by Karen Devaney
As my car sputtered into the nearest garage spewing whitish gray smoke, I knew I was doomed for another week of nursing nightmares. I’d have to jam my latest manuscript back into the file labeled “edits” don my scrubs and stethoscope and fly to the nearest hospital resurrecting Nurse Noelle. Being a registered nurse desperate for cash reminded me that my life resembled that of a scullery maid. By definition a scullery maid’s duties included– “the most physical and demanding tasks.” Hoisting obese patients and giving enemas to clear came to mind. A scullery maid also was responsible for cleaning and scouring various areas—does armpits and anuses count?
The mechanic whirled me back into reality when he announced my car needed a new tube here, a radiator there, and some other outrageously priced part that I couldn’t afford. I tuned out and called the office for work.
By seven am the following morning, after taking a bus laden with perfume and various body odors, I found myself stranded on the scariest floor yet; the transplant unit at St. George. St George was known for their influx of organs coming and going like a fish market bustling with the latest fresh catch. The place was impacted with patients desperate for livers or kidneys or new bionic feet of some sort. As far as my eyes could see there were swollen scrotums, distended abdomens, and general zombie like folks scattered about. Continue reading “Story Time: The Chronicles of Nurse Noelle — Double Duty at St. George”