Monday, December 27, 2010

The Dilemma

My brother made this just for me. It is the story of my love life. I laughed till I cried.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Funny Money

Some would call it fortuitous.

Or good luck.

Or even, if you will, strange.

There I was, recovering from a rather melodramatic four weeks in my life, sitting at work, daydreaming about the upcoming end of the semester and fielding phone calls from frantic pet owners. Saturdays at the vet clinic tend to be a bit chaotic, unpredictable. There always seems to be something that happens here, ranging from emergent to plain strange.

One of our frequent flier clients comes in to buy some ultra expensive hypoallergenic dog food. This frequent flier client so also happens to be the man who gave me my oh-so-wonderful-deeply-appreciated lap top. (See blog from 06/24/10)

So we're chatting. I ask him how he's been. I always feel indebted to him, and want to maintain a good acquaintanceship with him. He is, after all, someone who is intent on getting me to go to medical school one day, as well as a pretty nice elderly sort of guy.

Chatting away, he tells me about how he's remodeling his house, etc. He asks how the semester has progressed, I tell him that my Biology class was a great success, and he asks "well, when are you going to medical school?" I tell him that first I must finish my science classes before making a well informed decision, etc etc. You know all jovial lighthearted stuff.

I enter his dog food into the system, with a grand total of $59.70

He takes out two $100 bills. Strange, but hey, maybe he needs change. I watch him take one of the $100 bills and begin folding it, tightly, like a rolled cigarette.

Admittedly, the thought runs through my mind "hey! Maybe he'll try and give it to me!" But that seemed, at the time, a bit silly. Seriously. Money doesn't grow on trees nor do retired dentists hand over $100 like it's pocket change.

But then....he hands it to me, tightly folded up like some undercover money exchange. Except that no one is around. It's just me, him, and one of the veterinarian's dogs.

"This is for you", he says.

"Oh, I can't take that", I say. Internally, I wonder what to do. I decide to go with the outright refusal route. Safe and usually effective.

"No" he says. "take it"

"Seriously, I can't accept it."

"You're going to have to. It's yours."

And that is that. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. He's insistent, I'll give you that.

"Merry Christmas" he says, and he is on his way.

So now I've got this $100 bill lying in front of me. Oh the possibilities.



Par for the course.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

To dance or not to dance

I don't dance.

I cringe inwardly when people ask me if I dance.

For one, it's awkward. For two, I cannot even picture myself cavorting on the dance floor, as if I do not have a care in the world.  It makes me blush merely thinking about it.

But of course today I was asked that cringe worthy question by none other than the individual who inspired me to start this blog (see my first ever entry: "How to Dissaude a Pursuer")

For the last few months, I've been bumping into this guy repeatedly when I've gone to the library to study. It's still pretty awkward when I see him, I'll be honest. But I overcompensate for awkward moments by talking non stop. Maybe it'd work better if I just sat there. In silence.

His dog has cancer though, so he comes in to the vet clinic a lot to get her pain medication. And I talk about (what else) Biology and how nicely the semester is progressing.

But then....then he asks:

"Do you ever go dancing?"

Maybe he saw my inner cringing. Or my face turning red. Or maybe I made a face. In any event, I explained that no, I do not dance. It's been long suggested to me that I need to get out there and do it, but try as I might, stepping that far out of my comfort zone is, in a word, IMPOSSIBLE.

Perhaps at this points he suspects that I am suspecting that he is asking me out, so he restates himself and says:

"We could go dancing in Boulder. As friends of course"

Why of course! Friends!

I feel that if you have to include the term "just friends" as part of your speech, then the opposite is true.

I'm just not the dancing type.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

About a boy: part two

Another slow day in the emergency department.

Thirty minutes before my shift was scheduled to end, we finally got a patient. As the poor woman is retching and suffering from vertigo, I quickly become aware that there is a man staring at me. I glance at him, at his EMS clothing and go back to assisting the woman.

We're in small room, there's not a whole lot of people save the patient, her friend, the nurse, me and....this weird bearded guy who is obviously keeping an eye on me.


Blue dickies. White polo shirt. Student badge.

Return of the EMT student. (If you're confused, read my post from 09/25/10)

In my mind, this is all I could see
Except he has a beard. And I don't mean a beard, because most beards are okay in my book. What I mean is a BEARD. Like a "I haven't shaved in two decades" beard. As in "I can grow massive facial hair" beard. As in "whoa, I don't even recognize you" beard. If he were a fugitive on the run, it's a safe bet he'd get away with the crime.

In between our patient lying on the bed, shaking and retching and all sorts of glorious things, he oh so carefully says "hey how are ya?" and puts his hand on my back to "get around me", but really folks, there was no reason for touching my back unless.....he was trying to give me that dumb boy/girl thing of "I am aware of your existence but am trying to not show it too much"

All I can see though is his beard.
Let's just made it pretty easy to not make a fool out of myself this time. We conversed for a bit, had a nice chat about how we've been (pretty strange catching up with a virtual stranger), but he did ask me:
"Did you lighten your hair? It looks really nice"

Thanks to that beard, there was no more tachycardia, no more feeling flummoxed, no more blunders.

