Lucy's orientation did not start well. I thought for sure she was going to have to find another field to work in. Nursing just was not her cup of tea. Why, you ask? Well, since you inquired so nicely, I will tell you. I just love it when you ask nicely - so polite. Your parents raised you well. You know, I knew this kid one time who .............
Oh, whoops. Sorry. Got distracted there. I hate it when that happens. You start thinking of one story and then some little niblet of a memory starts waving from the sidelines and you follow it for a few moments and then all of a sudden you're at band camp.
Amazing how that happens.
So, anyway......................Lucy's first day was a comical montage of her hitting the floor. Yes, she passed out 3 times. You'd think she'd never done clinicals before. But oooooohhhhh noooooooo. She had. I don't know how she made it through nursing school. Come to think of it, there were some rumors of her paying off the instructors. Something about a big inheritance and her grandpa being the heir to some donut chain. Naw - couldn't be true. Not my little Lucy.
Our first incident began with a laceration. Not a large, gory, profusely bleeding laceration. Just a tiny, little, 4 inch cut from a steak knife. Our patient was sitting on the gurney when I removed his dish towel, observed an arterial spurt, and heard Lucy hit the floor. She took the mayo stand with her. All my sterile 4X4's were now scattered across the exam room floor. I looked at her briefly to make sure she was still breathing, then proceeded to wash out the patient's wound.
"Is she OK?" he asked.
"Yeah, she'll be fine. Don't worry about her," I said as I stepped over her sprawled out body. "Let me just get this irrigation tubing for washing out your wound."
"Um...........OK."
Her second incident came when Mr. Oldfart came in with an active GI bleed. Now granted, GI bleeds make me want to pass out just so I don't have to take care of them, but really - is the smell of rotting intestines mixed with blood really so bad?
HELL YES!
I would much rather smell a rotting dead body any day, than to have my nose anywhere near the tail end of a GI bleed. Lord almighty - the stench is enough to make you want to give yourself a "swirly" in the toilet just to wash out your nasal passages. At least this time she had the courtesy to make it out of the room before she hit the floor. She was weaving a bit on her way out, but I soon heard the other staff laughing and stepping over her so I knew all was well.
Poor little Lucy was absolutely mortified.
"I haven't eaten today. That must be why," she said.
Uh huh. Sure.
"I think my blood sugar may be low."
"Are you a diabetic?"
"No, but that must be why."
(insert eye roll here)
2 hours before the end of our shift, staffing called for an extra nurse in OR to receive for a C Section. I had experience in this area, so I decided I'd go and take Lucy with me to give her a break from the ER. I thought it would be a safe area. I thought seeing a baby would be a good thing.
Wrong.
We gowned up for the OR and took our places near the respiratory therapist who was standing next to the infant warmer. We visited for a few minutes and received a report from the circulator regarding the patient's history. Then the doctors began their incision. And Lucy looked.
Yes, she looked. I know what you're thinking. I thought it too. "No, Lucy! No! Don't look at the blood!"
She did.
And down she went.
Sigh.................
I told her maybe she shouldn't come back the next day. She did.
Last week I watched her step over her new orientee as they sat against the wall - pale faced, sweating, and vomiting into an emesis bag. I raised my eyebrows and glanced at Lucy.
"GI Bleed," she said.
Ah yes. Good times.
Showing posts with label ER nurse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ER nurse. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Face Up, Flat On My Back
We all have them. Embarrassing moments, that is. I try to remind myself of that every time I think of the following story. I try to tell myself that I am not the only nurse who has made a complete and total ass of herself in front of a patient. There are others.................right? Please tell me I"m right.
Mrs. Fever For 5 Days came into the ER on a Sunday night. She told me during triage that she had been feeling poorly for the last week - fever, cough, rash, body aches, etc. I escorted her back to the Gyne Room as it was the only room free, and laid her on the stretcher (for those of you that don't know, some stretchers have pegs on the end of them that you hook stirrups to so you can do a pelvic exam). Mistake number one.
Her husband came in with her and took a seat in the chair against the back wall of the exam room. I remember he was wearing a gray Tshirt with a black zip up jacket that had a deer embroidered on the front. Now every time I look at a Cabela's catalog I think of this damn story. I wonder if I could claim PTSD?
I turned and grabbed a clipboard off of the counter and walked over to the foot of the stretcher. While obtaining her medical history, I raised my foot and rested it on the end of the stretcher using my thigh as a table for the clipboard. Mistake number two. On this particular day I had chosen to wear a new set of scrubs. A set that was a wee bit big for me. Mistake number three.
Can I just say that when you get a new set of scrubs, hem them up before you wear them to work? Not a week later. Not a day later. BEFORE.
Can you picture what's coming yet? Uh-huh.
