Nurses and their patients vs. doctors

Today, I had a patient who was trending downward, oxygen saturation in her blood plasma way lower than the ideal percentage of >90%. I called the doctor repeatedly, indicating my concern for her work of breathing, for her downward spiral, for her fatigue and stress, for the coarse crackles, and later, gurgling, in her lungs.

Without placing a stethoscope on her, he determined that she had atelectasis, gas and liquids in her peritoneal cavity, as a result of surgery, a benign finding, not her lungs. He ordered, at my request, a chest xray.

Well, low and behold, she had fluid on her lungs. Well, we diuresed her, we gave her packed red blood cells, which probably contributed to the problem, and I continued to harangue the hell out of the doctor for more orders, more aggressive treatment. Nope.

Finally, the patient was stating that she was exhausted, that she felt 'like you're going to lose me...' I reassured her, told her we would never let that happen, and unleashed my concern on the doc.

Stat chest xray... Hmmm, lungs full of liquid. Patient spiraling downward. Re-intubation and transfer to ICU.

Could we not have just avoided this by listening to the critical care nurse at bedside for 6+ hours? By being proactive instead of obstructionistic?

No, I guess not... I don't have an MD after my name...

My Husband's Cat

I hate my husband's cat. I picked her out, brought her from Montana, made her feel welcome, raised her from a tiny shirt pocket baby, but she bonded to him like bubble gum on a men's room floor. She apparently felt that in bonding to him, she had to hate me, openly harass and yowl on my days to sleep in, and relieve herself on my possessions.

It wasn't cute when she was little, and, now, eighteen years later, it is even less cute. She has ruined so many things over the years, and I am tired of it. Nothing, short of building her a $250 cat condo complete with litter box, ever controlled it. But, since we moved onto the farm, she is allowed to sleep in the screened room/Florida room/lanai thing.

So, you can imagine how uncute I found it when when used my new exercise sandal as a toilet. No spillage, as you can see. Just a nasty morning surprise for the hated 'other woman' in my husband's life: ME.

My wish for you

May today there be peace within.

May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others.

May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content with yourself just the way you are.

Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

--unknown

Animal noises

Here on the farm, we hear many noises generated by animals and birds. Some are sounds that we have heard thousands of times throughout the years; familiar, comfortable sounds that are easily identifiable. They are conspicuous only if they are absent.

Then, there are the sounds that either sound so weird and unnatural that it makes the skin crawl. Not only unidentifiable, but spooky. Made more so by the foreignness of them. It is one thing to encounter the unknown in a strange environment, but on your own farm, it is downright creepy.

I took to the internet in trying to identify a strange screeching sound echoing up from the deep canyon nearby. I thought it was a hawk's crying screech. George thought he had once heard fox kits crying the same way. I Google's 'fox kit noises', and BAM! a million choices. I chose the more likely ones, and finally found the exact noise we are hearing.

The list of noises was endless, just for the fox. Who knew they have a language that is rich and of wide range? It is interesting to know, also, that zoologists and naturalists have done so much research on this particular subject, and made the recorded noise ours for the listening! I love the digital age for the appreciation and knowledge of our world and the animals we share it with.

Go to: http://www.animalpicturesarchive.com/animal/SOUND/

Then, choose #43, Red Fox-yiff

Enjoy!

Things That Give Us Security

This is Reese, who is upset because Mr. Hanky had to have a bath during a camping trip, and now has to dry. Don't you wish you could just give in to this feeling when, for example, the store you go to is out of Diet Pepsi or your favorite juice???

Value Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

When my kids complained about my decisions, restrictions, or unfairness, which, to their (and my) credit, was only occasional, and never disrespectful, I replied thusly:

"That is why we want you to go to school, get a good education,

get a good job, and make a lot of money.

Then you can afford a really great mother.

I'm just the one you got for free".

Usually, that ended the discussion...

Things I have Done to My Husband (and am not sorry for...)

1. Drew felt-tip marker eye balls on his glasses and put them back in the case.
2. Tied knots in all the fingers of surgical gloves I packed for him for field dressing game in Alaska.
3. When he told me how much he enjoyed finding the differences in the pictures in the comics on Sunday, I made sure I got there first and circled them all for three weeks.
4. Wrote SPOILED backwards on his windshield when he got a new company truck.
5. Put empty beer cans in his cooler under the ice to replace the full ones. I did leave one full; but he had to search through fifteen or more empty ones.

Teachin' the Young'ns

Quaila, a hand raised Rhode Island Red hen, shows her babies, RRI x Araucanas, to dust bathe. Problem was, the spring was wet, so it turned into more of a mud bath lesson.

But still cute as heck...

Quote

Regard it as just as desirable to build a chicken house as to build a cathedral.

