Bring Your Own Calculator, in case there was any doubt over that last letter.
You haven't quite experienced fun until you've been told to solve the following problem:
"The doctor orders 1500 ml of D5W q 12 h. The doctor also orders erythromycin 500 mg in 50 ml D5W IVPB to infuse over 30 minutes q 8 h. The stock supply is erythromycin 1 gram vial. The directions say to reconstitute with 4.8 ml of sterile water to yield 5 ml. The drop factor of each IV is 15 gtts/ml.
A) How many ml of erythromycin will you add to the IVPB?
B) Calculate the flow rate of the IVPB in gtts/min.
C) Calculate the flow rate of the main IV in ml/h.
D) How many grams of erythromycin will the patient receive in 24 hours?
*facepalm*
I am eagerly awaiting the time in my education and career when these types of "orders" become second-nature, and do not require every iota of my brain's concentration to deliver the appropriate therapy to a patient. I'm sure that day will come, but today, it seems further away than the year 3000.
And with that, I'm off to find out the answers to all of those questions. I sure hope my calculator doesn't start smoking...
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
TCC
Last Monday, I entered into my second volunteer foray here in Austin with The Care Communities. Two of my friends, Sharon and Jessica, are also volunteering with me; in fact, Sharon was the one who was responsible for finding the ad for the organization on Craigslist. So thanks, Sharon!
TCC, in a nutshell, sounds like something that could be a life-altering experience, to put it mildly. Based out of Austin for the last 19 years, it is an organization of Care Teams (any number of people can be on a team) who are each assigned to a Care Partner. The Care Partner is an Austinite who happens to be living with a terminal illness. Currently, the organization serves primarily the AIDS and cancer community. CTs give a minimum of one hour of time per week to assist their CP in pretty straightforward tasks: cooking meals, mowing the grass, cleaning the house, transport to and from doctors appointments, etc. In most cases, as it is my understanding, the CP is either limited in their ability to do these things, or can not do them at all.
Sharon, Jess and I went for our orientation session last Monday and met with the volunteer coordinator, who described himself as having been a Catholic priest in a former life (which was totally intriguing for Sharon and me, who were both raised Catholic). He was a very even and soft-spoken man; the kind of guy that you'd want to have around when the world seems to be spinning out of control, and you've nothing left to hang on to.
One of the items that we covered in the orientation session seemed sort of silly, but we had to go around in a circle (OK, semi-circle, since it was only the three of us) and explain who we were, where we were from, and why we were interested in TCC.
The self-serving answer for each of us is that this type of volunteer experience looks pretty good on applications to nursing and medical school (Sharon and I are applying to nursing schools soon, and Jess is establishing residency down here to enter medical school). None of us was so brash to say this of course, but we'd all talked about how difficult it was to get a volunteer gig at a local hospital (which would have been our top choice, I think), and this seemed like a good plan B.
I'm reminded of applying to be a docent at AMOA, when it was all about doing andything and everything to get into the UT Art History department. I figured that a stint as a docent would, at most, be another bullet point on my curriculum vitae, or perhaps another good letter of recommendation from someone in the local art community. Someone that could pull some strings, you know.
As is often with volunteering, I find myself thinking some days about how much I, the volunteer, have gotten out of my experience as a docent. Aside from getting to see world-class art up-close, aside from getting to meet and talk to renowned artists, aside from getting plugged in to the Austin art realm, I've also gotten the hugely rewarding experience of being molded by little school kids. I've never really been a huge kid person - they're cute, don't get me wrong, but they've just never grown on me - but I think the museum has greatly changed that. Kids are fresh and creative and uninhibited and truthful and courageous and desperately attention-seeking and approval-desiring. They are sensitive and energetic and colourful little people. They are, I now think, humanity at its best.
So with this new volunteer gig, I find myself wondering how this experience - another vain attempt to get accepted into an academic program - will alter ME. It certainly isn't all about me (far from it, in fact), but I can't help but believe that I will be changed by this.
An honest admission would be for me to put out into the universe that getting involved with TCC scares me to my core. I am afraid that I will clam up when meeting my CP. I am afraid that my personality will not mesh with theirs. I worry that I might not be able to bring some sunshine into their world. I worry that I will feel uncomfortable, and will be weighted down with the gravity of their illness.
I also worry that I will form a relationship with this person that will, inevitably, teach me about myself. I worry that I might grow to love this person as a friend. I worry that I will be challenged, emotionally, when caring unconditionally for another human being. And I worry desperately that I will be horribly, irrevocably crushed when my CP "graduates," as TCC calls it.
One of the other reasons that I wanted to volunteer was to, in plain terms, become comfortable with the idea and process of people dying. When my uncle John passed away this summer, to say that I had a hard time with it would be very tongue-in-cheek. Despite all the promise and hope and glory of what I know waits for me when I "graduate," I'm very much like most other people - really uncomfortable with the notion of dying.
I think that TCC will give me a different glimpse into a process that I feel I will NEED to become comfortable with as a nurse. Perhaps I don't have to be comfortable with it, even, but I do need to be accepting of it being a part of life, ironically.
There's a wonderful video on the TCC website that highlights their volunteer program, and two of the CPs that they serve. The gentleman in the film, who suffers from AIDS, says something along the lines of how he has been able to do a lot more living, and a lot less dying, thanks to TCC.