After getting all the information from her, I started to turn back towards the counter and take my foot off the stretcher. Remember those pegs on the end of the stretchers that I told you about earlier? Uh....yeah. As I turned, my foot went over the peg, but my scrub pants didn't. The hem was about 2 inches too long and hooked onto the edge of the peg. I felt it catch and hopped back around to face it on one leg, which in turn twisted the fabric around that little sucker. I started to lose my balance - and I was gonna go over hard.
I dropped the clipboard and started waving my arms around frantically, trying to catch my balance. "Oh, oh, oh , oh, oh,.....ahhhh," I said (or screamed - who knows). I did a little improvised samba with my ass trying to stay upright. I could see the patient trying to sit up on the stretcher and reach out to help me.
I finally lost the fight. I toppled like a tower and landed face up, flat on my back with my leg still up in the air - scrubs tangled on that damn peg on the stretcher. My head smacked the floor and I swear to all that is holy that I saw stars and chickens dancing above me. I groaned a little and mentally calculated my potential injuries.
The patient's husband came flying out of the chair as the patient finally got upright on the stretcher. "OH MY GOD! DO YOU NEED A NURSE?" she shouted.
Then I started to giggle.
And snort.
And laugh so damn hard that I almost peed my pants. Only then did they join in too.
Trying to untangled yourself from a stretcher while you are laughing so hard you are crying is no easy task. Your body is shaking so much that you can't get your fingers to work right. Then you just start tugging. Tugging as hard as you can, laughing, snorting, crying. It was not a pretty sight, let me tell you.
I tugged on my pants so hard that I ripped them up the leg's inner seam. They came off that damn peg, but the cooling breeze I was receiving up to my inner thigh was not nearly as refreshing as I thought it would be. This just made me laugh more.
Lucy came in to see what all the commotion was about, took one look at me, and spit the water she had been drinking across the floor. Oh yes, it was a shining moment in my nursing career.
My patient did thank me with a card a week later.
Mrs. Fever For 5 Days came into the ER on a Sunday night. She told me during triage that she had been feeling poorly for the last week - fever, cough, rash, body aches, etc. I escorted her back to the Gyne Room as it was the only room free, and laid her on the stretcher (for those of you that don't know, some stretchers have pegs on the end of them that you hook stirrups to so you can do a pelvic exam). Mistake number one.
Her husband came in with her and took a seat in the chair against the back wall of the exam room. I remember he was wearing a gray Tshirt with a black zip up jacket that had a deer embroidered on the front. Now every time I look at a Cabela's catalog I think of this damn story. I wonder if I could claim PTSD?
I turned and grabbed a clipboard off of the counter and walked over to the foot of the stretcher. While obtaining her medical history, I raised my foot and rested it on the end of the stretcher using my thigh as a table for the clipboard. Mistake number two. On this particular day I had chosen to wear a new set of scrubs. A set that was a wee bit big for me. Mistake number three.
Can I just say that when you get a new set of scrubs, hem them up before you wear them to work? Not a week later. Not a day later. BEFORE.
Can you picture what's coming yet? Uh-huh.
After getting all the information from her, I started to turn back towards the counter and take my foot off the stretcher. Remember those pegs on the end of the stretchers that I told you about earlier? Uh....yeah. As I turned, my foot went over the peg, but my scrub pants didn't. The hem was about 2 inches too long and hooked onto the edge of the peg. I felt it catch and hopped back around to face it on one leg, which in turn twisted the fabric around that little sucker. I started to lose my balance - and I was gonna go over hard.
I dropped the clipboard and started waving my arms around frantically, trying to catch my balance. "Oh, oh, oh , oh, oh,.....ahhhh," I said (or screamed - who knows). I did a little improvised samba with my ass trying to stay upright. I could see the patient trying to sit up on the stretcher and reach out to help me.
I finally lost the fight. I toppled like a tower and landed face up, flat on my back with my leg still up in the air - scrubs tangled on that damn peg on the stretcher. My head smacked the floor and I swear to all that is holy that I saw stars and chickens dancing above me. I groaned a little and mentally calculated my potential injuries.
The patient's husband came flying out of the chair as the patient finally got upright on the stretcher. "OH MY GOD! DO YOU NEED A NURSE?" she shouted.
Then I started to giggle.
And snort.
And laugh so damn hard that I almost peed my pants. Only then did they join in too.
Trying to untangled yourself from a stretcher while you are laughing so hard you are crying is no easy task. Your body is shaking so much that you can't get your fingers to work right. Then you just start tugging. Tugging as hard as you can, laughing, snorting, crying. It was not a pretty sight, let me tell you.
I tugged on my pants so hard that I ripped them up the leg's inner seam. They came off that damn peg, but the cooling breeze I was receiving up to my inner thigh was not nearly as refreshing as I thought it would be. This just made me laugh more.
Lucy came in to see what all the commotion was about, took one look at me, and spit the water she had been drinking across the floor. Oh yes, it was a shining moment in my nursing career.
My patient did thank me with a card a week later.
