TOO HEAVY

12 FEB 09 (THU)

It is a late Tuesday night in Christchurch. Outside of my window I can see right into the downtown of the city; it is about as active as I imagine a Tuesday night is in downtown Scappoose. There is not much going on and the only people out and about are the shop owners closing up for the day and the occasional stray men who are going into the door that is beneath a neon sign that’s flashing ‘Kitty Cat Lounge’ in pink, purple and blue, but I don’t think it’s the household kind of kitten they’re going in to find out about...

I am at our apartment finally getting down to tying up all of my loose ends from our wedding last summer and Heather is working the evening shift at the Hospital. This is a perfect, quiet time for me to get my thoughts right.  It blows my mind that I have to use both hands to count how many months it has already been since August 30^th but, then again, I guess that’s the thing about time and how it goes. I compare this feeling of life going by so astonishingly fast to the feeling I have when I check my final bank balance after a weekend in Las Vegas.  I absolutely cannot account for where most of it went but I am sure that I must have had fun while it was being spent.  At least that is the way I prefer to justify both of these anomalies!

TOO HEAVY

This is an anecdotal piece of news I found on the side column of the second page in this morning’s local newspaper, The Press. It amused me and I think it perfectly sums up what I love about the general perspective down here!

"A large Timaru woman had to be airlifted off Mt. Nimrod on Sunday night, prompting police to remind people that a reasonable level of fitness is required before taking on the track. The woman was taken to Timaru Hospital by the Westpac Rescue Helicopter after she tripped and fractured her ankle in three places and rescuers were unable to carry her massive body off the mountain. It is understood she weighed about 130 kg (286 lbs)."

I swear to you that I did not make this up. But it does make me wonder about a couple of things. Namely:

1. How is it that the police are the one’s who would make this kind public announcement?
   
2. Wouldn’t anybody need to be airlifted off a mountain if they broke their ankles in three places?
   
3. What is a lady, weighing a couple sugar packets under 300 bills, doing climbing mountains anyway? I mean, that is impressive! What American fatty would try a feat like that?
   
4. Mt. Nimrod? Seriously?
   
5. Is this mini-article more about the public awareness regarding ‘the importance of fitness on hiking tracks’ or ‘the importance of not being fat?’ I don't know, I can't figure it out. 
   
6. What sort of feelings would you have if this is what you read while laying in the hospital bed the next morning after being airlifted off a mountain? 

This little tid-bit is not unusual. I've been coming across many of these quirky anecdotes. It's great. I think my favorite one so far, other than the one above, was the one I heard about a guy who was arrested after being caught posing as a female nurse at the Christchurch Hospital! 

Apparently some nut case had somehow snuck into the security room, put himself into the Canterbury Health Care's personnel system and printed off an ID card/badge which had a picture of him dressed up as a woman. He then was able to have nursing uniforms issued to him and was going floor to floor posing as a float nurse. He would show up to random floors during shifts just as a normal nurse would except he wasn't really doing anything other than changing bed pans, putting lotion onto old men's feet and cleaning people up. I guess he was just faking all the rest of the real nursing stuff. The best part is how he got caught.  

Nobody really knows how long he was doing fake, weird shifts at the hospital, dressed as a woman, but he finally got caught when he tried to return the Canterbury Health Care company car, a 2002 Nissan sedan, he had checked out from the District Administration Building. He, posing as a home health nurse, checked the car out saying that he was going to be using it for patient home visits over a weekend. But when the car went missing after two weeks, the people at the hospital began to wonder what had happened to one of their cars. Seeing that no other record of the person who checked it out existed in the entire Health Care system, they issued a missing person advisory through the Police Department. The local news even did brief public announcements during the evening news for a couple evenings. They showed a picture of the missing car and a fuzzy picture of who they believed stole the car. 

But then the car shows up a couple days later when the guy brings it back. He/she shows up dressed as a nurse like everything was completely normal. The administration employee who was working when the guy/gal returned the car thought something seemed unusual about the missing nurse who had all of a sudden shown up. The employee didn't say anything to him/her that he/she was a missing person or that the police could be looking for him/her. He/she then goes about like it's a sunny day in his/her strange world and goes up to a floor to do some fake nursing; that's when the police were called and the guy was arrested. 

