Took another shot to the goolies tonight. A regular patient of mine, an ex-nurse, now in her 80s and fully demented, commented that I was "her boy" tonight and that she thought it was great that I was taking a "woman's job."
At the end of my shift I hopped back in my girlfriend's purple VW bug with the standard flower vase built into the dash, re-scrunchied my ponytail, tucked my all-white nursing shoes under the seat, and drove home.
Sometimes my life is one long gay joke.
Most of the time I don't give a ****. I did a gnarly two hour dressing change on a patient's two square foot rotting leg, and was the only one willing to do the vacuum pump change.
The pt's wife bought me a Mickey D's yogurt as a surprise reward.
Come on, though. Please. Just punch me in the shoulder and tip me a couple bucks, I REALLY don't want a hug. I did the best dressing change this guy had ever seen, even talked his wife down off the ledge to keep her from holding his hand and giving him the doe-eye and asking him about his pain every three seconds (how about putting something on the TV and distracting him from me debriding three square feet of red meat on his leg?), and doing the patient some good?
