What's the Deal with Diet?

I don't know if it's the same for everyone out there, but there's something about work that promotes a very, very poor diet. It's not just the cafeteria that serves up "Fried, Fried and More Fried" on the grill. Even without the farce that calls itself a cafeteria, I eat terribly at work. If we order out (which is in itself a significant problem) I order something hideous like pasta with a cream sauce and I'll even order dessert. Never in a million years would I eat like that at home! If a patient or physician brings in a box of doughnuts, I'll grab at least one. Who does that?! What is the deal?!

20/20 for a Bargain

Anybody happen to see the recent piece about Zenni on Fox? ZenniOptical.com is apparently now selling perscription glasses online starting at the crazy price of only $8! By selling directly to the customer, they are able to offer significantly discounted prices. They carry a large selection of frames and many types of lenses.

Pet Peeve #4: "But I'm Her Mother!"

Nurse: "Ma'am, can I have you step out of the hallway, please? You are welcome to wait in the Family Room if you like."
Visitor: "BUT I'M HER MOTHER!"

Nurse: "Can I have everyone step out of the room while we do the epidural, please?"
Visitor: "BUT I'M HER MOTHER!"

Phone Call: "Hello! This is Margaret Browning calling. I'm Doris' mother. Has she had my grandbaby yet?"
Nurse: "I'm sorry Ma'am. I cannot divulge that information to you. I can transfer you to her room if you like."
Phone Call: "BUT I'M HER MOTHER!"

Can any L&D Nurse possibly count how many time she has been thrown this line? Can you possibly imagine how much I don't care? Like being this patient's mother is the key to open all doors... like the patient's vagina is your business... like she didn't get pregnant and move away just to get away from your overbearing personality... like there aren't privacy laws and heavy fines if I were to tell you one single thing!

Can we end this charade?

Where's the Nearest Kolache Place?

I giggled all day over this one, because the scene went on and on and on... They weren't even my patients, but the husband was at the desk constantly. He'd come out of the room with a very loud, worn-out sigh and meander over to the desk to ask his questions. Even after a gentle suggestion of using the callbell, he continued this practice, like he was doing us a favor. (Please pass the emesis basin.)

I swear, I have never had anyone so food oriented in my life! It began first thing in the morning, when he dragged himself out to the desk (I'm talking wearing shorts, revealing his overgrown legs, sandals - shouldn't there be a law against men with bad feet wearing sandals?! - and a huge Dallas Cowboys jersey - clearly he's not one that's ever played the game) and asks where the nearest Kolache or donut place is. We politely direct him down the street.

He returns with his parents (we didn't need introductions - it was him x40 years with an oxygen tank) and an older woman. Each person was larger and less mobile than the previous. He was carrying two large boxes of donuts. Often patients get donuts and drop a box off at the nurses desk. Not this guy! He carried those two boxes into the room (where his wife could not partake) and those four people proceeded to plow through the two boxes like they were nothing. It was repulsion at it's best.

A couple hours later, Studly himself is back at the desk, wondering where the nearest BBQ place is, and if they deliver. Sorry, Dude, I can't help you. I pretended to run to the OR but was really running to the Nurses Lounge to die laughing. Are you kidding me?!

I don't even know if he got his BBQ, all I know is that one hour later Jason's Deli arrived with several bags of food. His wife was in active labor now, but that didn't slow him down! He stuck his head out the door as I was passing, asking about an alarm going off. I peeked my head in. It took all of my professionalism to keep a straight face. The woman was lying in bed, surrounded by her husband and three older adults. Each of them was leaning back, their bellies protruding grotesquely, balancing their plates on top. This brought the plate as close as possible to their mouths with the least amount of effort to shovel in the food. It reminded me of pigs at the trough.

The grandfather had unplugged himself from his oxygen and had taken the liberty to plug himself into the oxygen supply in the wall. Don't even address that - just get out! I turn off the alarm with a short explanation - they're probably not listening anyways - and turn to leave. I am stopped by Grandma, who would like to know if there is a microwave close by so that they can heat up their potatoes: "They brought us a bunch of potatoes as hard as rocks!" Another quick explanation and I run.

Ten minutes later, Jason's Deli is back with two more bags of food. WTF?! Can you believe they ordered "replacement" potatoes because the first ones were too hard. So they finished cooking those and ate them, then ate the second batch.

Shortly after, Mom delivered. Guess what they'd saved her to eat after hours of hard labor? That's right. Nothing. Oink. Oink.

Unbelieveable Research

Almost every day as a Labor and Delivery nurse, we participate in Cord Blood Collection. On a good day, this process is little less than a minor annoyance. On a bad day it's a significant hassle that I would like to hurl out the window. In fact, one of my Pet Peeves is patients and their husbands who come in to deliver a baby and have absolutely no idea what Cord Blood Collection even is. They just shove a box at you. Take responsibility, people! It's your money, your investment and your future!

Although I've honestly never taken the time to sit down and really educate myself with regards to all of the risks, benefits and controversy of Cord Blood Collection and stem cell research, there is always a nagging little question in the back of my head wondering why we often hear of the political resistance to such new discoveries. Is the opposition to the method of stem cell collection and not the use of stem cells themselves? What is the actual issue? If people find Cord Blood Collection controversial, here's and article to knock their socks off!

