17 February 2009

On a Badass-ness scale of 1 to 10, I'm a -20.

No, it's not the sequel to the doll story. This is something of rather questionable quality that I decided to take a risk and share. A sort of look back at the things that didn't go right for me in life... and my turning around and giving it the "middle finger salute" to its face. I won the fight. It didn't. More moody than my usual wont. Feel free to use the air-sickness bags if you need.

“The Dam Was Damned”

The dam breaks. The water rushes in, around and over.
Too long. Too long.
These hurts and feelings have been held back too long.
It hurts. Sweet Mercy, it hurts.

The poison is being drawn out, so it can no longer harm.
The body wants it gone.
The body and the spirit want it gone.
They want it gone NOW.

But Pride, always Pride, is in the way.
Vainly it tries to stop the crack with a finger.
But this day does not favor Pride’s little Dutch boy.
The village that Pride built will know destruction this day.

I fall to my knees. The village walls crumble.
Pain long hidden away runs like a captive animal from an opened cage.
Tears cloud my sight. The village is flooded.
The raging waters beat against the proud wall that is my throat.

I want to… and yet I don’t… give voice.
Voice to the pain, to the anger, to the offended sense of right and wrong.
Voice to the sadness and grief over what could have been.
I want to give voice so that the poison will torment me no more.

The waters rage and push with greater force.
It will not be denied. Dues must be paid.
Anger, hurt, grief and sadness have no cares for the prideful mind.
Pride never solved a problem. Pride never soothed a troubled soul.

At first just a ragged breath. And then a quivering jaw.
The waters have won. Pride has been washed away.
Then a sob, and then a howl. The torrents continue.
The waters pull the toxin with them as they speed on their way.

I lay there feeling utterly devoid of energy.
Where Pride’s village once stood, only a muddy mire remains,
Not even a ragged fence or piece of wall to remark that it was once there.
My eyes close, leading me to my first peaceful dreams in years.

As always, feel free to speak your peace.

16 February 2009

Be happy I didn't write about a G.I. Joe action figure!

Alrighty. I got brave yesterday and put together a little piece. I was feeling down, so I decided to channel my "blues" into a story. The result is the story of a little girl's toy. It may not be the best thing to ever be made, but I had quite a bit of fun writing it. I have a second short work written in response to this one, but I'll save that one for another day.

Memories of a Doll

The corner is dark. This wooden chest hasn’t been moved in years. The only things that have moved are the dust and the cobwebs. Here I’ve sat, years on end.

I used to remember what light and color looked like. I used to remember what moving felt like, what freedom was. I was loved once. That, I remember most of all.

I was a little girl’s best friend. I was her constant companion. Tea time, whispered secrets, hop scotch and adventures in the garden; all had in the span of a day. It seems like it was just yesterday that we imagined a flowerbed to be some exotic jungle and hoped to spy a lion, a tiger, or even a bear.

Then came the day, that horrible, awful day. We were in the park. An older, bigger girl made her cry. Had called her a “baby” for playing with “that dumb old dolly!” All the way home she ran, not caring how I’d flailed in the wind.

This chest, this very wooden chest, the first to catch her eye; into this chest she threw me. She looked down at me, tears in her eyes. Her face was red with anger and shame. At first, she left me there, lying on my back and all a-kilter. Soon after, she gently sat me upright, fixed my dress, and smoothed my hair. Ever so gently, the lid came down and a soft, hesitant click was heard.

Oh, the many, many times I’ve played this in my head. How I wish, that right then, I could speak. To comfort her. To console her. To remind her that a bully is as a bully does. Is throwing a friend away the price one must pay to be accepted? Is a bully’s opinion worth more than a friend?

Most of all, I miss my friend.
Questions and comments welcome!

11 February 2009

The day I followed the Circulating Nurse in the M/S unit!

So, on to a bit of real life. Today, I got to do my observation day in the Operation/Med-Surg. unit. I was so excited that I didn't sleep much of the night. I got to the hospital around 7am. I wandered around a bit, because I was lost. (Perhaps fortunately for me, I've only ever been to the hospital for being born, and for the yearly blood work to check my thyroid hormone levels. I pretty much only know where the Labs and bathrooms are at in this hospital.) Eventually, I found someone who works in that unit and she showed me around. Then I changed into some surgical scrubs. I was quite shocked that they carried scrubs big enough even for someone as fat as I am! They looked pretty good, too.

After finding a few patients who agreed to let me watch their procedures, and having them sign the consent forms (so I could watch), I got to see several things for the first time. I saw 2 colonoscopies, 1 endoscopy and 1 gallbladder removal. I can't give any details about the patients, due to the HIPPA privacy clause. I hope y'all understand.

At first, I was kinda squeamish during the colonoscopies (I mean, after all, they are sticking a camera up someone's bum! Ick!) but it got better. I got to see what a phyllop looked like in someone's colon. I got to see what diverticulitis looked like. They had a hell of a time with the endoscopy, the patient had a hair trigger gag reflex. (They stick the fiber optic camera tube down your throat for that one.) I got to see what vocal cords look like in real life.

I have to say, that in my opinion, the gallbladder removal surgery was the most interesting and the coolest! I watched the team prep the room, prep the patient, and even watched most of the surgery. Wow! They did all of that with just one small incision! I think it's called a laproscopy. The surgeon was using these really long instruments to perform the procedure. I would have stayed to watch the whole thing, but my time was up and I was getting light headed from hunger.

After a bit of being lost and wandering, I found the cafeteria. The food was actually pretty good. Nothing like the slop they feed you in public school. Amazingly enough, I managed to wolf down my food without feeling the least bit queasy after watching the surgery. Heh. Now if I could just pull that trick off for my fear of needles. I do okay if I am the one GIVING the injection, but I still freeze up in terror if I'm the one GETTING the injection. Quite embarassing.

I'm still not sure what department I want to work in after I get my licence. But Med-Surg seems pretty interesting. I've still got a whole nother year (and passing my state boards) to go before I need to make up my mind.