Bad Week

It's the end of the fourth week of clinicals and the second week of classes.

The hospital where I've been placed this term is a beautiful new build and I don't like it. Many of the staff that think that because the hospital is brand new and well stocked and full of patients who can afford big, private rooms, that this means that the staff is the best, and I don't like that attitude. There are floor to ceiling windows and nice art on the walls and the place is moodily lit like a movie set and the staff is full of this attitude of being the best because it's a moneyed place. One of my classmates is thrilled to be there and is already sounding them out about a residency there because she has bought into this narrative of this bright, shiny place being the best place that only hires the best people. Me? I would rather work in a gritty hospital that takes care of people who need care but maybe can't really afford care. But it is a big, big honor--supposedly--to work in this brand new, big, shiny hospital among people who think they're the best, and because of my placement in the program, here I am.

One of the staff told me that when they're hired, they have to sign a contract saying that they'll all be friendly, so the place wears the veneer of niceness and that sets my teeth on edge. I don't trust it.

I liked the teaching hospital where I was last term. It was old, parts of it, and gritty, and the staff were less full of themselves, but when someone was friendly or nice, it was a genuine gesture and not because they were afraid that violating their employment contract would put them out of a job.

It was not a great day.

All day long I kept getting caught in numbing eddies of stultifying conversation. One woman in particular is good at it. She and I were paired up to tour the unit and when we got near the telemetry monitors, she stood there, pointing at the readings and saying, "I wonder what that is. That's A-fib. Or V-fib. This is so interesting. I wonder what that one means. I wonder if it's A-fib. Is this one some kind of...fibrillation? What does PVC mean, I wonder..." Finally I pulled out my phone and googled each of the tracings' meanings just to shut her up. (Earlier I had come across her standing with another student outside the room where the patient was on droplet precautions. She was saying, "What do they do droplet precautions for? Is it for TB? Or is it for the flu? It's where the droplets fly out and come down. Is it for the flu?" I took out my phone and googled "droplet precautions," and read off the list. Just to shut her up.

In one room, a patient who began her week with a massive stroke was able to smile and swallow a few mouthfuls of thickened coffee at a time. The speech-language pathologist I was talking to suggested that I try mixing some of the thickening agent into some water and drinking it. Later, I tried it. It was...not pleasant.

In another room, an elderly patient with COPD asked for a menu so she could order her breakfast from room service. She was nice enough, but it was clear that we students are "the help" to her, which means that her kind of nice will turn on a dime.

Today the talk of the unit was a patient, half my age, who I didn't meet, but several people broke several laws to look at her chart, looking for clues as to why she's nearly finished drinking herself to death.

Thursday I did CPR on a mannequin. Yet again. I'm over it. Next time I'm going to let that fucking mannequin die.

For the CPR exercise, I was paired up with a woman who looks like a living, breathing Barbie Doll. Her makeup is always impeccably if heavily applied. She wears false eyelashes every single day. She has bleached blond hair and wears contacts that turn her eyes from brown to blue. She habitually affects a wide-eyed, blank look. I assume she's no idiot: She made it into the same program I'm in. Today, sitting across the table from her in a conference room, The Brain suddenly said: "You know she's transgendered, right?"

I have no idea if that's true or if The Brain is just making trouble.

I came home from clinicals and felt like going straight to bed but didn't. Dave had worked from home since he's still getting over a bout of some stomach something or another, so we had a quick lunch of Chinese food leftovers, then I had some down time.  Dave had been dealing with a plumbing issue--our water heater is going to need to be replaced (it had broken and was spewing hot water everywhere)--but he schedules someone to come out on Tuesday to take care of it. (We're showering and so on next door.)

Anyway, I did get some down time and then we got up and went to a nearby restaurant for dinner. I was craving mac and cheese and they have a green chile version on their menu, so Dave and I split that and an order of spinach enchiladas, which were only tangentially like enchiladas but which were not bad.

When we came home, I was ready to collapse. (I had been up since 4 a.m., since I have to be at the clinical site by 6 a.m.) I lay down and fell asleep--then woke up around an hour later and couldn't get back to sleep until after midnight. Grrrr.

Saturday I slept in until 8:30 or so, but now I should be studying...

Meanwhile in Puerto Rico, Americans drown while Trump golfs. This is what republicans are responsible for, but I'll bet many of them don't even know that Puerto Ricans are Americans. The ignorance is astounding and serves to weaponize the racism.