By The Way…

The mommy I wrote about the other day?  The one that lost her baby?

I saw her in Target yesterday.

She looked SO familiar to me.  I kept staring and staring, trying to figure out how I knew her.  It hit me like a bolt of lightening.  I had JUST written about her.  I had JUST thought about her!  And here she was, right in front of me.

She had a BEAUTIFUL baby girl with her, about a year old, and tears filled my eyes.  I was so so so very happy for her.

I wanted to go over and give her a hug.  I wanted to ask her if she remembered me.  I wanted to tell her how much she touched my life, and that she mattered.

But I didn’t have the guts.

Life is so crazy sometimes.

The Weekend of Babies

I had a rough weekend.

It was busy, and the ER kept me running.  I hardly had a chance to sit both of my nights.

Whenever I get home from work, I always sit and think about the patients that I’ve scanned, and if any of them stick out to me – someone that might be worth writing about.

This weekend was all about the babies.  And I don’t mean that literally.

One of my more memorable ultrasounds was on a 12 year old girl.  She was in a lot of pain, and they had given her hydrocodone.  She was SO FAR OUT of it, it was almost funny, but she kept trying to chat me up.  She was talking to me about her school, and her friends.  She told me about her parents and her sisters.  I mentioned to her that I didn’t remember what it was like to be 12, but she seemed VERY mature for her age.  She held a conversation, even drugged, better than most of my full-grown patients.  She laughed and told me it was probably from having two older sisters, and growing up a little before her time.  She told me that she’d had a lot of health problems thus far, and she was used to spending a lot of time in the hospital.

The thing that struck me the most about her was the fact that she still cuddled a teddy-bear.  She was sick, and in the hospital, and the bear just made her feel better.  She was a little sad that her mom and dad couldn’t be in the room when we did the exam, but she had her bear.  As grown up and as sweet as she was, she was still just a little girl.
A few hours later, I had another ultrasound – this time on a 13 year old girl.  She was status-post D&C, which kind of freaked me out a little.  Who does a D&C on a 13 year old?  There wasn’t a lot of information in her chart, so I waited to talk to her.  When she rolled up into my room, it scared me how little she was.  But the similarities to the young girl I had scanned earlier were hard to ignore.  She was very eloquent, and very bright.  She told me about how she’d had very heavy periods ever since they first started, and no one could figure out why.  At 12 years old, she was put on depo-provera to try to stop the bleeding, and that made it worse.  She’d been given a D&C a month ago by her ob/gyn to try to curb the bleeding, and had spent the last several weeks hemorrhaging.  She ended up coming in to the hospital because she had started passing out.

We talked for a while before I started the exam.  Because of her age, I automatically assumed I would skip the “internal” portion of the exam.  (Yes, there are some parts of my job that are rather invasive.)  I asked her if she knew what that was, and she said, “Oh yes!  I’ve had many of those before.”  I was shocked, and asked her if she was sexually active.  There are very few contraindications to vaginal or internal ultrasounds, but not being sexually active is one of them.  She blushed and looked at me sheepishly before answering, “Yes.”

My heart fell out of my chest.  Thirteen years old, and sexually active?

Wow.

Blink, blink.

Not that I haven’t seen it before, but this little girl hardly looked a day over ten.  She’s still a BABY!  I wanted to shake her, or hug her, or… I don’t know.  I can’t imagine.  It breaks my heart, and scares me at the same time.

She pulled up her gown so I could scan her belly, and I spied a tattoo and a navel ring.  My blood ran cold.  She told me she ran with a ‘bad crowd.’

Here it is, guys and gals…

I don’t know how to be a great parent.  I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing from day to day.  It makes me crazy, knowing that these girls are smart, and well spoken, and outgoing… and that things can go so wrong.  Bad choices, bad friends, bad directions – all despite how good things could be.

All I can hope is that I do better for my son, for my kids – that some part of what I’m doing will help them make better decisions.  That I will never see a child of mine on a hospital stretcher, dealing with the fallout of poor choices and a bad direction.  I know I derailed this post, but I can’t help it.

I hope, hope, hope that caring, trying, and wanting the best is enough.  I hope that being involved is enough.  I hope.

Get Out While You Can!!

I was at work last night.  I had a really great shift, working with some of my favorite people.

Later on in the night, after nearly all of the ultrasounds had been done, my co-worker (here forward referred to as CW) and I were sitting around chatting a little.  The worklist was down to two patients, both of which were waiting for something or other before they could come for their exams.

Around 9:45, CW looked at the clock and said, “You can go if you like.  There’s not much going on here.”

I smiled, because I LOVE to leave early, but said, “You know, I’ve only got about 10 pages in my book left.  I wont get to finish it if I take it home, so I’m gonna just knock it out.”

