For me, stress shows up in my sleep. When I have stress, worry and anxiety in my life my sleep is affected in two ways: I wake up frequently during the night and I have stress dreams. I wake up, check the clock, and then my mind gets busy and I cannot fall back asleep. It's a semi-conscious state - I'm not actively worrying, yet I am not resting deeply. If my mind is present, I usually try to focus on prayers and I pray for as many people and situations as I can think of. At least if I'm tossing and turning, I am doing something productive.
Well, I believe praying is productive use of my time.
The stress dreams are more intriguing. If I am angry at someone or something, my dreams take a violent theme. I witness an accident in which someone gets killed or gravely injured (usually I don't distinguish the difference in the dream). A disaster occurs, like a plane crash. Or, I see a car accident. Occasionally, I perform the violent act, and it's always as an accident (for example, I'm driving the car that hits someone - but I didn't see the person until it's too late).
When it's generalized stress, my dreams are stories of confusion and being lost. I am trying to get somewhere but I'm always making wrong turns, or finding the way blocked. I'm trying to do something, but I am stymied. I am puzzled in the dream, but I keep on going, only to face more challenges. I never reach my goal in the dream.
Either type of dream can be upsetting. When I wake up I am vaguely angry or upset. It takes a few hours to release the feeling.
Earlier this week, my dream was trying to return to my hotel room while visiting my alma mater, Penn State. I have not been to State College in almost 20 years, and I understand it has changed immensely. This was the theme of the dream - everywhere I thought I was going had been changed. I tried taking a detour through a fraternity complex, only to find a precarious gorge had formed in the middle of their courtyard. I had to go back. There were buildings I didn't recognize. The pathways had moved and didn't go where they were supposed to. The old places I hung out were replaced with new buildings and structures. As usual for these dreams, I never made it back to my hotel. I woke up.
There's always a real-life metaphor for these dreams. The confusion journey dreams are addressing my anxiety about our upcoming trip to Japan. I am nervous about the trip. I only know a very little Japanese and I can't read Kanji. Being out of my element is very scary...of course, that is the very reason I'm going. The experience will help me grow. Growth doesn't obliterate my fears; nevertheless, I will do it anyway.
In last night's dream, I found myself the owner of a large barn (on the property of a new house my husband and I bought). The barn was partially finished as a house, and it was full of stuff. Some of the stuff was nice, like brand new beautiful baby and children's clothes, new and used craft supplies, household items, furniture, and lots of TVs. Much of the stuff was worthless used merchandise. It was like an estate sale; it was all mine. My husband was no where to be found in the dream.
As I was surveying this stuff and trying to figure out how to organize all of it, people came and started wandering around the piles of things. They thought it was a yard sale, but nothing had been advertised or set up. Some decided they could take items; after all, I wasn't using them, I wouldn't miss them, and nothing was priced, no cashier. I confronted them, approaching them and yelling. "Why are you stealing from me?" I demanded of several people. "What are you doing? Are you taking something that is not yours? That's really not a Christian thing to do," I reprimanded another woman who tried to slip a new, fully packaged nightgown under her arm. (I remember thinking in the dream that I don't know if she's Christian, so maybe I shouldn't say that...)
I know where the yelling came from. It was a replay of an event at work yesterday. I actually yelled at the family member of a patient! I kicked her off the unit.
Whoa. Out of character for meek li'l ole me.
The situation was getting ugly. The woman was having a loud argument with someone on the phone using extremely foul language. First, I shut the door to the patient's room. She was so loud you could hear her down the hall even with the door shut.
I stormed in and told her forcefully and clearly how inappropriate her behavior was. No one needs to hear language like that; this is a hospital. I want you to act like an adult or take it out of here. She left. She didn't argue with me, although she pointed out that I didn't know what was going on. That's true, I said, but I do know that her behavior here was inappropriate.
Holy crap. I've never been that assertive before in my whole life. It was difficult, scary, stressful, and yet it was the right thing to do. No one else was around to take a stand, I just did it.
