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What a strange day
Apr. 7th, 2009 07:18 pmStarted off with a sick patient, who had been anesthetized yesterday for a minor procedure. He was the classic 'adr' ("ain't doing right"), and went steadily downhill. In between, I had to go off-campus for a site visit, during which I realized that my dry and sore throat was still dry and sore, indicating the possible imminency of a virus. I would have screamed in frustration, but, yanno, see above, "Throat, sore, dry, painful".
Back from the site visit is when Patient A decided to crash. Before that, he had declined noticeably, so the techs were working on him. Some techs are easily flustered by high-pressure situations, and unfortunately, one such tech was on the spot. Other techs joined in to help out, the patient seemed to stabilize, and then 10 minutes after we'd left the ICU, he crashed. As they do.
(They wait, you see, for you to relax your vigilance, and then they crash.)
After that, one of my techs called me to report another two patients, which sounded more serious on the phone than they turned out to be in real life. Still, that was another two patients seen, assessed, written up, discussed, and treatment orders laid in.
And then I asked for an hour of quiet so I could find some lunch. This, I managed.
Sitting down to check all the emails since last night, I discovered that some investigators needed some topical medication that we happen to have, so I jumped up, dug out the bottles, ran them over to the lab in another building, and returned to my desk, and got a phone call.
From a different investigator who I had promised to meet 30 minutes ago, in a quite different building. So I jumped up, grabbed my coat this time, as it was chillier than I'd thought, ran across campus, dressed in to the facility, entered the procedure room, and helped take some nice pictures of ocular lenses.
Finally free, I wandered back to my office to check emails again, only to find an email from the boss asking about a project I'd been reviewing for him. I was only half-way through as the scientist who wrote it was being dense and not very helpful, so I had to hack my way through the thicket of explanations of repetitive procedures, no overall logic, no grand scheme of things to aid me. So I wrote back that I was half-way through, as he could see (attached), and I could probably finish tonight if I had no more interruptions (with a glare at the general vicinity of the universe, which HIBK was not done with me yet), to which he answered not to rush as he was out until Monday next.
Good. That meant I can finish writing the presentation due to the techs on Thursday. By now it's 5 pm, time to shuffle off and pick up the boy. I drove merrily out of the parking garage and then -- then! -- noticed the ticket under the windshield wiper.
A parking ticket. First one in about 10 years. For having expired tag registration? I looked at my parking tag -- not expired. Slowly, it dawned on me.
My license plate ("tag") registration has expired, so I'm driving a car with EXPIRED tags. Unprintable language ensued. I drove very carefully to pick up the boy.
I can't find the boy. Finally, one of the employees walked me back to a building I'd been in, and there is the boy, tucked away out of sight, watching a movie. I know the frustration was written all over my face, as the responsible person apologized for the mis-communication, and I carefully did not yell at her. It wasn't her fault, after all.
Half-an-hour after arriving to pick up the boy, he was picked up and we were heading home. Dogs, out, walked, fed; cats fed; I sat down at the computer and thanked all the gods and goddesses that online registration is allowed to me, this time, today. Although I went through a certain period of panicked searching for the title number, finally realizing that it was in my wallet the whole time, and entered it. It's highway robbery, really, but I paid the registration fee, printed out the temporary registration, and put everything back together.
Then I reviewed the parking ticket, and discovered that they've changed the rules. It used to be, you could 'contest' in writing and not have to pay. Well, not any more, sucker! No, your choices are (1) pay the fine or (2) go to court. Oh, sure, pay twice the fine in court fees to contest the fine? Additional unprintable language ensued. I paid the damned fine, and put a damned stamp on the damned envelope.
Now we're ready to drop the boy at the Scout meeting and then swing by the post office to drop the damned envelope. I carefully put the temporary registration printout on the back window, which is a little difficult because I have a wagon that has no window ledge, but whatever. I stuck it in the window. We drove off.
