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. Question: Who gives the bad news sometimes instead of a nurse? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- The doctor gives bad news.
- not enough information
- The mother gives bad news.
- The dad gives bad news.
The doctor gives bad news.

I was a waitress at the New England regional chain Newport Creamery for seven years in Jr. High, High School, and College. In college, I needed money for school supplies, so in addition to slinging ice cream cones and "Awful Awfuls" at the Creamery, I picked up a few more jobs: working the dinner shift at a family restaurant, heaving trays of cocktails at a bar until 3AM, and cleaning houses. Needless to say, I was a wreck, and a big time abuser of coffee and cigarettes. One day just before my shift at the Creamery began, I slung back a huge coffee and hauled on a Newport cigarette in the kitchen (this was when you could do things like smoke in a restaurant kitchen.) I then went out to the dining floor and approached my first table, who had been given menus and was waiting for me to take their order. "Hi, How are you today?", I cheerfully asked the mother and her three daughters, all looking under 12. "What may I get you?.." Then, fade to black as a huge swooshing sound took over my head. Next thing I know, I'm on the floor, covered in blood, the girls are screaming blue murder, and my manager is shaking like a leaf as he coddles me. Apparently, I passed out right onto the table of the nice family I was waiting on, then fell back and whacked my head on the corner of a wall. I remember noticing that my kelly green polyester dress was an awful shade of bloodied brown. My main concern was that I had a hot date that night, and now I had to go to the emergency room! The ER doctor was able to sew my head up, and sent me home with a diagnosis of "syncope, unknown origin". After a few hours, I still felt spacey, but insisted on going on the date. I remember we went to a nice Italian place on Federal Hill! Here's the Garden City location, where I worked. Question: what did the girl find on her dress? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- ice cream
- coffee
- blood

Answer: blood

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. Question: Kurt thinks that: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- He needs to dring more water
- He will be tortured.
- He should not be silent
He will be tortured.