My husband is scared of germs. At the gas station, he eyes the credit card machine with rancor. At the grocery store, he digs for fruit buried on the bottom. I perform a not-so-sexy strip tease after every shift, removing my bacteria-laden scrubs. I started thinking about a recent trip to the gas station...
NursesAnnouncementsArchiveArticle
So here we are at the gas station the other evening. We were struck by a desperate and immediate need for BBQ rib-shaped pressed meat sandwiches and diet Mt.Dew (for me) and some sort of weird half energy drink, half malt beverage can of red poison (for him).
He won't give these up, despite repeated lectures on the dangers of what will happen when he drinks too much of this concoction. Although, I am not sure if he will he zoom around the house like an ADHD labrador retriever on speed, or if he will he pass out cold from the ETOH. Further research is needed. But I digress.
So we are standing in one line and there is a COPD LOL in the other line coughing out 37% of her right lung onto the card swipe machine. Barrel chest, puffy, pink, you know them at a glance.
I look over at my husband, knowing what's about to happen.
He is sickly white, in a cold sweat and looking longingly towards the door like an armed robbery is about to go down in Nowheresville, Iowa. I grabbed his cans of radioactive waste and told him to go wait in the car.
I waited for the LOL to leave and told the girl behind the counter to please, God, wipe that down. It's a small town, they know me, they know my husband. They know he's psycho over germs and they know I'm a nurse. She just laughs, wipes it down and I pay for my purchases and get in the car. I assured my husband that the machine has been sanitized so he will not refuse to ever again step foot in the gas station literally two blocks from my house.
Now, I love my husband. He spoils me rotten. He does laundry (there are spiders in the basement, I WILL NOT go down there), dishes, trash, scoops cat litter, opens doors, buys large and sparkly gems to adorn my fingers... he's a stand up guy. But I laughed at him when he sat me down the day before my first shift as a nurse and insisted that I remove my clothes immediately after work and shower before I do anything else. And to please, never, ever get into our bed with work germs on me. I would do this anyway; I run hot and sweat what feels like my behind off every night. (Unfortunately it never shrinks.)
You would think he was joking.
He's a laid-back guy to most people. He's from southern California and uses the word "tubular" in everyday life. I assure you, he was not joking.
He was honestly scared to death I would bring home some rare combination of VRE and MRSA that would colonize his face and dissolve his eyeballs. (He watched a show on Discovery; I forgot to set the parental controls). He was literally shaking while reading about the E. Bola virus outbreak, not that I blame him there. Take a moment to pray for our brother and sister nurses risking their lives treating those poor souls.
We all know how we are. We find intense joy in seeing things that would turn the stomach of a maggot. We could discuss suppurating stage IV bed sores without blinking an eye during dinner. We are sick individuals, us nurses. And while my husband adores me and finds me worthy of worship, he will turn white so fast he gets dizzy if I discuss so much as the suture of a clean lac. Seeing a waitress or cook leave the restroom without washing their hands will result in an immediate evacuation of the facilities. Although, that is gross and I have been known to speak rather sharply to managers about the yumminess of E. Coli and Hepatitis A as a seasoning for my french dip.
I am not quite sure how he will survive my career. I avoid the topic of specifics at work a lot. I buy hand sanitizer by the five gallon bucket. If I have a patient on isolation, you better believe I make sure my poor husband does not even understand what that means, let alone tell him about the germs covering me. Luckily, we are best friends and spend more time laughing than we do talking. Maybe I should suggest he take a microbiology course at the local community college. I would have enough comedic material after that to quit my job as a nurse and go on the road as a stand up comic!
