The Hostess With The Mostest

It was a Saturday, my weekend “on” at the infusion clinic. Weekends are hit or miss: only a few patients needing daily IV antibiotics, or as busy as a weekday shift, which is how busy this shift was. My nurse colleagues, clever and cheerful, kept the mood of the shift lighthearted, however.

I don’t know if our positive attitudes contributed, or if it was the other way around, because our patients were also lighthearted. Considering we were spending a Saturday together in an oncology clinic, this speaks volumes about the resiliency of the human spirit.

On a whim, during a lull in the morning we served our patients buttered toast and juice. It was a modest, spontaneous celebration received with joy.

The shift ran long. Expected at a friend’s home for bubbles and small plates, I rushed to get ready.

I have written before: I don’t go out much.

Do other nurses find the sudden transformation from duty to party as unsettling as I do? A quick shower to remove any bacteria hitching a ride home from work; applying a new red lipstick to enliven my poor face that’s been up since O’Dark-Thirty, forcing my feet from comfy clogs into black pumps after standing on them for an eight-hour shift. Looking at the results in a mirror, I felt like a magician.

I’m glad I made the effort. My friend is The Hostess With The Mostest, and the party was fabulous, with platters of delicate finger foods, and chilled, sparkling wines. The guests were glamorous. I saw old friends, and met new ones. It was fun.

That particular Saturday, work and home life melded into a full day of celebration: first at work with colleagues and patients, then again in the evening with friends.

 “Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” – Marcel Proust