Ice, Ice Baby.

When you are born and raised in a land dubbed "the frozen tundra" daily errands are rarely hindered by a little or even a lot of snow. You learn to drive through drifts that tower over your tires and how to appropriately encourage those in front of you that are paralyzed by fear as they slowly navigate the snowflake mine field. On the other hand, even the most daring Cheeseheads fear ice. If you don't respect it, it will learn your ass right quick. To illustrate this fact, let me tell you a little story...

It was one of those nights you prepare your gear as best as you can for the storm front that is currently tearing through your zip code, and every surrounding zip code for at least 40 miles. I have always lived by the code of being prepared with gear set out and wool socks on in bed which generally means a full night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. This fateful night, I crawled into bed after double checking my gear and setting it as close to the radiator as possible... just in case. Much to my dismay the shrill beeping of my pager ripped me from my dreams of tropical beaches where the only thing frozen is the drink in my hand. Slowly, I dug my old, but faithful two wheel drive Chevy from the blanket of heavy snow and started my way towards the call. My time out should have been about 5 minutes in good weather, but tonight I spent a good ten minutes crawling to the scene.

As I approached, I saw a car delicately wrapped around a telephone pole. Eager to do what I did best, I opened my truck door and stepped onto the road. Little did I know, this east-west road flanked by barren farm fields was a perfect venue for Disney on Ice. One foot out and that same foot flying away from me at a speed that would make the Blue Angels green with envy. But wait! Where is my other foot? Now let me just say, back in my gymnast days, I was a rubberband-like force to be reckoned with. I didn't go by the nickname Gumby for no good reason, but this was not high school and I was no longer the nimble 17 year old. With one boot still stuck in the cab and the other doing a triple loop, I found myself toppling over face first into the glistening pavement while fearing the worst for the crotch of my turnout pants.

Of course, falling is pretty common for my graceful self in good weather and in bad. Regardless, a pair of concerned EMTs (who of course were not needed to tend to the patient) and a firefighter or two took notice of my plight and attempted to shuffle slowly towards me. They didn't need to use much effort to shuffle as the wind forced them forward against their will. They were making great progress until one went down, grabbing the coat of the next and before they knew it, they were a pile of helpless helpers. While the uninjured patient was carefully removed from the crumpled mess of a vehicle, the rescuer's rescuers removed themselves from the ground. Now I know laughing on a scene is quite unacceptable in most cases, but at this point, there was nothing left to do. The patient was okay and so were we, except a little ding to a couple of now sore egos. Of course we still needed to report back to command so I came up with a genius solution. I decided that my jump kit would make a perfect chauffeur across the road. That's right, I sat on top of that jump kit and scootered myself across the ice. I must say, it worked like a charm. The rest of the call went by fall free and thankfully everyone returned home without injury, minus some bruises to various limbs and hind quarters.

So what did we learn from Bernice's little run in with gravity? That's right class. Scene safety. We look up, we look around, but never forget to look down.

Happy Birthday, Grandma.

In honor of her birthday, a re-post.

I miss you every day.

Heeeere's Frankie!

Or Francine if she is naughty.


This is her shelter picture. LOVE that one blue eye.

She is our latest addition to the family and my Merry Christmas present. We weren't expecting to bring her home last night but I did so well on the phone interview that her rescue-momma decided we would be great for her. When we pulled in the driveway she was doing the puppy dance across the yard. The sigh I heard from JB told me she was mine for the taking. I figured we would have to do the home visit, the vet checks... nope. It was fill this out, sign here and thank you for the check and off we were to PetSmart for new toys, a crate and a snappy new collar (that she hates). Of course this meant I had to grovel to my dad and ask real nice like to see if we could bring the puppy with us because Hotel MomandDad isn't terribly fond of doggies and it was a stretch bringing Henri. My dad being the awesome man he is relented on the condition and little surprises are cleaned thoroughly and promptly.

So far Henri is tolerating her quite well and only got a little gruff at her this morning. Really, I can't blame her. I wasn't too terribly fond of her at 4am either. Okay, that's a lie. I was still smitten with her cute little puppy face but I sure was cold and tired standing outside waiting for her to pee. Really though, she has been great and just gets up and walks away when Frankie thinks Henri's tail is a chew toy.

I'm starting to wonder what we got ourselves into but right now she is fast asleep in her crate making little puppy noises in her sleep and it's making the 3 hours of sleep totally worth it. Well not totally, but I don't mind so much right now.

Thanks to modern technology, my sister and her kids got to meet her last night via FaceTime, courtesy of my brand spanking new iPhone 4G. Now that I think about it, that was supposed to be my Christmas present. Me thinks JB isn't the only spoiled person in this house.



Here she is fast asleep on my leg after a hard night of exploring her new house.

The Night Before Christmas - EMS Version

A re-post from Christmas last year. Enjoy.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the town;
They were out partying, chugging them down;
The drinks were all poured and shared with a smile,
One more wont matter I only live but a mile;
The presents were wrapped all shiny and bright,
While they soon all headed back out into the night;
The engine turned slowly protesting the cold,
While they were ignoring what they had been told,
When out of my pager there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to tend to the matter.
Away to the scene we flew like a flash,
Threw open the doors and eyed up the crash.
The moon lighting a scene of hurt and of sorrow
Gave sight to tears and pain for the ‘morrow,
She didn’t have a chance you could tell from afar,
But we worked and pryed to free him from the car,
Pulled from the mess, so swiftly and quick,
Excuses were coming, the road is so slick!
Rapid as eagles the assessments were made,
While talking and working we all silently prayed;
Now, pressures! Now, fluids! Now, IVs and blood sugar!
On quickly! On swiftly! A helicopter to conjure!
To the top of the roof! To the end of the hall!
Now fly away! Fly away! Fly away all!
For him there’s no presents from under the tree,
That can replace smiles, hugs and cheers full of glee,
Just pain and regret of the choices he made,
For their night of celebration with her life she paid.
No time for us here to dwell on the thought,
For our warm beds and a clean engine is sought.
Out we all headed into the cold night
Knowing that man would never be right.
To stay sober and drive it isn’t such a task
And I really don’t think it is too much to ask.
So this year please just do what is right.
Don’t drink and drive, and have a safe night.

Something different... a recipe.

Lately, I have been addicted to spinach. It's good for you and pretty tasty. I also bought some mushrooms on a whim, thinking maybe I could start sneaking them into some food. This morning I woke up after dreaming about work (yuck) and stuffed mushrooms. The only stuffed mushrooms I have ever enjoyed were served to me in Houlihans in Lake Geneva, WI. I tried making them myself once and they were a tasteless disaster. I never tried again, until today.

I'm not a food blogger nor do I think I am any sort of amazing cook but I did just come up with my own little recipe for stuffed mushrooms. So if you are down with the fungus among us, take a look and try it out for yourself. (I can't vouch for it just yet because they are still hanging out in the oven.) Consider this a nod to my own confidence. I present to you: Spinach Stuffed Mushrooms


Yes these are the mushrooms I just made and yes, I am eating them all myself.

