Nurse Tammy had three goals for her day: keep everyone alive, drink one hot cup of coffee, and avoid stepping in bodily fluids.

At 0653, Tammy clocked in and immediately heard the dreaded words: “We’re short-staffed today!” Music to no one’s ears. After she got report, she held up the report sheet that looked more like a tax audit. She already knows she’s not getting breaks today. Tammy sighed deeply and charged into battle.

At 0715, her first patient greeted her by dramatically throwing a pillow across the room and declaring, “I NEED BACON!” Not a medical emergency, but definitely sounds urgent in her world. “I need one for myself as well,” Tammy thinks wryly.

While attempting to check the blood sugar of Mrs. Toad in Room 201, Tammy was summoned by the bed alarm gods: Room 206. She sighed and hurried into the room. Mr. Simmons had somehow managed to get tangled in his bed sheets like a burrito, the bottom half of his body already dangling off the side of the bed. Tammy hurriedly assisted him back to bed untangled him with the patience of a saint and the upper body strength of a lumberjack. He insisted he had to get ready to go to the bank. Tammy reminded him that he was in the hospital.

Meanwhile, the bacon lover in Room 208 kept on mashing the call light, complaining to everyone who would listen that her bacon is cold. She needs a can of soda as well, despite her being on a diabetic diet. After several attempts at education and redirection, the patient finally snaps, “I’m going to call 911 to bring me one if you don’t.” Tammy inwardly sighs, imagining how that phone call would go.

Tammy finally got to check Mrs. Toad’s sugar at 0815, but not until she had already finished her breakfast. Luckily, it was within normal limits and she didn’t need sliding scale insulin.

It’s 0930 and the woman in Room 208 still hadn’t gotten the can of soda she “so badly needed.” Now she’s asking if she can get a smoke to calm her nerves because she feels so stressed. Tammy explains the hospital’s no-smoking policy and offered to obtain an order for a nicotine patch, but the patient’s not having any of that.

Between the bacon lover and Mr. Simmons, who was now trying to walk to the bathroom unassisted, Tammy fell so far behind on her med pass and charting.

At 1140, Tammy finally finished giving 0900 medications. “Better late than never,” Tammy thought. Now it’s time for another round of blood sugar checks and a couple of 1200 IV antibiotics.

At 1345, she helped catheterize an elderly lady who insisted on calling her “Doctor Sweetheart” no matter how many times Tammy corrected her. Her task was to hold up the deflated labial folds so the other nurse could spot the urethra. Sweet old grandma was so pleasantly confused, she didn’t notice when the catheter went in the wrong hole the first time. Or maybe she didn’t mind.

At 1500, Tammy still hadn’t had her lunch break but she was getting hangry. She decided to quickly go and get a couple of bites in. She opened her lunchbox to find… nothing except a sticky note from her teenage son: “Sorry, Mom! Needed lunch. Love you!” She briefly considered chewing on the note for calories (maybe the ink has calories?) but opted for a stale turkey sandwich from the patient’s refreshments refrigerator.

At 1630, Tammy was called to Mr. Simmons’ room. He was getting verbally and physically aggressive towards staff. He has Alzheimer disease, she remembered. Tammy approached her charge nurse to ask for a sitter, but she already knew the answer, with the unit being short-staffed.

Around 1800, Tammy walked into Mr. Simmons’ room and stepped into a mysterious puddle on the floor. Her sneakers betrayed her, squelching loudly with every step. Mr. Simmons insists it’s from an unfortunate apple juice spill, but it looked and smelled suspiciously *unlike* apple juice.

1845 rolls around and Tammy still hadn’t finished charting. Night shift staff were starting to trickle in. After one last quick round to see that all of her patients were still breathing, she hurriedly got ready to give report.

Finally, at 2030 after speed charting, Tammy clocked out, feeling semi-victorious. She hadn’t had coffee and she had stepped in a mystery puddle, but her patients were all alive, fed, and relatively untangled.

She considered that shitty shift a resounding success.