Scrubs

5 things I hate about you:

• The ninja nurse. This is the nurse who disappears quicker than Endora on Bewitched. She vanishes without a trace then appears with peanuts and a Coke. By that time there are numerous requests by her patients that usually include the word “Bedpan.”


• The head nurse MD. The doctor who has nothing better to do than check on the nursing staff. He or she spies on the RN, vanishes and poof. Your Nursing Manager pulls you to the side to inform you of the complaint. All this when charts pile up looking like piano keys and patients are lining up in the hallway complaining of pain wondering where the doctor is.


• The hand washing police. You know the one, usually an old maid hiding in the corner with a clipboard.


• The no-call/no-show nurse's aide. Have you ever noticed their union is stronger than that of the Registered Nurses?


• The Hearing Voices MD. This is the doctor who follows you down the corridor with her list of demands and all you can think is “I’m hearing voices. Hearing voices.”
  

5 things I love about you:

• Patients who take the time to say, “Thank you.”


• The ninety-six year-old man who enters triage and says “Please take care of my lady.” She’s 92, short of breath with a walker and they came by subway.


• The co-worker who becomes a lifelong friend and can read your mind.


• The longevity of a nursing career that puts food on the table and helps with the beach chair on the white sands of beautiful Waimanalo Beach. I am grateful.


• The Nurse Manager who puts on a pair of scrubs, places his or her hand on your shoulder and says, "What’s next?"
  

My scrubs are old and worn out and they represent who I am. I’ve been wearing scrubs for three decades. They can be seen in the dark on an early Sunday morning watching Mimi the Stray cat shuffle by, or late at night after a long shift stretching my sore knees waiting for the crosstown bus. My stethoscope is a lei and there are pen marks above the pocket. Friends, young and old, take tape to swipe off the cat hair as I stand ready to face another day. The cell phone heavy in my side pocket, ringing while I push a stretcher, “How's work?” Some days are good and then there are the struggles that challenge what I know. Sometimes I know it all and sometimes I know nothing but there is one certain truth:

When I wear my scrubs I am not on the passenger’s side.

(A big thank you to Scrubs Magazine for publishing a few of my stories.)