For this project you will need:

10 medium sized mushrooms, washed, stems removed
1/2 cup spinach (I used the frozen kind, just make sure all the water is drained out)
1 clove garlic
1/2 cup mozzarella cheese
1/2 brick cream cheese
bread crumbs
salt
pepper
olive oil

Start by sauteing the minced garlic in olive oil. Add the spinach and salt/pepper to taste. Once spinach is wilted/heated through, mix with the mozz cheese and cream cheese. After taking the spinach/garlic mix out of the frying pan, toss the mushrooms in and let them heat for a bit and get some flavor on them (add more olive oil if they don't slide around well). After about 5 minutes, stuff the spinach/cheese mixture into the mushrooms. Dip the mushrooms cheese mix side down into breadcrumbs and coat well. Place into small baking dish/pan.

Place in a 350 degree oven for 15 minutes. Broil the last 4 minutes or so to make the tops nice and crispy.


Edit: After trying one I claim this experiment a great success. I think the only thing that could make them any better was some little pieces of bacon in there. After all, bacon does make everything better.

The Really Long Story: Part Two

Where did I leave off? Oh yes, excrement and vomit. Well, this part involves drugs, blood, scars and gas. Much better, right?

The morning of the surgery arrived pretty quick. It may or may not be due to the fact that we didn't go to sleep until round about 3 or so, but hey, 5am isn't that bad, right? We headed over to the hospital, phoned my mom and dad on the way and made out way to the surgery check in. By now I am ravenous and the waiting room is stocked with fruit, cereal bars, cookies and coffee. Why they did that, I have no clue but it was just plain mean. Anyway, about 4 or 5 names were called and our little group was herded through the halls to the pre-op area. I donned my stylish yet air conditioned gown and hopped on the bed. It was definitely more than a little weird to be the one in the bed and not next to it doing the paper work.

What felt like 4 years later a nurse came to my little curtain cubicle and stated she would be starting my IV. She was aiming for my big, fat cephalic vein (I'm guessing here since I'm a little rusty) and before inserting the catheter she told me she would numb the area first. Now I know that it isn't the most comfy place to get an IV, but one stick versus three to get the lidocane in was my preference. Not too much later I realized just why she numbed it first. She couldn't get an 18 gauge in my big fat healthy 28 year old German pipe of a vein. As she fished I looked over to JB pleading and making that 'OMG WTF' face. I think I really pissed her off when I told her I didn't want to sign the consent form for a hysterectomy and colostomy bag. Of course I don't want to. I'm 28 for crying out loud! She snottily asked me why I didn't talk to my doc about it before today. I told her I did, but I was tired of signing away my rights to my uterus. It is really draining to sign consent forms for something that would pretty much send you into a spiral of self loathing and depression several times over. Why don't you just continue to beat me over the head with the thoughts of Cancer. Thank you ma'am. May I have another?

Ah, tangent. Sorry. The anesthesiologist student stopped by and he looked nervous. Maybe it was his first day. Maybe it was my fear induced humor that threw him off. In all reality it was probably the fact that I have a mouth the size of a child's. Really, it's tiny. I feel bad for anyone who has to intubate me and it looked as though he drew the short straw. He was kind and caring and promised good drugs, so I liked him.

A liter of fluid later, I had to pee. Like here drink four bottles of Gatorade and hold it while I put an ultrasound wand on your belly, bad. I was still hooked up to the IV and I had no idea where the bathroom was so I jiggled. And wiggled. And finally I begged JB to find someone, anyone to get to a bathroom or there was going to be a puddle. A nice man capped off my IV and showed me to the bathroom. JB trailed behind making sure I didn't show my behind. Finally, Nurse Brumhilda came by and demanded to know who stopped my IV. I didn't stop to get the guy's name so I had to point him out from across the room. She was livid, but of course despite our best efforts to flag her down, she spent her time sitting at the desk chatting. Turns out that guy was her boss. No wonder she was so pissed.

Thankfully, my surgical nurse came by to introduce herself. She praised my surgeon as if he were her own family. She held my hand and told me she would take really good care of me and as soon as the doctor got there, I could get a margarita in a syringe. I requested a daiquiri as I am more of a rum girl. Again with the stupid humor. A visit from the doctor and again reassurance that all would be well and she was back. She told JB to kiss me because after that I wouldn't remember a thing. She was right... mostly. I remember kissing him, getting teary eyed and then starting to feel warm and tingly and like I just didn't care. The next thing I remember is trying to scoot over to the operating table in a gown.

What I'm guessing was maybe 2 hours later I woke up with the worst cotton mouth of my life and shearing pain in my belly. All I heard was "you're all right baby girl". That's how you know you live in the south. It took all I had to ask what they took. When she replied, "just your ovary and your appendix" I passed out again choking back tears of relief and exhilaration. I think I woke up a few more times in recovery asking the same question over and over and asking for JB. If course he was waiting for me, but I had to wake up a bit first. This kind of makes me laugh because I have zero recollection of going up to my room or probably the first few hours there. I have a little flash of "Here's your morphine pump. Push this button if you feel pain." What I didn't realize was I only got so many pushes per hour. Didn't matter to me, I was going to push that thing until it broke if it meant I got more morphine. This mentality resulted in a beeping morphine pump through most of the night because it would alarm if I maxed it out. Why it did that, I have no idea but it sucked when it would beep for 5 minutes straight and even after pressing the call button for the nurses station, no one came to turn the alarms off. Between that and the regular blood draws and vital checks every few hours, neither JB or I got much sleep that night.

The next day, they pulled the catheter and I was on my own as far as peeing went. The first attempt at uprightedness ended up with the urge to vomit and after abdominal surgery, that is the very last thing you want to do. I got a round of some sort of drugs and then slept for another few hours. The second attempt at standing was successful. Thanks to someone pulling me upright from under the armpits. Holy man was it hard work to walk the 4 feet to the bathroom.

Every few hours, my condition improved. Sure I slept a lot and the fact that I was still only eating liquids wasn't great but I could tell that I was starting to get at least a little better if not a little more alert. Later that day I went for my first walk down the hall. I made it a good 50 feet and then decided a nap was appropriate. After dinner I made it all the way around the loop. Go me.

Dinner was more fluids. Not just any fluids, hospital fluids. *shudder* That night we slept better. Not great but better. Saturday as it now was meant I was walking laps like a champ. After a shower followed by a nap, I was promised real food if I could pass gas. I waited and waited and waited and JB did his best to show me up but still... nada. The nurse decided that because I had good bowel sounds perhaps some real food would help me along. I was promised a real lunch. When it arrived I found cream of chicken soup which was the consistency of snot and looked as though they just dumped the can in a bowl and didn't dilute it at all. I ate it all because I was dying of starvation and apple juice and pudding only get you so far. After lunch, my doc came in to check on my and my incision and was very impressed with how much the swelling had gone down and the fact that I had showered myself and made so many laps around the floor. If JB got me a turkey sandwich and I kept it down, I was free to go home. He also mentioned that there would be no driving, lots of sleeping, zero lifting and of course no housework for about a year or so. Not only is he a surgeon, he is a regular ol' comedian.

