More Phelps!

Zombie Apocalypse

Laughing

I really wanted to entitle this post "Exhaustion" but thought better of it when I considered the concerned family and friends that would probably reach out to me in my vortex of terror and stomach acid. When I'm tempted to get REALLY annoyed or ticked, I force myself to laugh. Oddly, it usually works to dispel some of the annoyance.

I've been pounding the keyboard for the last couple hours, trying to dig out of Email Hades, while Jack's put on an acoustic guitar concert. "One," "I'm Yours," and "Hotel California" never sounded better- he finished HIS big go-live today and is celebrating his new found freedom from the confines of his office.

It's all about attitude, right? So instead of focusing on the litany of CRAP that happened today, I instead choose to focus on the funnies. I offer you this picture that my Diabetes Center manager randomly posted all over the Center on the same day we had our big go-live and a new doctor starting:



He added a little Post-it with "3" on it, suggesting that our last velociraptor attack was on Friday.

I was chatting with our IT support staff in the break room and one of them looked quizzically over my shoulder and asked, "Is that a dinosaur?" Thinking it was some announcement about Franciscan leadership or the annual HIPAA education, I shrugged it off. Walking through the practice, I saw three more dinosaur signs. Arriving back at my office (in a busy hallway of Administration, I might add), I saw another dino sign. I couldn't help it, I laughed until I cried.

I love how my great managers know when I'm really struggling and they somehow buoy me with laughter. Like the time another manager squeezed pixy stix under my office door and still another manager "pranked" me with a fake emergency that ended up being a surprise party. While it's risky, I like being vulnerable with these people; I think it's okay that they see the real me and see that I struggle with stuff, too.

It's the same with "the awesome people," the core group of directors at work who get each others' backs. As soon as I sent out the termination notices on Friday evening, I immediately had six directors call me and offer to do whatever they could to help. THAT is friendship.

That's why I am taking time out of the longest work day in recent history to record some of the gratitude I feel in a very dark, bleak, scary, and overwhelming situation. It's so overwhelming that my CNO gave me carte blanche to clear my schedule for the rest of the week so I can, well, not die. I only have 29 meetings this week, a road trip, and a presentation in front of all the system CEO's, COO's, CNO's and VPMA's next Tuesday at Muppet Corporate. It's been a dream of mine to present to that group and it's finally happening- but I'm too stressed to even worry about the presentation yet. Figure I can do that the night before!

It's all about optimism, right? I'm trying to keep a positive attitude about this whole situation with the manager I fired on Friday. He wrote a letter to a Board member, assassinating my character and leadership style. Every where I look, I find another deficiency in his work. I feel bad; this shouldn't have happened...but last time I checked, grown men didn't need babysitters.

I also chose to IGNORE the frustration and crap of Friday by working on ethics papers for 12 solid hours over the weekend. I had to write three ethics papers and I FINISHED decent drafts of them all. Another hour or two and I'm done. Halfway through this master's degree! That was enough to really lift my spirits; those papers were the biggest monkey on my back. My pastoral theology class is over and I'm now onto a Church history class studying the Ecumenical Councils and their effect on the formation of the Catholic credo. I'm technically a seminarian now and I have the option of buying a shirt that says something to the effect of "I study theology and I'm cool."

Theology IS cool...but so is forcing yourself to laugh when it matters most.

Dancing

Joke Journal: DOH

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went camping in the forest. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they went to sleep in the tent.

Several hours later, Holmes awoke and nudged his faithful friend, Watson.

"Look at the sky and tell me what you see."

Watson answered: "I see millions and millions of stars."

"And what does that tell you?"

Watson thought a minute and answered: "Astronomically, that tells me that there are potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I see that Saturn is in Leo. Chronologically, I deduce that it is approximately three ten AM. Theologically, I see that God is all powerful and that we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically I suspect that we shall have a beautiful day tomorrow."

Holmes was quiet for a minute and then said: "Watson, you are an idiot. Someone stole our tent."

ABBA

I'm taking a quick break from my theology paper to stop in and say hi. I'm doing an exegesis of the Last Supper and explaining the narrative in light of the Passover paper I wrote. Have to tell ya, I'm getting into these Scriptural studies. Even if one isn't devoutly religious, the stories have so many layers and contexts.

It's all very interesting, even for a non-nerd.

[Just to clarify, I'm the nerd.]

[You're not a nerd.]

[Unless you want to be and think nerdom is weirdly cool and liberating.]

