I love my job. Sometimes it's stressful; mostly when a baby's life is in peril. My adrenaline spikes and I go into life-saving mode. Sometimes while in these intense situations someone says something to break the tension....I like it when it's myself or a coworker, cause we can laugh about it later. But I LOVE it when it's a parent (usually Dad) because they are usually in their "mode" and have no idea the nurses are all close to wetting themselves over their comments!Case in point #1:
While I was orienting last May, I had several really great learning experiences that came in the form of baby codes (ie baby comes out not breathing and has no heartbeat). One of those happened with us being alerted to it beforehand and we were there at delivery. Baby looked like crap. About 400 people were ushered out of the room. We worked on the kid. From across the room there's Dad, calling out to the baby, asking him to "cry for Daddy, Buddy, cry for Daddy" and "Daddy's here buddy". Sweet. Sort of. But mostly creepy. And then there, in the midst of our quiet but efficient efforts to get the child to breathe, we hear the Dad singing, with all the gusto you'd expect, "Winnie the Pooh. Winnie the Pooh. Chubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff he's Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, Silly, willy, nilly old bear...."Pure hilarity.
Yes he did.And as we're running with the bed downstairs to the nursery, and the bed rolls over my shoe and flings it across the hall, and I don't stop to get it cause I'm in The Mode, this crazy-slash-sweet Dad continues to sing "Winnie the Pooh"! About 5 minutes later, out of the blue, he asks me, "Hey. Where's your shoe?" PRIORITIES, MAN!! I LOST IT SAVING YOUR BABY'S LIFE!!!
Winnie. The. Pooh. Seriously???
Case in point #2:
Happened last night. It was a hellish night. I had three VERY fussy babies in Level 2 (the sick kids). Our Admit nursery was extremely busy as well, so when I had a second, I ended up over there helping Cousin admit a baby. Kiddo was really red, which is a sign of too many red blood cells, which most often happens when the parents decide not to cut the umbilical cord until it stops pulsating (stupid) so the kid gets all the red blood cells and her blood is too thick and sticky to oxygenate properly which leads to respiratory complications....anyway, enough of the medical drama...bottom line is I have to draw blood on the kid and because it's so thick, she's a hard stick. Mom and Dad are there, hovering and asking questions, which is totally within their right. They want to be right down there in her face, all up in my grill while I'm poking her with a needle. Fine. She's crying so they "ask" her if she wants to hear the songs they've been singing to her big sister....apparently she said yes, she would love to hear some songs, cause they began to sing
".....with parents KIND OF DEAR..."
"I Am a Child of God"which is sweet and adorable and awesome and all of those other great adjectives that describe that song....but it's also a little awkward for the nurse (me) who's in The Mode...especially with them snuggling right on in. I'm maintaining my professionalism during the off-key singing until I hear Mom sing,
Excuse me? Just KIND OF dear???!!!
I about lost it.
Know what I had to think about to keep from busting out laughing while holding a needle in their baby's arm?
Dead puppies. Dead puppies. Dead puppies.
So then I started thinking about a fight Dave and I had the other day....and how bugged I was....
Dead puppies and fighting with my boyfriend. Two very NON funny things.
It worked. I didn't laugh, the baby didn't stop crying, and the parents didn't stop bothering both of us.
The baby DID slow her crying until the part about how her parents were only KIND OF dear, then she burst into tears. Poor thing couldn't handle it.
I love my job.