Don Draper will you marry me?

I'm practically apoplectic over the fact that Mad Men is back this Sunday.

I am seriously hyped, dear readers.

The premise of the whole show revolves around an Ad Agency, Sterling and Cooper. They had "real" accounts of the time, like Hilton, Channel, Lucky Strikes and Pan American. Right now there is a contest going on here. One can create an ad just like Don Draper would, using products sold today. Thanks to my talented son-in-law, here's one entry he created (My daughter wants the Mad Men barbie dolls, badly)



Uh, hmmm...moving on:

I'm going to get me a brand new box of Crayola's to sniff (hey, it brings back memories of 1963), pour a cold stiff fresh Diet Coke, sans the bourbon, and put fresh batteries in my electronic cigarette and blow huge fake smoke rings all over the living room. I'm gonna turn off the cell phone, put my hair in pin curls and pretend that I'm Mrs. Don Draper for an hour. Oh, God, what could I be thinking. No! I'll be wearing my lounging gown, drinking a high ball and laying on a divan with a come hither look on my face.

For those of you who are still able to hold your liquor, there is this and it's a drinking game for Sunday night, the premier of season 4.

If you have been living under a rock and are wondering what the hell Rachedy (aka Mrs. Don Draper) is babbling about, here's a peek at the season preview:


We now return you to regular blog posting.

Paybacks will be hell

I was reading a favorite blogger, NewNurseInTheHood where she talks about those freaks in ICU and what they want from us.

What they want is everything done and tied up in a nice red bow, so all they have to do is put the patient in their fluffy clean automatic turning beds and add the bunny boots, SCD's, Foley, wrist restraints and hang a fresh Propofol. Then, it's back to the nurses station to sit for another hour until they start their hourly rounds.

Last week there were a bunch of gift-wrapped papers with bows around them in the corner of the desk and I thought they were a school project for somebodies kid. Seriously, they looked like crap. Inside the wrinkled up mess were individual candles, apparently gifts from the ICU. Their new manager had brought them down and said they were relaxation candles and to help ourselves.

Well, after sitting there for days, somebody finally opened one and sitting right on top of it was a curly black pubic hair! Seriously, somebody up their doesn't mow the grass. Unbelievable, because we all know you couldn't pull a needle and a thread through their rectal orifice with a tractor if you tried.

Those C-word beatches! The game is on, you strident whores.

We're coming for you.

Okay, so I'm really immature

Some Scary Shit

I was doing lunch coverage and had only gotten a cursory report from the nurse who was going to eat. She said the lady in 4B was up for dispo and to get rid of her as soon as the chart came back. In the meantime, I'm in the room next door triaging an ambulance when the doctor comes to the door and says, "Rachedy, I ordered a GI cocktail on 4B, if you could just give it to her and tell her it's for the parasites, she can go." I had no idea what he was talking about, but as soon as I finished with the triage, I went into 4B and handed her the meds.

She had jet black hair like it had been dyed it with shoe polish. There also was a black scarf around her head that appeared to have about 10 years worth of dandruff on it. She looked totally nuts to me but I told her I was giving her the parasite meds and then I gave her the discharge instructions. There was some drama about what the name of the med was, but her daughter convinced her it was all good and they left after I got her $1700 in one-dollar bills out of the safe and gave it back to her. Seriously, all those dollar bills could have kept me at the Diet Coke machine for a long time, but I digress.

Fast forward a week. I hear loud screaming coming from the back where the isolation room is. I mean LOUD! Screaming that the parasites were eating her alive, " Help, help, help!" My curiosity was piqued and I mosied on down there.

The charge nurse is holding a large Coach purse away from his body and everybody is looking into it with their noses pinched shut. The crazy bitch had dropped a few loads into the purse and brought it in to prove that she had parasites. (Which she didn't).

I mean, seriously, she ruined a perfectly good Coach purse!

I Sing the Body Electric

It seems that the more corporate a hospital becomes we as nurses no longer have the autonomy of professional judgment about anything and we're not entitled to an opinion or even to express an intelligent thought. Despite our knowledge and abilities, we're just bodies worth only what we can contribute to the wealth of that soulless incubus known as the corporate master.

