For the umpteenth time, I was asked again where I would like to work post-graduation. First of all, I do not even know what I have planned tomorrow after work. Allow me to finish my last semester first, pass the HESI, take the NCLEX, etc… then, we can discuss my desire to continue with critical care or not.

Yes, call me crazy, but I love working in the Emergency Room. Did I also mention I love sitting at the triage desk even if my bladder receives no reprieve from the constant EMS waaaAaaa-ambulance drop-offs complaining of stubbed toes or mouse bites? Yes, there are those that 911 for paper cuts and abdominal cramps during their periods.  Thank God for my blurred vision and selective hearing because I do not see the ugly looks or hear those candid comment. If only I must not wear a shirt that points arrow to stupid. Bring on all the EKGs required for chest pains and express wheelchair services to the OB. My mentality is that: I am here for those that cannot help themselves, not for trolls.

Because it is commonly known that visiting the ER can be a daunting and stressful experience, it truly takes a tough personality to face the overcrowded ER trenches. Whenever we receive complaints from non-emergent patients and family members waiting, I am reminded of one of my favorite craigslist post from an ER nurse in 2005. Not much have changed, and I still agree that the US have the most spoiled “clients” [we aren’t allowed to call them patients anymore]. You would think that it is also universally understood that it is normal for anyone to be asked to wait while more critically ill people are treated first.

DISCLAIMER : I am not the author, I am merely re-posting. I did, however, remove some of the heavy profanity. It ought to be read only by those with a good sense of humor or those employed in the medical field.

“Emergency Room Manners”

People, I am a triage nurse at a busy Emergency Room. I have a lot to say…
Do NOT come up to the front desk of the Emergency Room, fling your health insurance card at me, tell me that your doctor told you to come in, stand there with a bored expression on your face and cross your arms over your chest. That is not helpful. When I ask what you are specifically here for do not repeat that the Doctor told you to come in. When I ask what SYMPTOMS caused you to come in; Do NOT say that it’s in the computer.

Ahem…

There are 16 Gosh-damn people behind you all sicker than your whiney morbidly obese smoking ass. I’m not going to take the 8 minutes to log onto the computer, log my way in and through your medical record until I get to the part where your doctor’s phone nurse writes. This asshole smoker called me because he’s got a cough? Just tell me that you’re here for the freaking cough!
If your spouse (usually the sensible one) drags you in for the stroke that you had 3 days ago and you still have facial droop, slurred speech, and one-sided paralysis Do NOT state that “My wife made me come in” when I ask why you’re here. Just tell me what the fuck you?re here for. And after I put you in line to go back to the ER do not send your cringing hand-wringing co-dependant family members up to me every 15 minutes to ask if it?s your turn yet. IF IT WAS YOUR TURN WE WOULD BE CALLING YOUR DAMN NAME. The window for stroke treatment was 3 hours. Now that you’re long past it, you’re looking at a lengthy rehab. After 3 days another hour or four won’t make a lick of difference. Your anger, frustration, worry, and regret will not get you in any faster. As the slow truth of your stupidity sinks in do not glare at me.
Do not ask to talk to my supervisor or the hospital supervisor when I talk to you in the same tone of voice that you talk to me. This is not Burger King, you do not get it “your way right away.” The squeaky wheel does not always get the grease. Do not excessively first name me just because I’m required to wear a fucking hospital badge. Including my full name in every sentence is a shallow manipulation, an implied threat that unless you get your way another personally directed customer complaint is forthcoming. I am not stupid. Your threats annoy the shit out of me. Making it personal does not change the 3 hour wait. Making it personal may result in the often used “therapeutic wait” (reserved for true assholes). Trust me, you do not want a therapeutic wait.
Don’t cough in my face. Being in a hospital does not automatically excuse you from the social expectations that we as society have had of you since you were three. Do not be like the drunks who tell me that “If you didn’t want to be coughed (shit, spat, vomited, bled, pissed) on you shoulda been a carpenter.” If you continue this behavior do not be surprised when I throw a towel over your face while you are in mid-cough or mid-sentence.

