I can multiply.

3 weeks = 21 days = 504 hours = 30,240 mins = 1,814,400 seconds.

I have not had a breather for 1814400 seconds. I need a clone.

Day 1

I am not allowed to blog/facebook/talk about what happens at clinicals...but I think this is safe to say:

I saw blood, and I thought it was cool. I think that I can conclude I am not in the wrong line of work.

Accidents do happen.

In the perfect world, where I am calm and composed, this is what would happen:

Me: So last night while I was filming...there was an accident.
Boss: What happened?
Me: There were some guys standing next to the video camera...and I guess one of them had one bean too many for dinner.

But in the real world...this is what really happened:

Me: Um, boss?
Boss: Yeah?
Me: Last night when I was filming...uhh...*stutters/turns red/laughs*...this guy...HEEHEEHEE...he uh...he uh...passed gas...HOOHOOHOO...it was reeeeeally loud...I think its on the tape...*high pitch voice*...I SWEAR IT WASN'T ME!!! *snort*

In the real world, I'm not the put together gentlelady I wish I was. I snort and turn tomato-red and almost pee in my pants on occasion. But real world or dream world, this was ROTF funny. Cause we downloaded the tape today. And holy cow, it was loud.

I am a softy who can now drive in the US.

Softies like me need to learn how to look at scary people in the eye while pretending that our insides aren't slowly disolving into gooey gloop.

Gooey gloop is green in colour and faintly resembles the poop a bird once deposited on my jeans while I was walking around in brickfields. But I digress.


So back to my gooey gloop innards. I was interviewing a potential child sexual abuse perpetrator and felt that it would be pertinent information to ask about his sexual life. None of the people I worked with seemed to be going in that dirrection, so I openned my big fat mouth. The man gave me a pretty mouthful, and all I could do was to look at him in the eye, pretend my insides weren't slowly disolving into gooey gloop and calmly rephrase the question.

I probably should have mentioned earlier that this is for a class and the actor was probably having a good time chewing me into little pieces.


I got chewed up again today, and this time it was real. This morning, I took my driving test and was paired up with a hardcore examiner - the kind that will bark out instructions so curtly you have no idea what they said, dole out impatience when you ask to clarify, and remind you with every move you make that you are at their mercy. Well, the examiner was merciful, and I passed - with a face of steel and insides of goo. But passing is all that matters right?

Corrections

I just realized the british spelling of "need the toilet NOW" has an 'O' in it. Like D I A R R H O E A. No wonder my brain is so messed up.

So I take my last post back. I guess I should say, "At the very least, I have learnt how to spell diarrhea. The american way."

If...

If at the end of the day, the nursing school gets the better of me...
If pharmacology really pharmakills me...
If my Foundations encyclopedia breaks my back...
If I start an IV in the wrong place and I get kicked out of clinicals...
If my needle gets stuck in my pateint and I get kicked out of clinicals...
If I stick a catheter up the wrong hole and I get kicked out of clinicals...
If a put an NG tube down the wrong pipe and I get kicked out of clinicals...
If creepy patients plain scare me off...
If I don't survive my crazy sleep schedules...
If I lose all my hand written medcards and go insane...

...at very least I have learnt how to spell diarrhea.

Want in on a secret?

Okay, so I'm gonna let you in on a secret...

...ready?

I played college ball.

Volleyball to be exact.

Okay, you can pick yourself off the ground now. I've been silent on that subject for one and a half months now...just in case I get kicked off the team or something silly like that. >.< Kidding!!!

Yes, I joined the junior varsity team back in August and found out that I was a dingbat. Hitting the volleyball around during PJK period is waaay different from playing the sport. But I joined the team and by golly I was gonna have fun at it.

Well, I survived, and I can now brag that I played a season of college ball. But then again...chances are that nobody would believe me.