I win.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Only human

How I look today. Right now. Spitting image of a man, yes?

Take a look at the above picture. Do I look to you that I might perhaps be a man? A boy? A guy?

I did two things today that I do not often do. I wore my glasses and pulled my hair back into a bun. I know it's not the most attractive thing for a young woman to do, but hey, I was only going out to study and run a few errands, not go on a photo shoot.

Walking into the post office, an elderly but spry man holds the door open for me, I thank him and he says:

"Sneak right in there. That's what you're supposed to do for girls."


"You are a girl, aren't you?"

Whoa. Thoughts? Comments? Anyone?

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Blondes have more fun



I used to be a brunette. Earlier this summer, I highlighted my hair for the first time ever, and the result was mostly brunette with some blonde. Then late September, I decided to get a "few more highlights" and my stylist, on a crazy hair coloring spree decided to make my once dark brown locks just about all blonde. Initially, I was NOT pleased. No, in fact I was this close to dying my hair back to my original color. But, being that I had just spent a reasonable amount of money on my hair, I decided to ride it out, and see what happens.

A month ago, before I "re-dyed" my hair, a classmate from my biology approached me looking confused and asked "Have you been here the entire time?" 'Entire time' meaning, "have you been in this class the whole month it's been in session?" Confirmation enough that I was quite un-noticeable to the general public. I'm not one to make a scene in class anyway; all I do is go to class to learn and leave with my noggin full of knowledge.

Fast forward, I get my hair re-done and I feel like the world's biggest idiot. I'm nothing short of hating my hair and feeling terribly self conscious, as if I am prone to the entire world noticing, pointing, staring and mocking me. (My imagination runs deep)

Going to class, the girls that I usually study with say nothing. In fact, no one in class says...anything. Sweet relief! Maybe it's not that noticeable! 

Except the following week, the classmate who was not even aware of my existence shyly approaches me, looks at me and right before he speaks I internally freak out wondering what sort of comment he'll make. Instead, he says:

"I just....I just wanted you to know that I really like your highlights. I just didn't say anything because I thought you'd think that I was weird"


And then earlier this week, as our class is doing a science experiment, Mr. Biology approaches me again, with the same look on his face. He asks me what my group is doing, I tell him and he says "know what my group is talking about?" I inquire and giggling he says "Lesbians!!!"


And then today....

Mr. Biology approaches me after class and says "what's your name?" We make introductions, with him initially giving me a fake name. We begin walking down the hall together and he asks:

"Are you yourself?"

(Folks, I am proud to announce that indeed, I am myself!!!!)

He quickly rephrases his question and asks "Are you married?"

After I respond with "no" he then proceeds to ask me if he can "walk me to the nearest exit"

I accept, and we get to talking. He asks me if I'm ready for our upcoming Biology exam. I respond with the typical "no way" response.

He says "well.....the people I sit next to in the back dared me to ask you to study with me"

(Let's pause here, for just a moment. Are we teenagers again, or are we in our twenties? I remember hearing about dares and what not when I was much, much younger. But here? Now? In 2010?)

Giggling, he makes his way through the conversation.

Sensing his nervousness, I take advantage and ask him what made him speak to me in the first place. First he looks around. Then he looks down at the ground and then at long last he says "I think you're really cute. And I really like your hair. The first time I saw it, I was like 'wow'. But I also like looking at your face. And I really like looking at the back of your head. You have a nice back of your head. (He sits waaaay behind me in class)

As our conversation progresses, he asks me where I was born. I respond and ask him the same. He tells me a story about how he was born in his living room with....bridesmaids all around assisting in the birth.


He corrects himself with the term "midwives", yet as he shares the story of his birth, he continues to revert back to the term bridesmaids.

I tell him I have a friend who is studying to be a midwife. I explain how part of their training is that they get to "see births". As I go on in my explanation I realize that he is giving me a blank stare. And why is this, you may ask? He thought I was talking about "sea births" Sea, as in the ocean.

All in all, it provided a comical conversation as we talked about muffins, people watching, hiking, studying, Biology, nursing school, the arts and of course, bridesmaids....err midwives.

As he left, he told me looks forward to Monday and to "seeing my head"

I think I like being a blonde.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

About a boy

I met a nice guy today at the hospital. Nice as in, attractive. There I was, having a ho hum kind of morning, the ED was as slow as all get out, and I was staring blankly at my computer screen. I notice a car drive by, park, and in walks this guy with a stethoscope draped around his neck, white polo top tucked into blue Dickie's. Wait. That outfit is's a EMT clinical uniform.

So, he walks in and introduces himself. We make small talk and I casually let it slide in that "hey, I'm an EMT. And not only that, I'm IV certified" thus upping my cool factor.

