Dropping my phone has become a habit; a bad habit that to this day I have not overcome. The back of my phone will not even stay on now, unless assisted by tape.
Ahhh, but I love my phone; my phone and I have been through a lot and into a lot of things. She is a
girly phone too, all shiny and pink like a princess.
There was a day when my little princess phone became a dirty girl. On the day she became a dirty girl, I made the mistake of carrying her in the breast pocket of my scrub top; I was eagerly awaiting a call, she was set to vibrate when calls came in, and the only pocket I could place her in where I would feel that vibration was the breast pocket. I thought to
myself, when I placed her
snugly in my pocket, that I was going to drop her today, and the question for the day would be onto or into what would I drop her? Early afternoon, that question was answered. A patient rang out to be assisted to the bathroom, only this patient was in the Chest Pain Center, actively experiencing mild chest discomfort. I, being the vigilant and thorough nurse, would not allow this patient to ambulate to the bathroom that was 6 feet from her stretcher--she was destined to void on the ever popular and loved plastic bedpan. After my patient completed her business, I removed the beloved bedpan, placed it on the floor, and carefully assisted my patient in redressing herself. When finished, as I bent over to pick up the bedpan, I felt a sense of dread, and then I felt my little princess slipping out of my pocket; I watched and heard her plop into the urine filled bedpan. My cat-like reflexes kicked in,
immediately plucking her from her dirty bath.
Ohhh, she was now a dirty girl!
After cleaning her multiple times with toxic wipes, alcohol, and again with toxic wipes, she functions beautifully. Now, she no longer rides along in the breast pocket of my tops, and when people ask to borrow her, my princess phone, I never tell her dirty secret.