I can see how there is the potential for a volunteer to feel the same way.
TCC, in a nutshell, sounds like something that could be a life-altering experience, to put it mildly. Based out of Austin for the last 19 years, it is an organization of Care Teams (any number of people can be on a team) who are each assigned to a Care Partner. The Care Partner is an Austinite who happens to be living with a terminal illness. Currently, the organization serves primarily the AIDS and cancer community. CTs give a minimum of one hour of time per week to assist their CP in pretty straightforward tasks: cooking meals, mowing the grass, cleaning the house, transport to and from doctors appointments, etc. In most cases, as it is my understanding, the CP is either limited in their ability to do these things, or can not do them at all.
Sharon, Jess and I went for our orientation session last Monday and met with the volunteer coordinator, who described himself as having been a Catholic priest in a former life (which was totally intriguing for Sharon and me, who were both raised Catholic). He was a very even and soft-spoken man; the kind of guy that you'd want to have around when the world seems to be spinning out of control, and you've nothing left to hang on to.
One of the items that we covered in the orientation session seemed sort of silly, but we had to go around in a circle (OK, semi-circle, since it was only the three of us) and explain who we were, where we were from, and why we were interested in TCC.
The self-serving answer for each of us is that this type of volunteer experience looks pretty good on applications to nursing and medical school (Sharon and I are applying to nursing schools soon, and Jess is establishing residency down here to enter medical school). None of us was so brash to say this of course, but we'd all talked about how difficult it was to get a volunteer gig at a local hospital (which would have been our top choice, I think), and this seemed like a good plan B.
I'm reminded of applying to be a docent at AMOA, when it was all about doing andything and everything to get into the UT Art History department. I figured that a stint as a docent would, at most, be another bullet point on my curriculum vitae, or perhaps another good letter of recommendation from someone in the local art community. Someone that could pull some strings, you know.
As is often with volunteering, I find myself thinking some days about how much I, the volunteer, have gotten out of my experience as a docent. Aside from getting to see world-class art up-close, aside from getting to meet and talk to renowned artists, aside from getting plugged in to the Austin art realm, I've also gotten the hugely rewarding experience of being molded by little school kids. I've never really been a huge kid person - they're cute, don't get me wrong, but they've just never grown on me - but I think the museum has greatly changed that. Kids are fresh and creative and uninhibited and truthful and courageous and desperately attention-seeking and approval-desiring. They are sensitive and energetic and colourful little people. They are, I now think, humanity at its best.
So with this new volunteer gig, I find myself wondering how this experience - another vain attempt to get accepted into an academic program - will alter ME. It certainly isn't all about me (far from it, in fact), but I can't help but believe that I will be changed by this.
An honest admission would be for me to put out into the universe that getting involved with TCC scares me to my core. I am afraid that I will clam up when meeting my CP. I am afraid that my personality will not mesh with theirs. I worry that I might not be able to bring some sunshine into their world. I worry that I will feel uncomfortable, and will be weighted down with the gravity of their illness.
I also worry that I will form a relationship with this person that will, inevitably, teach me about myself. I worry that I might grow to love this person as a friend. I worry that I will be challenged, emotionally, when caring unconditionally for another human being. And I worry desperately that I will be horribly, irrevocably crushed when my CP "graduates," as TCC calls it.
One of the other reasons that I wanted to volunteer was to, in plain terms, become comfortable with the idea and process of people dying. When my uncle John passed away this summer, to say that I had a hard time with it would be very tongue-in-cheek. Despite all the promise and hope and glory of what I know waits for me when I "graduate," I'm very much like most other people - really uncomfortable with the notion of dying.
I think that TCC will give me a different glimpse into a process that I feel I will NEED to become comfortable with as a nurse. Perhaps I don't have to be comfortable with it, even, but I do need to be accepting of it being a part of life, ironically.
There's a wonderful video on the TCC website that highlights their volunteer program, and two of the CPs that they serve. The gentleman in the film, who suffers from AIDS, says something along the lines of how he has been able to do a lot more living, and a lot less dying, thanks to TCC.
I can see how there is the potential for a volunteer to feel the same way.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
C'est La Vie Avec Les Livres...
...or, "That's life, with books," to those non-Frenchies out there.
Against my better judgement, what with the happenings of last semester, I've started researching my required and non-required textbooks for my next round of classes. In my head, I had guesstimated roughly $400 or so for the cost of books and lab manuals, and, suffice it to say that my guesstimating skills, at least in the realm of school books, are not just rusty, but corroded and inept.
Three classes, one lab, and about $700 is what I'm looking at for next semester's books. That's right - not tuition, but books.
I suppose that the upside to all of this is that these books will likely stay with me throughout the remainder of my nursing school adventure, with the exception of maybe my microbiology text. The downside to all of this is that they are hella expensive, in case you missed that point one paragraph ago.
At some point, I would assume that textbooks will all be sold and read online, something which I have mixed feelings about. I love the smell of a book - any book - just about as much as I love the smell of baking cookies or the inside of the Home Depot (trust me - just take a big ol' sniff the next time you go!). I also love highlighting and underlining and making notes to myself on the pages; I love dog-earing and flagging and the literal and mental weightiness of a book. I love looking at a book after I've finshed reading it, and contemplating the wealth that I have gained from its inches of pages...unless it was last summer's Psych book, in which case, well, the wealth was traded for CRAZY!