The day goes by, the ED is slow, and we make small talk on and off most of the day. The more we talk, the more I think to myself "hey, this guy is kinda cute" but alas, when that thought crosses my mind, I am then officially unable to act like a cool, or normal human being. Out the door goes suave Sarah and in walks Sarah the walking, talking, awkward specimen of a woman.

I'd say though that I kept my cool while we talked....or flirted (according to my co-workers). But as we were discussing vital signs, a Nurse told him to go check his own vitals with one of those machines you get hooked up to in a hospital.

I tag along, and we finally get his pulse oximetry level and pulse rate displayed on the screen. A cool 90% pulse ox level and a nice 50 beats per minute heart rate. The nurse walks in, we get her vitals, and she too is in the normal range. Sensing that it could soon be my turn, I go to leave the room because I hate having my vitals taken by an attractive male. But then he says "Hey Sarah! Let's see yours!!"

Minutes later, my vitals are on the screen.

Pulse ox: 98% Good.

Maybe the machine was malfunctioning. Maybe I was that tachycardic. Maybe I can't function normally around attractive males. And you know what he says? "Maybe Betty (the nurse) makes you nervous"


After that awkward dilemma, we talk some more, I help him print out some stuff, he tells me I'm cool, blah blah blah, and then comes time for him to leave.

Last time for a good impression.

I'm standing there, being cool with some co-workers. He walks up, and says that it was nice to meet me and that he'll "see me soon"

He will? 

Out of all the normal, cool person responses one could think up, I instead come off as a major loser.

I say: "When?" but according to the laughs of my co workers, it came across more like:


He said he'd be back for a second clinical next month, so maybe, just maybe I'll have a chance to redeem myself. But maybe not.


Tuesday, September 7, 2010


The past three days, I've had a bloody nose. But the term "bloody nose" does not even begin to describe the amount of blood loss that I have undergone. Suffice it to say, it looks like my home has undergone a small massacre.

So, I went to the doctor today. And, the diagnosis was: my nose is "fried"

My jovial practitioner thus prescribed me some nose spray and.....KY Jelly.

He made it into a joke, and wrote on the tube:
Not for internal use, and told me that I'm "bound to get married some day"

Oh, awkward.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Thyroid Transplant!

Text  message convesation with a friend:

Me: I think my thyroid is on the fritz again
Friend: You should get a new one
Me: Thryoid transplant....yes!
Friend: How much is that usually?
Me: Impossible actually...
Friend: Oh. I knew that.


Friday, August 13, 2010

Breaking the (facebook) habit

My groovy senior picture
I remember when someone first asked me if I had a myspace account. Surprisingly, I had never even heard of the thing. But once I got on, and friends started adding me, I got hooked. Suddenly, it was all about your top ten friends list (aaah!! who to choose?!?) and making your page super cool, with music on your site that was always intended (at least for me) as a secret way of conveying a message to someone I knew, whether it was a boy I liked, or....okay, it was almost always in reference to a boy that I liked.Sigh. The naivety of being a teenager.
I heard about facebook, but it was only for those who were in a registered, real college. Then one glorious day, facebook made itself available for everyone. At the time, I was still attending Bible college so imagine my sheer thrill when I too could join the facebook crowd. I had heard about it from my older brother, but now, oh now, I was in. And so, I set about making my page characteristically cool. I had the best quotes, the most update "about me" section, the nicest profile picture I could find. I was set. And leaving myspace behind.
Four years later, I've made a few realizations:
A) I go on there way too often to see what message someone wrote me, or who posted what on my wall. Sometimes, I admit: I go on there for no good reason
B) I guarantee that no one will miss my presence on facebook. I can also guarantee that no one cares that I am on facebook. Win/lose situation.
C) If you're really my friend, you'll call, text or email. None of this facebook only nonsense
D) Facebook has started affecting me negatively. That's a good indicator that it's time for a break.
Therefore, a clean break is in order. As of this coming week, I am hereby suspending my facebook account for one month. I'll re-evaluate in that time and we'll see where I am at. Likely, I will go back on. But for now, adios facebook.

Monday, July 26, 2010

It's only a job

This is my new mantra. Over and over I will repeat to myself : It's only a job, it's only a job, it's only a job, IT'S ONLY A JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is not helping.

I feel as if I should be writing my EMT Internship blog instead.

I had a bad feeling that today would not be wonderful. The sort of bad feeling that plagues you, the sort where you know that the day will not be all flowers and butterflies.

At the hospital, we collect insurance cards for insurance purposes.

The players:
Co-worker A
Patient B

There we are, it's a semi busy day. Sick and injured people are rolling in left and right. Today, no one is training me, so I'm about 95% running solo. Co-worker A supposedly (pay attention here to the word "supposedly") gives me Patient B's insurance card and license to make sure that his information is properly entered into the computer while Co-worker A goes off and talks to the supervisor about a previous patient's account that has been messed up (good indicator here that there is impending doom)

Well, a good while passes and soon enough Patient B is ready to go home. It is customary to give back ones insurance card when they are leaving, but wouldn't you know, Patients B's insurance card and license are gone. As in vanished. As in disappeared. As in....lost.