Do not tell me that you “cannot breathe” in long rambling 20 word sentences. In the ghetto that may mean something different. Here, in the ER, we have different standards for what it really means to not be able to breathe. My bar of not breathing will be reset weekly by the people that are truly blue and/or about 30 seconds from coding from lack of Oxygen. There are people whose lungs are so diseased and scarred that they barely exchange oxygen on a good day with the help of their home oxygen tanks. These people come in and let their bodies do the speaking for them. They eloquently slump over their wheelchairs (or the ambulance gurneys) and are never so whiney about it as the 23 year old single smoking mom (of 4 kids by 4 fathers) who has been nursing an upper respiratory infection for a week or two.

Similarly, do not tell me that little Shantiqua is “bleeding bad” with her 1cm cut, that your bullshit pain is 10/10, that you are suicidal when you took 3 Tylenol instead of 2 (gasp!) after mommy grounded you, or that because your emergency is the worse that you’ve ever had, that it’s the worst that could possibly happen in the sum total of human experience. I’m supposed to act like your story is the saddest tale that I’ve ever heard. It’s not.
Sad? Sad is when the drunk driver that killed the kids is unhurt. Sad is when someone is actively psychotic but still lucid enough to know that they have driven away everyone in their life and ruined everything with their madness. Sad is listening to the same beautiful young woman beg for some medicines that will stop the hallucinations while crying in frustration and screaming her angst. Sad is when people pull up to the front of the hospital with a dead relative in the passenger seat of their car. I mean this guy had been dead for 15 minutes and the family only focused on driving to the hospital. Did they pull over and call 911 in an area where the average response time is 5 minutes? No. Did they do CPR? No. Did they expect me to single-handedly yard this 265 lb guy out of the car, into a wheelchair, back to the ER, do CPR, code him just like on TV, and make a miracle happen? Yes! Yes that’s exactly what they expected. I sat there with my fingers stuck in his throat where his pulse should have been and said “He’s dead, he’s been dead for 15 minutes.” What is it that you expect us to do?? We argued over his blue/gray corpse for about a minute before I reluctantly took him back to the ER and started the rain dance. Guess what? After we abused his corpse for 20-30 minutes (not my decision) he was STILL DEAD. Who would have thought?

Yes, I know what’s going on tonight. I’ve seen your exact symptoms hundreds of times. I order your X-rays, labs, ECG, and then read/interpret them (and you) before deciding where you’re sent. The whole model of my HMOs emergency service (and the withholding of that service) is built on our clinical judgement. I am not (nor do I want to be) a doctor and I am not allowed to “diagnose.” Yet my job responsibilities and description require me to do exactly that in order to facilitate care. This arrives us at a legal fallacy where we (nurses) all pretend that we don’t know what’s going on and that “you’ll have to talk to the doctor” in order to keep our jobs and licenses. When we do tell people exactly what’s up, they use that to decide to leave (without seeing a doctor = legal mess), or argue ( = pain in my ass), or press for more medical advice, or complain, or ask for special treatment, or otherwise cause problems. Tired of not being told what’s up by the person with the knowledgeable smile? Tough shit. No, I’m not stupid. Telling you has only got me into trouble in the past. As I don’t know you, you’re not worth it.
Do not believe that because your doctor told you to come right to the ER that you have a right to be seen right away. Let us discuss why he really said that; LIABILITY. Your doctor doesn’t give a rat’s ass about little Johnny’s sniffles as long as he’s out of the clinic before 5:00. Filling up his over-booked appointment calendar could have an adverse affect on that, but sending them “right away” to the ER won’t! AND no one can ever sue him for bad advice or irresponsible behavior because he TOLD them to go the ER “Right away” for the “Highest level of care.” Gotta keep those malpractice premiums down! Motherfuckers.

