Insane ramblings of a med-surg bitch

Made it through two more days of clinical and all I have to show for it is fifteen pages worth of lab values and one very dirty pair of white pants.
I can't wait until I graduate. Did I mention that?
When I went into nursing I had no idea how much time I would be spending taking care of the terminally ill. Cancer, liver failure, renal failure, heart failure, all that shit. There's just something disturbing about talking about a "quality end-of-life experience" like you're buying a car or riding a rollercoaster. Or saying that someone's "having some anxiety concerning the end of his life." Wouldn't it be more appropriate to say they're scared shitless because they're gonna die?
I remember reading a form we fill out when we send medications back to the pharmacy. You have little boxes to check telling why you're sending it back. I remember box was labeled "expired." I thought they meant an expired drug. My super corrected me and said, no that box is for when the resident expires.
At work we always say people expire. People don't expire. Milk expires. People die.