Walk on the Wild Side

I just ate an expired pickle.  It expired in November of last year, but was in an unopened glass container that had been refrigerated.  I didn't think pickles expired?  I thought that pickling was another word for preserving.  If I die suddenly and soon of unknown causes, remember the pickle.  I feel so daring!

I don't walk on the wild side often, but I do know how to.  For me, mixing things up and getting crazy usually involves something like adding a tomato to my Caesar salad.  In the way of emotional outbursts, I don't remember the last time I had one.  I like being in control of emotions.  That is something I was not aware of until I moved down South.  I have been called "cold" and "snob" and multiple people have told me "you hide things better than anyone I know" (in regards to emotional issues at work).  I don't understand bringing emotional baggage to work and I don't understand getting emotionally involved with patients who you do not know and have never seen before they rolled in on a stretcher 10 minutes earlier.  Sure things are sad and difficult, but bring your game face to work.  For some reason I equate loss of emotional control with loss of sense.  How are you going to make rational decisions and do complicated medication dosing calculations if you are boo-hooing?  For the PA student that burst into tears and ran from the trauma room when we were trying to intubate the 10-year old boy who had had the swimming accident, could you have done anything more dramatic or less helpful? 

Actually, I do remember the last time I felt I had an emotional outburst, and ironically enough, it was at work.  It was a crazy New Year's eve, the ER was crowded with police, patients, nurses, doctors, security guards, state troopers, respiratory therapists and techs.  We were running around like we normally do and I saw that I had a missed call from home.  It was almost New Year's eve, so I quickly called home to see what was up.  "Honey, grandma died" were the words that I heard.  I ran to the break room and locked myself into the bathroom while my parents calmed me down.  Not completely unexpected, her death did and still feels untimely.  I still feel so guilty that I wasn't there.  After we hung up, I called the charge nurse and told him I just needed a few minutes.  The secretary came to check on me, I put my face back together, and a few minutes later went back to work.  Those were the only people that knew anything was wrong.  I was so glad I could wrap up my grief and put it away.  It might not be the best way to deal with things, but that night there were more important things to worry about, like performing open cardiac massage for the first time in a man who's life was slipping away faster than we could catch it, than my own grief. 

Maybe I am a snot and cold-hearted, but to me in my line of work, it is a disservice to everyone around you, mostly the patient, when you let emotions and other stuff get in the way.  Your boyfriend dumped you?  What does that have to do with anything we are trying to do here and now? Remember, this blog is coming from the girl who cries every time she watches Father of the Bride or goes into an animal shelter.  I thought I was a bit on the dramatic side when I moved here, but in comparison to people in the South, I have the emotional wingspan of a miller moth. 

I think I am ok with that.