Mean Girls pt2…

I returned to General Practice Veterinary Medicine after four months of working  12-14 overnight shifts in Veterinary Emergency care. Time spent in ER was incredible in terms of experience gained and processing death from trauma. I truly miss the doctors and eager vet students I was fortunate to work with. Their love of medicine and the desire to save all God’s creatures from injuries was unprecedented. I realize the privilege to work with this crew and although  BP misplaced me in terms of job title and where I truly needed to be, which inevitably led to my failure-I forgive. Nothing can replace what I saw, did, treated, prayed over, held as the last breath was released, can ever measure up to the experiences gained in working overnight emergency.

20151016_130102 (2)

Fate’s OHE-spay (uterus)

And…

BP will accept me back.

After…20141128_154254-1 (2)

More time spent in GP.

Yes. I miss ER.

But…

My body and emotional mindset is exhausted.

I no longer shed tears at PTS’s (put to sleep). 20141107_103448 (2)

Not in front of clients.

Not in the bathroom.

Not on the train going home.

But…

At night, when I stare at the ceiling at bedtime.

I guess it’s all good in some sick way for I can now concentrate on the owners and offer more support from mi alma which no longer feels.

My blog on transitioning to this career has ended. My thoughts on the continuance in this career  as well as school is now questionable. 20151024_071642 (2)

Because…

The other side of this business is still present and for that matter,  will always be. As long as there are insecure, unstable nurses-the Mean Girls , in this field the drama will thrive.

Don’t want to end up on NY1 so I’ve grown thick skin, a thick heart an emotional void and most importantly the desire to have only working relationship with them.

No, you are not my friend or close confident.

No, I do not need your approval to validate how I do my job.20150417_152313 (2)

No, I will not gossip about other co-workers, maliciously or even constructively with you.

No. No. No.

Accusing me of not cleaning?

Please watch the video.

2016 is in full string and transitions seem to be lining up. I’ve thought about leaving the state in search of Tech Nursing work. My mind is working, talking to others who have relocated and gauging if this is a necessary transition to make.

Time will tell. Actually the Fall will tell.

I’m biting at the bit and I love an adventure.

20141003_124721 (2)

Why not?

Cali, Georgia, one of the Carolina’s. Florida? Virginia, Washington, Seattle?

Who knows.

 

Advertisements

Mi primo is no longer hurting…

My cousin Zarak Mohandas Delattibodier has kidney disease and received dialysis two to three times a week.

He needs a kidney.

A donor was identified and during the beginning stages of gathering donor information, he developed an infection in the mitral valve of his heart.

The infection was resistant to antibiotics.

Zarak also had severe periodontal disease.

The hospital released my cousin after a four-day stay and sent him home with antibiotics for the heart and dental appointments to begin work on the perio. One week later, Zarak had difficulty breathing and went back to the hospital where he lost consciousness and was placed on a ventilator and an iv catheter with major antibiotics.

The infection of the heart was  fungal.

Mi pimo’s body was too weak to fight. He coded numerous times and stabilized with resuscitation but brain damage may have occurred and he could not breathe on his own.

The ‘No Resuscitation’ directive was put in place. Then rescinded by his wife who is separated from him.

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
No anxiety about the kidney donor’s health condition or going through dialysis

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He may pass on in California, where he wanted to live and will receive a military burial

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He’ll join his mom, mi Tía, whom he loved and whose hand he held as she drew her last breath

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He can play his sax and jam with the angels

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He can eat all the beef jerky, fried chicken and fries he desires with Excelsior Cabernet

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He doesn’t have to carry the weight of his family’s dysfunction on his back anymore

I wish the decision could be made to turn off the switch that would enable his alma to be free…

555390_3551178216678_1387397534_n

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling…

It is now two months into my career transition from an Administrative Assistant to that of a Veterinary Technician Assistant.

The transition was subtle and quiet.

My former job was mundane and my interest waned. I arrived at my new job on day two and was tossed into ‘trial by fire’ for on that day the boss had me deal with cat/dog restraints, surgeries, and filling chemo prescriptions. I survived and did not faint or throw up during the surgery.

The cat restraints look like this:

I complained at one time of sitting too much at the former job-now I stand for eight hours a shift. I eat lunch standing, I fill prescriptions standing, I assist with surgery standing…I stand.

I complained at one time of being disturbed during my one hour lunch break. Now, there are no lunch hour breaks, no five-minute break, no eating my bagel before starting the day’s work. No break.

I complained about the mundane repetitive duties. Now, some duties are repetitive but the clients and animals always present a new experience.

I complained about boredom and no room for growth. I now give medical injections and express the bladder of the resident kitty, who cannot do so on her own, as well as walking and cleaning up after dog boarders and medical boarders while simultaneously running the washer and dryer and cleaning up cat litter trays…this stops here.

Am I unhappy with the transition? No. Do I miss my other job? No. Have I thought about my other job? No.

After a shift, I return home pumped with adrenaline from the day’s work and it takes a while for it to dissipate. I do not come home stressed out or angry. I do not go to work stressed out and angry.

My former job:

The sound of work at my current job:

I like my current job.

Little Earthquakes

August 1998

My belongings were stuffed, prodded and cursed into my 1991 Honda Civic Hatchback . Once the goods were loaded, I pushed and prodded my cousin (primo) who had gained considerable weight over the years into the car. Seven years spent in California. Seven years of struggle, frustration, immense joy and gratification with my commercial still life photography business and it took only one year, to realize it was not working. Financially drained and emotionally barren, my career was over. Running back home was not an option, but a necessity. It was time to drive east, back home to NYC.