We arrived at the church parking lot, and saw that it's empty. Apparently, Honey and I forgot that they don't hold scout meetings when school is on break. Oops.
So I swung by the post office and dropped the damned envelope in the damned box and went home. At least everyone else has eaten.
Back from the site visit is when Patient A decided to crash. Before that, he had declined noticeably, so the techs were working on him. Some techs are easily flustered by high-pressure situations, and unfortunately, one such tech was on the spot. Other techs joined in to help out, the patient seemed to stabilize, and then 10 minutes after we'd left the ICU, he crashed. As they do.
(They wait, you see, for you to relax your vigilance, and then they crash.)
After that, one of my techs called me to report another two patients, which sounded more serious on the phone than they turned out to be in real life. Still, that was another two patients seen, assessed, written up, discussed, and treatment orders laid in.
And then I asked for an hour of quiet so I could find some lunch. This, I managed.
Sitting down to check all the emails since last night, I discovered that some investigators needed some topical medication that we happen to have, so I jumped up, dug out the bottles, ran them over to the lab in another building, and returned to my desk, and got a phone call.
From a different investigator who I had promised to meet 30 minutes ago, in a quite different building. So I jumped up, grabbed my coat this time, as it was chillier than I'd thought, ran across campus, dressed in to the facility, entered the procedure room, and helped take some nice pictures of ocular lenses.
Finally free, I wandered back to my office to check emails again, only to find an email from the boss asking about a project I'd been reviewing for him. I was only half-way through as the scientist who wrote it was being dense and not very helpful, so I had to hack my way through the thicket of explanations of repetitive procedures, no overall logic, no grand scheme of things to aid me. So I wrote back that I was half-way through, as he could see (attached), and I could probably finish tonight if I had no more interruptions (with a glare at the general vicinity of the universe, which HIBK was not done with me yet), to which he answered not to rush as he was out until Monday next.
Good. That meant I can finish writing the presentation due to the techs on Thursday. By now it's 5 pm, time to shuffle off and pick up the boy. I drove merrily out of the parking garage and then -- then! -- noticed the ticket under the windshield wiper.
A parking ticket. First one in about 10 years. For having expired tag registration? I looked at my parking tag -- not expired. Slowly, it dawned on me.
My license plate ("tag") registration has expired, so I'm driving a car with EXPIRED tags. Unprintable language ensued. I drove very carefully to pick up the boy.
I can't find the boy. Finally, one of the employees walked me back to a building I'd been in, and there is the boy, tucked away out of sight, watching a movie. I know the frustration was written all over my face, as the responsible person apologized for the mis-communication, and I carefully did not yell at her. It wasn't her fault, after all.
Half-an-hour after arriving to pick up the boy, he was picked up and we were heading home. Dogs, out, walked, fed; cats fed; I sat down at the computer and thanked all the gods and goddesses that online registration is allowed to me, this time, today. Although I went through a certain period of panicked searching for the title number, finally realizing that it was in my wallet the whole time, and entered it. It's highway robbery, really, but I paid the registration fee, printed out the temporary registration, and put everything back together.
Then I reviewed the parking ticket, and discovered that they've changed the rules. It used to be, you could 'contest' in writing and not have to pay. Well, not any more, sucker! No, your choices are (1) pay the fine or (2) go to court. Oh, sure, pay twice the fine in court fees to contest the fine? Additional unprintable language ensued. I paid the damned fine, and put a damned stamp on the damned envelope.
Now we're ready to drop the boy at the Scout meeting and then swing by the post office to drop the damned envelope. I carefully put the temporary registration printout on the back window, which is a little difficult because I have a wagon that has no window ledge, but whatever. I stuck it in the window. We drove off.
We arrived at the church parking lot, and saw that it's empty. Apparently, Honey and I forgot that they don't hold scout meetings when school is on break. Oops.
So I swung by the post office and dropped the damned envelope in the damned box and went home. At least everyone else has eaten.
