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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
ER on NBC once again.
Can I just say that after you shock someone out of Vtach, you should at least pretend to check if they have a pulse with their new rhythm? Oh - and an airway.
That is all.
That is all.
It Was a Long, Long Night
I worked a 21 hour shift the other day. Short staffing does wonders for my soul. It makes me grouchy, pissy, mentally unstable, and slightly unsafe. But hey - what's an ER without a nurse like that?
I started the day with the worst epistaxis patient I had ever seen in my life (for those not in the know, epistaxis is a nose bleed). This man was seriously HEMORRHAGING out his nose - arterial spurting and everything. Can I just say now that I don't mind blood? Not at all. I can handle blood from any human or animal, any orifice, anytime. But this set off my gag reflex like nothing before. He had blood spurting out of his nose, running out of his mouth, completely covering his shirt and pooling in his lap. It had even coagulated in a big pile of blood clots in his lap.
Lucy was the primary RN on his case. She pulled him back to the ENT room and attempted to place a clamp on his nose while we paged the physician. Um............didn't work. The man was holding his mouth open over an emesis bag and it was slowly filling up with blood. He had 200 cc in the bag in the first five minutes.
Stat IV started with trauma tubing for blood infusion, stat page to MD, CRNA, and RT. We weren't quite sure about maintaining this man's airway.
I looked to my left and saw Lucy standing in the corner with a mask over her face - just staring at the patient. "Lucy!" I said. She jerked like she'd been slapped. "Huh?" she replied.
"I need your help over here."
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry." She ran over to help and started a second IV. She then became Miss Queen Bossy Pants.
"Send a rainbow to lab, get the difficult airway cart, check his B/P again, CHECK IT AGAIN! GRAB THE SUCTION AND GET ME THE DAMN DOCTOR!" she progressively got louder as she railed at me.
Well, allrighty then - I thought. Lucy's gettin' her big girl pants on. Good for her.
It turns out the patient had recently had surgery for cancer inside his nose. The ENT specialist had completely re-worked his anatomy inside his nose and nothing was where it should have been. Dr. Q came in to see the patient, took one look inside his nose as we suctioned him out, and said "Send him out!" He couldn't even attempt cautery because the anatomy was so different he wasn't sure what he would be cauterizing. We packed the nares with nasal tampons, which held the bleeding off for about 5 minutes. Then the dam burst loose again. He repacked with regular packing which helped enough to get him into the ambulance and sent off down the road with a couple units of blood infusing.
Before Mr. Epistaxis was even out the door, my first chest pain of the day walked in. He was clutching his chest, pale, cool, diaphoretic. "I feel like someone is sitting on my chest," he said. Oh shit. Seriously? I haven't even called report to the receiving hospital for Mr. Epistaxis. Ah well, gotta keep moving.
Mr. Chest Pain is escorted to the cardiac bay and placed on a monitor. Oxygen applied, EKG done, IV started X 2, Nitro given, blood sent to lab, and portable chest Xray performed. 45 minutes later we transferred him out to the Cardiac Center.
I cleaned the Cardiac bay and thought "I'm a bit hungry, think I'll take my lunch now." I turned to walk out the door and was met by a man holding a bloody towel over his hand. "Can you help me with this?" he said. I should have just told him no, that I was going to lunch.
He removed the towel. I blinked. I blinked again. He had no hand. What he did have was a bloody stump with a mangled mash of flesh and bone on top of it. He had gotten in a little altercation with a table saw. The table saw won.
I saw a few more patients with broken bones, fevers, abdominal pain, and another chest pain or two. I went to dinner (my first meal of the day) around 6 PM. Then all hell broke loose.
"Julie, we have someone in triage you need to bring back."
Let's just pause here to say........well, I don't know what but let's just pause a moment. Sometimes you just need a break. Sometimes you should turn around and walk out the back door before you see what's on the other side of the front door.
It started simple enough. I walked out to triage and saw a man sitting in a wheelchair with 2 police officers in attendance. Not an unusual sight, but enough of one to make you go 'hmmmmm....." The man was holding his head and telling me how nauseated he was. The left side of his face was swollen and deformed. His left ear was hugely swollen and bruised and he had bruising behind his ear extending down the side of his head and neck. The bruising was slightly difficult to see through all his tattoos, but it was there none the less.
Mr. HeadInjuryMan was taken to exam 2. Neuro assessment revealed pupils equal and reactive, though slightly sluggish. Oriented X 3 but becoming progressively lethargic. I hooked him up to the monitor, turned around to talk to him and he was not responding. Shit. "Mr. HeadInjury, Mr. HeadInjury..." I called. No response. Airway? Check. Breathing? Check. Pulse? Check. Brisk sternal rub........ "What the fuck are you doing to me???!!!" he yelled. Sigh.......good. He's still in there somewhere.
Dr. Q came to evaluate ("I think I feel a depression here") and ordered a head CT. I called the Paramedic on duty to go with him as I couldn't leave the ER. The officers had disappeared somewhere in the middle of all this. The story I got from the wife is that her son came home drunk and got pissed off at her, but decided to beat up his dad instead. His dad was sleeping in the recliner when Mr. Dandy Son decided Daddy's head needed a little lesson authority. Wonder what Freud would think of that one - son pissed at mom so beats dad's head in.
The whole time Mr. Head Injury is in CT, his wife is on the phone telling the entire town what has happened. She's calling everyone looking for her son, threatening to kill him if she ever sees him again. Then she says "He took all of our medicines with him and I think he might OD on them." Oh reeeeeeaaally? At that exact moment, the EMS tones go off.
"Medic 1, please stand by at East Park per police request. Received report of male who has OD'd on multiple pharmaceuticals and police are trying to find him in the park."
Wonderful.
I needed to pee.
Mr. HeadInjury returns from CT scan with a negative read. Thank the Lord. We hold him in ER until a bed opens up. Neuro checks every 30 minutes, frequent airway checks. He's vomiting all over the place and telling me "If you don't fucking take care of this pain in my head I'm leaving." Um, yeah.....go ahead. I'd like to see you walk out of here.
Here's a little saline for your pain.
OK, not really. I did give him the morphine. Eventually.
While I'm waiting for the ambulance, I get another patient from triage. Miss Alcoholic complaining of abdominal pain. She hasn't eaten for 3 days, has been vomiting the whole time, and has an alcohol level of .350. And she smells just peachy.
After about 20 minutes my phone rings. "ER, this is Julie."
"Julie? It's Jimbo from Medic 1. They found the OD patient and are bringing him in via police escort."
"Why police? Is he stable?"
I hear laughter. Not a good sign. "Oh yeah, he's stable. Have fun." Click.
Hmmmmmmmm............
I walked back into Miss Alcoholic's room to start her IV. She apparently thought I was her best friend as she started to tell me all about her sex life and how big her boyfriend's willy was. Thankfully we were interrupted by screaming in the hall.
"YOU MOTHER FUCKER'S! I'LL KILL YOU ALL. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!"
I stepped out into the hall and saw 6 police officers dragging a 20-something male down the hall. He was kicking at them, spitting at them, trying to bite them. Ah hell..........this was going to be interesting.
"AIEEEEEEEE!!!" A flying female form came screaming out of Exam2 and threw herself into the officers. It was his mother, who was still in the room with his father, who he had beaten up earlier. "I'm going to kill you, you mother fucker!" She screamed at him. "You BItch!" he screamed back.
The officers finally got them disengaged and dragged the mom back into Exam 2 and the son into the Hold Room. More officer materialized out of nowhere and the wrestling match began. They were attempting to get him onto the stretcher, and he apparently didn't want to go there. Arms were flailing, feet were flying............
"What do you need?" one of the officers asked me.
"He's got an airway so I'm OK at the moment," I replied. He just laughed.
Eventually they got him onto the stretcher and we put the 4 point soft restraints on. Mr. Overdose was spitting at me and calling me all kinds of beautiful names like bitch and cunt and whatnot. I just smiled and said "Oh, what a sweetie. You must want to marry me."
"Fuck You" was his reply.
Dr. Q came in to evaluate the patient. "What medications do you take?" he asked.
"Heroine and cocaine"
Nice.
"Allergies?"
"Bitches and cunts"
Super Duper.
We started an IV (which he screamed over and over about how we needed a warrant to do that), hooked him up to the monitor (again - he felt we needed a warrant to do this too), and called Poison Control. He had taken Percocet, Ativan, Klonopin, Heroine, and Cocaine. Nice cocktail there.
The percocet and ativan eventually kicked in. And his airway started to go bye-bye. We inserted a nasal trumpet which helped tremendously. We cathed him for urine, during which he woke up enough to ask us if we were impressed with his male anatomy. "Um.....nope."
"Bitch."
Sometimes I love my job.
After about an hour, he woke up and decided he didn't want the nasal trumpet in anymore. He was trying to blow it out his nostril, but only succeeded in blowing snot and blood across my wall, over the bedside table, across the supplies laid out, and over the sharps container. "What the hell? I'm gonna make you clean that up when we're through here." I said.
"Fine. I'll do it bitch. Let me outta these cuffs."
One of the officers came back in and asked when they could take him to jail. Mr. Overdose spouts off "Take me now. I'll go back to prison. 3 squares a day and I get fucked."
Oh.
My.
I looked at the clock. 2 AM. Sigh...... Can I go home now?
An hour later, Dr Q decided he was stable enough to be transported to jail. He was oddly cooperative when we removed the restraints and put him in the cuffs. His fight was gone.
So was mine. I was exhausted.
I finally went home at 6 AM, fell into bed and slept.
Overall, it was a pretty good night.
I started the day with the worst epistaxis patient I had ever seen in my life (for those not in the know, epistaxis is a nose bleed). This man was seriously HEMORRHAGING out his nose - arterial spurting and everything. Can I just say now that I don't mind blood? Not at all. I can handle blood from any human or animal, any orifice, anytime. But this set off my gag reflex like nothing before. He had blood spurting out of his nose, running out of his mouth, completely covering his shirt and pooling in his lap. It had even coagulated in a big pile of blood clots in his lap.
Lucy was the primary RN on his case. She pulled him back to the ENT room and attempted to place a clamp on his nose while we paged the physician. Um............didn't work. The man was holding his mouth open over an emesis bag and it was slowly filling up with blood. He had 200 cc in the bag in the first five minutes.
Stat IV started with trauma tubing for blood infusion, stat page to MD, CRNA, and RT. We weren't quite sure about maintaining this man's airway.
I looked to my left and saw Lucy standing in the corner with a mask over her face - just staring at the patient. "Lucy!" I said. She jerked like she'd been slapped. "Huh?" she replied.
"I need your help over here."
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry." She ran over to help and started a second IV. She then became Miss Queen Bossy Pants.
"Send a rainbow to lab, get the difficult airway cart, check his B/P again, CHECK IT AGAIN! GRAB THE SUCTION AND GET ME THE DAMN DOCTOR!" she progressively got louder as she railed at me.
Well, allrighty then - I thought. Lucy's gettin' her big girl pants on. Good for her.
It turns out the patient had recently had surgery for cancer inside his nose. The ENT specialist had completely re-worked his anatomy inside his nose and nothing was where it should have been. Dr. Q came in to see the patient, took one look inside his nose as we suctioned him out, and said "Send him out!" He couldn't even attempt cautery because the anatomy was so different he wasn't sure what he would be cauterizing. We packed the nares with nasal tampons, which held the bleeding off for about 5 minutes. Then the dam burst loose again. He repacked with regular packing which helped enough to get him into the ambulance and sent off down the road with a couple units of blood infusing.
