I hate being sick. There is just something utterly vile about feeling as weak as a three month old. Not to mention the complete dissatisfaction that comes with missing out on the world around you as you lie ill in bed. Oh, and having projectile (sorry I hate this word too for all those in medical land~ but it fits!) liquid out of both ends of my digestive tract really hasn’t improved my disposition. Yeah, I could use this to reconnect with my touchy feely patient care principles that have slowly eroded over the course of third year (no my bed side manner doesn’t suck. I just no longer ask silly questions like “do you wear a bike helmet. If not, how does that make you feel?”).
The worst of it is that I’ve been feeling much better after the past couple days and am actually doing pretty good. Unfortunately, when I went in this morning for rounds every single person who took one look at me said ‘man you still look bad. Go home’. Which is not exactly what a gal wants to hear first thing in the morning. But home I went for a little more recuperative napping and orders not to return tomorrow morning unless I have a ‘little color’ in my cheeks. I think I might be breaking out the blush tomorrow if all else fails.
The worst of it is that I’ve been feeling much better after the past couple days and am actually doing pretty good. Unfortunately, when I went in this morning for rounds every single person who took one look at me said ‘man you still look bad. Go home’. Which is not exactly what a gal wants to hear first thing in the morning. But home I went for a little more recuperative napping and orders not to return tomorrow morning unless I have a ‘little color’ in my cheeks. I think I might be breaking out the blush tomorrow if all else fails.
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