blur.

When she was ready to head up to the ICU, I whispered in her ear, “I’m going to find you a Hispanic Barbie.”

She sassily rolled her eyes at me.

Her mom smiled and said that she would come down when they were settled.

She never did.

On Christmas Day, all I could think about was her. I told my family that I was going to brave the malls on Boxing Day to find her that doll. I didn’t find one.

When I returned the day after, I showed up early to go and visit my firecracker. I was stopped by *Pam in the hallway.

“Kim, Ruby,” and she didn’t have to say anymore.

I locked myself in the bathroom and cried.

Whenever I stepped on the unit after that, I always remembered her and what she taught me that night.

It only takes a few minutes and your heart to make a difference.

Simple gestures of compassion like warm blankets, extra pillows, taking the time to listen to actually listen to what patient’s say, can mean the world to someone who is trying to recover.

And you, our patients, teach us why we went into the profession to begin with.

There are tons of nurses with giant hearts full of compassion and gentle hands to mend what has come undone.

You may not be able to see beyond your hospital room walls, but on the other side we are busy working on your plan of care as a whole being and not just a diagnosis. We are your voice outside of that room. We are your cheerleader. We are touched by your stories and your strength and your determination and in turn it makes us work that much harder to help those entrusted to our care.

Thank you for all that you teach us.

Today kicks off Nurse’s Week.

If you come across a nurse, please say thank you.

Remember, we prevent doctors from killing you.

What Is Yours?

“Everybody has a dream” ~ Pretty Woman

I held my head down close to the blank paper as I began to etch out my future self. I was wearing a white lab coat and holding a needle that was about as big as my entire body. When I was satisfied with the right amount of curl in my lashes, I proudly scribbled “Doctor Kimberly” in large purple letters across the top.

“What the heck are you?” Nathan T asked.

“I’m a doctor that works with kids,” I retorted.

“That’s stupid. Girls can’t be doctors. Girls are supposed to be nurses.”

I looked down at my drawing in embarrassment. I quickly drew a box over “Doctor” and filled it in with a black magic marker. My drawing was just titled ”Kimberly”.

When the teacher came to collect our papers, she asked me what I was going to be.

“I’m a nurse. A nurse that works with kids.”

She smiled at me and took my paper. I glared at Nathan T and thought, “I can be a doctor if I want to you stupid jerk.”

While I ended up choosing a different path in the medical field, I knew that it is was where I needed my heart to be. I was stressed to my core as I spent days running on nothing but coffee. I juggled a part time job while putting in ridiculous clinical hours. Each semester, as the course load and the complexity of our training increased, classmates would drop out of the program. There were many times that I wanted to quit and tell my wheezing professor to cram one in her arse, but I always reminded myself why I was there.

My dream.

In 2001, I walked onto the unit for the first time. It felt freeing as I looked back to see that there were no instructors nipping at my heels. I had a purple stethoscope slung around my neck and my shoes were the whitest of whites.

And there emblazoned on my name tag was “Kimberly RN”.

I took a deep breath before diving into my first shift as Pediatric Nurse in the Emergency Department.

I was living in my dream.

I made my dream tangible.

Dreams are so much more than wishes. Wishes remind me of winning the lottery or having seductive curves like Angelina Jolie. Dreams are more concrete. They create this positive air of change and an excited sense of moving forward to bigger and better things.

Dreams are what I envision my future holds; a future that I have to work for to achieve.

In my life, as I am sure is the case with others, some dreams may not be 100% attainable. I will never find that magic wand that will rid me of chronic pain or erase the association of bipolar disorder with my name. But that doesn’t mean that all is lost. My dreams are still there, alive and well. They’re just edited.

I dream of my chronic pain being effectively managed.

I dream of being in control of my bipolar disorder.

I dream of going back to school when I am well.

I dream of stepping back into the medical field and being the nurse I strived to be so many years ago.

Of course there are more.

Dreams never end unless you want them to.

They are yours to own.

And owning means that you have to work for them.

When I get discouraged from following a dream, I always picture myself on the first day I started working in the Emergency Department.

Right smack dab in the middle of everything I worked for to get there.

Then I remember that I can do anything.

Everybody has a dream.

As my thank you for reading this drawn out post, I give you cuteness.

Spooning my pillow. Such an asshole.

Doing The Unthinkable

Remember when Mariah Carey was cool?

Me neither.

I can’t stand her or her boobs or the fact that she thinks she’s twenty and a size zero. When she wears those tight cleavage revealing dresses, all I can think of is a stuffed sausage. It’s not attractive unless you’re sitting on a hot dog cart at a ballpark stadium holding a pitcher of beer.

Anyways, I hate American Idol.

I got suckered into it this season for only one reason.

