I’m going to stop kidding myself and just take an indefinite planned break until I have something to talk about/time to talk about it. Ironically it comes just a month before Blogosis turns five years old. You’d think after that long I’d have more than a couple people read it outside my parents. Oh well…gonna go work on something bigger.
Perhaps the most commonly asked question I get from nurses either verbally or implied is why their medication takes so damn long to get to the floor. In the interest of full disclosure, I feel it is my duty to fill you in, Ms. RN, on why your medication doesn’t instantly appear in your hands as soon as you read the order. Let us look at the following example. We will assume all other meds ordered on this new admit are mundane PRNs and it’s these two items you are after:
Protonix gtt at 8 mg/hr
Zosine 4.5 gm IV q6h
Dr. Doctor #0000
I get the order scanned to me five hours after it was written. I ignore the fact that Zosyn is spelled wrong and notice it is not on the mandatory antibiotic form. The pharmacy does not stock Protonix IV and does not have an automatic therapeutic interchange for IV Proton Pump Inhibitors (those are for upset tummies). I page Dr. Doctor to change Protonix to Nexium and to fill out the antibiotic form. I then call the floor to obtain a height and weight for the patient which was omitted on the admit sheet. The HUC tells me she will tell the nurse and hangs up in my ear.
Three hours later, after hearing no response from Dr. Doctor or receiving height and weight, you call down asking me where your meds are. I explain what’s wrong with the Zosyn and Protonix and inquire about the height and weight again. You sigh loudly, claim the HUC never let you know, and tell me that height and weight isn’t important and to just put the meds in anyway. I explain that height and weight is required in the pharmacokinetic calculation of creatinine clearance that will determine the estimated kidney function of the patient and will ultimately allow me to ascertain the appropriate dose of all renally cleared medications including Zosyn. You tell me that is dumb and a waste of your time but put me on hold to get the height and weight. Five minutes later you tell me the height and weight and hang up in my ear.
After not hearing from Dr. Doctor for three hours I get a call from him a few minutes after hanging up with you. He tells me he’ll fill out the antibiotic form and to just make the Protonix whatever it has to be to make it right. I assume this means Nexium gtt at 8mg/hr and write the telephone order.
I’m interrupted by a phone call from one of your colleagues who requests the timing of a patient’s simvastatin be adjusted by 1 hour. I ask her to please fill out a MAR correction form, which she tells me is dumb and a waste of her time. Five minutes later after explaining the policy and why a one hour time change for simvastatin is clinically irrelevant, she hangs up in my ear.
I complete writing out the telephone order and see that the antibiotic form was scanned. I start to calculate the patient’s creatinine clearance and am interrupted by another one of your colleagues who demands to know why her Pyxis machine is “all messed up.” Tempted to ask for more details, I think better of it and transfer her to a technician.
I enter the Nexium drip into the computer, but my printer is out of labels and the IV technician is on a smoke break.
Before I can fix the issue, the phone rings and it’s another one of your colleagues requesting a new MAR because she spilled coffee on the last one.
I get the printer working, but now must print another label for the Nexium. After that, I finally complete the creatinine clearance calculation and notice the Zosyn dose should be decreased to 3.375 gm iv q6 hours. I begin to fill out the Pharmacy Dosing per Policy form to adjust the dose, but am interrupted once again by the phone.
This time it is you asking me why it’s taking so long to get your medications.
I complete the form, and enter new Zosyn dose. By this time, the tech has gone into the very expensive and sterile IV room, taken the proper sterile procedures per USP 797 policy, and completed the Nexium drip. After ungowning, she brings it to me for verification. I check it off along with the pre-snapped Zosyn and have the tech send the Zosyn, Nexium, telephone order, and pharmacy dosing forms up through the tube system.
Fifteen minutes later you call me asking what my problem is and why it’s taking so long. I inform you everything has all ready be tubed up. You tell me I’m lying and hang up in my ear.
Ten minutes later you call back and say you found the forms and the Zosyn but not the Nexium drip. Considering they were all in the same tube and you probably had to lift the Nexium drip to get to the Zosyn and forms, I ask you to double check. You tell me that’s not your job and you hate me. You then ask for new more IV maintenance fluids for another patient. I ask you to demand it through the computer system, but you claim you’ve never heard of that and neither has the HUC. I agree to remake the Nexium and demand the IV fluids for you.
