Paging all Dr. Dingers

"It looks as though Dr. Dinger is covering...ughh, he is like one billion years old."

"Dinger? He delivers babies and his name is Dinger?" Shock was all over my face.

At the ever mature age of 25, I still couldn't hold back my childishness. And laughing at a mans name is no way to make friends with co-workers on your first day.

I thought it would never happen. Me, in Salt Lake, at my will, working, making a living. I guess when I promised myself I would never move back here...I was lying. Because vacations really can't last forever and savings eventually diminish, I have decided to rejoin the work force. (But only until August!) Monday marked my first day back to the grind and I say this time, without lying, that I was psyched.

Minus the hands-in-the-vagina business that was a huge promoter of my 6 month sabbatical, I really have missed my job. I missed searching for large succulent veins to stick sharp needles into. I missed the adrenalin rush that comes when a babies heart rate plummets, the moms heart rate sky rockets and I get tangled in her monitor cords as we rushingly sweep her away to the O.R. Frankly, I miss missing lunch...because that certainly didn't happen while I was away. I miss talking to patients about how they came up with Latikissia or Po as their daughters name. I miss the starchy feel of over-washed and over-worn scrubs drape my body as we all merge our body scents to form one...the smell of hospital. I have really missed alot, and it felt good to be back around at the start of everything. Where everyday is a birthday party.

Quickly gaining a reputation, Intermountain Medical Center has been coined "The Death Star". This name makes perfect sense if we are talking about the laboring ward as almost every kid comes out looking like Yoda, the dads (and even a few of the older nurses) look more like Chewbacca than Hans Solo, the doctors are old and unattractive enough to play Darth Mauls double (not a single Dr. McDreamy on this set) and unfortunately the moms are more of the Jabba the Hutt persuasion than Princess Leah. (That is why we must all be big proponents of breastfeeding...it is in everyones best interest)

From the sound of it, I am gathering the reputation is more fat-bully-that-took-your-lunch-money than Kelly Kapowski and Zach Morris, but I am the rookie so who am I to judge. It is a massive health center that recently opened their doors in January to stand as Salt Lake Valleys #1 Trauma, Cardiac and Birthing center. I guess you could easily see why the tiny little asbestos ceiling community hospitals that it has replaced, would be on the bitter side. The electronic doors facilitate a routine that is almost "hands-free". The monitoring and computer system uses already dictated charting. We are usually dealing with the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, even 6th (and up) babies who practically deliver themselves. I see where those other nurses may be a bit jealous. But even though our jobs are pretty much getting themselves done, make no mistake, we don't quite fill the role of R2D2.

The absolute best part of this brand new medical center though is not what it has in it but what is has around it. And I am not talking about the 3 minute bike ride from my house. I am talking the 25 step commute to Southern Exposure Show Club. Ironically (or maybe on purpose?) this strip joint is closer to the newborn center than the ER (which are connected by hallways). So I say, instead of driving the ambulances all the way to the ER Bay, drive by the Club, have a drink or two and a slide down the pole and mozy (is that a word?) on in...you will most likely get there quicker.

And for Salt Lake, I was massively impressed with the eclectic population base and the steady pace. The day went like this...

(I enter patient A's room. Her 7 children are playing checkers on the floor.)

"Checkers? Fun, I love checkers?." I mutter.

(I turn to face the youngest, and witness one of the black game pieces wedged on the side of the right cheek.)

"How does that taste?" (a very high ponytail whips the head turns...the small face gets embarassed)

"And what a very beautiful ponytail you have. Are you all dressed up for your brand new (and 5th) brother? You must one of his older sisters?"

The kid smiles and lets out a little laugh.

The 13-year old chimes in "Ummm, this is A.J. He is 4".

I couldn't really feel too bad. He looked girly. And if anyone relates to his pain it is me...just look at my 2nd-7th grade school pictures and you will understand why. The things that parents put their children through to gain character. That kid will be one dynamic adult, I assure.