The boy who stutters. Have you seen him? He is amazing. Kid can’t pull together one sentence but when the piano man starts diddling with the keys something beautiful and powerful happens. He sings effortlessly.

I pretended to cry during his montage clips before his performances because I don’t cry at stuff like that. Like when Shawn caught me pretending he was all,

“Oh my god. You’re crying. Ha! You’re stupid.”

And then I said, “Ha! My eyes are dripping because I contracted our boy child’s pink eye. And guess what? I rubbed my face on your pillow!”

And then he got mad and flipped the pillow over.

And then I laughed and said, “I rubbed it on that side too. And on your toothbrush!”

But I never did.

Anyways, I was really inspired by his struggle and how he is overcoming it. Like so inspired that I was like, “He’s right. I can do anything. I’m going to wear heels to the wedding!”

Which is the dumbest idea ever since I need assistance to put on underwear. Do you know how far the ground is when you’re 5’5 and your back tells you, “If you move, I will kill you in your sleep”? Do the math.

I told Shawn that I was wearing heels that night and he told me no.

And then I told him that we don’t live in the 1950′s anymore and women have the right to make their own bad life decisions.

“I’m going to wear them!” I shouted.

Gangsta. I was already too dressed up for this hillbilly wedding.

Then he reminded me that we didn’t have the boy child for the night and if I endured the pain of wearing heels we wouldn’t be able to have the loud sex. So I thought about my options.

Sex?

Or looking sexy?

I came up with a brilliant compromise.

Sexy sex.

I wore them.

When we got there, I seductively slung my sexy legs out of the car. My Dad awkwardly said, “You better be wearing underwear because no daughter of mine is giving out free shows.” Then my Mom said, “Are you wearing thongs?”

We are a wonderful family.

Anyways, I strutted my stuff from the parking lot to our table.

I leaned over to Shawn and said, “I totally look sexy sex don’t I?”

“No. You actually walked like you were raped by an elephant. Oh and the red wine stained your teeth.”

I looked sexy at the table instead and possibly drunk by 8:30pm

And he was right. I gave up after I tried to squat on the toilet while holding up my dress and keeping my back as straight as I could. I probably peed on the seat. I kicked them off and I pretended to be sexy sex in bare feet but Shawn kept telling me that I was going to get anal fissures from the floor.

So I stayed at our table wishing that a handi-capable someone, namely Shawn’s cousin who wore a scrunchie out in public which warrants a throat kick, would fall on the dance floor.

And then I would get up, point and then say, “That’s for me and That Guy On American Idol.”

And no one would understand my statement.

But I would know.

I would know.

Unfortunately, no one fell that night. Not even the people who were drunk.

But that’s ok. Me and The American Idol Wonder will continue to overcome our struggles by challenging ourselves to do the unthinkable.

Today, I’m going to bend over to clip my toenails.

Because someone was nice enough to point out that they thought I was wearing tap shoes, but it was just my long toenails hitting the floor.

And Shawn is afraid of feet and won’t clip them. He would not do anything for love Meatloaf.

I’m moving mountains one toenail at a time.

And I am planning to stuff them into Shawn’s wallet.

Mammoth Mom Myths And SEABUCKWONDERS Giveaway!

Winner is entry #110, Emilia!

An email has been sent to you.

Thank you to everyone who entered. Look for more giveaways in the future!

Ah Mom’s day. The day of tirelessly working on a beautifully hand crafted piece of art that was almost edible with it’s grade school issued dried macaroni.

And it was always dipped in a vat of glitter because my Mom loved sweeping that crap up for ages.

No matter how long our teacher would sit it on the classroom ledge in direct sunlight, the glue never fully dried. It stuck to just about every thing in my back pack like old tissues and cookie crumbs.

I was so excited to give it to her on Mom’s Day. I’d hide it behind my back and whip it out at the right moment at 4:30 am.

“It’s MOTHER’S DAY!” I’d shout because my Mom had a hard time hearing my words in the morning.

I loved watching her face wake up and swiping away her drool. She never had to see my art to know that I had made her something special from my heart. She’d grab me and hold me so tightly that I could smell her morning breath.

“It’s just art Mooooommm!”

“No. It’s more than that.”

I never understood how sentimental this day was until I became a Mom myself.

My first Mother’s Day was difficult since I was in the throes of postpartum depression. I felt like I was a horrible Mom and had no right to be honoured. I told Shawn one day that I had wanted to take all of us to Hawaii because I was so happy there on our honeymoon. Hawaii was going to fix us.

So he and my son bought me a ring with a pink coral in it. It was from Hawaii.

They brought Hawaii to me.

Mother’s day is so much more than the gifts. It’s about being celebrated for all that we do and so much more.

Personally, I would love to just be pampered that day and hang out with the ones I love, but my boys always show up at 4:30 am with a gift.

There is nothing better than receiving gifts that have a lot of thought put into them.

