I'm looking forward to the big boobies

I am a woman who takes matters into her own hands.

This is especially true when getting pregnant.

Mr. Hall and I will try for our third child soon. To start trying I need to stop my birth control. Which causes some complications. My birth control is a mirena IUD. That being said, before I got pregnant with my son, I made an appointment to have the previous IUD taken out.

Which placed my matters into someone else's hands.



Which really, this was no good. I mean, the appointment went fine. But, deciding to get pregnant is a crazy lust filled crazy oh my god I love yes yes yes yes I wanna have more babies with you type moment.

I don't want no stinkin' doctor involved. And I don’t need no stickin' doctor!!

IMA NURSE!!!!



A nurse practitioner even.

All schooled in the arts of self care and womanly empowerment!!

So. Then.

Last night we made it possible for me to become with child.


My womb is about to go crazy with all the re regulating and preparing for the getting pregnant again.




We weren't phased until this morning.

We looked at each other after we woke up.

Our eyes met and we raised our eyebrows.

There is a large difference between talking about getting pregnant again and then actually doing it.

hee hee hee

I can say this without any doubt, I am soo looking forward to my boobs getting bigger. I miss being a d cup.

Salad days of yore

First day of my new job went well. Well, it was 8 hours a sitting through orientation. Power point, power point, power point . . . . two more days like this. Man o man!

Can't complain though, no longer will I have drive, drive, drive. No more home health. No more flicking roaches off my red back pack.

This looks to be a thin week in terms of blogging. In fact, I may have to slow the train a bit overall. At my new job, I will be responsible for all sorts of things. No more blogging on company time. After all, I don't have the company laptop anymore.

People come to me now. They come to see me and I will charge them. I am thusly responsible for 'production numbers' aka seeing a certain amount of patients in my office each day. They and their insurance company will get their monies worth!

I can't wait to see my office. (squeek!)

But, what I will lack in quantity of posts, I hope to make up for in quality (I hope anyway). The salad days of slacking at will are over. ;)

So for, let's entertain ourselves with this little ditty. And remember the salad days of Miss Holly Madison.

:)



RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVEERRRRR!!!!!!!

Dressing like a grownup

Those boots people. Look at them. Love them.

Often, a woman is not satisfied with how she looks unless she is calm within herself. This will be my challenge as I go about growing up.

My look, right now, is best described as stylish, thrift-store chic Mom. That is only on weekends and at night. During my day, as I go about tending to those living in the ghetto, well, I wear a lot of Goodwill clothes. My patients are often heavy, heavy smokers. My clothes get all funked up. So, I wear clothes that are clean and such. But they are Goodwill quality.

I am about to transition from the home health care to a real clinic. I will have my own office (squeak with delight!) And while those that walk through my office door may be disheveled, I feel it is my duty to look put together and attractive. Wearing just a touch of make-up.

After all, if you are in my office, you are most likely not feeling well. Not feeling well in the head. That carries it's own special kind of scary. Like being on a plane that is experiencing turbulence. You look to the stewardess to see if she is freaking out. But she is not, she is there, all put together, hair untosselled.

This is also why I am going to be starting a boot camp. I have lost 35 lbs but I am a weakling. I plan to building girly guns to help lift my patients up. And as I advise them about their self care, I want them to see I walk the walk.

There are a few barriers here. I don't shop well. Especially for pants. No woman likes shopping for pants. If you are a man, you only have to know two numbers for this task. Even if you land on Mars, you can still walk into a store blindfolded, and tell the salesgirl those two numbers and viola! Pants that fit.

For women it goes like this (to the salesgirl on Mars): Ahem, I am Mrs. Hall and in the Juniors section I am a size 9-11, Missess section, 4-6.

Go ahead, ask any woman what her jean size is. If she doesn't give you two sets of ranges then she is lying. Wait, don't ever ask a woman what her jeans size is. Bad idea.

OK THEN, MOVING ON.

