Appetite for Deconstruction

Better than your brightest lights
Because they still can’t penetrate the darkness
Of the heart with their song of
The ballad of the buried woman

Dazed and confused up for nights
Soaring in fingertip reminiscence
Of larger bore needles bored to tears
Once again, you can't imagine the depths

Every night, every shift
We wade through people who feel like human debris
Rendered bed-ridden by too much grease, not enough time
And hard earned paychecks that as slim as their chances
Of getting out of here alive, this time anyway.

You know me, and I know you
We both know we are better than that
But empathy is in short supply for the perceived
The poorly recepted. The gravely misunderstood patient

Whose bad judgment has left her on my unit
Confined to a giant bed, that rotates her adipose years
From side to side, to keep her skin from obliterating
And showing us that the color of her soul is a milky yellow

She wears a mask during sleep that I would have thought cool as a child
But it only prolongs her suffocation, from yearly daily routines
That provided sustenance, but coated her vasculature a bulbous insulation
And now this mass, my patient, this woman, teeters on the brink
Of becoming an empty vessel that five of us can barely move

And she suffocates when sleeps on her right side
Her lungs squeeze themselves masochistically when we roll her on her right
I watch her face turn from turbid fleshy pink, to turpid red, to ending purple
She is a human so huge she can't live anymore

And she’s a dime a dozen. Well, at least that’s the deal she got every morning she told me with a smile on her face.
“In between litigation, and depositions I found time for Chinese. In between discovery and cross examination I had a two meatball grinders with a chicken on the side. And during bathroom breaks during trials I ate boxes of krispy kreme donuts and chased it down with 1/2 gallon of chocolate milk. I don’t think I’ve gone without a soda during my waking hours since I was a 15 year old fat girl. I drank diet coke for twenty years, but that’s like switching form Marlboro Reds to lights, really what does it matter?
But I never did drugs, never smoked, never had sex. I stayed disciplined, dedicated, I listened so well. I am an excellent attorney. I just can’t breathe anymore.” Her Trio cell phone rings. She answers it. I see the custom made three piece suit still on the chair in her room. I see the diamond studded feminine Rolex awaiting security to come and lock it up. Her engorged fingers have many rings with precious bright stones, some colored the same as the incredible amount of fluid I will see leave her cracked open chest later on that night. Like a fortune cookie. What did the fortune say? It said:

“We are all here. We are all here.”

I think dignity and control are fleeting in any situation.

But I have paperwork to learn how to do properly. Blood to draw, progress notes to read, sugar to check, insulin to give. IV’s to titrate, dressings to change, wounds to pack, pictures of wounds to take, charting to chart, labs to ponder, family to let in, sheets to change, a body to clean. And these are the “eassy” patients. The painfully ironic “lighter load” patients. I have to explain that we can breathe for you but the bacteria that traveled from your vagina to your kidneys to your intra stellar galaxy will get you first and I must remark that I never seen anybody with such a rapidly dropping BP answer so many seemingly important phone calls. Never has sepsis had such a soft punch.
Later on, something popped in that chest, and the megalomaniac brilliant cocksucker cardiothoracic degenerate surgeon did surgery in her temporary office, the air support bed. And just before she became a live dissection a passerby would have heard one of us say from her room:

“So you want to know the life of a mind?”

The Filth and the Fury

So I've been working as a R.N. in the ICU. Finally. Spent a lot of time contemplating what was fucked about nursing and the medical field. Spent a a few brief moments contemplating what was cool about nursing and the medical field. It revealed some truths about myself and it revealed an uncomfortable amount of truth regarding our culture, race, class status, identity. It has been a lot of painful discovery. I have been misunderstood every step of the way, accused of being a monster, a racist, a dude working in the wrong field. I am working in the right field for this stage in my life, for who I am as a person and the fact I have the integrity and stubborn mule-ishness to stand up for the good ol black and white. Learning to slowly accommodate for some of the grays, too.

So far, all my patients have been intubated and either comatose or completely sedated. Frankly, I prefer my patients sedated. At this stage in my level of expertise, I need them to be quiet so I can focus on getting organized and delivering pharmaceuticals in a safe and effective manner as well as the stack of paperworks the depth of the 9/11 commission report on a nightly basis.
On my first clinical night, I might as well call it "Krystal Nacht" from here on out for the brutality of it. The poor tiny 100 lb female Nepalese nurse across the way from me had a 4 BILL (that's a 400 pounder) RETARDED HUNGRY AS FUCK MASTURBATING BEAR NPO of a patient. The kid was S/P left AKA with the biggest, nastiest dehiscence I've ever fucking seen. As far as I could tell that amputation had never even been sutured together. It had that bright red meat grinder look to it. And you know how scared, mentally retarded compulsively masturbating opiate resistant patients are when they are confined to a bed and are missing a limb that they were partial to. Fuckin' crazy.
I felt bad for her, the nurse. She kept screaming, "Stop touchin' your stoof" in a cute accent. At first it was funy. But then he would scream so wretched a response in gutteral grunt language, desperate. Communication was completely impossible. I was kind of cracking up at first, listening to the nurse telling him over and over, knowing his behavior was a matter of self preservation and not anything that could be reasoned with.
And then I saw Baby Huey WAS frantically touching his stuff and it was just sad. I mean it was like a statement about man. When man is confined, lonely, missing his Mom who feeds him multiple chickens daily, when man gets down to it, he beats off his Foley'd tiny penis, buried somewhere in the mounds and mounds of flesh with a brutal vigor.
Finally, after a shitload of fentanyl, ativan, and fucking haldol the attending decided it was time to put in a central line via his left subclavian. The poor giant retarded kid. The attending turned the patient into a goddamn pin cushion and he must've hit the clavicle on one of his stabbing expeditions because at one point because he withdrew the needle (I swear to god it had to be a 16 guage) and it was completely bent in the middle. So then the attending chuckled in the same way one chuckles when accidentally throwing a gutterball at the bowling alley, I grabbed another triple lumen kit and he started over, gunning for the left femoral. And the attending made it. That's right, he put a delicate, highly invasive line INTO THE KID'S RANK CROTCH. Perhaps the attending is used to lots of male masturbation. One word comes to mind with this type of line placement with this type of patient: Inevitable.
An hour later the masturbating bear, in a furious attempt to satisfy his ungodly minotaur urges ripped of the soft restraints, yanked out the femoral line and furiously stroked himself into a brief five minute slumber. The interesting thing about this was that he didn't bleed. The mounds and mounds of fat applied pressure to the torn sutures and open vessels. Lord knows what was now floating around in the kids blood stream but at least it wasn't a bloody mess.

Then it was time to pack up, monitors, ACLS drug pack, more R.N.'s and off to CT to figure out why this retarded kid had been acting retarded. You read me right. Head Ct time. One of the residents decided that this kid's behavior was unusual. His mother said he doesn't act this way at home when he gets hamburger helper intravenously. So naturally the first thing that comes to everyone's mind is: "Yeah, lets take this completely fucked up man/child down into the basement for a CT scan where he could hurt himself/or any number of staff members on the trip down to see if his brain is bleeding. There is no reason why his brain would be bleeding but he is screaming very loudly." Never mind the fact his former left knee looks like a raw, marinated porterhouse steak. That's secondary to whatever else they can bill somebody for.
I mean, there's no way the isolation, the drugs, the no mama to grossly over feed him, the missing limb and loss of ability to walk, the tube in his penis might have anything to do with his bizarre behavior. The resident thought it might be a brain bleed because he had fallen two weeks ago after surgery trying to get up at night. This is the same resident who was the first to bail when it came time to get Gigantor downstairs to CT.
I made him stay. I don't care if I'm a new grad or not. I don't care if he found it aggressive or pushy or rude. His little pager went off, the resident attempted a lame performance of having to run so I blocked his exit. I stood right in front of him and I said, "You ordered the CT. You will help us get him down to CT and make sure he doesn't get hurt on the way. You push from the head, I'll guide the front." And he obeyed. Easily, just like all doctor's do when you are assertive and don't apologize all over yourself like a fucking ninny.
Once we got him in front of the CT suite we couldn't fit him in because the bed didn't fit through the doors. Ultimately, this patient and the word "suite " should never be used in the same sentence. The effects were exhausting. (What's the deal with hospital's building doorways that beds and people can't fit through, is this just me or do you know what I'm talking about?) This kid was in the biggest Hill/ROM ortho giant bed they make, with big steel bars forming a rectangle on top, for a pull up triangle. We pushed, we pulled, we kicked. Couldn't get the fucker through the doorway. Looking back, I don't even know how we got the bed in the elevator. Tran, the CT tech got so pissed off he kicked on metal frame that was above the bed, above my 6"1 head as hard as he could, a beautiful crescent kick, reminiscent of something Bruce Lee may have done except that Tran was Vietnamese. The metal frame shot out of its damning socket and freed itself of the main bed frame. And in we went to take an expensive pointless picture.