JB ran to Subway and got me the single best turkey sandwich I have ever eaten in my entire life. It was like I was eating a little slice of heaven snugly fit inside a Subway wrapper. Two hours later I was back in my own clothes and on our way home.

I slept most of the rest of the day and probably the day after. They all kind of started to blur together. I only had to text JB once to have him come un-turtle me from the recliner. The first two days, I needed the granny boost to get up and walking was more like doing the shuffle, but every day we could see improvement.

My mom came down a few days after the surgery and did a wonderful job of making sure I was eating, showered and that my house was clean. She is awesome. Just in case you didn't know that already. I am finally completely off any pain meds other than the occasional Aleve or Ibuprofen and while I get a little sore from time to time and I'm always tired, I feel great.

As it turned out, it was not a cyst at all, but a tumor that was ballooning my ovary up which explains the mind-numbing pain. While in surgery they also found endometriosis so they cleaned that up and took out my appendix. Not really sure why on the appendix, but whatever. It's not like I need it. JB and I are so thrilled with the results of the surgery and the prognosis of a little one(s) eventually.

Every day I get better, less tired and my incision is a little less itchy and sensitive. I really can't say how thankful I am for Dr D, his awesome staff, my wonderful mom, my devoted husband, everyone who sent flowers to cheer me up, fruit to get my appetite going again (that's you N!) and those who prayed.

I'm on the road to recovery and life is looking good.

And the award goes to...

This girl. Remember this post? You know, the one where I refused to go in the bathroom and care for my yomitting husband? Well, I need to hand over my crown and "Best Wife Ever" sash because when the tables turned, I had a cool wash rag and a glass of water. Complete with hair petting and back rubbing.

You may, or may not care to know why I was barfing my poor dehydrated little brains out. Well, it's a bit of a long, female issues, poop and surgery filled story so you might want to abort the mission now or get comfy.



Still there I see. Okay then. You can't say I didn't warn you.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who thought her insides were trying to become her outsides. Figuring she has become a bit of a sissy post-marriage passed it off as bad cramps. It happens, but not usually to the extent of walking around like a 90 year old granny. Even so, I toughed it out. It went away. The villagers rejoiced with glee.

Flash forward to a few months later. The wretched pain returned. Not only did it return, it returned with a vengeance. Operation Make Bernice Beg For A Frying Pan To The Head had begun. I finally gave in and went to see the friendly neighborhood doctor. After an ultrasound in which I literally almost peed my pants and had the single most satisfying pee in my entire life, I was diagnosed with a 5cm ovarian cyst. Hey, this girl don't mess around. I was told to continue taking the low grade pain meds that were prescribed to me and to "wait it out" as they generally resolve on their own.

Flash forward 4 weeks. Pain is now uncontrollable with present prescription, so a new prescription for the big guns was called in. I called the doc back the let her know that things have changed. You know, like she told me to. I reported my pain was constant and nothing I did would make it go away. I convinced her to move up a follow up ultrasound. Low and behold, the little bastard of a cyst doubled in size and was now a full 7cm. I didn't understand how that works out mathematically, but that's what the doc said. After reporting the growth spurt of this little bugger, my doctor decided, on a Friday afternoon, to drop the C word. Oh yes. You know the one. "But don't worry over the weekend. We will get you in for blood tests on Monday." Yeah, okay lady. No problem. I decided not to mention the whole truth to my siblings. There was no need to for more people to freak out. I'm sure after they (meaning my sister) reads this, she might be a little mad but I still think it was a good choice.

Back to the story... Needless to say I lost my dang mind. Visions of sprouting an entire chin full of whiskers and a mad surgeon ripping my entire reproductive system out of my body circulated through my brain. Honestly, all I could think about was, I want a baby.

Monday came and went and the phlebotomist did an awesome job. I tapped my pathologist resources to get the correct read/feel on the blood tests they were running. I also made an appointment with a different surgeon/OB who just happens to be an oncologist and a saint. There was no way my doc nor I wanted her doing the surgery. Let's just say my confidence in her abilities were less than stellar at this point in time.

Flash forward a week or so and I'm sitting in a conference room with JB, surrounded by images of lymph nodes, bisections of abdomens and various other scary items. The doctor was amazing. He was kind, caring and took his time explaining everything. He was very positive but all I heard were hysterectomy, colostomy bag and removing lymph nodes. He was adamant that we would do nothing unless it was a risk to me continuing to breathe. Since JB had to leave town for work that following Monday, the wonderful, kind, awesome surgeon personally cleared his schedule to fit me in the same week, three days later. Feeling slightly better and nervous as hell, we left his office and headed to the pharmacy. For what you ask? GoLytely.

Now I need to digress here for a second. What kind of sick son of a jerkface names a bowel prep GoLytely? I mean, it's all cute and makes you think you wont want to curl up in a ball and die while in the midst of the prep, but they LIE! Don't even get me started on the "crisp lemon flavor."

I prepared myself for the bowel prep with books, a laptop and lots of water and gatorade. The first glass was rough. The second glass got me behind schedule. The third glass set me even further behind. (Puns may or may not be intended.) The fourth glass, well that was just as nasty coming back up as it was going back down. Despite all my preparations, I had neglected to ready the trash can for upper GI violence. My only option was... you guessed it and I can't even bring myself to type it. Needless to say I got up close and personal with my intestines that day. I did some more research and read that if you mixed it with Sprite, it would be that much easier to drink. I phoned JB and requested some Sprite. Ten or so minutes later, he was at the front door.

Of course poor, poor JB was unaware of my plight and his cheerful "Hello, Poopy McPooperpants" as he extended the bottle of Sprite out to me was met by hysterical outburst of "THAT'S NOT FUNNY!" punctuated by tears. It had already been a rough day and it had only begun. After breaking down in hysterics again at the thought of drinking more of this liquid evil, my mom convinced me to call the doc. They suggested I pick up some magnesium citrate to finish off my evening. This is hilarious for two reasons. One, in my present state there was no way I was leaving the house. Second, the thought of expelling anything else out of my body was utterly exhausting. Maybe I'm a wuss, maybe I just don't do well with bowel preps. Who knows. Either way, I was certain this was worse than the surgery would be.

Now, you would think the injustice stops there. Oh no. At 7pm and 9pm you are instructed to take two rounds of antibiotics. This does not bode well for the girl who can't even take Flinstones vitamins on an empty stomach. But being the smart girl I am, I decided that drinking chicken broth with it would constitute as food and therefore no more barfing. Round about 10pm, the tummy burn set it. At 10:30pm, salivation joined the party. I sipped ice cold water, curled up in a ball, laid on my stomach and prayed. It was all in vain. My final sprint to the bathroom resulted in a randy good session of chicken broth barf followed by an overture of dry heaves that would make Jillian Michael's stomach muscles cry uncle. Much to my surprise, there was my night in shining armor wielding a cold wash rag, a cup of water and a hand to rub my back and hold my hair. I mean, after all the last time he was yacking, I just pulled my pillow over my head. That right there is one of the million reasons why I love him. I know every time I talk about him I ramble on and on and go a little Tom Cruise about him but I just can't help it. He loves me enough to not laugh at me as I yell into a toilet bowl. That right there folks is love.

