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This Kid K-needs A K-nurse!

, , , , , , , , | Learning | May 19, 2022

This happened when I was eleven years old, in year seven at secondary school. I was running late one morning, due to my younger brother throwing a strop over not wanting to go to school. As a result, I was riding my bike as fast as I could down the pavement on the street my school was on. Until, that is, I saw a fire officer’s car coming the other way. Being a pre-teen obsessed with shiny things — which a red and reflective yellow livery most definitely was — I lifted a hand to wave to the car’s occupant.

And I promptly fell off my bike. 

To his credit, the fire officer immediately stopped his car and came over to check on me. I was mostly unhurt, apart from a few grazes and an impressively skinned knee where I’d slid along a few feet. I remember being more worried about my brand new tights — completely shredded — than the multiple places I was bleeding from.

The fire officer got me loaded into the front seat of his car and my bike into the back, and he turned round to take me the rest of the way to school. He carried me to the visitor’s reception and plonked me down into one of the chairs there.

He asked the receptionist to call the nurse up from her office to come take care of me. The receptionist was unwilling to do so. I don’t remember the full conversation, as it’s been quite a few years since then, but the receptionist was arguing that the school, and therefore the school nurse, was not responsible for dealing with anything that happened off of school grounds, even if it happened on the way to school and practically within sight of the gates.

An offer was made to have an older student, a sixth-former who’d made the mistake of wandering into sight at the wrong time, escort the fire officer and me down to the nurse’s office. The receptionist dismissed the possibility that the nurse should be the one coming to a student with an injured leg. I was just faking it, by her estimation.

The sixth-former wasn’t stupid, though, and ran off during the argument — straight to the nurse’s office. He did what the receptionist wasn’t willing to do and told the nurse that she was needed in the visitor’s reception. A few minutes later, she arrived, and she promptly tore a strip off the receptionist while simultaneously reassuring me and getting all the bleeding bits bandaged up.

The fire officer left once he knew I was being taken care of, leaving my bike in the care of the groundskeepers, whose office was next to the bike sheds. The nurse had the helpful sixth-former carry me round to the student reception and pastoral care area — through the staff corridor, which was a big treat at that age — so my parents could be called to come collect me and take me for a checkup and proper wound clean at hospital.

My leg was fine, but the experience left me with a nice scar on my knee. And a few days later, some of the little jerks I went to school with decided to shove me along a pebble-dashed wall so that my other knee was also ripped up.

You Know, Literally Anyone Can Buy Scrubs

, , , , | Healthy Right | CREDIT: german_big_guy | May 1, 2022

I’m a male nurse and work in the emergency room. My shift ended a little late today (like always) and I really wasn’t in the mood for bulls***. I headed to the changing rooms to shower and change. The locker rooms are in a separate building, so normally, I have to leave the building the ER is in, cross the main building, and then enter the separate building. But there are some shortcuts in the hospital and really, no one cares. If you wear scrubs or a lab coat, no one will bother you.

I was wearing dark blue scrubs. Only the ER and ICU staff wear dark blue; most bedside nurses wear white.

As always, I walked through the hospital, greeted some other nurses or doctors I knew, and then I stopped to look at my phone. And then, it started.

Woman: “Umm, excuse me?”

Me: “Huh? Me?”

Woman: “Yes, you! Is there anyone else here? I’ve been searching for a d*** nurse for, like, ever, and the unit clerk couldn’t help me.”

Me: “Okay. Maybe I can help. What’s the problem?”

Woman: “In which room is [Patient]? The clerk wouldn’t tell me.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t work here.”

Woman: “I don’t believe you! You’re wearing scrubs, so you’re a nurse! Now, where is [Patient]? I’m his wife and want to visit him.”

Me: “As I said, I don’t work in this station. You’ll have to just ask one of the nurses around here.”

Woman: “Ugh, you’re just lazy!”

At this point, I was really annoyed, so I basically detached my ID card from my scrubs and showed it to her. It said clearly, “RN OP — Emergency Room”. She looked at it, then at me, and then again at the ID card.

The woman apologized and then she flagged down another nurse who actually worked there.

Life As A Human Pin Cushion

, , , , , , | Healthy | April 18, 2022



I am not a tricky stick. I started donating plasma when I was seventeen and continued twice a year until I got pregnant, so I’m not afraid of needles, either. 

When I am pregnant, they have to draw my blood for the gestational diabetes test. When I get there, there are two people. The woman tells me the young man is a nurse doing his residency and asks if I’m okay with him doing my blood draw. I say sure. Again, I’m not afraid of needles and not a tricky stick.

It goes terribly. He misses my vein on the left arm twice. I’m still calm, but now he’s freaking out a little and misses again.

Older Nurse: “Are you okay, Mrs. [My Name]?”

Me: “I’m doing fine.”

Older Nurse: “Do you want me to draw your blood, instead?”

Me: “No, I’m good. He can keep trying. Better on me than on someone who needs a needle urgently in the future.”

The young nurse tries again and misses again. Now he looks close to tears and way more emotional than me. The older nurse pulls him aside and talks him through a few deep breaths. They come back, and he tries to stick me again and misses twice.