Another barrier is that I am profoundly cheap. Hence the mountains of crappy, dollar store clothes that don't fit right. This is not the grown up way of shopping.

Thus, tonight I shopped for an hour and half. Tried on 50 some pairs of pants to find 2 that fit correctly. But that is not all. For the last year or so I have been slowly acquiring dresses.

O MY DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN!

At my new job, I get to wear dresses every day. That fact alone has made the student loans more palpable.

And I must say. I was kind of shocked while trying on those pants. I don't actually have full length mirrors at my house. So, I am still very surprised at my new, fit body. And I must say, I do look smoking in my new pants. But, in a very grown up way.

Second interview: Reserved edition

I drove there a few nights ago. Slept in a little and went to the interview place. Met with the receptionist and she lead me to the interview room.

There sat about forty staff. It was the largest group interview I had ever had. After that group listened to my story, my professional exploits and adventures, they all left and four doctors remained.

Me and the four doctors chatted. Spoke clinical speak. I was very intimidated.

And tired. This driving four hours to new interview places is wearing me out.

And telling my story over and over again is wearing me out. The weight of my decisions are wearing me out.

I hope it went well. I mean, I was sitting in a room with four doctors. Doctors and nurses have different training, different language. We do the same things though. Treat patients. And while everyone practices differently, we all have the same goals. Hopefully.

It was very weird. I mean, who walks into an interview and finds forty people waiting there? And then gets a second go round of questions and answers with four people. But, they kept having me go to more rooms and find out more things. And they were having a pot luck and wanted me to join.

Have some cheesecake! Have some of that ambrosia salad! Well worth the time to try the sloppy joes!

Or Spanish hamburgers as it is called around these parts.

It was about three hours into the interview at this part. I literally had to excuse myself at this point. I have to drive back I said.

It was nice and weird at all the same time. I hope I rose to the occasion.

I wasn't on my full game though. I was . . . . reserved. Normally I am bouncy and confident. But this is me as a nurse. I am a now a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. Still getting my feet on the ground.

What helped was my wardrobe. I had my black, knee high leather boots on. The ones with the four inch heal. I had a pretty dress and my hair all cute. Wore make up. Smiled and spoke.

But speaking in these types of interviews is very different. There are no stock questions like 'What is your greatest weakness or Where do you see yourself in 10 years?'

It is, "How comfortable are you with prescribing these types of drugs?" or "What is your experience with this type of patient population with x or y diagnosis?" And honestly there are pockets of certain populations and diagnosis I have never seen. And some I understand like the back of my hand.

And I try my best to stay concrete and in the here and now. I try not to lapse into waxing poetic or getting all philosophical. And I remember that the majority of people in the science fields (i.e. MEDICINE) are not artsy like me. So I let my right brain show more.

Which is not something I am use to. Speaking from the right brain. And again, there was a language barrier to content with. Doctors are trained one way and nurses another. Each with its on shorthand and vernacular. I wonder if I made sense. I actually ask them this. They assure me that I do indeed make sense. God I hope I did.

And I was so very honest. I say things that I haven't rehearsed. I say things I haven't said out loud before.

All in all it was hard to read them. The interviewers. There was no head nodding or agreeing with me. Just listening and reservedness. And there was some warmth at the end. But, I am not sure if they got me, or perhaps they saw me as I am.

A brand new Psych-NP. I am barely a fetus at this point. My heart is strong and I am starting to wiggle. And given the right place I will grow ten feet tall.

I hope, I think, this is the right place. I hope they think so too. After all, they have cheesecake.

Time for booze

Basically, if you look in monster.com or medhunters.com for job listings it goes like this:

Registered Nurse: 100,000,000,0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 (in the united states)

Nurse Practitioner (primary care or family care):
20,0000,0000000000000000000000

Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner:
3
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am a specialist. A niche if you will. Limits the job options. But, I am getting better responses to my resume now that I am certified and am this close to getting my state license to prescribe.

