Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 NURSES TRAINING

   by Holly Rennick, RN (Just kidding.  I hate shots.)

   AUTHOR'S NOTE

   If your illness is a standard bug, you'll get better treatment from a
nurse than from an MD.  Here are a couple of skills we learn as nursing
students:

   (1) Treatment of Hypothermia

   "Get the victim out of the cold, wind, and rain.  Strip off all wet
clothes.  If the victim is semi-conscious or worse, leave him stripped: put
him in a sleeping bag with another person (also stripped); skin to skin
contact is the most effective treatment." -- North Atlantic International
General Aviation Manual, Third Edition, 1999

   "Chest to chest skin contact with another person in a sleeping bag works
well." -- Remote Travel Safety Guide, 2003, University of Alaska

   "When wrapped together in a blanket or sleeping bag, a rescuer can
donate body heat to a hypothermic patient.  This technique is not without
risk however." -- Cdr.  Dr.  A.M.  Steinman, USPHS

   (2) Measurement of Penis Length.

   Measure "with the subject standing and the penis held parallel to the
floor.  The penis is measured along the top, from the base to the tip. 
Results are inaccurate if the measurement is taken along the underside of
the penis, or if the subject is seated or prone." -- Wikipedia

   So you say you've got a chill?  Well, take off that silly little gown
and prepare for your examination.

   NURSES TRAINING

   It seemed to be expected of a registered nurse who attends Emanuel
Lutheran.  Somebody's got do the physicals for the youth going to camp, but
a doc signing off would cost more than the registration.  An RN, on the
other hand -- one who's a Lutheran, that is -- can pronounce them fit for
archery and swimming free of charge.  Our ministry, they call it, same as
for the gals who do toddler care.

   I'd not have been nominated if Maryanne Wilson hadn't moved out West so
suddenly.  The stated reason was for a job, but she'd always said she'd a
great one here.  Not that I really knew anything, but it looked to me that
maybe she moved for a more pressing reason.  Waistband pressing, if you
know what I mean.  I didn't even know she was dating.

   I'd at least have liked the chance to discuss the duties with her.

   Everyone agreed that Maryanne had done a great job getting the kids
registered and I only hoped I'd do as well.  If I didn't complete the forms
properly, there'd be parents glaring at me every Sunday for a year.

   At least I had the histories from last year's physicals.  As Lutherans,
it's not like we have that many new kids in our youth groups, but the ones
born Lutheran tend to remain loyal.

   It had been a while since nurses training, but I knew all the pediatric
procedures.  Vital signs, inoculations, listen to the heart and an EN&T
look-see.  The rest was professional judgment.  I'd been reading up on type
2 diabetes, so I'd pay extra attention to anybody on the heavy side.  We're
professionals.

   I could use the old Sunday School room, now a repository for Nativity
costumes, maps of the Holy Land and plastic milk jugs.  I'd no idea why the
jugs.  The sofa was undoubtedly a tax-time offload from a parishioner with
allergies.  Sunday School rooms tend to accumulate such things.  Not
exactly a medical office, but it's where Maryanne did her work.  "Parish
Nurse" Scotch-taped on the door established my jurisdiction.

   I'd see a kid each Sunday during Coffee Hour, a Lutheran institution
specified on the Wittenberg Door.  Nobody wonders if the parish nurse might
want coffee, too.

   My first camper-to-be was Owen Krebs, age 14.

   I knew Owen as one of the youth always at the head of the potluck line,
hardly a sin, though some might think so.  You could hear him actually
singing in youth chorus, not just mouthing, so that was a plus.  As tall as
me, but that doesn't prove much.  All in all, a standard junior Lutheran.

   "This'll just take a moment, Owen," I assured.  "Anything worse than the
flu since last year?"

   "No Ma'am."

   What we want in our patient relationships is a bit of levity.  Not in
the case of a serious condition, of course, but when appropriate, something
to alleviate the patient's apprehension.

   "Excellent.  Here, I need to check that you're not a Tin Man." As all
kids know the Tin Man doesn't have a heart, it's a pretty good icebreaker.
His pulse was 85.  High, but his heart sounded perfectly normal.  No
response to my little joke, though.

   "Now for the Straw Man test," my otoscope already in his ear.  Straw Man
doesn't have a brain, but maybe this one would work better.  Again no luck,
however.

