There is one question that I get asked more frequently than any other: How old are you? Apparently being twenty-two but looking like you’re sixteen is not in your favor when people are literally entrusting their lives to you. Who would have thought?
When I walk into the room, the patients give me this quizzical look that doesn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. The look says, “Why are they letting high school kids act like nurses?” Often I want to waltz in and pretend that this supposition is actually the case.
“Ya, it’s crazy that they let me come and play today! I’ve like never really done this before but I’m sure it like can’t be that hard. You can like tell me if I do something wrong right?” Brilliant fantasy.
It’s almost more awkward when I get a patient who is close to my age. They either ignore me and don’t comprehend the authority that I have over them (like I’m not keeping you alive…) or try and be my best friend by asking extremely personal questions and requesting a bed bath. Both are bad approaches.
LaDamien was near my age and seemed very bored. I went in to check the Mavs score and see how he was doing. He proceeds to play twenty questions with me like we were on a blind date involving stool softeners and vomit buckets. At least he cared to know what my favorite color was. Sweet, very sweet.
He asks for a piece of paper and a pen and in my naivete, I give it to him without thinking. He concentrates for a moment then hands it back to me with his phone number scribbled on it. I’m shocked honestly and fumble around for words that end up in “wow, thanks! Yeah that’s great”. No matter that it’s completely weird and against hospital policy to date patients. Unless he was rich and attractive, then I might reconsider.
All in all, it was a flattering, uncomfortable, and entertaining experience.
And then I had to take out his foley catheter. Yeah, that’s right.
No comments:
Post a Comment