Pathologist: "You should tattoo this table on your cleavage, so you can always reference it."
Resident: "Uh..."
Oncologist: "It might not be ideal to expose yourself during your board exam. Although it might get you extra credit."
Showing posts with label do not do this. Show all posts
Showing posts with label do not do this. Show all posts
bike commuting tips: flat tire edition
Oh hey everyone!
How are you?
This week, I replaced the rear tire on my bicycle. Mostly because I've had three flats in 10 days.
***PRO TIP!*** It's best to replace your tires before they are completely bald. Learning!
 |
| thanks freehdwall.com |
This week, I replaced the rear tire on my bicycle. Mostly because I've had three flats in 10 days.
 |
| thanks animated-gifs.tumblr.com |
***PRO TIP!*** It's best to replace your tires before they are completely bald. Learning!
so, reading the treatment sheet is good:
(Technician pokes her head into rounds)
Technician: "Hey Alacrity, can I have the fentanyl and lidocaine so I can start setting up your patient's CRIs while you finish rounds?"
Alacrity: "Oh thank you! That would be awesome. I would like the CRIs diluted in saline please, but I wrote recipes on the treatment sheet. If it's confusing, just leave it for me and I'll set them up in a few minutes."
Tech: "Okay, will do."
A few minutes later, in ICU:
Tech: "Why are you giving this dog so much fentanyl?"
Alacrity: "I'm not-wait, is that straight fentanyl in the syringe?"
Tech: "Yes, that's how we do fentanyl CRIs."
Alacrity: "It's supposed to be diluted in saline! Did you read the recipe that I told you about on the treatment sheet?"
Tech: "No."
Alacrity:
Technician: "Hey Alacrity, can I have the fentanyl and lidocaine so I can start setting up your patient's CRIs while you finish rounds?"
Alacrity: "Oh thank you! That would be awesome. I would like the CRIs diluted in saline please, but I wrote recipes on the treatment sheet. If it's confusing, just leave it for me and I'll set them up in a few minutes."
Tech: "Okay, will do."
A few minutes later, in ICU:
Tech: "Why are you giving this dog so much fentanyl?"
Alacrity: "I'm not-wait, is that straight fentanyl in the syringe?"
Tech: "Yes, that's how we do fentanyl CRIs."
Alacrity: "It's supposed to be diluted in saline! Did you read the recipe that I told you about on the treatment sheet?"
Tech: "No."
Alacrity:
 |
| thanks memegenerator.net |
no way this could go wrong:
My job is weirdly structured. There's two oncologists, one resident, two technicians, and me in the oncology department. Usually the oncologists are upstairs doing research (but swing by to advise on the cases), and the resident and the more senior technician run the service.
The junior technician and I would love to be involved and consistently try to help, but the resident and senior technician prefer to do everything themselves.
This is wildly frustrating.
This week, both the resident and the senior technician were away on vacation. You can imagine how this went:
The junior technician and I had a really interesting week. It's kind of hard to learn how to do your job if you only get occasional sidenotes on how to do it, which is what happens when the senior people are around...since it takes too much time (? or something?) for them to teach us what they're doing.
So, we both spent the week learning on the fly how to do things like reconstitute and administer chemotherapy. Gaaaaaaaah. You guys, when the big kids get back, I am sitting them down and explaining why this was a terrible idea.
Anyway!
This one afternoon, the technician was diluting out gemcitabine for one dog while I was mixing up another patient's zoledronate. This conversation happened:
Technician: "FUCK! I think I mixed this wrong."
Alacrity: "Wrong how?"
Technician: "I was only supposed to add 300 mg to the bag, but I added all 400."
Alacrity: "Oh. It's cool. We can just figure out the new concentration of the solution, and then recalculate the patient's dose."
(pause)
Alacrity: "Why am I only supposed to get 2 ml of zoledronate back through the filter, but I'm getting 3 each time? Something is wrong."
Technician: "Yeah, this is all fucked up."
Alacrity: "This is like Beavis and Butthead in chemistry lab."
