In the Defense of Donuts.

I was relatively* excited to spend my Saturday night at the hospital this past weekend. The weekend is when all the fun, amusing stuff comes in- at least in Flint, Michigan.  Podunk, South Dakota maybe not so much.

Gunshots, stabbings, ‘I just got beat up by my ________ fill in the blank (girlfriend/mom/dad/boyfriend/uncle/aunt) with a frying pan injuries, the ‘get-drunk-and-fall-backwards-into-a-fire’, and the ‘I-just-got-hit-by-a car-and-broke-both-of-my-legs-off-because-I-was-skateboarding-down-a-street-in-the-middle-of-the-night’ bit, and- well, you get the picture I think.

What the heck do donuts have to do with bullets?

Hey- Don’t judge me! I know you’re sitting there thinking, “Wow- this chick is heartless! I can’t believe she likes to see all that!”  You are wrong.  I have a heart, it’s just small and doesn’t have enough room in it for douchebags who get shot. I would totally cry if you were shot, er…I’d at least want to see the bullet holes and see if I could put my finger in them. But that’s neither here nor there.  Just to be fair to me- I bet you $20 that you have watched this stuff and loved it on ER, Greys Anatomy or the like. Yeah, that’s what I thought.  I just get to do in person; albiet without McDreamy, McSteamy, or George Clooney. Sniff.

All the really ‘smart’ people get injured and come to the hospital on the weekend.  Natural selection at its best.  Although, sometimes I think that natural selection is a slacker. I really wish it would get with the picture and step it up a notch.  Why is it that I always gotta deal with your mess, natural selection?? Can’t you take care of this clutter? It would be much better if was taken care of cleanly-like, without a trace- sort of like a hit man.  But with no paper trail.

Anyway, it was a relatively uneventful night; I was up all night and then right when I fall asleep at 6am, I hear an emergency page overhead.  Of course. Someone had to go and get themselves shot during MY nap time.  Of all nerve! I’m not trying to be picky or anything, but I really would prefer if people could get shot or mortally injured when it’s convenient for me. Like between the hours of 0833 and 1208, on the first Tuesday of every month that starts with a ‘J’. I don’t think that’s too much too ask. This waking up and doing anesthesia bit is for the birds.  Although, I must admit: I may or may not have been a bit happy that something exciting was happening.

The guy shows up to the OR, and I’m thinking to myself- with a twinge of disappointment, ‘this can’t be right- there is an entirely too small amount of blood- was he even shot?!’  Yet, I see three holes in his tummy, where apparently bullets entered.

We went through the whole routine. I put the patient to sleep and the surgeon begins to open him up.  It was at this point that I was wishing for the Greys Anatomy cast. Not only are they probably more personable, they are doubtless better at operating than this particular surgeon.  And then all of the sudden, the surgery is over.  WTF.

Now, I guess I’m supposed to be all nurseynurse-like and happy that this guy didn’t really get all that hurt, but to be honest I was a tad bit let down.  If my nap is going to be interrupted and I’m staying late in the morning because you were dumb enough to get shot- then damn you, at least have the decency to get shot a whole bunch of times and have some crazy business going on to entertain me.

Homer has had it right all along.

As it was, this guy was shot 3 times in the belly and he didn’t really get injured because the bullets couldn’t make it past his fat. No joke- I couldn’t make this shit up.  Three bullets in my tummy, would not only piss me off- but would probably kill me. This led me to think; maybe, just maybe, I should be eating more donuts in a safety effort to thwart my impending doom.  A stray bullet is bound to hit me sooner or later with all of my foraying around the hospital in downtown Flint.

So really, I just wanted to write this post as a sort of ‘Public Service Announcement’.  This particular PSA probably** doesn’t apply to many of you, unless there are a few gun-toting-crazy-gangbangers who like to read my blog. (Which I really, really, really hope there are not.)

Nonetheless, if any of you think you might be the target for a bullet at some point in the day- please, please, please! Eat a few donuts before leaving the house, just to be safe.

Trust me, I’m a nurse.

*Relatively meaning I didn’t contemplate suicide before my shift.

**apparently I was wrong.