Once we got the kid onto the table I went to the linen cabinet to get a new sheet and when I turned back around the resident had split but that was fine. Because there was no way this dude was going to stop beating off for the CT to work anyway with sedating him to a goddamn inch of his life and maybe then young Master Resident would understand the comedy of futile useless back breaking labor. Nurse Nepalese nailed the Big Kid with another round of Haldol. And if Nepalese Nurse played her cards right, and filled the incident report out properly, Young Master Resident might have to answer for the destruction of his Master's handiwork. (central line). Post Haldol blow dart, he stopped jacking off for like, 15 seconds. Just enough time for a brand new 64 slice Catholic CT scanner to do its thing.
We got the kid upstairs, two tiny female nurses, and me: appallingly out of shape male nurse (me) grunted gutterally ourselves, sweating, earning our bucks. What other job do you need to know the intricacies of the science behind the machine that works you to the bone and only get credit for this boggling dichotomy in your head? Sweet nursing.

It feels great to be back in the game everybody. I had a good, soulful time getting the kid to CT. To me it was funny and bizarre, and one of those situations where I'm just like, "what the fuck am I doing here at 3 A.M.?" Making money. Practicing my knowledge of how things work, inside and out. Applying past experiences of knowing how and what medically related people are thinking, mostly either 1) how my co-workers can avoid breaking their backs and 2)how patients can get a sense of how suddenly any sense of control has left their lives.
And looking forward to learning so much more.
I left at 7 in the AM, utterly exhausted, kind of pissed, kind of euphoric. Critical care nursing is going to be great once I figure out what the hell I'm doing.
Oh, babies, I am home.

Meet me in the Morning

Made my employment decision. Didn't choose to work at "Your Jew Masters of Beverly Hills Hospital, yeah That's Right We Are Shitting Money". The pay and environment was better at Catholic Mother of the mountains of the everlasting Guadalupe ripe milky breast of the heavenly del taco. Surprisingly. Finished orientation. Orientated. And confused. Said, "Okay. I get it. Gotcha. Right." Maybe 50 times. So much critical info.
Didn't comprehend the sheer volume of paperwork associated with an ICU unit. Sadly noted that many of my stack of obligatory paperwork filings is to verify that a MD has done their job and filled out their necessary paperwork. Yes that's right. A good 25%, one full quarter, roughly 13 pages of the easily 50 pieces of paper I am expected to completely fill out on a daily basis pertain to me verifying if a doctor has written med orders, bothered to fill out informed consent for emergency procedures, asked about advanced directives, parameters for sedation vacation, instituted any sort of pain management protocols whatsoever, whether or not restraint guidelines have been ordered and a fucking shit load of paperwork regarding abnormal lab values and hemodynamic parameters. There is even an informed consent for anesthesia that I, as R.N., am supposed to fill out. Say what? I guess I am an uppity, arrogant new graduate but what business is it of mine to fill out any paperwork for anesthesia? How the fuck am I educated enough to evaluate whether or not a non-english speaking patient knows the inherent risks of general anesthesia? It scares me. The physiological responsibility is overwhelming, but the legal/administrative responsibilities are mind boggling as well.
Do you get it yet you pansy MD's reading this out there? Do you understand that it pisses me off that it's considered part of my job description is to wipe your ass for you? and that if the day to day actual maintenance of the patient is not maintained perfectly I have been advised by my manager that you will then "yell" at me? (yeah right, I dare an MD to bellow at me in any situation other than a code. Bring that shit on.) I just want to be left alone with a patient and their difficult family members. I want to manage a sick person's health, I want to be a conduit for their families anger and sadness and futility but I don't want to be a secretary for a bunch of socially retarded prima donna's that are so smart they can't even DO THEIR OWN JOB. HOW THE FUCK IS IT MY JOB TO MAKE SURE THEY DO THEIRS, AND IF THEY DON'T, THEN I AM TO BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THEIR FAILINGS?