Things have been pretty difficult at Chez Dorrie lately. Jack's working his rear off and in the throes of midterms. I'm still pushing through, day by day (sometimes hour by hour or even moment by moment) and I'm hanging in there. Persistence, endurance, and grit.

And it's no coincidence that the perky Kelly Clarkson song, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" song comes on the radio no less than three times per day (y'know, when you're channel-surfing in traffic, trying to find what *else* is on!). It's all making me stronger, I know that deep inside.

[I just wish all this "making me stronger" stuff didn't produce so much stomach acid.]

[I also wish it included more palm trees.]

So while work is, well, work, Jack and I are taking care to have some fun. Last weekend, we tried out a new Mexican place and after the first bite of cilantro-infused salsa, I had to cry out, "Ole!" I arrived home on Wednesday night, after a wondrous massage at my neighborhood spa, and Jack had crafted a multiple-course meal. I made some serious headway on some ethics papers I'm re-writing for publication. Oddly, the academic writing is a nice diversion from coming home after work and diving into email. It's all in the little things.

However, the *real* fun started last weekend when, after deciding we were tired of the usual entertainment options, wandered through Target and emerged with a Just Dance Wii game. Hey, why not?

SO we threw an impromptu dance party in our living room, laughing until our sides hurt. More than our sides hurt the next day, as we were so very sore from the intricate dance moves we practiced with the Wii! There was only one injury when, during a 70's disco song, we collided hands and the Wii controller cut into my finger!

What I wouldn't pay to see a video of *that*!

Last night, after having heard about another difficult week on my part, Jack stopped on the way home for another rendition of Just Dance.

The ABBA version.

Yes, ABBA.

Does it get any better?

Before we even sat down for dinner, I anxiously loaded the ABBA disc in the system and positioned myself for some Dancing Queen.

[Dangit, where'd I put my white and gold-sequined polyester leisure suit?]

Imagine my shock (and giggles) when Jack joined me and struck the pre-Dancing Queen post as well. He's such a trooper.

And he totally kicked my butt at ABBA Just Dance. You heard it here first.*

When we finished with ABBA, a few hours and beers later, he looked at me astonishingly and said, "Wow. I must be gay. Or maybe Swedish!"

And THAT is how you know you're with your soul mate. They'll make you laugh until you cry and do whatever it takes to get you out of your funk and into some hilarity.

Thank you, Jack. And thank *you*, ABBA!


*He did tell me I could tell you about this. I think he's strangely proud of kicking my butt into next Tuesday, even if it did entail ABBA!

Flexibility

Several posts ago, I mentioned taking one or two occasional group fitness classes to get me out of work before the ripe ol' hour of 7pm.

One of these was boxing. The other a "relaxation" class that taught us how to stretch, rolling our bodies on foam rollers to mimic deep tissue massage, and increase our flexibility.

Have you ever foam-rolled? It's like rolling your body around a gigantic rolling pin.

My pal Vera and I, after reading the brochure on this "relaxation" class, thought it would be a great way to defrag after a crazy day. We both purchased new yoga pants for the occasion and she gifted me cute footies to wear in class.

Is it ironic that I wanted to pass out several times during the flexibility class and handled the boxing class pretty well (except for being sore for five days afterward)?

I learned something about myself in this so-called flexibility class...I'm not very flexible.

Like, at all.

A big fan of intense cardio and sometimes a fast-paced Pilates, I struggle with making time to stretch. As a result, I get hard muscles that won't stretch much without incurring some sort of injury. This is not good.

As the class contorted their bodies on the foam rollers, I looked over to see Vera all blissed out and relaxed, immediately getting the hang of this weird rolling experience.

I, on the other hand, struggled with the most basic of poses and exercises. The instructor hovered in my general neighborhood, offering little modifications that wouldn't tear my muscles or seriously wound my pride!

As I fought through the class, it got me thinking...I really hope I'm not this inflexible in the rest of my life. Is there some secret message that my tight muscles were supposed to impart on my even-tighter resolve?

Hmm. Maybe it's time to stretch and regain a greater sense of flexibility.

Or maybe I should just stick to boxing!

Campaigning

I'm pretty sure I'm evil. And that I almost got punched the other day!

I've been running this political campaign to hire two wound nurses for the inpatient floors. Since we are closing the outpatient clinic, effective in April, I really *really* wanted to keep the nurses on staff for use on the floors. I created the job descriptions, submitted them to HR, figured out how to track their stats with finance, and went through the formal processes to get the positions approved.

And I waited.

And waited.

And started to get really frustrated. This is patient care we're talking about and we have numerous, documented business cases for these nurses.

