Det er dejligt, men hårdt. Jeg er glad for arbejdet, og glad for afdelingen, men det vidste jeg jo i forvejen. Jeg tror det er en kæmpe fordel for mig, i sammenligning med de seks andre, at jeg har været der så længe. Jeg ved hvor ting er, jeg kender til specialet, jeg ved hvad der virkelig ER skræmmende, og hvad der bare ser skræmmende ud.

Det som er svært er at stå med det hele selv. Jeg kan godt de praktiske opgaver hver for sig. Jeg kan godt lægge sonder og kathetre og venflon. Jeg kan endda blande IV-medicin, selvom jeg ikke er så rutineret. Jeg finder hurtigt ud af de mange forskellige computersystemer som vi skal bruge til dokumentation og kommunikation på tværs af afdelinger. Det at vaske og sjaske og snakke med patienterne er ikke noget problem (det har det heller ikke været siden tredje dag på plejehjem i tidernes morgen). Men det at skulle koordinere og planlægge hvordan man vil færdiggøre ca. 700 opgaver i løbet af 8 timer mens man lider under konstante afbrydelser er en helt anden sag.

En patient der bliver indlagt mhp operation på næste dag skal ind og ud af afdelingen – den skal snakke med en medicinstuderende, som optager journal, den skal snakke med mig, den skal snakke med operatøren, den skal snakke med narkoselægen, og den skal ned at have taget blodprøver. Nogle enkelte skal også til diverse undersøgelser – EKG’er eller præoperative scanninger. Patienterne skal være på afdeling på de rigtige tider, så det andet personale ikke kommer forgæves – men så skal de også nå at komme ned til anæstesien og blodprøvetagning inden de steder lukker. Samtidig er der alt mellem 2-6 andre patienter på afdelingen der også skal snakke med de samme mennesker. Samtidig med det, har man nogle andre stykker patienter der skal blive vasket, få mad og medicin på bestemte tidspunkter, have stuegang og snakke med lægen, køre til undersøgelser eller operationer, blive observeret for komplikationer, få arrangeret en overflytning (det værste er til Nuuk og Torshavn men jeg har allerede et ondt sted i mit hjerte for Region Sjællands Kørselskontor i Slagelse) og nok har nogle pårørende der er i en eller anden grad af panik og vil mægtig gerne ved, hvordan deres kære har det lige nu.

Som sagt kan jeg de der ting. Men at gøre det hele samtidig, og nå alt det i løbet af 8 sølle timer er noget andet. Det kræver et overblik som jeg endnu ikke besidder. Det skal nok komme, men, uha, hvor er man træt når man kommer hjem.

So, so tacky.

This is totally hilarious. If it wasn’t I would be really pissed. I mean, who doesn’t love it when Told og Skat opens their mail (particularly by hacking it open with a knife)?

The really funny part is that the envelope contains a rosary. I mean, just how often do the customs guys catch people importing rosaries into Denmark?

It gets better. The person who made it, being an upright and honest person, wrote the actual cost on the customs declaration, which is probably what led the customs guys to open it in the first place.

Ok. Great. $51,50. 260 kroner. Now comes the totally hilarious calculation of what I have to pay.

Customs: 10 kroner (about $2)

25% sales tax: 67 kroner (about $13)

Fine. Whatever.

The fee to the customs guys for opening my mail and figuring out how much sales tax I need to pay? 120 kroner. $23.

Total: 227 kroner or about $43, which was 95,5% of the price of the rosary.

Great, guys. Way to go. Always a pleasure.

Got up: 05:30

Breakfast: 2 rolls, one with cheese, one with jam. 1 cup coffee and 1 glass orange juice.

Arrived at hospital: 06:50.

Left hospital: 14:40

Fluids: 700 ml cranberry juice (standing up while talking on phone), 200 ml coffee w. 100 ml 2% milk (standing up in kitchen). Total = 1 liter

Food intake: 0

When did I last pee: 05:30.

When did I pee again: 14:50

Time between bathroom visits: 9 hours, 20 minutes.

Things have been really crazy here. We have moved, which was chaos. The movers didn’t show up so we got 3 x 34 to do it, with Pelle and Søren’s help. I got a 10 on my 2. extern exam. We now have two budgies, yellow-masked albinos, who are very cute but kind of wild and crazy, and who make a fuss every time a pigeon flies by outside, which gets loud after a while. Also they kick their seed out of the cage.

Things with the apartment are going along, but not as fast as could be hoped, and are of course costing more than expected. What else is new? I’m so tired and confused that I don’t even know what to write, but have put up new pictures… Of course already hopelessly outdated. I will try to take new ones soon, now that we have broadband and it works.

My mobile is irritating me lately by having blackouts and other symptoms of senile dementia, losing stuff only to find it later as well as not ringing when I get a call.   I need to take it in to 3 and make a fuss, hopefully they will update it for me. Although of course new-phone-lust has reared its ugly head in the meantime.

Wigs for cats. Sick.

http://www.kittywigs.com/wigindex.html

First I found out that all things were as I had feared and that I will be spending next semester on diaper-changing duty at a geriatric ward.

• Number of clinical placements within geriatric field (max 4) = 3
• Number of clinical placements where patients are in command of all 5 senses and not brain-damaged in some way (max 4) = 0

Then I went to Silvan to buy tools on my way to Rørsangervej to demolish the kitchen. All sorts of lovely tools. Crowbars, allen wrenches (the six-sided ones you always get with ikea furniture), a level (vatterpas), even an ax. (Okay maybe I went overboard with that one.)

