My Genius Idea

When I was in nursing school, one of the books that we had to purchase was a pocket DSM-IV.  For those of you who don't know, the DSM-IV is pretty much a manual for diagnosing mental disorders.  One of my absolute favorite things to do in nursing school was (I'm gonna sound really dorky right now) to try to diagnose every single person I knew with something in that book.  You see, I have a working theory that we all have a little crazy in us.  Whether it's anxiety, depression, a mood disorder, psychosis...everyone has a little chemical imbalance.  Nobody's brain is perfect.  (Please do not take this in any way as down-playing any kind of mental illness.  The diseases described in the DSM-IV are just that, diseases.  They are, most of the time, chronic illnesses that, like any other chronic illness ex: diabetes, asthma, etc., require life long treatment.  Sorry.  That was Nurse Kristin talking.  I felt the need to make a disclaimer.)  So, I found great entertainment in trying to figure out what certain people had.  As you can imagine, some people were super easy to attach many different diagnosis to.  While others proved to be a little more difficult.

So, I had a moment of genius at work a few weeks ago.  I was talking to my friend, Crystal (who happens to be just as awkward as I am, but in different ways, so I find that my personal craziness is free to come out a little bit more when I'm around her), and I decided that the world would be a much better place if everyone had an idea about everyone else's little quirks.  Medical alert bracelets have saved lives!  It's a quick and easy way to know if someone has a chronic illness.  Wouldn't it be awesome to have a similar thing for mental illnesses?!  OK, I know that sounds kind of crazy in itself, but before you start jumping to conclusions, hear me out.  You know that person in your life who is a little bit different?  He/she is probably one of the nicest people you know but sometimes he says some strange things, or maybe people just don't get him.  Or maybe, he might seem completely appropriate on the outside but you know (because you're such an awesome friend) that he's really hurting on the inside.  And sometimes people treat him badly or look at him strange or roll their eyes at him or something like that, and that really makes you mad because you know how super cool he really is if they would just look past the quirky stuff.  Raise your hand if you know that person.  Good.  Now raise your hand if that person is you.  Very good.  Acceptance is the first step (well, maybe not the first step, but it's one of those steps).   Now, think about your "friend" again (Notice that "friend" is now in quotations.  This is because we have already established that this "friend" is really you.).  You don't do any of those negative things to him (partially) because you have insight into why he says what he says (or how he says it, or how he acts...you get the picture).

Now, keeping all of that in mind, do you remember name plates?  Here's a picture:

How wonderful would it be if everyone had a nameplate necklace but instead of having their name on it, they had their diagnosis!  Again, give it a chance.  It's just a way for other people to understand where you're coming from.  And if you have more than one diagnosis, you can have links down between each one.  Or, if you choose, you can group them all together.  For example, my dad's would say simply "head trauma".  Enough said!  So when he starts being loud and boisterous and trying to make friends with every person he comes in contact with...or even when he starts talking to someone about the red light cameras or the express lane on 95 in Miami, the person he's talking to can just casually glance down, see that he's had a head trauma and just go with it!  I would be one of those people with multiple links, but I don't have to have them all.  Mine would say "social anxiety" and then below it would be "OCD".  (Reality really strikes home with that one when your three year old tells your husband "No, Daddy, that doesn't go there.  The castle princesses go in the light pink bin and the other princesses go in the dark pink bin and the princess dress up stuff goes in the pink cloth bin".  It all makes perfect sense to me.)  Anyway, back to my personal nameplates.  Whenever I say something strange or awkward or whenever I have the inability to say anything at all, people will understand why.  Now you kind of want one, don't you?!

Another disclaimer:  I realize all of the political crap that would go along with this.  And yes, I would be super mad if we were all forced to wear our psychiatric misgivings on our chest for all the world to see.  But if you're reading this, you should already know that you can't take half of what I say seriously.  But, you have to admit that the whole nameplate thing would be extremely useful...and entertaining!

