A hole in one. (Warning! Rated-R)

Pee and Poop a.k.a. Piss and Shit.

They are the rulers of our world. Friend one minute, enemy the next. And just like our real-life friends, finding the right balance can be challenging.

Too much of P.S. and you’re standing waist high in a flash flood and waving your white flag of surrender. Too little of P.S. and you’re on your knees praying to the yellow rain god and fudge fairy. When the yellow rain god doesn’t grant you the gift of serenity, extreme actions must be made.

Yep, that’s right, a tube in the pee-pee hole.

Women are the worst. Big women, even worse. Big, old, stanky, confused, hairy, creamy, women, now that’s just depressing.

Quick anatomy lesson: You got your peep hole, key hole and mail slot. Beware of Ms. Peanut Surprise, she’s a little sensitive.

Hitting the bulls eye is tricky so getting it the first time is a wonderful feeling. You’re going for a hole-in-one on an easy par three. Doable, but a lot of room for error. You sure as shit don’t want to land in a sand trap or water hazard. And a mulligan is a time-consuming, slippery mess.

Mining for that yellow gold takes a little time, a good team, and a little luck.

Scouting report. Scoping out the situation is the best bet for success. So grabbing a flash light, you set off on your one-man exploration of the unknown. It’s scary, its dark, and it’s wet. Shining your light back and forth in the depths of the caves and yelling “Hello!”, just to hear the echoing “HELLooelloo lolo lo”.

Assembling your team. After the scouting report comes back you can now assemble your team. Often times it’s just one other person, but occasionally you’ll need a 3rd person to complete your team. This person is often designated the ‘pussy/pannus puller-upper’. Their main job is to maintain the fat and keep it the hell out of the way.

Mental preparation. Take a deep breath and think about the goal ahead. Think about making eye contact with that winky eye. Robbing that baloney wallet for all its worth. Avoiding the jaws of the Vaginasaur. Not falling for that cummy bear. And last, but not least; see a brown eye staring at you, you’ve gone too far!

It’s GO time!

Poke. Push. Pray.

The yellow river starts flowing and it’s a beautiful sight.


It just can’t get more fucking fabulous than that!



Empathy check.

“They may forget your name but they will never forget how you made them feel.”-Maya Angelou

Empathy check time.

I do like to joke about my experiences in the hospital but it’s nice to get an empathy check every now and then.

We have a very tough, emotional job and it can be very draining. Our lives are stressful and often times it feels like we’re just stretched too thin.

Death, sickness, mental illnesses, doctors, managers, protocols, meetings, projects, charting, co-workers, unions, money, kids, holidays, marriages…The list goes on.

Empathy tends to get forgotten in this jumbled mess, but it still remains our most valuable tool. Putting ourselves in our patients’ shoes is something that we’re excellent at. Simply stopping and thinking, “How would I want to be treated?” can change how we treat that grin-and-bear-it type patient. Thinking of patients as ‘real’ people also puts it in perspective. This is someone’s best friend, mother, sister, son, father, brother, daughter.

I became a nurse because my mom died from breast cancer over 5 years ago. I found out the same week that I was pregnant with my first child and that my mom had cancer. Tough week. I was 6 months pregnant when she passed away. When she passed away, I wasn’t even in nursing school yet. Whenever I think back on her illness and death, two things stand out.

First thought that comes to mind is how ignorant I was of death. I honestly did NOT think my mom was going to die.

Think about that.

I thought my mom, a living, human being wouldn’t die. How could she?! She was my mom. Mom’s don’t die this young, especially my mom. Her death has made me realize the gift of life and has honestly changed me, down to my core. I, now do things I never would’ve done 6 or 7 years ago. I felt like I was searching for answers that I could never find, only to find out that I had them all along.

My second thought is about a nurse that cared for my mom in the hospital before she was sent to hospice. She was an older nurse and she was awesome. We noticed she worked a different shift. After the 3rd day we asked her why she came in so early and she informed us that she didn’t want to go to 12 hour shifts like everyone else. She said that she was ready to retire if they couldn’t work her schedule out. The hospital of course worked it, since she was so valued.

She was the most caring person I’ve ever met in my life. I remember her always fixing my mom’s sheets and repositioning her. Always talking to her, even when she wasn’t coherent. I remember her always being honest with us and letting us know everything that she knew about my mom’s condition or what the doctors said. She showed us so much compassion and empathy that it changed my life. And now, we get to change lives!

