Someone on Xanga started a list of all of his paying jobs.  And then another friend did it.  It made me stop to think about all of the jobs I’ve had in the past that I was actually paid for.  It was kind of fun to write them all down.  Here’s the final list.

Paying jobs:

1. Babysitting.  I was a really good babysitter.  I think I got 10 bucks per job regardless of the length, but I really didn’t do it for the money, I just really liked kids.

2. Singer/Entertainer.  I don’t really know if this one counts.  My mom used to be a lounge singer, and sometimes she would take me to work with her.  I would sing, and get paid in “Shirley Temple” drinks.  Some of my earliest and best memories.

3.  Shoveling horse manure.  I honestly got paid for this!  5 dollars for every wheelbarrow.  My “aunt” put all of the money that I’d earned into a bank account for me, and I used it to pay all of my entry fees for all of the horse shows we entered.  Somewhere, my mom still has the box of all of the ribbons I’ve earned.

4.  Nanny.  I lived with a family with two young children for several months.  I absolutely loved it.  They were a delight, and some of my fondest memories are of time spent with their mother.  I should probably look her up on facebook right now.

5.  Beer Cart Girl.  I worked at a golf course, and drove the beer cart.  I could make 50 bucks in tips in an hour.  All I had to do was laugh at their jokes, and smile pretty.  Oh yeah, and they were always right.

6.  Club house worker.  This was also at the golf course, but it was a different sort of job.  We ran the kitchen, cooked and prepared food, but also did all of the big conventions that used the golf course.  It was a LOT of work – probably the hardest job I’ve ever really had.

7.  Liquor store clerk.  It was as this point in my working career that I realized all jobs, no matter how menial seeming, have elements to them that you didn’t expect that are really a pain in the arse.  I HATED dusting alcohol bottles, and “inventory” was a pain in the butt.  I also hated that, after my first scheduled shift on a shipment day where I had everything placed and inventoried, I was subsequently scheduled on EVERY shipment day.  My dad told me afterward that I shouldn’t have done such a good job.

8.  Lounge bartender.  I couldn’t mix many drinks… but it didn’t matter.  My regulars only wanted their beers or straight up liquor.  I got off every night at 2am, and my mom and dad would walk down to meet me, help me close up, and walk home with me.  They didn’t want their 18 year old daughter walking through town by herself.  And I love them for this more than they could possibly imagine.

9.  Waitress at the hotel restaurant.  Yet another job where there was so much more to do than it seemed at first glance.  Waiting tables is a horrendously difficult job, and I have a lot of respect for really great waiters/waitresses.  I also always clean up after myself and my child at a restaurant.  I think EVERY person should have to work in the food service industry for at least a month.

10.  Data Entry.  This was what I considered my first “real” job.  I worked at a credit card distribution company.  We did a TON of data entry, but the real purpose of the job was “instant credit”.  So when you’re standing in the store, and you decide to apply for a card, and you fill all of the crap out, your application is sent to someone who looks over your credit report and decides whether or not to approve you.  It was a pretty good job.  Worked there for 2 years before I went stir crazy and quit.  Honestly, I quit.  No notice, nothing.  I just walked out one night.

11.  “Model” at Abercrombie and Fitch.  Hahahaha.  I folded clothes.  I worked there for the discount, and the ego boost it gave me to get hired there.  I made some good friends, but the job was pretty shallow.

12.  Claire’s.  This was actually one of my favorite jobs.  I got really good at getting out merch, handling busy times, opening and closing… but the best part was convincing little girls that they really WEREN’T too scared to get their ears pierced, and seeing how excited they were when it was all over.  It’s also the reason I have 7 earring holes in my ears.

13.  Medical Records Clerk.  I worked at one of the clinics that I was interning at during my Ultrasound clinicals.  I sat in the office for a few hours a week (usually about 4) and scanned paperwork into the digital filing system.  It was MIND NUMBING.  I probably should have started listening to audio books.

14.  Waitress.  This time, it was at Firebirds, a REAL restaurant.  I made it through 2 weeks of training, just long enough to find out that I was going to be a great waitress, and then I was hired by my first hospital as an official Ultrasonographer.

15.  Wait, back to Abercrombie.  I got another job there when I first moved to Charlotte to make some money and get clothes for cheap.  I spent every paycheck I got there… there.   Oops.

16.  Sonographer.  I worked at a small hospital as the weekender tech.  I absolutely loved my weekend peeps, and I still miss them very much.  Sally, Bill, Trina, Calvin, Hayley, Meagan, and everyone else.  I worked here for a year, but four months before my contract was up, I got a job at…

17.  Sonographer at an OB/GYN.  My door to the world of OB – and the beginning of my passion.  I worked here 5 days a week while I was working my weekend job at CMC-U.  The longest, hardest 4 months of my life.  Money is truly not worth it, people.  Having a life means something too.

18.  Sonographer at a high risk obstetric clinic.  This is it.  The pinnacle of my career.  I was hired at my dream job, as a sonographer in a high-risk obstetric clinic.  I worked at this office for a total of 8 months – the length of my pregnancy – and decided not to go back to working full time, staying home with my son instead.  I do NOT regret this decision, even though I miss working there more than words can describe.  I miss my people, my friends, my patients, my doctors… but most of all, I miss having passion for my work, and finding joy in every day.  My ultimate goal is to return to this field of work.

19.  Sonographer!  Ha.  I currently work at a busy hospital as an Ultrasound Technologist.  I work the weekend overnight shift, and a random 12 hour Wednesday DAY shift every few weeks.

Wooooooo hoo!  19 jobs.  I really think Brock needs to do this, I think he could make it past the 20 mark.

It’s no surprise that during the course of my work, I meet young girls that are having babies.  Babies having babies.  Little things that are too young to know how to get the oil changed in their car, and yet they’re about to bring life into this world.  It scares the living crap out of me.

Last night was no different.  Now, this was not the worst case I’d ever seen.  My patient was 18 years old, which is ripe and mature by the standards of my hospital.  And, to be completely honest, I fully expected this to be her second or third pregnancy, which is also common as cake.

I rolled my little patient into the room, and had her get up on the bed for me.  I had to move her IV pump from the wheelchair to the bed post, and those things weigh almost as much as I do.  I said, under my breath, “This isn’t going to be fun.  Ugh.” as I started to un-attach the pump.  She looked at me with terror in her eyes and asked, “What’s not??”

I chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, hun.  I just have a really hard time moving these pumps.  They’re heavy.  Your ultrasound isn’t going to be bad at all.”

Her relief was immediate and not just a little comical.  I had already figured out that this little girl was terribly innocent, and not terribly bright.

As she laid down on the bed, she said, “Look how swollen my feet are!”

They were.  They were sausages.  Her toes were like little Vienna snacks attached to her pork feet and ham-hock ankles.  It was disturbing to see on such a small girl.  She couldn’t have been more than 5 foot 2, perhaps 120 pounds at 35 weeks pregnant.  I asked her, “Have you had a high blood pressure?”

“Yeah.”

At this point, I had started scanning, and had seen that her baby looks great.  There was plenty of fluid, measurements were on time, and the kid was active – kicking and turning all over.  As I’m showing her where the baby is laying, and what parts are sticking out of her belly, she quietly asks me, “Do babies that are born at 35 weeks survive?”  I could hear the fear in her voice.

“They do, sweetie!  Almost every single one of them do!”  My heart was aching for her, and the absolute terror she had of her baby dying.  “They have to go to the NICU for a little while, but then they are okay… Are they worried the baby is coming?  What’s going on?”

“They’re maybe going to induce my labor tomorrow,” she told me.

Hmm.  Swelling.  High blood pressure.  “How high has your blood pressure been?”

“It’s been about 190 over something.  I don’t really know.  It’s come down to 160 though.”

My eyes flew wide open.  “Have you been having headaches?”

“Really bad ones.”  I could tell she had no idea.  Her blood pressure, the headaches and swelling all pointed to pre-eclampsia.  They weren’t taking the baby because they were worried about the baby… they were worried about momma.  And the sooner they got that baby out, the better.  I told her that it was a good thing that they were thinking about inducing her labor.  She shouldn’t be afraid.

She was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “Do they let mommas see the babies when they are in the NICU?”

I was speechless.  My eyes even started to tear up.  This poor, sweet, clueless girl was about to birth a child – HER child – and all she could imagine was someone coming and taking it away to an unknown corner of the hospital, and keeping it.  I can’t imagine the fear that was in her heart, or how badly she wanted to hold on to being pregnant, despite what it could mean for her.

I set her straight, told her that it was still her baby, and she could spend every waking moment in the NICU if she wanted to.  I gave a little mini-PSA about how important it is to breastfeed premature babies, and told her how much every nurse in the hospital would help her if she tried.  And then I sent her back to her room, hoping for the best for her and her baby.  Hoping that everything would turn out okay.  Hoping, really, that she was more ready for what was about to come than she seemed.