CREEPY!!!

HEATHER SAYS, NURSING IN NZ IS... 

I am having a great time so far!! It is going by too fast- I have been here for 8 weeks now in NZ and have just finished my 2nd week off orientation on a vascular surgery floor at Christchurch Hospital. It is VERY different. I am trying to keep a diary of some of those obvious differences, as I know they will become 2nd nature soon-- just in time for me to get back to "American style nursing". Which is basically nursing with a LOT of charting... Also, I know it will be interesting to read this assessment of my new working environment in 1 year from now, and see what was reality vs initial perception.  

Ward 15 consists of 25 beds- 1 large room with 4 beds used as an intensive care/ post-surgical ward manned by 2 nurses, 3 large rooms down the hall lined with 6 beds each (boys in one, girls in the other) and 3 VERY small single rooms for any isolation (MRSA is treated as some sort of plague here-- apparently it is very uncommon but very feared... ahh NZ!) There are no TV’s on the ward, but your family member can rent a small TV on rollers from the hospital for $10.00 a day and the pt is allowed to watch it from 0700-2200.

The pt bathrooms are lined up down another hall (not in pt rooms) and we use metal, re-usable bedpans for those who are unable to make it to the brm. (brm is not an acknowledged abbreviation here- another issue for me! I feel like I am learning a new language! The slang here is incredible--on the bright side, I have now made it to a 20% comprehension rate!! All the diagnostic procedures are the same or similar, the post op care for a vascular pt is also the same-- I have memories of my first year as a nurse with Janoff pts-- racing out to the pt rooms to make sure they have an IS, but NOT if they had a carotid end.- and tracking down the doppler so I wouldn't look like such a fool when I had to call for that docusate at dinner-time, and did not have that pertinent info! Those were the days huh!! My scope of practice is very different here too. As a nurse, I am "allowed" to perform certain procedures if I have been checked off by the head nurse (such as placing a catheter for a male, drawing bloods from a peripheral or central site, or changing a PICC dressing) but that is 99% done by the Dr. -New IV's are also always placed by the doctors if they have "tissued" (infiltrated). Here is the part I am loving-- no computers! Only paper charting, the chart is kept for the pt and built up on each admission so everything that has ever happened is there.

I can see the advantages of the history being on the computer now, but my only charting requirement is a nursing note at the end of the shift and a quick update on the care plan sheet that is located at the bedside. (Also, there is also no suing here- you can file a grievance with the government and they will settle your claim if it is approved with the exact amt of the bill- there is no charge for hospital stays here in NZ, and no such thing as emotional damage fees- so I don't know what the grievance would relate to exactly, but it is comforting info as a nurse to know) There are no actual order sheets, but the notes that are written by the Dr's and medication and IVF orders. Very confusing at first- the note will read that “the pts catheter is to come out tomorrow”…. I am supposed to take this out at that time based on the note- there is no order that says clearly to me.. “take it out at such and such time”. I had looked for orders like this long and hard the first week… blood that is ordered is written RBC over 3-4 hrs in the IVF sheet. The nurse then checks the T&C, sends away for the blood and for a lab draw several hours after the infusion so the Dr can see the results the next day—for example. These are just a few examples, most are very small and obvious- but the patients are great, the nursing staff are awesome-- so welcoming and helpful, and the doctors are very easy to conference with... they prefer to be called by their first names only.. or by Mr/Mrs but never Dr so and so... apparently that is so "Grey's Anatomy"!!-- I was told that by a group of Drs on my first day.

There is a set time (or tentative set time anyway) for baths, meds, visiting and eating-- it is crazy! Very routine however, and the patients get to know it quickly:

0645-0700- Paper report (night to day shift)

0700-0720-ish- Group rounds for the nurses (walk around and give a small

verbal report about each pt from the off-going to the on-coming nurse.

0720-0800- Read through the charts and orders- figure out the days surgical schedule and when to have your pt ready for what.