   "Fit as a fiddle," I ruled.  "You're not arrow-proof on the archery
range, though," a line I realized might work better for the next age group
down.  I'd perhaps want to look up some jokes related to the Simpsons.

   "Should I take off my shirt now?"

   "No need." I needed my coffee.

   "You're a nurse like Ms.  Wilson, right?"

   "Of course."

   "Ms.  Wilson kept track of our development," flashing me something
between a grin and a grimace.  "You know, for camp."

   The form didn't seem to have that sort of item.

   Seeing my uncertainty, "No problem," Owen offered.  "I measured it
myself, but she liked to check."

   Whenever baffled, act professional.  "So what did you get?"

   "Almost seven."

   "Seven?"

   "Honest!  Wanna' check?"

   I wasn't learning much, but maybe it wasn't that important.  "That's
okay."

   "Tyler said Ms.  Wilson got his another half."

   "She did?" as I flipped through last year's forms in hope of appearing
productive.  On the "Tyler Paulson" was a cryptic "5-6?" in the margin,
perhaps indicative of a quick approximation, but of what, I hadn't a clue.
Below it was "Satisfactory" and the initials "MJW, RN" which I took to be
Maryanne, though I didn't know her middle name.  Probably Jean or Jenifer.

   "Wanna' measure?" Owen pursued, beginning to undo his belt.

   Oh my goodness!  It's not like I didn't pass anatomy.  Was I supposed to
measure his penis?  We'd done most everything in nurses training, but never
that.  "I really don't think it's necessary."

   He halted his zipper at midpoint.  "What'm I gonna' do at camp, then?"
somewhat crestfallen.

   "Well, there's all sorts of stuff, I'll bet.  Swimming, handicrafts..."

   He gave me an odd look.  "For Personal Sharing, I mean."

   "Personal Sharing?"

   "You know.  Sharing personally.  The camp nurse matches you up."

   I was still confused, but then again, I'm just a parish nurse.

   "I guess that's up to her or him." Gender neutrality's paramount in our
field.

   "She has to have my physical," nodding at my clipboard.

   I'd no idea why penis length would matter, but maybe it has something to
do with transgender issues, an upcoming topic at the National Assembly.  A
solution leapt to mind.  "How 'bout you just hold a ruler against your..,
your pants and tell me what it says."

   He gave it a try.  "Eight."

   "Got it," though I doubted the value.

   "Maybe I messed up, though.  You're a nurse."

   It's not like an RN has hang-ups about the human body.  "Okay.  I'll do
it." A nurse's taking charge builds patient confidence.

   "Want me on the sofa?"

   "Why?"

   "That's why Ms.  Wilson had us lug it in here."

   Office nurses have examination tables, school nurses have cots and
parish nurses have castaway sofas, I realized.

   I tried not to touch -- at least so he'd not notice, anyway -- but I
probably did.  It's difficult to know where to start the measurement when
it's in his trousers, but I tried to be fair.

   For the record: Clutch the ruler against the side of the penis (not too
tightly, of course, but firmly enough so it doesn't slip) while using your
other hand to lift the penis enough to verify the glans.  Repeat on the
opposite side and average the measurements.

   I'd no idea he'd be erect, but getting measured is probably confusing at
his age.  In any case, one that's hard is easier to measure than one that's
soft.

   As we had time, I re-measured for confirmation -- not confirming that he
was erect, of course, but for the length.  Confirming the erection is
secondary and can be done with the palm of your hand.

   "We'll say six," I decided, entering the value followed by a double
quote.  Most medical parameters are now recorded in the metric system, but
maybe not this one.

   "That's okay?"

   "Perfectly normal," though I didn't exactly know the statistics for boys
his age.  "Perfectly normal," I repeated, giving it a little pat like you
might give a younger child on his or her hair.

   "Good."

   I gave another pat or two, but somehow ended up stopping on the down --
not the up -- if that makes sense.  I guess I wasn't thinking.  My hand
being where it was afforded a chance to practice measuring sans ruler. 
Still erect, best I could tell, but I'd didn't move my perch except when he
shifted.  After a bit, though, his shifting became somewhat regular.

