You make the call: Victory for me er no?

Welcome back to you make the call- Where I pose a moral question and you answer it.

This one involves my work. I am a mental health nurse practitioner. I work side by side with psychiatrists and do my best to help the crazy people. It's a good gig. I do love it so.

That being said, I was recently asked to start giving flu shots. Giving shots is what NURSES do. However, I'm more than a nurse, I'm a nurse practitioner. Which means I have a master's degree and a ton of special licenses to prescribe medication. Just like the doctors.

Which got me thinking. Flu shots are normally given by PRIMARY CARE nurses. I don't work in the primary care, I don't treat sinus infections, rashes or bronchitis. I treat depression, anxiety and schizophrenia. I certainly don't treat the flu. Why am I handing out flu shots?

I say this to my boss AFTER I'VE AGREED TO ADMINISTER SHOTS TO MY PATIENTS. I am the kind of nurse that says yes when people ask me to do stuff. I've got to stop that.

Then, I approach the doctors, the mental health doctors. And I ask, "Do you need to start giving shots too? " And they say, "Oh, HELL NO, we're doctors, not nurses!" (ok they didn't say that exactly, but they did say no, they wouldn't be giving shots.)

Here is two (of the three) psychiatrists I work with:

Again, neither one of them are willing to give shots. They say no, they're doctors.

That kind of pissed me off. There is another mental health doctor though, not pictured above, he was willing to pitch in and give the shots. Guess who is my favorite doctor to work along side?

So I say this to my boss. I say, "Why am I required to interrupt my patient care to give these shots? Why am I required to give these shots when the psychiatrists aren't? Also, the primary care nurse practitioners don't give shots, so why am I doing this?" He kind of blinked and then we changed the subject.

Two weeks later . . .my boss says . . . "I talked it over with my boss and we agree, it's not fair to make you to give the shots when we aren't making everyone [I.E. THE PSYCHIATRISTS] to give the shots."

I was kind of shocked. I mean, I was kind of kidding when I kicked up a fuss. I mean, I was willing to give the shots but I did feel kind of slighted. But I didn't really care because there are much bigger things to care about.

So I accidentally won one for equality- but I'm not sure I was suppose to. I mean, this may compromise, in a small way, patient care. A lot of patients never see their primary care providers. They see us though. So that could mean no flu shot for them.

Then again, flu shots are available everywhere, even walgreens. Our patients are adults who drive and speak English. They have the resources to get their own flu shot.

ug.

so! you make the call, victory for me er no?

You make the call

Welcome back to YOU make the call!

I had to duct tape my bumper so it wouldn't sag as a I drove home. AND NO, THAT'S NOT MY CAR UP THERE. I have a jetta.

Anywhoodle.

This is where you all come in. Let's examine what happened to cause such duct tape usage and decide if any of it is my fault.

First, in a bizarre twist, I damaged my front bumper by backing up. The concrete stop (at the end of the parking spot) was held down by two rebars (one through either end). As I was backing up, I heard a crunch and then Styrofoam came a popping up. One of the rebars had risen up while I was parked, it was half way out of the ground.

This is what dislodged my bumper, it pulled my right front bumper out from underneath as I backed up.

SO!! my question is this-could the rebar have been that far out of the ground when I parked? Could the 100 degree heat have pushed it up while I was parked? How much blame do I need to take here?

Leave your decision in the comments.

Be kind people, this is the second parking lot incident I have had, damaging my car but JUST DRIVING IT.

:)

You Make The Call: neighborhood punk edition

Welcome back to You Make The Call-where Mrs. Hall has an ethical dilemma and you can help her with it!

There a number of kids in my neighborhood, including my own-- Pancake (girl age seven), Mac (boy age 3.5). Two houses down there are a few boys, ages 7-8, heavily into skateboarding and even have a ramp in their driveway. None of these kids are the local punks.

In fact, I would love it if Pancake hung out with the boys. But they are rough and skateboard and well, Pancake is ok with roller blading and riding her bike, but really, my girl enjoys playing then stopping and looking at flowers. The boys down the street are go go go go go!! So, hmm.

THEN there is Chris. He is ten. And becoming attached to Pancake. We have always had reservations with Chris. Chris is always outside, always running around in the neighborhood. His mother, who is fat and large and lazy, often will stop by looking for him. Because she doesn't know where he is half the time. I don't think she cares. Which is fine. Everybody comes from somewhere. And sometimes where we come from-- is not so nice.

Except Chris is sometimes not so nice. You can tell the boy has no training or social grace. I often find him playing in the street, walking around not being careful for traffic. He'll just walk into our house if the door is open. He will ring the door bell six times. We've told him several times this is not acceptable behavior. And he comes over a lot. Every day, at least 2-3 times a day. Because his Mom doesn't want him in the house during the day. He asks for meals.