 Little Earthquakes                                            

September 11, 2001

While en route to work, close to the World Trade Center, I witnessed black smoke coming from Tower One of the Twin Towers and immediately thought, ‘Oh Boy, Con Edison messed up big time.’

Along with many others on the sidewalk, I stopped, watched, made small talk and questioned the scene. Then…

BANG!!!!

The sound of the explosion (which later turned out to be the impact of an airplane hitting Tower Two) was overwhelming.  A bang; followed by silence. Not a bang from a hand hitting a wood table or a fire cracker exploding. The bang not belong in NYC. It was ominous and it pierced my heart. It was reminiscent of a Hollywood action movie where explosives try to obliterate the bad guys-sometimes.

From the bang emerged a fireball, horrific, with vibrant colours of yellow, orange and red. The flames billowed and flowed from the middle section of Tower Two.  It was now 9:20am.  I was late for work but instead of walking towards the job I squatted down to the ground, called my mom, and hyperventilated into my cell as she turned on the TV news for information. Unlike an etch-a-sketch where a gentle turn erases the etching in its sand-like plastic structure, the image of the tower engulfed in flames permanently engraved itself in mi alma (soul).

Little Earthquakes

 

 

 

 

 

July 31, 2009

7:00am appointment-July 31, 2009
Colonoscopy and Endoscopy @ NY Cornell-Weill Presbyterian Hospital with Dr. Crawford

Mom, my mom endured months of anemia, fatigue and going from 136lbs to 120lbs in less than two months without dieting. Although diagnosed as anemic the site of the blood loss was untraceable. Unable to walk up steps and sleeping most of the day, mom gave in to her primary care physician’s suggestion to have a colonoscopy and endoscopy.

The day before the scheduled 31st  appointment began with the “prep”- Miralax and 64 ounces of clear Gatorade, chased down with two Doculax tablets. The combination produced the desired cleansing needed for a clear colon track. Mom’s nickname during the procedure was “Shitty-Bottom”. Washington D.C. has its “Foggy-Bottom and now mom had her “Shitty-Bottom”. The nickname supplied the laughter needed as mom ran from bed to toilet.

The following day, the 31st, we took a cab from Brooklyn into the city. The cab driver maneuvered through the Brooklyn Bridge unto the FDR Drive during early morning rush hour simultaneously driving with one hand while yelling into a cell phone. The colonoscopy day, the following day began with the check in. Mom changed into a blue gown with non-slip padded bottom socks. She joked with the nurses as she lay on the procedure table waiting for the Dr. Crawford who arrived and explained the procedure and risks. Mom signed a release form absolving the hospital of procedure liabilities. The nurses nodded at me, signaling my time to leave the room and I kissed mom. As I went through the doorway, I turned back and was relieved to see mom relaxed and ready. She was 82 years old.

A week later, Dr. Crawford diagnosed mom with colon cancer as I cried hysterically in the consultation room. Uncomfortable, and affected by my reaction, he spoke softly and stated his father died of colon cancer. My crying stopped. Three weeks later I met the oncologist, Dr. Popa, who whispered to me, while mom was distracted and laughing with the medical techs, words that forever changed my life: Stage 4- Sixty percent survival rate.

I was numb, no tears this time but a tremendous surge of strength which shut down all emotional reactions and released a hyper-drive of analytical thought and rational action. Sixty percent was better than fifty. I was determined not to lose my mom that summer. It was internet research time geared towards mom’s survival; time to fight, dig, claw, scream and PRAY to get what needed to be done, done.

Four bags of blood transfusions, meeting with a cardiologist, stress tests, sonograms,  CBC’s, EKG’s, CT’s, family medical history, hot chocolate and beef patties (mom drank the hot chocolate, I ate the beef patties) mom cried only once and it was not due to the cancer but to the five hours confined to a chair receiving the transfusion. Her daily routine of soap operas, napping and futzing around the house were curtailed and she realized normal routines were not normal anymore.

During the initial consultation where the surgical procedure was drawn on paper to help mom understand, Dr. Lee inquired about setting the surgery date. I replied, “next week”, expecting his response to say in a month’s time. He scheduled the procedure for the following week. Dr. Lee performed the laparoscopic colon surgery  on mom and she was fortunate to have this doctor, who along with his colleagues created the particular procedure she would undergo. There was no apprehension towards mom’s age and Dr. Lee talked proudly of his success with the same procedure performed on a patient in their 90’s.

                                                                                 Little Earthquakes

Dr. Popa, Dr. Lee and Dr. Crawford-mom’s cancer team, saved her life and were kind through my aggressive behavior, internet research, and questions on every test, chemo coctail, port procedure, white blood cell count, CBC’s, mom went through. Mom, my mom survived the operation and endured the special diet which followed. She also handled six months of chemo coctails administered through a port inserted into a major vein near the heart, hair loss and weighed 110lbs when it was over.

During mom’s eight-day hospital stay, I did not leave her side but slept on a chair near her bed and hallucinated during the day from sleep deprivation. Some family members assumed limited responsibility towards helping mom through her recovery but the help was at their convenience while others continued onward with their lives buried in self-absorption.

Three years later, Mom, my mom now weighs 140lbs and is in remission and I am finally receiving the much needed help in calming the Little Earthquakes.

Little Earthquakes, while associated with war veterans is also linked to less severe exposure to trauma which may produce similar symptoms in various degrees.

**Mom continues at New York-Presbyterian/Weill Cornell Medical Center in NYC for all her medical needs.

%d bloggers like this: