6th Floor Goodness

Well, I finally have internet at the apartment. For some reason, it makes me feel very grown up.

That means that maybe I'll post more!!! We'll see.

This week was my first week on a floor. For six weeks we spend two days on each floor. This week I was on the floor where the oncology and adolescent-ish patients come. I absolutely loved it. I've been interested in pediatric oncology for a really long time, and this week I experienced what it would be like to take care of those kiddos. My patients were so sweet. I fell in love with my oncology patient. She was absolutely precious and I didn't want to leave her. I did, however, realize that I become attached very quickly. I only had her for two days, and at the beginning of the second day I almost cried when I heard some things about her in the residents' rounds. I literally had to tell myself not to cry in front of them. Not.good.

Speaking of residents, they intimidate me. But they have super interesting conversations. I like to eavesdrop on them. There was also a cute one. Too bad I'll probably never see him again. Not that it would matter. We both know that I would never say anything to him. Also, my only interaction with him was me singing a line from an old 90s song. You remember that one 'Too Close'? He was sitting at a nurses station and they were all talking about hold music and he said it came on the other day and that he got excited (I'm giving him the benefit of a doubt, and assuming that the pun was not intended). The other girls didn't know the song, and so I sang the only lines I knew. 'Step back you're standing kinda close. I feel a little poke comin' through'. Well, I only sang the first line. I was too embarrassed to sing the second one. So awkward. I also realized that I'm becoming more and more socially awkward the older I get.

Awkward and Uncomfortable

Awkward and uncomfortable hospital moment last week:

One of my patients was a 70 year old woman . . . who looked like she was 45. She had had a lot of work done, and it was very obvious that she didn't want to look old. Her hair was my color and up in pigtails (which drove me crazy) and she had so much mascara on I began to wonder if there was some kind of surgery for that as well. I would lose her heart and lung sounds every time I moved my stethoscope into her bosom area, since, apparently, silicone does not let sound through.

So, near the end of my first day with her she asked me to bring her her black bag that was in the cupboard. I did, and she started to rummage around in it. Much to my surprise, she pulled out two pairs of lacey underwear and told me that she would feel so much better once she "got her panties on". Firstively, I very, very hate that word. With a holy passion. Secondively, I don't really need to know that much about you.

Here's where I got even more uncomfortable. SHE ASKED ME TO PICK OUT WHICH ONES SHE SHOULD WEAR!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate myself for the words that came out of my mouth in response. "Well. These ones would compliment this little pink stripe in your gown nicely."

Seriously? Seriously!?!

I left the room after making sure she didn't hurt herself putting them on. (Yeah. That's right. I had to watch a 70 year old woman put on her unmentionables.) I grabbed some Purell and found myself wishing I could disinfect more than just my hands.

My advice to you is this: Please don't let vanity take over so much that this becomes you in 40 years.

Shaving

I hate shaving.

I wish there was an inexpensive way to permanently remove body hair. I'm so deficient at shaving my legs, it's pathetic. I end up having to be a contortionist in order to get everything. It's ridiculous.

And. I caught my nail on the razor and the feeling made me want to throw-up. I hate that feeling.

Stupid.

And. I hate the word piloerection.