Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Let Me Tell You A Story
You have to kind of feel for the family members of nurses. We just aren't that interested when they get mildly hurt or a little bit sick. "Hmmm. Take some Tylenol" we respond when they tell us they have a headache/throatache/sore back. We have to see a LOT of blood before we get excited. "Don't bother me unless there's an actual arm or leg off" we say when the kids whine about a paper cut. Little do they know that if there is an actual arm or leg off, we'd probably snap a few pictures of it and share it with our nurse friends before we sought medical help for it.
I won't reveal any names, but I have several nurse friends who blew off their child's complaints of arm pain for days, even weeks, before taking the kid to the doctor and finding out the arm was broken. I'm not judging, mind you, it's just an observation.
It can be rough growing up as the child of nurse. We've seen and heard too much, we know too many stories, we know what can happen in the blink of an eye. Not only are we unimpressed with minor injuries but we won't let our kids do the stuff other kids do.
One of my nurse friends from PICU used to tell his kids stories about injuries he saw at work whenever they'd ask to do something or get caught doing something somewhat dangerous. "Let me tell you a story..." he'd say, when the kids ran around the pool, got on their bikes without helmets, or wanted to play outside in a thunderstorm.
I used to feel bad when my husband or kids told me they felt sorry for my patients because I'm obviously a very mean nurse, I won't even ooh and ahh over a scraped up knee or bruised finger. Now I don't. "I've seen worse", I say, "let me tell you a story..."