But wait alright, I'll be cool, zen ponies, zen ponies- every nurse out there has to do this too, right? I am just experiencing some sticker shock- a newbies surprise at how things really are, how many things there really are- alright everybody. I'll be cool. And I will maintain my "stay shutup" policy and do my job. And do it well. Nothing to be angry about. I have a family. They need me more than my selfish anger does. My first clinical is on Tuesday. Thank god I'm going to nights. No other place for this currently angry, antisocial motherfucker. Formerly. Heh. heh. What happened to my zen waterfall with unicorns and pixies and shit? Don't worry friends. It is still there. Every job, every gig, every aspect has its problems. I've got to roll with it. Nursing isn't about bliss. Its about skills, ballz, ovaries, and common sense, and organization. Things are well. I'm employed. I'm learning the ins and outs of a trade.

Things are well!!

Everyday People

Alright. So I gots a license. I gots my ACLS. Now all I need is a fucking job.

Gave my heart and soul to the county. Did two internships. Licked the festering bung of the endless stream of managers, assistant managers, nurse educators for the SICU at the the hospital I wanted to get hired in as a new grad. Hard to do but I'm psychotic. Had 3 fucking interviews that were like totally Japanese. It consisted of the unit managers screaming at me: "You are shit! You think you know so much but you know nothing! You pissant. It will be a year before anyone will trust you by yourself for ten minutes. Tell us how you are similar to poop. Tell us! List, starting from the most similar way, to the least similar way, the ten ways your very existence as a nurse is similar to a meaty turd. Begin!"
So I get hired. After I tell them what a piece of shit I am and how I will become maybe, a squirt of piss if I follow their SICU tutelage. The following Monday the head manager quits, a new interim manager is named. I calls the new manager, I think she said, "County wide hiring freeze and besides you are 4th in line. Get another job." Click. Fucking click. Or should I say fucking clique. Not a word of thanks, apology, let alone acknowledgement for the internships and multitude of interviews. Anyway I think that's what she said but my Tagalog kind of sucks. I'm sure she has like six cousins and a husband who want the sweet position. So I calls downtown.
"Oh no baby, it's not a hiring freeze. It's a hiring hold. Just wait until October and then we can process your paperwork."Just a typical LA County, "I hate my job I'm just here to retire before we find this bitch floating dead, tits up. Go fuck yourself, na-ah, don't you talk to me like a human being, na-ah" attitude. They don't even say "please go fuck yourself."
Oh, okay! Great! I'll sit on my duff for 3 months while Schwarzabastard and the stooges from the now totally defunct "Killer King" fuck around. Why pay rent when you can get evicted?
Fuck me? Fuck you.


So you know what I says friends? Fuck county. 7 days later I got hired at a Catholic private. Even before the interview I knew I was home. Just like county, patient wise. I loved the lobby: Dead bloody Jesus statues on every wall, at eye level. Dude, they nailed that fucker through his hands AND his feet, crazy. Maybe that crazy bastard really did die for me cuz it looked like that shit hurt- and crackheads everywhere. It was like a mid 80's Cure video. I immediately thought to myself while I waited in the lobby for the ICU manager to come down, "Yes. Just like county. These are my people. Broke, dangerous, desperate, grateful, entitled, high, low, furious."
They check you out but they don't judge because they are in no place to judge. and neither am I.
I immediately accepted a position as a new grad in their completely dilapidated, fully understaffed ICU (no Na's, clerks, RT's, or EKG techs). One commode in the whole unit. ICU designed by Stevie wonder. The manager was like, "I gotta tell you, the nurses up here are a little tired of new grads right now. But do what you're told and lay low and hopefully you'll make it." Fair warning. I appreciate that. Bathing in toxicity. Wouldn't expect anything less nor do I want it.
I accepted the position with a non-contract 5K sign on bonus for working nights for a year, and then, the next day, a recruiter for the most prestigious LA private (Hint:they give the babies of celebrities shitloads of heparin) called. When I told him I had accepted a position at St. Mother of Dead Holy Jesus Mountains of the Tired Goat Naked Guadalupe in the Rivers of Nacho Bel Grande he started foaming at the mouth and wanted to talk money right then. Jews. My people. So I hustled him back and tomorrow I gots me an interview with the much coveted hereby named: "Your Jew Masters of Beverly Hills Hospital, yeah That's Right We Are Shitting Money" SICU manager tomorrow. *
La' Chiem!

The HR building I'm going to tomorrow is named after a very famous director. He's made movies about a sex addict archaeologist, an extra terrestrial that likes little boys, dinosaurs that eat Jeff Goldblume. It's literally called the Steven S------- Human Resource building. Gimme some of that private health care baby, let me see what you taste like.

