Let the Chaos Begin

It’s funny how work can go from a nice, relaxed pace in one moment to cluttered chaos the next.  Take, for instance, last night.  One moment I was laughing and chatting with my patients, breezing my way through their evening observations and medications.  The next moment I was rather frazzled and frustrated.  And it’s not like anything catastrophic happened to turn the tide.  No - it was a series of little things that just kept gathering momentum until they became a full-blown storm, leaving me feeling winded.

It all started when I had to run downstairs to pick up a narcotic from the pharmacy.  (What a pain!)  When I came back, I received orders to prep a patient for CT – STAT!  (Even though he’s been waiting ALL DAY.)  Then I found myself traipsing through the hospital, going from ward to ward, hunting for a medication no one had bothered to restock in our supply.  Next, another nurse needed help checking out narcotics, which she promptly spilled, requiring the entire lengthy process to be repeated.  Oh – and then I had to search for a doctor, any doctor willing to write a simple insulin order for my diabetic patient because his regular team had forgotten and left for the day.  Then another patient required an immediate ECG.  And just when I thought I was getting organized, another nurse dragged me into her room to start IVs on her patients, because no other nurse on the ward can.  All the while, I was trying to squeeze in my normal evening duties, amid my homeless patient (who thought he’d just landed himself in a 5-star hotel with me being his answer to room service) vying for my attention to complain about the hospital food, demanding I find him salt, pepper, sugar and a cup of tea.  Aghh!!! 

Separately, each event was nothing.  But when all of these nothings came crashing down at once, I barely had time to breathe, let alone think.  (And finding the time to relieve my bladder was totally out of the question!)  So, while this job isn’t really stressful, it can be very busy.  Sometimes, it’s too busy, leaving me spinning and wondering how I got myself so far behind.  Sometimes I leave work, shaking my head, simply trying to figure out what happened.

Oops!

I should have known better.  I woke with an uneasy feeling this morning, but shrugged it off.  Still, my subconscious wouldn’t let it go.  Are you sure you aren’t working an early shift today?  Exhausted, I checked the clock again and reminded myself that I had double-checked my planner last night.  I was definitely scheduled to work the late shift, which meant I wasn’t due at the hospital until 1pm.  Content with that thought, I rolled over and snoozed a little longer.  Besides, I reasoned, my body clock always gets out of whack when I switch up my shifts.  I had worked an early the day before, so I wasn’t surprised my mind was playing tricks on me.  I chalked it up to shift-worker’s paranoia. 

It wasn’t long before the phone rang.  It was Mouse calling for our daily chat.  (My 6am is his 1pm.)  After that, I was up, ready to make my coffee and start the day.  It was a lazy beginning to my morning, which I thoroughly appreciate.  I relish the luxury of having this time to myself, of being able to enjoy a cup of coffee (albeit instant) before my run.  This is why I appreciate my evening shifts.  I don’t mind getting home a little late if it means I can start my day as I please. 

Unfortunately, as it turns out, this wasn’t meant to be one of those days.  It wasn’t long before my calm was interrupted again. This time, it wasn’t Mouse.  Instead, the person on the other end was female.  More specifically, my charge nurse was calling.  I knew straight away.  Crap!  I could have kicked myself.  I wrote down the wrong time in my planner.  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes” was all I could blurt out.  My face was flushed and I broke into cold sweats.  I don’t deal well with guilt.  My day had just gone from idyllic leisure to panicked craze.  Ugh!  But, I supposed, that’s what I get for ignoring my intuition.

A Well-Deserved Headache

I’m somewhat of a wreck today.  My head hurts.  My body hurts.  I’m exhausted.  And my brain has that fuzzy quality that only comes from drinking way too many adult beverages.  In short, I had a good weekend.  Quite honestly, this is the first post-Mouse weekend in which I’ve felt like I actually have a life, and it was fun.  I had places to go and friends to share drinks with.  (Two nights in a row.  Unbelievable!)  I even went dancing.  Such basic things may seem silly to most, but after spending so much time feeling lonely, it’s a big deal to me.  I actually had a reason to go shopping and get dolled up.  I wasn’t stuck sitting home alone on a Friday night, feeling like a social reject.  Instead, I traded in my comfy pants for some stylishly uncomfortable heels and sipped on espresso martinis at hip bar in the Valley.  Now that is what I call a weekend.  So, I will suck up the headache and the brain-fuzz, and stop my whining.  After all, a little throbbing of the temples is a small price to pay for so much fun.

