The Nursing Home Gods

It seems the gods of nursing homes felt remorseful for messing with me like the Greek gods messed with Odysseus, for today they cut me some slack and dealt me a fine hand. Astonishment came over me when I realized my shift had ended, which is a welcome change after the past few days of hours passing at a snail's pace (actually I'm in Costa Rica, I should say a sloth's pace).

At the start of my shift, one of the Sors, or Sisters, led me into the pharmacy and told me to sort the drawers full if prescription drugs by expiration date and type. The thought "am I even qualified to do this?" Immediately began to creep up, but I whacked it back down with a mental baseball bat because it seems that in Costa Rican nursing homes I'm qualified to preform surgery if I want. I've already cleaned and dressed every wound you can imagine, restrained the senile elderly, taken blood pressures and attempted to analyze the results, and now sorted drugs. I drew a thick red line when a nurse asked me if I wanted to give an old lady a butt injection. 

While excersiing my OCD organizing pills,

I got a chance to chat with Sor Delia, the head nun nurse. She is the absolute sweetest woman with such a loving soul and talked to me about her travels all over the world. All of the nurses there are so inspiring and the work they do makes me think twice when I consider complaining about my cushy privelaged life.