Dr. Contentious is not known for his love of talkative patients or his bedside manner.

He hates the former and has none of the latter.

Quoth he: “If I wanted to fucking talk to people, I would’ve become a goddamn priest.”

He’s the guy, though, I want when I’m brought in with a multisystem trauma, or a dissecting aneurysm.

Picture this: laughter, gaiety, pleasant company, delicious dinner on the floor, Nerf darts flying through the air, giant piles of bean bag-esque dealies to sit on—a generally lovely night all around. Queue temporary anoxic nightmare. Queue emergency room. Queue nothing. Somewhere a doctor at Edwards Hospital retreats to his/her office and admires his/her own face in a solid gold plate before delicately eating a decadent truffle off it. At least that’s how I picture it.

Alright, so you tell me where the money went.

I am having an evening with my darling male escort at the home of a few of his friends about two months back. His friend is cooking us a superb dinner (which we will then eat, charmingly, on the floor. Having grown up in a home that was additionally a daycare in the basement during my formative years, I have an affinity for floor-eating, so I am in my element). The food being prepared far outweighs my abilities in the kitchen, and so I volunteer triumphantly to take the little Pillsbury crescent rolls out of the tube and arrange them on the pan. The ones I do look like multi-layered and variously sized sticks. Huh. Not sure how I pulled that off, but at least it does not affect the taste. We eat, all is right with the world.

After about an hour and a half eyeing their cat, whose name is Tribute (as I’m told, he’s not the greatest cat in the world), my cat allergies begin to overtake my fragile little body. Massive asthma attack (oh yes—I am asthmatic too. My mother did not breed genetically superior progeny). No uses of my inhaler (17 puffs in about a half hour will give you the shakes, child) will take it down. I inform Darling Male Escort, who since dinner has been engaged in a lovely Nerf dart gun fight with others, that I’m just a touch out of stuff like oxygen and seem to be getting worse by even the minute. I am trying not to panic; I feel like possibly Pavarotti has popped a squat on my chest. Knowing that Pavarotti died recently, I can be reasonably certain that it’s an asthma issue and I need to go home. I pop a Benadryl that the lady of the house is wonderful to provide me with, and we are off.

Alright, strike that “home” business. We have now left the house 5 minutes ago, and I cannot catch a breath. I am panicked and coughing, and I’m concerned I’m going to lose oxygen and pass out. To the ER, Jeeves! Step lively, step lively.

So Darling Male Escort quickly gets me to an ER, where they promptly put the Swine Flu prevention mask over my mouth—my mouth which already cannot get a breath. Thanks, guys. One of those cruel to be kind things, I wager. Hack, hack, hack, cough, cough, wheeeeeze, as a mask sucks itself to my face like gauzy kidnapping gag tape.

I am then wheeled to an ER room and given a gown and a bed. I am already feeling a little better, breathing better, certain I won’t be passing out at least. Darling Male Escort and I wait for a doctor or a nurse or something. Someone to get my information. Someone to give me a nebulizer treatment, or even just half-assedly pretend to read my blood pressure. We wait for an hour.

An hour when you are unable to breathe due to environmental causes will accomplish one of two things—1.) you will die, or 2.) you will entirely recover. I’ll break the tension here: I did not die.

No, in an hour, I got entirely better. Apparently the Benadryl kicked in, and that was enough to stave off the allergy attack, which effectively released the stranglehold on my asthma issues. Let me tell you, gentle reader, one begins to feel a little silly lying pitifully on an ER table in a gown when the doctor comes in to find you a rather lovely shade of flesh-colored, no longer wheezing or coughing, and you tell him “Hey, um, so about that breathing. All better. Uh, thanks for all your negligence; how did you know it would be just the ticket? Amazing.” You feel silly because it’s actually the truth.

Ah well. I collect my humiliation up to use at a later date, reconstruct my previous outfit onto my newly oxygen-occupied body, returning my hour-long hospital gown to the bed, and Darling Male Escort and I ease on down, ease on down the road back to his place so’s I can sleep it off. And as I drift off to sleep in a happy haze of Tylenol PM and Xanax, a cynical thought occurs to me—I sat in an ER for an hour with no treatment whatsoever. I bet this is going to cost lots of money.

I had no idea. I received the bill this week in the mail. I got charged $22. I do not think I received $22 of service. I mean, I rented a gown that doesn’t close in back and a bed without a blanket from the hospital for an hour, but I’d probably only consider that to be worth about $10. And no tip! Bastards never checked up on me. Hey MD, you got other tables to serve here, guy.

But $22 was nothing compared to what my insurance company got billed. $850! Let me repeat that—they had to cover $850!! How do you people sleep at night? Aside from, clearly, on 1200 thread count Vera Wang Egyptian cotton sheets. With people fanning you and feeding you grapes. Goodness. For a bed, for an hour. Whores charge less, and they at least make sure you leave the bed smiling.