Doing something out of character like that is stressful. It was a tough day all around; hence the stress dream. Hence the fact that I woke up at 0500 am. Hence I'm posting (and trying to exorcise the demon) so early on a Saturday morning.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
School Days
This morning I work up very early but stayed in bed, trying to go back to sleep. I thought about what I should write about on this blog. My last few posts have been rather uninteresting and I thought about the first few months when I had stories I was eager to tell. My mind was flooded with ideas I should write about. They have since slipped my mind, and I wonder where my inspiration went. This morning I had a good idea, and here it is.
When you're a kid you never think you'll forget the teachers you had in school. Now, I don't remember all of them, but before they all leave my brain, here is a brief remembrance of my teachers and my early school years.
Preschool: Miss Mary, who taught preschool out of her house in our neighborhood. Her house backed up on Crystal Lake, and one of the fun activities during preschool was fishing in the back yard to catch sunnies using blue cheese for bait.
Kindergarten: Mrs. Dahlquist in Heights School in Oakland NJ. She was near the end of her teaching career when she was my teacher. I remember her as being a grandmotherly figure, and I generally liked her. I remember feeling very safe in her class. She maintained pretty good discipline. I got in trouble once (at least once, shall I say), playing with my friends when I was supposed to be quieting down for class. I had to stand out recess that day.
First Grade: Miss Bird, also in Heights School. She was young, probably a new graduate or one or two years out. She wore those mod '70s mini dresses in double knit polyester in bright colors, and she wore pant suits. She had reddish brown hair in a bouffant-like flip (much like "Nikki Blonski" character in Hairspray, the movie). She was kind of plump. I enjoyed her class, but it went too slow for me. My best friend Ellen and I cut up a bit because we were bored. By the end of the year Ellen and I got scared that we'd be held back, so we shaped up.
Second Grade: Mrs. Serio, in Lincoln School in Wyckoff, NJ. I was the new kid that year since we'd moved the summer between first and second grade. The other new kid was Judy Seaver. We sort of became friends. This new school was weird. It didn't have a cafeteria! We had to bring our lunch every day! You could buy milk and ice cream bars, though.
Third Grade: Mrs. Christie. She was known to run the classroom with an iron hand. I was scared of her at first, but learned to appreciate her over time. She was very thin and wore a neat teased hairstyle. She strove to teach us impeccable handwriting and would not tolerate our small fingers touching the exposed wood near the point of the pencil. "Fingers off the wood!" she'd exclaim. She also made us sit up straight when writing, not hunch over our work.
Mid year we "earned" our pens when our cursive script was neat enough not to have to be erased as much. I don't think I was the first to earn one in class, but I did get the first black pen (everyone else had blue). It was a badge of honor for me! Several years after she was my teacher, she became good friends with my mother, who had been elected to the school board in town. Reflecting on her now, I suspect she was a very intelligent lady. As I child, I naturally didn't appreciate that quality.
Mrs. Christie had a bulletin board in the classroom in which we all chose jobs around the classroom for a week. Some of the jobs that come to mind were "plants," watering the plants in the classroom, "erasers," clapping out the blackboard erasers, "messenger," run notes to the office or elsewhere for the teacher, "flag," lead the pledge of allegiance every morning and choose the patriotic song to sing from our repertoire, and "chairs," make sure all the chairs were put upside down on the desks at the end of the day. Certain jobs were coveted among the kids, especially messenger. Personally, I enjoyed doing plants; I was afraid I'd get lost in the school if I were messenger. Mrs. Christie set up her plants such that the pot sat in a deep saucer of water. These saucers were to be kept filled. I don't know how those plants survived, but they did.
Fourth Grade: Mrs. Orr, still in Lincoln School. I was delighted to have her because she had a reputation among the students for being nice. And she was super nice. Spelling was a big topic for fourth grade. In her class, I had a huge crush on Jimmy, an outgoing, ever-smiling kid with white-blond hair. It was not reciprocated. I think another little boy in my class, Steven, had a crush on me. He was a "bad boy" though and I never knew how to relate to him; so I concluded that I just didn't like him. Another milestone this year was wearing a retainer for my teeth. Braces came at the end of the year. Mrs. Orr had a retainer too, and she helped me feel not so bad about having to wear it.
Fourth grade we all learned how to play the recorder.