CW laughed at me and pulled her book out.  “Great idea!”  We’re reading the same set of novels that I had turned her on to last week.  She loves them as much as I do.  We read quietly for a few minutes, and then one of us would interrupt the other to talk about what we were reading.  I have read all of the books already, and she loves to ask me what I think is gonna happen, or whether or not she needs to worry.  I have a really, really great poker face about stuff like that, and I KNOW she doesn’t really want to know.  So I just smile at her and let her keep reading.  We were both laughing at each other, when CW slid her chair over to the computer terminal to check the worklist and make sure nothing had been added.  I informed her that I had just done that, and we were good.

“Oh yeah?” she asked.

There were six ultrasounds added from the ER.

SIX EXAMS.

Added in less than 10 minutes.

We both said a few choice cuss words, and then called the transporters.  CW said, “They KNEW we were having fun!  That’s what we get for enjoying ourselves at work.”

They starting bringing patients, and we started scanning them.  CW and I can really turn out the patients when we’re together.  We are both used to being the ‘only’ tech, and when we get a chance to work as a team, we really work well.

At 10:45, fifteen minutes after my shift ended, and an hour after CW told me I could leave, she said to me, “Next time I tell you you can leave if you want, you’re gonna get the hell out of here aren’t you?”

“DAMN STRAIGHT!”

Although, in all honesty, I’d rather stay and help her get all of those exams completed.  Because I’d want the same done for me in her position.  And I adore her.

Sweet and Sweet Caffeine

I had a good weekend at work.

Not only because there was a time change that meant my 12 hour shift was actually only 11, and not only because I had a great book that I thoroughly enjoyed, and not even only because I met some great new friends… because I also had the pleasure of meeting some amazing patients.

I scanned a patient this weekend that was sweet as could be, looked to be probably 42 or 43, and enjoyed talking.  I spent probably more time than I should have out in the hallway with her, talking about life and how we perceive it.  We talked about not knowing the true trials other people are going through, and only being concerned with our own.  I told her about Layla Grace, and how it opened my eyes to the difficulties that other people face, and how they can touch our lives if we let them in.  She told me about her children, and her grand children, and her work.  She also told me she was 58, and it blew me away.  She looked AMAZING.  Our conversation really got me thinking.  I really enjoyed meeting her.

I scanned another lady that had had multiple previous exams, and made another snap judgement.  She was overweight, covered in tattoos and I figured she was probably a drug seeker.  Then we started talking.  She asked me about the picture of Ronan on my badge, and we talked about kids.  She told me that she was told she would never be able to have kids, and her little boy is her miracle babe.  We talked about the love of parenting, and how it’s the truest, purest form of love.  We talked about people who don’t want kids, and how we wished we could fully show them how amazing it is to be a parent.  We talked about family size, and infertility, and the joys of pregnancy.  We talked for much longer than the elapsed time of the exam and when she left to go back to the Emergency Department, I was a little sad to see her go.  I told her it was really great to have met her, and I had enjoyed talking to her.  She said the same, and to take good care of my sweet little boy.  I smiled for quite a while after the exchange.

I scanned a sweet old lady that was deaf as a post.  She couldn’t have been more than 60 pounds, and I all but lifted her from the wheelchair to the bed.  She would ask me questions loudly, and, unable to hear the answer, just assume I had said what she wanted.  ”How longs it gonna be?”  ”ABOUT 15 MINUTES,” I told her.  ”Oh okay.”  ”Help me burp,” she asked me.  So I stood there, patting her back while she curled up, trying to burp.  Her ribs protruded out so far, I felt like I was abusing her.  ”I just can’t get it out!” Later on, she’d ask me, “Are we about done?” every two or three minutes during the exam.  When she was all finished, I sat her up and told her we were going to move back to her wheelchair.  She said, “Just let me sit a minute!  They’re going to take me back up right away, right?…” She paused for a moment, then held her arms wide open.  ”…Give me a hug.”  I gave her a hug, and she squeezed me tighter than her frail frame suggested was possible.  She patted me on the back, and said “You’re sweet.  Ok, lets go.”  She was confused and suffering from dementia, but she was sweet as could be.  Her hug made my day.

I also had caffeine.  It really made a huge difference in my night shift.  For the first time, I had just as much energy at 4am as I did at 8pm.  I even danced around when a good song came on.  I don’t know how I’ve lived without it for so long.  I know so many people who have multiple, several caffeinated drinks a night… I was flying off of half a Coke.

Last, but not least, I read an amazing book this weekend.  The whole thing.  I couldn’t put it down.  I’d love to write a review on it, so I’m not going to get into too much depth here.  But it was Tales from the Trips, by John Cave Osborne.  Fantastic read.  One of the best parts of my whole weekend.  More on this later.

So nice to write a positive post about work.

Is it me?

Ok.

