Nursing and waitressing

I waited tables and bartended to pay my way through nursing school. I remember thinking, during particularly busy dinner shifts with customers who were high maintenance or angry or demanding or just determined to be unsatisfied, that things would become SO much better when I graduated from nursing school and became a real nurse. NOBODY would order me around, treat me like a servant, talk down to me, attempt to make me feel inferior or repeatedly send me back to the supply area for extra condiments. NOBODY! I would be the EXPERT! I would have POWER! (that I would wield responsibly of course…)

Surprise! Ten years later…I get ordered around, treated like a servant, talked down to, attempted to be made to feel inferior, and repeatedly sent back to the supply room for extra condiments. Except the condiments are drugs. Lots of ’em.

Advertisements

Dirty floors

It kills me when little kids visit a family member in the hospital and their parents let them run amok on the unit. Especially if they’re running amok sans shoes. In my head I’m seeing the little old man who just ambulated down the hallway leaving a nice little chocolate trail behind him as his anal sphincter failed him. A nice chocolate trail that we hastily mopped up with towels while waiting for housekeeping to come and give a proper clean to. But not before little Tommy runs over it in his bare feet as he’s screaming and running around the halls! Yay! C.diff for everybody!!