I should be doing care plans but nope.
Just so damn tired.
Here's how my week went:
On Monday, I spent some time in the nursing practice lab with my best-lesbian-friend/classmate. She took photos of me inserting a Foley catheter into one of the manikins. I desperately want to post it on Facebook but decided against it. She also dubbed me the "Vagina Whisperer" because she was not able to insert the Foley into this particular manikin, despite her in depth and much more expansive knowledge of the female anatomy.
Tuesday and Wednesday: Class. Blah.
Thursday was my first OB clinical of the semester. 0630 to 1830. Holy goodness, it was a long day.
I watched a c-section and saw a baby come into the world. There really is no way to describe something like that. For the rest of this child's life, I will have been one of the people to have seen him take his first breath. There is something surreal about that.
I inserted a Foley Catheter on a real live human being (a female...thank God for the practice time) and I rocked that shit.
But it wasn't all peaches.
I took a xanax (it was only a 0.25 mg and I have a prescription so don't start bitching) at the beginning of the shift and at about noon it wore off. Things started to go down hill from there. I failed miserably at starting an IV and that made me feel like crap for the rest of the day. One of my male classmates was worried about me. He said that I looked like I would start freaking out any second.
There was a simple explanation for that, love.
I was about to start freaking out at any second.
I was just starting to get so overwhelmed. Sensory overload. I was trying to ward off a panic attack in post conference and I even shed a tear but I don't think anyone saw that.
As we were all parting ways, he and my instructor approached me and asked if everything was okay. My voiced cracked as I said that I just needed to go home and decompress for a little bit. As soon as I got into the car, I broke down and started bawling. It was just too much to deal with all at once.
I mean, it was so weird. Nothing terrible happened. No one died. But yet I still had a freak out.
Just then, I got a call from the partner in crime. She wanted to know if I needed to chill for a bit. Have I mentioned how much I love this girl? Seriously. I am convinced we have a psychic connection or something because no one can read me as well as she can.
I went home, showered, packed a few books knowing damn well i wasn't going to do any studying and she came by the house and picked me up. We drove around and talked for a while. I was able to vent and cry and she just sat there and listened to me. Then we stopped at a convenience store and bought a bottle of Seagrams 7 (yeah, I know. But neither of us have the money for Crown Royal right now). The night just kind of went from there. I drunk texted a few old flames to no avail (probably a good thing).
Now, this is a little off-topic, but I think it needs to be said. If I just met you, like literally just found out your name less than 2 minutes ago, don't whip your dick out and try to press it against my hip. I mean, come on. Really? What the fuck do you expect me to do? And especially don't get pissed off at me when I laugh at the size of your junk. I don't know what you expected my reaction to be but I am sure that wasn't it. But humiliation is a good teaching tool and, as long as you are not as stupid as you look, you won't make the same mistake with the next girl.