There are only two things worse than a doctor that won’t see his own patients:

1) The second worse thing is doctors that not only won’t see their own patients, but they send them into the ER with a wildly unrealistic set of expectations. “My doctor told me to come in right away and to go right back! He said I was too sick to wait in the lobby. He ordered you to do tests, they are (stop me if you’ve heard this one before) ON THE COMPUTER?.” I’m not taking shit for orders from some lazy-ass, wart burning, boil lancing, sprained ankle rotating, sore throat examining general practitioner who has assessed you OVER THE PHONE and doesn’t even have ER privileges. Piss-off! You can get an appointment at the clinic in three hours and you’ll be fine. Walk down to the lab yourself if you want those tests.
2) Advice nurses are the bane of our existence. Sure they can’t tell everything over the phone, sure people are generally bad communicators, sure the clinics and doctors are over-booked, sure it’s 2-6 weeks out to even see a doctor, sure my cheap-ass HMO added another 90,000 new members last month but no infrastructure to deal with them, but the solution for this is not Not NOT to “go to the ER right away” where they will fill the fantasies that our unscrupulous marketing department has instilled in you? Fuck off. I love getting advice nurses for patients. They must know because they are reluctant to mention it. We hate them all and feel no shame in railing against them while they suffer (off the clock) in their sick and/or injured misery.
People! I could go on for pages. Think about every miserable customer service job that you?ve ever had and multiply that by tenfold with whiney patients. It?s not that I hate people; I just hate peoples? sense of entitlement and instant gratification. Folks might as well say ?I have abused my body for decades and I?m here for you to fix me.? Sheesh,

To review:

1) Do NOT be an asshole.

2) Lose the weight, stop smoking, take your damn psych meds, and take care of yourself!

3) Its not our fault or responsibility that you?re sick/injured. In fact, it?s probably yours.

4) Folks that arrive dead usually stay dead

5) It’s not like on TV

6) Years of patient abuse have (clearly) left us all a bit burnt out and jaded, so. . .

7) Do NOT forget your manners when you come to my ER : )

-another RN

http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/pdx/67309047.html

While I am waiting for my hair to dry after my post-workout shower from 24hr Fitness and looking at my uploaded pics from Vegas, I ponder why it is such a big deal to have bigger boobs.

Men staring unwaveringly at my chest used to bother and angered me more if they looked away when caught. At age 13, my C cups confused my emotions on whether I should feel guilty for liking my massive growth spurt or be disgusted at some of the special attention from the “uncles” (creepy old men at clubs).

When we were in China, the pink tank top that never had any complaints were causing commotion from classmates who were embarrassed to be standing next to my almost DD pushed up knockers. Granted we were at the Buddhist temple, but it was hot and raining. Otherwise, I would not have any problems wearing just a bikini top. We already wore a condom, I mean a poncho, while watching Xi Hu Water Impressions in the rain for two hours. There’s only two instances I don’t mind getting wet: in the shower and in the pool =P

Did I mention an old man came up to me in Beijing and nonchalantly-blatantly put his hand on my left breast? Yea… no concept of personal space.

Also, when my fellow breast-blessed best friend Bernadette and I were standing in line for the bathroom at Houston’s new club Ei8ht, an angry, flat-chested white girl came up and pointed an inch away from her boobies and shouted, “THOSE ARE NOT REAL, YOU’RE ASiAN!!!” It is not the first time we have been accused of surgical enhancement, not that there’s anything wrong with plastics. However, I should never defend what God gave me nor do I have to argue that they are naturel.

Just the other night, even the lover shared his “observation” that I must like wearing low cleavage clothes. Perplexed and a bit offended, I retorted what I thought was overtly obvious since he just finished telling me how much he loved my big tits while I was on top, “did you ever think that they have been a bane to my fashionista freedom?” Many a cute outfits I sadly sacrificed in order to conform and not offend anyone. “Cannot pass the biggie boobs” was clearly my slogan behind most fitting rooms since I can remember. In Asia, I am considered odd and way too big;  wo shi hen da. While shopping inside China’s trendy malls,  Josh and MC can attest that there was no point trying on anything for I was beyond XXL. Imagine how frustrating it is to buy only shoes and belts?

It is not my fault they do not fit or it looks like I am spilling over. Don’t you all think I haven’t tried to squeeze them into smaller sizes? I end up short of breath or popping buttons and splitting seams. For many years, I have contemplated getting breast reduction. Having huge boobies constantly afflict me with back pain, it should not give me head and heart aches.

Kim Basinger once said, “I don’t have time to be classified as difficult, and I don’t have time to care.”

