TeaTime Topics @janellerose - Tumblr Blog

The Twenty-Seven Club

Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, and Jimi Hendrix. All extremely talented musicians whose lives were cut short at the young age of 27. This photo series focuses on how the tragic loss of these young talents is still quite prevalent today. The ink tears streaming down their faces show the sadness that is still very real, even for the youngest generations.

Let Me Be Honest With Myself

Sadly, everyone uses Instagram. Thankfully, everyone uses Instagram. Public Diary, hello.

#Real #Do You Dare #Happening #Chew On This

cxrlittx

THIS IS GOLDEN

md-admissions

Md-A’s Intern Rules

Like Fight Club or NCIS with Gibbs’ Rules, I was talking to some of my co-interns and this is what we’ve come up with so far:

1. Eat breakfast

2. Do your own H&P (history and physical)

3. Don’t believe everything your colleagues write and say

4. Double-check your consult services

5. When your patient dies, take time to honor them

6. Be polite to EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON.

7. Give a damn

8. The only right time to run is to a code

9. Your reputation is based solely on your reliability and character. Intelligence is a given.

10. When a patient is admitted, start thinking about your discharge game plan

12. In clinic, think about how to keep your patient out of the hospital

13. Eat when you can, sleep when you can, pee when you can

14. Be a team player

15. When you make a mistake: Own up, correct.

16. You know more than you think

17. But don’t be cocky.

What other rules would you add?

ibelieveyouitsnotyourfault

It Was Easier to Give in Than Keep Running

By Anonymous

In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.

In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.

In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.

In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.

In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”

In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”

Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.

Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window. I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.

The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.

On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.

Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.

Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.

Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.

Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.

I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.

I don’t have any money, I said.

I really need your help, I said.

I will do it for free, he said.

Sit in the front, he said.

I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.

I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.

He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.

The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.

The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella. Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.

Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.

I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”

Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many. There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.

I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.

- Anonymous, age 25

justjessjeans-deactivated201810

HOLY FUCK.

Read this.

my-saladdaze-deactivated2021011

This is very very very important.

janellerose

Must. Read. If you at any point tell yourself, "She should have done XYZ" you will realize that you are a product of society's poor rearing of our expectations of women.

...Myself included.

God Knows I’m Trying

26. Where I feel old and young at the same time. This weird limbo. Single. Nurse. NJ. Wanderer. Prospective Doctoral Student.

I’m still young enough to be in the hustle - I can’t let the opportunities slip through my fingertips. This continuous tango between enjoying what I have but keeping my eye on the prize.

Falling for a Man that treats me like a Queen but I just got out of a relationship so I need to know for myself that I’m okay with being alone again. I think I’m just fickle. I think I just want to be selfish.

#Life

Fatigue

Finding my respite in word because the world is moving too fast for me. And I want to be here and not fade.

Sitting on my bed with my dog falling asleep. What a life. Convincing myself there is absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying this. It only took me til midnight to finally relax and be okay with just being today.

Too bad work’s at 7AM.

#Whelp #I tried #RN Life #Happiness #Health #Wellness #Anxiety #Live #Love #Word #Here I Am

Here I Am

Strangely enough I’ve found myself here again. My happy place. I have failed over and over again with keeping my journal - the home for my thoughts. My boyfriend suggested it may be because my thoughts have found a home in people. I’m learning to open up. Really. Not trying so hard to be well liked. Still trying to stand firm in my beliefs. Realizing I care so much about not rubbing people the wrong way.

I am myself. I have been so humbled by this journey.

But here I am. I want the world to see me for who I am. You know why? I actually love myself. I was made in God’s Image. I am AMAZING. I have a Lord that absolutely loves me. Somehow I’ve forgotten that.

This is embarrassing to admit, but I have often said or done things, even at 25, to just get attention. I know it. It sits deep in my subconscious. I feel it as soon as the words or actions leave me. What’s different now is that I am so aware of it. I continue to try harder.

It’s been difficult. But I have realized one thing that helps keep me check. I live a life for the Glory of God and the Joy of others. If my actions don’t reflect that, I’m not practicing the way of Jesus Christ.