Before Mr. Epistaxis was even out the door, my first chest pain of the day walked in. He was clutching his chest, pale, cool, diaphoretic. "I feel like someone is sitting on my chest," he said. Oh shit. Seriously? I haven't even called report to the receiving hospital for Mr. Epistaxis. Ah well, gotta keep moving.
Mr. Chest Pain is escorted to the cardiac bay and placed on a monitor. Oxygen applied, EKG done, IV started X 2, Nitro given, blood sent to lab, and portable chest Xray performed. 45 minutes later we transferred him out to the Cardiac Center.
I cleaned the Cardiac bay and thought "I'm a bit hungry, think I'll take my lunch now." I turned to walk out the door and was met by a man holding a bloody towel over his hand. "Can you help me with this?" he said. I should have just told him no, that I was going to lunch.
He removed the towel. I blinked. I blinked again. He had no hand. What he did have was a bloody stump with a mangled mash of flesh and bone on top of it. He had gotten in a little altercation with a table saw. The table saw won.
I saw a few more patients with broken bones, fevers, abdominal pain, and another chest pain or two. I went to dinner (my first meal of the day) around 6 PM. Then all hell broke loose.
"Julie, we have someone in triage you need to bring back."
Let's just pause here to say........well, I don't know what but let's just pause a moment. Sometimes you just need a break. Sometimes you should turn around and walk out the back door before you see what's on the other side of the front door.
It started simple enough. I walked out to triage and saw a man sitting in a wheelchair with 2 police officers in attendance. Not an unusual sight, but enough of one to make you go 'hmmmmm....." The man was holding his head and telling me how nauseated he was. The left side of his face was swollen and deformed. His left ear was hugely swollen and bruised and he had bruising behind his ear extending down the side of his head and neck. The bruising was slightly difficult to see through all his tattoos, but it was there none the less.
Mr. HeadInjuryMan was taken to exam 2. Neuro assessment revealed pupils equal and reactive, though slightly sluggish. Oriented X 3 but becoming progressively lethargic. I hooked him up to the monitor, turned around to talk to him and he was not responding. Shit. "Mr. HeadInjury, Mr. HeadInjury..." I called. No response. Airway? Check. Breathing? Check. Pulse? Check. Brisk sternal rub........ "What the fuck are you doing to me???!!!" he yelled. Sigh.......good. He's still in there somewhere.
Dr. Q came to evaluate ("I think I feel a depression here") and ordered a head CT. I called the Paramedic on duty to go with him as I couldn't leave the ER. The officers had disappeared somewhere in the middle of all this. The story I got from the wife is that her son came home drunk and got pissed off at her, but decided to beat up his dad instead. His dad was sleeping in the recliner when Mr. Dandy Son decided Daddy's head needed a little lesson authority. Wonder what Freud would think of that one - son pissed at mom so beats dad's head in.
The whole time Mr. Head Injury is in CT, his wife is on the phone telling the entire town what has happened. She's calling everyone looking for her son, threatening to kill him if she ever sees him again. Then she says "He took all of our medicines with him and I think he might OD on them." Oh reeeeeeaaally? At that exact moment, the EMS tones go off.
"Medic 1, please stand by at East Park per police request. Received report of male who has OD'd on multiple pharmaceuticals and police are trying to find him in the park."
Wonderful.
I needed to pee.
Mr. HeadInjury returns from CT scan with a negative read. Thank the Lord. We hold him in ER until a bed opens up. Neuro checks every 30 minutes, frequent airway checks. He's vomiting all over the place and telling me "If you don't fucking take care of this pain in my head I'm leaving." Um, yeah.....go ahead. I'd like to see you walk out of here.
Here's a little saline for your pain.
OK, not really. I did give him the morphine. Eventually.
While I'm waiting for the ambulance, I get another patient from triage. Miss Alcoholic complaining of abdominal pain. She hasn't eaten for 3 days, has been vomiting the whole time, and has an alcohol level of .350. And she smells just peachy.
After about 20 minutes my phone rings. "ER, this is Julie."
"Julie? It's Jimbo from Medic 1. They found the OD patient and are bringing him in via police escort."
"Why police? Is he stable?"
I hear laughter. Not a good sign. "Oh yeah, he's stable. Have fun." Click.
Hmmmmmmmm............
I walked back into Miss Alcoholic's room to start her IV. She apparently thought I was her best friend as she started to tell me all about her sex life and how big her boyfriend's willy was. Thankfully we were interrupted by screaming in the hall.
"YOU MOTHER FUCKER'S! I'LL KILL YOU ALL. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!"
I stepped out into the hall and saw 6 police officers dragging a 20-something male down the hall. He was kicking at them, spitting at them, trying to bite them. Ah hell..........this was going to be interesting.
"AIEEEEEEEE!!!" A flying female form came screaming out of Exam2 and threw herself into the officers. It was his mother, who was still in the room with his father, who he had beaten up earlier. "I'm going to kill you, you mother fucker!" She screamed at him. "You BItch!" he screamed back.
The officers finally got them disengaged and dragged the mom back into Exam 2 and the son into the Hold Room. More officer materialized out of nowhere and the wrestling match began. They were attempting to get him onto the stretcher, and he apparently didn't want to go there. Arms were flailing, feet were flying............
"What do you need?" one of the officers asked me.
"He's got an airway so I'm OK at the moment," I replied. He just laughed.
Eventually they got him onto the stretcher and we put the 4 point soft restraints on. Mr. Overdose was spitting at me and calling me all kinds of beautiful names like bitch and cunt and whatnot. I just smiled and said "Oh, what a sweetie. You must want to marry me."
"Fuck You" was his reply.
Dr. Q came in to evaluate the patient. "What medications do you take?" he asked.
"Heroine and cocaine"
Nice.
"Allergies?"
"Bitches and cunts"
Super Duper.
We started an IV (which he screamed over and over about how we needed a warrant to do that), hooked him up to the monitor (again - he felt we needed a warrant to do this too), and called Poison Control. He had taken Percocet, Ativan, Klonopin, Heroine, and Cocaine. Nice cocktail there.
The percocet and ativan eventually kicked in. And his airway started to go bye-bye. We inserted a nasal trumpet which helped tremendously. We cathed him for urine, during which he woke up enough to ask us if we were impressed with his male anatomy. "Um.....nope."
"Bitch."
Sometimes I love my job.
After about an hour, he woke up and decided he didn't want the nasal trumpet in anymore. He was trying to blow it out his nostril, but only succeeded in blowing snot and blood across my wall, over the bedside table, across the supplies laid out, and over the sharps container. "What the hell? I'm gonna make you clean that up when we're through here." I said.
"Fine. I'll do it bitch. Let me outta these cuffs."
One of the officers came back in and asked when they could take him to jail. Mr. Overdose spouts off "Take me now. I'll go back to prison. 3 squares a day and I get fucked."
Oh.
My.
I looked at the clock. 2 AM. Sigh...... Can I go home now?
An hour later, Dr Q decided he was stable enough to be transported to jail. He was oddly cooperative when we removed the restraints and put him in the cuffs. His fight was gone.
So was mine. I was exhausted.
I finally went home at 6 AM, fell into bed and slept.
Overall, it was a pretty good night.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
ER on NBC
Who watched the episode tonight? Let me rephrase that - who will ADMIT to watching the episode tonight?
Thoughts:
1. DID YOU SEE HOW THEY IMMOBILIZED THAT KID IN THE WRECK? Sorry for shouting, but really - did you see? Straps were all wrong, the kid was twisting around backwards to speak to someone as he was being wheeled in, his body was not aligned AT ALL!
2. That C-collar came off as soon as he hit the stretcher - without an assessment. And they didn't take it off properly either. Then they start rolling his head around everywhere.
OK - I'll pause here to say, "Yes I know it is just a TV show." I know that. Really I do. But can't they at least get things partially right? I know all about dramatic license and blah blah blah.......but don't they know that enough of us watch the show that are actually educated and can pick up things like this? They need a new technical advisor - and I'd just like to say that I'm available for the job.
3. The ultrasound that showed that the teacher girlfriend chick was pregnant.......Um Yeah - he had the ultrasound wand over her epigastric area when the fetal sac showed up on the screen. That's an awful unique pregnancy. My 9 y/o even noticed that one. "That's not where the baby goes Mom." I've got a smart cookie there, eh? She takes after her mom.
4. Reading back over this post already - I completely sound like a whiney bitch.
5. Like a physician would ever conveniently lose a vital piece of evidence related to the comission commision commission (how the hell DO you spell that? They all look wrong) of a crime.
6. Sam looks like shit with brown hair. Bring back the blond. (OK, maybe not shit - but it just looks weird.)
7. Who thinks that Hope dies next week? I looked at the spoilers and couldn't find a statement regarding her, but did you see Morris react to that phone call in the previews?
8. I'm way to involved with even caring about this crappy show. What did I say in my last entry? Something about not admitting you watch these things? I need to follow my own advice.
9. I can't think of anything else to bitch about, so I'll quit now.
10. Oh wait! Will they ever let something good happen to the characters on the show? Huh? Ever????
Now I"m done.
Next time I'll write about one of my real ER visits. Though sometimes they make you shake your head just as much as watching ER on TV.
Thoughts:
1. DID YOU SEE HOW THEY IMMOBILIZED THAT KID IN THE WRECK? Sorry for shouting, but really - did you see? Straps were all wrong, the kid was twisting around backwards to speak to someone as he was being wheeled in, his body was not aligned AT ALL!
2. That C-collar came off as soon as he hit the stretcher - without an assessment. And they didn't take it off properly either. Then they start rolling his head around everywhere.
OK - I'll pause here to say, "Yes I know it is just a TV show." I know that. Really I do. But can't they at least get things partially right? I know all about dramatic license and blah blah blah.......but don't they know that enough of us watch the show that are actually educated and can pick up things like this? They need a new technical advisor - and I'd just like to say that I'm available for the job.
3. The ultrasound that showed that the teacher girlfriend chick was pregnant.......Um Yeah - he had the ultrasound wand over her epigastric area when the fetal sac showed up on the screen. That's an awful unique pregnancy. My 9 y/o even noticed that one. "That's not where the baby goes Mom." I've got a smart cookie there, eh? She takes after her mom.
4. Reading back over this post already - I completely sound like a whiney bitch.
5. Like a physician would ever conveniently lose a vital piece of evidence related to the comission commision commission (how the hell DO you spell that? They all look wrong) of a crime.
6. Sam looks like shit with brown hair. Bring back the blond. (OK, maybe not shit - but it just looks weird.)
7. Who thinks that Hope dies next week? I looked at the spoilers and couldn't find a statement regarding her, but did you see Morris react to that phone call in the previews?
8. I'm way to involved with even caring about this crappy show. What did I say in my last entry? Something about not admitting you watch these things? I need to follow my own advice.
9. I can't think of anything else to bitch about, so I'll quit now.
10. Oh wait! Will they ever let something good happen to the characters on the show? Huh? Ever????
Now I"m done.
Next time I'll write about one of my real ER visits. Though sometimes they make you shake your head just as much as watching ER on TV.
Qualities Required for an ER Nurse
I'm big into lists all of a sudden. I've been making them all week. I go through spurts of obsessive habits and this week I'm looking to complete a notebook full of lists. Sometimes I wonder if I need to be committed.
