Working at a Hospital(s) is Nutz

This is what I did today.

I am now fit tested for an outbreak mask.

I also learned, at least theoretically, how to intubate our CPR mannequin, Simon.

CPR is exhausting.

Apparently, the best tempo is to "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees.  Very fitting.

Totally ready for my shift at the hospital in the event of a zombie apocalypse.

That is all.

Life's a Thunderbowl of Cherries

Sometimes we have a rough week.  Last week was pretty rough.  After so many years of intense impression management with a few key professional and social supports who were either dismissive of empathy or unable to connect with it (it's amazing how a few bad experiences can taint one's worldview), I find myself struggling with some pretty hefty anxiety symptoms.  Although all preliminary reports of the people in my new work environments are good (these people are kind, professional, have good role clarity, regularly examine their privilege), my HPA axis refuses to believe that I am safe.  Plus I am attempting to negotiate new relationships with health professionals, find a hairdresser, and figure out why so many RMTs up here are super into woo.  The first one recommended past life regression.  The most recent one wanted me to try the Impulse IQ adjusting machine.  This thing looks like a gun and it pointed at the head and necks of smiling patients in the brochure.  Brochure quotes a lot of "research" but there are no references.  The brochure claims the instrument treats "fatigue."  Uh-huh.

High breathing, chest pains, difficulty concentrating, spiraling thoughts: Panic attacks.  

Oh... great.  I was kinda hoping those were behind me.  They are very hard to power through in a work situation.  Maybe... perhaps... just possibly, I may have at one point needed to lock the door to my office and quietly sob for a few minutes.

Then I cam home and cried there too.

It's really hard for a lot of us at this point.  We're so close to the end yet the experiences of abuse due to the power imbalance and lack of perceived rights of students over the course of the graduate degree(s) has left a lot of us consistently on edge.  It's hard to believe we might be in a safe environment.  Even if we suspect (or even know) that we are safe, our bodies don't want to believe us.  They are waiting for the big reveal of the person in power whose own supervisor was an abusive douchecanoe and they TURNED OUT JUST FINE so THEY'LL SAY AND DO WHATEVER THEY WANT to me.  I'm 98% sure that I am safe here.  But I'm still painfully lonely and in a state of near constant cortisol flood levels.

I'm breathing.  Of course.  In.  Out.  Repeat.   And I'm working hard to meet new people and be open to all the potential relationships that may delight me in unexpected ways.  I suspect they're coming.  And I'm taking the approach of making this residency my learning opportunity.  I've already done the evaluation piece.  I've been scrutinized.  I've got this far.  Time to make some collegial relationships and learn the shit out of what I'm interested in.  Yes, that's what I want to do -- if my stress-ridden body can find the bloody energy and focus to pay attention instead of trying to convince me my heart is in a vice.

So time to grab my coffee and head into my last day of orientation.  Don't worry; I switched to decaf.

Wondering what this photo is about?  Stay tuned for my next blog post about the different ways in which my various internship sites remind me of Kubrick's The Shining.

Cluster-thund

I cannot prove all but 3 of my vaccinations.  Apparently doctors don't pass this on when you get a new one and they fax over your giant medical history!  And OHIP doesn't track it.  WTAF?  So guess who took a lorazepam to prepare for her extensive bloodwork, only to find the lab tech went home for the day?  And then guess who had to go to supervision?

It was a very relaxed supervision.

Then I tried to contact the EAP so I could request a dietitian referral because the one from Toronto isn't working out.  Apparently, the EAP is only open during business hours, you know, when you are at work.  So you have to call this confidential service at a time when your boss and colleagues are very likely to overhear you.  [slow clap]  Oh.  BRA. vo.

Then I had to spend 30+ minutes on the phone with Epson to find out that the printer that my extremely thoughtful FIL sent to me has a hardware defect and they will replace it, but only if I send it back with the original receipt.  An original receipt for something that was a gift.

And the vet finally called me back with Thatcher's blood/urine results, but still didn't include in her message why my damn cat came home with a limp when she didn't have one before! 

So that's it.  I'm not talking to another service or helping professional for... oh who am I kidding?  You know I'll be talking to one of them pretty much at 9am.

Oh, and someone in the hospital parking lot dinged my damn car door.  White paint.  Jerk.

FSM, give me strength.  I fear that when I return home, I will have become a hardened vigilante or masked, morally ambiguous super hero/villain.  Sigh... maybe I should take another lorazepam?  If they weren't potentially addictive and inclined to provide diminishing returns then maybe... But I am a responsible gal.

Seriously though; Oy-vey.

