So, it's been awhile.
I quit my per diem job at the primary care clinic. My boss refused to accept my resignation, and still texts me, asking if I can do a few hours here or there.
Uh, no.
While I loved my co-workers there, I HATED the job. It was hours of tedium interspersed with moments of utter terror. Telephone triage is not for wimps! I never really felt that I got the hang of it, triage protocol book at hand or not.
Plus all the emails from the patients to the doctors, which had to go through the nurses first. Ugh.
People are fucking stupid. I've known this for quite some time, but read a few hundred patient emails and you'll feel it at a visceral level. I'm frequently amazed that humanity has survived as long as it has.
ANYWAY. Enough about that. My faith in humanity is frequently restored by my amazing inpatients.
I ran into the sister of one of my former (and likely future) patients when Thing 1 and I were shopping at a local Big Box store. I heard, "CHRISTINA!!!" and turned around to be tackle-hugged by a familiar lady. She squeezed me so hard and asked, "Do you know what a difference you made during my sister's last admission? We're so grateful to you!"
Well, I'm not ashamed to admit I got a bit teary-eyed (or maybe more than a bit...)
Enough so that Thing 1 muttered sotto voce, "Mom, get it together!"
Heh.
I'm allowed these moments, dammit!
The most amazing thing about this is that the sister happens to be a very experienced nurse, so praise coming from her...well!
In other news, I have some advice:
It behooves one to perhaps not make comments, even sarcastically or due to frustration, that imply that if one's aged, chronically ill mother had only fallen and BROKEN HER HIP, maybe her insurance company would have coughed up the cash for a bed in a rehab or skilled nursing facility by now...
Yeah, that gets you a visit from Adult Protective Services right quick!
This morning, right before shift change, I was holding a graduated cylinder for my patient to empty her colostomy into, when she, well, missed. Just a little bit. The contents splashed onto my hand and the floor.
"Oh, SHIT!" my patient whisper-shouted.
"LITERALLY!" I replied.
I made her laugh!
And this, children, is why we wear gloves.