My interview went fabulous. I always interview well. I am articulate, skilled and most of all, they need a prescriber. I can and will prescribe psychotropic medications and be responsible for everything those medications do the patient. I carry this weight, but it is not heavy. I know what kind of nurse I am and presented myself as such. And again, they need me.

So I took advantage of this. I didn't do all that I normally do for an interview. No spray tan, no knee high, black leather boots with the three inch heels. No perfect hair, no perfect portfolio. Just my favorite summer dress, painted toes and a folder with my info.

No prepared answers, no corporate energies. Just me, laying out who I am, what I can do for patients. How I feel about being a nurse. They guy kept nodding and saying 'right, right' and 'that is so true'. I was preaching to the choir.

I will have more interviews to go. These places all need me. I am using this to my advantage. If they need me I can ask for things. Like ending my day at 3.00 pm in order to pick up the girl at school.

I will still have to move my family. But where I am going to move will be SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE NASCAR BACKWOODS place we were going to move to. This time, moving will be easier. Again, I am not a speciality offered in my city.

Notice I didn't say not needed. But, health care is a business. Don't get me started.

I must say though, the interview was one of the best I have been on. I felt good, like I was being heard. I have been on interviews for registered nursing jobs many times. Because of the nursing shortage, you just need to be a warm body and they will hire you. They don't hear your skill or your passion.

But interviewing as a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner is a whole different ball game. I am not there because I am a warm body. I gots mad skills. I should, after all I have worked effing hard.

The interview went on for about two hours of us just talking. Finally, I had to cut it off. This place shares my passions. hmm ...

I would get an office. My own office where I could turn on the radio! And see people who were not court ordered. People who actually want my help. No more doing care while making sure roaches weren't climbing into my backpack. The clinic was so clean. Very weird.

It's sometimes really hard to think about my dreams coming true. This, just like the wee ones in my life, mean the world to me. And the weight of it is sometimes a little too much to take.

There is a certain responsibility to winning the lottery. I can't say I am not a little terrified. I am actually becoming a grown up. Or at least faking it really well.

Ok-off to collect myself, breath deep and drive the three hours back home.

What was the best or worst interview you went on?

:)

Mrs. Hall

Woodpeckers and Raising Arizona

First off-congratulations Mr. Geology Joe and Wife! Welcome to the bloggerhood little guy!

Our house has wood siding. We also have several trees in the back yard. One day, after we moved in, we heard tapping. It was distinctive, like mini machine gun fire. It was a rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap . . . pause. . . . tap-tap-tap. . .

The tapping wasn't at the window or the door. It was near the top of the walls in the living room. Turns out it was a woodpecker, drilling holes in the siding. Mr. Hall made quick work of this. It is an intermittent problem, easily dealt with. No biggie.

Yesterday, I was using my work laptop, at home. If I work from home I get to sit in my comfy chair and listen to the radio as I document my day. I don't get to listen to the radio at work because "it is too distracting" to my coworkers.

Anywho-I was typing away when I heard the tap-tap-tap and I bolted outside with a bath towel in my hand. I spotted the wood pecker and yelled.

GET THE OFF MY HOUSE DUMBASS PECKER!!!

With all sorts of vengeful energy, I began to swing wildly with my towel. Screaming and swinging. The woodpecker went to the nearest tree. Waiting and mocking me. I swung the towel at the trees, knocking crunchy leaves down. I grabbed tree limbs and shook them. At this point I was almost climbing the tree. All crazed monkey like.

And then I realized. Perhaps I was taking the whole 'job offer falling through' a little too easily. Perhaps I was not quite right about it after all.

So I took the rest of the day off. No more seeing patients, no more charting, no more nothing. The kids were at day care and school. I would have four hours all to myself. This, to a parent, is like winning the lottery.

I popped in a movie. Raising Arizona.

I snuggled on the couch with the cat. I started to feel relaxed for the first time in weeks. I was all sorts of chillax. Raising Arizona was raising my spirits. Good times.