Bird Season, Bitches!!!!!

It all started with a bird. 

Actually, no.  That’s not true.  It really all started with the people around me being terrified of birds and some of their fear rubbing off on me.  I’m trying not to be too easily influenced, but they make logical points.  My friend, Maria, used to drive me to school every day during my first two years of high school.  I specifically remember us driving down Taft street by Rotary Park (where there is a shit ton of electrical wires and therefore, a shit ton of birds) (Can I please insert here that I love the phrase “shit ton”!  I know that it’s a fad phrase but I really feel that it is very descriptive in an almost nondescriptive way.  When people say it, I don’t necessarily picture a ton of shit, but I immediately think ‘oh crap, that’s a lot of _____ (fill in the blank of what you’re talking about)’).  I got side tracked.  OK, driving down Taft Street, lots of birds on wires.  Now picture Maria screaming “ROLL UP THE WINDOWS!!!! THEY’RE GONNA FLY IN THE CAR AND ATTACK US!!!!!”  And then the two of us cranking up the windows as fast as we can because those birds did look like they wanted to peck at two little teenagers.  Oh, and when I said “crank”, I did mean that it was a car that had manual crank windows.  You know, the kind where you had to use both hands and put all of your body weight into it?  I’m just trying to paint you a picture here.  So there was that.  Plus, my sister is pretty terrified of birds.  And she makes equally good points about attacks and pecking.  Plus, birds have feathers.  And beaks.  And scrawny legs…never trust anything with scrawny legs.  So, pretty much, my dislike of birds is a learned behavior.

At work, we have a break room area that contains our lockers, a table and chairs, refrigerator, a bathroom, and a storage cabinet thing.  Everything gets piled up in there, including any holiday decorations.  About a year and a half ago, I was getting my lunch out of the refrigerator, I turned around and there was this big, nasty (fake) crow perched up on top of the cabinet, looking at me. Totally creeped me out.  I swear that the thing was not there the night before and it must have turned to watch me.  What do I do?  I made it my mission to move the crow in a different location every time that I worked to try to creep out other people as well.  At first, I tried to be discreet about it.  I put it on top of the fridge, inside the cabinet, on top of the lockers.  Then I started to get a bit more obnoxious by putting it on the window sill, on the table and on the counter by the sink.  Pretty soon, my friends Denise and Maureen joined in the fun and they moved it to my favorite location which was on a cabinet in the bathroom positioned perfectly so that when you were washing your hands, if you looked into the mirror, it was just over your shoulder staring back at you. Genius!  This went on for several weeks when suddenly, the bird was gone. Someone (I’m pretty sure I know who, but that person shall remain nameless here) apparently was offended by our treatment of the bird and decided enough was enough.  Well.  Apparently, that person did not know who she was dealing with because when the one big bird disappeared, three little birds promptly took its place.  J  There have been birds attached to telephones, birds on car door handles and birds swinging on the insides of lockers (to name a few of my favorites).  When I came back from maternity leave, there was a note, a rice krispie treat, a pepsi and a bird waiting for me on the counter of the nurses’ station. 

About two months ago, Maureen got me two little birds from Hobby Lobby.  I had them in my locker because I kept on forgetting to take them home.  Then, when I was in the waiting room with Kate for her 6 month check up, I get this text:

Denise: CPR needed!!!!!!!!

To which my response was: OMG that is fantastic!!!! I love how the other two are looking at it too.  They're like 'what the hell!  Someone's laid out!'

And then: Ok so after looking at it further, I have decided that the bird on the pumpkin is all like "well shit, now we have to do something about this" and the one in the back is saying "I'm not looking! In not looking! Maybe if I don't see it, I can just quietly walk away!"

Then, a few weeks ago, Denise and Maureen came over to my house and we had a crafting day to make creepy bird wreaths.