So I’ve been blogging for almost 5 years now.  I started out way back in my Xanga days.  It’s something I’ve always done for me, and always felt good about.  I didn’t, until just recently, care about the blogosphere, or making friends or networking.  Blogging has always been a way for me to indulge the writer in me, as well as being able to get things off my chest in the perfect forum.  I don’t think could have ever predicted accurately the drama my blogging would cause.

Let’s look back.

I used to work in an OB/GYN office near my house.  I worked there for over a year, and loved it.  I left, not because I didn’t want to work there any more, but because I was intensely interested in furthering my career and my knowledge of obstetric ultrasound.  A position had opened up in a high risk clinic, and I applied for it.  When I got the position, I was truly sad to be leaving my friends and co-workers.  Several months after I left, I logged into my Xanga and noticed I had several THOUSAND page views that day.  The very same day, one of my ex-co-workers called me and said there was some bad Juju going on at the office.  Evidently, someone had googled either me, or the clinic that I worked in, and found my blog (which was google indexed.)  This person hadn’t been able to keep their mouth shut, and gave the blog address to everyone else in the clinic.  So, instead of working for several days, all of the employees of this clinic spent hours trolling my blog, reading my private inner thoughts, and attempting to find something wrong with what I had done.  At that time, I had written a few blog entries similar to the “Ultrasound Resonates” posts that I write now, with names changed and privacy protected just like always.  I also had written several stories about incidents that had gone on in the clinic, ALL of which showed the clinic in a great light.

My co-worker told me that someone had given my blog to the manger of the office, and that there was going to be a big uproar over it, and I was in big trouble.  Interestingly, I never heard anything about it from anyone else, so it was all a much ado about nothing.  However, some people got all high and mighty and important, and decided to stick their business in my own.  (Yes, I know you did this.  Yes, I think it was shallow, petty and rude.  Yes, I continued to write in spite of it.)

Moving on.

From my OB clinic, I moved on to bigger and better things.  I started working at a high risk obstetrics clinic, and I absolutely loved it.  I also became pregnant within two weeks of starting at the clinic, so my time enjoyed there was overshadowed by my impending child.  First, let me say that I was told on no uncertain terms that none of my co-workers were happy about my pregnancy, having suffered infertility problems themselves, and that they wouldn’t be interested in hearing about my gravidity, so I should keep my mouth shut.  Being young, pregnant and quite excited about it, that was handed over as a slap in the face.  So I attempted to keep my mouth shut, my head down, and just work.  Despite my best intentions, and against my desire to keep working there, I left the clinic when Ronan was born.  I had wanted to continue in the high risk field, but was not offered a part-time position, and couldn’t fathom putting my son in daycare from such a tender young age.  This evidently caused some ruffled feathers with my co-workers, who were insulted by the fact that I didn’t return, and believed that I had mislead them into thinking that I would be coming back.  I had thought I had created valuable, lasting friendships with the woman that I was surrounded by, but after finding out how sore they were over my leaving, I couldn’t bring myself to go back and confront them, lest they snub me to my face.

Several weeks ago, I was informed by a remaining friend at the office that the ladies there were still reading my blog (even though it has been over a year since my employ.)  I was told that my blog was passed around, read, and then degraded and insulted.  My parenting efforts were poo-pooed, and my character questioned, all without having the ability to defend myself.  As far as I know, this practice continues: grown women read my public blog and deride me in order to make them feel better about themselves.  (Yes, I know you do this.  Yes, I think it’s shallow, petty and rude.  Yes, I continue to write in spite of it.  But I think you need to grow up, and find something else to entertain you.)

Again, moving on.

I found a position in a hospital where I could work weekends, so I could be home with my son all week.  Then, my husband would be with Ronan on the weekends, and the need for childcare had been eliminated.  Not only did we not WANT to leave our son in daycare, we couldn’t afford it; this allowed me to work without the extensive costs of having my son cared for.  I have worked at this hospital for nearly a year, and was told several months ago that someone had anonymously turned in my blog, pointing out that it’s against hospital policy to state that you work there, what you do, or talk about your position in general.  This alone didn’t bother me; I didn’t know there was any such rule in place, and it took just a few minutes for me to remove all references to my place of work.  However, the fact that someone saw fit to take my personal blog and turn it in to authorities, rather than simply mention to me that I was doing something wrong, rubbed me just awful.

Now, within the last few days, I was approached by my supervisor and told that my blog has come into question again.  Someone had printed off several pages of my posts and turned them in, again anonymously, stating that the timestamps showed that I had been working on it while I was on the clock.  I was told that this was a severe offense, and that if it happened again it could lead to dismissal.

Once again, someone has seen fit to shove their big, fat nose into my business.

