Only a Year Between Five and Nine

I went to a nice dentist today. He said, "Do you eat? Because you have the teeth of a nine-year-old," which made me feel very pretty indeed.

I'm listening to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in my car. The man who reads it is great. He does all the voices just right. He makes me wish I was British.

My dentist said that several years down the road, I may need my real tooth to be replaced with an implanted one. "We always try very hard to keep your own teeth intact as long as possible, because we can never make something better than what God already gave you." He was very nice.

I went out for supper with some more friendly people tonight. One of them is a nurse in the NICU. She says she hated her job for the first year, too. *Sigh of relief* because it gets better. Only a year, right? Only a year.

My dentist and I talked about the midwest and how people wave. And how people are rude here.

I introduced myself to a neighbor today, and he said, "Hi," without offering his name. There are probably a hundred people living in this apt complex, and I know the names of two of them. Bree, and her mom Trina. They live next door to me. Trina listens to loud hip-hop music. Bree is about five years old. I hope we can be friends one day.

Mistakes

I made a mistake this morning at work. It didn't cause my patient harm, but it could have if someone else would not have caught it. I feel terrible about it. And I feel anxious about it still, even though it's over. I'm ready for a day off.

I hear my preceptor's voice in my head about everything. I hear her explaining how to make the decision to give this med, to hold another med, to reposition, to wean oxygen, and most recently, when to change lanes in traffic. Her voice is very calm and she has a Dutch accent. She's great. I'm glad I don't have my friend's preceptor. Her voice is a few octaves higher and several decibels louder. Having her voice in my head might incite a new anxiety prescription.

I've been told a lot lately that I need to ask more questions and ask them sooner. I think it's this thing deep inside of me that needs to be reprogrammed. I can fix things. I've been pretty good at it, actually. At Curves, I would just wander around until I found something broken, and I'd fix it. It's instinct. For now, I need to take my fix-it hat off and put on my inquisitive hat. I need to ask before I fix things.

This is my biggest struggle in the PICU right now. Emotionally, I've been pretty stable, actually. I think it's our patient load. Many of our patients have been awake. And maybe I'm growing some thicker skin, too.

It's time for bed. Goodnight.