Fifth Grade: Mrs. Nally. I don't remember much about 5th grade. A few snapshots come to mind: two girls that alternated between being my friends and being my enemies: Gina and Rosalee. Gina was all hot and popular because her family knew the family of Ace Frehley of the band Kiss and she'd always talk about "so totally normal" he was in real person. That impressed us. She also developed breasts early. The boys were interested, and that whole dimension came into existence. Fifth grade is when we all learned about menstruation and adolescence.
I believe this is the year I started playing clarinet. I really wish I could remember the music teachers names! There were a total of four music instructors at the school. One guy did woodwinds. Another did brass and percussion. A third taught strings. The fourth one, the only woman, did the basic music teaching - singing and basic music concepts (which everyone had to take). Instrumental music was optional.
Sixth Grade: Alas, this is the first one I can't remember! Mrs. Stonebridge or something like that. She was an older woman, probably in her late 40s to early 50s. with salt-and-pepper hair in a stylish wave. I liked her well enough. A milestone I remember from this year was that this was the first year I made it through an entire school year without crying at school. Such things are important to the school age child!
Other topics in elementary school:
I enjoyed art class and instrumental music in school. I did not like physical education. I was shy and came from a reserved household in which girls weren't supposed to like gym or exercise.
One gym teacher I remember was Mr. Rydell. He was a good guy - he had an odd way of pointing at you using two fingers - the index finger and the pinky finger. Every year we had Field Days and the whole school was divided up into red and blue teams. Mr. Rydell was heavily involved in these activities.
My elementary school years were 1970-1978. It seemed like an entire lifetime when I lived through it. Now, 8 years go by in a whoosh.
My Elementary School Teachers
When you're a kid you never think you'll forget the teachers you had in school. Now, I don't remember all of them, but before they all leave my brain, here is a brief remembrance of my teachers and my early school years.
Preschool: Miss Mary, who taught preschool out of her house in our neighborhood. Her house backed up on Crystal Lake, and one of the fun activities during preschool was fishing in the back yard to catch sunnies using blue cheese for bait.
Kindergarten: Mrs. Dahlquist in Heights School in Oakland NJ. She was near the end of her teaching career when she was my teacher. I remember her as being a grandmotherly figure, and I generally liked her. I remember feeling very safe in her class. She maintained pretty good discipline. I got in trouble once (at least once, shall I say), playing with my friends when I was supposed to be quieting down for class. I had to stand out recess that day.
First Grade: Miss Bird, also in Heights School. She was young, probably a new graduate or one or two years out. She wore those mod '70s mini dresses in double knit polyester in bright colors, and she wore pant suits. She had reddish brown hair in a bouffant-like flip (much like "Nikki Blonski" character in Hairspray, the movie). She was kind of plump. I enjoyed her class, but it went too slow for me. My best friend Ellen and I cut up a bit because we were bored. By the end of the year Ellen and I got scared that we'd be held back, so we shaped up.
Second Grade: Mrs. Serio, in Lincoln School in Wyckoff, NJ. I was the new kid that year since we'd moved the summer between first and second grade. The other new kid was Judy Seaver. We sort of became friends. This new school was weird. It didn't have a cafeteria! We had to bring our lunch every day! You could buy milk and ice cream bars, though.
Third Grade: Mrs. Christie. She was known to run the classroom with an iron hand. I was scared of her at first, but learned to appreciate her over time. She was very thin and wore a neat teased hairstyle. She strove to teach us impeccable handwriting and would not tolerate our small fingers touching the exposed wood near the point of the pencil. "Fingers off the wood!" she'd exclaim. She also made us sit up straight when writing, not hunch over our work.
Mid year we "earned" our pens when our cursive script was neat enough not to have to be erased as much. I don't think I was the first to earn one in class, but I did get the first black pen (everyone else had blue). It was a badge of honor for me! Several years after she was my teacher, she became good friends with my mother, who had been elected to the school board in town. Reflecting on her now, I suspect she was a very intelligent lady. As I child, I naturally didn't appreciate that quality.
