Monday. Again. Mondays are pretty nearly unbearable. Well, maybe I am exaggerating somewhat, but not much. We have class for 11 hours. Yes. You read me right. 11 hours. That is a long time to have information thrown at you. Well, by the end of the day, we are pretty much done for, and we still have four hours of pharmacology to look forward to. Pharmacology, the class that makes watching paint dry seem thrilling. The class that practically requires you to have a prescription to get an upper just to get through it. It isn’t our teachers’ faults, it’s the subject matter's fault. Really, I don’t know any way one could spice up what is really just a glorified version of reading of the boxes in your local drugstore medicine aisle. Okay, I’m exaggerating again, but honestly. This stuff is dry. Dry as a piece of toast dry. Dry as the dessert in a drought dry. Dry. So, of course, my girls and I do what we can to spice it up. For me, this state of mental fatigue is pretty much akin to how I’d be on one or two glasses of wine (for anyone who knows me well, they know that that makes for a pretty inebriated Stef). So, put that, along with a group of good girlfriends who make one another chuckle, add in a little inability-to-stop-laughing-itis, and you’ve got the ingredients for a pretty crazy time. Crazy in an understated way, mind you. The thing about all this that is really galling is that we need to know this info. These are drugs we will be prescribing for our patients in a few years, so it is imperative that we have this stuff straight. But it is just so HARD to sit through four hours with two ten minute breaks of monotonous drug talks that it makes you want to tear your hair out! Really, I’m surprised I haven’t been entirely reduced to a dazed, lazy-eyed, drooling mess by the end of class. These past two weeks have really been something else, too. Last week was the cardio drugs lecture, a lecture presented in powerpoint slides, three on an 8.5” x11”, double-sided, making a stack of papers that would make War and Peace blush with embarrassment, or whimper for mercy. Last week was mind-numbing enough, but this week…whoa. This week made last week seem like a night at the comedy club. This week was Osteoarthritis, Pain Management, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and GI stuff. Gig and I almost waved white flags for mercy, and we were only a quarter of the way through. But, like I said, the way I cope with and respond to stress is humor. Laughing. Making up songs and funny poems to get me through. That’s just how my mind works. Well, tonight, Gig and I came up with some doozies that had us laughing into our hands, turning red, and hoping the teach didn’t see us.
When we got to talking about arthritis, there was a lot of discussion on how it affected “weight-bearing joints”. Meaning, knees and such. Well, my mind was already so far gone that the only thing in my head was a picture of marijuana, a “joint”, with some barbells on it. A weight-bearing joint. I was picturing this marijuana going to the gym, working out, strutting around, showing the ladies its sleek new physique. I was clearly losing it. Then we talk about headaches. Our teach asks us what some abortive therapies for headaches are? Well, since I was working on a pretty good one right about then, the options of 1)leave class, 2)craniotomy and/or thoracotomy, and 3)sharp stick in the eye, seemed like pretty good ideas. Moving on to gastrointestinal issues, fondly known as GI stuff. I sat there thinking, “Wouldn’t it be funny if instead of GI Joe there was a whole series dedicated to the heroics of our gastrointestinal tracts? Like, a picture of an intestine wearing army fatigues, absorbing fluid and nutrients and just generally being a good guy. GI Smooth M (as in smooth muscle)!” Okay. Yes. I am such a nerd. Gig and I started writing songs, set to old tunes:
Based on “Shoop” by SaltnPepa
Here I go here I go here I go again Girls what’s my weakness? Dyspepsia! Okay then.
And more from “Shoop”:
On your mark get set go, let me go, let me shoop, to the next pill in the proton pump suit.
From “What a Man”, I can’t remember who sang this, maybe SaltnPepa again?:
What a duodenum what a duodenum what a mighty mighty duodenum…I wanna take a minute to and give much respect to to the bowel that made a difference in my digestion…
Based on Warren G’s “REGULATORS”:
Proton Pump regulators!!!! Mauna. It was a smooth pink esophagus, an acid-filled belly, Warren G was in the antrum, trying to consume, some acid for his G’s, so I could get some relief, Rollin’ in the juices, just chillin’ all alone…Just hit the PPI on the parietal cells on a mission tryna stop Mr. Acid G, seeing a stomach full of acid ain’t no need to squeak all you docs know what’s up with PPI
Stupid. I know. Our teacher had the tendency to keep saying “caveat” when she was talking about the exceptions to something with the drugs. I began to notice the people around me giggling whenever she said this, and thought that perhaps they were envisioning making a drinking game out of it. She must have said ‘caveat’ fifty times.
