In my hospital, it works like this

Relatives:
1. You are at the hospital because your child/sibling/partner needs medical care. Now is not the time to tell me about your itchy foot or how you can’t remember what you ate for dinner last night – I really don’t care.

2. Unless the patient is unable to answer my questions for themselves, you should sit quietly and let them speak. When I ask your friend how they are feeling, I don’t want to know that you’re tired or thirsty. The coffee machine is down the hall, take a hike and leave us to it. Additionally, it is equally unhelpful for you to add “but he cut his thumb three months ago” when I ask about any other injuries/illnesses.

3. If your child/sibling/partner needs an IV or a shot and you know you’re not good with needles, leave the room or look away. Standing there going “I think I’m going to throw up” or “I feel kind of light headed” while doing absolutely nothing about it will not help you or your child/sibling/partner. Remember, you are here FOR the patient, not to BE the patient.

4. If you’re going to be concerned about something, at least google it before going wild with the baby wipes. Just so you know, the broken hand your child/sibling/partner has is not going to increase their risk of getting MRSA so the wet kleenex you insist on rubbing all over my patient is somewhat pointless. Besides, hospitals are the germiest places in the world… if you’re worried about getting sick, you’re in the wrong place.

5. Get out of the way when I tell you to. Grabbing at the patient and insisting you hold their hand/sit on the bed/massage their feet is not particularly helpful to me or them.

Patients:
1. If we need you to be naked, we will ask or cut your clothes off. Unless you have specifically been told you need to remove *everything,* I don’t want to walk into your room and find you laying on your bed completely naked – and smiling about it. It is not sexy and I dislike having to maintain eye contact the whole time just so you don’t think I’m looking at your… *ahem* stuff.

2. Unless you can show that you are sicker than we are, don’t bother coming to see us. I’ve had a cold for a month but I haven’t needed to go to hospital, what makes you so special?

3. If you can’t decide what is wrong with you, don’t even bother thinking about coming to see us. I’m sure your headache really did turn into a broken arm and then a heart attack but we can’t treat you for problems which spontaneously resolve themselves. I am sure your shrink would like to hear about this, however.

4. Presumably I’m seeing you because you chose to come here. The least you can do is put down your book/PSP/phone/laptop long enough to talk to me and let me do my job. Yes I know that discussing your sex life at the top of your voice is more important than the gaping wound in your arm but the sooner I can do what I have to, the sooner you can get back to Bruce and his HUGE…

…apartment.

Some things are best left to chance, others need ice

Every time I have something nice to say about humanity, a retard manages to change my mind. In order to “honor” this, I feel a retard of the week award is in order. Okay, well maybe retards of the week is slightly more appropriate.

The first retard award goes to the lady and her army of white trash who, as it suggests in the video “are the result of mating with vegetables.” After you watch the video, I think you’ll agree that there really is no need for further explanation. Direct your clickage here

The second award is also a joint award and goes to both my boyfriend and the guy who punched him in the face. There are some people who see my boyfriends job as a way to get themselves a ride in one of those nice, shiny, police cars. Asking for a ride or maybe buying him something pretty isn’t quite what these people had in mind. After all, their efforts may fail and then they’d really be screwed. What they want is a sure fire way to get the full experience. You know, the handcuffs, sirens, lights and maybe a gun or two pointed in their general direction. The simplest and most effective way to get this is to punch my boyfriend in the face and then again in the head – just in case…

Now, I’m not sure what kind of research has been done into stupidity but I’m reasonably certain it’s not contagious so I can’t blame the boy for what someone else did to him. What I can blame him for, is that, in an attempt to minimize any damage to his ego, he didn’t ice his face or do anything that might possibly help reduce the, uh, decline in aesthetic appeal of his face (to be nice)… Now he’s [temporarily] ugly (his cheek and eye are swollen and turning some interesting colors!), he expects loooooots of sympathy. Does [partly] self-inflicted unattractiveness really deserve it?

Finally, my last award goes to a lady I met at work. I walked past her in the hall, coughing (because of my asthma not cooties) and she stopped me to tell me that if I was sick, I shouldn’t be in the hospital. Absolute genius.

And now, because I don’t have time to post everything I wanted to, I leave with two things:

1. No one comments on my blog anymore – does that mean no one reads it?

2. I have a bunch of stuff to post about work, flying and my slightly insane family, all of which should be posted in the next couple of days. If it isn’t done by, uh, Friday, you’re invited to poke me with a very large “persuasion” stick.