Feeling Like a Fraud

It never ceases to amuse me when I turn up to work and find I’ve either been assigned the team leader role, or am paired with a student.  (Today I was blessed with a double-whammy.)  I can’t help but chuckle.  (Quietly, on the inside, of course.)  Because, let’s face it, I just don’t see myself as qualified to fulfill either role.  I don’t see myself as a leader or a mentor.  I don’t feel old enough to have anyone answer to me.  I feel like a fraud.  I certainly don’t feel like any sort of authority.  It wasn’t that long ago when I was the student.  A few years’ experience hardly makes me an expert.  Couple that with the fact that I’m still trying to gain a firm grasp on Aussie nursing, and the situation almost becomes laughable.  What are my superiors thinking?!?  I can only hope I sound somewhat knowledgeable and avoid making a complete fool of myself!

A Simple Phone Call

Last night, I talked with a friend I haven’t had an opportunity to speak with since leaving the states.  And, even though the phone call was initiated out of a great sadness in his life, we didn’t linger on the melancholy for long.  Instead, the conversation quickly turned from somber to upbeat.  It wasn’t long before we were laughing and chatting like old times, before thousands of miles and the international dateline came between us.  It was good to hear a familiar voice.  It was even better to hear stories from home.  It gave me a sense of familiarity and connectedness I haven’t felt for a while.  It reminded me of what I’ve been missing, but not in a sad way.  Instead, it was reassuring, like pulling on an old, comfy sweatshirt, and relishing in its warmth for a bit.  It was the verbal equivalent of a security blanket.  As much as I’ve grown to appreciate the independence living out here has helped me develop, it’s nice to know I still need my friends.  It’s funny how the simplest of conversations can have so much meaning.  It’s good to know my friends are still out there, just waiting for me to come home.

Rethinking Mount Barney

After some conversations with coworkers and a couple of Mount Barney locals, I’m no longer disappointed with this week’s lack-luster mountaineering performance.  Turns out, most who recommended the hike had never actually done so themselves, as they deemed it too difficult.  Another admitted she and her husband turned around midpoint because they had run out of time; it took them five hours to reach what took me two hours.  The locals informed me hikers are regularly rescued from the mountain.  And I learned most novices usually go guided.  Note to self… These are all things that would have been helpful to know before I started the hike.  Oh well.  So, in retrospect, I was wise to turn around and call it quits when I did.  Because, let’s face it, a dramatic mountain rescue might be good fodder for the blog, but it wouldn’t be much fun in real life.

Oh –  and it turns out the cows chase everyone.  I guess they’re just plain mean.

Oh Oprah!

Oprah is coming to Australia!  Big deal, you may be thinking.  Such news is barely worth a yawn in the states.  Not here in Australia.  This is the biggest news to hit the magical land of Oz all year.  Seriously.  Everyone is atwitter.  All of the news programs and talk show hosts are gushing about it non-stop.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  After all, it wasn’t that long ago that a condemned children’s tree house was the top news story of the week.  (People seriously had their panties in a bunch over that one!)  I get that Australia is a little isolated and starved for any real news.  Typically, the headlines have something to do with some footy player making a drunken fool of himself.  So, I really shouldn’t be surprised Oprah’s impending visit is the biggest thing since Vegemite.  But do I really need to see another interview with her wearing that ridiculous bush hat?  Does she have any idea no one but Crocodile Dundee actually wears those things?  (Reminder - he's a fictional character!)  It’s embarrassing.  Thanks for playing into the stereotypes, Oprah.  I’m just praying that something else comes along soon to steal her thunder, because I can't take much more of this.  (Who am I kidding?  It’s going to take a lot more than a drunken footballer to overshadow Oprah!)

