Disturbed Energy Field r/t Woo-woo NANDA Dx AEB:

I can handle the semantics of most nursing diagnoses. They are silly and verbose, but I know they are used to keep nursing within its scope of practice and avoid the legal pitfalls of a medical diagnosis that we are not licensed to make.

But there is one diagnosis that makes me want to rip up my NANDA book:

Disturbed Energy Field–

Definition: Disruption of the flow of energy [aura] surrounding a person’s being that results in a disharmony of the body, mind, and/or spirit

RELATED FACTORS

Slowing or blocking of energy flows secondary to:Pathophysologic factors—Illness (specify), pregnancy, injuryTreatment-related factors—Immobility, labor and delivery, perioperative experience,
chemotherapy

Situational factors (personal environment)—Pain, fear, anxiety, grievingMaturational factors—Age-related developmental difficulties or crisis (specify)DEFINING CHARACTERISTICS
objective

Perception of changes in patterns flow, such as—
Movement (wave/spike/tingling/dense/flowing)
Sounds (tone/words)
Temperature change (warmth/coolness)
Visual changes (image/color)
Disruption of the field (deficient/hole/spike/bulge/obstruction/congestion/diminished flow in energy field)

DESIRED OUTCOMES/EVALUATION CRITERIA—CLIENT WILL:

• Acknowledge feelings of anxiety and distress.
• Verbalize sense of relaxation/well-being.
• Display reduction in severity/frequency of symptoms.

source

I am almost speechless. Almost…WTF?! Whatever happened to evidence-based practice??

Aside from that, how the Sam Hill am I supposed to detect this supposed hole/spike/bulge/obstruction/congestion/diminished flow in my patient’s “energy field”?

Hi, Mr. Stags. I’m your nurse today. Do you mind if I do some, uh, therapeutic touch? You seem to have bulge in your, um, energy field…

boom, shacka, shacka, boom, boom

Note to self:

When you accidentally pick up a collection call, do not refer to the the skip tracer’s place of employment a “ghetto collection agency,” no matter how many screaming children there are in the background. It really pisses them off.

I had already explained to her that I had no money to make a payment until I received my scholarship money. Period. I really didn’t see anything to discuss. All the threats in the world weren’t going to make my check come any quicker.

Lady: Do you know what will happen if you don’t make payment arrangements with me right now?

Me: Look, I will pay the very day I have the money, but I’m not going to be threatened by some ghetto collection agency–

Lady: GHETTO?! Did you say GHETTO?!! I don’t know what ghetto is–

Me: Well, originally, a ghetto was the section of a European city to which Jews were restricted by the Nazis, but today it’s refers to any section of a city occupied by members of a certain race or culture, usually public housing–

Lady: That’s where you need to check yourself –

Me: I hear ya…doesn’t really apply here…but stay with me a minute. In some vernaculars, the term ‘ghetto’ is used to describe someone who is of low class–

Lady: You can’t talk to me like this!

Me: Look, Ma’am, you called me. I can say whatever I want. You can always hang up if you don’t want to hear it. So anyway, I realize calling you low class may seem ironic coming from someone you clearly feel superior to. If good credit was the only measure of a man’s worth in the world, then you are clearly the better human. I don’t know, maybe credit rating is the only…

…and she finally did hang up. But the true irony is that right after I got off the phone with her, I found out my financial aid check will be here this weekend.

One drop

Update: I actually managed to talk to my sister about this for a minute, and she wasn’t the least bit surprised. She told me she gets the same shit from the (exclusively black) boys that she dates. She just tells them that just because their fantasy is to be with a white girl doesn’t mean they get to pretend she’s the white girl. Holla. She is so much better at those things…

———————–

I love it how you keep associating yourself with them.

WTF, Brian? Like I’m not already feeling estranged from my family. Now you’re calling me a poseur. I have nightmares where I get called out like this. How the subject came up is another post all together, so I will simply say that in the course of conversation, I made a reference to being half-black.

You aren’t black, hon.

Well I’m not white, either. I feel less white every day I spend with his translucent ass. I don’t know what I am. I’ve never really felt like much of anything, which is probably why his flippant remarks cut so deep.