0800-0930- Pass meds, assist everyone up for breakfast and shower or bed bath. Also the time to have any dressings “taken down” for the surgical rounds. These may get re- dressed by certain Surgeons, but most likely, nursing staff will re-dress after rounds. There is a certain method of taking each dressing down as well… they use sterile technique with sterile dressings when dealing with any wound. You have to get a wound cart from the supply closet and set this up prior to entering the pt room. The wound carts are also used when setting up supplies for the Doctor to insert a male catheter (which nurses are not allowed to insert, but are required to set up the equipment. 

0930-1100- Surgical rounds are from approx this time MWF. Weekends

and holidays, an “on-call” resident will make rounds to see each pt and write orders if necessary, and T & Th are “grand rounds” where the entire “team” vascular surgeon, Cardiologist, wound care RN, Physical therapist, Social Worker Ect, get together to go over “the plan”. 

1100-1300- Visiting hrs for no more than 2 family/friends at a time.

1300-1500- Quiet time where all lights are actually turned off and pts Curtains are closed so they can rest.

1500-1700- Visiting time again.

1730- Dinner is served! (Although they call this “Tea”)

1900-2200- Pts are coming back from surgery or getting ready for bed.

Nursing staff is required to go down to post-op and retrieve face-to-face report about the surgery from the nurse and accompany the pt up to the ward. We will also use this time to assist our other pts with a partial bed bath or evening shower set-up in order to sleep better. There are orderlies that are called to actually move pts from surgery to the ward, or assist with heavy pts in transfers or turns….yes, they are big, strong men just like in the movies!

I am not sure what happens on night shift yet, as I have not had to work one but as I am leaving at 2300, the night shift nurses are walking from room to room with flashlights that they call “torches” and looking at every patient. There are no vitals (they call them observations, and do not know what I am talking about when I say vitals… although I didn’t know what they meant the first several times they said “obs”) The main thing I have noticed with this very strict looking outline of the day, is that it is really just a schedule to go by. Everything is meant to happen in this order, but the pts are sick, they don’t sleep well even with the dim lights and no vitals. There are emergency surgeries, and the actual critical nursing care is pretty much the same. The nurse is still expected to call for assessment from the Doctor when the patient’s status is declining, and they just introduced a “rapid response” type system this year in keeping with the worldwide standards. I am not finding the nursing any different. I am comfortable taking care of these patients, but I am noticing that the style of what is expected is very different. The nurses make the beds neat and tight, their uniforms are all identical- neat and pressed, there is usually one way of doing things… and the nurses will stop you to let you know if it is done any other way than how their used to… hence the sterile technique used with the most foul mess of a wound dressing change.

Hopefully you are not shaking your head at my babble-- kind of went on a rant there... like I said though, soon it will all be second nature, and my next U.S. nursing co-worker will be very confused at my use of sterile technique, or calling the doc to come place my catheter or IV site… I apologize in advance “next co-worker”… but in the mean time, I am looking very “smart” in my uniform!!

 

 

Riverside entrance to Christchurch Hospital

Victoria Park

Above Sumner, 15 minutes east of ChCh. 

This is the Scarborough Walk. It lies between a cluster of design-magazine quality houses and the cliffs of the Banks Peninsula. 

"Your head is humming and it won't go, 
In case you don't know,
The Piper's calling you to join him.
Dear Lady can you hear the wind blow, and did you know,
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind."

Two donkeys and an ass.

Taylors Mistake is a hidden-ish beach on the other side of Sumner. Here is a string of 'baches' along the rocky shoreline. A bach, short for bachelory, is a modest, second home that some Kiwi families have. They are usually in secluded areas. In New Zealand, these kinds of areas are not hard to find... 

How classic of a New Zealand shot is this? If reincarnation does exist and if I can't come back as a human in another life, then I'd like to come back as a NZ sheep. Spend all my days hanging out with my friends, growing fro's and day dream while looking at great scenery all day... that's the life! 