Then, the phone rang. And it rang again and again. All of the sudden I have three job interviews for positions as a Psych-NP. They were all very nice calls. All reaffirming my passion for this line of work. And they all wanted to meet me right away.

And it gets better. I like all of these jobs they are wanting me for. They sound very exciting.

My first interview is today. Wish me luck.

The machines that go Ping!

This is why I like working with mental health patients.



In mental health, or psychiatric nursing, there are no machines that go ping. Just you and the patients. Agreeing on what to do to let them become what they want to be. It is empowering others through the use of kindness.

Can't believe this job will soon be mine.

Thanks for all your kind words!

And now, some photos from a real birth, that being the wee Mac.

I had an epidural that only numbed my right knee.

Loved every minute of it.

PING!!

The wee Mac about 10 seconds old.



The wee mac about 20 minutes old. And no, those aren't sheet prints, just marks from exiting the birth canal. And they had yet to clean him!



And this is him, age 1 day, after a satisfying nursing session. He nursed every two hours for the first four months of his life.



I gotta stop now, my ovaries are starting to twitch. And didn't I start this post about my job?

So easily the mind wanders . . .

Never saw it coming.

Things I never saw coming:

1. That my post on the frosty fan would bring forth so many comments.


2.




No, really! I thought he was just one of those asexual people.


3. That the girls next door would ever be in peril.





4. That my job offer would fall through.

I had signed a contract to work as a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner on July 15th 2008. The contract was through a contracting agency. They worked with the health care organization I was going to work for. So, I signed a contract with an agency to work for the health care organization who needed a Psych NP.

Ya'll following? I need to shorten this story in order to explain it to the many people who will ask me what happened. Any suggestions would be much appreciated.

And on July 15th I signed said contract. There were conditions. I had to pass my certification exam. Did that. But then things were stalled for so long. I should have known something was up. After all, it is more than two months later, and I am still not working there. And I never did get a start date.

I found out why yesterday. In addition to my certification, I needed experience. I am a brand-spanking new Psyche-NP. I have only clinical rotation/intern experience. The health care organization had assured my contracting agency, in writing, that my clinical rotation experience would count.

Turns out, that was wrong. So whomever was at the helm never could have offered me the job in the first place.

And we have been packing and planning to move The Family Hall two hours away for two months. And waiting on pins and needles. Just waiting. A three minute phone call changed everything.

Which is ok I guess. I am still in shock though. I am surprisingly ok with it. I am not really freaking out. Although I am sure that is coming. Denial is not just a river in . . .

Overall, I feel relief. I can now be vigilant and lioness as I stalk my new prey. I mean job. I am an awesome nurse. Even better Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner.


HEAR ME ROAR!

Who needs inspiration?

The blog has been kind of dry lately. Been working too much. I'm kind of UPS guy lately. Delivering health care in the nurse form. When I first got the job, I saw about four patients a day and drove back to the office to document. But NOW THEY GOT US SHITTY LAPTOPS SO WE CAN SEE EVEN MORE PEOPLE. So I drive around for eight hours, seeing upwards of 10 patients in day. Which is fine. This is not my real job. My real job is just waiting around the corner. I am driving way too much though.

I don't want to complain about my job. After all, I have one. And I am payed according to my skill level. But dammit. I am tired.

So let me cheer up a little. Let me relax to let the wax of poetic flow.

More fun is yet to be had at this blog.

I have several topics in my head. All potential blog posts. I think I will take a break from the kids though, in terms of blogging. They also wear my ass out.

So, ladies and gents-what would you like to hear about? Drugs, fruit loops, my presention I how to prevent burnout in nursing, womanly things?

Something will come to me. And it will be good.

Well, no promises

;)

Mrs. Hall

If noone pipes up, and you don't like the next post, then t-u-f-f.

Ok, you can get a good video :) One that explains how I feel. Because yes, I want to be a rock star. Or at least start my job as a Psych-nurse practitioner. What ever comes first.

