One Night Only

Over and over again, I repeat, I WANT A DIFFERENT ASSIGNMENT, every night that I work.

Apparently, nobody gives a rats ass about what my theory is regarding the "care-experience". Heck, it's probably because they don't follow the writings of "The Underside of Nursing".

One Night

We're not family
And we're not friends,
Particularly if
I have to clean your bottom end,
More than 5 times
In the course of 12 hours,
Super-nurse that I may be
I lack certain powers.

I don't want to know you
Longer than one night,
Some relationships are short
And ours just ain't right,
There's no need to prolong
An association such as this,
When I return tomorrow night
You're not the one that I will miss.

I'm a natural born mercenary
I want to choose my own battle,
Continuity, is a concept
That works well with cattle,
But these patients have personalities
With excretions, you can't envision,
Every day a new assignment
Is my career decision.

It's so easy to become enemies
When you're fighting hand to hand,
With a sick and twisted adversary
In the jungles of hospital land,
So, if I had my druthers
I'd fight a different one each night,
They're not my family, friend or neighbor
If I want to treat them right.

Fibril_late;
8/19/09
__________________________________

And then it came to this:

Transfer To The Floor

Last night my patient
Took her life in her hands,
Wrote notes by the thousands
And made her demands,
Let me walk to the toilet
Let me walk in the hall,
No, I replied
I believe you will fall

Her Doctor had written
That she could transfer to the floor,
Though the time had not arrived
For her exit out the door,
He postponed her departure
Because she acted a bit strange,
He felt she wasn't quite ready
To roam on the range.

She had a previous history
Of alcohol and drugs,
And in my esteemed opinion
Her brain was full of bugs,
Clearly she was infected
With a disordered personality,
I thought, if she gets out of bed
She'll be the next fatality.

Be as that may, she decided
To ante up her score,
In the middle of the night
She transferred to the floor,
Climbing out of bed
Without notifying her nurse,
Was she going to the bathroom
Or looking for her purse,
I'm sure I'll never know
And it doesn't really matter,
On the floor or in the bed
She was as mad as a hatter.

No injuries were apparent
When we hauled her back to bed,
Her escape had been aborted
And she wasn't even dead,
Perhaps a Posey-Vest would hold her
Until my shift was over,
After that I will not care
If she falls from the Cliffs of Dover.

Fibril_late;
8/19/09