I'm sure now that I've spilled the beans, you want to know the rest of the story. I've obviously spoiled some of the ending since you know that I am alive enough to type out this really long, borderline TMI post. Well, it will just have to wait until tomorrow because I have a turkey to find. Yep, I'm in charge of the bird this year and I have to not only find a 15# turkey, but somehow get it defrosted before Thursday morning.

The question is...

As you may or may not have noticed, my absences seem to stretch into longer periods of time. It seems that this blog was far more therapeutic than I gave it credit for. A dissolving marriage, emotional sponge-ness and stalemate in the career front were the fuel to my blogging fire. Now I find myself blissfully married to an incredible man, no longer taking on the grief of the world (and not dealing with FD politics) and finding contentment in my career and where it is headed has made me, well kinda dull. Sure, I can muse with the best of them but generally after re-reading, I find that I sound either scatter brained or just plain ol' "simple". So what is a blogger (and I use that term very loosely) to do? Hang up one's hat and call it? Continue rambling on about nothing and everything? Bore you all (all two of you that may still have me in your readers) with the wonderful monotony of my day to day life?

I'm not sure what is the best course of action. I don't believe I was ever a terrific writer. Sure I pulled one out of left field from time to time, but for the most part I don't find myself all that eloquent or interesting. (Trust that I am not fishing for compliments here. Quite the contrary, in fact.) I like writing. I have been doing that in one form or another for as long as I can remember but often I find myself looking back and cringing at what I wrote.

So the question becomes...

Just call me the Terminator.

That's right. I'll always be back. Truth is, I never really left I just got really, really quiet. I'm positive you are all just dying to know what I have been up to other than enjoying life in the Sunshine State. Right? Of course!

Well, I finally took the short version of the NREMT exam to obtain my new license. I studied and reviewed and JB quizzed me until the cows came home, and let me tell you, there isn't much by way of bovine down here. After several nights of falling asleep with various books meant to boost my memory of various subjects, it was time to take the test. I was ushered into a small room with a single row of computers. I immediately noted a slight scent of dirty rodent in the air. You know that funky cedar chip and hamster poop smell? Yeah, it was loverly. The first few questions were a little rough. I had to mentally divide the CCR protocols I had been running under and the AHA CPR protocols the rest of the world abide by. About question 28 I felt that I had hit my stride and stopped panicking every time I hit 'Next'. 45 minutes in the screen politely reported that I had completed the test. Begin total freak-out mode. It took me well over an hour and a half the first time I took this thing! Surely I just bombed it and would be the laughing stock of all the EMS world. I called my wonderful mother who laughed until I managed to get her to freak out with me. JB told me either I was being silly, of course I passed. (Have I mentioned lately how awesome he is?)

I guess the EMS gods smiled on me because my results were there waiting for me, bright and early Tuesday morning. Bada-bing. Bada-boom. I rocked that sucker and I am now a card-carrying EMT of the State of Florida. Now to apply for a part time job... eventually. First, we have to close on the house (MONDAY!) and paint every surface in that place.

I'm sure I will have my fair share of stories of gore and remodeling to share, but in the mean time I'm going to sit and enjoy the fact that I can still pass a portion of the NREMT exam. Go me.

Dr. David Lee Murphy says...

"There might be a little dust on the book
But don't let it fool ya about what's inside."

Well that is if he was singing about my EMT-B book and not a scrumptious and oh-so-tasty and inviting bottle of wine. Mmmm... wine...

Right, a post. Luckily for me, having moved in the last 6 months eliminated the need for the icky-icky dance when I reached into my bookshelf to pull out the well-worn and slightly out dated book. I even went as far as to pull out the workbook that matches. It took a day or two, but I finally mustered the courage to crack open the workbook and take the final test. I was cruising right along, answering questions and circling ones I knew I was guessing at when I realized I was guessing a little more often than I should. Of course I felt a twinge of shame, but that twinge became a swift kick to the backside when I tallied the results and realized... I failed.

I have been trying to rationalize the reason why I would fail so miserably and really the only reason is I need to brush up on the material regardless of a recert test. Of course with my brain, the thought process doesn't stop there and coincidentally, neither does the need for refreshing and learning.

I was reading through the Medical/Legal and Ethical Issues chapter and ran across these little ditties...

"To be an effective EMT-B, you must maintain your skills and knowledge. This includes practicing until you have obtained confidence and mastery of the skills. After that, continuing education and re certification are necessary to maintain mastery. Every patient deserves the best care."

Whoa.

This little paragraph is probably skimmed over by most as they eagerly read through the chapter waiting for the "good stuff" to start appearing on the pages before them. I think every chapter should start with this sentence. And yes, I believe it is that important.

How many of us complain about the old guy that phones it in at trainings and recerts declaring they have seen it all and therefore know it all? Or how about the person who after years on the department, still doesn't have the confidence in the most basic skills. We aren't talking, "Hey, I'm not positive about this BP, can you check for me?" The look of sheer terror when you ask to put the 3-lead on, the frantic opening of every cabinet looking for the NRB. Yeah, I know you are nodding your head right now or maybe you are thinking, 'crap, that's me'. Right now, I feel like that is me and that makes me sad. Of course, there are times I have those moments where I swear my cranium just dutch ovened my grey matter and I couldn't recite your ABC's if I was offered a million dollars to do so. Hell, I have had more than my fair share of those in every day life as well as in EMS.

I am trying really hard not to be the person that can just skate through the exam and settle with a passing grade. I want to own that test. I want to walk out of the building fist pumping. I want to be the person who verifies, learns and grows. I want to have the knowledge beyond X=Y because the book told me so. I want to be great.

I think I can do that. No, wait. I KNOW I can do that. I just have to remember to keep my nose in the books.

Help!!

Today I received an email that scared the crud out of me.

"Congratulations. You have been approved to take the examination for Florida Certification as an Emergency Medical Technician."

Yeah. So all this time that I should have spent reviewing the EMT-B protocols, I haven't and now I'm starting to get that "Immafrowup" feeling. So... anyone care to share their favorite review/study aids? There are more books out there that claim to be 'the best review evah', but I don't want to be shelling out $50 for something that isn't current or is inconsistent with the NREMT. I still have my EMT-Basic books but those were published in 2003 and well, times have changed and I would hate to brush up on incorrect info.

Seriously folks. If anyone still follows this sad little blog of mine anymore, please help a sistah out.

Rough Days and Birthdays

I've been pretty lucky in that I have handled and processed the whole massive life changes pretty well. Maybe I have excellent coping mechanisms or I'm just really good at shoving it way down and ignoring it. Who knows, possibly a combination of both. Don't get me wrong, I am so happy to be where I am at and there is never any doubt in my mind that moving across the country was the right decision. Despite this, there are still some bad days. Today just happens to be one of those. Today is my sister's birthday. It totally sucks that I don't get to see her. Usually round about this time we are having a celebratory corn dog at the local county fair. Sure, she can't have them anymore due to the discovery that she has Celiacs, but at least I could stand in front of her and in true little sister fashion, try my best not to rub it in while I devour one myself. Not this year. This year I am sweating it out in another state while she is back home celebrating with the rest of my family and the cold that seems to have caught up with her. So far this year, I have missed every one of my family members birthdays. That would be 7 family members out of 10. Awesome, right? I knew this was going to be a reality of moving away, but I guess I did a pretty good job of pretending it didn't bother me.

