Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Gross Anatomy. No, really. It's gross.
I can't tell if, for me, nursing school has been more about that whole becoming a nurse, caring for the ill, soothing fevered brows-thing or if it's just been one very long endeavor to gross out fellow students who A) need a good laugh B) need a good laugh at themselves and C) feel they are immune to being grossed out -- all for the sole purpose of my own entertainment. I have spent the last 4 semesters striving to the utmost to find the perfect blend of educational experience, audience participation and healthcare related jokes.
Last Spring, I gave my unsuspecting clinical rotation group a riveting presentation on episiotomies – the quick surgical snip of the lady bits to allow more head-room for the impending fetus barreling down upon it. Without going into gory detail for you dear folks who I have no questions about your low gross-out thresholds, there are different ways to make the cut, as it were. After a heavily sarcastic and euphemistic laden power point on the topic (I called it a “ripping presentation”), I handed each student a fruit roll up and an apple. Their task was to each cut into the fruit roll up and evaluate the ease that particular cut lent to the apple you were about to force through it. And the best part? It’s a scientific experiment you can eat! I got an A+ and the professor scolded the other students for not being nearly that creative in their presentations.
Later that semester I found myself having to give another clinical group a presentation on head lice among the elementary population. Because I hate going to a show without a snack, I brought every class member a Ziploc with Pull-N-Peel Twizzler strands mixed with chocolate and yogurt covered raisins. Another A+ and another group of horrified, albeit, well-fed nursing students. The real measure of my success was when I was told, "I don't think I can ever eat chocolate covered raisins again. Thanks." Ahh, I really reached them.
I was vetoed by the group last semester, in the name of cost-reduction, when I wanted to bring in IBC Root Beers for our “The Dangers of Underage Drinking” presentation. Can’t win all the time, right?
So now, in my last semester, I find myself stumped. It usually comes right to me. Maybe it’s pure exhaustion from school or some sort of humor vacuum that I find myself in. It’s the last presentation of my degree and I am at a loss to find the perfect snack. Can I graduate without having that one last presentation where after a drum’s rim-shot and Ba-dum-dum wouldn’t be most appropriate?
You tell me. The topic is: The Morning-After Pill.