In which Meriwhen discovers why she is bikini-challenged

No, it's not what you think. And this may enter into the TMI area, though nothing gross.

You've been warned.

Still here?

So here we go.

In 2019, I developed back pain and toe numbness of unknown origin. I lost weight (40 pounds!), and it didn't improve things. So I entered physical therapy, which helped...until 2020. COVID came along, and I had to catch it, so I was laid flat for a week. Over the year, I somehow injured my back, then my foot, then my ankle. Three separate incidents, Then there were the joys of finishing up graduate school. 

All told, I ended up regaining 27 of the 40. OK, life happens.

I follow up with my doctors to make sure there's no permanent or irreversible damage. I work with my physical therapist to get them back and foot up to speed to exercise again. I start weight training, going low and slow to rebuild my strength without reinjuring myself. I pay better attention to my eating habits and lose 10 of the regained 27. And the pain went away. 

Life is good again, birds are singing, squirrels are dancing happily...

Until the pain is back with a vengeance. As in I'm-sleeping-on-the-couch-because-I-can-prop-my-back-up-against-something-hard-all-night vengeance. I don't know what could have triggered it. Perhaps it was a tango with a combative patient: I had been on the psych medical unit a lot recently, and those little old ladies are the ones who usually injure me... generally as I'm helping them with their ADLs. Perhaps I overdid the weights: I did start a new cycle of training with heavier weights. Maybe I'm sleeping the wrong way...who knows?

My poor PT can't think of what is causing it either. I guess I'm going to be the death of him. He modifies my PT exercises, and I plow along with my best friend naproxen at my side.

At the start of April, I began feeling a familiar pain in my left side. It feels like the ovarian cysts have returned. I have to go to my PCP for a physical for school later on in the month, so I'll wait to address it with her. Meanwhile, I just do the best I can around all the pain--back and side--until it finally got so bad that I had to stop weight training. 

*sigh*

My PCP orders the pelvic ultrasound and refers me to gynecology. Surprisingly, I can get an ultrasound appointment scheduled for the following week. Usually, these things take up to a month. Even more surprising, I can get my follow-up appointment the week after.  

So yesterday, I go for the pelvic ultrasound. Anyone who has a pelvic ultrasound knows the joys of that: having to have a full bladder while they press on it for the first half of the exam. If you're female (as I am), you also get a vaginal probe, which actually is nowhere near as bad as the bladder pressing. It's not on my top-10 list of things to do, but there are far worse tests that could be done.

The first part of the exam goes as expected. The second part should all be downhill, right?

Except it's not. 

It hurts. BAD.

Seriously, thanks to three pregnancies, one being high-risk, I've had a lot of pelvic ultrasounds in life. I've never had one that was painful. And it wasn't the sonographer's technique; it was me. She wasn't hurting me. I was hurting. I never wanted an ultrasound to be over so fast.

I needed to recover from this. I go home, get my little one (who, by the way, is now 6' and wears a size 13 shoe), and we go to Sephora. His idea. A son after my own heart.

On the way back, my test results are posted to my web portal—good news: no ovarian cyst. But the fibroids are in full force. 

I've always had fibroids. They grow and shrink. I had them removed once, and they came back, so I didn't bother to have them removed again. My providers and I just monitor them. Usually, they don't bother me, and I learned to live with them. But according to the write-up from my PCP, I should follow up with gynecology because these fibroids may be the reason for the back pain.

Really? Let's meet the players.

A couple of fibroids are embedded in the uterine wall, the larger of two measuring 3 cm x 3.5 cm x 3 cm. It's practically a square. There is also a fibroid on the outer posterior wall of the uterus that measures 7 cm x 7 cm x 6 cm. My uterus is apparently 10.2 cm x 6 cm x 6.8 cm. So this fibroid is almost (not quite) as large as my uterus. 

And this explains why I have a lower belly pooch that I just can't get rid of, making me bikini-challenged. It's not adipose tissue; it's my uterus being pushed to the front by a belligerent fibroid.

