When we lived in NE Oregon I would occasionally take my 4-year old daughter to do weekend rounds with me at the hospital. Some of the older folks would enjoy seeing her young face, some not. If I was seeing a patient who would be less than happy with a busy girl in their room, I would park her at the nurses' station with a coloring book. One morning she sat there and was scribbling away, chattering at the poor night nurse who was trying to finish her charting and go home to bed. The chattering didn't stop when I came back to work on my chart so I listened in with one ear while I wrote. Both of us just had to stop and belly laugh after Lauren had paused in her harangue, looked over at the tired woman and matter-of-factly whispered, "Actually, I'm not a nurse."
great memory
Posted by: mike | January 05, 2012 at 06:00