Jeffery over at I wanna be a male nurse posted a poem called “The Dresser” by Walt Witman. I loved the last stanza.

Thus in silence, in dreams’ projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;
The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so young;
Some suffer so much—I recall the experience sweet and sad;
(Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested,
Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

I found it fascinating that Walt Witman took his turn at nursing. I also loved the remarks at the end that refer to his homoerotic experiences with soldiers. YAY!

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I wrote the Canadian Registered Nurses Exam on Wednesday. I am pretty sure it was one of the most difficult and exhauting days of my life. I sat in that crowded exam room for eight hours answering the hundreds of multiple choice and short answer questions. Did anybody else out there do that this week?

I hate the fact that American nurses get their results in about 48 hours, while I have to wait 10-12 weeks. I sit here waiting desperately just to find out if I passed or failed. As I was warned by many people who have written the test in the past, everyone leaves the exam with a strong feeling of having failed. I (and most of my cowriters) were no exception.

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Thursday, I worked a twelve hour shift. I normally work eight hours, but ended up working a longer shift after switching shifts with someone who didn’t warn me (after asking her if it was eight or twelve hours) that it was a twelve hour shift. I love twelve hour night shifts, but the day shifts kill me. I can barely keep up that pace for eight hours, let alone twelve.

On top of all of that, it was possibly the busiest day I have worked so far. However, I noticed that no matter how busy it got, I generally felt “on top” of what I needed to to, even if I did frequently fall behind. Yay for improvement!

Unfortunately, it was just one of those days where you have to make very tough priority decisions. For example, I found one of my patients sitting on the toilet, covered in her own feces, crying. I couldn’t stop though, I had about three more pressing issues to worry about first. And of course, when I asked for help from the NA, I was told “sorry, I have to hand out meal.”

I’m thinking, “A women is crying and sitting in her own poo, and you think delaying meal delivery by five minutes is more important?”

So, there she sat until I could help her about thirty minutes later. It was just one of those moments that makes you hate your job. I wish that prioritizing never left people in bad situations. I wish that the current state of my job didn’t prevent me from stopping and talking to a crying patient.

*sigh*

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At the rist of cursing myself, I have to say that I think I’m getting better at IV starts. After a million failures, I have had almost full success this week. I think I just might be winning the battle between IVs and me!