Of course there is salt for this wound as well. Today would have been my grandma's 70th birthday. I mean it is pretty cool in a very strange way that she shared a birthday with one grandchild, the first to be exact, and died on another grandchild's birthday, his 21st. I didn't think this day would be as hard as it is but it sucks. I just really wish I could be there with my sister not only to distract her but myself as well. Preferably with a crying jag in the middle of our retail therapy. Instead I will be going to dinner for my father-in-law's birthday and doing my best not to be my crybaby self. Although they are awesome and amazing people and love me despite my proclivity to crying at random moments, it doesn't mean I enjoy being a blubbering fool.

These are all things that I cannot change. I have to just accept reality and deal with the barrage of emotions as they come. So instead of whoa is me I say, happy birthday to my sister who wasn't always my best friend but who I can't imagine living without. The one who can finish sentences with me. The one who turned me into a girl and not just the tomboy in sweatshirts. The one who has worked miracles in times of desperation... I love you, I miss you and I wish you all the happiness anyone could ever endure.

Death by paperwork.

Yesterday and today I have made some excellent progress in the Great License Quest. I have an official application into the state, an application to the county for employment pending and a National Registry Test to take. I think this is one of those things where you look back and wonder how the heck you got through all the paperwork. I spent most of the night last night website hopping trying to figure out what order I need to submit paperwork and I think and hope I have it all down.

I'm waiting on official transcripts from the school that provided me with my EMT education as well as the form from the State of WI that my license is in good standing. Although I'm not sure if they sent it back to me or straight to the State of FL. You would think that would be the thing causing me to have an ulcer... oh no. It's the stupid NREMT test. You know, that test that I took about 7 years ago and aced? Yeah, that test.

I don't think Epi killed Self Doubt et all, I think they just moved into my neighborhood.

Do ya feel lucky?

I sure as heck don't. I am finally back home. I think I have some sort of issue when I fly by myself. Delayed flights, canceled flights, you name it.

I suppose the extra 18 hours in Wisconsin didn't kill me like a failed engine with no backup generator could have. It's just such a tease to be sitting on the runway, bracing for takeoff only to be told you are returning to the gate.

*sigh*

I got home yesterday, worked a few hours and essentially slept until this morning. I am still exhausted. I might have something more entertaining to say tomorrow, but I can't promise anything.

Until then...

Planes, Family and Ink

It seems every time we go on a double date with JB's sister and brother in law we end the night at the tattoo shop? This time it was my turn for new ink. It's pretty awesome but hurt like I have never hurt before. Wowsers dude. Then again that's what I get for putting a tattoo on the top of my foot. Totally worth it though.



I'm actually in the office today, in a skirt even. See my super awesome heels that I am rocking? I kind of missed them and to my great surprise wearing heels again has been a pretty easy transition. Like a duck to water people. I actually feel like a 'real' employee for once. It's kind of strange.

I hate surprises. Well not really I LOVE surprises when I don't know they are coming which seems counter-intuitive. You know when someone tells you "I have a surprise for you" and then you have to wait to find out what it is? Yeah, that drives me NUTS. What I do like is surprising other people. I made a very valiant attempt at that this weekend. The big family reunion was scheduled for this past weekend and up until a week ago I didn't think I could make it. Because I am made of win and awesome I decided I would book a ticket because I can. That and I only have one grandparent left and I would like to see him as often as I can.

Things got off to a rocky start but I got into town only two hours later than originally anticipated. (Thank you again to the wonderful Delta employee who switched my flights to avoid another layover in Cincinnati and instead sent me directly past Go.) I managed to spill the beans to my sister while sitting in the Atlanta airport because I needed a ride. Eventually I had to call my mom as well to get a ride so her surprise was spoiled too, kind of. She was still surprised but not how I had planned it.

The reunion went well and I kicked some major butt at our games, minus that whole Apple stacking competition. It was a draw anyway. However, the elephant game and the noodle game I was the champion. Who knew I was so awesome at swinging nylons around my head? Although I did have a 6" height advantage on my cousin so perhaps it wasn't a very fair fight. Or it was just the mojitos that helped. I really believe everyone should have fresh mint growing out the back door to collect. We even put them in the 'Grandma Pitcher'. This was a pitcher we used to bring Grandma flowers while she was in the hospital. Cheaper and sturdier than a vase! Although I am now mojito free and I still think it is a good idea to share these pictures with the universe. But that's just the kind of awesome I am. Please feel free to have a laugh at my expense.


The culprit


Waiting to start


Just me winning

After the festivities I was informed by Fuss-bucket and Nervous-Nilly (the terminally cranky and overbearing aunts) that we were to go through some of Grandma's things and pick what we wanted. Of course there was a plethora of costume jewelry and various other knick-knacks. It just felt so wrong divvying her up but this was my chance to have something. Whatever was left was to be set out for a rummage sale. I'm not sure which though churned my stomach more, choosing what small trinket I would have to remember her by or that some stranger would be pawing her things with no regard to the incredible woman who owned them. Despite the tears we had some good laughs. The best part was when the breeze blew just the right way, we all swore we could smell her. It was a nice little reminder while we reminisced and handled her belongings like they were precious diamonds.

I am now the proud owner a few of her handkerchiefs and a pendant necklace that is actually a liberty dime. She received that from a cousin at her retirement party. The last stop of the day was to go and visit her. It was a sucker punch to the gut to see her grave. There is no marker yet and no pretty grass to sugar coat reality. How is it that talking to the ground is so cathartic? The single pink carnation I left sure did look out of place but it was kind of poetic. Something so beautiful in the midst of all the upturned ground.


It was a beautiful weekend filled with lots of laughs and great memories. I'm always glad to come to visit for a bit but I miss JB and I'm excited to be home again.

My week: A Summary

Sunday:



Monday:




Tuesday:



Wednesday:





I fear the remainder of my week... *whimper*

Gee, thanks Michael.

It's been a while since I have done any blogging not to mention and memes. In an effort to play nice in the blogosphere, I, Bernice, am actually participating in this one. Which one is it, you ask? Oh the one about what materials you have stashed away in your bathroom to pass the time while you pass the, er... time.

JB and I affectionately call that corner of our bathroom the Poop Closet or the Blasting Zone. See, here in Florida, it is all the rage to have your toilet separated from the rest of your bathroom by a door. It's kind of nice, but kind of a pain. The best part of our bathroom is the owners of the home thought it would be appropriate to paint our bathroom a shocking shade of orange. It isn't pumpkin, it isn't orange, it is CAUTION YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE MORTALLY INJURED orange. I think it makes safety vests look tame. That is not the point of this meme, but I told you anyway because we are close like that.