Taking Control:
Future Therapies for a Host of Serious Diseases
May Be Found in Women's Menstrual Blood

July 07, 2008: 01:28 PM EST

OLDSMAR, Fla., July 7 /PRNewswire-FirstCall/ -- With today’s hectic lifestyle, where most women are juggling careers, family, relationships, and a host of activities, the idea of possibly facing a serious illness in the future is not something that readily comes to mind -- especially when a woman is in the prime of her life. But what most women don’t know, is that the key to treating a number of possibly life-threatening diseases that she, a parent, a sibling or even her children may face in later years, such as osteoporosis, heart disease, stroke, Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease, may be found within her own body -- in vital stem cells, which can now be harvested from her own menstrual blood.

Now, thanks to the revolutionary research and technology of C’elle, a service dedicated to providing women with a safe and easy method of collecting and preserving stem cells found in her menstrual fluid each month, even the busiest woman can take control of her future, right in the privacy of her own home. With C’elle’s non-invasive collection process, menstrual cells are processed and cryo-preserved (stored at a very low temperature) for potential cellular therapies that may be used in the future. These self-renewing cells one day may even be used for sports medicine or cosmeceutical treatments, such as anti-aging therapies.

"C’elle enables and empowers a woman to take control of her future health, and possibly of those genetically closest to her, in a fast, painless and stress free way," said Michelle Kay, Marketing and Sales Manager for C’elle. "We live in exciting times, as science and technology are discovering how extremely valuable menstrual blood stem cells really are, and the enormous treatment potential they represent for future therapies. C’elle’s ongoing research is supporting these promising findings."

For more information about C’elle, please call 1-877-892-3553 or visit www.celle.com.

You can also check out this Celle Client Testimonial for additional information.

Wuv You!

I'll never claim to be a "people person" but I am frequently highly amused by people watching. We get plenty of chances to do this in Labor and Delivery. There is a new line of freak filing by every day, followed by their friends, families, pastors, and people who don't even know their last names - go figure!

Today I was completely amused by Thomas. Thomas was only 2 years old, a big boy for his age and solid as a tree stump. I first met him as he trail his Mom, screaming, down the hallway as she came to check in for early labor. Mom had her hand to her mouth, her eyes were bugged open in horror and not one did she turn to tell the young fellow to be quiet.

I knew the patient a little, so I went over and squatted down beside the screaming boy. "Hey! Where is that noise coming from?!"

He immediately silenced and his stubby little finger shot out, pointing to his big brother, who was standing quietly beside his Mom. "It's Davy!"

"Are you Davy?"

"No! That Davy!" he replied, pointing again at his big brother.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

"Butt Face." He's dead serious.

Mom whirled around the shock in her face intensifying. "I am so sorry! His brothers call him that. Thomas! Don't talk like that! What's wrong with you?!"

For the next couple of hours as we awaiting Mom's sister to come and pick him up, Thomas bounced off the walls, escaped the room, running down the hallway, decided that he now knew how to pee in the toilet like Daddy, explored every drawer in the room and punched big brother in the head a few times. He would have been a terror, but he was so darn cute!

When it came time to go he was waving wildly at me down the hallway. I waved back and called out "Bye-bye!"

"Bye-bye!" he yelled, "wuv you!"

Drugs Keep 'em Quiet

I apparently walked in to work too late this morning. They'd already "drawn names" for the crazy, drug-seeking, crack-whore and I was the lucky one. What that really means is one of two options. Either:

1. Sorry, Sister. You weren't here to defend yourself or
2. You're the only one who is crotchety enough to take this patient on.

Probably a mix of both, but it doesn't set me off well in the morning. It's not a great sign either when I sit down for report and the Nurse starts to laugh instead of giving me report. So I steel myself for the worse and go in to meet the Nut Job.

She is sitting quietly in bed. She turns and smiles sweetly at me as I introduce myself. She responds graciously, introducing herself. And then it starts: "Do you think it's time for my medicine yet? My back is hurting soooooooo bad." Hm. Kind of early for this, but let's play!

"How would you rate your pain in the scale of zero to ten?"

"Oh, it's really, really bad. Like a knife stabbing in my back."

"Ok. How would you rate that pain?"

"My head is kind of hurting too. I have a pretty bad headache. Could I get something for the headache?"

"Sure. How would you rate your back pain and headache?" Is she ever going to answer my freaking question?! It's way too early in the morning for this dance!

"It's so bad it's making me really nauseated. I've been vomiting all night."

I look at her bedside table, completely covered in empty take-out food boxes. Mexican, too. And it's starting to stink.

"Well let's start with this." I clean off her bedside table. "Now what number do you give your pain?"

"It's a 7."

A seven! Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea. At a seven you'd better be squeezing out at least a teardrop. This one's bone dry. "Well that's pretty serious. Being as you are nauseated and vomiting, along with this intense pain, I think we'll hold breakfast until we have things under control." Not so much a bitch move, just a I-don't-want-to-clean-up-vomit move.

The day proceeded. Every hour and a half she was calling out for Morphine. At some point, though (and I'm embaressed to admit it), I just lost my resolve to fight. I mean hey - drugs keep 'em quiet, right?!

Late in the afternoon the patient's Doctor made rounds. She made no secret that she was appauled at the amount of narcotics this patient was receiving and quickly cut her off following an extensive discussion with the patient. It wasn't 10 minutes later that the call bell went off and she was asking for Morphine again.

"I'm sorry, didn't you just have this whole conversation with your Doctor? You no longer have any narcotics ordered. I was under the understanding that this was discussed with you."

"Yes. She said that. But didn't she order anything else?"

Ugh. No. Good try. Better miss.

Two hours later, she's sweating and writhing in bed, bordering on full-blown withdrawl. I look up and the night shift is walking in. Praise the Lord. It's now officially a Night Shift Problem.