The latest part of the bird saga is this little beauty: 

 It’s like one of those pens at the doctors’ office with the huge flowers attached to it…except it’s a bird.  And it’s in attack position.  And it’s perched in a handmade play dough penholder that says simply ‘BEWARE.’  Really, what more could you ask for?  Also, please notice the equally creepy (and equally fake) trach baby on the counter across the nurses’ station.  Now, would you believe that the bird pen disappeared too?!  I may or may not be going to Target (and possibly, Michaels) after work today.  And I also may or may not be donating certain Halloween decorations to the unit.  Possibly some small, black, winged creatures that have black glitter on them.  And do you know why?  Because it’s bird season, bitches!!!!

Ballerina Roach

You know how I hate roaches? No? Well, I do. They're horrible and are on my list of the top three things which should become extinct (along with alligators and toads). For my whole life they have been out to get me. I am not kidding. I have distinct memories of playing in the living room at my parents house right after we moved in (I was 5) and pulling a dead roach out of the shag carpeting. (I realize that one was dead and could not possibly be out to get me, but still) They have crawled across my arm when I was working at my dad's shop in Miami. They have tried to attack me in my house. I have even witnessed a flying roach fly down my mom's shirt (which, I'm not gonna lie, was half terrifying and half hilarious). Usually, when I see them, I run for cover and scream at someone else to go kill it. Once, I was laying in my bed, saw a roach on the opposite wall, and instead of killing it, I pulled the blanket over my head and called Nick (who was in the other room) on my phone to come and get rid of it. I think I have made my point.

So, a couple of weeks ago (it has actually taken that long for me to talk about this) I was at work giving report to the oncoming nurse. Now, let's remember that it was 7am, I had been at work for 12 hours and I was pretty much delirious with no filter. OK, so we were standing outside the patient's room when the day shift nurse, let's call her Betsy, casually said to me "oh, look at that little roach running". What?! How can you even speak that sentence no nonchalantly?! And, little roach? Oh no, that thing was a freaking monster! And you bet your ass it was running...right toward me! Plus, it was running and barely touching the floor! It's like the thing was running on pointe. It was freaking ballerina roach in attack mode coming to get me!!! What do I do? Of course I jump around screaming "kill it, Betsy, kill it!!!!" (Which is what every PICU patient and family want to hear at 7am, I'm sure.) I tried to move laterally and what does the roach do? Turn toward me. It can sense my fear. Finally, after 3 stomps (3 stomps!!!) Betsy killed the roach and then kicked it under the counter thing of the nurses station (where, I'm sure it was regenerating and planning it's next move). Meanwhile, all the other night and day shift nurses are at the nurses station either looking at me like I'm crazy or hysterically laughing at me. I, of course, announce that I'm having palpitations and that I needed to finish giving report on the other side of the unit because I really feel that the roach is going to come back from the dead and attack me again. Seriously.

I know that I live in Florida and that means that there are roaches everywhere. I also realize (in the rational part of my brain) that the roach really can't hurt me and that my fear would be better placed on even something like a bee or a wasp where there is a small but real potential for harm. But I don't care. Bees and wasps don't freak me out. I have no problem killing spiders or any other kind of bug that gets into the house, and I'll pick up lizards and put them back outside without even squirming. But for some reason, I can't handle a roach. I think we should kill them all.

Update

So after searching through all of mine and my mom's pictures on Kodakgallery, I found this one:

 Which was taken four years ago.  And yes, it's the most recent picture of me.  Can we also all appreciate the beach scene?!?!?!  Although this one is a much more accurate representation of that weekend (you totally wish you were part of my family):