The funny thing is, I don't have anything to report to you. There are no magazines in the bathroom. There are no books. There is a toilet, a scrub brush and a plunger. I guess that is something I never understood. Why would you want to sit in there and hang out for a while on a regular basis? Maybe there is a need for the masses to include more fiber in their diets? I mean, I can understand the occasional illness that causes some rifts in the harmony of your bowels but for the day to day? I got nothin for you folks.

Now if I was a mean, over-sharing wife, which apparently I am, I would tell you that JB, the man of my dreams, the love of my life, would be quite a bored little boy without his iPhone in the can.

I am not tagging anyone on this, but you can go and see Michael Morse's response and who he tagged. While you are at it, check out some other stuff he has written. I mean, if a man can make a blog about reading material interesting, he has to be worth a second look, right?

When you're gone.

Last week, we were sitting in church and our pastor mentioned something about doing a funeral for an elderly woman. He said he likes to ask the family about the person and their life. Normally he hears stories from sad but proud family members, eager to brag about their loved one, but it was the one time he question was answered with a deafening silence that left a mark on him. Of course this made me think. What would people say if I died? Morbid, I know but I couldn't help myself. Will people look at my casket and say, "she got it right?" How do I even start?

I struggle daily with my job. In a sixth degrees sort of way, I can see how I make a difference. When I was an EMT, I could see, feel and hear the difference. Since I am human, I generally prefer the instant gratification. So do we all hope to be defined by one single act or do we try to make the greatest impact we can? What makes the greatest impact?

The last six months or so of my life has been a roller coaster of emotions. I got engaged, endured the trials of a long distance relationship, lost my maternal grandma, moved across the country, got married and lost my paternal grandma. It has been an absolute whirlwind and a test to my new marriage. I am so absolutely thankful for JB. He has been there through the tears, anguish and anger, the sleepless nights, the long hours traveling, the boring family get-togethers and my own unpredictable emotions. He has witnessed my family at their best and our moments of the worst and still he loves me. What a crazy wonderful man.

Is it the empty dishwasher that is so great? Is it the silent hugs while I cry over a heart wrenching loss? Is it the extra stolen kiss before he walks out the door for work? Or is it a combination of all of these things?

What are you doing to leave your mark? What are people going to say about you when you're gone?

Think about it.

HELP!!

I miss my big brother.

My favorite part is when I see him now he tries really hard not to smile. But he loves me so he can't help it which just makes me all sorts of warm and fuzzy in the ol' ticker of mine.

It's his 30th birthday tomorrow. Pretty monumental indeed and I'm 16 hours away.

In an effort to make up for missing it, I need to call in a favor. A big, huge favor... see he likes to collect and wear as many fire department shirts as possible. Does anyone want to help me out? I'd love to pay for and send him as many as possible.

Of course this starts blurring the lines of being anonymous but hell, I'll do it for him. So, shoot me an email if you are interested in helping. I will owe you BIG time.

The Thing About Florida

So I was born and raised in Wisconsin. True cheese head through and through. My dad worked at a cheese plant for 16+ years, hell I even worked there for a few summers. We won’t mention the toxic chemicals I used to do my job or the hours I spent in a warehouse alone checking jars of cheese, because well then I would be bitter and not just sayin. That is not the point. The point is that in Wisconsin we have animals that are gross and scary and make you do the icky-icky dance that is required to get the goose bumps off of you. Don't laugh at me! You know exactly what I'm talking about! I guess when you grow up around mosquitoes the size of humming birds, ticks that are just dying to burrow deep into your skin and get all fat and stretchy from feasting on your delicious O+ blood, you just kind of get used to them. It's the way it is. Sure once in a while you find one of the little mongrels and you do the shudder shake like it's going out of style but for the most part, they aren't that terrifying.
Then one day, you fall in love and you pack up your stuff and move to Florida. Talk about culture shock here people. Eh's have become Ya'lls and everyone talks like they have a mouthful of cow poop and they have the nerve to look at me funny because they assume I come from the land of wood chippers and brats (the food, not the spoiled child). Of course I come from the land of sauerkraut laden goodness but I have never once operated a wood chipper, although I'm sure I could figure it out easy enough...

Right... my point. Peeps are weird down here but what is even stranger is the wildlife. Oh I have spent a good amount of time gazing wistfully and the pelicans and boobies (the birds not the body parts) thinking how lovely the wildlife is. JB was kind enough to remove the palmetto bugs (as they like to call them) before I came down. Unfortunately there are more than 8 of them in this world and for the record they are no palmetto bugs they are friggin ROACHES people. It's like calling an alligator a hungry little lizard. I think I made it four days until it happened.

Do you know I now have to wear shoes whenever I leave my house? The garage is a war zone and as I found out, so is my front walk. I went outside to get the beast her dinner and the first step I took into the garage narrowly avoided tromping on a giant, black bug that was almost big enough to put a saddle on. This wouldn't have been quite so traumatizing if I hadn't been barefoot. I'm sure you are laughing at me now saying, Silly Bernice. It's just a little bug. Come on people! These ain't your regular ol' household roaches. They are the size of Nantucket! Blechk.

Fast forward to last night. It is garbage day today so of course the entire neighborhood has their garbage out to the curb by 3:30pm sharp. It's a little creepy actually, but that is all for another post. I had gone grocery shopping to feed the two teenage boys that will soon be cohabitating here and needed to make room for the new food. Of course this means the two-week old box of Little Ceaser's Hot N' Ready pizza had to go. I skipped out the door giddy and oblivious. What once was my boring old leaf-laden front steps was now a party for geckos. I repeat... blehck. Sure they are cute in pictures and in Geico commercials but they aren't so cute when you are doing the two-step barefoot through a moving gecko minefield. They mostly blend in with the concrete so it was even harder to locate the little buggers before stepping on them. And now my toes are all curled up at the thought of squishing a little creepy crawly between my toes. You know yours are too! If not, you are a freak.

Thankfully on the way back they had all mostly gone into hiding so my path was relatively clear of lounging lizards.

So what is my point? My point is that I have learned several things.

1. Always wear something on your feet when leaving the house. Tis better to squish something with at least a sandal barrier.
2. When going outside at night, turn the light on, count to 10 and send the hound out first. She doesn't seem to mind the little critters at all.
3. If all else fails, have the man do it. Situation avoided completely.
4. We aint' in 'Sconsin anymore Toto
5. I am a giant weenie.

So there you have it folks. This big ol' tough-girl squirms at the sight of "icky" things. But if you tell anyone my secret, I will kick your ass.

Oh hi! Just me again...

There have been a few road blocks in this whole Renew Bernice's License Quest. The awesome part is, renewing my WI license is step one to getting my FL license. Somewhere in there is a stepping stone on my National Registry and of course applications with the State.

It is a bit overwhelming right now, but darnit I am going to see this through.

Liar liar pants on fire!

The hunt is on. I am doing the research for getting my license down here in the great state of Florida. I requested letters of recommendation from my Chief and Assistant Chief, I'm tracking down my renewal for my Wisconsin license (woohoo for doing the refresher anyway!) and I printed out the application.