So let’s remember: Every single patient that we see is affected by us and how we treat them.

Empathy?! CHECK!

Now that’s simply fabulous.


Fabulous Fucking Fridays #1

Highlights from the week, enjoy! YumYum!

What a patient said to my co-worker: “You have saggy titties that look like shriveled up old lemons hanging from a tree.”

Pt’s son: “She got diarrhea from eating a pound of raw bacon.”

“…then I walked into the room and the patient’s spouse was having sex with her as the baby’s head was crowning! Needless to say, he missed the birth of his child.”

Truly Fucking Fabulous!


Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

So thankful I met my schuper, schexy, husband! He is my everything and always will be! Thankful for my kids for keeping me sane, insane! So thankful for everyone in my life, I’d be lost without you all! You bring me love and happiness and I hope I do the same to you! So thankful! Enjoy your wonderful friends and families! Have a fabulous thanksgiving!

This picture is just fucking fabulous!

When a blind man thinks you’re pretty.

It’s no secret that old people are blind as bats.

Diabetes. Macular Degeneration. Cataracts. Old eyes.

Almost everyone who comes in wears glasses and we’re always puzzled when we notice they don’t have them on.

“Well, where are they?” we ask, as if they purposefully left them at home. “You say you didn’t have time to grab them while you were busy having your stroke? OK. Well, as long as your daughter can bring them in for you.”

By the second day we tend to forget that they still don’t have their glasses and we go about our business.

Then the patient says those two little words: “You’re pretty.”

It always takes a second to realize that it’s not a true compliment when a blind man says you’re pretty.

You hear the words and instantly you say “Oh, thank you!” Admit it. Your first reaction is flattery.

Then it hits you.


Yes, the man that just complimented you is also the same man who just mistook his urinal for the telephone; the call light for his cell phone; the CNA for their next door neighbor and their toothbrush for their comb.

Then with a chagrined look on your face you mutter under your breath,

“Well that’s just fucking fabulous.”

Grin and bear it.

Mr. and Mrs. McNeederson: Time consuming. Stable, medically. Needy. Worst of all: ungrateful.

We’ve all had them. We all hate them.

There are really only three viable options with this group of people:

Option 1: Part ways. This is the best for both parties. You don’t want to make each other miserable. Also, you could possibly lose your license if you smothered her with a pillow.

Option 2: Grin and bear it. Personally, this is the option that I choose. There’s something about giving it your all and getting nothing in return that makes you feel good at the end of the day. Masochists, join me!

Option 3: Combination of Options 1&2. This is also known as the ‘Oh-no-what-have-I-done?!’ option. You start off with Option 1, but then talk yourself into option 2. It’s usually a day full of regret, hypertension, heartache, eye-rolling, and screaming your lungs out in the bathroom. My co-worker just demonstrated this option. She only made it half way through hand-off before the ugly realization of her fatal mistake set in.

Then there’s a fourth outcome. It goes as follows. You choose option 2 at the end of the first miserable day. You put your big girl panties on and woman up. You go home, dread your next day of work and have the ever present internal mantra of, “Only one more day. 12 more hours. I can do this! Only one more day.”

Then your dreams come true.

She’s gone! (Let me clarify: NOT dead!)

She’s been transferred or even possibly discharged. No guilty feelings, because you were fully prepared to take the challenge head on, but now, YOU DON’T HAVE TO!

You do a little happy jig, clear your mind of the horror, and get ready for your next happy, grateful patient.

Fucking fabulous.

When the poop hits the chux.

“I’m gonna need some help in 202B, she pooped again.”
Your internal dialogue says “AGAIN! REALLY!?” but you smile and nod to your aid and say you’ll be right there.

It’s going as planned. Wipe. Roll. Tuck. Roll. Wipe. Wipe.

Then the unthinkable happens.

When your coming down the home stretch of your wipe, roll, tuck routine you hear the distinct sound of poop on the move.


Your hand jerks back as if it’s just touched hot liquid magma. And all of the sudden time both speeds up and slows down all at once. Your movements become lightening speed fast, grabbing for a wipe or a towel or anything near by. Your eyes become dilated in your fight or flight mode and then you see it.

A brand new chux.

In an Indiana-Jones-sliding-under-the-rock-wall-at-the-last-minute style move you manage to get the chux under her butt just as the poop is coming out.

“Well, that was lucky” you deadpan. But inside your giving yourself mental high-fives and the crowd is cheering.

Now that is fucking fabulous.


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