Co-worker A immediately turns to me and begins a barrage of questioning:
"what did you do with the cards?" (nothing)
"is it in your pockets?" (negative)
"did you give them back to the wrong patient?" (impossible)

And then, reverting back to my child hood days:
"I want you to sit down and think about where you could have placed it"

Deeming that I have not thought enough about where the cards could be, she then tells to sit and really think about where it could be.

Wracking my mind, I am desperately trying to think if I ever even saw the cards and if I did, what the heck I could have done with them. The ED is only so big. Insurance and license cards don't just up and vanish.

The situation turning drastic. Co-worker A calls our boss. Could this get any better?!?

In she comes. Co-worker is telling another Co-worker of my immense failure, but turns and tells me to tell our boss "what's going on". (as if there were a hostage situation at hand or something of that immense caliber)

She instructs us to tell Patient B that we're looking and an insane search of the department begins. Again. Co-worker A keeps telling me that I must have done something with the cards. Meanwhile, we're all searching through the trash, paper shredder, behind computers, exam rooms. Everywhere.

Then my boss calls me, and says at long last the cards have been found in a folder that is kept under a cabinet.

Guess who did it. NOT ME!! No, it was CO-WORKER A who took the cards and put them mistakenly in the WRONG FOLDER.

My boss felt so bad she hugged me. Co-worker A tried to apologize, and while I accept it, all the apologies in the world won't help me forget what happened, and from now on have a healthy distrust towards Co-worker A.

It's only a job.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

If I only had a brain

I've been spending a lot of time learning everything there is to know at the Emergency Department. My wee brain has been jammed packed with information these last two weeks. I mean, I have spent hours in a little room with no windows learning a computer system, yet when I am faced with real life patients and real life emergencies, I feel as if I am moving in slow motion as I try to search my brain for information. Sometimes it comes, others, it does not. (It's getting better)

Today, I hear that a patient has been brought in via ambulance, and my supervisor tells me to come with her to watch the situation unfold.

Before me is a woman gasping in pain, trying to hold back tears. I quickly gather from her and the Paramedic who brought her in that she fell while hiking and is in desperate pain. Her right ankle is propped up, and as we gather information from her, all I can think is that she looks vaguely familiar. Suddenly, it pops to mind, shortly before she tells us her name.

Her husband is the one who gave me my beloved laptop. Why of course! I realize that I live in a small town, but come on....

Imagine how funny it then is when Mr. Laptop comes in. Hugs were shared, smiles were exchanged, and then I lead him to his wife's room and quietly mind my business for the rest of their visit. Turns out, her ankle was very broken and she had to go to surgery today.

I'm remembering once more the exhilarating feeling that comes when an emergency walks through the door. I love helping people get out of their cars, though the whole situation of them being in agony isn't thrilling for them, for me it's a whole experience, it's something to capture, hold on to, try and figure out what's going on with them and what's going to make them feel better.

At the same time though, it makes me really miss the hospital I did my Internship at. The ED I work in is like a super scaled down version of what I had become so accustomed to. However, it's a job, and it's a really good one.

Today alone, I saw:
  • A man in a motorcycle wreck
  • An asthma attack
  • A man who fell while rock climbing and walked in the door with a very bloody face
  • A child who fell and needed some stitches
  • An ankle break (cool x-ray!!)
  • Sprained knee
  • Severe lower right quadrant pain (hello appendicitis!!)

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Converse and Conversations

Two for one today!

Two things you should know about me: I love the color purple and I love my purple converse shoes. ------------------->

I went down to Fort Collins today. As I'm standing in line at the store, with my items in tow, the elderly man ahead of me turns around and asks how I am doing. I respond that I am doing well.

He then proceeds to tell me about his son, who is a musician in California. My thoughts go on panic mode as I begin to process in my mind all of the horrible things people have said to before when bringing up their children. He then begins talking about how his son absolutely loves Converse shoes, and whenever he comes to visit him, they must go out to buy another pair.

I agree that the shoes are indeed wonderful. He comments that he has not seen many purple pairs around. I tell him, yes, that is correct, but man do I love my shoes. The checker continues to run his items through the scanner, listening to everything we say, whilst there is a growing line behind us.

He stops talking. I breathe easy. Then he asks, while stepping rather close to me:
"How old are you?"

I respond with my age.

He tells me that his son is fifty one (insert scream here) then he tells me that sadly, his grandchildren are also too old for me.

Then he shimmy's up even closer and tells me proudly:
"I'm eighty!"

And how do you respond to that? I feign shock and tell him, who knew, I'd never guess his age.

After wishing me a great day, he is on his way. Thank the good Lord.

I really don't like shoe salesmen. I find them to be annoying. They follow you around, pester you, and push you to buy their shoes. I on the other hand, like to browse. Yes, I am in the market for new shoes, but when my rolly poly salesman came up to me, I was subjected to a man who liked to converse and who was so large in size that once he sat down, he would not move until absolutely necessary.