I don't know where or what I'm going to do with this, but we shall see. It seems that the local FD only has fire and EMS type peeps so I'm not sure what to do there. Let's face it, I have no business doing FFI because well, there's no way I can drag anyone above 150# out of a burning building. Heck, I don't even know if I can drag a 150# person around. And I haven't talked to JB about it. Maybe I just need another project to occupy my time. Maybe I miss going on calls. Maybe I'm mental.

Ack. Someone hold me.

The hunt is on.

With my recent change in status and demographics, I am finding I have a lot of time on my hands. It has been quite the switch from 2 jobs and a the fire department to one job that starts and ends at the end of my hallway. I spend a good portion of every day absolutely amazed at how blessed I am to have what I have and be where I am. I have a husband that loves me more than words can describe, a beach of beautiful white sand and blue water 10 minutes away and a job that allows me to live comfortably and telecommute every day. There truly isn't much more I could ask for though I wont deny the list of wants is still present.

I am very happy to say that both JB and I have started working out every day. He has gone back to training every week day and also finds time to get on the treadmill on the weekends. I have had a few days here and there that I haven't done much of anything, but our eating habits have been better and less frequent as well as our water consumption has increased. Before, daily exercise was a dream and if I did take the time to do it, it took away from my dreams quite literally. Most days this just wasn't an option when I was lucky to get 5 or 6 hours of sleep at night as it was.

So here I sit... dare I say it? Bored! I have crocheted several baby blankets for friends. I am maintaining a household daily, working out daily and yet I still have time on my hands. I swear I have entered another dimension!

What do I do with myself? I'm trying to write more but as you can see, I'm finding subject matter to be a bit of a challenge. I mean, you people can only hear about my freakishly long spans of sleep before you sharpen your pitch forks and light the torches.

What is a girl to do? Perhaps it's time to visit the local community center. I wonder if they have anything to do there...

No more.

You know that wedded bliss I was talking about the other day. Well forget it! No more of that mushy gushy I love my big strong manly man of a man crap! Do you know what he did? Okay, so maybe I'm being overly dramatic about it but dangit, it was so not nice and he knows it. (And yes dear, I am making that face at you.)

Somehow last night we ended up laying in bed and talking about his barfing habits. See JB has had the plague since about a week after we got married. He has been coughing so hard he barfs and when that vomit contains Maker's Mark whiskey and it gets caught in your snot factory, you can guarantee it's all over but the crying. So there he was at 3am not talking to Ralph on the big white phone, oh no, he is a yeller and we ain't talking the color. I'm sure you are all assuming I ran into the bathroom to rub his back and hand him a glass of water with which to rinse his mouth... oh no. You can just mark me down for the horrible wife demerits because instead of making sure he was okay, I securely fashioned my pillow over my head in a sad attempt to block out the sound. Hey, if you have been around here long or know me you know that pre-barf gagging noise just sends me right over the edge. See?! Even typing it out is making me gag. The point is, as we were laying in bed discussing the fact that I learned something new about my amazingly wonderful and sweet husband, he starts making that.nasty.noise. Oh yes, he thinks he is soooo funny. So then I start gagging which only encourages him more.

I married a 12 year old boy.



**Note: I still love him with the fire of a thousand suns but sometimes I kind of want to punch him in the arm repeatedly until it actually hurts.

This is my life?

I keep having these moments of "Holy crap! Is this really my life?"

I am embracing the motorcycle. I've even got that whole bandanna thing down. I think I even carry it pretty darn well.

I am getting used to the local creatures that like to sneak into my home. I named the biggest "Palmetto bug" in the garage Herman. He likes to have stand-offs with me while I'm trying to get out of my car.

The back patio has become my favorite place to sit after our nightly motorcycle rides. I mean, who wouldn't love a good glass of wine with your feet up? Oh and did I mention the lack of hummingbirds mosquitoes?

JB and I are still enjoying our newlyweddedness and since I am a big mushy mushball about it, here are a few more pictures. Enjoy!











I have a few actual posts in process, I just haven't had the itch to write as of late. I'm too busy not being busy. Hang in there with me folks, I'll have something up soon.

Now that's a woman.

I walked into the room. It was dark, lit only by the meager sunlight left from the day and the glow of the IV pump next to her bed. A few family members remained scattered throughout her new room, the biggest one on the floor to accommodate for all the visitors. The only color to be found in the drab room was the vast array of plants and flowers boasting every hue of the rainbow.

The body in the bed was still but for a slow rise and fall of the blankets. A white head of hair protruded from the cocoon. I looked down on a face, swollen from the chemo and the push of fluids. Despite the constant heaves that wracked her body, she smiled and chatted. At the report of her chill, my grandfather, her husband, the father of her seven children quickly offered to crawl into her bed and help keep her warm. It produced a rolling chuckle as well as more than a fair share of teary eyes. After all these years, their love was raw, clear and deep.

Her vision had been slowly waning for years, but the latest round of chemo all but took it out completely. She could now only see the outlines of the ghosts who claimed to be family. Her swollen fingers grasping at the hands that took hers, only knowing who was speaking by their voice. A cool washrag for her forehead to help with the nausea and a warm one to wipe away the evidence of her stomach's refusal to contain her few sips of juice.

Her sweet, caring eyes met mine boasting years of laughter, sadness and love. Not even the years of degeneration and the latest round of chemo could stop that. Her fingers slowly curled around mine. I turned my head to blink away the tears that were filling my eyes. She was tired now but she managed to give me precise instructions on how to care for my new fern back home. Always the gardener, ever the grandmother. It was getting late and what she needed was rest. Leaving her in the care of the nurses, we all headed home to eat a dinner that had traces of her throughout. I couldn't help but enjoy the thought that despite her confinement to a hospital bed, she was still loving and feeding her family. We passed around the corn and squash she had frozen last summer. We munched on cookies she had frozen months ago. Despite her absence, she was everywhere; our hearts, our minds and as always, in our bellies.

Before leaving town the next day, a final trip to the hospital this time for some one on one with the matriarch. A tray of food sat untouched and neglected in the corner. The only thing of interest a single cup of plain tea. Raising the straw to her peeling lips, she sipped and I prayed - please let this be a sign of healing. Chatting and holding her hand we discussed her current condition, this time her lifetime as a nurse peeking through her words, showing an understanding of her condition. We smiled and laughed at the conversations in the hallway. I was soaking up her presence as if I were a flower in the desert and her wisdom sweet, cool rain. Before long it was time to go. Little did I know the kiss on her cheek would be the last I give to her.



I stood in the hallway outside the sanctuary not yet ready to see more than the beautiful sprays of color beside her casket. It still didn't seem real. She was gone. I felt guilty as I already missed the hand-made washcloths, the jars of apple butter collecting dust, her birthday cake on Christmas Eve. My grandfather's voice broke the silence a few rows up... even in death he was struck by her beauty and just as in love with her as the day they met. One by one we made our way to her side to say goodbye. Her grandsons slowly and carefully placed her in the back of the black van, the honor and pain of their duty soaking their ties.