It came as a huge shock to me that New Zealand took assertive action in safe guarding it's homeland during WW2. Apparently there was a real concern that the Port of Lyttelton would come under enemy attack during the war. Couple this with what Adrian told me about the Japanese fly overs during that time period as well, it finally occurs to me the meaning of World was in the title World War. I mean, outside of Gallipoli, I just never associated New Zealand with war; especially war in it's back yard. Who would care about a tiny island in the south pacific? But I guess war is everywhere when there's far reaching socio-political implications. 

(duh, right?)

Well, anyway, just to the east of Christchurch is the Port called Lyttelon. You can drive there in a car over a small mountain or through a big tunnel. Ships get there by passing between two massive heads of land; the Godley Head and the Adderly Head. As you can read from the description below, there is a decommissioned battery there on Godley Head. We hiked out to it during Heather's day off last week. It blew me away and reminded me off Battery Russel near Astoria, Oregon. 

Standing where a huge cannon was once mounted. These goliaths were capable of sending hunks of solid metal, the size of a healthy thanksgiving turkey, up to 10 miles out into the sea. Crazy!  

Through the rusted barbed wire fences is the fuzzy grouping of ChCh's downtown buildings.

Inside the 'war room' in one of three gun placements. 

Heather and a salami sammy share a moment with a relic. 

Beneath the Godley Battery Compound are two smaller concrete gun rooms. They are situated against the rocks where the ocean meets the cliffs. To get down there, we hiked through this 100 meter tunnel that was blasted through rock. For someone who thinks claustrophobia is fake, I had a difficult time slow stepping down the tunnel. It's funny how earth quakes and cave-ins become legitimate fears when you find yourself in a tiny hole in a big rock. 

Warning: poor visibility and unleveled floor for 103 meters.

Happy to see day light. 

END.

M&H

MUCH A-DO ABOUT NOTHING

1 FEB 09 (sun) 

MUCH A-DO ABOUT NOTHING

The liberating high of living like Cosmo Kramer is starting to fade and the beginnings of its hangover are clouding my self-concept.

At first, realizing the lifestyle of being jobless and responsibility-less seemed like a wonderful existence. The fantasies of winning the lottery so I could do nothing seemed very attractive. I used to be confused when I’d hear people say that most people don’t make good retirees. I would think, “Man, are you kidding me!? Do you know how sweet it’d be for me to not have to get up for somebody else everyday? I’m gonna be the best retiree ever; I’m gonna do nothing except make fruit smoothies, go to the library and ride public buses for personal amusement all day long!” Yeah, I used to look forward to retiring. I’d spend most of my free time concocting schemes that would enable me to live in a way that could facilitate a retired-like existence. 

When I was 19, I joined the ARMY because it seemed like the easiest way to extend my teenage lifestyle; I imagined that the two were very similar. (The signing bonus was the other motivating factor. $8,000 seemed liked a lot of money at the time but little did I know that after the recruiter's cut, the lottery tax it was subject to and other vaguely defined deductions I'd only see a little more than half of it in 4 1/2 years time!) I would spend the days doing ridiculous chores like keeping my room clean, getting good grades and schmoozing up to authority figures so they could find it easier to forgive a likable kid. And spending the rest of my time blowing my meager income on booze, girls and the occasional video game. I also figured that maybe one day I could get the ultimate do-nothing job and become President. (Hiding out in the National Guard, at the time, did seem like step one on Career Path to the White House.) This theory proved only temporarily successful. Before I knew it, things got hot and my vision of taking it easy did not involve dodging chunks of burning hot metal in the streets of some far off armpit of the third world.

At 21 I wanted to travel but didn’t have sufficient funds and the only place I really wanted to go was New Zealand. So I figured the best way for me to get there for the longest amount of time without having to actually do anything was by going to school. So I wrote a few verbose essays about being thirsty for experience, convinced a couple professors who barely knew me to write recommendations on the basis that I’d start applying myself in their classes and submitted a respectable looking application… along with the non-refundable $250 application fee and I was off.  It proved to be the most rewarding experience of my life to that point. I met totally different people. I heard strange yet broadening perspectives. And I learned that there are more than two ways to look at living; everything is just not work or play, serious or goofy, black or white and certainly not as dire as blue state vs. red state.