But that is not always the case.

Have you heard of some terrible gifts that Mom’s have received?

SEABUCKWONDERS wrote a hilarious article about the Mammoth Mom Myths that I would like to share with you.

Top Five ‘Mammoth Mom Myths’ Revealed

Give Your Mother What She Really Wants This Mother’s Day!

CHICAGO – April 11, 2013 – Reduce your risk of missing the mark this Mother’s Day by avoiding these popular beliefs or “Mammoth Mom Myths”:

Moms LOVE to spend their free time cleaning! A new mop, dish scrubber or toilet brush will make her feel more loved and needed and oh-so-special.

What all mothers REALLY want is to cater to their families 24/7, so give her that honor by wrapping up a brand new serving tray set complete with pre-made hors d’oeuvres to feed everyone in the family (make sure it’s got lots of Dad’s favorite snacks—Mom LOVES to please her man)!

Two words: Mom Jeans! That’s right—the kind that really emphasize the backside with HUGE pockets! Moms LOVE to look like their own mothers and can’t wait to ‘fill their mothers’ jeans.’ Make sure you sneak in her closet and find her pants size, and then go up a size or two to give her plenty of growing room—you know, the way she would always buy your shoes a little bigger. She’ll appreciate how thoughtful you were to actually investigate her current size and to anticipate her growing assets to boot!

Nothing shows how much you care like a brand new shiny cemetery plot! Wrap up her final resting place with a bright pink bow! Then surprise her with a Sunday drive and tell her you’re taking her to her brand new home! When she sees that plot of land that you painstakingly picked out just for her, she’ll cry real tears of joy. It’ll also fill her heart with pride that you’ve become such an excellent planner and that you’ve taken care of all the details so she can move onto the next life without a hitch!

And the number one mammoth mom myth to avoid…

“Surprise, Mom! We’re moving back in!” What would make a mother happier than to have ALL of her grown children move back home? And of course, you’ve got a spouse and kids of your own now—with ALL of her kids and grandkids back under her roof, a minute won’t go by without her getting to be a mother! She can re-mother you, mother-in-law your spouse, grand-mother your kids, and EVEN dog-mother your pets! WOW! This Mother’s Day will be epic!

YIKES! Make it STOP! Reboot! Put on the brakes! So what DOES Mom really want? Something pure – something personal – something pampering. She wants SeabuckWonders! Give her serenity, health and beauty in a bottle with SeabuckWonders’ personal care product line. These natural, non-GMO, cruelty-free, organic products are packed with a high concentration of sea buckthorn oil for maximum results. That means healthier, softer and more beautiful skin for Mom and for all those who add these products to their daily routine. Kick it up a notch by adding in some of SeabuckWonders’ supplements like the Sea Buckthorn Berry and Seed Oils and Omega-7 Complete. Among others, the respected Dr. Mehemet Oz of “The Dr. Oz Show” has been praising sea buckthorn oils and liquid supplements for their profound balancing, soothing and rejuvenating properties. This cherished “super fruit” is rich in antioxidants, essential amino acids, vitamin E, the rare Omega 7, and 190 other bioactive nutrients. (Plus, Moms think Dr. Oz is HOT!) You can find all of SeabuckWonders’ amazing products at www.seabuckwonders.com. Purchase online or find a store in your area, and make Mom happy this Mother’s Day. She deserves it!

ABOUT SEABUCKWONDERS SeabuckWonders, a division of Balanceuticals Group, Inc., is a company with 20 years of experience producing the highest quality Sea Buckthorn Oils known in the world. Since introducing their products to the United States back in 1994, the company, under the direction of Xingwu Liu, renowned Cultural Anthropology Professor, has maintained its excellence by using only pure Himalayan, wild-grown, handpicked Sea Buckthorn. Please visit seabuckwonders.com for more information and a list of locations where the products can be purchased.

Yes! Pampering! We work so incredibly hard and we deserve to be pampered.

Do you want to be pampered?

Well SEABUCKWONDERS wants you to be too. They are giving one of my readers the following products:

Sea Buckthorn Exfoliating Facial Cleanser

Sea Buckthorn Deep Hydrating Serum

If you want another chance to win some of SEABUCKWONDERS products you can enter their ”Tasteless Mother’s Day Gift” contest on their facebook page with the following link: https://www.facebook.com/SeabuckWonders
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Us Mom’s deserve this day…

…and the macaroni art.

Good Luck Everyone!!!

Disclaimer: I received the above products for the purpose of this giveaway. All opinions are my own. Article by SEABUCKWONDERS was approved to be placed on my blog.

When Your Doctor Really Isn’t French

Hispanic Barbie

What Is Yours?

Doing The Unthinkable

Mammoth Mom Myths And SEABUCKWONDERS Giveaway!

Shipping And Packaging: ShipSmart