April foolishness aside, I've got no plans to go back to sitting behind a desk. I love my job.
This was easy to say when I first started school and every single patient was new and exciting. It's also easy to say on the best nights, when I've got "light" patients who are alert, fully oriented, and able to walk to the bathroom by themselves.
But what surprises me is that I still feel this way after the crappy nights.
Even after a night where we've been short-staffed and I've had to take on an extra couple of patients. Or when I've spent the whole night running and never even had a chance to pee. Or when the morbidly obese lady who was constipated for nine days has finally succumbed to the laxatives. Or when I've had confused, agitated, combative patients spend the night trying to hurt me and themselves. Or when a patient's unfortunate physical condition was a close match to my literal worst nightmare. Or when I got to deal with copious bodily fluids of such intense purulence and fetor that even now, the memory alone tries to set off my gag reflex.
After nights like that, sweaty and footsore and brain-tired, I still walk out every day into the morning sunlight and think: I love my job!
They say nursing takes a special kind of crazy. I guess I'm it.