Identity is a strange, plastic beast. I am the first to admit that it sometimes feels ridiculous to claim any African ancestry. But my father, who grew up in Greece with his uncle and aunt, was born to an Ethiopian mother and Greek father in Ethiopia. I’ve always thought this was no more significant than my eye color, but, when it comes down to it, it must mean something to me, because I didn’t know whether to cry or throw up when he said that.

When Brian realized that what he said hurt my feelings, he did apologize. He said he should have been more sensitive. Somehow, apologizing for being insensitive just doesn’t carry the same weight as apologizing for being wrong. It’s kind of like saying he’s sorry I am so weak I can’t handle his truth.

Who’s that girl?

So…remember yesterday how I said I wasn’t going to be that girl? That I was not going to have a problem with my brand new beau taking off to rendezvous with an ex-girlfriend he has felt the need to hang on to since he was sixteen? I was going to be the totally secure, cool girlfriend that is down with whatever her man wanted to do because she knows she’s loved. Nope. I was so wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

I am totally that girl.

Believe me, I have been trying like h-e-double-hockey-sticks not to be bothered, but as Brian gets closer to NJ, my anxiety level keeps rising. He should get there tomorrow night, and by then I may have to be hospitalized. The problem is, of course, that voicing my concerns could end up making things worse; because she is his best friend, he’s as likely to turn to her as anyone else if I bring it up (which must be why I am taking the passive/aggressive route and ranting on my blog instead of discussing it with him like a grown-up).

Yep. I am officially fifteen again…no, thirteen.

In the end, I don’t even know what I expect from Brian. He had this trip planned before he even met me; I never expected him to change his plans. He seems truly perplexed that I may have a problem with any of this, which only makes me feel even sillier. Honestly, I’m not even sure if any of this has anything to with him or even his XGF/BFF per se, or if it’s just my desire to protect this fledgling relationship that is so important to me, from any interference, real or imagined.

Gawd I hate fcuking Christmas! As if there aren’t people out there with real problems! Maybe emptying a few colostomy bags will give me back some perspective. I’m just going to pick up every hospital shift until the New Year, and just stop thinking about Brian, his little witch doctor, and this whole stupid holiday. Brian’ll be back in January and everything will be okay and we can live happily ever after. No harm, no foul, right?

Who’s that girl?

I emailed my instructor to ask her if we can talk over the phone about whatever it was she needed, because I am working every day caring for an end-of-life patient, and I don’t have time to meet with her until that case is closed. She told me she wants to follow-up on my apology for my outburst during class the other night, and wants to do it person. I don’t even know what that means! I feel horrible that I interrupted lecture. I told her I feel horrible and that it will never happen again. Unfortunately, I never got around to emailing her to clarify my apology, but at this point I don’t know what else to say to her about it.  I’m really stressed out, but that’s no excuse. I have no excuse, so all we can do is move on, or she can fail me.

Can’t I just sit quietly for six more weeks?

Is this the way I’m going to fail? Am I going to get excellent grades, exhibit great patient care skills and end up getting kicked out of school for smarting off to an instructor? I thought I was finished sabotaging myself. More importantly, I thought I was finished being that girl.

Beware the Mall Kiosks of Death

You think you are safe. After all, this isn’t a dusty marketplace in Calcutta. This is a shiny indoor shopping mall blasting AC and Top 40 Muzak. Sure, there are things to buy everywhere, but they are all in safe stores were the merchandise itself may be seductive, but no one will bat an eye if you leave without buying anything.

When I think of Mall kiosks, I think of bored teenagers sitting on their cell phones in front of carts of Designer knock-off sunglasses or cell phone accessories. But these guys are slick. Predatory. Young and beautiful, with syrupy accents and hard eyes.

My sister told me about the time she was manipulated into buying a 25 dollar jar of Dead Sea salt scrub from a beautiful Israeli woman who promised my sister the skin of a goddess in five minutes a day. I laughed at her that she could be conned like that.

I am so sorry, lil’ sis. I understand now that you were powerless to resist.

