Another Work Week

Are you sick of reading about my work weeks? It's about the biggest thing going on my life right now, work, so that's what I write about. That and boots, I guess. Maybe I'll talk more about boots for awhile.

So, I think I mentioned that I first wanted Blundstones when I encountered them in Australia. I was in Australia in my late 20s, studying tropical and conservation biology. It was a trip through the honor's program at the university. It was literally the first class I took at university since I had transferred there from a community college. (I had taken other honors courses at the community college, but they were mostly literature based.) It was a biology instructor at the community college who recommended me for the trip. She was something else. I got the feeling all term that she didn't like me--me or anyone--but then, at the end of the term, she asked me if I would be interested in the Australia trip and told me that she would recommend me. I think it was on the basis of that recommendation that I was accepted. When I came back from the trip and went to her office to talk to her, to thank her for the recommendation and to tell her about the trip, I almost felt as though she didn't know me, had never seen me before. She almost seemed to regard me as something distasteful that she had to scrape off the side of her shoe with a stick. (I found out later that she was a pretty severe alcoholic.)

But wasn't I supposed to be talking about the boots? Oh, right: The boots.

So, a lot of the trip was spent out in the middle of nowhere. Or in rainforests. Or on mountains. Or on the Great Barrier Reef. That sort of thing. There was a lot of nature. Koalas. Kangaroos. Wallabies. Spiders the side of your head. Ants that nested in trees and swarmed you if you touched their nests. Platypuses. (I've seen platypuses in the wild, y'all. Plural. Seriously.) Goannas the size of labradors. Saltwater crocodiles. Giant cod that would just swim up on you like they were your best friends. Sharks. Giant clams. Sea turtles. Sea snakes. Puffer fish. And a damn lot of Australians who talked? like? this? (which I found endearing) and who wore Blundstones. They wore them with shorts. With sun dresses. With jeans. They wore them in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of the cities. It looked so cool.

I wanted a pair, but A. I didn't have the money, and B. I didn't want to be that American who goes to Australia and comes home dressed like Crocodile Dundee.

But I guess I outgrew caring about that. Anyway, I'm glad I didn't wear my boots tonight because it snowed (more on that below) and god forbid I should get my new boots wet.

Last Thursday night:

Saturday night. I think. No, it's Thursday. Jesus. I'm tired. My quiet night did not hold. There was a patient who came in around 5:00 a.m., and that admission ate up the last of my night.

It has been a long night and my caffeine intake got all out of whack. I didn't get enough early enough, I mean. So I hit the wall around 3:00 a.m. when I should have been putting a stop to all my caffeine intake. But I was too tired, so I had half a diet Pepsi. This is a necessary mistake.

Are you tired of reading about how tired I am and about my caffeine intake? I'm tired of writing about it.

It's been windy tonight, a big storm blowing in. The pressure changes make my head feel awful.

It's just before six a.m. and there is about ninety minutes left in my shift. I got everything done, so I'm taking a break, writing, and watching part of an episode of Northern Exposure.

Here's something weird that happened tonight:

I left my cottage and went to another cottage to help with a patient's admission. That took about an hour or so. After the admission, I came back to my cottage and when I walked in, I could hear a baby crying and high pitched voice singing a lullaby. The Brain staggered a moment, like, what is going on. The sound was coming from what are euphemistically called "The Seclusion Suites." (These are the infamous bare rooms with padded walls (and floors and ceilings too high to reach). We have two of those rooms. A third room houses two restraint beds (beds with various straps for restraining patients). The crying and singing continued and I realized it was coming from the bathroom that's next to the seclusion suites. The Brain finally figured out that it was one of the techs, a mother with a young baby at home. She had gone to the bathroom with her cell phone to try to sing her crying baby to sleep. Her phone was on speaker.

Poor thing. The baby, I mean. And the tech. And The Brain.

That kind of singing and baby crying is just not a sound you expect to hear in a psychiatric hospital, even in a children's psychiatric hospital.

It's only about another hour now until I leave. At seven I hand over all my patients. That takes about half an hour. Then I can go home and get some sleep. That's all The Brain cares about right now.

Saturday night:

I'm back at work, as always. I'm taking a little break, drinking my old, cold coffee. It snowed tonight, believe it or not; was snowing as Dave dropped me off at 7 p.m. It didn't last long. A little bit stuck, but only in the grass. It's cold now, 28 F / -2 C. I just went out into the cold, partly to stay awake, partly to grab supplies.

It's a quiet night and I'm happy with a quiet night. Yes, I'm tired, but I actually got decent sleep today; only woke up twice, once to go to the bathroom, once because my stomach was growling. I had a snack--I don't remember what, maybe half and avocado and crackers?--and went right back to sleep.

I woke up a bit before 4:00 p.m. The earliest I allow The Brain to wake up for good is 3:00 p.m. and the latest is 6:00 p.m. (I have to be at work at 7:00). My alarms are set for 5:00. This can get dicey because I don't like to look at the clock. The Brain figured out a way, though, to get the time sort of: We have an echo dot and if I wake up, I ask Alexa to set an alarm. For example, if I get to bed and 9:00 a.m. and want to sleep until 4:00 p.m., if I wake up and it seems late, I'll ask Alexa to set an alarm. If I say, "Alexa, set an alarm for four p.m." and she answers, "Alarm set for four p.m." then I know it's not yet four p.m. (it could be anytime between noon and three fifty nine. If she answers, "Alarm set for four p.m. tomorrow," then I know it's after four p.m. but before five p.m. (because my 5:00 alarm hasn't gone off), so I'll usually get up. Or at least check the "real" time.

None of that probably makes sense to anyone but me and The Brain. Anyway, it's 5:15 now. Only two hours and fifteen minutes left in my shift.

Ugh. I can make it.