Another update on Oscar and other things

Relations have improved immensely among the feline residents here at Casa Nana. Oscar no longer hangs in the library, but has become an integral part of the pride, although somewhat low in the pecking order. Willow and Lily still have no use for him, but then Lily really doesn't care much for any of the other cats, sometimes even her own offspring. Longshanks and Oscar are pretty tight, and are often found sleeping in close proximity on couches, chairs and beds. Those two share a common history of living rough, so really not surprising that they bonded after all. Group grooming sessions are not rare. Peace reigns at feeding time, litter box visits are respected as the private moments they are, and toys are (for the most part) shared. All the cats have a bad case of Spring Fever, though, and the sound of a window opening brings most of them galloping faster than you can say, "SQUIRREL!" Soon it will be too hot for them to do much more than lie around like half-baked rolls of cookie dough, so we'll enjoy their antics while we can. Good kitties.

We're off in a couple days to sunny San Antonio to make the acquaintance of our little grandson. We met him over the Holidays, but he was pretty fresh off the showroom floor, so to speak, and not much of a person yet. He's got an actual personality now, so much fun will be had.

Looks like we picked a good week to get out of the Ozarks. Chilly nights and gloomy days predicted until next weekend. I really must get the gardens dressed and the raised vegetable beds started very soon, or I'll miss the boat. The growing season is long here, but I'd like to get the kitchen garden established before the heat of late Spring comes on. So far I'm planning tomatoes, cilantro, salad greens, bell peppers both green and red, jalapenos, poblanos, marigolds for insect control, and basil. I can't wait!

Just two days away......

From this


...and this


Merry Christmas to Nana!

Update on Oscar the Yardcat

Since his surgery a couple of weeks ago, Oscar the Yardcat has become Oscar the Library Closetcat. We started keeping him in the library because it was warm and secure, we could keep him away from the stairs in his immediate postop period, and the other cats could be prevented from picking on him. Once he got stronger, we allowed some feline interaction, but it has not gone well. Oscar is all of 10 pounds, despite having been an unaltered tom, and our big bruiser Longshanks is at least 15 pounds. And he's pissed off, so Oscar has been keeping to himself, holed up in the back of the library closet behind a heavy-duty camera case my husband keeps in there. Every once in a while, Longshanks gets a whisker bent and goes in there to pick a fight. I'm not sure this is ever going to get better.

NKA

NKA
...Healthcare shorthand for No Known Allergies.

I propose another acronym: NFWA, for No F***ing Way Allergies.

Case in point: Tonight I processed an order set for a new admit which included a list of her preadmission medications, height, weight, and allergies. This apparently tender person listed an allergy to taco seasoning. Taco. Seasoning. Not chili powder, not MSG, not enchilada sauce, just taco seasoning. I had to share this gem with my colleagues, who were suddenly all smitten with the notion of ordering in Qdoba for dinner, so it worked out well. We consumed "taco seasoning" to protect the tender one. I cheerfully fell on that grenade.

Some other NFWA I've documented include oxygen (must be from a clan of ammonia breathers out there in the hollers) and dog milk. I don't want to know. I don't want to know.

Life goes on

Today I planted bulbs. Grape hyacinths and giant globe alliums.



Yesterday I planted my feet and stared hatred in the eye.

I worked all day as the polling place captain for the Obama campaign at one of the reddest precincts in the reddest region of the red state of Missouri. I was told I should be ashamed of myself. I was rebuffed when I offered a simple "Good morning!" or "Thanks for coming out!" I was ignored, reviled, bumped, falsely accused of profane language, blamed for the injury of an idiot who wasn't watching where she was going (although I was nowhere in her vicinity), shouted at from the street, flipped off, called a communist, intimidated, harassed and stalked. Absolutely stellar "Christian" behavior from allegedly God-fearing Republican voters.

And, yet, I can't stop smiling.

As we stand on the verge.....

Chris Matthews said tonight, "I'm getting that Christmas Eve feeling." I am getting that night before the BIG exam feeling, that night before surgery feeling, the anticipation of a good outcome if I can only make it through a difficult challenge, the promise of the reward that will make me forget the trials endured to achieve it. Anxiety washes over me when I remember how elections have been stolen in the past, and the dread of the consequences if the polls prove wrong. My nebulous angst about the election in general is translating into doubts about my ability to manage the task at hand tomorrow. It will fall to me to keep the voters lined up in such a way that the sight of them waiting will not discourage other voters from joining the line. I will have to be the resource person for people who can't find a place to park, or don't think they can stand in line that long. My job is to keep them happy; my job is to keep them there. It's going to be a long, long day.