There have been questionable behaviors. Like when he bummed a dollar off of Pancake to buy something at a garage sale. This is no good. But he tried to make up for it by giving Pancake one of his Wii games from his house. When we opened it, there were bugs inside. Dead bugs, but still.

Then THEN there is his little sister Autumn. She is five. She is often with him and uses Mac's tricycle because she doesn't have her own. Their fat, lazy Mom doesn't watch her either. All day they are outside, being ragamuffins. And beginning to latch onto us. And for the most part, I've let them. I feel soo sorry for those kids. At least for Autumn.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday Chris had a run-in with the other boys down the street. He took one of their skateboards and tried to hide it. Then he tried to burn it in his fireplace. He was either trying to destroy the evidence that he took it or he was trying to destroy it because he was mad.

blink. blink. blink.

He was on our front porch when I heard the skater boys yell out to Chris, "Next time you take my stuff my Dad is calling the cops!" The Dad must have been really pissed.

And really, this shook me up something fierce. Because Chris is following the trajectory of mini-criminal. Because--if don't have parents who care and nurture you, you don't learn how to care for you or the things around you. So if you get mad, or if you want something, you just take it. And if your Mom doesn't bring down the wrath of God for such an act, you don't learn that stealing and burning stuff is wrong.

He will learn though. Contact with the police is a very good way to learn.

SO here's the dilemma. What the hell do I do with Chris? He hasn't done anything wrong with Pancake. He hasn't taken anything of ours. And. He responds to us. He responds to Mr. Hall. He craves a Daddy and Mr. Hall has some to spare.

Plus, Pancake likes him. She enjoys hanging out with him and Autumn.

meh.

it's tough.

thoughts?

YOU make the call: Was my coworker hitting on me at the xmas party, er no?

First, before we begin, HELLO NEW FOLLOWERS! Welcome to the love fest that is Mrs. Hall!

And for those lurkers out there, I still enjoy your visits! (wink)

So- let's begin the discussion, shall we?



First, let me explain my work. I am a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. I work at a mental health outpatient clinic as an advanced practice nurse. I prescribe mental health medications and tend to my patients as a nurse. I love my job.

Next, let me explain the coworker. His name is Herb and he's a psychiatrist, one of three I work with. He is older, mid to late fifties, good looking and very laid back. He has very un-politically correct sense of humor. He is subversive and very kind to me. I liked him immediately.

Of the three doctors, I go to him the most with my newbie questions and concerns. I could say to him, "I set a patient on fire!" And he would say, "Meh, just spritz him with a bit of water and see him back in two weeks, it'll work out." He listens as I struggle. He teaches me the art psychiatric care. He shows me how to practice without burning out.

He is my mentor.



This is where it gets tricky. I am the youngest woman in the office by 10 years. He notes this. He also notices my fashionista tendencies. Not in an uncomfortable way, but he notes it. There's a line here. A weird professional line between different generations and different genders.

He is a ladies man, never been married. He's funny. And like his off color jokes, I take it all in stride. Because I know who I am.



Now let's get to the Christmas Party.

We are sitting on bar stools directly across from each other. He is gregarious and funny, as always. I am not drinking. Mr. Hall is at home, watching the kids. Herb is drinking with class. But perhaps he is drinking too much. The man enjoys his brews.

He keeps looking at his phone because he's being getting a slew of text messages. He holds the phone far away, squinting to read the text. I told you he's older.

I call him out, asking him what his girlfriend is texting him about. Because that amount of texts can only come from one place, a woman. I ask him why he's never been married. I tease him about being old. There is a slew of us, all sitting close and almost yelling to be heard. The bar is getting crowded.

He starts to talk about his girl friend. She's twenty three. Ten years younger than me. And she's a stripper. I all but do a spit take. I think he is kidding. But he's not kidding! He shows me a photo and yes indeed, there they are- her stripper boobins.

I ask him what he was thinking, dating such a young girl. He replies, "I wasn't thinking much besides she has a body that's out of this world." I smile because he is being honest and owning who he is. These are admirable character traits. He whines a bit that they don't have anything in common, nothing to talk about. I laugh because it's funny.

It's getting late and the women of the office have all but left. I stay, utterly fascinated by the men and their talk. I laugh and really enjoy myself. I really focus on being myself because I am not one of them. I am not part of a bawdy boys club. Just a coworker who blushes at such things.

And I am honest throughout this chatter. I see each of them, gauging my reaction. I am not shocked or offended. Just fascinated and happy to be there. It is a Christmas Party after all.



Then the doctor drops a bomb. He tells a really disgusting and really dirty joke. I feel it gently explode in my belly. I avert my gaze, look down, practically shutting my eyes.Everyone gives a hardy laugh. I open my mouth and mimic their laugh. And I squirmed. And laughed.

I laugh because it was funny, yet I squirm. Dirty jokes are about sex and here we are, telling jokes about sex. I am much too innocent to be here but yet here I am. And I did laugh. Cause it was funny. I closed my eyes and laughed.

