Pit Etiquette

After EIGHT YEARS of band cancellations due to Crohn's disease and turmoil, breaks and remakes, and hiatuses I finally got to see the almighty Glassjaw in concert.

... Glassjaw...

Darryl Palumbo close enough to see his PICC line scar on his inner right arm. Close enough to read the set list and know they would start with "Lenon" and play "Caligula".

This band is about music I love, friends I love even more, and memories that I would never ever replace. I started listening to Glassjaw at the pinnacle of my transformation from mousy, nerdy, and annoying to a pretty decent gal with radical tattoos. This band brought passion to my ears and lips, and made me want more from music than I had in the past.

The thought of this band brings back 2003.

The smell.

The taste.

The anticipation.

The pride.

The freedom of thought and action.

The loft.

As Darryl walked out onto stage, I could feel who I was in 2003. This chick teaming with confidence and pride in herself. This chick who was no longer confined by order and regulations. This chick who found love, friendship, and music.

Glassjaw

As nostalgic and entranced as I was in the moment, reality soon hit with a shove, a beer, and the absolute idiocy of the pit. Pit ethos could be a subject in college. It is teaming with apartheid, misogyny, and sweaty dudes dying for a non-existant cause.

The pit is still largely uncharted ground for us women folk. We have always skirted the barrier, standing away from the action, neglecting our absolute passion and desire to be in the middle seeing and doing as the menfolk do.

I would honestly say this enrages most hardcore dudes. Some fight for their ladies and others to keep them safe and promote their place in the pit. But, it is the biggest, sweatiest dude that lets rage take flight and will purposefully shove, push, and hassle girls half their size and 1/4 their weight until they reign supreme.

But for what?

A lonely bed, a bar tab, and scorn from the band?

Basic etiquette should still rule in the pit. Music isn't freedom from law, no matter how many middle fingers are raised in the air. Listening to music still comes with social norms and laws. As much as music is an outlet, it is an outlet with reason and boundaries. Notes and cords fade, but actions don't.

You give a girl a black eye in the pit or anywhere else and you are still ostracized as a douche and idiot.

Game..well job...statistics

So I kind of, in a backhanded way have an NP job.

Still not sure what the job entails, or if I will ever get to see a patient again, but it comes with two high points: helping out a group of women devastated by the loss of two coworkers, and a killer reference from the father of American ERCP.

...ERCP is endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography...an endoscopic procedure used to visualize the common bile duct, pancreatic ducts, and used to treat biliary dyskinesia, sphincter of Oddi dysfunction, and pancreatic outlet dysfunction that cause pain, N/V, and pancreatitis...

It is an interesting group of patients. We are the specialists; we see, do this procedure, then send back to the referring provider. But, people try to beat the system and my job is to answer those phone calls.

Here is a short list of things I have learned from these phone calls:

1. 95% of patients start off with saying this is life or death. Please don't say this to a healthcare provider, we will only tell you to hang up the phone and call 911.
2. The most popular ring-back tone (that music while you wait to answer) is rap and usually uncensored rap as well.
3. Creon is a witch to prescribe. Creon is pancreatic enzymes used as an adjunct similar to vitamins, to help replace a shortage. It is expensive, not a common drug, and Medicaid makes it tricky to prescribe.
4. If people don't get you on the first time, or get what they want the first time, they will continuously call you and then bad mouth you as much as possible.
5. Nausea is not vomiting. Vomiting is not reflux. And please don't describe your bowel movements as "sheets of diarrhea".

I try to make light of these phone calls, but they are painful and frustrating. I want to help people, but holy moly it's impossible to.

I think I am 0-14 (days worked) on this job, but once again killer resume and I now know how to prescribe Creon...so maybe Lauren 1 Job 14.

The sorta terrible twos

Purposeful hitting. Check.

High kicks meant for the Circle Pit. Check.

A hardcore scream meant for Slayer. Check.

A DIY anti-law attitude. Check.

...In other words my sweet, little, snuggly boy has become a punk...

Not a "let's make him wear skinny jeans, a "vintage" Metallica shirt, and spike his beautiful baby hair into a faux hawk" punk. More like a "DIY, stubborn, I'm smarter than you, anti-establishment" punk.