So, when I do find a dress that fits me well in ALL the right places or a costume I can clearly day dream about all day because it makes me feel good, I am go’n wear it, dagnabbit!!! It is never ever for you. Ergo, if I am aware you have eyes to see and am not offended when you are hypnotized, then spare me the psychobabble.

I am not into that mainstream stifling, stereotypical bondage mentality that good girls should only wear sweaters. Heck, I love layers in the fall. However, in Houston’s hot and humid summer, I prefer tube tops and sarongs! Need I remind people that this is the land of the free or that if you cannot think for yourself, then you’re doomed anyway? You do not have to remind me that when I look like an exotic dancer (stripper is such a derogatory term, unless sexy is in front of it), the visual porn will attract the wrong men and advertise the wrong message. First of all, I am not one of those girls that flaunt and use it just because they have it. I  have yet to accept all the drinks brought to me by bartenders. Those that know me can attest I can buy my own, thank you. I have found that men are perplexed by me once our conversation starts. “You are not as I imagined you to be.” To which I reply, “Oh, yeah? That’s because you were looking down there instead of up here.”

Just goes to show you that it is strongly better to be disliked for who you really are than to be loved by who you are not.

Recently, I witnessed something so troubling I believed only existed in afternoon soap dramas, I did not know how to react to the sorry situation. Never have I interrupted a lovers’ quarrel; however, in this surround sound situation, where their toddler could be traumatized by this memory, it took all dignity for me not to say more than what I did to both of them.

First, if this person I deeply love is reading my post, I am not going to apologize rather I want you to read because I am not going to repeat myself.

Repeatedly, you complained you’ve had enough of “this” for the past four years. How much longer are you going to allow “this?” My response to you that day will not change. Let it go and live a better life. They say fear and love give off the same smell and illicit similar senses because the same center in your brain is stimulated. That is not love you feel for him. I will bet all my money that it’s fear confusing your emotions, my dear. Well, I am afraid that when I saw you on the floor holding onto him and would not let go of what masquerades for a man nowadays, I could not help but be angry at you. You have fallen in your own grave. Now, it is time for you to find that strength I know is inside and dig yourself up. Pray harder, sister.

Especially when necessary, many a girl fail to take a break or a breather because of the possibility that he is “the one” or her “soul mate.”  Please know now, if you didn’t already, that you cannot change anyone. This dream dangerously feeds a myopic view that he is the center of her life.

A real woman is confident and not governed by fear of losing any man, because she knows the real price to pay is when she loses herself.

“Almost immediately, women give themselves up in small ways. The cumulative effect of these subtle concessions; however, is what amounts to feeling depleted.

Here’s the cycle:

• She develops a myopic view that what he gives is absolutely vital.
• Because of this fantasy, she gives up everyday needs [most of the time without realizing].
• She feels more and more drained but continues to try harder, believing that he’ll be the one to make her fulfilled again.
• He senses her willingness to exert herself, and relaxes what he gives even more.
• She senses this and works even harder to jump through hoops.
• The cycle gets worse, as she becomes more and more depleted.

This is why she is exhausted and constantly proclaims she is tired of this. If you are going to resent something after you give it, don’t give it. If you truly value yourself, give only what feels comfortable to give. This will enable you to stay firmly planted with both feet on the ground.”

Think and remember that it is not about a boy who says he’s your man. You are awesome; so show your son how to be the right man… not the wrong one.

This is YOUR LiFE… and it’s too short and precious to waste.

You survived before you met him… sure as hell, you will live even better after him.

I love the people I work with… Well, the funny ones.

Kasper: “How you doin?” [Joey from "Friends" NY accent]

aJ: “Ready to bring it…” [We throw P90X signs]

Kasper: “I like that whole bedroom hair and glasses you got going… Makes you look eligible.”

aJ: “Um… I rolled out of bed, didn’t brush my hair constantly afflicted by humidity, and no contacts allowed due to conjunctivitis [pink-eye].”

Kasper: “Sexy!”

Sadly, some people mistakenly believe that their loneliness is a product of another person’s abscence.