I thought I'd enlighten my glorious readers (all 6 of you) on the qualities I think an ER nurse should have. If you want to be successful in the ER, please pay attention.......
1. You must be able to adapt quickly to change. The first 60 minutes of your shift may entail finding out about a policy update, initiating a lidocaine drip on a patient, taking a bead out of a 4 year old's nose, finding out the previous policy update was updated again, assisting in a casting, placing a catheter in a 80 year lady with dementia and unique female anatomy, being floated to ICU, being released from ICU, doing pediatric triage, and then going on a run with EMS because they are short staffed.
2. You must be able to hold your urine for 12 hours straight. See number 1 for reference.
3. You must not be a frequent crier. Tears are OK once in a while, but not on a daily basis. Seriously people......if you are that emotional, find a less stressful job.
4. A sense of humor is a must - a vital requirement. You cannot survive without it. Because sometimes it's just dang funny when a man comes in with a foreign object in his "orifice", or Dr Q slips on the freshly mopped floor and lands with his coffee spilled over his scrubs and the hemoccult card he was carrying flat open on his face.
5. You must be a critical thinker. You must understand WHY you are doing what you're doing. Being genuinely surprised that your patient is hard to arouse after 30 minutes on a Versed drip makes the other nurses look at you funny and wonder where the hell you went to school (www.easynursingdegress.com?). Also, not doing a urine dip on a patient that has just been kicked in the gut by a 1 ton horse because "the doctor didn't order it" is just not acceptable.
6. You must be willing to train other nurses. How will we devlop competent nurses to cover for us on our vacation days if we don't make the effort to train them? Really - it's in your best interest to show SusieQ how to assist in a chest tube insertion, because you may want to go to Florida next month and there is noone to cover your shift on Trauma Call except a new inexperienced RN who was never trained. Next thing you know, your boss says "No!"
7. You must not mind body fluids. Blood, vomit, poop, pee - they're all part of a normal day in the ER. Sometimes you even get to have them splashed all over your clothes and in your face.
8. You must be excellent at organization and time management (refer to number 1 once again).
9. You must be able to recognize the fact that a 45 y/o obese male with a history of smoking who is experiencing chest pain needs to be seen before an 80 y/o female with complaints of "it burns when I pee." Triage is your friend - know it, own it.
10. You must be able to prioritize. It is more important for you to obtain an EKG on your 45 y/o male than it is to obtain a urine sample on your 80 y/o female. Just because the doctor ordered the UA first doesn't mean that is the order in which you perform your interventions.
11. You must be a cold, hard bitch. Oh wait - no....that's just me.
12. You must bitch endlessly about how unreal medical shows are, but secretly watch them at home cuddled up in a blankie with a cup of hot chocolate while yelling "You don't shock asystole asshole!"
13. You must be willing to keep up on your education and be aware of current practice. Stating "Well, Abby did it last night on ER" doesn't go over very well with the Chief of Nursing. See number 12. Another tip - People magazine does not contain any CEU's.
14. You must not screw around with your coworkers. Paramedics, police, firefighters - go for it. But another ER nurse or doc? Not a good decision. First, you're mushy mushy kissy kissy in the hallways, making people want to throw up. Then, when things go south (they always do), it becomes difficult to take care of that patient seeking treatment for syphillis without popping a comment off to Big Bob RN about how you're surprised he's not laying on the stretcher - as much as he fooled around on you.
15. You must be able to handle people yelling, screaming, cussing, and spitting at you without taking it personally. Review number 3.
and last, but certainly not least............
16. You must be able to find rewards in the little things - the smile of a child after they've been sewn up and get to choose a sticker, the reassuring beep of the cardiac monitor after you've resuscitated someone, the way the closet at the end of the hall is soundproof so no one will hear you scream when you are losing your mind.
I thought I'd enlighten my glorious readers (all 6 of you) on the qualities I think an ER nurse should have. If you want to be successful in the ER, please pay attention.......
1. You must be able to adapt quickly to change. The first 60 minutes of your shift may entail finding out about a policy update, initiating a lidocaine drip on a patient, taking a bead out of a 4 year old's nose, finding out the previous policy update was updated again, assisting in a casting, placing a catheter in a 80 year lady with dementia and unique female anatomy, being floated to ICU, being released from ICU, doing pediatric triage, and then going on a run with EMS because they are short staffed.
2. You must be able to hold your urine for 12 hours straight. See number 1 for reference.
3. You must not be a frequent crier. Tears are OK once in a while, but not on a daily basis. Seriously people......if you are that emotional, find a less stressful job.
4. A sense of humor is a must - a vital requirement. You cannot survive without it. Because sometimes it's just dang funny when a man comes in with a foreign object in his "orifice", or Dr Q slips on the freshly mopped floor and lands with his coffee spilled over his scrubs and the hemoccult card he was carrying flat open on his face.
5. You must be a critical thinker. You must understand WHY you are doing what you're doing. Being genuinely surprised that your patient is hard to arouse after 30 minutes on a Versed drip makes the other nurses look at you funny and wonder where the hell you went to school (www.easynursingdegress.com?). Also, not doing a urine dip on a patient that has just been kicked in the gut by a 1 ton horse because "the doctor didn't order it" is just not acceptable.
6. You must be willing to train other nurses. How will we devlop competent nurses to cover for us on our vacation days if we don't make the effort to train them? Really - it's in your best interest to show SusieQ how to assist in a chest tube insertion, because you may want to go to Florida next month and there is noone to cover your shift on Trauma Call except a new inexperienced RN who was never trained. Next thing you know, your boss says "No!"
7. You must not mind body fluids. Blood, vomit, poop, pee - they're all part of a normal day in the ER. Sometimes you even get to have them splashed all over your clothes and in your face.
8. You must be excellent at organization and time management (refer to number 1 once again).
9. You must be able to recognize the fact that a 45 y/o obese male with a history of smoking who is experiencing chest pain needs to be seen before an 80 y/o female with complaints of "it burns when I pee." Triage is your friend - know it, own it.
10. You must be able to prioritize. It is more important for you to obtain an EKG on your 45 y/o male than it is to obtain a urine sample on your 80 y/o female. Just because the doctor ordered the UA first doesn't mean that is the order in which you perform your interventions.
11. You must be a cold, hard bitch. Oh wait - no....that's just me.
12. You must bitch endlessly about how unreal medical shows are, but secretly watch them at home cuddled up in a blankie with a cup of hot chocolate while yelling "You don't shock asystole asshole!"
13. You must be willing to keep up on your education and be aware of current practice. Stating "Well, Abby did it last night on ER" doesn't go over very well with the Chief of Nursing. See number 12. Another tip - People magazine does not contain any CEU's.
14. You must not screw around with your coworkers. Paramedics, police, firefighters - go for it. But another ER nurse or doc? Not a good decision. First, you're mushy mushy kissy kissy in the hallways, making people want to throw up. Then, when things go south (they always do), it becomes difficult to take care of that patient seeking treatment for syphillis without popping a comment off to Big Bob RN about how you're surprised he's not laying on the stretcher - as much as he fooled around on you.
15. You must be able to handle people yelling, screaming, cussing, and spitting at you without taking it personally. Review number 3.
and last, but certainly not least............
16. You must be able to find rewards in the little things - the smile of a child after they've been sewn up and get to choose a sticker, the reassuring beep of the cardiac monitor after you've resuscitated someone, the way the closet at the end of the hall is soundproof so no one will hear you scream when you are losing your mind.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Random Facts About Me
1. I am not only an Emergency Nurse, but also am a Forensic Nurse and work as a Deputy Medical Examiner in my county doing death investigations.
2. I hate to shop. I wish I could walk into a store and there would be a rack labeled with my name and a sign that says "This will fit you and will look terrific on you."
3. I will never take the top lid when getting a soda at the local quickmart. I pull a lid from the middle of the pile. And if there is only one lid left, I refuse to take it. I make the clerk fill it back up and..............I pull from the middle of the pile.
4. (I've changed my mind on this one so I'll erase it and pretend I inserted something witty here.)
5. I wish I would have traveled around the world before I ever got married. Life is to complicated now to just pick up and leave. I want to go to Europe, Africa, India, Australia, Chile, Brazil...................................the list is endless.
6. I function best in high stress situations. The busier the better. During slow non stress moments I tend to be lazy and forget the simplest of details.
7. I hate panty lines. If you have panty lines you are a fashion don't. Seriously people - check out your ass in the mirror before you leave the house.
8. I would rather smell a decomposing body than a GI Bleed any day.
9. People with poor time management skills should not work in the ER. (OK that's not about me, but really.......it's the truth isn't it?)
10. My first Code resulted in death. My second Code resulted in death. It took 3 times for me to get a live one.
11. Doing CBG's is a huge pet peeve of mine. I hate doing them. It's such an annoyance. The information is valuable, but the obtaining of the information annoys me like a piece of hay in the undies - not comfy at all.
12. I cuss way too much. Once I leave work and hit the car door, my vocabulary reverts to that of a trashy whore.
13. Road Rage is a part of my life. (See number 12)
14. Does anyone really care about random facts about me? I don't even care about random facts about me.
15. I like chocolate. But really - who doesn't? If you say you don't, you are a lying sack of poo.
16. Right now I am listening to Plankton from Sponge Bob as my kids are watching TV. Can I just say that I hate SpongeBob? That show is a boil on the butt of humanity.
17. I'm done now.
2. I hate to shop. I wish I could walk into a store and there would be a rack labeled with my name and a sign that says "This will fit you and will look terrific on you."
3. I will never take the top lid when getting a soda at the local quickmart. I pull a lid from the middle of the pile. And if there is only one lid left, I refuse to take it. I make the clerk fill it back up and..............I pull from the middle of the pile.
4. (I've changed my mind on this one so I'll erase it and pretend I inserted something witty here.)
5. I wish I would have traveled around the world before I ever got married. Life is to complicated now to just pick up and leave. I want to go to Europe, Africa, India, Australia, Chile, Brazil...................................the list is endless.
6. I function best in high stress situations. The busier the better. During slow non stress moments I tend to be lazy and forget the simplest of details.
7. I hate panty lines. If you have panty lines you are a fashion don't. Seriously people - check out your ass in the mirror before you leave the house.
8. I would rather smell a decomposing body than a GI Bleed any day.
9. People with poor time management skills should not work in the ER. (OK that's not about me, but really.......it's the truth isn't it?)
10. My first Code resulted in death. My second Code resulted in death. It took 3 times for me to get a live one.
11. Doing CBG's is a huge pet peeve of mine. I hate doing them. It's such an annoyance. The information is valuable, but the obtaining of the information annoys me like a piece of hay in the undies - not comfy at all.
12. I cuss way too much. Once I leave work and hit the car door, my vocabulary reverts to that of a trashy whore.
13. Road Rage is a part of my life. (See number 12)
14. Does anyone really care about random facts about me? I don't even care about random facts about me.
15. I like chocolate. But really - who doesn't? If you say you don't, you are a lying sack of poo.
16. Right now I am listening to Plankton from Sponge Bob as my kids are watching TV. Can I just say that I hate SpongeBob? That show is a boil on the butt of humanity.
