Chained

Practical ther-appy. Reframing, removing the old, clinging emotions. Scrub tech with no listening skills at all, above learning, contemptuous, condescending little shit, that I beat my head against in vain. All my useless, snide, snippy comments expressed in safe confidence, and then, the big one, "You're killing my patient!" Oh, my, that is Dr. Evil's retort when something didn't go as he wanted, in his twisted little head. No, I will not be that. But, I laughed. And struggled through the can't's, to - 'using my whiteboard.'

Surgeon refers to this scrub as "speedbump." No getting around him, and he slows everything down. Not just me, in other words. I much prefer to make my scrubs look good, take the blame, keep the room happy. But this one doesn't get it, and will no longer be under my protection. I will write up on the board various preparations and requests, so if he doesn't listen to me, I can silently point to the board, and everyone in the room will plainly see that I did my part, and he did not do his. Draining my own disproportionate emotional response, assuming he is one of those young men who cannot hear women, I will communicate non-verbally. Leave him there by himself, chained to fate.

I will continue to do everything possible to support and make any scrub tech doing their job, to look good. Take any blame in the eyes of the surgeon. That's my responsibility, my room, my job.

I will also treasure when I am listened to, focus on those moments. Fellow who took my restaurant recommendation, and made sure to thank me after. Oh, wow.

My sherpa puts my Raggedy Ann in my place, and gets me out of harms way. I feel a pang of guilt, but I let her take the heat for me. Know what is my job, and what is not. Generally prefer not to draw the line too emphatically, but for some people, I need to.

Part of me would like to forget all of this, but then how would I know where the sink-holes were? How could I fix this, heal this, if I didn't even remember why I overreact this way? Pain is information.

Mostly, I'm grieving, sad, for my small self. And that is the right feeling, because it is sad. It's also funny. And instructive.

Oh, gods, I'm glad I had enough sense not to have children. I only wish my parents had.



Got a bag of 30 (glow-in-the-dark)bags of cheetos to give out on Thursday. Since we probably won't get that many kids, and I was feeling odd about giving out candy. This really isn't much better, but at least it's a little different.