All In a Day's Work

You know that column in Reader's Digest where people would write in their funny stories from work?  Well, here's my latest edition.  Something sweet and something funny.

Sweet first:

I was in charge last week and went in to check on a patient another nurse had just admitted from the OR.  She'd had spinal surgery and was required to lie flat on her stomach for 24 hours.  She was 7, mostly spoke Spanish and was the daughter of an afluent family from Venezuela.  I walk in and notice her bed has been turned sideways so she can see the TV mounted on the wall.  Dora, of course.  She looks up, sees me and I say, "Well hey, sweetie!  How are you feeling?"  She smiles and as I get closer, her face lights up.  I mean, huge grin, big eyes, open-mouth smile.  She reaches up and I quickly calm her -- "Wait, you can't get up."  But she wasn't getting up.  She simply reached up, rubbed my belly and said, "BABY?!?"  I couldn't help but giggle.  It was the cutest thing EVER.  And the first time a complete stranger touched my belly.  I didn't mind.

And now funny:

I was the nurse of a 7-year old post-op heart patient.  Again, mostly Spanish-speaking.  We'll call him Pedro.  Anyway, Pedro understood and spoke English, but he liked to pretend he didn't.  He was post-op day 2, was doing very well and it was my second day with him.  Post-op days one on a straight-forward surgery includes doing a lot of "things" -- taking out lines, tubes, eating, walking, etc.  It's a pretty active day, especially for a 7-year old who basically has anxiety anytime someone with blue gloves comes near him.  So there we are, removing lines and tubes and my role for the moment is that of distractor.  (Since I have to take care of him the rest of the day, I don't need to be the one making him anxious or in pain.)  Anyway, we're pretty much done and he's still freaking out, crying, etc.  I'm putting cars in front of him, asking him to remind me of the colors in Spanish I'd learned the day before.  Hold one up -- "rojo"?  He nods through the crying.  Hold up another -- "Azul"?  He nods again, less crying.  Another -- "amarillo"?  Nods.  I get to the brown one.  Darn, we never learned brown in Spanish because he refused to talk to me.  That, and it was a yellowish-brown so we'd determined that it was amarillo, too.  But I wanted him to tell me what brown was.  Wouldn't budge.  So I start guessing the wrong thing on purpose.  He shakes his head.  Finally, after about 5 guesses, our Physician's Assistant (a male, mind you) says, "Just tell her it's 'poopoo'."  Pedro tries SOOOO hard to hold back a grin and giggle but just.  Can't.  Do it.  We all four bust out laughing.  "Is it poopoo, I ask?"  He shakes his head.  "Well then, what is it???"  A soft, muffled "cafe" comes out.  Love it.