user: Q: Jason had been sitting alone at his table, staring at the tall, platinum blonde for an hour. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of kissing her full lips while his hands explored her lean, muscled body. Tonight he didn't need the whiskey to warm him up. But he kept drinking it anyway. She stepped away from the mike, sat her acoustic guitar on its stand, and walked down from the small stage. Jason beat all the other losers to the bar and sat down beside her. "You must be pretty thirsty after all that beautiful singing." How many times had she heard that line? But at age 33, she'd probably heard every pickup line known to man. "Yeah," she said, giving him a quick glance. He wasn't a bad looking guy. Probably a couple of inches shorter than her. At six-foot-two, she was accustomed to that. But a lot of men couldn't deal with her height. They liked to be the tall one in the relationship. Not that she'd had many relationships. Mostly one-nighters. Without her saying a word, the bartender sat a glass of ice down in front of her, and poured her a can of Diet Coke. "Thanks, Joe." She took a sip as he walked away. "I'm Jason." "Sondra," she said, looking straight ahead as she took another sip. "I really enjoyed your music--especially that last song. Did you write it yourself?" "Yeah." "Wow. It was sad, but moving. You've got talent." Here we go, she thought. And I suppose you're a talent agent or a record producer, or you've got a friend in the business. And you'd be more than happy to get me a record deal--assuming I'd be willing to go with you right now to some sleazy motel. "I'm sick of this business. In fact, you just heard my last performance. First thing Monday morning I'm going out to find me a real job. One that will pay the bills." According to the above context, answer the following question. Sondra wants:

A: not enough information


Q: As a nurse, what is the most difficult news you have ever had to break to a patient? Sadly in my job (Ob/gyn nurse) there is one thing I have to report fairly often, that a pregnancy is not going to happen. Sometimes the mom’s are bleeding and they kind of know that this is going to happen, but sometimes, they are not bleeding and it is a gut punch without any warning. This can be an ultrasound that shows no heartbeat or a lab test that is declining. Nothing is worse than the look on a woman’s face when she is looking forward to her first glimpse of her baby only to be told that the baby is not alive. It doesn’t get any easier, no matter how many times you do it. My own daughter called me one day to announce she was pregnant and two days later, we found out she was miscarrying and I bawled all day. I never even knew this baby, but now, 15 years later, just writing this now is making my eyes water. I have to do a lot of this over the phone and that makes it even harder because I am not able to offer comfort and I don’t know where they are or what they are doing when they get this news. If they call me for their lab results, they might be driving, they might be walking around the mall, they will have to call their significant other and break the news, such difficult conversations to have over the phone. I have been very, very lucky that the few times I have seen advanced pregnancies that underwent a fetal demise were handled by the physicians that I have worked with. I can’t imagine being almost ready to deliver and having all your hopes and dreams crushed. Obstetricians sometimes have the very best job, bringing new lives into the world and seeing the new families bonding, but sometimes they also have the very worst job. According to the above context, answer the following question. When does the nurse have to give bad news?

A: After a person is bleeding.


Q: The young man (boy, really) played with his fingers in the garish light cast from the lone bulb in the concrete bunker. He scratched at an imaginary itch on his right hand (just below his thumb) to take his mind off the man in the lab coat who sat across from him at the beaten, scarred, wood table. It didn't work. And whoever this man in the lab coat was, he was insistent about paperwork. He had three inches clipped onto a weathered clipboard which he flipped through with precision. "Can I offer you a glass of water?" asked the boy's captor in a calm, sensitive tenor. The boy, Kurt, continued to scratch the imaginary itch, which had leapt magically from his right hand to the left. Eventually the falseness of the itch would be deduced, and the lab coated man would disappear out of the cell and return with... God knows what. He had seen torture hundreds-if not thousands-of times on TV, and he was glumly certain that there would be no commercial breaks for him. "Can I offer you a glass of water?" The question was repeated without urgency, like a forgetful waiter. The itch now leaped with the dexterity of a trained flea onto the boy's leg, and the dutiful fingers followed. He watched as the man in the lab coat, without name tag or company insignia, studied his stack of papers attached to the clipboard. Several yellow forms near the top half inch were labeled 27B. The man frowned and wrote a note on the top page. "Note: Find out who isn't duplicating 27B in Pink." "I'm sorry," he said, "I wasn't listening. Was that a yes or no to the water?" Kurt remained in his chair, almost motionless, except for the itching-and-scratching routine. It had leapt again, this time onto his scalp, and the twitching fingers followed. He wondered how long he could keep this up without drawing blood. According to the above context, answer the following question. The young man scrathed an imaginary itch on his hand:

A:

assistant: After meeting a man in a lab coat