The Bulletin Board

OK, so they have this bulletin board at work where they talk about the staff.  There's a little paragraph or two about where the nurse/secretary/PCA grew up, went to school, hobbies, why you like working in Peds, etc.  And then each person has a picture by their little summary thing.  (Well, most people have a picture.  There's one picture that makes me feel slightly uncomfortable and another one that has a picture of the beach...no person, just the beach.)  This board is right in the middle of a wall between Peds and the PICU so it's there for everyone (patients, families, everyone) to see.  When asked the "why do you like working in pediatrics?" question, every one's answer is something like "I love working with kids" or "my coworkers are great and I love the kids" or "little kids are so sweet and innocent" or "any time I can get even a small smile out of a child, it makes my day."  (yes, I got up just now to make sure that I got that all right)  Anyway, so I was joking around last weekend about how they would never put me up on that wall because they'd be afraid of how I would answer the questions.  For example, if asked why I enjoyed working in pediatrics, I would answer that, given the choice, I'd much rather clean up baby poop than adult poop.  Now, that's an honest answer.  Well, now wouldn't you know that on Monday morning, one of the leadership people asked if she could interview me for the board?!?!  First of all, this person works day shift in the out patient area so I have spoken to her a total of about 2 times (including my little 'interview').  And I'm about 99% sure that she asked about me (mostly who I was, but also if I was married, had kids, etc) before this so called interview.  I have my sources.  Anyway, she interviewed me at7 in the morning after I had just worked all night (without much sleep the day before) and was exhausted so the filter was way off.  Plus, she asked me all these questions in the middle of the nurses station with both the night shift and oncoming day shift nurses (who I happen to really like) there so I felt the need to make small comments after each of my answers.  For example, when asked where I grew up I answered "Hollywood, Florida" and then proceeded to do a single handed raising of the roof while singing in my ghetto voice "Holly-hood!"  See?  Filter off.  I couldn't help myself.  It was my musical turrets.  It's hereditary, right Katie?  I think I did OK with the middle questions about school and stuff.  I told her about how I danced in a company in college and how I teach now.  I talked about competition but I don't think she really got it.  Then came the question I was waiting for!  She asked me why I enjoyed working in peds and I answered, without hesitation, that given the choice, I'd much rather clean up baby poop than adult poop.  She stared at me.  Courtney and Catherine laughed.  She asked me what I wanted the board to say and I told her to write something about how kids are wonderful and I work with awesome people but right as I was answering, Courtney said "no, she said the poop thing, that's what you should write!"  Then Courtney (she used to work night shift) said that I was really funny so my interviewer wrote on her paper "funny".  So, needless to say, I'm pretty excited for the new board to come out.  Oh, and she also asked me to email her a picture of myself and tonight, as I was looking for one, I discovered that there are none.  At least none in the past four or five years where I don't look like a complete idiot.  Most of the recent pictures of me include Alexa:

 Or, they are of Katie and I acting like a bunch of fools:

 Or, Katie and I trying to be pretty (while wearing other people's mickey hats...sorry Lauren):

 Or, we take pictures to bring attention to serious issues.  For example, this picture, which clearly demonstrates the many dangers of under aged driving:

 There is the random picture of me posing with objects (not shown is me with flowers (which happen to be a great example of my best friend's wedding colors), me with random pieces of food and me with various Christmas presents...I like the croquet mallet picture the best):

 And then there is this one, which I still consider to be one of my finest moments and pretty much the best picture ever taken (slight exaggeration):

In conclusion, I have decided that my little personal summary thing is either going to be highly offensive to others or an extreme misrepresentation of me.  It could go either way.  Oh, and also, I need to have her take a picture of me because I don't think they will approve of my options and I refuse to have a random beach scene as my photo.

Alexa Is Here!!!!!

Yes, I know that this is two weeks late, but I've been a little busy...you know, having a baby. In the past two weeks we have discovered that Alexa is a bit of a drama queen (who would have thought that my child would be dramatic?! hehehe). So of course she had to make a dramatic entrance into the world. Enter disclaimer: Obviously, I'm about to talk about the birth of my child. If you don't want to hear about where babies come from, I suggest you stop reading. And without further ado, I present Alexa's dramatic birth:

Nick and I had a plan (I love a good plan) two weeks ago about how we were going to get ready for the baby. We were going to be prepared and have everything cleaned and set up just right. All those fun nesting things which was planned to start on Thursday, September 30th. So Thursday morning (OK, afternoon) I woke up and when I got out of bed a little pee came out. Let's get real for everyone who just made a face. We are talking about a nine month pregnant lady... a little bit of pee coming out every now and then when you change positions is just part of reality. Back to my story. So I started moving quickly toward the bathroom and instead of stopping, more pee came out. Gross! Also I noticed that I was having some Braxton Hick's contractions (so I thought). I figured it was no big deal so I went and layed out in the back yard (all part of the plan, people, all part of the plan). I was outside for an hour and when I came back in I was still having my little pee squirting problem and this time when I went to the bathroom my mucous plug came out. Well that was kind of exciting (and it made me a little nervous) but that thing can come out weeks before the baby comes so I didn't think much of it. The thing that I didn't like was that those Braxton Hick's contractions were pretty close together. They would come every few minutes for a couple in a row and then stop for 20 or 30 minutes. Anyway, around 3:00 I called Nick and we ended up calling my mom (and Merna, her office buddy) to see what we should do. I finally made the decision to just go to the hospital so that they could check me and figure out what this whole contraction thing was all about. OK, fast forward three hours of driving to TMH and sitting in the waiting room. By the way, contractions are now consistently every three minutes but really not that painful at all. We finally got into triage and they hooked me up to the monitors, made me pee in a cup, took my vitals (BP was 160/100) made me drink some juice and water, all that stuff. Around 7:30 someone finally decided to check and see if I was dilated at all. I got all excited and then the nurse said that I was about 1 cm and despite the Q3 minute contractions I was not in labor (well, crap). Did I mention that the Nettinas and the Weavers were in the car driving from Ft. Lauderdale at this point? They stopped in Ft. Pierce to eat dinner and said that they'd call to check on us when they were done. After the nurse had made some comments that I really did not appreciate regarding all the reasons why I was not in labor, she said that I should go home. I asked about the contractions, she said don't worry about it, they aren't real. Apparently I wouldn't be smiling through real contractions. Oh yeah, at this point Nick is repeatedly telling everyone about my unusually high tolerance for pain. Just wanted to throw that in there. So nurse #1 leaves, enter nurse #2 who says that the doctor is now ordering blood work because of my high blood pressure. Fine. An hour and a half later, Dr. Pierce (?) comes in and explains that she is admitting me overnight for a 24 hour urine collection to check for protein. Even though there was no protein in my dip stick urine she was concerned that my BP was so high, she said that my pee squirting thing was weird and, oh by the way, my white count in my CBC was 19.7. I told her that I was glad to be admitted because this contraction thing is really freaking me out. They were still every three minutes and getting stronger. Apparently, still not real because I was able to smile (get the sarcasm? Just making sure). She assured me that I was not in labor and I would be able to go home on Saturday morning. She did, however, order some prn pain meds just in case and said that if I did go into labor, they wouldn't do anything to stop it since I was at 38 weeks. OK, so at this point we spoke to the grandparent car and made a group decision that they should just turn around and go back. Apparently they were having a wonderful time and did not mind the fact that they just drove an hour and a half for nothing.