With online books, all of those things would be lost, but I also have to think that maybe a century (or less) ago, there might have been some dreamy, romantic diarist penning an entry about the greatness of writing with ink on paper. I'm sure there would be some element of disgust if he or she could observe me click-click-clicking out this blog entry. Does change and advancement of technology always equal the loss of some elegant process? I hope not. Maybe one day skimming "pages" on a Kindle will be just as romantic as the thought of Abe Lincoln stretched out on his young belly in front of a fire, flipping through the pages of a book.
On second thought, that doesn't sound romantic at all. Poor Abe was probably freezing his you-know-what off. Maybe I'll take the Kindle and modern conveniences after all.
Against my better judgement, what with the happenings of last semester, I've started researching my required and non-required textbooks for my next round of classes. In my head, I had guesstimated roughly $400 or so for the cost of books and lab manuals, and, suffice it to say that my guesstimating skills, at least in the realm of school books, are not just rusty, but corroded and inept.
Three classes, one lab, and about $700 is what I'm looking at for next semester's books. That's right - not tuition, but books.
I suppose that the upside to all of this is that these books will likely stay with me throughout the remainder of my nursing school adventure, with the exception of maybe my microbiology text. The downside to all of this is that they are hella expensive, in case you missed that point one paragraph ago.
At some point, I would assume that textbooks will all be sold and read online, something which I have mixed feelings about. I love the smell of a book - any book - just about as much as I love the smell of baking cookies or the inside of the Home Depot (trust me - just take a big ol' sniff the next time you go!). I also love highlighting and underlining and making notes to myself on the pages; I love dog-earing and flagging and the literal and mental weightiness of a book. I love looking at a book after I've finshed reading it, and contemplating the wealth that I have gained from its inches of pages...unless it was last summer's Psych book, in which case, well, the wealth was traded for CRAZY!
With online books, all of those things would be lost, but I also have to think that maybe a century (or less) ago, there might have been some dreamy, romantic diarist penning an entry about the greatness of writing with ink on paper. I'm sure there would be some element of disgust if he or she could observe me click-click-clicking out this blog entry. Does change and advancement of technology always equal the loss of some elegant process? I hope not. Maybe one day skimming "pages" on a Kindle will be just as romantic as the thought of Abe Lincoln stretched out on his young belly in front of a fire, flipping through the pages of a book.
On second thought, that doesn't sound romantic at all. Poor Abe was probably freezing his you-know-what off. Maybe I'll take the Kindle and modern conveniences after all.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Whirlwind
After this crazy whirlwind of a semester, I finally have a chance to sit down for a post-semester wrap up. I am quickly coming to realize that writing a blog to chronicle my experiences with nursing school may not have been the best idea. I have a feeling that there will be numerous long stretches of time with nary an entry. After all, there are crazy body parts and their functions to memorize, you know.
I waited to post about the semester until I knew my grade, which was revealed to me yesterday over the glorious world-wide web. The last time my heart was in my throat that much while waiting for a site to load was when I checked my UT art history application status, and we all know how that turned out.
Thankfully, I earned my A in Anatomy. I wouldn't have been shocked with a B, but might have felt a wee twinge of whatever is an eloquent way of saying "ripped off." I worked SO hard for that A. I'm estimating here, but I don't think I am too far off the mark when I say that prior to each test, I must have studied thirty-ish hours, cumulatively. That's not counting any studying and/or homework and reading done prior to test studying. All of this is just to say that I busted my butt (er, buttocks, to be anatomically correct), and reaped my reward. God is good.
I rather enjoyed this past semester, and really enjoyed my professor. She turned out not to be the monster described on RateMyProfessor.com (imgaine that). Instead, she turned out to be the kind of professor who makes her students responsible for their own learning. She is not one to spoon feed, but come to think of it, I'd prefer that my medical professionals not have been spoon-fed through their educations...wouldn't you too?
Anatomy was an endlessly interesting class for me. I've always, always been captivated by the human body, and how it works, how it breaks down, and how, occasionally, it is perfectly capable of repairing itself with little to no medical intervention. Again, God is good. Never once was I bored this semester, and never once did I think that I'd have prefered to be in bed, rather than in the classroom. That last bit might be hyperbole, but more often than not, I was thrilled to be there.
I take my level of interest in the class as sort of a "sign" that this is the path that I've always been intended to go down, and I find that comforting. I can remember one point during the semester, when I was driving to the coffee shop to study (you try memorizing body parts with two hounds in the house), and I very briefly wished I were not going to memorize muscles and nerves, but instead, Old Masters and their chef d'oeuvres. I rationalized, however, and realized that how I feel about studying the body is not completely different than how I felt about studying art. I feel like it's such a priviledge to peer into a microscope, and see all these cells swirled together. Who gets to do that?! Even more, I feel like I'm unlocking a secret when I learn what those cells are doing, and what their "parts" are doing, and isn't it AMAZING that here we are, living and breathing chef d'oeuvres of these cells!
It's akin to standing in front of a Rembrandt, close enough to be able to see the crackling of the pigments. Who gets to do that?! All of the colours are working together to create different colours, to create shadows, to create lines and forms and eventually, a portrait...a realistic representation of a human being; a glimpse into what life was like six hundred years ago. To be able to study that is also a priviledge indeed.
