Nurse Ratchet

I have sometimes thought about going back to school for a nursing degree and while it is a lovely thought, there are two fundamental problems with it:

First is that I don't do blood or body fluids.

It's true, I have been known to pass out at the site of blood; my own or others. And body fluids make me want to barf.

"But wait" you say. "You have children. Boys none the less."

Ah yes, but God has taken mercy on me. In my nearly ten years of motherhood, only ONCE has either of my two boys had an injury that bled more than a microscopic amount AND when that injury did happen there was a lot of people at my house and someone else dealt with it for me.

"But children barf" you quip.

Yes, this I know, and once again God has shown me favor by giving me a charming husband that has cleaned up nearly all of the vomit his children have produced. And once these children were old enough to understand the value of money, I began bribing them.

It goes something like this:

Young boy, "mommy, my tummy hurts"

Me, "well, please don't throw up and if you really need to, remember I pay $5 if you make it in the toilet"

Which brings me to the second fundamental problem; my bedside manner.

Or lack thereof.

It's true, I have no patience for the infirmed in my own home.

Outside of my house, it's a different story. If you are sick, or injured, or somehow otherwise incapacitated, you have all my sympathy, empathy and a home cooked meal delivered to your door.

But if you are living with me and are sick or injured you are just out of luck (unless of course you are five and get the swine flu and spend 6 days laying on top of our mom with 103 degree fever. In which case I shall gladly lay and nap with you and ignore all other responsibilities of life because one never knows when it will be the last time you snuggle with me).

Hypothetical case in point:
Let's say you are a 45 year old man and you go out on Monday night to play basketball with the younger set, and lets say that younger set is comprised of young men whose father you could be. And while playing basketball with these young men you injure your foot, but because of your advanced age you can't remember whether you came down on someone else's foot or just came down on your own foot wrong, either way it's a mute point because the next day you can barely walk. So you drive yourself to the medical center for an x-ray. The doctor says to you "you have fractured your foot in two places" and tells you to stay off of your foot for four days and then to return to the clinic for follow up on Friday.

Well, hypothetically speaking, if you came home and shared this information with me. I would be likely to not be very empathetic or sympathetic. I might even be a little mad at you for thinking that you could still play basketball with the twenty year old boys. And after your first day at home, staying "off of your foot" I might even ask what your plans were to return to work. And when you tell me of your doctor appointment scheduled for two days away I might even tell you to be sure to ask for a walking cast so that you can go to work after your appointment.

I'm just saying I should probably skip the nursing degree, ya think?