17. I'm done now.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Sex, Lies, and Gunshot Wounds
Theresa was carried into our ER in the arms of a big giant teddy bear. He was a few inches over 6 feet, a few pounds over 300, and one of the hairest men I've ever seen. His chest hair morphed into his beard like the joining of 2 great nations. He set Theresa down on the stretcher like she was a precious and fragile sculpture. She smiled up at him and he faded into the corner of the room.
I asked Theresa why she had come to the ER today. She pointed at her left leg, which had a red bandana tied tightly around the thigh. "I shot myself," she replied.
Um..........huh?
"I shot myself. It was an accident. I was being careless."
I initiated my assessment while cutting away her jeans. Vitals - stable. Pulses - intact. Swelling - minimal. Skin - one small open hole in the anterior portion of the thigh just above the knee. Cap Refil - brisk.
"How did you do this?" I asked
"Well, I had my pistol in my hand and I was switching it from one hand to another. All of a sudden - snap! I shot myself in the leg."
I looked at her a little strange.
"What position where you in when you did this?" I inquired.
"I was standing up."
"Hmmm......" I said.
Her wound had an abrasion ring on the lower half and had an upward trajectory. No powder burns were present on her jeans or her skin. This wound did not match her story at all.
She looked at me sheepishly and ducked her head. I completed my assessment and looked at the Teddy Bear in the corner. He was staring at her leg and becoming paler with each passing second. I saw sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Do you need to sit down, sir?"
"Yeah, I think I better," he replied. I noticed tears in his eyes.
I went out to speak with Dr. Q. I gave him a quick history on the patient and my current assessment.
"You think she's lying?" he said.
"I think she's not telling us the whole story," I replied.
Dr. Q went in to see Theresa. I followed closely behind and heard Teddy Bear repeatedly telling Theresa he was sorry. He was crying by this time. He furiously wiped the tears from his face as we walked in the room.
Dr. Q examined her, then ordered an radiology studies of the area. The results came back that the bullet was in many pieces in her leg and did not appear to be near any major vessels. Teddy Bear made a sound like he was gasping underwater when the results came back. I looked over my shoulder at him and his head was in his hands.
"Your husband seems pretty relieved," I told Theresa.
Her head snapped up and she gave me a nervous smile. "Umm..he's not my husband," she replied.
AH-HAAA! I knew something wasn't right.
"Did he do this to you?" I asked
"Not really - it was a joint effort. I was sitting in a chair by the campfire when he walked by. I lifted my foot to kick him in the butt, but I hit the pistol in his holster instead. The gun went off and hit me in the leg."
"Well, why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?" I asked her.
"Because I'm not supposed to be here," she replied. "My husband thinks I'm at the beach with my girlfriends. Instead I'm in the mountains with my boyfriend. I don't know how I'm going to explain this one."
I didn't know how she was going to explain it either. She left on crutches as she had a difficult time bearing weight related to the pain. It was not an injury she was going to be able to hide. I wonder if she ever came up with a plausible excuse.
I asked Theresa why she had come to the ER today. She pointed at her left leg, which had a red bandana tied tightly around the thigh. "I shot myself," she replied.
Um..........huh?
"I shot myself. It was an accident. I was being careless."
I initiated my assessment while cutting away her jeans. Vitals - stable. Pulses - intact. Swelling - minimal. Skin - one small open hole in the anterior portion of the thigh just above the knee. Cap Refil - brisk.
"How did you do this?" I asked
"Well, I had my pistol in my hand and I was switching it from one hand to another. All of a sudden - snap! I shot myself in the leg."
I looked at her a little strange.
"What position where you in when you did this?" I inquired.
"I was standing up."
"Hmmm......" I said.
Her wound had an abrasion ring on the lower half and had an upward trajectory. No powder burns were present on her jeans or her skin. This wound did not match her story at all.
She looked at me sheepishly and ducked her head. I completed my assessment and looked at the Teddy Bear in the corner. He was staring at her leg and becoming paler with each passing second. I saw sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Do you need to sit down, sir?"
"Yeah, I think I better," he replied. I noticed tears in his eyes.
I went out to speak with Dr. Q. I gave him a quick history on the patient and my current assessment.
"You think she's lying?" he said.
"I think she's not telling us the whole story," I replied.
Dr. Q went in to see Theresa. I followed closely behind and heard Teddy Bear repeatedly telling Theresa he was sorry. He was crying by this time. He furiously wiped the tears from his face as we walked in the room.
Dr. Q examined her, then ordered an radiology studies of the area. The results came back that the bullet was in many pieces in her leg and did not appear to be near any major vessels. Teddy Bear made a sound like he was gasping underwater when the results came back. I looked over my shoulder at him and his head was in his hands.
"Your husband seems pretty relieved," I told Theresa.
Her head snapped up and she gave me a nervous smile. "Umm..he's not my husband," she replied.
AH-HAAA! I knew something wasn't right.
"Did he do this to you?" I asked
"Not really - it was a joint effort. I was sitting in a chair by the campfire when he walked by. I lifted my foot to kick him in the butt, but I hit the pistol in his holster instead. The gun went off and hit me in the leg."
"Well, why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?" I asked her.
"Because I'm not supposed to be here," she replied. "My husband thinks I'm at the beach with my girlfriends. Instead I'm in the mountains with my boyfriend. I don't know how I'm going to explain this one."
I didn't know how she was going to explain it either. She left on crutches as she had a difficult time bearing weight related to the pain. It was not an injury she was going to be able to hide. I wonder if she ever came up with a plausible excuse.
Nursing Voices dot com
Well, I've joined the ranks of Nursing Voices I spent the last hour reading all the posts and putting in my 2 cents every so often. There are some really neat people posting on there. Check it out! It is an extremely easy message board to use.
They also have a cool contest going on for a free iPhone. It's all about posting and contributing to the community. The contest is sponsored by Nursing Jobs (again with the whole link think - sheesh).
Come join the community!
They also have a cool contest going on for a free iPhone. It's all about posting and contributing to the community. The contest is sponsored by Nursing Jobs (again with the whole link think - sheesh).
Come join the community!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
It's a Slow Day
This is what happens when you've reached your breaking point. 3 nurses with a sick sense of humor, one fake baby, a camera, and a slow moment........
I'm Baaaaa-aaaaack!
WOW! It's been foreeehhhhver since I've posted anything. What a loser.
Actually, I have been so unbelievably busy I can barely take care of my family, much less post on the blog. Things are getting better though, so I should be able to pop my head in more frequently and throw out some more stories.
We moved into the new hospital in June. Can you define high stress? I can - 8 trauma's in the first 3 days of occupancy. 8. Let me repeat that - eight. We're not used to 8 traumas in three days. Maybe in 3 weeks, but not 3 days. And then - in a new hospital to boot. Finding supplies became an hour long scavenger hunt, which made our job considerably more difficult. I seriously considered leaving nursing and becoming a waitress at the local greasy spoon. The tips were looking better and better with each passing hour.
Lucy actually did quit - 4 or 5 times. No one would accept her resignation though. They kept throwing it back in her mailbox and writing "denied" across the paper. When I found her in a corner mumbling to herself, "mama dada mama dada" I knew it was time to send her home. I threw her into a cab, gave him a twenty dollar bill, and had her husband meet her on the other end. She did eventually return to work, though I think she's surviving each day with the assistance of Xanax and Alcohol.
Our first trauma was on the day of move in. Fifteen minutes after move in. I was arranging IV supplies when I heard the EMS radio go off. I ran out to the desk and heard "EMS, please respond to a Jeep vs. cow, one vehicle rollover with ejection on Hwy 6."
"Wonderful," I thought. I hit the trauma bay again just to remind myself where everything was. EMS report came in and Trauma Team was activated. Then EMS calls on the landline. "Julie? The patient is Sally Jo."
The blood drained from my face and pooled in my feet. My heart stopped. Sally Jo was a fellow nurse. One of our finest. Dr. Q saw my face, said "Oh shit", turned and walked out the door. Running a trauma or a code on one of your coworkers is the most emotional thing you can do in healthcare. You have to make a concentrated effort to not let your emotions take over when providing care. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling uncontrollably. I dropped my pen on the floor.
"What's up?" Lucy said as she walked by popping her gum.
"Sally Jo is coming in as a trauma," I replied
Lucy choked on her soda. Coughing and sputtering, she set her Diet Coke down and grabbed a paper towel. "Seriously?" she finally managed to say.
"Yes, seriously," I replied.
Soon, EMS arrived with Sally Jo. She was in complete immobilization, actively bleeding from somewhere on the back of her head, and complaining of intense back pain. She also had passed out twice on the way into the hospital and was incontinent of urine. Our trauma resuscitation began.
The team surrounded her and completed the primary and secondary assessments. Labs and Radiology were ordered. Vitals were stable at that moment. Sally Jo kept repeating herself, asking the same questions over and over. She had no memory of the wreck or the moments leading up to it. Her last clear memory was dinner earlier that evening.
I could see her watching us and wondering why we were all working on her. She would alternate between laughing and crying. She couldn't understand what was going on. She screamed "What the hell are you doing?" when I started to put her catheter in. "Stay the hell away from my crotch!" She tried to kick at me, but was suddenly distracted by the urge to vomit. Blood was pooling under her head and she was starting to have a bit more difficulty maintaining a good blood pressure.
Dr. Q had to redirect the team quite a few times to pull us together. "Damn it! Let's go! Pay attention!" We were so easily distracted by our emotions, it was hard to keep on task.
We ended up flying Sally Jo out to a larger facility. Her initial diagnosis included a head injury, a couple of fractured vertebrae, a pelvic fracture, and a bladder fracture. We had a quick debriefing after we flew her out and then I went home and crashed for the night. I was completely exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster we had been on.
The following traumas consisted of 3 horse wrecks, 2 car wrecks, one fall from 30 feet, and one assault. Now I admit that I am a trauma junkie, but I like them in my place of comfort. Not a brand new facility where I'm not quite sure where anything is yet. That was very difficult for me.
The rest of the summer has pretty much been the same. I do have some good stories saved up for you. I'll try to be a bit more committed to this blog than I have been over the last few months. Depends on what comes rolling through that ambulance bay though!
Actually, I have been so unbelievably busy I can barely take care of my family, much less post on the blog. Things are getting better though, so I should be able to pop my head in more frequently and throw out some more stories.
We moved into the new hospital in June. Can you define high stress? I can - 8 trauma's in the first 3 days of occupancy. 8. Let me repeat that - eight. We're not used to 8 traumas in three days. Maybe in 3 weeks, but not 3 days. And then - in a new hospital to boot. Finding supplies became an hour long scavenger hunt, which made our job considerably more difficult. I seriously considered leaving nursing and becoming a waitress at the local greasy spoon. The tips were looking better and better with each passing hour.
Lucy actually did quit - 4 or 5 times. No one would accept her resignation though. They kept throwing it back in her mailbox and writing "denied" across the paper. When I found her in a corner mumbling to herself, "mama dada mama dada" I knew it was time to send her home. I threw her into a cab, gave him a twenty dollar bill, and had her husband meet her on the other end. She did eventually return to work, though I think she's surviving each day with the assistance of Xanax and Alcohol.
Our first trauma was on the day of move in. Fifteen minutes after move in. I was arranging IV supplies when I heard the EMS radio go off. I ran out to the desk and heard "EMS, please respond to a Jeep vs. cow, one vehicle rollover with ejection on Hwy 6."
"Wonderful," I thought. I hit the trauma bay again just to remind myself where everything was. EMS report came in and Trauma Team was activated. Then EMS calls on the landline. "Julie? The patient is Sally Jo."