Many hearts were broken the day she died. Many hearts were filled in the days preceding.

Born December 24, 1927 - Called to the Lord April 28, 2010

Seven children, fifteen grandchildren, 12 and counting great-grandchildren and a countless number of lives touched by this woman.

It is now up to us to keep her memory alive. To tell the next generation of the love and kindness of one woman.




I miss you Grandma, from here to eternity.

New and improved...

Or just me with a new last name. The hiatus got me through leaving the fire department, moving to a completely new state half way across the country and getting married to the man that makes me laugh until I snort. Yes it's the ugly truth people, I snort when I laugh hard. You all still love me anyway, right?

So to make up for my I'm leaving, no I'm not, yes I'm leaving shenanigans, here are a few photos from the wedding.







As much as it may seem, I am not grabbing his goods with my right hand. He just never let go of it so I had no other choice than to look like I'm getting a handful in each and every picture taken at this precise moment. Well, at least now it's "legal" to do so.

As much as I love my new digs elsewhere, I like the familiarity of it over here. I am in quite a conundrum and honestly, my impending trip to the social security office is not really helping me make a decision. I guess I forgot how much of a pain in the butt it is to change your name. I guess I don't mind, he is pretty hot after all. :)

Uh... hi?

My google analytics says people are still stopping by. Is there that high of a demand (heh) for my boring rants and dull ramblings? I can't decide where I like it better. Does anyone really even miss me?

A question and an announcement

First, what in hell is a P5? Can anyone tell me what I should be expecting when that is the dispatch info I get? In my area we don't use 10 codes or any other coding system just plain ol' Chest Pain or Seizure. And for the record P5 sounds a hell of a lot like suicide in the wee hours of the morning.

Also, I'm switching things up. I'm moving out of this here blog and heading out to a new spot where I don't have to log out of my email to comment or write posts. I'm not going to be officially announcing the new address because well, there is some baggage I would like to leave here. I may pop up on your radar in the future, but let's face it, it's not like I am in high demand on the interwebs.

So, until then, Bernice... out.

Missing Out.

Not so long ago I discovered google reader. I know, way behind the times. Well, that has really been an improvement to the amount of time I spend reading blogs. Namely, I can scroll instead of going to favorites and clicking on the next blog I want to read not knowing if there is a new post or not. This is quick and convenient, but I think I miss seeing the layouts of the blogs. Let's face it, I'm very much a visual person and the blogs I read were associated with the layout of the blog. It helped me remember who is who (I read a LOT of blogs) and gave me some insight into personalities. I kind of miss that. With that, my goal for tonight is to go through all daily reading and update my favorites and also my blog-roll here.

So, if you link to me and I don't link to you, leave a comment and I will gladly add you. Also, please hang in there while I beg Tony to assist me in creating a new design for this place that reflects my personality better.

What would you do?

While on a call you observe behavior from an officer that you are not comfortable with. The officer is rude to the patient's family and also physically moves a person to prevent them from walking past the cot while the patient is being moved. This action on the family members part has the potential to cause the cot to become unstable. You do not witness this event.

While en route to the hospital the family member states they would like to file a complaint and provides their recount of the event. You remain neutral and ask if you speaking with the person would be sufficient. They agree.

You ask to speak with the officer and you find that they believe their actions are correct and justified. After hearing their side of the story you still feel uncomfortable with the events and also mention your dissatisfaction with the officer's interaction with the patient's family. The conversation takes a turn and your care of the patient is now brought into question.

What do you do?

HTML and other buggars

So I like to think I'm pretty crafty with HTML for not knowing what in the world I'm doing. So of course, new year means new layout, right? Uh not so fast there slick. As it turns out I'm not nearly as crafty as I thought I was. Back to the drawing board, er copy and paste and google searches for me.

In other news, I think my career in EMS is coming to a close. With the prospect of a new zip code and quite frankly and entirely different climate (yay!) doesn't bode well to continuing one's volunteer "career" in EMS. Of course being the short-sighted person that I am I let my national registry lapse. No big deal, right? Just go take the test again. Call it laziness, call it fear but I don't know if I can or will. Reading those sentences again sounds like a list of excuses and maybe it is.

I don't think I can really say how I feel about it. Am I sad that I wont have that joy of connecting with people, both coworkers and patients? Yes. Am I sad that I wont be adding to the library of images that creep up on me at the oddest times? No. Will I miss it? Definitely.

I'm good at what I do. I'm not the best nor do I think I will ever be. When I sit down and think about it, the set up I have here is pretty close to perfect. I have a great job that pays me better than I could have ever imagined but I don't LOVE it. But what I don't LOVE about it, I make up in the hours when I get home responding to calls, learning new things and working with the community. I get everything I need. A paycheck and fulfillment. Unfortunately, like most adults I have to make concessions. I have to decide which is more important. Being with the man that I love and who makes me a better person or keep my set up as it is.

It is no mystery that I have struggled with burnout and malaise in the recent past. I'm sure it has some to do with my personal life and a lot to do with the fact that I have zero interest in department politics. I want to do my job, do it well and go home. I don't care if Sally was upset that she wasn't allowed to transport because it wasn't what was best for the patient. I don't care that Fred is pissed and Roger because wanted to run for A/C. I just can't get myself worked up over stuff like that. As much as I hate the phrase... it is what it is. If in the grand scheme of things it is but a tiny little bump that will soon be forgotten, then let it go.

I haven't quite thought it all through yet which I'm sure is evident in this choppy, all over the place rant I've got going here. The bottom line is, I don't know what to do. Part of me thinks that I could walk away and be happy with it and part of me feels like I'm not done making a difference in people's lives.

Who knows. I have applied to several different jobs. Some in the hospital with direct patient care and some that are more like my full time job. I'm not sure if a patient care in a "controlled" environment of a hospital will trip my trigger the same as emergency care. I just don't know. For now, I am leaving it in the hands of the Big Guy and waiting to see how receptive they are of my resume.

In the mean time, hang in there with me while we pretty the place up around here.

2009 In Review

Well what can I say? It has been one hell of a year folks. Ups, downs and plenty of inside outs too. Despite my letter to the year 2009, it was full of everything I didn’t want but what I got out of it is too good to imagine so I really can’t complain. Because I'm lacking in the mental capacity department, here is a list-style review of my year...

Went to the greatest place on Earth, and I'm not talking Disney.

Ran my first 5K road race.

Took a leave from the fire department and blogging.

Divorced after 4 years of marriage.

Became a landlord.

Visited my favorite city.

Fell in love with my best friend.

Racked up more frequent flyer miles than I had ever imagined.


Missed a flight in NYC and was rewarded with a promise of a life every girl dreams of.

Quit my second job.

Got an impressive raise and promotion.

Lost my grandmother.

Learned more about an amazing woman in a few days than I had my entire life.

Made new friends.

Laughed.

Cried.

Hurt.

Smiled.


It sure has been one heck of a year but looking back, I wouldn't change a thing. Now looking ahead to 2010 I am ready, willing and excited. Good things are in store for me folks. Very good things.