After giving me shoes to try on, he asked if I am a Nurse (perhaps you can tell what profession one is in by the shoes they are buying) I respond that I am working my way into it.

He goes on to tell the tale of a friend of his who is a surgical nurse, who back in the "days of disco" took care of a man who broke his leg while boogying on the dance floor.

My salesman goes on to tell me that this man with the broken leg was adamant that the staff not take off his pants, no matter what. They then drugged him and discovered the reason why he was struggling with all his might with the staff.

He had taped, within his inner leg a "summer sausage", to "give him more bulge".


Why, tell me WHY any person, let alone a complete stranger would think it okay to share this story?

Not okay. Totally awkward. No, no, no.


Friday, July 2, 2010

All Wrong

There's this client who has come into the clinic for awhile now, and I always get stuck helping him. He's one of those men that makes a young woman uncomfortable. The kind who flirts with you in a round-about way, the kind who stares at you creepily, the kind who just comes across as too friendly.

He comes in today and asks me to refill his dog's medication. No problem, right? But because his dog is taking a steroid that needs to be used with great caution (as in, not giving him too much, not giving him too little, and not stopping it suddenly) I had to ask him a few questions first.

He answered, I say thanks, and go on my way to fill the prescription. And then, oh then he says: "Wait. I have a question for you."

Let's stop here a moment, and let me ask you a question: When someone says they have a question for you, how do you respond? You turn to the question asker and respond in formal fashion, giving them indication that you would like to hear the question at hand, right?

I do just that, in my normal, (or what I thought was normal up until today) voice, and he says:

"Whoa!! Not that kind of question!"

What?!? Please. This man is infinitely older than I am, shorter than I am, has long hair (yet is balding...lame look) and gives me the creeps.


Thursday, June 24, 2010

Of laptops and men

If this entry doesn't take the cake for what my blog embodies, then nothing else will. The following story is entirely true.

For many years, I have desired a laptop. One that I could tote around with me to school, to coffee shops, to...anywhere. I've always wanted one, but never had the finances to splurge on one. Besides, I've had access to a desktop computer, and essentially though I really wanted a laptop, I didn't need a laptop.

However, as I progressed in school, the want actually turned into a need. On my 22nd birthday, a friend from work gave me her husband's old lap top. Unfortunately, it was the first laptop ever invented. It was old, ancient, rickety, prone to crashing, working slow and sometimes when I'd plug in the little card to connect to the Internet, it failed. This created a few embarrassing situations, and soon enough, the ancient lap top was rendered useless for school use.

Enter.....Mr. Client from my job at the veterinary clinic. Mr. Client is a retired dentist, and as is natural, was curious about my schooling, as I was slowly progressing into the medical world. One fateful day that got the ball rolling was a discussion on computers, and which ones were the best deal. We both decided that Macbooks were the way to go, and on his way he went.

Weeks later, Mr. Client comes back to the clinic with the proclamation that he has bought himself a Macbook. I ooed and awwed and congratulated him, and then, he tells me that he'd like to buy one for me.

I declined.

He then buys me a $1000 gift card from Apple so that I too may enjoy having a Macbook of my very own. Mind you, I have had zero, zilch, zip interaction with this man outside of work. So why then, give me this rather expensive gift? Because he once was a poor college student and he knows what it's like to be in my shoes. (.........)

Months passed by, and I simply could never be that selfish enough to just go and buy myself a laptop no matter how much I wanted it. It just never felt right. Friends and family encouraged me to just use it, or sell it. One suggested that I sell it and go to Hawaii with them. Try as I might though, I never had a good feeling about it, so I just left it in its envelope.

One evening, I get a call at home (how he got my number is beyond me) but he kindly requested the gift card back if I was not going to use it. Feeling as if a burden was lifted, I promptly mailed it back to his vacation home where he was wintering.

I was free and clear.

This past Tuesday, I officially decided that I was going to just buy a super cheap lap top to use for school this semester when I begin science pre-requisites as part of the Nursing program I one day intend on enrolling in. (For those of you who didn't know this....surprise!)

That afternoon, Mr. Client saunters into the clinic wearing dark aviator glasses. It's been months since I've seen him, and the first thing that he asks upon seeing me is if I'd settle for something other than a Macbook. I tell him that yes, actually, I'm planning on buying a Johnny-Cheap-o laptop.

He then tells me, (all while wearing those sun glasses)

"I may have something for you"

That being said, he tells me all about this laptop he has that is about a year and a half old of which he has no  further use for.  He did mention that it was first up for grabs to his brother-in-law, and I tell him that obviously family should always come first. (I immediately begin to imagine what piece of junk he's trying to pawn off to me)

He responds:

"You're practically family"

. . .

Today, he comes into the clinic, and says to the receptionists:

"Where's my little girl?"

Sounds coy, but guess what.... HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW MY NAME!!

The receptionists giving him a hard time ask him why they're not referring to them, and he simply tells them that they're his "mature girls" ......haha!!

Well, the receptionists bring me back this gorgeous barely used lap top, in amazing shape. In fact, I'm writing this little story with it right now.