Jesus. I hope that ER bed is rent-to-own, or someone might have been screwed here…

Denke ich verkehrt? Oder komme ich ihr jetzt echt langsam “näher”? Ich check die ganze Situation nicht mehr.. Aber ich habe ja nie behauptet, dass Liebe einfach ist. Ich bin heute krank geworden. Habe mich wahrscheinlich bei einem Schulkameraden angesteckt, jetzt bleibe ich morgen zu Hause, obwohl ich morgen eigentlich eine Mathe Schulaufgabe habe. Morgen kommt aber sie wieder in die Schule.. Praktisch ist morgen der vierte Tag, an dem ich sie schon wieder nicht sehe. Ich vermisse sie ernsthaft..

Jeden Tag frage ich mich, ob ich jemals in ihren Armen liegen werde. Das muss das Beste Gefühl der Welt sein.

Mittlerweile ist sie nicht mehr mein kleines Geheimnis. Es wissen jetzt schon viel zu viele Menschen von meinen Gefühlen für sie. Das geht ein bisschen auf die Nerven, wenn ständig irgendwelche Mädchen fragen: Und? Wie läuft’s? Am liebsten würde ich dann sagen, dass es nicht besser laufen könnte. Nur ich bin bei ihr nie sehr sicher.. Sie ist einfach ein geheimnisvoller Mensch.

Ich konnte heute das Erste Mal ein Mädchen abweisen. Sie hat mich nach dem Sportunterricht angeredet, sie wollte mit mir wohin gehen Aber Ich hatte nur sie im Kopf.. Sie verändert mich zum positiven, selbst wenn es nichts mit ihr wird.

Volcomer

Starring : Eric Lasalle,Brittany Murphy and Bruce Davison.
Loved the Impending doom of whole movie.
Truly a roller coaster of terror,” Will the ground/road hold up as I drive or run?”
The effects are great,really.
Watching this film on SY FY channel,Was probably fun…But the dvd has all kind of extras and really needs to be noticed.
Eric Lasalle(ER) steals the film,In a good way with such an honest and true character.
Bruce Davison (Knight Rider) really plays these distinguished leaders well,Didnt mention “Mad Scientist” once !
Brittany Murphy has a challenge ahead of her as a Sy Fy Heroine,’nuff said.
The best scenes are of Brittany’s Husband and Daughters journey to safety and Eric’s scenes of trying to save his mother( We can all relate to this endeavor).

This message was sent out to members of Medical Emergency Professionals (MEP). It is a reminder that there are many good people working tirelessly in health care. As we give thanks for our many blessings may your Thanksgiving be a joyous and safe one.

On Thursday many of us will sit around a table with family or close friends and give thanks. Some of us will be working, doing what members of MEP and selected professions do, taking care of people. In many ways it is a privilege to be working when every one else is hunkering down to enjoy a perfectly prepared turkey with all the fixings. It’s a reminder to me of the uniqueness of what we do every hour of every day. It is our role in medicine to watch over the communities we serve. In some small ways we are the guardians and I prefer to think of us in such a noble role.

We are the Marines of the medical profession. We are the first line of defense of health care. We are ready at a moments notice to respond to the call. Many times the job is less than glamorous. There is not much thrill in draining an abscess (well maybe some) or in caring for your umpteenth case of non-cardiac chest pain. However for that patient who couldn’t find a PCP to take care of his MRSA abscess or the woman who’s Mom died of an MI in her forties we provide care and comfort.

So in the midst of the debate of how to cover the 40 plus million citizens in this country currently uninsured I give thanks to you. Every day you are there picking up a chart, walking into a room and introducing yourself to the next patient with a simple question. “How can I help you today?” That is a powerful statement about the difference between emergency medicine and the rest of the medical profession. Regardless of social class or insurance status we are here to care for you.

At times it is easy to become insensitive to patients who at times are less than thankful for the care they receive. That is an easy and slippery slope to move towards. I prefer to remember and talk about the thank yous that I, as well as many of you, have received over the years for the care we provide. Thank you for standing beside me and helping to care for that next patient.

And by the way who’s bringing the cranberry sauce tomorrow?

Be well,

Angelo Falcone, MD

While traditional hospitals seem to slow down around the holiday season, this year they are moving full steam ahead.  There are new jobs opening and interviews taking place while we’re eating our turkey.  If you’re on vacation for the holiday, don’t forget to have your phone with you so that you don’t miss any new travel nurse positions that might be just right for what you’re looking for.  Also, as we talked about last week, you don’t want to miss that phone call from the nurse manager!

