How to Not Die While the Nurses are Out Picketing
A bunch of nurses are going on strike around the country. We need to make sure they are taken care of because they take care of us. Here are some of the things you might have to do as a patient to bridge the gap until they come back.
IV Drip? Meet Your New Best Friend: The Coat Rack
With the nurses off fighting for fair wages and humane schedules, your IV stand has now become your emotional support animal. Can’t find it? No problem. Tie a bag of saline to the top of a coat rack, grab some duct tape, and tell yourself, “This is what Florence Nightingale would’ve wanted.”
Pro tip: Don’t mix up the saline with your apple juice. Again.
Charting Your Own Progress: Literally
Since no one’s updating your charts, grab a crayon and take matters into your own shaky hands. Pulse? “Thumpy.” Blood pressure? “Seems upright.” General mood? “Weirdly OK, considering my roommate won’t stop singing ABBA through his oxygen mask.” When the doctors come around, hand them your homemade clipboard made out of a cafeteria tray and a paperclip. Confidence is key.
Befriend the Vending Machine
The kitchen’s short-staffed and your tray of “cream of beige” hasn’t shown up in 14 hours. It’s you and the vending machine now. Time to innovate. A crushed-up granola bar in warm Sprite is technically soup. Rehydrate like a champ. For bonus points, start referring to the vending machine as “Chef Randy.”
Learn the Bed Controls Like a Fighter Pilot
Without your favorite nurse to hit the magic buttons, you’re in full control of the mechanical monstrosity that is your hospital bed. Accidentally fold yourself in half? That’s called horizontal yoga. Raise yourself too high and bonk your head on the TV? That’s the new cranial stimulus therapy. Fly this thing with pride. The beeping means it’s working. Probably.
Host Your Own Rounds
The doctors don’t have time for everyone, so take the initiative and hold your own fake rounds each morning. Visit your roommate’s bed in a lab coat you made from a shower curtain. Nod thoughtfully. Say things like, “Let’s bump the imaginary meds to twice daily and discontinue the pudding.” Offer a firm handshake and exit before questions start.
Self-Administered Sponge Baths
The nurses used to do this with grace and discretion. Now it’s you, a wet washcloth, and a personal sense of panic. Things will get slippery. Your hospital gown will betray you. But by the end, you’ll be cleaner, damp, and vaguely offended by your own foot.
Call Buttons Are Now “Wish Buttons”
Yes, you can press it. No, no one is coming. But don’t lose hope—press it anyway and pretend you’re making a wish. “I wish someone would clean up that mystery pudding spill.” “I wish I had more tissues than this single square.” It’s the hospital version of a shooting star, only it blinks angrily and plays a tinny version of Für Elise.
Fill in for the Missing Nurses
You’ve been in Room 302 for six days—you’re practically staff. Next thing you know, you’re walking down the hallway in your socks helping someone in Room 308 figure out how to silence the bed alarm. By Friday, you’re leading stretch class in the dayroom and demanding union dues from your fellow patients. Lean in.
Final Thoughts
The nurses will come back. And when they do, thank them by never ever trying to run your own sponge bath program again. Until then, remember: the human body is resilient, pudding is a currency, and medical tape fixes everything—except loneliness. For that, try befriending a coat rack.