Mrs. Christie had a bulletin board in the classroom in which we all chose jobs around the classroom for a week. Some of the jobs that come to mind were "plants," watering the plants in the classroom, "erasers," clapping out the blackboard erasers, "messenger," run notes to the office or elsewhere for the teacher, "flag," lead the pledge of allegiance every morning and choose the patriotic song to sing from our repertoire, and "chairs," make sure all the chairs were put upside down on the desks at the end of the day. Certain jobs were coveted among the kids, especially messenger. Personally, I enjoyed doing plants; I was afraid I'd get lost in the school if I were messenger. Mrs. Christie set up her plants such that the pot sat in a deep saucer of water. These saucers were to be kept filled. I don't know how those plants survived, but they did.
Fourth Grade: Mrs. Orr, still in Lincoln School. I was delighted to have her because she had a reputation among the students for being nice. And she was super nice. Spelling was a big topic for fourth grade. In her class, I had a huge crush on Jimmy, an outgoing, ever-smiling kid with white-blond hair. It was not reciprocated. I think another little boy in my class, Steven, had a crush on me. He was a "bad boy" though and I never knew how to relate to him; so I concluded that I just didn't like him. Another milestone this year was wearing a retainer for my teeth. Braces came at the end of the year. Mrs. Orr had a retainer too, and she helped me feel not so bad about having to wear it.
Fourth grade we all learned how to play the recorder.
Fifth Grade: Mrs. Nally. I don't remember much about 5th grade. A few snapshots come to mind: two girls that alternated between being my friends and being my enemies: Gina and Rosalee. Gina was all hot and popular because her family knew the family of Ace Frehley of the band Kiss and she'd always talk about "so totally normal" he was in real person. That impressed us. She also developed breasts early. The boys were interested, and that whole dimension came into existence. Fifth grade is when we all learned about menstruation and adolescence.
I believe this is the year I started playing clarinet. I really wish I could remember the music teachers names! There were a total of four music instructors at the school. One guy did woodwinds. Another did brass and percussion. A third taught strings. The fourth one, the only woman, did the basic music teaching - singing and basic music concepts (which everyone had to take). Instrumental music was optional.
Sixth Grade: Alas, this is the first one I can't remember! Mrs. Stonebridge or something like that. She was an older woman, probably in her late 40s to early 50s. with salt-and-pepper hair in a stylish wave. I liked her well enough. A milestone I remember from this year was that this was the first year I made it through an entire school year without crying at school. Such things are important to the school age child!
Other topics in elementary school:
I enjoyed art class and instrumental music in school. I did not like physical education. I was shy and came from a reserved household in which girls weren't supposed to like gym or exercise.
One gym teacher I remember was Mr. Rydell. He was a good guy - he had an odd way of pointing at you using two fingers - the index finger and the pinky finger. Every year we had Field Days and the whole school was divided up into red and blue teams. Mr. Rydell was heavily involved in these activities.
My elementary school years were 1970-1978. It seemed like an entire lifetime when I lived through it. Now, 8 years go by in a whoosh.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Productive
I've had a productive couple of weeks. I've had some time off from work, and I've been working on my projects.
The baby quilt is completely quilted and trimmed. All I need now is the binding. I'm excited about the binding because I'm going to sandwich in some rick rack between the binding and the quilt. It'll make a merry little detail to the back. I hope they don't worry that it's too feminine a quilt - the backing is a cute Beatrix Potter print with characters from her stories. the background of this print is beige, and in certain lights it looks a little pinkish. The front of the quilt is strip pieced in blue, green and brown prints. The dad receiving this baby quilt is definitely a man's man - the kind that would freak out over something pink for his boy.
Might turn him into a fag, donchaknow. Heh, yeah, right.
When I picked out the fabric for this gift, no one knew that it was going to be a boy. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.
I should I post some photos of this quilt. It's cute.
I also finished my first crochet scarf. It's a mesh-like pattern of double crochet with chain stitches, interspersed with long rows of a fun-fur like yarn. This gives it a punch of color (multi-color, actually) and makes it soft and fuzzy. I even put the long fringes on the end, also made of the fur yarn.
I am refreshed and grounded. Ready to get back to work and get back to sewing.
