Sunday Morning

Most of us have been here, with a headache, nausea, and an adamant amount of regret. It’s generally on either a Saturday or a Sunday morning, with the past nights events a haze, the clues to what happened vary to where you wake up, bruises, and the appalling debit machine receipts in your pockets.

That’s my friend, Angie, currently sitting at a 4/10 hangover. Her next actions will be crucial.

And rewind…
Yesterday was my 24th birthday, and my day was spent doing my last shift on my hospital practicum. My preceptor was so amazing and let me leave early. I boogied home and commenced to go out with friends. I stopped for some rum, and went to Angie’s.

10:10: I show up at her house. I pull out the rum, pour two doubles with splashes of coke. I down one, gagging the whole way, Angie fights her heaving as I tell her there is only 15 minutes till the cab gets there.

10:11: I pour another double, with a little bit more coke, and have at it. Angie is just finishing her first, starting the second, whining “do I have to do this?”. I tell her she does. She’ll save her money.

10:30: The cab calls. He’s here. We run outside but forgot to change out of boots. The cab can’t make it down her 1/2 block long driveway. He wants us to hike. We start running through the foot and a half deep snow. Angie is yelling her boots are suede. I don’t care.

10:58: We arrive at the country bar. There is no line. Amazing. We get in. Ladies are free till midnight. Even better.

I went on to only have only maybe four more drinks (don’t quote me on that).
The next thing I know, it is 1:33am and we are grabbing a cab home. We get the driver to take us to McDonald’s and then take us home. We ate our meals, got home, and crawled into bed
Angie fell asleep right off the bat. I was going to be sick.
I hopped out of bed and proceeded to crawl across the floor, but decided the floor was much comfy-er.
Next thing you know, I’m waking up at 6:30am with a balled up pair of pajama pants for a pillow, wrapped in a dog blanket staring at my wretched face in a mirror. I groan, and crawl back into bed with Angela. My body definitely loosed two separate shotgun farts that were loud enough to wake me. Angela didn’t stir at all. Probably better she remain oblivious, or our friendship would never be the same.

When 11:15am rolled around we dragged our asses out of bed. Off to Denny’s we go.

Now Sunday mornings at Denny’s, there are two types of people generally eating: the hungover people, and the church people. It’s like a meeting of the light and the dark. Usually you can tell by sweaters. All the church people wear cardigans, and are neat and matchy. The hungover people are either wearing what they wore the night before with a sweater over top, or its hoodies galore.
Eggs Bennie brought me from a 4 to a 6 out of 10. I went to the bathroom to have my first of three eye-watering bowel movements. The girl in the stall next to me must be crying, but I have no shame.

Somehow by the end of breakfast we are bouncing back. We decide to go shopping. While standing in line at the GAP, Angela doubles over in pain and gives me the shirts she’s buying and her VISA. She says she’s going to the bathroom, it’s an emergency. I can’t stop laughing in the lineup for the GAP. It’s her first of two in the next 30 minutes.

She has to go on a date tonight. Baha.

The Return, the Recap, and ER

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Its been a small hiatus while I have had final exams and whatnot. In short the last two weeks, I passed my course portion of EMT, I went home and got some days off, I pigged out, went blonde (more on that later…) and started my hospital practicum in a rural hospital north of Edmonton, AB.

Now I’m very sleepy and it’s my 24th birthday tomorrow, but the hospital has been great. I’ve learned three good lessons:

1. Young South African doctors are hot, have hot accents, but unfortunately the moment you walk into their emergency room with “student” on your uniform, you are now a nuisance, invisible, and have no chance.

2. Watching a woman have a biopsy on her breast in a table in front of me has taught me I will probably never do well in a surgery. I can handle having to take action in stuff…but watching a scalpel on a breast was unfortunately enough to make me woozy in the legs. Thankfully the nurse said if I had fainted, it wouldnt be the first time that’s happened in the room. I guess some lady’s husband dropped flat while she was giving birth, and all the doctors and nurses were so busy, there was nothing you could do but grab him by the shoes and drag him to the corner out of the way. Hilarious.

3. Never ever make a pirate joke to a one-eyed patient. Had to help change a dressing on a guy who got his left eye and sinus cavity removed. Way gross, and cool, but as in taking his vitals and talking to him, he’s telling me he’s got big plans for the night. In my head I thought “yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum.”
“Sir, do you smoke?”
Patient: “Uh, we’ll that’s complicated”
“The doctor needs to know. It’s an Arr or no question”
Ok I didn’t say THAT but I thought about it.