I don't know that studying the body affects my emotions as much as art does, but I also think that it's not a fair comparison. I'm sure that once I begin my clincal rotations and hospital work, I will meet people and see things that art simply can never touch.
Next semester will be exponentially more demanding on me. I'm set to take the rest of my -ologies: Physiology, Pharmacology, and Microbiology. Twelve hours. Please start praying for me now. :)
I'll also be starting a new volunteer venture next semester, with an organization called The Care Communities. TCC assigns a team of volunteers to work with a terminally ill patient, and assist them with tasks such as upkeep of their homes, grocery shopping, trips to doctors, etc. Most of the folks receiving care from TCC are cancer patients, or individuals with AIDS. I'll admit that it scares me a little to work with a terminally ill person, and to create that attachment and bond that will, inevitably, be disrupted one day. However, as a future nurse, I feel like that's something I just need to grow accustomed to. After all, we're ALL going to die one day...these people just happen to know how they will. I am eager to bring some energy and vibrance into someone's life, even if it is through something as mundane as mowing their yard. I'm also excited to potentially be paired with an AIDS patient, as that is something that has been on my mind a lot lately. I'm not 100% sure what options there are for nurses working with the HIV/AIDS community, but I feel a bit of a calling in that direction these days. It's hard to explain, and it might not be where I wind up, but it's something that I feel strongly about right now.
Two of my friends are also going to become TCC volunteers, and we have asked to all be placed on the same team. I am SUPER excited about the opportunity to work with these ladies, as I know that they are positive, compassionate individuals who have much to give. We get training in early January, and will hopefully begin our service soon afterward.
I will still be volunteering with AMOA as well. I can't turn my back on that place! AMOA has been a great place for me to get my art fix, and I have had an
amazing time meeting new people and working with the community in that venue.
So I think that's it for now! Anatomy went well, and I'm looking forward to a successful, yet stressful spring semester. I'll be submitting my application to the ACC program before March, and if I don't get accepted the first time 'round (it is INCREDIBLY competitive!), then I'll likely try to find work in a hospital setting. But cross your fingers that the first time is the charm...I'd rather get going sooner than later!
I waited to post about the semester until I knew my grade, which was revealed to me yesterday over the glorious world-wide web. The last time my heart was in my throat that much while waiting for a site to load was when I checked my UT art history application status, and we all know how that turned out.
Thankfully, I earned my A in Anatomy. I wouldn't have been shocked with a B, but might have felt a wee twinge of whatever is an eloquent way of saying "ripped off." I worked SO hard for that A. I'm estimating here, but I don't think I am too far off the mark when I say that prior to each test, I must have studied thirty-ish hours, cumulatively. That's not counting any studying and/or homework and reading done prior to test studying. All of this is just to say that I busted my butt (er, buttocks, to be anatomically correct), and reaped my reward. God is good.
I rather enjoyed this past semester, and really enjoyed my professor. She turned out not to be the monster described on RateMyProfessor.com (imgaine that). Instead, she turned out to be the kind of professor who makes her students responsible for their own learning. She is not one to spoon feed, but come to think of it, I'd prefer that my medical professionals not have been spoon-fed through their educations...wouldn't you too?
Anatomy was an endlessly interesting class for me. I've always, always been captivated by the human body, and how it works, how it breaks down, and how, occasionally, it is perfectly capable of repairing itself with little to no medical intervention. Again, God is good. Never once was I bored this semester, and never once did I think that I'd have prefered to be in bed, rather than in the classroom. That last bit might be hyperbole, but more often than not, I was thrilled to be there.
I take my level of interest in the class as sort of a "sign" that this is the path that I've always been intended to go down, and I find that comforting. I can remember one point during the semester, when I was driving to the coffee shop to study (you try memorizing body parts with two hounds in the house), and I very briefly wished I were not going to memorize muscles and nerves, but instead, Old Masters and their chef d'oeuvres. I rationalized, however, and realized that how I feel about studying the body is not completely different than how I felt about studying art. I feel like it's such a priviledge to peer into a microscope, and see all these cells swirled together. Who gets to do that?! Even more, I feel like I'm unlocking a secret when I learn what those cells are doing, and what their "parts" are doing, and isn't it AMAZING that here we are, living and breathing chef d'oeuvres of these cells!
It's akin to standing in front of a Rembrandt, close enough to be able to see the crackling of the pigments. Who gets to do that?! All of the colours are working together to create different colours, to create shadows, to create lines and forms and eventually, a portrait...a realistic representation of a human being; a glimpse into what life was like six hundred years ago. To be able to study that is also a priviledge indeed.
I don't know that studying the body affects my emotions as much as art does, but I also think that it's not a fair comparison. I'm sure that once I begin my clincal rotations and hospital work, I will meet people and see things that art simply can never touch.
