Trippin' On SnowCrack

I went back to my roots yesterday, when I picked up a shift at SnowCreek. I started there almost 11 years ago, with an internship for my Radiology Technician license, and ended up tricking them, into hiring me full-time. It was an awesome job, but I soon discovered that a person so well-versed in the art of people pleasing, like myself, should not waste their compassion and healing personality, by spending the majority of the day in a dark room. Plus, I got really bored.

There are only so many things that you can do by yourself in a room so dark you can't even see your hand in front of your face. For the 15ish minute spells, that it used to take, for the machines to spit out a picture of a leg or wrist, I was left to entertain myself, which I can do, it just isn't always appropriate or legal. It also helps if you are not petrified of the dark. Sometimes I would burst out of the room, as soon as the green light, gave me the go ahead. All that time in the dark, was spent getting myself worked up, thinking there might be a Murderer crouching under the counter waiting for me, or swearing on my life, that I smelled fart when I knew it wasn't me, or the worst, developing a routine x-ray then holding the film up to the light and seeing a dead person. I have ghost issues, and watch a lot of movies, and have a very active imagination, not a good combo.

I haven't worked at SnowCrack for about 5 years, so when they called, I jumped at the chance to help them out and see all my old cronies. I showed up at the clinic about 25 minutes early because I had forgotten what a lovely commute it was, and sat in my car and reminisced of the time, about 10 years ago, that I had shown up a little early. I could see two women and a man, huddled outside the entrance to the clinic, and I hadn't yet had my A.M. transfusion of Diet Coke. I tried to avoid eye contact, and scurry past them, to the attached grocery store, however, they spotted me, in my incriminating scrub wear, and hollered out to me the scariest words of my life, "Hey, help us. My wife is having a baby."

As a newly married, twenty year old x-ray tech, my experience with birthing babies, consisted of religiously taking the pill, so as to avoid any experience with birthing babies. Nevertheless, I quickly unlocked the front door and let in the trio, consisting of the extremely pregnant and panting-slash-whimpering lady in question, her Mother, and her ashen-faced Baby Daddy. I led them down the dark hallway into the trauma bay, where I didn't have to say a word, and the women dropped her drawers and rolled onto the bed. I couldn't help thinking that a little more resistance on the last part, may have prevented the whole ordeal in the first place, but what do I know.

I heard a voice and looked over my shoulder to see the nurse had arrived. Hallelujah, or so I thought. She immediately had a nervous breakdown and only held it together long enough to call 911. Once I saw the nurse slumped against the wall next to the husband, I turned my attention back to the screaming, and just about joined in. At this point in my career, my knowledge of the human body, came from owning one, and studying bones for x-ray positioning. When I turned around I nearly shizzed my chaps. I was staring directly into the barrel of a loaded vagina, ready to shoot a Human Bean into my arms. I had just enough time and common sense to put some gloves on, before standing there wide-eyed and panic stricken, with my arms outstretched, to catch the little slime ball.

As the last little toe slipped out, the help started to arrive. I noticed one of my favorite, way-to-laid-back-for-the-situation, Doctors, pop his head in, give me a nod, and then proceed to the office, to put down his coffee. I remember screaming, "Uh, we are having a BABY in here!" He mosey'd back in and said, "People have been having babies for years." Oh, rrriiigghhhttt.............

The trauma bay started to fill up, with what I am assuming was every last available EMT, when the Doctor ordered me to hand the baby over to one of them, so I could finish the delivery. He gave me instructions to clamp and cut the cord, and when I thought I was certainly done, and could breath again, he grabbed my hand and pressed down hard on the women's abdomen. She was still hollering a bit, and the Doctor cheerily sang out that, we couldn't forget about the placenta. Placenta what, placenta who? I was hanging by a thread, but I managed to make it through the placenta delivery and the Doctors lesson on how to check it, to make sure it is all there. I didn't have any feeling in my legs until the Baby Boy and his Mutha, were loaded up on the ambulance and headed to the hospital for follow-up. Then, though wobbly and covered in afterbirth, my legs carried me into the dark room where I stayed and cried for the next half hour.

Yesterday as I made my way into the clinic, most of the morning ritual was the same. I went through flipping on lights, checking gauges, and bantering with the crew. The gurney sheets still smelled of playdoh, and it seemed I had a memory in every room. Some of them were great, like the time I had to take care of this total douche bag that came from L.A. during the film festival. He came bursting into the back of the clinic, clad head to toe in the festival "uniform" of black, ignoring the receptionist and screaming that he needed some "effing oxygen." I tried to find out what he needed, but he just kept screaming about his "effing oxygen", and being surrounded by "effing idiots" who didn't recognize his "effing need, for effing oxygen." I rolled my eyes, and placed an oxygen mask on his face. He plopped down on the gurney and inhaled big deep breaths. I walked out and left him to his own hyperventilating, hoping that he would pass out sooner, rather than later.