I WRITE a BLOG.  It’s about my kid, and my family.  It’s rated G, and sweet, touching, personal, funny, and sometimes challenging or upset.  I’m not posting pornography, I’m not an anarchist trying to bring down the government, I don’t cuss or post inappropriate pictures, and I’m not even using the hospital internet system.  I write blogs in my spare time, and I post them, once a day, when I have a free moment.  I can do this from my phone while I’m sitting at a red light.  I can do it in the pumping room when I’m making FOOD for my CHILD.  I can log into the public computers on my lunch break and access my account.

Now, if I had brought in a note pad and written a story down with pen and paper, no one would get worked up.  But because it’s the internet, and it’s a public forum, someone thinks they have the right to police my activities and turn me in for perceived wrong doing.

First, it’s none of your damn business.  Second, where do you get off printing information from my blog?  Yes, it’s public, but it is MY intellectual property.  You do not have the RIGHT to do that without my express permission.  Third, WHY DO YOU CARE?  Who am I to you?  What does it matter what I do during my down time at work, or while I’m at home, or sitting at a damn red light?  If you have that much time and energy to spend on what I’m doing, perhaps you should take a moment and re-evaluate what YOU should be doing.  Fourth, you have permanently damaged my relationships with the people that I work with.  By not having the courage to show your face or come to me in person, I have to assume ANYONE could be the person that has sunk low enough to care about what I do.  I no longer have the luxury of trusting someone just because I like them.

Yes, I know that you did this.  Yes, I think it’s shallow, petty and STUPID.  YES, I will continue to write in spite of it, and in spite of you.  Grow up, get a life, and leave me alone.  I have done NOTHING that should affect you in ANY WAY, and your obsession with me is unhealthy.

Which leads me to question:  Could it possibly be me?  What am I doing to invite this type of attention and negative energy?  Is there something I need to do differently?  Or am I actually surrounded by childish, petty people who have a flair for dramatics?

I don’t want to stop blogging.  I don’t want to make my blog private.  I don’t want to pull punches or edit myself because I’m worried about who might be reading it.  I don’t have a problem.  If you have a problem, please un-invite yourself from sharing my life.  And thank you, each of you,  for trying to ruin everything.

Finding my Groove, and Sleep Saga Continued.

I think I’m starting to hit my groove at work.  That doesn’t mean I’m starting to LIKE it any more, but really that I’m getting used to the whole she-bang.  It’s about par for the course, it usually takes me about 6 months at a new job to not feel like a total idiot.  It took a little longer this time, but I’d like to believe that a massive lack of sleep had something to do with it.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love getting home in the morning and seeing my two boys still sleeping in bed?  I stand in the doorway and watch them sleep for a few minutes before I do anything.  It does my heart good.

I didn’t want to jinx it by writing about it sooner, but Ronan has been sleeping GREAT for over a week now!  He wakes up once (and sometimes twice) a night to eat.  That’s it!  It seems to keep getting better and better as well.  He’s starting to learn to comfort himself back to sleep.  And by comfort, I mean he throws his body around in all directions until he conks out again, resulting in some hilariously awkward positions.  I must take pictures.  But anywho.  Perhaps the saga of the sleep-bitching is over.  Please, let it be so.  I knew the day would come when his ability to sleep would outgrow his desire to wake every hour.  I’m glad it got here sooner than later.  And I’m glad I never let him cry it out.

Work In Progress

Yeah, it really is just that.  The real question is, who knows how long it will continue to be in progress for?

The hardest part about a venture like this is that I spend a few hours every day working on this website, and only a few short minutes of that is something actually enjoyable.  Like writing.  It’s taking a lot longer than I really thought it would to get everything figured out.  Right now, I’m just using a pre-made layout, and Brock really wants me to have my own designed and worked up.  That seems like a whole lot of effort to me.  I’d love to try to make this as easy as possible.

The Chiropractor thing?  Seems to totally have been a success.  Ronan has slept better in the last 3 nights than he has in months.  That doesn’t mean that he’s been perfect by any stretch of the imagination – but there has been improvement.  It really feels like, no matter what, as long as things might be getting better, I can deal with it.  It was that downward spiral that seemed to continue to slowly degrade into nothingness that was completely soul crushing.

Speaking of soul crushing, work is so difficult to handle.  Brock and I had this huge discussion the other day about how overwhelming it seemed to think about having another baby when our house is in a constant state of turmoil.  I pointed out to him rather forcefully that I could be a mom, work full time, and clean the house – but he can ONLY have two of the three at any given time.  So if he wants to have a clean house, and keep his son, the job needs to go.  And if he wants me to keep working (and keep his son!) we need to hire someone to help us clean.  Really, giving away the kid isn’t so much of an option – although I’ve had offers!

I’m stressed out to the max, and I think it’s making me lose my milk.  That stresses me out more.  But things shall get better, I am sure.  Because that’s what they do.  They get worse and worse until I think we can’t take it any more… and then they get better.  I might just repeat that to myself a few times, until I actually believe it.