I worked in a small OB/GYN practice early in my nursing career. I “managed” a satellite office, where I “bossed” only myself for four days, and worked at the main office on Fridays.
I met my husband, who was a drug salesman at the time, there–but that’s another story already told in another post. I remember Dr. J muttering about the cost of a single place setting of the dishes I’d registered for, but he bought us two sets.
I also remember how the doctors provided free care for the wives of interns and residents–until their husbands went on strike. Come to think of it, I don’t remember any female interns or residents coming in for care.
We had an hour and a half for lunch, and sometimes the doctors would give us nurses the key card to their “club,” and we’d go out and splurge on a big meal. They were generous, although I do remember Dr. J often talked (worried) about funding his retirement, and he must have been in his 30s at the time.
Anyway, I worked there for 2-1/2 years, and a lot of memories are hazy now. But I remember three clearly.
One day I heard frantic pounding on the private entrance to the satellite office. When I opened the door, I met the eyes of the frightened secretary down the hall. I ran with her to discover one of her coworkers twitching on the floor. I freaked and raced back to our office.
“Dr. B! Dr. B! Come quick! Hurry!”
He was in an exam room with a patient at the time, so he told her he’d be right back, left her up in the stirrups, and sauntered–yes, sauntered–down the hall. He seldom got excited about anything. As in nonchalant.
I listened for the ambulance, but he returned in a matter of minutes.
“What was wrong with her? What’d you do?”
“Oh, she just hyperventilated. I gave her a paper bag.”
And he strolled back into the exam room leaving me to calm myself down.
A disheveled lady burst into the waiting room just as we prepared to lock up for lunch. She jabbered about stuff that didn’t make much sense to me. I was new, but the others had seen her before. I don’t remember much about that “conversation” or what was wrong or even the final outcome. What I do remember is Dr. B hovering outside her range of vision, not wanting to get involved, with his eye on the exit. He had to walk right past her to get out. So he did the next best thing. He climbed out the workroom window, directly into the parking lot, and left us to deal with her.
2 Timothy 2:23 (Amplified)
Dr. J loved cheesecake. I mean loved it! So one morning I brought one in. Lovingly baked in a store-bought graham cracker crust. Topped with cherries. I set it on the counter in the workroom. The same place where we processed fingerstick blood and urine samples. He grabbed for it. The top fell off. And the whole thing landed upside down on the floor. He stared at it for a moment and then reached for a tongue blade, squatted down, and ate.
John 6:26-27 (Message)
And here’s some extra reading for your Friday Enjoyment. The origin of graham crackers.
Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Heska King