Case of the Mondays

I think we both know that even as I sit here in my sports bra, and other Nike apparel, I'm not going to the gym. Further evidence, which bolsters this conclusion, includes the fact that not too long ago I woke up from an inadvertent nap. I am in no condition to work a real full time job. Grad school/research life has ruined me! I have broken my Crocs/flip flops/running shoe habit and conformed to the closed toe dress shoe reality that is the work world. I even wear belts. With dress slacks. And jewelry. And make up. But damn, I cannot seem to make it past 9:30 on a weeknight!

So before I bid you a cheese fondue, I will recap my first "real" day at VTCC, at least before all interns were shooed home at 5:30 with the quote "You'll be so lucky to leave this early come fall! Now get!" I had to take a sneaky alternate route to work because the commuter traffic got really squirrelly in the intense downpour that was this morning's drive. Fortunately, I have been hoarding quarters to do laundry since my freaking wash machine and dryer have not arrived yet, and had an ample supply for the toll road I took into downtown. Unfortunately, I have not been using said quarters to actually do any laundry, and there is a mountain of it lurking in my bedroom.

But the point is, I made it to work in time for rounds, which would be the first in a series of meetings both formal and informal that would keep ahold of me until 4:00 this afternoon. I had my first Treatment Plan Review meeting, in which my patient's treatment plan...you guessed it...came up for review. I then revised it with the covering therapist who has recently transferred the case to me. After the requisite 15 minute lunch break at my desk, I sat in a totally coma inducing Treatment Team meeting...Shawn and I would later bitch and moan all about it. But after 4:00 PM. There wasn't time to bitch. I got my first exciting page during Treatment Team. This meant that I was one of the chosen, who got to shamelessly answer the ringing device clipped to my person, and look really important while doing so. I crept towards the door, trying not to interrupt the attending who was giving orders/making suggestions in her unapologetically adorable accent, and dragged the wall phone into the hall to go answer my summons. Apparently my treatment team has undergone major restructuring in literally the last week, and it was the first time Day Treatment and Residential people got together for one, long, Big Ass Meeting. It ran over, of course. I stacked my files, shifted my weight, put my pager back on my belt at 3:00, as if I was in 10th grade again and removed all items from my desk in anticipation of the bell ringing. The two minute assurance-til-meeting's-adjourned turned into 15, and I bolted for my supervisor's office. I hate being late. After supervision, I ran down to the residential unit to check on my patient, find a social worker to schedule a time to meet and create a Self Injurious Behavior protocol (well, those things can just WRITE themselves) for the patient, and then I returned to my office after 4:00 to clean up my desk, answer my voicemails, and bitch with Shawn.

Today I learned a lot about the culture in which I'll be working, on account of my hours of observation. It takes a lot for me to sit on my hands when I have a suggestion or think something is just completely wack. But that's what I did today, by and large. I was, however, encouraged to challenge the culture when I felt like it, by a senior staff member/chair of the Social Work department. Tomorrow, I have far less scheduled events, but must, must, must pull my patient from the milieu for therapy. We get in trouble with the administration if we don't fit three therapy sessions into a week (Medicaid billing, blah blah blah), and that is a bit of a challenge when the kids go on all day outings during the summer! Tomorrow I will also see what is up with scheduling my outpatient referral for a good old fashioned intake. Assessment-wise, I tried to call way-in-advance dibs on a case that has yet to be referred from the residential unit...a teenager has highly discrepant Rorschach and MMPI profiles and the primary therapist wants that sorted out. The minute this request came out of her mouth during Treatment Team I wrote a note to myself to email the assessment supervisor and request this case, because it beats the hell out of assessing for learning disabilities, ADHD or something equally as boring. So we'll see how far my initiative will get me :)