Me: “Would you like to try my other arm?”

Older Nurse: “That’s probably a good idea.”

After five failed tries in my left arm, he preps my right.

Me: “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. You’ll get it this time.”

Older Nurse: “Keep calm and focus. The more emotional you are, the harder it will be.”

After three tries, he finally got the needle into my right arm and could draw blood. I left looking like an addict with holes in both arms. Hopefully, he didn’t get discouraged and is working as a nurse today with a steady hand.

The Adventures Of Nurse Tantrum

, , , , , | Right | April 17, 2022

I’m a chef in a hospital cafeteria. It’s the Friday before Easter weekend, and to make things worse, we’re due for an inspection the following Monday. The lunch rush just ended and my boss takes me into the freezer to show me everything he ordered for Easter dinner. The freezer is sound-proof.

We spend maybe less than a minute in the freezer and then exit. We have a bell that employees can ring for service if no one is on the line; it’s fairly normal for someone to ring the bell once or twice in a row just to make sure we hear them. In the fifteen seconds that it takes us to get from the freezer to the front, the bell rings no less than twelve times.

The other employees later tell me that this nurse spent the last thirty seconds both ringing the bell non-stop and slamming her hands on the metal counter. The perpetrator ends up being one of the rudest and self-important nurses in the hospital.

Me: “You know patience is a virtue, right?”

Rude Nurse: “I’ll have you know I’ve been waiting here for five minutes for service!”

That’s not true. As explained above, I was gone for less than two minutes. I try not to chuckle at that lie.

Me: “No, you haven’t.”

The nurse sputters for a second, trying to find words.

Rude Nurse: “Well… I… just give me food, already!”

Me: “Okay, what would you—”

She sees that I’m not getting flustered.

Rude Nurse: “You know what? Forget it.” *Storms out*

Boss: “What is she, five?”

We, along with the other dozen or so employees who bore witness to this tantrum, spent the rest of the afternoon having a good laugh.

Putting Your Flat Foot In Your Mouth

, , , , , | Healthy | April 11, 2022

I’ve been having heel and arch pain for a couple of months. A relative suggests that I may have plantar fasciitis, as she has it and my symptoms are identical. She recommends a particular shoe brand that her podiatrist suggested a few years ago.

This brand has a variety of cute shoes with a built-in insole that’s famous for helping plantar fasciitis patients. I buy a couple of pairs, and they are very helpful.

I get into a podiatrist and am wearing a pair of flip-flops by this brand. I’m also the youngest patient in the waiting room by about thirty years. The nurse calls my name, does a double-take when I stand up, and points me to a room.

Nurse: “So, why are you here?”

I am surprised by her tone, but I describe the pain I’ve been having and explain that I suspect plantar fasciitis after chatting with a relative who has it, so I am here to see if it’s that or something else. The nurse eyes my shoes.

Nurse: “The arches on those shoes are very high, and you have flat feet. That’s causing your pain.”

I think that maybe she can’t tell what they are, as they do look like normal flip-flops, just with a better arch.

Me: “Oh, sorry, they are actually [Brand].”

I slide them off and show her the brand name on the sole.

Nurse: “You can’t wear shoes like that with flat feet. Stop wearing them.”

Me: “They’re helping the pain. Are [Brand] shoes not recommended for foot problems anymore?”

Nurse: “But the arches are too high. They can’t be helping.”

I’m annoyed and let my tone show it.

Me: “That’s the point! They have extra support to help stabilize the arch and heel. Therefore, I have less pain when I walk.”

Nurse: “Your only problem is flat feet, but whatever. The doctor will be in soon. She’ll tell you.”

She rolls her eyes and walks out. The doctor comes in soon after. After a few minutes of chat, she starts checking my feet. I flinch as she pushes on my left arch.

Me: “I felt that!

Doctor: “Yep, plantar fasciitis. Your paperwork said the right foot is worse, right?”

Me: “Yep.”

Doctor: “Okay. Hold on to something. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

She lightly pushes on my problem arch, causing pain to shoot all throughout the foot. I yelp.

Doctor: “Plantar fasciitis confirmed in both feet.”

She writes something on my chart, and then she looks at my shoes on the floor.

Doctor: “Hey, those are [Brand]!”

I nod.

Doctor: “Fantastic. They’re top of the line for plantar fasciitis, so keep wearing those. I always recommend them.”

She talks to me about other shoe brands I should try and some stretches I need to do daily. She asks if I have any questions.

Me: “Um, yes. I don’t necessarily want to get anyone in trouble, but…”

I briefly recap the conversation with the nurse. The doctor sighs and shakes her head.

Doctor: “I’m sorry about that. I’ll take care of it.”

She gives me some additional instructions and exits. Another nurse comes in to check me out, and she is much friendlier. I go back for a follow-up several weeks later, and guess which nurse calls me back again? She makes a face and mutters something under her breath as I walk in.

Nurse: “So, you’re back for your flat feet?”

Me: “No. I’m following up on my plantar fasciitis.”

She looks at my chart and her expression immediately changes.

Nurse: “Oh. Yep, it’s right here. Plantar fasciitis. Uh… the doctor will be in soon.”

Exit nurse, stage left.