This Week’s New Positions Include:

ICU in Fort Worth, TX

Peds in Miami, FL

ER in Wynnewood, PA

ICU in Gainesville, FL

L&D in Orangeburg, SC

PICU in Mesa, AZ

MS/Tele in Conroe, TX

L&D in Modesto, CA

ER in Chinle, AZ

ICU in Sebring, FL

MS in Billings, MT

NP in Columbia, SC

ER in Tampa, FL

ICU in Grants, NM

OR in Ketchikan, AK

The Human Hip Geyser.

Buddy comes in the other day with a draining abscess the size of a grapefruit over his right hip, all indurated, erythemous and nasty looking. Touching the thing meant jumping back three feet to avoid the exudate jetting out. Too bad if you were in the line of fire.

“Oh yeah,” says buddy.  ”Was squirting people at work with it.”

Because I take my duties as a blogger seriously, I decided that no semester in Berlin would be complete without an inside look into the German healthcare system.  I felt this was especially apt, given all the recent hullabaloo over Obama and Healthcare.  As much as I am fully in favor of the idea of socialized health care providing every American with access to healthcare, there are a few things I wonder about – one thing in particular.  Sure, there’s that whole question of expense and tax dollars but my concern?  Waiting time.  With everyone’s busy schedules, stresses, and egos, I can only imagine a waiting room turning into data to support Charles Darwin’s “Survival of the Fittest.”  (House style.)

All I needed was a reason for my little experiment- and the forces that be were ready to provide not one but two:

1. my left knee

2.  my right knee

Perfect.  (It must be noted that my experiences took place in an Orthopedist’s office rather than an ER.)

Despite my earlier fears and cause for great hesitation, my waiting time was pretty negligible!  (Although I am pretty sure a few of the older ladies had a few choice words to say to the receptionists)  Even better the entire doctor visit costs about a fifth, without insurance coverage, of what it would have cost in the states.  You would think at those prices the doctor would have been haggard, rushed, and impersonal but lucky for me that was not the case and when I returned a couple of weeks later for my check up, he had no problem recalling my case!  Even the girls at the desk were very helpful when I was trying to fill out a medical question form.  If she hadn’t caught my mistakes I would have been on file as “recovering from cancer and chemotherapy” and “pregnant”.   (Hey, you try filling out a form in another language and see what you check off!)

My point is, I believe our friends on Capitol Hill could learn a thing or two…or three.

Now, I do have one question?  Does the company that provides cast bandages have a desire to embarrass all of us poor injured souls?  If not, would it be so hard for them to provide more understated colors, than say, bright red with bright yellow tape?  I’d rather not have legs that stop traffic.  (For the wrong reasons.)  Or look like they belong in the circus.

Exhibit A:

Gibt es da einen kleinen Funken Hoffnung? Ich bilde es mir vielleicht ein, aber ich habe wieder Hoffnung.. Es liegt wahrscheinlich daran, dass unser Kontakt wieder sehr gut ist und ich ihr gestern meine Gefühlslage geschildert habe und sie war danach total überrumpelt und wusste nicht mehr was sie sagen sollte. Zurzeit habe ich noch ein weiteres Problem, ich vermisse sie mehr als sonst. Liegt wahrscheinlich daran, dass sie Zuhause im Bett liegt. Schon seit zwei Tagen ohne sie. Morgen sind es drei Tage ohne sie, dass hat es seit dem Beginn unserer Freundschaft, glaube ich, noch nicht gegeben. Aber vielleicht ist es gar nicht so schlecht, wenn sie nicht sieht, wie ich in den letzten tagen rumhänge.. Total fertig und meine Stimmung ist im Keller. Aber ich glaube, dass morgen die Welt schon wieder ganz anders aussieht. An dieser Stelle muss ich mich jetzt mal bei meinen Freunden bedanken, die sich super um mich kümmern und immer wieder versuchen mich aufzuheitern. Ihr seit wirklich die Besten

Ob ich jemals mit ihr zusammen kommen werde, steht in den Sternen. Natürlich wäre es das Beste und Wunderbarste, was ich mir im Moment vorstellen könnte.

Ich wünsche mir eine lange Beziehung mit ihr.. Ich sehe jeden Tag diese glücklichen Paare, die schon eine Ewigkeit zusammen sind und immer noch glücklich. :/ Die alles miteinander besprechen können, wenn sie ein Problem haben oder ähnliches. Einfach alles zusammen durchstehen.

Ich würde sogar behaupten, dass Ich sie mehr liebe als mich selbst.. Wer mich kennt, weiß, dass ich wohl einer der arrogantesten Menschen meiner Stadt bin (:

Volcomer

The circle of care is a term of art which refers to the group of care providers surrounding a patient. This includes not only nurses, physicians, and other health care professionals, but also some others not so obvious, like the patient’s family and indeed, the patient herself.

