(Photo courtesy of JF Photography)
As you may know from an earlier blog, I started working again at the beginning of this month as a nurse in the Neonatal ICU (with premature and critically ill infants for all you non-medical folk). As exciting as it is, I still throw a temper tantrum 30 minutes before I have to leave for work. I stomp around the house mumbling "I don't want to go..." until the time comes when I have to leave at which point I cling to Eddie and scream "I DON'T WANT TO GO! DON'T MAKE ME GO!" (I realize now how horrible that must be for him. Oops...I should probably to get it together soon.) But alas, I go...
My lunch is packed with food I think is normal to eat at lunchtime in Switzerland (I just want to fit in). My hair is up in a bun and my fingernails are short and nude. I am wearing a pair of white pearl earrings and a pair of the unsexiest white underwear I could find in my drawer. Even though I don't sweat, I made sure to put on lots of deodorant just in case my body reacts differently to European stress than it did back at home.
As I drive along in my Skoda Octavia (I know, I never heard of that car before I came here either) I approach the border from Germany to Switzerland and I reassess my surroundings:
Seat belt on? Check.
Sun visor up? Check.
Face easily visible? Check.
Semi pleasant smile (not a big American smile)? Check.
Sunglasses/hat/hood off? Check.
Passport easily accessible? Check.
Sticker on the windshield allowing me to drive on the Swiss highway visible? Check.
Ready to respond if they stop me and ask me where I am going and if I have meat in the car? ... Um, half check?
The customs officers wave me through without stopping me for questioning...phew! I say a small prayer of thanks. After all, I don't plan on talking to anyone for another 30 minutes anyway...
Yet again, I'm surprised that I somehow make it through the city of Basel with all the ridiculous traffic laws/signs. When it comes to driving here, I'm just faking it 90% of the time. "Whoa, what did that sign mean?! Oh, too late. We'll just see what happens!" If I had a quarter for every time I was honked at or high-beam flashed...I'd have a lot of useless American quarters here. :)
Finally, I reach the parking garage and, as usual, it is complete with parking spots perfect for a Mercedes Smart, a Mini Cooper, or a tricycle...but nothing larger. I somehow finagle myself into a parking spot and send up another small prayer of thanks that I didn't scratch the back door of my car on a random large cement pillar...again. ::grimace:: (I'm still really sorry about that, Ed!)
Crap...now I have to actually get out of the car. But but but...I'm so content just sitting here, it's so warm and cozy! ::gulp:: I check my teeth in the rear view mirror and I'm off! As I walk down the street to the hospital I keep my head low because I still don't plan on talking to anyone for another 15 minutes...
I reach the locker room and I am relieved to see that I am the only one there in my row. I don't want anyone making fun of my granny panties. I can hear the Swiss-German chatter of some nurses in another row but I tune it out because my brain isn't ready to start translating yet. I reluctantly strip from my comfortable clothes and change into my stiff, unflattering, all white scrubs. I clip my badge to my chest pocket and I turn it so that my dumb picture is facing the right way. I pause for another second as I read "Rachel Frick - Diplomierte Pflegefachfrau" (whatever that means). For years my badge read: Rachel Bartolone - RN, BSN, NICU...I liked that name. ::sigh:: With one more scan to make sure the locker room is empty I drop to my knees and I pray. (Yea, I'm so anxious to go to work that I need to ask for heavenly help. I know, it's pathetic.) It usually goes something like this:
"Hey God, how's it goin'? Yea, I know, it's me again, I'm sorry. Please forgive me for all of my sins. I would like to thank you for everyone and everything in my life but I need your help again today. Please guide me in making the right choices. Please don't make me look stupid today. Please help me say and do the right things. I want to make you proud. You chose this career for me and if you want me to help these babies and their families I'm going to need you to work with me and through me. Don't leave me, I need you with me...every second. In Jesus Christ's name, Amen."
I slowly peek open my eyes and I see that no one is there to look at me strangely. I rise from my knees, brush them off, and I push open the locker room door and head up to my unit. I think I'll take the stairs again today. I don't want to meet anyone in the elevator because (you guessed it) I don't plan on talking to anyone for another 2.5 minutes...
I reach my unit, clock in, and as the glass doors slide open I would guestimate that my pulse is in the upper 90's with and irregular rhythm and my respiratory rate is either 60 or 0.
Brain - "Move right leg forward..."
Me - "No!"
Brain - "Do it!...Good...now the left one...good..."
Shoot, here comes someone already...what is her name again?
Swiss Nurse -"Grützi!"
Brain - "Rachel, smile say 'Grützi' back."
Me - "Grützi!" ... Great, my "r" was so American. Was that smile too big? Great, they probably think I'm fake.
Note to self: Along with about 10 kgs, I need to lose this accent ASAP! ... (I'm fully aware that both will never happen.)
I find a chair and wait for report to start...all-the-while I fight the overwhelming urge to run back downstairs, grab MY clothes, sprint back to MY car, and hightail it back HOME. I push the image of Eddie and our pup, Teddy, out of my head and tell myself I'll see them again in 9 short hours. For now, I'm on my own.
The charge nurse begins with report...I say a small prayer hoping she'll speak Hochdeutsch (high German).
Charge nurse - "Grützimiteinand. Fangen wir mit 'Baby Schmidt' an? Mit ihm ischalleschgut...alleschTIPTOP!"
Me - ...shit, Swiss German (AKA "Schveetzedooch").
My family and friends all speak high German and that's what I learned in my integration course but once you cross the border to Switzerland they speak with such a dialect that I can't understand them for the life of me! I'm too embarrassed to ask her to switch to high German so it looks like I'll just sit here and nod my head every few seconds like I understand what is going on around me...when in reality I'd give anything to melt into a silver puddle and float away...(Alex Mack style circa 1996.)