A Month of Orientation and People who say "Orientated"

I am already concerned that I come across as a snobby Torontonian here in Thunder Bay.  I'm definitely in more of a hurry and concerned with things being "proper" than most folks I've encountered.  But now I fear I am known as the woman who argues with trainers in orientation.  What I know I am is the woman who can't allow trainers to misrepresent research in presentations and will correct them when I clearly know they are wrong.

I don't think other folks necessarily get the difference.

I have many many many days worth of orientation between the 4 sites I will work at.  Different sites have different record keeping procedures and way to chart patients.  I will never figure why I was trained on a Hoyer Lift.  I have a pin that declares I know how to wash my hands (it's harder than you think!).  AND, and and and and... I am now certified in non-violent crisis intervention.  This certification, however, in no way means that I feel comfortable doing non-violent crisis intervention.  By the way, did you know that psychologists are in the running for most-likely-to-be-violently-attacked-on-the-job?  Yay!  And because we genuinely give a rat's ass about patients and don't want to hurt them or make them feel bad for things they have trouble controlling, we don't want to hurt them when we get out of harm's way.

Here's the thing.  I used to do Judo.  Not a lot, and not for very long.  But let's just say that my previous training, as well as all the women's self-defense classes I've taken, are really well ingrained in my mind.  Having protected myself from a rough-and-tumble older brother for the first 18 years of my life, I'm primed to retaliate swiftly and without mercy.  In fact, just ask my brother about the time I accidentally knocked him out cold after he shoved me on my bike.  [I was 10 or younger and paid my debt by delivering all his newspapers that day.]  These knee-jerk defenses are hard to overcome.  But rest assured, I was non-violent all day, even during the role-plays!  They gave me the certification!  I'm non-violent, dammit!

This really awesome dude, Remon, did a great job putting up with my corrections (as well as the constant grilling I and the other psychology residents gave him).  He kept great humour and really played well to the rest of the house, which was made up of PSWs, nurses, and housekeeping/food services staff.

Remon was a phenomenal trainer and was kind enough to allow me to post this picture of him on my blog.  One of the things that delighted me most about his workshop was how down-to-earth he was and how easily he got on with all the hard-working types in the room.  He is clearly a muscular man (extensive martial arts training), and it delighted me that a north-western Ontario (think Fargo-lite + strong-hoser) came out of his finely coiffed and finely dressed personage.  Delightful!

I do get to actually start work this week (assessments, whooo!), but there is more orientation to come.  I am doing my best not to correct well meaning colleagues who ask, "Are you all orientated yet?" in all earnestness.  And I hope for the same consideration when I breach Thunder Bay social etiquette and come across like a jerk-ass big city snob.

Have you ever found yourself unable to hold back from correcting someone even though it was not the socially graceful thing to do?  Share your experience in the comments!

NA na na NA na na NA NA -- THUN-DER!

[This is the post I would have published if I had been on top of the blog from day 1.  Leaving day.]

At 15 minutes before my dissertation defense, I could be found loudly singing this intro to ACDC's Thunderstruck while dancing around the conference room wildly pumping my fists into the air.  At least, that's how the Chair of my committee found me... It was also this refrain that I imagined would play as I pulled out of the driveway in Toronto to begin my internship year in Thunder Bay.  Instead, my husband was excited to put on a "randomized playlist" he created.  So as we sat in the 4:30am darkness, instead of defiant triumph we heard:

"A salvation army band played, and children drank lemonade..."

For those of you who didn't grow up in the 80s, these are the first words to Life in a Northern Town by Dream Academy.  And for those of you who don't know me very well, it cued instant tears.  Sobbing.  I couldn't believe I was leaving my home - the first place I had ever truly felt at home in my life.

Soon the sobs and alternative folk rock would be drowned out by the yowling of a geriatric kitty cat who, though relieved we weren't going to the vet, was prepared to harmonize for the entire 2 day road trip.  Here is a picture of her with Mr. Husband in the MacDonald's parking lot when we stopped for breakfast:

We arrived in Sault Ste Marie that evening and basically passed out.  But not until having a bite to eat and meeting some friendly bears:

The Soo, as it is called, is just gorgeous.  I wished we could have stayed awake to enjoy a hike or something.  But as we were up at 3am, it just wasn't going to happen.  The next day, we planned to haul ass to our final destination.  Looking back, what I remember most was that I just couldn't believe I was actually doing this -- leaving.

So, there will be a handful of posts that come quickly now, to catch us up to present day.  I had planned on setting up a wordpress blog, but for reasons uninteresting even to myself, it's not happening.  I'll stick with blogger for now and hopefully some of you will follow along and keep in touch, because I really freakin' miss you.