Sophie

For my birthday this year we got a cat. Well, no, we got a dog, but
I swear she's got jungle cat somewhere in her genetic make up. Sophie is half lab, half pit bull, she's not quite a year old yet and she's very spunky.

Sophie doesn't walk, she stalks. As she prowls through the back yard every sinew is poised and ready to strike should some defenseless squirrel cross her path (we've already had a fatality, Logan thought it was hilarious).

We have an older dog, Sam, and he's become her favorite chew toy.
At every opportunity she's biting his neck, his legs, his tail, anything directly accessible. Sophie knows exactly where to latch on that will most effectively bring her opponent down. As Sam trots down off the deck to the back yard Sophie lunges after him, wraps her wolf-like jaws around his back leg and holds on tight. She hasn't drawn blood yet so I think she's just playing, but I can't help but be reminded of a lion taking down a gazelle every time she does this.

Sophie also likes to dig, tear, chew, and destroy. "Is this puppy or pit bull?", I ask myself. She has chewed through the upholstery on the front of our sofa (thanks Mom for the rapid re-upholstery job), dug at least a dozen holes in Brent's hard earned perfect grass, dug through our mattress (it's been duck taped), destroyed Sam's pillow bed (stuffing was everywhere), and dismembered/maimed almost every Barbie, pony, and baby doll we had (there were quite a few). I offer her rawhides to chew on, normal dogs might take all day or at least a few hours to get through one, she's devoured several by the time Sam has finished his first.

Sophie must also have housecat in her. So often I find her perched on the sofa looking out the window, watching the world go by. She curls up just like a cat too, tail twitching, head and feet touching.

She's also very good at catching flies; she may have learned this from Sam. Sam caught a bee this summer; it was buzzing around his head and the next thing we know we hear this SNAP and SLURP and the bee is gone and Sam is licking his lips.

It's possible that Sophie is also part pig. I have never seen a dog use her snout for nuzzling the way she does. It's like she's looking for truffles the way she roots around with that nose in armpits, crotches, anywhere that suits her fancy. She really has no manners at all.

The children adore her, Brent loves how tough she is, I just think she's funny.

The Haircut

A few weeks ago, Brent and I were enjoying a few rare minutes of quiet. We were using those minutes to watch T.V. in our room. Now, while quiet is a welcome thing in our home, it is more frequently a warning sign of terrible things to come.

At some point Brent saw Ellie run into our room and then out again very quickly. It took a moment to register, but he knew something was amiss. He went into the hallway and came back, eyes wide with fear. I caught his gaze and thought the one thing all mother's think at least once during the day, "What now?!".

I stepped cautiously into the hallway, composing myself, and I see Ellie, her beautiful hair hanging in tatters, what's left of it that is. Then I see Avery at the end of the hall, scissors in hand. As soon as her frightened eyes meet my blazing pair she drops the scissors and runs out the back door. I quickly grab up the scissors and I am holding them like a weapon. I point them at Brent then out the back door and I say, "Destroy her before I do". He runs to his duty (actually he was trying to spare her my wrath).

I calm myself, I know this could be funny if it weren't so awful right now. So I document it, I take pictures, and then Ellie and I make a hurried trip to the mall to get it fixed. At the mall, the hairstylists all giggle and share stories of their own sibling stylists experimenting with them. I continue to tell myself that this will be funny, but it's not yet.

Once home, Avery walks warily around me and Ellie flaunts her short locks. The next day we are at the shoe store. Ellie has on Logan's Batman pajama top and blue jeans. Despite the fact that I am buying pink ballet slippers the salesclerk tears off a dozen Spiderman stickers, thrusts them at Ellie and says, "Here you go big guy". Ugh, the final blow.

Weeks later I have become accustomed to Ellie's hairstyle, everyone at church thought it was adorable. It's a good thing she's so cute, not everyone could pull off that style and maintain such a high level of cuteness.

Adventures in Nursing

Tuesday evening I was at yet another clinical. This time I was on the Mental Health floor. I'd been waiting for a couple of weeks to sit in on a patient admit which is really just an interview with a new patient to get background information. I'm standing by the nurses' station and my teacher points out a woman in a white jacket and says "Holly, go with her". I think, "Yeah, an admit" and off we go down 5 flights of stairs. I notice that this woman is hurrying, then all of a sudden she's running and I'm completely confused. An admit is not an emergency situation. "Maybe she just doesn't like to waste time," I think. We turn the final corner and the woman I'm with ushers me into the back corner of a surgical suite.

In this room are about twelve people. Half of them are wearing lead vests. In the center of the room is a table and on top of the table are two people. One is lying flat with a large blue drape over her and the other is a nurse pushing very hard on the chest of the first. A light bulb goes off and I know why the room is so full of people, this is a code.