Now, Patient B may have lacked the size of family that Patient A had, but by no means did she lack the interesting makeup. This lady was rushed into the triage room to assess her labor status and came kicking, screaming, crying and hallucinating with each contraction that squeezed her belly. Her 3-year old daughter was sitting in the dads lap, hysterically bawling. While the mom was trying to grasp the railings of the bed with each painful pulsation yelping uncontrollably, the little girl was screaming "myyyyy leggggg is fallllllling offfffffff!" Tears steadily streaming down her little pink cheeks. Well...it looks like the apple never falls too far from the tree huh? I tried my best to comfort her, but she seemed way more suited throwing a tantrum fit. Again, I wasn't too bothered. I remember how that goes...let it rip.

Patient C came in with severe chest pain. The kind of chest pain you don't ever want to have, but especially when you are only 30 weeks pregnant. By the look of her inability to take full, satisfying breaths and the clenching of her fists, something was telling me this wasn't your average ate-some-onion-rings-heart-burn-chest-pain we normally see. It looked like she was suffering a minor, itty-bitty heart attack. We drew blood, she breathed some bottled oxygen, and before she could say "I can't breathe!" we had her transferred to the emergency department. We like to get rid of those patients. No heart attacks on our watch.

And this is when the day started getting good. A trauma was called in (enter stage left Pateint D). A pregnant 17 year old with just a 28-week old fetus in her belly had been stabbed...in the neck! Alright! Certainly have I never seen a pregnant stabee! Another job for the ER but we were called to make sure the baby was OK. Her mom was sitting with her in the room, dark eyeliner running down her face, staining her off-white wife-beater. An ice pack on her hand revealed that she too was injured. This is the moms side of the story...

"We just be walking outta the Cricket store and all these bitches be standin' by my car. They got a big blazer or truck, I don't know, parked behind me so I couldn't get out. They start talkin' shit and gettin' in our face. One of 'em tries goin' for my older daughter, they got drama with each other or somethin', and bam! She gets smacked in the face. Then Nicolette (the prego one) jumps up and starts throwing her fists tryin' to protect her sister. (mom starts cryin') Before I knew it, I was in there, throwin' down. Apparently this girl knows my other daughter from the dorm they lived in together at Iowa. But then they pull a knife and just stick in right in her neck (the muscle dense part...in the back)."

"Oh? A dorm?" How nice I thought, at least she is in school. "At what university?"

"Ain't no university. A correctional facility for troubled teens."

That makes sense.

The wound was superficial and didn't even need stitches but she had lost a fair amount of blood and was pretty shaken up. The baby seemed unfazed, perfectly content and cushioned in his warm pool of personal urine. I talked to them about Flintstone Vitamins and how yummy and good they are for her and the baby. I told them that while you are pregnant the most amount of fighting that should be done should not surpass the confines of a video game. They smiled at me and appreciated the very professional advice I was giving them. (Thats right...I am a RN with a BSN.) I asked what they would be naming this little trouble maker inside.

"In here is the very first little Tyronester."

Of course it is.

And the hours flew. Change of shift was upon us. I clocked out and began the exodus from the hospital on my first day back. In the waiting room, I saw a dad holding his brand new son, his forearm clenched around the kids neck like a sleeper hold move. The babies arms were raised up in the air as if impersonating a field goal and his once well-circulated flesh was turning blue. In the fathers other hand he held the arm of his older son...leading them in the direction of the vending machines. In the dads mouth hung a bottle...most likely intentioned for the baby but looking rather comfortable pursed in his lips. The sight of such a disaster brought a smile to my face. "Ohhh, the making of a family, how great."

I made my way home, glad I had neither a knife jabbed between my shoulder blades nor a baby growing in my uterus, and knew that me and the 'Death Star' would be getting on just fine this summer.

The link below is a nice view of baby Tyronesters soon to be Crib...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hg0w2bJ7YaU