As I am about to do so, Dr. Doctor calls and asks a legitimate and involved drug information question. Not knowing the answer off the top of my head, I tell him I will look it up and get back with him shortly.
As I’m researching the answer, a nurse from another floor calls and asks me to replenish the toilet paper in the bathroom.
I go back to researching and upon finding the answer, page Dr. Doctor, who is readily available when needing something from me and calls back immediately. After the conversation, I go back to demanding your IV fluids and reprinting your Nexium drip.
You call me asking me where your meds are again.
Just as we are about to tube them up, you call me again saying that you found the Nexium drip from before but you still haven’t gotten your fluids yet and demand to know why.
Now imagine this wasn’t you but the person who scanned their orders twenty minutes before you and you’ll start to have an idea why your medications take so damn long to get to the floor.
I’m getting ready to be the ultimate tourist. In about 12 hours, I’m taking a skip across the pond to Europe for the next ten days. I’m going to play golf for five of those days in Scotland as well as spend a couple days looking around London. My major goal for the whole trip though is to not to be a stupid American tourist.
First of all, it upsets me that being a tourist has such a negative conotation. Not just oversees, but even within our borders, tourists are viewed in most big cities as a step below the roadside bums. I was recently in New York for a Kentucky basketball game and while celebrating with my friends decked out in blue and white recied a couple of, “Phphpht! Tourists!” by passerbys.
Granted, I’m sure there are some uppity middle age women in fanny packs and Mickey Mouse shirts who expect everyone to cater to them while on vacation including unsweet ice tea with cucumber and ranch dressing on everything. I’m sure after a several culturely ignorant statements from this stereotype, locals could be a bit preturbed, but they still spend money in their city and then leave. They’re good for business.
Regardless, I’m leaving all of my bald eagle shirts at home when I goto Europe. I spoke with a dude from Denmark at a poker table in Las Vegas a bit ago. I asked him for advice on how to not look like I just got right off the boat from America. He said to just be myself and wear jeans. While the “just be yourself” comment seemed very Sesame Street to me at first, I later interpretted it as “don’t try to immitate the accent or pretend you are a native. You’ll do a horrible job at it and everyone will hate you.”
This interpretration made sense because there are few things I hate worse when someone not originally from the south attempts a southern accent around me. It actually makes me fairly infurriated. I have thus decided to return the favor to all the people of the England and Scotland and not try to adorn their accent. At least in front of their face.
The jeans comment was also dulely noted.
I was planning on bringing my laptop with me, but have been advised by many previous travelers that I shouldn’t considering everyone in Europe is a raving kleptomatic criminal. That and to keep my wallet in my front pocket. And make a copy of my passport. And buy a lock for my luggage. And keep extra money in my underwear.
I do plan to document my commentaries about the abroad, but it will have to be old fashioned note taking on the iPhone and blogging about it when I get back. I may even have to do some flat out remembering as well.
That’s all from America. Until I return…cherrio!
I played golf today. My friend and his friend played too. That’s a threesome…typically men like foursomes when they are hitting their balls deep, but we had a threesome.
Anyway.
We were on the first tee ready to tee off when a golfer playing by himself rolled up in a cart. I knew what was coming. He had to play with us to round out the much coveted foursome. The same thought went through my head that always does whenever I find out I have to play with people I don’t know. “Fuck.”
This guy was about our age (mid 20’s) and from the moment he opened his mouth he was a walking awkward dance. There are a lot of golf nuances that kind of piss me off and by the end of the day he was batting about .600. He even hit a lot annoyances that aren’t even golf related. I’ve decided it’s best to run all the ones this guy encompassed down list style:
Now onto the non golf related peeves.
The only real good thing about my experience with this guy today was that it gave me much needed Blogosis material. At least I can thank him for that.
Twitter cracks me up. A lot of people in my generation (and by generation I mean ages 24-29) deem Twitter a stupid waste of time that they don’t understand. Ironically, people in the five year generation above us say the same thing about Facebook. Regardless, I jumped on the Twitter bandwagon.
It’s basically just a glorified Facebook status, but what makes Twitter unique is that it’s very public (no permission required to see what is posted) and famous people use it. A lot of famous people use it. Some use it for what they are doing at the moment, some for self-promotion, some for political views, insightful thoughts, or general news.
