Tuesday, February 20, 2007

short story

I've been chastised for a lack of posting the past few days. The Hater's been gone and I've been busying myself with things around the apartment. Very exciting stuff, I assure you. I have so many quart bags of frozen beans that we're sure to have healthy hearts soon enough!

Today I completed the first part of my employee physical at the new job. They did a TB test and a urine drug screen. I filled out a mountain of paper work and they copied all of my most important documents. And I passed their all-nursing test, which I didn't even know about until I showed up to fill out paperwork. (Oh, and are you taking the test today, too?)

me: What test?
her: You know, the nursing test.
me: I'm not going to be giving drugs, are you sure I have to take it?
her: Let me check. (checks) Yes, you do. Do you want to take it today?
me: How many chances do I have to pass it?
her: Two.
me: Yeah, I'll give her a go. If it doesn't work out I'll prepare for it and try it again when I come back to have my TB test read.
her: You sure?

I was sure. I was sure that if I had known about it, I would've gotten less sleep than I hadn't been getting. I never had test anxiety before nursing school, but among other things I also polished that fine art. No need to worry, I passed with flying colors.

One quick thought before I have to go pick up The Hater at the airport:

In nursing school I had to learn how to calculate IV drips as if there were no pumps to infuse things. I bucked at the idea then, too, because all hospitals have pumps now. Five years later, I've not had to calculate drips since nursing school, but I had several questions on this test as to how you calculate drip rates manually. I think there's a problem with this picture. It's a standard now across this country to use "pumps" (which calculate millileters/hour, not drips/minute); why is it that our tests do not reflect that?

I am proud to note that nowhere did it ask me how often you are supposed to replace the hay on which people are laying or how often you should open the window so that the air should circulate the hospital barn; thank you, Florence Nightengale.

Meanwhile, I'm not so sure how to feel about changing jobs. I'm excited about it, but more at peace with the idea of a move. But I hate to leave my coworkers where I am now... I really do. I feel bad, like I'm pimping my wares to the highest bidder, a corporate hoar. But you might as well get paid for the work you do; which makes it economics, stupid.*

More to come as this story develops. Also, I'm on my way to pick up The Hater! Zoloft and I are really excited... even if she's so very excited that she exhausted herself into a napping ball at my feet.


* Thanks, Bush Senior! I can name one good thing that came from your Presidency!

3 comments:

genderist said...

Points of Clarification: (I'm a little teapot.)

1. I know it was Clinton, who made the economy joke to Bush Senior. That's all part of the joke. Read it again if you didn't get it. :)

2. I just realized this morning that this month marks my nurse birthday: I'm five years old! Wow. I think that's impressive, but I tend to be conceited from time to time. :)

3. Having slept on it, again, and having realized 5 years is no mashed potatoes, I feel better about the move. The Hater says we're all corporate hoars, and that fact alone non-uniques my argument. I don't entirely agree with him, but I do realize that 5 years is about the right timeline to move to bigger things.

Anonymous said...

Do not feel that you must justify
your advancement. You have earned it. This is part of the female thing of thinking we don't deserve good things.

Go after this job like you did the last one and you'll soon have earned your next promotion.

VolMom

bill said...

You're not a whore. At least, if you are, your proof is inadequate.