Poor people, my people. Scandalous people, my people. The other clique, on the west side, my people (I guess). I'm not looking for the perfect place. I'm looking for the place where the waterfall beats down evenly with its harsh cold stomp onto the nape of my neck and I cease to exist.

Bring it!!!
* As a Jew, and a poor working class one at that, I reserve to mock the gaudiness of my own culture

Good Vibes

Cheers to this shit, neh?

Thanks Kelly! Awesome resource!
Sincerely,
The R.N. formerly known as "Angry Male Nurse"

(I'm in a transitional phase)

---

Date: Thu, 17 Jul 2008 09:43:10 +0530
From: kelly.sonora.83@gmail.com
To: licensedtoill1@hotmail.com
Subject: Licensed 2 ILL

Hi,

We just posted an article, "100 Networks and Resources for Male Nurses" (http://www.nursingschoolsearch.com/blog/2008/07/100-networks-and-resources-for-male-nurses/). I thought I'd bring it to your attention in case you think your readers would find it interesting.

I am happy to let you know that your site has been included in this list.

Either way, thanks for your time!

Kelly Sonora

Songs For the Deaf

And he hath been given license to breathe songs of lost rage and furor to the ears of the closed. For it was true- Their ear pussies would never be rocked with his Gospel of Nursing Blasphemy.

I am licensed friends. The Nusring School Graduate possesses a License to Ill.
It feels good. This joy is pure, genuine. And the relief is like the sweet warm clouded breath of my baby boy when we snuggle. And when my wife joins we snuggle like Champions.

Right away my resolve to not respond to every little thing in the nursing world with anger was put to the test.
I was able to schedule an interview with the management of the unit I want to work for the day I got my license number. So arrived, hair freshly shorn, faced shaved to a crisp, my balls smelling finely of expensive ode de cologne, oh babies I was prepared.
The interview consisted of Unit Manager, Unit educator, Assistant Manager.

The unit manager started the assault kindly: "First off, you are a very attractive candidate. You are the most enthusiastic student we've ever met."
Nice. But from there, they voiced their concerns. Concerns strangely identical to my instructors blast of me right after the award and scholarship debacle.
"Cocky" "Loose Cannon" "You started here way too overconfident" "We don't think you can handle the criticism required to work in this unit" "You mean you aren't ACLS certified?" "Do you think you know more than a med-surge nurse?" (I got my license THAT FUCKING DAY. AT WHAT POINT BETWEEN 0600 AND 1130 WAS I TO ACCOMPLISH THE TWO DAY ACLS COURSE?)

Then I went really nutty and told them of my contemplation of being a CRNA. And the shit subsequently really hit the fan. I know how dumb it is to tell a SICU manager you want to be a CRNA. I know the risks, but I took it. I told her, (I totally stole a line from "HEAT") "I give you my word that I will be here for 2 to 3 years. I know you don't know me personally but my word means something. My word is good."
The manager said, "I've been burned many, many times". But I won't burn her. My word is good. I hope it shone through. Then she said, "I already knew." And I said, "Yeah, but I told you." I know who told her, too. This CRNA who works at the hospital who promised me he wouldn't tell her and promptly told her.
They said a lot of shit to me, most of it not nice, not innapropriate but not nice. The only unit in the hospital that isn't begging me to come work for them and these managers treat me like I'm some nursing failure. I've never been called a "loose cannon" before. That was pretty cool.
Then the education manager went onto the floor and asked a friend mine what he thought about me (he's a RN). My friend said, "People think he's arrogant but he's not. He's just really enthusiastic." I owe him one. At least she asked. It shows intent right?

So, FINAL THOUGHT:
How arrogant am I? How cocky do I come across? More than your average nursing student that's for sure. Your average new grad won't take her eyes off the floor. In a perfect world, in a world where capitalism led to happiness and fairness and real live ethics I would have been a salesman. That's what I do. I sell things, anything. In nursing, I sell safe health care, I sell the idea that you should change your diet at home. I sell the idea that talking rumors about me the second you think I'm out of ear shot is off limits to you. I sell the idea that the patient needs stronger pain meds. I sell the idea that I can outwardly feel as good about myself, I can answer questions and address situations with as much confidence, arrogance, sarcasm as that strapping young socialite MD over there. Basically put: The Nursing school Graduate possesses a License to ILL doesn't know his place. I see the ridiculousness of treating a human being a certain way just because of their job title, educational resources, or race. It deeply alarms people because I threaten their consistency. Because maybe consistency in what to expect, good or bad, is better than uncertainty. That's the problem with growing up in chaos. It often makes more sense than violent social organization.