I don't believe I have ever cared so much about the outcome of a presidential election. I started this journey last autumn when I began to read The Audacity of Hope. Now, nearly a year later, I have experienced the overwhelming presence of the man himself. The sheer energy, determination, intellect and yes, love that emanates from him is indescribable. I would not have believed that I would ever stand in a line that was more than a mile long to hear anyone speak, but I did and I would do it again. "With a righteous wind at our backs," we can change course. There is absolution, after all. I must remember that tomorrow night, no matter the outcome. The hope is real. The possibility for redemption is real. The time is now.

Happy Hallowe'en!

Meow, y'all!

Abby and the Yard Cat

We recently were delighted to host our daughter and grandaughter for a two week "plus change" visit while our son-in-law was touring Korea and China with the Vancouver Symphony. Abby was enthralled by our half-dozen strong pride of housecats, but they would have nothing to do with her. Oscar, the cat who has chosen to live in our yard, was more than happy to entertain her from the safety of the far side of the door glass. That reminds me, I have to clean those windows, as well as the glass doors on the media cabinet.

Fingerprints and noseprints notwithstanding, we miss them terribly since they returned to Canada a few days ago. I really miss Abby's little toothless smile that greeted me when I came home from work in the late afternoons. It never failed to make the day just fall away. See you at Christmas, my darlings.

Just in time for Hallowe'en, Joe McCarthy rises from the dead

"I wish the American media would take a great look at the views of the people in Congress and find out, are they pro-America or anti-America? I think people would love to see an expose like that."

-- U.S. Congresswoman Michele Bachmann of Minnesota.

Modern-day McCarthyism is rearing its ugly head, ladies and gentlemen. Sarah Palin speaks of the real America, the pro-America parts of this country. As opposed to bogus America, anti-America parts? Where, exactly, would those be? I'm guessing inner city neighborhoods, college campuses, the ravaged, hurricane-scoured Ninth Ward of New Orleans, the entire state of California maybe, just for starters. What about the parts of Alaska that harbor secessionists? Sounds pretty anti-America to me. But Palin's husband "palled around" with the founder of the Alaskan Independence Party, and was himself a member. There's a word for that, let me see if I can remember.... I think it's TREASON.
Look, I'm old enough to remember the height of the Cold War, the paranoia and suspicion that pervaded my childhood, the threat of Soviet ICBMs coming over the Arctic to vaporize our cities, the mushroom cloud that hung over daily life in the Fifties and Sixties. I also remember the lies that got us deeper and deeper into Vietnam, the invocation of "law and order" that Nixon used to divide the country and garner more power for himself. If you do not learn from history, you are doomed to repeat it. Here we go again.
Apparently Ms. Bachmann has attempted to back-pedal, denying she ever called for an investigation of anti-American Congressmen and Senators. I refer you to the opening quote. Yet, in the very same statement she continues to say that Barack Obama is "not for America." I think I'll send her opponent some money. His name is Elwyn Tinklenberg, and he's received 1.3 million dollars in new contributions since Ms. Bachmann tried to play hardball with Chris Matthews last Friday.
Wake up, voters. This country is being overtaken by false patriots who do not understand the Constitution they claim to defend.

It's happening, sooner than I thought it would

I'm losing my focus, or my grip, whatever you may call it.
Work got the best of me over the last two to three weeks. Just back from a vacation, and I was frazzled on Day 1. Things did not improve as I struggled through split shifts and on to the following week, when I was tasked with training a young pharmacist who had spent his first year out of school languishing in the retail side of the profession. He is bright, but he doesn't retain processes well. He damn near broke me. I ended the week in my boss' office, actually crying. I never cry in front of people at work anymore. Last week was not much better, as new procedures for handling outpatient infusion admixtures were implemented in the IV Room without anyone actually 1) telling the staff or 2) writing out a policy and procedure. No one knew who among us was responsible for prioritizing the orders. One of the more ambitious techs took the initiative but didn't understand enough about staging chemo infusions to be able to cut her way through the Gordian knot that met us that morning. I had literally piles of new IVs to check and get out the pass-through window to go to inpatients. Lots of bicarb IVs for renal protection, first dose of the day Protonix IVs, epidurals that were let run out over third shift, and there was the TPN compounder setup to check from stem to stern before we could start mixing neonatal IVs for the day.
I've had a three-day weekend, and been able to spend some real time during the day with my grandbaby before she returns to Canada this week, but my free days were tinged with the dread of returning to work on Monday morning. It colors my every thought; I can't even bring myself to venture outside to plant a few bulbs for fear those dark haunts will intrude and spoil what is one of my few remaining pleasurable activities.
So I stay inside and tackle the mess that is my actual desktop and mail file, only to find I have inadvertently allowed my driver's license to expire. So am I senile, or depressed, or just overwhelmed?