Next semester will be exponentially more demanding on me. I'm set to take the rest of my -ologies: Physiology, Pharmacology, and Microbiology. Twelve hours. Please start praying for me now. :)
I'll also be starting a new volunteer venture next semester, with an organization called The Care Communities. TCC assigns a team of volunteers to work with a terminally ill patient, and assist them with tasks such as upkeep of their homes, grocery shopping, trips to doctors, etc. Most of the folks receiving care from TCC are cancer patients, or individuals with AIDS. I'll admit that it scares me a little to work with a terminally ill person, and to create that attachment and bond that will, inevitably, be disrupted one day. However, as a future nurse, I feel like that's something I just need to grow accustomed to. After all, we're ALL going to die one day...these people just happen to know how they will. I am eager to bring some energy and vibrance into someone's life, even if it is through something as mundane as mowing their yard. I'm also excited to potentially be paired with an AIDS patient, as that is something that has been on my mind a lot lately. I'm not 100% sure what options there are for nurses working with the HIV/AIDS community, but I feel a bit of a calling in that direction these days. It's hard to explain, and it might not be where I wind up, but it's something that I feel strongly about right now.
Two of my friends are also going to become TCC volunteers, and we have asked to all be placed on the same team. I am SUPER excited about the opportunity to work with these ladies, as I know that they are positive, compassionate individuals who have much to give. We get training in early January, and will hopefully begin our service soon afterward.
I will still be volunteering with AMOA as well. I can't turn my back on that place! AMOA has been a great place for me to get my art fix, and I have had an
amazing time meeting new people and working with the community in that venue.
So I think that's it for now! Anatomy went well, and I'm looking forward to a successful, yet stressful spring semester. I'll be submitting my application to the ACC program before March, and if I don't get accepted the first time 'round (it is INCREDIBLY competitive!), then I'll likely try to find work in a hospital setting. But cross your fingers that the first time is the charm...I'd rather get going sooner than later!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
I had my last lab practical of the semester in Anatomy this morning. I sat at one particular station (for my allotted 90 seconds, of course), and after quickly answering, found myself staring at the model, its Voodoo pins sticking out like needles on a pine branch.
The model was a median section of the head and neck, meaning that it was sliced straight down the middle. On one side, skin, eyes and a nose, mouth and ears...the usual. On the other side, all the good stuff - all the guts, so to speak.
I stared at that model, and after a few seconds, realized that I was able to accurately identify all of the structures on that head model. No longer were these weird, arbitrarily-placed clumps of colour. I do believe that I learned a lot this semester.
Speaking of anatomy models, there seems to be a lucrative market for creating anatomically corect anatomy models. Sounds odd, right? Shouldn't an anatomical model be...ANATOMICALLY CORRECT?! Theoretically, yes. However, without fail, almost every lab this semester, my professor began with a warning to the class to avoid using a certain model due to this-or-that "mistake", or to disregard superfluous structures (on one torso model, that costs a cool $7K, there are three left carotid arteries! [there should only be two on the left, and two on the right - an internal, and external, before they join to become the left and right common carotid arteries...OH THE SHAME!!!...and I thought the weatherman was the only person who could perform so poorly at his job without any ramifications!])
AND IT COSTS SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!
All of this is just to say that if this whole nursing gig doesn't pan out, I know what business I'm going in to!
The model was a median section of the head and neck, meaning that it was sliced straight down the middle. On one side, skin, eyes and a nose, mouth and ears...the usual. On the other side, all the good stuff - all the guts, so to speak.
I stared at that model, and after a few seconds, realized that I was able to accurately identify all of the structures on that head model. No longer were these weird, arbitrarily-placed clumps of colour. I do believe that I learned a lot this semester.
Speaking of anatomy models, there seems to be a lucrative market for creating anatomically corect anatomy models. Sounds odd, right? Shouldn't an anatomical model be...ANATOMICALLY CORRECT?! Theoretically, yes. However, without fail, almost every lab this semester, my professor began with a warning to the class to avoid using a certain model due to this-or-that "mistake", or to disregard superfluous structures (on one torso model, that costs a cool $7K, there are three left carotid arteries! [there should only be two on the left, and two on the right - an internal, and external, before they join to become the left and right common carotid arteries...OH THE SHAME!!!...and I thought the weatherman was the only person who could perform so poorly at his job without any ramifications!])
AND IT COSTS SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!
All of this is just to say that if this whole nursing gig doesn't pan out, I know what business I'm going in to!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Cranium and Shoulders, Patella and Phalanges, Patella and Phalanges...
It's been awhile since I have last posted, thanks to school.
Class so far has been going well. I have finally reached the thankful point, in regard to being forced to drop Physiology. Strangely, this has coincided with preparing for my very first lab practical exam. Funny how that works out, isn't it?
For those of you who might not ever have had the pleasure of participating in an Anatomy lab practical, please allow me to explain it to you:
All of your seats at the workbenches in the lab have been transformed into small torture stations. Each desktop has some device on it, with an innocuous-looking little stick-pin plunged into some part of the device, a small flag with a number waving on the top of the pin. Typically, this pin is gauged into some poor preserved animal, arms and legs splayed on a tray, reeking of formaldehyde, all sense of pride and dignity lost.
The only thing you're allowed to bring to class on lab practical day is a pencil, and a Scantron, if your teacher is one of those multiple-choice types (mine is not). You start off at one station, and have approximately 2-3 minutes at each station. You must "identify the specific structure," "name the specific cell" or "indicate where this specific tissue would be located in the body." Note the use of the word "specific." In an Anatomy lab practical, specificity is the difference between an A and a B. It would be unacceptable to identify the specific tissue as "epithelium." Rather, you must go the full length: "psuedostratified ciliated squamous cell epithelium," thankyouverymuch. It is also unacceptable to say that the little pin is stuck in the "eponychium" (cuticle, to you and me). The correct answer is "eponychium of the NAIL." If eponychium occurs elsewhere on the body, we haven't gotten to that chapter just yet.