They admitted me to labor and delivery because the antipartum unit was understaffed for the night (thank God). I got hooked up to the monitors and started my 24 hour urine collection which was annoying because every time I got up to pee the monitor things came off. Finally the nurse said that since I wasn't in labor (are you starting to see a trend here?) she only needed a half hour strip to show that everything was ok. Around midnight my friend Nakima came to visit for awhile and then after she left Nick fell asleep. These "non-labor" contractions have been slowly getting worse but everyone kept on insisting that they weren't real because I was able to talk, laugh, smile, etc. Finally, at 2:00 I called the nurse to get something for pain. That got Nick up real fast...I don't like to take anything for pain in general, even Tylenol, so he knew something was wrong. I got a percocet at 2:30. By 3:00 the contractions were getting much worse and I asked for the Stadol. That is some horrible stuff. Not only did it do absolutely nothing for the pain, it made me crazy. I mean super crazy. I just remember saying over and over how this hurts too bad to be false labor. And instead of questioning the falseness of my labor, I was thinking 'Oh my God, this is really going to suck when I really am in labor!' Anyway, when she put in the IV and gave me the Stadol at 3:30ish, she put the monitors back on which showed that (suprise, suprise) I was still having contractions and they were closer together now. I was getting upset because I was feeling crazy, I was in all this pain that these pain meds did nothing for and now there was pee coming out with every contraction. Have I mentioned how wonderful Nick was through all this? Amazing. So finally the nurse said that she could swab to see if the pee was really amniotic fluid. WHAT?!?! I have been leaking pee for the past 12 hours and no one mentioned that they could just swab it to see if my water had broken?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! Now I could feel my craziness slipping away and I was getting mad. She swabbed it and guess what? My water had broken. Who would have guessed? At that point (at about 4:45 in the morning) she thought it might be a good idea to check to see if I was dilated more than the 1cm that I was 8 hours before. She checked me (I tried not to punch her) and said 'I feel her head, let me get my charge nurse to double check this.' WHAT?!?! You feel her head?!?! Damn right you're going to get your charge nurse to double check this!!! So charge nurse chick comes in, checks me and says 'you're 10cm and +1 station, there's no time for an epidural.' At this point, I don't remember specifics of what happened but I do know that a small break down took place which I'm sure looked something like mad Kristin (few people have seen her) having an adult temper tantrum mixed with a little bit of that Stadol craziness still on board. It was not attractive, I'm sure. Nick called the grandparents and Katie who were in the car and on the road by 5:00. I started pushing sometime after that and Alexa was born at 6:41am.

Apparently I am a good pusher, I have a lot of control over my body. I don't know if it's an awareness I have from dancing or if Dr. Pierce was just being nice to the crazy girl by complimenting pushing techniques. Probably the latter. Many people have asked me if I were to do it again, would I have the epidural. Yes. Are you insane? Of course I would have the epidural. But I suppose I'm not entirely upset that it happened the way it did. I was up and walking to the bathroom 1/2 hour after she was born and it's kind of cool knowing that I was strong enough to do it without drugs (or at least, without drugs that work). I think I'm most disappointed that my mom wasn't there. And Katie (she decided as she was frantically driving that she wanted to be in the room). But again, we will eventually have another baby and they can be in the room that time. Plus, it was kind of nice that it was just Nick and I.

Allergic to Work and such

I have observed that every time I go to work I feel sick. I am at work now and since I've been here I have sneezed like, five times and I have a stuffy nose. Gross. This whole past weekend (while I was away from work) and earlier today before I came here, I felt fine. And it's not like I'm just starting to get sick because last week I was complaining about the same thing. Conclusion: I'm allergic to work and I need to go home :)

On another note, Brittany's wedding is this weekend and I'm super excited. We had her bachelorette party (kind of) last weekend. It was entertaining, to say the least! She got some fun new panties and guessed right every time on the person who gave them to her! This week I'm making cones for the flower petals so watch out people I'm working with because you're helping! Nick and I are driving down to Hollywood on Friday after he gets off work. Hopefully, we will be able to make it to some of the rehearsal dinner. We're helping with the flowers on Saturday and then the wedding is Sunday! My mom and I are the people in charge of yelling at people on Sunday so that Brittany doesn't have to so obviously I'm excited about that! I hope it ends up being everything she wants it to be and more!!!!

My Secret Love

I got called off of work tonight so I'm sitting here watching Jon and Kate plus 8. Let me tell you how I love those little children, they are so freaking cute!!! I think little Asian babies are the most beautiful things made and if for some reason Nick and I can't have kids, I'm adopting a little Asian baby. Specifically a little girl because I think the little girls grow up and stay beautiful where the boys...not so much. Culturally insensitive? Maybe...but I don't care, I am in love with Asian children!