Nurse Mom and the Ninja

Nurse Mom and the Ninja

                It was a late spring morning, and the sun’s glow had already begun to lighten the horizon.  Three more days, Nurse Mom thought to herself with a smile.  Three more days, and I’m forever free!

                The coffee was ready, and her egg simmered in the skillet.  She’d only taken the job as Head Nurse in the school district because it was a job that needed done.  It hadn’t taken long to realize why nobody else wanted the job, but she’d done what needed to be done with, she thought, a minimum of complaint.  Three more days, and she’d be retired.  Not free, maybe- retirement was expensive.  But free of the paperwork, the politics, the stresses of dealing with hundreds of teenagers, roving bands of hormones and emotional angst on a daily basis.  She’d thought she was free before, when the last of her three kids had left the house, but it had been hard to let go.  Would it be as hard to let go of her student-kids? 

                Of course, her older two children in particular had kept moving back in for one reason and another, which made letting go a bit easier.  And harder.  Hopefully her students would not show up in the middle of the night with their cat and a sobbing story of cheating and betrayal.  That would be awkward.

                Her egg done and the skillet washed, Nurse Mom sucked down the last of her coffee, dribbled a bit on the inside of the dishwasher door, and tucked the cup into the open spot waiting on the top rack.  She picked up her bags, and kissed a sleepy-looking Mr. Dad, Esq., as he groped his way towards the kitchen and his own waiting caffeine fix.  “I’m off,” she said.

                He grunted something that might have been “Have a nice day,” as easily as it might have been a Shakespearean sonnet of love and devotion.  Mr. Dad, Esq., was not at his best early in the morning.  His grunts, like his snores, were eloquence enough.

                On a day like today, nothing could bring Nurse Mom down.

                Or so she thought.

 

 

 

                As usual, there were only a few cars in the school’s parking lot when she pulled in.  Being the only nurse in the school meant, for the most part, that she had to be there whenever there were students in the building.  Which meant she was there pretty much ALL THE TIME, which meant she got there while the night cleaners were still there, and shortly after the history teacher, who as far as anybody could tell actually lived at the school, since nobody had ever managed to arrive before him.  It also meant that kids who had terrible homes often found their way into her office far earlier in the morning that she was actually prepared to deal with human beings, which meant that she rarely had an actual moment alone to herself to get her administrative duties done.  Which meant that… Three more days, she thought firmly.  Stay focused on the light at the end of the tunnel, Nurse Mom.

                She fumbled through her keys and finally found the one for the lock on the direct entrance to her office.  If she went through the office’s waiting room, she might get jumped by a student with a bellyache from drinking three Monsters for breakfast before she’d had time to start her coffee pot in the office.  Which meant that the student might hear what she thought of this meal plan (and the parents who allowed it) in its original, unedited format.  Which meant that...  Three more days…

                The office was dark, which she expected.  What Nurse Mom did not expect was the throwing star that flashed across the space to stick in the wall next to her hand as she reached for the light switch.  Her first thought, rather than “Oh God, some idiot is throwing Ninja Stars at me,” which one might expect from any reasonable person, or even “Three more days,” which she’d already thought to herself about a hundred times in the last hour, was actually “Well, that’s surprising, I would have expected a throwing star to bounce off of the cinderblocks, rather than sticking in it.” 

                Calmly, Nurse Mom turned to the coffee pot and turned it on.  She’d figured out early on that prepping the coffee pot in advance made for a smoother morning.  For everybody.  Then, she turned, stack of papers in hand to face the idiot throwing bits of pointy metal at her. 

“Now, I think we both know that those aren’t allowed in school,” she said.  One part of her brain was screaming “Oh, crap, this is not what I was planning to do with my day today,” while the other part of her brain chanted, Zen-like, “Three more days…”  A third, very small part of her brain compared this attack to what Inspector Clouseau kept facing in Pink Panther from his bodyservant, whatshisname. 

Slowly, a dark form emerged from the shadows of the Boys resting room.  Swathed from head to toe in black, the figure had a mask that showed only its eyes and the bridge of its nose.  Nurse Mom knew better than to assume that just because the ninja (was it really a ninja?  Sure looked like one…) was a boy just because it came out of the Boys room.  Keeping the boys and girls from making more boys and girls was half the reason the rooms were separated from each other by the entire office.  The ninja spoke softly, in a voice she didn’t recognize.  “The Administrati has determined that you must retain your post.  No suitable substitute can be found.  This is your warning.  Try to leave and you will face dire consequences.”

Nurse Mom snorted.  “That’s absurd.  The Administrati is a myth.  Like the Illuminati.”

The Ninja laughed, slowly, evilly.  “And Ninjas?”

Nurse Mom cocked her head to the side, thinking.  “That’s a good point.  Would you like some coffee?”  She turned and went back into the office, where the coffee pot was almost full.  She was going to miss this coffee maker, but it had come with the office, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave the next Head Nurse without such a wonderful device.  She filled her cup, one with pictures of Oldest Kid’s two children, grinning in the way little boys grin.  It always made her smile, especially when it was filled with hot coffee.  Soft footsteps announced the ninja’s presence behind her.  She filled a second cup, and turned to hold it out.  “I assume you take yours black?”  The ninja took it with a small bow, and its eyes crinkled with what she assumed was a smile, beneath the mask. 

