Clockzilla The Time Bandit: My Frenemy in the Nursing Home

When Time Stands Still

“What in the…” I mumbled, my face a canvas of frustration. I looked at the clock and sighed. It showed that it had only been 30 minutes since I clocked in.

I stared at the clock, half-convinced its batteries needed changing. But no—the long and short arms moved steadily, mocking me with every tick.

For nurses, especially in a nursing home, time doesn’t just crawl—it practically moves backward.

It felt like I’d stepped into The Twilight Zone, that old show where nothing makes sense and reality has its own twisted rules.

Either that or I was in an episode of Stranger Things, where time and logic disappear into an alternate dimension.

Time on the Clock

“Are you kidding me?“ I thought. “Did I just step into some kind of parallel universe?”

I expected the walls to shift and the floor to turn into a portal to another world (aka Portkeys, eh Harry Potter fans?).

Surely, it had been two hours since I walked onto the floor at 2:45 p.m.???

After endorsement and counting narcotics, I’d made sure my patients were all accounted for and, you know, still breathing.

I had started PEG feedings for the residents who needed them, noting that the time to check some residents’ blood sugar was near.

I was deep into a battle with the pill crusher when I glanced up at Mr. O’Clock again. His hands hadn’t moved much. I swear he was slacking off—probably napping on the job while I wrestled with reality.

There’s something surreal about a nursing home shift. It’s like being in a world where time stretches and warps around mundane tasks.

You’re passing meds to residents, each with their preferences—No applesauce for Mr. Johnson, Ms. Phillips wants you to explain every little pill before she takes it, and Mr. Smith wants to take his meds after his daughter calls.

Every pill feels like another grain of sand dropped in a never-emptying hourglass.

And nothing makes time drag more than when someone utters the “Q word”. When a coworker would say, “It’s so quiet today!” I’d immediately feel the shift in the air. The universe doesn’t like smugness.

It’s as if Captain Chronos heard those words and decided to set the clock to “chaos mode.”

Suddenly, call lights would go off, patients would get restless, and the shift would turn into a race against the clock.

It’s a nurse’s version of tempting fate, and fate rarely plays fair, (whoever said superstition doesn’t have a place in healthcare has not worked on the floor).

Round-the-Clock Reality

When I first entered the unit, I don’t know why, but I noticed the wall clock first, high and mighty, as if looking down on insignificant me.

Little did I know it would become my Frenemy: a silent companion through every shift. 

At first, I was a bit self-conscious looking at it and whispering as if it could understand me.

Over time, I regarded him as a listener and even gave him some nicknames– CTO-Chief Time Officer, Cuckoo Doodle Doo, The Watchman, and my favorite, Clockzilla, among others.

He was the silent observer to my whispered prayers, my barely-contained sighs, and the moments when I could feel my patience thinning out like a worn thread.

If he could talk, I imagined he’d sound like a grizzled old man—grumpy yet wise, occasionally throwing me a bone when I needed a break.

I’d glare at him when things went sideways. When a patient decided they didn’t want their meds, or a family member accused us of not providing enough care to their loved one, I’d glance at that round face and swear I saw his minute hand slow down, like he was in on the joke.

“Come on, give me a break, you Cuckoo Clock,” I’d mumble: “I need this shift to end before my sanity does.”

But he was relentless. His hands dragged with spiteful slowness like he was testing my resolve. And maybe he was.

Clocking Up the Pressure

The day came when everything that could go wrong did.

The phone wouldn’t stop ringing, the call lights flashed like a warning siren, and I hadn’t had a moment to breathe. My feet ached, my head pounded, and I could feel a lump rising in my throat.

I was in the med room, surrounded by blister packs, my brain too foggy to remember what I was doing. The phone rang again, and I couldn’t decide whether to answer it or just throw it out the window. 

Tears came suddenly—hot, angry, and frustrated. I pressed my forehead against the metal shelf, hoping the cold surface would ground me, and keep me from shattering into a million pieces.

A soft voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?”

I looked up. Ms. Faye, one of my CNAs, stood in the doorway, her eyes kind, her arms open. Before I knew it, I was in her embrace, sobbing like a child.

“We’ll get through this,” she whispered, her voice steady and sure. “One hour at a time. We’ve got your back.”

I saw the other two CNAs, Ms. Mabou and Bridgitte, looking at me with eyes that said they understood me.

Through blurry eyes, I glanced at Captain Chronos. His normally stern face seemed softer, almost as if he understood.

His minute hand, which usually inched forward, seemed to pick up speed, offering a bit of mercy.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but for a moment, I felt like even the old clock was on my side.

Clock Off at Last

I pulled myself together after what felt like an eternity. I wiped my face, straightened my scrubs, thanked Ms. Faye, and stepped back onto the floor.

The chaos didn’t stop, but I felt more solid, ready to face whatever came next.

As the shift finally came to an end, I gave out a big sigh of relief. After endorsing the floor to the night duty nurse, and thanking my beloved CNAs, I gave The Time Keeper one last look.

His hands had made their way to 11:00, the end of my shift, almost as if he had willed them to move faster, just for me.

I quietly winked at him lest anyone would see me talking to the wall clock and report me as having “lost it.”

“Not bad, old friend,” I whispered. “Not bad at all.”

I turned to go but I thought I saw him wink back.

As I walked off the floor, I could almost hear his raspy voice trailing behind me:

‘See you tomorrow, kid. You’ll make it through again. You always do.

What’s Your Clock Telling You?

If your clock could talk, what would it say? Is it a friend, a foe, or just a reminder that time waits for no one?

As I shared in my “A Day in the Life of a Nursing Home RN” post, our shifts are packed with countless responsibilities—but sometimes the biggest challenge is simply watching those minutes tick by.

Have you ever had a shift where Captain Chronos seemed to speed up or slow down just to mess with you? Share your stories—if these clocks could talk, they’d probably spill more tea than the break room gossip.