So maybe this is a can always settle for less, but in the end, waiting is oh so much better.

Happy girl

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Kittens & Cats

My training "in the back" at work has been completed, and as a result the staff now trusts me to work by myself as a Tech, assisting the Doctors with....everything. Oftentimes, animal medicine is complicated (one reason being that they cannot speak) and it often leads to long laborious hours.

Today was my first Saturday rotation meaning: one Doctor, one Tech, and one receptionist. Saturday's are often unpredictable with strange cases coming in frequently, especially during the summer.

Our day went great, without a hitch. All my blood work I ran went without a hitch, vaccinations pulled up were all used, standard examinations went well, and all animals behaved themselves.

My doctor had just commented to me that when I'm up in reception it's pure madness, but now that I'm working as a Tech, things seemed to be relatively calm.

Famous last words.

A cat was brought in, having had three kittens 24 hours ago. However, she had begun contracting again. An x-ray showed that she did indeed have one more kitten inside. An ultrasound revealed that the kitten was not viable (alive) but that it had to be taken out, especially if just in case the kitten actually was alive.

The Doctor had never performed an emergency c-section surgery before as it is very uncommon, and I don't know a thing about monitoring anesthesia, very little about intubation, and even less about sterile requirements for surgery. We tried contacting the other Doctor's from the practice, but none answered. Therefore, we embarked on the surgery--my Doctor having no experience in this surgery and me not knowing much about....well, anything.

The surgery went extremely well. The Doctor removed the kitten from the mother, we peeled back all the surrounding goop it was encased in. I tried to recall everything I had learned from my EMT training about reviving a dead baby, but alas, the kitten was stillborn. I even listened to him with a tiny pediatric stethoscope, but no heartbeat was ausculated :(

We closed her up, and the surgery was over. She recovered rather quickly, and woke up, frantically pawing at us to let her out of her cage so that she could go back attending to her three mewing kittens. (They were very upset to be without their mother)

All ended well. But now I'm on call all weekend. Eek.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


Below is a Facebook status about yours truly: (No doubt about it, even if the offending party tries to claim otherwise)

"Don't you hate it when there's something that you really want and you really want it for a long time and you're totally falling for it every time you see it and talk to it and then you learn more about it and you realize that you don't want it at all?"

First of all, don't ever refer to me as "it". Even if you want to be coy, and all secretive like. It's pretty much obvious what you're doing.

Second, don't be petty and put up Facebook status's about people who have hurt you or whatever you want to call it. That's for wee children and those whose maturity levels have not yet reached adult hood.

Sheesh. Awkward!


Friday, June 11, 2010


Conversation at work: (Where else?!)

Strange man: "What do you know?"
Me: "Not much these days"
Strange man: "You married yet?"
Me:  "No"
Strange man: "What are you waiting for?"
Me: "I don't know. One day....."
Strange man: "Your prince will come? You never know who you’ll meet at a veterinarians office"


Tuesday, June 8, 2010


While the folk proverb "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans" has always annoyed me to some level, (because it makes God too simplistic) I suppose that it is in some respects true.

Where I live, is a small town. You've got the whole small town environment, the small town cliques, the small town everybody-is-in-everybody's business place. You either fit in here....or you don't.

Fortunately for me, I've gotten along well with the town. Much as I've longed to get the heck out of here, those plans are not in the immediate future, especially now. But I digress.

For those of you who read my lovely EMT Internship blog
you've known that it is my heart's desire to work in an Emergency Department, and to work in one pronto. As in, right after I finished EMT school, I thought for sure an excellent job would come pouring out from the heavens.

Didn't happen.

I applied for a job a few months ago in the Emergency Department up here. Nothing. I called HR wondering what happened. I was told it was canceled. Canceled! Who the heck cancels a job?

My dreams flushed away, I thought for sure that I'd be stuck never getting a job in the health profession.

Until a few weeks ago, I discovered a per diem position at the hospital up here. I promptly applied, even left work in the middle of the day (Shh! Don't tell anyone!) to drop off the application.

A call for an interview came a few days later.

I really hate job interviews, especially with questions such as "if your best friend were to tell me why you should work here, what would they say about you?" (........) or "In a few sentences, tell me everything about yourself so that I can say to myself: Wow! I really know her!" (.........)

And so a few weeks went by. Nothing. I had been told that if I had gotten the position, I'd hear from them within a few days. Once more, I felt as if my dreams were flushed away, and I resigned myself to a life of not being in the profession I want. (Drama Queen!!)

But then, today, oh today, I got the call. And hence, I have been offered a very well paying per diem position contingent on if I pass a background check (piece o' cake!) and a two to three hour physical exam (what the world are they going to do to me?!)

Some call it luck, coincidence, or good timing. I call it a gift from God.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Too Much Information

How lucky am I to have two moments to write about today! (and just when I thought life was getting boring...)