Ultrasound Resonates is a way for me to share stories of my experiences in ultrasound.  Privacy and HIPAA will always be protected in these stories, but they are really a way for me to share an accounting of the people that touch my life through my work.

As you may or may not know, I am a Diagnostic Medical Sonographer.  That is just a huge mouthful of words that means that I do ultrasound.  I have to admit to you, I used to be lucky enough to work in the field of my passion: Obstetrics… pregnant mommies.  But since the birth of my child, and the overwhelming desire to stay at home with him as much as possible, I have taken a job as an Ultrasound Technologist in a busy hospital.

Ultrasound Resonates is a way for me to share stories of my experiences in ultrasound.  Privacy and HIPAA will always be protected in these stories, but they are really a way for me to share an accounting of the people that touch my life through my work.

Last night was a busy shift.  It had been slow nearly all day, but as soon as all of my day-time co-workers punched out, the Emergency Department punched in.  Within fifteen minutes, there were several ultrasounds in the queue, and my evening help wasn’t scheduled to come in for another hour.  I sent for a few of the patients, knowing that by the time transport got them to me, I would no longer be scanning solo, and I got to work.

When you’re busy and behind, it’s very easy to get frustrated by the exams that are ordered, and the people that you get used to seeing in the ED.  We call them “Frequent Fliers.”  Some of our most common customers are young pregnant women who are mistakenly told by their friends that if they go to the Emergency Room and say they are in pain, they will get an ultrasound and find out the gender of their child.  We HIGHLY DISCOURAGE this practice, mostly by completing OB ultrasounds without ever showing or telling the mother what the results of her exam are.  We point out very clearly from before we even touch her with a probe that we are not allowed to talk about the ultrasound, and that the doctor in the ER will tell her what the exam showed when she returns to her room.

One of the transporters dropped off an ER case for me, and left.  I glanced up at the camera and saw a young woman in the hall with her husband waiting.  A quick check of her ER chart told me that she was about 10 weeks pregnant with abdominal pain.

And then I did it.

I made a snap judgement.

I immediately assumed she was one of the young ladies that came to the ER to see her kid.  I instantly found myself upset at her for wasting my time, and coming to the hospital when she could have just stayed home.  I wasn’t rude or mean to her when I brought her into the room, but I wasn’t exactly warm and compassionate either.  My snap judgement had made me curt, even cold towards her.  When I had her prepped, I started asking her the routine questions.

“When was the first day of your last menstrual period?”

She told me.

“Which pregnancy is this for you?”

‘This is my tenth.”

SEE?!  There, I was RIGHT.  My snap judgement was RIGHT.  She just cant stop having babies.  I bet she does this every time.  Just keeps coming back to the hospital.  I bet she keeps having abortions.  I see it all the time.

“And how many children do you have at home?”

“Seven.”

Seven children?  Holy crap.  Who wants that many kids?  How many of those are accidents?

“Ok.  So you’ve had two miscarriages or abortions?”

She paused.  “… No.  I had a baby last year that died at 4 months old of SIDS, and 3 months ago I had a miscarriage at 18 weeks.”

…

Wow.  Take a breath here, Mandy.  That’s some heavy stuff to go through.  No one deserves to have to deal with that.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.  I can’t imagine how difficult that was.”

She then proceeded to tell me what was going on, how she’d been feeling pain for a few weeks, and assumed when she went to her OB appointment that they would tell her she had a urinary tract infection.  When they didn’t find anything, she started to worry.  With her recent history, her mind just wouldn’t rest.  And I could completely empathize with her.  I even had tears in my eyes as she spoke.  Every night when I put Ronan to bed, I worry that he wont be there when I wake in the morning.  It’s a very REAL fear that she has already lived.  My worst nightmare has been her reality.

From that point out, things were different.  We talked, we laughed, and I found out that she is actually an amazing person; a loving mom, a caring wife and a hard working nurse.  She told me about her seven children at home, and how each one of them was planned and lovingly awaited.  She told me how all of them got their names.  She said how they have partners that they help take care of and get ready in the mornings, and about how when they go to the grocery store, people always come up to her and compliment her on her well behaved children.  She could tell me things about every single one of them, each one as precious and amazing to her as the last.

Last night, I found out that she was the kind of mother that I want to be.  When she left my department, I had nothing but respect for her.  While I didn’t get to tell her anything, I let her go with the peace of mind knowing she was about to find out her baby was ok.  And I found out that my snap judgement was dead wrong… as they almost always are.