Life as I know it.

I said I was packing it up and heading south. I still went south but I kind of miss this place. It holds a special piece of my heart after going through the trauma and joys of both my life and the life of patients.

I think when I last posted I had just married the love of my life and moved south of the Mason Dixon line. And now, there is this.



He is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on and he is mine. All mine. Okay, mine and his daddy's. As is my style, it was quite the process for him to get here but he is here and he is perfect.

Who knew I would go from an opinionated EMT to an opinionated mommy. Hopefully I can get back some of my creativity and and muster enough brain cells to type out some coherent posts that may or may not be of any interest to people. The good news is I plan on going back to volunteering at the free clinic so the medical related stories will be plentiful. Until then, I will do my best not to bore you with talk of diapers and nap schedules.

So long, farewell...

Consider the towel thrown in.

The white flag is waving.

The credits are rolling.

The prince saved the princess.





So with that, thank you all for the time and energy you have taken over the years to read and comment. I'm still around, reading and commenting when I have time or the inclination but no more incoherent, mindless chatter from this girl.

I'm not taking down the blog (for now) but I'm certainly not going to be "writing" anymore. This blog served a very valuable purpose of working through some stuff in my head and introducing me to amazing folks around the globe.

No need to worry about me. Life is good, great in fact. So until I change my mind, stay safe out there.




Bernice... out.

I need some opinions here.

Do you think there are any benefits to removing the officer command structure from a fire department? The theory is that this would remove any egos and make it all an even playing field. No one can hold their status over another person and use the "because I'm an officer" line or think they are more important/better than a 'black hat'.

While in theory, it sounds like it might work in reality it causes several issues. One being, how do other departments know who to go to on mutual aid calls? Sure, many of the people know each other and have been working with each other for 10+ years, but a breakdown in the reporting system can cause mass chaos and mayhem.

Couple this with the attitude that everyone is replaceable on a volunteer fire department and what do you get?

A brokenhearted Bernice. My family (literally and figuratively) is breaking up and it makes me very upset.

Sweet little Frankie Panky

That sweet, tiny little puppy I brought home a few weeks ago has turned into a couch jumping, tissue shredding, Apple iPhone cord chewing, sock stealing, insatiable beast.

But she has mastered 'sit'.

She will grow out of it... she will grow out of it... she will grow out of it...

Her new favoritest thing in the whole wide world is to take a running leap at JB's chair and land on it so hard (well as hard as her little 5# body will allow her) and snort as it sways back and forth.

She is a bit... odd, which means she fits right in.

Free Stuff Rocks

Next weekend I will be joining my amazing mom in NOLA for the night. She is there for business so that means free lodging and a good time out on the town with my mom. I miss her like crazy, emphasis on the crazy for both of us, and I am super excited to be able to spend a night getting in some quality time.

So, any recommendations on things we HAVE to see or do while we are there?

Renewal Notice 2011

It has been sitting on my desk for months. I thought I could just let it lapse and move on with life, but I just can't. Grandma paid my dues religiously, as she did with all her granddaughters. So, even though she isn't here anymore, I'm going to mail in my check and get my card. I may not be active with the American Legion Auxiliary, but I'm not ready to let go of this little reminder just yet.

Sorry it took me so long to do it, Grandma.

It's that time of year again.

Usually around this time I recap my year and promise myself all the wonderful changes I am going to make to enrich my life and the life of those around me. Since I am not a huge fan of change, I think I'll at least stick to this "tradition" but because I'm not feeling particularly verbose, it will be presented in the form of a list.


1. I retired from the fire department. It sucked and was necessary but the half-hearted goodbye hurt worse than the actual leaving.

2. Moved across the country. Awesome, spectacular, terrifying change. Possibly one of the best decisions I have made in my life.

3. Married JB. Yeah, that guy. Definitely the best decision I have made in my life.

4. Said goodbye to my paternal grandmother. Thankfully, I was able to actually say goodbye and then days later witness first hand the love and bond that she shared with my grandpa shown through stories, pictures and precious, heart-twisting comments from the man who loved her most.

5. Bought a new house. Carpet and paint... famous last words. In fact, it is almost finished. Nothing makes a marriage stronger like renovations. No, seriously. We are having a blast!

6. Managed to rent my house to three consecutive renters all without a gap in tenancy. (Two of which defaulted and left their leases early.)

7. Went through a cancer scare and came out of it healthier and happier, even if I am short one ovary and a useless appendix. I don't need 'em anyway.

7. Adopted a second dog, er puppy. The perfect addition to the family, even if I am scrambling to remember all my puppy training tricks.


I'd have to say, 2010 was a great year. It had it's share of heartache and frustrations but I really can't complain. I'm loved by many family and friends and I have many opportunities opened to me. I am truly blessed.

As for 2011, I anticipate great things. I don't have any resolutions, per say but I do have a few things I really want to accomplish. As always, I want to eat healthier and get back to exercising daily and having a more positive outlook about my body. I intend to continue to grow my relationship with JB and create a positive and healthy example not only for my step-son but also any future additions to the family. I will call my grandpa more. I may not be able to check on him in person, but I don't want him to ever wonder if I love him. Finally, I'm going to relax. That's right. I am going to find more time for doing a whole lot of nothing. No worrying, no fretting, no cleaning. Just enjoying my life for what it is and finding contentment in the day to day mundane.

I'm excited for the next year of my life. Things could only get better from here, even if they stayed exactly the same.

Busted

Scene: Hwy 65 somewhere deep in Alabama, me belting out most of the lyrics to Heart's Magic Man, heading south to the homestead.

Blue lights dance in the rear-view mirror.

JB asks why I'm pulling over. I reply, "I think I'm getting pulled over for speeding. I had the cruise set!" *cue visions of questioning as to why my car is registered to Bernice Oldlastname and my license says Bernice Newlastname. The prickle of nervous sweat stings my armpits. Visions of $300 speeding tickets bombard my brain. The beam from a MagLight travels up the passenger side of the car, pauses on a sleeping dog in the back seat and ends at the open passenger window.


Good evening. License and insurance please.

Oh, no problem officer. *rummaging in glove box* Uh, it seems I didn't put the newest insurance card in here, but it just got renewed this month.

No problem. Do you know how fast you were going?

Well, I have the cruise set at 77, sir.

Actually, you were doing 81. Is there an emergency?

Other than the need to put as many miles between me and sub-zero temperatures? No, sir. Just heading home.

I see. Everything correct on your license?

Yes, sir.

Alright, well sit tight, I'll be right back.

*cue the return of visions of $300 fines*

Well ma'am, I decided to give you a warning tonight. No points and no fines. Any questions for me?

No sir! Thank you sir!

Have a good night and slow it down.

/end scene

I'd like to extend a hearty thank you to the kind officer who decided that it wasn't worth the trouble to write me that speeding ticket round about 01:30 Sunday morning. I swear I had the cruise set at an acceptable speed but apparently my right foot was more anxious to get home than I had anticipated.

The tachycardia kept me wide awake for at least another hour and by that time JB resumed occupancy of the driver's seat.

Happy New Year to me!

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.