Early this morning, a girl friend I have not heard from since she got married two years ago woke me from my designated sleep-in Munday. Although my mobile’s screen’s still selectively showing numbers or recognizing contacts whenever it feels like it, I decided to answer the call. Because I could barely piece together the words I did understand in the midst of bawling , I decided to meet her up for brunch. Never did I expect her husband to be the one that would cheat on his pregnant wife and divorce her through text messaging. His reason was because he realized afterwards that she is not what he needed in his life.

“Wow,” was all I could mutter at first. Then, you know me… I preached strength and forgiveness. Honestly, what’s done is done. Etc, etc, etc… As I spent almost an hour listening to her story [wallowing in woe, lamenting her loss], she asked why I was not offering words to console her or “saying shit” about him at all. For those of you who know me, I am sure you can picture my face at how annoyed I was with her moment of stupidity. We all make mistakes; ergo, shut up and move on.

Am I supposed to say forget him? You’re better than him? What for? You should know that, already.Why waste my time and energy, too? You’ve probably dehydrated yourself from crying and not eating. He left you three months ago. He stopped thinking of you when he had that affair. Obviously, he does not want you; so, why give him any more of you?

That made her stop crying instantly. At first she was mad, but if she was looking for sugarcoated sweetness, she called the wrong person. Ivory towers belong in fairy tales that we believed in childhood; we’re in adulthood now. I’m sorry, but I think we need real people around us who’ll tell the truth in your face. How many times are we all going to get hurt? Oh, plenty and maybe too many times to count.

“The world breaks EVERYone,” Hemingway once wrote, “and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.” A broken heart is simply a heart that has a chance to heal and become stronger.  Right now, it is bleeding, just bleeding… All wounds must go through pain and inflammation before it can heal. I told her to put a band-aid on it and quit over-emphasizing on that bastard.

Eventually, we all experience that being in love is unexpectedly intoxicating, that special someone so compelling, that lovers often drop some of the obligations and rules that dominated their lives before they met.

Hence, why I shall stay single forever…  that’s another post.

I’ll only do one thing: keep you in my prayers, my friend. Live and stay strong =D

After enjoying such a superb soap,
I was captured by the poet Hyun Jong Jung ’s
poem entitled ‘all moments be flower buds.’

I sometimes have regrets for
that incident could have been a treasure.
That person at the time,
That thing at the time,
could have been a jewel

I should have been more deeply involved,
I should have asked and spoken more,
I should have listened more intently
I should have loved more passionately

Like a mute,
Like a deaf,
Did I let them pass?
Just stood idly,
Like an absent-minded person
I should have loved that moment more ardently

Every moment is everything.
A flower bud
that will blossom as much as my ardor!

.

literally means

“dried fish,”

a Japanese expression

used in one of my fave J-drama “Hotaru No Hikari”

to describe the main character,

a woman in her 20s

who has renounced the pursuit of romance.

Thots on turning thirty:

that makes me a “dried up woman?”

Someone said once:

“that women are like Christmas cakes. After the 25th, they belong in bargain bins.”

Further added:

“Almost the 31st… pretty soon it’ll pass midnight and that’s a new year for you.”

Allow me to pimp-slap that fool.

I try not to live in fear; however, AGiNG seriously scares me to death.

Since I turned 13, I was anxious about all the major markers: 21, 25, 30, 40.

Childhood memories of my hunched over maternal great grandmother in her 90’s left me with quite an impression that summer.

Instead of listening to the exposed roots of an ancient tree’s advice, I stared at her sun spots and skin tags, wondering what was written in those wrinkles around her eyes.

Taking care of the neglected elderly of America did not help either.

Before,  I used to proudly brand myself  forever 21…

Wenzdai even gave me a James Avery charm for shamelessly saying so.

Today, I told classmates I shall be 25 for the next few years,

regardless of how many times the youngins will try to correct me.

bwahahahahaha

I’m Asian, I can pull it off, right?

Hey, isn’t the 80’s horribly com!ng back?