Dear Nurse Julie,
Thank you so much for making a miserable experience so much more enjoyable. I don't think I've ever laughed that hard when I was felt like dying. You truly made a crappy experience tolerable.
Signed,
Mrs. Fever For 5 Days
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Another Day, Another Dollar
I really get pissed off when I hear nurses complaining about the money they make. "I don't make nearly enough money to put up with this crap." "I didn't go to school to make this shitty wage."
You cannot place a dollar amount on nursing. It is part of your soul, not part of your bank account. If I placed a dollar amount on everything I do as a woman, I'd be a hell of a lot richer than I am right now. My farts would even be worth money. I'm just not saying how much.
The other day, Negative Nelly was standing around the nursing station spewing her poison. "This is bullshit! I need more money to do this job. I should just quit. Do you know how much doctors make? And we spend more time with the patients. And the patients are assholes." I continued to stack charts in the back corner and just rolled my eyes.
"I'm serious! We don't have to put up with this. I could find another job like that," she said as she snapped her finger.
Sigh............... I slowly turned around, physically holding my tongue between my teeth.
"What? You don't agree?" She popped her gum and gestured her index finger at me.
"Nope," I replied as I set the charts in my hands back on the counter. I walked toward her as I wrapped my stethoscope around my neck. "Nope, I don't."
"Hmph" she said.
"I think I make plenty of money," I replied. "I think you make plenty of money. Our job is not all that hard. Yes, there are times when we are crazy busy and we think the world is falling apart. Yes, there are times when someone's life hangs in our hands. But you know what? There are plenty of people out there who work a hell of a lot harder than us. There are people that come home utterly exhausted, full of dirt and grime and bitterness - people who performed hard physical labor for hours straight without so much as a break. There are people who have gone to college for double the amount of time we have, yet make 1/2 our wages. How about the people that spend months away from their loved ones doing some horribly dangerous job and come home to piles of bills and wondering why they ever even work in the first place. There are people who.....................You know what? If you don't like your job and the money you make, then why don't you find another one?"
Where the hell did that come from?
They were all staring at me like I had 2 heads - one of which was spewing pus from it's mouth.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just think it's so sad that nurses complain about the money we make when there are tons of people who wish they had our job and made the money we do."
Holy Soapbox Batman! I'm climbing down now!
Seriously though, I do get perturbed (that word looks so strange)about that. How many other careers in this world can you have a STARTING wage close to or at $30.00/hr? Not very many. And we're complaining? Sure we have to deal with combative patients, patients covered in feces, or even those that are dying in front of us. How can you put a price tag on that? You can't. Do we need to? If you are in nursing only to make a buck, you are in the wrong field.
You cannot place a dollar amount on nursing. It is part of your soul, not part of your bank account. If I placed a dollar amount on everything I do as a woman, I'd be a hell of a lot richer than I am right now. My farts would even be worth money. I'm just not saying how much.
The other day, Negative Nelly was standing around the nursing station spewing her poison. "This is bullshit! I need more money to do this job. I should just quit. Do you know how much doctors make? And we spend more time with the patients. And the patients are assholes." I continued to stack charts in the back corner and just rolled my eyes.
"I'm serious! We don't have to put up with this. I could find another job like that," she said as she snapped her finger.
Sigh............... I slowly turned around, physically holding my tongue between my teeth.
"What? You don't agree?" She popped her gum and gestured her index finger at me.
"Nope," I replied as I set the charts in my hands back on the counter. I walked toward her as I wrapped my stethoscope around my neck. "Nope, I don't."
"Hmph" she said.
"I think I make plenty of money," I replied. "I think you make plenty of money. Our job is not all that hard. Yes, there are times when we are crazy busy and we think the world is falling apart. Yes, there are times when someone's life hangs in our hands. But you know what? There are plenty of people out there who work a hell of a lot harder than us. There are people that come home utterly exhausted, full of dirt and grime and bitterness - people who performed hard physical labor for hours straight without so much as a break. There are people who have gone to college for double the amount of time we have, yet make 1/2 our wages. How about the people that spend months away from their loved ones doing some horribly dangerous job and come home to piles of bills and wondering why they ever even work in the first place. There are people who.....................You know what? If you don't like your job and the money you make, then why don't you find another one?"
Where the hell did that come from?
They were all staring at me like I had 2 heads - one of which was spewing pus from it's mouth.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just think it's so sad that nurses complain about the money we make when there are tons of people who wish they had our job and made the money we do."
Holy Soapbox Batman! I'm climbing down now!
Seriously though, I do get perturbed (that word looks so strange)about that. How many other careers in this world can you have a STARTING wage close to or at $30.00/hr? Not very many. And we're complaining? Sure we have to deal with combative patients, patients covered in feces, or even those that are dying in front of us. How can you put a price tag on that? You can't. Do we need to? If you are in nursing only to make a buck, you are in the wrong field.
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