C'mon, baby, light my fire

Well, it's over. I sat the ASRT exam on Wednesday and graduated from radiography school Friday, and to be honest I'm glad it's all finished. The exam itself wasn't that hard (although I still want to see that pass-mark in writing, obviously.) I start my new job tomorrow,and I'll be in the hospital diagnostic department for a couple of weeks - my new office isn't quite ready, meaning that the X-ray equipment isn't installed, there's no lighting and the walls & ceiling need boarding out, the water isn't turned on, the floor needs screeding and there are no doors to any of the rooms except my examining room - but I'm told everything will be fine in two weeks. We'll see.

Graduation was, how shall I say, a little overdone. There was us Radiographers, the School of Professional Nursing, the Surgical Technologists and the Licensed Practical Nursing graduates, all sweating away in cap-&-gown in a local school hall. All the big cheeses from the Hospital medical training school were there, the VP, the Dean, the Director of Paper Clips and a few I didn't know, and they all had plenty to say. Then we went first, shook the hand, took the certificate, had the photo. Then we watched while everyone else did the same. The LPN awards were accompanied by some hootin' an' hollerin' and the announcer for the School of Professional Nursing was particularly snotty, but then I understand she's always been that way. Then the 'piece de resistance' - the candlelit recitation of the Oath of Professionalism. Yes, folks, one hundred or so people, in a cramped hall, in the dark, wearing billowing polyester robes and holding candles. Can you say 'conflagration?'

Fortunately, no-one fell over their robe, or set themselves or anyone else alight, so in that respect the night could be called a success. All my in-laws turned up, which I really appreciated, and El Jeffe was very proud of me. The Riverside School of Health Careers staff were genuinely sorry to see us all go. Hugs, kisses all round - even the irrepressible Mrs P managed a tear or two.

Oh, one more thing. We have a new family member, an eight-week-old Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Tater. Damn, he's cute, but Lord does he have some teeth on him. We should have called him Gator instead. He doesn't sleep much, and when he's not asleep he usually wants to bite something, and/or pee on something. He has a peculiar liking for the gusset of my underpants, and he's chewed the lining of my shorts as well, when I am using the smallest room in the house, shall we say. He's also bitten the contents of my shorts more than once, which is even less funny than it sounds. But he's still very cute.

Anyway, that's it for now. I'm off to put some Band-Aids on my cojones.

Thought for the day - you can bite the hand that feeds you - but JUST the hand. Night, all