Gosh, I just had a RDA flashback o.O

[McGyver theme song blares in the back]

I talked to someone earlier today for 2.5 hours 0.o
regarding how hard it was to find the other half of your heart.
HUH?!?!?!? WTF!
Why would you believe that stupid Tom Cruise line, “you complete me.”
She got hurt, then mad
when I told her that it is a problem to think you need to have another person to complete yourself.
That’s a Hallmark Cards ploy…

As if i didn’t have enough to deal with in school…
Not really interested in finding my soul mate right now, anyway.
I also don’t understand why getting married before 30 is such a big deal in Asian culture.
At my sister’s wedding, the host pointed out that
“I’m single and very available…”
Broadcasted in English then Chinese!
That was most embarrassing (´＿｀*) “
Honestly, I thot that I’m actually a better person for not having kids or a husband.
bwahahahaha, I’m just glad my mother doesn’t stress me as much as hers.

Shoot me if my K-or-J-drama addict self still blindly believe that Daniel Henney

is going to propose to me one day ;P
drooooLing @ his hotness teeheehee

Ergo, unless that happens… access denied!

She said that men are too difficult to deal with.

I don’t think that it was supposed to be easy.
Not enough flavors would prove to be too boring.
Remember, I always said:
to go ahead and collect
and collect enough
until you can select >____<

Of course, I don’t mean you ought to go on a dating frenzy or sleep around.
I just want you’all to experience, learn, try, and taste something new.
There is no guarantee, for nothing is perfect… gablah blah blah…
Your soulmate is not supposed to make you super happy, he/she is supposed to challenge you so you can grow to the best you can be.
That’ll mean “discussions”, compromise, head pains, heartaches, and sacrifice.

Here’s what I strongly believe:

Dating = “Meet” Market

Although it might be shocking to know I’m conservative when it comes to relationships,
you must go shopping for the right person.
In order to meet “the one” for you, you have to talk to a lot of people, make a lot of offers, counter offers, negotiate, reject, and accept.
I seriously wanted to start handing out application forms because I was getting tired getting all these losers and a**holes.
Why shouldn’t I have prerequisites for a serious merger?
In the end, I think I’ve made a pretty smart choice by taking a bold step forward.

And, please, DO NOT sell yourself short.
First dates or convos are supposed to be like first interviews.
So what if I choose not to have a second one?
You deserve to be picky; we’re not penguins.
Imagine GOD loves you very, very much…
Think about the level of unconditional love He has for you and that no one else can come close.
If you keep that in mind, maybe you’ll use your head more than your heart.
[I should listen to my advice, eh?]

Why do single people sit at home and wait for the phone to ring?
Friend, I doubt “your prince charming” is dropping from heaven.
You ain’t Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie, right?
You’d best go to the market,
even it it’s only the supermarket or Wally’s World lang.

Everything in life is a process.

Act now, but wisely.

When you’ve reached your goal?
Or when you’ve given up?
Maybe when you look behind?
Or when your past reminds you of your regrets?
When age meets reality?
Or when you forget the promises you made to yourself?

I’ve returned to my restless winter state, like a hibernating bear that stays fully awake rather than sleeping soundly There are endless tasks I keep bumping into as I walk through my self-made messier than usual sty. As I look at my unwrapped Christmas gifts, I burrito roll myself further in my down comforter and wished hard for another week without school. There are stranger scenarios that pop in my head as I close my eyes… I can see my destination, but I want to take another detour that I am aware I cannot afford.
Even if I have pictures which help me recall the past ten years, I feel as if new memories must happen. When I was younger, I pushed very hard to live life, knowing nothing can last forever. Ergo, my you-only-live-once crisis started quite early. Looking at my list of 50 must-complete-before-I-die goals I wrote when I was ten, half remains unchecked. I am tempted to uproot and become spontaneous, like I used to.

The whole time I grew up with manga/anime/shoju, I always thot most fanatics only fantasized over wide-doe-eyed Japanese girls in school uniforms. After befriending a fellow stranded passenger at a stop-over in Japan in 2004 en route to my Southeast Asian Birthday Tour, I was introduced to a manga magazine of Hanazakari no Kimitachi E. Although I didn’t understand the Nihongo 日本語, I enjoyed the Shakespeare references and only Asian people would understand laughs, as translated to me.

Because of the shortened title, I only realized today that they made it into a tv show!!! Watching Hana Kimi come alive via kawaii-silly-ness inspired me to continue learning the Japanese culture and practicing the language, however tough KanJi 漢字 is proving to be. I understood some of the verbs/adjective and most of the slang. Sensei 先生would be proud!