That's my problem. I don't buy into the hospital hegemony because I'm too immature and vane to accept the fact that the force of my determination and sheer will does not give you status or credibility. Let them talk shit, let them challenge me and let me learn my place.

And in time, I will put pictures to my liking on the wall.

The Day I Tried To Live

Angry Male Nurse is dead.

I've been wanting to kill him for a while and I really wanted to do it after I got my R.N.
To give his assassination a little more Umph.

But really, waiting to kill him until I get my license defies the purpose of ending this facet of myself.

Finishing nursing school, studying for the NCLEX, taking the NCLEX, waiting A GODDAMN MONTH FOR RESULTS has been wonderfully cathartic (and thanks to nursing school I can't ever use the word in any context without thinking of a juicy enema) and has really given me an attitude adjustment that I've been needing for awhile.

I'm going to keep this entry relatively short because readers don't read insanely long posts and I feel like what I'm going to be writing about for the next few posts is important, that these entries will pertain to you and your practice and your outlook on the medical biz and why you are in it.

I don't know if I passed the NCLEX. I know everybody says that they feel like they failed, some people KNOW they failed the exam- I categorize myself in the KNOW group. Maybe I am wrong. Hopefully I passed. But what I struggled with during the exam were like the ridiculously basic questions. Priority of nursing interventions for non-critical situations, mundane situations , situations so basic I've never seen a nurse intervene in them. Like a muscle cramp at 3 am while the patient is at home or brain freeze after drinking too much cold beverage. Given 4 choices, all of them right, one of them really right. The exam was testing my ability for analytic thinking. I'm not an analytic thinker. I'm a mechanical thinker, a creative thinker, a process thinker, but not an analytical thinker. But I don't blame the NCLEX or anything. It is a right of passage, weeding out the poor test takers from the truly dense and unsafe, from the ones who struggle with English, from the ones who just think too much (me!). Don't read into a question-well I do. I love to. That's why I like nursing. I love the puzzle.

So right now I am a nursing school graduate, with an I.P. permit, but not an R.N. And I have no blogger name because the blogger I was was really starting to disgust me and hinder my learning about nursing. And ultimately I'm a baby in the nursing game and newborns shouldn't be cynical. Part of the real me was AMN, part of me wasn't. But that is not so much important. What is important are the lessons I have learned from 7+ years in the medical field, starting when I was 20, ending where I am now in my early 30's (took a few years to work in media and sales) with a wife and a baby and a fuckload of ambition, tired outrage, exhausted disbelief at human behavior, annoyed with my own human behavior. 7+ years of lessons that could have changed me into a different person in so many different directions. I'm sad because sometimes those lessons stuck but most times they did not and I have repeated the same self destructive behavior over and over again. I have mastered the root cause of all nasty behavior in a hospital, I have the impetus for the worst behavior thoroughly mapped out under the guise of protecting myself from it but all I've really done is draw a route on the map to direct myself from point A: Unlicensed asshole who has been observing everybody and the constantly changing work dynamic to point B: Licensed asshole who thinks he knows everything but doesn't really listen to anything anyone has to say because their role as "fucked up person" has a direct route leading straight to and from my wacked and exhausted mind.
There is something to be said for acknowledging political play, to knowing what manager is trying to get what from what supervisor but it is an endless movement of gossip and really has no bearing on the job I need to accomplish on a daily basis.

I have been in a bizarre survival mode from really old shit, the kind of shit that makes you are what you are from the way you were raised, the kind of shit your therapist loves to dissect, the kind of behavior that I observed in others that disgusted me but when I got down to it, when I really looked at myself, shamefaced I realized it was in me.

I finally had to "stop, collaborate, and listen". (That's right, I just utilized Vanilla Ice as a major reference point for great personal change and goddammit it felt good).



I am going lay down some hardcore Mea Culpa, some ultimate my bad's in the next few blog entries and try to recenter myself.

1) I don't like what I've become, I don't like my response to the stress of being a nurse, to the stress of life and I don't need an R.N. to add credibility to the gravitas and sincerity of my will to change.