As if the pressure of specificity isn't enough, the worst part of a lab practical is when you've been asked to rotate stations, and you find yourself parked in front of a station for 2-3 minutes (which can either feel like an eternity, or a small blip in time, depending), recalling the names of all the structures and organs...except the one that the pin is sticking out from. It's akin to trying to remember someone's name at a party that you've met dozens of times before, and they've already greeted you with a "Hey Jen!" No amount of sweating (from your eccrine or apocrine sudoriferous glands, depending on where you sweat in moments of panic) will unearth their name from your mental recesses. Instead, you give that generic "Hey you!" And as we've learned, generic-ness gets you NOWHERE on an Anatomy lab practical.
There are typically anywhere from 30-40 of these torture stations, and in my opinion, the second worst are those involving a microscope. It never fails that the luddite in front of you jostled the microscope in some way, forcing you to use one of those precious 2 to 3 minutes readjusting the microscope image. Generally, my hands are shaking so badly at that point that getting any sort of image is a bonus - even if it's only a blurry, amorphous blob with no discernable nuclei or organelles. A pox upon your house, student who uses the microscope ahead of me!
No pox that could rain down upon someone's house is worse than an Anatomy lab practical. Afterwards, once the time has concluded, everyone grabs their bookbags and keys, and sort of shuffles out of the door, completely defeated by those little stickpins and tissue slides. It causes many a student to question their study skills, class attendance and participation, and sometimes, future career goals. Bad-mouthing the professor and his or her practical is almost a given following this experience. It's the only way students feel like they can take revenge on the beast that has just conquered them so adeptly.
I have been studying now for three days. My first lab practical is on Monday. We will see who slays the beast this time around.
We started studying the axial skeleton bones during our last class period, and it caused me to have one of those self-indulgent pity parties. I sat over our dining room table later that night, trying to identify these bones in the face and skull from a crappy 2-D lab manual. I felt very overwhelmed. Again, it's not enough to identify the temporal bone. I must identify the temporal bone and all of its parts: the mastoid region, the petrous region (or is that part of the sphenoid bone? or ethmoid bone?), the zygomatic process, etc. In other words, each bone has at minimum, 5 parts to identify. And heaven forbid should we be shown the bone "in situ" during a lab practical. We will instead be shown just that bone, removed from the face or skull...and we will need to note whether it is the left or right bone, and which end is "up" and which is "down." So yes - I was feeling overwhelmed.
I had to remind myself that I am responsible for my own decisions. In other words, I have chosen this career path for myself. My frustrations with all this identifying simply comes with the territory. I don't have it within myself to be the nurse who skated through her pre-requisites, or worse, her nursing school. It will not serve me well in the future, nor will it benefit my patients in any way. Sure, I might not have to identify an ethmoid bone removed from a skull in the "real" nursing world, but wouldn't I feel ashamed if that situation arose, and I couldn't do it? I'm not saying that I need to know everything; what I am saying is that I need to trust that my professors are not feeding me superflous information. They are providing me with the tools that I will need to succeed in the nursing world, and for now, I have to play their game. I have to play THE game. It is the choice I have made for myself.
Instead of wallowing for too long, I went online to eBay and looked at the prices of skull models that I could purchase and use at home to study. Good LORD, those things are expensive! I found one that was about $25, and I will likely purchase it over the weekend.
If it turns out to not really be all that useful, I can always use it as some sort of Anatomy lab practical voodoo device, and plunge into it little stickpins of my own.
Class so far has been going well. I have finally reached the thankful point, in regard to being forced to drop Physiology. Strangely, this has coincided with preparing for my very first lab practical exam. Funny how that works out, isn't it?
For those of you who might not ever have had the pleasure of participating in an Anatomy lab practical, please allow me to explain it to you:
All of your seats at the workbenches in the lab have been transformed into small torture stations. Each desktop has some device on it, with an innocuous-looking little stick-pin plunged into some part of the device, a small flag with a number waving on the top of the pin. Typically, this pin is gauged into some poor preserved animal, arms and legs splayed on a tray, reeking of formaldehyde, all sense of pride and dignity lost.
The only thing you're allowed to bring to class on lab practical day is a pencil, and a Scantron, if your teacher is one of those multiple-choice types (mine is not). You start off at one station, and have approximately 2-3 minutes at each station. You must "identify the specific structure," "name the specific cell" or "indicate where this specific tissue would be located in the body." Note the use of the word "specific." In an Anatomy lab practical, specificity is the difference between an A and a B. It would be unacceptable to identify the specific tissue as "epithelium." Rather, you must go the full length: "psuedostratified ciliated squamous cell epithelium," thankyouverymuch. It is also unacceptable to say that the little pin is stuck in the "eponychium" (cuticle, to you and me). The correct answer is "eponychium of the NAIL." If eponychium occurs elsewhere on the body, we haven't gotten to that chapter just yet.
