Nurse Ratched is back.

Some days I think a trained monkey could do my job and I feel a little guilt about healthcare costs.

And then, like today, I see patients.

I get sexually harassed, splashed on, a faceful of nasty stinky feet, lost in the ghetto, bawled out by a brujaja of a wife- all of which have nothing to do with much with the nursing care that was provided. I then feel like I've earned every last dime and then some. And frankly don't quite care if the whole system goes to hell in a hand basket. I'd like to propose a measure where I can bill Medicare for my pedicure, quart of ice cream and pizza, or at least the tattoo across my forehead which explicitly states to leave me alone or get out my way.