It's a grainy Saturday morning, I'm going on just a bit of sleep and been in the trenches all night taking care of the strokes and the shootings and the fireworks injuries and the coked-up kids getting chucked from rolling cars...Got blood on my shoe and stomach juice on my sleeve and I haven't peed in, oh, 9 hours. Just another shift. But it's slowed down enough for me to have checked my favorite blogs, and Cary over at
List of the Day who has reliably funny stuff, has provided me with fodder for an early morning case of the giggles. I'm talking the relentless, threaten to surface at inappropriate times, snot-bubble-blowing, belly hurting giggles. Here, see??
Told ya.
***
I got soft tonight.
I have a pretty hard-and-fast rule, when I'm at work. I'm an ER nurse, not a floor nurse. If your heart is stopping or you've just taken off your hand with a circular saw, I'm your gal. If you're looking for backrubs or handholding or coddling, most of the time, sorry Charlie. As I told a colleague tonight, if you walked in here of your own accord, you can probably walk to the bathroom, and no I'm not wiping for you, because who does it for you at home? It's not that I'm not compassionate, because I am. I just choose to demonstrate it by taking good care of my patients, not necessarily always in a warm and fuzzy way. I may not get the damn belongings checklist completed before I take them upstairs, and sometimes I may not even have time to get them into a gown. Most days, I make no apologies for these little shortcomings because I realize that I'm good at the important part of ER nursing.
And tonight, I got soft, in a most unexpected way, over the aforementioned coked-up kid, who demonstrated a functional vocabulary of about 20 words (fully half of those profane) for most of the first couple hours of his stay, who called me names not very creative but impressive in their venom, and who made himself generally not a likeable guy. And whose mom called to inquire about his condition as she started the forty-five minute drive here to see him, trying her hardest to steady the quiver in her voice.
I cleaned up his face. Yup, warm washcloths and wound cleanser, trying to get some of the dried blood and gunk off his face so his mom would recognize him, so his mom wouldn't see all that blood. He is every bit as seriously sick as he looks, if not more, and I can't say for sure that he'll make it. But I cleaned him up. Not for his sake, but for his mom's, because I hope that (god forbid) if one of my children were ever in an accident, somebody would do the same for them.
***
I love my kids. Unconditionally, relentlessly, painfully, so much so that I get a clutchy feeling in my chest whenever I think about how much I love these two amazing little people who always manage to say sweet things to me when I need to hear them most, and who I need as much as the air I breathe.
***
Okay, now it's back to work. The bars have closed so now it's time for the second wave.
Told ya.
***
I got soft tonight.
I have a pretty hard-and-fast rule, when I'm at work. I'm an ER nurse, not a floor nurse. If your heart is stopping or you've just taken off your hand with a circular saw, I'm your gal. If you're looking for backrubs or handholding or coddling, most of the time, sorry Charlie. As I told a colleague tonight, if you walked in here of your own accord, you can probably walk to the bathroom, and no I'm not wiping for you, because who does it for you at home? It's not that I'm not compassionate, because I am. I just choose to demonstrate it by taking good care of my patients, not necessarily always in a warm and fuzzy way. I may not get the damn belongings checklist completed before I take them upstairs, and sometimes I may not even have time to get them into a gown. Most days, I make no apologies for these little shortcomings because I realize that I'm good at the important part of ER nursing.
And tonight, I got soft, in a most unexpected way, over the aforementioned coked-up kid, who demonstrated a functional vocabulary of about 20 words (fully half of those profane) for most of the first couple hours of his stay, who called me names not very creative but impressive in their venom, and who made himself generally not a likeable guy. And whose mom called to inquire about his condition as she started the forty-five minute drive here to see him, trying her hardest to steady the quiver in her voice.
I cleaned up his face. Yup, warm washcloths and wound cleanser, trying to get some of the dried blood and gunk off his face so his mom would recognize him, so his mom wouldn't see all that blood. He is every bit as seriously sick as he looks, if not more, and I can't say for sure that he'll make it. But I cleaned him up. Not for his sake, but for his mom's, because I hope that (god forbid) if one of my children were ever in an accident, somebody would do the same for them.
***
I love my kids. Unconditionally, relentlessly, painfully, so much so that I get a clutchy feeling in my chest whenever I think about how much I love these two amazing little people who always manage to say sweet things to me when I need to hear them most, and who I need as much as the air I breathe.
***
Okay, now it's back to work. The bars have closed so now it's time for the second wave.