(hysterical, panicked laughter)
The junior technician and I would love to be involved and consistently try to help, but the resident and senior technician prefer to do everything themselves.
This is wildly frustrating.
 |
| thanks abbyismelting.com |
 |
| thanks funsniper.com |
So, we both spent the week learning on the fly how to do things like reconstitute and administer chemotherapy. Gaaaaaaaah. You guys, when the big kids get back, I am sitting them down and explaining why this was a terrible idea.
Anyway!
This one afternoon, the technician was diluting out gemcitabine for one dog while I was mixing up another patient's zoledronate. This conversation happened:
Technician: "FUCK! I think I mixed this wrong."
Alacrity: "Wrong how?"
Technician: "I was only supposed to add 300 mg to the bag, but I added all 400."
Alacrity: "Oh. It's cool. We can just figure out the new concentration of the solution, and then recalculate the patient's dose."
(pause)
Alacrity: "Why am I only supposed to get 2 ml of zoledronate back through the filter, but I'm getting 3 each time? Something is wrong."
Technician: "Yeah, this is all fucked up."
Alacrity: "This is like Beavis and Butthead in chemistry lab."
(hysterical, panicked laughter)
 |
| thanks uproxx.tumblr.com |
okay, cool:
Cubicle Administrative Person: "In order to activate your university card, you'll have to come by our office. We're open from 8:30 am to 4:30 pm, Monday to Friday."
Alacrity: "So, my workday completely encompasses those hours. Could I activate my card over the phone?"
CAP: "Why can't you just come on your lunch hour?"
A: "I work in a hospital. I don't have a lunch hour."
CAP: "Oh. Well, you just need to figure out a time to swing by."
Alacrity: "So, my workday completely encompasses those hours. Could I activate my card over the phone?"
CAP: "Why can't you just come on your lunch hour?"
A: "I work in a hospital. I don't have a lunch hour."
CAP: "Oh. Well, you just need to figure out a time to swing by."
on the overnight:
It's 1 in the morning. I walk into radiology, where the scrappy ER tech is wrestling with a ~75lb dog who is flailing on the table. He's holding an uncapped syringe and needle in his mouth.
Alacrity: "Hey, do you want me to take this uncapped syringe and needle out of your mouth?"
Tech: "Mrrrrmmmph!"
Alacrity: "Dude, this night is going to get way worse if you inadvertently sedate yourself."
Alacrity: "Hey, do you want me to take this uncapped syringe and needle out of your mouth?"
Tech: "Mrrrrmmmph!"
Alacrity: "Dude, this night is going to get way worse if you inadvertently sedate yourself."
a sampling of an average ER shift:
1. "I won't let you examine my dog."
Are you even serious? Go home.
2. "But you guys told me the last time I was here that his kidneys don't work because of all the blood in his liver."
Hmm...
3. "She's feral. Have you ever touched a feral cat before? You won't be able to touch her."
Watch this: examine cat. Success!
4. "Why aren't you ultrasounding him now?" (It is 2:45 am)
Our radiologist sleeps, sometimes.
5. "Can't you send her home with the catheter so I don't have to give her pills?"
No.
6. "What if I just watch her at home?" (cat is in respiratory distress)
Do you have an oxygen cage at home?
7. "Do you have a drug that will just make him better for a little while?"
No.
8. "I'm taking her to another hospital because I read bad reviews of this place on the internet."
Okay!
9. "I won't let you take her out of my sight!"
Seriously? See #1.
10. "Why do you have to do all of these tests to figure out what's wrong with him?"
I can't even.
Are you even serious? Go home.
2. "But you guys told me the last time I was here that his kidneys don't work because of all the blood in his liver."
Hmm...
3. "She's feral. Have you ever touched a feral cat before? You won't be able to touch her."
Watch this: examine cat. Success!
4. "Why aren't you ultrasounding him now?" (It is 2:45 am)
Our radiologist sleeps, sometimes.
5. "Can't you send her home with the catheter so I don't have to give her pills?"