Patient YZ arrives unwillingly by EMS into the Resus Room the other day with a problem which could prove embarrassing both professionally and personally. Pt YZ also is a former employee of Acme Regional, now dismissed, and is now engaged in some very complicated litigation with the health corporation.

So we — meaning the Emerg staff — treat YZ as we normally would a patient in her condition. We weren’t even aware of YZ’s problems with Acme Regional until a steady stream of managers started washing up in the department, like so much flotsam. They poked their heads through the Resus Room doorway, verified it was her, and then retreated to the patient quiet room to have animated conversations. I have never seen as many nursing managers park themselves in our emerg, including the VP of Nursing, various program managers, and YZ’s former boss — and the presence of any of them had nothing to do with the patient’s actual care. It was a nasty confluence of high-powered, sanctimonious nurse managers gossiping, backbiting, and generally engaging in quality self-righteousness.

It was, in short, disgusting.

At which point I started to get very, very annoyed.  Clearly this was violation of patient confidentiality. So when one of the managers wanted to see the chart, I refused. You, I said, are not directly involved in her care — and it’s none of your friggin’ business.

“But,” she said “I’m in the circle of care.”

No, honey. I’m in YZ’s circle of care. The emerg doc is is in her circle of care. The lab tech is, the RT is, and her partner is. YZ’s poor embarrassed family is in the circle — you don’t think her husband didn’t notice all his wife’s former associates loitering around the patient quiet room? And quite possibly her lawyer as well, because I can see, being psychically gifted, another lawsuit for gross breach of confidentiality.

You, on the other hand, actually belong to a subset of nurses I am ashamed to be associated with.

Ich habe vorhin versucht, dass ich mich selbst betrüge. Ich habe mir eingeredet, dass sie es doch gar nicht wert ist und alles. Dann ZACK! habe ich ein Bild von zwei sich küssenden Menschen gesehen und wieder an sie gedacht. Ich habe tatsächlich versagt, ich bin nicht gut genug gewesen. Meine Gefühle sind zwar echt, aber die bringen mir nichts. Außer Schmerzen. In der Schule konnte ich mich gar nicht konzentrieren und war total am Ende. Am Liebsten hätte ich angefangen zum heulen.. Aber heulen ist mir noch nie leicht gefallen und habs dann besser gelassen. Ich habe sowieso seit Jahren keine Tränen mehr aus meinen Augen  gequetscht. Es würde mir sowieso nichts bringen. Am liebsten würde ich meine Gefühle anzünden, oder mit Schmerzen zu überdecken. Es wird einige Zeit dauern, bis ich darüber hinwegkomme. Aber ich habe die dumme Vorahnung, dass ich noch länger an ihr als an K. hängen werde. Sie ´hat mich von meiner Ex weggebracht und es geschafft, dass ich mich unsterblich verliebt habe.

Insgeheim träume ich davon, dass das was uns getrennt hat, wieder zusammen führt. Aber das sind Wünsche, die sich nicht erfühlen werden. Leider..

Volcomer

As you may have noticed I don’t usually get to blog on the weekends. Not unless Principe is either working or I wrestled the computer out of his hands and promise him some silence during his soccer game whilst I rapidly blog something out before he asked for it back in order to make a bet on the game. Yes, he bets. We can get into that later….

If I had blogged on Friday before or during spending 3 hours in the ER with Queenie the tone of my blog post would have been a bit depressing, yet still optamistic. If I had blogged after the ER visit it would have been tired and I would have spent much of my time complaining about the long wait since there were only 7 kids in the pediatric waiting room while raving about the good organization of Gregorio Maranon in making a separate waiting room for possible Swine flu patients. I might also have mentioned a small worry that I caught something anyway in the 90 degree waiting room since my throat was scratchy. If I had blogged on Saturday morning I would have been optamistic. Until around 12 o’clock when the 3 vanilla cake came out of the oven and immediately fell to about 1 centimeter thick. The post at that moment would have been blotched with tears. Saturday night I wouldn’t have blogged since I would partying with my two year old daughter and one year old niece along with 7 other children who brought with them their two parents. A grea time was had by all. And the cake ended up working out. Quite a success even if it wasn’t what I had envisioned from the beginning. But with a lot of frosting people will eat anything!  See the picture? Yeah, I’m great, I know. But what you don’t know is that Friday afternoon I had spent 6 hours with a whiny child trying to make the bottom and top layer of the cake. The chocolate, strangely enough, turned out light and fluffy and wonderful. The vanilla, the recipe I spoke of before that takes forever and a day to make, fell flat. So I made another one from a tried and true recipe. It finished just as we decided to take Queenie to the hospital for an ear infection. When we came home it was about a centimeter thick also. I almost throw a knife through the gallery door. Instead I contented myself  on slamming the dishwasher door a few times since it wasn’t working either and ate  my Cherrios in dissapointed silence. Principe convinced me to go to bed and make another one in the morning. It was 2 am by that time.