Mount Barney and Me

I’m bruised and battered.  My legs are scratched beyond recognition. My arms and shoulders ache.  My calves and quads are rubber.  I’m exhausted.  I’m so tired, my eyelids are drooping as I write this entry.  Don’t feel sorry for me, though.  I’m not really complaining.  Despite my current state of being, I had an amazing day.  It was one of those wonderfully therapeutic, soul-cleansing days that can only be achieved by getting outdoors and pushing your body beyond its everyday expectations.  I needed this.  I needed to hike and climb and spend time outdoors.  I needed to feel my heart race and my muscles burn.  These are the things that help keep me sane.  These are the things that make me feel alive.

Today’s adventure took me to Mount Barney National Park located in the Scenic Rim Region of Queensland, approximately 2 hours southwest of Brisbane.  I hiked the South Ridge trail, which was meant to take me to the east peak of Mount Barney.  I emphasize meant, because my hike didn’t quite go as planned and I didn’t quite make it to the peak.  (Oops!)  Somehow, I managed to wander off the main trail and found myself on a lesser-traveled secondary trail.  No biggee, right?  I was fine with the bushwhacking and bouldering.  Despite the constant, nagging fear that I was going to run into a very large and very unfriendly snake, it was fun.  Then I found myself scaling some fairly exposed rock slabs and realized this probably wasn’t the safest thing to be doing, especially without a buddy.  So, I shimmied and down-climbed my way back to solid ground, upon which I decided the journey was soo much more important than the destination and headed back to the car.  (Translation:  I was too tired to find the real trail and hike up to the peak.)

Even though today’s hike didn’t go as planned and was slightly tough on my body, it was good for me.  It was good to be out there alone, with nothing but the rocks, trees, and my own thoughts for company.  It gave me time to work through everything that’s been whirling around in my head.  It allowed me to process life’s latest twists and turns.  It may not have been the day that I had envisioned, but it was exactly what I needed.  (Even the cows chasing me down the trail can’t change that sentiment.)

Just Close Your Eyes and Count to Ten...

I like my job.  I really do.  I like my coworkers.  I like my ward.  I even like the hospital; it’s a great organization to work for.  My current employer definitely has many redeeming qualities.  Unfortunately, their medication administration system is not one of them.  I HATE IT, HATE IT, HATE IT with a passion. There isn’t a day that goes by that I do not curse the entire system.  It’s a source of constant frustration; just thinking about it makes my blood boil.  It’s incredibly outdated and unsafe - a handwritten sheet filled with scribbles, cross-outs, and barely legible writing.  No pharmacy pre-checks or official computer printouts.  Nope – any doctor is free to come along and prescribe or discontinue any medication he or she sees fit, with little more than a slash here or a sloppy notation there.  The result is a nursing nightmare and a medication error waiting to happen.  I wish I could take a picture, as the image would make anyone cringe.  Trust me, any sane nurse would be appalled.  Medications get written in twice, simply because the team physicians don’t communicate and are too lazy to review the med chart.  Other times, the docs can’t be bothered to write in correct dosages, leaving us to interpret the order for ourselves.  The list goes on and on.  Like I said, it’s a nightmare.  And when I complain, my coworkers stare at me blankly, as if I’m whining like a spoiled brat.  I can tell they are not actually listening to me.  My words are falling upon deaf ears.  They don’t seem to see the inherent danger in such an unregulated system.  To them, this is just the way things are done.  What’s a girl to do?  I can’t change the entire system and I certainly don’t want to be seen as an angry, negative person.  So, I try to keep my frustrations to myself, only allowing them bubble over when something is particularly appalling or unsafe.  Otherwise, I just have to remind myself that this is all a part of the foreign nursing experience.

(Oh - and don’t even get me started on how we go about procuring the patients’ medications.  That deserves it’s own, individual rant.)

