Control freaks, that's what we are; especially those critical care nurses. I admit it. If there was a 12-step program for us, I'd be there. It's no different at home either. I need to know who's doing what, where, when, how much was spent, what are they hiding, and where are they going, at all times. Only I get to keep the secrets.
Anyway, it has a downside too; when others rely on us to save the day and then steal the glory.


In Control

As critical care nurses
We like to be in control,
Measuring all that goes in
And out, every hole,
We like to maintain the rhythm
Of everyone’s heart,
We give explicit directions
About when they can fart,
We know more than the doctors
In some ways, by far,
Because we’re at the bedside
Much more than they are,
We record all the data
And present it real slow,
So the doctor has time
To understand the whole show,
Then he’ll write a few orders
And compose a short note,
Scribbling, so no one
Can read what he wrote.

It will look like the orders
Were written with reflection,
And not in a manner
To give him protection,
Because the patient in question
Is circling the drain,
And this dumbfounded doctor
Is shaking his brain,
In an effort to reveal
The meagerest fact,
Because the patient is dying
If he doesn’t act,
So he turns to the nurse
And asks for suggestions,
She reluctantly gives
The proper directions,
Knowing, she once again
Saved his sweet ass,
And for this he’s promoted
To the top of his class.

It’s all for the good
In the service of life,
But how many times
Do we tell husband or wife;
Please don’t let them know
That I am a nurse,
Because sometimes it seems
Like an unholy curse.

Fibril_late; 4/94