An open letter to Barack Obama

Barack Obama, you have created a monster. You have awoken me. You have galvanized me. You have politicized me.
In the last two months, I have emailed my Congressman twice, signed petitions and volunteered for your campaign, put a yard sign out in your support, and now I've written my Senator about energy policy and the oil lobby.
I'd like to share that letter with you:

Dear Senator McCaskill,
We've all heard the chanting from the Republican National Convention echoing in our memories: "Drill, baby, drill!" It's a short-sighted, and one-sided, solution. In fact, it's no solution at all. Drilling in the Arctic Refuge will not impact our current energy situation, and will eventually do little to reduce the price of heating oil and gasoline in the next several decades. We won't even begin to see peak production the ANWR until well into the late 2020's or early 2030's. Additional off-shore drilling will similarly not have a significant effect in the near future. The answer is not to just reduce dependence on foreign petroleum, it is to maximally reduce dependence on petroleum from any source, period. I'm tired of subsidizing the oil companies' profits, and I'm tired of subsidizing petty and dangerous oil rich dictators like Chavez. We need to stimulate research and development of alternative energy sources, provide incentives for conservation and strive to protect and cherish the wilderness areas that survive, rather than sacrificing them on the altar of political expediency. Thank You for your kind attention.
Sincerely,
Jacqueline B. Watkins, RPh
Springfield, MO

Look what you've done.

Time to pay up or hang up the pestle

It's pharmacist license renewal time again. I've already renewed my "license by exam," a.k.a. my original pharmacist license earlier this year, and now it's time to pay The Man in the state where I actually practice. It's a rite I repeat every two years to assure my continued ability to make a very decent living in a profession that shows little sign of slowing down with the economy. As long as my generation keeps on keeping on, there will be work for me and my colleagues aplenty. I really shouldn't complain about forking over 375 clams every two years, but it does make me whimper a bit. I'm secure in the knowledge that should my Board ever decide I've been a bad pharmacist, they will most assuredly be able to afford lots and lots of rope with which to hang me.
Cheers!

Obama's newest volunteer

Me!

I haven't done this since college. I'm so darned excited I could burst!

Feels good to be just a little bit subversive again.

This little piggy went *crack*

About six weeks ago, I was climbing over some stuff on the library floor, potential ebay merchandise actually, trying to not knock over a camera tripod while stretching to reach a lamp that was left burning. I was wearing my very comfy and squooshy terrycloth flip-flops, and put my right foot down in such an awkward position that I when I shifted my weight, I somehow managed to break my third toe. It was quite sore and swollen and VERY purple for a few weeks, but lately has felt pretty much like new.

Soooo....... Yesterday I spent most of the day putting stuff away in my newly remodelled kitchen, as well as moving some of the living room furniture into the new sitting/media area adjoining the aforementioned new kitchen. We then were able to set up the dining room furniture in what was the living room; it's still carpeted in there, so I had my trusty canister vac with me to suck up whatever little mummified bits had been hiding under sofas, chairs and tables for however long. I was wearing my sensible house slippers, with the fleece lining, but my feet got really hot in them, so I figured, "Huh, what are the chances lightning will strike twice?" and changed into my flip-flop slippers.

Yup. I did.

Wasn't five minutes later, I reached out a little too quickly with my right foot to hit the OFF switch on the vacuum, and instead whacked my fourth toe on the hose connector sticking up from the top of the vac. It is, I am certain, quite broken. It hurts worse than before, and although it has yet to swell, it is a most vivid shade of purple and is giving me great discomfort when I have to wear actual shoes. I have it taped to the neighbor toe (the one that just healed) and have myself on scheduled doses of naproxen twice a day, with Ultracet at bedtime.