As if the pressure of specificity isn't enough, the worst part of a lab practical is when you've been asked to rotate stations, and you find yourself parked in front of a station for 2-3 minutes (which can either feel like an eternity, or a small blip in time, depending), recalling the names of all the structures and organs...except the one that the pin is sticking out from. It's akin to trying to remember someone's name at a party that you've met dozens of times before, and they've already greeted you with a "Hey Jen!" No amount of sweating (from your eccrine or apocrine sudoriferous glands, depending on where you sweat in moments of panic) will unearth their name from your mental recesses. Instead, you give that generic "Hey you!" And as we've learned, generic-ness gets you NOWHERE on an Anatomy lab practical.
There are typically anywhere from 30-40 of these torture stations, and in my opinion, the second worst are those involving a microscope. It never fails that the luddite in front of you jostled the microscope in some way, forcing you to use one of those precious 2 to 3 minutes readjusting the microscope image. Generally, my hands are shaking so badly at that point that getting any sort of image is a bonus - even if it's only a blurry, amorphous blob with no discernable nuclei or organelles. A pox upon your house, student who uses the microscope ahead of me!
No pox that could rain down upon someone's house is worse than an Anatomy lab practical. Afterwards, once the time has concluded, everyone grabs their bookbags and keys, and sort of shuffles out of the door, completely defeated by those little stickpins and tissue slides. It causes many a student to question their study skills, class attendance and participation, and sometimes, future career goals. Bad-mouthing the professor and his or her practical is almost a given following this experience. It's the only way students feel like they can take revenge on the beast that has just conquered them so adeptly.
I have been studying now for three days. My first lab practical is on Monday. We will see who slays the beast this time around.
We started studying the axial skeleton bones during our last class period, and it caused me to have one of those self-indulgent pity parties. I sat over our dining room table later that night, trying to identify these bones in the face and skull from a crappy 2-D lab manual. I felt very overwhelmed. Again, it's not enough to identify the temporal bone. I must identify the temporal bone and all of its parts: the mastoid region, the petrous region (or is that part of the sphenoid bone? or ethmoid bone?), the zygomatic process, etc. In other words, each bone has at minimum, 5 parts to identify. And heaven forbid should we be shown the bone "in situ" during a lab practical. We will instead be shown just that bone, removed from the face or skull...and we will need to note whether it is the left or right bone, and which end is "up" and which is "down." So yes - I was feeling overwhelmed.
I had to remind myself that I am responsible for my own decisions. In other words, I have chosen this career path for myself. My frustrations with all this identifying simply comes with the territory. I don't have it within myself to be the nurse who skated through her pre-requisites, or worse, her nursing school. It will not serve me well in the future, nor will it benefit my patients in any way. Sure, I might not have to identify an ethmoid bone removed from a skull in the "real" nursing world, but wouldn't I feel ashamed if that situation arose, and I couldn't do it? I'm not saying that I need to know everything; what I am saying is that I need to trust that my professors are not feeding me superflous information. They are providing me with the tools that I will need to succeed in the nursing world, and for now, I have to play their game. I have to play THE game. It is the choice I have made for myself.
Instead of wallowing for too long, I went online to eBay and looked at the prices of skull models that I could purchase and use at home to study. Good LORD, those things are expensive! I found one that was about $25, and I will likely purchase it over the weekend.
If it turns out to not really be all that useful, I can always use it as some sort of Anatomy lab practical voodoo device, and plunge into it little stickpins of my own.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
RIP
My uncle John died last night.
During a break between my lecture and lab, I checked my phone and saw that I had missed four calls, all from my mom and dad. I panicked, and prepared myself for a voicemail about my grandma. I don't think my heart has ever raced so fast. It was definitely one of those things I had to sit down for.
Instead of grandma, though, it was uncle John...completely out of the blue. I'm not sure what the cause is, but all I know right now is that there was a trip to the hospital via ambulance, and a doctor that just couldn't save him.
To say that I am sad doesn't even hit the tip of the iceberg.
I'm trying to sort out all of these things I am feeling right now. I AM sad. Extremely, deeply sad. Aside from my grandpa passing away when I was in the 5th grade, and my great-grandma shortly after, my life has been blessedly loss-free, as far as my family is concerned. I didn't cry nearly this much when grandpa Ashbrook died, nor granny Boughner, but I think a lot of that was due to my age...or at least that's what I think.
I also feel a little conflicted, because my uncle John and aunt Pat-Pat got divorced. Divorce is a tricky thing that almost always makes one pick sides, and that sucks. I have no idea what was at the root of their divorce, but all I know is that I liked them both equally.
Uncle John was wicked smart and witty. He was quiet and always seemed a bit flushed in the face. He was also very generous - despite the divorce, he would often send gifts for big occasions to my sisters and me.
I also remember a very specific example of his type of humour: it was my first year to participate in my school's spelling bee, and due to a case of extreme nervousness, I struck out on the first round for misspelling "charcoal."
Everyone in the family gave me a hard time about it, I suspect because they knew that, had I not been under extreme duress, I could have spelled "charcoal" quickly and easily.
A couple of weeks after I thought the teasing had subsided, I received a letter in the mail with no return address. I was stoked to get something in the mail (back when I was young, and didn't ever get bills!), so I opened it, only to find a Xeroxed page of the dictionary, with the entry for "charcoal" highlighted. It was from uncle John.
I also can't quit thinking about my cousin Justin, who rode with him in the ambulance. Having to call 911 for any reason is scary. Having to ride in am ambulance is even scarier. Having to return home without your fellow passenger is something that I can't imagine.