So I started my campaign. I discussed the needs and the skills these two nurses bring to the table. I rallied nurse managers, directors, quality folks, and human resources. They all had my back. And yet, the positions were not being approved by the responsible VP.

After seven exhausting weeks of this, where the nurses were *this* close to leaving the hospital for jobs at neighboring hospitals, I called up my VP of Human Resources and point-blank told her, "I'm hiring the wound nurses tomorrow."

She laughed. Then said, "Fine with me!"

This was risky on my part. There's never been an unapproved FTE allowed at St. Fozzie's. Here I am hiring two.

I saw her that evening (Wednesday was a late night) and told her, "I'm doin' it!" She high-fived me as she walked out of the office. Seeing Elvis down the hall, I also told him I was offering the nurses positions the next morning. He didn't bat an eye and I thanked him for getting my back.

Then, in a fit of meanness, I stopped at the store to pick up a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne. When talking to the wound nurses during those seven terrible weeks, I promised them that, if I was able to offer them jobs, we'd crack open a bottle of champagne in my office.

I try to always keep my word.

Early that next morning, I summoned them both to my office. I made my voice sound flat and uninterested.

A few minutes later, they both appeared in my office doorway, looking like scared cats. I invited them to sit, then started quietly explaining how I tried to cash in all my political chips and even though it had been seven weeks, I was at a tough point. I let my voice trail off...

At that, they both started to cry, sure I was about to lower the hammer and tell them I could not hire them.

I quickly went all "Saturday Night Live" on them and in an excited rush, told them I would like to offer them jobs and I'd be honored if they stayed at St. Fozzie's!!

In the span of .034 seconds, their faces registered confusion, shock, and tremendous gratefulness. Then they both looked slightly ticked off that I played such a mean joke. Luckily, they know I'm a jokester at times and quickly forgave me.

The tears of fear changed to tears of happiness (both nurses are sole providers for their families). I triumphantly produced the bottle of fake champagne and over our 'clinking' of clear plastic cups, we started planning the future of inpatient wound care.

Finally. I was able to make a difference for the good and get patients the care they need. Plus, I get to keep my two favorite nurses; they will continue to report to me.

[I know management is a lot like having kids...you're really not supposed to have a "favorite." I'm controversial because I do have favorites and I might as well be honest with us both! The trick is to not let others know about your favorites and, ideally, everyone should feel like the favorite.]

During this process, I learned how to construct a political campaign, when to run my platform up the ladder when I hit a dead end, and when to disregard useless bureaucratic practices and pull a "Nike."

Just do it.

I just did it.

[Man, I hope my security badge and keys work on Monday!]

But next time, I'll consolidate my campaign and "just do it" a lot sooner.

Hell

While I was on a conference call the other day, I received an email from one of my co-workers. Actually, she's the one who tricked me into completing the 81-floor stair climb two years ago.

Anyway, she invited me to a run the Warrior Dash with she and her family (who are all athletes and her husband does those 70 mile ultra-marathons). I scanned the website, half-paying attention to my teleconference.

3.19 hellish miles?

What the heck? Why not? I've been trying to get out there to do more social exercising. I quickly signed up and paid the entrance fee before I could talk myself out of it.

And then I immediately crawled under my desk in a panic and thought, “SHE’LL NEVER FIND ME HERE ON RACE DAY!”

(Great. Now I’ve blown my own hideout.)

Truth be told, I have no business doing a race like this. The running portions—fine. And the repelling portions—okay, once I actually figure out how to repel. But the obstacle portions? Ummm…to say that I have a flagrant lack of upper body strength would be an understatement. I sometimes get fatigued curling my hair. So please, if I don’t show up for work that next Monday, can someone please come and check the field? I’ll be the one sitting at the base of the wall climb, hurling myself at it on occasion in a lame attempt to scale over it. Birds and other wildlife will be perched atop it, mocking my noodle arms.

Time to install a chin-up bar in the living room.

Or maybe in the kitchen.

Or both.

I know I have time to train...but is it bad that I'm sort of dreading summer because of this race on my horizon?!

Guess I've run out of excuses as to why I cannot exercise daily. Plus, the fear of public humiliation is a very real threat, as the results from the race are posted online.

[Gulp.]

Time to hit the dreadmill!

Quote Journal: Saturday

"Everyday is Saturday to a dog."

— Baxter Black

No!

Ten years ago we had:


Steve Jobs

Bob Hope

Johnny Cash


Now we have:


No Jobs

No Hope

No Cash



Don't let Kevin Bacon die!!

Lazy

I saw this the other day and thought it funny.