As it happened, the woman on the table was there to have a cardiac procedure done. During the procedure she threw a clot (a blood clot) and it sent her into cardiac arrest. When a code is called nurses from the ER and the Critical Care Unit rush in to help. The six in the vests were the original cardiac team who are now standing back until the woman is brought back.

The CPR wasn't working so they needed to shock her. She already had the pads attached (this is standard procedure) so they charged it up and shocked her. I was stunned. Her back arched off the table, just like on T.V. Now she had a rhythm, but she wasn't breathing well, so they had to intubate her (this is where they put a tube down a patient's throat and have a machine breathe for the patient). The doctor put a scope in her mouth and proceeded to feed the tube down her throat. This is not a smooth procedure. There were times I heard scraping sounds and my throat burned in response.

Now that her vitals are under control, the emergency team goes back to their units and the cardiac team is ready to continue. I'm sent to the viewing room adjacent to the suite. Through a window I can see the procure, on the monitor I can see the patient's heart. Amazing. As dye is pushed through her arteries they light up on the screen. The technician rewinds the tape and I can see exactly where the original problem was, where the clots formed, and when they dislodged. All of this is made possible because the cardiologist has fed a scope up through an artery in the woman's groin and up to her heart.

The procedure will continue for at least another hour and the emergency has passed so I am taken back up to the Mental Health floor. My instructor greets me and laughs because my eyes are as big as dinner plates. She asks, "How was it?". I respond, "Crazy cool". She laughs again, and I am hooked. This is the drug of choice for me, adrenaline. I want to be an ER nurse.

The title of my blog

I have titled my blog "It's Time" because in my world it's always time for something.
-It's time to get up (ugh)
-It's time to get the kids up (what am I talking about, they've been up for an hour, miserable little...)
-It's time for breakfast (wait, not for me, I don't have time for breakfast)
-It's time for school (not just the kids, ALL of us)
-It's time to sit in lecture for four hours (Yeah! I get to sit down! And now my butt's asleep)
-It's time for clinical (Oh gosh, just let me do better than yesterday)
-It's time for lab (for the record, I do not like working with manequins, they are NOTHING like real patients)
-It's time to pick up the kids (while an hour at the park after school may be rejuvinating for them it's time for me to get eaten alive by these horrid tiny black bugs)
-It's time for chores (not mine, the kids', yes they do them now, yipee!)
-It's time for dinner (finally, dinner, I'm so hungry. What do you mean I have to cook?!)
-It's time for homework, class, clinical, soccer practice, and anything else we can fit into the next 2-3 hours before bed)
-It's time for the kids to go to bed (the hallelujah chorus plays loud and clear)
-It's lazy time (this is the time after the children are asleep when Brent and I watch T.V. and/or read for recreation, however there are dozens of other things we should be doing)
-It's time for me to go to bed (Brent doesn't have a bed time, I go to sleep around 10, I don't know when he goes to sleep, at some point during the night I notice the fan's been turned off, the windows are shut and it's become very hot in our room- then I know Brent must have gone to sleep)
-It's time to do it all again!! (Now you hear me crying)

Yesterday

Yesterday was one of those days. I began the morning on very little sleep (not uncommon, but still unpleasant). As you may know I am in nursing school. This semester my Mondays start bright and early with a clinical on a post-operation floor. This Monday started as any other until medication time. As a nursing student I am authorized to give meds to patients as long as my instructor oversees the entire process. There I am in the med room, I have a vial of medication in one hand and I am filling it with a little air from a syringe in my other hand. As I'm applying pressure to the plunger of the syringe my instructor tells me to draw it out. I think she's referring to the needle (she wasn't) so without releasing pressure (Pam I know you're cringing right now) I pull out the needle and medication sprays all over the front of me. Strike one.

Now I am in a patient's room. I am attempting to flush her g-tube (a tube for feeding and med administration that's inserted into her digestive tract through her abdomen). I have filled a needleless syringe with water, but there's too much air inside. I did the right thing, I turned away from the patient, but I applied too much force and shot water at her grandfather. Strike two.

I'm desperately trying not to die of embarrassment. I have attached the syringe to the g-tube port and I am beginning to flush the tube with water. Again, I apply too much pressure, and now the patient and I are drenched. Strike three, you're out.

Miserable and wet I finish my task and walk out into the hall where my instructor gives me a hug and a pep talk and sends me off to do paperwork.

Blogging

I've done it. I have become one of the many that are boldly going where all new e-journalists go. I am a blogger. The definition of blog is an online journal. The definition of blogger is a keeper of a blog. I am Holly, keeper of this blog, hear me complain.