I also can't quit thinking about the doctor at the hospital, who must have tried so, SO hard to save him. What is that like, to have to walk out of a room where you've just been so swiftly defeated, and tell someone that you just couldn't save their loved one?
I think that often, people see doctors as gods. Doctors are the people who fix everything on everyone, and put things back in working order. They are the people who make life-saving decisions on the fly; they are the people who prescribe treatments that overcome diseases and infections. They can make the blind see; they can make the deaf hear, and they can take someone with no legs, give him prosthetics, and teach him to walk again. It is easy to understand why doctors are seen as saviours, in some cases.
It must be hard to be a doctor, though, and to not be able to save someone, or fix what's broken. I want to say that it must become easier the more one is exposed to it, but in reality, I just don't see how that can be the case. So aside from thinking of John, Justin and Pat-Pat and John's family (and my OWN family), I am also thinking of that doctor who did everything that he could, and still couldn't fix John. It must be hard to bounce back at work after something like that happens. On some level, it makes me confront the reality that, as a future nurse, I will see doctors fail. I will see bodies fail, and I will see diseases and infections and traumas win. It isn't necessarily something to look forward to, but it is certainly something to consider.
At last update, my cousin had finally fallen asleep, and my aunt is with family, I think. We still don't know why John died. He was young - mid-40s, I think.
Whenever someone dies, I always think to myself, "Now they know what the rest of us don't." It's funny how, as much as I crave knowledge about everything, that final step of knowing is something that I can definitely wait for.
Rest in peace, uncle John. Say hi to Ted Kennedy for me.
During a break between my lecture and lab, I checked my phone and saw that I had missed four calls, all from my mom and dad. I panicked, and prepared myself for a voicemail about my grandma. I don't think my heart has ever raced so fast. It was definitely one of those things I had to sit down for.
Instead of grandma, though, it was uncle John...completely out of the blue. I'm not sure what the cause is, but all I know right now is that there was a trip to the hospital via ambulance, and a doctor that just couldn't save him.
To say that I am sad doesn't even hit the tip of the iceberg.
I'm trying to sort out all of these things I am feeling right now. I AM sad. Extremely, deeply sad. Aside from my grandpa passing away when I was in the 5th grade, and my great-grandma shortly after, my life has been blessedly loss-free, as far as my family is concerned. I didn't cry nearly this much when grandpa Ashbrook died, nor granny Boughner, but I think a lot of that was due to my age...or at least that's what I think.
I also feel a little conflicted, because my uncle John and aunt Pat-Pat got divorced. Divorce is a tricky thing that almost always makes one pick sides, and that sucks. I have no idea what was at the root of their divorce, but all I know is that I liked them both equally.
Uncle John was wicked smart and witty. He was quiet and always seemed a bit flushed in the face. He was also very generous - despite the divorce, he would often send gifts for big occasions to my sisters and me.
I also remember a very specific example of his type of humour: it was my first year to participate in my school's spelling bee, and due to a case of extreme nervousness, I struck out on the first round for misspelling "charcoal."
Everyone in the family gave me a hard time about it, I suspect because they knew that, had I not been under extreme duress, I could have spelled "charcoal" quickly and easily.
A couple of weeks after I thought the teasing had subsided, I received a letter in the mail with no return address. I was stoked to get something in the mail (back when I was young, and didn't ever get bills!), so I opened it, only to find a Xeroxed page of the dictionary, with the entry for "charcoal" highlighted. It was from uncle John.
I also can't quit thinking about my cousin Justin, who rode with him in the ambulance. Having to call 911 for any reason is scary. Having to ride in am ambulance is even scarier. Having to return home without your fellow passenger is something that I can't imagine.
I also can't quit thinking about the doctor at the hospital, who must have tried so, SO hard to save him. What is that like, to have to walk out of a room where you've just been so swiftly defeated, and tell someone that you just couldn't save their loved one?
I think that often, people see doctors as gods. Doctors are the people who fix everything on everyone, and put things back in working order. They are the people who make life-saving decisions on the fly; they are the people who prescribe treatments that overcome diseases and infections. They can make the blind see; they can make the deaf hear, and they can take someone with no legs, give him prosthetics, and teach him to walk again. It is easy to understand why doctors are seen as saviours, in some cases.
It must be hard to be a doctor, though, and to not be able to save someone, or fix what's broken. I want to say that it must become easier the more one is exposed to it, but in reality, I just don't see how that can be the case. So aside from thinking of John, Justin and Pat-Pat and John's family (and my OWN family), I am also thinking of that doctor who did everything that he could, and still couldn't fix John. It must be hard to bounce back at work after something like that happens. On some level, it makes me confront the reality that, as a future nurse, I will see doctors fail. I will see bodies fail, and I will see diseases and infections and traumas win. It isn't necessarily something to look forward to, but it is certainly something to consider.
At last update, my cousin had finally fallen asleep, and my aunt is with family, I think. We still don't know why John died. He was young - mid-40s, I think.
Whenever someone dies, I always think to myself, "Now they know what the rest of us don't." It's funny how, as much as I crave knowledge about everything, that final step of knowing is something that I can definitely wait for.
Rest in peace, uncle John. Say hi to Ted Kennedy for me.
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