But mostly I learned that there is a delicate balance in life and the harder you play, the harder you have work to make it all feel right. At least this is the case for me. Go ahead and ask Heather; I’m no fun guy to be around if my balance is all off. She can tell just by looking at me if my little level-bubble is outside of the black lines!

It has been a painful process and it has taken me a long time to realize it but I need structure. I need the reward of accomplishment. And I definitely need to feel the pain of waking up for somebody else because ultimately it’s really for the well being of everybody!

This is why being jobless is starting wear on me. I don’t have anything to do.  For example, right now its mid day and it’s cloudy for the first time in weeks. Heather is at work. I have a stomachache because I ate too much fruit smoothie, my bus pass is out of money and I spent my week’s allowance to pay a late fee at the library. My daydreams are not what I thought they would be! And I know what you’re thinking – “Get a job dummy!”

Well it aint that simple homes! I’m waiting for my work visa to get approved and it’s taking much longer than I thought it would. I went down to the Immigration Office today to see if maybe I neglected to do something, but I haven’t. It is just taking longer because the Case Manager who is handling my application is on holiday (vacation) until next Thursday. So I can’t even apply for jobs (the few respectable opportunities that do exist) until I get a tax ID number. I can’t get a Tax ID number until I get a Work Visa. I can’t get a Work Visa until a guy gets back to his desk on Thursday. 

But even when this does finally go down and I'm finally bonafide, I'm torn between getting a legitimate 9-5 job or piecing together several part time gigs. A good job would allow me to continue to grow and develop as a blossoming young professional in the Project Management Industry. Yet, taking on unique part time jobs will expose me to a wealth of unique experiences that I can one day use as meaningless conversation filler at lunch time meetings with younger people who are my superiors because they took good jobs right out of college were able to develop... blah blah blah...

No, but seriously, working two to three part time gigs does seem intriguing. It would be beneficial on many levels. I would meet ten fold the amount of characters I would otherwise not be exposed to. I would have the ability to take time to do more trips with Heather as we would likely have similarly random schedules and I'd be free to take all of our friends and family around to all the cool spots when and if any of them do come! 

(You have to read this next paragraph using a snooty academic English accent to fully appreciate it.) 

Speaking of which, with some of the time I have had this past week I have made a little movie. It is one minute thirty seconds long and it is about Heather and Me. It is incredibly dorky and I am almost too embarrassed to release it. Not to my dismay, it's contents are 30 MB's too large to be able to post on this web page. I am, however, willing to send it via email to those who ask me to do so. This will also serve as a personal survey to see whom amongst our loved one's are actually reading the words part of our posts. We are getting the impression that only the photographs are being skimmed and the little tid-bits are going largely unappreciated. And since the fair trade of leaving comments in exchange for perusing our weekly galavants is not being met, we are forced into this withholding... 

(end accent here)

(It has been brought to my attention that I have the tendency to be vague. More specifically, I am told that nobody understand "the Vinzant speak", of which the previous paragraph has been written, and that I need to be clearer when speaking to normal humans. So to be clear: I made a small movie about our travels. It is very dorky. So dorky that if any of my friends see it, they will forever make fun of me. But, it's kind of cute in a dorky way. If you want to see it, please tell me and I will send it to you personally.) 

alright! i shrunk it so it's at the bottom of the page. but you should still leave a comment!

ohwelljohngalt@yahoo.com 

MOVING ON!

Just to the east of Christchurch is a huge peninsula. Its called the Banks Peninsula. It takes about 1.5 hours to drive to it's eastern-most edge. Looking at it from an arial view, it looks like a giant mutant bear paw with a dozen toes. Each toe is a massive ridge that extends out into the Pacific Ocean. Between each of the toes are spectacular bays with either private farms or little artsy communities. The furthest toe, which looks kind of like it is a developmentally delayed and curved toe, has an old French colony called Akaroa. A group of French settled there way back when but what remains today is a really neat art community with galleries, cafes and cozy B&B's; all with a French touch. (that sounds kind of kinky uh?) 

