Transitions.....

Sitting alone in a car for more than an hour tends to lead to interesting one-sided conversations with myself. (I suppose I could be poetic and call them “reflections”.)These past few weekends I have had the opportunity to spend a good amount of time alone in a car driving back and forth from Eau Claire to Minneapolis to Madison and back around. Generally, I am not really a fan of solo car rides, I tend to get bored and usually end up having a conversation with myself in my head. I would much rather spend my car ride with someone; even if we don’t talk it’s nice to have that companionship. But tonight I thought I’d share my ‘conversation’ and thoughts that were floating through this little brain of mine.

Life really is a series of transitions. I think that I have realized this more and more in the past couple of years as I’ve transitioned into the real world. It seems like the past 10 years or so of my life have been transitions into different stages of life. First it’s going to High School then onto Sawbill (five days after High School graduation) where I began my transition into College. (I am very thankful for Sawbill; it opened my eyes to different people and forced me to choose to live out my faith. It is much harder to be a christian when surrounded by people who are not christians; and who will tell you why they don’t like christians.) Then onto college where friends are made and lots of giggling occurs; and slowly one begins to grow into a young adult. Onto first not getting into Nursing school and then being accepted into a program in a city where I know no one. Next was learning how to cope with transitioning into a new city when most of my support is more than three hours away and learning how to find new supports. Then comes one of the biggies; graduation from college. No longer is one considered a “college student” and now one is expected to “get a job, use that degree and pay your bills”. (I know it sounds bleak, but I won’t lie, I like working and knowing that I can support myself.) Along with having that first “real” professional job, I had to transition into what kind of Nurse I want to be and how I want my nursing practice to be shaped. And learning how to transition into the realization that I made the wrong decision for my first real Nursing job. Then transitioning into the second job in my career; which is proving to be a far better choice!

There are some special transitions that I have loved in the past year and a half; and they include someone special. (Wink, Wink, Nudge, Nudge) Who knew that the transition from “that guy at Melissa’s birthday party” to friends to “maybe we’re more than friends?” to “oh we are definitely more than friends” to learning about loving someone, could be so amazing? I think this has and continues to be the best transition yet in my life. One that everyday grows deeper, better and stronger; even while we were a half a world apart.

When I look over some, the very few transitions I have experienced it makes me wonder about the transitions in my future and the new experiences they will bring. One of my favorite Mark Rothko paintings expresses this concept well ; it all seems to blend together to make a beautiful creation.

Is There a Barber in the House?

So I must apologize for this post, but I must be riding high on the book I am reading (mentioned in my last post). But this is acutally an article which shows how nurses are essential for healthcare and we are an INTEGRAL player in the healthcare team. Sorry it's so long, but I hope you enjoy. (This article was found in the New York Times, for proper "citing")

"Is There a Barber in the House?

By LARRY ZAROFF, M.D. and JONATHAN ZAROFF, M.D.
Published: December 19, 2006

In our culture the hair industry is huge — shampoos, conditioners, coloring, cutting, shaping, styling. For “hair-loss treatment” alone, Google conjures up 749,000 references. Some people undergo surgical procedures, sometimes uncomfortable and expensive, to implant hair.

Total hair loss is often an unfortunate and undesirable complication of the agents used to treat and cure cancer. Yet baldness — the hairless look — can for some represent spirituality and religion, or for others may suggest that they are athletic, smart, cool, reeking of testosterone.

Depending on where you are in your life, what you are doing, your age and sex, baldness is loved or hated — or just accepted. Baldness can be bought and bought off. But it is not a medical treatment, at least not since shaving the head for lice was stopped.

In one patient, however, shaving the head was life saving.

A 50-year-old woman was admitted to the hospital with complaints of severe weakness and difficulty breathing. She had been quite healthy until the afternoon of the admission, with no history of serious illnesses.

The doctors at the university hospital where she became a patient are known for using their brains. They also use their stethoscopes wisely, and observe closely how a patient looks.

