A little more work-related ranting?
This weekend we had staffing problems. Night shift is always tough to keep staffed. It's a crappy shift with too much work and not enough love from management. The bosses only drop by once in a while to remind the night shifters that they're losers and fuck-ups who aren't smart enough to be on day shift.
Saturday night's call-in du jour was a tech with one week left before our modest hospital disappears in her taillights. She's got a bad case of Idon'tgiveadamn. Sunday it was a phlebotomist who called in...the only one on staff on Sunday nights.
So Saturday I did the usual call-in ritual. Calling the phone list and trying to find someone: a) who would pick up the phone when they saw the hospital's number in the caller I.D., and b) was sober on Saturday night.
As it turned out, there was no one able to meet both criteria. So I stayed until 3:30 a.m. when a day-shifter would be in, drove a half hour home, fell into bed, crawled out of bed, and went back for another round.
St. Evie...that's me. Patron saint of suckers.
Sunday night, however was a different story. Sunday, Angela, my shiftmate (who is so steady she makes rocks look flighty), took the call and spent her evening trying to find someone to cover. Finally she called the phlebotomy supervisor, who helpfully informed her that he was too drunk to deal with it, and then she called our boss. Boss abdicated. Figure it out, says Boss. Call the phlebotomy supervisor. Maybe he can handle it.
I don't know how much anyone else knows about hospital guidelines, but we have minimum staffing guidelines monitored by a variety of organizations like JCAHO and the FDA. Being short isn't just inconvenient, it's illegal.
But Sunday night, we were screwed. So I called the E.R. and told them they'd have to do their own blood draws. Then I called the floors and said we'd be up for the stats, but not the routines. If they want it, they'd have to collect it themselves. Then I called the house charge and told him we'd be below minimum staffing.
He said, "Did you call Boss?" I said "Yep. He said 'figure it out'."
Yesterday I went to work and confronted Boss. We need a better solution. We need someone on call. We need a sober phlebotomy supervisor, or at least a backup person. We need someone to care that we're out of compliance. I told him we didn't have time to do his job plus our own, which involved actual patients in need of medical care.
He explained that he'd been useless, not due to a lack of responsibility on his part, but as a form of empowerment for us.
Empowerment?? I told him he'd confused empowerment with exploitation, and I don't make enough money to do both our jobs.
Kids, I'm already empowerful. I know how to ask, beg, wheedle, cajole, manipulate, coerce, and outright threaten any poor employee dumb enough to pick up the phone. But once they're on to me, I'm not empowerful enough to go to their houses and drag them out of bed, slap lab coats on them, and make them fulfill our staffing requirements.
Boss asked me what to do. Ah! This happens to be what I do best! I suck at empathy, but I rock out loud at "what to do."
What to do, of course, is to stop whining about how hard it is to be the boss and start making specific requests of specific people. I told him that if it were me, instead of sending out a big generic e-mail threatening to someday create an imaginary call schedule, send three e-mails.
- One to day shift, telling them that they'll be rotating a four hour call for the second half of night shift for one week per tech.
- One to evening shift saying the same thing. They'll be rotating a four hour call for the
first half of night shift, one week per tech.
- One to night shift saying they'll be the back up, rotating coverage for an
entire shift, at one week per tech.
Easy? Not if you're afraid of confrontation. He said some people won't like it and they'll get mad at him. I said
no one will like it, but if we all have to do it, we can all not like it together.
The meeting ended the way all meetings with Boss end. In a conversation about how no one understands how stressful it is to be the boss.
I wonder if the ditch diggers and rag pickers are hiring.
This is the ducklings on Day One next to a three gallon waterer in a dog crate, and on Day 18 next to a five gallon waterer in the duck dome. 
Here are the turkeys on Day One in their plastic bin, and on Day 18 on their first trip outside to see what grass is all about. 
When not sleeping like a baby or practicing his fast flying, Butterball enjoys re-enacting scenes from "Turkeyzilla" on the faux lawn of my dollhouse.
Last year we knew what kind of ducks we wanted, but this time we opted to let the hatchery surprise us, so we ordered the Ducks Deluxe package. All you know when you place your order is that you'll get fifteen ducklings from three different breeds. They always seem to throw in an extra just in case, so sixteen ducklings arrived this morning, all alive and healthy. We got an interesting assortment! Five Blue Swedish, who are supposed to be gentle and tame, good layers and good mothers, five Chocolate Runners, who are supposed to be ridiculous looking AND prolific little egg producers (I named the runt "Hershey") and six Pekins 
(the AFLAC ducks) ... four of whom are crested. The crested ones look like they're wearing little feather yarmulkes. 
The sleepy one is a Bronze Breasted who turned out to be an escape artist. After finding it running around the bedroom twice, I hid and watched it squeeeeeeeze itself through the narrow bars of the cage ... and then moved it in with the other one in a separate container.