The blood drained from my face and pooled in my feet. My heart stopped. Sally Jo was a fellow nurse. One of our finest. Dr. Q saw my face, said "Oh shit", turned and walked out the door. Running a trauma or a code on one of your coworkers is the most emotional thing you can do in healthcare. You have to make a concentrated effort to not let your emotions take over when providing care. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling uncontrollably. I dropped my pen on the floor.
"What's up?" Lucy said as she walked by popping her gum.
"Sally Jo is coming in as a trauma," I replied
Lucy choked on her soda. Coughing and sputtering, she set her Diet Coke down and grabbed a paper towel. "Seriously?" she finally managed to say.
"Yes, seriously," I replied.
Soon, EMS arrived with Sally Jo. She was in complete immobilization, actively bleeding from somewhere on the back of her head, and complaining of intense back pain. She also had passed out twice on the way into the hospital and was incontinent of urine. Our trauma resuscitation began.
The team surrounded her and completed the primary and secondary assessments. Labs and Radiology were ordered. Vitals were stable at that moment. Sally Jo kept repeating herself, asking the same questions over and over. She had no memory of the wreck or the moments leading up to it. Her last clear memory was dinner earlier that evening.
I could see her watching us and wondering why we were all working on her. She would alternate between laughing and crying. She couldn't understand what was going on. She screamed "What the hell are you doing?" when I started to put her catheter in. "Stay the hell away from my crotch!" She tried to kick at me, but was suddenly distracted by the urge to vomit. Blood was pooling under her head and she was starting to have a bit more difficulty maintaining a good blood pressure.
Dr. Q had to redirect the team quite a few times to pull us together. "Damn it! Let's go! Pay attention!" We were so easily distracted by our emotions, it was hard to keep on task.
We ended up flying Sally Jo out to a larger facility. Her initial diagnosis included a head injury, a couple of fractured vertebrae, a pelvic fracture, and a bladder fracture. We had a quick debriefing after we flew her out and then I went home and crashed for the night. I was completely exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster we had been on.
The following traumas consisted of 3 horse wrecks, 2 car wrecks, one fall from 30 feet, and one assault. Now I admit that I am a trauma junkie, but I like them in my place of comfort. Not a brand new facility where I'm not quite sure where anything is yet. That was very difficult for me.
The rest of the summer has pretty much been the same. I do have some good stories saved up for you. I'll try to be a bit more committed to this blog than I have been over the last few months. Depends on what comes rolling through that ambulance bay though!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Daily Deeds of Nursing
Someone sent this to me and I figured I would share with you all. Of course, I'll take it and run with it........ **comments surrounded by these symbols are mine**
Did you hear about the nurse who died and went straight to hell? It took her two weeks to realize she wasn't at work.
**Yes, this is true. I can't even come up with a smart ass comment. It's just true.**
You know you're a nurse if you would like to meet the inventor of the call light some night in a dark alley.
**I'd like to meet him in a dark alley..........with a 24 Fr. Foley, a 14 g IV, and a baseball bat.**
Your sense of humor gets more warped each year. Almost everything can seem humorous...eventually.
**Absolutely. I find it funny to dream about shoving large tubes in body orifices - see above.**
You know the smell of different diarrhea to identify it.
**Some of you may think this is impossible, but many a nurse can tell you not only what the patient's health problem is from the smell of their poo - but also what they had for dinner last Wednesday.**
You can tell the pharmacist more about the medication they are dispensing than they know.
**Haven't run into this yet - we have a kick ass pharmacist who knows every little chemical reaction that medicine will produce.**
You check the caller ID on your day off to see if anyone from the hospital is trying to call and ask you to work.
**I don't even look - When the phone rings at 5 AM I just pick it up, say "No." and slam it back down.**
You've been telling stories in a restaurant and made someone at the another table throw up.
**I must admit I've done this. In relation to the statement above about the warped sense of humor...........Yep, I thought it was funny.**
You notice that you are using more 4 letter words than you did before you started nursing.
**Have you read my previous posts? Holy shit. I have a foul mouth.**
Every time someone asks you for a pen you can find at least4 of them on you.
**I usually store mine in my hair. A ponytail makes a good pen holder.**
You live by the motto "to be right is only half the battle, to convince the doctor is more difficult."
**I could try to be professional here and say something like "Oh, there are many good doctors out there and they are team players," yada yada yada...........but I won't**
You've told a confused patient that your name was that of your coworker and to holler if they need help.
** Not only have I done this, but I also answered as God when a little old lady called the desk and said "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret." **
Your bladder can expand to the size of a winnebago's water tank.
**I have the amazing talent of only having to pee once a day sometimes - and I can pee so fast it'll make your head spin.**
You find yourself checking out other customer's veins in grocery waiting lines.
**I check out everyone's veins. I closely resemble that guy who can't keep his eyes off your chest when he meets you - except when I'm not looking you in the eyes, I'm checking out your veins and thinking "Oh! Oh! Oh! I could get a 14g in that baby!"**
You avoid unhealthy looking shoppers in the mall for fear that they will drop near you and you'll have to do CPR on your day off.
**I think this applies only to experienced nurses. Those newbies tend to follow old people around the mall hoping they'll fall flat in front of them having an active MI or CVA. I tend to ignore people who clutch their chest or look a little blue.**
Your finger has gone places you never thought possible.
**Oh my hell. If I told you where my finger has been, you'd probably never read here again. You definitely would never shake my hand.**
You have seen more penises than any prostitute.
**Well.....................that's probably true.**
I absolutely love being a nurse.
Did you hear about the nurse who died and went straight to hell? It took her two weeks to realize she wasn't at work.
**Yes, this is true. I can't even come up with a smart ass comment. It's just true.**
You know you're a nurse if you would like to meet the inventor of the call light some night in a dark alley.
**I'd like to meet him in a dark alley..........with a 24 Fr. Foley, a 14 g IV, and a baseball bat.**
Your sense of humor gets more warped each year. Almost everything can seem humorous...eventually.
**Absolutely. I find it funny to dream about shoving large tubes in body orifices - see above.**
You know the smell of different diarrhea to identify it.
**Some of you may think this is impossible, but many a nurse can tell you not only what the patient's health problem is from the smell of their poo - but also what they had for dinner last Wednesday.**
You can tell the pharmacist more about the medication they are dispensing than they know.
**Haven't run into this yet - we have a kick ass pharmacist who knows every little chemical reaction that medicine will produce.**
You check the caller ID on your day off to see if anyone from the hospital is trying to call and ask you to work.
**I don't even look - When the phone rings at 5 AM I just pick it up, say "No." and slam it back down.**
You've been telling stories in a restaurant and made someone at the another table throw up.
**I must admit I've done this. In relation to the statement above about the warped sense of humor...........Yep, I thought it was funny.**
You notice that you are using more 4 letter words than you did before you started nursing.
**Have you read my previous posts? Holy shit. I have a foul mouth.**
Every time someone asks you for a pen you can find at least4 of them on you.
**I usually store mine in my hair. A ponytail makes a good pen holder.**
You live by the motto "to be right is only half the battle, to convince the doctor is more difficult."
**I could try to be professional here and say something like "Oh, there are many good doctors out there and they are team players," yada yada yada...........but I won't**
You've told a confused patient that your name was that of your coworker and to holler if they need help.
** Not only have I done this, but I also answered as God when a little old lady called the desk and said "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret." **
Your bladder can expand to the size of a winnebago's water tank.
**I have the amazing talent of only having to pee once a day sometimes - and I can pee so fast it'll make your head spin.**
You find yourself checking out other customer's veins in grocery waiting lines.
**I check out everyone's veins. I closely resemble that guy who can't keep his eyes off your chest when he meets you - except when I'm not looking you in the eyes, I'm checking out your veins and thinking "Oh! Oh! Oh! I could get a 14g in that baby!"**
You avoid unhealthy looking shoppers in the mall for fear that they will drop near you and you'll have to do CPR on your day off.
**I think this applies only to experienced nurses. Those newbies tend to follow old people around the mall hoping they'll fall flat in front of them having an active MI or CVA. I tend to ignore people who clutch their chest or look a little blue.**
Your finger has gone places you never thought possible.
**Oh my hell. If I told you where my finger has been, you'd probably never read here again. You definitely would never shake my hand.**
You have seen more penises than any prostitute.
**Well.....................that's probably true.**
I absolutely love being a nurse.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Preparing For The Move
We've been busily (is that really a word? It just looks so strange) preparing for the move to the new hospital. I went through our ortho cart this weekend and switched it over to a newer, prettier cart. Yes, prettier. Every little thing counts in the ER. I think that it was probably the first time in 50 years that anyone has actually rummaged through that piece of equipment.
I pulled out half the stock - who really needs 28 rolls of 2 inch plaster casting material? You could do some crazy things with that - and we do. When it gets slow, we pull out the plaster and play. Did you know that using casting material you can pretty much make a model of anything? Yes, ANYTHING. What a wonderful product.
So next is the difficult airway cart. For those of you familiar with LMA's, you know how entertaining this will be.
**************************************
An interesting little tidbit came out of Snake River this AM - A barber in the prison stabbed Ward Weaver in the neck with a homemade instrument. Imagine that........you let a convicted murder act as a barber, with access to sharp instruments, and he stabs another convicted murderer. Shocking - ain't it?
I pulled out half the stock - who really needs 28 rolls of 2 inch plaster casting material? You could do some crazy things with that - and we do. When it gets slow, we pull out the plaster and play. Did you know that using casting material you can pretty much make a model of anything? Yes, ANYTHING. What a wonderful product.
So next is the difficult airway cart. For those of you familiar with LMA's, you know how entertaining this will be.
**************************************
An interesting little tidbit came out of Snake River this AM - A barber in the prison stabbed Ward Weaver in the neck with a homemade instrument. Imagine that........you let a convicted murder act as a barber, with access to sharp instruments, and he stabs another convicted murderer. Shocking - ain't it?
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The Neighbor
I heard the EMS tones from room 1. I was in the middle of cleaning up a Code Brown (for those of you not in the know, a Code Brown is a poo-poo blowout), and I knew Lucy was taking a break in the report room. There was noone at the desk to listen to the call.
"Crap," I thought.
Out loud.
"Oh honey, I'm sorry, but I have the diarrhea, ya know," my patient replied.
"Oh no, Mrs. Smith. I didn't mean you. Sorry. I just need to hear that call."
I finished washing her up, snapped my gloves off, and threw them in the wastebasket as I headed out to the desk.
"Did anyone hear that call?" I said loudly - hoping any other nurse behind a curtain or door would hear me. I was met with silence. "Shit. Shit. Shit." I have an issue with not hearing EMS calls. I must hear them. I must. I HATE not being prepared. I know that ER nursing brings surprises every day, but I try to limit them with knowledge. If I don't hear the EMS call, I am sure to be cursed with a cardiac arrest, open chest trauma, or out of control schizophrenic. Maybe all 3 at once. It never fails.
Lucy heads out of the report room, licking the cupcake frosting off of her fingers. "Hey Lucy! Did you hear that call?" I ask, knowing full well she probably didn't, but hoping none the less.
"You missed a call?" she asked.
"Yeah"
"I'm going on break," she said as she turned and went back through the door. "I know what happens when you don't hear a call."
"CHICKEN!" I yelled. She didn't hear me because the door happened to close in my face at that very moment.