Story One

Conversation at work:

Co-worker One: "Man, I just lost all my energy today. I have to sit"
Me: "If I sit, then I'll for sure never get up" (I've just spent the entire day on my feet)
Co-worker One: "Don't your feet hurt?"
Me: "No, it's really my lower back that hurts. It happens when I spend a lot of time standing up"

Co-worker One and I continue to have a conversation about what it's like to spend all day standing, never getting a chance to sit down, and how yes, your back will inevitably ache.

Meanwhile, Co-worker Two has been listening to our entire conversation. Entirely impossible to miss the conversation since she's sitting only two feet away. Her response to all this?

First, she looks around, to make sure no one is looking. Then she cups her hands so that she is able to amplify whatever important thing that she is about to say. And then, oh then, she loudly whispers:

"It's called your period"

No. No it is not. It's called BACK PAIN from standing up ALL day.

Story Two

I attended a graduation of a friend tonight. Afterwards, while everyone is joyfully chatting away, I am approached by an old acquaintance, the younger brother of my friend who just graduated.

We make small talk. He asks me how I've been, I respond with the typical jargon used for people you have not seen or spoken to in years. I ask how he's been. He says:

"A lot better than I was a month ago!"

Naturally, one is going to inquire further. So, imagine my surprise when he says (really matter of factly, too)

"I had to have my right testicle removed"

 ....a terrible injury of some sort, apparantly.


Tuesday, May 25, 2010


When school began to wrap up for the semester I began to worry about my summer schedule and working. I always work full time in the summer and the funds enable me to tide my way through the long winter months when I am incredibly broke.

This time around, however, there were not enough hours to go around at the Vet clinic. Essentially, I was screwed. Everyone had taken the good hours (and why shouldn't they?) and I had....two days a week.

I decided to get a second job. I lasted one week there before realizing that if I had to spend another week there I would become the most sad, depressed, emo person on the planet.  And that is something that is simply not allowed.

So I decided that I would just see what happens, and stop trying to fight God's timing. (Something I always tend do to. Yes, I am an impatient person)

Two days later I get a phone call that a co-worker took an unfortunate fall down a flight of stairs (I didn't do it, promise!) and that as a result she had broken her foot and wrist, would be requiring surgery and that she would (obviously) not be able to work as usual, and that her hours were now mine.

Sounds great....until I get another phone call telling me that I get to do her job which is something I actually don't want to do. Fancy that! See, I work up front in reception. I like it, I love interacting with clients and their pets, I like my up front co-workers, I like answering the phone, making appointments, getting first hand knowledge of what's coming in, etc. This is the job I applied for almost two years ago, and this is the job I would like to stick with until I can become gainfully employed as an EMT.

See, my co-worker works "in the back" as an assistant to the Veterinarians. The times that I have been in back have often been so-so experiences, and most of my memories of "being in back" bring back thoughts of A) God awful smells B) Seeing/hearing God awful things/sights C) Trying not get bitten by any animal, D) Not knowing what I'm doing and playing the charade that I'm just having a peachy old time helping out, or E) All the above

So now, I get to "work in back" three days a week and spend one day a week up front. Not quite the answer to prayers I was hoping for (especially at the expense of my co-worker) but who am I to complain? So I'll be in back, trying not to vomit when things get gnarly (oh the stories I could tell...) and try to make the best out of this strange, strange situation.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

How Not to Win My Heart

Conversation yesterday:

(When trying to find out if me and male suitor are "compatible" with each other)

  • You're too social
  • You have too many guy friends
  • You have too many pictures with guys on Facebook (Hint: No I don't. Unless you count my cousin and pictures that were taken TWO years ago)
  • Your career choice is all wrong because..... I'm in a male dominated field, I'm a nice person so naturally this combination will attract males, and I'll have men dying for my affection all over the state
"So....are we compatible? Should we date?"


Monday, May 10, 2010

I Hate the Doctor's Office

For the last two years, I have had a moderately severe thyroid problem. Every so often, my body decides that my thyroid is akin to evil and thus decides to go haywire and attack it with intent to kill, thus creating symptoms of extreme sleepiness (I could sleep for ten hours and feel like I got zero), "brain fog" (I call it stupidity) and lack of energy (Finally! An excuse for being lazy! hahaha)

Of late, I've been experiencing the above symptoms and thus decided to make a visit to the good old doctor for blood work. I hate my doctor's office because it is always (I cannot emphasize the word "always" enough) a mix of annoyance and confusion on my behalf. Also, I think the employees of the clinic think I'm somewhat insane because I'm very sensitive to my thyroid going on the killing rampage, so let's just say in the last few years I've been at the office close to ten million times.

So I make my routine phone call, and immediately there is confusion. The conversation goes like this:

Me: Hi, I'd like to make an appointment to get my thyroid tested.
Receptionist: Do you need to see a provider or can a medical assistant do it?
Me: A medical assistant could do it, sure. And today would work
Receptionist: Uh....let me transfer you to the medical assistants, they can make the appointment.


Medical Assistant: Hello, this is _______
Me: Hi, I'd like to make an appointment to get my thryoid tested
Medical Assistant: Uh.....can I put you on hold?