I sort of like Sarah Palin. Except for one thing.

I seem to be a bit late on timely subjects. The subject of Mrs. Palin is no exception. I digest things slowly.

First off, let me just say, I am not open to the ugliness that this kind of post can bring. If you are here to spread ugly, get over to the millions of other blogs that will serve your purpose.If you are here to hear what I have to say, welcome. And comment till the cows come home.

I did watch her speech. Surreal is the best word I can offer. It was those endless shots of her kids that left me dumbfounded. And yes, I know that as a Hillary supporter, I am the exact demographic they are aiming for. And yes, I believe the GOP picked Sarah Palin because she serves their agenda of shoring up the conservative vote. I also believe Mrs. Palin has all sorts of agendas. I have agendas too. We all have agendas, no?

Surreal is the word for her speech. Surreal with her confidence, her grown children, her baby, her pregnant daughter and the soon to be son in law. Let it be said here, I commend the teenagers with kids. Well, her teenager with kid. And the teenage Dad to be. They are stepping up and taking responsibility for the life that is growing inside the girl. And while I don't think marriage is the best idea at age 17, at least they are going forward. I believe the whole family is going forward. With the kids firmly at the center.

And no, abstinence only sex ed is a failure. It doesn't prevent teen pregnancy. But, we are in the land of Puritanical thinking. As public policy, this is what we get for now. Other countries have health courses that begin in kindergarten. They begin by teaching the children the names of their parts. It goes up from there. I have started my own teaching here, at the Hall house. When my daughter started to learn her body parts, I included all of her anatomy. Thus, when she was three years old, she proudly exclaimed, "Mac has a penis and I have a diamond."

She has since figured out how to say vagina.

It was funny joke, no?


So there they were, after her speech, the entire family on stage. She was holding her youngest baby of four months. Four months was the age of my each of my children when I came back to life. I started back at work at that time. I can't help but see myself up there. However, I don't dream of becoming a VP, but simply a Psyche-NP. And I don't think it is sexist, asking if she can care for her children while in public office.

Let me repeat that. I don't think it is sexist asking if she can give to her children what they need A MOM whilst being a VP. Mothers are important. Paramount even. So are Dads. I believe to raise kids right, the kids must be at the center of things. One should not blindly procreate, nor blindly chase ambition.

If you sense a little righteousness here, you are right. I am a traditionalist about family. Kids need parents. Two of them. Two people who have their act together. Gender or transgender of parents irrelevant. They just have their act together. And place their kids first.

And I feel righteous and proud about being a Mom. I was a woman who married then had babies. And the babies have the same father, my husband. I am proud of this because it is what I created for my life. Because it is what I believe in. I believe in being a wife too. That is why I choose the moniker, Mrs. Hall. And while my last name actually contains four syllables, the Mrs. is very much correct. I am proud this. Again, it is what I believe in.

At the same time, I fully recognize that that this is my belief. This is where Mrs. Palin and I begin to divide. But not yet.

We both are working Moms. There are those out there who believe to be a good Mom, you must stay home. Well, I do stay home. I never really go anywhere. Sure, for about 8 hours a day, Monday through Friday, I go and tend to others. I expand my brain, my heart. I give to humanity. Meanwhile, the little ones go to school. They learn, they play with people their height. They get be loved by more than me. And we all met up at the end of the day. Ready to love each other and snuggle.

Wait, this is about Mrs. Palin, not Mrs. Hall.

The last thing I noted about Mrs. Palin was the religion. There is a point in any nurses life where you seek out religion. As a nurse, I have helped birth babies, helped patients deal with devastating genetic test results about their kids, helped patients cut through insurance crap to keep on living and I have helped patients die. I married the best man walking. I have birthed two children. I have felt them growing inside me and nursed them. There is no point in my life where I have not been powered by forces outside myself. I reach out to God most everyday.