The baby quilt is completely quilted and trimmed. All I need now is the binding. I'm excited about the binding because I'm going to sandwich in some rick rack between the binding and the quilt. It'll make a merry little detail to the back. I hope they don't worry that it's too feminine a quilt - the backing is a cute Beatrix Potter print with characters from her stories. the background of this print is beige, and in certain lights it looks a little pinkish. The front of the quilt is strip pieced in blue, green and brown prints. The dad receiving this baby quilt is definitely a man's man - the kind that would freak out over something pink for his boy.
Might turn him into a fag, donchaknow. Heh, yeah, right.
When I picked out the fabric for this gift, no one knew that it was going to be a boy. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.
I should I post some photos of this quilt. It's cute.
I also finished my first crochet scarf. It's a mesh-like pattern of double crochet with chain stitches, interspersed with long rows of a fun-fur like yarn. This gives it a punch of color (multi-color, actually) and makes it soft and fuzzy. I even put the long fringes on the end, also made of the fur yarn.
I am refreshed and grounded. Ready to get back to work and get back to sewing.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Too Much Work
I am working too much. I have had to go in on many of my days off for training classes and meetings such that I'm in at least 4 days a week. This week it's 5 days, in a row.
I know what you're thinking. "Most people work 5 days, so quit your bitchin'."
You are right, dear reader. Nevertheless, I am tired and feeling a bit overworked. Work is not so much fun - and on Monday, I walked on the unit (barely on time) to find out I was surprise precepting (orienting) the new hire. Surprise! I thought I could get away without having to precept him again, because I didn't especially enjoy doing it last time. The last minute change to my plan for the day is stressful to me. Additionally, the new hire guy has this "Robin Williams" kind of schtick he does in an attempt to be funny or likable or to deal with his stress or something. It gets on my nerves after a while.
I am looking forward to the weekend. I have 5 days off in a row; a rare gift. Oh. Wait. Make that 4.5 days off in a row. I have to go in to work on my first day off, Friday, for a meeting. Middle of the afternoon. Yippee.
I just want to sew and quilt and enjoy my beautiful backyard right now. Just a little humble fun.
I know what you're thinking. "Most people work 5 days, so quit your bitchin'."
You are right, dear reader. Nevertheless, I am tired and feeling a bit overworked. Work is not so much fun - and on Monday, I walked on the unit (barely on time) to find out I was surprise precepting (orienting) the new hire. Surprise! I thought I could get away without having to precept him again, because I didn't especially enjoy doing it last time. The last minute change to my plan for the day is stressful to me. Additionally, the new hire guy has this "Robin Williams" kind of schtick he does in an attempt to be funny or likable or to deal with his stress or something. It gets on my nerves after a while.
I am looking forward to the weekend. I have 5 days off in a row; a rare gift. Oh. Wait. Make that 4.5 days off in a row. I have to go in to work on my first day off, Friday, for a meeting. Middle of the afternoon. Yippee.
I just want to sew and quilt and enjoy my beautiful backyard right now. Just a little humble fun.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Fall comes early
It seems like fall has arrived early. The weather has been very pleasant in the midwest with cool mornings and warm days. Sunny and clear. I barely got enough heat from the 3 weeks of hot summer to thaw me out from the winter. Yet, here we go again, back to the darkness and cold.
My garden has been delightful. I have had a great crop of cucumbers and plenty of basil and parsley. The tomatoes are few but delicious. Four fat eggplant berries drip voluptuously from their stems. It is almost too late; now is the time to get working on fall crops. I hope to get a few more rows of carrots in, some arugula, and another cabbage. One cabbage is in and it's hanging on after a vicious attack from little green caterpillars. Its partner did not make it - my dog Winnie decided she needed that baby cabbage plant, picked it up (peat pot and all), and carried it across the yard. She tasted it for good measure. It never recovered.
Quilting work has been slow and pensive. I have been interested to work on my "Mom's Quilt" project, a large pieced wall hanging started in September 2001. I remember the exact date because I bought the fabrics over the weekend after the 9/11 attacks. We had gone up to visit Mom and Dad and see a Penn State / University of Virginia football game. Like many public events right after the attacks, the game was cancelled. Instead, we went to Dayton VA and visited a quilt museum and shopped in a quaint Mennonite village. There we found the beautiful fabrics for this wall hanging.