I have really curly hair, and the young man at the Colourful Kitty (yes, I said Colourful Kitty) kiosk asked if I wanted him to straighten it “for fun.”. I didn’t have to stop. I never stop at kiosks. But the straightener was kind of cool. I’d never had my hair completely straight. I haven’t wanted my hair to be straight since I was about fifteen.

The straightening iron did a great job, but he wanted way too much for it. He said I should make him an offer. Even as it was happening, I was thinking how interesting it was that I that someone who considers herself as a critical thinker was allowing herself to be hustled like this.

The worst part was, I didn’t even want the stupid thing that much.

Now I have stick-straight hair and my wallet is minus a days wages. At least it’s a nice straightening iron. If I ever cut my hair, I might actually use it.

Okay, now he’s just trying to piss me off

Previous posts have pretty much established that my ex is a woo-woo nutter.  Usually it’s kind of funny. But this time he has gone too far. He involved in this multi-level marketing scam selling BioPro. Apparently:

Research has shown prolonged and repeated exposure to aggressive EMF and EMR causes a measurable stress response and negative shifts in the body’s key energetic systems such as the Biofield.

I never knew there was a “Biofield” body system! None of my A&P texts say anything about that!!

[EMF and EMR] also triggers a series of troubling biochemical responses. Studies have linked electropollution to health concerns like fatigue and hypertension, as well as potentially much more dangerous conditions.

“…potentially much more dangerous conditions.” How vague yet ominous-sounding!

Don’t worry, though, there is a solution. It’s expensive, too, so you know it really works.

BIOPRO’s Universal Chip combines the benefits of two powerful, innovative and scientifically substantiated technologies: the proprietary, patented noise field nano-technology MRET® (Molecular Resonance Effect Technology), and the proprietary subtle energy innovation ERT™ (Energy Resonance Technology). Individually and collectively, these cutting-edge technologies offer a groundbreaking and effective way to deal with the cumulative stress associated with living in today’s electronic environment.

I did find a definition of “Biofield” (I love that it’s always in caps) :

The Biofield is a matrix of natural electromagnetic fields that connect cells, tissues and organs and serve as the main communication network and regulator of life processes, including thinking, running, eating, dreaming and so forth.

Oh, that explains it. Really. WTF?!?!

There are a lot of pretty charts and graphs and fancy PET scans that show how your the side of your face gets really warm if you talk on your mobile for fifteen minutes, right around your ear canal which connects straight to your brain.

My ear canal leads directly to my brain? My A&P text didn’t say that either! Curse you, Marieb!

The thought of BD feeding this bullcrap to my son makes me more than just irritated. I can’t even say much to my kid to contradict the nonsense without looking like I’m criticizing his dad.

 

Things that make you go “Arghhh!!!”

My sister/day care mom extraordinarre has a baby who has been troubled by boils in her diaper area on and off for the last few months. The kid has keratosis pilaris, and it looks like a staph infection of the follicle.

Today my sister tells me the girl’s mom doesn’t want to take her to a doctor, because she is worried he’ll just want to put her on antibiotics, so the mom went to Whole Foods and talked to some hippie whackjob that works in the vitamin isle. He said it sounds like shingles because “shingles is unilateral, and the bumps are on one side of her butt” and gave her who-knows-what to “treat” it. Pretty sure that prescribing is beyond the scope of practice of grocery clerk.

Worst. Logo. Ever.

 

I know that the thing on the right is supposed to be the outline of Florida, and the thing on the left is supposed to be the sun, but it looks like a gun with the starburst of a cartoonish gunshot. Or maybe blood spatter.  It gets worse as it reduces:

I’m just saying.

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What is with all the tissues?

 

Every year, in addition to the $50 worth of school supplies my son will either lose, break, or use as weapons, there is always a request for 3 boxes of tissues for the classroom. I know my kid does not go through 3 boxes of tissues in a school year. There are 22 kids in my son’s class this year. That is 66 boxes of tissues X 200 in each box… that is 13200 tissues! Someone needs to make an appointment with an ENT.

Actually, I think the teachers at our school have closets full of Kleenex at home. I bet the principal has a basement full.

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