We all woke up at 9 am after a very bad night of sleep and I immediately set off to make another cake. I had just enough ingredients left and was excited that THIS TIME IT WAS GOING TO WORK. Why I didn’t think of just making another chocolate I will never know. Stubborn, bull-headed grandma in me.

And the cake fell flat. I cried. And cried. And tried desperately not to smash a glass into the floor. And cried a little more. Queenie saw me and hugged my legs. Principe hugged me and said he was sure I would make it work and where was the grocery list of the things we need for the party?

I made it work. And only served the chocolate part to the guest. The decoration was the hit, really, and the frosting since Spanairds don’t use frosting. All four pregnant ladies at the party were delighted. But this pregnant lady is now stuck eating half-raw cake that is chewy and too toasted on the bottom to be called cake really, but tastes like vanilla so it is sort of okay. But I am stuck doing this for another 2 cakes since Queenie won’t touch it and Principe claims he is on a diet as he finished off his second beer of the night. If only I could throw food away…..instead I eat it and get fat and then complain about how two of the pregnant ladies at the party were in their 38th week and looked amazing! Really, one had only gained 13 pounds and the other had gained 16. I smiled and complemented them, but really jsut wanted to scream and dunk their heads into toilet water. But the music at the party (oldies from our childhoods) made my temperment a bit more controlled and sweeter than it would have been after the trying day. On the other hand, the party was a hit. Did I say that already?

Of course, then there was Sunday. The morning was filled with us wiping Queenie’s snot leaking nose and putting together her tricycle. Many swear words were screamed by Principe as he is not a tinkering sort of guy and has a hard time putting things together that require tools. But it was finally together and the water main was turned back on (did I mention it was turned off for 3 hours without warning? Awesome.) and we hauled ourselved outside to take our sick child for a walk. She rode her tricycle to the park but had to walk home. We lied and told her grandparents she rode it all the way there and all the way back.

Sunday evening was spent with my SIL and niece while the brothers played padel. I was promised up and down by Principe that he would take care of Queenie while I went to the gym, but since she wasn’t feeling well by 8pm he asked me to stay and put her to bed. By 10pm she was sleeping. The gym closed at 10.

And today my throat hurts. But really, besides all of this the party was so much fun. So many people came and it went on for about 4 hours. The kids all got sugar highs from eating too much Nutella and cake and suckers. Queenie didn’t eat anything except for the green sucker next to the lion on the cake. Wouldn’t touch her cupcake. And it had to be the green one next to the lion. What a strange child. After the party she ate a plain scrambled egg and drank a glass of water. Wouldn’t even touch the potato chips at the party. Antibiotics do strange things to my daughter.

Two Fucking Eggs.

All that.
All that pain.

All that stress.

All that time.

All that money.

All that pressure.

All that hope.

And I produced two. eggs.

Don’t shoot unicorns up my butt by telling me it only takes one.

We all know what the odds are here.

Two.

My two preceptors happened to both be on the same day and I got to hear them discuss with each other how they think I am doing in my orientation.  I am slowly catching on to the flow of the department.  I can take care of two to three patients at a time by myself as long as there is nothing to unusual going on.  I can usually get an IV in on the first try but not always, I know the codes to get in the med room and the psych unit.  When someone needs me to get something for them not only do I know what the thing is and what it looks like, I can usually find it.  I am still rather slow and methodical, I still take longer to chart as I ponder the wording of my nurses notes.  But for the most part they think I am doing fine.  One preceptor said to the other, “you know she is going to be fine because she has the maturity to not freak out about what happens, and she is a mom so you know she can multitask!”  The one thing they both remind  me about is the fact that in the ER we can’t fix all of peoples problems.  Many of our patients have chronic issues and psych social problems that are not solved quickly if at all.  I had a patient in for back pain needing a refill of her RX however she had several other issues that we could have helped her with but didn’t. She was a diabetic and her finger stick glucose machine was not working properly, she needed a new one, she had a nasty contact dermatitis on her abdomen that could have used some barrier cream and perhaps steroid cream, and she had a decubitus ulcer developing on her hand where it was contracted due to a stroke 3 years earlier.  She was feeling overwhelmed and frustrated with staying on top of her own care, and I felt like we could have taken an extra 15-30 min to just help her out and get her back on track. However the ER doc insisted that she follow up with her primary care doc for those things and just refilled her pain med RX, even when I asked him about it.  We had a homeless guy found under the overpass in a drunken stupor, we rehydrated him, got him a spot in a detox center because he said he wanted to go and heard that the next day he was thrown out. Then there was the mom and her two kids, she told triage that she was having asthma problems, but when I interviewed her she told me she needed a document from our ER for her employer excusing her from work for a car accident that happened 4 months ago! oh, and also her daughter had a cough and a slight fever.  She was going to lose her job if she didn’t produce this note, but we couldn’t help her, it was 4 months ago and she didn’t seek treatment!  Lots and lots of smokers and alcoholics who are coming in with health issues that are either due to the habits or made worse by those habits.  I can’t fix them, I can just help them with their problem of the moment.  I can be compassionate, and listen to them, and try not to make them feel like they are just another chart to be checked off and pushed through.  The motto for the ER is “treat ‘em and street ‘em”  and sometimes “admit ‘em”.  I just need to learn how far to go with each of them, where does the ER care end and another resource pick up and can I make sure they get connected with that other resource to help them with those chronic issues that take longer to remedy.  It is a fine line, and I seem to run right over it resulting in my precepter stepping in to say “you need to ask the doc what the plan is for your pt, we have done what we can” That line always comes sooner than I want it. I have so much to learn.