   As lots of kids these days don't eat well, I shared some recent research
on nutrition while I practiced.  Very erect, actually.  I'd use a tape
measure later to see what thumb to forefinger comes to and subtract a
little for fabric.  Circumference is difficult to judge through clothing,
however, as your fingers can't really complete the circle.  An examination
gown would have worked much better.

   "Ready for testing, right?" Owen interrupted my recommendation about
antioxidants.  If his pants were just a little loser...

   "You know, Owen," I admitted, sliding downward to compare thickness. 
"I'm just not exactly sure which test they want.  There are so many, these
days." As RNs know that most clinical errors stem from miscommunication, we
don't start assuming things.  I could imagine they'd be concerned about
conjunctivitis.

   "You know," he paused, "that I can come."

   "Pardon?" almost done with my anatomic assessment, though being so
close, perhaps I should check his testicles.

   "Come.  You know, when you jerk off."

   Come?  Jerk off?  Oh my goodness!  Surely he doesn't mean...?

   "Ms.  Wilson said Tyler had to last to ten."

   "What?"

   He grinned.  "Then he could, you know, finish."

   Oh my goodness!

   "Listen, Owen..." but by then he had his trousers opened.

   "Ms.  Wilson did Tyler to make sure it was ten for real," as he dropped
his undershorts.

   "I don't think..." I'd have said seven inches, but I'd already written
six.

   "Like you were doing," as he wrapped my hand around him.

   Me?

   He bounced me a time or two to get things started.

   Oh my!  Skin feels different than corduroy.  I suppose that nurses
working in fertility clinics or urology routinely do this sort of thing. 
It's not that complicated, but does an up-down count for one or two?  One
would mean doing it twice as long, but two might lead to an undercount. 
Better call it one.

   "Maybe you should put your hands behind your head," I advised.

   Actually it was quite easy.  I'd learned about the Healing Touch in my
senior year -- sort of new age, in my opinion -- so it's sort of in the
curriculum.

   "What if I don't last to ten?" asked my patient, quickly beginning to
flush.

   "Just relax," beginning to find my way, the same as we say about an
enema.  "Five's fine," by now on number four.

   I suppose it wasn't that professional, letting him touch my blouse, but
I'd only suggested he keep his hands behind his head, not made it a
requirement.  We could call it holistic, a type off feedback, maybe.  As I
was dressed for church, I doubted he could tell much.

   "You're doing great," I encouraged, now at seven.  As his responsiveness
was indeed a bit contagious, however, I might have been wrong about what he
could feel through my bra.

   My own high school experience helped -- birth control of last resort, we
called it -- but before now I'd never actually watched the product being
produced.  In Owen's case, there was just a milliliter or two which I wiped
off my wrist.  No big deal for an RN.

   "So how'd I do," after I wound him down.

   "Perfectly fine." Maybe more than fine, from an non-nurse perspective,
but nurses need to keep an even keel.  "Twelve by my count," giving credit
for while it happened.

   He looked relieved.  "So now you, right?"

   "Me?"

   "You know.  Yours."

   My what?

   Oh, no, buster!  Not on your life!  I'm an RN and don't you forget it.
But I held my response to a firm, "I don't think that's necessary." Not
necessary.  Not advisable.  Not going to happen.

   He seemed deflated.  "But for Personal Sharing, I gotta' know."

   "Gotta' know what?"

   "What works for girls."

   "Oh"

   I wasn't sure exactly what sort of camp activity this Personal Sharing
was, but clearly it was personal.  I'd learned how to make out back when I
went to camp -- it was easier because you wouldn't keep seeing the boy --
so maybe this was along that line.  Jargon changes; Lutheran camps don't.

   It did make sense, I agreed, that the boy understands what happens on
the other side, But oh my goodness, to make it a camp requirement and on
top of that, to leave it to the parish nurse!

   I knew of no therapeutic intervention calling for the nurse to
masturbate.  Maybe, though, in something related to sexual education? 
Nursing's mostly about education, much more than what the public thinks --
taking blood pressure, giving injections, things like that.  Many school
districts have nurses teach health, as we have the medical model.  Unlike
PE teachers.  I'd not think a nurse would demonstrate masturbation, though,
but school nursing is a field of its own.  Maybe it depends on the school
district.

   Owen's a good kid and at least I wasn't wearing pantyhose.  Plus, I must
admit, having helped him orgasm had indeed made me think of the topic a
little more personally.