I walked into the trauma bay and started checking the equipment. The static of the EMS radio caught my attention again. Stumbling over a mayo stand and running toward the desk, I reach it just in time.
"Dispatch to Nurses Station"
"Nurses Station, go ahead" I replied.
"Medic 93 en route to a 12 year old who has been thrown off a horse. Bystander states CPR in progress."
Shit. Double Shit. A kid.
"Copy Dispatch. Any further info?"
"Neighbor on phone with me currently. He says he is watching them across the pasture. He sees blood on the gate and the patient is on the ground. CPR in progress."
"Copy - NS out."
I called the Code Team in to prepare for a pediatric code. Kids in crisis are the worst patients - not because they are obnoxious, but because you never want to stop working on them. EVER. You feel like you are always missing something - that if you would just try one last thing, you might be able to save them. Kids are usually very resilient, but there is always "that one" that just doesn't pull through.
The Code Team arrived (meaning the second ER nurse, the ER physician, Xray, lab, and Respiratory Therapy - all of whom had been sitting in the break room with Lucy) and I gave them the information I had. Equipment was checked, ET tubes pulled and ready, the Broselow tape was out and open on the stretcher..............we were ready.
10 minutes - no report.
12 minutes - no report.
15 minutes - no report.
What the hell? SOMETHING had to be happening. Lucy and I stood reviewing the PALS cheat sheets, waiting for the radio to crackle again. The doc and the RT were getting antsy and wanted to get back to their snacks in the break room.
Finally - the radio makes a noise.
"Medic 93 to Nurses station."
"NS - go ahead"
"ETA 2 minutes, report upon arrival."
WHAT .................. THE ................ HELL? It must be bad if they can't even give us a report.
Everyone looked a little on edge. Last time this had happened, we were met with an 11 year old with a flail chest who ended up with a couple chest tubes and quite a few units of blood.
We heard the loud beeping reverse tones of the ambulance. We were ready - hands on equipment, ready to go. Hearts beating just a little bit faster, breathing a bit shallow. My fingers were just starting to shake. I really didn't want to see another bad kid.
The ambulance door popped open.
The lead paramedic jumped out of the back and threw open the second door. He grabbed the end of the stretcher and started to pull it out. I saw 2 feet (always a good sign), a couple of IV lines, and ........................................
A cute little blonde girl sitting up talking to the crew.
My body sagged with relief. She was sitting up talking. Phew.
Then I was pissed.
"You get us all psyched up, ready for the worst, expecting a pedi code or trauma and you bring us a cute bubbly little girl? ARE YOU SERIOUS?????" I (politely of course) yelled.
"What? Huh? What do you mean?" he replied.
I told him about what dispatch had told us and how not receiving any report just confirmed our assumptions. He looked at me like I was stupid. "I never said we were doing CPR," he said.
"The neighbor did. The neighbor saw them!" I replied.
"The neighbor was 60 acres away Julie. He was also 92 years old and couldn't see anything further than the sagebrush 10 feet in front of him."
"Well, well.....uh.....next time give me a report," I stuttered.
"Next time, don't rely on the neighbor," he shot back.
A lesson learned.
"Crap," I thought.
Out loud.
"Oh honey, I'm sorry, but I have the diarrhea, ya know," my patient replied.
"Oh no, Mrs. Smith. I didn't mean you. Sorry. I just need to hear that call."
I finished washing her up, snapped my gloves off, and threw them in the wastebasket as I headed out to the desk.
"Did anyone hear that call?" I said loudly - hoping any other nurse behind a curtain or door would hear me. I was met with silence. "Shit. Shit. Shit." I have an issue with not hearing EMS calls. I must hear them. I must. I HATE not being prepared. I know that ER nursing brings surprises every day, but I try to limit them with knowledge. If I don't hear the EMS call, I am sure to be cursed with a cardiac arrest, open chest trauma, or out of control schizophrenic. Maybe all 3 at once. It never fails.
Lucy heads out of the report room, licking the cupcake frosting off of her fingers. "Hey Lucy! Did you hear that call?" I ask, knowing full well she probably didn't, but hoping none the less.
"You missed a call?" she asked.
"Yeah"
"I'm going on break," she said as she turned and went back through the door. "I know what happens when you don't hear a call."
"CHICKEN!" I yelled. She didn't hear me because the door happened to close in my face at that very moment.
I walked into the trauma bay and started checking the equipment. The static of the EMS radio caught my attention again. Stumbling over a mayo stand and running toward the desk, I reach it just in time.
"Dispatch to Nurses Station"
"Nurses Station, go ahead" I replied.
"Medic 93 en route to a 12 year old who has been thrown off a horse. Bystander states CPR in progress."
Shit. Double Shit. A kid.
"Copy Dispatch. Any further info?"
"Neighbor on phone with me currently. He says he is watching them across the pasture. He sees blood on the gate and the patient is on the ground. CPR in progress."
"Copy - NS out."
I called the Code Team in to prepare for a pediatric code. Kids in crisis are the worst patients - not because they are obnoxious, but because you never want to stop working on them. EVER. You feel like you are always missing something - that if you would just try one last thing, you might be able to save them. Kids are usually very resilient, but there is always "that one" that just doesn't pull through.
The Code Team arrived (meaning the second ER nurse, the ER physician, Xray, lab, and Respiratory Therapy - all of whom had been sitting in the break room with Lucy) and I gave them the information I had. Equipment was checked, ET tubes pulled and ready, the Broselow tape was out and open on the stretcher..............we were ready.
10 minutes - no report.
12 minutes - no report.
15 minutes - no report.
What the hell? SOMETHING had to be happening. Lucy and I stood reviewing the PALS cheat sheets, waiting for the radio to crackle again. The doc and the RT were getting antsy and wanted to get back to their snacks in the break room.
Finally - the radio makes a noise.
"Medic 93 to Nurses station."
"NS - go ahead"
"ETA 2 minutes, report upon arrival."
WHAT .................. THE ................ HELL? It must be bad if they can't even give us a report.
Everyone looked a little on edge. Last time this had happened, we were met with an 11 year old with a flail chest who ended up with a couple chest tubes and quite a few units of blood.
We heard the loud beeping reverse tones of the ambulance. We were ready - hands on equipment, ready to go. Hearts beating just a little bit faster, breathing a bit shallow. My fingers were just starting to shake. I really didn't want to see another bad kid.
The ambulance door popped open.
The lead paramedic jumped out of the back and threw open the second door. He grabbed the end of the stretcher and started to pull it out. I saw 2 feet (always a good sign), a couple of IV lines, and ........................................
A cute little blonde girl sitting up talking to the crew.
My body sagged with relief. She was sitting up talking. Phew.
Then I was pissed.
"You get us all psyched up, ready for the worst, expecting a pedi code or trauma and you bring us a cute bubbly little girl? ARE YOU SERIOUS?????" I (politely of course) yelled.
"What? Huh? What do you mean?" he replied.
I told him about what dispatch had told us and how not receiving any report just confirmed our assumptions. He looked at me like I was stupid. "I never said we were doing CPR," he said.
"The neighbor did. The neighbor saw them!" I replied.
"The neighbor was 60 acres away Julie. He was also 92 years old and couldn't see anything further than the sagebrush 10 feet in front of him."
"Well, well.....uh.....next time give me a report," I stuttered.
"Next time, don't rely on the neighbor," he shot back.
A lesson learned.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Hey! Watch This!
We've all heard those famous words "Hey! Watch this!". We know we shouldn't turn our heads and look. We know that if we do, we will only see something that should be featured on late night cable shows - something that makes us cock our head to the side, converge our eyebrows, and say "What the hell?" Shows that make us literally gasp in horror (or amazement) at what humans do. Humans are not the smartest creatures on the planet. Emergency nursing taught me that in my very first day.
Friday night, two ........ um .......... wonderful (and I say that not in jest, but in awe at the entertainment that they provided) men arrived in our ER. Jim walked in with bloody towels wrapped around both of his hands. Jay, following behind, was an exact replica, even down to the attire he was wearing. But that is a completely different story. What is it about drunk men on a Friday night in rural USA? Do they all grab clothes out of the same closet? "Hey JimBob - Can I borrow your red wifebeater?" "Sure BillyJay - but the blue one might go better with your eyes."
"Hey Miss!" Jim yelled, waving his bloody mitts in the air. "Hey Miss! Can we get some help here?"
"Hey, me too!" Jay, not to be outdone, yelled across the hallway, pushing himself in front of Jim.
"Shut up Jay! More of my fingers are missing than yours, you pussy."
Fingers? Missing? Oh, this was going to be good.
"Jim - you're a prick," Jay replied. "I outta kick your ass."
"Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try it. You can't even make a fist. Whacha gonna do? Punch me with your thumb?"
Jay started toward JIm, hands (what was left of them) in the air. The towels fell off and blood ran down his arms and spilled onto the floor. "Shit," I thought "I'm gonna have to clean that up."
"SIT DOWN!" I calmly shouted. They simultaneously dropped their butts down onto the stretchers in the room. "What did you guys do to yourselves?" I asked. Now, I've talked about this before. Asking people what happened or what they did to themselves often takes you to areas of human intelligence you never knew existed. It's like walking around a corner in some little town you are exploring and coming upon a man walking a Great Dane dressed in a tutu. You're just not quite sure if what you are experiencing is real.
Jay and Jim started talking at the same time, arguing like little kids. "It's your fault!" "Nuh-uh! It's your fault!" "I thought it was a stupid idea!" "You did it too!" "Nuh-uh!"
"SHUT UP! You guys sound like a couple of 5 year olds," I said as I grabbed Lucy and had her help me examine the wounds. Both men hung their heads low, but continued to whisper insults at each other. Rolling my eyes, I threw Lucy a few extra packs of 4X4's. Upon examination, I noted that Jay had lost the 1st through 4th fingers on his right hand, and half of the 1st and second fingers on his left hand. Jim had lost half the height of his 1st through 4th fingers on his right and left hands.
During our exam, Jim said something to Jay about his mother and I thought maybe some type of relationship with her brother. I'm not 100% certain what he said, since Jay jumped up off the stretcher and started towards the other side of the room, pushing me out of the way as he went. Luckily, the clatter of the metal mayo stand hitting the floor was enough to make him think twice. He called Jim a few choice names, sat back down on the stretcher, and then politely said, "Sorry Miss. I didn't mean to curse."
"All right boys. I'm going to have to separate you," I said.
"NO!" They both yelled. "I gotta stay with my Jim," Jay said. "He's my best friend."
"Oh man," Jim replied. "I love ya man." Then he started to cry.
"I love you too man!" Jay said. "I'm sorry man. I'm sorry!" Tears were flowing from both of them.
(And they say women are complicated and emotional.)
We finally got the story out of them. Jay had apparently thought it would be a great idea to use a lawn mower to trim a hedge. What's so bad about that, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Picture the scene: family BBQ, drunk men, kids running around screaming, Jay and Jim discussing how the hedge needs trimmed. Jay's wife yells something about how he can't even mow the grass, how the hell is he going to trim the hedge? The lightbulb goes off above Jay's head. Jay talks Jim into helping him.
"Hey! Watch this babe!" Jay yells.
His wife hears the engine of the lawnmower start. She slowly turns and watches as the men position themselves on either side of the mower. "I wouldn't do............." she starts to say.