I am terribly remiss in this project. It is 7 years old, after all. I am hand quilting it, and that is why it is taking so long. I got frustrated with marking the quilt for the quilting. The quilting goes along fine. I am so close to done, I really have no excuse not to finish it. Thank goodness I have the motivation to pick it back up. Progress was stalled recently because my dog, Winnie, decided she needed to floss her teeth, and my spool of quilting thread was just the thing.
Detect a theme here? Dogs...
I'm always doing more projects, though. I have more fabric for my "Aunt Millie's Garden" quilt, but I haven't started sewing on it just yet. Much of the prep work is done. Yesterday I bought some yarn for a bulky knitted sweater, thanks to a nice sale at Michael's (an arts and crafts store). It's a nice rust color, in Lion Brand's Thick and Quick wool blend yarn. I haven't made any more blocks for the log cabin bed quilt - I think I have completed around 60 out of the 80 needed. Gettin' there....
My latest whim is learning crochet. It's a little pastime, nothing serious. The look of crochet does not excite me except in certain applications (like edging lace). It's quite easy, so another fun thing to do.
Life goes on. I am neither happy nor sad. I am busy, but I want to be lazy. I want to be home doing my own things. I have indulged this feeling for the summer - if I didn't mention it in a previous post, I decided to quit the singing group after all. It just wasn't fun. More of my time is my time and I am satisfied.
As usual, I dread the coming winter. I need a plan to fight the oncoming depression. More on that later.
My garden has been delightful. I have had a great crop of cucumbers and plenty of basil and parsley. The tomatoes are few but delicious. Four fat eggplant berries drip voluptuously from their stems. It is almost too late; now is the time to get working on fall crops. I hope to get a few more rows of carrots in, some arugula, and another cabbage. One cabbage is in and it's hanging on after a vicious attack from little green caterpillars. Its partner did not make it - my dog Winnie decided she needed that baby cabbage plant, picked it up (peat pot and all), and carried it across the yard. She tasted it for good measure. It never recovered.
Quilting work has been slow and pensive. I have been interested to work on my "Mom's Quilt" project, a large pieced wall hanging started in September 2001. I remember the exact date because I bought the fabrics over the weekend after the 9/11 attacks. We had gone up to visit Mom and Dad and see a Penn State / University of Virginia football game. Like many public events right after the attacks, the game was cancelled. Instead, we went to Dayton VA and visited a quilt museum and shopped in a quaint Mennonite village. There we found the beautiful fabrics for this wall hanging.
I am terribly remiss in this project. It is 7 years old, after all. I am hand quilting it, and that is why it is taking so long. I got frustrated with marking the quilt for the quilting. The quilting goes along fine. I am so close to done, I really have no excuse not to finish it. Thank goodness I have the motivation to pick it back up. Progress was stalled recently because my dog, Winnie, decided she needed to floss her teeth, and my spool of quilting thread was just the thing.
Detect a theme here? Dogs...
I'm always doing more projects, though. I have more fabric for my "Aunt Millie's Garden" quilt, but I haven't started sewing on it just yet. Much of the prep work is done. Yesterday I bought some yarn for a bulky knitted sweater, thanks to a nice sale at Michael's (an arts and crafts store). It's a nice rust color, in Lion Brand's Thick and Quick wool blend yarn. I haven't made any more blocks for the log cabin bed quilt - I think I have completed around 60 out of the 80 needed. Gettin' there....
My latest whim is learning crochet. It's a little pastime, nothing serious. The look of crochet does not excite me except in certain applications (like edging lace). It's quite easy, so another fun thing to do.
Life goes on. I am neither happy nor sad. I am busy, but I want to be lazy. I want to be home doing my own things. I have indulged this feeling for the summer - if I didn't mention it in a previous post, I decided to quit the singing group after all. It just wasn't fun. More of my time is my time and I am satisfied.
As usual, I dread the coming winter. I need a plan to fight the oncoming depression. More on that later.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Fatigue
How can I be tired? I get plenty of rest. I eat well, and I get exercise. Yet today, I am tired. It is my 5th day off in a row so I should be well rested by now.