On examination this one was sweaty and had pinpoint pupils, and her lungs were wheezy. But unlike physicians of centuries ago, doctors today do not regularly use their noses. (In the 18th century, doctors could make diagnoses of kidney failure, diabetes and liver disease by smelling a patient.) For this woman, the diagnosis remained obscure for the next hour as her breathing got more labored and she became comatose.

A tube was placed in her windpipe and she was attached to a breathing machine. Then an experienced nurse, with good sense and a good sense of smell, came to the rescue. The nurse noted that the patient had a peculiar odor, resembling garlic, most prominently from her hair. The unusual odor raised the suspicion of insecticide poisoning with organophosphates.

The patient was immediately treated with atropine and 2-PAM to reverse the effects of the poison, while blood was sent to the lab to verify the diagnosis. Each time she received the medications she woke and improved, but then lapsed back into a coma with increasing lung problems. Her skin was washed and her hair was shampooed several times with no lasting improvement.

Since the primary contamination seemed to be in her hair, her head was shaved. After that she improved rapidly, her medicines were tapered and she regained consciousness. Soon she was able to breathe on her own.

The lab reports verified that the nurse had been correct. The patient had been poisoned with an organophosphate insecticide. Now her doctors wondered, How did her hair become impregnated with insecticide in quantities to bring her to the brink of death? This was no casual exposure. She denied a suicide attempt — swallowing would have been more direct. Nor could it have been attempted murder — there are easier ways to administer poisons more covertly.

The answer came from the patient when she fully awakened. She remembered exactly what she had done before becoming ill: her usual activities, except that she had gotten her hair shampooed by a neighbor.

The neighbor, when contacted, was willing to bring in the shampoo. Chagrined, she showed up shortly, bringing two containers. One held shampoo. The other, a similar jug, contained an organophosphate insecticide. Both receptacles were the same size, the labels old and blurred.

I must have used the wrong one, she said, when told that her friend was just recovering from insecticide poisoning...

...In this case, the patient recovered well, after the correct diagnosis by a nurse with a sensitive nose, proper treatment with drugs and the elimination of the insecticide by balding."

Thanks to nurses.....

Here is an interesting story and excerpt from the book I am reading; “Nursing Against the Odds” by Suzanne Gordon. I found this interesting bit of history about the renowned Mayo Clinic and St. Mary’s Hospital in Rochester, MN. (As a little background, back in the 19th and early 20th century nuns usually were trained in nursing and were nurses themselves.)

“If you click on history, the website tells you that Dr. William Worrell Mayo joined the Sisters of Francis in building the Saint Mary’s hospital, from which the Mayo Clinic grew. What this description leaves out, Sioban Nelson tells us, is the story behind the official history. As the website informs us, the Saint Mary’s Hospital was built after a great tornado practically flattened the city in 1883. The nuns took the injured to the Academy of the Lady of Lourdes, their motherhouse. Recognizing the need for a hospital, they went for help to the physician William Wordell Mayo, Charlie and Will’s father. What the website leaves out is that he insisted that the city could not support a hospital. The nuns persisted, raising the money, built the building and got the St. Mary’s hospital going. When Dr. Mayo had nothing to do but walk through the doors, he agreed to work with the sisters of St. Francis who ran the hospital. As Nelson explains “It took the sisters four years to raise the money for the hospital for which the Mayo’s made their own! Doctors sought the advise of the outstanding surgical nurse, Sister Fabian. For years the Mayo’s would not operate without her, but this is unknown outside the community”... The Mayo clinic has become an almost Lourdes-like shrine to doctors’ dominance and to faith in the power of heroic medicine, with nursing practically invisible to it’s reputation... When I went to Rochester several years ago, the cab driver ferrying me in from the airport boasted, “We’ve got the Mayo clinic
here in Rochester. It’s the best hospital with the best doctors and the best medicine.”

“And what about the best nursing?” I asked.”

I hope this helps you to understand the importance of nurses in the healthcare field. If you get a chance, pick up this book; better yet, I’ll lend it to you! :)