Anyway, thank the good Lord that Monday is done. Phew. Now just have to memorize all this business for the test next week…oh yeah. And for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Observations While Studying
My life has funneled down into a vortex of studying, going to class, and sleeping. It will be over soon (the over-abundant studying) but one thing I'll say for it: we've met some really strange/interesting people while doing so. The past few days we've been camped out at Barnes and Nobles; here's a snapshot of some of the strange people who have walked up to us or just started talking to us.
The Un-Encouraging Nurse from Sloane-Kettering
We were sitting at our two tables, quizzing each other aloud with NCLEX questions, and a late-thirties pregnant lady comes and sits at the table next to us. I didn't really take notice of her, except saw that she was super skinny and was reading a book on how to be naturally thin. The thought flashed through my mind, "Maybe she's anorexic" but then noticed the baby bump. Anyway, so we kept quizzing and I saw her keep shooting glances our way, and finally she interrupted and asked us what we were studying for. We told her, and she proceeded to tell us that she was a nurse at Sloane and she had been interviewing a lot of new nurses for positions, but they just weren't hiring. We told her that we were in the NP program at Columbia, and she told us she had graduated from NYU and then talked at us for literally a good twenty minutes straight about how we "must, absolutely must" get bedside nursing jobs before becoming NPs because they wouldn't even look at NPs who didn't have that requisite experience, etc. etc. She told us that no one was hiring and it was very hard right now (duh, we know) and then continued to elaborate upon her doom and gloom theme. G was getting seriously pissed, and we listened politely to her but tried to wrap it up as soon as was politely possible. It was seriously discouraging, and she assumed a lot of things about us and our experience level thus far, telling us that clinical time wasn't enough, we needed hospital time. I am choosing to believe that she extended her unsolicited advice out of the goodness of her heart, but if I was being completely objective, her tone and mannerisms seemed to have an undertone of an attitude I have noticed a lot out here. When we tell nurses that we are going to be NPs and have done the accelerated nursing program, there is usually an "oh" followed by a "well, you need experience otherwise you are going to suck and don't know anything" in not so many words, but implied. It seems that nurses who have been nurses for awhile rather resent us for what we are doing. Understandable, I guess. Unfortunate, but understandable. I have gotten to the point where if I am talking to a nurse, I don't even tell her I am going to be an NP. I don't want to deal with the attitude.
The Retired Plastic Surgeon Who Told Us What We Knew
We were reviewing the endocrine portion of the questions and had gotten to something called Hemoglobin A1C which you take in diabetics to tell how well, long term, they have been controlling their blood sugar. This is a point that had been driven home to us all year, and we were just discussing it, when this short, cute, old man came up to us and said, with no preamble, "A1C is by far the best indicator of blood sugar control..." and then went off about it for a few minutes. They say your true character comes out when you are stressed or tired, and as I was both, I'm not sure I like what my internal reaction to him tells about me. I was irritated. I was like,inside, "Look. WE KNOW. We have been studying forever and are going crazy and we don't need to waste time humoring someone who wants to tell us all about something that we know better than our own names. Please, for the love, just leave us alone!" But I got over it, and realized I was being a huge meany, and prayed for a better attitude. We chatted with a bit and he told us what he did, and then told us that we were entering a noble profession and that we were very needed. He turned out to be very sweet and encouraging, and was a nice change from the Sloane dispenser of Doom the day before.