After a bit, I returned to check on him, and found him smiling smugly through the mask. His robot girlfriend also clad in black, was sitting at the bedside stroking and cooing at him, and glaring at me. He took the mask off long enough, to lash out at me and question my clinical skills for not giving him the oxygen sooner. He said, "See, obviously all I needed was some oxygen, coming from L.A to 7000 feet..... Obviously." I smiled and held up the end of the oxygen cord, that I had never even attached to the oxygen, and said, "Obviously, this isn't even connected to oxygen. You could've used a paper bag. Now who's the effing idiot."

My first cardiac arrest happened on a quiet fall afternoon at Snowcreek. I answered the phone and picked up just enough jumbled words to be able to report to the Doc, that we had a cardiac arrest on the way. He questioned me, and I said, that I thought that's what they had said. Sure enough, in rolled the EMS crew, with CPR in progress on a young electrician who had fallen into a live panel. He was way past dead, by the time we got him, but we continued to work on him for several minutes after he arrived. Just long enough for me to have the image of his lifeless blue eyes staring up at me as I did compressions, burned onto the back of my eyelids. It was the first time I really started to contemplate death. It was so strange to me, as we went through his wallet, looking for identification and someone to notify, that he had probably kissed his wife good-bye earlier that morning, and they had had a normal conversation about what to do for the weekend or dinner plans, or who had taken out the garbage last, and now, he was dead. It hit way too close to home, as Daveskins is in the same line of work, and I remember calling him, and telling him I loved him, and begging him to be careful.

My shift yesterday was relatively quiet on the outside. Mostly sore throats, flu symptoms, and the occasional physical. I had a great time though talking with the people who were some of my closest friends through a time of immense personal growth. They were around when the Boyz were both thought up and produced, and SnowCreek, unbeknownst to them, even supplied the pregnancy tests for confirmation. I remember with Dawson, I was taking tests like crazy, because of all the fertility stuff we had to do, to get him. One day, as I was sitting with my pants around my ankles, I only half-heartedly glanced over to the test that was "cooking" and then immediately did a double take. What the hell did two red lines mean? I called my friend Kristi, who happened to be the Doctor on that day, into the bathroom, and thrust the test in her face. She laughed at me, and called me an idiot. I still didn't believe that I could be pregnant after trying so long.

I was in shock, and that night when the lab called to give me a stat result on my pregnancy test, Dave and I were lounging on the couch. After hanging up the phone, I turned to him and said, "I'm pregnant?" We were both in shock, even though it's fairly common knowledge that if you take fertility medicine and have sex, chances are you might end up, knocked up. (Sorry to ruin that for you Mom. I know you thought it was immaculate.)

I also found out about Baby Dyl at work, and was quite possibly more shocked about his arrival since I was flawlessly using the Nuva Ring, and had a 8 month old baby at home, whom I had just finished nursing. But ironically, the last pregnancy test I borrowed, (yes I put them back when I was done,) ended up being my ticket out of there as well. I was perfectly comfortable at SnowCrack, and had worked my way from receptionist, to Nurse Manager in those few short years, and was content to retire there. The third and final time I sat in the employee bathroom, watching the clock and the two little lines appear, I was astounded. I had an IUD for hell's sakes, and two little boys under the age of 3. I remember taking a picture with my cell phone and sending it to Dave with the caption: YOU ARE A STUD.

About six months later, we learned that our little girl's heart had stopped beating. People say that things always happen for a reason. I don't know if that is always true, but certainly in my case, many wonderful and bittersweet things came from our tragedy. In the end, I decided I needed a big change. Something a haircut, or new wardrobe, just couldn't bandage. I left the comfort and support of my friends at the clinic, and lucked into a job at the U. A sufficient enough challenge for an emotionally damaged, relatively new grad, with no hospital experience. It ended up, being just a big enough distraction, that I could begin to heal.

Daveskins, and the Hoodlums came bustling into the clinic right as we were closing up shop. I felt as though I had come full circle. It was wonderful to be back, and experience all of the memories, good, bad, and otherwise, and still leave there, feeling whole and happy. It was Dave's night to cook dinner, so we went to Pizza Hut, and enjoyed the warmth and noise of all 5 of us crammed into the booth.

When none of Dave's delicious dinner attempt remained, we loaded up the kids and they took me back to pick up my car. Dyl opted to ride home with me, so I wouldn't get lonely, and he talked non-stop for 25 minutes. It was wonderful to have him with me, and although he spoke mostly of the special powers he wished lizards had, i.e shooting blood out of their eyes, he could have said anything, and I wouldn't have felt any more content. It was a great day, and if they ever need me again, I would be happy to trip on some SnowCrack.