I will take my medicine. I will remind Siri to remind me to take
my arthritis meds. Soon after I stop taking them, my trigger-fin-
gered thumbs get stuck in the upright and locked position like a hitch-
hiker's. I can't always count on a kindly anesthetist to open a liter of
NaCl 0.9% for me.
I will have an attitude of gratitude. I will appreciate doing the
things that used to aggravate me. So what if pre-op didn't put the
SCD leggings on or take the underwear off the patient. It only takes a
few minutes to do it myself. I can just include "leggings on, undergar-
ments off" as part of the physical assessment. I will also appreciate
the surgery to which I've been assigned. I could be stuck in that mud-
dled mess in OR2.
I will practice patience. When things aren't coming forth as fast
as I'd like them to, like my relief when it's my "gittin' off time," I
will remain calm and recite my special Serenity Prayer: "God, grant
me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good for-
tune to run into the ones I do and the eyesight to tell the difference."
I will not gossip. I don't like to hear my friends run down. Even
by other friends. Gossip will stop with me. I will turn a deaf ear
or leave the area when the backbiters start up.
I will shepherd new nurses. I will not be condescending or
mean to new staff. I will introduce myself, help them any way I
can and share all the shortcuts the OR natives practice. It's hard trying
to get new things right and fit into a clique. You never know what else
the newbie may be carrying on her shoulders. I want to ease their bur-
den, not become one.
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