Last night, I was awakened by a blistering headache. It was about 2:30 AM and I was awake for about 1 hour. At first I tried repositioning. I got up finally and took some Ibuprofen. My muscles felt achy so I tried massaging and stretching my shoulders and hips. Next, I got up and did some gentle yoga stretches on the floor next to my bed. I could not believe how sore and tight I felt. Slowly, the ibuprofen kicked in and I was able to relax and go to sleep again.
I slept in late! Until 8:15! What could have made me so tired?
Yesterday, I got a lot done, including walking the dog, cleaning out the back yard after the new fence had been put in, and mowing the lawn. I called it quits before running the weed-whacker and using the blower to clean off debris from the driveway and sidewalks. In the afternoon I completed a number of errands and shopping. Complete the day by cooking dinner and doing a few chores after dinner.
Sounds like a busy day to me. You'd think 8 hours of sleep would be enough. Guess not.
Last weekend, a friend from the east coast came to visit for a few days. We had a grand time - busy with sight-seeing and visiting. No chores done so I have to catch up on them on the days following.
When I feel so tired, I get concerned. I wonder if it's something monumental in my health. A nighttime throbbing headache makes me fear that it's a burst aneurysm, and now I await the loss of consciousness. Should I wake my husband, so I have some hope of being saved from my brain bleed?
Eh, it's probably just a headache.
The fatigue makes me wonder if something silent is lurking within - ovarian cancer? Pancreatic cancer? Brain tumor? Worse yet, old age?
Logic usually saves me from my fear. Where logic fails, faith kicks in - well if it's my time, so be it. I'd rather go than be prolonged in a semi conscious state.
Last night, I was awakened by a blistering headache. It was about 2:30 AM and I was awake for about 1 hour. At first I tried repositioning. I got up finally and took some Ibuprofen. My muscles felt achy so I tried massaging and stretching my shoulders and hips. Next, I got up and did some gentle yoga stretches on the floor next to my bed. I could not believe how sore and tight I felt. Slowly, the ibuprofen kicked in and I was able to relax and go to sleep again.
I slept in late! Until 8:15! What could have made me so tired?
Yesterday, I got a lot done, including walking the dog, cleaning out the back yard after the new fence had been put in, and mowing the lawn. I called it quits before running the weed-whacker and using the blower to clean off debris from the driveway and sidewalks. In the afternoon I completed a number of errands and shopping. Complete the day by cooking dinner and doing a few chores after dinner.
Sounds like a busy day to me. You'd think 8 hours of sleep would be enough. Guess not.
Last weekend, a friend from the east coast came to visit for a few days. We had a grand time - busy with sight-seeing and visiting. No chores done so I have to catch up on them on the days following.
When I feel so tired, I get concerned. I wonder if it's something monumental in my health. A nighttime throbbing headache makes me fear that it's a burst aneurysm, and now I await the loss of consciousness. Should I wake my husband, so I have some hope of being saved from my brain bleed?
Eh, it's probably just a headache.
The fatigue makes me wonder if something silent is lurking within - ovarian cancer? Pancreatic cancer? Brain tumor? Worse yet, old age?
Logic usually saves me from my fear. Where logic fails, faith kicks in - well if it's my time, so be it. I'd rather go than be prolonged in a semi conscious state.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Discipline of Blogging
I want to become a better writer. One of my motivations for creating this blog was to practice writing. Part of the discipline of writing is to write when you may not otherwise feel like writing. So it is today.
I used to write more in my previous jobs - they were technical documents, such as system specifications and design documents. I wrote more email. In nursing school I wrote copiously - papers, care plans, study guides, and other assignments. I never thought I'd miss writing because I used to dislike how much writing I did. Now, I find a do miss it a little.
As a hospital staff nurse, I don't write much at all. I write notes on patients' charts, yes, but that writing is extremely functional, curt, and efficient. There are some creative aspects of the writing - using the fewest words that stuff the most information in. Creativity cannot outweigh functionality and I see the only real purpose of creativity is to demonstrate that I actually thought about what I was writing. This would be creativity in stating the same thing using different words and adding little personal bits that show I was talking about this specific patient. I must not include opinion or speculation and to the best of my ability, I must defend all my actions legally with these words. The words must prove that I followed the hospital's standard of practice in the unlikely event that I will have to defend myself (and the hospital) in court.