Five minutes go by, and in the background, I can hear the staff talking, laughing and catching up over what they did over the weekend. Finally, someone picks up the phone and I make an appointment.

Appointment time comes, and I arrive at the clinic. I check in, and then.....I sit. For thirty minutes. Country music is playing, and there are Spanish people everywhere. Everyone is speaking in Spanish, so I have no idea what anyone is conversing about, but in the intermittent pieces of English that are spoken, I see a young Hispanic man flirting with a receptionist and the office manager is telling him to put on a client satisfaction survey the "thing he most likes about the clinc is that the receptionist is "hot". Bursts of laughter are heard.

As this young man is wooing the receptionist, I observe that his voice is strangely familiar. I look up, and automatically remember that this is a young man who tried to have a fling with me three years ago when he was a cook in a restaurant and I a server. At the same time, he either remembers me or is just enjoying cajoling with women, that he starts pacing back and forth in front of the reception desk and continually stares at me. I continually ignore him, praying that my time to be seen will be soon.

Called back into the exam room, I get my vitals taken and then sit there for about twenty minutes more, with the only magazine in the room to read a Mothering magazine on how children "just want to be cuddled."

Outside the exam room the staff is laughing and talking about movies they have seen recently and the deals they got at the movie theater. At the room next to me, someone is pounding at the walls.

Finally, someone steps into the room. I had requested a blood draw only, but the nurse practitioner feels it is necessary to examine me. She takes one look at me and asks if I've lost weight. (No. Did I look fat the last time you saw me...?) and then proceeds to tell me how good I look.

She pulls out her stethoscope and listens to my heart, but also places it up against my throat. What sounds can you hear via the thyroid gland? ...

As she lifts up my shirt to listen to my stomach (why?!?) she talks about the need for her to get new underwear what with these new low rise pants that are on the market these days. Then she proceeds to lift up her shirt, and roll down the top of her pants so that I may see her nice orange and white underwear. (Gee whiz! That's some flashy underwear!!)


Finally, she leaves and a medical assistant steps in. She sticks a butterfly needle into my arm, gets the flash, and then....nothing. I really hate the feeling of having a needle stuck into my vein. It hurts. A lot. Since no blood was coming out, she decides to re-adjust it (wonderful feeling, having a needle moved around from within your vein) and finally, the blood flows out.

I finish up, and the woman checking me out cannot figure out how much my co-pay is, and though she speaks flawless English she is converting back and forth between this and Spanish. At long last, she figures everything out, and I am on my way.

Thyroid results are pending, but that's another story.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

How to Dissaude a Pursuer

There I was, sitting at work enjoying my day. I like my job because I get to sit behind a desk and greet clients and interact with the public.

This client walks in, and as a precursor here, I know he's been interested in me for about the last ten months. Sort of those...."like at first" sight moments. He's always been nice to me, but you's just awkward when you know someone likes you.

But anyway...

So he comes in, and makes general small talk and then asks, "Do you live up here? I never see you around." (This is because where I live is a place for retirees and for people who like to go to bars and party, of which I am neither) Then he asks if I have any friends up here (No! Notta one! ...not.)

I explain as much as I can, and give him what he originally came for and he is on his way. Except that half an hour later, he's back. I greet him again in typical fashion inwardly cringing because I know it's coming...and sure enough he asks:

"Would you like a new friend up here?" (Seriously?)

And of course, I'm the kind of person who can't say no right off the bat, so I sort of give a mumbled "maybe...?"

Well, we get to talking and turns out we have some things in common. He's going into the medical field, and so we share stories of patient care, listening to lung sounds and how hard it is to figure out what it is you're listening to, etc.

Meanwhile, all I can think is "He's going to ask for my number soon..." (I've always hated that initial, "Yeah! Let's exchange numbers! Totally!" deal.

As this is running through my head, I have a secondary, brilliant idea to ask him if he goes to church. Simple question, right? So I ask him, and it is as if the conversation comes to a grinding, screeching halt. You would have thought I asked him "Do you want to get married this weekend?"

He tells me, no, he does not go to church. He asks me if I do, and I respond with a yes and we chat for a minute more about it, and then just like that, he leaves.

Aah, a big sigh of relief! No asking for my number, no promises for future hang out sessions, nothing.

I go back to my nice and enjoyable workday. And then the phone rang. (Again, totally normal. I work in a vet clinic; of course the phone is going to ring)

I answer in my chipper voice, and I get in return:

"Hey Sarah, this is ______ " (the guy who I had just seen and avoided being asked out by)

He goes on to tell me that he really appreciates that I told him about my "religious beliefs" (Really, I didn't. I just told him I go to Church.) but that, it simply won't work in a relationship. Wait, I'm sorry. Did we discuss dating each other? Did I miss something?

And then he tells me sayanara, and disconnects.

So, lesson learned. If you don't want to go out with a guy/girl, just ask them if they go to Church. Apparently, the idea is appalling.