Don't cluck at me

Last night I had a patient of whom I can honestly say I didn't care for. Despite the humor related to my patients, I generally do like nearly every single one of those bowel-fixated gems. But once in a while, I get a patient who rubs me the wrong way. And makes me wish it was legal and ethical to smother them. (Remember, this is a humorous blog, not at all intended to be serious...or murderous...) At any rate, this one patient is a younger female, on a vent, who has become quite the manipulator. This description is her family's assessment and I completely concur. This gal, bless her heart, has limited muscular ability. She wiggles her eyes or eyebrows to indicate yes or no and I am pretty adept at asking the right questions to discern her needs. Well, maybe sometimes it takes more than twenty questions, but I never said I was a mindreader. This manipulator has a habit of clucking her tongue which sounds like a loud squirrel during mealtime. At first, I didn't mind. But after twelve hours of her clucking furiously for one thing after another, having me figure out a new request before I was finished with the last task left me wanting to run over every middle-of-the-road squirrel on the way home. And aim for a few on the sidewalks. I used to like the cute sounds of squirrels. Now I want to bring out my BB gun and silence them all. Do nurses experience post-traumatic-stress? You bet.