I continue to still struggle with squashing my ego and deep insecurities. Every day God humbles me. I try to remind myself that I need to have Faith in all the Lord is - to remember that He is Strong and He is Faithful.

Zero to Hundred.

Official public diary because ain’t nobody I personally know checking on Tumblr anymore. [Sorry, Tumblr]

#Christian #Here I Am #Real Talk #Nursing #RN #RN Life #Too Real #Basic #Life #Love #Happiness #Struggle

dieselotherapy

There are total 12 pairs of cranial nerves that originate from our brain and brain stem. Each of them carries different functions related to different senses of body. Apart from sensory functions there are also some that work as motor nerves or mixed nerves. Here is a brief description of 12 cranial nerves.

1. Olfactory

This is a type of sensory nerve that contributes in the sense of smell in human being. These basically provide the specific cells that are termed as olfactory epithelium. It carries the information from nasal epithelium to the olfactory center in brain.

2. Optic nerve

This again is a type of sensory nerve that transforms information about vision to the brain. To be specific this supplies information to the retina in the form of ganglion cells.

3. Oculomoter nerve

This is a form of motor nerve that supplies to different centers along midbrain. Its functions include superiorly uplifting eyelid, superiorly rotating eyeball, construction of pupil on the exposure to light and operating several eye muscles.

4. Trochlear

This motor nerve also supplies to the midbrain and performs the function of handling the eye muscles and turning the eye.

5. Trigeminal

This is a type of largest cranial nerve in all and performs many sensory functions related to nose, eyes, tongue and teeth. It basically is further divided in three branches that are ophthalmic, maxillary and mandibular nerve. This is a type of mixed nerve that performs sensory and motor functions in brain.

6. Abducent

This is again a type of motor nerve that supplies to the pons and perform function of turning eye laterally.

7. Facial

This motor nerve is responsible for different types of facial expressions. This also performs some functions of sensory nerve by supplying information about touch on face and senses of tongue in mouth. It is basically present over brain stem.

8. Vestibulocochlear

This motor nerve is basically functional in providing information related to balance of head and sense of sound or hearing. It carries vestibular as well as cochlear information to the brain and is placed near inner ear.

9. Glossopharyngeal

This is a sensory nerve which carries sensory information from pharynx (initial portion of throat) and some portion of tongue and palate. The information sent is about temperature, pressure and other related facts.

It also covers some portion of taste buds and salivary glands. The nerve also carries some motor functions such as helping in swallowing food.

10. Vagus

This is also a type of mixed nerve that carries both motor and sensory functions. This basically deals with the area of pharynx, larynx, esophagus, trachea, bronchi, some portion of heart and palate. It works by constricting muscles of the above areas. In sensory part, it contributes in the tasting ability of the human being.

11. Spinal accessory nerve

As the name intimates this motor nerve supplies information about spinal cord, trapezius and other surrounding muscles. It also provides muscle movement of the shoulders and surrounding neck.

12. Hypoglossal nerve

This is a typical motor nerve that deals with the muscles of tongue.

These are the 12 cranial nerves that carry many important functions in body.

sources: (x) (x)

i sort of miss you

Likewise

copingnurse-deactivated20240217

The Truth About Nurses, from an Ungrateful, Selfish, Arrogant Surgeon -

written by William R Blythe, MD (preface by Marta Farb)- Sep 18, 2015

Preface I have entered the Golden Age of my career. I call it gold because it is a precious commodity to work with people who have dedicated their lives to caring for others. I train and support the leading electronic health record application of this country as a trainer and analyst. But that’s not what I really do. I encourage. I dissect, decipher, and translate. I listen, empathize, sympathize. I stay in my classroom after training has ended to hold the hand of a nurse who breaks down crying, worried that she will lose her job of 40 years because she is not good with computers. I’ve listened to the story of a pediatrician who is giving up the one profession he knows and loves because he sees the writing on the wall – he is long past retirement age and he is not interested in learning something new – not at 72. And I observe the bright faces of the young residents and nursing school graduates staring back at me in the classroom, eager to learn but even more eager to care for patients.

