I Ain't Florence Nightingale

Well my "Need Ta Git It Off Ma Chest" blog post has created quite a furor with old WayneDawg and the ladies, Kimmyk and Queen Snarfetta! I just love it when ya'll come to my aid! It's touching, ladies! But I'm cool. Wayne is no different from a lot of people who aren't in the healthcare field. The "image" of the stereotypical Nurse gets crossed with other archetypes like your Mom and your Kindergarten Teacher. (Or crossed with fantasies of the Soap Opera Nurse Hottie) Wayne just hadn't had his expectations met, and it threw him a little. Wayne, my friend. Ya'll got a little confused. You mistook venting for job dislike, or job burnout. No, no no, my friend. It is precisely that venting (and I'll grant you that a blog is a very public venting place) that enables me to look those people in the eye, take care of them with real and true compassion, and never let them feel they are a pain in my rear end. I am glad for you that you are happy in yer job. I can't imagine what ya'll do, that ya never have a bad day, never git pissed or feel like singing Twisted Sister's song "We're Not Gonna Take It" while you jump up and down on the desk top, swing from the fluorescent lighting - jump down, moon yer boss and run from the place screaming "Take This Job and Shove It, I Ain't Workin' Here No More". So whatever it is you have found - Well, God-Allah-Jesus-Jehovah-Buddha-Shiva Bless ya man! I love what I do. I don't love it every minute of the Goddarn day, every day of the year. But I feel that way about my kids, too! Shit. (Somedays ya wish ya could send 'em back!)

Wayne, Obviously yer not a Cop, a Social Worker, a Psychiatrist, a Teacher, a Paramedic or a whole host of other jobs that take incredible amounts of heart and soul to perform day in and day out, with a lot of bureaucratic red tape, bullshit, disappointment, fatigue and heartache. Jobs that require "Black Humor" (no, I'm not talking about color or race here) to get through it, jobs that require venting and sometimes some serious tears.

I have done this for 13 years my friend. This is my 2nd career. I have a B.S. in Business. I don't HAVE to do this. I want to do this. I want to do this because I CAN. And not everyone CAN my friend. It has nuthin' to do with the sheepskin. Plenty of people start off in this field - and leave it real quick. And it has nothing to do with the mounds of paperwork, the crappy hours, the swing shifts, the holidays you're required to work, the regulatory commissions you have to ass kiss, the bosses who never say thank you for a job well done (but are the first to shit on yer head if something is wrong), the co-workers who take their frustration and stress out on you, the Psycho Doctor's who scream rant and rave - throw things at you and talk to you like ya just arrived off the banana boat, the wacko sue-happy families who drive you crazy. No, not even all that can take the polish off ma white shoes.

It's because they can't stand there and hold the hand of a sobbing mother who has just found out her 20 year old daughter was driving and hit a tree - smashing her skull and dying instantly; they can't wash the bucket of blood off her body without wanting to vomit, and can't try to tape her head so that her brains don't fall out when the family looks at her. They can't take the 10 month old baby who was beaten to death by the mom's boyfriend while she was out shopping. They can't take the woman who found out she had breast cancer the day she delivered her first baby at another hospital, and is now in your hospital - post-partum, waiting to start chemotherapy and radiation; crying her eyes out because she saw her newborn for only twenty minutes before being transported. They can't take the 21 year old leukemia patient whose first - and last - words after coming off the ventilator were "I love you, Mom". They can't take performing the 2 hour code on the 11 year old that died in the school swimming pool - continuing to code a dead child because his mother is collapsed on the floor begging you to please not give up. They can't take the 18 year old who overdosed because she didn't get an A in one of her classes, and the 67 year old end stage lung cancer patient who won't let go of your hand because he is so afraid to die alone. And believe me, I could go on.

I have every card, every pot holder, every ornament, every drawing, note and letter every patient has ever given me in my career.
I vent because I have to. I vent so as to not take it out on my kids when I come home tired and defeated. Wondering why the hell I do what I do, why I pull out of myself what I pull out of myself, to give to other people, because they need help.

I have been bitten, kicked, scratched, spit on, vomited on, shit on, pissed on, had a psych patient pull me up by the pen around my neck (which is why I don't wear THOSE anymore) one foot off the ground and threaten to kill me (and almost did), had my chin split open by a sucker punch, been sworn at, and then some.

But I'll tell ya one thing there Wayne. When the heat is on - nobody moves faster, has better instincts, cares more and watches more closely than me. And if you or yer loved one is coming in feet first - ya'll better hope ya get me as yer Nurse. Because I'm no Florence Nightingale. Baby, I'm better.

Grade Fucking A Ham!