I guess my venting, raging post the other day offended and/or ticked some people off, or at least the use of the strong language did. No sooner had I posted my screed than no fewer then five Twitter followers immediately dumped me, and I lost a couple of email subscribers to boot. (I’m losing sleep.)
Good nurses with pretensions of seriousness in all things nursey don’t swear. Especially in print. (They may mildly curse — darn it all — if they happen to break a nail, but never in front of patients, children, or their mothers.) Or so I have been informed by good, serious nurses.
I confess. I am a bad nurse. I swear. I sometimes have been known to swear in the clinical setting — O, the horrors! My Catholic-hospital-trained nursing instructors would be appalled. I also used to smoke, I wear scented products on occasion, and have been known to tipple a Cab Sauv.
I guess the point, if there is one, is that most times I can dress up the gripe-du-jour in a way that demonstrates gold-standard nursing practice. But being human, sometimes what you get is honesty, raw and unvarnished. Sorry.
Actually, no, I’m not sorry. Being Canadian, I just felt I had to apologize for something. If I were truly sorry, I would promise never to do it again, and to reform my sinning ways. This a hint.
Anyway, I’m very cranky. A few weeks among the heathen in middle and upper management, and I am now convinced they all worship Satan Satan worships them. The general snake-pitishness of it all makes one a little breathless.
Also, here’s a little song I like to really annoy a few more readers, because crankiness is something we need to share, and I’m all about sharing.