They reach under the mower to pick it up. Yes! They picked the lawn mower up with their hands sticking under the machine. Under the machine that has rapidly rotating, extremely sharp metal blades. Metal blades that cut things - things like grass, sticks, FINGERS!
They were successful for about 2 seconds. Two seconds and 2 inches (sounds like some other things we're familiar with, huh ladies?) before fingers started flying.
"Why the hell were you picking it up like that?" I asked.
"Well," Jay replied, "I thought if we each got a side of the lawnmower and picked it up, we could just carry it down the hedge while it trimmed the top off."
I stood in stunned silence. Lucy snorted in the background.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, I know. Stupid huh? When my wife mentioned the lawnmower I just thought, 'Hey, let's use it to trim the hedge.' I suppose it's a good thing we've had a few beers, huh? Helps with the pain."
"Helps with something....." I replied.
The ortho docs were called, came to see the patients, and closed and repaired what they could in the OR. No fingers were salvageable for replacement. The men were admitted under ortho services for IV antibiotics and observation.
It took less than 2 hours for a drawing of a lawnmower with fingers flying out of it to be posted at the nurses station. The caption read 'Hey! Watch This!'
Friday night, two ........ um .......... wonderful (and I say that not in jest, but in awe at the entertainment that they provided) men arrived in our ER. Jim walked in with bloody towels wrapped around both of his hands. Jay, following behind, was an exact replica, even down to the attire he was wearing. But that is a completely different story. What is it about drunk men on a Friday night in rural USA? Do they all grab clothes out of the same closet? "Hey JimBob - Can I borrow your red wifebeater?" "Sure BillyJay - but the blue one might go better with your eyes."
"Hey Miss!" Jim yelled, waving his bloody mitts in the air. "Hey Miss! Can we get some help here?"
"Hey, me too!" Jay, not to be outdone, yelled across the hallway, pushing himself in front of Jim.
"Shut up Jay! More of my fingers are missing than yours, you pussy."
Fingers? Missing? Oh, this was going to be good.
"Jim - you're a prick," Jay replied. "I outta kick your ass."
"Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try it. You can't even make a fist. Whacha gonna do? Punch me with your thumb?"
Jay started toward JIm, hands (what was left of them) in the air. The towels fell off and blood ran down his arms and spilled onto the floor. "Shit," I thought "I'm gonna have to clean that up."
"SIT DOWN!" I calmly shouted. They simultaneously dropped their butts down onto the stretchers in the room. "What did you guys do to yourselves?" I asked. Now, I've talked about this before. Asking people what happened or what they did to themselves often takes you to areas of human intelligence you never knew existed. It's like walking around a corner in some little town you are exploring and coming upon a man walking a Great Dane dressed in a tutu. You're just not quite sure if what you are experiencing is real.
Jay and Jim started talking at the same time, arguing like little kids. "It's your fault!" "Nuh-uh! It's your fault!" "I thought it was a stupid idea!" "You did it too!" "Nuh-uh!"
"SHUT UP! You guys sound like a couple of 5 year olds," I said as I grabbed Lucy and had her help me examine the wounds. Both men hung their heads low, but continued to whisper insults at each other. Rolling my eyes, I threw Lucy a few extra packs of 4X4's. Upon examination, I noted that Jay had lost the 1st through 4th fingers on his right hand, and half of the 1st and second fingers on his left hand. Jim had lost half the height of his 1st through 4th fingers on his right and left hands.
During our exam, Jim said something to Jay about his mother and I thought maybe some type of relationship with her brother. I'm not 100% certain what he said, since Jay jumped up off the stretcher and started towards the other side of the room, pushing me out of the way as he went. Luckily, the clatter of the metal mayo stand hitting the floor was enough to make him think twice. He called Jim a few choice names, sat back down on the stretcher, and then politely said, "Sorry Miss. I didn't mean to curse."
"All right boys. I'm going to have to separate you," I said.
"NO!" They both yelled. "I gotta stay with my Jim," Jay said. "He's my best friend."
"Oh man," Jim replied. "I love ya man." Then he started to cry.
"I love you too man!" Jay said. "I'm sorry man. I'm sorry!" Tears were flowing from both of them.
(And they say women are complicated and emotional.)
We finally got the story out of them. Jay had apparently thought it would be a great idea to use a lawn mower to trim a hedge. What's so bad about that, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Picture the scene: family BBQ, drunk men, kids running around screaming, Jay and Jim discussing how the hedge needs trimmed. Jay's wife yells something about how he can't even mow the grass, how the hell is he going to trim the hedge? The lightbulb goes off above Jay's head. Jay talks Jim into helping him.
"Hey! Watch this babe!" Jay yells.
His wife hears the engine of the lawnmower start. She slowly turns and watches as the men position themselves on either side of the mower. "I wouldn't do............." she starts to say.
They reach under the mower to pick it up. Yes! They picked the lawn mower up with their hands sticking under the machine. Under the machine that has rapidly rotating, extremely sharp metal blades. Metal blades that cut things - things like grass, sticks, FINGERS!
They were successful for about 2 seconds. Two seconds and 2 inches (sounds like some other things we're familiar with, huh ladies?) before fingers started flying.
"Why the hell were you picking it up like that?" I asked.
"Well," Jay replied, "I thought if we each got a side of the lawnmower and picked it up, we could just carry it down the hedge while it trimmed the top off."
I stood in stunned silence. Lucy snorted in the background.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, I know. Stupid huh? When my wife mentioned the lawnmower I just thought, 'Hey, let's use it to trim the hedge.' I suppose it's a good thing we've had a few beers, huh? Helps with the pain."
"Helps with something....." I replied.
The ortho docs were called, came to see the patients, and closed and repaired what they could in the OR. No fingers were salvageable for replacement. The men were admitted under ortho services for IV antibiotics and observation.
It took less than 2 hours for a drawing of a lawnmower with fingers flying out of it to be posted at the nurses station. The caption read 'Hey! Watch This!'
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Oddities of the Universe Unite!
It always amazes me how just being a nurse attracts the weirdest situations. Sometimes you are standing in line at McDonald's wearing your scrubs (wondering how on earth that little, tiny french fry on the floor became such a mass of squished goo), when the lady in line behind you starts telling you about her copious vaginal bleeding and how many clots she's expelling, while all the other customers are trying not to vomit and silently throwing their ketchup away.
I've even experienced many of these interesting scenarios just driving down the road. You never know what will be on the other side of that corner. If Mel is with you, you can be assured that something crazy or completely hysterical will happen. She attracts the oddities of the universe like flies on the sticky strip of life. I really think she should start working in the Emergency Department. She'd fit right in with the rest of us who are one taco short of a combo plate.
Last year at about this time, Mel and I decided to take a drive to Boise to escape the duldrums of a deep, depressing winter. Can I just take a moment here to say I hate snow? I seriously hate snow. It starts off white and sparkling and amazing. In 4 hours it is crap - and when it starts melting off at the 7th month, it turns into liquid shit. By the 3rd day of snow, I'm ready to pull my ass up to the top of the local skyscraper (all 2 stories of it) and start screaming obscenities nonstop. Kind of like the gentlemen we admitted to the psych hold room last week.
Mel picked me up in the boonies where I live. When we hit the end of the road at the highway, Ms. Eagle Eye Mel looked to the left and spotted an upside down truck in the snow about 1/4 of a mile up the road. A white truck - in white snow. I was oblivious to the situation since I was seizure dancing in the front of her van, rocking out to Third Day, swinging my hair and screaming "Turn it up bab-eeeee!" I think she might have even punched me to get me to pay attention the fifth time she asked me, "Is that a wreck over there?" I finally stopped my seizure dancing and followed the line of sight from the tip of her finger to the corner.
My control freak personality emerged. "Get over there!" I yelled.
Jumping out of the car, we ran to the truck. The cab was pretty much intact, but the bed had been ripped away from the frame. A local cowboy was bent down at the passenger window with his cute little wrangler butt sticking up in the air, trying to help the passenger crawl out of the vehicle. They were having a little difficulty getting her seatbelt undone (but I was enjoying the view), so I started ordering Mel around (bossy little wench that I am), "Go get coats, blankets, whatever you can find". By this time, a few more vehicles had stopped and Mel "borrowed" the needed items.
I turned my attention back to the passenger. I knelt down beside the cowboy and stuck my head in the window. I ran through the whole "Does your neck hurt? Did you lose consciousness? Any pain in your back? Yada, yada, yada," conversation. She kept denying everything. "I'm fine. I'm fine," she kept saying. Mr. Cowboy Man finally got her seatbelt undone and starts pulling her out the window.
"Wait!" she yells. "I can't feel my left leg"
"Ah Crap, Immobilize! Immobilize!" I think. Until the lady so very calmly says to us........................................................
"Actually, I don't have a left leg."
She was an amputee. After the shock wore off, I couldn't help but giggle. I looked at Mel and thought, "This is all your fault."
I've even experienced many of these interesting scenarios just driving down the road. You never know what will be on the other side of that corner. If Mel is with you, you can be assured that something crazy or completely hysterical will happen. She attracts the oddities of the universe like flies on the sticky strip of life. I really think she should start working in the Emergency Department. She'd fit right in with the rest of us who are one taco short of a combo plate.
Last year at about this time, Mel and I decided to take a drive to Boise to escape the duldrums of a deep, depressing winter. Can I just take a moment here to say I hate snow? I seriously hate snow. It starts off white and sparkling and amazing. In 4 hours it is crap - and when it starts melting off at the 7th month, it turns into liquid shit. By the 3rd day of snow, I'm ready to pull my ass up to the top of the local skyscraper (all 2 stories of it) and start screaming obscenities nonstop. Kind of like the gentlemen we admitted to the psych hold room last week.
Mel picked me up in the boonies where I live. When we hit the end of the road at the highway, Ms. Eagle Eye Mel looked to the left and spotted an upside down truck in the snow about 1/4 of a mile up the road. A white truck - in white snow. I was oblivious to the situation since I was seizure dancing in the front of her van, rocking out to Third Day, swinging my hair and screaming "Turn it up bab-eeeee!" I think she might have even punched me to get me to pay attention the fifth time she asked me, "Is that a wreck over there?" I finally stopped my seizure dancing and followed the line of sight from the tip of her finger to the corner.
My control freak personality emerged. "Get over there!" I yelled.
Jumping out of the car, we ran to the truck. The cab was pretty much intact, but the bed had been ripped away from the frame. A local cowboy was bent down at the passenger window with his cute little wrangler butt sticking up in the air, trying to help the passenger crawl out of the vehicle. They were having a little difficulty getting her seatbelt undone (but I was enjoying the view), so I started ordering Mel around (bossy little wench that I am), "Go get coats, blankets, whatever you can find". By this time, a few more vehicles had stopped and Mel "borrowed" the needed items.
I turned my attention back to the passenger. I knelt down beside the cowboy and stuck my head in the window. I ran through the whole "Does your neck hurt? Did you lose consciousness? Any pain in your back? Yada, yada, yada," conversation. She kept denying everything. "I'm fine. I'm fine," she kept saying. Mr. Cowboy Man finally got her seatbelt undone and starts pulling her out the window.
"Wait!" she yells. "I can't feel my left leg"
"Ah Crap, Immobilize! Immobilize!" I think. Until the lady so very calmly says to us........................................................
"Actually, I don't have a left leg."
She was an amputee. After the shock wore off, I couldn't help but giggle. I looked at Mel and thought, "This is all your fault."