On my way down the aforementioned Rørsangervej on my bicycle, my basket fell off and I got a crowbar through the front wheel. Amazing braking action. The bicycle and I did a somersault (kolbøtte), I executed an amazing 5-point landing (knees, hands, and chin), and the bicycle landed on top of me. Admittedly I only just scratched my chin, I think it was because I had the level in my backpack, sticking up, so it hit the street before my head did.

Anyway, a very sweet pedestrian came to my rescue and helped me unwrap myself from my bicycle, and collected all my lovely tools while I sat in the street and cried and cars had to drive on the sidewalk to get around me. And another person hung out of her window and asked if I needed an ambulance. Which I didn’t, but I did later go to my doctor.

So after I was together enough in my poor bruised self, I  went and sat down on the front step of where I’m going to live and cried some more while I waited for Cecilie. She also fetched my bicycle, which is not in good shape. Then we went up and sat on the floor in the new apartment, there not being any furniture, and had a debriefing. Then we decided that we could just as well do what we’d come there for. I made myself a “håndværker plaster” (construction-guy bandaid) with a piece of paper towel and some packing tape I had in my backpack.

Then we found out that a) we couldn’t turn the water off under the sink, because it didn’t have a switch like we have at our current apartment. Instead it has a screw, but the screw was stripped (vil ikke gribe). B) the blades I’d bought for Cecilie’s jigsaw (the aforementioned bunny penis, aka stiksav) were the wrong kinds, since we hadn’t realised that there was more than one kind. Ha!

We sort of feebly ripped some paneling off. Then we went back to Silvan and bought new blades. We needed some with holes, but the advice guys said that we definitely could use the ones with half a hole, just to make sure we tightened it properly. We went home, trying to find food on the way, but apparently once you go past Nørrebrogade it’s impossible to buy takeaway before 3 in the afternoon, so we went to Netto instead.

When we got home we found out that my jaw hurt so badly that I couldn’t chew. I called and made an appointment with my doctor, who luckily had open late.

We found out that the half a hole solution totally didn’t work (thanks, retarded Silvan guys) and that no matter how we tightened it, we could easily wiggle the blade off again. Since we didn’t want to actually use the saw like that (and thereby risk that the blade would fly off at lightning speeds as soon as we touched it to anything, and hit us in the eyes), we were officially screwed. Outraged, we feebly ripped off some more paneling. Then we gave up.

I got home, feeling very sorry for myself. Dragged myself, hurting, all the way up to the third floor, where I found out that I had forgotten to take the chain off the front door, since I’d gone out the back door,  since I’d been on my bicycle. Few things are as demoralising. So I sent Nicolai an sms to see if he would be getting home within the next 15 minutes, at which I would be fully prepared to just sit outside the door and wait.

Then I remembered that I’d forgotten to go to the pharmacy. So I decided to go to the pharmacy, because I would certainly have to wait for at least 45 minutes, by which time I could just go on to my doctor! Classic. So I did that. Of course when you calculate on it taking approximately 9% of your lifetime to be at the pharmacy, it doesn’t take anywhere near that long — more like 3% — so I had to go over to Kvickly and waste time by buying a drill. Then I went to the doctor.

She looked at my hand, which I’ve scrubbed a bunch of skin off, and determined that I would need MORE antibiotics — seriously, I just finished a course of antibiotics a week or so ago, because I had pneumonia — because my hand was already swollen and red. Not that I didn’t believe her. Just… Yuck. I’m tired of smelling like penicillin. Then she established that my arm wasn’t broken. She thinks that when I hit the street my jaw went halfway out of joint and then popped back in. Good deal. She gave me a prescription for the penicillin and sent me on my way.

I got to the pharmacy 8 minutes after it closed.

Then I spent the rest of the evening feeling sick to my stomach and bruised and ouch (and the night doctor came to look at me, but said it was just the shock) and finally ended up throwing up around 1 am. After that I felt better.

Then I slept all the next day, but that’s another story.

I’ve finally updated my Flickr page with pictures not only of the new apartment, but also from our trip to Berlin.

Nicolai and I are going to Ikea today so that he can see and approve (or veto–eek!) my choice of cabinet fronts. Also presumably so we can fight about dining tables in a public arena. Real hygge, eh?

Tomorrow I’m going over to the new apartment with my friend Cecilie to rip out the old cabinets and make a mess with those evil blue tiles that were apparently manufactured en masse in the 1920s and 30s and which were required BY LAW to be put up in every single kitchen in Denmark. On the way I’ll have to swing by Silvan with a bizarre shopping list:

• crowbars (2), which in Danish are called cow’s legs.
• gloves with rubber dots on for grip
• teeth for Cecilie’s saw, which is of a sort called a “bunny penis”

I’m also going to be bringing my hammer and some of those ubiquitous blue Ikea bags for the trash. Cecilie is going to be bringing her parrot-wrench, as well. Using all these weird parts of animals we are going to give that kitchen what for.

Friday and Saturday I’m working the night shift and on Sunday we are leaving for Næstved as soon as I get back from work, which means around 8 in the morning. Then it’s Christmas!!! What do I want for Christmas?

What a cutie!!!

What to get for that special someone who has everything already…

The “reviews” are totally hilarious.

“Sent this as a Hanukkah gift to President Ahmadinejad. Got a thank you card back saying he loved it and I was his favorite infidel. Kudos to Amazon for a great product and fast shipping to Tehran.”

And 92 others…