Word goulash

It's 12:45 AM and I'm sitting here in room 314 of the hospital where I do my clinicals with my Mother-in-law who had a total mastectomy of her right breast yesterday afternoon. My presence here was not part of the plan. I'm here because Grandma Hildegard was freaked out after surgery and wanted someone to spend the night. Her husband, Mona's step-father can't stay (in my opinion it's due to a lack of character and intestinal fortitude), Mona is too tired and my sister-in-law has two kids at home and has to work on the other side of town tomorrow. So I stepped up. I am Iron Man.

I was hoping to get some sleep but I don't think it's going to happen. Grandma Hildegard snores.

Lucky for me it's still semester break, so this isn't going to wreck me for school. And interestingly enough (to me anyway) this is the unit I'll be working on when we do get back. I can't decide whether or not to tell the nurse (or nurses) my story. Part of me wants to just so that I can take some liberties with regard to things like checking charts and asking questions that might be frowned upon were I just some guy off the street. The other part of me wants to keep quiet and scope the place out some. I've never worked on this unit and I like the idea of being able to observe incognito, if you will.

How was school you ask? Fine. Came through the last semester with 3 A's and a B (a freaking B!). That brings my GPA down to a 3.77. I don't want it to go any lower. I hear the last semester is better, so hopefully I'll be fine. I know it's shorter. We only have 8 weeks of classes and then it's off to our preceptorships where we work in the hospital full time with one nurse, covering his or her patients. 180 hours doing that and then I graduate, so the light is definitely at the end of the tunnel.

Then I just have to find a job. And to my great shock and horror, nursing jobs are actually pretty thin on the ground. Hard to believe I know, but that's what happens when the economy tanks like this. And I don't mean like it has where you are (unless you're actually here). I live in the Detroit area. The latest unemployment numbers show nearly 18% unemployment in the metro area and just under 30% in the city itself.

You might think that would have little effect on nursing jobs. People still get sick and hurt right? There's a nursing shortage, isn't there? Well, sort of.

You see, when the auto industry tanked (for the love of God people, start buying American will you?) a lot of people lost jobs. Auto workers, suppliers, tradespeople, vendors, etc. And when if became apparent that those jobs would be gone for a while all the nurses who were staying home while their spouse worked reentered the labor force (burnout and families help to create the perceived shortage) in order to keep the bills paid.

At the same time, nurses who were planning on retiring changed their minds when their 401k's dried up and blew away.

Finally, as more and more people lost insurance and went on Medicaid or simply were unable to pay their bills hospitals were forced to close whole units and floors in order to cut costs. Nurses aren't getting laid off, but they're being moved into unfilled slots or sent to other affiliated hospitals that have openings.

The result is few jobs.

Up until earlier this evening I was toying with the idea of joining the Airforce reserve and working as a nurse there. But it looks like I'd end up deployed overseas somewhere and Mona is not interested in that at all. She's worried I'd get shot. I've suggested to her that I could specialize in obstetrics (which I really enjoyed) which should keep me away from the shooting since mothers in their 3^rd trimester almost never go to combat, but I don't know of that would even keep me inactive. So I don't think I'll be signing up. Had I done this before I met her I think I would. It a job that fascinates me and I like the idea of serving in the military. Maybe I'll just try and work at the VA. That way I can still give back a little.

I drive like a person who has someplace to be. It seems that most of the people who drive on my roads (yes, they're mine, I own them) don't feel the same way. They dawdle. They lolligag. They obstruct. They frustrate me.

Now that The Peanut can understand and repeat things, I have learned to call these prius shaped pylons Yahoos when she is in the car. I tell her things like “Peanut, tell these Yahoos to get out of Daddy's way!” She pipes up with “Get out of the way, Yahoos!” Last week we were all driving somewhere when she asked me “Daddy, why do you say Yahoos?” I looked at Mona and under my breath said “It's because Mommy gets mad when I say MotherF&#*er”

Last weekend Mona and I took a trip to Chicago. There were only 2 things I wanted to do while I was there: go to the Shedd Aquarium and have an Italian Beef sandwich (preferably from Al's). Mission accomplished. I haven't had an Italian Beef since April of 2003. And it was every bit as good as I remember.

What's an Italian Beef you ask? It's sort of like a Philly cheese steak (and yes, I've been to Pat's in Philly so I know what I'm talking about) but instead of putting fried onions on the sandwich they put Italian gardinera, which is sort of pickled hot peppers, celery, cauliflower, sometimes carrots (there's also a sweet version, but I love the hot) and they take the whole thing and submerge it in the broth (sort of like au jus) that the meat has been in all day, wrap it in 6 or 7 layers of waxed butcher paper and foil and serve it. Best sandwich ever. Seriously. I am amazed that they haven't caught on in the rest of the country.

We stayed just a couple of blocks off of the Miracle Mile (the Midwestern version of 5^th Avenue). One day while wandering around the city, Mona asked me to go into a store called the American Girl store with her.

Has anyone ever heard of this place? They sell dolls. Their own line of dolls. You can even pick out dolls that have your hair. Skin and eye color so that your doll looks like you. Then you can buy matching clothes for you and the doll. And doll accessories. Like bunk beds with bedding. For over $200. On the top floor behind all the stuff for sale is sort of a little mall. They have a cafe where you can eat and a “hospital” where your doll can be repaired as necessary. Before you get to the cafe or the hospital you see a line of people all with frenzied little girls standing in a rope line in front of a counter that's about 30 feet long and slightly concave. On the top of the counter are little swivel chairs, and behind the chairs are American Girl employees. It's their job to, for $20, (and I swear this is true) give your doll a hairstyle! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. It's the end of the world.

Now anyone who has ever read anything I've written should by now hopefully understand that I am an unabashed and unapologetic capitalist. I believe in the free market and peoples right to make as much money as they can within the confines of the law.

But this place is too much, even for me.

A fucking doll hair salon? Matching outfits for your daughter and her doll? Three figure doll accessories? And streams of parents and grandparents lining up to pack the place full of cash? Unbelievable. It was so over the top that I was actually offended by the time we left. It was just immoral. How the hell can anyone, even Bill freaking Gates, justify spending that kind of money on a creepy doll? How?

As much as I rant, I can't do it justice. It's simply too appalling for words.

And it's now 2:07 AM. I'm getting pretty sleepy, so I'm going to try and nod off. You are now more or less up to date.