Sunday, February 8, 2015

You Made Me Cry

I was sitting in my office at the start of my shift, minding my own business, when Nurse Helen called.  My most recent ward assignment was with Helen.  She's an idiot.

Helen launched into a babbling, incoherent rambling about needing some irrigation supplies for a wound.  I have no such items and I do not have access to them.  There is an entire department dedicated to supplying the wards with supplies.  Not my department.

I told her to call Central Supply.  She stammered, "No, Enid.  I am telling you."

"I understand that, Helen.  But your request would be better met if you directed it to the appropriate department, not me."  She knows damn well how to order supplies.

"You are not listening to me!" Helen screeched.  "I am telling you to do it!"

Times were bad when I was stuck with Helen on a ward.  She did little work and then invented some drama to try to get me in trouble.  Every day.  It had been a while since I was subjected to her nonsense.  The old feelings of persecution popped right up in me.  But this time was different.  I was not stuck on the ward, at her mercy.

"Helen, stop pretending that you don't know how to order supplies and using that as an excuse to call me and harass me," I firmly said into the phone and then hung up.

My immediate supervisor came to me shortly after.  Helen had run to her, crying about my verbal abuse.  I told the woman that Helen called me, demanding that I fill a supply order, which I cannot do, and that she would not take No for an answer.

That supervisor seemed to accept my explanation.  But Helen didn't accept the situation.  She abandoned her quest to obtain the urgent supply for the patient and instead ran to as many nurses, supervisors, and administrative people as she could, crying that I had verbally abused her when she was trying to help a patient.

Helen isn't a Favorite Child, but neither am I, so people could use Helen's complaint against me to hurt me and not to help Helen.

Hours later, around noon, Helen appeared in my work area, sobbing, looking for people to hear her tale of woe.  I left for lunch.

Helen isn't the only one complaining about me.  I'm afraid that the supervisor for my new work area will start siding with the complainants.

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