Let me repeat that. I pray most everyday. Bible study classes have made me a better nurse, mom and wife. I am softer, kinder and more ready to receive the beauty that surrounds me. I have felt the spirit.

And this is where it goes all sour for me with Mrs. Palin. People see her as the face of Christianity. They think she is dumb and simple. They have flashbacks to Catholic school, bible camp and generally oppressive things. It turns off the spigot for most.

Myself included.

It is a delicate balance reaching out to God and living an everyday life. She has the balance wrong. She carries such judgement and the security of her own convictions. As if they are handed down directly from Him. And that is the one thing I do not like about her.

My beliefs about family and God are for me. Not for public policy. The righteousness I feel is because I have worked damn hard to create this life. I feel vindicated for all that doubted I would end up anything. But again, my righteousness is my own. Not for public policy.

I don't carry judgement on others either. We all have our own path. Life is not under our control. There in lies the preciousness and sanctity. Again, these are my views and not public policy. This is what Mrs. Palin fails to realize.

I will leave you with this video. And finally let the woman speak for herself.

Shoring up the blog

When I started this blog, I really had no theme in mind. There were many routes to take like Mommy Blog, Wife Blog, Self-help blog. There are plenty of those out there. I didn't want a theme.

Each day my thoughts buzz around me like insistent little hunny bees. They munch on the essays being rattled off in my head. This flood of thoughts began to flow at around age nine. I am always think, think, thinking. Write, write, writing in my head. It use to be tortuous, this constant chatter. But then I found Yoga. I found that I could actually calm the tides. And then I got my sleep pattern back. Wee-hee!

The essays I have running in my head, are varied. They are the seeds of my posts. I could poop out four a day if I wanted. But, like Willie Nelson says, "Writing a song is easy, it's writing a good one, that's the hard part." It feels grand though, finally having a place to pound out the thoughts. Some place besides Mr. Hall.

My intention in posting is to have an emotional arc. A passionate arc if you will. I have lots of passion. It varies though. It is dependant on my motivation. For example, my passion for helping others, for being of service to others, leads to posts under the label of 'nurse'.

Kids are endless fodder for passionate posts. They are labeled Pancake, Mac (formerly Mac-n-Cheese). As is the marriage between Mr. Hall and I. See labels marriage, Mr. Hall.

I am unsure what is driving me to write all this. Part of it is unmet social needs. Everyday, I have twenty dollars worth of energy to spend. Everyday, fifteen dollars is automatically deducted because I am a wife, mom and nurse. And those last five? Those are spent carefully.

It is difficult forming relations with others when you are a mom. You can make instant friend with other moms. But it is instant soup. Making friends outside the Mommy set is difficult. Chicks are complex and intricate. Delicate negotiations are needed. And the problem is, I am one.

Overall, I am attached to my lovely offspring 24/7. To get away is to be separated. And this requires a babysitter. Money. Babysitters are very nice. But they are young and not the Mommy or Daddy. Our baby sitter, Josephine, is young. And has a young life. We do love her so. She called me twice when I was at yoga one time. Couldn't find the top to the sippy cup . . . .

Unmet social needs are not the only reason. When I started to compose essays in my head, at the wee age of nine, I started writing out loud. This didn't really end until I started to become a nurse. Becoming a nurse and a nurse practitioner requires fortitude. And copious amount of time and energy. It ain't easy. It shouldn't be. And this learning I hold so dear, will never stop. I will never stop learning for my job. Wee-hee!

However, there is still this writer inside me. Using words like they are lollipops. Tasting them, turning them around in my head. Finding ways to use them in everyday life. In everyday posts. I love them so.

And now I am downshifted. I have a balance and some time and here I am. In blog form.

Welcome one and all.

:)

Mrs. Hall

P.S. If any of you see misspellings, please let me know. I don't want to look stoopid.

GIVE ME A BREAK HERE

My next job, as a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner, is waiting for me. Just over yonder hills, past the river and around the bend.