ich, du, … εγώ, εσύ….

Οι αντινωμίες χρησιμοποιούται πάρα πολύ στη γερμανικη. H αγγλική, η γαλλική, η γερμανική και άλλες γλώσσες χρησιμοποιούν πάντοτε προσωπική αντωνυμία μαζί με το ρήμα. H ελληνική γενικά παραλείπει τις προσωπικές αντωνυμίες, εκτός α) όταν δίνεται έμφαση στο υποκείμενο (π. χ. στη φράση «εσύ δεν έχεις να φοβηθείς τίποτα») και β) όταν υπάρχει κίνδυνος συσκότισης του υποκειμένου, όπως στην περίπτωση που συζητάμε, οπότε χρησιμοποιείται η προσήκουσα αντωνυμία ή το όνομα του υποκειμένου.

Personalpronomen -Προσωπικές αντωνυμίες

Singular - στον ενικό

• ich  
                      (εγώ)    
• du  
                         (εσύ)          
• er  
                          (αυτός)         
• sie  
                         (αυτή)          
• es     
                       (αυτό)       

plural – στον πληθυντικό

• wir  
                       (εμείς) 
• ihr   
                       (εσείς)
• sie  
                        (αυτοί, αυτές, αυτά) 

Όπως βλέπετε, το τρίτο πρώσοπο του πληθυντικού  (sie)  δεν αλλάζει.  Για άνδρες, γυναίκες και παιδία χρησιμοποιούμε την ίδια λέξη. Sie έχει και άλλη σημαντική χρήση:  άμα θέλεις να μιλάς  σε άνθρωπο στον πληθυντικό ευγενείας, χρησιμοποιείς  Sie στα γερμανικά,  και όχι ihr (εσείς) όπως στην ελληνική.  

Για παράδειγμα, αμα ρωτάς για φωτιά  σε ενα φίλο, λες στα γερμανικα: ” Hast du Feuer?” 

Αλλά στον πληθυντικό θα’λεγες:  ” Haben Sie Feuer?”  

Καλά, δεν είναι δύσκολα, απλά φαίνεται λίγο περίεργο στην αρχή. Τι να κάνουμε, έτσι είναι, ..αλλά καλύτερα να αλλάξουμε λίγο θέμα.   Πάμε να κλίσουμε ρήματα!

Twisted Sister Meg here–back in beautiful Caddo Mills.

Thank you, Twisted Sister Susan, for keeping the blog going while I was on my travels, and trials.

Today is my 11th wedding anniversary, and I have probably picked out one of the worst gifts ever to Don. This may top the shotgun he always wanted that he gave me for birthday a few years ago. Even better than the Wii console I gave him for birthday last year. I bought the Guitar Hero World Tour band set. Amy is thrilled, and good man that Don is, he told me he was excited. {I heard the relieved sigh when he spotted the socks and tidy whities at the bottom of the pillowcase I usedfor a sack.}

The timing part is the problem. On Thursday night, he tripped over a 350 SB Chevy engine with long tail transmission, hit the McPhoenix roll cage first with his right shoulder, bounced off, slammed into the roll cage again with his left shoulder, then crashed onto the floor. When I see him in a prone “stick ‘em up” position and not moving, I go into rescue mode. The ambulance misses our house despite my signals, then they spend an hour trying to start an IV so Don can be transported to the ER.

Awesome Amy called the ER and had one of her fav doctor ready for Don when he arrived. Thanks to Dr Pierce for setting both shoulders even though it sounded like ripping a turkey leg off. Don’s injury is not common, and when my husband does something, he doesn’t go half way! There haven’t been too many documented double shoulder dislocations, so now I understand why there were 12 people in the treatment room.  Took 4 nurses to finally get an IV started in the top of his foot.