What were you expecting, a rant about my thighs?

So here I am, still cuddling with my best friend naproxen, looking up treatment options for large uterine fibroids. I may restart the weight training if the pain permits; otherwise, I'll just stick to the stationary bike and treadmill. 

In which Meriwhen wonders if her thyroid went on holiday

My weight loss had stalled, so my psychiatrist started me on a low dose of topiramate which is used off-label for weight loss.  They're not sure how it works, but apparently for a lot of people, it does.  Considering that I've been tracking my diet for a while now with no results, I figured I'd give it a go.

I had downloaded an app (Lose It), and have been pretty faithful about sticking to my calorie allotment.  It helped me calculate my BMR and an allotment to allow me to lose weight at a safe rate, which we (the app and I) decided was a pound a week.  So this translates to about 1700 calories a day.  Of course, this still fits in with intermittent fasting, but I do the fasting more because I find that if I eat at work, I want to fall asleep.  So I don't eat at work, I fall asleep after work, and when I wake up, 16 hours are gone.  1700 calories for 8 hours is no problem.

After I finished my half-marathon almost a month ago, I've also been exercising about 5-6 days a week.  I've been alternating between the treadmill and the recumbent bicycle.  I've also added in some resistance/strength training on the treadmill days, since I tend to spend more time pedaling than walking.  I give myself one day of total rest, usually on the last day of my work week as I adjust back to a daytime schedule. I may do a second day if I feel too tired or achy, as I did the other day when I felt sore and exhausted.

So you think with all of this, I'd have made some mad progress, right?

My scale says No.  My scale had me lose 5 lbs, but then gain 8 lbs.  So I'm up 3 lbs. overall.

Mind you, my psychiatrist's scale has me down 3 lbs. since I started the topiramate.  He (and I) were hoping for more than that, but in his words, "between losing 3 lbs. and gaining 3 lbs., I'll take the loss."  He tweaked the dose a bit more.

But that isn't what got me thinking that it might be my thyroid.  It's the cold.

Being from the Northeast, I'm used to cold.  I love cold.  I dream about snow and rain.  I get excited whenever I see clouds in the sky.  Hell, I consider it a beautiful day if I can't see my shadow.

Except that as of late, I feel like I'm freezing.  It's only 60 degrees, but I'm freezing.  I'm turning on the heat, to the other half's surprise.  I'm wearing my coat at work, to everyone's surprise.

The other half says, "it's not so bad out."

"I'm taking your sweatshirt then."

This is not like me, to be stealing sweatshirts and wanting to go around with a space heater.

I have an appointment next week with my PCP to have my blood pressure medication follow up.  I already messaged about having my thyroid tested.  My PCP is away until the end of the week, but hopefully she'll agree we should rule out any problems.

And if it's not the thyroid, then I guess I finally acclimated to the Southern California climate.

In which Meriwhen cries at work

I've only gone misty at work a few times in my career.

First time was as a new grad.  The powers that be decided I should be in charge of the ICU that day.  Well, I had never been in charge of the ICU--it wasn't even my home unit.  Up until that point, I was primarily a detox nurse.  And it was a day full of discharges, court hearings, and everything administrative. I can deal with psychotic patients until the cows come home, but administrative stuff and court hearings...yeah, not yet familiar territory.   My other nurse (we were short, so there were only two of us) was also a float.  She was also a LVN so what she could do to help me was limited in scope.

I did my best to make a go of it, but after an hour and a half, I was so overwhelmed, I had to call the DON for reinforcements.  She was able to get the supervisor down there, as well as one of the regular ICU nurses to come in on his day off and help me out.  God bless him.  He helped me get through the shift and gave me a crash course in all the legal ins and outs.  He remains a good friend to this day.  We both have the same taste in firearms.

I managed to keep the water works in until after the shift, when I went by the DON's office.  She invited me to stop by to see how I was.  I got there, sat down, and promptly started bawling.

The second time was many years later, on the first Father's Day after my father died.  I went to work four days after he passed and didn't cry.  I didn't cry for a long time.  But that first Father's Day...I was on the open unit, so fortunately I got to be alone in my misery.  Patients slept all night and it was so slow that my partner was chatting with some other nurses.  I sat in the corner with a COW (computer on wheels), quietly, with the tears streaming down my face.  I think that was the first time I had cried since he died. 

I haven't really cried for him since...I do get misty at times, especially on my birthday.  But brief tears since my father would have never liked to see me get upset on my birthday, especially about him.  And I've never really cried over him since...but I know he understands.

Third time was due to stress over my mother.  I love my mother but she can drive me to tears.  I don't remember exactly what it was that got me upset, but with my mother, it could be lots of things.  And while my crying wasn't outright hysterics, it was enough to get people worried.

Which brings us to the fourth time, today.

I generally have a good relationship with my coworkers, especially the ones I work with the most often.  You need to have it, it's part of surviving.  But work has been very stressful as of late--unfortunately things have happened and I can't go into details.  It's getting to a lot of us.  At least, it's getting to me and a few who have confided in me.  We're doing our best to support each other in this.  Anyhow, one of my coworkers--normally a decent guy--has been acting kind of like a jerk lately.   He said something to me and it actually hurt.  I asked for help with something and I got this instead.  I'm not entirely sure if it was meant as a joke--I'm kind of thinking/hoping that it was, but it still hurt nonetheless.

I know, Meriwhen, sensitive?   Not usually.  But like I said, things have been stressful lately.  So the remark got to me more than I'd like to have.  I didn't quite know what to say, or even if I wanted to say anything about it, so I have just been keeping my distance from said coworker.  Not really talking to him other than what I had to say while I thought it over.

I did end up talking about it with another coworker--the topic just kind of came up.  He was also there and heard the remark, and agreed that it was rather insensitive, especially since I never ask for help (and yes, I'm working on improving that) and didn't get why the coworker said it, even if it was supposed to be a joke.  He's also been a bit frustrated with this first coworker as of late.  We both concluded that he (first coworker) probably hasn't even noticed that he upset me and so it might be pointless to even bring it up, just to let it pass.

So while an apology might be nice, my second coworker has a point.  As far as remarks go, yes, it hurt...it wasn't the worst thing I've ever had anything ever said to me.  Still, it was nice to know that perhaps it just wasn't me being overly sensitive. 

But now, the first coworker for some reason is now not really talking to me.  We have somehow entered a cold war...maybe.  Or maybe not.  I haven't asked him.

It hasn't impaired our working together, but it was tense.  And got tenser as the night wore on.

Finally, towards, the end of the shift, I couldn't take the tension anymore and started crying in front of three psychotic patients.  Two of them--long-term patients--were very concerned about me.  The third said he would get us an apartment to live in together and buy me a sports car.

Uh, no, thank you.

I excused myself and left the floor.  I'm a firm believer in presenting a united front when it comes to patients, and any issues among staff is not patient business.

A third coworker (I have to number them now so you're not confused) found me and consoled me.  I didn't really say why I was upset.  I'm not sure if anyone else knew I was upset because I did have the waterworks under decent control.  Others including the first coworker were going past us in the nurses' station, so maybe they noticed.  Or possibly not.  No one else said anything, and I was too upset to care who saw at this point.

I pretty much ran out of Dodge after that.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the fourth time I ever cried at work.  I'm sure they'll be a fifth, but hopefully not for a long time.

As far as the first coworker...I don't know what to do about that situation.  It's inevitable that we will be working together again. He really is a good guy and I genuinely enjoy working with him.  I'd like to think that his remark was a poor joke made at a horrible time, and which I for some reason am having a hard time getting over.  Things are stressful at work for all of us, and the holidays are just going to make it worse.  And December is a horrible enough month for me as it is.  Maybe it may just be better for me to let it go and try to get out relationship back to normal.  If he asks about it, I'll tell him how I felt.  Though I don't think he will.  I think it's just like my second coworker and I think:  he probably hasn't noticed anything was/is wrong.

Though I'll be honest:  part of me never wants to ask him for help with anything again if I can help it, in case it wasn't a joke.

In which Meriwhen has little motivation and an allergic reaction to antibiotics

For the last week, my motivation for doing schoolwork has been...well, not at zero.   If my motivation were measured with a speedometer and 60mph was going full throttle, I'm about at 15mph.  Small progress but not enough.  Baby Nurse--who as of this week is no longer my mentor--told me that baby steps were still steps.  And she is right, though I don't think I will be able to finish this course by the arbitrary deadline of 8/25.  Closer to 8/31.

For various reasons, I just can't pick myself up to get fully going.  Work has been busy, I've been sick and sleeping a lot, the weather is too damn hot...anyhow, I knew this was a risk with WGU.  And I need to nip it in the bud.  I can't let myself run this course into September.  I REFUSE TO.

So I set up some Writing Center appointments for drafts and the final.  That way, I have commitments I can't break.

Baby Nurse has decided to take a position teaching in a brick-and-mortar school.  She was an awesome program mentor and I wish her well in her new position.  She has handed me over to her successor who she said she likes a lot and feels will take good care of me.  I have not yet met her, my first appointment with her is next week.  I wonder if she's a psych nurse...probably not.  There seems to be so few of us running around these programs.

The sick and the sleeping...double ear infection.  Whee.  I waited three days to see if it would pass, then hauled myself to the doctor.  He looked at my history, reviewed my allergies, and started me on azithromycin and decongestants.  The medications worked, and I was feeling fine within a few days.

Then a couple of days after the last dose of antibiotic, a rash appeared on my neck.  I wasn't alarmed at first:  for some reason, the skin on my neck is very sensitive compared to the rest of me, and it's not uncommon for me to have areas of redness there.  But then the rash got bumpy.  And then spread up the sides of my face.  Almost like a bad hormonal acne breakout.  The current state of it is that my neck is less bumpy but still red, while most of the bumps have taken up shop on my cheekbones.

Now, I should have caught this:  the -mycin.  I'm allergic to clindamycin.  Not life-threatening allergic, more like here's-a-lovely-rash-that-won't-die-for-two-weeks allergic.  The doctor was aware of it too.  I guess he figured that azithromycin wasn't likely to cause a reaction.  I thought as much too, and I really needed the ear infections out of there.  Well, we were both wrong.  The last time I saw a rash like this was when I was on clindamycin.  Same exact thing.

The good news is that it does go away.  The bad news is that it takes two weeks.  The worse news is that I have a social event to go to tonight and I refuse to miss it.

My going to Urgent Care is not an option as 1.  the rash is more cosmetically unpleasing than life-threatening and 2.  I'll end up spending hours there, hours that could have been spent doing schoolwork and relaxing before this event.  So I'm doing a little home treatment.  oral antihistamines (Vistaril), and topical hydrocortisone and salicylic acid creams.  I'm otherwise leaving it alone.  Time really is the only cure for it.

Getting excessively harsh with my skin will not clear it up any faster--if anything, it will exacerbate the problem and make it impossible to conceal with makeup.  I do have an arsenal of foundations, so I know I can conceal it for the most part.  I have the perfect one to use:  Tarte Amazonian Clay 12-Hour Foundation.  I strongly recommend this foundation if you have things to hide and want to keep them hidden most of the night.

I can't hide it 100%, but with good foundation, a red dress and a strong lip color, I could perhaps distract from it.

In which Meriwhen...*sigh*

Got back from my annual physical.  My PCP wasn't as cross with me as I thought she'd be.  I need to lose weight, yes.  But she's happy that my labs are in her words "stone cold perfect."  She's also happy to hear that I'm up to working out 4 times a week.  She'd still rather see me doing it 5 times a week...I'm getting there.

And there's another breast lump.  The clinical summary form describes it as "breast mass."  I prefer calling it a lump as it sounds more benign.

I admit that I'm horrible about doing monthly breast exams because the only 2 times that I've done it, I found lumps that were later surgically removed.  I told her it was a stupid superstition, but I've been scared to do them since.  And in the almost 19 years since the 2nd was removed, no provider has found anything to be concerned about.  Until today.

The first words out of my mouth were, "it's always the left [breast]."

So I now have to go for a diagnostic mammogram, which is apparently different from a regular mammogram and may not be covered by insurance.  But I need to get it so I'll worry about the cost later.  And it'll be followed up with an ultrasound.  They were able to schedule it pretty fast:  within 2 weeks.  And because of the EMR, I'll be able to know the results very quickly.

I told the other half today...I thought about waiting until I get the tests done, but then realized that I'd have no way to explain any unexpected stress or anxiety that I would be going through while I'm waiting.  The first words out of his mouth were, "this is the 3rd time."  I guess we're both a little too used to going through this.  

In which Meriwhen gets a good scare

No story build-up here, I'll just say it:  chest pain.

I had it for about 3 or 4 days.  It wasn't (isn't, as it's still kind of here) aching or stabbing, it's more of an uncomfortable pressure.  It's not radiating.  It doesn't get worse with exertion.  It doesn't get better with rest.  It did wake me up one night.  The only other symptom I have is a little tachycardia one morning, but it was gone by the evening.

Now, if this was someone asking me for advice, I'd say, "get thee to an ED today."  If if was a patient, I'd be seeking advanced counsel and probably calling the MD as well.  But of course, I don't tell myself that.  I'm a nurse and let's face it:  nurses are the world's worst patients.  So I schedule a next-day sick appointment after work.  What's one more day, right?  Let's just ignore the fact that I have cardiac issues on both sides of my family.  And let's ignore the Lisinopril in my medicine cabinet that I take daily.

That night, I was kept busy enough at work that it didn't bother me too much...it was when it was slow, that I noticed it was still there.   Not stressing over it, because I know that in a few hours,  I'll be at my doctor's getting checked out.

But it's not until I'm actually there in the clinic, getting an EKG and cardiac lab work done that I realize that this could be really serious.  Especially when my PCP orders a D-Dimer test for the presence of clots and tells me that if it comes back positive, that I need to drop everything and get myself to the ED for a CT scan.

I'm not young:  according to Erikson, I'm entering Generativity vs. Stagnation.  People my age die from cardiac issues.   I see it in the ED all the time. 

I gave up smoking 20 years ago.  I don't drink alcohol anymore.  I don't do drugs, legal or otherwise.  I'm in decent shape.  II'm physically active, though not as consistently as I should be.  I could stand to drop that 30 pounds I recently regained.   I have hypertension, though well controlled.  I have cardiac issues all over my family tree, including heart attacks and deaths from stroke.

And heart disease is the #1 cause of death in women.   And heart attacks in women don't always present with the typical "clutch the chest and feel the left arm go numb" symptoms.  It presents like indigestion, like heaviness.  Like how I felt.

Yes, I already knew all of this.  But again, nurses make the worst patients.

So I spent the morning being tested 10 ways from tomorrow.  My EKG is beautiful.  Exertion test is great--I actually wore out the LVN that was monitoring me because she couldn't keep up with my speed.  Lab work is beautiful.   Then I get to go home and wait, anxious as hell, for the D-Dimer results.  Because I can't go to sleep until I get this test result, in case I need to call out of work and find a good book to take with me to the hospital.

Fortunately, it was negative.  Unfortunately, I couldn't sleep even after getting that news.  So work that night was challenging, to say the least.

My PCP decided to start off my treating me for GERD, since he thinks it could be an atypical presentation.  So now I'm on omeprazole for a couple of weeks to see if that helps.  It's been two days on the medication, and the discomfort seems to be lessening, which is positive.  It might just be atypical GERD after all...I hope.

All of this was quite the scare for me, as well as quite the reminder that I could still improve my health.  I'm waiting until the discomfort is fully gone before I try out the treadmill we bought with the tax refund.  It wasn't a large refund so it's not a large treadmill.   But it's another way to exercise.

In which Meriwhen learns she was never meant to go into ophthalmology, and other important life lessons

Lesson #1:  Never schedule an eye appointment after working night shift.

Especially when the night is long and the psych acuity is high.  It was all I could do to stay awake once I got off of work.  I usually sleep immediately or thereabouts after getting home.  But not today.

I went home, showered, ate breakfast (Jack in the Box, how I love thee), and then drove the 45 minute to my ophthalmologist (Blogger autocorrect, how I love thee).

My eye doctor is located in a very affluent part of the entire state.  Not just an affluent area in my city--it's one of the top in the state.   So my little SUV is a bit out of place among the Audis, BMWs and other luxury cars.  I also feel a bit of place there too, as I show up right out of work, in my sandals, old jeans, and AN.com jacket, while both staff and patients walk around in business suits or designer label swag.  Everyone else is (or appears) slim, young and beautiful.

Then after the appointment, I drove the 45 minutes home and had lunch.  And then I tried to pass out...and was unable to fall asleep.  So I ended up staying awake for a full 24 hours.

Lesson #2:  Eye doctors have access to the best toys.

The eye doctor has the most beautiful green eyes...so beautiful and fairy princess-like.  There's no way THEY could have been natural.   But minding my manners, I did not ask.  And it goes without saying that all the vision techs and nurses had long, luxurious lashes...me thinks Latisse is at work.

And nary a wrinkle in sight on anyone.

Lesson #3:  Ptosis is not what I thought it was.

I told her that my right eye had the issues with drooping...she was focused on my left.  Then she took measurements, went over the test results, and I learned that what I assumed was a drooping eyelid was not actually a drooping eyelid.  And what I assumed was the normal eyelid was in fact the drooping eyelid.  It's the left eye that had the ptosis.

That being said, the right eye still has its own issues, so I'm not entirely insane.

The cure for both of these issues is minor outpatient surgery with a week's downtime.  It's not critical--it's more of a quality of life issue.  If I never got the procedure done, no big deal.  But she warned me that given the aging process, both eye issues are not going to get any better on their own.  And I'm also apparently at the border where the procedure would be covered my insurance for medical reasons, instead of not being covered as a cosmetic procedure...at least for the left eye, since my vision is apparently being impaired by it.  The right eye, they'd have to apply for specific approval to fix this problem, as apparently my vision is fine in the right eye.

I say "apparently" because during the vision field test, the right eye was far more uncomfortable during testing than the left.  So naturally, I assumed that it was as I originally thought--the right eye was the issue.  Guess I was wrong.

But we agreed on a conservative "wait and see" approach for now because...

Lesson #4:  I have no stomach for anything involving eye surgery.

She started describing the procedure and I began twitching.  It was all I could do to not go squeamish and pass out on her.  Even recalling the conversation as I type this several days later is making my stomach churn and my body shudder.

We decided that, even though the surgery is a minor procedure and I could drive myself home afterwards, it would probably be best if she put me out for it.

Then there's the scheduling issue.  A week of time off will be needed until the stitches can come out.  The bruising will take longer to heal, but I don't mind going in all bruised up.  I could camouflage most of it with makeup, I imagine.  And if not, it'll have the potential for helping me spin entertaining tales for my patients.

I got home and filled in the better half who agreed on the "wait and see" approach (he's got a much weaker stomach than I).  I follow up in 6 months or sooner if it worsens.  I'm probably going to schedule the surgery for the end of the year.

