As The Hospital Pervs

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I'm bruised, on my thighs, and I didn't even get a beaten.
That is highly inappropriate.
 
Did you run into the sharp end of a table? I seem to do that often and feel cheated the bruises aren't sex badges :D
I have bilateral bruises on my thighs above my knees, which I assume are caused from bumping into the bed side rails at work. I also have a bruise on my left lateral thigh right under my ass mark, it is pretty dark, and I have no idea where that came from. Whatever caused it did not hurt at all.

Yeah, I feel cheated too, I have been so good, if I am gonna get banged up I should have at least gotten into some trouble for it.

I was so busy last shift, I hardly perved at all! I was even impervious to the chest surgeons flirt. I might write about it.
 
I have bilateral bruises on my thighs above my knees, which I assume are caused from bumping into the bed side rails at work. I also have a bruise on my left lateral thigh right under my ass mark, it is pretty dark, and I have no idea where that came from. Whatever caused it did not hurt at all.

Yeah, I feel cheated too, I have been so good, if I am gonna get banged up I should have at least gotten into some trouble for it.

I was so busy last shift, I hardly perved at all! I was even impervious to the chest surgeons flirt. I might write about it.

What perfect usage of the word impervious! You have breathed new connotations into the word for me.
 
You fucking pervert.

Just so you know, I've reported this post to Laurel AND the AMA.:cool:
Please don't get me in trouble. I won't write about foley catheters anymore. I will draw JA on one breast and J on the other, AND take a picture, as the management requested, if you please take it back.
 
cox.jpg


I love this thread so much, I want to have sex with it.
 
You'd best post those pics in this thread, or I'll hire LT to come miss you entirely and claim he was there.
Who is LT? I will do it, once I figure out the logistics to fit in this thread. I will have to wrap my body in sterile gauze, revealing just chest.
 
Respiratory therapy
You wanna feel my vocal cords? Check my gag reflex? Are you working with a straight Miller blade, or curved? What kind of laryngoscope you got in that box?
 
I am a professional make you piss person. If you got fluid volume over load, I know how to reduce it.

I’ve got this drug that is supposed to make him piss his brains out. I give him the drug, he’s been getting the drug, but the piss ain’t flowing. He puts out 50mls at a time of amber urine in the bottle, every 15 freaking minutes.

Bullshit! That is totally inappropriate output behavior.

I know Mr. Jones is not going to like it, but he is getting a Foley catheter. He can’t breath, and strict intake and output monitoring is essential, every last drip drip drip.

I say, “Mr. Jones, can you lay back in bed, I have to put a tube in your bladder, through your pee hole. You will feel better.”

Mr. Jones lays back; I close the curtain and attempt to insert the catheter, in a most sterile manner.

Fuck! Resistance! Mr. Jones must have a huge fucking walnut in there, damn.

I tell him, “Mr. Jones, I think your prostate is enlarged, have you ever had an exam?” He tells me no. <thinks about putting my gloved finger in his ass>

I know how to get it through, but it requires much more contact. I get a new set up; I lather his penis with more betadine and put on sterile gloves. I load the tube with lube. With my left hand I grab the base of his penis and pull it upright, taught. It is a huge penis, all squishy and soft. <fears the catheter> The right hand sterile, I advance the catheter with minor resistance. I feel the anatomy in my brain, and here comes the pee pee!

Here comes the pee pee! 100-200-300-400 mls draining at once. With a straight professional face to Mr. Jones, I am laughing in my brain, like a maniac.

Mr. Jones moans, and he feels good. I tell him, “You are doing such a good job! Look at all this urine!”

I have seen and fondled more dick than a hooker.

woah, i will never look at catheters the same way again
 
Tender Surgeon

There is something tender about this chest surgeon. I was so busy, I could not take the time to interpret his gentle words, or respond. My brain was in task-orientated mode.

I stand in an isolation room, dressed in an impervious blue gown; my phone is ringing off the hook in my pocket. I cannot answer. I hear his voice, in the nurse’s station, “Where is Janey?” The phone is still ringing and he follows the sound to the room and stands there watching me, wrap my patient’s leg wound. I look up and smile. I don’t know how old he is, but he looks so mature and patient, and my heart beats rapid for a minute. His silvery hair around his ears is so cute. He is short, and I wonder if he operates standing on a stool.

I finish quickly and wash my hands.

I know who he is here for. The patient needs coronary artery bypass surgery. I ask him, “Can you fix him?”

He tells me he can fix anything.

We are standing in the hall; his words push the emotional alarm inside me. His hand cups my elbow to pull me down the hall.

He tells me that he will fix my heart if anyone breaks it.

My face turns flush, and I feel myself turning warm pink. It starts at my ears and travels through my body.

We stop walking. Silence, he is searching my face but my mind is already skipping to the next task, the next medication, and the next blood pressure check.

Sometimes the desire for comfort negates the kink, as the hospital pervs.
:heart:
 
There is something tender about this chest surgeon. I was so busy, I could not take the time to interpret his gentle words, or respond. My brain was in task-orientated mode.

I stand in an isolation room, dressed in an impervious blue gown; my phone is ringing off the hook in my pocket. I cannot answer. I hear his voice, in the nurse’s station, “Where is Janey?” The phone is still ringing and he follows the sound to the room and stands there watching me, wrap my patient’s leg wound. I look up and smile. I don’t know how old he is, but he looks so mature and patient, and my heart beats rapid for a minute. His silvery hair around his ears is so cute. He is short, and I wonder if he operates standing on a stool.

I finish quickly and wash my hands.

I know who he is here for. The patient needs coronary artery bypass surgery. I ask him, “Can you fix him?”

He tells me he can fix anything.

We are standing in the hall; his words push the emotional alarm inside me. His hand cups my elbow to pull me down the hall.

He tells me that he will fix my heart if anyone breaks it.

My face turns flush, and I feel myself turning warm pink. It starts at my ears and travels through my body.

We stop walking. Silence, he is searching my face but my mind is already skipping to the next task, the next medication, and the next blood pressure check.

Sometimes the desire for comfort negates the kink, as the hospital pervs.
:heart:

Morning, pervy, I love reading this thread.... you're good!
 
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