Anger Management

I’ve spent the last half hour trying to connect to the DLBCC WiFi. I officially give up.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to experience only one emotion for an entire week (or more). I think most people would (obviously) pick a good emotion—like joyful or excited. Me? I would pick content. But only if I had to.

Experiencing only one emotion for that amount of time would drive me crazy. Even the “good” emotions would get old after a while. Let’s face it: you know those people who are always happy? They never have a mean word to say about anybody, they’re always complimentary, they never complain, and they are just happy. Sometimes I just want to punch those people in the face. For crying out loud, just get angry! Yell at the driver who cut you off. Complain about the humidity. Spill something on your shirt. Say something embarrassing. But please, stop being joyful!

Then there are those people who are just bitter. Constantly bitter. I want to punch them in the face, too. Just shut up about your ex-boyfriend’s current fling. Treat the eighty-year-old with some respect. Stop whining. Find something to be grateful for. But please, stop being bitter!

But I digress.

Emotions are wonderful things. Sometimes (like today), I hate experiencing such a broad range of them in such a short amount of time. (One of the perks of being female, I suppose.) Sometimes (like right this minute), I wish I could make myself experience a little bit broader of a range.

Because right now, you’re probably all convinced that I could benefit from anger management classes. But I’d rather blog.

An Oil Spill

Me: Some of the nurses were talking last week about using olive oil to restore dry hair. Genius here tried it and bathed her head in oil. Moral of the story: shampoo doesn't adequately remove oil.

Andrew: hahahahahahahahahahahahaha I am trying to contain my laughter.... ERIN YOU MORON!! I LOVE YOU

Me: Seriously, I've washed my hair like 5 times AND I AM STILL LIKE THE FREAKING GULF COAST!

Andrew: Call BP they're good at this stuff. OH MY GOSH I'M EFFING DYING!

Me: Okay. Wash number 6: FAIL. I refuse to use dish soap in my hair. Shoot. Why did I ever listen to them?

Andrew: hahahahaha You might need the laundry detergent. I have extra strength. And it's hypoallergenic :)

Me: ANDREWWW! I FEEL SO STUPID!

Andrew: Remember, we've all done stupid things and you will do a LOT more in your life. The grease-cutting dish soap might be your best bet.

Me: I'm gonna see if it miraculously looks less oil-slick-like in the morning. Oh my gosh, This is almost a more stupid thing to do than....

Andrew: HAHAHAHAHAHA GIRL!

Me: What if all my hair falls out? Or if detergent/dish soap isn't affective on human hair? OH SHOOT ANDREW THEY USED HUMAN HAIR TO ABSORB SOME OF THE OIL IN THE GULF I AM SO SCREWED.

People and Poop

I love people.

For example:
Today at work, I got called into one of the rooms. The patient was in his bathroom with the physical therapist. He had just pooped everywhere and the PT basically had no idea how to handle it. I entered, armed with a handful of washcloths and cleansing spray. (Keep in mind, the bathroom is about two-and-a-half feet wide by four feet long--just barely big enough for a sink and toilet with a bit of standing room. It is not by any means designed to be large enough for three adults and a walker.) Our cute little (but not) patient had tried to wipe himself, but the toilet paper had failed (it was single-ply). Because of this, he resorted to his hand. That's right: his hand.
After a bit of unintentional ring-around-the-rosy-ing, I got into the far corner, the PT stood in front of the patient, and latex-free gloves protected us from misplaced feces. Phew. With a bit of encouragement and muscle, we got the patient to stand--but only halfway. You see, his oxygen tube (forgot to mention the oxygen tank that was in the bathroom, too!) had gotten stuck around his back and under the toilet seat. When he tried to stand, he got partially hung by a partially poopy plastic tube. The PT held him in a somewhat-seated-but-off-the-seat position while I wiped the tubing and untangled him. Yay! We finally got our friend to stand.
I wiped him down. However, his poop-covered hands were still grasping the walker for dear life. There was no room for him to move closer to the sink, so I washed his hands with a few washcloths and lots of soap. While drying his hands off, I realized we were still missing something: Depends. And believe me when I say that his guy depends on Depends. (Well, we depend on them to make our job easier.) I slid between the walker, PT, and the doorway to grab a clean Depends. Got one. Slid back in. Whew.
There was no room to bend over, so I sat in an awkward squatting position with my back against the wall (and my face definitely popping my patient's personal bubble, albeit completely unintentionally, people!!!). I got one side around him. I bent over the still-full toilet with the back of my ankles against one wall and one shoulder supporting my weight against the opposite wall. Somehow I managed to get the other side around him and his gown re-tied. The PT helped him shuffle out of the bathroom and I was left laughing hysterically. Whew.


And when I got to camp, my sister's campers tried to provide matchmaking skills for two lifeguards (who happen to be brother and sister). One of them looked at me and said, "If you could choose, how would you die?" and proceeded to list off my options: drowning (which could potentially happen, with them around!), being stabbed, being shot, or being burned. I told her I'd rather stay alive, but she poked me in the stomach until I said, "Okay! I'd rather be shot!"

This, my friends, is why I love people.