No.
6. "What if I just watch her at home?" (cat is in respiratory distress)
Do you have an oxygen cage at home?
7. "Do you have a drug that will just make him better for a little while?"
No.
8. "I'm taking her to another hospital because I read bad reviews of this place on the internet."
Okay!
9. "I won't let you take her out of my sight!"
Seriously? See #1.
10. "Why do you have to do all of these tests to figure out what's wrong with him?"
I can't even.
oh, ketamine:
ER doctor, in rounds: "This cat got about twice the maximum recommended dose of ketamine, so last night he was totally insane. He's still aggressive this morning, but maybe a little better. I actually have no way of accurately assessing his mental status."
Internist: (sigh) "He's in the K-hole? Okay."
Internist: (sigh) "He's in the K-hole? Okay."
do not do this #1:
Hello you guys!
Unpacking is especially fun when you have feline assistance.
I found a spool of thread behind the bookcase. How might that have gotten there? Might it be the same cat that sneakily devoured all the dental treats that I got in my dentistry goodie bag?
Now that I am somewhat moved in and settled, I am exploring both the small town I've moved to and the nearby big city. I attended the Pride festival in the city, and frolicked gaily in the streets with my people. It was awesome.
In the spirit of gleeful frolicking (heh), I have a cautionary summertime tale for you:
During my senior year of college, I attended a series of tea dances.
Tea dances?
Yes.
These tea dances were mid-afternoon Sunday affairs, hosted by a local queer event-organizing group on a monthly basis.
I noticed a flyer for one such tea dance on a community board at Smith, and fairly dragged Bryce along with me. A community queer event! Possibly there would be older butch dykes (mmmm, yes please)! Ladies we would never awkwardly see in class! We obviously had to attend. Bryce was unconvinced, but humored me.
That first tea dance was an epic affair. The dance was packed with a wide variety of fascinating lesbians. Shortly after arriving, I grabbed Bryce's arm, discreetly indicated a blonde, twinkly-eyed butch, and said,
"I'm going to go try to pick that one up."
Bryce stared at me. I smiled back, walked across the dance floor, and introduced myself.
We danced, made out in a nightclub some weeks later, and then decided to become friends. Hooray!
(Later, I would realize that this moment began my change from a queer, bookish, shy person to a queer, bookish, astonishingly forward reverse cougar. Anyway!)
So, tea dances. I attended every one, intent on romancing the bashful yet absurdly attractive butches who lined the walls of the room. Oh my goodness, there were so many! I was like a small child in the bulk candy section at Wegman's, except all the sweets bins were free and at my height. WHAT.
Two or three dances in, I started to notice this one butch in particular. She was about fifty, and had jet black hair with a few silver streaks. Her arms were lithe and muscular, and she wore her shirts tucked into snug black jeans. She was from another state, and drove an hour or more to get to each dance.
We exchanged e-mails, then agreed to meet up for a breakfast picnic at Smith. The next morning, I brought her a purple flower. I was envisioning a trip to one of the dining halls, followed by a foray down to Paradise Pond. NOPE!
She asked me to get in her truck, and then started driving out into the country. We mostly sat in silence. I asked her some questions, which yielded some short answers. More silence. After about twenty minutes, I asked,
"So, where are we going?"
She turned to look at me, and said,
"I don't know."
Silence.
Um.
After a little while longer, we pulled over by the side of the highway. It was at one of those rural truck stops, you know - the ones with just a pulloff and a picnic table or two.
I jumped out of the truck and sat on a picnic table. She pulled out two packaged McDonald's breakfasts and handed me one. We ate breakfast and talked a little more, maybe. The situation started to seem more normal, maybe a little.
We finished breakfast and held hands. She slid her hand down my shirt. I pulled back and told her to bring me back to school, which she did.
She came back to my room with me, and I made her some tea. We talked some more. We sat on the bed. Then we made out for the next eighteen hours.
I am actually not exaggerating.