The hills being a SIXTY page application I completed,
the river being THAT BIG ASS CERTIFICATION EXAM I took and passed BUT WON'T GET MY OFFICIAL CERTIFICATE PROVING I PASSED,

the bend being my state license. Which I can't apply for UNTIL I GET THAT GODDAMN CERTIFICATE.

So I call, and explain to the certificate granters. I SAID, "I cannot start my new job until I have the certificate. I took the exam, which I passed, which enables me to recieve the certificate, on 8-14-2008. How long till I get the cute certificate?"

could be up to 90 days says the woman in the deep deeeep, almost un-understandable jamaican accent.

FUCK!!!!!

And now, to explain my emotional state in more better terms. Put your hands together for Cake everybody, make some noise!



ULLLLRRRRRGGGG$%%J&%####@#@@#$%%^^^^!!!!!!!!!!

WOO-HOO!!! FREE BEER FOR EVERYONE!!

Go ahead, ask. Ask if I passed my certification exam. Ask if I am now a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. The answer is yes and yes.

I ROCKED that exam baby!!

I will write about it more later. I am beyond exhausted. I needed every bit of that 70 hours of studying to pass this thing. In fact, I needed all my skills from my undergraduate degree, my Registered Nurse experience and my graduate degree. I needed it all. And that is as it should be.

A large, satisfying nap followed by a delicious meal is in high order.

And that is exactly what I am going to do.

PS. stay tuned. tomorrow Mrs. Hall will reveal herself in photograph form

Zen and the Art of Parental Maintenance

Day four of studying. One more to go. I am doing eight or nine hours a day of straight studying. I am in the phase of studying where I don't care. Gone are the fun stuff to study, the neurotransmitters, the brain, the mental disorders themselves. Gone are the medications and how they effect the brain. It is now nursing theories, developmental theories, blah blab bhbh. BIg words . . . blah bhallakfdhdkdkkK!!!!

But the exam is this week. It's amazing what a deadline will do for motivation. Plus, if I reschedule the exam, it would cost four hundred dollars. Amazing what that fact does for motivation.

I missed family activities this weekend. This makes me sad. The kids went all apey at the pool yesterday with Mr. Hall. That is the kind of Dad he is, taking the kids so I can study. But here's the thing, he was there for SIX hours. Six.

This is unbelievable. Now, my munchkins, Pancake and Mac are 5 and 2 respectively. They are an awesome, but relentless source of demands, diapers, hair braiding, whining, snot, cute sausage toes, butt cheeks like dollaps of vanilla ice cream . . . . . . But relentless is the word. Relentless work and need. And honestly, I can't get enough of it. At home.

I will take them places. However, my limit is two hours. Three if I have the Mr. Hall. But six!! Sharp stick in the eye, I say. That man, my husband, never falls to surprise me.

He has a Zen way of Daddying. And a Zen way of being Mr. Hall. During all of this he has demanded I take time to unlock the stress. To 'recover and recharge.' He has been vigilant with me as I start to get all numb and shut him off. This is my pattern as my stress level rises. I don't think it is possible, living this life without him. He is the bee's knees. Or the cat's ass as the english say.

So back to studying.

I see the light at then end of the tunnel, I just have to keep chugging.

Wish me luck.

Like Homer Simpson to a doughnut

I am in the thick of studying for my certification exam. This is a bridge I must cross to go from a registered nurse to a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. I am studying my ass off. But I wanted to take a break to share why I am loving every minute of it. Loving it like it's my job.

First and foremost, I am a nurse. It didn't start out that way. I originally was an art major. But this is not relevant for now. It was by happenstance I took a class about the brain. Specifically, I took a class on what the function of the brain is and what neurotransmitters are. O glory day, the heavens opened up.

Neurotransmitters are the little chemical messengers in the brain. They are like magical signals that go from brain cell to brain cell and tell the cells what to do. What they lack in size, they make up for in sheer number. In fact, there are billions and billions of brain cells in the brain. And the brain itself is about three pounds. It is like Whoville in our skulls. Not too shabby of a set up.

