Saturday, March 21, 2009

The Incompetent Goon

I'm dripping in a massive pool of frustration and astonishment over my treatment tonight.

The unfortunate side effect of Catheter Succubus is that now I've segued from knowing all the PCT's personally to an unfortunate pool of nurses of varying quality.

I often wonder what the interview process is like.

"Ok, hello. Welcome. This will only take a sec. Do you have nursing experience in a Dialysis setting?"

The interviewee's skin becomes clammy as their bloodshot eyes give way to a nervous, stammering tick.

"Well, um, yeah, like, ok, sure. Whatever."

"You're hired!!"

Now don't get me wrong. I'm a big fan of Easy-Going Nurse. He has a vast knowledge from years in all types of nursing and always puts up with my shenanigans.

I should probably clarify.

When I arrive at Dialysis, my mood morphs suddenly from Gappy-Go-Lucky Mirthathon Stacy to Foul, Sarcastic, Railing Against the World Stacy.

And the techs fully understand that. When they ask me how I'm doing and I reply, "Half past dead" they understand I'm not being serious.

Because I've been a Dialysis patient longer than "The Office" has been on the air, I expect everyone to understand my verbal foibles.

That means I must train a whole new series of employees on the Tao of Stacy.

Not an easy task.

I mentioned Easy Going Nurse. There's also Stilted Accent Nurse. She seems to have a fair amount of knowledge concerning the massive world of nursing, but she drives me frickin' insane every treatment.

She speaks as loud as possibly acceptable in a clinic setting and drives her words seventy miles over the speed limit. Combined with an accent that instantly changes the meaning of words, its a complete nightmare.

"Heyyo Mr. Stacy. How are you dis avening?"

"Just unclamp my lines and pour in some cyanide so we can get this over with."

The world within our vicinity freezes as she holds my paperwork in mid-air. She leans in close and attempts to whisper, "Do you needz da soshul workerz?"

I stare her down a moment, then to Simply Sarcastic Tech who has joined our new trio.

"I'm kidding! I'm joking! You're holding up the line here."

I realize I should be nicer, but my urine has been flowing through my veins for the last six hours, so I'm not to be trifled with.

The training for this young padawan has just begun, so I'll cut her some slack.

Tonight though, was unbelievable.

I was introduced to Slub-A-Dub Nurse. Shuffling about the clinic like he's at the mall.

I was called in early to find that my machine wasn't fully cleaned at 5pm when I arrived.

Forty-five minutes later I had to ask one of the techs to call this guy back to check on my machine.

Apparently his Cheetos laden blood had slowed his thought process to the point of no return.

Yanking my lines. Please don't yank. Shoving my lines. Please don't shove. Dabbed a minute amount of alcohol pad around the exit site. Please use a proper amount to clean the area.

A quick Lincoln-Douglas debate started in my head between which was more lacking: his work ethic or bedside manner.

Finally, all taped up and ready to delve into the world of "Rescue Me" for the next two hours while he waddles away. At least that's over with.

Quiz time! My treatment started at 5:48pm. My runtime is two hours. What time should I be removed from the machine.

If you said 7:48pm, you're Einstein compared to Slub-A-Dub.

At exactly 7:20pm, the machine signals I'm done.

I didn't verbalize it, but in my head I'm screaming, "What the fuck motherfucker goddamn fucking retard asshole fucked up my goddamn treatment? How the fuck is simple time management a course in biochemistry? Fuckfuckfuckfuck."

Simply Sarcastic Tech came over and knew it wasn't time yet. This was mentioned to Slub-a-Dub who said the most hilarious thing all day.

"I wonder how that happenned."

One of the added incentives of six day a week, two hour treatments is when the unlikely chance that I have plans arise, I can call ahead and tell them I'm not coming in.

Monday evening before I step on to the Fart Ravaged clinic floor, I will ask the administrator who the scheduled nurse is for each treatment day this week.

If Slub-a-Dub's name makes an appearance in my future, I'll just skip a treatment.

I know, but I don't have time for rational thinking.

The worst part of all is as I was leaving the clinic, I tripped over my own IQ points spilling from my skull.

Thanks Slub-a-Dub. I'm dumber for having experienced you.

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