Ninapintasantamaria's Blog











{January 2, 2009}   My favorite Surgeon

Dr. B totally gets my sense of humor.  He’s so funny.  I haven’t worked with him in like 3 months!  I was his primary nurse for 6 months or better, and all of a sudden one day, they took him away from me.  So, today, I finally got to work with him, and had to catch him up on all my news.  Remember, flushing the toilet and singing Jingle Bells?  Well, he got a kick out of that, and his very next question was “Well, Nina, I guess this is the obvious question.  Were you on the toilet while you were singing?”  To which I answered “No, sir.  I stood outside the door and let each family member have a private moment with their very own flush.”  Hee, Hee, Heee!  He then started asking for things that he’d had to remind all the other nurses he’d been forced to work with.  I had to remind him who he was working with, and that I had everything under control.  You just stand up there and do surgery.  I got this.  Dr. B practices an alternative lifestyle, but you’d never know it unless he took it upon himself to tell you.  We just try to warn people so they don’t put their foot in their mouth.  I’m the world’s worst, as I’ve said before, about being clueless and then causing embarassing silences.  We just have the best team in his room, and it’s always a nice day when we all get together.  Everyone knows their duties, no one has to ask or remind anyone else to do their job.  You’d think that’d be pretty basic, but where I work, not so much.  I hate a room where I have to stay on each person and ask for everything.  The team in Dr. B’s room all hustles and moves and we just know what needs to be done.  I am not cut out for management.  Of any kind.  I don’t like confrontation as a rule.  I don’t run from it, but I don’t go seeking it out if I can help it, either.  And, to my way of thinking, management consists mostly of babysitting adults and making these same adults do their jobs, then having them whine about it all the while thinking they should get paid for taking up oxygen and toilet paper, rather than get off their asses and do anything.  Oh, the frustration!  I’d lose my job the first hour cause someone would say something stupid, and I’d say something smart and someone would get all “butt-hurt,” as my husband puts it.

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