I just want to pull a Homer Simpson and ring his adorable, tiny, sweet little neck. He is so cute, even when hitting, he is the cutest most amazing thing ever. Everything turns into a competition, a fight for independence. It's what 16 year-old emo kids dream of. The struggle against authority. Taking down the man and turning life into a lawless system based on entropy...

Oh hell, entropy is a system of belief...

Strong-willed this two-year old is. He is extremely smart, loves letters, wait no, hates letters, no, loves them...why again did I want him to be like me?

...Conor...

I LOVE YOU

I AM SO PROUD OF YOU

I THINK YOU HUNG THE MOON AND ARE MADE FROM THE STARS

BUT PLEASE...NO HIT, NO KICK, NO YELL.

BE MAD AND ASSERT THAT LITTLE STREAK OF INDEPENDENCE.

BUT PLEASE...NO HIT, NO KICK, NO YELL.

BE SAD AND CRY THOSE BIG CROCODILE TEARS AND GET RED-FACED.

BUT PLEASE...NO HIT, NO KICK, NO YELL.

MOMMY

The Dirty Thirty

I'm lame. I'm gonna make a bucket type 29 forever list...

1. Run the Bridge Run
2. Make amends with the triathletes of this world. Those lane stealing uber-jerks.
3. Eat a Stephen grilled steak
4. Wear less shirts
5. Visit Asheville, NC
6. Buy a new car
7. Move away from Charleston forever
   
8. Tell my daddy to shut-up, then tell him I love him
9. Clean less
10. Read War and Peace in its entirety and enjoy it
11. Not be so critical of those who strictly formula-feed, start solids early, and let their child cry-it-out
12. Scuba dive
13. Start drawing and painting comics again
14. Paint my toes weekly
15. Plan a real vacation and then go on it
16. Visit Dallas and enjoy the hell out of Charise, Caleb, Wild About Harry's, Cafe Brazil, and my hometown
17. Be nicer to Moxie
18. Be more romantic with Stephen
19. Take Jack on a walk 3-4 times per week
20. Sleep naked
21. Go on a real hike and water water rafting expedition
22. Start a research project
23. Get others to boycott Nestle
24. Lose 15 pounds
25. Take organic chemistry again
26. Iron my clothing
27. Put my phone down unless taking pictures of Conor
28. Re-pierce my nose
29. Catch back up on hockey
30. GET A FREAKING NP JOB WHERE I SEE PATIENTS ON A DAILY BASIS

I bet I do one or two of these, then laugh this time next year. Maybe I will do all.

Randoms

BSN...RN...FNP-C...

Being a healthcare provider is weird sometimes. Really weird. You think in BUN, amylase, and pH. You get giddy when you get a 22 in a liver patient. You can't eat microwave popcorn because it reminds you of lactulose and encephalopathy. You get bitter, you get sad, and you laugh when a little old lady accuses you of making her underwear to tight.

But, most importantly you see, do, and feel everything the patient and their family does. Which is why when you lose one of your own, no matter how vaguely you knew them it hurts. I am in the middle of this pain. To know the loss was unexpected and to fill the role of someone so loved is impossible.

Which is why I do this. Figuring out the impossible. Calming the fear. Reducing the pain. Nursing is not numbers of gauges, it is seeing a whole from the parts with a smile.

Conor...

Loves his especiables. Hates his vegetables. Refuses to sit on the potty. Builds freight trains with skill. Discovers super letters and thinks K-N-A-P-F-O-R-D spells "YOUNG". Smells like an angel. Carries his blanket like Linus. Chomp kisses. Giggles. Thinks...

This little miracle means more to me than anything I have ever done. I get angered at the selfishness of many mothers. The shear stupidity hurts, the refusal to build a bond through attachment makes me mourn for the innocents.

I would deny a million jobs to know I heard Conor's first words, saw his first steps, can comfort his cry easily, and know he spends more time with his parents than in the hands of others.

Other Things...

• Hate Charleston and its weather
• I want a new car
• I cannot wait to design a new nursery (NOT pregnant just bored)
• I miss my neighbors, new ones are blah
• I miss my floor, seriously miss patient care.
• Proud of our bank account
• Want to get my son a fishy