Crazy Train

When I walked in the door this morning, there was a "traveling flu clinic" set up in Administration. A nurse was there, vial of flu virus in hand, ready to stick any willing arm that walked by. Being the illnessphobe that I am, I immediately pulled my arm out of my coat and offered it, like a sacrifice to appease the Flu gods. That nurse JABBED me; I felt it go deep into the muscle. Not an hour later, my arm felt like lead and I about went through the roof when I leaned on a door frame to chat with Sister Lourdes.

Not cool. I HATE flu shots. I hate shots in general. Actually, I just hate needles. For some reason, I can watch people getting cut open and hearts being roto-rootered in the Cath Lab, but I cannot stand to have a tiny piece of metal jabbed into my own arm.

After I got my color back into my face, I got ready for my morning o'meetings. My secretary double-booked me, so I ended up teleconferencing into my ER Throughput meeting. We deal with the issues surrounding the Physician First initiative and any other patient throughput issues that arise (like patients having to wait for beds, staffing, etc.). Anyway, I dialed in and was connected to the conference. Since we're a Catholic hospital, it's a hospital policy that all meetings begin with a prayer. During the short prayer, someone's cell phone went off and the ring tone was…Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train! So all you heard was, "Allll ABOARDDDDDD!" followed by that trademark guitar intro!

Yeah, that set the mood.

My afternoon was "free" after 3pm, so I worked on my storyboards for the conferences we have approaching. One's for the Physician First initiative and the other is for Patient Safety. Sister Lourdes is passionate about the storyboards, so we spent a couple hours rehashing the grammatical details and graphical representations. Then my CEO boss, Elvis,** walked in and took a red pen to our mock-up! It was good feedback, especially because he largely left my writing alone. Small victories!

Elvis left the office and Sister and I finished our discussion. Then she abruptly turned back to her desk and asked if I wanted to see her boobies. All I could muster was, "Your what?" She turned back around with two tiny sets of hand-knitted baby socks. "Ohhhh, your booties," I said. She replied by knocking back a handful of M&M's. I walked out of there, mentally scratching my head in confusion.

**So yes, my boss will now be referred to as Elvis. This stems from the fact that a few weeks ago, I heard a guitar solo from "Devil in Disguise" issuing forth from his open office door.