Then there’s Michael Jordan. The Icon. The Legend. He’s the one sports figure who even that girl who won’t watch, or allow her boyfriend to watch sports either can recognize. He polarized basketball and will probably always be known as the greatest player ever. He also opened up the marketing business for sports figures who weren’t major players until MJ hawked everything from sports drinks to underwear. The only real knock on Jordan was that he didn’t really talk much. He had the power to influence the thoughts of millions of Americans and he never voiced any kind of opinion. After following him on Twitter for some time now, I found out why. Michael Jordan is just kind of…out there.
My friend and I went through nearly every tweet Jordan sent out in the past several months and were laughing hysterically. You have to see some of these.
“I’m a little surprised our cars aren’t more futuristic by now.”
“Sometimes, I have a week or two when I remember how great pop music in the 80s was. This week is one of those times.”
“On a clear nice night : Look at the moon from binoculars or a telescope. It will blow your mind.”
“I’m so sick of using batteries.”
“I woke up this morning and thought to myself, this spring I’m going plant 50 trees. Any recommendations?”
“I sometimes wonder what’s going on in Australia. Or, maybe Japan. Life must be a lot different over there.”
“I’m going through an ice-cream float phase right now. By the way.”
“A cactus is kind of a shitty houseplant.”
“I’d love to find a new Root Beer that really knocks my socks off. I’m worried that I’ve tried them all.”
“I’ve never used a sword or ridden a horse. I have never been in space or in the deep ocean. There are so many things I’d like to try.”
“I’m going to read all day one of these days.”
And my all time personal favorite:
“Do you think Dragons ever existed a long long time ago?”
Well we realize that one reason Jordan may have been so good at basketball is that he might have an extra extree chromosome. He’s sincere, genuine, and thought provoking jaw dropping. It’s almost as if Kige Ramsey or Bigfoot was an international sports figure.
If you don’t have Twitter or put it into the category of “a stupid waste of time,” I highly suggest you swallow your pride and follow Michael Jordan if no one else. He will change the way you think (of him) forever.
I was Googling Good Friday pictures and most were bloody, grotesque, and brutal reenactments of Jesus getting crucified. That’s fun. I think natural instinct is to flinch when you see some of the more realistic depictions, but for most part, I think people are becoming immune to Jesus’s bloody naked body.
So this got me thinking. Which is worse? (remember to remove all religious bias before answering this question) Seeing a bloody, decrepit Jesus, or an equally tortured bunny rabbit?
Both Jesus and the Easter Bunny are the faces of Easter. Not really sure how the rabbit wiggled his way into the spotlight. Wikipedia has it’s theory, and South Park has it’s own, but I don’t think anyone knows for sure. We are all used to seeing Jesus tortured, but not the Easter bunny. On one hand you have human life, and another a mere rabbit, although he is very cute and very cuddly. Hmm…I’m seriously torn.
For those of you who want to seriously find out which you think is worse, I’ve set it up for you. I used links so you aren’t bombarded with gore when casually scrolling this page. Remember to not let your religious inclines affect your decision and have some sorbet between each view.
Happy Easter, everyone.
For years, Diprivan has been a staple of hospitals around the world. It is primarily used in intensive care units and operating rooms as a powerful sedative. It has always enjoyed moderate usage, but for the past several months has been out of stock due to manufacturer outage. It simply can’t be produced fast enough to meet its demand and has sent pharmacies scurrying to get their hands on what little they can find. But what led to this sudden high demand? Why is this once plentiful medication so hard to come by? There is but one obvious catalyst in this great Dipivan shortage: the death of Michael Jackson.
It was a hot summer day in June and like a lot of multi-million-dollar, world famous musicians (and lowly night shift pharmacists), Michael Jackson couldn’t sleep. So he did what anyone else would do and consulted his live-in physician for a drug to help him get some zees. Dr. Conrad Murray chose Diprivan and the rest is history.
Diprivan became an overnight success. All the major TV stations were broadcasting its name 24 hours and it was on the first page of every newspaper in America. What was once a moderately well known drug, instantly became the King of Sedation. ICU’s all over the world wanted a piece of the fame, but there was only so much of the milky white star to go around.
Its manufacturer was not prepared for the boom. Diprivan was no longer just wanted by hospitals. Hollywood now craved it for photo shoots, interviews, and movie cameos. Paris Hilton actually tried to get it for a pet. It appears as if all the media attention and paparazzi because too much to handle and Diprivan has scarcely been seen lately. Until the manufacturer can regroup and get its celebrity med back to all those who crave it, other players in the sedative game such as Fentanyl and Versed will have to step up their play.