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Mel's Journey
Please watch the progress of my friend Mel as she does a medical mission in Cambodia. She is an amazing nurse who will be going to Cambodia for 2 weeks at the end of April.
You can find her blog here
You can find her blog here
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Addicted
I have an unusual thirst for blood. Now before you go off trying to come up with the correct medical terminology related to this disorder, let me clarify.
I Love Fights!
I went to the UFC fight in Vegas a couple of weeks ago and found out that I am an insenstive, bloodthirsty, whore of a human. My husband has decided that there is something so seriously wrong with me, he may need to commit me to the State Hospital. I believe he's thinking of hiding the children.
The pomp and circumstance surrounding these fights made me roll my eyes. "Yeah, whatever," I thought. "Just show me some blood." The stadium was full of screaming fans, the music was pounding, the floor was vibrating and I was drooling thinking about the amazing injuries I would see.
Yet, with each fight I became more disgusted. "Where's the blood? Where are the injuries?" I kept thinking. I was so disappointed. "Can't he just break the other guy's leg or something?" I wondered out loud. Four pairs of very disturbed eyes turned towards me. "WHAT?" I snapped.
Then it came. Someone finally broke open a torrent of blood. An amazing right to the eye was all it took. That man could HIT! The red was on the mat and I felt the excitement rise. Finally there was blood! I stood up in my seat as I screamed "Oh Thank God! Finally! Someone's hurt." My husband replied with "There is something very, very wrong with you."
It's Emergency Nurse Porn. Blood, broken bones, open chest wounds - they're all we need to feel the rush of adrenaline, the pounding of our hearts, and the excitement of what's to come. What I wouldn't give to be on the medical staff of a fight team.
The really sad thing is that I don't even know the fighter's names. I have no idea who they are, how many fights they've won, how long their reach is.........................nothing. My dear friend Heidi - the one who tricked me into watching the fights on pay-per-view the first time and got me addicted to the heroin that is UFC - just shook her head in dismay. Her disappointment in my knowledge of the fighters was palpable.
"I don't care who they are. I just want to see them hurt somebody," I told her.
"You have no respect for their talent!" she cried. "That's Rampage Jackson out there! And look - Tito Ortiz just walked by!"
"Tito who? Will he hurt someone?"
"You need help," she said.
I Love Fights!
I went to the UFC fight in Vegas a couple of weeks ago and found out that I am an insenstive, bloodthirsty, whore of a human. My husband has decided that there is something so seriously wrong with me, he may need to commit me to the State Hospital. I believe he's thinking of hiding the children.
The pomp and circumstance surrounding these fights made me roll my eyes. "Yeah, whatever," I thought. "Just show me some blood." The stadium was full of screaming fans, the music was pounding, the floor was vibrating and I was drooling thinking about the amazing injuries I would see.
Yet, with each fight I became more disgusted. "Where's the blood? Where are the injuries?" I kept thinking. I was so disappointed. "Can't he just break the other guy's leg or something?" I wondered out loud. Four pairs of very disturbed eyes turned towards me. "WHAT?" I snapped.
Then it came. Someone finally broke open a torrent of blood. An amazing right to the eye was all it took. That man could HIT! The red was on the mat and I felt the excitement rise. Finally there was blood! I stood up in my seat as I screamed "Oh Thank God! Finally! Someone's hurt." My husband replied with "There is something very, very wrong with you."
It's Emergency Nurse Porn. Blood, broken bones, open chest wounds - they're all we need to feel the rush of adrenaline, the pounding of our hearts, and the excitement of what's to come. What I wouldn't give to be on the medical staff of a fight team.
The really sad thing is that I don't even know the fighter's names. I have no idea who they are, how many fights they've won, how long their reach is.........................nothing. My dear friend Heidi - the one who tricked me into watching the fights on pay-per-view the first time and got me addicted to the heroin that is UFC - just shook her head in dismay. Her disappointment in my knowledge of the fighters was palpable.
"I don't care who they are. I just want to see them hurt somebody," I told her.
"You have no respect for their talent!" she cried. "That's Rampage Jackson out there! And look - Tito Ortiz just walked by!"
"Tito who? Will he hurt someone?"
"You need help," she said.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Shout Outs
It's time to give a shout out to a few people I love to read. Obviously, the ones in my Links column are all wonderful, stupendous, amazing bloggers (am I kissing ass enough for you here?), but there are a few out there that deserve special recognition.
One of the funniest blogs I've read in a long time can be found at Tales from a Bohemian Road Nurse. I love people with a wicked sense of humor and I do believe she takes the cake this week. And that's a damn hard piece of cake to take away from me. It's full of rich dark chocolate, dripping with yummy frosting - yet when you take a bite, it can leave a funny taste in your mouth.
If you are a parent, or hell, if you've even walked by a kid in your life, (that's excessive use of comma's isn't it?) then you will enjoy Busymom. Her posts make me feel like I'm not the only want who wants to run naked down the road, screaming and pulling my hair out by the roots - just because I am a mom.
For the girly-girls (or just anyone who enjoys shopping and talking about girl crap - and by crap I mean stuff, not poop), check out Savvy Chick. She has all kinds of cool crap (stuff, not poop) on her blog. She's helped me save some money too by listing good deals she finds. Other times, I've looked at her lists and thought "How the H-E-Double Toothpicks am I going to afford that? But oh! I want one."
Another enjoyable little diddy can be found at The Sarcastic Journalist. Her posts make me giggle, sometimes guffaw. This one combines Valentines Day, kids playing in pee, pizza, and a gossip rag. How can one go wrong with that?
Enjoy the reads people!
One of the funniest blogs I've read in a long time can be found at Tales from a Bohemian Road Nurse. I love people with a wicked sense of humor and I do believe she takes the cake this week. And that's a damn hard piece of cake to take away from me. It's full of rich dark chocolate, dripping with yummy frosting - yet when you take a bite, it can leave a funny taste in your mouth.
If you are a parent, or hell, if you've even walked by a kid in your life, (that's excessive use of comma's isn't it?) then you will enjoy Busymom. Her posts make me feel like I'm not the only want who wants to run naked down the road, screaming and pulling my hair out by the roots - just because I am a mom.
For the girly-girls (or just anyone who enjoys shopping and talking about girl crap - and by crap I mean stuff, not poop), check out Savvy Chick. She has all kinds of cool crap (stuff, not poop) on her blog. She's helped me save some money too by listing good deals she finds. Other times, I've looked at her lists and thought "How the H-E-Double Toothpicks am I going to afford that? But oh! I want one."
Another enjoyable little diddy can be found at The Sarcastic Journalist. Her posts make me giggle, sometimes guffaw. This one combines Valentines Day, kids playing in pee, pizza, and a gossip rag. How can one go wrong with that?
Enjoy the reads people!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Big Daddy and the Chainsaw
Big Daddy came into the ED late Friday evening. He had definitely earned his nickname as he was 6 ft 5 inches and 300 lbs of hulking muscle. Big Daddy came in with a bloody towel wrapped around his left arm, and a tiny little blonde around his right. He left a pack of buddies in the ED waiting room as he walked up to the triage window.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yeah - I cut my arm with the chainsaw I was using," he replied.
"Oh Big Daddy, you're so brave" cooed the little blonde.
I cast a sideways glance at Lucy who was trying very hard not to spit Diet Coke all over her computer screen.
I escorted Big Daddy and his companion back to ED1. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked "What were you doing with the chainsaw?" I've let my curiosity lead me before and I've found out many things that I would be better off not knowing. Like the man with the Q-tips in his penis because the demons lived there, or the woman who sawed off her hand with a steak knife because God and Satan were arguing over her soul. I also asked a man why he shot up with coffee once and he told me he thought he could get a better high. You'd think I would have learned my lesson about following my curiosity. Nope.
"I was dancing with it," he calmly stated.
I dropped the blood pressure cuff and said "you were what???"
"Oh Big Daddy, you're so very very brave" tiny little blonde piped in.
"I was dancing with the chainsaw. I wanted to show Tina here how graceful I was. When I went to do an arc above my head, my left hand slipped off the handle and the chainsaw slid down the side of my arm."
This was not what I expected. A story laced with alcohol and trying to build a new bookshelf for his pretty wife, or camping in the woods and cutting down firewood, or even showing off his new engine to the neighbor next door - those were the stories I was expecting. I think it showed on my face.
"What? You never heard of chainsaw dancing before?" he asked.
"Nope - never heard a single word about it," I replied
"Well, it's actually not called chainsaw dancing. I was dancing with props trying to tell a story. The chainsaw was just part of the story I was dancing for Tina. It symbolized my emergence into manhood."
I took a second look at the man in front of me - long hair held back with a bandanna, decked out in leathers, arms sleeved in tattoos, looking the very image of a hard core biker. I stared at him for a moment as I tried to put the images together in my head. I thought of his buddies out in the waiting room and I said the only thing I could..............
"Yes Big Daddy, you are very brave."
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yeah - I cut my arm with the chainsaw I was using," he replied.
"Oh Big Daddy, you're so brave" cooed the little blonde.
I cast a sideways glance at Lucy who was trying very hard not to spit Diet Coke all over her computer screen.
I escorted Big Daddy and his companion back to ED1. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked "What were you doing with the chainsaw?" I've let my curiosity lead me before and I've found out many things that I would be better off not knowing. Like the man with the Q-tips in his penis because the demons lived there, or the woman who sawed off her hand with a steak knife because God and Satan were arguing over her soul. I also asked a man why he shot up with coffee once and he told me he thought he could get a better high. You'd think I would have learned my lesson about following my curiosity. Nope.
"I was dancing with it," he calmly stated.
I dropped the blood pressure cuff and said "you were what???"
"Oh Big Daddy, you're so very very brave" tiny little blonde piped in.
"I was dancing with the chainsaw. I wanted to show Tina here how graceful I was. When I went to do an arc above my head, my left hand slipped off the handle and the chainsaw slid down the side of my arm."
This was not what I expected. A story laced with alcohol and trying to build a new bookshelf for his pretty wife, or camping in the woods and cutting down firewood, or even showing off his new engine to the neighbor next door - those were the stories I was expecting. I think it showed on my face.
"What? You never heard of chainsaw dancing before?" he asked.
"Nope - never heard a single word about it," I replied
"Well, it's actually not called chainsaw dancing. I was dancing with props trying to tell a story. The chainsaw was just part of the story I was dancing for Tina. It symbolized my emergence into manhood."
I took a second look at the man in front of me - long hair held back with a bandanna, decked out in leathers, arms sleeved in tattoos, looking the very image of a hard core biker. I stared at him for a moment as I tried to put the images together in my head. I thought of his buddies out in the waiting room and I said the only thing I could..............
"Yes Big Daddy, you are very brave."
New Job Offer
I've been offered the position of ED Nurse Manager. Do I want to take it? Do I want to leave the every day stress induced high of the ED? It's a scary prospect, that's for sure.
What's the good?
Working as the ED Clinical Coordinator was perfect. Half time on the floor, half time in the office. Those positions are being transitioned into Nurse Managers now. Decisions, decisions.
What's the good?
- higher pay
- ability to shape and change policies/procedures
- ability to run a team
- normal hours
- limited weekends
- ability to fine tune my leadership skills
- I'm one of "them"
- No longer in the trenches
Working as the ED Clinical Coordinator was perfect. Half time on the floor, half time in the office. Those positions are being transitioned into Nurse Managers now. Decisions, decisions.
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