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Blogs by Pamela C Labud
So much to do, so little time... 9/11/2005 5:20:16 PM
The countdown until my next work week begins. Hello everyone!
It's finally Sunday night. I have worked my last shift of the week and spent the day sleeping. Although the calender says Sunday, my work week which started on Thursday night, is now complete. I have four, no wait, three and a half days, until I have to go back to work.
That means I have a little over 72 hours until I have to jump in my scrubs and head off for hosptital hell and leave all of the stuff I love behind. My house, my kids, my husband, and my writing. It's a tough way to live on those three days. Twelve hours on, run home, eat, sleep, and then go back for another round.
Nursing is not for the weak. To be honest, it can be a fight. Sometimes nurse gets beat up more than a heavy weight prize fighter. Sometimes you get hit, sometimes you run for cover. Not just by fists, either. I've been spit at, vomited on, covered in someone else's blood, had them throw their stool at me, been cursed at, and not just by confused patients. Sometimes doctors and--dare I say it--other nurses can get you. You've not lived until you've been cursed at by an invasive cardiologist who happens to be holding a scalpal. But that's not even and startling as what patients are capable of. I've been pinched, poked, had my hair pulled, and just this morning an elderly fella who had survived a nasty near death incident, fondled my boob. Poor guy can't remember his name, but he totally enjoyed my indignation and laughed for about ten minutes after moved his hand. The devil.
It's a great time in the old intensive care unit, I can tell you.
Of course, it's only that way about 10 percent of the time. I've met tons of wonderful people--nurses, doc's, and lots of terrific patients.
Patients get confused, doctors get angry, nurses get frustrated. It's just a fact of life.
But the best part of my time, aside from work, comes from being at home. I have a husband I rarely get to see because we work different shifts, two daughters--a teen and a 'tween', four dogs, a cockatiel, a pile of laundry six feet high at any given time, and a very messy house. I like it that way, btw. Most of the time.
For me, life is good. Very good.
Then I have my writing. Two websites, a newsletter I'm trying to put together, two e-pubbed books, and a New York publishing career I'm trying to get off the ground.
(If anybody thinks it's easy being a writer I heartily invite them to grab a pen, or a computer, and double-dog dare them to give it a shot. Heh, heh.)
I spend my days off running kids to school and dance, avoiding the laundry monster in the utility room, try to be brilliant in whatever project I'm working on, and checking my email every ten minutes to see if I've heard back from my editor or agent whom I've written to at least ten times.
Sometimes I think I'm a brilliant author, and other times I'm sure my stuff is all crap and I sink into dispair and chocolate. No kidding.
But for now, I have three whole days ahead of me and the sky's the limit. I can believe, if just for a little while, that I can clean my house, be a terrific parent, and an awesome writer. I can also believe in Santa Clause and the Easter bunny.
Yes, delusion is my neighborhood and it's a great place to live. Come over and visit sometimes. We'll have tea. ("Curiouser and curiouser," said Alice!)