Then last night, I realized it was true!

We've been trying to host a dinner party for our friends Vera and Mr. Vera for two weeks now. Two failed weeks now. They're the ones who always introduce us to gourmet cheeses and really fancy Italian salami. They're a hoot to host for dinner because we each eat our caloric allowance for three days and the evening goes by way too fast. Case in point--New Year's Eve. We arrived at their house at 6pm, noshed on appetizers, sipped wine, ate dinner, sat around the table laughing and talking, just to look up at the clock and realize it was 12:04.

Oops. I think that was the first year any of us had ever missed the NYC/Dick Clark event!

Anyway, we tried to host our party last week and then I got sick. Well, re-sick.

Speaking of sick, I will never, ever take the ability to breathe for granted. A couple of my co-workers were pretty convinced I was coming down with pneumonia, so they packed me off and sent me to my doctor (whose office is conveniently located in the hospital). It wasn't pneumonia, but it was a lingering sinus infection, bronchitis, AND double ear infections. Seriously? But once I got my antibiotics, anti-bronchial spasm pills, and steroid inhaler, I was rearin' to go!

Dinner party planned for tonight could go on as scheduled!

Then Jack and Mr. Vera got sick and tonight's plans were canceled. Again. So we're crossing fingers that we can all heal by next weekend and actually host our party.

While I love getting together with great friends, sometimes quiet nights at home are okay, too. I'm actually excited about our plans to abuse our Netflix subscription and catch up on some new releases. I guess that's code for "lazy!"

Pope!

In the heat of a full-fledged email attack from several co-workers this week, I noticed one that had arrived from my graduate school, announcing my new, school-based email address and password.

"Well," I thought, "it's a good time for a quick break to check this out."

Plus, I've never had an email address from a seminary before. I briefly wondered if it would ask me to set up security questions pertaining to poverty, obedience, and chastity.

SO I scrolled down the email to copy and paste the default password, usually something like "1H4s9Dv48N."

But it wasn't. The default password was "Pope Benedict!"

Does everyone have "Pope Benedict" for a default? Or do they rotate the popes?

I'm glad the IT guys have fun with this and at least they didn't ask about my vow of obedience!

Hello, God?

At St. Fozzie's, we adhere to Quint Studer principles of Service Excellence. This means we have a whole formula for why we do what we do when we're trying to create a culture of excellence for our patients and staff.

One of these formulas is something called AIDET. It's an acronym for Acknowledge- Introduce- Duration- Explanation- Thank you. It's how staff are supposed to interact with patients.

For example, "Hi Mrs. Bloggski, my name is Dorrie. I've worked at St. Fozzie's for many years and have performed hundreds of ultrasounds. You're in good hands. Your ultrasound will take about 10 minutes, then a doctor will come in and review the results with you before you leave. Do you have any questions about the procedure? Thanks for choosing St. Fozzie's."

[Or something like that.]

In our Lean meeting last Friday, I invited one of those most studious, devout members of the Lean team to lead us in prayer to kick off the meeting.

We're good like that, starting each meeting with a prayer. It's the expectation.

Anyway, this wonderful employee started the prayer by saying, "Hello, my name is Barb," introducing herself to God.

We all cracked up, figuring God probably doesn't need introductions! "Hello, God, my name is Dorrie. This prayer will take about 5 minutes after which I will look for peace and feelings of joy. Thank you for choosing to populate Earth!

Luckily, she was a good sport and the meeting was very productive and energetic!

Quick Funny

The Lion King

Well, I achieved one of my fourth quarter goals...of getting in trouble at work.

Rooted in my intrinsic respect for authority, I challenged myself to push the envelope so far that I actually got reprimanded. I don't plan on setting this goal too often; I just wanted to prove that I could get in trouble and not die or suffer dismemberment.

This happened on Tuesday. Passing each other in the hall, my CFO met my eye and sternly said one phrase: "we need to talk."

Crap. Here we go.

So after a day's worth of meetings, I gingerly knocked on his office door and let myself in. He commended me for how I've been single-handedly addressing a wicked lawsuit and commended me on it...then firmly and objectively reprimanded me for not telling him about the dollar amounts involved.

The CFO wanted to know about the financial hit to the operating margin two weeks before year end? Whoops.

Duh.

My bad!

I've never actually had this happen, but it reminded me of how a daughter would have felt when taking daddy's credit card without permission and charging a new pony. The CFO *is* 30 years older than me and he probably sees me more of a daughter than a colleague.