The Old Lady Who Quizzed Us
Later on that same day, we were still quizzing, and I noticed, behind Allie, a strange-looking old lady who was practically hanging over her shoulder, listening to her asking us questions. It wasn't subtle and it wasn't an isolated event; she practically had her ear next to Allie's mouth, and was looking at me, and then was rocking back and forth and looking at Gig. It was very bizarre. She was listening to us for a long time, but I studiously avoided making eye-contact. It was getting really out of control, and suddenly, she pipes up from behind Allie, just butting into conversation, "You are a nurse at a nursing home. One of your elderly clients comes up to you and says, "My testicles, my testicles, I lost my testicles! I had them this morning, put them down next to the sink, and lost them! Where are my testicles?" What was he really talking about having lost?" We were all much taken aback, needless to say, but answered, "Um, his spectacles?" "Yes!" she says, and we ask her if she is a nurse (like we couldn't tell) and she said she used to be. She had the look of being a long-term psych nurse. I'm sorry to stereotype so shamelessly, but you really can tell the nurses who have worked in a psych unit for their career. On a side note, I don't think my friend Liz will be like that, though. She's a peach! Anyway, she continued to listen to us, almost on Allie's back, until we ran out of steam. Gig murmurs under her breath a sentiment I'm pretty sure we all shared, "I'm SO OVER people right now!" Amen, sister.
The Artist Who Tooted His Own Horn
I was at Starbs yesterday, trying futilely to connect to the internet, and asked the man next to me, who had tried already to strike up a convo with me, if he was connected. He was, and then proceeded to ask me what I did...he guessed writer. I said, no, nursing, and he told me about his recent foot surgery and gall bladder removal and how he wasn't listening to the doctor and resting. We talked shop for a bit, then he told me all about a van he's painting for MTV with his art. He turns around and shows me the back of his sweatshirt "See? This is my stuff!" It looked like graffiti art. Cool, but not really my thing. He then tells me all about how famous he is and how his art is in all the major museums in the world, etc. etc. He seemed quite proud of his accomplishments. I listened, but I thought that there was a fifty/fifty chance he was completely full of crap. We talked, or rather, he told me of his accomplishments, for at least a half-hour and then I started pack up, while still listening to him. I had to get work done, and it sure as heck wasn't going to happen here,apparently. At one point, he told me how there were demons in this world (which I agree with) and how he got in a fight with a possessed guy and beat the crap out of him (this he tells me with a puffed out chest). Cute. Anyway, I too have had my fill of people for awhile. I pray that God would make me internally kinder to those people out there who I just don't understand, but for now, I think I'm content to stay in my cozy apartment and lose myself in an Agatha Christie.
There certainly are many many interesting characters in this world, and I usually greatly enjoy meeting them, but I am too burned out right now to even make the effort.
And as I write this, a lady with unfortunate bright blue eyeshadow, which matches her J Crew shirt, walks in and sits by me. Oh no. Please, Lord, no.
The Un-Encouraging Nurse from Sloane-Kettering
We were sitting at our two tables, quizzing each other aloud with NCLEX questions, and a late-thirties pregnant lady comes and sits at the table next to us. I didn't really take notice of her, except saw that she was super skinny and was reading a book on how to be naturally thin. The thought flashed through my mind, "Maybe she's anorexic" but then noticed the baby bump. Anyway, so we kept quizzing and I saw her keep shooting glances our way, and finally she interrupted and asked us what we were studying for. We told her, and she proceeded to tell us that she was a nurse at Sloane and she had been interviewing a lot of new nurses for positions, but they just weren't hiring. We told her that we were in the NP program at Columbia, and she told us she had graduated from NYU and then talked at us for literally a good twenty minutes straight about how we "must, absolutely must" get bedside nursing jobs before becoming NPs because they wouldn't even look at NPs who didn't have that requisite experience, etc. etc. She told us that no one was hiring and it was very hard right now (duh, we know) and then continued to elaborate upon her doom and gloom theme. G was getting seriously pissed, and we listened politely to her but tried to wrap it up as soon as was politely possible. It was seriously discouraging, and she assumed a lot of things about us and our experience level thus far, telling us that clinical time wasn't enough, we needed hospital time. I am choosing to believe that she extended her unsolicited advice out of the goodness of her heart, but if I was being completely objective, her tone and mannerisms seemed to have an undertone of an attitude I have noticed a lot out here. When we tell nurses that we are going to be NPs and have done the accelerated nursing program, there is usually an "oh" followed by a "well, you need experience otherwise you are going to suck and don't know anything" in not so many words, but implied. It seems that nurses who have been nurses for awhile rather resent us for what we are doing. Understandable, I guess. Unfortunate, but understandable. I have gotten to the point where if I am talking to a nurse, I don't even tell her I am going to be an NP. I don't want to deal with the attitude.
