It's not good news.

The so-called "fibroid tumor" has grown to monsterous proportions. Remember back in November? When it was "the size of a golf ball"? Like 3 cm across? Well, now it's 10 cm across. Ten centimeters. Think Large Grapefruit.

Behold the drawing I had made for you. This is a very basic version of what I saw on the screen. The oblong circle with a "U" in it would be my uterus. The Other One with an "F" would be the so-called fibroid.

Each morning I venture to open my eyes, pee, and take two Aleve tablets. Then I sit and wait for the Aleve tablets to take most of the almost unbearable pain away. And sex? Um, no. That makes it a WHOLE LOT WORSE. It never ends, people. And I'm depressed about it. Chronic pain is, something like, the number one reason people commit suicide. Not that I'm leaning that way. Cuz I'm not. I'm hopeful that my doctor WILL find a way to fix it. And I go back to see him on Tuesday for my official after-ultrasound-talk-about-what-to-do-now appointment. I see a surgical suite in my future!

Better luck next decade, I suppose.

Surely, over the past 10 years or so, you've all seen something on the news about Fred Phelps.
If not-- look at this.

This morning, I'm all walking into church, right? And, there, RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING CHURCH, are the picketers. There are signs, yes, there are signs. There was the famous "God Hates Fags" sign. Then there was one with a picture of the pope, the old pope, that said "The Pope Is In Hell." Another one was "Priests Are Fags." One even had a picture of TWO NAKED MEN DRAWN ON IT, ONE GIVING THE OTHER ONE HEAD. These picketers were chanting "God Hates Fags." Can you fucking believe this??? My kids saw this. Can you imagine trying to explain this to a 10-year-old and a 7-year-old?

Why us? Why my church? Why Parsons, Kansas??

I'm celebrating. I'm on a silver-lined cloud 9 today.
For today, in the mail, was the large manilla envelope that contained the peice of paper that signified my biggest accomplishment in the past 7 years.

No, not my diploma, I have that already. So do hundreds of people who graduate nursing school, but never make it to actually BE an RN.

I PASSED MY BOARDS! I am an RN for the rest of my life!

To celebrate, I was thinking of throwing myself a party. I think I'll invite everyone I know and have a ho-down. (no, Janet, not those kind of HO's, you pervert.)

But it got me thinking... how does that look if I contribute to a whole bunch of people getting drunk in honor of my vows to help keep the anonymous public healthy?

Hey, everyone! Katie has had her baby! She'll be home soon to tell you all about it!
! ! !

So, I got an interview with the "new job prospects." Blah, blah, blah, we don't have anything open right now, but we'll call you, blah, blah, blah. Sigh.

But, for your reading pleasure, I've got a helluva funny story today. This happened about a week ago. Scene: Me and hubby lying in bed. Me: wearing one of D.'s t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. Picture BIG ARM HOLES. Ok. I'm lying on my back and I note, out loud, that my once very pert (large) breasts are lying so laterally that you can see them peeking out the arm holes. Don't make a mental picture or anything. After I point this out to my husband, he says, "So what?" I said, "well, isn't it kinda gross?" And then he says the words that I'll hold closest to my heart for all my life...... "It just means it's closer to me."

Isn't that the SWEETEST thing you've ever heard???? He loves me AND my saggy boobs!

I made it down the street yesterday and applied for that job. So, now, I wait. The job entails working for a company that provides home healthcare to pediatric patients. Sounds like fun, huh?

One of the big problems here is that I love my current job. (Nursing Home Charge Nurse.) I love my boss, and I LOVE my residents. What frustrates me is the lack of respect the "nursing home community" (both residents and nurses) gets from the rest of the world. Take last night, for instance. One of my beloved residents fell. My first task is to take that person's vitals while on the floor. This lady's BP was 228/110. Um, there's a problem. Her BP is always, always lower than mine even. Like 120/60. SO, I cut my assessment short and immediately called her doctor. Her doctor agrees that she needs to go to the ER, because either she's broken something, or she is having a stroke. (Most likely the latter.) EMS picks her up, not without showing a bit of jackass, and transports her. 25 f-in minutes later, they call me and say, she's ready to come back. I dont' know about your local ER, but if it's anything like mine, you know that in 25 minutes they have done nothing. No x-rays, no labs. NOTHING. The ER doc checked her BP and said "It's fine. Send her back." It was still 190/100. I won't be surprised if I go to work today and she's gone. Like gone.

My point is, I know my residents. I KNOW when there is a problem. She was not acting like herself and her BP WAS NOT FINE. Do I need to dance naked in front of you so you will listen to me?? Because I would. It would work because the sight would so repulse you that you would pay attention to anything else, like, say, my voice.

Well, again, I see that my post is really boring. Having trouble sleeping? Re-read.


Nurse Tip of the Day: Just because you don't look pregnant yet does not mean that the dentist doesn't need to know you are pregnant.
(said to coworker after this statement- "I'm going to hurry up and get my teeth pulled before I get really big and my dentist will know I'm pregnant. Cause he won't pull them if he knows it." IDIOT.)