Was happily munching on my vending machine dinner when Cheery Nurse walked by with her Bulgarian yoghurt-infused cucumber salad and said, "Oh, by the way did you know night nurses get more bowel and stomach cancers than any other profession because of how they eat? Happy munching!"
Night duty, so no Hot doctor. Just me and the orderlies and the interns sleeping in the on-call room. I don't know why all the medical TV shows have people having sex in there all the time. The place smells like antiseptic, nicotine and puke. It's like sleeping in a prison cot.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Who needs friends?
My roommate (Nurse Friend) says the new gynae is a waste, because male gynaes are perpetual bachelors. Her reasoning? She quoted a TV show of some kind:
"It's like the year I spent working at a coffee shop. After a month, I felt like if I saw one more cup of coffee I could hurl."
Nice one, Nurse Friend. I hate you now.
New patient on ward. He's seventy. He was a single dad at a time where no one was a single dad. He's got four kids and they decorate his room and comb his hair and harass all the oncology nurses until they get pissed. I like him. He's got the same bright blue eyes as my grandpa and shows us pictures and comments on the TV shows like they are real people. And he flirts. "I want a nurse in a mini-skirt. I'm paying enough as it is."
He's having a hard time breathing because of his white blood cell count. "But I'll fight it," he says when we try to talk to talk to him about hospice, and pats his daughters' hands.
"He's a tough guy," they all assure us and we look at each other really knowingly.
"It's like the year I spent working at a coffee shop. After a month, I felt like if I saw one more cup of coffee I could hurl."
Nice one, Nurse Friend. I hate you now.
New patient on ward. He's seventy. He was a single dad at a time where no one was a single dad. He's got four kids and they decorate his room and comb his hair and harass all the oncology nurses until they get pissed. I like him. He's got the same bright blue eyes as my grandpa and shows us pictures and comments on the TV shows like they are real people. And he flirts. "I want a nurse in a mini-skirt. I'm paying enough as it is."
He's having a hard time breathing because of his white blood cell count. "But I'll fight it," he says when we try to talk to talk to him about hospice, and pats his daughters' hands.
"He's a tough guy," they all assure us and we look at each other really knowingly.
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