And so my day begins! My chirpy preceptor and I greet each other and she alerts everyone that her and I will be answering the phone today (there is not secretary)...I grit my teeth and my blood pressure rises to about 250/110. Something so simple as answering a phone brings me unbelievable stress. I don't even answer the phone at my own house! When it's a German number I play hot potato with it and pass it off to Eddie. Ok fine, if she wants me to answer the phone today...I'll answer the phone! I shake it off...
We get our assignment and go check on the babies. As soon as I lay eyes on the little ones I instantly feel I'm back where I am supposed to be. Now that I am finally able to work with them and be hands-on again, I feel like I'm back in my element. It's all this other jazz that comes along with the job that makes my head spin. A few weeks ago I asked someone what "Sauerstoff" was. Turns out...it means "oxygen" in German. Yea, Rach, they're really going to trust you now that you just asked what oxygen is. Super. Can you imagine?
A father of a neighboring baby taps my shoulder and I spin around:
Swiss Daddy - "Schweitzlüliowvthischliülitzsnuniischkucksili?" (<--- Not an actual sentence but that's how it sounded to me.)
::crickets:: Me - "Wie bitte?" ("I'm sorry?")
Swiss Daddy - ::louder:: "Schweitzlüliowvthischliülitzsnuniischkucksili?"
At this point my face is as red as can be and I'm just staring at him wide-eyed. I have no idea what this man wants from/is asking me! I have to summon my preceptor who answers his question effortlessly. For all I know he was asking the time. I survey the scene and conclude that the window behind me doesn't open wide enough for me to jump out. I'm mortified. I look like a complete idiot and I know it! I just turn back around and pretend like I don't feel like a huge nincompoop. (::giggle:: "nincompoop") ;)
My preceptor steps out of the room to get some paperwork and...the phone rings. I don't move...or blink, or breathe, hoping that if I act like a T-Rex has just entered the room the person on the other line will just hang up. Nope. It rings again. Ok, I'll give it one more ring and hopefully my preceptor will be back.
::ring::
Scheisse! I answer it.
Me - "Neonatologie, Rachel Frick."
Woman - "Jagrützivoll. Hsdoihfosihgoishrgfhdchchchchiehagoihraeöihgörihgoihraogtio3849z5698q37li."
Something about a delivery? A vaccuum? Later today? I don't know. I ask her to repeat it all again and I still don't get it. I'm too ashamed to ask a third time so we both hang up. When my preceptor comes back I tell her what happened and we both agree that if it's really important, she'll call back? I wish I had an invisibility cloak.
This anxiety and uncertainty continues for hours...hours! On our break the nurses are speaking Swiss German and I figure it's ok to turn my brain off for some minutes. I bring out my lunch and I feel like Fatty McFatterson because every one else is eating crackers with pudding (?) or one piece of what looks like uncooked bacon? I daydream of my OSU nurses back home and Adriatico's pizza....mmmmm!
I work the rest of my shift without causing any bodily harm to an infant...which I chalk up to a success these days. I clock out, change back in my clothes, and power walk to my car. On the radio there is more Swiss German and I jab the power button just in time before my head combusts. I pass the German customs with ease and pull up to my house. With my last ounce of energy I cross the threshold and collapse in the living room.
Eddie enters the room and for a moment I wonder to myself how long it will take before the simple sight of that man doesn't make light up like a Christmas tree and make me forget all the troubles in the world.
"How was your day, babe?" He asks innocently...in English...and it feels good to be home.
America vs. Germany
91. Just a little FYI - The word "pudding" is the same in English, German, and Russian. Write that down.
92. Ed didn't know who Oprah was and has never seen the Wizard of Oz. This is mind boggling to me.
93. A lot of people here often blame sicknesses on cold air. For example: Having the AC on high in a car for too long can cause a cold. Or if you sit on something cold like cement you'll get a bladder infection. They make no mention of having to initially come in contact with bacteria or a virus. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone sometimes.
94. Don’t try to twist off the top of your beer bottle in Germany, better carry around a bottle opener…or marry a weirdo who can open 2 bottles of beer on each other.
95. It costs about $0.90 to send a standard sized card/letter to Germany.
96. Americans are more patriotic. We proudly hang our flags outside our house. That's not very common in Germany. A man by the name of Adolf kinda ruined that for everyone.
97. Similarly, it is illegal to sing the first two stanzas of the German national anthem. It was overplayed during WWII and the Germans only recognize the third stanza as their anthem. Sad.
98. Today, Germans are also not allowed to have the letters "SA" or "SS" on their license plates because it used to be an abbreviation for SA - Sturmabteilung and SS -Schutzstaffel. These two groups were basically young men that Hitler gathered to do a lot of his dirty work. They protected the Nazi party, intimidated the Jewish people and German citizens into obeying, performed illegal property searches, and ran the concentration camps. It's sad but Germany is still rebuilding its image after that tragedy.
99. It's not surprising to see topless women on the cover of newspapers...more specifically the "Bildzeitung." Granted it's not the classiest paper but still I was shocked at first. Naked women are right smack dab in the middle of the front cover and in color. I'm not sure if it's everyday but at least on the Sunday paper. Needless to say, that will not be lying around on the breakfast table in my house.
100. I was also astounded to see two completely naked teenagers (a boy and a girl) in Eddie's little sister's magazine. She was about 13 at the time. That part of the magazine answers sex questions. (?!?!?) That just wouldn't fly in a Seventeen magazine here. The sex/nudity mentality is definitely different. It’s hard to say which is better…
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