And of course, not having slept in 24 hours plus all this about eye surgery--the procedure is essentially an eye lift--made me start thinking...

Lesson #5:  I need to embrace aging.  Not necessarily without a fight though.

Mentally, I don't feel my age at all.  I feel years younger than I am.  I know I'm not a teenager or in my 20s, so I don't act or dress like one.  But I refuse to mentally-tack on "middle-age" to anything I say, think or do.

Thanks to a lot of sunblock plus great skincare, I'm fortunate to look 10 years younger than I actually am.  My skin has never looked this good in the last decade.  I'm also steadily losing weight and starting next week, I'm getting back into exercise (my excuse for not starting now is that I have a half-marathon that in this weekend, and I don't want to be sore).   I don't have any greys...though to be fair, I've been coloring my hair since age 19 so if there is grey beyond the random hair or two, I wouldn't really know about it.  So overall, I'm on the upswing.

The fact is, I have to accept that my body has been on the road for 40+ years now and with life happening to it, it's inevitable that there will be some wear-and-tear (tare?).   I'm never going to have the face or body of a 25 year old again.  And even though I'm ahead of the game with the religious sunblock use, I admit to feeling some regret that I didn't take even better care of my face and body (watched my weight, dealt with skin issues, etc.) so that perhaps I wouldn't have felt so insecure in my teens and 20s.  I could have enjoyed them more.

But I am what I am.  I should embrace it.  That doesn't mean letting myself go and not putting up any fight, though.   If I can improve something a little bit, I shall.  But let me be realistic about what I am and what I can achieve.  Nothing is going to bring me back to age 25 nor should I try.  But at least I can look and feel damn good for a 40-something year old.

In which Meriwhen discovers a Blogspot phone app

Nifty...can update from my phone now :)

I did get my cancel.  I vegetated.  It was just what I needed.  I feel recharged and ready to tackle the world!

In which Meriwhen contemplates resigning

Yes, resigning.  Not from my main job--I love it too much to want to do that--but from Job #3, which is per-diem days.

I've been thinking about this on-and-off for a while.  But as I was getting ready to drive 1.5 hours in the rain to drive to the site I'm working at today, I really realized that I'm racking up a lot of 6-day (and even a couple of 7-day) work weeks and that I'm not getting much free time anymore.

It's not that I'm unhappy at Job #3.  I find it interesting, though dull at times as it's more office and telephone work than direct patient care.  It's a great organization that I'm proud to be affiliated with.  I also get the chance to work with amazing people are some of their sites.  But it's not 100% what I want right now.  I was ready to step back somewhat from the bedside and look for something of a slower pace, I would work at Job #3 full-time.  I see a job like Job #3 as the last job I take before I retire.  Right now, I want to remain in the trenches.

Leaving Job #3 would bring me down to having only 1 job (if you recall, I cut Job #2 (the agency job) free about a year ago).  I'm not used to the idea of having only 1 job.  But then again, I'm also not used to working a permanent position, as the last permanent position I had ended in 2011.  Since that time, it's been the per-diem life until this year when I agreed to be tied down to a permanent position again.

So it's not as though I'm working two part-time/per-diem jobs and need the income from Job #3 just to survive.  I don't even need it as an extra source of income:  my main job compensates me more than handsomely.  More so than I originally planned for in my budgeting.  And if I really needed extra money, I could pick up at least 1 extra shift per pay-period, if not more.

As for the free time...there are some things I do want to be working on that I have been neglecting since I've been working a lot.  The better half doesn't mind my working, though with flip-flopping between days and nights, he is concerned I'm not getting enough rest.  Little one #1, however, is starting to mind.  He gets upset when he finds out that I'm working on a day he thought I was to be off.

Little one #2 has no comment.

So here I am, seriously consider dropping my letter of resignation.  I reviewed my calendar and saw that I have a few more days scheduled through the middle of next month.  Since I have to put in my resignation while on-site, I think I will wait until I have honored that commitment, and then drop the letter.