Anyways, sleep is coming, and I’m hoping they call me in the middle of the night for a guy that’s shot or something. You know…good stuff.

Night 🙂

C U l8er, Greg

Today wasn’t very exciting, except a vac truck driver brought me pizza and a kilogram of Sierra Mountain Trail Mix.

His 49-yr-old buddy Greg a.k.a. Patrick Swayze thinks he’s such a sweet talker. He gave me a shabby, dirty little stuffed penguin as a gift and always refers to me as “brown eyes”. He got my number by mistake (?) from another medic and texts like a 14 year old boy.

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I rest my case.

Me: “Why’s Greg sleeping in your truck?”
Vac Hauler: “He’s had a long day.”
Me: “Or maybe he’s just old.”
Greg: “MY YOUTH MIGHT BE GONE BUT MY HEARING AIN’T!”
Me: “And he’s senile too.”
Vac Hauler: “That’s the way it goes.”

What is up with his text speech? I asked him about it and he tried to tell me he has to text like that or he can’t get all his thoughts out without forgetting what he was going to say…insert Alzheimer’s comment here…

Weddings. Sigh.

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Oh yes, I know this is not work-related but it’s worthy of blogging no doubt.

See, this past year (and the next year and a half to come) has and will be a challenging time period in my life. It’s the time where all your friends or people you know start getting married all over the place. And you may even be, dare I say it, lucky enough to be involved in a few of them. Several ones. At once.

I love all my friends. Do not doubt that for a moment. But I am all wedding-ed out after this past year.

A good friend of mine, Bon-Bon, got married to an Australian. I co-emceed that wedding. Just getting to THAT wedding was a disaster.

And then there’s my best friend. Dearest Alicia, if you ever read this, I love you and am honored to be your maid of honor, but getting married in July 2013 (engaged since May 2011) is like two years+ of my life to talk about weddings. And making me go dress shopping multiple times AND THEN making me go with two brides at once with your snobby other friend who is also getting married? Shame on you.

I’m a good yes-man to all the bridal fantasy weekends and sitting to talk about colors for the bagillionth time. I’m patient with all the tears about what “that friend” said and what the “other bride-to-be-did”, but if I hear “but this is suppose to be about me” one more time, I’m willingly going have an aneurysm to get me out of this.

There’s so many small, picky details to plan, too much useless stuff to fret over. And far, FAR too many things to get upset over.

Is my apathy because I am single? Likely. But we are not going to go there.

And after all of this, I decided (actually it was probably during bridal fantasy after id seen everything three times) that when I get married, it is going to be SO chill. My invitations will read wedding PARTY…not wedding.

I’ll sew my own dress. Short white summer one. I’ll braid my hair wet and let it out dry for the wedding. I’ll wear my gold hoop nose ring, and have some self-applied henna on my arm.
I’ll make my own bouquet, and go barefoot. So will the groom, but he doesn’t know that yet. Pig roast, BYOB, and no stress. Don’t bring gifts, bring a salad instead! 🙂

See doesn’t that sound nice ❤

Studying Yourself Sick

Today is a sick day unfortunately for myself of all people. I went to bed early last night, slept like a rock, and woke up to a knocking on my door. I swore quietly, fully aware that the reason for the knock was because I slept in. I got out of bed and tried to walk to the door, but for some strange reason my leg wasn’t working, and I was unbelievably dizzy. I crashed to the floor in front of my bedroom door, and I heard Morgan ask if I was ok.
She said I had no color, and that she was going to go get Brian.
Oh great.
After 15 minutes I figured Brian wasn’t coming and everyone was mad at me. So I decided I was going to go to work. I stumbled around, trying to dress and get my bag together. I half limped out to the parking lot, and started the truck.
When I come back in to grab a coat, I had to hold the wall to come back down the hallway, and the world was spinning. I heard the door open behind me.
“Sierra Borden. I am going to kill you if you think you are going to work like this.”

Brian. You are such a dad.

He helped me back to my room. After asking me some questions, it sounds like the built up pressure in my right ear the last four days (I neglected to mention it to him before hand) had pushed fluid into my inner ear, causing my dizziness.

So I’m in bed today. Ian, the other paramedic brought me some medication, for my sinuses. I woke up at 2 and staggered to the kitchen for soup, but the dizziness factor was minute compared to the morning.

So now I study my gigantic EMT textbook.

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