I am a bad, bad blogger.

you know that person you haven't kept in touch with and the longer it's been since you have neglected your relationship, the worse you feel? like it's been too impossibly long and now it's just wierd?

that's me, now.

yeah. so, uh, sorry.

Do not lie to cops; they don't like it.

Sigh.

(Nice way to start things, right?)

So I went to my last clinical for the semester on Thursday. My patient was awesome. I want to adopt her. And her husband. She's 71. They've been in love since childhood. I'm not talking even high school here. Childhood. Been married 50 years. Sometimes I think I may beat my brains out after talking to That Handsome Man I'm Seeing (THMIS) for 50 minutes.

So yeah, 50 years. They're besties.

She tells me, "We planned on retirement. we planned on vacations. We planned on building a log cabin (since high school!). We didn't plan on cancer". I'm dying. Big, fat alligator tears. In the hospital. With my patient.

I want to adopt her.

I leave the hospital, wishing I could write them letters becasue they are SO sweet. I go to my sister's (the incomparable Molly Marler of Pomp and Circumstance- and I'm sorry, I haven't figured out how to put this shit in here yet) because.. well, I really need a hug. And she gives damn good hugs.

I get my hugs. I laugh till I pee myself, then have to be excused.

On my way home, I pass one of those scenes you hear about in CPR class. Getting off the expressway, I see three people huddled in the road. Just standing there. Somebody says something about a dog being hit. I cuss, then see feet. Human feet. Shoes, really. But a person is in the road. Hit. And no one is on the phone. No flashing lights illuminate the confusion. Just three people standing over a body.

I pull over, and at this point a few more people are standing around. No one is on the phone. (How is that possible?!)

"Has anyone called EMS?" I ask (Jesus. Who am I? 1985? "EMS"? Really?! It's 911. Get it together Hannon!)

Dude says, "I have a phone".

SERIOUSLY?! Ya. You and the nine other people standing here. Use it!

I ask him to call 911.

Meanwhile, Mister Man is on the ground, writhing in pain. He's concious, knows his name, the date, and what happened. I'm asking him about his pain and somebody looks incredulously at me, "Are you a nurse?". This guy's jaw is on the floor. I haven't done a thing. Not really. And he's all wowed out. People are wierd.

I call Mister Man's daughter. And that sucks. There is no right way to say your parent/ child/ spouse/ sibling/ other person you love has beeen in an accident. And probably has a broken hip. I ached at the powerlessness and worry in her voice.

Anyhoo, eons later the firetrucks show up. And the ambulance. And the police. The paramedic was nice enough to make me not feel like an asshole for getting Mister Man's name, b'day, allergies and meds. Everybody else.... You'd think I had Ebola or something.

Oh! The best part: The driver tells the cop that the cyclist ran into the corner of his car. The guy in the car behind the driver tells the cop the driver full on pulled out into the cyclist as though he didn't exist.

Moral of the story: Do not lie to cops. They don't like it.

Moral #2: WEAR FUCKING REFLECTIVE SHIT AND A HELMET WHEN YOU RIDE YOUR BIKE!!!! Mister Man had none of the above on. I'm glad he had id. You should, too.

Moral #3: It emasculates the rescuers when they find out a girl has done all the awesome work.

So much for getting to ride the fire truck.

And #4: there are a lot of dumbasses out there. but you probably already know that.

True: Stress is Bullshit.

A test on Monday, one Tuesday, two Wednesday, clinical all day Thursday... and this isn't even finals week.

I'm having a hard time breathing.

I want to put on my running shoes and head out the door, crawl into bed, drink myself stupid, vomit, and get to work- all at once.

I guess I'm a wee bit stressed.

How do you deal with stress?

On a positive note, I finally bought a mouthguard thingy so maybe I won't wake up with the mother of all headaches... again.

Hooray.

no legs

My patient last week was a 67 year old woman with a host of issues related to peripheral vascular disease (PVD). and a history of smoking and drinking. As in, she smoked 2-3 packs a day (if you don't know, that's 40-60 smokes a day) and drank at least a fifth. How she had a liver is beyond me.

Her PVD decreased circulation throughout her body so much that she has had two double amputations over the last few years.

They cut her legs off.

Twice.

This is one of those things they don't tell you in school. They tell you that your liver will fail, you will develop COPD, and will get all wrinkly much sooner than everyone else.

They tell you not to do this...

...how did this..... become...... this.........?...

he used to be so hot. now, he's just not.

So very definitely not winning. not at all. now he just makes me sads.

yeah. i digress. if you or someone you love may have a problem, please get help.

also: writing that someone has "no legs" in their chart is not professional. it's a bilateral (meaning both sides) above the knee amputation. i'm trying to make note of these things.

xo

losing it. well, almost.

Yesterday I about lost it.

You know those days that make you want to scream for, no lie, like 5 minutes?

It was one of those days.

I take that back.

It has been one of those weeks.

Yes, I know it's Tuesday. But all my days? They run together.

So I am thinking about this instead:

FRANCESCO LAGNESE

i want that light. both the daylight and the one that matches the vent in shape. awesomeness!

and the gigantic clock. in a mortal's home, it would take over with its i'm-so-big-and-awesome-you-can't-stop-staring attitude. here it just looks... perfect.

and you can shut your face about that island. i dream of having that much work space! (*wipes drool*). the entire space is a fantastic conversation. i'd like to wake up here. coffee would just taste better.

I need this.

Or this:

More realistically, I need a gigundus wall to put it on because it is prolly 18 to 20 feet tall. No lie. Anselm Kiefer's painings are momumentally HUGE. The lead books are also ginormous.

And I love them.

I started a blog a few years ago. I hoped I'd publish regularly and someday have my own book deal (Ha!). However, my blog lacked focus, and I soon became consumed with thoughts of things fitting/ not fitting on the blog.

Why I thought I had to have a specific focus immediately, I have NO idea. Especially since if you know me, you know that I am All. Over. The. Place. I typically figure out what I want to do by figuring out what I don't want to do.

So I quit the blog.

Two years went by.

I stopped making art and started doin' some learnin' to be a nurse lady.

In the process, I've learned that I LOVE cooking. Sitting with my head stuffed into books all day leaves little time for creative output. And, well, we all have to eat, right? I've found that I give myself permission to be creative in the kitchen. I have no problem spending two hours cooking dinner. On a Tuesday.

I've learned that running keeps me sane. (And allows me to fit into my jeans!)

I've also fallen in love a little bit more with The Handsome Man I'm Seeing. Someday, we may just get married.

Anyhoo, I find myself teetering on the edge of the blogossphere. I realize there are things Twitter's character limit doesn't cover and having a diary just doesn't do it for me. And so here I am. So perhaps I can quit the Judgey-McJudgerson routine for a minute and give myself room to just be. After all, I originally started a blog to capture funny moments in my day, to rant about crazy drivers and everything else that gets caught up in my fury, and to capture beautiful and delicious things.

I hope you enjoy the ride.

xo