“Cream and sugar, if you don’t mind.”  Nurse Mom gestured to the small shakers beside the coffee pot, and the ninja poured in a liberal dose of cream and a small bit of sugar.  Nurse Mom mostly took her coffee black, but her assistant, due to arrive in about an hour, was one of those people whose coffee came out looking more like slightly dark milk by the time she’d finished mixing in all her cream and sugar.  Nurse Mom poked her head into the waiting room, relieved that for once there were no students waiting to whine about the bad decisions they’d made this morning.  Three more days… 

The ninja was seated cross-legged on the table, empty coffee cup sitting on the table next to the pot, cleaned and replaced next to the other cups.  Nurse Mom started to point out her “no feet on the table” rule, but realized that the ninja was sitting in Full Lotus, and its feet were in fact up off of the table.  Instead, she said, “My, that was fast.  Would you like to come to my house and do my dishes too?  I could really use the help next Thanksgiving,” Nurse Mom said.

“My apologies,” the ninja said, “But I have plans for this coming Thanksgiving.  Perhaps some other time.”

“Of course.  I’d hate to take you away from your family,” Nurse Mom said, taking a long pull at her own coffee.  “Now, about this business with the Administrati.  I think we both know that there are several qualified candidates.  I’ve recommended the top three to Mr. HR Guy, with my suggestion that Candidate #2 be given the strongest consideration.”

“All three candidates have refused the position,” the ninja said.  “None of them wants the extra stress the position requires the Head Nurse to deal with.” 

“Well, now, that is a problem,” Nurse Mom mused aloud.  “I was certain that Candidate Number Three wanted the status, if not the actual work.  And Candidate Number One has teenage boys.”  The ninja’s eyes widened.   “Yes.  She could really use the extra stipend.” 

“I rather expect so,” the ninja said.  “All that milk?”

“Just so.  Well, this is just not going to do.  I really appreciate the trust that the Administrati has put in me to keep doing a good job, and I appreciate the difficult position this must put you in, but I’m simply not going to do this again next year.  I have grandkids I almost never get to see, and Middle Kid just had a baby.  There is simply too much Grandmothering I need to do now.  Oh! Would you like to see a picture?” 

Nurse Mom dug out her phone, and spent several minutes showing the Ninja pictures of her grandkids, whom the ninja agreed were adorable, even if Oldest Grandkid did tend to drive his parents a bit crazy (karma being a bit of a bitch, there), and Youngest Grandkid would no doubt be sitting up on his own soon.

“Nevertheless, Nurse Mom,” the ninja tried to regain control of the conversation.  “The Administrati requires that Head Nurse position remain filled.  Someone must remain who is capable of both managing the medical needs of the students, and handling the administrative duties of managing the nurses in the other buildings of the district.  If you attempt to leave, you will make things very difficult for the administration, and I have been instructed to make things difficult for you in turn.”

“So, if I understand this correctly,” Nurse Mom said, “If I try to stop being Head Nurse, you will have to bring me back to the school every day, and stand over me to make sure I’m doing my job, and make sure I’m doing my job correctly?”

“That is correct,” the ninja said, apologetically. 

“How will you know if I’m doing my job well?  Do you know the first thing about being a nurse, or managing a district full of nurses who each have multiple kids with variously complicated medical needs to take care of?”

“Of course,” the ninja said.  “I’m a ninja.”

“And you’ll have to be here every day, to make sure I don’t try to run off and get away when you’re not looking, right?”

“Unfortunately, Ma’am, yes, I will be required to shadow you all day, every day.” 

“Hmm,” Nurse Mom mused aloud.  “It must be very stressful being a ninja.  I’m sure not just anybody could manage all the training you have to do.” 

“Very few people have the capacity to make it through ninja training,” the ninja said, just a touch of pride in its voice.

“Of course!  You wouldn’t want someone who couldn’t handle all the training required, let alone managing all the stress of being a ninja.  Aren’t you allowed to ever take off your mask?”

“There are fairly strict guidelines.”

“That wasn’t an answer, you know.”

“My apologies.  I cannot reveal certain information.”  To be fair, the ninja did actually sound apologetic. 

“So, you know all about nursing, and administration, and you can handle a great amount of stress.  But can you handle paperwork?” 

“Ma’am, please, I am a ninja.”

“So is that a no?”  Nurse Mom’s coffee cup was almost empty.  She refilled it from the pot.  When she turned around, the ninja was standing next to the filing cabinet.  Each of the documents she’d been working on had been completed, ordered and filed.  She pursed her lips, and took a drink of her coffee.  “Aah.  Of course not.  Well, I suppose there’s really only one solution to this problem.”  She pulled out her keys.

“Ahem, Ma’am, what are you doing?”

Nurse Mom smiled and handed the ninja her keys.  “I’m handing my keys to my replacement.”

“What?”  The ninja was clearly startled.

“Yep! You know everything you need to know about nursing and management, you understand confidentiality of information, and you can clearly handle stress.  Plus, the Administrati is already prepared to pay for you to be here all the time anyways.  If you’re going to be here making sure I’m doing my job, you could just take over doing it yourself instead.  This should be a cakewalk compared to your other missions.”

The ninja slid smoothly off the table and then knelt, head bowed.  “I admit defeat, Nurse Mom.  You have bested me.”  Rising, it looked Nurse Mom in the eyes.  “How did you manage that?  I have never been defeated!”

Nurse Mom smiled.  “I had teenagers.  You learn to think fast, or you break.” 

The Ninja bowed, then disappeared in a puff of smoke.

 

 

 

Nursing Assistant gasped in surprised appreciation of Nurse Mom’s description of the ninja’s dramatic exit.  “But what happened to your hand?”  She gestured to Nurse Mom’s bandaged right hand. 

“Oh, that?”  Nurse Mom laughed.  “I stuck myself trying to get that ridiculous throwing star out of the wall.”  She opened the top drawer of her desk, and there, next to the neatly ordered pens and paperclips lay a shining, silvery throwing star.

Three more days, she thought.  I wonder what they'll try tomorrow?