I hope I never end up at a deposition. It will be scary, embarrassing, and it could end my nursing career.
The only place I (consciously) indulge in opinion in my notes is when I write discharge notes. I want to write all my notes in the computerized charting system, yet one part of our nursing documentation remains on paper. It is called the "Interdisciplinary Plan of Care," or IPOC. Supposedly, all disciplines within the hospital are supposed to consult this thing and document on it. In reality it's a piece of paper there for the regulatory boards benefit and for the pleasure of the executives of the hospital. Nurses fill out this paper on admission, and it is here that we are to document every time we teach something to a patient. Thus, when we go over the patient's discharge instructions, we are "teaching," and we document it on that sheet.
As a result, I have to write two notes on discharge: one on the electronic record, one on the paper IPOC. I resent having to write on the paper. In the electronic record note I usually write something like this:
It's a moot point, because who the hell reads my charts and my notes after discharge? No one.
But maybe one day, if I am unlucky, someone will read it. On that day it will give me personal satisfaction and hopefully not impact the deposition.
On a related topic, I was recently reading Oprah's magazine, and in it there was an article about Ben Affleck's recommended books. He recommends Strunk and White's "The Elements of Style." I haven't looked at that book in ages. I think I should look it over again. I feel rusty and out of practice. I certainly don't think Ben Affleck has the answers to life's questions...his article merely reminded me what a good resource it is. Who couldn't use a little reminding not to write too much?
I used to write more in my previous jobs - they were technical documents, such as system specifications and design documents. I wrote more email. In nursing school I wrote copiously - papers, care plans, study guides, and other assignments. I never thought I'd miss writing because I used to dislike how much writing I did. Now, I find a do miss it a little.
As a hospital staff nurse, I don't write much at all. I write notes on patients' charts, yes, but that writing is extremely functional, curt, and efficient. There are some creative aspects of the writing - using the fewest words that stuff the most information in. Creativity cannot outweigh functionality and I see the only real purpose of creativity is to demonstrate that I actually thought about what I was writing. This would be creativity in stating the same thing using different words and adding little personal bits that show I was talking about this specific patient. I must not include opinion or speculation and to the best of my ability, I must defend all my actions legally with these words. The words must prove that I followed the hospital's standard of practice in the unlikely event that I will have to defend myself (and the hospital) in court.
I hope I never end up at a deposition. It will be scary, embarrassing, and it could end my nursing career.
The only place I (consciously) indulge in opinion in my notes is when I write discharge notes. I want to write all my notes in the computerized charting system, yet one part of our nursing documentation remains on paper. It is called the "Interdisciplinary Plan of Care," or IPOC. Supposedly, all disciplines within the hospital are supposed to consult this thing and document on it. In reality it's a piece of paper there for the regulatory boards benefit and for the pleasure of the executives of the hospital. Nurses fill out this paper on admission, and it is here that we are to document every time we teach something to a patient. Thus, when we go over the patient's discharge instructions, we are "teaching," and we document it on that sheet.
As a result, I have to write two notes on discharge: one on the electronic record, one on the paper IPOC. I resent having to write on the paper. In the electronic record note I usually write something like this:
Patient discharge teaching completed. See IPOC for details on individualized teaching topics.This is my way of saying "I did the teaching, but nyah, nyah, you have to go look at the paper chart to find out what that teaching was. If I can't document it here conveniently with the rest of my discharge documentation, then I'm not going to make it convenient for you, the reader, to get to it either."
It's a moot point, because who the hell reads my charts and my notes after discharge? No one.
But maybe one day, if I am unlucky, someone will read it. On that day it will give me personal satisfaction and hopefully not impact the deposition.
On a related topic, I was recently reading Oprah's magazine, and in it there was an article about Ben Affleck's recommended books. He recommends Strunk and White's "The Elements of Style." I haven't looked at that book in ages. I think I should look it over again. I feel rusty and out of practice. I certainly don't think Ben Affleck has the answers to life's questions...his article merely reminded me what a good resource it is. Who couldn't use a little reminding not to write too much?
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