Friends, this woman had insane amounts of stamina. There was some handsiness (I think we took our shirts off), but no buck nakedness and no hard-core fucking. We literally kissed and kissed the day and night around. It was fascinating.
At one point, Bryce insistently banged on the door to my room (so, I lived in a first floor room and my front door was adjacent to the house's front door). After the fourth or fifth knocking coupled with, "Alacrity, I know you're in there!", I pulled away from my guest and threw open the door in my jeans and bra.
Bryce said something to the effect of, "Well, fuck you!", and stormed out of the house.
(Later, she explained that she had wanted to commiserate about single life/recent breakups, only to find that I was getting some action. I told her that her response was totally understandable.)
Around dinner time, I insisted that I was hungry. My guest insisted that she wasn't. I briefly escaped from my room, grabbed some cookies in the common room, and ravenously scarfed them. A couple of housemates grinned at me with knowing winks and chuckles (first floor room! yay!).
Finally, at 7 am the next morning, I put my foot down:
"Okay, thanks for coming over. You have to go now. I have to go to the hospital to get an MRI of my neck."
(This was actually true. I was having some weird tingling in my hands and was seeing a neurologist.)
"Oh, that's okay. I can come to the hospital with you."
"No, you can't! You have to go now. I'll talk to you later."
She drove away. I meditated on what the fuck had just happened in the peaceful cacophony of the MRI.
You guys, I am very lucky that this odd situation turned out reasonably okay for me. I had a weird, nearly 24 hour date. It was not exactly bad. It was definitely strange. My thoughts during the marathon makeout session were sort of like:
Oh wow, she is really enjoying this. Like, REALLY enjoying it. She told me she hasn't been on a date in fifteen years. I guess that's what happens to all that pent-up sexual energy! Huh. I wouldn't be into her as a girlfriend, but I think this is okay. Seeing how awesome it is for her is interesting and kind of cool. Is that wrong? I hope not.
We ended up going out once more, having an awkward we-feel-differently-about-each-other conversation, and then I spent the rest of the tea dances avoiding her with my new girlfriend.
She snuck up on me and grabbed my side (high, up by my breasts) at one dance a year or two later. I chased her down in the parking lot and told off, telling her that touching me without warning was scary and not acceptable.
We still run into each other at Pride, sometimes. It's a little...weird.
In conclusion, do not get into a truck with someone you don't know well and allow them to drive you out into the country. Do not ignore that nagging voice in your head that tells you that something is not quite right. And if you are going to bring someone back to your room, have an exit strategy that is better and sooner than your MRI the next morning.
Unpacking is especially fun when you have feline assistance.
I found a spool of thread behind the bookcase. How might that have gotten there? Might it be the same cat that sneakily devoured all the dental treats that I got in my dentistry goodie bag?
 |
| OM NOM NOM |
In the spirit of gleeful frolicking (heh), I have a cautionary summertime tale for you:
During my senior year of college, I attended a series of tea dances.
Tea dances?
Yes.
These tea dances were mid-afternoon Sunday affairs, hosted by a local queer event-organizing group on a monthly basis.
I noticed a flyer for one such tea dance on a community board at Smith, and fairly dragged Bryce along with me. A community queer event! Possibly there would be older butch dykes (mmmm, yes please)! Ladies we would never awkwardly see in class! We obviously had to attend. Bryce was unconvinced, but humored me.
That first tea dance was an epic affair. The dance was packed with a wide variety of fascinating lesbians. Shortly after arriving, I grabbed Bryce's arm, discreetly indicated a blonde, twinkly-eyed butch, and said,
"I'm going to go try to pick that one up."
Bryce stared at me. I smiled back, walked across the dance floor, and introduced myself.
We danced, made out in a nightclub some weeks later, and then decided to become friends. Hooray!
(Later, I would realize that this moment began my change from a queer, bookish, shy person to a queer, bookish, astonishingly forward reverse cougar. Anyway!)
So, tea dances. I attended every one, intent on romancing the bashful yet absurdly attractive butches who lined the walls of the room. Oh my goodness, there were so many! I was like a small child in the bulk candy section at Wegman's, except all the sweets bins were free and at my height. WHAT.
