Here is but a small sampling of the sole type of man that the first of five archetypes of nurses call husband. The more beer you drink and the more seasonal your labor is, the better chance you have to club a nurse and claim her benefits. Being able to kill shit is a plus, as is being able to forget her birthdays and berate her with short grunts.

So there are a million and five things I hate about this “professional” (we are NOT professionals) problem, this colorectal clusterfuck, this ego-thrashing enigma called nursing. Surely you remember my disdain communicated in earlier entries? Before I roll out more of my magnificence, I’m gonna clear some shit up. I might hate nursing (the kind where I wipe ass, not the kind where tits dribble) and I might fucking ravage it with my wit and wisdom, but all you smug, self-righteous holier than thou know-it-all shitwits who would judge me need to get something through your dense skulls: I am a phenomenal fucking nurse. I am a hundred times more competent, efficient, and believe it or not compassionate than countless of those martyrs that LOVE nursing (the kind where you have to shove fingers in assholes, not the kind where your tits swell and need to be suckled by babies or fetishists). I would crush them in a competency exam. I routinely outperform them during every shift. I’m bigger. I’m better. I’m everything they’ll never be yet everything they strive to be. It’s that simple. I’m not saying I don’t make mistakes, but I’m fantastic at this thankless, soul devouring, wretched job. You need to save your witless, “I sure wouldn’t want to be his patient” comments for your insignificant masturbatory forums on myopinionisboringanddoesntmeanshit.com. You would want me because I’m that good. Actually, I’m better than good. I’m fucking divine.

So what’s annoying me tonight? It’s the re-realization that I work with a bunch of ego-fragile and catty women who perpetuate the societal stereotypes of this “profession” (we are NOT professionals). I just got friend dumped by one of these fragile flowers via text because of my swearing. Can you believe it? She doesn’t want to be near me because my “language” brings her down (namely the following: fuck, Jesus Christ, and god damn it). She claims that she “needs time to clear her head.” And before you wonder, no we’ve never stepped beyond a platonic relationship, nor would I ever… under even the most desperate of dry spells. Now I actually do get it. She’s merely projecting. Her hubby is emotionally distant. He barely has time for her, and if he does, it’s to remind her to buy eggs or milk or fucking Cocoa Puffs at the store. She bitches about him all the time. She’s one of the “battered” women personality archetypes of nursing.

A good night's rest after a long day of nursing work. Remember kids, nursing... I mean martyrdom... I mean nursing... I mean both will get you nowhere.

What are these archetypes you ask? Well, there are five personality types in nursing, and EVERY nurse fits into one or more of them. There are absolutely no exceptions to this rule. They are as follows: 1) the battered (usually emotionally) woman 2) the martyr (this is somewhat me) 3) the gay man (sorry, not me) 4) the “power” (it’s an illusion in nursing) hungry control freak and 5) the self deprecating glutton for punishment (ding, ding, ding! That’s me!). Think about every nurse you know. They ALWAYS fit into at least one of these. I have been a nurse for nearly 15 years and have NEVER met one that doesn’t fit into one of these archetypes. If they swear they don’t or they vehemently deny it, odds are they’re number 4.

So this battered martyr. She tells me not to be paranoid, to “not make a big deal out of her desire for time alone.” Who does she think I am, her? Please. Don’t waste my time. The only reason I’m pissed is because this person did it via text message. What is she, thirteen? For fuck’s sake, my 9 year old niece has more social competence than this nurse (and 70 percent of all nurses). Oh, she also claimed she didn’t want to change me and that it’s “fine that you are who you are”. Aww, shucks. How grandly patronizing of her. Sigh. Oh well. Maybe it’s just confusion because she’s suffering from blood loss after hanging up on a cross her entire “professional” life (for the last time, we are NOT fucking professionals). She seriously needs to work on her self-confidence. That’s what binge eating Cocoa Puffs is for, right? Maybe her husband Thok understands her after all.

Peace,

Sturm

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