Giving Don drugs is quite amusing except for the fact that he was in pain. Thank goodness he didn’t hallucinate like he did with his knee replacement.     We cracked jokes with the staff, laughed that it was a new shirt that the EMT cut the shoulders out, watched the finale of Project Runway, although Don kept asking where Ms. Jay was. As far ER visits go, this one was relatively short and the care excellent.

Still. . .having Don hurt wasn’t the way we wanted to spend our special day. But it is just a day and part of the adventure of our marriage–I’ve got my own purple smurf. I’m sure we’ll have time to get really good on Guitar Hero and have that special drive in the country in the ‘Vette.

More details from the ER. Took a moment to focus on a palm outside.

The hospital is a great place to just sit and pray for people too.  Challenge yourself to do that the next time you are there, and it really helps the hours go by.

Friday the 13th

Started out great on Friday morning, work was going well and everybody was having a good time and then ….

BAM

One of my team members collapses on a couple of pallets.  Our ERT’s (emergency response team) rush to the scene….no pulse not breathing….almost by instinct we all assume our roles to manage the situation….the 911 call goes out as our ERT’s perform cpr and mouth to mouth.  I make the long walk down the receiving dock to let my team members know that one of their coworkers/friend has collapsed and an ambulance has been called.  I ask them to please stay away from the area and I will let them know as soon as I have an update.

I make the walk back towards the scene wondering where in the hell the ambulance is, looking up at the clock I realize it has only been a couple of minutes since they were called.  A couple minutes that have felt like a couple of hours.

The ambulance team arrives and takes over performing cpr and mouth to mouth….out come the shock panels….zap.. no response….try it again…zap….no response.  My mind flashes back to earlier in the day when my team member, who is now flat lining, was telling me about what he was going to do that weekend and looking forward to just hanging out with his youngest daughter.  C’mon ***, I keep thinking, you can make it.  I know you can.  While deep in my heart I fear the worst.

He is loaded up on a gurney and rushed off the dock….still no pulse…still not breathing.

The other leaders and I gather together and quickly go over what has happened and how we are going to tell our teams.  My crew gathers in the break room and once everybody is sitting down I pass on the information, eliminating the news about him being flat lined, and tell them when I get an update, I will relay the information on.  I keep my emotions in check in hopes of keeping the situation stable.

My mouth is saying these words while my brain is running overtime wondering how I am going to tell this team that their friend and coworker of over 15 years is dead.  I know I have to wait and I hope for the best, but he was gone before he left the building.

Most of the team goes home filled with anguish and confusion.  About a half dozen stay around for the next hour and head home when the end of shift chimes ring.  The dark and gloomy mood has fully settled in now and we all wonder what is next…

Forty five minutes later…..

Our supervisor comes by…..Did you hear the news, she says…..He is alive and other words that I can’t hear….He is alive….He is alive…the words swim around in my head and I shed a few tears of joy.  My mind centers itself and I catch the rest of the conversation…status is very touch and go right now and he is not out of the woods yet…still don’t know if he is going to make it.

I head home for the weekend in a daze….three long days pass with my body weighed down with grief and sadness…what is his status I ask a few people…no one seems to know…..is he alive…or ???

Tuesday morning the ride into work seems darker and more depressing as each mile passes.  The feeling of gloom and despair hangs over the building and even more so when I walk pass the spot where it all happened. I chat with coworker about how I am feeling and they share the same thoughts.  The third member of our leadership team walks in with an upbeat step…..

She says ” I saw him last night, he was sitting up in bed, talking, and watching the football game.”  Our mouths drop to the floor.  Not only is he alive, he is alert and coherent as well.  The doom and gloom mood dissipates and the room seems to get a bit brighter….

We make the announcement at our shift start up…the team reacts with a long and loud round of applause…tears are shed….hugs are given…smiles light up faces….

And I think, he is ok and our “family” is whole again……

The other shoe finally dropped. Remember my visit to the emergency room (ER)  in October?  Yesterday I received three actual envelopes in my mail-two out of the three were health care related. You can tell that the health care business is important to the Postal Service.

One envelope was the Explanation of Benefits (EOB) for the hospital charges from my 3-4 hour visit to receive IV antibiotics for an infection (cellulitis), treated as if it was MRSA. This was the balance of the charges.

The bill (before the PPO adjustments) was $1282.13. This is in addition to the charge (previously noted) for the physician.  This was for the second visit in one day for a cellulitis (skin infection) that was treated as if it was MRSA. I was in intense pain, which probably was nerve pain from the inflammation.