The personalities found on a hospital floor fit the parallel world around us. Yes, I’ve met and worked with the loving and the kind and the selfless. I’ve also been elbow-to-elbow with some of the not so loving, not so kind, and not so selfless. I’ve been the messenger that dozens have people have shot because they just don’t want an electronic health system changing their work life so dramatically. Yes, I have scars but I wear them next to my badges of success. One badge was given to me by the very same nurse who cried in my classroom. I returned to the hospital and visited her on the med-surg unit about seven months later. I found her busily typing away at her keyboard right outside her patient’s room. She logged off, quickly retrieved her patient’s meds from the Pyxis. Walking back I asked her how it was going. She non-chalantly replied “Oh, it’s easy! So much better than I ever thought it would be.” And then she smiled and explained that she had advanced so quickly on the system that she had been chosen to be the unit’s Super User, training floor nurses herself. I hugged her and saw, for a brief instant, a shimmer of gold.

In honor of those nurses and doctors, I am grateful to share Dr. William R. Blythe’s essay below:

“When a patient comes to our hospital for surgery, these are the people who take care of them: The Pre-Op Nurses meet the patient, make sure they are ready for surgery, complete mountains of paperwork, reconcile their medications, sign permits, check labs, answer questions, allay fears, and make certain the patient is properly prepared for surgery. And they put up with me.

The Circulator Nurse is in charge of the OR. She makes certain the room, equipment, personnel, implants, disposables, medications and every other detail are ready. She oversees that everything is checked twice, that everything is documented properly and that the proper surgery is performed on the right part and the right patient every time. Her job is to ensure that we do everything right, every time, with no exceptions. She makes certain that every sponge, needle, gauze, blade and specimen are properly accounted for. And she puts up with me.

My CRNA puts the patient to sleep and attends to them through every moment. She listens to their every breath and heartbeat. She makes sure they are asleep, safe and comfortable. She holds children her lap and talks to them like a mother while they go to sleep. She makes certain every patient goes to sleep and wakes back up as safely as possible every time, no exception. And she puts up with me.

The people who operate directly with me are Nurses or Techs, not doctors. They make sure we have the proper instruments and equipment. My Scrub hands me what I need before I ask for it. She can anticipate what I am going to need next better than I can many times. She makes my job easy and she makes me look like I know what I am doing when sometimes I am less certain. The person across the table from me is often an RNFA or SFA. They operate directly with me - tie the knots, cut the suture, retract, hold, pull, control the bleeders, close the wounds and a million other things. I simply could not do what I do without them. And they put up with me.

The PACU Nurses take the patients from the CRNA and recover them from anesthesia and surgery. They assess and dress wounds. They treat pain and anxiety and fear. They hold screaming babies in their arms until they are awake. They hold hands of grown men who are disoriented and fearful. They re-assure and calm the parents, children and spouses of the patients. They give wound, medication and discharge instructions, and they transfer patients to their room. They land the plane, and it’s as important a job as any in the world. And they put up with me.

The Nurses in the ICU and Floor take care of the patients, not me. The ICU nurses are infinitely more capable of monitoring and assessing sick patients than am I. I try to stay out of their way and let them do their job, and they let me know when they need me. The Floor Nurses take care of every detail of every patient: What and when they eat; medications; wound care; ambulation; checking vitals, labs, weights, sugars, pulse oximetry, I’s & O’s; draw and check labs; start and re-start IV’s; and countless other things that only nurses understand. They spend time with the patient and family all day. They educate and answer questions. They pray with the patient and family. They cry when their patients die. And they put up with me.

The truth is that if a patient is in the hospital for 48 hours, they may see me for the smallest fraction of that time. I say a brief hello before surgery, I operate, I speak to the family, and I make rounds each morning. I may spend 15 minutes each day at any one patient’s bedside. The rest of it - every second, every bit, every detail, everything - is performed by the Nurses. Honestly, the one who probably needs the stethoscope least is me.

And in the end, through it all, they put up with me!”

Found on:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/truth-nurses-from-ungrateful-selfish-arrogant-surgeon-marta-farb