I hope my two big toms don't feel the need to bodyslam my feet in the middle of the night for a while.

Pharmagoths

As of tomorrow, September 1, each department in the hospital where I am employed must enforce a uniform scrub color policy. All nurses wear whatever shade of blue their particular floor or unit chose. All respiratory therapists must wear grey scrubs. And all pharmacy technicians and any pharmacist working in the clean room/IV room or compounding must wear black scrubs. Just like that, we're all about the goth.
Do you know how hard it is to get from my bedroom to the car of a morning without getting the hair of one of my six house cats (plus the white yard cat) all over at least one leg of my new black scrubs? They do look kind of classy, though.

Happy Birthday, darling daughter

Happy Birthday to my other amazing daughter! She turned, well, I won't spill it, but it was a big birthday for her. She and her family are visiting relatives in Nova Scotia at the moment, far from their home in Vancouver. She brings a spark of joy everywhere she goes. She is a wonderful wife, mother, symphony administrator and, oh yeah, a kick-ass French hornist.

Sarah, if you read this, I'm sorry it's a day late. I have lots of excuses, but no good reason. I love you and miss you, sweetheart.

A little teaser

Just a little glimpse. It's almost finished! I want those counters to stay clear forever. Aren't they pretty?

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

First, if you'll bear with me, a little background.

USP 797 is a regulation impacting any pharmacy that makes "compounded sterile products," for example, intravenous drips and medications, extemporaneous ophthalmics, epidurals for pain control, and so on. If you're interested in reading more about it, or just in need of a good snooze, click here: http://www.usp797.org/

Our hospital pharmacy has been undergoing an enormous remodelling effort to bring our rather large IV room into compliance with USP 797. The construction commenced back in early March. In the meantime, all our equipment and IV personnel have been crammed into what was our lunchroom, a space roughly 1/6 the size of the original work area. The environmental consequences have been remarkably unpleasant, as the four hoods, three refrigerators, two computers and anywhere from three to seven human beings put off more heat than the cooling system can handle. We all have to be masked, bonnetted, bootied, gloved and dressed out in scrubs while we work in there, thus adding to the misery. That heat migrates like a polluted miasma throughout the adjacent part of the pharmacy, which is also remarkably cramped and noisy. It's been a somewhat challenging place to spend 8 to 12 hours a day for quite a while, and our collective nerves are frayed.

Anyone who has remodelled a space knows that no matter how thoroughly you think you've planned the project, there are always surprises. There have been some big ones involved here, most spectacularly the HVAC issues, but I'll spare you that story. The point of all this is to share the adventure that was my shift on Tuesday evening. Even by second shift standards, it was hell. At any given moment, we were at least 130-160 charts behind. The phones would not stop ringing. I was the IV room pharmacist, so I was responsible for keeping an eye on a newbie IV technician who continually failed to meet the expectations I clearly laid out for him at the start of shift, and who also couldn't keep his damn drawers up. Drawer droop is not good aseptic technique! Visible ass-crack is sexual harassment. Ah, well, that got turned over to a higher power, and it's really not the point I'm striving to make. I just had to vent a little.

So..... Along about 11PM, which should have been my quitting time, two construction workers showed up to drain a water line so it could be re-routed to the Clean Room area of the newly remodelled IV room. (That was the latest afterthought. Water. Gee.) Gomer and Cletus had no idea it was pressurized. They also had no idea it was 180 degrees. They had no way to turn off said pressurized hot water after they drilled a hole in the pipe directly above our counter full of computers, where the four of us were furiously trying to whittle away at that horrendous backlog of orders. The ensuing torrent was spectacular.

Thankfully, no computers were harmed. Only one pharmacist got sprayed, and the water wasn't hot enough to scald her through her clothes. And my concern for the guys that were by then desperately trying to contain the spray of hot water in a plastic bucket kind of evaporated when one of them showed me a gap-toothed grin and called me:


Darlin'

I can haz desk, plz?

This is supposed to be my new workspace. The local chapter of the Feline Audubon Society thinks otherwise. They utilize a somewhat different system of avian taxonomy, based on size, situational awareness, speed of flight and flavor. It's more like "taxo-nom-omy."

I should note, the kitties are all confined to the indoors, so the only thing they kill now is time. And the occasional bug. Nom, nom, nom.

K thnx, bai.

The fog comes on little cat feet

But sometimes it's just dust.