Part of my bill was .23 for pharmacy services. I do not recall what that was. I may spend more than .23 in someone’s time and query the company as to what that was for.

I think that if the burning, sharp, recurrent pain in my head had been described differently by me, (and interpreted differently by the physician) that I might not have needed to go back to the ER, because it would have been treated correctly on the first visit-7 hours before.

My share of the bill is $149.09 (after the $100 ER co-pay).

Weekly Expenses: $149.09

Thank God for the waiting room at the ER. It seems to be the only time I get to draw anymore…

We thought my youngest might have had pneumonia, but the chest xray ruled that out. He just has the asthmatic ickies. Pook kid.

Yeah, it’s pretty mundane, but it gives me an excuse to work on my perspective skills.

Manchmal tut man ja etwas und man ist ganz begeistert davon und man denkt es ist das Beste, was man je in seinem Leben getan hat und dann irgendwann wird plötzlich alles ganz anders und irgendwie stellt man dann fest, dass das wohl doch nicht so ganz das Gelbe vom Ei war und dann ist es schon viel zu spät.

Echt. Mir ging es dauernd so.

So wie dieser Blog, den ich nun schrieb. Warum eigentlich? Hatte ich nicht schon einen Blog, zwei geheime Blogs und ein Tagebuch gehabt?

Aber scheinbar war das nicht genug. Ich musste meinen Gefühlen mehr Ausdruck verleihen. Lyrisch sein. Und viel schreiben.

Das ging so schlecht im Tagebuch, wenn man es immer nur abends mit Worten füttert und die kamen dann holprig und irgendwie immer kindlich aufs Papier. Und dazu dann die hässliche Handschrift, die alle gut gemeinten Worte in irgendetwas anderes verwandelten.

Außerdem: Wenn man seine eigenen Gedanken dann so aufgeschrieben sah, kam man sich ziemlich dämlich vor, besonders bei älteren Einträgen.

Ich wusste, dass ich ab und an wohl auch hier mal aus meinem Tagebuch zitieren würde, einfach um mir selbst vor Augen zu führen, wie schrecklich ich doch war.

Warum denn jetzt nun genau? Also so überhaupt?

Um alles zu ordnen irgendwie. Wahrscheinlich. Nicht zum rumheulen, so wie er es bestimmt gesagt hätte. War ja nicht öffentlich. Also zum “von-der-Seele”-Schreiben. Total bescheuert. Als wenn man das könnte. Aber darum ging es ja nicht. Eigentlich. Und mir fiel auf, dass ich ihn jetzt schon erwähnt hatte. Na toll, das sollte doch anders laufen. Irgendwie poetischer, damit es besser zur Unendlichkeit meiner Liebesgefühle zu ihm passte. Aber vielleicht sagte das so auch schon genug aus.

So saß ich also da. Allein in meinem Zimmer, und zwar vollkommen, denn es war Freitag.

Und in genau diesem Moment sang der Sänger von Breaking Benjamin in meinem Ohr “…’cause you’re not alone here, not at all”. Haha, wie passend.

Ich sah mich kurz im Spiegel an.  Was sah ich da? Noch ein Blick rein. Und immernoch keine Antwort auf diese Frage. Im Blickwinkel sah ich mich selbst tippen. Ohje, das war merkwürdig. Schnell den Spiegel umdrehen. So war es viel besser.

Das hier klappte irgendwie wirklich gut. Man gewöhnte sich sogar an das Präteritum.

Ach verdammt. Das erinnerte mich schon wieder an ihn. Präteritum. Hatten wir doch einen Tag zuvor eine Diskussion gehabt, wie die Präteritumsform von “schwören” sei. “Sie schwuren” jedenfalls nicht, da war ich ganz sicher. Aber auch egal, denn darum ging es ja garnicht. Oder doch. Irgendwie jedenfalls. Denn schließlich ging es hier um ihn. Und um mich. Aber hauptsächlich um ihn. Irgendwie.

Alles in meinem Leben ging hauptsächlich um ihn. Oder?

Es schien mir so. Und es fühlte sich nicht falsch an. Meistens jedenfalls nicht.

Meine Haut juckte. Ich hasste sie. Jeden einzelnen verdammten, verfluchten Quadratzentimeter von ihr. Trocken, krank und vernarbt. Stirb Haut, stirb! Aber wahrscheinlich tat sie das sowieso schon. Und ich in ihr.

Wie schrecklich.

Und nun wollte ich doch tatsächlich diesen Schund endlich lesen und für die Ewigkeit (gab es sowas im Netz?) speichern. Ich war fast stolz auf mich. Endlich hatte ich ein neues Suchtmittel um vor den Gedanken in meinem Kopf zu fliehen. Ich war eine Meisterin der Selbsttäuschung.