Two or three dances in, I started to notice this one butch in particular. She was about fifty, and had jet black hair with a few silver streaks. Her arms were lithe and muscular, and she wore her shirts tucked into snug black jeans. She was from another state, and drove an hour or more to get to each dance.
We exchanged e-mails, then agreed to meet up for a breakfast picnic at Smith. The next morning, I brought her a purple flower. I was envisioning a trip to one of the dining halls, followed by a foray down to Paradise Pond. NOPE!
She asked me to get in her truck, and then started driving out into the country. We mostly sat in silence. I asked her some questions, which yielded some short answers. More silence. After about twenty minutes, I asked,
"So, where are we going?"
She turned to look at me, and said,
"I don't know."
Silence.
Um.
After a little while longer, we pulled over by the side of the highway. It was at one of those rural truck stops, you know - the ones with just a pulloff and a picnic table or two.
I jumped out of the truck and sat on a picnic table. She pulled out two packaged McDonald's breakfasts and handed me one. We ate breakfast and talked a little more, maybe. The situation started to seem more normal, maybe a little.
We finished breakfast and held hands. She slid her hand down my shirt. I pulled back and told her to bring me back to school, which she did.
She came back to my room with me, and I made her some tea. We talked some more. We sat on the bed. Then we made out for the next eighteen hours.
I am actually not exaggerating.
Friends, this woman had insane amounts of stamina. There was some handsiness (I think we took our shirts off), but no buck nakedness and no hard-core fucking. We literally kissed and kissed the day and night around. It was fascinating.
At one point, Bryce insistently banged on the door to my room (so, I lived in a first floor room and my front door was adjacent to the house's front door). After the fourth or fifth knocking coupled with, "Alacrity, I know you're in there!", I pulled away from my guest and threw open the door in my jeans and bra.
Bryce said something to the effect of, "Well, fuck you!", and stormed out of the house.
(Later, she explained that she had wanted to commiserate about single life/recent breakups, only to find that I was getting some action. I told her that her response was totally understandable.)
Around dinner time, I insisted that I was hungry. My guest insisted that she wasn't. I briefly escaped from my room, grabbed some cookies in the common room, and ravenously scarfed them. A couple of housemates grinned at me with knowing winks and chuckles (first floor room! yay!).
Finally, at 7 am the next morning, I put my foot down:
"Okay, thanks for coming over. You have to go now. I have to go to the hospital to get an MRI of my neck."
(This was actually true. I was having some weird tingling in my hands and was seeing a neurologist.)
"Oh, that's okay. I can come to the hospital with you."
"No, you can't! You have to go now. I'll talk to you later."
She drove away. I meditated on what the fuck had just happened in the peaceful cacophony of the MRI.
You guys, I am very lucky that this odd situation turned out reasonably okay for me. I had a weird, nearly 24 hour date. It was not exactly bad. It was definitely strange. My thoughts during the marathon makeout session were sort of like:
Oh wow, she is really enjoying this. Like, REALLY enjoying it. She told me she hasn't been on a date in fifteen years. I guess that's what happens to all that pent-up sexual energy! Huh. I wouldn't be into her as a girlfriend, but I think this is okay. Seeing how awesome it is for her is interesting and kind of cool. Is that wrong? I hope not.
We ended up going out once more, having an awkward we-feel-differently-about-each-other conversation, and then I spent the rest of the tea dances avoiding her with my new girlfriend.
She snuck up on me and grabbed my side (high, up by my breasts) at one dance a year or two later. I chased her down in the parking lot and told off, telling her that touching me without warning was scary and not acceptable.
We still run into each other at Pride, sometimes. It's a little...weird.
In conclusion, do not get into a truck with someone you don't know well and allow them to drive you out into the country. Do not ignore that nagging voice in your head that tells you that something is not quite right. And if you are going to bring someone back to your room, have an exit strategy that is better and sooner than your MRI the next morning.
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