Crocodile Tears

I cried myself to sleep the other night.  Not just a little cry, either.  Nope – it was one of those full-on, gut-wrenching, sob until you hiccup type of cries.  I was such a wreck that I almost embarrassed myself.  I even feel kind of silly now, just seeing the words in print.  Quite frankly, it makes me feel uncomfortably fragile and vulnerable to put it out there, but that’s exactly what I did.  I lay in bed, listening to the rain pouring down in sheets outside my window, and cried until I had no tears left.  The strange thing is, I can’t even tell you exactly what the cry was about.  Some of it had to do with missing Mouse, of course, but that wasn’t the crux of it.  It wasn’t out of unhappiness, either, because I love it here.  No - the tears flowed for other reasons, feelings and worries so generalized that I can’t quite pin them down.  I cried because life is uncertain.  I cried because nothing is as simple as it should be.  I cried because I’m tired of making tough decisions.  I cried because I’m emotionally exhausted.

Being an adult isn’t easy.  Trying to maintain a sense of independence and individuality while nurturing a healthy relationship is even less so.  Is it possible to do what’s best for me and for our future at the same time?  I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing by staying here when he’s gone home.  I don’t know if I’m brave for pursuing my dreams, or if I’ve gotten lost somewhere along the way and have become just plain stubborn and selfish.  It’s hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong when you’re in the thick of it.  And, to be honest, I don’t know if there even is a right or wrong in this situation.  It’s all a matter of perspective and figuring out what works for us.  So, I lie in bed and wonder.  And sometimes, like the other night, when it all feels so overwhelming, I just have to give in and let myself cry.

Coconut Lime Quick Bread with Broiled Coconut Icing

Yesterday was one of those perfect, pre night-shift days.  It was grey, overcast, and rainy, just begging me to stay indoors and embrace my inner homebody.  It was one of those days that practically forces couch surfing and relaxation.  So, of course, that’s just what I did.  It also seemed like the perfect day to bake, so I decided to experiment with a Coconut-Lime Quick Bread Recipe that I had come across online, courtesy of Jane’s Sweets and Baking Journal, and had been itching to try.  I tweaked her recipe a little to suit my tastes, and the result was delicious!  Admittedly, it wasn’t the prettiest bread I’ve ever baked, and the texture was very cake-ish, but it was moist, flavorful, and just plain yummy.  My coworkers gave it their seal of approval, too, which I consider a good indicator of baking success.  Anyway, check out the recipe below, in case you would like to give it a go.

Coconut Lime Quick Bread with Broiled Coconut Icing

Preheat oven to 350° F.  Grease a 9" x 5" loaf pan.

For the Bread:

2 and 3/4 cups All Purpose flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. salt

1 cup white sugar

2 cups sweetened or unsweetened flaked coconut

2 tsp. fresh lime zest

2 eggs, large

1 cup coconut milk

1/3 cup milk

1 tsp. vanilla extract

juice of 1 ½ limes

1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted

In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt.  In another large bowl, combine melted butter and sugar.  Add eggs, coconut milk, regular milk, lime juice, lime zest, and vanilla extract to the butter/sugar mixture.  Whisk well.  Add coconut and stir.  Mix in the dry ingredients, stirring just until combined.  Don’t over mix.

Pour into loaf pan. Bake for about 50 - 60 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.  Cool in pans on a rack for about five minutes.

For the Icing:

1/4 cup white sugar


3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled


2 tablespoons milk


juice from ¼ lime

½ teaspoon vanilla

3/4 cup sweetened shredded coconut


While cake cools, adjust oven rack about 9 inches from broiler element and heat broiler. In medium bowl, whisk sugar, melted butter, lime juice, vanilla and milk together.  Stir in coconut.  Spread mixture evenly over warm bread.  Broil until topping is bubbling and golden, 3 to 5 minutes.  (Be sure to keep a close watch, as the icing can burn very quickly.)

Allow the bread to cool in the pan for 10-15 minutes.  Run a knife along the edges to loosen the loaf from pan.  Turn out of the pan and let the bread continue to cool on a rack.  Enjoy!!!