2) I will not be tightly wrapped anymore, the possibility of really bad things happening are ever present and it is a terrible life to live in fear. As Saint Al Pacino said in one of the finest films made,"Heat":
Tone Loc: Man, I could get killed for telling you this.
Pacino: Yeah, well, you could get killed walking your doggie!


3) I will not talk shit about my coworkers anymore as a useless attempt to gain alliance with other coworkers I hope will protect me from my own bad behavior.

4) I will not talk shit about anyone regardless of how much shit they talk about me. And if they are speaking ill of me because I have done something out of protocol I will wise up and get back in protocol.

5) When a patient, another nurse, a doctor, a respiratory therapist, family member makes a negative comment about my personality that is true I will not take it to heart and I will not hate myself for the imperfection of my personality, or for the exposure of being human. I will not hold a grudge against said co-worker for pointing out a human flaw and attempting to exploit it for their momentary gain. I.E. co-worker saying "I think he over reacts when he gets a patient with PVC's-pretty goofy" I do get alarmed easily. When alarms are going off in the C.T.U. It's because I don't want my patient to go into v-tach and code while I'm staring at the monitor with my hands warming my balls. What matters is the quality of your job performance and the condition of your patients before and after your shift was over. Am I in protocol? Yes? Keep on.

To be an Angry Male Nurse is the saddest possible fate in the world for me. Because while adults often demonstrate less than adult behavior in any job, in any situation I do believe there is a disproportional amount of BS in our field compared to others. The possibility of perpetual exasperation looms over me. And I do believe some nurses do behave unprofessionally too much of the time, either for their lack of knowledge of what appropriate behavior is or because they are simply overwhelmed by the endless barrage of shit they are expected to assess, plan to handle, implement, and evaluate the outcome of their handling. This job is doable, it does not require bitterness and contempt to do it right.

In nursing school, I used to bug out so hard, completely trip that the bad nurses were a reflection of me, of what I was destined to become. I felt real humiliation at their behavior as if it reflected on me because I chose the same profession. But it does not. A bad nurse does not mean I am a bad nurse. A great nurse does not mean I am a great nurse. It's like going to the gym and thinking that your body is as lean and toned or in poor shape as the people at the gym around you. I let my own identity crisis smolder on my own anger. Control, for the most part, was taken away from the nursing students at my school which was at a teaching hospital. My nursing school was an experience that is outdated and incredibly useful at the same time. It was militaristic, brutal, and like the purpose of all nursing schools weaknesses were exposed in the hope that they would be removed from the individuals performance and personal and professional growth would occur.
I obsessed over the pleasure some instructors derived from the process. I got pissed and stewed about the instructors who didn't care about the process and just laid your fuck up on you passively, completely taking away your ability to be an individual and ended every criticism with "maybe you shouldn't be here." But they didn't just say it to me, they said it to everybody. I took it so fucking personally, I started a war with the school because I thought it was wrong but also because I handled this style of educational process so badly.

Stress. Anxiety. If you can grow and learn when the pressure is on then you can learn and grow happily for the rest of your life.

I grew up with some serious stressors. But who didn't? But fuck, stress does not have to be stressful. How do I explain it? I do not have to respond to every insult, impropriety, every failure of the bureaucracy with rage and anxiety and more stress. Guess what everybody? I'm pooped. And I should be after nursing school but not this pooped. But not this soul tired. Truthfully, I started nursing school moderately burnt out. Being an E.M.T. can suck really hard.
I owe it to myself to not start out as an R.N. burnt out. I need to change and I am happy and excited to do so.

Final thought for this post:
Every single person who has left a comment on my blog has reminded me, or should I say informed me that the reality of working as a nurse with all the bullshit and back stabbing and nuttiness is like nursing school but only worse. There is more at stake. Thanks to everybody who helped me understand that because you are right. And if I go into my career serving a dish made up of my previous mindset of fighting fuckedupness with more fuckedupness garnished with some rage and paranoia sprinkled on top I would not only be the poster child for burnout but I quite possibly might hurt a patient when my mind is sailing the seas of outrage.

I feel like I am giving something up here everybody. I feel like I am giving up the fight, that I am letting poorly behaving, burn to a crisp burnt out nurses, status quo win- BUT I AM NOT. I believe that quiet professionalism with politely firm boundaries is akin to nirvana. Well, at least in the safety of my home and at my desk it does.

Angry Male Nurse is no more. Good riddance.