---Frank Lloyd Wright

Out of line, again...

Seems that a parent can never get to a place where they don't embarrass their kids...

From being praised for learning to text, I have gone to being vilified for making comments on Facebook. Wow, none of this shit was even a remote thought when I became a mom.

I guess I should not dabble in the business of youth. But, still, I cannot imagine criticizing my mom, dead these past 26 years, for sticking up for me, for expressing interest, for trying to stay involved. Man, if she even knew what I was doing, it would have been epic.

I keep finding ways to touch the perimeters of each grown child's tolerance. It is a strange journey; three humans that mean more to me than life, and I choose the wrong path so often. Is it my blundering, or their intolerance or sensitivity, or both?

Will they, as I do, mourn the criticism I directed at my parents during my youth? Will they ever recognize my limitations of upbringing, culture and technology? Maybe the best approach is the one chosen by my husband, and so many other baby boomer/empty nester/21st century parents: simply don't go there. Don't participate, don't learn the new ways, don't go there.

This parenting thing, the empty nest thing, is hard and confusing and hurtful. Maybe I'll just go eat worms...

Farm Hens Move to Seattle

Google image

So, my eldest kid, a son, got a home in a cute, close, back-to-the past neighborhood. He and his girlfriend live in a vintage home with a big yard within walking distance of shops, restaurants, salons, and grocery stores. So, what is missing? A touch of home; he and his lady wanted farm fresh eggs and the company of chickens...

Okay, I have some year old hens that could provide them with more eggs than they can use. Three Araucana/Rhode Island Red cross hens who lay at least an egg a day, each. Not very socialized, because their mom was super secret about her nest and her nestlings.

So, a couple days ago, I brought them to Seattle, along with tools to build a nice home. Wow, what a project. I gotta say, it is impressive and in keeping with the neighborhood. BUT, what a project, and in 90+ degree F. weather. The sore hands, chicken and chicken-wire scratches, sunburn, and exhaustion would have been enough for me to qualify for the finals in the Mother of the Year awards (what? you don't think our kids compare notes?). But, I got extra points.

See, one of the hens, whom I have dubbed Roamy, for her penchant to roam independently up to a half mile away from our place on the farm, got out of the yard. We searched, we spotted, we tried to corner, we failed. She remained on the lamb.

In one spectacular dive to grab her, my sandal caught on a stump covered with ivy and I went down, knee first, right on a huge pointed rock. Pain, blood, even an exposed bone. Cool. Chicken wrangling at it's best.

So, I patched myself up, worked on the Cluck Majal the rest of the day, and periodically asked passers-by if they had seen a hen. And, lo and behold!, a neighbor came to us and reported her location! I changed into appropriate chicken catching shoes, albeit belatedly, and went in pursuit. With three others, all younger and faster than I.

We caught up with her, trespassed on several properties, tipped over stored bicycles, tried to minimize shrubbery damage. But, finally, in a riotous, shrieking, beating torrent of wings of fury and claws (the hen's, not my son's claws and wings...), my son grabbed the escapee midair.

So, tonight, we nurse our wounds and our sunburns, review our day, and count our chickens, literally. Just another day in the life of folks who choose to have animals in their lives...

Cold and wet, then hot, hot, HOT!

Google image

Damn, this year's weather has been crazy. We have had a wetter than ever winter, which when you expect to get rain every day, is saying something. Then, we got deluged this spring, so much so that I had to replant garden plants that drowned and/or got stunted because of nutrients washing away. The temperatures did not allow a healthy take off, either. The wet cold lasted until the Fourth of July, then BAM! the Cosmic Emeril gave us summer weather, with a vengeance.

Today, it is over 85 F, and tomorrow, it will be 99 F. What? We have not seen any sun, and now we get scorched with too much. My poor plants. My poor white legs.

I guess I shouldn't complain. This summer season will probably only be this one week. Seriously, I would not be surprised.

Quote

Invictus

William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

America, the Beautiful. Still.

Happy birthday, America the beautiful. And the beleaguered, and the tested, and the under-appreciated. A dream come true, built on the hopes and prayers and vision of people who had been beleaguered and tested themselves.

America has meant different things to different people. For some, it is home, a safe haven to nestle into while going about the business of living, working and raising a family. For others, it is a place where finally, their family can have enough to eat. For still others, it is a destination to aspire to, worth risk and hardship and pain.

We are a young nation, full of the bravado and invincibility that accompanies youth. We have enjoyed our strength, our beauty, our confidence, our success. We have been willing to work together, fight side by side, and make the sacrifices necessary to assure our nation's continued existence.

But now, a new threat to our homeland has gone from festering beneath the surface to erupting into a painful, open and frightening wound. A man is at the helm who does not value our lifestyle, our past, our sacrifices, our opinions. His is an agenda that mocks what this country was created to represent and who those are who gave everything to see its birth.

