random brain dribbles of a nurse, novelist, and ninja enthusiast

Nursing, Nesting, and Nutcases

Yesterday, which I am writing about today as most days seem to exist in two parallel universes when you work odd hours, found me participating in an all too familiar phase for the newly married and pregnant: the nesting phase. This phase is so common it is actually coined in most of the baby books we have read.

Essentially, hormones, instinct, or some other primal force drives the newly pregnant human to Home Depot and Lowes where they then proceed to purchase every conceivable item for their future child. For the two of us, instinct last weekend propelled us toward the paint department.


Paint is a universal necessity of the nesting phase despite obvious scientific certainties concerning a child’s occular development. For the newly pregnant, the portion of our brains reserved for the study and understanding of science completely shrivels to a third of its size in favor of the portions of our brain devoted to child rearing and appreciation of cuteness. This is because nature has determined them far more important toward maintaining your sanity as the future child develops the tools necessary to strip you of every conceivable ounce of it for the next eighteen years. To help outline the inconsistencies between science and parenting, I have provided the following conversation between parents and science.


Parents: Let’s get paint for the baby’s room.


Science: Based upon current research, your child’s vision will be 20/120 at best when they are born! Don’t you think this will be a giant waste of time and money?


Parents: I bet the baby will like blue or maybe pink?


Science: Your baby will like eating, shitting, and sleeping. Seriously, this paint and all your supplies will cost you about three hundred dollars. You just read about this in your baby books two weeks ago! Are you some sort of moron?


Parents: Ooh, my stomach feels weird. I think the baby likes blue.


Science: You moron, that was gas! Do you really think your fetus’s ill formed eyes are capable of peering Superman style through the thick myofascial layer of your uterus?


Parents: Baby blue it is.


Science: How in the hell has your species stumbled its way to the top of the evolutionary food chain. Next you will probably waddle your stupid pregnant ass over to Baby’s R Us or Bed Bath and Beyond to purchase decals for the wall or some other stupid crap your child will never see. Seriously, your future child will only be able to see about one foot in front of their face. This is just enough distance to find your tits! So, unless you plan on painting those, you are wasting your time. I give up. Science out.


Despite all scientific knowledge to the contrary, we both sauntered our way whistling at how awesome we were as parents, as we gathered items our child will likely never benefit from. Years later, when our child reaches his or her junior high or teen years the paint we purchased last weekend will have been wasted when they ask to have it repainted red, navy blue, its original color, or if they are goth, depression black. Still, we continued onward and enjoyed discussing what type of decals we would place on the wall and are both eagerly awaiting the sex of the child so that we can purchase the latest in baby fashion. Hopefully, a neutral tone that won’t contrast too sharply with the child’s vomit. Once the child’s room was done and we had finished cleaning up the place, it was off to work.


Work: Approximately 2325 (also known as half past crazy)


Work started like most days. I clocked in and we discussed the report sheet and after thorough examination of the patients within the hospital, I triaged accordingly. Before my current position, triaging meant who was the sickest, but now as the charge I have quickly learned that my job is primarily focused around paperwork and screaming, so now I triage based upon level of screaming.


This screaming could come from a variety of sources: doctors, patients, co-workers, ancillary staff, and of course, irate family. Do you have a patient who is hallucinating, attempting to run naked down the halls, or incoherently babbling into an empty wall? Well, I guess I will be visiting you sooner or later, so I might as well get it out of the way. As soon as foot touches linoleum, I have to carefully mull over which patients will scream at me the loudest. Based on previous nights, I knew that this was going to be on the eighth floor, but a patient on the ninth floor was quickly climbing the ranks.


As usual, the patient was out of control and a flurry of insults was accompanied by a flurry of strikes. Crazy people, or if you want to get all PC about it, the reality challenged, are well known for being impervious to pain along with a host of other superhuman abilities involving strength, agility, and the ability to escape from any restraint.

This can make medication administration especially difficult and team work and careful coordination are of paramount importance. First, the bedside nurse and I examined the patient to determine our point of entry. Next, we determine what type of attack our patient will utilize first. We immediately determined, based upon previous experience, that the patient was not a spitter. This was good. Crazy people can spit further than any creature within the wild and level of insanity is directly proportional to distance of spittle travel. Pit any one of these guys against a hooded cobra and my money is on the patient, especially if they are in four point restraints.


Once we had the patient nestled in bed, the rest of the night flew by without fault and I divided the rest of my time between paperwork and getting yelled at. Anyways, the wife will be home soon and I’m hoping to surprise her with a cake. Until tomorrow, when I’m hoping to give you updates involving The Dark Knight Rises and our rapidly developing fetus after our second doctors appointment (two weeks until the sex of the child!). Also, expect a new post within the next couple of days in the main blog on political kids songs. You can access it on my main website here: http://kul-world.com/blog/files/politics-songs-humor.html

3 Responses to “Nursing, Nesting, and Nutcases”

  1. My Mushy Brain

    I worked as a 911 op for many years. I love the crazies. Of course, I did not have it as rough as you being that my contact was v/the phone not LIVE!

    • josefkul

      I don’t know… I’m guessing your fellow 911 operators and society in general frown upon suddenly hanging up on rude people during emergency phone calls. As much as these people may spit or throw things at me, at least I get the pleasure of walking away (a very distinct pleasure!).


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