The Camp Kitchen Rules

One of my favorite things about backpacking through New Zealand and Australia has been the caravan parks.  Weird, huh?  They’re not fancy or luxurious.  Instead, they’re down-to-earth and make me feel more in tune with whatever town we happen to be visiting.  Somehow, when I’m tenting it, I feel like more of a participant in the world around me.  But what I love most about the caravan parks is the community kitchen.  You know how everyone always seems to gravitate to the kitchen at a party?  Well, the same is true at a caravan park.  The kitchen is its heart and soul, hosting a constant flurry of activity, with campers and backpackers bustling about, making one meal or another.  People laugh and converse in a dizzying array of languages, sharing stories and giving advice.  It’s like being part of a big, boisterous family, and provides this amazing sense of community. 

Mealtime in the kitchen is also a voyeuristic wonderland, allowing me to observe small snippets of so many different lives.  As I cook and eat with all of these strangers, I can’t help but wonder what each person’s story is, what journey brought them to this place?  But the most fun part has to be spying on everyone’s meal choices.  I can’t help it.  I’m slightly obsessed.  I have to check out everyone’s food, as it’s such a unique opportunity to see what people from around the world eat.  (And I’m not talking about learning about a particular ethnic cuisine, either.  This is a chance to see what real people on a budget actually cook and eat.)  Sometimes, I’m pretty impressed, as some dishes can look and smell quite tempting.  Other times, I can’t help but wrinkle up my nose, confused as to why anyone would want to eat that.   And, every once in a while, like the time a group of young backpackers dined on nothing but potatoes, I just have to laugh.

So, even though backpacking has been an economical way for us travel, it’s also been incredibly interesting and insightful.  I may occasionally yearn for a private bathroom and crisp, clean sheets, but I still wouldn’t trade these experiences in for anything.  Because, let’s face it, I wouldn’t get half as much entertainment sitting around a fancy-schmancy hotel.

All About Bob

I’d like you to meet my new neighbor, Bob.  I didn’t even know he was planning on moving into the complex, until this morning when he made his presence known.  I was minding my own business, sitting indoors on my couch and chatting on the phone, when something from outside caught my eye.  I could see that it was huge and prayed it wasn’t a spider.  No such luck.  There he was, staring me down from his palatial web, situated disconcertingly close to the ledge of my second-floor balcony.  Even from a distance, I could see he looked mean.  So, I decided to do a little research to find out exactly how mean he was. 

Turns out, Bob is most likely a Golden Orb Weaver spider.  (I’m not going to get close enough to check his markings for verification, though.)  It also turns out that Bob is most likely a Barb, as the female Golden Orb Weavers are the larger of the species and eat their mates.  (Sorry, dear!)  They have sharp fangs and are slightly poisonous to humans; their venom carries a neurotoxin that is more likely to hurt us than kill us (think black widow spider strength).  Luckily, most Golden Orb Weavers aren’t too interested in humans.  They would rather dine on large insects and small birds.  (Yes – they are known to trap and eat small birds.  That’s how big these guys are!)  I’m hoping Bob stays true to his upbringing and is content to observe me from afar because, quite frankly, he gives me the willies.  I wish I could ask him to leave, or even file a complaint with my landlord, but I doubt it will do any good.  Bob is probably going to stay until he is good and ready to go, or until his web is ruined and he is forced to relocate.  I’m just hoping that when this happens, he doesn’t decide to take up residence on my balcony, as that would be cause for me to relocate.

The Long, Aussie Road

When we were planning our road trip up the northeast coast of Queensland, so many people tried to discourage us from driving.  “Don’t do it, mate,” they warned.  They thought we were crazy, vowing we would spend all of our time on the road, leaving us little time to relax.  But we would not be swayed.  First of all, we had too much stuff to lug onto a plane.  With our camping gear and diving equipment in tow, flying was not an option.  Plus, we really wanted to see Australia.  Flying may be fast, but it kills any true sense of adventure.  Besides, after consulting our map and Google directions, we determined we would only be covering approximately 1,700km (1,050 miles), all of which were on the main motorway.  How bad could it be?  We’ve tackled much greater distances back home.  What were all of these Aussies squawking about?

