Floor Veteran
Some days it’s been long enough
that I forget what it was like
to work as a busy nurse on a full unit,
where everyone is
dipping and diving around each other,
lifting and pulling,
up to the elbows in excrement
and then up to the elbows in a scrubbing sink,
flushing, flushing, flushing,
with toilets, with syringes, with hoppers.
Battling the clock,
a dozen conflicting agendas.
and the full bladders of self and others.
Being kindly dominant to a variety of strangers
to get them to eat, or not eat,
to swallow pills, to roll over,
to take a deep breath,
to take one more step and pivot.
Struggling to get someone into support stockings,
or out of them.
Struggling to advocate
without seeming insubordinate.
Calling the pharmacy.
Calling the lab.
Calling the doctor.
Calling families to come back, because…
it’s time.
Time for the surgery,
time for the baby,
time for the transplant,
time… to let go.
I forget, and yet I never will.
I look at them now and I feel a pull,
as if I am going to drag on
those rubber-soled shoes
and a fresh set of scrubs or a uniform,
that I’m going to clock in
with a piece of toast hanging from my mouth
and rush to the report room,
where the fairy tale of my next few hours
will spiel from a recorder
or someone’s tired lips,
telling me what my quest will be
while I hope I have the energy
to help my team win today.
(c) RCGA, 2020