Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Floating (working in an unintended area) can be a nightmare. Not always, but it's a good set-up for a bad shift. Anyway, it was my turn, and off I went to Trauma ICU.

Cut Out

I'm not cut out for Trauma
It just isn't my gift,
Too many busted young guns
Too heavy to lift,
Now, don't get me wrong
This ain't about knowledge,
Why everyone knows
I spent a few years in college.

I'm not cut in the mold
Of the great Trauma nurse,
Masters of bone breaking
And they know how to curse,
Now me, I'm content with
The cardiac arrest,
Stent an artery or seven
Why, it brings out my best,
And let me play Sherlock Holmes
For that complicated EKG,
Just please keep your busted femur
Far away from me.

A visit to Trauma
Once a year, is enough,
C-collar practice and log rolling
Just to prove I am tough,
And then a visit to ICU
To catch the latest in slicing,
Oh, the secret is out
Floating: is so enticing.

Take it from me
I'd rather see Trauma,
Than Neuro ICU
Stuck with Godzilla's Momma,
Fresh off a stroke
In her right hemisphere,
Now that is a nightmare
Where I'd rather keep clear.

All in all, I am jealous
The news-clipping is in my purse,
Down at the big house
There's no floating a nurse,
Or so, the smiley one claimed
But why shouldn't I believe,
UC gets hot benefits
While the rest of us grieve.

I'm not cut out for Trauma
I had a Cardiac birth,
This is no war of worlds
To determine our worth,
We all have our talents
Our specialties and more,
And the patients don't care
When they roll through the door.

___ ________ ___

Slice of Life

A Trauma nurse
No, I am not,
But I love to learn
Why Bob got shot,
And how about Mary?
She paid the price,
When her boyfriend Billy
Gave her neck a slice.

The morbid details
Are fascinating,
The monsters mayhem
Is not abating,
Such an endless scope
Of injuries,
I want to know
So tell me, please.

Hour by hour
In the dead of night,
Visions of trauma
Are always in sight,
And even though
I'm not that kind of nurse,
I keep a police scanner
In my purse.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

12 Hours

A Trauma nurse?
Oh that, I'm not,
I'd rather have my
Left foot shot,
From a careless moment
Cleaning the gun,
A buckshot foot
Is surely more fun.

Isn't my gig,
The patient's are
Just too damn big,
But like it or not
It's part of the job,
When you buy the corn
You get the cob.

Obstetrics would never
Be my career option,
I just wouldn't fit in
Like a bad adoption,
With lochea's and placenta's
Flinging right and left and center,
Now that is one arena
I have no right to enter.

I considered Neonatal
I heard the babes were really small,
That piqued my curiosity
Call me kinky, that is all,
One kilo is so tiny
I can hold her in my hand,
But to wait for 20 years of growth?
Is more than I can stand.

To be a Nurse Anesthetist
Looked pretty slick indeed,
Passing gas for hours
While I watch somebody bleed,
But I'm a little claustrophobic
Stuck in the operating suite,
I'd rather be more mobile
On my bloody buckshot feet.

I'm settled in with Cardiac
In the middle of medical mysteries,
Instead of just dealing with body parts
I get to know the whole sordid histories,
Dwelling on complex disorders
Fills me with ideas and drama,
And having stuck with this job, for all of these years,
I play the role of the old and wise Lama.

I'm not a trauma-pedi-bari-neo
O-b kind of guy,
But when forced to float, I'll do my best
To make 12 hours fly.


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