The one that thing Diprivan hasn’t knocked out is its own ego which has shot through the roof after its newfound popularity. It has been seen inside Los Angeles night clubs titrating the beat of the music down to a Ramsey score of -2 to -3 and rumored to be dating a Kardashian. US Weekly has noticed the arrogance as well and is now referring it as Divavan. Also of note is that when it was first discovered, Diprivan was a dark brown color, but changes in formulation over the years has changed it the pale white hue you see today.
An E! True Hollywood Story detailing the self proclaimed Milk of Amnesia’s rise to fame is set to begin production in May.
I found this website that reads the code of a webpage and somehow translates this into music. Stratosis.com sounds like a Jamaican homeless man setting the beat accompanied by a 6 year old learning how to play the piano. However, my facebook profile (facebook.com/stratosis) sounds like an outerspace symphony.
I’m not catholic, and I never really understood why people came to class with ashes on their foreheads. I thought they looked silly, but everyone else didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Today is Ash Wednesday, and countless numbers of noncatholics are going to be thinking the same thing when that cute girl on the other side of the room looks like someone just put a cigarette out between her eyes. This leads us to what preceded today, and where I was this past week off.
Mardi Gras!
Mardi Gras is the only holiday I can think of that came out because of another holiday. Ash Wednesday is when you’re supposed to repent of your sins and give up something like drinking, chocolate, or Facebook until Easter. Ok, maybe not Facebook.
The Fat Tuesday before Ash Wednesday is when you’re supposed to get all the sins in you can before you have to repent of them. The hilarity of this is that it happens every year. Moreover, people of Mardi Gras realized that one night wasn’t long enough to get in all the sins they wanted to get in, so they said, “Fuck it, let’s give ourselves two weeks.”
So thousands and thousands of people flock to New Orleans every year to get in all the possible sin they can while it’s still cool with the pope. This also attracts people who just want to sin for the hell of it, as well as those who just want to videotape people sinning.
The big stereotype is that girls show their boobs in exchange for beads. Not really. Yeah, I saw a handful of knockers while I was there, but they were mostly knockers better off left unseen. On top of that, to get in a position to see the boobs that you didn’t really want to see, you have to fight your way through Douchebags, Billys, Meatheads, and pervs with huge video cameras…all while avoiding the horse shit on the ground.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I had an awesome time and learned a valuable lesson about bourbon, overall, I would sum up Bourbon Street with one word: filth…and not the good kind of filth either.
Sorry for the picture, but if they can show it on the Discovery Channel, I say it’s ok for Blogosis.
Now that image is in your head, picture this scene:
15 year old African tribal girl has no vagina. No uterus either. We’ll call her Jane.
Jane has a boyfriend. How cute. We’ll call him Fred.
Jane gives head to a guy…who is not her boyfriend. His name is George.
Immediately after the BJ, Fred walks in and catches Jane cheating.
Fred gets mad and gets into a knife fight with George.
In the struggle, Jane accidentally gets stabbed into the belly.
George’s sperm falls out of Jane’s stomach gash and into her abdominal cavity.
And seeps into her fallopian tubes.
And fertilizes an egg.
Jane goes to hospital 9 months later and delivers a healthy baby boy via C-Section.
The end.
The fuck? Yeah this is a true story. ABC News earned its best headline ever. You can make that up. If you did, people would think…well…that you made it up.
The odds this exact chain of events goes down is beyond ridiculous. The time frame between swallowing the load and being stabbed in the gut would have had to be just minutes because the acidic stomach would have chewed up the sperm who can only really thrive in basic environments. This is like winning the lottery…three times. Only the opposite when it comes to quality the reward. Couple that with the whole no vagina thing and you’ve got a damn near paradox. By the way, the no vagina disease is called Müllerian agenesis or Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser Syndrome if you prefer the more selfish version. A shockingly high, 1 in 5000 women have it.
Talk about a pissed off George though. Dude is thinking he’s all sly by getting with his buddy’s girlfriend and the crazy bitch gets knocked up in a way his mom and dad told him wasn’t possible. Now he’s locked in for 18 years paying a child support of 20 roots, 10 berries, and an elephant hide a month.
That’ll teach him to watch his knife when he gets into fights immediately following a sexual encounter.