   "It's really not that difficult," I explained.  "It's just moving your
finger."

   "That's all?" sounding surprised.

   "That's it."

   "Ms.  Wilson made Tyler promise not to tell, but hers took more."

   It was good, not having that sort of thing whispered around Fellowship
Hall, but how else can a girl do it?

   "But I'll do it the way you say," Owen allowed.

   "Pardon?"

   "How you tell me."

   This isn't about a demonstration!  He thinks he's going to masturbate
me, the parish nurse!  In her office, even!

   "You get the sofa," he offered, rising to make room.

   On that old thing?

   Well, it does make sense, participatory learning.  Nursing education
long ago moved away from just lectures and filmstrips.  True learning stems
from entering into the process.  It's inclusive.  Not that I'd let Owen do
much, of course, but maybe I'd let him get the idea.

   "I stay dressed, though."

   "How come?"

   I didn't feel I needed to explain that a nurse should always remain
clothed, so I left it as, "It's how we do it."

   I didn't know exactly what Maryanne taught Tyler, but I let Owen try
through my panties.  After he took them off, I still didn't let him do
anything except with his fingers.  I don't need the other stuff.

   "Nice, Owen," I let him know afterwards.  Really nice, actually.  Not at
all what I'd expected when I came to church.

   "Almost there.  Right?" obviously pleased with the lesson.

   "Almost where?"

   "The nurse doesn't want you saying your first time was at camp.  She'd
get in trouble with the director."

   "What?"

   "You know, that Personal Sharing was where you started."

   "Huh?"

   He gave me a you-must-be-kidding look.

   "You sure?" I followed up.  Proper communication's so important in this
sort of thing.

   "That's why I need the physical," hopefully eying my clipboard.

   My goodness!  Whoever this camp nurse is, she wants us parish nurses to
take care of the virgins?

   Tyler's performance was "satisfactory." We're all RNs, of course, but
that doesn't mean we'd necessarily grade the same.  Oh, I wished I'd been
able to talk to Maryanne.

   "It won't take long," Owen promised as if I yet planned to catch the
last minutes of Coffee Hour.  Even if I could, I'd not, as by now there'd
just be the dregs you get by tipping the urn.

   This would very much be the time to talk things through with Owen. 
Patient education is fundamental to good nursing.

   "Owen," I began, thinking back to articles I'd read.  "Sex isn't the
sort of thing you want to hurry.  At your age..."

   But I was distracted by the rapidity of his re-erection.  Oh my!  Only
at Owen's age is such a thing even possible.

   "Ms.  Wilson made Tyler hold on till ten, though," he revealed, pulling
on himself to achieve full size.  "Same as the other."

   "Ten what?"

   "You know, like..." giving his penis a hint of a wiggle.  "It's up to
the nurse, though, about low long for her.  Ms.  Wilson started way
before."

   Before ten wiggles, so to speak?  Maryanne must have been well prepared!

   "I thought Tyler wasn't supposed to tell."

   "He made me promise not to spread it around."

   There are so many rules about this sort of thing.  The ANA would
probably have something to say and there's undoubtedly a Synod commission
discussing the matter.  But it's not as if I were getting paid to be parish
nurse.  Some things you have to decide yourself and when you're still on
the couch, some things are more difficult to decide not to do.  It would
have been easier to say no if I'd had on my panties.

   As you'd want him to allow the girl enough time, ten wiggles, so to
speak, are probably insufficient.  But you wouldn't want him to feel like
failure if he only makes it to six.  Not for his first time, anyway.  A lot
depends on other factors, what they'd just done in Personal Sharing, I
suppose.

   "Tell you what, Owen.  Let's go for five and then you pull it out."

   Which is how I got pregnant, which is why I moved to California, which
is why I'm making twice what I did before.  I'm still a Lutheran, of
course, Grace Lutheran in Burbank, to be specific, where there's great
toddler care, lots of campers and Maryanne Wilson and I share the ministry
of parish nurse.

   THE END

   Holly on the Web

   Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My
problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As
literary errors (or just lame word usages) are made known, I'll repair that
which is salvageable on /~Holly_Rennick.  If you take
the time to read me, don't wade through an early version.

   You can contact me via the site's message form.
   Holly