I am fascinated by the billions and billions of brain cells. And yes, I am stealing this line from Carl Sagan. Brain cells are also called nerve cells or neurons. I don't want to get to technical, for fear of losing you, but please, I can't help it.

So in the Whoville in our skulls live on continents called lobes. The frontal, the temporal, the parietal and the bastard in the back, the occipital. I do love them all. Each lobe has specific purpose. But it is the frontal I love the most. This is in the front (big shock) behind your forehead. All self important and logical. It pays your checkbook and lets you figure out how to argue with your wife. Well, the last part is not recommended.

When things go awry in Whoville, it will be my job to help. But here's the thing, no one really wants help if their Whoville is depressed. Or if the Whos are getting all ancy and manic like. Treatment will be sought very rarely if the Whos start muttering to themselves or seeing Whos that aren't there. The stigma attached to mental illness goes both ways, in it's diagnosis and treatment. Even in modern, educated societies, mental illness is seen as a moral failing. You should see what I get in less educated, more 'fresh of the boat' patients. But I have my ways. Indeed, I gots mad skills. (hee hee a pun!)

Let it be said here, in this blog, and please repeat it everywhere you can: Mental illness is a MEDICAL DISEASE. Just like diabetes, just like high blood pressure. Only this medical illness is in the brain.

Which brings me back to my love. The brain. The neurotransmitters. It is like Homer Simpson to a doughnut to me. It is my passion and privilege to work with people who have mental illness. One that I hold dear.

And as I pore through this review material and review the stuff I hold very dear, I can't help but get all weepy. I am so fortunate to have found my place in life. I don't want to do anything else when I grow up. I have found the golden ticket.

So please, anyone who listened or read this, please send out positive vibes, prayers and thoughts for my test next week.

Have a good weekend.

And take care of your own little Whovilles!

Minority status as viewed by a nurse

One out of eight women in the USA is a nurse. This includes me. Techinically I fall under the moniker of 'advanced practice nurse', but this is not revelant for now. My current job is in the community. I meet with people in their houses to address their health care needs. To qualify for this type of service, they need to be under some sort of government assistance. As such, they need to be poor. Thus, my patients are mostly minorities.

At the risk of stereotyping, I must say I enjoy the Asian Americans the most. They are very thankful for my visits. They offer tea. They offer cookies. They smile and are very polite. Their houses and persons are clean. They have an acute awareness of the mind body connection. That is to say, what they feel in terms of illness is linked to things unseen. Spirits, old age, ancestors miling about. And what they see as wellness is not always delivered by medications. In fact, they often do not take medications, even when prescribed. This is not a novel concept, lots of patients do not take their meds for various reasons. But the Asian Americans view meds as a foriegn concept.

Which is a complete 180 from the majority of Americans out there. I cannot count the number of young (20-45) year old patients on multiple medications. What I mean by multiple medications is twelve or more. That is not to say that all medications are bad, and the medication regime doesn't make sense for that patient. But fuck. When did we, as prescribers, start to lose our minds?

Wait, I lost my train of thought.

I also enjoy the Hispanic Americans. They also are thankful for my visits. They keep a clean house and person. It is nice to be appreciated. And welcomed. It cuts down on 85 % of the work for me. That it is to say I usually have to spend a large amount of time breaking down barriers. And this is understandable. I am a white woman coming into a ethnic enclave. I am part of a system that is not providing what they expect. I am asking all sort of personal and private questions. Questions they have answered before and yet nothing changes. They still are sick, even with the twelve pills.

I have been a nurse long enough to know that I am not responsible for taking on thier illness and letting them live and breathe inside me. I cannot be in the trenches because I am the provider. I lead them if they are willing. I sit beside them if they are not.

It is a balance I have achieved to avoid the burnout that affects most health care workers out there. This is my life, being a nurse. As much as being Mrs. Hall. It is a long term commitment which I hold dear. And I am not going any where.