OK, dear readers. We are about to plunge into the origin of "The Underside of Nursing". In this post I present my initial editorial** and the first poem. I will try to add one poem per day. That should keep this going for at least a year! Then I'll reconnoiter.

**By now, I think all of us have heard enough about nursing practice, nursing standards, nursing credibility, professionalism, evidenced based practice, blah-blah, etc, etc., ad nauseum. But who out there really writes about life in the trenches, life down on the street of nursing, the ongoing daily life of Nancy/Neo Nurse, as only a nurse can write it? I do! Maybe you do too. I won't know unless you tell me. Each month (day) you will receive a humorously written episode about us! - Ok, ok, I'm not you, you're not me, but in all likelihood we have touched the same stuff somewhere. Enough!
Now, a few of you may know me (though, most likely not), but regardless, I expect you to spread the word about this bold new venture and pretty soon it will be a veritable partay! The whole idea is for us to share, get to know each other, commisserate about our lot in life and so on.
And you will soon see that indeed, we all touch the same stuff sooner or later.

The Underside of Nursing

The underside of nursing
Is a place where few, dare tread,
Where the overlords of the afterlife
Come calling for the dead,
Long before those sorry citizens
Announce their kickoff date,
And the denizens of nightfall, whisper
"Mister, don't be late".

The underside of nursing
Is a lighthouse in the midst,
Where multi-system failures
Change their shape at every twist,
And the spirits of great medicine
Are heard chanting in the halls,
While the nurses write graffiti care-plans
On the station walls.

The underside of nursing
Is a campfire on the plain,
A camaraderie of creatures
Seeking shelter from the rain,
Boldly treading lifetimes
In shark infested seas,
Confronting fearsome monsters
Masquerading as disease.

The underside of nursing
Cries, to have a voice,
Every face contains a story
Each moment brings a choice,
But like the scriptures, of the Masters
Who came before their time,
They hid thier truths in parables
And today it's heard in rhyme.

Fibril-late; 1/'92