RIP, Barkley.

Loyal, steadfast, true
Furry friend, heart full of love
Rest in peace, Dear One.

Lucky baby!

Three of us would-be nurses shared a patient at clinical yesterday, and he was SO SWEET.

A two-month-old boy with RSV and pneumonia, his folks had other children plus transportation issues, so they had to leave the hospital several times during the day. Luckily, the nurse had PLENTY of help with the baby. ;)

My classmates and I took turns in the rocking chair, cuddling and bottle-feeding the sweet boy. To keep him calm and/or sleeping, and to help me stay awake, of COURSE I sang to him. Turns out I wasn't the only one!

I bet he's the only baby in the world to have German Minnelieder and folk songs, French pavanes, American movie musicals, Beethoven, and Tibetan lullabies sung to him all on the same day. Or maybe not. But either way, he's one lucky baby!

Note to self:

If you go and pick up a bunch of condoms from student health (for a safe sex presentation later in the week, I hasten to add!), and stick them in your backpack, it's probably a good idea to REMEMBER YOU PUT THEM THERE, and to REMOVE THEM BEFORE YOUR PEDIATRICS CLINICAL.

Otherwise your classmates might get a very different view of you. You know, when you pull out your stethoscope and a whole handful of condoms comes flying out everywhere.

:facepalm:

Seen outside a local business:

an electronic sign reading:

HURRY UP, SPRING!!!!!

Amen.

After...

viewing the interior of her suitcase after I finished helping her pack for her semester abroad in Australia, Chaos (my youngest-by-21-endless-agonizing-minutes) said:

"It's like a TARDIS. You pack like a BOSS!"

Indeed, as I do many things. ;)

Pediatrics...

not my cup of tea AT ALL.

I'm pretty sure I've blogged about something like this before...

but it bears repeating:

If you have your own first name as a tramp stamp, you're weird.

I say that as a weird person, but there's weird and then there's WEIRD.

The little daisies tattooed around the name were the added weirdo touch.

Apparently...

my professor attended the Wilford Brimley School for Pronunciation.

"DIABEETUS!!!!"

I'm having a hard time not laughing.

You know you probably didn't put enough effort into your assignment...

when your instructor calls it "...worse than crap."

*sigh*

Time for a do-over.

Dork

I'm a dork. Long ago I made peace with this. I'm more than okay with it, I EMBRACE it.

Yes, I'm the person who gets super excited about seeing ladybugs or baby bunnies. I can go on and on and on about my favorite book or song or movie or graphic novel or person. I get so enthusiastic about learning new things that I automatically assume everyone else MUST be just as excited about X as I am, or want to know the entire history of Y, just like I do.

I'll never be the "cool chick" at the party. Instead, I'm the goofy one who's laughing hysterically with her friends about a lame "that's what SHE said" joke.

All that being said, I still feel hurt when I think somebody is laughing at me. Normally I can shrug it off with a "whatever", since I tell myself they just don't get my awesomeness. But when three or four people burst out laughing after I leave the room, but just before the door closes, I do stop to think, "Okay, what was it I said or did that tipped the balance for them, that made them laugh AT me, not with me?"

Luckily, this doesn't happen often anymore. And even more luckily, I'm old enough now that if it does bother me, it's only briefly.

Because I AM awesome. And there are plenty of equally awesome people out there that see that, and get me. Those other people's opinions about me just don't matter.

Overheard in the Dining Room

Mrs. SciFi and I are taking turns listening to everyone's lungs, since we're all battling various and sundry respiratory infections.

Mrs. SciFi (to SciFi, her dearly beloved spouse): Do you want me to listen to you?

SciFi: Why start now?

There might have been some beating with the stethoscope, but I saw NOTHING.

OK!

Calling various in-network behavioral health providers looking for some very specific testing, only to have a receptionist say, "We only treat sex offenders here."

Ok, thanks! Moving right along...

I fantasize about this a lot.

I daydreamed during my incredibly boring Community Health Nursing orientation session.
I was thisclose to snapping because a woman with a PhD kept saying "diagnosises" (much like my Adult Health professor two semesters ago).

I wanted to jump to my feet, screaming, "ONE 'DIAGNOSIS', TWO OR MORE 'DIAGNOSES'! GET IT THE FUCK RIGHT, GODDAMMIT!" Then storm out of the room, shouting "I'm done here!" and slam the door on my way out.

Since I intend and fervently wish to graduate in December, my fantasies will have to remain safely in my head. And on this blog.