Here he is, unaware of the near grief he caused, and of the debt I owe him for my self-discovery.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Self-discovery in the unlikeliest of places
I realized today, in the midst of a crisis, that I handle such situations very well. I'll try to keep it G-rated.
I had just finished relieving myself in the bathroom and, as is the case about half the time, the toilet clogged. Let me just say first that this is not just me--our toilet clogs about half the time with anyone that uses it. For some, like Caleb, it clogs about three-fourths of the time. . . (I may need to talk to him about eating more apples or something.)
Anyway, so there I was, watching the water rise to double level. I responded with the standard procedures: plunge, plunge, plunge. . . I probably plunged close to 10 times before giving the toilet another chance to jettison the contents, but it decided instead to fill up even more. I'm sure you've experienced this or something close to it. You're watching the whole thing in slow motion, it seems. The water starts approaching the overflowing point and unless something is done quickly. . . well, PERISH THE THOUGHT. Most in this situation experience something close to hysteria, a state of unmanageable fear or emotional excesses. However, Craig Estep assessed the situation and acted, all in a split second, as follows: with the water only a inch from the top, I dropped the plunger, removed the tank lid and, while setting it down, pulled up on the "floaty device," thus preventing the impending flood disaster.
With one hand on the floaty, I grabbed the plunger and plunged with the greatest of caution until the water flushed.
I then spent a few moments congratulating myself on handling the situation so deftly, followed by a period of reflecting how this nature of mine might one day save many a life.
Let's hope I find that this bathroom response transfers to the operating room before a PERSON'S plumbing AND life are on the line--not just a gross floor.
I had just finished relieving myself in the bathroom and, as is the case about half the time, the toilet clogged. Let me just say first that this is not just me--our toilet clogs about half the time with anyone that uses it. For some, like Caleb, it clogs about three-fourths of the time. . . (I may need to talk to him about eating more apples or something.)
Anyway, so there I was, watching the water rise to double level. I responded with the standard procedures: plunge, plunge, plunge. . . I probably plunged close to 10 times before giving the toilet another chance to jettison the contents, but it decided instead to fill up even more. I'm sure you've experienced this or something close to it. You're watching the whole thing in slow motion, it seems. The water starts approaching the overflowing point and unless something is done quickly. . . well, PERISH THE THOUGHT. Most in this situation experience something close to hysteria, a state of unmanageable fear or emotional excesses. However, Craig Estep assessed the situation and acted, all in a split second, as follows: with the water only a inch from the top, I dropped the plunger, removed the tank lid and, while setting it down, pulled up on the "floaty device," thus preventing the impending flood disaster.
With one hand on the floaty, I grabbed the plunger and plunged with the greatest of caution until the water flushed.
I then spent a few moments congratulating myself on handling the situation so deftly, followed by a period of reflecting how this nature of mine might one day save many a life.
Let's hope I find that this bathroom response transfers to the operating room before a PERSON'S plumbing AND life are on the line--not just a gross floor.
Friday, February 6, 2009
An Ending and a Beginning
Finally! My last course requirement!
Why it's taken me four weeks to complete a two-week CNA course, is a pathetic tale, from which I will spare the public most of the details. Some of it has to do with me lacking discipline without imposed deadlines; most of it, actually, has to do with anxiety over an ended relationship which kept me up one night, causing me to sleep through my second clinical.
The results were scheduling complications. I was finally told that since all the clinicals were full, I could just come and sit in a classroom and study for eight hours. So, here I am--sitting in a classroom, studying the art of blogging.
This CNA course has been good for me in more ways than one. Besides giving me the best (and speediest) foundation in health care $400 can buy, I've found it delightfully refreshing being around normal people again. For the two years that I've been home from Chicago's Southside, I have spent the majority with either BYU folk or my family, both of which are notorious for being abnormal (or peculiar) people. When my entire CNA class heard a certain joke from the instructor (a play on the word "angina") and erupted into laughter, I knew I wasn't at BYU anymore.
The majority of people taking this course are not particularly great at academia, business, or sports. They're just decent people, many a bit rough around the edges, that are looking for a good job and, for a few, to progress toward a great job.
Today, after only an hour, consisting of a lethargically hosted mock quiz show game over course material, the instructor proceeded to take our thoughts to where hers obviously were set: "When you leave today, . . . I don't care when you leave after 3 o'clock. . . just sign out that you were here until 4. If the state or anyone else finds out, I didn't have any idea that you'd left early!" And then, if that wasn't shady enough, she added the threat: "If that happens, you'll be back here to make up that hour; and I PROMISE to make it fun."
Now it was my impression that I was going for this day to simply satisfy the state requirement of 80 hours--no participation necessary; this was not to be. Nearing the final two hours of class, the instructor asked me to role-play the part of "an Alzheimers patient that needs a bath but wants to garden instead." I reluctantly agreed to play the part. But, when showtime came, I just couldn't do it. I mean, never in my life have I had a consuming desire to garden; not to the point where I neglected proper hygiene, anyway. So I cut to the point and simply announced, "I WANT TO GARDEN," in a loud, monotone voice. Then, at the first request to bathe from the girl playing the CNA, I abandoned my character's gardening objective with an, "Okay, . . ." The class laughed, the scene ended, and my green-thumbed, Alzheimers days were over.
Such was the end of my CNA course and the beginning of my first ever blog.
Why it's taken me four weeks to complete a two-week CNA course, is a pathetic tale, from which I will spare the public most of the details. Some of it has to do with me lacking discipline without imposed deadlines; most of it, actually, has to do with anxiety over an ended relationship which kept me up one night, causing me to sleep through my second clinical.
The results were scheduling complications. I was finally told that since all the clinicals were full, I could just come and sit in a classroom and study for eight hours. So, here I am--sitting in a classroom, studying the art of blogging.
This CNA course has been good for me in more ways than one. Besides giving me the best (and speediest) foundation in health care $400 can buy, I've found it delightfully refreshing being around normal people again. For the two years that I've been home from Chicago's Southside, I have spent the majority with either BYU folk or my family, both of which are notorious for being abnormal (or peculiar) people. When my entire CNA class heard a certain joke from the instructor (a play on the word "angina") and erupted into laughter, I knew I wasn't at BYU anymore.
The majority of people taking this course are not particularly great at academia, business, or sports. They're just decent people, many a bit rough around the edges, that are looking for a good job and, for a few, to progress toward a great job.
Today, after only an hour, consisting of a lethargically hosted mock quiz show game over course material, the instructor proceeded to take our thoughts to where hers obviously were set: "When you leave today, . . . I don't care when you leave after 3 o'clock. . . just sign out that you were here until 4. If the state or anyone else finds out, I didn't have any idea that you'd left early!" And then, if that wasn't shady enough, she added the threat: "If that happens, you'll be back here to make up that hour; and I PROMISE to make it fun."
Now it was my impression that I was going for this day to simply satisfy the state requirement of 80 hours--no participation necessary; this was not to be. Nearing the final two hours of class, the instructor asked me to role-play the part of "an Alzheimers patient that needs a bath but wants to garden instead." I reluctantly agreed to play the part. But, when showtime came, I just couldn't do it. I mean, never in my life have I had a consuming desire to garden; not to the point where I neglected proper hygiene, anyway. So I cut to the point and simply announced, "I WANT TO GARDEN," in a loud, monotone voice. Then, at the first request to bathe from the girl playing the CNA, I abandoned my character's gardening objective with an, "Okay, . . ." The class laughed, the scene ended, and my green-thumbed, Alzheimers days were over.
Such was the end of my CNA course and the beginning of my first ever blog.
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