Well, let me be the first to clue you into the fact that 1,000 Aussie miles are nothing like 1,000 American miles.  A distance that should take 12 hours to drive is more likely to take 24 hours.  And, just because a road is labeled as a major highway on the map, does not mean that it is any more than a two-lane, country road.  Really, the Bruce Highway could have been any road in the Midwest, winding us through countless small towns, effectively decimating any hopes we had for keeping a swift pace.  Apparently, the only Aussie qualification for coining a road a “highway” is that it’s paved.  It didn’t take long for us to realize this was going to be a very long haul.

Even though the drive was painfully slow at times, we had a blast.  Yes, the miles wore on us and we eventually became pretty road-weary, but the experience was worth it.  The further north we drove, the further the towns began to spread out.  With each passing mile, the landscape transformed before our eyes, going from city to bush land to sugar cane fields as far as the eye could see.  I don’t know how many thousands of acres of sugar cane we drove past, but the vastness of it was astounding.  Sometimes, we saw nothing but sugar cane fields for hours at a time.  (Come to find out, eastern Australia is one of the largest producers of sugar can in the world, second only to Brazil, churning out 4.5-5 million tons of processed sugar per year.  Wow!)  We saw cane trains, a giant mango, kangaroos, dingoes, and even a massive croc sunning himself on the banks of the river.  We stopped at lonely fruit stands and bought local produce.  And then, just when we thought we couldn’t stand another moment of driving, we reached Cairns.  I can’t say I have any desire to repeat this epic drive anytime soon, but I will say that driving the distance from Brisbane to Cairns is an adventure all in itself and is definitely worth the time and trouble.

You Can't Be Serious

Why does it always seem that an already bad day cannot help but attract more bad things?  Take, for example, today.  I’m in the miserable phase of missing Mouse.  Work was a beast.  I had hit the upper limits of my stress-o-meter hours ago.  So, as I drove home from the hospital, my single-minded goal was to get home, crawl into bed, and shut the outside world out.  No such luck.  Instead, the inner sanctum that is my apartment shut me out.  Yup – I was locked out.  While I was at work, my landlord dropped by for an inspection, locking the dead bolt on her way out.  Too bad the key for the dead bolt was sitting on the dining room table.  I wanted to cry when I realized what had happened.  It was a sinking feeling of understanding how totally alone I am in this foreign city, with no one to call for back up.  No one.  How depressing and frightening.  This was definitely not the way I had planned on ending my night.  Luckily, my good-Samaritan neighbors were home.  Even more luckily, I had left my second-floor balcony door slightly ajar.  So, thanks to their stepladder and my ability to scale buildings, I was able to scramble up and let myself in.  Whew!  I guess this could be considered a happy ending, although it hasn’t left me feeling very happy.

Gone, Baby, Gone

And just like that, he’s gone.  The past eight weeks flew by.  One minute, we were having the time of our lives exploring the northeastern Australian coastline.  The next, he’s boarding a plane.  I knew our time together had to come to an end.  I knew he had to go back home at some point.  I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly.  Our holidays are over and it’s time for him to get back to work, to concentrate on building his business.  It’s time for me to focus on work again, too.  After all, that’s what responsible people do.  It’s just that, unlike the majority of couples, our respective responsibilities take us to opposite ends of the world.  Why does something I’ve dreamt of for years and worked so hard to achieve mean that we have to be apart?  It doesn’t seem fair.  I don’t regret my decision to stay, not completely.  I’m proud of my accomplishments and enjoy my work.  I just wish we could be together.  I wish he could stay.  I guess it’s the age-old predicament of wanting it all.  I’m not a fool; I know that isn’t possible.  So, for now, the best we can do is compromise.  For now, we’re left to make our own rules and navigate uncharted relationship territory.  For now, we have to rely upon phone calls and scheduled visits.  It won’t be easy, but it won’t be forever, either.  And when this is all over, when we’re living in the same house once again, we can look back on this adventure and laugh.