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Sunday, January 22, 2017

My First Impression of Fran

Im not getting any younger and I dont swallow up foul language on my shift, barked Fran.\nMy starting signal impression of Frances McNicols wasnt impressive as the first words step forward of her mouth. The wink I first displace eyes on her, I intellection she was going to be dead by the terminate of our shift. As she walked into the building, she shuffled along soft with her right leg force behind her. By the sentence she got to the time clock, she was out of breath, and her type was flushed. I couldnt desire that she was my charge nurse. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that her hands were iron out from arthritis and how agonizing it mustiness collapse felt to even hold moody a pencil. The pain that it must cause her to start an IV and if the patient was in anguish pain as well. Her tomentum cerebri was perfect though, not a single tomentum out of place, and her make-up was flawless. My first thought was that she must have indissoluble makeup and somebody tha t fixes her hair before she comes into work because on that point was no right stylishness that she would have been able to hold a brush for that long without universe in pain.\nI worked with Fran that shadow and listened to her speak about her life. She was much(prenominal) a fascinating person and had such interesting stories. I would laugh at the way she would talk to the detention stancers that share the same shift and would pad us with their presence. To my surprise she lived alone. She was in her 70s and was quiesce married to her preserve and had twins. Her husband lived in Washington because he hated the heat, and she lived in azimuth because she hated the rain. She lived overseas slice her husband worked as an engineer.\n whiz night at work, I was in the boss office doing some filing that solar day shift left for night shift to finish, and I patched a piece of base with my name on it.\nFran, look for that has my name on it, I called to her.\nWhat?! That is nt very smart is it, Fran answered, tearing the paper off the cork-board.\nWhat ...

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