Prospective patient beware: we have a full house.
In case you haven’t been watching the news, hospitals nationwide are packed. Our own hospital is no exception. We have multiple levels of extra bed locations and will only open all of them when we have a high census. A census of 330 patients is considered high on most days, but lately we’ve had census levels up to 360 and beyond. People are getting stuffed into every conceivable nook and cranny.
We are mere patients away from triple bunking rooms. Eliminating Mayans and the zombie apocalypse people are now pointing to the flu as the primary culprit. The Tacoma News Tribune wrote an article about this topic and even the surrounding hospitals are filling up to max capacity. The word epidemic has been solidly in use for over a month now and the words triage and disaster have been thrown around the hospital in the last few weeks.
These last two words are the most problematic. If these words become reality, it could mean mandatory overtime and the inability to leave the hospital which is problematic when you’re a nurse and have a pregnant wife at home you’re trying not to piss off. I’m exhausted. We all are. We’ve been busting our humps to accommodate all the new patients and everyone has reached their breaking points. The only reprieve I can possibly hope for is illness and I haven’t been sick for months. I blame this guy…
These suckers are all over our hospital and in most public places that along with a portable travel sized kit permanently hiding in my wife’s purse have kept us sick free for months now. Here I am standing on top of an extended illness bank at our work with no foreseeable hope of withdrawals. I’ll take any break from work even if it means my vacation has to go viral.
Instead of getting coughed on at work as I race around the hospital trying to play human tetris with a swarm of flu riddled patients crowding every corner of our floor, I could be at home resting near a box of kleenexes as I vomit into a trash can, but I just had to use Purell. To make matters worse I’m a compulsive hand washer and nothing kills the flu, zombie virus, or even the Mayan plague faster than Purell’s cousin soap.
Every sick free second that passes I curse the heavens as I stare into the soap filled skies and cry out in anguish.
I weep. I will never be sick. A deep and antiseptic sadness fills the inner recesses of my empty soap filled soul.
Then it dawned on me. If everyone else used soap and alcohol wipes I wouldn’t have to fear work. Less people would be sick and our census could be normal again. In order to get our census down we must take the flu down with it. People of the world I implore you…
Every time you leave a restroom and watch someone pass by an unused sink follow them around and yell ‘poop hands’ until they u-turn their way back to that restroom sink to wash their hands.
When you see a sick kid seated at the back of a classroom sliding their palm or shirt sleeve across a snot filled nose, hand that jerk a kleenex and send that kid home.
In some Middle Eastern countries thieves have their hands chopped off and I think we should do the same to everyone who coughs in their hands as well. It’s only fair. After all, what’s more precious to have stolen from you than your health.
In order for us to get a handle on this escalating problem, a bar of soap must touch the unwashed hands of every person in the world. To help emphasize this I have provided you with a catchy message brought to you by the Washington State Department of Health. Enjoy!
Take note that the unaltered Full House image can be accessed here!
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