This is not dissimilar to the way that Walt Whitman portrayed the bodies of the slaves who were being auctioned off to plantation owners during his time. Our nursing skills are pegged to the gossamery with which we can kiss butts while running from one room to the next, and to keep our mouths shut except to keep saying, "Yes, I'll do that for you right away."

The word on the street is that tracking devices are coming for our badges. Management will be able to track how often a nurse went into a room, or any area for that matter and thus discipline based on these trackers. Maybe I should have entitled this posting 1984.

Oh well, there's nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile.

Douches in the Media

I am in a really pissy mood today. I had no air conditioning over the weekend, my PC crashed with viruses and my coffee pot broke. A/C is back up and running, a medic I work with removed the viruses I had, but apparently he also removed a few key items, so half my crap isn't working,and when it does it quits for no reason. Oh, and a nasty cramp in my calf woke me at 0630, causing me to catapult up out of the bed from a dead sleep, screaming. I'm sure the neighbors heard me because all the fucking windows were open.

But, in other business, yours truly just happened to see an article here a few weeks ago from a link on Facebook's ENA page. After reading the article I posted my opinion on the authors childish sense of entitlement and then I promptly forgot about it.

Until today. The same author wrote another article here apparently upset with Rachedy and a few others who bothered to waste their time responding. I seemed to really touch a nerve with this hand job as he wasted two whole paragraphs dissing yours truly and her momma. I cannot express how honored I feel at all this attention.

I am half inclined to email this douche and offer to have him come work a shift with me on a Saturday night during a full moon.

This poor excuse for a writer would more than likely not get it. I'm sure after spending an hour with me he would be on the phone to the state regulatory agencies complaining about some bullshit thing or other. I'm sure two hours without a pee break or a cigarette and probably a shot of bourbon, he would go home and type up more flaming crap that makes no sense. This probably explains his utter lack of proper sentence structure and just plain crappy writing.

One nurse on the ENA page wrote him a long letter, attempting to explain the process, to which he responded that his friend was much sicker than those he saw going back who had checked in after his poor friend had. His friend was there for chronic dental pain! He already was on pain meds and had been for four whole days.

Hey, I bet he'd run out of pain meds. Yep, that's probably it. Freaking piece of
wasted space.

I'm back

I know that you missed me, bitches. I've been absent from the blogosphere for a few weeks, yeah whatever. I wish I could say I took an exotic vacation or won the lottery but that wasn't the case. Besides having the summer cold from hell for a total of 3 weeks, I've been in a bad mood from all the overtime I stupidly signed up for.

I usually work weekends so I don't have to put up with the douche's from management and their douche bag minions, Mr. Testes, Mr. Lazy and that whispering whore let's-talk-with-our-inside-voices, the ex-first grade teacher.

So my one friend who is a charge nurse was pulled in the office last week and told that she was the weakest link among the charge nurses because the word on the street is that she is too nice. Say what??!! She was told to grow a pair or move on. Geezus, I've known her for many years and not only is she a nice person, but she has great skills as a charge nurse. But no, that's not what the huge Douche Sacs from management want.

Since a lot of people are signing up to work weekends it got back to them that the reason was because it was much nicer to work with my friend. So, they pull her off weekends and put Mr. Testes on last weekend. He fucked with me the entire day on Sunday, one patient after another, no medic to help me, just a day from hell. I said nothing to him, there is no way I'm going to let him see me sweat. I'm sure it bothered him because at the end of the day he told me I was the most difficult woman he's ever known. I just looked at him with no expression and told him better ones than he have tried to break me. Then he says "You're just saying that to pay me back for fucking with you all day." I said to back to him , "Oh, you were fucking with me?"

Nurses are quitting in droves, not even staying to finish out their last shifts and these mofo's are worried that somebody is too nice?

Just what kind of management theory are they operating on? Leona Helmsley seems sweet and kind compared to these fascists.