Yesterday we tagged along, once again, with the Christchurch Tramping Club. The hike was labeled as "Easy" on the course description. And again, we have learned that 'easy' is a relative term. It by no means was it difficult but it definitely had stretches that were physically challenging and by just looking at the other members who went you would be very impressed with what easy is to these people. For example, the majority of the members were over the age of 40 and few were 60+. One older gentleman was partially debilitated on the left side of his body from a stroke. Another woman had to weigh easily over two and half bills. And another guy looked so old you could almost see through his skin. I was impressed. 

But for as far as the effort to reward ratio, the scenery couldn't be beat!

Above Akaroa on the Banks Peninsula.

A sheep trail.

Looking out from a bluff is Red Bay. 

Standing there on the ledge didn't feel as stupid as it looks.  

Looking at Pompei's Pillar from a safe position.

Looking at a safe position from Pompei's Pillar. 

This reminded me of the 'Cliffs of Insanity' from the Princess Bride. 

If you know anything about Heather's reputation for tripping on her own feet, this should make you very nervous. 

Looking up at a Farmer's shearing shed. 

The best part about going along on these trips is getting to know some new characters. Walking with Heather is the real life, present day Maude. Her name is Liz and she is an eccentric free spirit from Australia. She is a retired nurse and lives between ChCh and Melbourne throughout the year. We've been getting to know her over the last couple of weeks and it's been fun. Heather has taken a special fondness to her because she admires her energy and quirky positivity. Liz has the kind of personality that is free and alive but does not mix well with serious people. 

And, yes, she did the majority of the hike in a one-piece bathing suit. 

Seal Bay. 

Walking down the grassy trail through the bush, you can hear strange wailing and scream-like shrieks in the distance. I heard some discussion amongst the group that maybe it was a person screaming for help. Upon reaching the shore, we found that the source of the noise was coming from a berserk gang of seals. There had to be a hundred of these strange animals. 

A loose seal. 

Liz seizes the opportunity to cool off. 

A seal is not quite sure what to make of Liz. This picture would be funnier if her name was Lucille. 

Just hiking an 'easy' trail. 

On all fours here. 

Looking down onto Red Bay. We made it there for a swim and lunch. 

Down on the beach, there were two deceased penguins. It didn't look like it was killed by physical trauma and so I think it is concerning that on one beach, there were two dead penguins. Rare penguins none the less. I took the picture because i've never seen a penguin this close before; dead or alive... I wonder if this is how people get bird flu? 

(Also, did you know that former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld is the former Chairman of the single largest Bird Flu Antidote (called Tamiflu) producer in the world? I guess success isn't so much about what you know as it is about about knowing how to produce a treatment for the world's next full scale pandemic...) 

WAY HOME

On our way back home we stopped by this tree. It is over 2,000 years old; We know this because Adrian knows this. (humor combo reference: our last post and Fight Club.) It has a massive girth and it's texture reminded me of the Incredible Hulk's muscles when he's all pissed off. 

Liz takes to climbing because it looks fun. 

I really wasn't this happy to touch it. But I did have to suss up some appreciation in my mind to truly place a value on what it is because the practical minded conservative in me initially thought, "Cool. A Tree. How much fire wood could I get out of this?" 

And these thoughts bothered me. So then I thought of some historical events in my head to put a relationship between history and it's age. 

So I thought, when I was 7 years old watching the 1989 World Series Game between the Athletics and the Giants, I can remember watching the TV screen shake as the entire state of California was bouncing up and down (a fairly formidable memory for me), this tree was here. 

But that wasn't old enough. So then I thought of soldiers kissing family members forever good bye and climbing onto trains to hop the pond to fight in WW1, this tree was here being a tree, bothering no one. But that still didn't impress me. 

So then I went back real far and pictured that while native pacific island tribes in canoes were using the currents and sea birds to precisely navigate across the Pacific Ocean to visit other small islands, this tree was doing what it does, which was still, being huge.

I needed one more to really solidify how old it was, so then I pulled out the deal breaker and thought, when Jesus was doing his thing on the other side of the world, there was a little sapling sprouting out of the ground on a tiny island in the southern pacific ocean that no human being has ever probably seen! Crazy.

Well, Heather's getting anxious and it's time for scrambled eggs. See ya! 

M&H