And THAT'S when the good doctor leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. FOR THE ENTIRE DURATION OF THE LAUGHTER FROM HIS JOKE. A good fifteen seconds while people laughed. It was a funny joke.

It was at that point I decided it was time for me to go. Gathered my coat and switched seats. And I stayed about twenty minutes more. I stayed because the underbelly, hard drinking and carousing of men fascinate me. But . . . I knew it was time to go when they planned on hitting the club where his girlfriend worked.

And no matter how fascinated I am, that is not a place for me.

Well, not without my husband I mean.


for photos of Mr. Hall, who is not an older man, click here.


And when I get home I tell Mr. Hall all of this. He says, "Herb was just trying to comfort you, trying to make you feel comfortable."

But maybe he was just hitting on me.

YOU make the call, which is it? Was my coworker hitting on me at the Xmas party, er no?

YOU make the call: Is my brother's girlfriend getting the shaft, er no?

Welcome back to YOU make the call!

This time, we examine the life of my brother's girlfriend. But before we begin . . I must say I miss blogging and commenting. I have loads of ideas and loads of responses to all your comments. But, alas . . . Just know I read every comment and am so thankful you wrote ;)

SO!! My brother and his girlfriend cohabitate in a house my brother owns. Her name is not on the mortgage. They are both teachers. They have been dating about 10 years. I doubt they will get married because my brother's an idiot. And, most likely, they never have children.

Which is fine. I am a bit judgey about the whole thing. I mean, I don't understand this "living together without a ring in sight" business. It irks me if I know the girl wants a ring. And she does want one. I know this. But, it's not my life. It's hers.

What irks me more, no, what makes me hang my head in shame, is that my brother charges her rent.

"YOU GOTTA BE EFFING KIDDING ME!!"-

Was my first thought when I heard she pays rent. And half the utilities. I was really, really offended by this. I mean, she is getting the shaft!!!

I mention this at T day dinner last week to my two sister in laws. All of us, at the table, college educated women. Educated and bossy types too.

My big sister in law drops her jaw, shocked at my being shocked. Literally does a double take. Offended at my notion that no rent should come out of my bro's girl's wallet.

I see her get flabbergasted and all feminist about it. "This isn't 1840 ya know, when men just kept women as chattel. Why shouldn't she be paying half of the mortgage?", she says.

And by the way, on a personal note, I love getting people riled up like this. Such fun!

I retort:

"Because THERE IS NO PROMISE OF MARRIAGE! He's not gonna pony up a ring! He OWNS THE HOUSE!!! He should paying ALL THE MORTAGE!!"*

Again, the sister in laws and I exchange looks. I stare at them. They stare back. Disbelief is shared betwix the three of us.

SO DEAR READERS!!!

YOU MAKE THE CALL!!

Should my brother be charging his girlfriend rent? And should she be paying it? And is she or is she not getting the shaft?

Leave your answer in the comments ;)

*fyi-when Mr. Hall and I were living in sin, you bet yer sweet bippy I never payed one dime for rent!

YOU make the call: Creepy husband behavior, er no?

My life is getting in the way of my blogging. I apologize for the dead fish Wil.

So! Let's begin today's post!

I see human intelligence like a multi-tiered cake. (four tiers). Each tier has a ratio of people to level of intelligence. With each ascending layer, there are fewer people but more intelligence.

In the bottom layer, there is a multitude, nay, a critical mass of yokels, God's special people and Brett Favre. The next layer contains college graduates and owners of small successful businesses. The top layers include Einstein and the Steven Hawkins types. mmmhhhhhmmmm caaakkkeee......



On a good day, when I am rested, and the kids have not busted my brain to bits, I am in the third layer. Most days however, I am the second layer, near the top. Which is good. I don't want to be in the forth layer. Ever.

That being said, with a bit more intelligence that a yokel, yet not on the Einstein level, I lack a large amount of social judgement.

Basically I have a hard time figuring out what is normal and what is just odd.

CASE IN POINT:

Whilst looking through the photos on my husband's cell, I found a few of me. Only- I wasn't aware he had taken them. They were shots of me, um, well, there were naughty shots. Shots of cleavage, shots of me bending over, shots of my tush . .

They were taken while we were out and about with the kids. Whilst wearing my white latex dress.

Just kidding there folks. That's not my kid.

They were funny because I am so oblivious. I had no idea he had taken them. And there were only a few. Not like reams and reams or anything. But, they are undeniably naughty.



It's weird to think my husband takes peeping tom shots of me. He hasn't hidden them, I mean, he knows I look through his cell phone photos and could have easily hidden them from me. So!

YOU MAKE THE CALL!





Is this creepy husband behavior, er no?

Leave your call in the comments :)


Next on YOU make the call: Is this video sexist, er no?