Later that week, Nurse Jackie and I got into a quasi-fight with him about the Lion King. He purchased stuffed lions for his grandkids and was telling us about it. He mentioned that he "bought the big, fatherly lion, Simba, and still needed to find the cub lion."

I corrected him. The big, fatherly lion was Mufasa, not Simba. Simba's the cub lion (friend to Nala and son to Serabi). The monkey is Rafiki and the evil uncle is Scar. The big is Zazu. His friends are Timon and Pumba.

I know my Lion King.

He insisted that the dad lion was Simba and then admitted he'd never seen the Lion King.

Me? Trying to earn respect with the senior executives and differentiate myself from the daughter role into which they cast me...I gave the CFO a DVD copy of the Disney cartoon movie, the Lion King.

If you can't beat 'em, join them!

M&M's

I've been swimming through a sea of electronic employee evaluations lately, toiling on my laptop, from under my new heated throw, in the glow of the Christmas tree, with mindless Christmas fodder on nearly silent in the background. Movies such as "Home Alone," "Christmas Vacation," and "Elf" work best for this type of activity. You know, where you can look up at any time and know exactly what's going. The ultimate bubble gum of entertainment.

"Polar Express" requires too much thought and I still get sucked into the subliminal messages it sends. I believe!

Anyway, I finished my last evaluation today. I'm thrilled. The monkey is off my back!

I love giving people evaluations. Well, I love AND hate it. On one hand, it forces you to make judgment calls on peoples' behavior and work performances. On the other, evals afford you a chance to give people things to work on. Ways to grow. Stretch assignments.

Except that I totally flubbed up on this last year. We spent all this time figuring out what goals to shoot for and what to achieve this year. And I didn't keep those goals in front of their faces very well. Some are driven and met their goals anyway. Others needed prompting, but seriously, if they don't achieve their goals and I mistakenly shoved them on a bookcase all year and produced them again in December, whose fault is it? Mine.

So my plan is to create Goal tabulation sheets for each manager. And as part of THEIR goals, they will be expected to do the same for their staff. Cascading goals, baby!

In fact, when I met with my managers for our team meeting yesterday, I gave them samples of what I'm looking for on these goal sheets....goals need to be specific and quantitative, but some of the issues they're dealing with are "softer." I needed a quick way to keep track of their progress. I thought it was pretty funny myself:


Nurse Ratchett
2012 Goals
Q1/Q2/Q3/Q4
Discussed_____________

1. Read one book about the history of M&M’s.

2. Track the amount of M&M’s ingested by department employees between 2:30-3:00pm; your goal is 100 per day.

3. Update department policy regarding expectations for consumption of M&M’s by April 1, 2012.

4. Engage staff to create one process improvement regarding stocking of M&M’s.

5. On a continually basis, help employees understand that the M&M characters on television are not real and when we eat M&M’s, we are not eating their family members. Recommend EAP/counseling to employees particularly struggling with this fact.

When I unlocked my office this morning, there were TWO bags of M&M's jammed under my door!

So not only is the monkey off my back, but my addiction has been fed another few days!

Quote Journal: Birds

"Use what talent you possess: the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best."

— Henry Van Dyke

Joke Journal: Notre Dame

After Quasimodo's death, the bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed.

The bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and went up into the belfry to begin the screening process.

After observing several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had decided to call it a day.
Just then, an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job.

The bishop was incredulous.

"You have no arms!"

"No matter," said the man. 'Observe!' and he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon.

The bishop listened in astonishment; convinced he had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo.
But suddenly, as he rushed forward to strike the bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below.

The stunned bishop rushed down two hundred and ninety five church steps, when he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only moment before.

As they silently parted to let the bishop through, one of them asked, "Bishop, who was this man?"

"I don't know his name," the bishop sadly replied, "but his face rings a bell!"



WAIT! WAIT! There's more...




The following day, despite the sadness that weighed heavily on his heart due to the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist, the Bishop continued his interviews for the bell ringer of Notre Dame.

The first man to approach him said, "Your Excellency, I am the brother of the poor armless wretch that fell to his death from this very belfry yesterday. I pray that you honor his life by allowing me to replace him in this duty."

The bishop agreed to give the man an audition.

As the armless man's brother stooped to pick up a mallet to strike the first bell, he groaned, gazed down at his chest, twirled around, and died on the spot.

Two monks, hearing the bishop's cries of grief at this second tragedy, rushed up the stairs to his side.

"What has happened? Who is this man?" the first monk asked breathlessly.

"I don't know his name," sighed the distraught bishop, "but ...he's a dead ringer for his brother!"

iPad Baby

Jack shared this with me and it's cute!