Barry Soetoro, aka Barack Obama, the commander in chief of our troops, refuses to salute the troops, observe national holidays, display our flag on the same podium as he appears on, bows to the leaders of other nations, and forbids military jets to be flown in honor of national celebrations, the first president to do so.

I read in our local paper today that the lead up to this 4th of July was the least eventful and celebratory than ever before. I heard on the radio news that many towns and cities have cancelled their fireworks displays due to finances and lack of interest. We should not be surprised by this.

The effect of management attitude and policy in any business reverberates to the lowest employee level. The family reflects the acts and attitude of the parent. The classroom succeeds or fails with the teacher.

We have a selfish, unpatriotic, poorly trained, untested, smug, don't-give-a-damn political knick-knack in the President's office. He is systematically 'dissing' and destroying all that is uniquely American to those of us who know her best.

When my uber-liberal friends and coworkers brayed his qualifications for office, my constant response was 'Based on what?' What act, position, qualification, past effort or success made Barry Soetoro qualified to: a) be president, or b) make the promises he made during the election, or c) be trusted to provide change or hope? Answer: nothing. No thing.

I miss having a president I trust to love this country, and not sell us out to those who would destroy us or make us unrecognizable as a great and rich country. America is not perfect; we have faults and things we should change, absolutely. But we are pretty damn good, and no pretender to the throne has the right to embarrass, shame, ignore, or abuse our America or our Americanness. We don't even put up with that from entertainers. We need to give Barry/Barack the Dixie Chick treatment.

Dressed for Success (in Humor)

My husband goes to Alaska fishing every summer, usually a couple different trips. He and the 'A' team, as he call the favorite combination of friends and relatives (all guys, of course), fish up to sixteen hours per day, interspersing meals and naps with marathon fishing.

As the days pass, the schedule begins wearing on these over-fifty guys, and everything seems hilarious. They even find humor in the cooler being mauled by a bear just feet from their sleeping forms (they were inside a plywood shelter). Often the pranks are elaborate and require not a little effort.

That silliness and exhaustion can be seen in the exchange between my husband George and his friend and guide, Brett. Brett left some rodent-type animal as a joke for George, along with specific instructions for its field dressing; 'no meat loss'. George complied, even stretching the tiny pelt beaver-trapper style and preparing the meat for consumption, dressed with fresh lettuce and condiments.

The time and effort required to careful eviscerate that tiny animal was inconsequential in the face of preparing a really great come back. Ah, Alaska, land of wilderness, wild animals, huge crab and salmon, sturdy people, and, once a year, silly fishermen from the lower 48...

Gun Names

Google image, Lady Die, a Glock 27 .40 caliber semiautomatic

I am a law enforcement certified firearms instructor. I have taught cops and civilians the ins and outs of surviving a shooting incident.

When I was just a civilian handgun owner, I used to carry my concealed firearm when I took my three little kids on bikes to bike paths and parks. I expected, if I ever used the gun, it would be against a large attacking dog, several of which we had bad experiences with before I began to carry.

Later, after becoming an instructor, I advised that women name their handguns. Why?

Because once, at a crowded park and trailhead of a bike path, as I was unloading my kids' bikes, my eldest, a four year old with a high loud clear voice, asked, 'Mommy, did you bring your gun?' See, even my preschoolers knew the benefit of a gun in the face of an attacking dog. But, it was a little uncomfortable. The operative word when carrying concealed is concealed. So. I named my gun Fluffy, a sweet name for a Colt Mark IV Officer's Model .45 ACP with Hydro-Shok hollow points, don't you think?

If one of the kids said, 'Mommy, are we bringing Fluffy?', the listener would imagine some hairy little shotgun-swab dog, not a deadly weapon.

I began advising women and men with small children to name their guns to avoid a similar embarrassing occurrence.

Some of the more creative names:

Sparky

Lady Die

Mary Kay

Pink Lady (no, it was not pink)

Julie (hmmm)

Poppy

Mary Poppins

Artemis (as in the Goddess of the Hunt)

Powder Puff

Daughter is safe; other students might not be

I am in the process of trying to get the standards and procedures for vetting host parents of visiting foreign students. My daughter has been place in a safe place after her ordeal, but I am left wondering how often this type of thing happens and how bad it gets.

I am told that this man, and his family, have been expelled from the host family program, a lucrative sideline they had going on, having hosted 16 former students. Their names are Roger Orezco, 47 years old, wife Mayra Fallas, 49 years old, of Sabanilla de Montes de Oca. Residencial Paso Real2, Casa 5-A, San Jose, Costa Rica.

I will keep you posted., and get pictures of him to post...