The Retired Plastic Surgeon Who Told Us What We Knew
We were reviewing the endocrine portion of the questions and had gotten to something called Hemoglobin A1C which you take in diabetics to tell how well, long term, they have been controlling their blood sugar. This is a point that had been driven home to us all year, and we were just discussing it, when this short, cute, old man came up to us and said, with no preamble, "A1C is by far the best indicator of blood sugar control..." and then went off about it for a few minutes. They say your true character comes out when you are stressed or tired, and as I was both, I'm not sure I like what my internal reaction to him tells about me. I was irritated. I was like,inside, "Look. WE KNOW. We have been studying forever and are going crazy and we don't need to waste time humoring someone who wants to tell us all about something that we know better than our own names. Please, for the love, just leave us alone!" But I got over it, and realized I was being a huge meany, and prayed for a better attitude. We chatted with a bit and he told us what he did, and then told us that we were entering a noble profession and that we were very needed. He turned out to be very sweet and encouraging, and was a nice change from the Sloane dispenser of Doom the day before.
The Old Lady Who Quizzed Us
Later on that same day, we were still quizzing, and I noticed, behind Allie, a strange-looking old lady who was practically hanging over her shoulder, listening to her asking us questions. It wasn't subtle and it wasn't an isolated event; she practically had her ear next to Allie's mouth, and was looking at me, and then was rocking back and forth and looking at Gig. It was very bizarre. She was listening to us for a long time, but I studiously avoided making eye-contact. It was getting really out of control, and suddenly, she pipes up from behind Allie, just butting into conversation, "You are a nurse at a nursing home. One of your elderly clients comes up to you and says, "My testicles, my testicles, I lost my testicles! I had them this morning, put them down next to the sink, and lost them! Where are my testicles?" What was he really talking about having lost?" We were all much taken aback, needless to say, but answered, "Um, his spectacles?" "Yes!" she says, and we ask her if she is a nurse (like we couldn't tell) and she said she used to be. She had the look of being a long-term psych nurse. I'm sorry to stereotype so shamelessly, but you really can tell the nurses who have worked in a psych unit for their career. On a side note, I don't think my friend Liz will be like that, though. She's a peach! Anyway, she continued to listen to us, almost on Allie's back, until we ran out of steam. Gig murmurs under her breath a sentiment I'm pretty sure we all shared, "I'm SO OVER people right now!" Amen, sister.
The Artist Who Tooted His Own Horn
I was at Starbs yesterday, trying futilely to connect to the internet, and asked the man next to me, who had tried already to strike up a convo with me, if he was connected. He was, and then proceeded to ask me what I did...he guessed writer. I said, no, nursing, and he told me about his recent foot surgery and gall bladder removal and how he wasn't listening to the doctor and resting. We talked shop for a bit, then he told me all about a van he's painting for MTV with his art. He turns around and shows me the back of his sweatshirt "See? This is my stuff!" It looked like graffiti art. Cool, but not really my thing. He then tells me all about how famous he is and how his art is in all the major museums in the world, etc. etc. He seemed quite proud of his accomplishments. I listened, but I thought that there was a fifty/fifty chance he was completely full of crap. We talked, or rather, he told me of his accomplishments, for at least a half-hour and then I started pack up, while still listening to him. I had to get work done, and it sure as heck wasn't going to happen here,apparently. At one point, he told me how there were demons in this world (which I agree with) and how he got in a fight with a possessed guy and beat the crap out of him (this he tells me with a puffed out chest). Cute. Anyway, I too have had my fill of people for awhile. I pray that God would make me internally kinder to those people out there who I just don't understand, but for now, I think I'm content to stay in my cozy apartment and lose myself in an Agatha Christie.
There certainly are many many interesting characters in this world, and I usually greatly enjoy meeting them, but I am too burned out right now to even make the effort.
And as I write this, a lady with unfortunate bright blue eyeshadow, which matches her J Crew shirt, walks in and sits by me. Oh no. Please, Lord, no.
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